#anyways love feeling the music in my body

[holyblonded]

dreaming costs you, my dear | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: your nightmares spill into your life, until you snap

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

notes: i was listening to mitski and inspiration struck to write the request so…

You always loved the rain, especially at night.

There was something soothing about the way it fell against the windows, steady and rhythmic. The scent of petrichor always brought you comfort, like warm arms wrapping around you, tucking you in gently. Rain reminded you that it was okay to be still, to breathe, to let the world move outside while you stayed safe in your own little bubble. You’d always said the rain kept the nightmares away, lulled you to sleep with its gentle lullaby.

So why didn’t it work this time? You’d fallen asleep to the soft hum of droplets tapping on glass, curled under your blanket, body slack with exhaustion. The dream started like all your favorite ones, familiar, warm, impossible in its perfection. You were little again. Someone was brushing your hair, humming a lullaby you hadn’t heard since you were seven. The room was bathed in soft golden light, and outside the window, the rain shimmered like a silver curtain.

A cake was baking. Your mom, whole and real, was laughing at something you said, swaying gently by the stove, wearing that old robe with the sleeves too long. Your father sitting at the table reading a newspaper and talking to Olga. You felt light, like there was nothing to worry about, like none of the bad things had ever happened.

But then something shifted.

The hum turned sharp, like static. The golden light turned brittle and cold. When you looked again, the woman at the stove had stopped laughing. Your father had turned to dust while Olga simply stood up and walked out of the front door. Your mother’s face was turned away, too still.

You called out to her, but she didn’t answer.

You tried to stand, but your body was frozen in place. The chair beneath you felt like stone. You tried again. Nothing.

The humming started again— but it wasn’t the lullaby anymore. It was low and distorted, like a broken music box winding down.

Then she turned around. Her face was wrong. Too long. Her eyes were hollow, bottomless. Her smile stretched too wide, unnatural and gleaming. She took one step toward you. Then another. Her bare feet left black footprints on the kitchen floor, like oil seeping into linoleum.

She leaned down, her face inches from yours. Her breath smelled like whiskey and rot.

“You don’t belong here,” she whispered. “You never did.”

You woke with a sharp gasp.

The rain was still falling.

But it didn’t sound like a lullaby anymore. It sounded like a threat. Loud, constant, pounding against the windows like fists. You couldn’t catch your breath. Your body was clammy with sweat, and your chest ached with the force of your heartbeat.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

You stared at the ceiling, unmoving, feeling the warmth drain from your limbs. The smell of the rain, once soothing, now made you feel sick. It was too much. Too loud. Too close. You watched the hours pass through the faint shifting of the light on your ceiling.

Morning came slowly. You didn’t move.

Eventually, a soft knock came at your door, followed by the creak of it opening.

“Hey,” Olga’s voice was soft, still hoarse with sleep. “It’s our off day. Come on, we’re making breakfast. You, me, and Lex. Bonding time.”

You sat up stiffly. Nodded. Didn’t say anything.

Olga hesitated at the door, watching you for a second too long. But she smiled anyway and left you to get dressed.

You pulled on a hoodie and sweats, ran a hand through your hair, and walked to the kitchen like a ghost. Alexia was flipping pancakes, badly, and laughing at herself, already teasing Olga about burning the eggs. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and butter, but it didn’t make you hungry.

You sat at the counter, sipping orange juice. You smiled when they looked at you. You even laughed when Olga did a dramatic impression of Alexia’s pancake flipping.

But Alexia was watching.

She noticed how you flinched slightly when the pan clattered against the stove. How your eyes kept flicking to the windows, to the leftover rain dribbling down the glass. How your shoulders never quite dropped from their tight hunch.

After breakfast, the three of you went for a walk. The rain had stopped, but everything was still damp. Olga pointed out a dog that looked like a mop and made you and Alexia laugh. You were quiet, but not silent. Still participating. Still trying.

The conflict came at the coffee shop. Olga handed you the wrong cup, the one with almond milk, which you hated.

“This one’s not mine,” you said, more tired than annoyed.

“Well, sorry,” Olga huffed, brushing her bangs out of her face. “Didn’t realize it was life or death.”

You didn’t snap, exactly. Just narrowed your eyes and muttered, “It’s not that hard to remember.”

Alexia looked between the two of you. Olga sighed and backed off, handing you the correct cup.

It passed quickly. Barely a blip. But Alexia kept watching.

At Eli’s house, the lunch was warm and lively. Alba was showing you a stupid meme. Eli was fussing over everyone’s plates, making sure your plate was always full because you are a ‘growing girl’.

You smiled. You laughed. You answered questions. But Alexia saw it.

The way your eyes never fully lit up. The way your hands trembled just slightly when you picked up your fork. The way your hoodie sleeves were tugged down over your palms, like you needed the extra barrier between yourself and the world.

After lunch, as the others were clearing the table, Alexia leaned close, her voice barely above a whisper.

“¿Estás bien?”

You nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But she didn’t believe you. She wouldn’t push. Not now.

But later, maybe when you’re back home, maybe when Olga went to sleep, she’ll find you again. She’ll sit with you in the quiet. Ask again, softer this time.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally say the words that have been clawing at your throat since that nightmare.

Or maybe you’ll stay quiet. But she’ll stay. No matter what.

You lie awake again. The ceiling is still. The shadows are the same. But everything feels different.

Every time you close your eyes, it’s there.

That dream. That nightmare. That twisted version of comfort, warped into something cold and cruel. Her eyes— those hollow, endless pits, flash behind your eyelids the moment they flutter shut. Her voice, slick and venomous, hisses in your ear: You don’t belong here.

So you stop trying to sleep.

You throw the blanket off, your skin clammy and hot, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. You slide onto the floor and drop into pushups. Crunches. Squats. You go until your arms shake and your thighs burn. You count out reps in your head just to drown out the whispers still echoing from your dream.

When that doesn’t work, you strip off your shirt and march to the bathroom. The cold shower hits you like a slap, and you stand under it, arms crossed tight over your chest, water streaming down your face like tears you won’t let fall. Your teeth chatter, but the image still flickers behind your eyes.

You don’t dry off properly. Just throw on a hoodie and shorts and climb out your bedroom window, stepping carefully onto the flat stretch of roof over the garage.

You’ve sat here before, plenty of nights, with your headphones in and a hoodie pulled tight over your head, watching the city breathe beneath you. It usually calms you.

Not tonight.

Tonight, you’re gripping the edge of the shingles like they’re going to fall away beneath you. The cool air bites at your damp skin, and your eyes sting. The stars look cold and far away.

You tilt your head back. “Please,” you whisper.

It’s barely a sound. Not even loud enough for the night to hear.

But you say it again.

“Please.”

Your voice cracks this time. You’re not even sure who you’re talking to. God? The universe? Yourself?

You’ve never prayed before. Not really. But you do now.

Don’t let me close my eyes.

Don’t let her be there again.

Don’t let me fall apart.

You wrap your arms around your knees and rock slightly, keeping yourself awake with tiny motions. You stay out there for hours, eyes wide and glassy, throat sore from whispering nothing.

When the sky starts to bleed into pale blue and birds start to stir in the distance, you still haven’t moved.

And you still haven’t dared to close your eyes.

Alexia wakes to shouting.

Not the kind she sometimes overhears, the playful yelling over breakfast, teasing in the living room, even the occasional annoyed “Azul, seriously?” when you leave your cleats by the door again.

No, this is sharp. Raw. Ugly.

It yanks her out of sleep like a punch. Her eyes fly open in the dark room, her heart already pounding. She fumbles for her phone, 6:43 a.m., and sits up, straining to hear. The voices are coming fast, words tumbling over each other, no time between them. You and Olga.

“You always do this!” your voice, ragged, furious.

“No, you do this! You act like I’m crazy when you’re the one who—”

“Don’t twist it! I’m not the one who started yelling at seven in the damn morning!”

Alexia’s already halfway down the hall before either of you finish your sentence. The moment she reaches your door, she doesn’t knock. She doesn’t ask. She just pushes it open, breath caught in her throat.

