#and built a better world one student at a time

[22ayla21]

Tiramisu + strong espresso for Deuce please?

"Tiramisu and Strong Espresso"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

Within the ancient walls of Night Raven College, where each day was woven with magic and youthful audacity, Deuce walked down the corridor, clutching books and frowning with focused concentration. In his strict world, there was no room for distractions—only studies, discipline, and relentless self-improvement. He forged his path, striving to erase the past as if it were a flawed sketch on parchment.

But one day, she appeared. Like an unexpected drop of liqueur in a strong espresso—sharp, sudden, changing the familiar taste of life.

She seemed to belong to another world. Everything about her was different: her movements were light as down, her voice melodious and wonderfully sincere, like the wind whispering forgotten tales. She looked at the world with genuine wonder, as if each day was a new dawn for her. And when her gaze met his—tense, sometimes awkward, but honest to the core—she smiled.

At first, this smile frightened him, just as his own unfamiliar feelings did. He wasn't used to someone's warm attention, especially from such a bright person. He felt like a soldier who had accidentally wandered into a ball. But she... she didn't expect miracles from him. She accepted him even in awkward moments, when he was at a loss for words or blushed at his own tactlessness.

Their love was born gradually, like an exquisite tiramisu—layer by layer, from a multitude of contrasting sensations. In it, there was the bitterness of the past, the sweetness of first confessions, the intoxicating thrill of secret glances in the library, and the tenderness of accidental touches. Each layer of this love penetrated deeper and deeper, dissolving in time and leaving an unforgettable aftertaste that couldn't be forgotten in the everyday hustle.

Sometimes she appeared beside him suddenly, like a sip of strong espresso early in the morning. These moments were vivid, intense—just one word from her could make his heart beat faster. A light touch on his shoulder gave him strength, invigorated him, made him feel needed.

He learned to see her not as a stranger, but as a part of his life. And in these changes, he found his true self. Not the one he strived to appear as—an exemplary student, an ideal young man—but himself with his weaknesses, his fears, and, most importantly, his love.

They spent hours in the library: she read aloud, and he pretended to listen, never taking his eyes off the curve of her lips. Sometimes they would escape to the inner courtyard of the college, hiding from the noise—there, in the shade of the trees, their silence spoke louder than words.

"I still don't understand how you can be so calm," he said once, admiring how the sun played in her hair. "You're from another world, yet you act as if you've always been here."

She looked at him and, smiling gently, replied, "Or maybe I'm just finally home."

He froze, involuntarily clenching his fists, as if afraid to shatter this fragile confession. But she had already covered his hand with her own, carefully unclenching his fingers. And in this gesture, there was more meaning than in all the words he had ever heard.

Love changed him not with a jolt, but gradually, like the taste of a drink as it cools slightly. It didn't demand perfection from him—her very presence made him strive to become better. Not for praise or reward, but for her. For their shared tiramisu, which they carefully created from days, meetings, glances, quarrels, and reconciliations.

And if his energy had previously been fueled by the desire to prove his worth to the world, now it was born from the simple desire to hold her hand, to walk beside her, to be near her.

Because love, like tiramisu, does not tolerate haste. It needs to be built, infused, enjoyed in every moment. And, of course, protected, cherished, and returned to again and again.

And he returned. Every day, every morning, with a fresh cup of espresso and a heart that now beat not to correct the past, but for their shared future.

[musepondersthings]

Still holding out hope Gojo comes home

[valleydoli]

𐙚 Ao3 Fics I’ve read and love 𐙚

𐙚 infidelity by @tawus (completed)

gojo x fem reader

Your marriage to Gojo Satoru lost its initial excitement, since your husband spent all his time either at Jujutsu Tech or on exorcism missions across the world. To ease your loneliness, you picked up your favorite pastime from your student years — clubbing — behind his back. Too bad that on Satoru’s most recent mission he spots his wife dancing in a nightclub with a bunch of guys in the skimpiest dress he has ever seen on her…

𐙚 desert rose by @sadistic-kiss (on going)

all jjk men x fem reader 😭

Toji Fushiguro finds you during one of his hitman jobs. With no idea what to do with you he decides to bring you home to his house of misfits. They weren’t picture perfect but neither were you.

𐙚 mascara by @/softstellars (on going)

geto x fem reader

You've never been a particularly good person, you're self-aware enough to know it. It's your only flaw, and recently you've actually been working to better yourself. For example: paying for a 30-dollar Uber so you can take your friend home only for her to ditch you for some guy when it comes down to it. Although you’re pissed, you decide to try and make the best of it instead of get into a screaming match with her. It's an easy thing to do when Getou Suguru is offering you everything to do just that. Everything a party entails: liquor, weed, and sex with a perfect stranger. And Getou knows perfectly well you have a boyfriend, so it's not like he'll want anything serious.

𐙚 a pearl by @lemonlover1110 (completed and posted on tumblr!)

toji x fem reader

The Fushiguros needed a nanny, and the pay was too good to not apply, especially since your family needed financial help. You were the perfect nanny for the kids, they loved you as if you were their own mother. Slowly, you built up the perfect relationship with the family. Especially with Mr. Fushiguro. A man who would constantly visit you after dark. A man who you thought had sincere intentions but at the end of the day didn't care about you. A selfish man who just saw you as a tool to make his wife mad. A man who didn't care about you but didn't want you with anyone else. A man that took away your ability to know what a healthy relationship was. You couldn't speak up about it since all the fault would fall at your feet and would be deemed as the "homewrecker".

𐙚 you, my angel and my saint by @lemonlover1110 (completed and posted on tumblr!)

toji x fem reader

sequel to a pearl!

After having an affair with your boss, you're left to deal with the consequences, those being: two exhausting new jobs and a child. A child that he never got to know the existence of. Now all you had to do was keep her hidden, which should be an easy task, right?

𐙚 rings by @/bungeemum (on going)

toji x fem reader

you divorced the man in front of you for a reason. so why was he standing on your doorstep, guilt plastered on his face, and eyes glinting with hope?

𐙚 a dangerous game by @/anaoyuo (completed)

gojo x fem reader

geto x fem reader

Both men agreed to a game about who fucks you first, but they didn't play their cards right. Gojo and Geto changed the course of the game when they decided to keep you around for way longer than intended, making you fall for their sweet way to deprave you, and now you have to face the consequences in a gamble that they call their life.

𐙚 fate’s gamble by @/anaoyuo (on going)

gojo x fem reader

geto x fem reader

sequel to a dangerous game

缘分— a story about predestined affinity, set in a world where the intoxicating thrills of wealth intertwine with amorality.

𐙚 him & i by @pharixden (on going)

gojo x fem reader

toji x fem reader

sukuna x fem reader

A cheating husband, a widowed bodyguard and a malevolent fling of the past who owes a favour isn’t a combination for the faint of heart, but not every girl is a damsel in distress.

𐙚 changes by @lemonlover1110 (on going also on tumblr!)

gojo x fem reader

From childhood friends to lovers to mere strangers. Your love story with Satoru Gojo was one from a fairy tail, until it wasn't. When you were twenty-one, Satoru left you without an explanation. Five years later, you meet again but nothing is quite the same. Too many things need to be explained, especially the fact that there's another Gojo that Satoru has yet to meet.

𐙚 the man in apartment 381 by @lemonlover1110 (completed also on tumblr!)

toji x fem reader

Looking for a new beginning after the death of your husband, you move away from town. That's when you meet him, Toji Fushiguro, a widower with a three-year-old son. You two understand each other, which draws you close. Except you two don't realize that feelings would eventually develop, and neither of you want that. Feelings are the last thing you two want after finding out the great damage that they can cause. When you two discover this, it's too late.

𐙚 4th avenue viewing by @/softstellars (completed)

nanami x fem reader

Nanami Kento is intelligent, serious, reserved and can easily catch someone in a lie. It's his job to do just that, he's renowned for it. So when he comes to your university to offer up an internship, it's quite the opportunity. Anyone would jump at the chance, except for you. But no, you just had to be the one caught in a lie.

𐙚 forgotten souls by @/killerpoultry & @/bebobopobo (completed)

sukuna x fem reader

You and Sukuna have been married for years. Even though he is brash, mean, and sadistic, you love him more than anything. While he may not show it much, he truly loves you too. One day you get into a terrible car accident and lose all your memories. You learn to live once more while Sukuna must now get you to fall in love with him all over again.

𐙚 love kills by @/sourome (on going)

i actually don’t know 😭 i think toji x fem reader

The wealthy and successful Zenin family, well respected and seemingly perfect. But all that glitters is not gold. Toji Zenin, CEO and face of the Zenin Group acts like a gentleman but is a vile creature that has ruined many lives, such as yours. That married man dared to play with your mother’s heart many years ago, destroying her sanity and her life and ultimately killing her. Now years later and being all grown up you decide to seek revenge, he deserves to suffer that same destiny and die of love. With the help of a few friends you plan to become a part of his life and his every thought but you didn't take into account his son, that man had the potential to turn your plans upside down.

𐙚 the black swan by @uselesslydamaged (completed)

sukuna x fem reader

Loving someone is easy, but experiencing it is harder.

𐙚 bodyguard by @/succybuss (on going)

toji x fem reader

Your Grandfather, a man involved in unsavory businesses that has taken you under his wing, has informed you that you will be under the care of a full-time Bodyguard. Unhappy with your grandfather's decision, you decide to go out for a night of drinking for your last night of freedom. There, you encounter a man you planned on taking home, but life had other plans in store for you...

𐙚 violet lights by @septembersummer (completed)

gojo x fem reader

In which you're at a party that you should've skipped when you capture the attention of a boy who looks like an angel and grins like the devil. He looks beautiful in the neon lights, and maybe you just want to make your ex-boyfriend jealous, but trouble with a tongue ring does sound like fun, just for tonight. What's the worst that could happen, you know?

𐙚 starboy by @septembersummer (completed)

gojo x fem reader

sequel to violet lights

After your ex-boyfriend gets arrested on national television, you find yourself realizing that you really didn’t know much at all about Gojo Satoru. Well, he’s better known in the Yakuza as The Six Eyes, not that he ever told you that.

𐙚 sweet little lies by @/mooglepaws (on going)

toji x fem reader

Megumi Fushiguro is the perfect Fiancé. Caring, loyal, successful, devastatingly handsome and crazy in love with you. So how and why do you end up fucking his Dad? As your wedding looms and the consequences of your affair unfold, you have to make a choice between the Fushiguro men.

This is a Toji x Reader x Megumi but the smut is almost exclusively Toji x Reader focusing on their affair.

𐙚 the twist of a knife by @darkcat23 (on going)

gojo x fem reader

This world is dull, colourless in your eyes. You are just trying to keep going with your life, not bothering anyone, trying to support your mother and yourself. So what happens when you agree to help your ex one night? And what if you catch the attention of a certain white haired assassin? And he shows you just how colourful this world truly is. or, a story of a girl with a violent mind and a boy with violent tendencies, finding each other, intertwining, and feeding off one another. perhaps it is fate that has brought them together. or perhaps it's something more sinister, something more cold.

𐙚 untameable waves by @/circedemedici

(unknown i guess hopefully i can let you know)

has been taken down i dont know if it’ll come back but if it does i’ll link it! but i’m leaving it here because it was most definitely my favourite :(

please let me know any other fics you’ve read because i love reading fics with a LOT of plot and also let me know if you end up reading any and you enjoy them as much as i did! :3

i think i used every tag known to man LOL 𐙚

[guksfairy]

YOUNG NIGHTS AND OLD HABITS | JJK

wc: 1.9k

Happy Valentine’s Day my loves !! I wasn’t going to post today but my faves had a comeback and I got some inspiration. Enjoy !

Though the skies were dark and the only things illuminating were city buildings, the night was still somewhat young.

You and your husband had just gotten home from your annual Valentine’s day dinner. Jungkook always does his best to take you to a new restaurant every year so as to enjoy the night like it’s your first date.

Truly, it was always a magical night. You remember your very first one back when you were still only dating in college.

Jungkook was nervous to ask you to spend the day with him given that you two had only been dating for about two weeks. But Valentine’s Day was for couples and you were dating, right?

Given that you two, at the time, were broke college students who spent most of their money on essentials and food, there was little money to splurge on the day.

Jungkook did his best though. He got some of his friends to set up a table and fairy lights on a private area on campus. Even got your cousin to help out and pretend to be the waitress at a fancy restaurant.

He spent most of his money on the decorations and the food and only failed to realize he had little to no money for your gift just 2 hours before the date.

He scrambled around his dorm trying to find any change, literally anything. Namjoon walked in on Jungkook flipping his mattress over and getting excited to see a coin.

“…you okay?” Namjoon slowly closed the door and startled Jungkook for a moment before he replied.

“Hyung I’m screwed. I spent almost all my money on the lights, flowers, and food that I completely forgot to buy Y/N a gift,” Jungkook placed his mattress gently back onto the bed frame and threw himself on it.

“Woah. How’d you forget something that important,” the older chuckled and threw his backpack on the floor without a care in the world.

“Screwing up our first Valentine’s Day together isn’t what I was going for,” Jungkook huffs and Namjoon feels for him.

If he had a girlfriend and didn’t get her anything he’d probably stress too.

“What if you make her something?”

“Joon I’m shit at crafts. Remember when I had to make that 3D exoplanet system for Dr.Yoon’s class. It was basically falling apart as I walked to class with it,” Jungkook recalls placing his model next to your perfectly built one and you telling him it looked great.

He knew you were trying to make him feel better. It only made him like you more.

“So go for something simple,”

“Like?” Jungkook asks for suggestions and an idea immediately pops into Namjoon’s head.

“Do you recall back in high school when Mr.Jung would make us start our mornings writing letters to our past and future selves?” Jungkook wasn’t sure where Namjoon was going with this but he still nodded.

“Write her a love letter,”

That’s…not a terrible idea. It’s better than nothing.

Jungkook quickly scrambles from his bed, grabbing his school backpack and taking out a piece of paper and pens.

After about an entire hour of just writing and rewriting his feelings for you, he was done. He felt accomplished and a little shy. What if he was too vulnerable and you thought it was weird? What if you thought a letter was a cheap gift? What if you thought he got lazy??

The time was 7:45 and Jungkook didn’t have much time to overthink it. He folded the letter before putting it in an envelope and sealing it with clear tape.

He got dressed and received a text from his friends telling him that everything was set up and ready to go. All Jungkook had to do was pick you up from your dorm and walk to the designated spot.

With one last look in the mirror and a thumbs up from Namjoon, Jungkook grabs the letter on the desk and places it in his pocket for safe keeping.

He walked across campus to your dorm and felt like he fell in love with you all over again. You were wearing light makeup and something simple but to Jungkook, you looked so gorgeous. Jungkook was sure no other human being in the world held a candle to your beauty.

You exchanged a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking with Jungkook as he lead you both to your little date.

You remembered how you felt seeing the scene for the first time. It was, again, simple but it was so sweet. You almost felt like tearing up.

The night was filled with tons of laughter and hand holding across the table as your cousin served entrees and main courses from the Italian restaurant off campus that you mentioned to Jungkook you loved.

Finally the night was coming to an end and now it was just the two of you. You watched Jungkook squirm around his seat for a moment before placing your hand on top of his to watch him visibly relax.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh…I have to confess something,” you hear Jungkook’s voice lower in volume but allow him to continue, “I didn’t get you a present-I know! I’m sorry it’s just that I spent so much time thinking about this date that it slipped my mind. But I made you something,” Jungkook grabbed the envelope from his pocket and placed it directly in the middle of the table.

He watched you stare at the paper for a moment and thought he fucked up. You didn’t move to grab it.

You hated it. You probably think he doesn’t even like y-

“Jungkook,” your voice just above a whisper takes him out of his insecure trance.

“You’re not going to believe this,” you reach inside your shirt and visibly into your bra before slipping out a paper of your own. Jungkook tries to ignore his flushed state as he watches you place yours on top of his.

“I wrote you a love letter,”

Soulmates. Jungkook was going to marry you. This was no coincidence. This was fate.

That night, you and Jungkook quietly read your letters in front of each other and shared your first kiss as a couple. You still remember how hard you two were smiling and simply couldn’t stop. The night was finished with love affirmations and lots of physical touches.

Similar to tonight.

You closed the curtains to you and Jungkook’s shared penthouse and watched the view of the city slowly disappear behind the cloth.

“What time is it?” You hear Jungkook walk behind you and wrap his arms around your waist.

“11:40?” You assume. It was rather late when you left the restaurant so you wouldn’t be too far off. Jungkook hums in acknowledgment and rests his chin on your shoulder, slowly closing his eyes.

He was a bit tired from tonight and you rocked him and yourself in a gentle rhythm.

“That waiter definitely had a crush on you,” Jungkook mumbled and you laughed.

“Jungkook I thought we said we’d stop talking about that kid,” you giggle as you reply thinking back to the young waiter that wouldn’t stop prioritizing you over your husband’s requests. At one point he served you wine and completely forgot about Jungkook’s glass.

“I don’t blame him though. You looked beautiful tonight,” Jungkook kissed your exposed shoulder and lets go before walking away.

“I have one more present for you honey,” Jungkook says picking through his blazer that he took off earlier.

“Jungkook. The necklace was enough,” you say touching the expensive piece of jewelry hanging around your neck.

“This might be worth more,” Jungkook finally finds it and slips it out.

It’s an envelope decorated with hand drawn hearts around and you know what it is. A tradition you’ve carried for the last 7 years. Love letters every Valentine’s Day.

He holds out the item for you to take and a smile and blush reach your face. Like second nature you reach into your bra and grab the neatly folded paper.

And like clockwork, your husband flushes up like he does every year. How cute.

You exchange letters and he holds your waist to lead you both to the living room. The environment was quiet in a peaceful and comforting manner.

You take a seat and Jungkook dims the lights a little before turning on the fire place. Finally taking the seat next to you.

You smile at each other one more time before opening your individual letters and you begin to read.

To my loving Wife and Soulmate,

Do you understand, that every single time that I see you, it feels like gravity shifts. You, my love, are the center of my universe. You’ve turned such ordinary and dull moments into supernovas of pure bliss and joy. I’m endlessly grateful for every orbit we’ve shared and will continue to share.

You’re the song that’s stuck in my head, the breath of air I didn’t know I was holding, the warmth in my favorite cup of coffee, and the reason for my happiness. You are my everything.

You are the last person that I think of before falling into sweet sleep where I dream of our life and how much better it gets by the day. Every time I hold your hand, it’s my unspoken promise to never let go. To always stay by your side.

I don’t just love you, I’m rooted in you. And I swear to choose you across every lifetime, every star, and every moment.

My sweet Y/N, I love you.

Yours, forever and always, Jeon Jungkook.

By the time you finish reading the letter you’ve already let a tear drop on the paper. Jungkook shares the same expression as he turns to face you with glossy eyes and nothing but love for you.

He grabs a hold of you and places you directly on his lap.

“Are you aware of how in love with you I am?” his question is rhetorical but you still answer it.

“I have a good idea,” you smile at your husband and lean in for a gentle and innocent kiss. Your hand placed on his shoulder. It’s adorned with your wedding ring. A memory of the happiest day of your life.

The day you became Jeon Y/N.

You recall how much your friends, who had already been married for a while, had told you that the love would fade and eventually it’s like living with a roommate.

You like to think they just didn’t marry their soulmate. Because every moment you spent with Jungkook, you spent it feeling alive and happy to be in the moment.

And you couldn’t wait to tell him the last good news of the night.

There will be a third addition to the Jeon family in nine months. Something you and Jungkook had been talking about for so long. Something you knew he was hoping for.

