#There's always SOMETHING scribbled in the margins!

[lynzine]

I’m sorting through scraps of Avatar pages for Camp NaNo (and hopefully give you an update) when I found this jotted down on a to-do list.

Someone is abducting the greatest benders of the youngest generation. 

Zuko sets out to rescue his little sister (he isn’t jealous she was the one taken). He ends up with a new baby brother and two new little sisters, one from each nation. 

Katara, Aang, Toph, and Azula are abducted. Zuko (and Sokka?) set out to save them.

Yeah, sounds like a good premise. No clue where I was going with it. 😅

[say-al0e]

What Are Friends For

Rating: M | This is smut, no one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: A conversation with friends reminds you that you're about to begin college as a virgin. It bothers you more than you care to admit so you consult your best friend, Eddie; is virginity really that much of a turn off? (Or, best friend!Eddie takes your virginity) Warnings: virgin!reader, PinV, some nerves about virginity and first times. Pairing: Eddie x fem!Reader Word Count: 7.2k

Eddie sat on his bedroom floor, one knee bent with an elbow resting atop it, in a rare display of quiet contemplation. With his back pressed to the dresser, cigarette in one hand and a pen in the other, he scribbled in the notebook he used to write lyrics and, occasionally, plan campaigns. 

Rain pattered against the roof of the trailer, heavy and loud and easily drowning out the tape Eddie had playing to fill the quiet. From your perch on his bed, yellowed paperback held open in your hands, you could see it falling in sheets outside the window. With the weather so dreary, there was little you could do other than sit inside - bored, miserable, rereading a book borrowed from Eddie’s shelf that you could practically recite in your sleep - and with him otherwise occupied, you were left alone with thoughts you preferred not to dwell on.

Though you’d read the book in hand a dozen times, could recite the notes Eddie’d scribbled in the margins by heart, if he asked, it would be impossible to relay where in the plot you’d stopped. The words that usually captivated you blurred into one, a mess of nonsensical characters in fading ink, so you dropped it into the sheets with a quiet sigh and rolled onto your side to glance at Eddie in hopes of finding a distraction.

The dark curls you loved were tamed into a low bun, hair swept away from his neck to provide some sort of relief from the oppressive summer heat, with a few strands framing his face. The plush of his lips were swollen, bitten in concentration over the course of the day as he stared intently at the paper. Those dark eyes were narrowed in concentration as he scribbled relentlessly and you could see the tip of his tongue as he pressed it between his lips.

Eddie’s leather jacket and battle vest were replaced by a cutoff Metallica shirt, cropped at the bottom to expose his lower stomach - the band of his shorts, the missing band of his underwear, the dark smattering of hair just beneath his navel between splotches of ink trailing into the band of his shorts - every time he shifted. Most of his tattoos were on display, save for the ones near his collarbones, and you wondered if he realized you could draw most of them from memory.

It would’ve been nice to be able to say that you were struck, just in that moment, by how attractive Eddie was. To confess that you’d never noticed how achingly beautiful your best friend was would’ve been a lie as his beauty was something you’d always seen.

Few things baffled you more than how people - closed-minded classmates, shallow girls who sought out pigheaded jocks - saw Eddie as anything other than breathtakingly beautiful. His personality was enough, a kind heart and a brilliant mind, but personality aside, you always thought he looked like someone out of a magazine. He was a rockstar stuck in tiny little Hawkins, a figure from your wildest fantasies brought to life.

The wild curl of his hair, the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the bright glimmer of his eyes; it all made you giddy, a little lovesick in a way only Nikki Sixx had so far managed. With every glimpse of Eddie that you stole, you grew a little more enamored and as a conversation you’d had earlier that morning simmered at the forefront of your mind, you wondered if that was part of the problem.

A conversation with friends, the majority of whom rarely pressed about your love life - mostly because they knew there was nothing to share, in part due to your feelings for Eddie - that began as excited chatter about college, classes, and, ultimately, boys, sent you spiraling.

Somehow, the conversation went from playful fun to pressing for details about your lack of dates and, finally, a shared certainty that college would change things for you. However, an off-handed comment about inexperience being a turn-off made you question whether college would change anything at all.

Pulling yourself back to reality, reminding yourself that the only opinion that mattered was your own, proved impossible. Every thought that crossed your mind centered on your inexperience, a trait your friends acknowledged and giggled at, and you couldn’t stop yourself from calling out.

“Eddie?”

If he noticed the tremor in your voice - and, this time, he likely didn’t - he said nothing. Instead, he hummed his acknowledgement. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

The pet name was casual, something that slipped off his tongue easily, just as it had done a thousand times before without a second thought, but it never failed to set fire to your skin. There was something about the way his voice wrapped around the word, a little rough around the edges but dripping honey - a little darker, a little deeper - in a tone you’d never been privy to, that had your heart hammering in your chest. The thud of it was loud, drowned out the music and the rain, and you wondered if Eddie could hear it, too, as he glanced up at you for the first time in an hour.

Whatever expression you thought you’d hidden, however careful you imagined you’d been, Eddie saw right through you. With only a tentative glance at your face, his lips pulled into a frown as he dropped his composition book into a pile of laundry before shuffling closer to you. When he sat with his back pressed to the bed, arm lifting to rest on the mattress as his hand sought yours, you could see the concern clouding his eyes. “You alright?”

A brief thought of brushing him off, of pretending that you were fine - bored, or maybe tired, just for an excuse to have sought his attention - but Eddie knew you well. He’d seen your face, caught the glimpse of upset in your eyes, and wouldn’t settle for anything less than a real answer.

With a sigh, you wrapped your arms around your knees and spared him a sideways glance. “I… You know how I’ve never…”

An annoyed huff, bothered by how difficult it seemed to be just to say the words, escaped as you shook your head. Eddie tipped his to get a better look at your face and the weight of his gaze burning into your skin made it difficult to concentrate. Regardless of the knowledge that this was Eddie - someone who loved you, someone who wouldn’t judge you or laugh at you, despite how objectively stupid you imagined you were being - it was still difficult to string together a coherent sentence.

“Can you not look at me, please? I can’t think with you looking at me.”

Eddie was unfazed by your request. It was one he’d grown used to over the years, one you threw at him every time you wanted to discuss something serious - or embarrassing or simply vulnerable - and couldn’t find the nerve. So, instead of questioning you, he simply pushed himself up and climbed onto the bed to join you. He shifted his body to press his back to the wall, stretched his legs across the mattress, and held out a hand.

“Alright, c’mere.”

When you placed your hand in his, shifted onto your knees to shuffle a little closer, Eddie twined his fingers with yours and tugged. With little effort, he hauled you onto his lap. A soft hand pressed to the back of your head and guided your face to hide in the crook of his neck - a position you’d been in a thousand times before, a position that made you feel safe to bare your soul.

This time, however, you felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage as you grew overwhelmingly aware of the heat of Eddie’s body pressed to yours. Everything seemed too clear, too loud, too real; the green apple scent of his shampoo, the herbal hint of weed that always seemed to linger, the softness of his skin as your hand rested against his bicep, the firm press of his body as he held you in place, the callous of his fingers as his hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt to brush at the bare skin of your back.

It was almost too much.

Rather than comforting, you felt Eddie’s touch set your skin alight. It needled at your nerve endings, hastened the pace of your already spiraling thoughts, and you nearly lost your train of thought as he hummed to regain your attention.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

The rasp of his voice in your ear, warm and soft and concerned in a way he only ever seemed to be for you, cut clear through the hammering of your heart. It filled your chest with a sticky warmth and you inhaled as deep as you could in an effort to steel yourself for the conversation you weren’t certain you wanted to have.

“You know how I had breakfast with my friends this morning?” Eddie hummed, acknowledging the plans you’d had before the day devolved into rain and quiet. “We were talking and I know it’s stupid, but I just… I started thinking about it and I couldn’t stop.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging and encouraging you to continue, as he waited patiently. “I’ve never really been on a date and guys don’t really like me. That’s fine, I guess. I mean, it’s not,” you amended, huffing slightly as you traced his tattoo idly. “But there’s not a lot I can do to change it. Anyway, they were kind of laughing about it. They were talking about college changing things and then Amanda said it would be a major turnoff and I… Well, she’s right. I don’t want to go to college a virgin who’s never even held hands with someone romantically. It’s not a major deal but I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I really don’t want to have some cute college guy ask me to make out and have to tell him that I’ve never done that and him think I’m a total loser and lose interest in me.”

The entire confession spilled past your lips in a rushed whisper, mumbled against Eddie’s skin in a hurried huff as you wasted no time thinking. Thinking about it, agonizing over how to express your concern, would only make it harder and you knew that getting it all out in the open would be the easiest option.

Still, that did little to calm your racing heart as Eddie’s hands stilled against your skin.

“Sweetheart.” He sighed, understanding and just a little gentler than you were accustomed to, as he lifted one hand to cup your cheek. “Look at me, please.” With great effort, you allowed him to tip your head so that he could search your face. After a beat of silence, he assured you. “There’s nothing wrong with still being a virgin and it’s not a turnoff. If some asshole college guy thinks any different of you, that’s his loss. Just means he’s not the one for you.”

Rationally, you knew that.

That was something you’d told yourself a thousand times over, a reminder repeated every time the topic arose. But rationality had little place in the whirlwind of emotion the conversation drudged up.

“I know,” you promised him, dipping your head to focus on the fading letters of his t-shirt. Tracing the nearly destroyed ink, you hummed. “I just… I don’t want to be pressured into it and I don’t want it to be a bad memory. I know it’s not going to be perfect but I just want it to be good. I want it to be like something from a movie.” Though you didn’t really want to know, though you knew it would only curdle the already sour thoughts in the pit of your stomach, you allowed yourself to ask. “How was yours?”

Eddie laughed quietly as he resumed his soft stroking of your skin. “Nothing is like the movies,” he declared, pausing only when you huffed. “Not to rain on your parade or anything,” he teased. “But all of my firsts were pretty shitty. My first kiss was under the bleachers in junior high and she laughed at me after because it was just a dare. And my first time was over in, like, three seconds. I was high and horny and came the second she let me inside. I’m just glad she never told anyone. But shit happens, sweetheart. It gets better, easier. Just find someone you trust.”

Without thinking, you said, “I trust you.” For a split second, it felt as if the world stopped spinning. You willed a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole as you immediately lifted your hand to cover your mouth. “I don’t… I don’t know why I just said that. Fuck, I’m sorry, Eddie. I-“

Instead of allowing you to pull away, to put a considerable amount of space between you both, Eddie held you tight to his chest as he tipped your head once more. “It’s okay,” he assured you, dipping his head to meet your eyes. There was no hint of anger - no disgust or annoyance, no amusement; none of the negativity you imagined you’d see - and you swallowed your rising panic as he urged, “Calm down, sweetheart. Take a breath.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” you repeated.

“For what?” Eddie’s question was honest, uncertain as to why you were apologizing, and you could only shrug as you withered beneath the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t know. I just… felt like I needed to?”

A beat of silence passed as Eddie studied your face. You weren’t quite sure what he was looking for but he seemed to find it as his thumb brushed your cheekbone.

“Complete honesty, alright?” It was a request Eddie made rarely as he always trusted you to be honest. It was only made in moments like this - moments of unrivaled vulnerability, moments that saw you both struggling to speak normally - and you granted it readily.

“Alright.”

“Is this… Do you want me to be your first?” The question was blunt - maybe more so than Eddie intended - but you appreciated his directness even as you inhaled sharply.

“I think so,” you admitted, unable to shift your gaze even as his warm brown eyes set your skin alight. “I mean, I trust you, more than anyone else. You’re… You’re Eddie,” you pointed out, smiling softly. “You’re my best friend. I don’t think there’s anyone better.”

“This isn’t something you have to do, sweetheart. You don’t have to lose it right now,” he reminded you, soft but certain. “There’s no shame in being a virgin. Whoever you end up choosing, if they’re the right person, they won’t mind. I know you trust me but you don’t have to choose me just because you want to get it over with.”

“That’s not why I’m choosing you.” Eddie tipped his head, an uncertainty few others were allowed to see flickering across his face as he awaited your elaboration. “I know that this will change everything,” you admitted, voice a whisper behind the rain.

“It doesn’t have to,” Eddie interjected, voice as quiet as you’d ever heard it. “Whatever happens, or doesn’t, is entirely up to you.”

“But I want it to!” He blinked, surprised by the conviction in your voice, but kept quiet as you continued. “The reason I’ve had so much trouble finding someone else, someone I want, is because I want you. I have for a long time.”

Though you’d known how you felt about Eddie for a long while - swallowed it down, hid it for fear of ruining the best friendship you’d ever had - admitting the words aloud felt final. It felt heavy, sinking to the pit of your stomach like a stone, but you knew that the only way out was through.

There were only two options. The first, Eddie would reject you - never harshly, soft and sweet in the way he seemed to only be with you - seemed most likely to you. But the second, that was the option you wished for.

Eddie returning your feelings, wanting you just as you wanted him, seemed plausible some days. When he held your hand in crowds, when he lounged in his bed and spent hours discussing books and movies and music with you, when he threw an arm around your shoulders and grinned brighter than the sun every time you made it to one of his shows; you saw a future in which he loved you, too.

But insecurity, irrational and loud, told you that you were imagining the softness of his touch or the gentle tone of his voice. It made you uneasy, kept you from admitting your feelings for fear of the worst, and you nearly wished you’d allowed the insecurity to win as silence stretched around you.

Until Eddie spoke and destroyed any remaining shred of insecurity.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while, sweetheart.”

Soft fingers brushed across your cheek, tracing the slope lightly as Eddie watched you blink owlishly. There was a moment of stunned silence, a beat in which you wondered if your dalliances with the supernatural had damaged your hearing more significantly than you’d realized, before you inhaled deeply.

“Are you… are you sure?”

The soft smile on Eddie’s face was reassuring. “Very sure. Remember when we first met?” A spark of memory - a flash of the past, the moment you nearly bowled him over on your way to find Steve before facing yet another supernatural threat - as your brows furrowed. “I started going to history after that, just ‘cause I knew you were in that class.”

“That’s been a while.” It hadn’t, not really - not in the grand scheme of the misery of Hawkins - but it felt like forever as Eddie shrugged.

“Time flies,” he declared with a half-shrug. The soft brush of Eddie’s fingers across your rapidly heating skin continued, easily mapping the features you occasionally caught him studying with an intensity you now recognized as love, and he smiled as you inhaled a shaking breath.

“I don’t know if I remember a time before falling in love with you.”

The admission was quiet, a whisper in the still of Eddie’s room, but it felt as if you’d shouted it. Vulnerability was not new, not with Eddie, though baring your soul so completely was terrifying. He accepted it easily, however, and smiled as he cradled your jaw.

