#i’m still working on a long fic but like

[maiamore]

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like. 

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all. 

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you. 

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.” 

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread. 

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though. 

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way. 

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted.  His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim. 

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening. 

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.  

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs. 

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?” 

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear. 

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew. 

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest. 

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop. 

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much. 

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

 “Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes. 

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.” 

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots. 

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button. 

“Ya got a thing for stars?” 

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left. 

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard. 

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.” 

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug. 

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore. 

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled. 

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise. 

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position. 

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome. 

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum. 

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit. 

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you. 

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.” 

He doesn’t answer you, not at first. 

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you. 

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you. 

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning. 

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs. 

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent. 

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different. 

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling. 

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out. 

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled. 

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it.  You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this. 

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help. 

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself. 

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered. 

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move. 

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away. 

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up. 

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you. 

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble. 

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip. 

“Hey!” 

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?”  You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt. 

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly. 

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw. 

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away. 

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips. 

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight. 

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder. 

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over. 

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures. 

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. 

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing. 

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit. 

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser. 

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror. 

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder. 

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace. 

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…” 

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

 The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it. 

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.” 

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.” 

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt. 

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

[noodlemoondle]

You Always Come First

(No matter how upset I am)

Zayne x Reader

summary: you and zayne have a small spat over you neglecting your health. as a result of it, you decide to sleep on the couch, not wanting to bother/upset him even further. randomly waking up in the night, you notice you’re no longer alone on the couch and do everything you can to get the doctor back in bed before he’s sore for his shift tomorrow.

tags: not proofread!, hurt/comfort? (i didn’t rlly include the hurt part of it so im not too sure), fluff, literal sleeping together, caring n sweet zayne (when is he not), self indulgent per usual

a/n: bro tumblr is REALLY testing my patience. why is it so dumb with everything i try to post. it’s literally why i haven’t posted a fic in a while. i can’t take this much longer i may crash out soon. anyway, as always hope u enjoy! (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)

side tangent: i actually have been so obsessed with caleb. it’s actually a problem. i have been loyal to zayne this entire time and i’ve been playing since release, but caleb is REALLY testing it. lord i’m a sucker for the protective n caring childhood friends to lovers trope (¯―¯٥) (id expect a caleb fic soon tbh if tumblr wants to stop hating me and making my life so difficult)

the fight was stupid. you were neglecting your health once again not taking your medicine, not resting, and ignoring doctors specific orders. zayne often could never say no to you, he always spoiled you and gave into any of your requests. the only time he was stern and stubborn was when it involved your health, that he doesn’t and will never budge on. you often lacked care for your health, pushing it to the back burners of your mind and often calling zayne dramatic saying “you knew yourself and your limits”. something zayne wasn’t particularly fond of. he confronted you about your recent negligence of your health and both of your stubbornness in your beliefs led to an argument.

it’s been an hour or 2 since it ended though. zayne left to your shared bedroom, most likely to do some work, while you stayed out in the living area, trying to distract yourself from the anger turning to sadness and guilt in your heart. you ended up deciding to just sleep on the couch tonight not wanting to bother him after an argument. you grabbed an extra pillow and thin blanket from a nearby closet and put on a random show so you wouldn’t have to fall asleep listening to your own thoughts. soon enough you were able to relax and fall into a slumber.

you don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep. you hear the tv still on as you slowly wake and become aware of your surroundings. once you can see clearly, that’s when you realize you were laying on top of zayne previously using his chest as a pillow unbeknownst to you. he has been peacefully sleeping on the couch with you for who knows how long. as you sat up in a panic you also notice a thicker, softer blanket, one you have preference for, falling off of your shoulders. instantly guilt is washed over you as you look at zayne, who is a somewhat light sleeper, somehow still deep in his sleep. you swallow quickly as you build confidence to wake him up.

you lean closer to his face which was awkwardly propped up by the couch’s arm rest, a position that you couldn’t imagine to be anywhere near comfortable. you lightly tap his shoulder and call his name trying to wake him up. soon enough he does, opening his eyes to see you staring back at him, the faintest smile appears on his face at the sight, almost forgetting of the spat you two shared earlier. before he could even say anything you scold him:

“why are you here? i was sleeping on the couch tonight. you have work early in the morning go back to bed and go to sleep.”

“couldn’t have you sore in the morning” he answers calmly releasing a small yawn in the process.

“neither can you! you have a long shift starting early tomorrow. i’ll be fine just go back to bed.” you quickly rebutted trying to push him off the couch, something that you didn’t have the strength to do, but nevertheless you persisted.

“i can get through a shift with an achy neck, however you can not.” he replies as he softly grabs your hands that are trying to shove him away back to bed.

“i know i’ll be fine. i’ll live to see another day. now go back to bed already!” you say. your voice getting louder as you’re starting to get frustrated trying to break out of his soft grasp.

“will you be joining me?” he asks softly not letting go of your wrists that keep trying to fight against him.

“no, i’m sleeping on the couch!” your voice raising above the tv still playing in the back illuminating the room.

“then it seems like i shall too” he states as he frees your wrists and pushes you back onto his chest, laying the blanket over you both.

before you can even think of a response zayne wraps his arms around your torso and closes his eyes to fall asleep once again, to which you quickly flick his chest to wake him back up. he opens his eyes again and looks down at you with an unamused expression.

“why won’t you just let me sleep here alone?” you ask in a tone he can’t quite place, nevertheless he can hear the slight amount sorrow that came along with it.

“i already told you, i can’t have you go into work tomorrow with a sore neck and back.” he says closing his eyes again despite your wishes against it.

“if you don’t wish to be with me tonight then i’ll sleep on the couch and you can take the bed” he continues. his arms involuntarily tighten ever so slightly around you showing how much he doesn’t want that.

“but i also told you!!! you can’t sleep on the couch, you have a few surgeries to complete, and you have to be in your best shape to do so.” you try to push up against his arms wrapped around you, another pointless action.

zayne sighs and opens his eyes again to look at you before speaking.

“well then you have two options. one, we both move over to the bed to sleep. or two, i sleep here and you sleep over in the room. my job isn’t physically taxing compared to yours, im not allowing you to go in if you don’t have a proper rest.”

he looks tired. you study his features before you respond to him. taking a moment to look at the eyebags under his eyes and a slight frustration growing in his face from this back and forth.

you sigh before answering “then to the bed we go”

a soft smile appears on zaynes face as he begins to get up. his neck slightly sore, but he wouldn’t reveal that to you. although it’s against your wishes, he lifts you up having you hold the blanket and pillow as he carries you back to bed.

he sets you down on your side of the bed, thinking you won’t necessarily want to be close with him tonight. not before tucking you in and kissing the top of your head whispering his love and goodnight wishes. as he gets into bed you turn to face him. once he fully lays down you scootch closer to him and grab onto the hem of his shirt. he instantly understands what you want and pulls you towards him, pressing you to his side as he wraps his arms around you.

he kisses your forehead once more and whispers

“we will continue our discussion after work tomorrow. goodnight, i love you.”

too tired to argue with him anymore you just nod your head against him replying quietly mouth squished against him making your words barely audible.

“goodnight, love you too”

[keikikait]

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.8k

summary: you're just one of his many conquests, so why does he need you?

warnings: ANGST, friends with benefits, mild yearning/pining, rafe cannot handle his emotions, ward mention, slight jealous!reader, not proofread

a note: idk if i ate. i'm sorry that it's a little short. :( also, my stalker!rafe fic needs SERIOUS work, so i decided to upload this instead. i am very unhappy with it.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Sometimes you think you aren’t meant to be loved. 

It’s almost comical, the way you just sit there and take it. The way you let him walk all over you, taking bites out of you just to toss you aside for later. He cut off slices of you when he needed, never taking the full thing. Always little samples, just to keep you hooked. He would chew you up and spit you out, and you would always come crawling back.

You watch as Rafe dresses himself, eyes landing on his ass as he pulls up his boxers. He always dresses so quickly, not even handing you a towel as he paces around your room, gathering his things. At first, you thought he just didn’t like your apartment. You were a Pogue, after all, even though you were lucky enough to move to a nicer area of The Cut. You spent a lot of time redecorating, trying to make it a little bit nicer. A little bit cleaner. Anything to get him to stay.

Your apartment was small. Cozy. Quaint. 

It reeks of you. And that’s why Rafe won’t stay.

Rafe turns around, catching your eye. He can’t help the small smile that stretches across his lips as he pulls his jeans on. “Admiring the view?”

“For as long as I can.” You say.

Your response surprises him, and his eyes widen just slightly. He stares for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact. “You’re too sweet for your own good.” He mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his socks on.

“I wish you would stay.” You mumble, aching to reach out and touch him. But you don’t.

“I know you do,” Rafe sighs, tying his shoes on. “But I can’t, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I do.” Your voice is soft.

“So why do you keep asking me to stay?” It comes out angrier than he intended. But maybe you needed that.

“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

“My answers always no. Why do you keep askin’?” Rafe stands, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the bedside table. “Shit’s starting to piss me off.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, sitting up, holding the duvet to your chest. You feel like you’re always telling him that. 

“Quit being sorry. Just stop fucking asking it,” He turns to face you. “Jesus. It’s not that hard.”

You don’t know what to say. You nod, looking down.

Rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can’t deny, he loves when you look like that. Sad. Vulnerable. It drives him wild. His gaze lands on your neck, bruised and marked by his teeth. Possession looks good on you, He often thinks. 

But that was it. He could only take so much of your submission. He couldn’t take you asking him to stay, too.

“I won’t ask again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

His jaw tightens and he stares at you. He wants to take you and claim you. To show you were his, and only his. But he didn’t want to keep you. Why would he? “Good.” Rafe walks around the bed and stands in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing it up. “And look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You nod, looking up at him, mascara still smeared on your under eyes. 

Rafe studies your face. God, you always looked so beautiful like this. Broken and upset. The sight had him wanting to take and claim you all over again. But the look of submission in your eyes makes him want to push you even more. “You look pretty like this.” He murmurs, pushing your neck to the side and looking at the hickeys on your neck. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” You say, although you don’t like it. You didn’t like this version of you, the pathetic girl who would do anything and everything for one iota of his attention; but it got him into your arms, so that’s really all that matters.

“I wonder why that is? Why you look so pretty when you’re crying?” His fingers lightly trace over your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. He knows that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. You were addicted to him, craving his attention more than you craved anything else. You’d take whatever he gave you. That was the only thing Rafe loved about you.

“Because my lips get all pouty, and my eyes get all red?” You guess, resisting the urge to lean into his palm.

Rafe almost laughs at your answer. It was cute. “Hmm,” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently brushing them. “Yeah, probably.” His eyes meet yours, staring at your face. You were so easy to break. So easy to control. You’d let him do whatever he wanted, no fight or protest. Just endless submission. It was addicting.

You’re getting restless. “Have any plans today?”

Rafe’s hand falls from your face, and his jaw tightens. You always did this. You always try to make small talk, try to create some type of emotional connection between you, even though you knew deep down that he didn't give a shit about you or about your day. “Yeah. I do.” He picks his jacket up from the bed. “Have to go visit my dad's lawyer. Then I’m meeting some friends.”

“That sounds fun,” You say, although meeting with Ward’s lawyer must have something to do with life insurance. “Uh, being with your friends later, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He mutters, shrugging his jacket on. He grabs his keys from the bedside table and glances at you. It’s hard, watching you try to connect to him. He knows that you want more than this. You want to be his girlfriend. You want the world to know you’re his. 

But that couldn’t happen. And you knew that.

“Are you, um…” You shift on the bed, the duvet falling just a little bit. “Are you gonna come back over tonight?”

Rafe glances at you, eyes falling to the duvet. God, he loved how you were always trying to keep him around. He loved watching you try and fail to keep his attention. He lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his buzzed head. “Do you want me to?” He already knows your answer.

“Only if you want to,” You say, trying to not come across as even clingier than you already are. “You know my door’s always open for you.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. You were always so predictable. So needy. So willing. He starts to wonder when he'll get sick of it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He grunts, picking his phone up off of the bedside table and shoving it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet. Might be with Sofia tonight.”

Your soft smile drops, just for a second, and you hope Rafe doesn’t notice.

Sofia.

Sofia?

Who the hell is Sofia?

You knew everyone he hung out with. Every girl. You had tabs on all of them, shamefully. You didn’t know who the hell Sofia was. Had you missed someone? How had she managed to slip through the cracks?

Under the covers, you dig your nails into your thigh. You had to act casual, as normal as you could be. You were always treading thin ice with him, and you couldn’t risk losing him over this. Your smile returns and you give him a nod. “Cool. Just text me.”

Rafe watches as your smile falters for a moment. He knows it. He knows that you’re jealous. There was no way that you weren't. It didn’t take much to make you jealous. He could make one passing comment about a girl, and you’d spend the rest of the day worrying, wondering who she was. That's why he brought up Sofia, and why he always mentions his other girls to you. Something about the idea of you laying in bed, terrified and anxious to lose him, really excited him.

He smirks as you quickly regain composure, knowing that he got to you. “Yeah. I’ll text you.” He says, turning to leave.

“Drive safe.” You say.

He stops as he stands in the doorway. Something about you telling him to drive safe always made him… feel guilty. It was that damn softness you always had and used against him. He glances at you over his shoulder, swallowing whatever sentiment he was feeling. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You hate Sofia.

After a bit of sleuthing, logged into one of your many burner accounts, you finally find her. She’s a Pogue, like you, and for some reason you find that it stings more. She’s gorgeous, absolutely beautiful, the sweetest girl around, and you fucking hate her.

Rafe had a roster. A rotation, the same few girls on repeat until he got bored, where he would swap a few out for fresh meat. You don’t know how you managed to stay on the roster for this long, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe Rafe thought you had another guy out there, filling your cunt and your bed when he was gone, but you didn’t. You’re too busy being Rafe’s to fall for somebody new.

You used to not care about the other girls. The more and more he mentioned them, though, you got curious. You started looking them up on Instagram, stalking their profile through burners and analysing every post. Every story. None of the girls ever looked like you. None of the girls were like you at all. Why did he like them, and why did he like you?

You wonder if he treats the other girls as poorly, or if in some twisted way, you’re special. You could handle being the only girl that Rafe treated like shit if that meant you stood out to him in some way. You wonder if he fills their necks with hickies, too, if he grips their hips too hard and leaves bruises, if he spanks them until his handprints form welts on your ass cheeks.

You hoped to God you were special.

You tried to distract yourself, running errands and tidying your apartment, but you kept thinking about him. About his stupid baby blue eyes, and his stupid pretty face, and his stupid hands and the way they felt around your neck. You didn’t want to be in love with Rafe fucking Cameron, but you feared you were already in too deep, and soon you would drown, falling below the surface, hand outstretched, hoping just this once that he would pull you up.

You sit on your bed, in the dark and the silence, staring at your phone, waiting for it to light up. Waiting for him to text you, to need you.

The hours pass. Midnight. One and two. Three. Before four o'clock rolls around, you still have nothing. You know that you should just give up and go to bed. He probably passed out at his friends’ place, too drunk and too tired to text you, but you keep telling yourself that he's just busy. That he's gonna wake up any moment now and shoot you a text. 

You're praying that something happens, that something keeps you up and keeps you waiting for those messages that you know he most likely won't send. You want him to finally fucking want you in the way that you want him. You didn’t like feeling this way, it wasn’t fun to constantly torture yourself, but is it not fun to feel many other ways? If it wasn’t Rafe, it would just be someone else. Another man, someone else’s son, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you just aren’t meant to be loved.

Why don’t you do it for him? Why aren’t you enough to get him to stay?

You tap the screen, and it lights up. No new notifications.

“Shit.” You mumble, your hand retreating to your side.

You sigh and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Of course, he isn’t going to text you. Why would he? Why would he do that to you, when he never had before? This is exactly what you expected. This is exactly what he loves. Making you doubt, getting you jealous. It gets him off. It’s a game for him. You were his prey, and he was your predator. 

As you lay, staring at your ceiling, you hear three, quick knocks on your door.

At first, you think you’ve imagined them. You sit up, your feet sliding into your slippers as you pad into the living room. You stand there in silence, in the dark, only listening to your own breathing. You’re about to turn around when there’s another knock, this time loud and pounding against your door.

You cross the rest of the room, undoing the locks and opening the door.

Standing on your doorstep, of course, was Rafe, hands in his pockets as he stares you down. He seems… tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, probably from staying out late. He glances at you from behind those tired eyes, his gaze falling over your body. He’s taking note of the oversized t shirt you’re wearing, and how your hair is dishevelled and messier than it was before. He could tell you had been lying down. “Can I come in?”

Something's off, you can tell. He’s acting different, even though it’s just subtly. You watch him as he chews on his lip, an anxious habit he didn’t think you noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe’s expression falters for a split second, before he quickly regains his composure. He was fine. Nothing was wrong. Except for the fact that you asked him that. He looks over you. “Nothing,” He responds, his voice harsh and biting. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”

You don’t believe him. He normally carries himself with intense confidence and gravitas, so much so it constantly inks into your lungs and chokes you, but this was different. He felt different. “Right.”

He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way you were looking at him. Concerned, like you cared. He glances away from you, sighing. “Can I come in?” He repeats his question, eyes flicking between you and your living room.

You nod, stepping aside and holding the door opening, flicking a light switch. One of your lamps turns on, casting a warm, soft glow over your living room.

Rafe strides into your apartment, immediately heading for your couch. Everything in your place was so damn cozy; the warm light, the soft couch, your scent lingering on every single inch of every single surface. He collapses back onto the couch, arms spread out and legs splayed. He runs a hand over his face, swallowing hard.

You sit next to him, and for a while, you two sit in a comfortable silence. You look over at him, pushing some hair behind your ears. Your voice is soft when you finally speak. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Rafe closes his eyes, sighing as you speak. He didn’t want to tell you about Ward. Not when you were like this, so gentle and caring. He was exhausted, to say the least. He was dealing with so much, all at once, and he didn't know what to do. Finally, he looks at you. In this lighting, with your hair messy and your eyes concerned, you looked even more like the sweet girl he always wished you were. Sweet and caring and loving. “Today was my dad's funeral.”

Your shoulders droop, and your eyes soften. You had no idea. He had only mentioned visiting his father’s lawyer to you yesterday morning. “Shit, I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”

Rafe almost groans. He loved you when you were soft, when you were sweet. He loved it more than he cared to admit, but right now he hated it. He hated it when you were this caring. It made him doubt everything. He glances at you, a lump in his throat. He hated when you looked at him that way. Because he knew that no matter what he did, you would always have that warmth in your eyes when you looked at him. You would always forgive him, no matter what he did.