So when the clock hits 11:58, Jungkook is in tears, holding you with so much security.

He truly knows he won the lottery with you.

[handlemehyuck]

bf dreamies 𓍼 dating a full-time student

꩜ i received a request on my main blog, but it honestly feels weird to post there for nct now lol, so i decided to let it live here >.< thank you for requesting, anon 🤍 happy reading!

mark: he brings you lunch during your shifts at the library. he melts watching you run down the stairs, skipping to his car because you know his adoring gaze is locked on you. the excitement twirls you, and he laughs in the driver’s seat, observing the curious students, probably wondering what on earth is up with this girl. they’d understand if they knew her boyfriend was here. her very busy boyfriend with her favorite food and a kiss to give. a few kisses. as many as she has time for.

renjun: he thinks you’re incredible. he finds your major fascinating and has shown more interest in your studies than anyone else in your life. he quizzes you with your stack of flashcards, throwing in spontaneous questions to make you laugh. he reads over essays. he asks about your lectures, curious to know what the most interesting part was. he loves it when you text him after an exam, confident you crushed it, and gracious for his help, but he always says: no, baby. that was all you.

jeno: you stay up late together. he plays video games and you sit at the desk he built beside his gaming setup. you wear one of his AirPods, attention focused on your laptop screen and the opened textbooks around you. he stopped playing an hour ago and is admiring you, but you haven’t a clue. he leans over to kiss your temple, asking if you’d like some water or tea. all you do is nod, and he laughs. “which one, baby?” “hmm?” “water or tea?” “whichever’s easiest.” your eyebrows furrow, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you flip back a few pages. “i’ll make tea.”

haechan: you’re in an online grad program that’s kicking your ass, so anytime you’re on break, he spoils the hell out of you. you’ve been flown to cities across the world after exam season to sing and dance in arenas and experience top-tier stress relief. when deadlines are compressing, he cooks for you and pulls you away from your desk to eat with him. he’s supportive and sweet but intense about your health. you’re a perfectionist, and he’s received far too many texts from you in the middle of the night like it’s normal to completely disregard rest. your favorite thing to do is nap with him, or feel his fingers in your hair while he watches tv at a quiet volume so you can rest.

jaemin: a part of him—and maybe he doesn’t admit this—is living vicariously through you. any opportunity he has to pick you up after class is taken, and he finds himself leaning forward against the steering wheel to get a better view of the students passing by. the campus is slow and quiet before erupting into a sea of bobbing heads and heavy backpacks as another morning class ends; they navigate the rush like it was choreographed. in another life, he wonders if your paths still would’ve crossed. if you would’ve spent every waking hour studying together in the library, at cafes, in the grass outside the science building once spring’s warmth is delicious. when he sees you, he slides back into reality, feeling the leather beneath him, and smiles widely through his window.

chenle: when he finds out you’re on the uni’s club soccer team, he asks for your game schedule. there’s a twitter page that posts updates, so he makes an account for the sole purpose of following it. his liked tweets are filled with every goal you scored and assist you made; he replies too: that’s my girl!! he has your last name on a sweatshirt that he wears to every game he can make, a mask covering his face, and sunglasses covering his eyes. he loves greeting you after games, your lips still parted, catching your breath. your cheeks are red from the excursion. flyaways frame your face, ponytail messy and much looser, so much looser than it was when you ate breakfast together hours earlier. you unravel the hair tie in his car, run your fingers through your hair, and contemplate what you want for dinner. his treat.

jisung: he’s your safe haven. his apartment is your oasis. his heart lurches whenever you text him about heading over, even if you know he won’t be home for hours. his demeanor always shifts slightly when he knows you’re at his place, and he can’t be there. he always texts back, wondering if you’re ok, and hoping you were just seeking a different environment to study in. when he gets home, sometimes you’re still studying. other days, you’re asleep in his bed or standing in the kitchen in one of his t-shirts with wet hair, waiting for the kettle to whistle. he wishes you’d just move in with him, knowing it wouldn’t only save you money, but he craves your presence. he sleeps better when you’re in his bed, and he prefers to know you’re eating. it warms his heart to see your folded figure studying on his couch, taking short breaks to peer out the window. he takes your picture, sometimes calling your name and catching a soft smile and warm eyes on film.

[rikosseen]

Gun Park x Reader: Creep

Anon ask | fighter fem reader

Jonggun Park has plenty on his plate already. He’s a busy man with a list to tick off. A busy man whose time is precious and not easily given out.

Though, as he continues to mindlessly carve the wood in his hands, said man can’t help but feel neurotic and excited when recalling what happened a few nights ago. His skin pricks, and a ticklish shiver runs through his body. What’s got him feeling so giddy? Must be the nicotine crashing his system. But no, the cause for his malfunction is an individual. One that momentarily captured both his time, and pride. An individual who Jonggun Park could not keep his mind off.

After all, Park Jonggun doesn’t get his ass whooped. He’s the one whooping ass. Park Jonggun doesn’t miss his calculated attacks. Definitely not to some no name rando. Park Jonggun is quite literally built too different to be thrown off. This makes you a threat, right? You were a threat, right? It’s worth finding out more about you, right? Right. This was all for a bigger cause. For the greater good of…everything. Yes, that’s right. The greater good of everything. So away Jonggun goes to scour you.

.

.

After turning the city of Seoul upside down (and making unneeded threats), he suddenly and coincidentally (as coincidental as this can get) lands his eyes on the person he’s been searching for.

Found you.

Junggoo pokes his head out from behind Gun, lowers his shades, and squints to take a better look. Of course Goo kim was in on finding out who piqued the pervert’s interest.

“You got beat by her? Embarrassing!” The blonde snickers, looking over at Jonggun to see his reaction. Gun, attention still on your moving figure, punches him in the face and tells him to fuck off. To which Goo scowls as he staggers back. Jonggun quickly jogs after you, and steps on Goo’s foot on the way.

“It’s illegal to stalk people! Fucking weirdo!” Goo squawks, rubbing his bruised cheek.

How hypocritical. Jonggun brushes him off as he eagerly paces behind you.

Found you, found you, found you.

The weather was great for a run. It was early in the morning, and- huh? Footsteps? This early? Johan! You snap your head around to acknowledge who you think is your bestie boo, Johan Seong running beside you. Only, it’s not your bestie boo. It’s a more repulsive sight. A familiar face. A face you encountered once, but obviously didn’t quite forget, because well, this man hit you. Punched your nose for having relations with bestie boo Johan. How dare he hit a lady. What’s his deal with being a Johan hater anyway? You scowl, and he grins. You speed up, and he matches your pace. You turn and try to ankle break him, but he does the same. So you stop running completely and stare up at him. Jonggun looks down, and before he’s even aware, the man is sweeped off his feet. He grabs your foot, and you land on the ground next to him with an oof.

“What is wrong with you?!”

He grins that ugly grin again.

“Fucking creep,” you spit out.

Oh, and this man is indeed a creep. Jonngun Park stands up, and proceeds to take off his shirt. You look at him, bewildered. What in the world?-

“Let’s go again,” he says.

Again? Oh.

.

.

Classes are done, and you mentally groan at all the work you have to finish off for school. Home sweet home, here I come- Is that? It’s him. Your stomach drops.

Jonggun Park is standing right infront of your school gate, eyes darting from student to student until they land on yours. Is this a police worthy report? Again, the man grins his ugly grin and walks toward you.

“Let’s go again-” you don’t even let him finish, scampering away in hopes to lose him in the crowd of students.

.

.

Today’s sparring session went extremely well, and-

“Let’s go again,” the creep is in front of your gym, shirt off, and that stupid, stupid grin plastered on his face. “You know, ever since since that night-”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you throw a combination of punches that send him tumbleweeding across the street before running away in frustration.

.

.

Slowly, you poke your head out the door, looking left and right. There’s no way he knows where you work. Once the coast seems clear enough, you walk out, and keep your head down. Footsteps follow you. Oh God, please no.

“Let’s go again-”

You start sprinting away, and want to scream. Screw Johan for being friends with you, and screw this guy.

I don’t deserve this, you mentally sob

[aquasoftware]

★ SOAK OPERAS!! ☆

Snippet | “Don’t go acting all shy on me now, Mrs. Geto.”

FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ househusband! Suguru.

Desc | If dealing with students who think your classroom is a WWE match wasn’t enough, now you’ve got a mountain of work waiting for you at home. Overworked and underfùcked, you finally snap ➜ so your doting, dangerously hot househusband decides it’s time to step in.

Cw║ (Proceed with caution 18+ ⚠️) Househusband!Suguru, Teacher!Reader, lots of petnames, tons of praīse, Suguru has a huge thing for legs, màssages, bėgging, bràt tàming, dīrty tàlk, soft/service dom! Suguru, bràtty sub! Reader, fīngerīng, multi big o’s, usage of good gīrl (sorryyy,) overstím, sqūīrtīng, fīnger súcking, cūm eating, spānking, prōne bōne, bréédīng, pússy drúnk! Suguru, créámpīe, lots of kisses, “love you’s,” + aftercare.

WC ➜ 3.8K ➜ ML

Estimated 17-20 minute read & Oneshot.

Preparing students for huge exams that’d determine whether or not they’d graduate, grading endless assignments, lesson planning all night, and on top of that dealing with those combative students who made you question why you ever pursued being an educator in the first place?

It was all weighing on you.

And one of these days? You were going to snap.

Nevermind, that was today.

Specifically when you came home, after breaking up a classroom fight.

You huffed, kicking your heels off at the porch, tossing your heavy bag and keys onto the bench using way more force than usual, even after stepping through the door, an absurd heftiness of the day clutched onto you. And the worst of all? You still had a shit ton of work to do.

If wishes were real, you’d have a vacation paired with Pink Whitney in your hand by now, but you intensely sighed brushing off the thought.

“When’d you get in?” Suguru drawled, raising an eyebrow, manspreading on the couch–pink apron still tied around his waist from preparing dinner.

Even through your exhaustion, one sight of your husband soothed something deep in your spirit.

“Few minutes ago…” You muttered, eyes semi-lit up from seeing him, yet your pitch cascaded with dryness.

He noticed immediately–the short reply, lack of emotion in your tone, the tension in your shoulders. He quickly felt a profound urge to fix it all for you.

“C’mere baby.” Suguru commanded, reaching for the black remote to pause the dramatic soap operas he’d been super-glued to all day.

You trudged toward the leather couch, sitting beside him as he rubbed slow, warm circles across your back.

“You okay?” He tried to check in, invested on why you were upset, maybe it was the wrong time to ask though, because you didn’t mean it, you really didn’t want to take it out on him.

But something about that question made you snap completely.

“Suguru, do I look like I’m fucking okay to you?” Scowling at him, you folded your arms, crossing your legs.

Damn. Okay, he knew that was a stupid question with an obvious answer, he hadn’t expected that though. But the stress in your voice, the way your lips poked out? He knew better than to take it personally.

Instead, your husband exhaled softly, his hand never stopping its slow strokes against your back.

“I get it, baby. It’s alright.”

His voice caressed you, low and smooth–like thick honey melting on your skin, unbothered, unshaken by your moodiness, fully consumed by so much patience you were sure he’d secretly be in the Guinness world record for it.

He spoke once more “Let me take care of you, yeah?” Taking your hands into his welcoming ones.

Your heart tremendously twitched at the offer, nodding. Allowing his warm palms to knead into your calves like dough, leisurely working out the tension that had built up from being on your feet all day.

“You work too hard, Y/n.” he angelically whispered, thumbs pressing unhurried, firm circles against your aching muscles.

“It’s not my fault, I have to.” You mumbled back, head sinking farther as you leaned into the couch cushions that were decorated among a plethora of pillows, funky designs adorning them.

His hands didn’t falter, massaging so deliberate and comforting, it felt as if he put you under some sort of spell–day’s load swiftly dissolving under his fingertips. His presence became a strong yet silent reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

The scent of dinner still lingered, mingling around faint traces of his baccarat cologne. The almost professional rhythm of his touch, it was all rapidly numbing your mind.

And if you were being honest, your panties began to get extremely sticky–slick clinging to the middle part of the fabric. You were too far gone to pray he wouldn’t notice though.

He only hummed in response, but his focus gradually started to drift as he kneaded higher up your luscious legs.

It was supposed to be an innocent little massage, but it was stupidly impossible to ignore how the red pencil skirt hugged your figure, the delicate stretch of skin-colored tights underneath had his breathing irregular.

The fabric was sheer enough that he could see the beautiful shape of your legs perfectly–the curve of your calf, and the freckles on your thigh that he was obsessed with?

Your husband found himself growing rock-hard already, except he swallowed Adam's apple bobbing as he forced himself to keep his touch controlled.

Then, you shifted, letting out a breathy moan, the movement causing your skirt to ride up a little too high for him to just keep this as an innocent stress relieving massage.

Shit, he was even able to see your pretty lace panties through the tights.

His fingers dragged up, moving to your inner thigh attempting to soothe any sore muscles there too, perhaps he squeezed too hard though, because he felt it.

The way your body shuddered as tiny goosebumps trailed all over your skin.

And the way your thighs clenched a little bit, your core pulsing faster than a marathon, even through the miniature barrier of fabric.

Suguru stilled for a moment, demeanor noticeably changing. His jaw locked while his long fingers tweaked where they rested.

“Oh? I see, work isn’t the only thing making you moody huh?” his lips purred, as he smirked amused he wasn’t the only one affected since the tent in his pants was beginning to become a nuisance.

Your face grew more heated than an oven at the observation “Suguru!” you squealed eyes widening like balloons at how promptly he caught on.

You hadn’t been fucked in months due to how much duties you had after coming home, so there was barely any time for that. And having a stressful situation on top of a stressful situation? This is all you wanted right now, to be touched by your man.

He breathlessly chuckled, pale hand squeezing your thigh tighter.

“Don’t go acting all shy on me now, Mrs. Geto.”

Unfortunately for you your pride wouldn’t let you admit you needed him that easily though…

“It’s not even like that,” you blurted, rolling your eyes, shifting your legs closed as if that could stop him from detecting how hot and bothered you were.

“Are you sure?” His hand slid further, over the curve of your thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most. “So if I touched you here…” His fingers traced the seam of your tights, scarcely grazing over your clothed cunt—“I wouldn’t find you soaked?”

A whimper fled your lips, hips jerking instinctively toward his hand.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice dripping pure elation. “Didn’t sound like a no.”

“Shut up Sugu,” you grunted sheepishly, body burning anticipation.

He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, a little bratty today, huh?” His other hand came down sharply against your thigh—a warning smack that made you jolt.

His fingers hooked into your tights, pulling the fabric off and the panties aside. The moment cool air hit your slick folds making it glisten, Suguru let out a low groan.

“Shit, baby. You were gonna sit here and lie to me when you’re this messy?” your man was hardly able to contain how turned on he was.

Your body shivered when his wedding band contrasted–slender fingers sliding between your warm folds, gathering your arousal.

“Mmph, so needy. My poor wifey.” He teased, brimming friskiness not pushing in yet solely to hear you whine for him.

“S—Suguru, aah please…”

He flashed a toothy grin, long jet-black hair dangling over his shoulder as he turned his head to press a tender sensual kiss on your inner thigh. “Hm, please what? you can do better than that, love.”

You squirmed, manicured nails gripping his lean muscular arm. Shortly folding, you begged “Please, just touch me, I want your fingers, anything please, I just need you.”

That was all it took. Suguru plunged two digits inside you, his ring still on, gently stretching you out. Your mouth fell apart, followed by a lengthy drawn-out moan, sprinkling into the air—evidence of how badly you desired this.

Then you spread your legs wider, just enough to let him treat you like royalty.

“Mmm, there you go,” he crooned, nudging his palm against your clit as he curled his large fingers inside, your gummy walls inviting him in.

“That’s my good girl.”

You couldn’t help but lift your hips up to meet his hand at his words, desperate for more, your slickness smearing across his palm as your body moved on instinct—hungry, mindless, wanting him deeper.

He shook his head feigning disappointment, dimples forming as his lips curved into a crooked smile.

“You could’ve just told me this was what you needed, angel. I would’ve taken care of you the second you walked in.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to focus on anything that was said. Glasses askew, cheek smashed into one of the couch pillows, your back arched as your legs trembled from overwhelming pleasure—narrowly keeping it together.

He set a fast rhythm calculated, every stroke purposeful—dragging out euphoria until your toes curled and breathy hitches swept past your lips.

But the second he hit that spot—the one that made your body judder as you flung your forearm across your face like a shield?

That’s when he started really enjoying himself, watching your reactions intently like one of his soap operas, knowing you were close.

“Mmm, That’s it, baby… Right there!” You gasped, as your body shook under his hand, pliant, attuned to every saccharine stroke he gave you.

He zeroed in on that precious g-spot, rubbing in a “Come here” motion, unrelenting and precise.

The pressure caused your walls to flutter, clenching with each back and forth gesture.

Your moans climbed higher, melting into siren-like whimpers—loud enough to have angry neighbors complaining, not that you could bring yourself to care anyway.

That coil began to build briskly, difficult to escape. Your stomach tensed with every breath, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, thighs quivering as you teetered right on the edge of your orgasm.

“Oh my god, hah Sugu… t—that feels s’fucking good”

“Yeah? I know it does.” His other hand pressed down on your stomach, firm but not rough, keeping you in place as he continued to plant more kisses on your leg. “C’mon, let me feel it princess, cum f’me.”

His fingers picked up speed, rough and unforgiving, tapping that sweet spot as his palm grinded on your aching clit with every motion stoking the fire emerging in your belly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Was all you could manage to frantically spew out, voice growing hoarse after every word.

Pleasure seized you all at once—cutting like knives, immensely electric, it stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Your cunt spasmed as a mewl freed itself out of your throat as your release burst free, gushing down Suguru’s wrist—inked with your initials in cursive—and drenching his apron in the process.

And still, he didn’t stop.

His fingers worked you through the high, prying wave after wave from you, each convulsion coaxing out more wetness as the lewd squelch of your arousal grew louder, filthier.

“Love you,” you heaved between shaky breaths.

The couch beneath you was damp. His tattooed wrist gleamed. And your husband’s lips twisted into that smug, knowing smirk—so sure of himself, so proud that he could always make his wife fall apart.

“I love you too, baby,” he mouthed, sewing a kiss to your thigh. “So much.”

You cried out, legs trembling violently, the aftershocks leaving your body in tatters. The pleasure lingered like an echo, so intense you instinctively reached down to push his hand away—sensitive, overstimulated, gasping for mercy.

But Suguru caught your wrist with ease, gently guiding it aside.

“Ah ah, ah, don’t run from it, love,” he cooed, voice like velvet dipped in sin—low, smooth, savoring your unraveling. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Then another wave slammed into you—abruptly. Your hips bucked, more wetness spilling over his palm in a stream so obscene it made his jaw drop.

“Damn,” he growled, forehead resting upon your thigh as he beamed, teeth grazing your skin. “That was a pretty one.”

You couldn’t speak. Could scantily breathe. Your body was limp, boneless, nothing more than a ruin draped across the couch, mind foggy with bliss.

Suguru only exhaled, before lifting his soaked hand into the dim light—watching the way your slick spread between his fingers, shining like a trophy.

“You made such a mess,” he mentioned in awe, voice tainted glee.

You twitched in response—body still quivering from overstimulation, thighs spasming gently as aftershocks coursed through your spent frame.

Suguru chortled, before grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“You gonna clean up what you did, sweetheart?”

Your lashes flittered. Eyes glossy. Lips parted as you tried to draw in breath.

He smiled, going feral at your current state.