“You don’t have to butter me up, sweetheart,” he teased - an effort to lighten the mood, not downplay your emotions, and ease the deafening thundering of your heart. “I’m already yours.”

With that, he leaned in and bumped your nose with his own. He waited, giving you the final choice - whether you truly wanted to take that step or not - and allowed you to make the first move.

Though you knew Eddie would never make fun of you - not for something serious, something that meant so much to you, anyway - there was still a sense of hesitance as you studied him. Up close, you could see the tiny imperfections, the little lines and freckles and spots that made him, him, and you knew that this was what you wanted.

Before he could reassure you, tell you that it was fine if you weren’t sure, if you needed more time, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss itself was not perfect. It was not something out of a film, with fireworks and an immediate, instinctual understanding of what to do. It was clumsy, a little tentative, and curious, but it was good. The warmth of Eddie’s palm bleeding into your skin, the brush of his curls as his bangs tickled your forehead, the soft exhale he released as you pressed closer, just a touch relieved you felt comfortable enough to trust him with this; all elements you would’ve never considered important before the moment at hand.

But all too soon, it was over.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Eddie broke the embrace, pulled away just enough to allow you to draw in a deep breath, and smiled. “You gotta breathe, sweetheart,” he teased, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he took in the sight of you - glazed eyes, parted lips. “Don’t want you passing out on me.”

With anyone else, it would’ve felt like a slight - a jab, rude and mean-spirited - but you knew Eddie. You knew that it was light, fond, and rolled your eyes in response. “Breathe, got it,” you nodded, serious in your study. “Any other notes?”

“Nah. For a first kiss, it wasn’t too bad,” he hummed, after pausing a moment in faux thought. There was a dramatic air of seriousness, though you could tell he was still teasing. “Technique could use a little work, though.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes, a glittering mirth that told you he wasn’t poking fun at you - not really, not maliciously - and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded. “I suppose someone will have to teach me,” you reasoned, fingers twisting in his curls when he hummed as if it was the most rational thought. “I learn through experience.”

That grin returned, bright - pleased that you seemed to have relaxed; and, truly, you had, as there was nothing to fear in Eddie’s embrace. He’d proven that time and time again. “Lucky for you,” he hummed, tipping his head to brush your lips with his own, “I’m an excellent teacher. Very committed. Willing to spend all night here, if that’s what it takes.”

Then, his lips were on yours once again.

This kiss was more certain, a little more eager, as Eddie took the reins and guided you. He used the hand cradling your jaw to tip your head, to turn it just the way he wanted, and hummed encouragingly as you melted into him. It was still a little clumsy, still exploratory in a way you’d never experienced, but to you, it was perfect. 

And as Eddie’s free hand began to drift down your shoulder, careful not to move too fast, you broke from him just long enough to speak.

“It’s okay,” you promised him, breathless - chest heaving, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. “You can touch me. I want you to.”

With that, you returned your mouth to his.

Every press of Eddie’s mouth to yours, every swipe of his fingers over your heated skin, should’ve made you more nervous. This was farther than you’d ever gone, a complete deviation from the norm in which you were overlooked - only heard about experiences such as this from friends - and you worried there would be an overwhelming anxiety in the pit of your stomach as you attempted to gain some of that experience. 

However, as Eddie’s hands began to wander and his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you found that it was the exact opposite.

Eddie made you comfortable, set you completely at ease.

The idea that this would be the culmination of every experience you’d dreamt of having didn’t make you nervous. The rapid thundering of your heart was not from fear but an excitement, a gratitude that your firsts were being taken by someone you’d loved for so long.

There was an eagerness, not to get it over with but to experience it - to understand you’d been missing. And Eddie seemed to realize that as his hands began to dip beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he urged, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes - grinning when you blinked slowly, attempting to regain your sense of reality. “How’d you imagine your first time? Bet it was romantic, maybe some candles or something. Not here, with Metallica playing in the background.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, fingers playing with the strands fallen from his low bun. “But other times it was quick, in someone’s backseat with the radio playing, just to get it over with, I think. But, lately…” Eddie hummed, urging you to continue, as his hands drifted higher - fingers brushing the underside of your breasts, dragging back down your stomach and stealing your focus. “Lately, it’s been you and it’s been here and Metallica’s been playing in the background. You’re in my head but you’re prettier in real life.”

“Flattery, sweetheart,” he teased, grin bright as he tipped his head to nose at your jaw, though you could see the emotion glittering in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, hands lifting higher - cupping your breasts, earning a gasp from you at the warmth of his palms against your skin. “‘Bout you, here. What you’d look like, what you’d sound like,” he hummed, appreciative when you sighed contentedly as he began to knead the soft flesh. “Think I like the real thing more.”

From your position on his lap, you could feel him growing harder, pressed to your thigh as you shifted. He hid it well, his own desire, but you heard the sharp inhale he released as you reached for the scrunchie holding his hair back and brushed the tent in his shorts. 

“Can I take this off?” The question was breathed against your skin, nearly lost to the heavy thud of your heart, but you managed to nod as Eddie’s hands fell to the hem of your top.

Eddie had seen you in a bathing suit before, had seen you in just a bra after a torrential downpour left you both soaked and shivering, but this was different. Soon, he would see you completely and though you felt a bit of nerves, you knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t judge. So, you shifted and worked to get rid of the soft fabric.

When your shirt joined a handful of others on his floor, he made no effort to ogle you - though you imagined that would come later, when he knew you were well and truly relaxed. Instead, he returned his mouth to yours and his hands to cup your breasts.

With you sufficiently distracted, Eddie easily maneuvered the pair of you so that you were on your back, lying pliant beneath him. When you hummed, laughed slightly at the bounce as you both settled into the mattress, he broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to your rapidly overheating skin. He started at the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, before beginning to trail a path down your throat. 

“If you change your mind,” he hummed, voice muffled against your skin, “just tell me. Tell me everything, okay? Don’t worry about being too loud. No such thing.”

“Not gonna change my mind,” you assured him, voice pitching higher as his teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “Want this, want you.”

At that, Eddie continued his descent. His lips left a trail of fire in their wake and you gave in to his urging to not worry about your volume. With each brush of his mouth, each tickle of his hair against your skin, you made no effort to hide the soft noises of pleasure. And with each one, Eddie seemed to grow more and more eager.

Those wide eyes lifted to meet yours as he reached your chest, one hand kneading soft flesh as he nipped at the sensitive skin of the opposite breast. He sucked a bruise into the skin, shooting you a wink as he did so, before dipping lower and capturing your nipple between his lips. And when you gasped, hands flying to his hair, he hummed in approval.

Eddie spent a few moments focusing on your breasts, moments in which you realized you couldn’t have chosen a better first partner - someone who loved you, someone who was more interested in making the moment good for you than he was in the act itself - before he began to dip lower.

“I’m totally down to eat you out,” he offered, glancing up at you with those wide eyes, “but if you’re not up for it yet, that’s okay. It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

For a moment, you considered his offer. The press of his body to yours, the weight of him atop you, the warmth of his hands and mouth; it was all overwhelming, in the most beautiful way. Still, you weren’t sure if that was something you wanted in that moment. It sounded fun, and he seemed very serious about his offer, but you weren’t sure how much you wanted so soon. So, you decided to decline his offer, for the time being.

“Next time,” you promised, fingers carding through his curls as he pressed soft kisses to your stomach. “I… Sounds nice, but feels like too much this time,” you admitted, not ashamed but almost.

Eddie, however, easily accepted your answer. “Might be,” he agreed, with an easy grin. “I’m pretty good with my mouth.” It was teasing, accompanied by another wink, and made you roll your eyes.

“You’re pretty good at never closing it,” you countered, squealing when he nipped your skin. 

“We’ll revisit this conversation when you’re comfortable,” he teased, grinning as he shifted up and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

As he distracted you with a kiss - this one messier, more eager than the last - his hands continued to wander. They trailed down your stomach, traced the same path as his lips, before dipping beneath the band of your shorts. His fingers brushed the warm skin, earning a sharp gasp.

“Still okay?” The question was breathed against your lips, and you nodded. 

“Yeah,” you assured him, though your heart felt as if it might beat out of your chest. “Still okay.”

Calloused fingers dipped lower, brushed over the fabric of your panties, and slipped between your spread thighs. There wasn’t a ton of room for him to move, and you realized that he was at least trying to get you used to the sensation as his fingers brushed the fabric covering your folds. If he felt the damp patch - he did, you could tell by the pleased grin he wore - he said nothing. He would tease you for it later. This time, he simply returned his mouth to yours.

Eddie gave you a few moments to adjust to his touch, his fingers brushing the fabric - teasing, soft - before he nudged the now soaked fabric aside and allowed his fingers to drag through the slick gathered there. His touch was light, not hesitant but conscious, careful, waiting in case you changed your mind.

It should’ve made you nervous, should’ve set you on edge, but there was only pleasure as you melted into his embrace and tugged at the curls framing his face as his thumb found your clit.

The touch was electric, filled your veins with a blistering warmth that seemed all encompassing, and you began to understand why your friends made such a big deal of it all. The touch itself was good, better than your own fingers, but knowing that it was Eddie, with his wide eyes and pretty smile, made it that much better.

Every press of his fingers grew more experimental, dragging through your folds and coating his fingers in slick. He teased, brushed lightly and swallowed every sigh and soft moan you released. And after a few long, torturous moments, he finally pressed a finger to your entrance and pulled away just enough to catch sight of your face.

“I’m okay,” you promised him, before he could ask. He hummed, acknowledging, and slowly began to pump his finger, getting you used to the motion. “I kinda get it,” you hummed, gasping as his thumb brushed your clit.

“Mm, get what?”

Eddie pressed a second finger in, then, and his fingers were larger than yours. It was a bit of a stretch, a little more than you were used to, but it was nice and you told him as much as you leaned in to nip his jaw. “Why people like this, why my friends talk about it all the time.”

A quiet laugh filled your ears as he began to work you open, careful to prepare you. “Good. Glad this hasn’t put you totally off sex forever,” he teased, before he brushed his thumb over your clit and earned himself another moan. “Glad you’re not totally questioning why the fuck you thought trusting me with this was a good idea,” he laughed.

“I trust you with everything,” you promised, gasping as he began to work his fingers a touch faster and pressed a spot that made your head spin. “Oh, fuck.”

“There?” Eddie grinned, pleased to have found that spot, and made certain to pay special attention to it as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “C’mon,” he urged, “make some noise for me, sweetheart.”

With Eddie’s encouragement, and with the quickening press of his fingers into you, you found it easier and easier to make the noise he was hoping to hear. Though his space was limited, he made the most of it. He paid close attention to what made you gasp, what made you sigh, what made you moan. And with each swipe of his fingers, with every brush of his thumb over your clit, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper into him as the fire burning in your veins threatened to consume you entirely.

Though your friends warned you that much of it was over quick, you hadn’t quite anticipated just how fast Edie would be able to push you over the edge. But after only a few moments of his eager ministrations, the press of his fingers and his thumb and the brush of his mouth over your heated skin, you found yourself falling over the edge with a cry of his name.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice tight as he lifted his head to watch you - the part of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the heave of your chest. “Look pretty, coming for me. Wanna make you do it again.”

The gravel in his voice, a rasp you’d never heard, made your head spin and your chest ache in a pleasant way as his fingers continued pressing, pushing you through the aftershocks. All that existed in your mind was him; Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Despite the difficulty you felt in catching your breath, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was pulling him close and pressing your mouth to his.

Eddie easily gave in, allowed you to take your fill of him, and only removed his hand from between your thighs when you grasped his forearm. However, he didn’t pull away entirely. He simply slipped his fingers beneath the band on either side and began to nudge the fabric down.

Without breaking the kiss, you shimmied out of the fabric - no longer caring about being entirely exposed, only caring about having him closer. In the midst of the kiss, Eddie shifted, arm reaching out blindly and swiping at his nightstand. He caught a few stray items, knocked them from the table with a clatter, and you laughed as you broke the kiss.

“What’re you looking for, Eds?”

With a bit of space between you, he eagerly pulled away just enough to tug his own shirt off - up, over his head, joining the fabric on the floor - before shoving his shorts down his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any boxers and you felt hesitant to glance down, despite the permission he gave you. No matter how comfortable he made you, some things still felt like too much for the first time, especially when you’d been half-certain you would lose your virginity in some dark room and now you could see Eddie all too well.

“Condom,” he answered, grinning when you flustered. “Don’t suppose you have one in your bag, sweetheart?”

“Can’t say I do. Wasn’t exactly expecting… this.” In fact, it was the last thing you’d been expecting from your visit to Eddie’s. However, you weren’t going to complain.

“Good unexpected?” He turned his full attention to the nightstand, then, shuffling through drawers and you laughed as you hummed your agreement.

“Totally.” 

A metallic jingle caught your attention and as Eddie shuffled through the items in the nightstand in search of a condom, you searched for the source of the sound. A pair of silver hoops, hanging on a hook near the bed, caught your eye and you inhaled a shaking breath.

“…are those handcuffs?”

Eddie laughed, the noise quickly covered with a triumphant hum as he found the foil packet, before his full attention returned to you. There was an easy amusement in his eyes, warm and bright, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry about those right now, sweetheart,” he urged. “Eyes on me, yeah?"

“Can I worry about them later?” The question was teasing, tinged with only a touch of nerves as Eddie settled between your spread thighs and allowed one large hand to softly grip the plush flesh.

“Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already thinking about next time,” he teased with a grin. “I’m creating a monster.”

“Your monster.”

That brilliant smile remained, bright and wide, as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. “My monster,” he agreed, words mumbled against your lips. He kissed you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you boneless beneath him, before he breathed a gentle reminder. Those soft eyes met yours as he said, “We don’t have to do this. If you’ve changed your mind, if you wanna wait, that’s okay.”

“I want this. No one I’d rather do this with.”

Eddie shifted closer, then, rested more of his weight atop you and shifted so that the tip of his cock bumped your aching clit. When you inhaled sharply, fingers pressing harshly into his shoulders, Eddie shifted his hips and notched the head of his cock at your entrance. And with a final nod of your head, he pressed forward.

The immediate experience was almost expected - your friends told you that it would hurt, that the first time wasn’t much fun. Only, it wasn’t so much pain as it was discomfort. There was no blinding pain, no tears, just an odd sensation that made you squirm. There was a sharp pinch, a sensation you’d never felt before, but it was bearable.

And you told Eddie as much when he lifted a hand to your cheek and asked, “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“Fine,” you assured him, still a touch breathless as he pressed closer. “Doesn’t feel good yet but it doesn’t hurt.”

Eddie leaned in, pressed a kiss to your cheek - to your nose, to your jaw, to your forehead - before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all. “It’ll feel good in a minute, when you get used to it.”

As difficult as it seemed, you believed him. You knew that he was right, and that he would do his best to make sure you were comfortable, so you simply tangled your fingers in his hair and buried your face in the crook of his neck to leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against the heated skin.