Part of him wishes his dad could’ve met you.

You reach out and put your hand on his shoulder, trying not to overstep. Rafe stares down at your hand, so small in comparison to his shoulder. Something about it makes his chest tighten. It seems intimate, and he feels… safe. Safe with you. Which is a feeling he hasn't felt in God knows how long. 

His hand slowly lifts, his rough fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brings your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently, back and forth.

God, the feeling of you touching him, comforting him, was too much. Your touch was too gentle and warm, and he hated that he wanted it. He hated the way his chest ached at the sight of your soft, kind expression. He had so many reasons he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be letting you touch him like this, and yet there was something inside of him, a small voice in the back of his mind, constantly begging him to please let you take care of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.” You say softly. 

Rafe glances at you, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. God, he hated this. Your touch on his face, the tenderness in your voice, the look in your eyes. It was driving him absolutely insane. His eyes close, as if he was debating if he actually wanted to ask you this. “Am I poison? Am I poison in the water?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

He opens his eyes again, hand still holding yours to his cheek. He holds your gaze, eyes softening. He hated how vulnerable he was, and yet there was a small piece of him, buried deep inside, that needed it. He could tell you anything right now, and you wouldn't judge him. You would just listen. Care. “Do I… poison everything I touch? Am I the poison that kills everything?”

“No, of course not,” You move closer to him on the couch. “Why would you ask that?”

God, he could smell you, your perfume a subtle, sweet scent that was driving him crazy. He closes his eyes as you move closer, and his jaw tightens. This was insane; he wasn't weak, he wasn't vulnerable, he did not need you. But then again, the hand on yours on his face had yet to move. “Because,” his voice drops to a whisper. “I know that I'm a sick, twisted bastard. I know that I make others sick. I hurt everyone I care about.”

“Rafe, I will admit you aren’t exactly the nicest guy,” You swallow roughly, unsure of what to even say. “But you still have people that care about you. Your friends, your sisters. They know the real Rafe, the guy underneath all the aggression.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath. God, he hated this. He hated being vulnerable. He hated opening up to you, and seeing that look of concern in your eyes. He wants to run, to close you out, leave and forget this ever happened. He wants to go back to treating you like one of his conquests, instead of feeling like he wanted you to hold him. But for some reason, his mouth wasn't listening to his brain. “But what about you?”

“Of course, I care about you,” You say. “I thought that would at least be obvious.”

He had a thousand different replies on the tip of his tongue, but instead his mouth just opened and closed, words dying when they left his lips. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to get up and leave, but there was a deeper part of him, a small piece of himself that he kept buried inside, deep in the back of his mind, that kept whispering, telling him to sit. It was the part that kept his hand on your wrist. He swallows hard, looking away. “I wish my dad was still here.”

“I know,” You say softly. “I’m sorry.”

He felt his eyes begin to sting, something that only added to his frustration. Frustration at himself, for being pathetic enough to cry. Frustration at you, for making him weak enough to cry. Frustration at Ward, for leaving him and his sisters behind. He suddenly hated everything. He hated you. He hated himself. He hated Ward for leaving him with feelings, making him weak. “I don't even know why I came here,” He mutters through gritted teeth. “I just... I wish I could've been good enough for him. I tried to be good.”

“You don’t know how Ward truly felt about you, Rafe.” You say, stroking his cheekbone again.

He hated the way you were comforting him, hated the way you were so gentle with him. He was always on the defensive, on the attack, so when someone was soft with him... Well, the way his chest ached was proof that it was something he wasn't used to. He swallows hard, closing his eyes. “But I do. His actions spoke louder than his damn words ever did,” He chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's so stupid, you know, I... I used to pray I’d be like him, do everything that he did. And sometimes I still do.”

“That’s not stupid.” You say.

He lets his hand fall from your wrist, shaking his head. He hated talking about this, he hated admitting how much Ward’s death has messed him up. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to open up to anybody. The words leaving his lips, however, were not his own. “I hate that I don’t know if he was proud of me... I hate that I’ll never know if I did right by him.”

You remove your hand when he goes to cover his face. You watch him for a few moments, unsure of what to do, when you notice his shoulders shake. 

Is he crying?

Your eyes widen when you hear a sob rip through him, shoulders shaking up and down. “Hey, hey, Rafe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

He hated crying, absolutely hated it, but there he was, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. “I’m not even- I…” His voice breaks, chest rattling. He lets out a long, shaky breath, shaking his head as he wipes away the tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t even look at you. He hated feeling so weak. Hated that you were seeing this side of him.

“It’s okay,” You put your arm around him, trying to hug him. “It’s okay--”

Rafe suddenly stands, pushing you back. “No. Don’t… don’t fucking pretend like you care.” He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed that he let Ward affect him this much. He was supposed to be strong. Powerful. Not weak.

“I’m not pretending.” You say, standing up.

His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into a sharp glare. God, he was tired of you, of your sweet words, of your gentle smiles. It was messing with his head, playing with his feelings. “Yeah, right.” He mutters, shaking his head. “You don’t care, don’t bullshit me.”

“Of course I care about you, Rafe,” You say, taking a step closer to him. “I… I lov--”

“No!” He suddenly snaps at you. He didn't want to hear that. He couldn't. “Don’t… don’t you dare,” You stare at him, confusion on your pretty little face, and it’s driving him fucking crazy. “Don’t. Don’t tell me. Keep that shit to yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t want to upset him even more. You just nod, taking a step back.

He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something. He hated the sight of that look on your face. The confusion, the worry, the disappointment. He didn’t understand. Why did you care? He didn’t deserve it, not one bit. What the hell did you think you’d get out of loving someone like him? That he’d love you back? That he’d change for you?

The silence is deafening. You want to say something, you just don’t know what. You take a shaky breath. “I’m here for you, Rafe. You know that. In any way you need me.”

“Why?” He asks suddenly, eyes meeting yours. “Why are you still here for me? Why do you care about me so goddamn much? Why can’t you just give up on me, like everyone else has?”

“Do I look like everyone else?” You ask.

Oh, but that was the problem. You were different. You were the only person in that damn town who was as sweet as you were patient. Who cared so god-damn much about someone so undeserving of that love. “Don’t you think I know that?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t you think it pisses me off that you are the way you are?”

“I just want you to be happy, Rafe, and if I can make you happy, I want to.” You say.

Why did you have to be so goddamn sweet? It was driving him mad, the way you stood there, so willing and eager to do whatever it took to help him. He let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at you. “It was different when you were just some girl I was hooking up with.” He says, shaking his head.

“I’m still that girl,” You insist. “Nothing has to change. We can go back to normal. Forget this ever happened.”

His eyes narrow as you speak. He hated that you said that, hated how willing you were to forget the fact that he cried in front of you, and yet he hated himself for the fact that he almost wanted to agree. “Really?” He asks, his voice sharp. “You’d just… forget this? Go back to letting me use you, like nothing happened?”

“If that’s what you want.” You say.

He hated the idea of that. The idea of going back to using you. Of treating you like trash when he knew that you cared so damn much. 

Part of him liked hurting you, like watching you fall apart at his hands. But it was the other side of him that hated how good it felt at first, hated the pit of shame in his chest that grew each time you begged him to stay, or cried while he left, or looked at him like he meant the world to you.

Part of him knew you deserved better.

Rafe sighs, looking away. “Fine. We forget about this.”

“Okay.” You say, nodding.

The fact that you didn't say anything, that you didn't fight back, made his chest ache. God, he hated this. He wanted to yell at you. Wanted to push you down, pin you to the couch, and make you cry out his name. He wanted you to ask him to stay, fight him to prove to him that you cared. He hated how your willingness to forget it all made him want to wrap his arms around you. He couldn't stay. He would do something risky, something that he would regret in the morning. He sniffles, wiping his eyes again. “I'm gonna go.”

You swallow thickly. “If you’re sure. My door is always open.”

“Yeah,” He replies, his voice hoarse. He hated that your gentleness, your sweetness, still managed to get to him. He steps closer to you. He wanted to touch you again. To feel your warm, soft skin against his palm. But he knew better. He knew that if he touched you, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Thanks for being there.” He mumbles, his voice cracking.

“Of course.” You smile softly.

He hates how your smile makes his chest ache, hates the tug it gives his heart. He hated how he cared about you, hated how he was so weak that he allowed himself to open up to you. And God, he hated how he was thinking about kissing your pretty, pouty lips. “I'll be back tomorrow night. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Rafe nods, licking his lips. He rocks back and forth on his feet before reaching out and cupping the back of your head, pressing his lips to your forehead. Enough to keep you hooked. “See you later, sweetheart.”

Your entire body is buzzing. “Drive safe.”

You’re still standing in the same spot when he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

And you will wait for the next time he wants you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

blagh

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[margeoww]

Hiii, could you maybe write a Toto Wolff fic, where he’s super busy with work and stuff and forgets their anniversary or the reader’s birthday and she is like so close to leaving him, but he like can’t live without her and promises to be better?? Like very angstyyyy but with a happy ending. <333

The Time We Almost Lost

back to my main masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x fem!reader

summary: when Toto Wolff forgets one of the most important days in your relationship, his world begins to crumble as you decide you can’t keep being an afterthought.

warnings: Angst with happy ending!!

a/n: sorry for making this so short 💔

The silence in your shared home had become suffocating, its weight pressing down on you with every passing second. Once, this space had been alive, a sanctuary of shared laughter, quiet moments of intimacy, and conversations that stretched long into the night. Now, it was a hollow reminder of everything that had changed.

Your birthday had come and gone, unacknowledged by the man who once made it his mission to make every moment feel special. The once-vivid memories of his handwritten notes, surprise dinners, and whispered promises had faded into a distant ache. The untouched cake sat on the counter, mocking you with its cheerfulness, its candles still perfectly intact, waiting for a celebration that never came.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry. But as you sat alone, your hands clasped tightly around a glass of wine, the dam broke. Silent tears fell, their warmth streaking your cheeks as you stared into the empty room. How had you let it get this far? How had you become invisible in the eyes of the man you loved?

When Toto finally came home, it was well past midnight. You heard the soft jingle of his keys, the door creaking open, and the familiar rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway. A pang of anger shot through you, sharper than the sadness you’d been nursing all night.

He hesitated at the doorway to the bedroom, his tall frame silhouetted by the dim light from the hall. —Liebe? —he called softly, his voice laced with exhaustion.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your robe wrapped tightly around you, the charm bracelet you’d bought yourself resting in your palm. The anger you felt earlier was a simmer now, dull but present.

—I came home as soon as I could. —he started, his tone cautious as if he already sensed the storm brewing. —I know I’ve been…

—Busy? —you interrupted, the bitterness in your voice slicing through the air. You stood, fixing him with a glare that made him stop in his tracks. —Go on. Tell me how you’ve been busy.

Toto sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. —You know how much is going on with the team right now. I don’t want to make excuses, but…

—Then don’t. —you snapped, cutting him off again. —Because I’m tired of hearing excuses, Toto. I’ve been patient. I’ve tried to understand, but last night… Do you even realize what yesterday was?

He stared at you, confusion clouding his features. And then it hit him. His eyes widened, and his shoulders slumped as he whispered. —Scheisse.

Your chest tightened at the confirmation. —That’s it? Scheisse? —You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. —You forgot my birthday, Toto. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even notice when I didn’t say a word all day. Do you even care anymore? Or am I just… someone who happens to live here?

His face crumpled at your words, guilt etched into every line of his features. —Of course, I care. You’re everything to me.

—Am I? —you challenged, your voice trembling. —Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’ve been putting in all the effort, waiting for you to remember I exist, hoping for scraps of your time. But I can’t do it anymore, Toto. I can’t keep feeling this invisible.

He stepped closer, his hands outstretched as if reaching for you would keep you from slipping away. —Please, don’t say that. I know I’ve let you down, but I…

—You’ve let me down for months. —you interrupted, your voice cracking. —This isn’t just about last night. It’s about every night I’ve spent eating dinner alone, every morning I’ve woken up to an empty bed, and every time I’ve wondered if I’m even a priority in your life anymore.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of your words. —You are a priority. —he said, his voice breaking. —I’ve been so caught up in work, in trying to keep everything together, that I didn’t see what it was doing to us. To you. But I see it now. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to hold yourself together. —Words aren’t enough, Toto. I’ve heard them before, but nothing ever changes. I need more than promises. I need you to prove that I matter to you.

He nodded, his jaw tightening with determination. —I will. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… don’t leave me.

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion in his eyes, shook you to your core. You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that this time would be different. But the wounds he had left weren’t easily healed.

—You’re asking for something I’m not sure I can give. —you whispered. —You’ve broken my heart, Toto. And I don’t know if I can keep putting the pieces back together on my own.

His hands trembled as he reached for yours, his touch tentative. —Then let me help you. Let me be the man you deserve. I know I’ve failed you, but I’ll spend every day proving that you’re the most important part of my life. Just… don’t give up on us.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken fears and fragile hopes. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your tears spilling over as you whispered, —I don’t want to give up on us. But I can’t do this alone, Toto.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you might disappear. —You won’t have to. —he murmured. —I promise, you won’t have to.

[jeonggukieverse]

Number One Fan:

Chapter 1 - The Accident

Pairing: Writer Y/N x Yandere Jungkook 

Genre: Yandere/Horror Fic 

Warnings: None in this Chapter

Word count: 4k

Synopsis - After a serious car crash, novelist Y/N is rescued by former nurse Jeon Jungkook, who claims to be her biggest fan. Jungkook brings her to his remote cabin to recover, where his obsession takes a dark turn when he discovers Y/N is killing off his favourite character from her novels. As Y/N devises plans for escape, Jungkook grows increasingly controlling.

A/N:

Y'all, the universe did not want the god forsaken fit written! My laptop got stolen ,my brother deleted my COMPLETED tic out of spite, my depression was whooping my ass but we pulled through. After 4 long months, it's here. If there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, my bad, I didn't proof-read this (I didn't want to jinx anything).

Leave a comment or reblog if you like it, id be super grateful <3333

- Ryeon <3

“Look Y/N, I just don’t think that this is rational. Or smart, for that matter. You’re giving up on your highest performing book series and for what? ‘You’ve grown to hate the main character?’ It’s your character! Change her!” 

You rolled your eyes as Yoongi’s voice boomed through the speakers of your car. You understood why he was upset, of course. Yoongi had been the first one to go out on a limb and take a chance on 18-year-old Y/N. When you first met him, you had not a shred of credibility or writing experience to your name, just a couple of characters, a good story and a dream. Yoongi took a real gamble with you; he was one of the most sought-after literary agents in the game. You handed him your first ever manuscript at one of the book signings of a writer he was working with and begged him to read just one chapter. That took courage on your part because Yoongi was terrifying back then. His demeanour was stern and his hair was jet black and slicked back, the shade perfectly matching his suit. Both contrasted the alabaster pale shade of this skin. He was handsome and frightening but your ambitions were stronger than your fears. Luckily it paid off! Yoongi loved your manuscript and poured everything into getting it published. 

That was 10 years and 9 books ago. The ‘Moth to Flame’ series had been a massive hit. The tale of romance and passion had become a worldwide sensation and catapulted you into the public eye. For the past 10 years you relished in the reality that your dream job was the one you were blessed to be doing. 

That was until a year ago. 

Yoongi had called you to his office completely beaming with excitement. 

“Go on then Mr. Min, tell her!” Urged Gretta, Yoongi’s 70-year-old assistant. She was buzzing with the same enthusiastic energy as the man who stood before you. 

“Tell me what? You two are scaring me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Yoongi smile this much” you chuckled while sitting yourself down in the chair in front of his big mahogany desk. 

Gretta giggled at your lightly panicked tone and Yoongi simply hummed in agreement. He was a very self-aware guy. He often reserved any outward expressions of joy for when the circumstances were great. And these circumstances were indeed great. 

“I’ve just come off the phone with Panoma Film Studios. And they have asked for a meeting with us to discuss signing over the rights of ‘Moth to Flame” 

“Sign over the rights? Why are they asking for that?” 

“They want to make it a film dear!” Gretta burst out, arms flailing above her head in celebration. 

The moment suddenly stilled for you. You contemplated for only a second before you came to a decision: 

“Fine”

Yoongi was taken a back. One: by your immediate compliance. In the 10 years he had known you, not once have you agreed to something without an argument. And Two: there was not a shred of joy in your tone. The monotonous ‘fine’ completely juxtaposed the light-hearted jabs that came from you just moments ago. He was worried. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I’m happy” you said looking back to the man with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Gretta, could you grab us both a cup of tea please?” 

“Yes Mr. Min” replied Gretta, her mood now slightly deflated as the atmosphere had shifted to a more solemn one. You felt sorry about that, she had seemed so happy. 

As the door closed behind her, Yoongi’s eyes narrowed back on you. 

“Alright kid, now tell me what’s up”.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore Yoongs. I’m done. I’m sick of writing this series. I have no connections with the story anymore cause I’ve been writing from the same perspective since I was 18 and I’m almost 30 now. It’s time for me to move on”. 

You watched as his face drained of its colour. 

“W-What?” 

You paused as silence engulfed the room. You could have expanded on your decision but you wanted to let it sink in and for him to fully come to terms with it. because you were absolutely not going to be swayed about it. 

“Then why would you agree to signing the writes away?”

“Cause once its officially not mine anymore I can legitimately move on. The series be their responsibility to carry on and mould and shape it into whatever they want. The burden of these characters I’ve grown to, honestly, despise will no longer be on my shoulders. And I’ll finally be free to write what I want”. 

You could see the cogs turning in his head. Yoongi was struggling to put into words anything that would influence you to change your mind and not give up on their most profitable published work. But you shut that down. 

“This book I’m writing will be the 10th and last on of the series.” 

In the year that followed, you stayed true to your word. You had spent the whole year finalising the last piece of the story. You tied off any loose ends. You finalised everything. 

It was done. 

Last week, you headed back to Yoongi’s office to hand in your finished manuscript. 

You strolled knocked on the door only to be startled by a voice behind you. 

“He’s at lunch deary” 

You spun around to be met with a warm familiar smile. 

“Hi Gretta, sorry, I probably should have called first to let someone know I was coming over.” You babbled as she ushered you into her office and offered you a plate of muffins. Standard Gretta procedure. 