“Open up, baby.”

His thumb teased your bottom lip, coaxing it open, and the moment you did, he slid two slick fingers into your mouth, one garnished in his wedding band—soaked in your release.

The taste of yourself coated your tongue, hot and decadent. You whined around him, his fingertips greeted your tongue forcing you to slurp away your fluids.

“That’s it,” he silkily rasped, gaze pinned to your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You obeyed without question—lips stretching, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as you cleaned him with moderate, reverent spins.

His pupils dilated, hunger bleeding into every inch of him.

“Mmm. Good girl.” His voice dropped an octave, thick with lust. “Tastes perfect right?”

He pulled his fingers out achingly slow, dragging along your tongue so you could feel every inch, leaving your mouth empty and your core pulsing with need again.

A soft squeak escaped you, leaning into his warmth, thighs squeezing together as your body betrayed you—already aching for more.

Suguru leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips—each one reverent.

“Told you I’d take care of you, baby.”

You were still shaking, on top of the couch, but his body was taut with restraint—his cock straining beneath his apron that he untied straight away along with unbuckling his belt pulling his pants down, sure he’d die if he didn’t empty his balls.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you’re all wrecked for me.” His hand slithered down your jaw, tilting your face toward him again, the edge of his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Think you’ve got one more in you pretty girl?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, batting your lashes, thighs pressing together.

That’s all he needed. He wasted no time grabbing you by your waist flipping you onto your stomach.

Your cheek pressed into the pillow, you took your glasses off holding them to be comfortable. You felt the couch dip as he knelt behind you, palms sliding up the backs of your thighs before spreading them apart.

“So fucking wet,” he expressed to himself, dragging two fingers through your folds, watching how easily you parted for him. “God, you’re perfect.” Suguru claimed, happy he’d be the only one making you like this.

You let out a shaky exhale as he stroked the head of his cock along your entrance, catching on your clit just to hear the way your breath hitched again.

“Don’t tease,” you shot, voice muffled into the cushion.

He chuckled low, bending down to kiss the dip of your spine. “Don’t be impatient princess, I’m giving it to you.”

Then he pushed in—sluggish, all the way to the hilt.

Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out at first. The stretch had your eyes rolling, back arching faintly under him as he bottomed out.

“Oh my god—” you choked, free hand gripping the armrest like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth.

He stayed there for a moment, letting you feel his girthy eight inches.

“Fuuuck, nghh, you’re tight,” he hissed through his teeth, one hand smoothing over your back, before caging you using both arms.

Then he started to move.

His hips rolled into you easy at first—deep and controlled, letting you feel every inch grind against that oversensitive spot inside you.

The pace was intimate, each stroke snatching a breathy moan from your lips.

“You take me so well,” Suguru hummed, leaning over your back, his chest pressed flush against you. “This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Your thighs wobbled as his pace built, heavier now, slapping against your ass with each thrust. You sing-song moaned, swearing you could feel him in your guts—forehead pressed into the cushion, body rocking with every deep stroke.

He used one of his veiny hands to spank your ass, biting his lip when it jiggled. Your walls clamped down around him at the action allowing a groan to leave his throat.

“C’mon, Y/n,” he panted your name divinely, mouth at your ear gently nibbling it. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Your legs kicked faintly, unable to handle the stimulation—his tip snapping on your g-spot just right.

It was too much.

And it was dragging you toward the edge again.

Your body had hardly recovered, but Suguru didn’t give you a chance to come down. Not when you were this heated, this snug, this perfect around him.

He found that angle directly—already knowing your body like the back of his inked hand. His strokes were deep, precise, his hips flicking against the curve of your ass with a tempo that left your lungs aching.

Your moans turned into broken sobs, face smushed into the couch cushion, drool pouring out your lip as your thighs shook uncontrollably.

“Shhh, I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing the back of your neck while he fucked you through the overstimulation. “I know it’s a lot—but you’re doing so good.”

You didn’t even have the words to beg him to slow down. Or to keep going. You were somewhere in between delirium and heaven, your body tottering under every harsh drag of his dick.

And when he found your g-spot again? Pounding into it ruthlessly you screamed.

“Aah! Sugu I can’t—fuckk” you babbled, voice caught between a cry and a whimper.

“You can,” he purred against your shoulder, fingers rolling tight circles against that overstimulated bundle of nerves. “C’mon. Give me another one, sweetheart. Wanna feel you gush on me again.”

His words broke something in you.

The coil snapped brutally in how hard it hit you. Your entire body locked up before you convulsed around him, cunt squeezing so tight it knocked the breath out of him.

A wet gush spilled from you, soaking both of you again—your thighs, his shaft, and the couch beneath.

“Shittt,” he animalistically growled, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, the slap of skin and the wet squelch of your orgasm impossibly obscene. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

Your vision went white for a second. Fingers clawing uselessly at the cushion, a high-pitched whine spilling from your lips.

Suguru eventually halted, letting you ride out the tremors. Letting your body melt into the couch, limp and pliant. And still, those fuzzy white bunny slippers were on his feet.

Suguru couldn’t take it anymore.

Not when your cunt was pulsing like that around him, clenching down on him like you didn’t want him to ever leave.

His grip tightened one hand resting on your hips, fingers digging into the plush of your waist as his flow grew sloppier, rougher. His forehead dropped to your neck, breath hot against your skin as he groaned deep—feral.

“Fuuuck—Y/n, you’re gonna make me cum,” he rasped, voice gruff, needy. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.”

Your only response was a soft, broken mewl into the pillow, your body shuddering with every thrust.

“Gonna fill you up, yeah?” he panted. “Gonna give you all of my cum—fuck, wanna knock you up.”

He was gone, entirely pussydrunk.

His hips snapped forward with a final thrust, burying himself to the hilt as a groan tore from his chest, raw and guttural. His cock twitched deep inside you as hot ropes of cum spilled into your cervix, thick and endless.

He stayed buried there, holding you tight, grinding in slow circles to push it deeper, watching his cum drip back out around his manhood.

“Look at that,” he uttered, astonished, breathless, one hand sliding down to thumb at your swollen clit again. “So full of me, think… I put a baby in you.”

You whimpered helplessly, hips rocking from aftershocks, and he finally leaned down, kissing your spine, your shoulder, your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, still buried deep inside, body draped over yours, voice so soft and satisfied it made your chest ache. “M’never letting you go.”

And from the floor, those ridiculous bunny slippers peeked out—innocent, stupidly soft, in total contrast to what he’d just done to you.

Suguru didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed there for a moment—buried deep, draped over you, chest rising and falling against your back, his arms curled around your middle like he didn’t want to let go. His length still nestled inside your cozy, messy cunt,

“You okay, Y/n?” he finally whispered, voice hoarse but gentle, showering kisses to the back of your neck. “Talk to me.”

You nodded, your cheek still squished into the pillow. “M’okay,” you mumbled, dazed. “Think you fucked the thoughts outta me.”

He laughed low in his chest, one hand coming up to smooth out your clothes, fingers grazing your temple.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he said, easing out of you with a soft hiss, watching your cum-slick pussy flutter around nothing before his eyes softened. “Shit. Made such a mess in you, huh?”

You could only brashly pant trying to catch your breath.

Suguru scurried into the bathroom nearby for a warm towel coming back to gently wipe between your thighs, murmuring praises as he went.

“There we go, angel. You did so good for me. So, so good.”

He lifted you carefully, tucking you into his chest as he sat back on the couch, pulling a blanket over both of you. His palm rubbed lazy circles into your thigh as he kissed your forehead.

And even with your legs still weak, your lips parted in a sleepy smile.

“You wore the bunny slippers the whole time??” you slurred, still dazed.

Suguru smiled. “Of course I did,” he said, his voice full of smug love. “You think I’d take these off? Absolutely not.”

You wheezed a little giggle against his collarbone, letting your body melt into his.

And he held you there—until your heart dwindled slowly, and your breathing softened.

By tomorrow morning, you’d be strolling into work like nothing happened—students staring at you, creeped out by your unshakable mood and bright, unnatural pep at 8 a.m. Not knowing you’d been thoroughly destroyed the night before by your husband in bunny slippers.

Tags 🔖 @sophistication-as @imnot-adoll @lacey-blog @hal0g3nz @cyberzpace @dreamerofstarlight @jup1tersuccubus @rheawritessometimes @suguboos @latencygirl @hopefulpeachcolor @kunanuts @tiredvlovely @rotteneyess @11thlife02 @xoyumiqls

Divider/Boarder creds | hyuneskkami, elleisdesigning, + animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

I appreciate comments, likes, reblogs. THANK YOU if you really sat down and gave this a read mwah, mwah, mwah.

A/n : Had huge Suguru brainrot and wrote this, I was not expecting the brainrot to make this end up at 3.8K whew… + I also wasn’t expecting so many peeps to wanna be tagged 😅 I hope I fulfilled your expectations!!

[pomefioredove]

housewardens + Jamil and Floyd with a reader that plays volleyball please

I think of reader as yuu, but it's not needed to be specified, and NRC doesn't really have volleyball as one of the sports that I know of. so whether it's not a thing in their world or just not at their school, I think it'd be cool to see how the characters react to the reader playing during gym, free time, or for some outside of school club or whatever. it'd be amazing if reader could be a libero, because that's my position, but it doesn't have to be specified

but like, js imagine reader is yuu and so they taught one of the students how to play bc it's not at NRC amd now they play literally whenever they can

I don't know anything about volleyball but I tried 🫡🫡

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ volleyball player reader

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, floyd, jamil, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

am I crazy to think that Riddle would be into it? seeing as he's somewhat of an athlete himself (equestrian club), he knows the sort of discipline and dedication it takes to truly master a sport

he'll offer to help you organize an ~official~ club, but you don't seem too bothered about it. he finds it endearing that you can wake up in an entirely different world, almost die every other month, and still have the motivation to pursue what you love, anyway

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you'd better be careful around Leona, or you'll end up at morning Spelldrive practice in his place (hehe)

so, you don't have any magic. and? you know how to throw and catch, and that's good enough for him. hell, you're better than most of the magical first years. plus, you're motivated, you're responsible, and Leona Savanaclaw could use someone like you around

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

when Azul sent the tweels to dig up some dirt on you, he wasn't expecting this. like, okay, he underestimated you. he was hoping for something more... exploitable. if only he had a use for volleyball...

oh, well. you're still worth watching, currently useful or not. athletic skill is nothing to sneeze at, especially from a native land-dweller. he might need those legs of yours someday, you know

...wait, that came out wrong

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

no one really bothers looking for Floyd when he doesn't show up to basketball club. not because they don't care, but because it's not worth the time. if he really doesn't want to be found, you just won't find him

of course, the one day Jamil has to leave club early, he walks in on the two of you in the courtyard, playing volleyball

all this time, Floyd had been skipping club to watch you play another ball game just a few minutes away. he's absolutely captivated, too. like a cat with a laser pointer

as unamused as he is, Jamil knows it's absolutely useless to lecture him, so he just... sits and watches you play, too

and, well... he gets it. you're an interesting person, you know?

after that, he figures you may as well join the basketball club

...if only to give you a better place to practice, and to keep Floyd indoors

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

bro if you asked, Kalim would have an entire court built for you. actually, you wouldn't even have to ask. just one mention about how NRC has no volleyball club, and he'd have a team just for you by noon

if you refuse, he's still supportive. and really, really fascinated. he's not as much of an athlete as you or Jamil, which just makes it all the more impressive to him. he'll ask you to explain the game and your position over and over again, even while watching you play

he also just likes hearing your voice, so :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

if there's anything Vil can admire, it's dedication. another thing? passion. being an athlete, or, really, having any serious hobby, demands both of those things

here's the thing; he could already tell. he didn't have to stumble across you during practice (as if he would stumble at all smh). your form, the way you carry yourself, even parts of your personality were context enough

and while he may not say it, he holds a high opinion of you. you can legit get out of VDC training by just saying you're going to practice

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you may think that Idia isn't going to go for the jock type, but, actually, one of his favorite animes is about volleyball and-

yeah, yeah. you get it. he's smitten

if he ever gets over his crushing fear of talking to you, you'll never get him to shut up. seriously. he already knows everything there is to know about the game, but that doesn't mean he's not going to ask you to explain everything all over again (he's totally fangirling over this). and sevens forbid you give him a demonstration...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

there's probably not volleyball in Briar Valley. right. I just can't picture that. so the first time Malleus observes you in practice, he's amazed, fascinated even. and he has a lot of questions. good ones!

you could probably convince him to play with you, which would be, uh. interesting? actually he's weirdly an amazing player

you could get all of Diasomnia to form a team, somehow. like I know they'd be abnormally good at it

[another-fantasy-world]

Turning Tables

→ student!agathario x professor!fem!reader

word count ~ 2.1k

summary: You built your reputation on cold stares, brutal grading, and a mind sharpened by trauma, spite and caffeine. But when Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal, two academic legends cloaked in power and mystery, walk into your classroom as students, everything shifts. They watch you like a challenge. Like a hunt. And for the first time, you're not sure who's in control. What begins as a lecture in literature turns into a slow unraveling of self; tense, electric, and laced with something far more dangerous than desire. You were the one meant to teach. So why do you feel like prey?

authors note: my first agathario fic skfnfkjx panicking so much. i've longed to write for this fandom yet has been scared until I swallowed my fear and asked @saphiccarma for help. So, I dedicate this to her, and to all of the members of the lesbian army behind agathario. I hope y'all like it 😔🦶

content warning(s): minors do not interact pls, sexual tension in the classroom, unhealthy dynamics, older students agathario and younger professor reader, might be smut in future chapters, psychological unraveling, loss of control, shitty writing, non-canon compliance, shitty characterization

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If someone had told you you'd become your mother before hitting thirty, you'd have told them to shove a pipe cleaner up their ass sideways.

But here you are, burnt coffee in hand, fake smile plastered on, trapped in the sacred hellscape of the faculty lounge. Surrounded by crusty relics in crocheted cardigans who quote Plato like it's a kink.

The worst part? You're one of them now. A professor. A fucking academic.

The university, though? Disgustingly prestigious. The kind of place that gets whispered about in overpriced cafés and college admissions horror stories.

State-of-the-art everything. A three-story library that's still expanding. Gyms that smell like money and ambition. Dorms so cushy they might as well be hotel suites.

With that kind of setup, it’s no wonder people assume you slept your way into the position.

Would’ve been easier if that were true.

But no. You didn’t climb the ladder by seduction. You clawed your way up fueled by childhood trauma, hatred, and a PhD’s worth of spite.

Now you’ve got two jobs, more money than you know what to do with, and just enough friends to keep from being labeled a total psychopathic freak.

A poetic little fuck-you to your dead mother who said literature was a waste of time.

You’re on your third cup of disappointment, pretending that bitter caffeine will buffer you from the social agony of the faculty lounge. It doesn’t. The couch springs are older than you. The conversation stinks of tenure, arrogance and ego.

At least your office is far enough from these fossils. Shame they won’t let you bring your own coffee machine, something about “budget regulations” and “fire hazards,” as if anyone here had enough energy to spontaneously combust.

“Professor Sunshine!”

Your eye twitches.

The nickname is less about warmth and more about fallout. You burn too bright. Students flee like they’ve looked directly at you for too long, and sometimes, they have.

You don’t mind. You get paid whether they cry or not.

“It’s Doctor Sunshine to you, Mr. Maximoff,” you say flatly, turning to the walking sports drink in khakis.

Pietro Maximoff grins like a frat boy who never quite grew out of hazing rituals.

“I see the sun’s shining less today,” he quips, snatching your mug and taking a bold swig. He grimaces. Good.

“Let me treat you to something better.”

“I make more money than you,” you shoot back.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Then I’m a miracle.”

He snorts. “Okay, hot stuff. Heard you’ve got two world-class historians in your class.” He wiggles his eyebrows like a cheap sitcom extra.

“And?” You're used to having famous people in your class, you wonder why Pietro even mentioned such a thing.

“Nothing… Just betting five bucks you can’t make them drop.”

“What are you? A college frat boy?” You scoffed at him, raising an unimpressed brow

“He was,” a silken voice interrupts, light and amused.

Wanda Maximoff appears beside him, graceful as ever, red hair tucked behind one ear like she’s the muse in a painting no one’s allowed to touch. She taps Pietro’s head with her ring-heavy hand before turning her attention to you with that knowing smile she always wears; soft, maternal, quietly terrifying.

The siblings were opposites. Complete opposites.

Sokovian History professor. Faculty darling. Her evaluations read like love letters. Where Pietro was all sweat and chaos, Wanda moved like silk in a summer breeze; graceful, calm, but with an undeniable weight to her presence. She was the kind of woman who didn’t need to raise her voice to be heard. When she walked into a room, conversations hushed, not out of intimidation, but reverence. Her voice, laced with a gentle Sokovian lilt, wrapped around every word like a spell cast with scarlet gloves.

Students clung to her every word, enchanted by her quiet brilliance. She didn’t lecture; she wove narratives. In her class, history wasn’t a timeline, it was a living, breathing creature, resurrected by the soft cadence of her voice and the stories that lived in her gaze. She taught with the care of someone handling old wounds, her fingers gentle on the past, her eyes sharp enough to see through it.

And there was something ethereal about her, something in the way her rings caught the light as she gestured mid-thought, or the way she always seemed to know more than she let on. A mother to her students, yes, but a terrifyingly perceptive one. She noticed everything. Remembered everything.

Even now, she was looking at you as if she already knew where your story ends.

Meanwhile, Pietro teaches Sports Science and gets fan mail from student-athletes and wide-eyed girls auditing his class. Last year, he lost the “Hottest Male Professor” poll to Professor Rogers and sulked for weeks.

“Fifty bucks,” Pietro says, doubling down.

You flash him a predatory grin. “Deal.”

Wanda sighs, long-suffering and elegant. “One day, you two will outgrow your pissing contests.”

You doubt it.

You brush off Pietro’s smugness, but his words stick like a dare. You don’t believe in omens, but something about today feels off.

You were right.

And fuck Pietro. You're never taking another bet from him ever again.

You enter the lecture hall like always: bored, bitter, buzzing on burnt caffeine. The room smells like old textbooks and anticipation. You’ve locked the door behind you; your usual ritual of academic sadism. No latecomers. No mercy.

But something’s off.

There’s a weight in the air, heat, almost. Not temperature, exactly. Just the kind of heat that coils down your spine, instinctive and ancient. You feel it before you even meet their eyes.

When you scan the room, your gaze skips past the sleepy freshmen and hungover upperclassmen until it snaps, front row, dead center.

Two women.

They sit like they own the space. Not trying to. Knowing they do. Confidence was oozing out from them in beautiful waves, they seemed like the embodiment of professional arrogance. Their eyes, although different in color, stare at you the same way. It felt heavy, yet not suffocating. It felt strangely comforting, and that thought alone sent shivers down your spine.

The one on the left has dark eyes like bruised velvet and a mouth made for ruin. The other leans back with a legal pad and the posture of a queen at court; unbothered, unreadable, untouchable.

Their gazes land on you with perfect stillness. No blinking. No flinching. Just that weight again.

And in that exact moment, you know.

You’re fucked. Deeply. Profoundly. Existentially.

They don’t look like students. They don’t look like anything you’ve ever taught.

You grip the podium like it’ll anchor you to reality.

You cleared your throat, breaking eye contact like it burned.

“If you're here because you thought this class would be easy. Get the hell out.”

The words came out flat, practiced. You always open this way, your voice is steady. Cold. Scripted. It’s the same line you give every year. It usually works. The scared ones scatter. The cocky ones get humbled after the first exam.

But not them.

