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bbokicidal · 3 days ago

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SKZ + Bulking

Synopsis: In which you figure out/realize your boyfriend is bulking up for whatever reason. And he figures out how much you like it.

Genre: Fluff/Suggestive Pairing: OT8 x GN!Reader Warnings: These scenarios DO talk about body image so if that makes you uncomfortable, do not read this. 18+ because there is sex mentioned. Also Chan's is just fluffy, sorry.

Chan:

"Are you.." Your words fall on nearly-deaf ears as you step into the bedroom, your boyfriend's nose buried in the screen of his laptop as he mixed a beat - silenced to the world by his headphones. He has one of the muffs tucked back behind his ear so he can hear you if you need him, and he peeks over when he realizes you were talking.

"Hm?"

"Are you bigger?" You question, eyes slowly raking over Chris' body which currently adorned nothing more than a black tank top and a pair of his sleeper shorts. The man pauses, smiles, and then giggles.

"No," He peeps through his smile full of teeth, eyes a soft crescent as his hands come up to his shoulders as if hiding away from your curious gaze. "Don't look at me like that!" Chris giggles out soon after, turning away. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he had been bulking a little bit just to see how his body would take it. He hadn't noticed anything different so far, but you seem to have - which only made him all the more giddy and flustered.

Minho:

Slowly turning his head in your direction, Minho's eyes fall wide and cat-like as he stares over at you in return to feeling your burning gaze searing holes into his poor back. ".... What?" He questions, already knowing you're about to ask him something with the way you look him over.

"Nothing," You hum, approaching to gently hug onto your boyfriend from behind while he prepares to cook dinner. "You just look a little more... broad, is all." Your lips meet his shoulder and Minho hums with a small smile.

He nods, "I've been working out a little more. Trying a routine Changbin told me about." Minho's gaze flickers back to the food, then in your direction even if he can't see you behind him. "... Broad is good, right?"

Your giggles fill his ears and he smiles. "Yes, baby. Broad is good. Broad is sexy."

Minho's brow cocks. He sucks the inside of his cheek in thought. Maybe dinner could wait - Dessert would have to come first tonight.

Changbin:

"You're so soft," Your mumbles are muffled in Changbin's chest, your face buried right between those big ol boobies his pecs. He's been laughing the entire time since you've laid atop him like he was your personal body pillow - which, he kind of was with how warm and soft he was to lay on. "I'm gonna stay here forever."

"I have to get up eventually," Changbin teases with a giggly smile, his arms wrapping over your back before he gently squeezes you into him. The whine that escapes your throat is breathless but content and it makes him laugh yet again. "Like that?"

"Love it," You sigh against him. "You're so warm and I just wanna --" Changbin sucks in a breath when your hands find his sides, fingers gently squeezing and kneading at the warmth of his stomach. He chuckles shortly after, cheeks turning rosy at the contact with his lower half. "Mm."

He peeks down to you, mimicking your hum in question. "... Did -- Uhm. Did you notice?"

"Did I notice you're bigger than before?" You lift your head to peer at your boyfriend and he smiles, cheeks dimpling. "Of course I did. I noticed when you hugged me. Your arms are frickin' huge. Could knock me out in a chokehold with those bad boys."

Changbin's smile falls and he stares down at you in reply, to which you mimic his expression. There seems to be a silent conversation happening when his brow cocks and you just smile at him. Yeah - You'd be getting backshots while being held in a chokehold later.

Hyunjin:

Overworking himself in the practice room wasn't something uncommon for Hyunjin to do. He was always in there, sweating away, practicing hard for new choreography and comebacks. Only this time you were there with him - which was something new, especially because he wasn't used to a shocked and excited gasp coming from behind him when he rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt to show his upper arms and shoulders.

"Oooh, look at these beauties," Your teasing words meet Hyunjin's ears just as he feels your hands wrap around one of his biceps. He looks over at you in slight surprise - You're touching him when he's dripping sweat from practice without any care in the world. His eyes fall to your hands around his arm before he smiles, a subtle but sweet giggle falling from his lips.

His cheeks dimple deep as he looks into the mirror when you peer at him, squeezing and kneading at the muscle under your hands. And of course your boyfriend flexes just to show off, rolling his sleeve just a little higher for you to get a gander at his guns. "Right? I've been working out more."