You’re both in the middle of the room, squared off like opponents. You look like you haven’t slept. Your hair is a mess, hoodie half-zipped, hands clenched at your sides. Olga looks wrecked—eyes red, voice hoarse, breath uneven. The air feels electric, like it’s crackling between you.

“Hey!” Alexia shouts, stepping between you both. “Enough.”

You flinch, stepping back, but say nothing. Olga crosses her arms, lips trembling.

“I said enough,” Alexia repeats, quieter this time. Her voice is low but final, the kind of tone that demands silence.

It stretches out for a beat���no one speaking, the only sound your heavy breaths and the rain tapping faintly against the window.

Then you shake your head, the movement sharp and full of exhausted frustration. “I’m walking to training.”

“No,” Alexia says instantly, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not.”

You scoff, bitter. “I’ll go to Frido’s. It’s two blocks. I’m not a child.”

Alexia’s jaw tenses. She looks at you for a long moment. Hoodie. Headphones. The set of your mouth. You’re not just angry. You’re wound.

She sighs. “Fine. Frido’s. But text me when you get there.”

You nod once, curt, then grab your bag and walk out. You don’t say goodbye. You don’t even glance at Olga.

When the door slams shut behind you, the echo seems to linger.

Olga sinks onto the bed, still trying to steady her breathing.

Alexia gently closes the door and turns back to her, eyes softening. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” Olga says, rubbing her eyes with both hands. “We were just talking. And then—it escalated. She said something, I snapped back, and then suddenly we were screaming. I was so mad. And I don’t even know why.”

Alexia walks over and sits beside her, pressing a comforting hand to Olga’s back.

“She’s been off lately,” Alexia says quietly. “Snappier. Distant.”

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Olga whispers. “But it’s like she wanted a fight.”

“You’re not the problem.” Alexia leans over and kisses her temple. “You’re doing everything right. She’s just… she’s struggling with something. We’ll figure it out.”

Olga nods, though her eyes still shimmer. Alexia gives her a minute, rubbing gentle circles on her back, before rising to her feet again.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” she says softly, and leaves.

The training grounds are quiet when Alexia arrives, over an hour early. The sky is gray and low, still drizzling lightly. She spots you immediately, sitting alone on the edge of the pitch, one leg bouncing restlessly, your hoodie pulled up and headphones in.

You don’t look up when she approaches. You barely seem to notice her at all.

Alexia sits beside you, tucking her hands into her coat pockets.

“I’m assuming you ignored me and walked the whole way?”

You glance at her, slow and guarded. One headphone comes out.

“No,” you mutter. “I jogged.”

Alexia sighs. “Great. So your joints and your lungs hate you.”

You offer the smallest twitch of your mouth. Not a smile, not really. Just an acknowledgment. Then your gaze drops back to the grass, where the rain collects in small puddles along the edge of the pitch.

Now that she’s close, Alexia can see it more clearly. The sunken eyes. The pallor. The way your posture folds in on itself, shoulders tight like a spring that’s been compressed too long. You look like you haven’t slept in days.

“Have you talked to Sydney?” she asks gently.

You shrug, noncommittal. “She’s busy. Family emergency.”

“She’d still make time,” Alexia says.

You don’t answer. You just stare straight ahead, headphones dangling in your lap, knuckles white from how hard your fists are clenched.

Alexia hesitates. Normally she lets you come to her. You’re stubborn, and she’s learned not to press. But now? You look haunted. Like something’s eating you alive and you don’t even know where to start pulling it out.

“What’s going on, Azul?” she asks softly. And this time, it’s not just a suggestion. It’s a plea.

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head to look at her. Your expression is unreadable, but your eyes are cold. Distant.

“Nothing,” you say flatly.

And then, before she can respond, you stand up. Slip your headphones back in. Walk away like you didn’t just leave a hollow ache behind you on the bench.

Alexia stays where she is, hands still tucked in her pockets.

She watches your retreating figure, shoulders hunched, head low, and feels something twist deep in her chest.

You’re slipping. And she doesn’t know how to catch you.

Dinner is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that hums beneath your skin and makes every clink of cutlery sound like a scream.

You sit at the table, head down, fork dragging lazy circles through your food. The rice has gone cold. Your chicken’s untouched. You’ve barely taken two bites. Your foot bounces under the table so fast it’s practically a blur, rattling the floorboard in a rhythm that’s louder than the silence.

Olga glances at you. Then glances again. You feel it. Her eyes on you like heat on your neck. She opens her mouth, closes it. Tries again, then changes her mind. Alexia watches from across the table, jaw set, eyes sharp and narrowed, but silent.

Fifteen minutes pass like that. Silent chewing. Silent playing. Silent fidgeting. Glances passed like secret warnings. And then—

“What’s going on with you?” Olga blurts. Her voice is sharper than she means it to be, laced with irritation, but under that there’s something deeper. Concern. Fear.

You don’t look up. “Nothing.”

“Azulita,” she says again, quieter this time. “Talk to me.”

You shrug. “I said it’s nothing.”

“No. No, it’s not nothing,” she snaps, suddenly standing. “You’ve been like this for days. You barely eat, you barely sleep, you barely even speak unless you’re yelling at someone—”

“I don’t—”

“You do!” Olga’s voice cracks. “And I’m trying—God, I’m trying so hard to help you, but you won’t let me. You just shut down and push us away like we’re nothing to you.”

“That’s because you don’t get it!”

The scream rips out of you before you can stop it. Your voice is hoarse and broken and angry.

Alexia groans and stands slowly, pushing her chair back. “Okay. Stop. Both of you. This isn’t helping—”

“Stay out of it!”

You scream the words straight at her.

And the whole room freezes.

Alexia stares at you like she’s been slapped. Olga’s mouth falls open in disbelief.

You never yell at Alexia. Not even when you’re mad. Not even when you feel like your whole world is crumbling.

You blink, realization crashing over you like a wave. Your shoulders sag. The anger fizzles out in a second and leaves only shame. You shove your chair back, the legs scraping loud against the tile, and stomp off without another word.

Your door slams so hard it echoes.

Olga and Alexia just sit there, stunned.

“Did she just yell at you?” Olga whispers.

“She never yells at me,” Alexia murmurs, eyes still fixed on your empty chair. “Something’s really wrong.”

They don’t even finish dinner.

They clean up in silence, dishes clinking too loudly in the sink. Every sound feels off, like the air in the apartment has changed.

“She looked exhausted,” Olga says as they dry the plates. “Like… beyond tired.”

“She’s been zoning out at practice,” Alexia adds, frowning. “I thought she was just overthinking. Especially because Syd isn’t here.”

Olga sets down the plate in her hands, heart speeding up. “Wait. Wait—she hasn’t been sleeping.”

And they both take off down the hall. They pause outside your door. Then slowly, quietly, they push it open just enough to peek inside.

You’re lying on your bed like a broken doll. Hoodie still on. Shoes still on. Curled stiff and straight on top of the blankets, staring at the ceiling, face pale. Blank.

Like a corpse. That’s when it all clicks.

“¡No has dormido!” Olga gasps, barging into the room. “¡No has estado durmiendo, Azulita!” (You haven't slept! You haven't been sleeping, Azulita!)

You blink up at her like you’re underwater. Eyes bloodshot. Movements slow.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she cries, pacing at the foot of the bed. “Why would you let it get this bad?! You scared the hell out of me!”

Alexia steps in after her, calmer but just as worried. “Olga. Calm down.”

“She looks like she’s gonna disappear.”

“I said calm down.”

Olga presses her hands over her mouth and exhales shakily. She’s trying. Really trying.

They sit on either side of you, careful not to startle you, like you’re made of glass. Alexia rests a hand on your shin, steady and grounding. Olga gently brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

They don’t press. They just wait. And after a long moment—something breaks loose.

“I had a dream,” you whisper.

They both look at you immediately.

“About my mom. And my dad. They were both leaving me. Walking away. And I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop them.”

Your voice cracks. You keep going.

“They were saying it was my fault. That I was too much. That I ruined everything.”