They don’t even blink.

The tension didn’t lift. It coiled.

Like they were waiting for something.

Like you were the one being tested.

“If you’re still sitting here in five minutes, you’re agreeing to read the blood and bones of every civilization that ever wrote a word. You’ll write essays that rewrite your brain. You’ll drown in dead languages and sleep with metaphors under your pillow.”

You click the remote. The first slide glows behind you.

No one moves.

Especially not them.

The woman with dark brown yet silver-streaked hair leans back in her seat, languid. Deliberate. Her fingers trace something into the spine of her notebook, though you’re too far to see what. Her gaze flickers to you—sharp, ancient. Not tired, but measured. Like you’re a puzzle she's already halfway through solving.

Beside her, the one with a jaw like carved stone and a stare like a held knife to your throat doesn’t even try to pretend she’s paying attention to the slides. She only watches you as she nibbles on her pencil in a playful and annoyingly seductive way.

Then it hits you, like a brick that fell from 15 stories high.

You do know who they are. Everyone on campus does.

You mentally kick yourself for not realizing it sooner.

Dr. Agatha Harkness, expert in ancient texts, dead languages, and cryptic footnotes that even seasoned scholars refuse to touch.

Dr. Rio Vidal, historian of legal theory and the laws no longer written. To make it easier, she's a historian of law, but not the kind written in dusty textbooks. The kind etched in blood, carved in stone, whispered across centuries.

They’re legends in academia. The kind of people who give guest lectures that make other professors take notes. The kind of names that carry weight, and bite. Both with credentials that make your curriculum vitae look like a high school résumé.

They’ve taken classes before. Rumor has it that they're working on a PhD that you're pretty sure they already have. Wanda, in particular, had thoughts. She blabbered for an hour straight in your apartment once, her voice shifting from frustration to reverence and back again like she couldn’t decide whether to curse them or canonize them. You’d laughed at her, teasing her for being so dramatic.

Stress, admiration, annoyance, arousal, she cycled through all of it in a single paragraph.

You remember thinking she was overreacting.

Now, standing in front of them, you’re not so sure.

You didn’t look at your roster. You never do on the first day.

And maybe that was a mistake.

Because you didn’t know they’d be here.

You didn’t know they’d be like this.

You didn’t expect the air to shift with their gaze. You didn’t expect to feel watched. Studied. Hunted.

You turn back to the projector screen like it’s armor. Like it can block the way their eyes follow your every movement.

You speak. Words about Gilgamesh and Sumerian cuneiform fill the room. You’ve said them a hundred times before.

But your voice feels foreign in your mouth. Your pacing is off. You almost trip over a quote from an Epic because-

You can feel them.

Not in the way students usually feel. Not in the twitchy, distracted, too-online way. They’re quiet. Still. Intent.

Like they’re dissecting you. Or worse, understanding you.

Your pulse skips a beat. You’re hyper-aware of your throat. Your instincts whisper one word: run.

You clear your throat again. You’re not nervous. You’ve taught this class for years. You've spoken at conferences with stricter crowds and colder rooms.

You’re not nervous.

Your hand tightens around the remote. It was an attempt to keep composure, to stay strong.

“Attendance is irrelevant,” you say, voice clipped. You make yourself sound bored. Detached. Like you’re above this.

“This class will not cater to your schedules, your feelings, or your GPAs. You’ll pass if you earn it. You’ll fail if you don’t. I don’t do second chances.”

It comes out clean. Sharp. You're good at this.

You move through the next slide, keeping your eyes away from them. You’re aware of their presence like you’re aware of gravity; constant, invisible, undeniable.

“This is not a course in reading comprehension. We’ll be dissecting context, subtext, and cultural memory. We’ll read what was said, what wasn’t said, and what was forbidden to say.” You continue

You hear the faintest sound, a slight rustle of fabric followed by the soft creaking of university issued plastic chairs, and maybe a breath caught at the wrong moment. It’s quiet, but your brain latches onto it like a warning.

Still, you push forward. You have to.

So you did. Despite the magnetic pull they seem to both have, you managed to keep yourself together until the end of your orientation and the short discussion of your syllabus. You might be cruel, but you're not a monster to immediately begin a lesson on the first day.

The class ends like any other. You dismiss them. They rise.

And yet they don’t rush. In fact, they stay behind, the last students to ever walk out your doors.

Agatha meets your gaze for a breath too long. She doesn’t smile, not really. But her mouth moves like she might.

Rio tilts her head slightly, like she’s filing you away in a mental drawer.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Professor,” one of them murmurs.

You don’t remember which.

You stay frozen long after they’re gone. Only whispers of their presence remain.

You’re used to narrating the room like a well-worn novel; predictable, underlined, annotated. But now, the chapters are being rewritten without your consent, and for the first time, you don’t know if you’re the author… or just a footnote in someone else’s story

You're definitely losing that bet.

[twstfanblog]

Oki Doki, I know that this may sound a bit charged, and you can tots ignore this if you want to, but I wanted to just throw this in there

The overblot boys with an anarchist reader/Yuu. They simply don't like nor understand the reason for a hierarchy and don't believe that one person should be in charge of a whole kingdom, be it a hereditary "god given right" or not. They got mad at their society that failed them back on their world, and are very hesitant to trust the boys due to their status, since they don't know if TWST's ruling class is different from the ones back at home.

That's all, take care, hydrate

Overblot Boys React to Anarchist Reader

Overblot Boys & Reader

Riddle

Why would you start this fight with him?

This boys entire spine and personality is built on the concept of rules and hierarchy, the concept of anarchy is madness to him. And not the good kind. He firmly believes that a governing body is simply a byproduct of forming a society. You can't have one without the other.

Debates. He will be there every time you start talking about your societal ideals and how you believe things should be. It's entertaining for others to watch because even with Riddle's character growth, he believes in there being a governing body that works for the betterment of the people. Period.

Though with your debates, he starts to learn more about anarchy and the actual ideals of it. He does find the idea of a direct democracy to be appealing, but he also runs a dorm full of people whose first choice is chaos. He needs to be the voice of absolute authority.

Leona

Why would you do this to yourself?

Leona goes against the grain himself, so he'd understand the appeal of anarchy. Plus if you talked about your world's messed up ruling class with him, he'd completely understand your stance. Leona, self-serving as he is does believe that the ruling class should look out for everyone under them. And if they aren't, change needs to happen.

That means nothing, he will still debate you on it. Leona is a good leader, wild as his dorm may be. But he doesn't believe a completely ungoverned society is something that could be achieved on a larger scale. Small communities can operate as anarcal societies easily. But the more people you add, the higher the number of variables grow. He finds people too easy to manipulate.

He agrees with the concept of anarchy, but he will debate you on whether the practice of it would actually be plausible for a real society. Savanaclaw can self-govern itself, but it's also prime for internal conflict all the time.

Azul

He's from the sea, thats the closest thing to a functioning anarchist system he knows. They still have a royal family that filters through their requests and works to keep the kingdom happy. But, whatever happens in the water, stays in the water. People kind of do as they please with the only threat being someone bigger and badder coming along.

But even with that system, they still have a ruling class of royalty and nobility. He can't really wrap his head around the concept of actual anarchy. Voluntary services are still a service; that's still a group of people commanding some type of respect for their actions.

There are no real laws in the sea, and people maim and murder each other pretty freely down there. Land society is much more...safe compared to what he and the twins grew up with.

He thinks it's kind of cute that you want anarchy. As if more than half the students in the school wouldn't instantly choose murder and deceit to get through life if they didn't have someone to answer to. Octavinelle is a dorm of cunning and shady people, trusting in the goodness of his fellow men isn't something he knows.

Jamil

He'd lowkey look at you like you're dumb. He'd never say you are, but he's looking.

Even bottom of the pyrimand he is, Jamil believes in there always being someone above someone else. He's not as power-hungry as he was before his overblot, but he very much still dreams of being 'above' others.

While Jamil deeply understands your stance, he thinks instead of throwing the whole system out, you should first try to fix the system you have first. If its truely beyond saving, then yes, start over. But true anarchy isn't something he finds possible.

He feels even if you get rid of the old system, you'd simply form a new one. It's human nature. Certain people are better than others, offer skills no one else can. That gives them a sense of power and they then gain authority on how they choose to share those talents. Government systems come in many forms for a reason. It's human nature to form heirarcy. Scarabia is a political battle field, people follow Kalim because his family is rich and influential with all they've done to help their community through trade.

Vil

What are you talking about???

Are you're gonna look this benevolent queen bee in his perfectly winged eyes and say that you don't believe hierarchy and governing bodies are needed for a peaceful society? It's 11am, what are you smoking?

Of course, someone has to be in charge. That's just how things get done. Tiebreakers are a thing for a reason. Yes, he understands that your world's system has failed you. It was a shitty system. But, the idea of simply having no one in charge isn't possible. People who govern are charismatic and persuasive. They lead with words and logic, something that people follow.

He believes, even in an archarchy, someone will rise up as a 'Voice of the People'. People can be easily influenced. It'd be easy for someone pretty or silver-tongued to rise above and place themselves as a ruler of smaller communities. It's basically what Pomefiore is, Vil proved himself to be the best at what everyone in the dorm strives for so he is their leader.

Idia

Sounds cool, what do you do what the crazy people?

Insensitive, but he's kind of serious. Like-minded people group together, that includes people with less-than-savory ideals than others. If everyone is on an equal playing field protection and decision-wise, with the only thing they have to fight back is numbers, that can get dangerous real quick.

It's basic MMO rules. Newer players latch together to protect themselves from older players who make a habit of picking off newbies as soon as possible to maintain a sort of control over areas.

He trusts the idea of the system, he just doesn't trust the people in it. People are too easily cruel to someone they deem weaker because he's guilty of it himself.

Malleus

He lowkey can't even really understand how it'd even work.

Briar Valley is a small-scale society land-wise, but Malleus rules over an entire species. The very idea of there...not being a hierarchy is laughable to him.

Hierarchy in the Fae is purely power-based since it's in their nature to do as they please anyway. The only way to get them to listen is to simply be stronger than them. As such, the strongest of whatever fae speaks for all of them. Their whims are normally the same anyway, doing whatever they please.

His family has ruled as an absolute monarchy for literally millenia. To not have a ruling class seems odd to him. Who makes the choices? Who sorts the concerns of the citizens? Who decides what and which issue is more important? Who will mediate conflicts between opposing parties?

[miley1442111]

hiii!! i was wondering if you would maybe wanna write a Chef Luca x reader that takes place at the Ever funeral (they met there) and they get to tell everyone that they are engaged? that would be very cute i think

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time after time- chef luca

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a/n: thank you so much for requesting, I loved this idea and maybe got a little carried away... :)

summary: a look in at your life with luca

pairings: chef luca x fem! reader

warnings: kissing, cursing, smut (18+) (piv, oral (f reciving), fighting, anxiety, brief mention of vomit, reader gets hurt, blood, talk of injuries and stitches (i think that's it??)

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As you walked into the Ever funeral, you couldn’t help but feel the nostalgia hit you like a wave. This was where you’d learnt to cook, where you met some of your best life-long friends, and of course, Luca. As you looked at the halls you’d known so well, you couldn’t help but think about your time there, and how it had impacted you, in every way. 

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Your first day…

You walked in ten minutes early. You were supposed to be twenty minutes early, if you hadn’t had to stop and vomit before you left your new apartment. Chicago was growing on you, though you were surprised at how cold it truly got there, since you’d been living in Spain for the past couple of years. You walked through the halls, everything new, as you greeted fellow students/ chefs. Everyone knew who you were, you were supposed to be a rising star in the food world, winning the ‘Rising Chef Award’ that year for your work in Azurmendi restaurant, a michelin star restaurant in Spain. You were supposed to be the best, so when people found out you weren’t, they would have a fucking field day. 

Carmen Berzatto was quiet, but he was the person you clicked with the most. Clearly the mentally disturbed got along well, that's what you two said anyways. 

Luca was a fucking prick. He was the cockiest of cocky pieces of shit, he was acting like he owned the place, and better yet, he was fucking stunningly gorgeous. You turned to your new friend, Gilian as she swooned over the British accent, tattoos, and built arms. 

The day went by smoothly, hitting it off with other chefs in the group, but never really getting close enough to Luca to really see anything other than his cocky smirks and party-boy aura. You loved Ever already, and you were excelling. You got put with Gillian as your partner, and Carm was put with Luca, and though they both tried to switch, no one would take the other, so they were forced to deal with it. 

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Your first week…

Luca and Carmen were a match made in hell. They politely threw digs at each other right under Chef Andrea’s nose, and when they were caught, she was too fond of the both of them to actually punish them. You’d learnt that Carm had a great way of getting people to do the things he wanted them to, aka, screaming at the top of his lungs, and Luca was slower than Carm, which meant they were both equally as insufferable as each other. Like you said, match made in hell. 

You stayed late one night, trying to perfect a recipe you were supposed to send back to Azurmendi. It was beating your ass, every single time it just felt wrong. Like something was missing. 

You watched in horror as Luca walked into the kitchen, his apron on and a bowl of pastry dough in his hands. 

God, this was going to be a long night. 

“What are you making?” He asked, kneading the dough. 

“Just something for Azurmendi,” you mumbled, not exactly wanting this conversation to progress. Some of the girls had been complaining about his ‘asshole behaviour’ but what they really meant was that he was handsome and didn’t want to go out with them. 

“Can I see?’ he asked, and you nodded slowly, moving out of the way of the dish to let him try it. 

It was a deconstructed caramelised banana pudding with raspberry compote that was still missing something. He walked around the counter, his eyes on you the whole time as you absorbed yourself in the plate. It looked beautiful, but did it taste good? You’d tried a hundred and one things with it, strawberry compote, vanilla sauces, mango, everything. This was your last resort. 

He looked at the plater, moving it around to get different angles. It was a stunning presentation, he couldn’t lie. “What does it taste like?”

You shrugged. He chuckled. 

“What?” he chuckled. “Are you messing with me?”

You shook your head. “I don’t like bananas, or raspberries,” you shrugged. “You taste it and tell me.” 

He was in shock when you handed him a spoon. “You’re sure?” and you nodded.

He dug in, tasting the banana pudding, with the caramel, and the raspberry compote and… it was delicious. Probably the best thing he’d ever eaten, and from the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. See, you wouldn’t know this until years later but since the first day, he’d been looking at you. He’d wanted nothing more than to even be friends with you, he didn’t even know he;d one day become your boyfriend, then your fiancé, and soon, your husband. “That’s fucking brilliant.”

You smiled softly. “You sure?”

“Best thing I’ve ever eaten, hands down,” he nodded, taking another spoon. 

You chuckled. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, trust me, I’m not,” he said, shovelling another spoon into his mouth. “You mind if I finish this?” He asked, mouth full of the dessert. Usually stuff like that would make you gag, but Luca made it funny. You found yourself laughing. “Luca,” he smiled, holding out his hand for you to take once he’d finished his meal. 

“Y/n,” you smiled. 

“You’re really impressive, I’ve seen your stuff. I’d love to pick your brain about Azumendi, if you wouldn’t mind me geeking out about you for a few hours?” He smiled. He was pretty charismatic, and pretty well… pretty. 

“Sure,” you nodded. “When are you free?”

“Saturday night? I know this great restaurant nearby,” He smiled. 

“I’m free Saturday night,” you nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Sounds like a date to me!” Chef Andrea called from behind you two as she walked in. You two jumped apart, despite being pretty far apart to begin with. 

“I-um-you didn’t- it doesn't have to be-” you stumbled over your words as Luca watched with a crooked smile on his face. 

“It's a date,” he cut you off. “Unless you don’t want it to be.” 

You nodded. “Then I think it’s a date,” you smiled. 

Luca was sure to thank Andrea the next day. 

---------------

Saturday night…

You got out of your chef white’s the second you got home and straight into getting ready for the date that was forty-five minutes away. You did your makeup, got dressed, then waited by the door for Luca. 

The doorbell rang and there he was, pink shirt, black slacks and that same Luca smile. He looked you up and down and smiled. “God you’re fucking gorgeous.”

You felt yourself heat up at his comment. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He smiled wider and off you went to Lorenzo’s, an Italian spot near Ever. 

---------------

The night went off perfectly, he was sweet, funny, and he actually listened to you as you geeked out about food and restaurants and everything in between. Luca was great. 

When he dropped you back off at your apartment, you were laughing so hard you almost fell over, he caught you by the waist, pulling you into his as he chuckled. 

You didn’t realise how close he was until you noticed his breath on your cheek. Soon, the laughing was softened to sweet smiles, and he cupped your cheek and kissed you softly, much softer than you'd imagined. His lips were sweet, still tasting of the berry dessert you’d shared after your delicious meal. You pull back, a shocked smile on your face.

“I really like you,” he admitted, blushing. “And I really want to take you out again.”

You smiled. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. He let go of you, watching as you unlocked your apartment door. 

“Bye,” he smiled. You couldn’t resist, you pressed your lips to his again as his hands circled your waist and yours went to mess up his hair. 

“Bye,” you called after you pulled away, turning to go inside. He looked so good like that, lips red, hair slightly tousled, shocked look on his face. It was nice. He was nice. 

---------------

One month in… 

Luca watched you as you walked into the kitchen, talking with Chef Andrea as she asked about the dish you had made in Azurmendi. He thought you were gorgeous, his eyes were always drawn to you in every room. The past month had been full of dinner dates, getting lunch, and sometimes meeting up for breakfasts before work. He was falling in love with you, and he knew it. Everything about you made him want to know more, to spend more time with you, to be with you. Granted, he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend yet, but all that would change today. He’d decided that on your usual lunch break, he’d ask you to officially be his girlfriend. That was the right thing to do, right? 

“You good man?” Carmen asked, chewing much too loud in Luca’s opinion. 

“Fine,” he answered, finally out of his trance. 

Carmen stared at him for a moment. “You good?”

“Good Chef,” he nodded. 

“Cause it looks to me that you’re staring at Chef Y/n,” he observed. “And that means your head isn’t in the kitchen. Is your head not in the kitchen, Chef?”

“My head is as firmly in the kitchen as yours is up your ass Carm,” Luca retorted before leaving to grab his ingredients for the day. Carmen Berzatto was a dick, Luca had no idea what you saw in him as a friend. 

---------------

You were cutting, the same as always. Then you felt the familiar nudge that CArm had been giving you in recent weeks, just a friendly tap on the back as he passed behind you. Then there was a knife in your hand. “Fuck!” More specifically, there was a huge gash in your hand. 

Everyone’s eyes shot up, all attention on you. No one moved as you grabbed your hand, blood gushing as your eyes welled up. You crouched down, holding your hand in pain. 

“Y/n-” Carm tried but Luca was quick to swoop in, kneeling beside you. 

“Are you alright? Come on, let’s go,” he held you as he led you out of the kitchen. He held you close, practically carrying you as he put you into his car, rushing you to A&E. 

---------------

Some stitches, a lot of bandages, and a blood bag later (you’d lost a lot), you were discharged and exhausted. Chicago A&E wait times are no fucking joke. Luca drove you back to your apartment. 

“Anything I can do for you?” He asked, still worried about you. 

“Do you want to come up and we can get takeout? I need to thank you for taking care of me today,” you chuckled. He shook his head, a smile on his face.

“No need for thanking, I’m just glad that you’re ok,” he smiled. “But I will take you up on dinner, since we missed our lunch date today.”

You walked up, hand in hand (not your hurt one), and led him into your apartment. He’d never truly been inside, only getting glimpses, but he knew he’d love it. It was perfect, it was so you. Knick-knacks from you various hobbies and pictures from your life, even one of you as a kid. 