Gretta was your first friend in the publishing world. Well aside from Yoongi. 

She used to be an editor for the most popular newspaper in the country. But when her husband got sick, she decided to swap the hustle and bustle of the big city to a slower pace in the countryside. She always joked that even though her husband was the one being healed by the fresh country air; she was the one that healed the most. Being away from everything made her appreciate all she had. Her and her husband began to re learn each other after so many years and they learned to fall in love all over again. 

You always loved hearing their stories. Their love for each other inspired you through your first bout of writers block. Their stories helped you write the 5th book in your series. You even dedicated it to them (and their pup Angus, of course). 

The only reason she had crossed paths with Yoongi was because she was seeking out a part time job to keep herself busy. He said she came into the interview like a whirlwind, not affected by his intimidating aura in the slightest. When you asked her about how she could go up against the fierce jaguar like man, she responded with: Jaguar? To me he was nothing but a kitten. And you’d loved her since then. 

“Don’t worry dear. He should have come back by now but he’s talking to a new potential client. She’s a 19-year-old wanting to pitch her love story. Sound familiar?” 

You hummed. 

“Let’s hope she flushed out her characters better than I did.”

“Now Y/N Y/L/N, I don’t want to hear any of that! You’re a fantastic writer, George and I have spent many afternoons reading your books! Some of the stories take us back to our early days when we were young and in love and I’m sure it does the same for other people too” 

“Thank you, Gretta. You always know the right thing to say” you smiled, popping a piece of cherry muffin in your mouth. 

“My dear, can I speak frankly?” 

You gulped. Not only to finally swallow the delectable cherry muffin but also because Gretta almost never spoke in such a serious tone.

You nodded, unsure of where this conversation was about to go. 

“Why are you really finishing your series? And don’t give me the same bullshit you gave Yoongi about not liking your characters! I know you Y/N and I know that’s not it. Or if it is, it isn’t that reason alone” 

Damn, she’s good. 

“Well, if I’m being honest Gretta, I feel like a fraud. All my life I’ve been reading and writing about love and life and I’ve never experienced either. I just…I just want to experience the love that you and George have, the love that I write about but I can’t and I’m afraid that my writing is reflecting that. Like just the other day a saw a critic say that my stories are ‘no longer grounded in reality’ and at first, I brushed it off but you know what? They’re right?” 

“That was Archie from the Gazette, wasn’t it? I tell you dear that boy doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.” 

You let out a cackle. Her quick reply stopped you from spiralling. Gretta really always did know the right thing to say. 

“But if you’re really worried about that, take some time away! You’ve been working non-stop since you were practically a baby. Well, a baby to me.” She remarked as she walked over to sit directly in front of you. She reached out towards you and held your hands in hers. 

“And if you really feel like you’re not grounded, take the time away to find the ground”. 

“But how do I know where the ground is?” 

“Well, when I’m looking for something I can’t find, I try to remember the last place I had it.” 

“The last time I felt grounded was…back home at my parents’ house. Before I moved to come here to write properly” 

“Then I think that’s a good a place as any to start dear. Take a couple of months to really decide if ending this is something you really want to do. You know I will support you regardless but I want the decision to be done to come from you being done. Rather than you being afraid” 

You leaned in and enveloped her small for with a warm embrace. 

Gretta is the mum your inner child longed for. Any interaction with her felt like it was healing pieces of your soul. 

She was right. She always was. 

So you packed your bags and headed back home. 

“Y/N I think this trip will do you good. Just take some time decompress and do whatever it is you people do out there in the sticks” 

“Okay city boy, not too much! Oak Falls is not the sticks. You think anywhere that doesn’t have at least 5 coffee shops on one street is practically the middle of know where” 

“And im absolutely right. How’s the journey so far? When do you think you’ll get home”. Yoongi said, changing the subject. He knew you would annihilate him in defence of your town. Oak Falls wasn’t great but it was home.

“I should be there in about 20 minutes which is good cause it feels like the snow is getting heavier” 

“Will your parents be home when you get there?” 

“I think so. My mum usually finishes work around this time and my dad probably stayed at home today. I couldn’t imagine him working on the farm in this weather. Even if they’re not there, I know where they hide the spare key. They’ll just get a bit of a fright, since they don’t know that I’m coming”  

“Well just- mak-s-re you le-t-someon-kn-“

Yoongi’s call began to break up before it cut out completely.

You felt uneasy but you tried to push it aside, you’ll be there soon anyway. 

Soon you’d be home and out of this snowstorm that seem to have come out of nowhere.

One moment, the winding mountain road was clear, and the next, thick flakes fell like a blanket coating the tarmac in a blinding white.  Suddenly the road before you had completely disappeared. 

The tires of your car were now struggling for grip as you clutched the steering wheel tighter your heart racing with every skid. The storm was growing worse, and the isolation of the empty road offered no comfort.

You cursed under your breath. Of all the times for your phone to lose signal, it had to be now. The narrow road twisted and turned unpredictably, the guardrails barely visible under the thick accumulating snow. Your headlights fought to pierce the fog, but even they seemed overpowered by the storm.

Then it happened.

A patch of ice sent the car sliding to the side. Your hands wrestled with the steering wheel, but the car had a mind of its own. The screech of tires on ice was drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

The car spun out of control, crashing through the flimsy guardrail and sliding down a small embankment before slamming to a halt against a snowbank.

Pain flared in your head, sharp and immediate. Disoriented, you blinked, trying to focus, but the world around you swam in a dizzying haze. Blood trickled down your temple, warm against the chill that spilled through the cracked window. The engine sputtered and died, leaving you in an eerie silence, except for the howling wind outside.

You tried to move, but your body protested. A groan escaped your lips as you reached for your phone, only to find it flung somewhere out of reach. Panic bubbled in your chest. You were stranded in the middle of nowhere, injured, and utterly alone.

Or so you thought.

The sound of crunching snow reached your ears. Footsteps. Your pulse quickened as a shadow appeared just outside the shattered driver’s side window. A man crouched down, his features obscured by a thick coat and scarf wrapped tightly around his face. Only his eyes were visible, dark and intense as they scanned your injuries.

“Miss? Are you okay?” his voice cut through the storm, soft yet commanding.

You tried to respond, but your throat was dry, and your words came out as a weak croak. The man didn’t wait for an answer. He opened the door carefully, his movements precise and deliberate, as if afraid of startling you.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his brows furrowing in concern. “Don’t move. I’ll get you out.”

Before you could protest, his arms were around you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. The sudden movement made your vision swim, and you leaned into his chest instinctively, the scent of pine and something distinctly warm enveloping you.

“We need to get you inside,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re lucky I was nearby.”

Your sluggish brain registered his words but couldn’t process the implications. All you knew was that you were no longer in the freezing car, and someone was helping you. Darkness tugged at the edges of your vision as he carried you through the storm, his footsteps steady and sure despite the treacherous ground.

When you opened your eyes again, you were inside a warm, dimly lit room. The faint crackle of a fireplace filled the air, and the scent of wood smoke mingled with something sweet—maybe tea. Your head throbbed as you tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed against your shoulder, guiding you back down.

“Easy,” the man said, his voice close now. “You’ve been through a lot. Just rest.”

Your eyes finally focused on him. He was kneeling beside the couch you were lying on, his dark hair slightly damp from the snow. His features were striking, almost too perfect, with chapped lips and eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you. He smiled gently, but there was something unreadable in his expression that made your stomach twist.

“Who...” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

“My name is Jungkook,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. “I found you on the side of the road. You’re lucky I was passing through. There’s no cell service out here, and the storm would’ve buried your car by morning.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, though the words felt inadequate.

“No need to thank me,” he replied, his smile widening just a fraction. “I’m just glad I got to you in time.”

He stood and moved to the fireplace, adjusting the logs with practiced ease. The warm light danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the soft curve of his mouth. Despite his calm demeanour, there was an intensity about him that you couldn’t ignore.

“Where am I?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“My cabin, just on the outskirts of Oak Falls” he said, turning back to you. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep you safe until the storm passes.”

Your gaze wandered around the room. The cabin was small but cosy, with wooden walls that seemed to glow in the firelight. A thick woven rug covered the floor in front of the stone fireplace, and a few mismatched but comfortable-looking chairs were arranged around it. Shelves lined one wall, crammed with books, jars of dried herbs, and a few trinkets that looked hand-carved. A table sat near the kitchen area, which was marked by a small counter, a sink, and an old-fashioned stove. The whole space felt lived-in, almost charming, but there was an underlying sense of isolation that made your chest tighten

Safe. The word lingered in your mind, both reassuring and unsettling.

“Your head’s bleeding,” he continued, his tone softening. “I’ll clean it up. Hold on”

Before you could respond, Jungkook disappeared into another room and returned with a first aid kit. He knelt beside you again, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the wound on your temple. The sting of the antiseptic made you wince, but he murmured soothing words, his touch steady and careful.

“There,” he said, placing a bandage over the cut. “All better.”

You mumbled a quiet “thank you,” your exhaustion weighing heavily on you now. Jungkook’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture was tender, almost too intimate, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take care of everything.”

As your eyes drifted shut, the last thing you saw was Jungkook’s enigmatic smile. Safe, you thought again, though the word no longer felt quite right.

Tag List: @whothefuckisthishoe @sexinukim @darkuni63 @00frenchfries00 @hopeworldsupremecy

[cha-melodius]

#16, Alex/Henry?

(Also requested by @firenati0n. I feel like there were two obvious options for this one: post-leaks in canon, or post-rescue mission of some kind. You can probably guess which one I chose. 😂 read all the hug ficlets)

Firstprince, 16: The “it’s okay, I’m here” hug.

Add’l note: This is more or less a tiny sequel to So Close to Something Better Left Unknown. You don’t have to have read the fic to read this ficlet, but it does contain minor spoilers for the very end of said fic.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When Henry gave him the watch, it was half a joke and half because Henry’s in love with him and his hopeless heart latched onto the slim chance to keep an eye on him, at least from a distance. He’d expected Alex to leave it behind, or disable the tracker, or at the very least not wear it, but as far as he can tell, Alex had done none of those things. The tracker bops around the globe, giving Henry far too much information on CIA missions merely through its location. Not that Henry would ever pass on that information to his own agency, or anyone else for that matter.

That Alex trusted him not to, to keep his secrets… Well, it means a lot.

He assumed that at some point his own work would bring him within striking distance of Alex again, and he’d make use of the tracker to find him and… oh, hell, he doesn’t know. Say hello? It sounds absurd for a spy, but it’s pretty much all he could hope for. But before that happens, the tracker gets stuck for a week in a remote part of Guatemala, and Henry starts to get worried. Maybe Alex just lost the watch, or abandoned it for some reason. That’s the most reasonable explanation. Even so, Henry quietly requests recent satellite images of that area and zooms all the way in on the watch’s coordinates.

It’s a high-security compound of some sort. Not good.

He tries not to let his imagination run wild. The tracker he’d left in the watch is extremely high resolution, and he watches it occasionally move around the compound, as if someone was wearing it, though mostly it stays in one place. Alex could have traded it or gifted it as part of an operation; it was a valuable watch, after all. Still, it nags at Henry. He’s not going to be able to rest until he finds out what actually happened. The most straightforward way would be simply asking, but he has no way of contacting Alex except a burner phone he has no reason to believe Alex would be monitoring.

He sends a message anyway, but after a few days without a response, he can’t take it anymore.

It’s completely mad, he knows it is, but he makes up an excuse about tracking down a lead on a long-cold operation and books a ticket to Guatemala City. He covertly watches the outside of the compound for three days, keeping track of the men who come and go, and sends photos of them to Bea with a request to run facial recognition and not ask any questions. (She does, of course, but she doesn’t push, even when they come back with the names of some very bad people.)

Finally, once the compound’s primary resident leaves and takes with him what should be the majority of his armed muscle, Henry makes his move. The watch is still inside, and Henry follows the tracker’s signal down into the basement of an outbuilding, taking out a handful of guards with tranquilizers as he goes. The building is dark and dank, and the series of locked metal doors he finds do nothing to help the cold, hard knot that’s settled into his stomach. His hands don’t shake as he picks the lock on the one the watch is resting behind, but that careful composure slips when the door finally swings open to reveal a miserable lump curled on a thin mattress, a head of matted curls just visible through the murky darkness.

Alex flinches away when Henry first reaches out for him, scrambling into the corner, but then his eyes land on Henry and his mouth drops open. He blinks rapidly, scrubs frantically at his eyes, and blinks again.

“Henry?” he croaks in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you, love,” Henry tells him, holding his hands out in front of him as he slowly moves closer. “I’ve come to get you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another, then Alex surges toward him. Henry almost shies away himself, unsure of what Alex means to do, but then Alex is grabbing him and wrapping him up in a hug so tight it squeezes the air out of Henry’s lungs, and Henry can do nothing else but curl his arms around the trembling man now occupying his lap.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand down Alex’s back.

“How?” Alex chokes out. “How did you…?”

His voice trails off as he raises his left arm and looks at his own wrist, where a bit of watch strap peeks out beyond the filthy cuff of his shirt. Inexplicably, his captors had let him keep it, though that becomes more understandable when his sleeve slips further down and Henry sees how he’s smeared it with mud. The exquisite Patek Philippe now looks like a beaten up piece of junk.

“I didn’t want to lose it,” Alex says, his voice cracking over the syllables. He drops his arm and tries to bury his face in Henry’s chest. “That probably sounds dumb.”

“No, love, it doesn’t,” Henry says, holding him tighter. It’s torture to pull away, but eventually he must. “Come on,” he says, tipping Alex’s chin, now covered in a scraggly beard, up so their eyes meet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[hobipalooza7]

𐙚⋆˚✿˖° destined to meet — jeon jungkook

no smut bc this is my first fic👋

Summary

on your way to work, you end up in a rather embarrassing state which causes you an emergency that needs to be handled in the bathroom. could a coffee shop help? or could a random man help?

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ have fun reading

You were in the most uncomfortable state you’ve ever been in your entire life.

You were going to get some lunch for you and your co-workers at your workplace, but you ended up being in a state where you needed to use the bathroom, like, ASAP, and it didn’t help that some people on the streets saw you crossing your legs whilst trying to find a bathroom.

You were walking around town as fast as you could, your eyes flickering towards every single open shop to find at least just one café or coffee shop. Luckily, after a few minutes of holding your urine, you found a coffee shop and ran inside, not wasting any time as your eyes landed on a barista from afar.

You quickly rushed over to her, your words coming out automatically because you urgently needed to use the washroom. “Hi! Uh, where’s your bathroom?” you asked the worker in a polite tone, despite needing to use it so freaking badly.

“It’s for customers only,” said the barista as she was filling an empty cup with some coffee from an espresso machine.

“Oh, okay. I’ll buy something then,” you said with a shrug as you took a plastic bag of some bread nearby and handed it to the worker, but she shook her head as she pointed towards a packed line on the other side of the shop. It consisted of about a dozen other customers, waiting for their own order, making your eyes widen in shock as you turned your gaze back to the barista.

“Can I just go now? I really have to pee and it’s an emergency,” you begged, not wanting to wait possibly an hour just to use the washroom for a few minutes.

“Store policy,” said the worker, not sounding like she’d change her mind anytime soon.

A minute went by and you were still begging the worker to let you go, but she kept ignoring you and handing out other orders to people, as if telling you to shut the hell up, get in line, order something, and then go to the bathroom.

There was no way you could change the woman’s mind, and your hopes were completely crushed.

You turned around to walk away, heading for the exit, but a voice calling out to you from behind snapped you out of your thoughts of defeat.

“Uh, honey?” a man said, who was standing first in the stacked line. A Korean accent was hidden beneath his polite tone as he pointed at the barista in front of him.

Honey? Who the hell was this guy?

“I’m about to order. Do you want your usual?” he asked before turning back to the woman in front of him. “My wife would like a double espresso. And she is part of the purchasing class, so can we get the bathroom key, please?” the man asked the worker.

Ohhh…

Your expression softened somewhat as you stared at the man, not with confusion anymore, but a hint of admiration for how he just saved your ass. He was trying to help you get to the bathroom, despite you being a total stranger to him.

The man took out his wallet and paid the barista, holding his other hand out to get the bathroom key in return. Once he received it, he walked over to you and gently grabbed your wrist, placing the key in your hand.

“I’ll wait here for your espresso. You can go to the bathroom now,” he said with a soft smile, but you just stood there awkwardly in silence, not knowing what to say other than a ‘thank you’.

“Uh, thank you, by the way. I’ll see you in a few minutes, I guess,” you said with a nervous laugh before your eyes searched for the bathroom door, and it didn’t take you long before you spotted it and quickly walked towards it.

Timeskip to about four minutes later, you were done with your business and came out of the bathroom, looking around for that same man who helped you get the key to the bathroom. You spotted him quickly at a table of two, waiting for you.

You walked over to him and sat down on a chair in front of him, seeing your cup of espresso laying there on the table. “Saved your espresso, Miss…?” the man asked, trailing off his sentence so that you could finish it by giving him your name.

“Y/n. I didn’t catch your name, though,” you replied, grabbing your cup of coffee as you began to drink it slowly, listening to the guy speak.

“Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook,” he said with a soft smile, watching you drink your coffee with a calm expression plastered on his face. “Can I have your number, Miss y/n?” he asked, waiting for your response to his rather blunt question.

“Just call me y/n. And yeah, I guess. Give me your phone,” you said with a nod, holding out your hand for his phone. Jungkook took out his phone quickly and placed it in your hand as you opened an app and started typing some stuff into it, all while he waited patiently.

“Here. I’ll call you,” you stated after a few moments of silence, giving Jungkook his phone back before you grabbed your cup of espresso and stood up, walking out of the coffee shop for work before giving him one last glance.

𓂃⋆.˚ this is my first ever fanfic, so honest comments are greatly appreciated !

[sinnabarmoth]

Feeling Better

Pairing: Xavier x Fem|Reader

Prompt: Mini fic of Reader being a soft!dom with the lads. (Not necessarily sexual, just sweet 'let me take care of you' vibes. But this one is a little sexual.)

Content warnings: Handjob.

Word count: 1k

Links to the other lads: (Rafayel) (Sylus) (Zayne)

When Xavier came back from his mission you were over the moon. He had been gone for an entire week in a dangerous area fighting Wanderers. But now he was back! You had decided to go pick him up from the airport and treat him to hotpot. It wasn’t until you saw him that you realized that he had kept something major from you when he said he was coming home.