Olga’s lip trembles. She closes her eyes, leans her forehead gently against your shoulder.

“And then I woke up, and I couldn’t stop thinking— what if you leave too?” You look at her now. “What if you realize you don’t want me either? What if I ruin this, the way I ruin everything else?”

“Mi Azulita,” she murmurs. “I could never leave you.”

Your eyes flick toward Alexia. “I yelled at you.”

Alexia smiles softly. “Yeah. You did. First time ever.”

“I’m sorry,” you croak.

“It’s okay,” she says, brushing your leg. “I get it now.”

You swallow hard. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. Not here. Not school. Not the team. I feel like I’m just… floating. Like no one really sees me.”

Alexia shifts closer. “We see you.”

“You’re not floating,” Olga adds, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re anchored right here. With us.”

You nod, but tears are running down your face now, silent and unstoppable.

Alexia opens her arms and you fall into her like a wave crashing into shore. Olga curls around your back, hand over your heart. They hold you like that, wrapped in warmth and quiet safety.

Then, soft and sure, Olga begins to hum.

Her voice rises into a lullaby. Gentle. Familiar. Like a song pulled from the bones of your childhood.

“Duerme, mi Azulita, cierra tus ojos ya, que la luna te cuida, desde su cielo allá. Mis brazos son tu nido, mi voz tu canción, mañana despiertas, vuelve mi corazón.” Her hand strokes your hair with every line. Alexia joins her for the last part, softly, remembering Olga telling her about the lullaby. “Mi hermosa Azulita, en sueños te ves, y cuando despiertes... volverás otra vez.” (Sleep, my Azulita, close your eyes now, that the moon takes care of you, from its sky over there. My arms are your nest, my voice your song, tomorrow you wake up, my heart returns. My beautiful Azulita, in dreams you see yourself, and when you wake up... you will come back again.)

Your breathing evens out.

The tightness in your chest starts to ease. The shaking stills. And for the first time in days—

You sleep. Safe. Held. Home.

[yerkyokuler]

“Can You Step Out?”

Jude Bellingham x Reader

Warnings: postpartum, insecurity

Genre: angst and fluff, obviously

Word Count: over 3k , sorry 🥲

Thank you so much for the like on my first post, it means the world! Let me know if you want a part 2!

⸻

The living room was filled with the low hum of a lullaby toy, something soft and twinkly that looped endlessly as Percy kicked his chubby legs in the playpen. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light across the floorboards. You’d opened the windows earlier to let in the late afternoon air, and now a gentle breeze fluttered the sheer curtains. The house smelled faintly of baby lotion and Jude’s cologne—woody, musky, warm. Safe.

He was crouched down by the playpen in his white T-shirt—simple, fitted, sleeves rolled a little to show the muscle along his arms, black trousers hugging him just right. He was laughing at something Percy had done, something so small you probably would’ve missed it—a wrinkle of the nose, a gurgle of joy—but Jude looked at him like he’d just invented the moon.

You were in the bedroom, rifling through your side of the closet, trying to find something—anything—that still felt like you.

Tonight was supposed to be nice. Your first real evening out alone since Percy was born seven and a half months ago. You had a reservation. You had a sitter. You had Jude, so excited about it he’d played music while ironing his own shirt like it was prom night.

But now, standing in your bra and jeans, you were holding a dress you used to love and staring at it like it belonged to someone else.

Your body wasn’t the same. You knew that. You’d carried life, delivered him, fed him. But the way your hips had shifted, the way your skin stretched, the way your stomach now had a softness it never used to—it made the idea of this dress suddenly unbearable.

It felt like pretending. Like you were squeezing yourself into a version of yourself Jude hadn’t signed up for.

You heard him coming down the hall, his steps familiar. You quickly clutched the dress to your chest and called out, voice more brittle than you meant it to be.

“Can you—um… can you step out? I just wanna change.”

He stopped in the doorway. Confused at first. You saw the hesitation cross his face.

“Oh—yeah, of course,” he said, voice light. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just… I’m good. Just gimme a sec.”

He lingered a moment. Then nodded, flashing you a quick smile. “Alright. Shout if you need help with the zip, yeah?”

You shut the door gently after he turned away and leaned back against it. That smile of his—it always made things worse when you were holding onto feelings you didn’t want to share. It was too kind. Too easy to believe in.

⸻

Down the hall, Jude walked back to the living room slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You’d never asked him to step out like that before. Not even once. You’d always been pretty open, even when you weren’t feeling your best. Which meant…

Something was off.

He knelt back down beside Percy, who was now gnawing on a rubber giraffe like it owed him money. “What’s up with Mummy, hmm?” he asked softly.

Percy blinked up at him with those wide brown eyes—the same ones Jude saw in the mirror every morning—and let out a happy sigh that sounded like a whistle. Jude ruffled his dark curls, but he kept glancing toward the bedroom.

He thought about the dress you were holding. The one he loved seeing you in—the way it made your eyes look even brighter. But maybe you didn’t love it anymore. Maybe it didn’t feel the same.

He sat back, resting on his hands, and looked at the wall for a while. Listening. Thinking. Trying to remember the last time you talked about how you felt—about your body, about all the changes. He’d been so wrapped up in loving Percy, in making sure you had help and rest and food and warmth… but had he stopped looking? Had he stopped seeing you?

⸻

You gave up on the dress. It was too tight around the ribs anyway. Everything felt too snug. Like your body didn’t belong to you.

You pulled on a different outfit—looser, easier. Still nice, but safer. You paused in front of the mirror and adjusted the top, your fingertips brushing your soft stomach. Your chest. The stretch marks that traced your hips now like rivers.

The words came out in a whisper before you even meant them to.

“Doesn’t feel like me anymore.”

And when you turned to grab your earrings, there was a knock at the door.

Soft.

Gentle.

“Babe?”

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

“…Can I come in?”

You hesitated. Then sighed. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door opened slowly, and Jude stepped in, careful, like he knew he was walking into a place that felt delicate.

His eyes fell on you, and they softened instantly. But not out of pity. Not sadness. Just love.

“Hey,” he said.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hey.”

He didn’t rush to touch you, didn’t barrel in with solutions. Just stood there, watching you with a kind of patient quiet. “You don’t like it?”

You shrugged. “It’s fine. I just… I thought I did. I don’t know.”

His brow furrowed gently. “Is it the dress or… something else?”

You tried to brush it off. “It’s dumb. Doesn’t matter.”

His voice didn’t waver. “Matters to me.”

You looked away, your throat tightening. “It’s just… I don’t feel like myself. Not really. And I don’t know what you see when you look at me, but it’s not what I see anymore. And I didn’t want you to see me standing there like that—looking weird and stretched and just… not me.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Jude’s eyes didn’t leave you once. He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of you.

“Can I say something?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, blinking quickly.

He touched your arm gently. “You say you’re not you… but all I see when I look at you is exactly who you are. The woman I love. The mother of my son. The person who carried him and loved him before I even knew what he’d look like.”

He paused, reaching for your hand. “You look at yourself and see stretch marks and softness and changes. I look at you and see the person who gave me the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You made him. You made Percy. Every bit of you that changed… it changed because of love. Because of life. And that’s not something I’ll ever want to unsee.”

Your eyes burned. “You say that, but—”

“I say that because I mean it,” he interrupted gently. “And I see you. Still. Always.”

You sniffled, laughing once, watery. “You’re making it really hard to be mad at my own body right now.”

He grinned. “Good. Your body deserves better than your anger.”

You leaned into him then, and his arms wrapped around you instantly. Strong. Familiar. Warm.

He kissed your temple. “You smell like my shampoo.”

“I used it ‘cause I ran out of mine.”

He pulled back to look at you, eyes playful. “You sure you didn’t use it just so I’d spend the whole evening trying not to climb over the dinner table?”

You laughed, smacking his chest lightly. “Jude.”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “You’re my wife. I can’t be a little obsessed?”

He leaned in, nosing at your jaw. “You have to know you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Like this. Right now. Exactly as you are.”

You melted under his words, forehead resting against his. “Thank you. I needed that more than I knew.”