After a moment, Eddie was fully sheathed inside, body pressed to yours as he waited for you to give him the okay to move. As you adjusted, the kiss grew more heated and his hands wandered, returning to your core as his thumb found your aching clit.

When you jolted, clenched around him, Eddie broke the kiss. “Fuck me,” he laughed, tipping his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “Promise I’m not always ready to blow this quick. You’re just so fucking tight.”

“Flattery,” you teased, breathless as you tugged playfully at his hair. “’S’okay. You can move.”

With your permission, Eddie began to experimentally shift his hips. He moved slowly at first, pulling out only an inch or two, before he began to move in earnest. 

The pace was slow, easy, but with every shift of his hips, the better it got. The discomfort began to fade, giving way to a fullness that was more pleasant than you expected. And with his thumb brushing your clit, gathering the slick, you felt yourself enjoying it more and more.

“You know,” he hummed, lips brushing your skin as he continued shifting his hips almost experimentally, “it’s kinda hot, how much you trust me. ’S’like you’re in love with me or something.”

“Unfortunately, I am.” It was so soft, so fond, that Eddie couldn’t seem to find a teasing reply. The words were accompanied by a sticky warmth in your chest, so glad to have your feelings out in the open and returned.

The way Eddie treated you made the warmth that much more pleasant. He made your enjoyment a priority, eyes on your face as he watched for any signs of discomfort. Even as his pace grew faster, hips snapping into yours - driving deeper, pulling out farther - now that you’d adjusted, he still kept his full attention on you.

And when you felt yourself beginning to fall over the edge for the second time, he hummed in encouragement. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed, only just beginning to show how affected he was, voice wavering and breath a little labored. “Come for me. Sound so pretty when you do.”

After a few more snaps of his hips, you fell over the edge and Eddie was quick to follow with a low curse.

The high was unlike any you’d ever felt. It flooded your veins with fire, scorched you from within, and you swore you saw stars as you rode out your high. Eddie buried his face in the crook of your neck to catch his breath and, after a moment of desperately attempting to catch your own, you carded your fingers through his disheveled curls. He remained atop you - weight not quite fully pressed into you but enough for you to feel - for a few long moments before pulling out and tying off the condom. He stood, disappeared into the bathroom to toss it into the trash, before he returned and fell back into bed beside you.

“So,” he hummed, bouncing onto the mattress with a laugh and tugging you into his side. “First time. Not some frat guy in the backseat of some fancy car, or in some shitty dorm room but, not bad?”

“No,” you agreed, tipping your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Not bad. Not some frat guy but I think this was better.”

“You think?” Eddie scoffed with faux outrage. “Okay, well, clearly we’re gonna have to do this again and again and again until you know that this was better.”

Though the night began with an insecurity, in that wonderful way of his, Eddie managed to turn it into a beautiful moment. And though you were starting college in the fall, you knew that you wouldn’t be starting a virgin or searching for some frat boy to help you gain the experiences your friends so often spoke of. You would be starting college with a boyfriend and the knowledge that your love was requited. And you loved the idea that Eddie would be with you for every next step.

After all, what are boyfriends for?

__________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Slowly but surely going through the WIPs I have had for months. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[empress-simps]

Foolish Heart

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Reader CW: James being oblivious to reader’s feelings, Sirius teasing, and as always- language. (1.7k words) Summary: You’ve had the biggest crush on James ever since you can remember, so imagine how hard it is to see your best friend since diapers pine over Lily Evans. The other Marauders decided to make James realize who he truly likes all along.

Note: I was listening to Hozier’s (my love) “Almost (Sweet Music)” When I suddenly thought of this idea randomly, soooooo yeah, enjoy! My updates might be slower now since I have school, but my requests/asks are still open if anyone wants to talk to me! I'd still be active on Tumblr : )

Be still, my foolish heart. Don’t ruin this on me.

It was your mantra, every time you saw James. Everything he did was perfect in your eyes; the way he hummed, eyes twinkling as he thought of a plan on how to execute their pranks, down to the way he laughed. It was heavenly, dancing around the air, lingering- as if a beautiful melody waiting to be heard by you.

And yet, you were a silent audience, watching from a far distance as he basks in the glow of Lily Evans.

Lily. The name itself was a symphony, a haunting refrain that echoed in the back of your mind. She was everything you weren’t, couldn’t be—confident, radiant, and effortlessly captivating. Her hair, a cascade of fiery red, framed her face like a halo. And James? Well, he was her devoted troubadour, strumming his heartstrings to the rhythm of her laughter.

He was hypnotized by Lily’s glow; and you were fixed on his warmth. His laughter was like sunlight filtering through leaves, warming the coldest corners of your aching and bitter heart. You wondered if he knew the ache of unrequited love—the way it makes you feel like you’re drowning in heartache, making you gasp for air.

You’d known James since you were in nappies, a strong bond forming from cheeky smiles, little adventures, empty promises, bruised knees, and grass-stained bottoms. Childhood friends; both of you are inseparable. But, unknowingly to the bespectacled boy, you slowly saw him in a different light, making you crave more about what your current relationship with him is.

James was the sun, and you were the moon—forever caught in his orbit, but never close enough to touch.

You watched as he stumbled over his words, trying to impress Lily with Quidditch tales and his pranks. And you? You were the silent observer, scribbling poems in the margins of your potions textbook.

As you settled in your usual seat next to James in the great hall, Sirius grinned, a mischievous glint evident in his eyes. “Sit beside me, pretty girl!”  He pulled you next to him, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he grabbed an apple and handed it to you. “Good morning to you too, Paddie.” You rolled your eyes playfully, obliging and sitting next to the long-haired boy and grabbing your favorite fruit from his grasp.

Remus, the ever observant one out of the group knowingly looks at Sirius as if to say, ‘I know what you’re doing’. Peter only mumbled a ‘good morning’ before going back to shoving his breakfast in his mouth, blissfully unaware of the brewing tension.

James frowned; he didn’t like the change. Not. One. Bit.

This was new- you not sitting beside him? Can someone pinch him right now since the sod thinks he might be dreaming.

James kept his mouth shut, although he couldn’t help but glance every now and then at you and Sirius chatting across the table, sporting a frown as he stabbed the eggs with a rather excessive force before showing the food on his mouth. Of course, his actions didn’t go unnoticed in the eyes of Sirius Black.

“Something wrong, Prongs?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face as he leaned in. Never once did James think he would like to see Sirius’ smirk wiped off his face.

“Y/n sits beside me.” His jaw clenched.

You tried your best to act nonchalantly, fighting off the blush forming in your cheeks as you felt the all too familiar butterflies in your stomach.

Ah, the heartache in those words—the unspoken longing. Remus had seen it before, masked behind his bravado. James Potter, the mischief-maker, the Quidditch star, the one who chased after Lily Evans with unwavering determination. But the werewolf knew better. He saw the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. The way his laughter softened when you were near. The way he defended you even when you didn’t need defending.

“So? Make Red sit beside you or something.” Sirius raised a brow. You looked at Sirius with a confused look on your face, just what was up with him today?

Red. Lily Evans. The one who James practically confesses his undying love for every week. You know damn well you were not Red, and that you will never be Red.

You were Y/n- the one who held his hand when he was scared of the dark, who followed him on little adventures throughout Potter Manor when you were kids, and the one who exchanged secrets with him with hushed whispers under the moonlit skies.

But being the sod he is, he did. He had hurt you again without even knowing as he invited Lily next to him.

It went on for several weeks, each passing day hurt more than the last. It seemed like he was slowly becoming out of your reach, but Sirius was there, offering you support, and secretly trying to make James realize that he’d been hopelessly in love with you ever since the beginning of time.

The unspoken tension between you grew thicker. Sirius and the others watched, amused and exasperated. Remus, the wise one, shared knowing glances with you. Peter, ever loyal, tried to be mediator between James’s heart and his head.

Then it finally happened, James couldn’t handle it anymore. He cracked.

You were the fresh air he takes in, the anchor that keeps him still, a constant presence in his life. James Potter knew it would hurt if you weren’t by his side, but Merlin- he didn’t know it would hurt this much. He wants you- he needs you.

One stormy night in the Gryffindor Common room was the time he decided to tell you what’s going on in his mind. It was the perfect timing, really. Only him, you and the other Marauders were present in the room, the other students already headed to the dorms, as it was almost curfew.

James sighed, finally standing, and walking towards your direction, his eyes were vulnerable. “Y/n,” he began, voice trembling as he stumbles over his words. “I’ve been an idiot.”

You hummed in agreement, trying to look busy as you reread the last sentence over and over in the page of your book, “That’s not new, Potter.”

“Lily—she’s not the one I want. It’s always been you.”

It felt like the whole world stopped, the fire that was roaring suddenly stilled, your friends sat silently, frozen in shock.  All you can hear is your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

James’ gaze bore into yours, his eyes searching for a response. His hand trembled where it reached for yours, holding it tightly, fearing you'd pull away from his touch.

“James, what? If this is some kind of ploy to play with me-“

“Y/n,” he said, his voice raw, “I’ve loved you since we were kids. I was a bloody fool to deny it every time I see you."

“James,” you whispered, your throat tight, “what about Lily?”

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he chuckled lightly "Evans had noticed it even before I did. Said I was a knobhead for not realizing sooner." he said.

James’s gaze softened.  “You’re the girl who followed me on little adventures, who defended me during Quidditch matches, who knows my deepest fears and silliest dreams. I was fucking terrified to ruin our friendship just because I saw you more than my best friend.”

Biting your lip, you felt the all-too-familiar tears pricking your eyes. His confession made your insides warm, fuzzy, and light. You never told him how you truly felt- keeping it to yourself as you watched him chase after Lily, being supportive of him even though it kills you inside. You could deal with that; you’d be happy as long as James would be happy. Even if it’s with Lily.

Although, he was here, in front of you. Telling you that he also loves you, that he hadn’t realized it until years after.

“James, you were never just a best friend to me.” You whispered, “I was scared- terrified that you would never see me in the way that I saw you. I didn’t tell you because I would rather love you in the sidelines rather than lose you altogether.”

James’ eyes softened, he leaned closer to you; his forehead touching yours, his breath fanning your lips as he smiled softly. “I wouldn’t let you do that now, you’d be in the center of my life, where you belong.”

He placed his hand gently on your back, pulling you closer to him. “Let’s not waste any more time, yeah? We already did that for most of our years already.” James didn’t wait for you to reply when he leaned down and kissed you, cupping your face gently.

Neither of you heard your friends cheering, the fire crackling, or the rain tapping out your window.

In that moment, it felt as if you and James were the only ones in the world, you were in your own little bubble of happiness. Both of you had foolish hearts, and it had finally found each other after years and years of looking.

[ceruleancattail]

CERU!! HI HI :D

i have this one silly idea i think you might like!

so so, imagine you share classes with cater/jade/floyd (sitting next to them, if you will), and when they glance at your notebook, it's filled with tiny doodles, specifically them

or!! you saw their notebooks littered with doodles of you instead!

this one was when my friend found my philosophy notebook with a smol lilia in a gamer box corner lmao

take all the time you need if you decided to do this one! :D

Doodling

Cater x reader, Jade x reader, Floyd x reader

Cater

Cater finds his attention waning, occasionally. Twisting his pen around, he does his best to fight the urge to check his phone. He’s already done it five times this hour. Horrible habits die the hardest.

As sneakily as he can, Cater leans into your side, head leaning into the curve of your shoulder. His emerald eyes straying over the pages of your notebook, trying to find something to amuse himself with.

The moment you felt his gaze on you, you froze up. Hands hastily fumbling across the table, shielding the contents of your notebook from view. As quickly as you managed to react, Cater still managed to catch a tiny little glimpse of what you’ve scribbled onto those lined pages.

Little doodles of… him? Cute tiny drawings doodled onto the very edges of your notes, surrounded with miniature diamonds and quite a number of rosy red hearts.

Immediately, Cater turned away. Covering the lower half of his face with his palm, in an attempt to hold back his squeals of excitement. That’s just so cute of you!

Do you have any more? He’ll love to see them! Cater’s immediately wiggling a little closer to your side, poking at your notebook until you let him flip through the pages.

Aw, why are you embarrassed? You make him look totally adorable in those doodles!

Cater tries to draw a little sketch of his own right next to one of yours. A little doodle of you, standing right next to him. If you ask him why, he’s just going to chuckle and shoot you a playful grin. Avoiding the question the best way he knows how.

The truth is?

He just doesn’t feel right if you’re not next to him, so just indulge him this time, ok?

Jade

Jade is quiet. Almost silent, even. With his slender frame, he cuts through water with all the elegance of a finely honed blade. Silent, deadly. Even on land, his footfalls are as soft as freshly fallen snow. You’ll never hear him coming.

Which unfortunately works against you most of the time. He seems to relish the feeling of shocking you back to the present, whenever your attention starts to wander. Normally, you’ll hear him snigger, or if he’s feeling a little more teasing that day, the sensation of his ice cold fingers, tracing down the nape of your neck.

Today, it was the latter. As you yelp, reaching for the back of your neck, Jade is silent. His attention currently fixed onto the open notebook on your table, pages fluttering, beckoning him closer.

Gingerly, his fingers reach for the pages. Tracing every stroke on the paper, especially that particularly long stroke of hair framing the subject’s face.

It’s him. In every page.

Little doodles of Jade in the corners, peeking out from every margin. Drawings of him, in the midst of doing various tasks around the Mostro Lounge, along with some particular goofy ones accompanied by giant mushrooms… and hearts. Quite a number of them, actually.

The latest drawing is of him facing forward in class. Eyes narrowed in concentration, chin on his palm. How utterly adorable of you, to capture every single detail of his appearance within a few strokes. You must observe him very dearly.

Jade turns his full attention to you, leaning so much more closer to you than before. His lips curl up into a sly little smile, beaming at you. Now, you don’t have to be so secretive about it, you little artist.

You know he’s always more then willing to pose for drawings.

Well, only if you’re the only asking.

Floyd

Floyd shifts around quite a bit, during class. Normally, you’re pretty eager to chat away with him. Unfortunately, today you seemed a little more preoccupied listening to the lesson instead of Floyd.

Now, what fun is that? He’s so bored just sitting around. Well, you being next to him helps, but come on! You’re not even paying him one bit of attention. Instead you were hunched over the table, pen scribbling away furiously.

Floyd stares at your hand as it moves around, his own hand absentmindedly following suit. While his dance danced in circles in the air, Floyd muses silently. It’s hard to see how those sweeping wide strokes of yours could possibly form words.

Leaning towards you, Floyd dips his head onto your shoulder. Curling his lips into an “o”, before puffing a gust of wind onto the skin of your bare neck. Shuddering at the sudden chill, your pen clatters against the table.