“Hey, thanks for coming to pick me up--”

“Why in the world is your arm in a sling?” you asked. “What happened?”

“Oh…I fractured it while fighting Wanderers. But it’s okay. The doctor said I’ll be fine in no time.”

“And how long is no time?”

“Four to six weeks…” he said sheepishly.

“Xavier! Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me you broke your arm?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“So what? You were just going to hide it for a month and a half? I’m your girlfriend, you’re supposed to tell me these things.” you sighed. Careful to mind his arm you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re home and you’re safe. But now I have to change my welcome home plans.”

“You don’t need to--”

“I don’t see how I’m going to be able to tie you up if your arm is in a sling. Although…I guess that is a kind of restraint. Nevermind. Best not to test it. Let’s just go get hotpot.”

“Tie me up?” his face went red. “I can’t believe you just said that in the middle of the airport.”

“I’ve said worse in public before and you know it.” you grabbed his suitcase and looped your arm around his waist. “Let’s get going. I’m starving and I know you have to be too.”

After hotpot you returned home. You grabbed the dirty clothes out of his luggage and threw them in the laundry. He told you that you didn’t need to unpack his stuff but you were being insistent. “Let me dote on you. I haven’t seen you in a week and you’re injured. Let me take care of you, okay?”

His face started turning red again. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Good boy.” you kissed his cheek.

You passed the evening watching movies but as evening fell it became increasingly obvious how limited Xavier was with his broken arm. That became obvious when he said he wanted to take a shower. The hospital had given him a waterproof sleeve to put over his cast but that still basically left him one arm short. It also wasn’t helping with getting undressed.

“Are you going to keep struggling in here or are you going to admit you need my help?” you cocked your head at him from the bathroom doorway.

He sighed, his shirt stuck halfway off him. “Yes, please.”

“Was that so hard?” you went over and helped yank the shirt up over his head. “Seriously, how’d you even get dressed if getting undressed is this hard?”

“I don’t know--hey! What are you doing?” he flummoxed as you started pulling his pants down.

“Helping you undress, remember?”

“I can do that part myself.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about. It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before.” you giggled. “But I do like seeing you flustered. It’s so cute.”

“I--” he stepped out of his pants and turned on the shower. You rolled your eyes and started disrobing too. “What are you doing now?”

“I was thinking I was going to shower with you, help get you clean since you’re one arm short.” you said, stepping in next to him. “Why? Something wrong?”

“I just…” he glanced down. Between your bodies Xavier’s dick was already at half-mast. “You mentioned tying me up earlier and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But then you said we weren’t going to do anything cause my arm was broken so I was just planning on coming in here and getting rid of it myself.”

“Oh Xavier,” you turned his face to yours and kissed him. “Just because I can’t tie you up doesn’t mean we can’t do other things. I said I was going to take care of you today, remember?”

You gently took him in your hand, stroking your hand up and down and fondling his balls until he was rock hard. You pressed him against the shower wall so he had some support. He panted as you worked him over, his free hand grabbing you tightly by the hip.

“You worked so hard all week and then got badly injured. You deserve to be taken care of today and every day.” you pulled him down closer to kiss him. “Just relax and let me take care of you, baby. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” his brow furrowed as he tried to fight off coming too soon. “I’ll repay your actions, I promise.”

“I know you will, Xavier. But don’t think about that right now.” you pumped him faster. His moans grew louder until he was bucking into your hand. “Just feel good. I want you to be so good for me and come. Go on, I know you want to. Come for me.”

“I--I--” his head tipped back, exposing his pale throat to you. You kissed up his neck, pressing your body against his like you knew he enjoyed. You bit down on his chest and his cock twitched in your grasp as he came with a long moan. You kept pumping him until every drop had been emptied and his legs trembled to support his weight.

“Oh my sweet boy, you were really pent up, huh?” you grinned. “Feel better?”

“Yeah…” he took in deep breaths. “Much better.”

“Good. Cause we still need to get you cleaned up. Take your time to catch your breath, I’ll grab the shampoo.” you turned to grab the shampoo but Xavier kept a hold of you. “Something wrong?”

“Stay close a little longer.” he said, pulling you towards him. “Please.”

“Of course.” you hugged him, the spray of the water raining down on both of you as you simply embraced. “I love you, you know that right?”

“I love you too.” he said. “I’m glad you’re here to help me. In the past I had to deal with this stuff on my own so having a helping hand is nice.”

“I’ll always be here when you need me, Xavier.” you kissed the bite mark on his chest. “No matter what it is you need me for, I’ll be here.”

[darkredsugarcookie]

"The Pressure of His Lips" - ex!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi! Like three (3) people have asked me to start posting fics on here, so here we go. I'm new to posting on tumblr, but I'm a wattpad and ao3 veteran, so be nice. I'm still trying to figure out the formatting and everything for this place :P

Summary: After breaking up due to your secret relationship being brought to the surface, you are not handling the separation well. Too much vodka and lonely nights end with you accidentally Bucky from the bathroom floor.

Warnings: Alcohol use, heavy intoxication, mentions of smoking weed, slight hint at SA history upon the reader, angst, alpine mention!!!! let me know if I missed any!

DISCLAIMER: This is an excerpt from a bigger fic I've been writing in which the self-insert has a history of SA. It is hinted at for one sentence in this specific blurb.

By all means, I should’ve been the one that managed to keep my head above water. Dad hit rock bottom when he was my age— after my grandparents died. He was no stranger to tell me about it. It was always an example of what not to do. Even Mom had her struggles after she lost her brother. 

I had every picture perfect reason to stay away from anything that could drag me down like a weight in still water. Which is why I couldn’t tell you how I ended up at the bottom of a bottle on a Monday night in uptown Manhattan. 

For a long time, I refused to drink more than once in heavy social settings after what happened when I was seventeen. But this? I didn’t care anymore. I needed whatever would keep him and my parents and the team out of my head. 

The problem I was running into, however, was that by the time I was cross-faded in a mass of bodies in a bar uptown, he was the only thing I had the ability to think about. 

Everything I wouldn’t confront during the day when I was sober chased me down until I was curled up in the corner of a bathroom stall. 

The smell of weed clouded my senses as the cold tile floor hit the backs of my thighs. The vodka still on my tongue made me dizzy and I could feel my heart beating like a drum in my head.

Every memory axed its way into my head like a migraine I couldn’t shake. I could spend every night like this, I could dance with strangers I didn’t care about, I could swear off men to my best friend and demand that I was completely fine, but I would always end up like this. Thinking about how I could still feel the pressure of his lips on my skin and if I tried hard enough, the temperature of the bathroom tiles almost felt like that of his arm under my fingers whenever we were curled up together. 

I couldn’t keep a straight thought. It all flashed through my head in images I couldn’t shake. 

My phone was vibrating. 

I fumbled for it, where it was tucked into the front of my dress, and I didn’t even check who was calling when I  tapped the screen and held it to my ear. I sniffled, wiping my nose. My cheeks were wet. 

I was crying. That seemed to be pretty normal for me these days. 

“Hello?” 

I blinked. Great, now I was hallucinating voices. I’d never reached that point of being wasted. “Nat,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I probably just ruined my makeup already. “What’s up?” I did my best to sound sober. Probably didn’t work.

There was a heavy sigh. “You didn’t mean to call me,” he said. 

“You called me,” I replied. 

“No, I did not. Are you… Are you okay?” 

“I am fine,” I said. “I’m not… supposed to talk to you.” “I know, angel.” Another sigh, a shuffle of something. Maybe blankets. It couldn’t have been that late. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“It’s almost four in the morning.”

My head was pounding, swimming… I couldn’t quite breathe right. “You don’t really sleep…”

“No, I don’t. Less now. Where are you?” 

“Why?” I felt defensive all of a sudden. No matter the fact I didn’t think I could get up off this floor if the building was on fire. 

“Because you’re drunk, sweetheart. And you’re alone. It’s not safe.”

“You don’t know that I’m- if I’m alone.”

A brief pause. “Yes, I do. Do you know where you are?” 

I was picking at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. “I’m…” I squeezed my eyes shut. That string wrapped around my finger twice. “I’m in the bathroom.”

“Okay, hold on—” I heard a door shut. It was quiet for a second. “I know where you are. You stay in the bathroom, okay? I’ll come get you.”

“But you—”

“No, you stay where you are.” I shrank a little. “Hear me?” 

“Yeah…” “Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I think I fell asleep after that, because the next thing I remember was hearing a commotion of voices— only one of which I recognized. 

Then it got so bright as the stall door was pushed open and I swear it felt like my heart that had dropped dead almost a month ago was beating again. 

Bucky’s face was a mix of emotions as he touched my cheek. “Sweetheart…” He said, letting out a breath. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, blinking a few times to try and see clearly. If he was here, I wanted to feel it, see it. All of it. 

“I’m here for you, doll.”

“But you hate me.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “No, I don’t, baby. I don’t hate you. But we need to get you home, come on.”

Without waiting for me to say anything, he lifted me to my feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asked. I just shrugged. 

As I limped my way to the bathroom exit, one of the other girls stopped him, demanding that he either explain how he knew me, or set me down. If I was sober, I might have hugged her for that. “He’s…” I started. 

She cast a worried glance from me, to the man holding me up. Bucky sighed and pulled out his phone, showing her the screen. “She’s mine, promise.” I barely caught a glimpse of the wallpaper. It was a picture Avery had taken of us when we were in Atlanta, we were in the kitchen, not even aware she was watching. 

Once we were past the crowds, he shoved the door open and helped me outside. The chilly air shocked me a little back into my senses, but not much. 

He pulled the car door open and helped me into the passenger seat before rounding the hood and climbing in. “I feel like lecturing you on how dangerous this is might be pointless because I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of it.”

I sniffled, wiping my cheeks. “I thought I was… fine.” “I’m sure you did,” he said, pulling onto the street. “Avery would have a heart attack if she knew about this, you know?” 

“Yeah… It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like you.”

“Sure it is,” I replied as I looked out the window. “It’s in my genes.” Bucky glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. When we pulled up outside my apartment building, I paused. “How do you—”

“I had a feeling something like this would happen. I got it from Nat.” 

“She gave it to you?” 

“I had to ask. Beg, actually.”

“That isn’t like you,” I said, quoting his own words. He cast me that same look he always gave me when I said something annoying, but valid. I smiled a little, tipping my head against the headrest of the car as I watched him climb out. 

When he got to my side and pulled the door open, he didn’t give me an option. Next thing I knew, he was scooping me into his arms and I didn’t have it in me to fight. I leaned closer, letting my body relax for the first time in weeks. I could scold myself for this in the morning. 

“What’s the door code?” he asked me. 

“My birthday,” I replied in more of a mumble than anything. “It’s—”

“I know your birthday, angel.” 

I sighed and nodded as we stepped into the warmth of the lobby. I didn’t question him as he held me the whole way to my apartment, his fingers occasionally brushing against my body as if it was muscle memory. 

He pressed the same code into my door keypad and shoved the door open. 

“Don’t let the cat out,” I muttered. 

“The what— Oh my god.” I heard my little white kitten meow up at him. “That’s Snowball,” I said. “Or Alpine. I can’t choose.”

He sighed, a small smile on his face. “I like Alpine.”

Bucky carried me to the master bedroom and set me on the bed. I rubbed my eyes, the ache behind them starting to grow. He disappeared for a second and when he came back, he put a glass of water in my hand. “Drink this,” he said, setting my shoes in my closet. I wondered briefly where he found them before he returned from the closet with the Avengers Compound sweatshirt that used to be his, but I had reclaimed. “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he said. “Or that makeup.” 

“I’ll be fine—” I started. 

“No. You’re gonna change. I’ll give you a—”

“I can’t get the zipper myself,” I said quietly. “It’s not- It’s not a ploy… Promise.” 

He helped me to my feet and turned me around before tugging at the zipper. I felt the air hit my back a second before his hand landed at my waist. “Are you gonna remember anything from tonight?” 

“I hope so,” I said softly. Other words for definitely not. 

Bucky sighed and dropped his head to my shoulder. “I miss you,” he breathed, lips brushing against my skin. “More than I’ve ever missed anyone.” 

A pain lodged itself in my chest. It was so deep that in this moment I genuinely didn’t think it’d ever leave me. And if it did, it might just leave a hole where it sat. “Bucky…” 

“Get changed. I’ll be right back.”

When I felt his body heat disappear from me, I dropped my dress to the ground and tugged on the sweatshirt he’d set on the bed. I didn’t bother with shorts, just left my underwear on. 

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, finished my water, held my hands in my lap. 

Bucky came from the bathroom and clicked on the lamp beside my bed. He took my face in his hand and with the warm rag in his hand, wiped it gently along my face. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. 

I did as I was told. It wasn’t as in depth as I could’ve myself, but it was enough to keep my eyes from hurting in the morning.

He tossed the rag in the hamper and guided me into bed. “You need to sleep,” he said softly. 

“I’m not used to sleeping alone,” I mumbled against my pillow. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, fingers combing through my hair. “Me either. But you’re gonna be okay.” 

I felt exhaustion coming for me like a thief in the night. “You think so?” 

“I know so. Sleep, baby.” 

A breath escaped me. I didn’t have the energy to speak anymore.

As sleep pulled me away, I felt his kiss against my head. Then the light clicked off and it was gone like a dream. 

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 2 of 4 - 1.9k

Bucky gets a welcome surprise and you finally meet Captain America. But when things don't go quite how you expect, you start regretting your decisions.

Warnings: reader is very obviously uncomfortable, some mention of workplace bullying from other agents and the preamble to reader having a meltdown.

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has read Part 1, I've been so ovewhelmed by the really personal responses and support, thank you! I also love how much the fabric softener scent has been brought up! This is definitely me and is an Easter Egg I've left in other fics too, so if you do check out any of my other stories keep your eye out!

<- Part 1

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

The last thing Bucky expected when he pushed the door to the hanger open was to see you sat on the benches with the other recruits. He noted there was a foot of space between youand the agents beside you, their voices loud and echoing. You were wearing the suit he’d brought you, you seemed comfortable enough apart from the zipper, which you were pulling up and down in time to the hum of the fan above your head.  

He was pleased you’d come, but something like guilt twisted inside of him at the look on your face. You looked genuinely pained, agonised, and he wondered, not for the first time that week, whether there was something you hadn’t told him.  

“Good to see you all.” He said, eyes scanning the room but consciously not settling on anyone as he walked past.  It was too tempting to let his gaze linger on you.

A chorus of ‘good morning, Sergeant Barnes’’ followed him as he entered the jet and took his place in the cockpit.  

The day was as uneventful as Bucky had described, a short ride on the jet and then an hour hovering over some empty base while the other recruits worked with Steve.

Each time the comm crackled you had a rush of panic that you’d be expected to join them on the ground, an opportunity you’d shook your head at and then allowed Steve to move on very quickly to the agent beside you. 

You gripped the seat harder, your jaw clenched. Closing your eyes you took a deep, steady, breath trying to imagine your happy place, a safe place, inside a tent, under a blanket and... 

“Are you okay, agent?” Bucky’s low voice echoed through your imaginary tent, breaking your peace. The dark utility of the plane came rushing back. 

“I’m not going down there.”  You said decisively, adrenaline coursing through you, preparing to argue. You could feel it, making your leg shake in anticipation of defending yourself.

“Okay.”  Bucky shrugged a shoulder.

“I’m serious I’m - wait, did you say okay?” You opened your eyes to find Bucky sat in the empty seat next to you, the jet clear of anyone else. His long legs were splayed open as he let his weight rest against the netting behind you.  

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just came to make sure you’re alright.”  

The lead weight of dread that had been settling in your gut vanished and, weightless, you smiled, “better now.”  Adrenaline still flooding your body you tried to hold back tears of relief.

“Is there anything you did want to see? Steve said you oversee mission debriefs? Maybe you’d like to watch the mission from the cockpit with me?” Bucky stood then, holding his hand out to you briefly before tucking both hands into his pocket awkwardly.  

“I’d like that, thank you.”  

Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever had such a nice time waiting in the jet. He was often resigned to babysitting the Avengers’ jet, car, boat, horrid little safe house, whenever there was actual teaching to be done. He didn’t mind so much, it gave him the space to read his books, listen to some music or catch up on all the history he’d either missed or inadvertently been a part of. 

But today you were there too, and your presence brought him a sense of calm that had truly surprised him. 

“Make yourself at home.” He insisted, gesturing to the spare seat. 

“Thanks.” You sat carefully.

“I mean it, make yourself comfortable, we’ll be here for a while. You want a drink?” Cautiously you tucked your legs up, crossing them on the seat. Your boots were clean, immaculate even, worn only through the compound and into the hanger this morning, but you were careful to keep them as far off the seat as you could anyway. 

Bucky poured coffee from a large flask tucked into the side of his seat and topped it off with a generous helping of milk. 

“That’s just how I like it.”

He smiled, wide and pleased, “I asked around, wanted to make sure you enjoy your first mission.” 

That flutter appeared in your chest again, the surprising desire to stay close to him that had first made itself known when he'd squeezed himself in to your tiny office.

“Not really a mission if I don’t do anything,” you blew steam from the top of your enamel cup and took a sip, cupping your hands around the warm metal. 

“Well, that's all I’m doing and I’m an ‘Avenger’.” Bucky laughed making his voice deeper as he said Avenger before reaching his arm out to clink your mugs together. “Cheers to the easiest job on the roster.” 

You fell into an easy silence, Bucky read his book for a while until you couldn’t hold it in anymore and told him you’d read it a few weeks before. Before you knew it two hours had melted away and you were curled up comfortably in Steve’s seat, giving Bucky a run down of your favourite books so far that year. He watched you, the wide grin softening into an indulgent smile while you blossomed before his eyes. 

Some of the other agents had been whispering about you, while you boarded the jet, that you were odd, childish, over the top and impossible to be around. But he enjoyed the exuberant way you described each plot, the glimmer of excitement in your eyes when he agreed with you and the blunt dry way you told deadpan jokes before breaking into peals of laughter. 

Silently he prayed that you’d come with him again, just to spend time with him even if you didn’t want to be in the field.  

You surprised Bucky by coming on the next recon as well, even agreeing to accompany him to collect Steve and some other agents from a secondary base. Silently, you followed him into the cockpit and set your bag down next to him, tac suit immaculate apart from one addition, a small toy turtle on a keyring that dangled from the zipper.