“You’re allowed to not love everything right away,” he murmured. “But just know—I love it. I love you. And I want you to feel like you again. Whatever that looks like. Even if it means trying on every outfit in the closet until we’re late.”

You smiled, and this time it reached your eyes. “You’re not even mad?”

He raised a brow. “You kidding? You could wear your old dressing gown from uni and I’d still be staring.”

You laughed, cheeks warm. “Now that’s a lie.”

He stepped back, eyes running down your figure with a smirk. “Nope. But this?” he added, pointing to your current outfit. “This is doing things to me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the way he looked at you—like you were something holy—it stayed with you. From the playpen, Percy let out a squeal. You both turned, and Jude’s face lit up again.

“I think he’s cheering for you,” Jude said, grabbing your hand and pulling you gently toward the door. “Or maybe for himself.

He did get your good looks, after all.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder as you walked.

“He has your eyes,” you whispered. “And your smile.”

Jude laughed. “Good. He’ll need ‘em. Especially with the way I plan on embarrassing him in front of his future dates.” You both paused at the doorway, watching Percy roll over with determination.

Jude’s arm slipped around your waist.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

You looked up at him, then down at your son, then back at yourself in the hallway mirror.

Maybe you weren’t exactly who you used to be. Maybe that was okay.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I think I am.”

And as Jude leaned down to kiss you again—slow, certain, grateful—you finally let yourself believe him.

[my-castles-crumbling]

First Lines of My Fics

Thanks @thebibutterflyao3 , @where-is-vivian , @shoopsthereitis , and @courfee for tagging!

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!

note- I'm skipping the really smutty ones because I don't want to link them on here....

No Socks - Rated M (Rosekiller)

“So?” Regulus demanded as soon as Barty stumbled into their shared flat, last night’s outfit still on his thin frame. “So, what?” Barty asked, throwing his keys onto the counter, not bothering to pick them up when they skittered across the marble surface and landed on the floor.  “So, what?” Regulus repeated dubiously.

James Potter, Reluctant Cat Dad - Rated G (Jegulus)

James sighed and looked into beautiful gray eyes, trying not to let them pull on his heartstrings. But he was weak, and gave up far too easily, his heart melting. “How the fuck did we get here, love?” he murmured, truly dumbfounded about how they had ended up in this predicament.

Infuriating - Rated T (Dorlene)

“Black, you absolute tosser!” Marlene McKinnon’s laughter-filled voice filled the small, echoing Potions Classroom, and Dorcas Meadowes didn’t even bother holding back an eye roll and a little scoff. Instead, she just gave herself credit for not telling the other girl to shut up in front of the entire class.

That's Alarming - Rated G (Jegulus)

There were few things Regulus Black valued more than sleep. Perhaps reading. Or music. Or a nice dark roast coffee. But either way, sleep was of the utmost importance. He was even more prickly than normal without at least eight hours of it, and miserable as well, so he always prioritized getting his rest. Which is why he was ready to kill everyone in his path when the fire alarm was pulled at 2:47 am on a Tuesday night in his university dorm, and he was forced to evacuate into the parking lot.

Mint and Sunshine and Hope - Rated T (Jegulus)

It was a coincidence that they had  arrived at Sirius and Remus’s flat at the same time. An annoying coincidence, to be sure, but Regulus couldn’t fault James for it. He’d learned, as he’d grown, that there wasn’t much he could fault James for, really. 

In My Head - Rated T (Jegulus)

The realization comes to Regulus in the middle of the day. He is sitting with Barty, listening to his best friend complain about some stupid thing that happened at his ridiculous job taste testing at the pet food plant, and suddenly his whole body goes cold. Because as Barty is talking, his brain is completely obsessed with something– some one else. And it makes him realize… “Oh fuck,” he mumbles incoherently, unable to even feel his lips properly. “Right?” Barty asks loudly, clearly under the impression that Regulus has agreed with him in some way. “It was a huge problem! And then I told that arse in corporate to suck my-” “No,” Regulus says, thoughts a million miles away. “No, I-” Because this is not about Melanie from Corporate, who clearly has it out for Barty, at least according to him. This is about James Potter.

I love you. I'm (not) sorry. - Rated T (Jegulus)

James took a deep breath, fiddling with his suit jacket and trying to power through the sinking, sickening feeling that had somehow taken up residence inside his chest. His heart thundered against his ribcage like it was determined to escape the very bounds of his body and he felt almost faint. He looked around the large room, taking in the beautiful decorations, the stunning white flowers, the luxurious aisle already scattered with petals, the twinkling lights strung from the ceiling. It looked like heaven. It felt like his own personal hell.

Any Ideas? - Rated T (Jegulus)

“I still think the fake arrest idea is the best one,” Sirius mumbled, laying spread-eagle on the floor and staring at the ceiling. He waved his wand, a pair of plastic handcuffs spinning around the tip as he moved his hand lazily. “Moony, you’d like to see me in these, eh?” A snort sounded from somewhere in the room.

Burn - Rated T (Jegulus)

The Cruciatus Curse– incantation: Crucio– is one of the Unforgivable Curses. It is known by many as the ‘Torturing Curse,’ as it subjects the affected to excruciating pain. Long-term exposure to this curse can cause lasting mental and physical effects, including but not limited to fatigue, confusion, coldness and chills, nightmares, and even insanity.

Thinking - Rated T (Wolfstar)

“Do you feel any different?” Sirius blinked at the circle of people staring at him with bated breath, tilting his head from side to side as he thought about the question. “No,” he said honestly, pursing his lips. “Damn,” James frowned, sighing. “That would’ve been hilarious.” And the game continued.

NPT (I'm not sure who's already been tagged so if you have, I'm sorry!): @microdamage @wolfpadx @arviyya @deepseagre3n @whoopsiesnodaisies @locomotiveodyssey

[adoreispunk]

Out of Reach (joel miller au)

…"Yeah?" His thumbs stroked just under the waistband of my underwear, barely touching skin. "Could've fooled me. You look so fuckin' pretty layin' out for me like this, babygirl."”

content warning: 18+ MDNI, fingering, car sex, dirty talk, grinding, praise, age gap, smut.

wc: 3.8K

an: my first time writing smut;) hope yall enjoy.

————————-

seven

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of sweat, sawdust, and coffee. Joel kept a steady pace, moving between tasks like he'd been doing this his whole life, and I did my best to keep up. Not that he ever made me feel like I was falling behind, I just didn't want to be a bother. We hit the second job site just after 1 and scarfed down sandwiches in the cleanest spot we could find.

Now, with the sun dipping low and the hum of the drive settling in my chest, I'm somehow more awake than I've been all day. My body's exhausted, but my brain won't shut off, not with Joel sitting right next to me, his knuckles relaxed on the wheel, his profile lit by the soft burn of sunset.

He pulls into the lot but doesn't move. Just sits there. Like me.

"You hungry?" he asks, voice low.

I hesitate. "Joel..."

"I'm grabbing dinner," he says, cutting me off gently. "Thought maybe you'd come. On me."

My heart's already kicking up, and I try to rein it in. I laugh, light and a little breathless. "You already gave me a laptop and the position. I think you've done more than enough."

He leans in slightly—not a lot, but enough that I feel the shift.

"It's not about that," he says, voice rougher now. "I just... wanna sit with you a while. That okay?"

It's that last part that does me in, the way he says it. Like he's not demanding anything, but he needs it anyway. Why wouldn't I give in.

I nod, softly. "Yeah. Okay."

He relaxes just enough to let out a breath, then starts the truck again.

The restaurant is quiet, low-lit, tucked between a string of other restaurants. Nothing special from the outside. But inside it's cozy. It's the kind of place where people sit for hours without checking the time.

We slide into a booth near the back. I can feel his hand on the small of my back when he leads me in.

He orders a whiskey, neat. I order a glass of wine. I tell myself I'm just trying too hard to look older. More composed. Not like the girl whose knees go soft when he looks at her too long.

At first, we talk about work. The site, the guys, and more about what I want to start working on the next day. But then it shifts more personal. Naturally, slowly, the way it always seems to with him.