Seizing his chance, Floyd’s hand darts over. Those slender fingers of his wrapping around the pages of your book, yanking it sharply to his side.

Leisurely, Floyd flips the book open. Ready to see what his lil’ shrimpy seemed ever so eager to hide.

Sketches of… him. Toothy grin as bright as the sun, beaming away. Y’know, most people find his smile scary. Not… as endearingly as you seem to see it, illustrating it as sweetly as you did.

You drew him zooming around the Night Raven College, leaping into antic after antic. Little hearts follow every doodle, trailing after tiny Floyd. Ain’t that cute?

Aw, shrimpy! You never told him you could draw. That isn’t too fair, yeah? Hogging all the fun to yourself, sketching him on the sly.

Floyd’s elbowing you playfully, stretching out an upturned palm towards you. Huh? What’s that look for?

Give him a pen, he wants to draw you too!

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[ddejavvu]

hey mei baby i was wondering if you could do something about shy!reader with spencer and she's just so smitten with everything he does and gets flustered really easily and spencer is like ??? like he doesn't get it cause he doesn't see how fucking gorgeous he is

love love love you!

love love love you too!

--

Spencer sits down at the table you'd scouted with a warm smile and a gift bag, and you eye it warily, noting the particular absence of one in return for him.

"I brought you something," He confesses bashfully, and you watch as he pushes it over the table towards you, "But- um, I'm sorry there's no tissue paper in there. I thought I had some, but then I didn't, so I went to the store earlier to find some, but they only had neon pink, and that didn't really go with the orange on the bag, so- just- it's in there." He concludes drearily, "Sorry."

The mere thought of him apologizing for a gift that he's giving you not being perfect makes you want to scream in agony and kiss the apologetic smile right off of his pretty pink lips. But you think that a gentle reassurance would work better, so that's what you give him.

"It's alright, Spencer," You promise, reaching into the bag and wrapping your fingers around what feels like soft paper, "The tissue paper is the least important part of the gift."

It turns out to be a book, and you suppose you shouldn't have expected anything different from Spencer. It's worn, well-loved, with sticky notes in disarray all down the sides and pencil scribbled in the margins. It's a collection of vignettes, from the title, old English tales that you'd find covered in dust at an ancient library.

"My mom used to read these to me when I was younger," Spencer admits, hands toying with each other nervously in his lap, "And I bought myself a copy when I moved out, for- to, like, start my collection," He explains, "And I always found myself going back and annotating it, because I just had so much to say, but- uh, no one to listen."

His cheeks burn pink at the admission, and you physically feel your heart swell to dangerous proportions within the confines of your chest, "So, I thought that- well, if you want to, at least... you could read them too. And- my notes, if you're interested."

He's staring at you with so much raw hope shimmering in his pretty brown eyes that it nearly brings tears to yours. Your brain is filled with static, useless and jittery, and all you can do is drop the book into your lap and slam your face into your arms on the table.

You let out a muffled groan, maybe more of a scream, and when you peek back up at Spencer, he looks mortified.

"I'm sorry! If you don't want it, I can- I can take it back, or get you a different copy, or-"

"Stop! Spencer, stop," You plead, clutching at his hands from across the tiny table, "You're perfect. How are you perfect?"

He looks bewildered, but doesn't pull his hands from yours, "What?"

"You gave me your special book," You whimper, "Actually, you apologized that you only gave me your special book, and you trusted me to care for it and read all of your thoughts and notes about it, and you're-sitting-with-me-in-a-coffee-shop-being-the-man-of-my-dreams! You're perfect!"

He looks heavily flustered now, cheeks burning only brighter red as he grins, "I- I'm glad you like it. Um- I didn't think you'd like it this much."

"I love it," You whine, dragging one of his hands to your mouth to smear a kiss over the back of it, "Spencer, you're perfect."

"Stop saying that," He pleads, but he has to avoid your eyes as he grins into his lap, "You're making me tongue-tied."

"I know," You confess, squeezing his hands, but you show him no mercy as you grin: "But it's only fair, Spence. You just gave me the most heartfelt gift of my life, I'm allowed to make you stutter."

[loveinhawkins]

While he’s still not recovered enough to play the guitar, Eddie takes up writing again. He uses a scrappy notebook, nothing special: to start with, it’s more a record of his handwriting slowly becoming clearer; gripping the pen, moving it across the page, no longer seems such a daunting task.

And look, it’s not like he’s Shakespeare here, somehow churning out masterpieces from a hospital bed. Sometimes he’s just doodling, flooding the margins with black ink until it bleeds through to the other side, looping spirals over and over for no reason—or maybe just to prove that he can.

He always keeps the notebook close by: folded over, the spine broken so it can rest propped up on the bedside cabinet. Sometimes he forgets, has to quickly put it under the sheets if he’s still writing whenever a nurse comes in.

He doesn’t know what he’s afraid of them seeing, exactly. Just remembers the fear of middle school—a boy ripping his notebook out of his hands and just laughing at Eddie’s desperate attempts to get it back.

It had been a lesson—to not be careless. To not leave pieces of himself lying around for others to handle.

Gradually, he fills more and more pages. Diary entries emerge in between mindless scribbles, and they help even if he’s not ready for talking about March yet, not even to himself.

He painstakingly logs conversations had during visiting hours; just focusing on one word leading into the next is calming, helps bring him out of his head. He’s got whole pages devoted to Wayne’s birdwatching, and actual full-blown diagrams thanks to Robin Buckley filling him in on obscure band kid drama.

On nights when his heart races for no apparent reason, he stays up writing—usually drifts off to sleep by the afternoon, notebook slipping through his ink-stained fingers.

He stirs awake on one such day, and he doesn’t know why until he hears the rustle of pages, the gentle thunk of something being set down.

His notebook.

“Did you look?” he murmurs, more asleep than awake. Maybe that’s why he asks: time is strange in dreams, long buried fears drifting up to the surface.

“No.”

And Eddie manages to open his eyes just enough to see Steve standing by his bed. He’s neatly set the notebook in its usual place on the cabinet, except he’s shut it so the edges don’t curl up all that much.

“No, I didn’t look. Eddie, that’s yours, okay?” Steve says softly, but no less serious for it.

And Eddie wonders if there’s more to the pages he’s filled, even the scribbles—if he’s revealed more of himself than he thought.

“You can if you want,” Eddie mumbles into the pillow.

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t mind if it’s you,” Eddie says. He reaches for words, clumsy with drowsiness, and he surprises himself with what he says, but he finds that he means it. Feels it, so certainly. “Want… want you to see.”

The thought would’ve been terrifying years ago.

But this isn’t middle school, and he trusts Steve Harrington with his heart.

[milswrites]

The Bat Boys X Bookworm!Reader

Summary: What the Bat Boys (and Eris & Lucien) are like with their bookworm partners

Warnings: Lil smutty and nsfw (not too much just want to cover myself) so 18+ MDNI

Notes: Just a bit of fun really, it's different to what I usually write but I hope you guys like it!

Rhysand

Rhysand loves you

And if loving you means that he has to feed your obsession with buying books?

Then he would happily clear out all the bookshops in Velaris if it meant getting to see you smile.

Rhysand is rich-rich.

Which means if there's something you want? He'll buy it for you without question.

You once mentioned about how much you'd love your own library one day.

So of course by the end of the week you had your own little haven inside Rhysand's house with more books than you could ever dream of reading and your own little ladder to reach them all.

But he didn't stop there.

For your mating gift he purchased you your very own library in Velaris

In which Rhys may or may not have enacted his fantasies of sleeping with a Librarian.

Whilst Rhysand does like to read, his taste in books is very different to your own.

But even though he doesn't read the books you do, he's more than happy to sit and listen to you talk about your favourite ones for hours if that meant being able to see your eyes light up as you talked about something you loved.

But no books nor libraries could top the best gift he had ever given you.

A hand-written book containing the story of your relationionship.

Complete with crude little comments and drawings the High Lord had scribbled down in the margins.

Rhysand loved history.

So what better way to preserve his undying love for you than in-between the pages of a book which would last forever.

Cassian

Cassian had never been very interested in books.

He'd much rather experience the thrill of real fighting and action in person than spend his time reading about it on some dusty old pages.

In fact the only time Cassian had been in a library he had the terrifying encounter with Bryaxis.

Safe to say that the trauma he experienced was the perfect excuse for never stepping in one again.

Until he met you.

Cassian has always been the type of guy who's all in or nothing.

He discovers the person he has a crush on likes reading?

You know he's going to be walking around with books he's never even opened pretending like he is a well-read Illyrian.

Citing quotes he doesn't even understand just to try and impress you.

And once you're together?

You show Cassian exactly what he's missed out on when it comes to reading.

Especially when it comes to getting tips for your bedroom activities.

For months after you revealed to him the wonders that are smut books, Cassian would spend his free time delving through the pages looking for new ideas on how to spice up your sex life.

Claiming his increased interest in reading was due to 'research purposes'

Cassian is 100% down to roleplay characters from your novels

He loves being the big strong hero to your damsel.

Whenever Cassian catches you reading, happily curled into the comfort of your sofa, he'll approach with a smirk on his lips

"Any new tricks you'd like to try out? I think page 69 is worth a shot."

Azriel

Azriel's a busy guy.

He's always away on missions for Rhysand or working in the dungeons of the Court of Nightmare's

So he can be forgiven if when he comes home, reading is the last thing on his mind.

But what he does enjoy though, is when you read to him.

He can lay with his head in your lap for hours.

Humming along to whatever tale you tell whether it's fantasy, romance or a good thriller

Sometimes he'll even offer his input. Laugh when something especially funny happens or shed a tear whenever a character he likes died.

Azriel loves the sound of your voice

Enjoying the way you put on voices whenever a character is speaking.

He's grown to like the sense of domesticity that he feels whenever you read to him. Allowing himself to imagine you doing this to two little Illyrian babies of your own.

Reading to your wide eyed children as they are gripped by the tales you're telling

Azriel is also a gentleman.

Need a hand with carrying the books you're choosing whilst you shop?

He's there

Hands willingly taking everything you stack on top of him, trailing after you with your selections like a lost puppy.

And when you get to the till?

Azriel had already spoken to the shopkeeper upon entry and added anything you chose to his account. Claiming the books were just as much his as they were yours if you were going to read them to him.

Azriel is definitely the type of male who likes you to read your smut to him as he pleasures you, acting out the words on the page until you're unable to speak anymore, leaving the rest of the chapter to your own imagination.

Eris

Eris is a reader.

He loves nothing more than to settle down after a long day with a good book in hand and a steaming tea.

You can't tell me he doesn't find it the hottest thing ever when he discovers you like to read too

The two of you have your own little book club

You'll each read the same book and then have a little meeting when it's over to discuss what you thought of it.

He can also get really emotional and intense about them.

God knows the amount of times you've had to calm him down when a character has made a choice he didn't like.

I think Eris definitely likes to write too

Not seriously, but it's a good way for him to get his thoughts out and to escape from the day to day of his reality.

And he loves to have you read his work

To see the way your face lights with joy as your eyes flick through his beautiful prose.

A small smile upon his lips at the knowledge that the muse for his writings was you.

Lucien

Lucien also likes to read.

But the way you read?

It terrifies him.

The way you obsess over the characters from your stories.

Your passionate opinions on their decisions and the plots.

God forbid Lucien says something about them that you don't agree with.

Lucien finds you positively feral when it comes to the stories you like.

But that doesn't stop him from wanting to show interest in them too.

Lucien likes to read all your favorite books and leave annotations of his thoughts in the margins.

This was exactly how the two of you had gotten together, the male having gifted you with a copy of a book he had noticed you reading.

The pages filled with scratchy comments and opinions on everything that happened.

Lucien pours his soul into his annotations and you love that.

Lucien is also a poetry man.

He loves to recite verses to you which stick out to him

Sometimes they were romantic, making your heart stop in your chest and breath catch in your throat.

But Lucien was also a fan of satirical poetry

The most ridiculous, corny things you have ever heard.

He'll come find you as you're going about your day and recite his latest read to you - your eyes rolling to the back as you did so, yet you fail to hide the smile which crosses your face every time he does so.

He has also tried to write you poetry before, express the depth of his feelings towards you. Safe to say his lame attempt of a limerick earnt him a scoff and had you hiding all his poetry books from him for the next month.

[dilatorywriting]

Valentine's Day Special: Let Them Fight

GN!Reader x Malleus Draconia vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Who knew that in a world of magic, and mayhem, and outright villainy, that it'd be something as stupid as Valentine's Day that would push these idiots over the edge. Or, Malleus, Azul, and Vil go to war over some chocolates

A/N: This MC/Plot takes place in the Heroes vs Villains universe -- specifically Post-Staff's route, rather than any of our other lovely idiot husbands.

There was always some sort of strange overlap of customs from your world to this one. Halloween seemed to have survived more or less intact (even if it was a bit more, uh, extreme than the subtle evening of giving out treats and dressing as ghosts that you remembered). Winter Holidays were still very much a Thing, even if all other connotations had been stripped from them. Moreover, it was like someone had taken your familiar Earthen calendar and just sort of… mirrored it. Distorted it a bit. Just a lil’ bit more chaos than would have been socially acceptable back home.

So when you made a sly little joke about stocking up on discount chocolates after the Valentine’s Day rush and no one laughed—not even a little chortle, or an irritable eyeroll—you initially thought it was maybe to do with the irrationality of Sam’s Shop ever having a sale to begin with. You had not assumed that, you know, there was no Valentine’s Day at all.

“It’s an important holiday, then? Where you’re from?” Azul mused, busy scribbling endless, chicken scratch, notes in the margins of some form that was probably very important.

“I mean, not really,” you frowned, tossing your Mostro-Branded apron onto its hook. “Maybe. Yes? I don’t really know, actually.”

He hummed and moved to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is, I’m always looking for new events to host at the Lounge. What exactly is it?”

“It’s a sort of special day for couples. Romance. Lovey-dovey nonsense,” you shrugged, and watched Azul’s finger slip off the slick metal frame of his glasses and nearly take his eye out. You waved off his obvious disgust with a dramatic sigh (I mean, why else would he be so stiff and red?). “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“I—I never said that!” he spluttered, and then paused to cough into his fist and clear his throat. “It just—I just wasn’t expecting something like that to…”

“Exist?”

He grinned, wry. His cheeks were still a bit too pink. “Precisely.”

“You would have loved my world,” you said. “Very capitalistic. Lots of cash-grab holidays like that.”

Azul laughed.

“I’m sure I would be fond of any place you came from.” He paused, and his expression puckered up a bit miserably—like he really hadn’t intended to express such a sentiment aloud. But he managed to smooth the sharp line of his frown back into that usual, smarmy, smirk of his easily enough. “But either way! Tell me more!” he grinned, reaching forward to grab a stack of blank paper and a fresh pen. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

.

.