“I got you a present,” you said once the jet was at altitude and Bucky had flicked a considerable number of important looking buttons and levers. Steve and the others had parachuted in this time, your stomach had turned just watching them.

Bucky turned to look at you, the clear blue of the sky reflected in his eyes. 

“Really? You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know, but I saw them in the gift shop in New York and, well, I like mine so-” trailing off you rummaged in your bag, pulling out a paper gift bag sealed with tape. 

Bucky took the little parcel from you and carefully opened it, removing the fluffy socks, striped like his arm, that were tucked up inside and staring at them.  

“Oh god that was stupid, I’m so sorry.” Your heart beat wildly, sweat forming on your brow.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, a way to keep you focused while you saw your doctor in New York. The city didn’t seem so busy when you were focused on your task, and Bucky had been so kind he deserved a present. But this was a stupid present, stupid, stupid present. You ground your teeth and squeezed your hand together, allowing your nails to bite into your palm. 

Before you could take them back, Bucky unrolled them and held them up, a huge grin growing on his face. “They’re socks! They make socks of me.” He laughed, rubbing his thumb against the soft fluffy fabric. “And you said you like yours - you got my socks have you?” 

“I - no - I -” you stammered and Bucky looked at you properly, a flush of embarrassment appearing on his own cheeks. 

“I’m messing with you ya doll, I love them, thanks.” 

Bucky’s heart

had soared, you’d bought him a present. Something you liked too and you’d thought about him when you weren’t together. He couldn’t deny how addictive your presence had become, the mixture of calm and joy. If you brought him a present surely that meant you liked him too? 

He’d have to talk to Steve later, he seemed to know more about you and where you’d come from.

The rest of the journey went by quickly, you talked about a new show you were watching, a book you finished and how terrible most of the agent’s handwriting was when you were trying to decipher their field notes, not to mention the way they ticked boxes wrong and put things in the wrong files.

He discovered it was you who’d streamlined the paperwork, automated some of the questions and changed the paperwork so it matched across teams. He was somewhat in awe of your ability to see efficiencies as if they were tangible, organising his own Avengers issue tablet to minimise the emails he received and sorting the rest into neat little folders in his inbox, all in the last twenty minutes of the mission.

Too soon the agents themselves were piling into the back of the jet, tired but excited, chattering away. Even Steve was still in a good mood, bouncing into the cockpit, his Captain America smile plastered on but his suit unzipped enough to show his flush chest and the grime of the mission on his neck. 

“Hey Buck, let’s get - oh, hello Agent.” He came up short, as if he hadn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi, Mr Rogers, Sir, Captain?” You fumbled. 

Bucky winced, you hadn’t really met Steve yet, he should’ve introduced you both properly instead of letting you struggle. 

“Steve is fine, Agent, you stay there if you want,” the Captain America smile morphed into his real, Steve, smile, and you looked surprised. He winked and turned to leave the cockpit again.

Before Steve had even shut the cockpit door you could feel the awkward lump of confusion move from sitting in your through with your unuttered words down into the pit of your stomach. Should you have given Steve his seat back? He seemed so insistent that you stay but maybe he was being polite and there was some etiquette rule that you weren’t away of at play.

You looked out at the gathering clouds in the distance and fixed your eyes on one cloud in particular, honing in on the shades of grey that built each bump and groove. 

“Are you alright? You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to?” Bucky whispered from the seat to your right, the dark metal fingers of his hand lingered on your arm rest, so close you could feel his presence without him touching you. 

No.

No you were not alright.

It had been too long since you were in your own space, the jet was so loud and the din of the other agents so overwhelming that you thought you might be drowning in noise. You were confused about Steve’s behaviour, he was a superior, yes, but just a man and you didn’t think you needed to bow and scrape to him. But maybe you did?

“You’ve gone again, Doll. I need to know you’re okay.” His hand touched your elbow for just a second and then withdrew.

Oh, shit, you had, you were gone, everything felt weird and heavy and fuzzy, your eyes had drifted back to the clouds, body still, apart from the heaving of your chest as your breaths became more panicked. 

“I - yeah - I’m fine.” You grit your teeth into a false, pained smile and dug your nails into the arms of your chair. “I shouldn’t be here though, I should go back. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’ll get Steve.” Before Bucky could stop you, you’d jumped up and rushed through the door leaving Bucky confused and alone in the cockpit. 

[arias-diaryy]

Soft Underbelly

Nobunaga Hazama x Reader

Synopsis: The samurai has pride in keeping his prize safe (despite how terribly he’s doing it).

Warnings: yandere, fem reader, mentioned physical abuse.

3.4k words ... my first fic in a long while, big big big thank you to my beta reader who also came up with the synopsis lmfao

 Under normal circumstances, there would be a back and forth before bath time. 

Nobunaga’s working the third round of shampoo into your hair, grumbling under his breath when he still finds debris in your locks. Considerably less, given all the work he’s put in, but he still finds a stray leaf in your hair. He flicks it out of your head, brows furrowing. There isn’t any water in the tub, he’s just been rinsing you off over and over with the handheld showerhead.

It’s cold, and normally you’d be afforded the luxury of warm water. This time, Nobunaga was more interested in getting you clean rather than waiting for the water to heat up. You’ve been without clothes too many times in his presence to still feel overly embarrassed about it, though that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable about it. Nobunaga is crouched on the ground outside of the bathtub, washing you as if you were a labrador covered in mud. His sleeves still got water on them despite being rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of the way. If he’s leered at you, you haven’t noticed. You’ve been desperate to avoid eye contact.

When he holds the showerhead up and over your body, the water runs down clearer than it did the last few times. There was dirt before, being washed away by the soap and pressure of the water. You and Nobunaga both internally cringed when the water ran red the first few times; you even moreso when the soap got into the cuts and scrapes littering your skin. He fussed over them, still does, you don’t expect anything less. Every cut he sees, he clicks his tongue and asks where it came from. “I don’t know” quickly becomes your default answer.

You wonder if he feels any bit vindicated, seeing you with blood and dirt under your nails, and twigs in your hair. All those “the outside world is too much for you” talks replay in your head, and your nails begin to dig into your palms out of frustration.

“Don’t do that.” Nobunaga says sternly, having caught the motion in his peripheral. You’re shaken out of your frustration, uncurling your hands. He’s perceptive enough to catch that, but not enough to realize that you want nothing to do with him? He furrows his brows a little more, his hands still in your hair and lathering it up with the shampoo. It smells like fruit, it smells girly. Juvenile, almost. 

“I’m not doing anything.” Nobunaga doesn’t say anything to you, removing his hands from your hair and grabbing the showerhead again. He makes a point of angling it more towards your face, and you flinch when the cold water hits you like a hard smack. You shut your eyes as the shampoo suds roll off your head and your face. One of his hands returns to your head, tousling up your hair and rinsing the shampoo out of it. The near icy water doesn’t help with your shivering, and you don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for hot water.

“I’m not a dog, I can bathe myself.” You say, halfway under your breath. Nobunaga might have rolled his eyes, but to do that, he’d have to momentarily stop looking at you, something he isn’t keen on doing.  “I didn’t say you were one.” He doesn't address your stewing emotions, no matter how clearly they’re scrawled across your face. You have half the mind not to respond with a snarky comment. 

There’s a pit in your stomach. There’s been one for quite a while. You assumed it was anxiety, but now you think it could also be an ulcer. Sometimes it gets so great that you think there’s really something wrong with you. Sizzling, contorting, creeping its way up into your chest. You felt it most in the first two weeks, and it’s waxed and waned since then. It’s spiked considerably from the moment Nobunaga found you again to now. It isn’t helped by the fact that you were expecting some sort of punishment; a sick retribution from him for trying to leave, and it has yet to come. 

…The fact that your escape lasted less than 6 hours probably has something to do with how he’s behaving. Oh, he’s annoyed, you didn’t need to be told. Though, you suppose he didn’t expend enough effort in finding you to truly be outraged. Nobunaga had found you in the woods behind the house, having yanked you out of the hollowed log you squirmed into. In the moment, it seemed like a good enough hiding spot, once you had the horrifying realization that he wasn’t that far behind you. For all the metaphorical and literal slaps on the wrist you got from him, you can’t be faulted for thinking he’d have more of a reaction to you trying to leave him.

In retrospect, it would have been smarter to travel alongside the road by the house and hitch hike. But wasn’t that too obvious? Nobunaga had been out of the house at the time of your escape, you didn’t know when he would come back. What would you say if the car he stole came driving down the road, and he saw you with your thumb out like a dumbass on the side of the asphalt? Plus, you thought you would’ve had a few days to make some distance. If you knew he’d be coming back tonight, you would’ve waited.

You’re pretty sure your previous comment wasn’t an invitation to conversation, yet Nobunaga begins talking anyway. “I can’t believe you, the one thing I told you not to do,” he chides. “and you didn’t even make it that far.” Nobunaga says it with a bit of humor, as if underneath his irritation, he finds this a little funny. Of course he does. Your hair feels like rubber with how much shampoo has been in it, and you despair internally when Nobunaga goes to put another dollop of it into your hair. “You’re lucky I found you before you got seriously hurt.” He scolds, roughy lathering the shampoo into your scalp one last time for good measure.

Despite it all, he’s still acting too flippant for your liking, you had expected him to… well, you aren’t sure. You’ve been on edge since before you even ran away, waiting for the eventual blow. Sure, he’s raised his voice at you and dragged you the whole way home, but you were still waiting for the worst of it. You thought he’d show his anger more, you did escape after all. The one thing he specifically forbade you to do.

(He also forbade you from locking doors and going near the stove without his supervision, but actually getting out of the house and making a break for it seemed more serious than any of the others). 

You shut your eyes to keep shampoo from entering them, but it’s too late. They sting almost immediately and you let out a small hiss of pain. So much for tear free. Nobunaga leans closer, pausing in his lecturing. “Are you crying?” He asks in a less stern tone of voice. “No!” You say, but you doubt he believes you. After all, you are tearing up. You blink a few times, and there’s tears in your eyes, which are now red and irritated. Nobunaga brings his hand closer to wipe your tears away, and you flinch. He grabs your upper arm to keep you in place, and you tense up more than you knew possible.

“Are you sure?” He asks again, and you don’t like the way he’s saying it. He’s talking to you like you’re a kid who got caught in a lie. “You got shampoo in my eyes!” “Uh huh.” Nobunaga hums, disregarding your declaration and wiping your tears away with his free hand. Your eyes are really red, he thinks. Maybe a drop of shampoo did get in them, though he remains unconvinced that you aren’t at least a little regretful for trying to run away from him. You aren’t that heartless. You go to rub at your eyes, and Nobunaga grabs your wrist to stop you. You flinch again, and he clicks his tongue in irritation.

“Would you stop being difficult?” Nobunaga says, taking a firmer grasp of your wrist to emphasize his point. “I’m not being difficult.” “You are, you’re acting like I’m going to hit you.” “Are you?” You ask, and Nobunaga only looks at you like you’re challenging him. “Should I?” 

You take a moment to respond. You can’t think of a smart answer, and although none of them feel outright wrong, none of them exactly feel right, either. “If I were you, I’d hit me.” It’s not a lie, if you were just half as deranged as Nobunaga, you probably would hit yourself. Nobunaga pauses for a moment, then laughs. As if it was some punchline to a joke. You aren’t as unsettled as you are relieved that he didn’t actually put his hands on you. At least he found it funny?

If you were him, you wouldn’t have deemed yourself worth the trouble. You would have gotten rid of yourself a long time ago, replaced yourself with another woman. One that looks similar enough to you, if appearances mattered. Yet everytime you would correct him, insist that you weren’t his girlfriend or anything of the sort, he’d wave you off and go on with whatever he was doing. You aren’t sure what he sees in you, it’s never stuck, no matter how many times he’s said it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” Nobunaga finally says. “I already said before, I don’t want to hurt you.” You want to roll your eyes. He’s the one who brought the topic up. Sure, it’s not like he ever punched you in the jaw or anything, but he has a knack for manhandling you every now and then. Nobunaga keeps on talking, not that you had a reply or anything further to add to the conversation. He’s back to being stern with you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. I’m still mad at you. What you did was stupid.” “I know.” You mumble, avoiding his harsh glare.

“You’re not going to do it again.” He says, more firmly this time. With the same lack of energy, you reply “I won’t”. Nobunaga looks like he has more to say, but stays quiet. A distinct smell of smoke and burning food wafts through the hallway and into the bathroom. The food Nobunaga tossed into the oven an hour ago… 

He curses under his breath, his eyes going from the hallway to you. “Stay here.” He says, rising to his feet and leaving you in the bathtub alone, still with shampoo in your hair. You take it that it’ll take him a while to salvage dinner, so you take it upon yourself to finish your bath. You make sure to twist the shower handle to warmer water before taking the showerhead to get the shampoo out of your hair and eyes. The pit in your stomach hasn’t gone away, and the prospect of charred food for dinner isn’t easening your pain. You hadn’t spent long enough outside to be that hungry for Nobunaga’s culinary prowess, or lack thereof. 

-

There was zero chance of Nobunaga scrapping dinner to just order takeout. In fact, that chance most likely plummeted to the negatives given the stunt you pulled earlier in the day. Still, dinner wasn’t a total waste. You could eat around the burnt pieces of chicken, which were few and far between. The rice was stickier than you would’ve liked. You doubt Nobunaga would be letting you handle the cooking for a while, it’s practically a given that certain privileges would be rescinded. Temporarily, you hope, but rescinded nontheless. 

At least the vegetables came out fine.

Nobunaga sits down at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He looks over at you, laying flat on your back in bed with the blanket covering you. Your feet poke out from under the covers. Soft and warm, scratches on your soles. There’s a cut on the bottom of your left foot; it looks more like a thin slice of flesh was scraped clean off. Nobunaga can’t take his eyes off of it. He knows it’ll heal, but he can only run through all the different ways you garnered that injury.

He stares at your foot in his hand, brows furrowed. A sliver of him was impressed, perhaps a little endeared, that you were still clinging to this idea of not needing him. It was almost laughable, even more so given the state you were in when Nobunaga found you. Cold, exhausted, and hungry, you had somehow gotten two of your fingernails ripped off in the short time you were away from him. All that, and you had the gall to look at him as if he was somehow inconveniencing you by bringing you back home. You’d even tried to bite and scratch at him like some animal.

You really could be an ungrateful brat, sometimes. Maybe you were onto something about him hitting you. 

If anything, he’s only more convinced of how pathetic you are. Endearingly so, but pathetic nonetheless. You deserve an achievement for managing to scratch yourself up so much in a few short hours without him, truth be told. Not that he enjoys seeing the cuts on your body, but he does consider himself a little bit smart for not letting you have shoes of any kind, even ones for inside the house. You probably would have gotten much farther if you weren’t out there with just some thin socks.

Nobunaga shifts a little closer, gingerly taking your left ankle and foot in his hands. The foot with the nasty cut on the bottom. He didn’t want you picking at it or even looking at it, so he’d made sure to bandage it properly. If you were awake, you’d jolt like a spooked animal and try to kick at him. Though he’d always known you as a light sleeper, you don’t even stir when Nobunaga touches you. That’s good, he thinks. You need the rest. All that scrambling in the forest probably took out all of your energy.

Even looking at your sleeping face now, it’s hard for the samurai to imagine that just hours ago you were shrieking at him to let you go, to not bring you back home. He’d spent almost an hour painstakingly removing every splinter of wood caught in your feet and hands; all while you were squirming and trying not to kick at him reflexively. Another hour was spent getting the rest of you cleaned up. It’s almost like you’d prefer being out in the cold than being kept warm and safe with him. It’s so preposterous, he could almost laugh at the thought.

…Though, he can’t pinpoint any other reason for you acting out. Unless that’s just what it was, misbehavior for the sake of it. Maybe you wanted more attention? That seemed plausible to Nobunaga. He can’t imagine that you’re thrilled when he leaves your side to go on Troupe missions. When he returned, it was always to you looking miserable, only cheering up now that he returned to you.

(It was because he had a tendency to lock up the television remote in his absence to keep you from watching something he didn’t want you seeing, and the fridge almost never seemed to be stocked with actual food before he left you in your lonesome. He still hadn’t connected the dots).

(...Though the prolonged lack of human interaction did do a number on you, as well).

He knows that to some degree, this is his fault. He’s been too lenient with you, too soft. Uvo had made a passing comment once that it’d do him some good to instill some fear into you. Just a little, to keep you from misbehaving. Nobunaga let you talk back and maintain some independence, and you turn around and try to run away from him.

He gave you an inch and you tried to take a mile. If your ploy was really to get more of his attention, then you’d succeeded. Nobunaga can’t imagine not keeping a closer eye on you for the coming months. That, and he’d finally get around to putting some bars on the windows. His gaze lingers on you, on your foot resting in his lap. He wonders if you know how lucky you are, that it’s him who’s keeping you safe and not any other Troupe member. Someone like Feitan surely would’ve killed you, or at least made you wish you were dead. 

Nobunaga isn’t keen on taking a page out of Feitan’s book, though. He was generally averse to the idea of making you upset. He didn’t consider himself to be a bad man, one who hurts his woman. Sure, he’s killed more people than he can count and took great joy in it. He’s maimed women and children, and robbed people of all they had, all for the Spider. But that was different. It’s impersonal, and half of those people more or less deserved it anyway. Probably. Regardless, you escaping and making a run for it isn’t something he can brush under the rug, even if you totally failed.

A hot-head like Phinks, or even Uvo, would’ve broken your leg. Perhaps a bit excessive, you hadn’t made it far enough to warrant that in Nobunaga’s eyes. It’s like a part of you subconsciously didn’t want to go so far away. Like you wanted to be found. If you really hated him so much that you’d try to run away, surely you would’ve put some more effort into it. 

He could always just break your ankle, maybe both. Crude, brutish, almost, but that would get the point across. It wouldn’t be hard by any means. A flick of the wrist and it’d be done. Maybe he could wake you up before he does it, make you squirm a little. Perhaps you’d feel a fraction of the panic Nobunaga felt when he couldn’t find you anywhere; when he realized you’d ran away from him. 

The aftermath might be a little messy, but at least you wouldn’t be running away again. He could keep you like that for a few days, maybe you’d learn some appreciation then. It’d take Machi a while to get to his house anyway to fix you up properly. Maybe he wouldn’t even need her. You’d cry a lot, he’s sure. 

“What are you doing?”