We talk about music. About old records and what he used to listen to on long drives. I tell him how my dad always tried to get me into Springsteen, but I was a stubborn little brat who thought synth-pop was deeper.

And somewhere between my second glass of wine and the server clearing our plates, I asked about Sarah.

His eyes softened immediately.

"She's in school up in New York now." he said, leaning back in his chair like the words pulled some weight from his chest. "Couldn't've picked somewhere farther away if she tried."

I smiled. "That sounds like her."

"Yeah," he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "She hasn't changed a bit. Still got that stubborn streak. But I miss her. House's too quiet without her around."

A quiet beat passed between us.

"I'd love to see her again sometime," I say gently. "Maybe when summer rolls around."

Joel looked at me then, really looked, and nodded like the thought actually meant something to him. "She'd like that. She always liked you."

I glanced down at my wine glass, swirling what was left, then looked up and caught him watching me with that quiet intensity he always wore when he wasn't saying much.

I smiled, a little unsteady. "You know, I used to be kind of scared of you."

His eyebrows lifted. "Me?"

I nodded, resting my chin on my hand. "You were always so serious. So... intense. Barely said a word." I scarf down what's left of my wine.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, guess that sounds like me".

That made me laugh—really laugh. "I liked it, though. The quiet thing. You made people pay attention without trying."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing in a way that made me feel like I was under a spotlight. "You drunk, Olivia?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Tipsy." I admitted, then shrugged. "Not enough to say anything I don't mean."

His gaze held steady on me. "So what is it you're trying to say?"

I hesitated—long enough for him to notice.

"I've seen that look a thousand times today." he said softly. "You've got something sitting on the edge of your tongue and you're deciding whether to let it out"

I looked away, heart thudding, heat rising to my cheeks. "It's not a big deal."

Joel tilted his head. "Seems like it is."

There was a silence I didn't try to fill. He waited.

"I think about you more than I should," I finally said, barely louder than a whisper.

Joel went still.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," I added quickly, the words falling out now that they'd started. "Since the first time I saw you again, these last few weeks i've been at school. Now working with you, seeing how much you care, how hard you push yourself. I notice everything now. The way you talk, the way you move, the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."

Joel's throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn't interrupt. Just watched me like I was saying something he already knew but wanted to hear for himself.

"I know it's complicated," I said. "And probably not smart. But I didn't want to keep pretending like I didn't feel anything."

Another beat. Joel leaned back slowly in his seat, like he needed the space to breathe.

"Jesus," he muttered. "You have any idea what it's been like tryin' to keep things professional with you around?"

My eyes flicked up to his, wide and surprised.

"Thought I was doin' a decent job," he added, voice low, rough. "But you walk into a room and it's like I forget what the hell I'm supposed to be doing."

I didn't know how to respond, where to go from here. Maybe it was the wine or me never thinking he would actually feel a similar way.

Then, without a word, he reached into his wallet and dropped enough cash onto the table to cover the check and a generous tip.

"Let's go," he said, standing up.

My stomach dropped. Something in his tone—firm, curt—made me freeze for a second. I stared at the bills on the table, then up at him, trying to read his expression. But it was blank.

Suddenly, I felt so stupid. How could I mess up something so bad that was literally handed to me.

"I—Mr. Miller, I'm sorry," I said quickly, rising from my seat, my voice quieter. "I said too much.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he said it again—lower this time, slower.

"Let's go, Olivia."

And I followed, my cheeks burning.

The ride back was quiet. The kind of silence that felt thick, like it was holding its breath. I stared out the window out of embarrassment. Maybe I'd crossed a line. Maybe I'd ruined everything. The last thing I wanted was to make things weird. Worse yet, to make him uncomfortable.

The office parking lot came into view. My car was the one left, sitting under a flickering overhead light. Joel slowed the truck as we pulled in, the hum of the engine filling the space between us.

And then I felt it. His hand, steady and warm, resting gently on my thigh.

I turned to look at him, startled, heart hammering.

He was still watching the lot, one hand on the wheel, the other anchored to me like it belonged there. His thumb moved once, a slow, almost-thoughtless stroke that sent a wave of heat through my core.

"I've wanted to say something." he said quietly, his voice almost a rasp. "But I didn't know if I had the right."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. The weight of his hand, the sound of his voice—it left no room for words.

He looked over at me then, and this time, I could read the look on his face. Want with restraint

"You sure about this?" he asked, eyes searching mine. "Because if we start this... I'm not gonna be able to pretend nothing's changed."

Joel's hand stayed on my thigh, his grip a little tighter now, like he needed the anchor.

"And your dad..." he started, then stopped, jaw clenching. "Jesus. If he ever found out..."

He exhaled hard through his nose, like it physically hurt to say it. "He'd never forgive me, Olivia. I don't think I'd be able to look him in the eye again. Hell, I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here."

His thumb brushed against the inside of my leg, slow, grounding. "But I know I want you. I've tried not to. I've tried real hard."

That confession unraveled something tight in my chest. I'd imagined and hoped for it—but hearing it in his voice, heavy with conflict and need, it undid me.

"I need to know," he said, softer now, glancing at me again, "You're not drunk, right? I need you clearheaded when you say it. I'm not touching you if you're not sure."

I shook my head, quick almost desperate. "I'm not. I swear." I licked my lips, voice barely above a whisper. "I' want you so bad Joel."

I barely had time to register the shift in the air before Joel leaned in, hand moving from my thigh to the side of my neck, rough fingers cradling me like he didn't trust himself not to break me.

Then his mouth was on mine.

It was desperate—hungry and unfiltered and so much more than I was prepared for. His lips crashed into mine with a groan that vibrated in my chest, and I gasped against him, which only gave him more. He took it, pulled me closer across the truck's console like he couldn't stand the inches between us. His other hand slid around my waist, dragging me into him like he needed me there.

A small, involuntary moan escaped me at the feel of his body pressed against mine, and that was all it took.

"Fuck," he muttered against my lips, the sound raw, like he'd been holding it in for far too long. "Where did you come from?"

His tongue pushed past my lips, and I let him in, tasting the whiskey on his breath, the heat of him unraveling every bit of restraint I'd clung to. The kiss deepened fast. His mouth hot and searching, like he was trying to memorize me from the inside out. I kissed him back with everything I had, fingers curling into his hair.

Joel didn't stop kissing me—not even for a second.

His hands gripped my waist, firm and sure, and before I could blink, he was moving. In one smooth motion, he shoved his seat back with a grunt, the lever creaking under the force, and then he was pulling me into his lap, dragging me over the console like I weighed nothing.

I gasped into his mouth, but he didn't let up, didn't let go. He just wrapped his arms around me tighter and sealed his mouth over mine like he was starving for it.

The moment I settled on top of him, thighs straddling either side of his lap, I felt the hard press of him beneath me. He was so big.

It made my head spin.

My body moved without thinking, my hips rolling forward, slow and uncertain at first. The friction hit just right and I couldn't stop the low, breathy moan that left me. Joel groaned, deep in his throat, and his grip on my hips tightened, holding me right there as I rocked against him again, more confident now. More desperate.

"Jesus, Olivia" he breathed against my lips, voice rough and frayed. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me."

But he didn't stop me. Didn't try to pull away.

If anything, he pulled me closer.

My hands slid into his hair, tugging a little, and that only made him kiss me harder. Deeper. Tongue and teeth and heat, like he didn't care where we were or who could see like he needed this just as bad as I did.

His fingers brushed between my legs, dragging over the heat of me through my pants, and I couldn't help the soft gasp that fell from my mouth, my body jerking forward slightly into his touch.

"You sittin' here grindin' on me, thinkin' im not gonna do something 'bout it?"

He pressed his forehead to mine, lips brushing and teasing. I whimpered at the loss, but then he tilted his head and looked at me—really looked at me.

"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart," he added, voice softer now, almost reverent. "I wanna hear you cum. Been thinkin' about it all night."

"Yes," I breathed, not even hesitating. My hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer like I needed him to fuse into me. "Please, Joel. Im so wet already" Something flickered in his eyes—something primal.