The next day you were supposed to help the Drama Club start building some stage scenery for their newest play. It was proper grunt work, which was perhaps the only sort of work you were actually qualified for. And Vil always made sure that there were plenty of disgustingly healthy but still quite tasty snacks available for the help to munch on. The food spread alone would have been worth the trip, but on top of that, Vil had made you promise. Practically a blood oath, binding you and your meager free time to the shitty supply closet in the corner of the Auditorium. And as sour as he could be sometimes, you really could never say no to him when he always looked so heart meltingly fond whenever you did agree to while away the hours at his side. That lovely face and even lovelier smile of his were fucking lethal. A war crime, surely, to use it against someone as plain and susceptible to bribery as you were.

But today you were now an idiot on a mission—an idiot determined to spread the joy of a trashy holiday that really probably shouldn’t exist in the first place, let alone in a world where people worshipped storybook villains as veritable deities. And you’d already bought all the molds, and the trays, and you really didn’t have a lot of spare pocket money to begin with, so letting this investment go to waste would not only be a shame, but a terrible business investment.

“What do you mean you’re not coming,” Vil sneered, glaring down his perfectly straight nose at you.

“I really am sorry,” you said, mostly genuine. “But I have something I need to do this afternoon.”

“You’ve made other plans?” he frowned, something a little too unsettled to fit with his usual regality twisting across his expression.

“I have to get ready for Valentine’s Day,” you explained, and his brow tugged down further. Though that earlier twinge of panic seemed to have vanished at least. You pointedly shook your grocery bag full of goodies. “I’m going to make chocolates for everyone.”

“Chocolates?” Vil echoed, confused.

You nodded. “It’s a tradition back home. You give stuff like candy and flowers to the people you care about. Normally it’s a holiday for couples, or whatever. But. Well…”

The ‘I Am Fully Aware That I’m Single as a Pringle, Please Just Let Me Have This One Thing’ was left unsaid, but it hung in the air around your head like a very persistent storm cloud nonetheless. Vil, magnanimously, seemed perfectly happy to ignore the Woe Is Me implications spewing from your mouth. Instead, he leaned forward until he was dipping precariously close into your personal space. His amethyst eyes had lit with blatant interest at your ramblings, and he hummed low in his throat.

“Is that so?” he mused, gaze lidded and warm. “That sounds… intriguing.”

You nodded past the heady scent of his cologne fogging your head. What was it with attractive people, huh? It was so unfair. You don’t get to look and smell good. Pick a lane. Save some dignity for the rest of us.

“So, I promise I’ll help another day. I just have a feeling making chocolates is going to wind up being a lot harder than I think it will.”

Because that’s how it always went in your stupid slice-of-life shows. The poor, harried, protagonist thinking they’re doing a good deed—painstakingly constructing their own, special, homemade goodies for all their important people. Making them with love. And then having it all blow up in their face like a goddamn, cocoa flavored, nuke. Nope. Not you, motherfucker. Your chocolates were going to be divine. You were going to take every, tropey, precaution in the book. And that of course included allotting yourself ample time to make mistakes your masterpiece.

“Of course,” Vil grinned. “How could I possibly begrudge you for wanting to spend your time on something so heartfelt?”

“Thank you,” you blurted, relived. Because at least he got it. Azul had been so ridiculously insistent that you should prepare all your Valentine’s Day wishes as a team. Which was not the point. He’d spent hours last night trying to wheedle his way into your plans—with endless platitudes about ‘business partners always being there for each other,’ and ‘how would he know if he was celebrating to your standards if he wasn’t given a model to work off of first?’ Utter bullshit. He’d probably just wanted free labor.

“Tomorrow, then?” Vil beamed and you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed.

“Well, then,” he hummed. “I better get to work as well. I suppose the scenery can wait.”

You nodded in farewell and began the trek back to Ramshackle and its marginally functional kitchens. You hadn’t realized Vil was taking on any new projects, but if it was enough to have him putting off the Club’s activities as well then it must have been pretty important. Maybe he’d get you tickets to it whenever he finished—whatever it was. If there were tickets? How did any of the things he did actually work? Hell if you knew.

.

.

Making chocolates was, in fact, a laughably easy endeavor. And you found yourself cursing every goddamn Shoujo Bullshit Manga under the sun for leading you to think otherwise. The hardest part of the entire thing was fighting off Grim and his wandering paws.

You made up some basic truffles which were, again, stupidly simple. Just some messily chopped chocolate, cream, and a little splash of vanilla to make it Special. Once those were shaped into messy blobs, you dipped them into some more melted chocolate and bam. That was it. That was literally it. You felt like a genius—sitting there mushing up balls of cocoa like high-end playdough.

By 6PM, you had all your little darlings tucked into the refrigerator to harden, all the gauzy, red, boxes lined up on your counter and ready to be filled, and Grim had been placated with an offering of all your dirty mixing bowls. The tiny, demonic, beast was passed out at the dingy kitchen table—one of said bowls wedged onto his head like an astronaut’s helmet. Hopefully it was just a food coma and not, like, an actual coma-coma. Real cats couldn’t eat chocolate, but Grim never really seemed real at all. So hopefully he’d be fine.

You wiped down your cooking space once, twice. Paced up and down the narrow hallway until you were wearing away the already threadbare rugs, and spent way too long just standing in front of the fridge—staring in on your chocolates like a psychotic kidnapper scoping out their next victims.

Eventually you realized that you maybe needed to do something with your evening that wasn’t just creeping on your confections, and set out into the frosty, night, air for a stroll.

Which is, of course, where you ran into your familiar, horned, friend—staring up into the starry sky in a wistful manner that darkened his pale complexion into something nearly ominous. He always looked a bit like that, like something unearthly and detached from the rest of the world.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped happily, and that adrift-at-sea expression of his melted right off his face.

“Child of Man,” he greeted, inclining his head politely. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.” His brow furrowed, almost confused. “Is it not too cold for you?”

Your breath was, in fact, fogging in front of your face. And you couldn’t really feel your toes anymore. But the electric anticipation of tomorrow was keeping you warm enough. Even if only in spirit.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you waved him off. And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward on your tippytoes and blurted out, “Happy Almost Valentine’s Day!”

“Valentine’s Day?” Malleus repeated back at you, looking like you’d just handed him an unsolvable differential equation.

“It’s a holiday from back home,” you explained for the umpteenth time that day. “And normally I’m not too fussed about it, but this year I’m really excited to give everyone their chocolates!” You grinned. “And you too, of course. I have to make sure I give them to all my important people.”

The furrow between his brows vanished, but the blatant, gaping, confusion remained. He looked like you’d nearly startled him into an early grave.

“I am one of your most important people?” he asked, slow as a tortoise making its way up an incline.

You nodded cheerfully, still bellied by your earlier culinary successes and excellent mood. “Of course you are! We’re friends, aren’t we? And besides. Valentine’s Day is for showing people how much you care about them.”

“What an interesting concept,” he mused, bringing a finger up to tap at his chin. “To think your world had such a heartfelt tradition—it’s quite a lovely surprise.”

You laughed. “If you think the chocolates are special, you should see what some couples do for each other. Rooms full of flowers, fancy date nights—I’m just managing the bare minimum.”

“Couples?” he echoed, and you felt the first teeny, hot, thread of chagrin work its way past your enthusiasm.

“Well, normally Valentine’s Day focuses on, like, romantic things,” you said, averting your gaze just in time to miss the tension lance through his shoulders. “But it can be for all sorts of affection!” you hastily added.

“Is that so…” the Prince hummed. He lifted his pensive gaze once more and stared you down with that weighted intensity that you’d only just recently learned how not to buckle beneath. “And you wish to celebrate this day. With me?”

“…you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, hesitant.

“Of course not, Child of Man,” he beamed, his lips curling up into a smile that put all his too-sharp teeth on display. “But you’ll have to excuse me now, I’m afraid. It seems I have some preparations to undertake this evening.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes,” Malleus said. “You will.”

.

.

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and you were ready to begin your mission of forcing your sweets onto every, single, one of your reluctant friends. Let them be pissy and tsundere. You weren’t afraid to weep and proclaim your undying, shounen-talk-no-jutsu, levels of friendship. Okay. Maybe you were a little. But these grouchy bastards had very easily become your grouchy bastards, and so help you God, they would suffer under your affection and they would like it.

There were plenty of small boxes—all nice, neat, corners with little bows perched on top. But you had also prepared a singular, larger, tray. It was cleaner cut than the rest, with bold, contrasting, colors and a simple elegance. You stared it down with a strange sort of disquiet brewing in your gut. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Goodness knows you’d more than dealt with the searing, emotionally destructive, consequences of that before. But all the same…

You squared your shoulders and spent a moment convincing yourself that your spine was quite sturdy—a proper, titanium, support system—and then popped the Big Box into the bag with the others.

Your first stop was Heartslabyul, and you burst through the ornate, crimson, doors like a manic home invader.

“I come bearing gifts,” you proclaimed, merrily doling out the boxes to your favorite idiot duo. You set three more aside, with little labels for Riddle, Trey, and Cater respectively. Normally you wouldn’t trust a dorm full of teenage boys not to devour any scrap of unattended food in sight, but Riddle had long since struck the fear of God into these poor lads. So you figured it’d be safe.

Deuce’s face lit up and he accepted the chocolate with near starry-eyed enthusiasm.

“Are these your holiday presents? Like the Santa Claus?” he asked, looking very much like a bouncy golden retriever preparing itself for congratulatory head pats.

You leaned forward with an indulgent huff to give him his pats. “No. But close enough.”

You pawned off three boxes on Ruggie when he tried to duck past you in the hallway—one for him, one for Leona, and one extra as payment for making him do your dirty work of playing delivery boy to Mister Grump in the first place. You slipped Jack his on the way into Trein’s morning lecture, and managed to press a box into Jamil’s hands before he slunk off to the library. Kalim cheered so loudly when you handed him one that your ears started to ring.

And then trouble arrived in the form of two, slippery, eels draping themselves across your shoulders. Normally the destructive duo seemed to act on their own prerogative, but on this fortuitous morning their Lord and Master was surprisingly not too far behind.

“Shrimpy!~” Floyd trilled, dragging you into a one-armed hug that was really more of a slightly-less-aggressive headlock than anything else. “Azul says you came up with this stupid holiday! And he made us work all day yesterdayto put together stuff for the Lounge! It’s not fair!”

Your legs shook under the weight of the new tumor that had made its home on your back.

“Now, Floyd,” Jade chirped. All finely manicured cruelty. “If you’re to blame anyone for going overboard with this entire situation, you ought to lay the fault on our fearless leader.” His bi-colored eyes flashed, amused. “Isn’t that right, Azul?”

Said ‘fearless leader’ looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He glared bitterly at his subordinate, seeming to share an entire, silent, argument with him, before turning back on you with a heavy sigh and the barest hint of angry flush in his cheeks.

“Prefect,” he grinned past his obvious discomfort, all sparkling, white, teeth. “I have to thank you for sharing so much information about this ‘Valentine’s Day’ of yours. It’s such a unique event, and it seems like our preparations at the Lounge are already being received incredibly well.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, trying and failing to shrug the Leech off your shoulders. “I’m glad I could help.”

Azul hummed under his breath, his eyes darting away for a moment. His glasses reflected the muted light of the hall in an odd way—making it difficult to read his expression. He cleared his throat and when he looked back up at you, the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by, of course,” he beamed, suave as could be.

“I mean,” you blinked. “I would hope so. I work there.”

Floyd let out a bark of laughter and Jade snickered into his glove. The pleasant pink tinting Azul’s skin was heating to a near sunburned red. He looked down and coughed into his fist.

“Yes…” he mumbled. “I—I’m aware. But what I meant is… What I meant—” He frowned. It was a tight, pouty, little thing that scrunched up his entire face. That mottled red had spread to the bridge of his nose.

“I do believe what Azul is trying to say,” Jade stepped in, clearly taking some sort of pity on his tongue-tied friend. Or perhaps pity was the wrong word for it, seeing how smug he looked, “is that he would like to invite you to the event personally. As an honored guest, not an employee.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. Then hesitated, cautious on instinct. There was always some sort of catch to the Octomer’s kindness. “I don’t know if I could afford whatever fancy thing you’ve thrown together.”

“You wouldn’t be paying for it,” Azul assured you, some of that sickly flush having finally started to recede from his cheeks. You hoped he was feeling alright. “You’ve contributed more than enough for the day. It would be on the house.”

Jade loudly cleared his throat and Azul huffed, eyes sliding away yet again.

“I would be paying,” he finally mumbled. And then, even quieter, “As I believe is the custom.”

Just as you were about to thank him for his startling bought of generosity (and also ask after his health, because between the weird, pink, tinge to his skin and the aforementioned generosity, clearly somethingwas out of sorts with him), you noticed a sneaky hand working its way into your bag of goodies, and you immediately were on the defensive.

“Hey!” you snapped, spinning out of Floyd’s stranglehold. “You only get one!”

“Then I want the really big one!” he demanded, making grabby motions at it.

“No!” you squeaked, and clutched it protectively to your chest. The trio looked at you with varying degrees of surprise and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “This one—This one is special.”

“Oh?” Jade cooed, eyes flickering back towards Azul, who seemed determined to look absolutely anywhere else. “Is it now?”

“Awww,” Floyd whined. “That’s no fair! Who’s it for, anyways?!”

You gripped the box tighter and now it was your turn to stiffly avert your eyes down to the ugly carpet. “It’s not—I’m not—” you cleared your throat and forced the jitter from your voice. “I’m not ready to give it to him yet.”

The silence that followed was absolutely the worst thing you’d experienced in a long, long, time. Overblots and all. You could practically hear your blood pounding in your ears. You were just about to turn and beat a hasty retreat when a familiar, snappish, voice called your name from the other side of the corridor.

“There you are, potato,” Vil huffed, coming to stand at your side and bodily inserting himself between you and your tormentors. He met Azul’s petulant sneer with a frankly terrifying one of his own. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d be eating lunch with me today.”

You remembered no such thing, but if it got you out of this verbal minefield of a conversation, you were more than willing to take the claim at face value.

“Apologies,” Azul cut in with all his usual, mafioso, flair. “But the Prefect will be taking their afternoon meal at the Mostro Lounge today.”

“Is that so?” Vil hummed, sounding positively venomous.

“Unless you think you can make an offer good enough to sway them otherwise,” Azul chirped, equally as unpleasant.

Vil laughed—cold and sharp as crystal. It was the most elegant display of blatant irritation you’d ever seen.

“Of course you’d only consider this entire situation on a transactional basis,” he drawled, entirely unimpressed. Azul flinched and his expression screwed up into something near petulant. “I would expect no less. Are you planning to lock them into a contact too, hmm? Sign away everything in formal, sterile, terms?” Vil crossed his arms, and you were reminded sharply once more how very, very lucky you were to not be on his bad side (even if you hadn’t realized before all this that Azul apparently was on said bad side. You had no idea they disliked each other so terribly). “I really hadn’t expected you to have a single, romantic, bone in your body, and yet somehow I’m still disappointed to be proved so entirely correct.”