Your voice, tired and having lost it’s previous bite, draws Nobunaga out of his thoughts. You’re still laying flat in bed, looking at him with your foot in his lap. You tense up, and he doesn’t miss the brief change in expression. You’re uncomfortable, and the man chalks it up to you being ticklish or something along those likes. Not that you ever claimed to be, but you always shyed away from his touch, always bit the inside of your cheek when he got close. Tensed up when his fingers brushed up against your neck or shoulders. It was cute.

Nobunaga doesn’t answer you right away, his thumb idly rubbing the skin of your ankle. It’s almost a soothing gesture. “Nothing, go back to sleep.” You retract your foot, and he lets you. He circles the bed, coming to the other side and getting in with you. You tense up, feeling Nobunaga slide in right next to you. You don’t move away, not that you had a chance to. Nobunaga presses himself against you, his arms wrapping around you.

You wince, being overwhelmed with his scent. In your brief time away from him, you’d enjoyed the smell of dirt and grass, and the wind hitting your skin. All things you never thought about too much, now feeling like luxuries. Your head is pushed into the crook of his neck, and the rest of you is too sore to do much about it. You suppose, if anything, that being in a warm bed is better than crawling into a log and trying to pretend the ants don’t bother you.

“You know I love you, right?” It’s something you’ve heard from him more times than you care to admit. You don’t say anything, only humming in acknowledgment. That isn’t enough, you know by now that he always wants an answer when he says he loves you. It sounds all too sincere, which ironically is the reason you hate hearing it. When he doesn’t hear a response, Nobunaga pinches your upper arm. So, to soften the blow of whatever’s in store for you tomorrow, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I love you too.”

[dekariosclan]

So, not to be toooooo obvious... if someone were to write a galemancer fic for you, what would you want to make it ideal? Everything from the kind of tav (gender/pronouns/race/appearance) to tropes or kinks you'd like the most, what would make it perfect

This is an incredibly sweet ask Anon! I will answer it, but please know that you don’t have to write anything for me (unless you really do want to and it would make you happy, of course.) Just getting to be a part of this community and read all the incredible fics & asks you all write and see the art you all draw is ALREADY the ultimate gift 💜

But to answer your question: Tav’s characteristics aren’t of huge importance to me, because I read and enjoy fics with any/all sorts of Tavs! If i were pressed for specific answers, I guess I would lean towards a human(ish) female Tav simply because that’s what I am, so it’s a little easier for me to follow along and get immersed in the fantasy.

And I always find it lovely to read about a Tav who doesn’t fit with conventional beauty standards in regards to size/shape/looks etc, but whom Gale adores anyway. It’s why I’ve lost my mind for him after years of being bored to tears by every single romance book featuring Generic Hottie #1 x Generic Hottie #2.

SO, I was going to write out a whole thing about how I’d love the ‘fade to black’ bed scene to be fully fleshed out, OR for there to be an extension of the boat scene where Gale and Tav take the makeout sesh to the next level, all with some lovely 18+ details—but while I would love either of those, you know what else I’d really love anon? You know what my real kink is??

Just absolute domestic bliss fluff.

Just some total melty cheese.

Gale loving and getting loved on by his spouse Tav, in the home they share together. It can be SFW or NSFW. You could have them just fall asleep on the balcony in each other’s arms after a tiring work week & I’d still be like 🥹🥹🥹

That’s it. That’s my jam. TLDR: as long as Gale is in character and he’s happy, I’m happy!

Truly though, thank you again for the sweet ask anon, absolutely NO pressure to fulfill this at all!

[honeyhotteoks]

exciting update !!

chapter two of across stardust is done! i am just editing it at the moment, and plan to finish that up tomorrow morning for posting before i get started with work. it’s a LONG one though so i just want to make sure everything looks good before i post.

i also had the wild idea to make a pinterest board for this fic, so i’ll be posting that tomorrow alongside the fic too! some of the references i use for this fic are so distinct and i just feel like it would be fun to share that with you all in case you’re into it.

lastly…… as you saw recently, i’m off twitter (probably permanently, though i’m not deleting my account yet). if you want to follow me on bluesky, i’m over there @ honeyhotteoks…. but i’m also thinking it might be time i use this tumblr for more than just gifs and fic. i’d love to actually properly connect with moots here more and may be just using this more as my main kpop social media, so if you have post notifs on for me… just a heads up i may be yapping more than usual. AO3 is still the most reliable way to know when i post a fic or chapter update, so i’d recommend subscribing there if all you want is to know when i post writing and not when i scream into the void about yunho.

thank you all so much for reaching out and being so kind after my recent update post, and i can’t wait to share the new chapter with you. thank you infinitely for your patience and kindness!!

[loveereid]

50 shades of Hotchner Aaron Hotchner

The billionaire’s Anchor will be out Feb 14th-25 part two

♡ ︎ Summary , “You get the chance to interview the the billionaire who is the unit chief agent Aaron Hotchner who owns the BAU in end up falling for him but that doesn’t happen till part two/three this is your part of the story , part two will be his story . It’ll all fall in to place .

♡︎ Paring fem!reader ! Aaron Hotchner

♡︎ This is IB the trilogy of 50 shades of gray 

—♡︎—♡︎—Headlines —♡︎—♡︎—♡︎— Reader is a college student small age gape .. Studies english literature —Reader is beautiful intelligent not really upper class not lower class either She has little trauma with an Ex . Also she is an intern with Vogue magazine.

Mr Hotchner is a billionaire unit chief agent that owns the BAU headquarters in this scenario he’s has never been Married This is based off the fifty shades but it’s in a different AU . Was talking with @hoe4hotchner About this one . Your name for the best friend in this fic is Ib :) 🫶🏻💕

♡︎ Content hurt/Comfort/slow burn emotional/angst 

♡︎ Content warning trauma with an ex Drinking is mentioned but not consumed anxiety slow burn

♡︎ Word count 5.9k

♡︎ Author notes I’m hoping I’m not forgetting anything this is the first time I’ve ever written anything long like this let’s just say I had way to much fun with this one still learning to write Hotch an the team please be kind

This is inspired by 50 shades , in my own writing this took some time to write about four days maybe longer .

But I had so much fun

Your thoughts are welcome but please be kind …

The longest fic ever omg …

I did proof read this about four times I like how it sounds if I missed anything in the description please let me know but in a kind way please thank you

Omg guys I loved how this turned out I hope you do too eek .. get it Reid all I can say lol …

♡︎Background outline♡︎

You are a 25-year-old college student pursuing a degree in English Literature at a prestigious university in Quantico, Virginia. Known for your striking beauty, intelligence, and keen observational skills, you’ve earned the quiet admiration of your peers and professors alike.

you’ve grown up with a grounded perspective, valuing hard work and independence.

You are deeply driven, throwing yourself into your studies with unwavering focus. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays are dedicated to class, where you immerse yourself in analyzing the works of literary giants and crafting essays that showcase your sharp mind.

Wednesdays, however, are different. On this one day each week, you step into an entirely new world as an intern at Vogue magazine.

The hustle and glamour of the fashion industry couldn’t be further from your quiet life on campus, yet you’ve found a way to excel there too.

Whether assisting with features or observing the fast-paced brilliance of the editors, your time at Vogue challenges you in unexpected ways, pushing you outside your comfort zone.

Though shy by nature, you possess a subtle confidence that emerges when you're with your best friend, Rebecca—a free-spirited extrovert who often brings out your more adventurous side.

Coming from a comfortable middle-class background, you have never known the extremes of wealth or poverty. Instead, you’ve grown up with a grounded perspective, valuing hard work and independence.

You are deeply driven, throwing yourself into your studies with unwavering focus.

Your world revolves around literature, where you find solace and inspiration in the pages of classic novels and the complexity of human emotion. Yet, beneath your poised exterior, shadows linger. You’ve been grappling with the suffocating presence of your ex—a toxic figure who refuses to let go.

His threats come in the form of ominous text messages, late-night phone calls, and echoes of the emotional manipulation you endured during your time together. Each interaction leaves a mark, the sting of his words reverberating in your mind long after they’ve stopped. Rebecca is the only person who knows the full extent of what you’ve been through.

She is your anchor, the one who reminds you of your worth when the memories threaten to pull you under. Still, you can’t help but feel that your life has become a balancing act between striving for a brighter future and outrunning the shadows of your past.

This is the moment that changes everything: your decision to pursue an interview with Aaron Hotchner.

Now

Balancing everything had been a challenge lately. You were in school on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and on Wednesdays, you interned at Vogue magazine. The internship was exciting, but it only added to your growing nerves—if this interview opportunity ever happened, you wanted to make a good impression.

You had spent the last few days diving into Aaron Hotchner's past interviews—every case, every experience he’d shared online. The man was an enigma, and you couldn’t help but admire his brilliance and the way he carried himself. But now, you were stuck. What if, by some miracle, you got the chance to interview him? You needed questions—good ones.

Sighing, you turned to your best friend, Rebecca, desperate for help.

She glanced at you, rolled her eyes, and grabbed a pen. With a smirk playing on her lips, she scribbled something across the first line of your notebook and slid it back toward you.

“Here’s a question,” she said, feigning nonchalance.

Curious, you leaned forward to read it, and your eyes widened in horror. “Are you gay?”

You nearly choked. “Rebecca!” you hissed, your cheeks flushing instantly. “Seriously? Gay? That’s your idea of help?”

“What?” she replied with exaggerated innocence, twirling the pen between her fingers.

“He’s not married or anything, so it’s a valid question. Besides,” she added with a pointed look, “you need to lighten up a little.”

You glared at her, but she pressed on, her voice softening. “Look, it’s been six months since you and…you know…broke up.

I know he still haunts you with those stupid messages and calls, but you can’t keep living in that shadow.

You need someone who can make you feel again.

It doesn’t have to be Mr. Hotchner, but it should be someone.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you felt your throat tighten. You wanted to argue, to tell her she didn’t understand, but deep down, you knew she wasn’t wrong.

Rebecca’s grin returned as she watched your reaction. “Oh my God, you’re blushing!” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with teasing delight. “You totally have a crush on him, don’t you?”

“Do not!” you shot back, the heat in your cheeks betraying your denial.

“Sure,” she said, laughing. “Your face is practically glowing right now.”

Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, already regretting asking her for help. Rebecca’s laughter echoed around you as if to punctuate your misery.

Taking a deep breath, you peeked at her through your fingers. “For the record,” you mumbled, “I already did something. I sent him an email.”

Rebecca froze mid-laugh, her eyebrows shooting up. “You what?”

“I sent him an email,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

The weight of your own words hit you, making your chest tighten with a mix of nerves and excitement.

Rebecca’s jaw dropped, but instead of teasing, her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Well, look at you,” she said, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Guess you’re braver than I thought.” her voice light but impressed. “Miss Literary Genius stepping up her game.”

“I had to,” you said quietly, your eyes drifting to your notebook. “If I want to stand out—for Vogue, for school—it’s not like I had another option.”

Rebecca tilted her head, studying you. “You know,” she said softly, her teasing tone gone, “this could be a good thing.

You’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for.”

You gave her a weak smile, but inside, the nerves churned. It wasn’t just about the interview—it was about the possibility that Aaron Hotchner, the enigmatic, untouchable billionaire, might actually respond.

And if he did, everything could change.

—♡︎—The Email—♡︎

To: Aaron.Hotchner@fbi.gov

Subject: Request for an Interview for My College Research Paper & an opportunity for my internship at vogue magazine.

Dear Agent Hotchner,

I hope this email finds you well. My name is [Your Name], and I’m currently a college student majoring in English Literature at Liberal Arts University college in Quantico, Virginia. And I’m an inter for vogue magazine and for one of my courses, I’ve been given the opportunity to write a research paper on a topic of my choosing, and I decided to focus on the Behavioral Analysis Unit within the FBI.

Your work as an agent and leader of the BAU is fascinating to me. The way your team delves into the complexities of human behavior and criminal psychology aligns with many themes I’ve been studying in literature—how human motivation and character drive stories and actions.

If you are available, I would be deeply honored to interview you as part of my research. I believe your insights would add incredible depth to my paper and provide a unique perspective that no amount of online research could match. I understand how demanding your role is, and I would be happy to accommodate your schedule to make this as convenient as possible.

I’ve prepared a list of thoughtful questions with the help of my friend Rebecca , and I hope to use this opportunity to learn more about your work and the BAU’s impact on both the field of criminal justice and society as a whole.

Thank you so much for considering my request, Agent Hotchner. I greatly admire your dedication to your work and your contributions to making the world a safer place. I look forward to hearing from you and hope this email reaches you in good spirits.

You can reach me at any time via email at 578-865-2134 Yourname.literature@gmail.com or on my phone at Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need any additional information.

Sincerely,

[Your Name]

[578-865-2134]-fake

Days passed, and you found yourself obsessively refreshing your email and checking your phone for missed calls. Nothing. By day four, you started convincing yourself it wasn’t going to happen.

Maybe your email had been too direct? Or maybe too casual? The thought made you cringe every time it crossed your mind.

5:45pm

That Wednesday, you had just gotten back from your internship at Vogue.

The exhaustion from juggling classes, work, and this looming interview weighed heavy on you—until your phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar.

You stared at the screen, the phone vibrating in your hand. Was it spam? A wrong number?—“Your Ex?

Summoning a shred of courage, you swiped to answer. “Hello, this is [Your Name].”

“Good evening, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Your heart stopped.

Actually, stopped.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. The deep, confident voice on the other end sent a jolt through your system.

Your brain barely processed the words before your legs carried you out of your room and down the hall.

“Rebecca!” you hissed, practically kicking her door open. She jumped, startled, as you clutched the phone like it was a lifeline.

“It’s him! What do I say? What do I do?”

Rebecca’s eyes went wide as a grin spread across her face. She motioned wildly for you to calm down. “Breathe! Breathe! And answer him before he thinks you hung up!”

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to inhale deeply. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner,” you finally managed, your voice shaking only slightly.

“I wasn’t expecting your call—it’s such an honor to hear from you.”

“That’s quite alright,” he replied smoothly, a hint of warmth in his tone. “I read your email, and I’d like to discuss your interview proposal further. Are you available to meet in person sometime this week?”— “Let’s say Friday?

Your heart raced as you clutched your phone. "Friday works great, sir," you replied, trying to sound composed despite the excitement bubbling inside you.

"Great," he said calmly. "I’ll send you the details. Is this number okay to use?"

"Yes, sir," you confirmed quickly, barely able to contain your enthusiasm.

"Good. I’ll send you a message once everything is finalized. Thank you for reaching out."

"Thank you so much, sir, for this opportunity," you managed to say before the call ended.

As the line disconnected, you let out a squeal of joy, practically leaping onto your best friend Rebecca’s bed. “Rebecca! It’s actually happening!

I’m going to interview him—Aaron Hotchner!” you exclaimed, clutching a pillow to your chest.

Before you could process the moment, your phone buzzed in your hand. It was him.

The message read:

Hi, this is Agent Hotchner. Just a quick reminder about our interview on Friday at the BAU office at 9:30 a.m. If you have any trouble finding the office, don’t hesitate to reach out, and I’ll help with directions. See you then.

—Special Agent, Unit Chief Hotchner owner of The BAU

You stared at the screen, your hands trembling slightly. "Rebecca," you whispered, holding up the phone, "He texted me."

The excitement bubbling in your chest made it impossible to stay still. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

Your heart raced as you exchanged details with him, somehow managing to sound semi-professional despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The second the call ended, you collapsed onto Rebecca’s bed, clutching the phone to your chest.

“I’m meeting him,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Rebecca shrieked, grabbing your arm and shaking it.

“I told you! This is huge! You’re meeting Aaron freakin’ Hotchner. Do you know how many people would kill for this opportunity?!”

You nodded numbly, your excitement quickly giving way to nerves. “Oh God… What have I gotten myself into?”

Rebecca’s eyes lit up with mischief, and she clasped her hands together as if she had just come up with the best idea in the world. “I know what we’re going to do.

“Oh no, don’t even think about saying no—we’re celebrating tonight!”

You barely had a chance to respond before she announced her plan with a decisive grin. “We’re going to a club. Get ready. You deserve this.”

Rebecca’s energy was infectious, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleek black skirt she had practically forced you to wear.

The gold-strapped top you chose shimmered against your skin, catching the light in a way that made you feel... confident.

Pairing it with black tights and small black heels, you had to admit the outfit was perfect—just the right mix of bold and elegant.

As you reached for your earrings, you caught Rebecca’s reflection in the mirror.

Rebecca stood behind you, her arms crossed and her head tilted, studying you with a proud smile.

“This is Instagram photo-worthy. Seriously, you’re glowing. Come on, we need a little photoshoot before the Uber gets here!”

Before you could protest, Rebecca had already grabbed her phone and positioned you against the wall.

The next few minutes were filled with laughter as she directed you like a photographer at a magazine shoot. “Okay, now give me a smirk. Perfect! Tilt your head a little… yes! That’s it! Oh my God, these are so good!”

Rebecca even pulled you into a few selfies, making exaggerated pouty faces while holding the camera high. She burst into laughter, flipping through the pictures. “Look at us! We’re gonna break the internet.”

As the Uber pulled up outside, Rebecca grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You look amazing. You’re going to have the best night. Trust me, you deserve this.”

Her words melted some of your lingering nerves, and you found yourself smiling for the first time all evening. Rebecca had always had a way of pushing you out of your comfort zone, reminding you that life was meant to be lived.

“Okay,” you said, letting out a steadying breath as you grabbed your purse. “Let’s do this.”

With Rebecca by your side, you stepped into the night, ready to celebrate in a way you never had before.

As the Uber driver dropped you and Rebecca off a few blocks from your apartment, the thumping bass of the club music filled the air.

The neon lights outside flashed rhythmically, casting vibrant colors onto the sidewalk.

Rebecca practically bounced with excitement as you stepped out of the car.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked, her grin contagious.

You nodded, though your stomach was fluttering with nervous energy. Approaching the bouncer at the door, you handed over your ID. He glanced at it, then stamped both your hands with a glowing ink before motioning you inside.

The moment you stepped into the club, you were hit by a wall of sound—music thumping, people laughing, and the hum of conversation blending into a buzzing, electric atmosphere.

Multicolored lights swirled overhead, casting an ever-changing glow on the packed dance floor.

Rebecca turned to you with a gleam in her eye. “Let’s get a drink first!”

You smiled, letting her lead the way to the bar. As you weaved through the crowd, your gaze wandered around the room.

A group of people near the corner of the bar caught your attention. They were laughing and talking animatedly, the camaraderie between them evident.