I move my mouth to his jaw and neck, desperate to not let any of this moment go to waste. It feels like I was on autopilot.

"Fuck," he groaned, the word guttural, like it clawed out of him. His hand tightened on my thigh. "You don't know what you're doin' to me, baby."

"Then show me." I whispered, lips brushing his jaw. That broke him.

He swore again under his breath, something low and hoarse, before pulling away just enough to look me dead in the eye.

"Get in the back," he ordered. His voice was sharp, commanding.

I scrambled off his lap without question, my knees shaking as I pushed open the door and climbed into the back seat of the truck. The second I got in, he was already there, slamming the door shut behind him.

His hands were on me in seconds—gripping my waist, pulling me down beneath him, and all I could do was cling to him as everything we'd both been holding back came pouring out at once.

He goes back to kissing me just as desperate and hard. He starts working my shirt open with one hand as he supports my back with the other. Revealing a black lace bra I had underneath. Definitely not picked intentionally. He doesn't take my shirt off completely or my bra, he starts working kisses that will definitely leave a mark all throughout the tops of my boobs.

"Fuck Joel, just like that." I moan. Making his hand work up to my cleavage and squeezing it just right.

He starts making his way down my stomach with his mouth not bothered by the enclosed space we're in. He looks up at me with his puppy dog eyes as he starts unbuttoning my pants.

"Kick those pretty heels off and lift up your hips."

I do what he tells me and he starts taking my pants off.

His fingers trailed over the lace at my hips, his breath catching as he took in the full sight of me sprawled out for him in the backseat.

"Damn," he said, low and rough. "You really wore this just to kill me tonight, didn't you?"

I shook my head, my voice catching in my throat. "I didn't—this wasn't—" I swallowed. "I wasn't planning on any of this."

"Yeah?" His thumbs stroked just under the waistband of my underwear, barely touching skin. "Could've fooled me. You look so fuckin' pretty layin' out for me like this, babygirl."

And then his hands moved between my thighs again, slower this time, purposeful. The pad of his finger dragged across the center of me, through the lace, and I let out a shaky moan. My hips rising up like they had a mind of their own.

He murmured, voice rough and ragged. "You're soaked. I make you this wet?"

The words made my entire body jolt. There was no hiding how much I wanted him—how badly I'd been needing this. My thighs trembled as he rubbed slow, teasing circles through the damp fabric, just enough to build pressure, not enough to ease it.

"Joel," I gasped. "Please—"

He leaned in again, his lips brushing my cheek, then the shell of my ear. The weight of him, the warmth of his breath, all of it sent a shiver through me.

"You needed this, didn't you?" he whispered. "Been wound up all night, sittin' next to me like that, talkin' to me like that." All of a sudden he starts kissing my neck. Making me even weaker.

"Yes," I breathed. "God—yes."

He groaned, something guttural and wrecked, as his hand pressed firmer between my legs, his touch no longer teasing. He finally starts moving the lace over to one side as I feel his touch on my folds for the first time.

"Lay back," he said, voice thick with need, "Let me take care of you."

He slowly starts putting his 2 fingers into me. Slow and steady at first. I let out something obscene and desperate in that moment. So glad that I can finally let out this pressure.

"Jesus Christ," he groaned under his breath, like he couldn't believe it. "This pussy's so wet for me."

"Joel—" I said his name like a prayer, like a plea, and he answered it with his two fingers curling up, moving faster.

My hips jerked, the stretch making me cry out, but it was relief. It was heaven. It was him, curling his fingers just right as his thumb pressed down on my clit, working me like he already knew my body better than I did.

"That's it." he murmured, his mouth grazing my neck, his voice ragged and tight. "Wanna hear you. Tell me what you want."

"Fuck— you. All of you Joel. Don't stop—please don't stop—" I was panting now, my hands gripping, nails digging into his forearms he's supporting himself with.

He fucked me with his fingers like he couldn't help it, like he needed to get me there just to survive. The slick sound of it filled the car, obscene and perfect, and my moans only got louder with every twist of his wrist.

"You're squeezin' me so tight," he rasped. "You gonna come for me? Let me feel it?"

"Just like that —Joel—fuck—" I couldn't hold back anymore. My back arched off the seat, thighs shaking, the world narrowing to the fire spreading out from where he touched me.

And then I shattered.

The orgasm crashed over me like a wave, pulling a cry from my throat that didn't even sound like me. My vision blurred as I pulsed around his fingers, riding it out, letting him wring every last drop of pleasure from me.

Joel didn't stop. Not until I was limp beneath him, chest heaving, lips parted in shock.

He finally pulled his fingers out from me and making eye contact bringing them to his mouth, tasting me with a soft, filthy groan. Then kissing me just as desperate as before, making me taste myself on his lips.

"You've got no idea what youre gonna do to me." He says finally pulling away from me.

I just stared at him—completely fucked out, heart pounding, skin flushed. I didn't have words yet. All I could do was reach for him, still needing more. I wanted to make him feel just as good.

"I wanna take care of you too," I whispered, my fingers brushing his buldge, feeling how hard he was for me. "Let me."

His hand caught mine, firm but gentle. He looked at me like I'd just said something dangerous.

"Baby," he said softly, shaking his head with a crooked, pained smile. "You put that pretty mouth on me right now, I won't be able to stop myself."

The heat in my core flared all over again at his words, but there was something in the way he looked.

"I'll wait," he murmured, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. "You already gave me more than I fuckin' deserved."

Then he kissed me again—full and slow, all tongue and heat, like he needed to seal this moment between us. I moaned into it, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, letting him swallow every bit of me.

Eventually, he pulled away just enough to start doing up the buttons of my shirt, his touch gentle now, the intensity shifting to something quieter. Intimate.

I glanced down, cheeks flushed, still breathless, then looked around for my pants. They were crumpled on the floor of the truck. I grabbed them, laughing under my breath.

"You gonna put these on for me too?" I teased, holding them up with one hand.

Joel smirked, eyes dark but soft as they dropped to the scrap of lace still clinging to my hips.

"Sweetheart, if I touch you again right now, we're not leavin' this truck tonight."

I smiled, slipping my legs back into pants with shaking hands, still feeling the imprint of his fingers between my thighs.

He looked at me again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He looks down on his watch, "It's gettin' late," he said, voice low and a little rough. "You should get home, babygirl."

I gave a weak laugh, slumping back into the seat and tugging the last button of my pants closed, my body still humming from everything he'd done to me. "I don't think I can walk to my car."

Joel looked back at me, smirking—warm and lazy, but with that glint in his eyes like he was still thinking about what we'd just done. "Need me to carry you?"

"I think so" I said, trying to sound playful but my voice came out a little breathier than I meant. "Think I'm gonna need to ice my thighs or something."

That made him laugh, quiet and genuine, before he leaned over and pressed one last, slow kiss to my lips. His hand cupped the side of my face, fingers curling into my hair like he didn't want to let go just yet.

"C'mon I'll walk you out."

——————————————

an:

[thiinka]

Hi I posted some of these elsewhere but you guys get my 3DS photos AND my regular phone photos yayyyyyy. Straight from BLIB (6:30 o clock show):

[benevolenterrancy]

May your hardened heart be woken By the soft and distant song Of all you left here unspoken All the shards we keep stepping on - Take this body home Take this body home Call the wind, and let her know Take this life outgrown Take this broken soul Call the stars, call them all And take it high, take it far, take it home

[sail-not-drift]

I loved the Risky Business scene but I would have killed for “Dancing in the Dark”. Eddie deserves to lose his shit to Springsteen.

[silent-sentinels]

@ mazzy hewwo good morning thank you for showing us dragons!! :3 <33 <22 we enjoy seeing your fIight escapades :3!!

however we also got four other asks last night apparently and we don't know how to answer one of them and the other is an anon's music recs so w. [pauses quietly. clasps hands together.] we're gonna have to take a quick rain check on this one chief!!

[katagawajr]

finally saw nope (the movie) WAUGHH I LOVE ALIENS!! AND I LOVE COWBOYS!!