“Cute kid,” he smiled, picking up the photo. You laughed. “She’s cuter now.”

You rolled your eyes at his bad joke. “Shut up,” you chuckled. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Lorenzo’s?” He offered. 

“Wow,” you chuckled. “Call back to when we first started dating.”

He nodded. So you were dating, right? “Exactly.”

“Huh, look at that,” you smiled, trying to keep up the facade of not being very nervous about this. “It’s been exactly a month since.”

“Our one month anniversary,” he smiled and your heart melted. He also thought you were actually dating, even if he hadn’t specifically called you his girlfriend, and you hadn’t explicitly said he was your boyfriend. 

He was silent for a moment, so were you. Just looking at each other.

“That means I can call you my girlfriend, right?” He asked, a bashful smile on his lips. 

You smiled back. “Yes.” 

“Good,” he groaned, pulling your waist into his. “I’ve been wanting to call you that all month.”

You chuckled. “I’m glad.”

He smiled. “So you’re my girlfriend.”

“So you’re my boyfriend,” you chuckled and he pressed his lips to yours. 

“Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked, pulling away. 

“I don’t think I deserve that title after crying today. I’m an ugly crier,” you chuckled. 

“You are not an ugly crier, plus it was Carmen’s fucking fault anyway,” he defended. 

You shrugged. “Things happen in the kitchen.”

“And that wouldn’t have happened if Carm was such a piece of shit,” he cursed, smiling at you. 

“Let’s just order dinner, yeah?” 

He pressed his lips to yours again. “Yeah.”

---------------

Two months in…

You and Luca had both had a shit day, nothing had gone right in the kitchen, you’d burnt yourself, and Carmen was really getting on Luca’s nerves, to the point of a screaming match during lunch. 

He pushed you up against the counter as he pressed searing kisses to your lips and neck. You were boiling, despite the freezing kitchen.

“Luc,” you groaned. You and Luca hadn’t gone further than heavy making out, and something told you that Luca wasn’t slowing down this time. It was late, you were the only two still there, who could it hurt?

He pulled your t-shirt over your head pressing a kiss to your clavicle. “So gorgeous.”

“Luca, someone could come in,” You hissed as he pressed kisses down your torso. “Luca!”

He looked up from between your legs, eyes dark and hair messy, and a part of you just didn’t care. You wanted him. “Please baby.”

You nodded, a smile on your face. He pulled off your jeans and underwear in one fluid movement as you lay back. 

“So pretty baby,” he pressed kisses to the insides of your thighs as you started overthinking the entire situation. Someone could just come in, anyone, even Andrea, you had no fucking idea. Also, did Luca actually want to do this? Most guys didn’t like eating pussy, and you didn’t even know the last time you’d shaved. 

He finally pressed his tongue against your clit and your brain short- circuited. “Luca!” You moaned, putting a hand in his hair. “Fuck Luca, there!”

Luca added a finger, then two, until you were writhing on the table, fucking you past your first orgasm and into another one, as he moaned along like he was being pleasured by this.  He didn’t stop sucking and fucking your pussy with his tongue for a long time, despite how hard he was in his boxers, despite how much he wanted to fuck you. You tasted incredible, something he could only dream of recreating, oh, that was a good idea… Anyway, he fucked you through two orgasms, then stood back up. 

You whined at the loss of contact as he unzipped his trousers, taking out his cock. God, he was big. Big, and fucking thick. “Luca I-”

“Are you on birth control?” He asked, spreading some of your slick over his cock and stroking himself.

You nodded. He smiled. 

“Good girl.”

And with that, he pushed into you in one painful thrust. You moaned into his mouth as he pressed his to yours in a searing kiss. He let you adjust, then slowly started moving.   

“Faster,” you begged. “Faster Luca.”

He was all too happy to oblige. 

And that’s how your first time fucking Luca was in the kitchen of Ever. 

---------------

The big fight…

It had been a shit fucking week. Chicago was cold and damp, and your bike had gotten a flat on your way home from work. Shitty. On Monday, your trainee burnt you, then blamed you. On Tuesday, you didn’t even see Luca, he was too busy at Ever. On Wednesday, you smashed your phone screen. On Thursday, Luca’s mother called to say she was visiting next week, with absolutely no warning, so that meant you had to sort out your new apartment all night. 

Shitty. 

Luca barged in, angry from the week. All week he had been fucking up. Small mistake no one should be making, let alone him. Worst part? He hadn’t seen you all week. But there you were, sitting on the couch with a book, snuggled into a throw blanket. 

“Hey,” he called out. No reply. “Baby?” No reply. “Babe!”

No reply. “Fine, fucking be like that.”

Luca marched into the bathroom, his anger bubbling. 

You hadn’t even seen him enter, too engrossed in your novel and the music in your earphones to look up. After about an hour of reading, you left your cosy spot on the couch, retiring to the bedroom. And there he was, your Luca, lying in bed. 

“Hey,” you smiled, climbing into bed beside him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he scoffed, pulling away from you. “You never fucking listen anyways.”

You were taken aback. Why the fuck was he being so pissy? “What?”

“It’d be great if you could even give me, your fucking boyfriend, a singular moment of your time, but I see that that’s too much to ask, so I’ll just go fuck myself.”

“Luca, what is wrong with you?” You huffed, confused at his words. 

“Maybe I’ve had a shitty week alright? And maybe I wanted to spend time with you but you were too busy with your book to even fucking see me!” 

You sighed. “Luc, I had headphones in, I couldn’t fucking hear you.”

“Oh yeah? And how many times have I asked you to turn down the volume or take one out so you can hear the world around you?” He asked condescendingly. 

“Baby, you’re not meant to be home until 11 most nights, not 7:30. I thought I had time!” 

“I sent you a text about it and all!”

“I wasn’t on my phone!” you defended. 

He sighed. “I’m not doing this right now,” and he walked out of your bedroom, and out of the apartment. 

And you were alone. What had just happened?

---------------

Luca took a walk to clear his head, but he just felt worse. He was being a dick and he knew it, but he was just so stressed. Work was hard, and you were the only one who made him feel good enough. And recently, since you’d transferred to another restaurant he’d been wondering if he was good enough in the  kitchen, and for you. 

You were amazing, countless chef awards, you’re a beautiful, stunning woman, but you were also kind, patient, and funny. 

Was he enough for you?

 And that night, it had all just exploded. 

He walked back into the apartment to find you on the couch, eyes puffy and red-rimmed, nose running. He felt awful. 

“I’m so sorry baby,” he whispered, kneeling in front of you. “I’m such an arsehole.”

“Yeah you are,” you sniffled. “But so am I. I’m sorry about the headphones.”

He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was just stressed this week, and I’m just taking it out on you. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

You both froze. In your year and a half of dating, neither of you had been brave enough to admit that you loved each other, obviously, you both knew and felt the love, but neither of you had been brave enough to do it. 

“Oh,” you said, and Luca looked up, a shocked look on his face. “I love you too,” you blurted out. 

He smiled. “Good, I'm glad.” 

You chuckled. “Me too.”

You both burst out laughing. 

“That was so diplomatic!” you giggled. 

“Who says ‘oh’ after someone says they love them?” Luca laughed, pulling you into his arms as you laughed. 

Your fight had been long forgotten in a matter of seconds. 

---------------

“Thinking about things?” Luca squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality. He smirked at you. 

“Maybe?” You smiled, holding him closer. “You?”

“Of course I am,” he whispered. “You looked so gorgeous on the counter-”

“Shut the fuck up!” You groaned. 

Andrea suddenly appeared in front of  you two, a bright smile on her face. “My two chefs!”

“Andrea!” You smiled, pulling her in for a hug. Andrea had always been one of your biggest supporters (well, her and Luca), always calling when she heard something new about your restaurant, and even coming to visit when she was in London. 

“How are you two?” She asked. You smiled at Luca, who smiled back. 

“We’re engaged,” you beamed, showing off the beautiful ring Luca had given to you, just a week ago. 

“Oh my god!” she squealed. “What wonderful news!”

“What’s the wonderful news?” Carmen butted in, a smile on his face. 

“We’re engaged,” Luca answered. 

“Shit, congratulations!” He smiled, pulling you both in for a hug. 

“Well, that is going to be one amazing wedding,” Andrea added. “Who’s your caterer?” She joked.

You both laughed. It felt good. It felt good to be this loved.

---------------

the bear masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[fukashiin]

ACEYUU WOKE ME FROM THE DEAD

book 7 spoilers <3 very long rant im sorry!!

it was never meant to be this way. when he was such an ass to us in the prologue, when he laid those pesky remarks upon us and immediately assuming that we got into NRC as a janitor because we weren't good enough without any prior knowledge of how we were brought here against our will and having to adapt to such an unfamiliar environment where everything - trends, names, history, and even the currency - were different. he didn't know about the throbbing headache we had while the headmage was explaining the school's curriculum and suddenly bringing up the word "magic" into the conversation like it was foreign language.

he thinks he's above us just because we're a clueless student who couldnt cast any spells and took up the miserable job just for the sake of money and to live. he had this one-way "not my problem!!" mindset about us that he dipped the moment after because he never would have suspected that we would grow to be something more important, something more irreplaceable in his life.

he never meant to test the waters, and he's drowning by mistake.

his concern for you gets more obvious as each book advances (or was it always obvious??). you're just an otherworlder oblivious to the dangers that lurk in twisted wonderland, so it's only casual for him to fret about when you've been taken into scarabia with minimal escape routes, to be the first one to notice that you were missing among the entourage of people that have been kidnapped, to be the only one to point out that you weren't in the best condition AND suggesting to bring you back home in case the party was all too much. he knows how vulnerable you are, and he jumps into action as quick as possible because that's basically his brand. nothing deeper!!! (unknown dangers lurk around you on the daily, but you lurk in his mind so much more than he lets on. you're probably more used to the dangers of magic than he's used to the thought of you occupying his mind 24/7. isnt that ironic)

and he didn't consider the complications of how dangerous it could be for the headmage to send us back to our original world, possibly damaging the very fabrics of time and space and ceasing to exist while transporting - he just instantly goes to the part where the news was positive and that we could travel between Twisted Wonderland and earth in one piece, blocking out his surroundings just to see your smile, as that was possibly the happiest you could have ever been in front of him.

imagine each time he hangs out with someone new, or if someone has gained a romantic interest in him once you've left, he tries to find a part of "you" in them in his peripheral vision. whether they have an ounce of bravery that you had, whether they're as understanding as you are to know that he isn't just a human built of jokes and pranks, whether they won't doubt him like the rest did - as you were the only one who truly believed in his capability to truly lead the rest out of danger.

he could beg for other people to believe in him, to see that his skills could draw out much more if he really wanted to, but he didn't have to do that with you. in a flashing moment of possible failure, he turned to you in a heartbeat, uncharacteristically, desperately calling out for you to save him because he had no idea what was happening. he almost started to lose himself and quickly realises that the power he was wielding so suddenly wasn't some lousy spell, that it could possibly cause someone's life, and you were there to steady him when he needed it the most. a rarity of a scene he entrusted his entire body to you with. you believed in him. you ARE the betterment of him.

you held his hand like a vow, to protect each other and strengthen through every obstacle and turmoil that drives you one step closer to becoming a better version of yourself. your hand, tightly coiled around his, radiated the warmth and comfort he needed in his times of darkness and inner conflict.

it should've been you. you're perfect.

and that's why his dream still has you in it. it doesn't have to be one way or the other, you can simply go back and forth to his world and your own in just a snap! he could never dream of you leaving his sight and grasp, hindering him from ever telling you how much you actually meant. he has all the time in the world.

and that's what he wants, but his heart says otherwise, and that's fine. he just wants you to be safe and see him for who he is. you inspired him to take pride in his name, as an ace can do anything!!

[meelusinee]

Fem!reader x Mattheo, who had given her the Amortentia potion,can be smut or something like one of the teachers/students realise somethings up

LOVE'S WORST ENEMY | M.R X READER

word count \ 3.8k | not so fluff | slash / mattheo riddle / fem!reader

in which mattheo uses amortentia to get his girl

minor cw & tw: use of amortentia (which is considered drugging) & manipulation

You had never liked Mattheo before.

That wasn’t to say you disliked him, or that you hated him. Rather, you just never truly knew him well enough to like him.

Mattheo was Slytherin’s signature rugged bad boy. A prankster that walked the line of ‘too much’ like it was an already snorted line of cocaine and he wanted more. He had friends that were high up as well. Pureblood aristocrats who had millions in their family wealth. His reputation had been built for him by the time his name had been called for the Sorting Hat, and he seemed to love playing into what everyone thought was true.

And you? 

You weren’t known at all. Or at least, you weren’t known like that. Just a regular student who tried to live a regular life. A little better than average grades, and a couple of close friends, though not much more than that. The most you were known as was Hermione Granger’s quiet friend, though barely anyone knew you two even talked in the first place. 

Which led you confused as to why Mattheo had decided you were his. You weren’t even sure how it started. You supposed it was the tutoring. 

Mattheo could feel his heartbeat against the paper he was holding. 

It was beating so hard he could feel every palpitation inside his veins. He had never felt this way before, had he? Nervous was not a word that was in his dictionary. He had the impulse control of a raccoon with rabies, he hated the concept of nervousness like a rabid dog feared water. 

Which is why he hated that you made him this way. 

You, a regular student. Granger’s quiet friend, maybe a bit of a high achiever. A tutor in Charms, Transfiguration and now Potions. 

Just regular. Normal. 

So why was he so attracted to you? He didn’t know. 

And he hated it. Hated that he had no control of the situation, Hated that you probably only knew him from his reputation. He could treat you so well, he knew that. Any date that you wanted, any gift that you were promised as a child and never got. Absolutely anything. 

But you didn’t know that. And he hated not having power over that. 

So, instead of slowly making you fall in love with him all while knowing you might never truly love him, like a regular person would, he decided to go through a faster route. Amortentia.

Which led to him failing his recent Potions exams about Amortentia. 

It was a simple plan. Fail anything relating to love potions until Slughorn hunted him down. Stare at him with those eyes that seemed to scare the professor into allowing anything that Mattheo wanted, and then ask to be tutored by you. After that, he’d say yes. Mattheo knew he would say yes. 

And he knew that he’d get you alone after that.

“Excuse me,” Mattheo whispered, a small slip of paper laid in his hands as he stood next to your desk in the library. You had notes scattered around, some almost falling off the desk. “Are you Y/N?”

You looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, completely innocent and unknowing of the entire world. It was absolutely adorable to say the least. “Yes?”

“Good.” he said, holding up the small slip of paper. “Slughorn paired us up together? Tutoring?”

You looked at the slip in his hand confusedly. You had indeed offered to start tutoring for Slughorn, but you hadn’t been told that you were meant to be tutoring someone just yet. Though, Slughorn was paying you, so you weren’t complaining too much. 

“What did you need help with?” you asked him curiously, taking the slip with those smooth hands of his. They looked so small, so delicate. He couldn’t wait to feel them melting against his chest.

Mattheo shrugged simply. “Amortentia, I think.”

You nodded and chuckled at that, closing your book and sitting up a bit straighter. “It is a hard potion, especially the time it takes. Do you have everything you need for it?”

He smiled a bit sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t know what I need.”

You looked at him before shaking your head. “That’s probably why you need tutoring.” you chuckled, pulling up a list from your pile of notes spread across the desk. “I have a list here, you can ask Slughorn for the materials. He should still be in his office right now, he only goes to his room after sundown.” you muttered, handing the list to him. “Come back after, okay?”

“Thank you.” he nodded and smiled quietly, looking down at the list before walking off. Mattheo could feel your eyes on him. He wasn’t sure what you thought about him. 

Maybe you thought that he was quiet, or weird. Or maybe you already knew of his reputation. Would that be a bad thing? He wasn’t so sure. He knew that his soft tone and his smiles would make you question what you knew already. And he knew that you were going to be more forgiving then most people would.

And that’s exactly what he needed. 

He sighed as he looked down at the list, a small smirk growing on his lips as he saw the ingredients he had months memorizing. 

1 piece Bdellium 5 Flutterby Bush Flowers 1 sprigs Knotgrass 3 Lacewing Flies 1 drop Lethe River Water 6 Mistletoe Berries 1 measure Pearl Dust 1 measure Powdered Asphodel Root 2 measures Powdered Unicorn Horn 4 drops Rose Oil 6 Rose Petals 1 cup Standard Potioning Water

Mistletoe berries were easy to grab. Pearl dust could be modified to be more potent. Mattheo was sure that Theodore had a rose that was raised more potent than three, and the Unicorn Horn was easily acquirable as well. He was sure that he could modify the ingredients to make it more potent, to make it longer or stronger whenever someone took it.

When he would make you take it. 

He chuckled under his breath and pocketed the list of ingredients, already knowing exactly what he was getting himself into. His heart was racing in his fingertips, though this time it was full of anticipation. 

“I have a gift for you.” he muttered quietly.

You looked up as Mattheo approached you with a small box of chocolates, a small smile growing on your face as you saw him. Mattheo and you had been hanging out more often ever since he started being your makeshift Potions student. 

He was a good guy. You didn’t care what everyone else said about him, because you knew him better than they did. Sure, he was rambunctious, but what teenager wasn’t? He was kind to you, and he listened much more than anyone else ever had. His friends were nice too, albeit a bit harsher compared to him. Reckless womanizers that threw money on alcohol and impulse spendings that made no sense to you. You knew it didn’t care that it didn’t make that much sense to you though. 

“You got a gift?” you asked him with a small smile. 

“Mhm.” he smiled at you, handing you the gift. “Chocolate.”

You gasped quietly as you took in the box as a whole. It was a heart shape, a box that had been painted pastel pink with lace glued on the edges. The chocolate seemed homemade, not quite from the beginning but enough to seem homemade to you. There was a small note on the back of the cover, which stated that they were made with a caramel filling in the middle. “Wow.”

Mattheo chuckled quietly, looking at you with a small smile and a look in your eyes you couldn’t quite place. “Do you like it?” he asked quietly.

“I love it!” you said excitedly, eating one of the chocolates almost instantly. “Oh my, that’s delicious.”

Mattheo sat down next to you with a small smirk planted on his face, watching you eat the chocolates one after another. You didn’t seem to care much about anything else other than the chocolate in the moment, though you also knew that was nothing more than a moment-level fixation.

He had made them himself, after all.

You had helped him brew Amortentia, finishing your group potion just last week. What you didn’t know was that he had memorized every single step and made his own in the dungeons after he left the library every night. What you didn’t know was that he had inserted it into the chocolate. 

“Does it taste good?” he asked you curiously.

You nodded your head and giggled quietly. “It tastes really good, actually.”

He hummed at that, ruffling your hair before looking down at his watch. “I have to meet with Theo and Blaise, but I wanted to give those to you first.” he smiled at you. “Can we meet up later?”

You looked up at him with a look in your eyes that almost made him crumble at the sight. It was absolutely innocent and adorable, the picture perfect representation of everything that he had fallen for. He felt his resolve crumbling in that moment, wanting nothing more than to stay there with you forever. But he had to resist the urge.

Otherwise, his potion wouldn’t work.

“Yeah, we can do that.” you smiled quietly at him. “If the library’s closed, we can meet in the Astronomy Tower right?”

He nodded. “Mhm.” he said, kissing the back of your hand again. 

“Okay.” you said, nodding and giggling as he kissed the back of your hand. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll see you later.” he whispered back. He could already see a new look of him forming in your eyes, he could feel the way your heart was beating inside of your fingers.

This would be fun.

You felt different.