Azul looked ready to explode, and even though Jade and Floyd and melted back into the shadows at the start of this entire encounter, the pair of them were starting to look a bit murderous too—like sharks lazily circling the dark, ocean, depths.  

“Don’t you think you deserve better?” Vil asserted, turning back to face you with a soft cant of the head. You blinked back in shock.

“Uh,” you gaped, absolutely fucking lost.

And then, like a beacon of unrivaled, black-drenched, hope, you spotted Malleus making his way down the hallway. He was flanked by his trio of housemates-cum-pseudo-bodyguards. Normally you tried to leave him alone when his rabid, green-haired, guard dog was yipping at his heels, and on top of that, the idea of using your classmates’ ingrained fear of the Fae Prince to your own advantage upset your rather staunch sensibilities. But this was an emergency.

“Tsunotarou!” you called, and it absolutely sounded like the cry for help it was.

He perked up immediately and you watched him nearly crash to a standstill. And then his sharp, neon, gaze locked on the dueling Housewardens circling you like a pair of snapping wolves, and his merry expression shuttered into something positively glacial. Which was—Fuck. I mean. Come on. What the fuck was going on today—

“Child of Man,” he droned, crossing the short distance with all the grace of the near-mythical, arcane, master that he was. His posture was more collected and regal than you’d ever seen it, and he loomed all the taller for it.

Azul and Vil had gone tense at your side, one certainly more so than other. The Octomer looked incredibly unsettled at Malleus’s sudden arrival, but Vil just looked angrier. It was the sort of unpleasantness that bloomed whenever someone challenged him or his competencies over and over—inevitably pushing the normally composed beauty into an indignant rage.

“Happy Day of Valentine’s,” Malleus continued, slotting himself firmly into the veritable territory dispute going down. “Are you quite alright?”

No, you wanted to wail. No! I’m so confused! I have no idea what’s going on! I just wanted to give my friends chocolates!

But you never managed to get those words or any others past your lips, because Sebek Zigvolt shot to his master’s side with all the speed of the lightning for which he was so named, and immediately began to scream.

“HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE YOUNG MASTER’S AFTERNOON ROUTINE!” he shrieked at the top of his very impressive lungs.

You weren’t sure if he was howling at you (very likely) or just anyone who wasn’t Malleus, but Jade took the opportunity to slink forward from the shadows with a sharp tut-tut.

“Perhaps none of you deserve the Prefect’s special attentions,” he piped in, sounding very much like someone intentionally throwing a cannister of gasoline onto an already roaring fire. “Or any chocolates at all—let alone the ones set aside for someone special.”

At this, silence once more rang through the corridor and you wanted to throttle that stupid eel.

“There is a special box?” Malleus asked first, brow shooting up as his expression tugged with… something.

“I—I mean, I made all of yours special!” you defended, holding the wrapped treasure tightly to your chest. “But… I guess. Yes. There’s one that’s a little bigger than the others.”

At this, all three Housewardens exchanged pointed looks.

Jade smiled serenely once more, and then continued his absolute massacre upon your person.

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded. “And our dearest Prefect only just mentioned that—hmm. How did you word it? Ah. That’s right. ‘I’m not ready to give it to him yet.’”

The trio tensed. All looking absolutely ready to pounce. At—at what, you had no idea.

“Perhaps,” the wretch mused, “it would be best for you all to temper your rage until the victor is decided, hmm?” He paused to tap at his chin for a moment, and then his lips split into a mean, jagged, grin. “Afterwards? Well, I suppose that whole cheery sentiment about ‘love and war’ still holds true.”

You gulped, feeling startlingly like Jade had just tried to serve you up on a silver platter.

But when neither Azul, Vil, or Malleus made any further moves to murder each other… well. As sacrificial as it all felt, at least it must have worked.

The rest of the day passed in a tense sort of fugue. You certainly hadn’t expected your attempts at bringing some holiday cheer to Night Raven to go so… Uh…

But either way, you managed to survive through the rest of the afternoon, and before you knew it, all that remained of all your tireless efforts and good will was the Special Box. The big one. The one that you’d put together with extra care and hopes for better things. You glared down at it for a moment, feeling sweat starting to bead over your palms. But you couldn’t chicken out now. Not after you’d come so far! Everyone was acting so strange, and it was all so weird. And as much as that unfamiliarity had your teeth on edge and your hackles raised, you didn’t want to regret not giving out the last of your well-made sweets.

Well, here goes nothing, you frowned. You took a deep breath, willed yourself to be brave, and smiled your biggest smile.

“Here,” you beamed, more than a little shy and still a bit horrified by whatever pissing match had been going down earlier in the day, and finally offered the grandest of your chocolate boxes to the man standing opposite you.

Divus Crewel accepted your offering daintily, plucking at the crisp, sharp, wrapping with his crimson gloves. He arched one of his thin brows at you and you fought the nervous heat rising in your cheeks.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you blurted. “I know it’s not a thing here, but I thought it’d be nice.”

The second eyebrow joined the first—practically jumping all the way up into his fringe.

“I appreciate the gesture. Though from what I understand of all the garish advertising I’ve seen for Mostro Lounge’s new event, I assumed this was a holiday for romantic overtures,” he intoned, wry.

You spluttered and waved your hands furiously. “I mean! Normally! Yes! But also…” You trailed off, fighting the urge to fidget. “If you don’t have a—a, well, someone, then Valentine’s is just a nice excuse to give something to people you care about.” You averted your gaze and lost the battle to twist your fingers into your jacket sleeves. “My family used to give me chocolates every year. So. I thought I could… Well…” you trailed off on a grumble, embarrassed.

Crewel sighed and popped the lid off the box. He plucked two truffles from their casing—keeping one for himself and handing you the other.

“Well, then. A very happy Valentine’s to you, Prefect,” he droned and popped the chocolate into his mouth with a thoughtful hum.

You lit up like a Christmas tree and happily gobbled up your own treat. So distracted were you by the one-two-punch combo of the delicious sugar and even sweeter taste of your Professor’s approval that you almost entirely missed the pointed glare he shot over your shoulder.

“I appreciate your regard,” he said, loud. Sharp. And like he wasn’t talking to you at all. “And while I’m certain that if you do pick a ‘someone’ for yourself to celebrate with in the following years, they’ll have to work very hard to be worthy of such a gift, hmm?” His lip curled unpleasantly, in direct contrast to the indulgent warmth that had been tugging at his expression only a moment before. “I could hardly allow you to waste such a thoughtful gesture on someone unworthy.”

The Octavinelle Housewarden had the decency to look at least a little panicked—his face going pale and gaunt from where he was shrinking into his high collar. There was a frantic look about him, like he was trying to weigh the cost-benefit ratio of going up against his professor in his head, and realizing that he was stupidly, willfully, walking right into a lose-lose situation. And that, sadly—miserably—he was going to keep doing just that. The other two, however, looked entirely undeterred. Schoenheit curled his lip right back at him, more than ready to duke it out here and now, and Crewel fought the urge to remind the blonde that he was the adult in this situation, thank you very much. The adult who could very well revoke the Warden’s access to his Alchemy Labs as it suited him. The very alchemy labs that he knew Vil had been using to concoct all kinds of new, personalized, gifts for you. Draconia simply looked on with that unnervingly ancient, green, leer of his. Like he was staring down a particularly fascinating game. The Fae Prince was the most unsettling of the trio, if only because that while Crewel was more than confident enough in his abilities to subdue his other wayward students, fighting off an Immortal, All Powerful, Dragon was going to require at least a little bit of prep work.

Divus Crewel sighed, and it rattled all the way out from the marrow of his bones.

“Come, then,” he rumbled, directing you to follow him back into his office. “It’s not chocolates, but I probably have some of those ridiculous cookies of yours lying around somewhere.” Which he did. Boxes upon boxes of them. Tucked away special for whenever you came to visit. Not that he’d ever willingly admit that, even under the pain of death.

Your eyes went wide and warm as you positively beamed.

It was rotten work, certainly. He shot one, last, warning glare down the hall at the trio of infatuated interlopers as he firmly shut his office door behind you and your absolute oblivious idiocy. He’d do it. Of course he would. But, Christ alive. He was going to need a stronger drink.

[soaqrudyz]

i am of the firm belief that neither ghost or gaz cared very much for soap when he first joined the 141

gaz had never met him before, all he knew was the guy was just a little bit of a prick. he was incredibly talented, gaz would give him that, and he’d never been outwardly rude to anyone that gaz had heard of, but oftentimes his confidence bled into something just short of arrogance, soap always seemed to be the one ranting and raving about his achievements when everyone else spoke of their mistakes. in layman’s terms: he was full of himself in a way that would surely get him killed.

ghost; however, had met him before. they’d worked together some three times before price recruited soap. ghost knew of his skill, knew that sunny disposition got quieter at night when soap thought he was alone, knew soap would thrive with them; but god, if ghost could shove his thumbs into those all-seeing, all-knowing crystal eyes he’d do so in a heartbeat. he hated the way they seemed to burn straight through the heavy material of his mask, how they could look into his own eyes and hold infinite knowledge of his broken psyche by the time they flick to some other uninteresting member of his former squadron. it was horror, to be understood so wholly.

but then gaz got hurt, four days of medically induced coma hurt, and when he jerked awake at, if the clock on the shitty hospital tv was to be believed, 2 in the morning there was soap. he looked disheveled: hair a tangled mess, dark circles only worsened by the shadows of the mostly unlit room, and covered in scattered butterfly sutures. his head was leaned on his bicep, slumped over the lowered tray connected to gaz’s bed.

under his head were the blood and tear stained pages of his open journal, a gorgeous portrait of gaz sketched onto the yellowed sheets with sleep deprived rantings in the margins on how soap could have saved him if he’d just been quicker. gaz slips it out from under him, only feeling a tiny bit like an ass for flipping through the leather bound soul of his comrade, but soap had stolen his favorite shirt so it stood to reason he should take something back. the entire 141 is scribbled on in the pages, buried between bomb schematics and scenic landscapes and soap’s scrawled insecurities. something shifts as he soaks in the words, months of feeling like an outsider and desperate tries to be as good as his teammates.

it’s different, gaz thinks as he flips back to his own face, being in the mind of john mactavish.

but then ghost is walking past price’s office and soap bursts out, pushing past him with flushed cheeks and hurried apologies, practically sprinting in the direction of his shared room. ghost, loathe to admit it, was worried, afraid that the first real human connection aside from garrick he’d had in years was going to ripped from him before he’d even started putting time into it. he didn’t want to lose something good, not again, so he follows him, rushes to catch him before he slams the door in ghost’s face.

soap’s shoving clothes into his duffle when ghost slips inside his room, noticeably holding back tears as he rambles to himself. for a minute ghost is stuck, unused to such blatantly shown emotion, but then he takes a step, sets a gentle hand on soap’s shoulder and asks what’s going on, heart thudding against his ribcage.

“my ma..” soap croakes, and heavy sobs break up whatever else he was going to say. he doesn’t have to, ghost knows, probably better than anyone else.he does the first thing that comes to mind: he drags soap into his chest, wraps his whole body around him like he can protect soap from the hurt. the sergeant doesn’t deserve to feel that hollowness in his chest. soap crashes into him like a wave to the shore, balling his hands into ghost’s hoodie and hiding his face in ghost’s collarbones. ghost had never been one for physical closeness, but there was something different about being in johnny’s arms.

there was an obvious difference in their demeanor toward him in the weeks to come, but neither really cared about how it happened, just that it did, and now they can seek each other’s warm, pink tinted gaze when soap makes a fool of himself.

[littledovesnow]

a snow wedding | young!corioulanus x fem!reader

a/n: you'll never guess who officiates their wedding lmao

word count: 1.8k (i could have gone on for like 10k honestly weddings are so fun to writ)

content warnings: ooc!coriolanus, coryo is nicer in my fics than the book/movie (more of the coriolanus at the start of the movie tbh), some hinting at bedroom festivites

You know,” you looked in the mirror at your maid of honor. “I always thought you and Coryo would be the two at the end of the aisle reciting vows.”

Clemensia choked on her mimosa, laughter bubbling over the glass. “The way he’s always looked at you? Absolutely no doubt in my mind you two would end up together.” She replied, setting the flute over and walking over to you.

You peered over at the pristine white gown hanging up, still just as beautiful as when you picked it out two months ago.

Coriolanus had proposed almost a year ago, wanting nothing more than to finally call you Mrs. Snow. “It would make me the happiest man in the Capitol, the country.”

You nodded furiously, watching as he slid the exquisite gold band adorned with a halo of small diamonds around a larger stone. It was a lavish ring, one you assumed he had ruminated over after securing a permanent position in the Citadel alongside Dr. Gaul.

A knock on the door broke up the conversation between the two women, Tigris popping her head into the makeshift bridal suite. “Just checking to see if you need anything before I go down to meet Grandma’am.”

“Tigris, this gown is to die for!” Clemensia praised the tailor, whose cheeks flushed like she had spent weeks in the sun.

“It’s just something I threw together.”

“Oh, don’t be modest, Tigris. It’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve seen some out of your studio.” You smiled, pulling Tigris into the room more. “But I do have one thing you might have to help me with.”

“What might that be?”

You gestured to the gown, spinning to look at the two most important women in your life. “Can you ladies help me get into this dress? The corset looks like a game Coryo would make up in the Games.”

Clemensia laughed, and Tigris clapped enthusiastically, setting her purse on the pristine couch in the corner.

-----

Coriolanus messed with the cuff links he had purchased for the day exclusively, looking at the small photograph of his mother he kept in his wallet. It was new for him, carrying a wallet around.

He had only a few things in there, his Citadel ID card, a few hundred dollars­—pocket change for him nowadays—and the crumbled notebook paper he had written his vows on one day in the lab while Dr. Gaul met with President Ravenstill and Dean Highbottom.

They were messy, lines crossed out and words in the margins, and Coriolanus was fairly certain his sweaty palm had rubbed a few lines into illegible scribbles. He wouldn’t need them, though, he’s stared at this paper for weeks, the words engrained into his mind for the rest of his days.

He looked up when he heard a knock on his door, his best man stepping into the room.

“You just about ready?” Festus asked, looking around at the mostly bare room. “I think your grandmother is about ready to charge into the bridal suite and wed the two of you.”

If asked who he would think would be his best man at his wedding, Coriolanus Snow would never have said Festus Creed, but after the 10th Hunger Games and his short Peacekeeping stint, the two grew close, something akin to friendship.

“It was Grandma’am’s idea to have an evening ceremony.” Coriolanus muttered mostly to himself, but he tucked his wallet and vows back into his pocket, nodding at the curly-haired man.