[yukinyaminyato]

some customer at work was like "daylight savings as a concept sucks but at least i'll get an extra hour of sleep :)" well i got an extra hour at the club so i guess we're both winning ?

sike im not winning bc my bus just didn't come and i had to wait for almost 15min for a different one that doesn't take me as close to home and now im walking and i have work tmrw and my alarm will ring in exactly 5 hours 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻 im young so im allowed to make dumb decisions such as staying out till 4am 🥲🥲🥲

[deathbxnny]

Arcane women accidentally confessing to you. | Sevika, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi x Gn!Reader

This is very self-indulgent, so enjoy.<3

Content: pre-season 2 because I want to be happy rn, slight angst if you squint, fluff, accidental confessions, maybe ooc??, cursing, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》SEVIKA

She was resting at the last drop with you during some downtime in between missions. One hand lingered on your hip whilst her metallic one held onto her cigar, eyes focused on the pocker game she was playing with a couple of Silco's other henchmen. She always kept you close this way, a clear sign of who you belonged to despite never having said a word about it yet. It was a mutual understanding only you could have, and so she didn't think a confession was necessary.

Until today, it seemed.

You were secretly helping her cheat a little and eventually told her the winning move, which earned her a large sum of money. Letting out a smug laugh at everyone's angered and defeated glares, she gave you a lazy grin. "Thanks, sweetheart. This is why I love you." She hummed to you, smoke exhaling from her dark lips, before she froze ever so slightly. Well, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise to either of you, and yet she couldn't help but chuckle at your own stunned face.

Looking at the men around her, she threw some poker chips towards them, clearly asking for another round. She wasn't the type to get flustered or shy anyways, so her moving on like nothing happened was on brand.

The only acknowledgment you got, however, was the hand on your hip tightening.

》JINX

She has a hard time hiding her feelings for you due to her rather energetic and extremely clingy nature. But there is still a clear distance between you two that she's too scared to cross. It was a deep fear of ruining everything she had with you in case her confession went wrong. She'd rather you consider her your best friend for life if it meant for you to stay at her side. She didn't want to lose more people after all. And yet, as fate has it, she eventually lost herself in a good and happy moment with you.

You were tinkering on some projects in her hideout whilst listening to music. Her head was leaning against your shoulder as her eyes traced your focused gaze. Jinx felt so content and at peace in that moment that she couldn't stop the words that spilled out of her mouth. "I love you." It took her a second to realise what happened, and her body was quick to flinch away from you. You kept her in place, however, with a free hand placed against her head. "Hey, it's okay. I love you too. I'm not leaving." You reassured her quickly with a smile, one that made her heart skip a beat.

She may not see herself as deserving of you, but she's glad to have you at her side anyway. Hopefully forever.

》CAITLYN

Caitlyn was good at hiding her emotions from you. In fact, she had refused to tell you in fear of breaking the professionalism you two had and, most importantly, your friendship that she cherished deeply. And so, she was very careful not to reveal a single thing... until her confidence betrayed her and caused her to slip up.

You two were reviewing a new case together, and whilst she wasn't paying attention, she accidentally slid you her diary over. It unfortunately looked too similar to her work notebook, something she only realised the moment you opened it and froze in surprise. She may have scribbled your name all over it. She may have childishly drawn hearts around your name. She may have made it awfully clear that she loved you. And it made her wonder if there was a god out there that hated her deeply.

"... My apologies. Please ignore that-" "-Haha, I'm so relieved that I'm not the only one who did this!" You let out a soft laugh before pulling out your notebook and showing her similar pages to her own, just with her name written all over them. Her face was flushed from how flustered and embarrassed she was, but alas, she too couldn't help and chuckle at how silly this all was. At least you felt the same.

》VI

It's not like she didn't want to confess her feelings to you. She just didn't know how! Her confession should sweep you right off your feet in her mind, and yet nothing she came up with seemed good enough. Vi hoped that her flirting would get the point across, but she lacked the confidence to go any further than compliments. She just didn't want you to think differently of her and therefore kept her distance for the most part regarding the subject. That is if she could keep it in for lobger than she already has. She always felt so strongly about others, after all.

So, during a little hang out session in a bar somewhere in Zaun, she attempted to find the courage to tell you how she felt. Whilst she went off to go and get you a drink first, however, a drunken man showed up at your side and started flirting you in a rather uncomfortable way. You tried making it clear that you weren't interested, but as he went to grab your arm, a hand slammed in between you two onto the bar table. "Hey, I think they told you no, asshole." "Who the hell are you?" The man barked back, yet Vi didn't back down and simply blocked you from his view with her body. "I'm their girlfriend, now fuck off." She hissed, and the man just rolled his eyes before walking off grumbling.

Silence filled the space in between you two until you chuckled softly. "Girlfriend, huh? I like the sound of that." You hummed, secretly trying to ease her embarrassed mind, that quickly recovered at your words with a sly grin. "You do?" You mirrored her smile with a nod. "Very much so. I'm glad we think alike."

[neverendingford]

.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

i need to be a man.

[samulogy]

im begging for you to make a drummer bakugou based on that "i hate attention" video on tiktok of the girl on his lap

⊹ ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ divine agnes ! the coincidence that i also saw the video on my feed just as i was reading this ask. a bit suggestive, though not full-blown smut. fem!reader ♡

this was the part of the show everyone waited for.

it had started as a half-serious joke during rehearsals, but now, it was a signature moment—where the band performed shirtless and invited fans onto the stage. it was chaotic, but the fans loved it—always ate it up. every. single. time. katsuki, ever the showman despite his usual preference for controlled chaos, played along because, hell, why not? it wasn’t like anyone would hinder his ability to play the drums anyway.

tonight, as dunce face—their lead guitarist—went off stage and picked a handful of lucky fans onto the stage, his eyes locked onto you.

you stood out, not because you were screaming or jumping like the others, but because it felt like you were anticipating what is to come. a black, skin-tight dress that clung to your curves, highlighting the physical attributes of your chest, the stage lights making the fabric shimmer in a way that made katsuki’s throat feel dry.

before he could second-guess himself, he stood up, walked towards you—past eijirou and hanta, who were getting to know some of their chosen fans—and met you halfway on the stage.

“c’mere, princess,” he called, his voice rough but somehow carrying over the background music. “you enjoyin’ the show s’far?” bakugou took your hand—warm, steady—and guided you over to where his drums were and sat you carefully on his lap.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear over the music.

you looked down at him, smiling in a way that sent a slow burn through his chest. “yeah. i—yeah,” you whispered, unsure of what to say.

“relax, i ain’t gonna bite you,” he chuckled, letting your arms search for a place to ground yourself without feeling too awkward and uncomfortable. “hold on to me, yeah? wouldn’t want you fallin’ for someone else.”

katsuki barely had a second to brace himself before getting back into the rhythm. his hands moved on instinct, drumsticks striking with practiced precision, his legs pumping the pedals without missing a beat.

which was when he realized the problem.

his legs were moving.

you were sitting on his lap.

and every time his foot hit the bass pedal, every slight motion of his thighs—you moved with it.

you had your hands on his shoulders, gripping them lightly for balance, your pretty, sparkling nails pressing into his skin—he was sure it’ll leave a mark (good). every shift, every flex of his muscles beneath you made your body press just that much closer, and—fuck.

your dress.

that damn dress.

his eyes kept flickering down, catching glimpses of smooth skin, the curve of your chest barely restrained by the neckline, and the way the fabric clung to your waist. it was a distraction in the worst way possible, his brain fighting between focusing on the setlist and the fact that he had a gorgeous girl practically grinding on him in front of thousands of people. that particular friction had his mind reeling from thoughts, his pants suddenly feeling tighter from the straining of his throbbing cock.

you didn’t seem fazed at all, though. you were smiling down at him, completely unaware of the way his jaw had locked, how he had to dig his heels into the stage to stop himself from reacting.