Your heartbeat was beating faster than you ever felt it beat, and you had escaped from the library early to hide inside of your dorm room. Your body was hot, sweating especially near your hands. You weren’t sure if you were sick, if you would have to cancel your plans on Mattheo due to some fever.

Oh, Mattheo.

Anytime you thought about Mattheo, you felt all of your symptoms worsening. You weren’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. And you also weren’t sure what you were going to tell your roommates either.

Especially Hermione.

“Y/N?” she called out, looking at you with a small frown as she noticed you laying in bed. You were meant to be studying in the library with her right now, though that wouldn’t work if you weren’t exactly there. “Are you doing okay? You weren’t in the library.”

You nodded before shaking your head. “Uh, I don’t know. I’m really hot right now.”

“Do you have a fever?” she asked you curiously. “Or any other symptoms?”

You shrugged your shoulders, clearing your throat as you sat up. Your cheeks were flushed warm and your body was shaking slightly, though it only seemed like that whenever you thought of Mattheo. Did he have some sickness he accidently gave you? There was a chance he was asymptomatic.

“Uh, I’m really hot.” you muttered. “My palms are sweaty. And my heart’s beating really fast.”

Hermione frowned at that, placing her books on her bed and walking over to you. “When did your symptoms start?” she asked as she placed her hand against your forehead.

“Anytime that I think about one of my,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “One of my friends.”

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at that. “Whenever you think about someone?”

You nodded your forehead. “I think that he might be asymptomatic. We’ve been hanging out recently for tutoring, he needed help with potions.”

“Has this been recent?” Hermione asked, one of her eyebrows raised. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, looking up at her as you saw the small upward tilt of her lips. “Okay Mione, what is it?”

She chuckled before shaking her head. “Could it be that you might be in love with him?”

You looked up at her confusedly. Blinking once, twice.

Could you be in love with him?

“Maybe.” you whispered quietly, nulling it over in your mind. Mattheo was a good person, wasn’t he? Just misunderstood, certainly. He always listened to you, he made you feel happy. Something you could never place your finger on. But maybe that thing was love.

Could it be love?

“Are you going to hang out with your friend later?” Hermione asked you, watching you nod. “Maybe you can test out your theory there then.

You nodded quietly. “Maybe I will.”

Mattheo was already sitting in the Astronomy Tower when you got there, though you made sure to keep your steps extra quiet when you climbed up. You wanted to observe him first, to watch him when he wasn’t being perceived by you. You thought it might help your theory.

Yet all it did was make your heart beat erratically.

He was absolutely beautiful in the moonlight. It shined on his hair perfectly, the small lantern he had brought showing off every single freckle on his arms and face. You wished that you could make a constellation out of them. Fingers trailing up and down each scar and mark.

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of it when you realized Mattheo was now standing right in front of you. “Mattheo!”

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, hand moving to caress your cheek. You could feel your heart thumping at the feeling. “You look rather zoned out.”

You shook your head out of its daze with a small smile, walking past him to sit down on the small blanket he brought for the both of you. “Thank you.” you smiled.

“Course,” he said with a chuckle. “Anything for you.”

You felt the pitter patter of your heart rise even more, a flush covering your cheeks. Anything for you?

“I don’t think I got to ask if you finished the chocolate.” he said to you. His voice sounded like raw honey that you would cover a sweet treat with, something that would melt down your throat. “Did you like it?”

“Mhm.” you nodded. “Loved it.”

Mattheo smirked, in a way that you had never seen before. Almost like he had a plan or something going on behind those brown eyes. But you seemed to lose yourself in those eyes before you could realize what the smirk really meant.

“Y/N?” he called out again to you, eyebrows furrowed as you zoned back to reality again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep zoning out.”

You felt your heartbeat in your fingers at the concern in his voice. He genuinely cared about you. And that alone made your cheeks flush warmer and warmer until everything was spilling out of your mouth. “You make me feel sick.”

Mattheo blinked for a moment before looking at you once more. “What?”

“My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest,” you whispered quietly. “And my face is always warm. I can’t stop myself from sweating even though I hate sweating. And my stomach has these weird butterflies too.”

Mattheo’s face was confused for a moment before a wide smirk broke out on his face, chuckles escaping his throat before he could stop them. “You think you’re sick?”

“Yes!” you pouted. “So don’t laugh at me.”

Mattheo shook his head before leaning closer, close enough to where you could see how full his eyelashes really were. They almost made you jealous. “Y/N,” he whispered quietly. “You sound like you’re in love. Not sick.”

“That’s what Mione said.” you grumbled quietly.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t my second opinion mean it’s truthful?”

You looked at him with the best pout you could muster. That seemed to be enough for him, as his hands cradled your face and his lips gently locked onto yours.

This, you thought, is what heaven must feel like. 

His lips were soft and sweet, something you couldn’t seem to get enough of. And his tongue felt like it was yours with the way it slotted so well into your mouth. You didn’t mind the faint taste of blood from a busted lip he had gotten from a fight some time ago, especially since your senses were running on overdrive from the scent of his perfume running your head heady.

He pulled away all too soon, eyes locking on yours. “You’re a rather nice kisser.”

You smiled softly at that, teeth biting your lip as you looked at him. This was your first ever kiss, and it was absolutely perfect.

You didn’t want to change it for the world.

Hermione was observant. 

That was a trait she prided herself on quite frequently. Whether it be her keen ability to think of a spell almost as soon as the situation needed it, or her ability to observe others from an intellectual standpoint. Anything textbook was something she could figure out easily.

What she couldn’t figure out was why you were acting so differently.

Ever since you had confessed that you were in love with someone, she had noticed the signs. You came back that night extremely dazed with marks along the side of your neck and legs. She didn’t question then.

You’d skip out on your study sessions from time to time to hang out with whoever you were so in love with. She didn’t question then. Nor did she question the ‘dazed’ look you’d get in your eyes whenever she mentioned the existence of your lover.

That wasn’t until she learned it was Mattheo.

She was sure that she wasn’t meant to know. Your curtains were mostly closed, though they were open enough for her to tell his figure from anywhere. 

And that left her mind whirring.

Hermione had heard rumors about the Slytherins learning Amortentia potions for whatever reason that Slytherins needed to learn Amortentia for. She never questioned it at first, for she thought it was a good potion to learn about. Knowing about Amortentia meant that you knew about the signs of poisoning and how to prevent it from escalating further.

And Hermione could easily see the signs within you.

The dazed look in your eyes. The infatuation you had suddenly gained with no knowledge of it before. The way you broke rules to nurture the love. Case in point, somehow sneaking a male Slytherin into the girl’s Gryffindor dormitories.

And Hermione was already getting sick of it.

So much so that she decided to confront you.

“Hi Mione!”

Hermione looked up to see you walking towards her with a small smile, teeth marks and hickeys plastered clearly on your neck. Those were the same marks that girls used to have when Mattheo would hook up with them almost two years ago. Hermione found it quite ironic that they seemingly stopped one day.

“Mystery guy again?” she asked.

You nodded, and Hermione noticed the look in your eyes almost immediately. It was the same look Ron had gotten when Romilda had tried to poison Harry.

“Who is your mystery guy?” she asked you confusedly. “You talk so much about him, yet I never figured out who you’re talking about.

You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, quite obviously confused. “I thought I told you?”

“No, you didn’t.” she said.

“Oh!” you said before shaking your head. “It’s Mattheo! He asked me out, that one day I thought I was sick.”

Hermione felt her eyebrows furrowing at that. “Mattheo?”

“Mione,” you whined. “He’s a good person. Just because his parents suck doesn’t mean he sucks.”

“The fact that that is your opening leaves me concerned.” she said sternly. “Are you sure he doesn’t have you under some potion?”

“He wouldn’t drug anyone!” you said, ignoring the librarian’s hush that echoed through the library walls. “It’s not my fault that everyone seems to judge him. If you got to know him, maybe you’d understand.”

“Y/N,” Hermione sighed, closing her book. “I’m not saying that because of his reputation. I’m saying that because I’ve noticed the signs in you.”

“What signs?” you asked incredulously.

“The dazed eyes, the lovesick puppy act,” she listed off. “The fact that you’re breaking rules to sneak him into our dormitory. Literally everything.”

You just rolled your eyes at that. “That means nothing.”

“Weren’t you tutoring him on Amortentia when you met?” she asked incredulously.

“That means nothing either.” you spat, standing up with your bag in hand. “I’m going somewhere else to study.”

“Y/N!” Hermione said, unable to grab her books in time to catch up with you leaving the library.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“Mattheo!”

Mattheo turned his head as he heard the sound of your voice, his mind echoing as he repeated it over and over in his mind. There was something wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

You had tears running down your cheeks and a quivering lip, almost like a kicked puppy. He felt his heart breaking at the sight. 

He cooed gently as his hands guided you to his lap, pressing kisses against your temple, cheeks and lips whenever he could. You almost immediately melted into his lap, hands wrapping around his body instinctively.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked again.

You sniffled. “Hermione thinks that you drugged me.”

Mattheo felt his body stiffen slightly, though he didn’t want you to catch that. “Why would she think that?”

You rolled your eyes before going on to explain the situation, how Hermione had listed symptoms of the Amortentia potion and how you ‘apperently’ fit the box. Mattheo didn’t want to say that you did fit the box, that he had drugged you with Amortentia. What he did know was that he would have to do something about Hermione after this.

“I’m sorry love,” he whispered gently.

You huffed. “It’s just not fair how nobody can see you for you!” you muttered. “You wouldn’t do that, right?”

“Never.” he lied, with such a conviction that even the universe might make it true. “I would never do that to you, my love.”

“Good.” you nodded before sniffing again.

Mattheo hummed and kissed the tip of your nose again, pulling out a small flask of his drink. “I know you don’t drink often,” he whispered, opening the flask and letting you sniff it. “But do you want a drink right now?”

You looked at the drink before nodding, taking the flask from him and drinking as much as you could in one gulp. Mattheo chuckled as his thumbs caressed your waist, loving the slightly pink hue that your eyes had taken.

He also didn’t mind the new hickeys that appeared down your neck that night either.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

well this was quite a fun prompt! i know that this was technically a smut request, but i have a moral thing against love potions being influential in terms of romantic or sexual intercourse (if anyone is curious, i can so make another post about that) and i doubt i'd be very good at representing SA in a harry potter fanfiction, so there isn't any smut for this one. however! i did find this fun to write, knowing that this is just fiction. so thank you for the request anon! u can read part two here!

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog! have a lovely day!

[another-lost-mc]

When MC Needs Surgery

Featuring: The Demon Brothers, the Dateables (most briefly/vaguely mentioned) + gn!Reader

Content/Warnings: Mentions of unspecified health problems, surgical procedures and medical devices. Relationships with the cast are intended to be platonic but may be interpreted as romantic in nature (friendship was the focus here rather than romance). Word count: 3.2k.

A/N: This is dedicated to surgery!anon who requested something for their upcoming surgery. Based on the vague details mentioned to me, I assumed there might be some overlap with my own experiences which is what this is loosely based on. I guess I wrote what I would've liked to have read before my own procedures. I hope this provides some comfort to you as well.

PRE-OP

Some of the demons might wonder why they can't just find some spell to fix what's wrong with you, because how tricky can human anatomy really be? But after Satan does some research and helps you explain to the others (in easy to understand terms while being sensitive of the private details you might not want to share), they realize that perhaps your medical care is best left to the professionals after all.

Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos handle the logistics of your care before and after your surgery. Details from your appointments with your medical team help them get a better idea of how long your recovery will be and where you should stay once you leave the human world hospital.

There is some disagreement about whether you should stay at the House of Lamentation or the Demon Lord's Castle. There are pros and cons about staying at the House of Lamentation.

Pros: all of the demon brothers are there to help you when you need assistance.

Cons: all of the demon brothers are there.

One of the concerns – and it's a reasonable one, if you ask anyone but the brothers themselves – is that they might be too demanding of your company in your condition or inconsiderate of your privacy, and possibly neglectful of your need to rest comfortably and quietly.

As the other alternative available to you, the Demon Lord's Castle has spacious rooms so that you'll be able to have everything you need. Your friends are welcome to come and go within reason, but their visitations will be limited to prevent you from being overwhelmed. Ultimately, the choice is left to you.

When you start attending your pre-op appointments, Lucifer goes with you if you don't ask one of the others to go in his place. He's one of the best choices despite his unfamiliarity with the medical ordeal you're about to go through. He quickly picks up on the details of your procedure and the types of support you'll need during your hospital stay and once you're discharged. He helps you prepare a list of questions and concerns for each appointment; the doctors and nurses can't brush your questions aside easily, not when Lucifer is there to ensure that the answers you're given meet his satisfaction.

Later on, Lucifer provides updates to his siblings and your other friends who are keeping tabs on these developments. It's best that they're all aware of what to expect and so that they can help you prepare for what's to come.

In the days leading up to your surgery, everyone does their best to ease your nerves but do a poor job of hiding their own anxieties. It doesn't really register as a real thing that's about to happen until you get notification that your surgery is only a couple days away, and suddenly it feels very, very real.

Lucifer prepares for your long-term absence from RAD and makes sure that any of your obligations – your clubs or student council duties or your part-time job – are dealt with. He buys anything and everything the doctors recommended for your recovery once you return home. If any modifications are required for your bedroom or private bathroom, he plans to have those completed during your hospital stay. (He's grateful your room is already on the first floor of the house, although he would've built one for you if he needed to.)

Mammon and Levi spend as much time with you as they can when they're not busy with other things they try to keep secret: Mammon's new job so he has extra money to buy you get-well presents (bigger and better than all his brothers) and the games and movies Levi has been ordering since he anticipates your recovery will be boring. What better way than to pass the time (hopefully with him?). Satan wanted to go to your appointments with you but he kept grumbling things like, if someone cuts you open, I'm going to cut them open. He's been focusing his efforts on researching which sorts of potions, elixirs or spells might help you recover faster and obtaining the materials he needs for them.

Asmo took you shopping (more than once) to pick up the items on your pre-op checklist of things to bring with you to the hospital: comfortable loose-fitting clothing, slippers, basic toiletries like your toothbrush. Everything he picked for you wouldn't fit in three overnight bags, let alone the single duffel bag you planned to take with you. He just put everything in your dresser and closet and insisted they'd be useful once you were discharged and allowed to come back home.

Beel was curious about your diet recommendations when you come home and he realized that the spicy Devildom foods you like are probably going to be too difficult for you to eat for the foreseeable future . He spoke to Lucifer and Barbatos about his concerns, and they plan to stock the fridge and pantry with all the recommended foods that would ease your recovery and reduce the risk of complications later. Beel took you out for dinner one evening, as a sort of last hurrah. He felt guilty that he didn't realize how serious this was and he admires you for being so brave about something he can't imagine going through himself. He offered to follow your post-surgery diet with you as a show of support because he doesn't want to be insensitive and eat all the delicious foods you won't be able to.

Belphie gets a bit irritated that his brothers take up so much of your time leading up to your surgery date. If you've been feeling tired or unwell leading up to your surgery, you put on a brave face for their sakes but he knows better. He can't take away your pain or discomfort, and he certainly can't fix you the way these human world doctors claim they can, but he can help you relax after a long day of appointments and preparations and pretending you're not as nervous as they all are. He can sense your anxiety rising as the date of your surgery draws near: you're not sleeping as well as you used to, tossing and turning into the late hours of the night and showing up to breakfast looking worse than you did the morning before. Fortunately, that's something he can help you with. He leads you to the attic to sleep and tries not dwell on how long it'll be before after your surgery when you'll be able to climb those steps again. He lulls you into a comfortable, dreamless sleep so that you can as much rest as possible leading up to the big day.

The evening before your surgery, the brothers are practically vibrating from nervousness. Everyone seems on edge and distracted. Asmo ruins his eye makeup from getting teary-eyed and he's especially clingy. Dinner is awkward when the brothers remember that you can't eat your regular diet anymore. You're limited to bland fluids in addition to the jug of prep you need to drink. You drink the powder mixed with ice-cold water and gulp it down – after the first pouch, you disappear into your bedroom. Eventually you come back and rinse and repeat, drinking and refilling that jug until its as empty as you are. (Beel was curious and drank a bit of it despite your warning that he probably shouldn't – his stomach made the strangest sounds the rest of the evening.)

When it's time for bed, you expect to collapse onto your mattress and toss and turn until your early-morning alarm goes off. What you don't expect is for Lucifer and his brothers to lead to you his room with the giant bed that happens to be big enough for all of them. The mood feels somber and you can tell they're as nervous as you are – even Cerberus spends the night in Lucifer's room, lifting his heads up once in a while to check on you while he keeps guard at the foot of the bed. It's the Devildom's most awkward cuddle pile, but eventually you fall asleep surrounded by seven very worried demons who can't manage to sleep themselves.

THE HOSPITAL

Your alarm goes off early that morning – far too early for your liking, but you're eager to get this entire thing over with. Most of the brothers are already awake and finalizing preparations to accompany you to the hospital. You have time for a quick shower and toss on a comfortable shirt, sweatpants and slip-on shoes – you don't need to look good where you're going, and you won't be wearing these clothes for very long.

The others arrive so Barbatos can summon a portal for everyone to take. Despite your many reminders, everyone insists they want to come and support you, including your friends from Purgatory Hall and Diavolo himself.

(What you suspect but don't know for certain is that Diavolo arranged for your care in the human world hospital you'll be staying at. There were concerns about visitor limits and securing the largest and best private room for your recovery, but a generous donation from the Hotel Corvo corporation helped ease some of those administrative hurdles.)

You're only allowed one support person to accompany you to the surgical unit, so the others grab coffee and pre-packaged muffins and slowly make their way down to the waiting area. Lucifer – or whoever you asked to accompany you instead – sits with you while you wait for your name to be called.

Time passes in a blur. You put on a starchy hospital gown and housecoat while you tuck your belongings into a plastic bag and carry it with you. The nurses direct you to a chair and go over the standard medical questions you've answered a million times before. You look away when the IV goes in, and on the other side of you, warm fingers squeeze your hand.

You're tired and nervous and there are too many thoughts racing through your mind, but you sit in silence while the clock ticks down. You shuffle awkwardly down a sterile hall with too-bright lights when it's finally time, and you hope the smile you shoot over your shoulder at your companion is convincing. (It's as unsteady as you both feel when you disappear with the nurse who leads you to the operating room.)

Maybe it's the exhaustion or the empty, upset stomach distracting you while you sit on a table and ignore the cool fingers and pinching sensation in your back while they prepare the epidural because you barely feel it. You lay on a narrow table with a blood pressure cuff on one arm and your IV in another, and when the medications quickly pull you into a dreamless sleep, you feel a last-minute sense of comfort knowing that your friends are waiting close by and they won't let anything bad happen to you.

While you're in the OR, your friends make themselves comfortable in the visitor's lounge and they wait for news. Four hours, six hours, eight hours later – none of them want to leave until they can see you're alive and well with their own eyes. You warned them all it would be a long and boring day and they insisted they wanted to come no matter what.

Some of them fidget in their seats and pace when their nerves get the best of them. Levi's handheld beeps and the buttons click noisily as he plays his game, and Satan tries to focus on a paperback he picked up in the gift shop. Mammon spends way too much money buying Nevada tickets from a vendor in the hospital lobby (“It's for charity, ain't it?!”) and rubs it in Lucifer's face when he actually wins something. Asmo frets with embarrassment when he sees the SCENT-RESTRICTED FACILITY poster on the wall and covers the scent of his expensive fragrance with a dampening charm to avoid upsetting the staff (and makes note to skip the heavily-scented body products for future visits). Belphie accompanies Beel to sample the cafeteria's food, multiple times.