“I am ready.”

-----

Delicately rubbing your sweaty palm on your dress, you peered through the small opening between two columns, trying to get a peek at your soon-to-be husband.

“Oh, you’ll see him soon enough!” Lysistrata Vickers smiled at you, bringing you into a hug.

You, Clemensia, and Lysistrata had all grown closer after your mentorship in the Games, going so far as to become friends and spend weekend trips in Districts One and Two on occasion.

“I haven’t seen him all weekend, Lyssie! He wouldn’t even tell me what color his suit is. All I know is that it complements his eyes, and I got that from Tigris!”

Clemensia and Lysistrata shared a knowing look, having seen Coriolanus’ tuxedo as they wished him a good morning in passing.

“He looks exquisite, I hope that makeup is waterproof because I know you’ll be a puddle as soon as you see him!”

Your grin nearly split your face in two, preparing to seal your fate as a Snow.

Clemensia took your hand and gave it a squeeze, stepping up to walk down the aisle with you since neither of your parents were able to.

Lysistrata marched down the split of chairs first, grinning ear-to-ear as she met up with her own husband, Festus downright devouring her with his eyes.

You took a deep breath as you turned around the corner, eyes dancing from one side of the room to the other.

You and Coriolanus wanted to have a smaller audience in person, with a majority of the Capitol and Districts tuning into the wedding live on TV.

Dr. Gaul, who you and Coriolanus had asked to officiate the wedding, had a positively radiant smile on her face, a rarity for the woman. But how could she not, her two star pupils were getting married today.

You finally locked eyes with your fiancé, you Coriolanus, your Coryo. Most would take the look on his face for a smirk, but you knew the man you were about to marry, you knew he was holding back a million-watt smile.

Before you knew it, you were at the end of the aisle, Clemensia squeezing your hand and taking the bouquet of red and white roses, giving you the chance to smooth the skirt of your gown.

“Hi.” You whispered, cheeks beginning to ache from your smile.

Coriolanus chuckled softly, taking both of your hands in his own, giving them a squeeze. “Hi, gorgeous.”

Dr. Gaul, who was perhaps the only one close enough to hear the small greetings, looked at you both to make sure it was okay for her to begin.

“Today, we are here to celebrate the union of two of Panem’s most important people, two people who I have gotten to know throughout their time at the Academy, University, and mentorship.”

The ceremony was shorter than some other weddings you had been to, with you and Coriolanus wanting to share vows in private, not wanting the nation to listen in, wanting to keep some things between the two of you.

Before you knew it, Dr. Gaul was announcing you two as the Snows, the crowd erupting into cheers as you and Coriolanus shared your first kiss as a married couple.

-----

With the ceremony over, you and Coriolanus had a short period of time before the reception, taking place in one of the grandest ballrooms in the Capitol. There would be more people at the reception than there were at the ceremony, with Coriolanus getting ready to run for election in the coming months, so you knew you had to be on your best behavior and help pull the votes in for your husband.

“What’re you thinking about, wife?” Coriolanus asked, lovesick smile on his face as he referred to you as his wife for the first time.

“Hmm?” You asked, shaking your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. “Nothing, just how lucky I am that you’re my husband.”

“Oh? I thought I was the lucky one.” Coriolanus replied, leaning in to kiss you in the back of the luxury car, which was taking you to the reception hall.

You couldn’t help the blush that tinted your cheeks. “Coryo,” you murmured, slipping off the bright red heels you had picked out to wear to the reception, Coriolanus grinning up at you from between your legs as you had brought the idea up one night a few weeks ago.

“How does it feel, to be a Snow?” Coriolanus asked, knowing glint in his eyes.

“Feels like I’m worth a million bucks.”

Coriolanus laughed, fixing his bowtie as the car pulled up to the entrance, groaning when he saw Lucky Flickerman and his parade of cameras.

You knew better than to say anything to the weatherman-turned-host, leaving it all up to Coriolanus, who greeted the cameras with a stiff smile and a “it feels wonderful, something I’ve always dreamt of” when asked how it felt being married.

Entering the reception, you and Coriolanus were greeted with cheers, clapping, and a few wolf whistles.

You two did first rounds greeting the more important people in the room, people you two had known since you were both children.

Tigris squealed so loud you and Coriolanus both winced at the pitch, but laughed as she clapped and hugged you two. “Officially part of the family! I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Tigris, we aren’t even siblings.” Coriolanus chuckled, hand around your waist and thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly.

You lightly slapped the man’s chest. “Oh, hush. She’s been a sister to me since we first started dating.”

Tigris took your hand, admiring the new addition to your left ring finger. Next to the engagement ring now sat a white gold wedding band, matching the one that now adorned Coriolanus’ left hand.

You promised to have a girl’s night with Tigris as Coriolanus dragged you away, knowing you two would be talking all night if he didn’t break up the conversation while there was a lull.

The two of you ended up in front of Casca Highbottom, who was unusually well-groomed, beard tame and hair gelled. “Well, I guess you can thank me for this.”

“Pardon?” You asked, feeling Coriolanus tense at the elder’s words.

“If it wasn’t for my thinking of the Hunger Games, you two would never have spoken a word to each other.”

Coriolanus did nothing more than give a short smile to the man, thanking him for his wedding gift before you two left him to his morphling and posca.

“Why did you invite him, Coryo?” You asked, finally being able to sit for a moment.

“It would have looked bad to not have my father’s best friend here. The man technically did is the reason we’re where we are now.”

You shrugged, agreeing with Coriolanus. “Come on, I want some cake.”

Coriolanus laughed, following you towards the four-tiered red-velvet cake.

------

Collapsing onto the bed, you sighed contently as you toed off the red heels you had been dancing in all night.

“What do you think, shall we spend our first night married as we did the last night as an unmarried couple?” Coriolanus asked, already shedding his clothing.

“Oh, I like the way you think.” You smiled, sitting up. “But you have to help me undo this corset before anything.”

a/n: maybe some good angst next? what do you think my little snakes my little rainbow fiends

[aerynwrites]

Late Nights

Gale Dekarios x GN!Reader

A/N: thank you @chaoticlicense for this request, it was so fun to write for this lovely Bookworm of a man and I can’t wait to do more for him soon! Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none

You wake to the faint light of the moon streaming through the window and the familiar feeling of cool sheets beside you, signifying the absence of your lover. 

A sigh leaves your lips as you stretch, your hand reaching out to brush the empty spot next to  you, joints popping as sleep slowly creeps away. 

He’s probably in the library again, you think, used to Gale’s late night musings. 

It truly is a chore trying to keep that man in bed sometimes, his mind always wandering and keeping him up at all odd hours of the night. 

Missing the warmth of your other half, you begrudgingly slide out from the sheets, feet hitting the cold stone floor as you sit up. 

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you stand, reaching out to tug a blanket from the end of the bed to wrap around your shoulders. The tower stays chilly, and with autumn creeping in day by day, the cool air is becoming a constant.

With the soft fabric providing you a little warmth, you make your way from the bedroom and down the stairs towards the library on the bottom floor. 

Your feet pad quietly on the worn stone, the ends of the blanket whispering behind you until you finally reach your destination. 

The door is cracked slightly, and you slip into the room near silently, eyes adjusting to the light. It’s dimly lit, candles and sconces being the only source of light down here..

“Sunlight will ruin even the most well-made tomes, best to keep them squandered away from her harsh rays.”  

You smile at the memory of Gale's explanation when you had asked why such a beautiful room was in the basement of the tower. 

Hundreds and hundreds of books fill the room, stacked neatly on various stone and wooden bookcases. So much knowledge in one room, and you’ve barely managed to graze the surface in your time living here. 

You navigate the maze of shelves seamlessly, having some idea of where Gale just might be hiding away, smiling softly when you’re proven correct in your assumption. 

There’s a small sitting area in the back corner of the library. Two chairs in front of a small table and various rugs and pillows strewn about the floor. 

Gale sits in one of the worn leather chairs, a book held open in one hand as the other toys with the corner of the pages. You slow to a stop several feet behind him, taking a moment to take in the man who has captured your heart. 

He flips the page after a second or two, a small hum of approval leaving him as he reaches over for a quill and ink sitting on the table, scribbling something in the margins of the book’s pages. 

You can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips as you watch him in his element. Yet, despite enjoying wanting him from afar, sleep still tugs at your mind, and you take the last few steps until you are standing behind him. 

Your hands fall to his shoulders, making him jump ever so slightly, head turning just as you lean down and place a kiss on his temple. 

“What are you doing up, my love?” you ask, voice still thick with sleep. “It’s much too early to start work.” 

Gale lets out another hum, leaning into you as your hands slide down his chest and you rest your chin on his shoulder. 

“Knowledge knows no such thing as the constraints of time,” he says, and you can feel the way he smiles. “My mind often wanders even when it is most inconvenient. I feared if I stayed with you in the comfort of our bed my mind's machinations would sooner wake you up with my tossing and turning than let sleep claim me once more.” 

Humming, you press another kiss to his cheek before directing your attention to the book he was reading, now laying open in his lap as he reaches up to take your hands in his own, placing delicate kisses to your knuckles. 

“Well…has your studying quieted your mind at all or…” Your words  trail off as you move to step around to the front of the chair, taking the book from his lap and setting it on the table before taking its place in his lap. “Do I need to assist in luring you back to bed?” 

With the blanket still draped around you, you let your hands reach out to rest on his shoulders again before sliding up behind his neck, fingers toying with his soft hair. 

Now that you can see his face, you see Gale smiling warmly up at you from your position perched on his lap. His eyes reflect the warm orange light of the candles and you’re not sure if it’s that or a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as his hands settle on your hips. 

“With you? Here in my lap?” he chuckles, eyes crinkling in amusement. “I can assure you my mind is far from quiet. However…” His thumbs run soothingly over your hips. “I believe my late night musings have subsided for now, and I will admit I crave nothing more than to end the night in your arms. In whatever way you’ll have me.” 

You can’t stop the giggle that slips past your lips as he raises his eyebrows suggestively, but you shake your head. 

“As much as you know I love that, I’m still very tired,” you admit sheepishly. “I only woke up because I realized you weren’t next to me.” 

Gale lets out a little ‘ tsk’ sound despite the smile still on his face. “Well, that just won’t do. Come, let me take my lover to bed - my studying can be saved until the morning,” he says, leaning in to place a quick kiss to your lips. “I’d much rather have you in my hands than a dusty old tome. You’re much warmer, and much prettier to look at.” 

You roll your eyes as you move to stand, reaching out to take his hand as he does the same. You don’t reply to his words, instead moving to help him blow out the candles before taking his hand again and leading him up the stairs to your bedroom. 

The journey is quick, and before you know it, Gale is taking the blanket from your shoulders and helping you into bed, slipping into the space behind you after toeing off his shoes. 

You immediately sigh as his warmth surrounds you, his arm slipping around your waist as familiar lips brush your shoulder. 

“Every time I return from a late night journey to the library, I always wonder what fool would leave the comfort of their lover's arms simply because their mind’s thoughts would not cease.” 

You turn in his arms then, capturing his lips in a kiss before pulling away to nuzzle into his chest. “You’re not a fool, Gale, far from it. I just…worry about you sometimes, and I…even though I know you always return, I always miss you when you’re not by my side.” Your words are a mere murmur now, sleep pulling incessantly at your eyelids, threatening to pull you under any moment. 

With a press of lips against the crown of your head, Gale pulls you closer. “Well, worry not, for I intend to spend the rest of this night here with you until the dawn demands our attention.” 

You smile. “I love you, Gale.”

The wizard returns the gesture, tightening his arms around your waist. 

“And I, you, my love.” 

[nyaagolor]

Franziska being Nick's weird little girl in Bridge to the Turnabout lives rent-free in my mind at all times

-

The two of them are sitting on the snowy bench watching Phoenix for at least five minutes before Franziska finally says something.

“He is depressed,” she announces matter-of-factly. Gumshoe can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“Finally, people are making SENSE around here, sir!”

Franziska continues without acknowledging him. “He misses his vierd little girl.”

Gumshoe’s face falls. “The spirit medium, you mean? That’s not a good way to describe her.”

Franziska twirls a hand in the air like that will untangle the words in her mind. “No, Phoenix, he… hm. He is always… he has those vierd little girls following him around always. Maya, but also the little one. I have seen it many times.”

Gumshoe thinks about it, and realizes Franziska isn’t exactly wrong. Phoenix does always seem to have some kinda buddy with him all the time— one of the Feys, usually, but even his Maggey stood beside him during her trials.

“You think it helps him focus? Like a little rubber ducky you talk to when you gotta get the words out right?” he says. 

Franziska glares at him coldly. “You are the only fool who would do something so foolish.”

Gumshoe slumps a little, and Franziska twists her whip around in her hands.

“However. You may not be incorrect. Phoenix Wright is a foolish fool, and his foolish tendencies are somewhat mitigated by the presence of his… strange female companions.”

“His… do you mean friends?”

“Silence,” Franziska commands.

The two of them sit there in silence again before Franziska, eyes locked like searchlights on the back of Phoenix’s head, stands up suddenly with her mouth set into a hard line. She cracks the whip in the snow and strides towards him, her heels crunching in the powder.

“PHOENIX WRIGHT,” she commands, and he jumps with less of a start than normal. He really IS depressed, it seems. “I will be assisting with your investigation.”

Phoenix looks less than thrilled, sputtering protests as Franziska stares coldly up at him, and it is at that moment that Gumshoe decides he could use a little cocoa right about now.

By the time he returns, Phoenix seems strangely back to normal, muttering over seemingly random knickknacks he insists are “evidence” and shuffling through his chickenscratch notes like there’s anyone capable of reading it. He taps one of the pages and looks up expectantly. Though Franziska does nothing but offer him the same steely gaze, Phoenix seems satisfied enough, smiling to himself and scribbling furiously in the margins. Franziska catches Gumshoe’s eyes, notices his smile, and quickly turns her head, fingers curling around the handle of her whip. Taking a sip of his cocoa to hide his grin, Gumshoe pretends to be busy with investigating.