You didn’t think much of it until you reached the bar with Rebecca and placed your drink order.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar face in that same group.

“No freaking way,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rebecca turned to you, handing you your drink. “What? What is it?”

You nodded toward the corner, your heart skipping a beat. “Look. Over there.”

Rebecca’s eyes followed your gaze. When they landed on the man you were staring at, her jaw dropped. “No. Freaking. Way.

That’s Mr. Hotchner himself. See? I told you tonight was meant to be fun!”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Oh my God, this cannot be happening.”

“Come on,” Rebecca said with a grin, tugging on your arm. “We’ll deal with that later. Let’s hit the dance floor!

As you were making your way to the dance floor, a tall man accidentally bumped into you.

“Whoa, sorry about that, ladies,” he said, flashing a charming smile.

You smiled politely. “Oh, it’s okay, sir.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sir? Come on, now. I’m Derek Morgan, but you can just call me Derek.”

You introduced yourself, but before you could finish, you heard someone call your name from across the room. You froze, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Oh, great,” you muttered under your breath.

Derek’s brow furrowed as he glanced toward the source of your discomfort. “Everything okay?”

You let out a sigh. “Not really. That’s my ex.

I haven’t seen him in six months, but he won’t stop harassing me with calls and messages. I’ll be fine, though.” You offered a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Just Derek,” he reminded you with a smile and nod before heading back to his group.

When Derek rejoined his friends, he leaned in and spoke low enough for only them to hear. “Hey, guys, keep an eye on that guy over there.”

JJ glanced toward your ex, then back at Derek.

“Those girls he’s bothering?

“Emily chimed in , They’re beautiful.”

Derek nodded. “Right, but that guy’s trouble. Stay sharp.”

Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid , who had been quietly observing, straightened up. “Got it,” they said, There tone calm but firm.

As you tried to make your way to the dance floor, your ex suddenly appeared in front of you, stepping into your path with a forceful presence.

Without warning, he grabbed your arm.

“Come on, dance with me,” Nate said, his voice laced with a sense of entitlement.

You pulled away sharply, your heart racing. “No, Nate. No.”

Rebecca, sensing the tension, stepped forward. “Leave her alone, Nate.”

He sneered at Rebecca, getting right in her face. “What are you going to do about it?” he challenged.

You stepped in between them, trying to keep the peace. “Stop, Nate.”

“You think you can do better than me?” he spat, yanking your arm toward him with force.

You winced as you tried to pull away again, your voice trembling. “Nate, please…”

Rebecca didn’t hesitate. She stepped right in front of you, blocking Nate from getting any closer. “I said, leave her alone.”

At that moment, you noticed two figures coming up behind Nate—two men in suits.

You didn’t recognize them at first, but the intensity of their approach made you feel a flicker of relief.

Hotch and Reid exchanged a glance, both knowing what needed to be done.

“Let’s move,” Hotch said, his voice calm but firm.

Reid nodded. “Right.”

They reached Nate, moving with purpose, and Reid spoke up first, though his voice wavered slightly. “Sir, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Nate just laughed, clearly dismissive. “Okay, Dr. Please, leave us alone.”

But Hotch didn’t wait. He stepped forward, his gaze locked on Nate, commanding the situation.

“Take your hand off her.” His tone was unwavering, and it made your heart race in a different way—one of safety.

Nate scoffed, sizing Hotch up. “And who are you? Some guy in a suit?”

Hotch didn’t flinch.

“No, I’m with the FBI.” He flashed his badge, and Reid did the same, pulling his badge from his jacket pocket with practiced precision.

Nate’s demeanor faltered. He let go of your arm, his eyes wide with realization. “Whoa, okay. I didn’t want to start any trouble.”

Spencer added, his voice firm but measured. “Leave these ladies alone.”

Nate stepped back, defeated but unwilling to admit his wrongdoing.

As he walked away, Hotch’s eyes never left you, his gaze steady and protective.

Reid glanced over at you with concern. “Are you guys okay?”

You nodded, feeling both shaken and somehow grounded by their intervention.

Spencer, after sharing a brief look with Rebecca, turned to her with a smile. “Would you like to dance?”

Rebecca grinned and nodded eagerly. “I’d love to.”

With that, they made their way to the center of the dance floor, where the soft rhythm of the slow song started to fill the space.

As they began to move together, you found yourself standing next to Hotch, the noise of the crowd fading around you. The moment felt suspended in time.

The song continued to play, and with it, a quiet anticipation seemed to linger between you and Hotch.

The distance between you both felt palpable. As you stood there, your nerves betrayed you.

After a long, almost unspoken pause, Hotch finally broke the silence. “Would you like to dance?” His voice was calm, steady, like everything around you was perfectly still.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath. Your response came out as a soft, almost hesitant nod. “Yes.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch stepped closer and pulled you gently into his arms. The warmth of his touch was immediate, a powerful presence that settled in the pit of your stomach. There was something so unexpectedly comforting about his strength and the quiet connection between you both.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, the music guiding you. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear as you laid your head against his chest. The world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. The way he held you, his hand at the small of your back, was both reassuring and electrifying.

In the distance, you could see Rebecca and Spencer, the two of them enjoying their own rhythm on the dance floor. Their laughter mixed with the music, but you couldn’t help but notice the way Rebecca kept glancing over at you and Hotch, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

You stole a quick glance at her, your gaze sharp, silently telling her to stop teasing you. But she didn’t even flinch, her smile only widening as she caught your eye.

Your focus returned to Hotch as you both continued to move together, the slow dance grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

As the music filled the space, Hotch finally broke the quiet. His voice was soft but steady, as if he were reading the air around you. “I bet you weren’t expecting this tonight.”

You glanced up at him, your breath catching slightly. The warmth of his gaze sent a ripple of heat through you. “No,” you admitted with a quiet laugh, “not really. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, the sound somehow calming yet undeniably magnetic. “I meant me saving you from disaster, of course.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you couldn’t help but smile a little, even as the conversation turned more serious. Before you could speak, your mind drifted back to Friday—your interview with him. The nerves you had then felt so distant now.

You hesitated, unsure of how to word the question that had been on your mind. "When did you realize it was me?"

Hotch’s gaze never wavered from you as he answered. “When Derek pointed you both out to me.”

The admission caught you off guard, but you masked your surprise quickly. “You did a background check on me?” you asked, your voice laced with both curiosity and a hint of disbelief.

He nodded, but there was no malice in his expression. “I mean, I had my tech, Garcia, do it. Your photo was attached to your file.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at the unexpectedness of it all. “Oh,” you said, a little breathless. “I see. It’s... very impressive.”

Hotch smirked slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, I like to know who I’m dealing with.” His tone softened, and his hand instinctively adjusted the way he held you, his touch warm and grounding.

You tried not to let the thought linger for too long, but the subtle tension in the air between you two was undeniable. Every shift of his hand, every look shared between you both, seemed to make the room shrink.

As the slow dance continued, you found yourself drawn further into his presence. You weren’t sure whether it was the proximity or the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear, but everything felt different now. The connection between you wasn’t just physical—it was something more, something deeper.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Rebecca still dancing with Spencer, her gaze flicking between you and Hotch, her knowing smile more evident than ever. You couldn’t suppress the small glare you sent her way. But even that felt secondary to the unspoken pull between you and Hotch.

The night was unfolding in ways you never expected, but somehow, it felt like everything was falling into place, one slow dance at a time.

As the night came to a close, you and Rebecca had the chance to meet the rest of the team. Garcia was just as vibrant and lively as you’d imagined, her bright smile infectious. JJ’s warm energy was comforting, and Emily had an air of quiet confidence. Rossi, ever the seasoned professional, gave you a kind nod. Derek was smiling, still a bit playful, as you turned to him, grateful for everything he’d done tonight.

You offered Derek a hug, your voice soft but sincere. “Thank you for looking out for me... and for Rebecca.”

He smiled warmly, pulling you into a brief but genuine embrace. “Anytime. Stay safe, alright?”

Rebecca, meanwhile, was chatting away with Reid, exchanging numbers with him as they laughed. You couldn’t help but glance at Hotch.

Every time you looked, his gaze was already on you, steady and unwavering, like he was silently taking you in from across the room.

Rebecca, clearly sensing your distraction, turned to you with a mischievous grin. “You okay over there?”

You offered her a quick smile, trying to shake off the feeling that had settled in your chest. “Yeah, just... taking it all in.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the moment. “Would you both like a ride home?” His tone was calm, yet there was something in it—something that made you feel both comforted and a little on edge.

Rebecca immediately agreed, her smile widening. “Yes, please. I’m not about to try finding a cab tonight.”

You nodded, not sure what to say. But you knew you couldn’t say no.

Reid, ever the gentleman, insisted on riding with you all, clearly wanting more time with Rebecca. You could see the small smile on his face.

As you all stepped outside into the chilly night air, the cold hit your skin, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Hotch moved toward you, opening the door of the black SUV. You felt a flicker of warmth at the gesture, even though the night was crisp.

Reid did the same for Rebecca, and for the first time all night, she was quiet.

You glanced over at her, wondering if she was feeling the same undercurrent of tension that you were.

Without a word, she reached for your hand, her touch grounding.

You didn’t have to say anything—it felt like there was an understanding between you two, unspoken but clear.

Once everyone was settled inside, you spoke up, your voice breaking the silence.

“We’re just a few blocks from here. Just take a couple left turns, and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Hotch gave a short nod, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment. “Got it,” he replied, his voice steady.

The engine hummed to life as the SUV pulled away from the curb, the soft sound of the tires on the road blending with the quiet stillness of the night. But the tension, the pull between you and Hotch, was still there—lingering

As you arrived at your and Rebecca’s apartment, Reid turned to you with a kind smile. “It was nice to meet you,” he said sincerely.

“You as well,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with shyness.

Reid stepped out of the SUV and circled around to open the door on Rebecca’s side. As she got out, she turned to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Be good to her, Hotchner,” she said firmly, her voice filled with protective warmth.

Hotch met her gaze in the rearview mirror and gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of her words. Then, his attention shifted to you, his dark eyes calm yet piercing.

You tried to focus, but your thoughts were spinning. One question had been circling in your mind ever since Rebecca had scribbled it in your notebook. It felt too big to ignore.

You looked up at Hotch, hesitating for a moment. “Can I ask you an off-the-record question?” you finally managed, your voice tentative as you wrestled with your nerves.

“Of course,” he replied gently, his tone inviting trust.

Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out: “Are you… gay?”

Hotch’s brows knitted together in confusion as he processed your question.

Your eyes widened in panic. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what came over me,” you blurted, flustered and immediately regretting your boldness.

Before he could respond, the sound of his phone vibrating cut through the moment. He pulled it out, his expression sharpening as he read the message.

“It’s Reid,” Hotch said, his tone calm but clipped. “He says your ex is waiting for you on the steps.”

Your stomach dropped, a cold wave of fear washing over you. “What?”

Hotch hesitated, reading the message again. What he didn’t say aloud was the rest: He’s got Rebecca. He’s holding her arm.

“Hey,” Hotch said firmly, drawing your attention back to him. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got this, all right?”

You nodded shakily, though your hands trembled. Together, you stepped out of the SUV and made your way toward the apartment.

Your heart dropped when you saw Nate—his hand gripping Rebecca’s arm as Reid tried to intervene.

“Get your hands off her!” you shouted, rushing forward despite the fear gripping you.

Nate turned, his face twisted with anger. “Oh, so you’re with the suit guy now?” he spat, his voice venomous.

“Nate, let her go,” you demanded, your voice stronger this time. “Let her go now.”

Hotch stepped in beside you, his presence commanding. “You need to leave. Now,” he said, his voice low and firm, brooking no argument. “Unless you’d prefer I call my team and have you in handcuffs for harassment. Got it?”

Nate hesitated, glaring at you and then at Hotch. But something in Hotch’s tone—or maybe the promise of a full FBI team arriving—made him think better of it. With a muttered curse, he let go of Rebecca and stormed off.

Hotch stepped closer to you, his arm brushing against yours protectively as he watched Nate leave. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his steady presence grounding you.

You turned back to Rebecca, rushing to her side as tears welled in your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rebecca said, her voice breaking as she pulled you into a hug. The two of you clung to each other, the weight of the moment spilling out in shared tears.

“I thought I had him,” Reid said apologetically, looking at Hotch with guilt in his eyes.

“It’s fine,” Hotch reassured him, his tone firm but understanding. “You did everything you could.”

The four of you stood there for a moment, the tension easing as you realized it was finally over—for now. But as Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your back, you couldn’t help but feel safe, like everything might really be okay.

Hotch turned to you as the tension began to fade, his presence still steady and reassuring. “Good night,” he said gently, his dark eyes meeting yours. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth in his words that helped ease some of the lingering panic.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Reid stepped forward, offering Rebecca a comforting hug before giving you both a small smile. “Good night,” he added warmly.

“Good night,” you and Rebecca said in unison, your voices subdued but sincere.

You and Rebecca headed toward the apartment as Hotch and Reid got back into the SUV. The low hum of the engine reached your ears as the vehicle pulled away, disappearing into the night.

Once inside, you both stopped for a moment to catch your breath, the events of the night weighing heavily on you.

“Man, what a night,” Rebecca muttered, breaking the silence.

“Not exactly the kind I was hoping for,” you replied with a soft laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Rebecca said, her voice trembling.

You turned to her, shaking your head firmly. “This isn’t your fault, Rebecca. Do you hear me? None of this is your fault. You didn’t know Nate would show up at the club, and you definitely didn’t know he’d be waiting for us here.”

Rebecca let out a shaky breath, her eyes glistening. “I guess none of us expected to meet the FBI tonight either.”

At that, you couldn’t help but giggle, the tension breaking just a little. “Yeah, not exactly a normal Wednesday night.”

Rebecca gasped, her hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Oh my God, you’re laughing! Who are you, and what have you done with my stressed-out best friend?”

You grinned. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” You paused, the weight of the evening still heavy but beginning to lift. “I need a hot shower,” you added, stretching your arms.

Rebecca perked up. “Pizza?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a nod.

“I’ll order it,” she offered, already pulling out her phone

“Great. Extra cheese, please,” you called over your shoulder as you made your way to the bathroom.

The sound of water cascading from the showerhead was a soothing balm, washing away the tension of the evening. You leaned your forehead against the cool tile, letting the steam wrap around you like a comforting embrace. For the first time in hours, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply.

When you stepped out of the shower, the faint aroma of freshly delivered pizza filled the apartment. You grabbed your phone from the counter, smiling at the text message that had come in while you were in the shower.

Hotch: Stay safe. We’re here if you need us. And to answer your off-the-record question… No, I’m not gay. It was nice meeting you tonight. See you Friday for your interview. Also… Reid is absolutely crazy for your friend.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you read the message. A warmth bloomed in your chest, the earlier embarrassment of your question melting into something lighter—something you couldn’t quite name yet.

“Pizza’s here!” Rebecca called from the kitchen.

“Perfect timing,” you replied, setting your phone down as you padded into the living room, the smell of pizza making your stomach rumble.

Rebecca handed you a plate, raising her eyebrows when she saw the faint blush on your cheeks. “What’s got you smiling like that?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, taking a big bite of pizza to avoid further questioning.

But as Rebecca turned back to the TV, you glanced at your phone again, the message still glowing on the screen. You couldn’t stop the small smile from returning.

Maybe tonight wasn’t all bad after all.

The next couple of days flew by in a blur of school assignments, internship tasks, and the lingering emotions from that unforgettable night.

Before you knew it, it was Friday—the day of your interview with Hotch.

You were both nervous and excited, knowing the interview wasn’t just for your school paper but also for Vogue, the magazine where you were interning.

Rebecca had insisted on driving you to the BAU office, claiming it was the least she could do after everything that had happened.

“Why are you so calm?” you asked, staring at her in disbelief as she hummed along to the radio.

“I’m not the one interviewing an FBI Unit Chief,” she replied with a grin. “That’s all you.”

You sighed, glancing down at your nearly blank notebook. Despite your best efforts over the past couple of days, your mind had been an absolute mess.

You’d written a few questions, but none of them felt right.

“I can’t think,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “Help me.”

Rebecca gave you a sympathetic look as she pulled up to a stoplight. “Okay, how about this: start with the basics. Ask him what made him want to join the FBI.

Then maybe something about the most rewarding part of his job.”

You nodded, jotting her suggestions down. “That’s good. What else?”

“Hmm… maybe ask him about the hardest case he’s ever worked on or what it’s like to manage a team under so much pressure.”

You scribbled furiously, feeling a small spark of inspiration.

“Also,” Rebecca added with a mischievous grin, “you should totally ask him how he manages to look so intimidating all the time.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, because that wouldn’t be awkward at all.”

Rebecca shrugged, her grin widening. “Hey, it’s a valid question.”

By the time you arrived at the BAU, you had a decent list of questions, though your nerves were still in overdrive. Rebecca parked and turned to you, her expression softening.

“You’re going to be great,” she said firmly.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Thanks, Beck.”

When you walked into the BAU office, you couldn’t help but be awed by the energy of the space. Agents moved with purpose, phones rang in the background, and the atmosphere hummed with quiet intensity.

A receptionist greeted you and directed you to a conference room where Hotch was waiting.

As you entered, you spotted him standing by the table, reviewing some papers. He looked up as you approached, his calm and collected demeanor instantly grounding you.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a small, welcoming smile. “You must be here for the interview.”

“Yes,” you replied, extending your hand. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Agent Hotchner.”

“Call me Hotch,” he said, shaking your hand firmly.

You settled into a chair, opening your notebook as you tried to steady your nerves.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his tone professional yet kind.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before diving into your first question.

“What made you want to join the FBI?” you began, your voice steadier than you’d expected.

Hotch leaned back slightly, considering your question. “Originally, I worked as a prosecutor.

But I realized I wanted to be more involved in preventing crime rather than addressing it after the fact. The FBI offered me the chance to make a difference in a more hands-on way.”

You scribbled down his response, already feeling more at ease. “What’s the most rewarding part of your job?”

He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Knowing that we’re able to bring closure to victims and their families. It’s not always easy, but when we solve a case, it reminds us why we do what we do.”

“What’s the hardest case you’ve ever worked on?” you asked next, your voice quieter as you sensed the weight of the question.

Hotch’s jaw tightened slightly, and you could see a flicker of something—pain, maybe—flash in his eyes. “Every case involving children is difficult,” he admitted. “Those are the ones that stick with you the most.”