Throughout the day, small groups take turns leaving the waiting room to grab fresh cups of coffee or sandwiches to snack on. Diavolo and Barbatos confirm with the hospital staff that your private room is ready with the special amenities they requested for you, including a cot that an overnight guest can sleep on. You chose your preferred companion in advance, and none of the others dared voice their petty disappointment that they weren't chosen instead. What matters most is that one of them is with you at all times to assist you in your weakened state (they called it protecting you, but you tried to reassure them without success that they were being too dramatic). The others are free to visit as much as they like, as long as you're comfortable with it of course.

It feels like eternity before news reaches your friends as your surgery ends, and then another update a couple hours later when you're moved from PACU to your hospital room. The nurses have already gotten you settled into your accommodations by the time the first visitors hesitantly step inside to see you. Despite the preparations and expectations and warnings, they're still not prepared for the machine humming and beeping at your side as it pumps various medications through your IV. There's a remote looped around the bed by your arm that lets you administer more pain medication through your epidural.

It's gotten late and the surgical ward is quiet except for the ambient sounds of nurses chatting quietly at their station or other machines beeping in nearby rooms. Against the standard-issue hospital linens and the thin gown you wear, you look more vulnerable than they've ever seen you, their perfectly imperfect human who’s gone through so much in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it's a good thing that you're overcome with exhaustion and only have fleeting memories of your friends' worried faces when they each came to see you before bidding you goodnight with a promise to come back in the morning. Some struggle to contain their emotions more than others, and there's a collective understanding between all of them that perhaps they've taken you for granted because they never want to see you like this again – not if they can prevent it.

Your nighttime companion sits at your bedside most of the night and watches over you in case you show signs of discomfort or pain. They pull the cord to alert the nurses when you wake up queasy and you request something for your upset stomach with your scratchy voice and dry throat. You can't eat or drink yet, but the nurse leaves a small plastic cup of ice chips at your bedside – it's enough to remove the cottony feeling from your tongue and throat, and you can sleep once more.

Your demon friends aren't familiar with modern medicine and none of them know what the bags of fluids hanging next to your bed are. RINGERS scrolls across the screen of the IV pump but it’s anyone’s guess what it means. All they know is that it seems to be important as it’s one of the last medications you stop taking before your IV is eventually removed. Tonight and throughout the days that will soon follow, the machine beeps loudly – and often – when the bag runs dry. They remember which button to hit to turn off the awful alarm so that the disturbance doesn't wake you while they wait for a nurse to come with a replacement.

RECOVERY

The first few days are some of the most challenging, but all of your friends are there to support you as much as they can. At least one of them is present when the surgeon and his residents make their early morning rounds. You can't bear to look at the staples and incisions hidden under the thick dressings that cover a large part of your lower belly, but the surgeon and nurses all claim that things look fantastic. You can't help but snort at the odd feedback, and Asmo reminds you that there's plenty of creams that can help with minimizing those scars later, if you want them. (He prefers you exactly the way you are, scars and all, but he keeps his opinion on that subject to himself.)

Your post-surgery diet is severely restricted until you're able to tolerate basic fluids again, and solid foods are introduced slowly too. Beel reads over your daily menu selection and glares at the abysmal tray of hospital food that is delivered to your room. He tastes some of the dishes and wonders how they can make something as simple as broth or cream of wheat so unappealing. Barbatos sips the lukewarm mug of tea on your tray that you ignore with each meal; you warn him that it's not good, and the pain in your stomach is worth it when you shake with laughter at the offended grimace that sours his expression. He promises to bring you drinkable tea from now on, and he and Beel both bring acceptable alternatives to your hospital fare in accordance with your current meal plan.

One of the most challenging things you didn't expect – and it catches your friends off-guard too – is how difficult it is to get up and walking again. After a few days in bed with the epidural numbing you to the worst of the pain and being mostly stationary aside from some breathing exercises, it's time to get up and take the literal first step towards your journey home.

Your friends scoff at the idea of a physiotherapist coming to help you, until they hear the first cry of pain when you sit up on the edge of the bed and breathe heavily like it's the most ardious feat you've ever accomplished. It's another reminder that this was a tremendous thing for your delicate human body to go through, and even though they can't just take away your pain or fix things magically (no matter how much some of them might want to), they'll do what they can to help.

They don't tease you when they slip your shoes onto your feet, and they don't stare or ask about the various bags of fluids hanging from the IV pole you lean on for support while you shuffle your way around the ward one lap at a time. They match your pace and are ready in a moment's notice to support you if you lose your balance, and as soon as they sense you're pushing yourself just a little too hard, they help you back into bed where you fall asleep not long after.

Things carry on that way until the surgeon announces tentative plans for your release. By now, you're bored out of your mind and eager to be anywhere but in that bloody hospital room. Your friends are eager to have you home again, and the air is charged with excitement for the first time since your surgery. Everything you need for your recovery at the House of Lamentation – medications and supplies and your diet plan and anything else you could possibly need – are ready for you.

On the day you're finally discharged, they help scan your room to make sure all of your personal items have been packed away for the trip home. One of them carries your duffel bag for you while a couple others carry boxes filled with the numerous gifts, cards, and vases of flowers that filled nearly every available space of your room. (The human world flowers have started to wilt, but the arrangements from the Devildom and the Celestial Realm, including the bouquet you received one day with a note signed only with “M”, are still blooming flawlessly as ever.)

[cinnaleaf]

In Your DMs: Left on Read - Ch 1: Never Say Never

summary: you left jude on read once—but after one reckless night, he’s making damn sure you never ignore him again 💫 | MDNI 18+

warnings: angst/tension, push/pull dynamic, alcohol consumption, party setting, language, sexual references, public argument, easter eggs from previous fics wc: ~5.9k (approx. 21 minutes) 💋: it’s only chapter 1… pray for them. song inspo: VeLDÁ x Bad Bunny ft Omar Courtz & Dei V

It had been two weeks since you hooked up with Jude in a drunken rendezvous, and while the dick was surprisingly fantastic, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t starting to get the ick. You gave Jude your number after you left his house that afternoon in post-orgasm delusion and he’d been bombarding your phone with texts, voice messages, unscheduled facetime calls, and random tiktoks that “reminded him of you” ever since. He clearly thought your hookup was something more, which made you regret your decision to give him any attention at all. Although pretty privilege had its perks, a world class footballer being obsessed with you was not a perk you wanted to engage in – especially when it was Jude Bellingham.

You sat in the apartment you shared with Bri and Tasha, watching your other friend, Mateo, scroll through his phone while shaking his head. “Miss girl…” he drawled with an amused grin. “They have all of your tea in 4k. All of it.” Mateo handed his phone to you and you nastily glared at the screen, annoyed that you suddenly became a part of whatever the fuck this was:

SpillTheBeansUK Looks like Jude Bellingham had his eye on something other than football two weeks ago 👀. The England star was spotted leaving a Madrid club with 21 year old Y/N, an NYU Tisch film & television student from Miami who’s currently studying abroad and very much a regular in both cities’ party scenes. Her dad is none other than THE ‘Dr. Cinch’, the mastermind behind SculptHaus Miami, the go to clinic for IG baddies and A-listers looking for that perfect CINCHED look 💉 Jude’s no stranger to being deep in a girl’s likes, but he’s been extra consistent with Y/N’s lately. What’s really going on here? Because word is, she’s not exactly the type to be impressed.. especially by ballers like him. 🤨

2Fast4VAR wait she’s from miami?? bro lost before he even started. she’s built different. 😂

CertifiedMenace69 if i was jude i’d be in her dms, comments, and her email too she’s bad af

BigBootyJudeyFC he’s about to start liking those inspirational quotes on IG like “if it’s meant to be, it will be.” 💀

MissMiamiDade305 jude better watch out... does anyone remember when she had that miami promoter crying on IG live last year?? she does NOT play with these men 💀💀

gossipgorlzzz not him liking her pics and finally getting the W! stay persistent kings!!

SpillTheBeansES Si Jude cree que puede cambiarla.. le deseo suerte 🤷‍♀️ (If Jude thinks he can change her.. I wish him luck)

JudePorFavor jude’s probably in her DMs like “pls respond angel 😩” LMAO

Baddiebydesign not dr. cinch’s daughter!! she’s set for life. face card AND her dad’s the plug? i bet her friends never have to pay for fillers 😭

AnonymousInsider13 i heard she’s cool with that real madrid baloncesto guy too…santiago something. ngl that man is fine af. if she’s choosing between him and jude i see why she’s taking her sweet time 

RedBlooded1892 maybe her dad can fix jude’s shoulder that’s about to fall off the hinge 😭 cinchdollsnob her dad literally invented half the faces we double tap. a baddie with real face card genetics. life ain’t fair. ChampagnePapiButBroke jude and his big bum liking all her pics is sending me. boy was lurking HARD

ChickenNCoke cinched bellibabe is kind of an iconic alias icl

mamacitasintl lmaooo if jude’s trying to lock her down..good luck. her dad probably has a vetting process more intense than real madrid’s medicals

nosygirlieFC jude defo heard about trent bagging the perfume baddie and thought he could do the same LOL

You were annoyed by the post to an extreme amount. Whoever was the administrator of this god awful account decided to treat you like you were some Z list Love Island reject instead of a girl who got dicked down ONE time in a moment of weakness and dipped.

Bri leaned over to scan the screen and let out a cackle. “ ‘Jude Bellingham had his eye on something other than football two weeks ago!’ ” she mimicked in a dramatized voice. 

“Ew.” You scrunched your nose in disgust. 

Tasha was deep in the comments on her own phone, scrolling at lightning speed. “No but, ‘She’s not exactly the type to be impressed… especially by ballers like him’ is so shady,” she snorted, flicking her eyes to yours. “The streets know you too well.”

Mateo looked at you with a sly grin, clasping his hands together. “Sooo...how does it feel to be a Bellingham Baddie?”

You cut your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking start.”

“It’s too late.” Bri waved her phone in the air, grinning. “Your inauguration is already underway. These people are in the comments eating it up.”

“Let me see” Mateo snatched Bri’s phone from her and started reading out loud. “ ‘She’s bad as hell, I’d be in her likes too.’ ” He smirked, flipping his wrist. “Real recognizes real.”

Tasha leaned over, giggling. “Wait, this one says ‘Jude’s in his romantic era. He’s playing the long game.’ ”

“Oh hell no. Absolutely not.” You reached for the phone but Mateo dodged you with the speed of a messy gay man who lived for drama. 

“Hold on, hold on.” He scrolled further, widening his eyes before he started howling. “Ohhh girl, not this one!” he wheezed, hardly able to get his words out. “ ‘Jude’s big bum came from Dr. Cinch? Noted.’ ”

Bri and Tasha both started laughing with tears streaming down their eyes. “Not Jude having BBL allegations because they found out who your dad is!”

You ran your hands across your face, shaking your head. “I hate this app.”

Mateo was screaming along with the other two, kicking his feet out but you really didn’t find it all that funny. “No, I LOVE this app!”

After their laughter subsided, Tasha shook her head, continuing to scroll through the comments. “The way they dug up your whole life just off one club sighting is actually insane.”

“I know. They need jobs.” You groaned, leaning back against the cushions. 

Mateo tilted his head while eyeing you. “Well, since you’re the new bombshell in the Bellingham Baddie villa, you may as well tell me...how was it?”

Bri and Tasha perked up immediately, turning to face you while giggling, mainly because they already knew. You groaned, rolling your eyes as you picked up your own phone. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Mateo questioned, not fully believing you because you usually gave him the full rundown in detail, but this time you were holding back. “Just fine?! Don’t tell me he’s a minute man. It’s always the hot ones.”

Bri leaned in. “Mmm, I don’t know about that. Tasha and I called and she couldn’t even talk. That man blew her back out for sure.”

“In her words exactly.. it was ‘one hundred percent worth it’ ” Tasha added. “If the dick was bad she would’ve come home the next day and roasted his ass but she didn’t. She was quiet as a mouse.”

Mateo pointed at you accusingly, narrowing his eyes while analyzing you. “And you keep dodging the conversation which means it had to be amazing.”

You rolled your eyes, fake scrolling through your phone like you always did when you couldn’t look someone in the eye. “Well I don’t know about all of that now...he’s doing too much.”

Mateo snickered. “You gave him the best pussy of his life and dipped. Of course he’s doing too much.”

You groaned again, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Can y’all shut the fuck up?”

“Absolutely not.” Mateo fired back immediately, leaning forward to read you for filth. “I know you. If it was mid, you would’ve been dragging him for filth. You’d be in this living room doing a full dissertation on why that man is a waste of height.”

Tasha nodded, scrolling with purpose. “But instead you’re holding back.”

Bri suddenly gasped, pointing a finger at you. “Ooh, she likes him.”

That was where you drew the line. The suggestion that you, of all people, would be catching feelings for a footballer, let alone Jude Bellingham sent you straight into defense mode. It wasn’t even about him specifically, but merely the principle of the matter. You didn’t date athletes. Not seriously anyway. NEVER seriously. You learned a long time ago they were all the same: entitled, egotistical, and so used to women throwing themselves at their feet just because they could handle a ball and had a few viral highlight reels. They saw women as accessories, something to show off when it suited them and discard when it didn’t. You weren’t about to be anyone’s little off-season toy passed around in a group chat the second they got bored. That was never going to be you.

But ballers weren’t completely useless though, they had their perks. Stamina? Unmatched. Strength? Ideal. But once the adrenaline wore off and post-orgasm clarity set in, the appeal disappeared right along with it. You entertained a few before just for fun, just to see if they were worth the hype, but they all had one thing in common: they started thinking they were special. Like they had you hooked. Like they were pulling the strings.

It was funny, really. Because if anything? They were always the ones falling first. Every time.

Jude was proving to be no different. The way he sauntered up to you in the club as if he knew where the night was headed, versus the way his ego deflated the minute you left his messages on read for weeks was textbook athlete behavior. And now? He was chasing you.

Mateo tapped the edge of his phone against his palm, watching you with an expression that made it very clear he was about to ask something that would grate your nerves.

“So what’s really going on with you and Jude?” He tilted his head, brows raised in intrigue. “Like.. what is he to you?”

You didn’t even look up from your phone and scrolled as you answered, “A pronoun.”

Mateo’s mouth dropped open, delighted by your messy answer. “Be so fucking for real Y/N” he said, crossing one leg over the other. “If he’s just a pronoun to you then why did you give him your number?”

Tasha didn’t even give you a chance to answer before jumping in. “That’s actually a great fucking question. Because you knew giving him your number meant this...” she gestured to the entire situation, the group chat chaos, the SpillTheBeansUK mess, “so why did you do it?”

You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the couch from being exhausted by all of this nonsense. “He asked for it, so I gave it.”

Bri blinked at you. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Mateo was unconvinced. “And you just gave it to him? No hesitation? No thoughts?”

“I was in a state of post-nut delusion.” You shrugged, sipping from your water bottle to avoid any further questions.

Tasha sucked her teeth. “Mmm.” 

Bri was already side-eyeing you. “Mmhmm.” 

Mateo tapped his phone again, unimpressed. “Lying just like the mattress he put you through, I see.”

You ignored them. There was a very brief moment where you considered not giving him your number. You could’ve just taken your Uber and dipped, pretended like it never happened, and gone back to your normal, Bellingham-free existence. But Jude gave you a cocky, half lidded smirk that made you fold immediately when he asked. You figured your brain was still stuck somewhere between your legs for wanting to hear from him again, which was exactly why you were so annoyed with yourself. Not only was he blowing up your phone, but now you were on SpillTheBeansUK. You scrolled through the endless posts dissecting your one mistake, making you feel more irritated with every new comment. There were threads analyzing your every move, posts tracking Jude’s IG likes, and an entire debate about whether or not you were “Jude’s type.” 

“How do these people have so much free time? Is the unemployment rate that high?” you muttered, aggressively tapping out of Instagram. “I was in the same club as him one time, and suddenly I’m the internet’s main character of the day? I fucking hate it here.”

Bri snickered, nudging Tasha. “Not her being mad when she willingly chose to leave with him.”

You shot the nastiest glare at both of them.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Bri challenged, raising her brow.

She wasn’t wrong. You did willingly leave with him. You hated the attention and the way people were dissecting your life, but you weren’t completely mad at the way Jude was acting. Mainly because he wasn’t just moving on like it never happened and letting you fade into the background. He was still chasing you. And even if you never wanted to admit it.. you liked that.

Your phone pinged in your hand to bring you out of your thoughts, making you glance down at your notifications.

JUDE BELLINGHAM ❌ 🙄 17:43 - Did I do something?? 17:51 - Because I’m struggling to believe I had you screaming my name two weeks ago but now you’re airing me. 18:02 - Hello? 18:27 - Ok I get it. I know you don’t really do this athlete thing. 18:28 - I’m not blocked though 👀 18:42 - Let me take you out?

You rolled your eyes before switching to a different text thread.

SANTI DOMINGUEZ 🏀 🇩🇴 20:42 - Y/Nitaaa que haces esta noche? (what are you doing tonight?) 20:42 - Fiesta en La Finca at mi pana’s house for the night. Big ass infinity pool, drinks, music, todo. Pull up. 20:43 - Bring your friends too. Dime que si. (Tell me yes.)

You smiled, already typing out a response.

20:45 - A party in La Finca? Bet. 20:46 - We’re coming. You better have good drinks!

Santi hearted the message instantly.

20:47 - Siempre, preciosa. Nos vemos. (Always, gorgeous. See you soon.)

You liked Santi. He was one of the few people in Madrid who weren’t constantly on some clout chasing nonsense, which meant you actually enjoyed being around him. And even though he could be a little flirty, it wasn’t serious. 

You were just about to lock your phone when another text rolled in.

JUDE BELLINGHAM ❌ 🙄 20:48 - Your dad is a plastic surgeon??

You frowned, watching as a second message came in.

— [SpillTheBeansUK post]

Oh. He really was chronically online. 

“Ew,” you muttered from the ick of it all before typing out your own response.

20:48 - why the fuck are you sending me STB links like you’re a gossip girl admin? touch grass.

There was no immediate response but you knew he probably read it the second the notification popped up on his phone. He was probably typing, stopping, then typing again, trying to figure out how to keep you engaged without pushing too far. It was funny really, the difference between the two of them. Santi would text once, maybe twice most of the time and you would reply immediately with no hesitation. Meanwhile, Jude would send text after text, throw in tiktoks, voice messages and a Facetime call here and there, which made you want to take your sweet time responding.

You could already feel the looks your friends were giving you, but Mateo was the first to speak.

“So you answer Santiago immediately but Jude has to beg for a response?” He smirked, already piecing together what would likely go down tonight at the party. Tasha hummed in agreement and glanced over your shoulder at your phone. “She doesn’t even respond to us that fast but Santi texts and suddenly her fingers work?”

You locked your phone and flipped it over on the table so they wouldn’t see any other message notifications from Jude or Santi. “It’s not that deep.” 

“It is that deep,” the three of them spoke in unison. 

Tasha pointed at your phone and then crossed her arms. “Explain.”

You stretched your arms over your head, already starting to prepare your exit strategy. “I don’t have to explain anything.”

“Oh, but you do,” Bri countered, shifting to face you. “Because you clearly like the attention from both of them.”

You let out a sharp exhale and grabbed your phone, making your way to your bedroom. “I have to get ready for the party and I suggest y’all do the same if you’re coming.”