“you look prettier up close,” you say, sultry whispers close to his ear that had katsuki huffing shortly.

this girl, fuck.

he forced himself to keep his cool, to rely on muscle memory to get through the song, but every little movement—it was practically humping at this point—sent another spark of heat racing through him. his fingers tightened around the drumsticks, knuckles white with the effort of keeping himself under control.

the worst part?

you were enjoying it.

not in a teasing, intentional way—but you were clearly having fun. there was nothing forced about the way you laughed when the crowd cheered, nothing fake about the way you met his eyes and grinned like you belonged there, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him.

he almost fucked up a beat. almost.

katsuki never messed up during a performance, even if he’s had a hundred girls on his lap before, doing the same thing you were, but you were making it damn difficult to keep his head in the game. the exception above all to all of this.

and just as suddenly as it started, the song was over.

he helped you off his lap, graceful as ever, and for the first time in his life, katsuki found himself staring at a girl as you thanked him before you walked away—not because he was annoyed, but because he wasn’t ready for you to go.

before you disappeared into the crowd of fans being escorted off the stage, he caught your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin.

“you liked it?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound steady, even though his heart was still pounding for an entirely different reason than adrenaline.

you tilted your head, considering. “i don’t really like too much attention,” you admitted. then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you added, “but… i wouldn’t mind if it came from you. in more ways than one, pretty boy.”

then you were gone, melting back into the sea of fans with your friends.

katsuki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the lingering heat crawling up his spine. suddenly the cold air of the place gave him chills, as if he hadn’t been shirtless for an hour and a half by now. he was about to turn back to his drum kit when he noticed something.

a small, folded note is sitting on his stool.

his name was scrawled on it, and when he opened it, he found a simple message—and a phone number. maybe you’ve expected this from the very beginning.

his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but not quite anything else either.

tonight just got more memorable for him.

[faemurmur]

-> love&deepspace men when you’re on your period

xavier → the silent but devoted caretaker

• doesn’t say much, but he’s already stocked your favorite snacks and painkillers before you even realize you need them. he knows a thing or two about period, he also read that ginormous article written for hunters on their period which was posted publically. “you don’t have to push yourself too hard, little one.” he says as if he’s not requesting. as your mission partner, and mister lumiere :3 he will do anything and everything necessary and possible — that you get your much needed rest and you feel good. <3

• holds a heating pad against your stomach while you curl up against him, letting you steal his warmth. he would also make little bunnies and cute little animals from his evol, which jump around you and help distract you from the pain. he loves to kiss your forehead though, that’s his love language idc. he speaks ever so softly anyway, but during your period you can sense his softness multiply a tenfold.

• if you’re moody, he won’t take anything personally—he just strokes your hair and murmurs, “i know, love. it’s okay.” sometimes you feel bad at how cranky you get but xavier is nothing if not patient. he holds you through it, he would hug you gently, ask you if you’re craving anything . . . ugh he’s just the best boyfriend in the world (trust: source -> sol)

• massages your lower back with slow, firm circles, his touch grounding and steady. “just breathe, sweetheart. i’ve got you.” and he got you. with the way his skilled fingers massage your lower body, purring softly how he wishes you were never in pain… it elevates any discomfort instantly.

sylus → the playful distraction

• teases you at first—“aww, is my little demon suffering?”—but immediately shuts up when you glare at him. he smiles tenderly when he notices the shift in your eyes from the ever-so-defiant menace to a little kitten that needs his attention. he would scoop you up in his arms, carry you to his bedroom and play your favorite shows & musicals. he would hum the musical tones, knowing full well you pretend to hate his voice (when, in actuality you love it). :33

• literally lets you use him as a heating pad. his body is warm, and he’ll let you sprawl all over him if it helps. he’s daddy — which means he’s big. and he’s large & looming enough to be cuddled upto, to be someone you can use as your very own medium-soft mattress. his hands would tenderly massage your booty. his charismatic smirk would tease you with things like, “you know, i’ve heard orgasms help sweetie . . .” what a jerk /aff

• brings you the weirdest food combinations because “cravings are cravings,” and he wants to impress you. “pickles and chocolate? babe, i won’t judge.” what? you wanted to eat something sour earlier and now you demand sweets. he’s got both just in case his kitten’s mood fluctuates. ;)

• kisses your forehead every five minutes and dramatically says, “you’re so strong. so brave. a true warrior.” you roll your eyes at his antics, pretending his overboard affection doesn’t touch your heart. (it definitely does).

caleb → the overprotective pamperer

• wraps you in his hoodie before you can even complain about feeling cold. “there. now you smell like me and feel like me. better?” of course you do. when you got your first period, caleb was there with you. helping you through the cramps, holding you close and talking to you, telling you how sad he is that he can’t share your pain. “oh i know baby, come here.” he croons, letting you know that you can always, depend on him. (no matter what hat he’s wearing) :3

• refuses to let you lift a finger. he gets your water, your snacks, your blanket—everything. would get offended, and have his puppy dog eyes literally steal the thunder when you decide to do something by yourself if caleb is in the house. “pips, told ya to let me help. you’re not supposed to labour.” when you pout and whine, telling him not to treat you like a baby. he would pout harder! accept defeat or else!

• pulls you into his lap and strokes your thighs with his big, warm hands. “shh, i know. just let me take care of you, baby.” it’s so comforting but somehow ends up turning you on too. the way caleb holds you plush against him, his arm wrapping around you as he massages your thighs and your pelvis. “there there — i gotchu pips.”

• lowkey glares at your uterus like it personally offended him. “if i could fight it for you, i would.” you snort, drama king fr. “too bad the colonel can’t really give orders to my uterus.” you snicker, hugging him tightly and basking in his warmth. “too bad indeed.”

zayne → the doctor but also the boyfriend

• clinically speaking, he knows exactly how to help—hydration, light movement, proper nutrition—but he won’t push you if you just want to lay there like a gremlin. though he can’t help but be a little pushy. “i told you to stock up on your iron supplements to make sure you don’t have weakness during this time of the month.” / “a light walk is best suited—“ and when you throw a pillow at his face with a grumble, he knows to shut up. 🤫 (for now), with a tinge of mirth on his face.

• prepares the perfect cup of tea, adding just the right amount of honey. “this should help with the cramps, love.” he has matching mugs with you (he is so husband core), and would share the tea with you, doing a little clink with your matching mugs. “try it, it might not taste that good but it would surely help.”

• strokes your forehead and brushes your hair away, checking in with a soft, “how are you feeling now, darling?” when he comes back from the hospital, finding you curled up in a fetal position breaks his poor heart, he would sit next to you, press soft kisses and give you belly rubs. “what do you want to eat? i’d rather you eat anything. . .” he is sooo in with the junk food consumption shenanigans on your period hehe.

• lets you sleep on his chest while he reads, his steady breathing keeping you calm. he usually likes to read bed time stories to you, its yours and his favorite little ritual. but during your period, his voice is extra expressive. (which isn’t the norm.)

rafayel → the doting prince

• immediately cancels any plans so he can stay by your side. “nothing is more important than you right now.” even if its an art exhibition. thomas can cry and bang his head against the nearest wall — but rafayel isn’t budging. besides, who can control your fishie except you? ;)

• insists you rest while he does everything—cooking, running a warm bath, bringing you silk pillows, whatever you need. rafayel can be a little overbearing at times considering he is very attentive and attuned with his emotions. “rest.” the pouty look in his eyes as he forces you back to bed is to die for. you wonder how beautiful can someone look like that…

• whispers sweet praises into your ear. “my love, you endure so much. let me be your sanctuary.” please rafayel in love is a different breed altogether. he loves you so much you can see it from the way he behaves. you are made of glass. and when you gulp in that nasty tasting tablet for your cramps and aches, he hugs you and praises you like you’ve won the olympics gold medal.

• kisses the inside of your wrist, his voice like velvet. “just relax, my little goddess. let me spoil you.” he does spoil you but with insane amounts of money. calling in chefs from michellin star restaurants just so they can make your favorite food in an authentic way & his baby can eat -> hot, fresh food. “raf, you could just do takeouts-“ you pout softly, to which he chuckles. “nah, takeouts aren’t the same cutie.”