You nodded solemnly, feeling a pang of empathy. “How do you manage the pressure of leading a team in such high-stakes situations?”

Hotch folded his hands on the table, his tone steady. “I trust my team. They’re some of the most capable people I’ve ever worked with. We rely on each other, and that makes all the difference.”

As the interview continued, you couldn’t help but notice how thoughtful and measured Hotch was with each response. Despite his stoic exterior, there was a quiet strength and kindness to him that made you feel completely at ease.

By the time you wrapped up, you had pages of notes and a new level of admiration for him.

“Thank you again for taking the time to do this,” you said as you gathered your things.

“It was my pleasure,” Hotch replied, standing as you prepared to leave. “And remember, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

As you walked out of the BAU, you couldn’t help but smile. When you glanced at your phone, a new message popped up from Hotch:

Hotch: Stay safe. We’re here if needed. Also, it was nice meeting you again. And Reid wasn’t kidding—he’s definitely interested in your friend.

You laughed softly, tucking your phone back into your bag. As the BAU disappeared behind you, you felt a sense of pride—and maybe something more—that you couldn’t quite put into words yet.

Thank you for taking time to read this I appreciate it

Much love Kris 🫶🏻💌 part two coming soon ..

Tag list

@hoe4hotchner besties name is in it so had to tag her 🫶🏻💕 thank you for , just for being you . You are an inspiration to me so wanted to add you in this fic .. thank you for being so kind to me .

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@angellsell

@catssluvr

@hotchs-big-hands

@hoe4hotchnerlibrary 🫶🏻💕

[yell0wsalt]

Fic: Only The Two of Us

For @meljaymicrofics Day 20 Power Couple by Labrinth

Relationship: Jayce Talis/Mel Medarda

Rating: T

Summary: Gods, he couldn’t wait to marry her. As Jayce pressed his lips to her forehead, he whispered, “I love you, too.” 

OR Even though class differences told them “no,” Mel and Jayce would prove it all wrong.

cw: briefly implied sexual content

word count: 1299

It was a decidedly lazy Thursday night. Nothing in particular was going on, making it the perfect night to relax and spend time for nothingness together. Mel was lying inverted on Jayce’s couch briefly admiring her newly painted nails while watching her boyfriend Jayce sit on the floor before her workon his latest side project of tinkering with materials for his 3D printer.

Playing on the stereo, soft R&B was the perfect background noise for the time to unwind together. Life has been busy lately on both ends they didn’t have much a chance to simply be in the other’s presence.

When Jayce finished what he was working on, he scooted back to the base of the couch, visibly trying to piece together certain words that had been steaming at the back of his head for at least the past couple of hours since Mel’s been over.

“You know…”

Mel’s ears perked up and she turned her head to the side, facing him curiously. “No. Tell me.”

The tips of his ears heated with a soft blush. “I’ve always dreamed of a quiet life like this. Admittedly indulgent in the possibility of marrying you one day.” 

His confession immediately made Mel swivel to an upright position and take her seat from on the couch to the floor beside him. “Jayce…”

“I mean it, Mel. I know we are still pretty young in figuring things out with work and our place, but I… I wouldn’t want to do any of that with anyone else but you!”

Mel cut Jayce off, her lips capturing his in a charged kiss. Pulling away she swatted at the air between them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “Go ahead,” she offered encouragingly. 

Jayce smiled at that. “I want to be able to work towards building a house with you. A life with you… Kids, too! If… if that’s what you want, of course.”

The sheepish addition to Jayce’s proud confession made Mel stifle her giggle with a hand over her mouth.

“I love you, Mel Medarda. Would you–”

“Yes,” she breathed eagerly.

“Would you at least let me finish asking?”

Every fiber of Mel’s being was vibrating into another plane and she nodded, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. The gold reflected in her green eyes sparkled with excitement watching Jayce compose himself and dig a hand into one of his pant pockets.

“Would you marry me, Mel Medarda?” The small ring box flicked open, Jayce presenting its contents to Mel.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” Barreling her boyfriend– fiancé– in a hug powerful enough to tip the both of them over on the floor, Mel placed kisses long and short all over Jayce’s mouth. 

For a long time, Mel and Jayce laid on his bedroom floor, chests heaving trying to catch their breaths. When they finally evened out, Jayce wrapped a strong arm around Mel’s waist, holding her steady as he pressed themselves up to an upright position once more. 

Cupping his face tenderly, Mel whispered sincerely against his lips, “Yes, I would love to marry you, Jayce Talis”

Caressing her left hand in his, Jayce slid the ring onto her finger delicately. A perfect fit.

Admiring the new jewelery from all angles, Mel’s eyes widened in awe. “Jayce… you made this, didn’t you?”

His lips twitched to a half smile. “You caught that? I wanted to get you one of the nicer rings from one of the stores in the fashion district downtown, but the tight salary of a budding engineer doesn’t have much grace right now. Metallurgy has been a skill paying dividends, though.”

A kiss planted on his lips silenced such doubts and insecurity. “Your signature touches to your crafts are unmistakeable. I love it and you, Jayce. I wouldn’t have wanted this any other way.”

“Part of me wanted to wait until our futures were more secure, but I don’t think I could have waited any longer,” he sheepishly admitted.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I do want to ask your mother for permission, first.”

Mel’s eyes fluttered into a soft eye roll. “You know that’s a long outdated practice. You don’t actually have to do that anymore.”

“I know, but I want to. This is a big deal and your mother deserves to know. I’ll probably do it tomorrow.”

“Mhm. Okay,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to his neck and strong jawline. 

That night they rode the high of commencing a new chapter into their lives in making love, bubbly with anticipation of what the future could bring them.

As they laid together under the sheets on the precipice of slumber, Mel nuzzled deeper into Jayce’s firm chest. “I love you, Jayce,” she said dreamily.

Gods, he couldn’t wait to marry her. As Jayce pressed his lips to her forehead, he whispered, “I love you, too.” 

 ****

Ambessa Medarda was one of those women whose aura alone could make even the strongest of soldiers cower at her feet. 

Due to distance and scheduling conflicts there were few opportunities Jayce and Ambessa got the opportunity to meet, but every time they did, Jayce could feel his balls shrinking up into his stomach. It was hard to admit that feeling never got any easier.  

Pouring his heart out to Ambessa, Jayce’s hands itched to fiddle with his ascot, as if the action would bring more air into his lungs. He chose to cling to his dress pants instead.

Ambessa’s critical eye and heavy silence only amplified the tightening around Jayce’s neck and blood thundering in his ears. The drumming finally ceased when her answer cut through the tension as a spear. 

“No.”

Jayce slowly blinked. His face contorted into multiple depictions of confusion. “Wait, what?”

Ambessa took a brief sip of her tea and shook her head. “The Medardas are a conglomerate force who have their hands in industries from entertainment to politics to general education. You think my daughter would be truly satisfied by someone such as yourself? You have a fraction of a fraction to your name compared to the Medardas. Be honest with yourself, child. She can do better. And she will. For that I cannot give you my blessing.”

Jayce could not have been more grateful that in that moment he was already sitting. His kneecaps were jelly.

“But…” Jayce began to scramble in his justification, which turned futile. “But I love her! I would live and die for her!”

The sentiment rolled off Ambessa as a water drop on impermeable stone. “Your chivalrous nature is commendable, child. My answer, however, is set.”

As Ambessa called for one of the butlers to escort Jayce to the exit, he shrugged it off bitterly. He knew his way out, clearly unwelcome in the Medarda’s circle. Fuck it all, he would prove them all wrong. Ambessa, tradition, matters of worth…

All of it.

****

As he laid in Mel’s lap recounting the events with her mother, the light scratches Mel provided by the nape of his neck abruptly ceased. “She what?!” 

“I’m sorry, Mel.”

Coaxing him to sit upright next to her, Mel wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Granted her disapproval stings, it is honestly surprising, knowing we’ve been dating for a while now. We’ll figure this out… together, okay?”

A glimmer of light returned to Jayce’s eyes. “You’d still want to get married?”

“Of course. She doesn’t get us and we’re going to be okay with that. Career matters and other affairs will be sorted another day. I don’t want or need the Medarda name, Jayce. Only you.”

A kiss to Mel’s inner wrist then on her lips, Jayce’s chest bloomed with warmth and he smiled. It was the first genuine one that reached his eyes all day.

[fangdokja]

Woahhh. Your page is very pretty! Very aesthetically pleasing. That must have taken a lot of energy and effort.

Your writing is also soo mind stimulating. I'm flabbergasted 💕.

Your blog deserves to look as good as your writing—here's how to do it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Discover quick and easy tips to elevate your Tumblr blog and fic aesthetics with cohesive designs, color coding, and formatting tricks—consider this your warm-up for the ultimate design guide!

♡ Book. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Word Count. 2,237

♡ Series. The Aesthetic Tumblr Blog Starter Pack - Part 1

♡ Banner's Story. Trust no one. Not even yourself.

♡ A/N. Actually, it's "casual"; but it's full of tutorials on how to achieve stuff like the picture below (and more), especially when designing your blog and fics. I only called it casual because it's not really formally organized like my usual. I literally typed all of this while I'm in a meeting, haha. Anyways, I'll show you how I design my blog and content.

designs + gradient texts + banner images like this: I love my Daddy Dom husband.

OK! START!

Aw, thank you, Anon. That’s the first time someone has commented about the aesthetics on the page. Thank you :)) And, yeahhh. Bro. You have no idea. Of course, the page didn’t always look like that.

I’m also glad you love the writing. I’m curious about which one’s your favorite so far, or what stories you like haha. It’s always interesting to see what content attracts people in general, just plain curious. But no pressure in answering though, just have fun and relax here. That’s all I want for you, Readers. Yes, even if it’s the erotic horror books and stories haha.

Glad to have flabbergasted you. Haha. Now! Story time! Since, I always like to reply as comprehensive as possible to each of your efforts in commenting, reblogging, or even just reading. I’m extremely thankful for the support :))

Actually, even the older stories in “A Heart Devoured” looked different aesthetically before. I experimented with a lot of things in this blog, even aesthetically.

Force of habit, but when I really enjoy something, I get into it full force. I’m usually lazy and such haha. But I can write like 7+ hours without breaks at all. Yes, even food and sleep. Would not recommend though.

My husband takes care of me usually. When I get “hyper focused”, I really have this mental space to just keep writing (or working in general). As long as I have fun, I can really commit to it whatever time of day. Though… of course, when adrenaline runs out, I get really tired after. But nothing that can’t be fixed.

Anyways. Back to the topic at hand.

Tumblr blog recommendations. If you want to start your own blog in general.

Based on general research and experience (e.g. searching top fanfics or posts), it solidifies that Tumblr really is heavy on visual content. It’s why art and short form, easily consumed, content does better here.

Usually, fanfics not as much. Again. My mindset (and the truth) is that Tumblr is a very VISUAL platform.

So, I made the effort to create pictures, and see in both in the phone and laptop on how it looks. Phone especially, since most users scroll on mobile. Convenient and easily accessible.

Anyways. I guess “business mindset”? I don’t know. Weird.

But, I always look at statistics, especially before. It’s something measurable and to see if there's more I can improve on in general. Aside from the fact people LOVE smut, and anything sex in Tumblr.

Until now, unfortunately, I don't know what post will blow up or not. To be completely honest. It's like sometimes I think this work is shiz (e.g. the recent Yandere! Nerd story), and that's doing extremely well. I'm shocked. Other times, stories that I think would do well didn't do as well in terms of stats.

So, honestly, I don't know how the system works. I'm still learning the ropes as well. Technically I know how it goes about, but on what content actually does well?

Well, even word count sometimes doesn't come into play. The Yandere! Ex-boyfriend story (could also low key because Gojo-like personality? idk)? That had a higher word count than average posts, at 9k words! But that story also did extremely well. That wasn't even a smut fanfic! I've posted drabbles and even 1k-2k (or even average 4k-5k) words stories and works that performed less than that.

In Tumblr, it's recommended to post shorter fics. The average for smut fics for instance is around 5k words, for example.

BUT. For some ODD reason. When it comes to my audience, you supportive Readers, it's like longer fics work better for you all jsfklfsdk. So, that's that...

At first, it would be good to experiment with anything from aesthetics to word count, beyond just your writing style and story content. That's what I did. Anything under the sun that I enjoyed, and by looking at top posts and seeing what they did.

I got a lot of aesthetic ideas from JJK smut fics. I don't read those haha. But my current formatting for fics? Those ideas were adapted from JJK smut fics, like this:

Do you want to know what's ironic? I don't read smut fics at all, like even back then. I tried it before, but the brain dead stuff wasn't working for me. If I were to read sex, it can't be the main point. Like my current writing style, there has to be plot, usually yandere non-con in general helped. Of course, never encountered a yandere author (or can't find any yet) that actually willingly kills the Reader or MC. It's due to circumstances or stresses at most, but never voluntary. No actual danger. Oh well. Rambled.

See the similarities in aesthetics for my work? It's pretty obvious, yeah? haha

These are the following similarities:

ALWAYS have a Banner image. Think of this like the cover page of your book, it has to be eye-catching and tell Readers a vibe of what's in the story. The rest of the design and text has to be color-coded with the banner image to create synergy and cohesiveness in design. Symmetry or concepts related to it makes your work appear neat. Yes, you have to consider this to add to your professionalism when presenting to your Readers.

ALWAYS have a Hook Statement. This isn't necessarily your fic's title, it's a single statement usually, concise and meant to incite interest among readers. Think of it like the first 3-5 seconds of a TikTok video or short-form videos. These hooks are meant to capture your interest straight away or you'll just scroll past.

ALWAYS have a Synopsis or summary of your content. This is especially needed for longer works or prose that are in traditional narrative forms. Gives a taste to the readers, so they know what they're getting into or before they commit.

ALWAYS have a Word Count. So your readers know what they're getting into. People are busy and have their own lives, some want to have a quick read of serotonin. Others are in a relaxed state and can afford to read long works. So, don't worry, your works will attract its readers naturally. Just be consistent in writing and posting. That's key. Show up even if you don't want to, if you really are committed to your blog and work.

ALWAYS have Trigger Warnings. As a Dead Dove author, it's a requirement for me to do so, especially for explicit works. It's not a weakness, it's respect to your readers. Also, it will help drive away people who get turned off or triggered by certain works. Don't make your life harder later, just be transparent now, so people don't annoy or send hate mail to you.

ALWAYS have a Divider. This was made by me, like majority of my graphic design works for my fics. This divider is simply to make your work more neat as well, and to VISUALLY show what people are getting into. It can both advertise your name, and also warn Readers if they don't read trigger warnings. Yes, some people don't bother with the details.

ALWAYS have "Ads". Yes, I technically advertise my other works. How? Through connecting the Masterlist link, the book where the work they're reading is located in. If they want to read more, they can read more "here". It's the equivalent of how social media recommends content that you may like. Look at the examples below, it's like that.

In these ASKS, I also link my works when casually chatting. And it works. Why do I ramble and do these Asks? It's not just to create a sense of community, but also to "advertise" my works. Look at this example ask.

The person talked about Paternal Privilege and commented on it, saying how the yandere is like this character from Love and Deepspace. So people who are interested in the game or have not heard about my work yet (like if you're a new reader and haven't read my old works), they can check out my work. See? I linked my work at the end. Yes, in each masterlist, I even "advertise". Can be annoying to others, but it does help spread awareness about my works in general. Every piece of interaction is cherished and crucial in building your audience.

This is an example of how what usual formatting looks like:

I also put author notes just for fun. This one isn't really a recommendation, but just for personal preferences. To communicate with readers about my writing processes and other matters or updates. But, again, it's just a personal thing.

Now, how do I make this? CANVA. This is how part of my workspace in Canva looks like:

Actually, for me, it's still kind of messy. I haven't fixed a lot of things yet for my work since I'm also busy. But this is a general idea.

I've been using Canva for years, even before it blew up. When it first came out, I've been using it already, so I've gotten a lot of practice with it. Though, I do use Canvas Teams; because I also use Canva for work, so a lot of features are available already to help me.

While working on my blog, I never considered myself a graphic designer even before my blog. But, to be honest, I ate my words again. My husband already said before I am also a graphic designer, not just an artist, so.... yeah.... I generally improved a lot more as well because I'm constantly churning out new content. Basically even if I think it's shiz, I still continue, post, work. Same concept with fics. Just keep working, even if you don't see it, with each work (even if it's unfinished), you're improving.

If you notice, I have 3 different covers for "World Ablaze." I had to repeat the finished product 3 times, because the cover was shiz compared to the others. And these weren't drafts. But, hey, got to use the other covers for my posts.

For Tumblr posts in general, I just pick two sizes and upscale it for higher image quality:

Tumblr Banner

Wattpad Book Cover

For the divider, it's 1350 x 80 px.

For my usual formatting in Tumblr banners, I usually go for this formatting. I just use grids on a new project:

And then choose the 4 picture grids, before looking at Pinterest and getting pictures.

I ALWAYS add filters, and upscale the image:

And, for texts, I just pick, usually gothic texts since it's my personal fav. I just substitute already preset design texts usually, just changing the actual text.

Like if you see "Recently Used", I just press the given text and place my title. Then, I do edit the "text effects" usually; mostly Neon so it pops out the title, since people usually use phones with smaller texts.

Just with those steps, I'm able to make covers like this:

♡ Ink & Insight. The writer's essential to fictional writing, no matter what genre you may be in. Though, if you're a dark content writer, then you're in for a treat.

And, for color coding texts. I use these two sites:

The uiGradients is for getting easy color codes to paste the code in the Fiddle. Then just paste the generated HTML code in your Tumblr post.

For the Fiddle, paste the color codes in the corresponding HTML line 3 and 4, where it says "first" and "last".

I picked a red color from uiGradients:

Then I paste it here:

Then, place your text or whatever title you want here:

Press run, and copy the text generated.

Then go to your Tumblr Post:

Change the "Text Editor" into HTML:

Switch to the HTML tab, then copy your text from the Fiddle:

It's supposed to be long, and that's fine. It's because of the gradient code required in the text:

Final Output looks like this:

I love my Daddy Dom husband.

Hope that was an easy tutorial to follow, haha.

Anyways.

Hope this post helps people! Whether you're a writing blog or another kind of blog, I hope these tips will help you! :))

P.S. As I'm writing this, I just realized something. I'm actually in a lecture for Brand Positioning. And, it actually fits well with this topic, haha. Is it obvious I come from business? hahahahah. Also I just realized, I have a lot to say on this topic.... huh.