You dropped your phone onto the bed and stood in front of your wardrobe, biting your lip while you scanned through your options. La Finca pool parties weren’t the same as your club nights. The vibe was more laid back but the guest list was usually stacked with the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, so naturally you had to one up them and show them how a Miami girl stepped out. Just as you were grabbing a cropped halter top from the hanger, your phone vibrated against your comforter and you snatched it up immediately.

JUDE BELLINGHAM ❌ 🙄 20:58 - Touch grass with me. What’s the move tonight?

You debated telling him about the party, but you decided against it and threw your phone back on the bed with a scoff to finish getting ready. Although he was giving you the ick, something about the way he chased you fed a very specific, very vain part of you and you would be lying if you didn’t admit you weren’t the least bit curious in how far Jude was willing to take it. 

Somewhere outside of your room, you could hear Bri and Tasha moving around, digging through wardrobe drawers and arguing over what top to wear. Mateo’s voice floated down the hall, loudly reminding everyone that if they didn’t hurry up, he was leaving without all of you.

An hour later, the four of you piled into a car with the windows down as the city lights of Madrid blurred past. The further you drove into La Finca, the bigger the homes became. When you finally pulled up to the house, you could hear a mix of reggaeton, afrobeats and spanish trap music playing through the air. The garden surrounding the property was already full of people with drinks in hand as they laughed and swayed to the music. 

You made your way to the pool area, smelling the mixed scent of tangy smoke from hookah and rum. You adjusted your top, feeling the backless cut brush your skin in the breezy, but warm night time air as you walked on the stone pathway. Your matching mini skirt hugged your hips just right and dipped low enough to show the string of your bikini bottoms underneath. Your small entourage followed behind you, already plotting the kind of chaos they could get into tonight.

Mateo adjusted the collar of his shirt, scoping out the scene. “I’m manifesting a man with a villa tonight. Just watch.”

“Manifest being the bartender while you’re at it” Tasha muttered, eyeing the outdoor bar where bottles of Ron Barcelo, Brugal, and Larios gin were already in rotation. Someone had cracked open a case of Estrella Galicia beers, and a group near the pool was passing around cups of Kalimotxo, the unofficial drink of every wild night in Spain.

“Vamonos mamis!” Santi yelled from somewhere near the pool. 

His height alone made him impossible to miss. He was a towering 6’5”, had broad shoulders with a trim waist, perfectly white teeth, dimples, deep sun kissed skin, and a freshly trimmed fade that made you tilt your head slightly to take a better look. He had that natural Dominican aura that made it impossible to tell whether he was flirting or just being nice.

“Oh, you’re outside, outside tonight!” he teased, sliding his arm around your waist for a quick hug. He glanced behind you and smiled at Bri, Tasha and Mateo. “Good to see you all. Drinks are in the kitchen. Hookah’s by the pool.”

“And you’re where?” Bri asked, arching a brow while biting the nail of her finger flirtatiously.

“Everywhere.” Santi winked, then tilted his head back toward the pool. “Come find me if you need anything.” He disappeared back into the crowd before any of you had time to respond, leaving the scent of his cologne lingering between all of you.

“Oooh he’s wearing Rêveur.” Tasha nodded in approval, taking a second glance back to get another look at him. “That man has taste.” 

“But why is he so fineee?” Bri muttered under her breath.

Mateo snickered. “Because God had time when he made Dominican men that’s why.”

You hated gassing men up too much, so you gave them a blank stare, eventually walking away to make your way toward the drinks as Bad Bunny’s “VeLDÁ” played through the sound system. They followed behind and Mateo took on his duty as bartender, rummaging through bottles of Havana Club and Brugal Añejo.

“Shots or mixed drinks?” Mateo asked, double fisting bottles in his hands.

“Mixed” you answered immediately.

“Shots” Bri and Tasha dueted.

“Majority rules, sorry Y/N” Mateo mused as he reached for the shot glasses.

On the other side of the yard, Jude leaned back in an outdoor lounge chair, resting his arms lazily while his drink sat half empty on the table in front of him. He wasn’t drunk, but the warmth of Madrid, the drinks, and the atmosphere had him leaning into the mood.

“That’s her?” Cama tilted his head toward the cluster of people near the pool, smiling with curiosity.

Jude didn’t answer at first and stared at the condensation on his glass before moving his eyes back to you. He clocked you as soon as you stepped on the stone pathway, he couldn’t have missed you even if he tried. The backless halter top with the matching mini skirt, coupled with the sheen of your Dior lip oil catching in the light every time you tilted your head back to laugh, had his head spinning. Even from a distance, he could see the faint tan lines peeking from under the straps of your bikini strings underneath your outfit.

“Damn..” Kylian whistled beside him, leaning forward to take a closer look at Bri and Tasha. “Who are the girls next to her though?”

Jude glanced sideways, trying to suppress a smirk. “Focus mate.”

“I am focused,” Kylian replied with a laugh, still scanning the scene.

Cama chuckled and nudged Jude’s arm. “She looks good, bro. You bringing her home tonight or what?”

Jude tilted his head, taking another slow sip of his drink. “We’ll see. She likes to play hard to get.”

“Does she know you’re here?” Kylian asked as if he cared, when he was actually plotting on Bri and Tasha.

“Nah.”

The truth sat heavy on his chest. He hadn’t expected to run into you tonight, but then again, Madrid was a small world when it came to hanging around certain circles. It was bound to happen eventually. But seeing you laughing with your friends did something to him that he wasn’t ready to unpack.

“You should go over there” Cama suggested, nudging Jude’s arm. 

“Not yet.” Jude replied, following the curve of your bare shoulders as you tipped your head back to down a shot with your friends. The twist of your face from the burn of the alcohol, along with the parting of your lips made it too easy to remember the way those same lips felt against him just two weeks ago.

—

The shot you had just taken settled warmly in your stomach while the bass from the music grew heavier. The music was loud, the air filled with scents of alcohol, sweat, and smoke but none of it could shake the buzz in your head from spotting Jude in the party crowd.

Of all the parties in Madrid, he had to be at this one.

You clutched your glass tighter, trying to resist the urge to look back at the lounge chairs near the pool. Bri crossed her arms and smirked, darting her eyes between you and Jude. “So you’re just gonna ignore him all night?”

“Ignore who?” you replied flatly, knowing damn well who she was talking about.

“Oh girl. Pack it up.” Tasha chimed in from your other side while swaying to the beat of the music. “You know exactly who.”

“No. I don’t.” you muttered, wiping off the condensation wetness from your fingertips.

“Then why are you gripping the glass like that?” Bri teased, bumping your hip with hers.

You ignored her and instead scanned the crowd for any sign of Santi. You spotted him leaning against a pillar with a bottle of beer in hand, laughing at something one of his teammates said. His crisp white shirt clung to his torso, making you gawk just a little. When he caught your gaze, he lifted his beer and gave you a blinding smile.

Tasha clocked it immediately and raised her eyebrows. “Well.. looks like you have options tonight. Bellingham or Dominguez?”

You sighed heavily, ignoring her again and headed to the pool to dip your feet in. The infinity pool stretched out in front of you as you swung your legs back and forth in the water. You should’ve felt relaxed, or maybe even carefree and tipsy, but instead you were on edge.

On the other side of things, now that you were closer, Jude watched you from the rim of his glass as he took long, slow sips. Kylian and Cama were talking next to him but their words turned into background noise while he observed the way you leaned back with your hands pressed against the pool deck stone.

“She’s going to notice you staring eventually” Kylian leaned in, sensing Jude still had you on his mind.

Jude tilted his head back to finish his drink. The thought of you being so close yet so far away made the alcohol sit heavier in his stomach. You hadn’t really been giving him much of a thought since you hooked up and that bothered him. It made him want you even more. He internally debated with himself, wondering if he should just leave you alone or speak up now that he had an opening that you absolutely couldn’t leave on read. Just as he was about to stand, Cama clapped him on the shoulder with a wide grin. “Go talk to her bro. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could throw her drink in his face..” Kylian added helpfully.

Jude snorted. “Nah. I don’t think she’s like that.”

He really didn’t know you as well as he thought he did, you were definitely ‘like that’ if the need arose. 

Jude stood up with enough adrenaline and liquid courage to walk the short path to the pool’s edge where you sat. You felt his towering presence immediately as he stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, glancing toward you swishing your feet in the water.

“You ignoring my texts now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, surprised that he had the gall to start the conversation off that way. “You’re not serious.”

A gleam of moonlight caught on his lips when he shifted closer to you with a lazy smirk plastered over his face. “I get it. You’re a busy girl. But you could’ve at least told me you would be here tonight.”

“For what? Why would I tell you?” you countered, looking up at him in annoyance. “I don’t even know you like that.” The nerve of this boy to think he deserved to know any of your moves when he wasn’t your man, or anything remotely close to it.

“You know me well enough to let me fuck..”

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “Excuse me?”

Jude tilted his head, still with a dumb smirk on his face that made you want to slap it clean off his face. His hands were still tucked in his pockets casually, like he wasn’t standing there stirring the most out of you.

“I’m just saying..” he lazily shrugged, as if that would smooth over the conversation.

“Oh, ‘you’re just saying’ ” you mocked, standing up to meet his eye, though you still ended up having to look up because he was so tall. The edge of your skirt brushed against his thigh and you were close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his thick hairline from the warm night air. Up close, Jude was hard to ignore. He got under your skin in the right way to make you give him your full attention.

Just the way he liked it.

“And this is coming from the same man blowing up my phone like I owe him something.”

Jude chuckled under his breath, his eyes moving briefly to your outfit before locking back onto your eyes. “I wouldn’t have to blow your phone up if you just responded the first time, angel.”

Angel.

That word hit you straight in your core. It was impossible not to hear his voice from that night echoing in your head.

“That’s it, angel. Keep fucking me back.”

You took a deep inhale through your nose, clenching your fists on your sides as heat flared through your chest from frustration and other things you weren’t ready to name.

“Don’t call me that” you snapped, but the hitch in your breath told a different story. A story that said you liked it, and Jude noticed. His eyes lowered to your lips briefly, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward like he knew exactly where your mind went. 

“Ohhh, so you do remember” he mused, clearly enjoying himself.

“Jude, I swear-” You shoved his shoulder but he barely moved in the slightest bit. He stood his ground, leaning into your ear to speak low enough so only you could hear. “Don’t start. Unless you’re trying to start something you know I can finish for you.”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself, you know that?”

The warmth from the alcohol running through your veins made your voice louder than you intended, making you become acutely aware of the heads starting to turn your way. In between your conversation with Jude, Tasha and Bri made their way over to sit with Kylian and Cama near the lounge chairs. Bri was sitting on Kylian’s lap with her arms draped over his neck like they knew each other way longer than what had to have been no longer than 15 minutes. All four of them were watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.

“Okay, fuck this” you muttered under your breath, feeling the embarrassment creep in. Eyes on you and whispers spreading throughout the crowd was the exact type of thing you wanted to avoid. Your mind flashed to the SpillTheBeans post and the comments dissecting your entire life, snapping you right back to the cruel reality of being a newly added ‘Bellingham Baddie’, as your friends called it.

“This is exactly why I don’t fucking date athletes” you jabbed a finger at Jude’s chest for emphasis.

“Who said anything about dating?”

You laughed in disbelief and threw your hands up. The tipsiness loosened your filter in all the wrong ways. “You know what? I’m so sick of-”

“Todo bien?” (Everything okay?)

The sound of Santi’s voice made you freeze mid sentence. You turned around just enough to see him approaching with an unbothered walk, beer still in hand like he wasn’t about to walk straight into chaos. His eyes moved between you and Jude, reading the situation.

“We’re good.” you answered, holding up your hand toward Santi as if that would somehow deescalate whatever was about to go down.

“Didn’t look like it,” Santi eyed Jude in a way that was more curious than confrontational, but Jude wasn’t having it, being the crashout that he was.

“You her bodyguard or something?” Jude shot, tilting his chin as he stepped fully into Santi’s space. Santi’s smile didn’t budge but his posture shifted subtly enough to raise the tension up a couple notches. “Nah. I’m just looking out for a friend” he replied coolly, not breaking eye contact.

“Yeah? Well, she doesn’t need you to–”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” you yelled loud enough to cut through the music and all the other conversations happening around the pool. Heads turned with the rise of your voice and half of the party had their eyes locked on the three of you, but you were too far gone, and too far drunk to care.

“I am so tired of you men acting like I’m some prize you get to win!” You jabbed a finger between both of them in frustration. “I don’t fucking belong to either of you! And you..” You turned to Jude with fire in your eyes. “Stop acting like I owe you something just because I let you fuck me ONE time!”

Jude’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“And you..” You whipped back to Santi, who at least had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Don’t walk up here like you’re about to save me! I don’t fucking need saving!”

The silence was deafening after the read you gave them, broken only by the distant sound of water pushing against the pool edge and gossiping chatter from the crowd.

Finally, Jude ran a hand over his curls, exhaling hard through his nose. “You done?”

“Yes, I’m done! I’m never fucking you again so get it out of your thick skulled head!” you snapped and stormed off toward the house without looking back. 

Back at the lounge chairs, Kylian and Cama exchanged looks while Bri and Tasha creased in laughter.

“I don’t know whether to be scared or impressed..” Kylian shook his head in amusement.

“Definitely impressed,” Cama replied with a grin.

You stormed off down the path leading toward the house, weaving through random groups of partiers who definitely caught at least half of the argument. The adrenaline and frustration swirling around in your head had you on ten.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” you spoke to yourself, enraged. “I fucking hate ballers. Worms for brains ass motherfuckers.”

The nerve and audacity of that man to approach you like he was owed something more than the one night you already gave him pissed you off. Your chest was filled with a fury of emotions you really didn’t want to unpack, especially not in the middle of a party where half of the crowd had probably pulled out their phones to message their group chats about what they just witnessed. As soon as you reached the back door of the house, Mateo appeared beside you out of nowhere, moving swiftly to match your quick pace.

“Girl.. what was all of that?” he asked, eyes wide with equal parts concern and curiosity.

“Nothing.” you muttered with clenched teeth, but Mateo wasn’t having it.

“Nothing? That was prime telenovela content and I need details immediately. Why did-”

“I’m never fucking Jude again,” you snapped, cutting him off before he had a chance to launch his full analysis. It sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. Mateo knew Jude having you this bothered by his presence meant you’d be rethinking that exact statement in approximately three to five business days. He’d seen it all before, so instead of pushing any further, he took one sip of his drink and gave a knowing look between you, Santiago, and Jude.

“Mmm… never say never.”

[stickyspeckledlight]

“…..allow me to ask, how the fuck did you both manage to break into my house, yet alone find a way to come to my world, Jade and Floyd Leech?”

But, where else can we find a thing so interesting?

Note: I can’t decide if I should use shrimps or koebi-chan so….idk comment on which one I should use for future Floyd stuff lol. Also first time writing any yan twst! Let’s hope I get it right lmao

(Speckled's End of Year Interaction Prompts, 12/2/24 ~ 1/1/25)

“Oya,” Jade exclaimed, “What strong language, [Name]-san. And after all the struggle we went through to see you again?” He simpered, sorrow every bit as faked as his surprise, “I’m deeply hurt.”

Unlike Jade, Floyd didn’t bother with theatrics. “Aha! Koeeeeebi-chan!” Floyd cried out, laughing with pure merriment, lunging toward your person. You shriek, dodging his initial lunge, but Floyd is unfairly reflexive and fast. Before you can so much as sprint, your limbs are already being squeezed in his hold. You gasp breathlessly, struggling to even breathe with how tightly he’s holding you. The sloppy, messy kiss Floyd gives you immediately doesn’t help matters either; it’s all spit and possessiveness, tongue practically going down your throat and teeth sinking into your lips.

From where you struggle and choke, Floyd only squeals with even more delight. “Squeeeeezeeeeeee~ Koebi-chan’s soooo soft,” he laughs, rubbing his cheek against your head, all crushing softness and joy, “I missed having you around, y’know. Leaving me with all those boring guppies—” and his voice drops, and his head dips into your neck, “—I probably should kill you for doing that to me,” he mutters, sharp teeth grazing your skin. At your tensing and shivering, he only breaks into more laughter, mood swinging back into perverted joy.

“Floyd, be careful with the dear,” Jade lightly chastised, “The poor thing looks like they’ll faint at any moment now. It’d be a shame to end things as quickly as they started, no?” His words are far from kind, far from concerned, even. They are ever bit as pleasured as Floyd’s laughs, and serve only to remind him that there’s more fun to be had from this.

Floyd doesn’t immediately let you go, but his hold lightens enough to where you can breathe steadily enough. “You feelin’ better?” Floyd sweetly asks, like he wasn’t the one who put you in this state in the first place.

You attempt to free yourself, but even in Floyd’s loose(r) hold, there is no escape. Floyd doesn’t even seem to struggle at all, yawning even as your flails grow more desperate. Floyd looks at your wall and zones out, his interest in you momentarily waned. Jade lightly chuckles at your plight.

You growl in frustration, “At least answer my questions!” You seethe, glaring at them both and baring your teeth, “I thought we were done. I thought I would be rid of you! So why are you here to torment me again?!”

You had met Jade and Floyd after exams, when Azul’s plans to take Ramshackle for himself were underway. After his overblot, you thought you were free of the twins torment of you, but they only kept pursuing you—without any directive from Azul whatsoever. It made every moment from the on in Twisted Wonderland unbearable, and when Crowley found a way for you to come back home, you took it at that instant. Sure, it was a bit cold to leave behind everyone without any goodbye, but who could blame you? Fault you? It wasn’t like everyone else there wasn’t selfish either, all in their own ways.

Even when you weren’t in Twisted Wonderland though, the twins haunted your dreams. They fed into your paranoia, your refusal to make friends, to love and kiss and be a silly student—it took you years to rip yourself from their influence, but you did it. You built a life for yourself with your own hands, and even Jade and Floyd Leech could stop you.

Until now, that is.

In classic Jade fashion, he finds an avenue to easily avoid giving answers. You might never get those answers, at this rate. “Torment? You must be mistaken,” Jade tsks, “As I recall, we gave you only the best; as ‘lovers’ do, I might add.”

Indignity flares in your chest. “Bullshit! You threatened me and my friends! Isolated and stalked me!”

“Hah?” You violently gasp, having the air knocked out of you. Your eyes bludge; your tongue lolls; your ribcage compresses like it’s cheap plastic beneath Floyd’s arms. “Those anemones were better company than us?” Floyd darkly mumbles, before laughing again, “Then again, you left us before, so you’re pretty stupid. Your opinions and stuff can’t really be trusted anymore.”

As if he ever cared before.

Jade doesn’t chide his brother this time. He lets out an appreciative hum as you truly choke. A gloved finger delicately rests on your cheek bone, before more are added to cup your cheek. As your vision spots with black, you are only caressed. As your eyes beg for mercy, mercy that anyone dying would beg for, only a chaste peck is given to your bloody lips. As tears of pure fear for the life before you and the sheer despair of losing everything again stream from your eyes, only laughter, one gently cruel and the other excitably sadistic.

“It would be an issue if you found out how we arrived here,” Jade finally answered, playing with a strand of your hair. “As Floyd so graciously pointed out, your decision making process cannot be trusted at this time.”

As if they ever would.

“Worry not, [Name]-san,” Jade grins wider. It’s not a nice smile; his teeth peak from it, and that’s always been a sign that he’s ready to take a bite from you. A sign that, as you quickly predicted, has him dipping his face against your juglar. “You’ll want for nothing in our care. Even this ‘freedom,’ you so cherish…”

He darkly chuckles.

“We’ll make it so it won’t be something they want for much longer, right Floyd?”

Laughter consumes your world before you completely succumb to the pressure, fated to wake in captivity for the rest of your life.