[riizeblr]

sungchan being the campus jock who all the girls in your grade want. you barely paid attention to him before being assigned a project with him, which led to him going to your house to “work on the assignment”

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: noncon, jock!sungchan x nerd!reader

sungchan loved to see the thick frames slide down your face, the baggy sweaters that aged you and hid all your curves from view, the know-it-all tone and the smug look on your face during lectures. but he hated the fact that you didn’t seem to feel the same. you didn’t notice him at all. your nose was stuck between the pages of textbooks, focused on pretentious assignments.

you didn’t seem nervous when your name was called after his. in fact, you seemed confused, like you had never heard his name before. a quiet whisper in the back of sungchan’s head thought the sight of your cinched eyebrows was cute, but the louder voice found it annoying. how could you not know of the star athlete?

it hurt sungchan’s pride to have to find you first, tapping the scratchy wool covering your shoulder but he pulled his lips into his most charming grin. he tried his best to keep it there when you immediately began to split the assignment workload, giving him a once over before giving him the easier half.

frankly, it was awkward for sungchan. your encounters were transactional, speaking only of the assignment and ignoring any attempt sungchan made to talk about anything else. you even had the audacity to correct sungchan’s notes, scribbling clarification in the margins with red ink. it got old fast.

he confronted you about it, feeling his blood simmer in his veins when you didn’t appear flustered at all, your face remaining straight and unbothered. sungchan hated that he wanted to reach up and fix your frames despite the irritation. you stared at him, blankly, sighing as you murmured out a, “sure,” when he proposed the idea of a joint study session.

your dorm was as neat as you were. traces of your perfume in the air, muted colors, and books sungchan had never heard of. he felt weird being in your space, getting to see what he doubted anyone else had.

it was sungchan that proposed the idea to meet in your dorm. but he believed that you had to have liked the idea to actually agree to it. he was pleased to hear it. he’d finally have an advantage to corner you. away from distractions, confined in a small room with one exit and no one around.

still, it hadn’t been his intention to put his hands on you. at least, not in the way that he did.

he just couldn’t help himself, frustrated by your criticism, annoyed by the way you puffed your cheeks when you grew as irritated, using that know-it-all tone he once liked to hear. it was too much. you filled all his senses, made his emotions run rampant, but he seemed to only evoke annoyance within you. it made sungchan feel even more desperate to get some sort of reaction from you. acknowledgment that he was existing in the same realm as you.

the first graze was an accident, but the slight widen of your eyelids made his fingertips tingle. you tried to keep your composure, ordering him to get away from you with the same level tone you always had, which only made sungchan go further. he was sick of hearing it. he wanted to hear something else, some praise, real anger, despair, anything.

but it wasn’t until his hand slid down the front of your pants that he noticed a stutter between your words. he laughed, a breathy exhale that fanned your cheek. finally. something.

sungchan simply couldn’t get enough after that, touch after touch growing more and more desperate. arousal on his end, and fear you tried to mask as anger on yours. he could practically hear your brain trying to process the way his cock felt between your fingers and your palm when he forced you to hold it, moving your hands along his growing shaft. sungchan knew your fuzzy mind was trying to figure out a way to get you out of the situation. but your brain couldn’t help you this time.

[merakiui]

re: pathetic virgin riddle who gets off to your notes.

(cw: nsfw, yandere, unhealthy behaviors, obsession, riddle has a big imagination and an even bigger crush on you <3, also he’s very gross with your notebook)

riddle knows it’s wrong. when he steals your notebook, that is. theft is a very real crime with very real repercussions. but he couldn’t help it! you’d left it on the desk and the classroom was devoid of students and he only happened to peek inside the room as he was passing…

he’ll return it to you. of course he will; he’s not a criminal! stealing breaks the rules and he is not one to break the rules. it will be a cold day in hell before he does something so brazen. so filthy and against the rules he upholds. so he tells himself he’s just holding onto your notebook. he didn’t steal it. sure, he’d lied when you asked if he’d seen it because he wasn’t ready to relinquish something so precious. but lying doesn’t break any specific rules. lying is a means of skirting around the truth. he’ll give you your notebook when he sees you in class next. he promises himself this.

but it sits on his desk for the week, and you’ve been asking around. riddle almost doesn’t want to touch it. he fears he’ll leave fingerprints and you’ll know he was the one to take it. but he can’t resist the urge to flip through a few pages. it’s late at night; studying is wearing him down. normally he’s not one to pull all-nighters, but with final exams approaching he needs every spare moment he can get to organize a study guide for himself.

it’s not like he’s studying anyway. he can hardly focus, not when his hand is slicked up and wrapped firmly around his half-hard cock. it’s a haze; he’s used to it—getting off to release some pent-up stress. it’s normal. still, he feels a sliver of gross shame when he reaches for your notebook, peeling the cover back to peer at your alchemy notes. you’re a messy note-taker. it’s obvious you get bored in class; there are doodles and scribbles in the margins. you’ve written your name in fancy lettering. you’ve crinkled the page edge. you’ve even started a few games of tic-tac-toe with your seat mates. there’s so much character in this notebook. he’s fascinated with the way you write, the way you transcribe notes, the way everything is so genuinely you.

riddle runs his hand up his shaft and a shudder races up his spine. slowly, so slowly, he sets a pace that mirrors his scandalous thoughts. he thinks about you sitting in class, pen between your fingers, watching the professor lecture or maybe dozing off in the back. maybe you occasionally tap your pen against your lips—your pretty, plush, kissable lips. he wonders what you taste like. how do you kiss? is it starved and desperate? sweet and slow? dominating and determined? would you kiss the same mouth that’s tasted the teeth marks in your (now missing) pencil? not that you’d ever know… but would you? would you love him in spite of filthy infatuation?

he hums low in his throat, easily pleased by these fantasies. kissing and touching… it’s vanilla, but it’s everything he wants. he wants to press himself against your body, fuck into your tight warmth in the confines of his canopy bed, enshrouded in deep vermilions, and hold you close as you cry through your climax. you’re the prettiest in red. he would know. he’s thought of you in red, slept with thoughts of it like it’s a vision granted by the stars.

he flips the page in your notebook. his grip tightens; his thumb runs over his soft, pudgy tip, where the smallest amount of pre-cum beads. sensitive, as always. he sighs like it’s been squeezed out of him, prompted by visuals of you in red, of you pressed into the mattress, of you on your knees and locked in a collar, your mouth open to receive him. great seven, your notes are a mess. he should tutor you. god, he should. he should bend you over the desk and pound the answers into you so you’ll never forget a thing. maybe your notes will become more organized then.

he sucks in a breath through grit teeth. you’re cute when you focus. you’re cute when you let your mind wander. you’re cute when you lick your fork clean at the unbirthday parties and voice your satisfaction, sugared words falling from your lips like the sweetest honey. he’ll feed you lots of sweets if it means you’ll always smile. he’ll lay you down on the table, ruin the pristine tablecloth, and indulge in you all to prove you’re sweeter than a strawberry tart. who cares about the rules. he really should, but sometimes he wants to break a few with you. sometimes, though he knows it’s wrong, he wants to defile the rose garden. let it reek of sex and sweat. let everyone know you’ve been claimed. let them see the impression he’s left on you, whether in the form of bruises or love bites or a wrinkled, disheveled uniform. let them hear the way you’ll sob in pleasure when he fucks you like an animal who knows of nothing but the primal instinct to breed and breed and breed…

riddle flips to a new page. he whines, arches in his chair, grabs at the desk with his free hand. sweat rolls down the valley between his shoulder blades. oh, the things you do to him. your notes are so messy. he loves it—loves you. loves, loves, loves you. he thinks of locking you away in his room. you’d be like his pretty doll, accessible to only him. he’d dress you accordingly—put you in prim, modest outfits, only to tear them off like they never even mattered. if there’s anyone he’d willingly uproot his life for, it’s you. you drive him mad. mad with love. mad with lust. mad with envy. mad with every single emotion he’s ever felt. you have such a chokehold on him! he’ll never let you go. he’ll never let you out of his mind. you’re stuck in the little cage he’s constructed in his head, living more than rent-free. you live willingly, mostly. but then he’s certain you’d disagree with his affections.

he flips the page.

your notes are uniquely you. if he brings the page close enough to his nose, he’s certain he can smell you. sometimes he’s envious of the beastfolk and their keen sense of smell. he wants to engrave your scent onto his being, pin it to his nostrils so he’ll always know you. he wants to keep you in the queendom of roses so that, eventually, you’ll smell of roses and every other sweet bloom like him. and then it will be a shared scent. then it’ll feel like he’s imprinted something on you. he’ll stake his claim, keep you as his, treat you just as you deserve to be treated. he’ll love you more than you’ll love yourself.

riddle’s a mess. he’s panting, bucking into his hand as he chases an orgasmic high, thoroughly desperate to cum (although ideally there’s a carnal part of him that wishes so fervently to do it inside). there are so many secret spots strewn throughout campus, each one perfect for a lewd tryst or two. he thinks of the time you watched him during equestrian club. you asked so many questions about horses and he’d answered all of them. you wrote some facts down; he finds them in this notebook. your way of writing is wonderfully enthralling. he could read your words forever. you could ride him forever. what he’d give to be beneath you on a bed of straw in the stables while you fuck yourself on his cock. he’s filthy; he knows it’s wrong. he knows you could get caught, but that’s what makes it so appealing.

his grip on your notebook is bruising. he’s not reading any of your words anymore; he’s too dazed to commit anything to memory—although most of it is information he already knows. seven, you’re going to be the death of him. he wants you so badly.

riddle, caught in a spiderweb of lustful daydreams, fucks faster into his hand, squeezes himself in a desperate attempt to simulate the constrictive embrace of your walls, all while gasping and groaning. he cums with a shiver; it spills over, sticky and thick and plentiful. he’d feel humiliated if he wasn’t so overcome with an exhilarating relief. he’s hunched over his desk, his heart beating like a drum. blood rushes wildly in his ears.

it’s only when he’s come down from his high that he realizes he came all over your notebook. it’s messy and filthy. he stares blankly at it, wondering if it’s possible to magic away. it is. but then… no, it’s wrong. very wrong. he shouldn’t. he really shouldn’t.

it’s wrong. he should clean it or overwrite it with a simple spell. he shouldn’t. it’s so wrong. and he’s good. he’s supposed to be, at least.

riddle catches you after class the following day. he tells you a student recently turned your notebook in to him and he’s returning it on behalf of the unknown student. you thank him sincerely, sigh about how you’re so relieved it’s back in your possession. you thought you’d never get your notes back. you need these to pass. riddle offers you a smile and tells you to keep it closer next time. your notebook might not be found so easily if you lose it again.

but if you do lose it, he’ll make sure to keep it out of range when he’s masturbating. at least only one page was tainted. you’ll stumble upon it; he’s certain of this. but then he wants you to. he wants you to see the proof of what you do to him. the way you get him so worked up. you’ll never know it’s him, but that’s for the best. next time, he won’t be so careless in handling your things.

next time, he’ll cum where he’s meant to: inside you.

[scoobysnakz]

part 2 of dbf miguel. so sorry this took so long, accidentally deleted the draft like twenty times.

The TV hums softly as a random sitcom you've not gotten the chance to see yet flickers across the screen. You know you should turn it off, it's distracting you from completing your essay, one you've been procrastinating about finishing, but the background noise is comforting enough to let you keep it on, even if you'll have to rewatch it all later.

“Need help with that?”

You jump at the sudden noise, pen now clattering on the floor and rolling dangerously close to the sofa. You look up at where the voice came from, only to be met with a freshly shaven Miguel.

Embarrassment burns the back of your neck as you shift on the plush cushion of the sofa. The only thing covering the crinkled page of your otherwise barren notebook is an array of flowers around the margin and random notes scribbled out in heavy, blotchy lines.

“Am fine,” you smile, fingers spreading out to hide your work, or lack of.

Miguel just scoffs at you before pushing your hand away. “Such detailed notes,” he chides.

“It's meant to be an essay, but thanks anyway.”

You hear him stifle a laugh that you pray is sympathetic and not as amused as it sounds. It's shameful how far behind you are on your schoolwork when you have someone peering over your shoulder.

You aren't quite sure why you're so pent up on impressing Miguel, a man who is staying at his friend's house for some unbeknownst reason.

He sits down on the sofa next to you, a respectful distance but you can still smell his overbearing cologne and hair gel fusion. The sofa sinks slightly at his weight, a low creak eminating through the room.

He laughs, “let me help.”

Irritation bubbles deep in your stomach but you try to push it away, ignore it and keep going with the conversation. But when he acts so casual, even though he's stolen your bedroom, your only haven in this monstrosity of a household, you can’t help but feel annoyed with him.

“I doubt it,” you quip with an air of ignorance, fingers drumming erratically on the inky pages, “this is biology, aren't you like a chemist or something?”

A smirk curls at the corner of his lips at your sudden attitude, but he doesn't comment on it, leaving your opinion of him more distasteful than ever. “Well my degree says organic chemistry and molecular biology, so you're both wrong and right.”

“Mmm, so either, you're loaded, or up to your neck in debt.” you don't even try to hide the snark in your voice, “considering the fact that you’re staying here, I'm guessing student loan got the better of you.”

He scoffs at you, hand clasped to his chest in feigned hurt. “I'll have you know, I have a well-paying job, thank you very much.”

You flip your notebook shut, a small sense of relief washing over you now that disgrace of an essay is hidden, and shift to face him. “Then why are you here?”

He swallows, hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. His gaze flickers between your face and the wall behind you, discomfort colouring his expression. The atmosphere of the room shifts entirely, and suddenly you feel guilty for hating him. Maybe he didn't mean to take your room, not on purpose anyway.

“I lost my house, not… not because of money or anything,” he pauses, plush lips pursed into a tight grimace before he continues, “didn't get a very good divorce lawyer.”

“I'm… sorry?” you've never been good at sympathy, always pushed the hard topic of emotions onto someone else so you can focus on something you're actually good at. But now, some weird part of you wants to comfort him.

“Hmm?” he looks back at your eyes, your breath catching in your throat, “Not your fault, querida, I was a silly man who did silly things. I made a mistake and lost the love of my life.”

“Don't say that.” you hate the way your voice softens. You want to keep this burning resentment for Miguel, loathe him for all eternity, it might seem petty but he deserves it. Yet, you want to pull him close, tell him to stop being so hard on himself and run your fingers through his hair until his jaw unclenches.

He shakes his head, casually, as if it was never that important.

“I couldn't stay faithful and I paid the price, she has everything she deserves leaving me with… nothing.”

An awkward silence fills the room. You don't know what to say to that other than, I take back my kindness and spit in your face for cheating on your wife.

“She was amazing, so full of life, and then one day… we just stopped clicking,” he leans back against the sofa, head craning back so that he's forced to stare at the yellowing ceiling, “it wasn't a spur of the moment, because I got bored thing. We had stopped loving each other, she had anyway.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his much more calloused, harsh ones causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. You give his hand a gentle squeeze that lasts a little longer than intended, but the sweetness of the action doesn't go unnoticed.

The upbeat theme tune from the TV suddenly blares out from the speakers causing the two of you to startle. Your fingers tighten around his on instinct but you immediately pull your hand away.

Miguel chuckles a low, mellow sound that makes your ears perk up. “Sat on the remote,” he says, pulling it from under his thigh.

“Scared the shit out of me, Migs- Miguel,” you breathe heavily.

He nods, smiling uneasily, praying that the hammering of his heart is from the sudden shock and not from the kindness you displayed. But deep down, he knows the truth.

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