"I can tell," You coo beside him and he laughs out again, a bit breathless. His gaze lingers on you a little longer than it probably should have but you don't seem to mind, understanding just from the way he gazed at you that what you had said - and your admiration of his hard work - was a bit of a turn on for him. Nothing you couldn't help him out with later. ~

Jisung:

"You're the size of Chan, look at this! Look at this picture, Ji!"

But Jisung's in a fit of laughter, arms curled around his stomach as he rolls on the couch to face away from you. He can't look at the picture or he's only going to grow more nervous and shy. Jisung gasps out with a laugh as he peeks back at the comparison picture you had pulled up.

He'd been bulking for almost three months now and it was growing more and more obvious day by day. His arms were thick and you had noticed it as time went on - and Jisung was adamant on saying he wasn't that big, he wasn't that strong or bulky -- But you had other plans.

"I'm not as big as him-! Look at that, Look at how veiny he is-!" Jisung points at the picture before looking away again, his ears pink at the tips. "Aaah - Don't make me look again..!"

And you laugh out this time in return, hugging onto your boyfriend to bring him closer. "You're the one working out, Jisung, you're going to have to face the consequences of me being turned on by it." And Jisung pauses, eyes wide as he peeks back at you.

"You like it that much?" He peeps, eyes scanning your face. As you nod in reply, his cheeks burn red at the thought of it all. His gaze averts into the distance and he sighs out, looking more than determined all of a sudden. "I'm going to keep bulking forever..!"

Felix:

"I saw your runway videos. You looked incredible, sweetheart."

"Thank you, angel." Felix smiles from where he sits beside you, his body turned so he could lay in your lap. His shoulders pressed against your thigh and even then you could tell he was gaining more muscle - He didn't feel as thin as he had a few months or so prior. "Could you tell I was working out before I walked? Not right before, but. Before that day. Up until that day." He chuckles, looking up from his phone to peer at you.

When you nod in affirmation, he smiles. "Really?"

"Mhm. Your arms and chest look thicker than I think they ever have. It's a good look on you, Lixie. Are you happy with the results of your hard work?" Your hand brushes down his arm and his smile only grows as he nods against your thigh.

"Mm. I like how I look a lot, actually. I think it suits me."

"I think so too." You hum, eyes softening as you look down at him. Felix can feel the slight shift of energy between the two of you and his smile turns bright, knowing.

"My body turns you on so much you wanna have sex?"

"I wanna have sex."

Seungmin:

"You.. do know I can feel you staring at me, right?"

You blink a few times in slight embarrassment and turn your gaze away. "Sorry.."

"What's wrong?" Seungmin seems to assume something negative had happened as he sits beside you, placing a bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table.

"Eh - What? Nothing. Nothing, just -- The recent SKZCode video, you were wearing that tank top and you looked so..."

Seungmin's chest tightens as he stares over at you. He seems to think you're going to say something bad or say he looked weird and so he braces himself for the words to come from your mouth.

"You looked really sexy, min. It's a good look on you. Your shoulders are so broad and square. I just.." You shrug gently in reply and Seungmin nods, appreciating the compliment. "And you looked kind of.. bigger than I've seen before."

Seungmin blinks at this. Bigger --? His eyes widen, falling on the coffee table. Could you tell he was working out? He hadn't been planning to tell you, he just.. sort of hoped you wouldn't take notice too much and maybe even think he had always been a bit stronger than he was when you first met. "I've been.. bulking," He admits after a moment. "I can stop if it's too much though."

"What?" You look over, quickly shaking your head. "No--! No, oh my God. Do whatever you want, baby, you look incredible. You should do whatever you want with your body -- It's yours, not mine. But," You pause, cheeks rosy. "You do look really good right now."

He chuckles, biting into his lip in thought. "Thank you. Think I'll keep going, then. For me -- and you." He looks over and you have to look away to keep yourself from going insane - especially when he shrugs his flannel off and sits there in a tank top for the entirety of your movie night with his arm over the back of the couch.

Jeongin:

"Oh my GOD."

Jeongin drops off of the bar he had been holding onto to do pull-ups as his gaze shoots over in your direction. He stares, eyes holding a bashful glint at being caught working out. Well, not caught but - you'd never been present for it before.

"Look at you, look at this!" You beam, reaching out to gently hold onto your boyfriend's biceps and give them a teasing squeeze. Even when he wasn't flexing, his muscles were so well defined that it was almost.. picture perfect, really. Aesthetically pleasing from every angle even when relaxed. "You look incredible, baby."

And he smiles, dimples deep in his cheeks as he leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips. "Thank you.~ I've been working hard today so I'm sorry if I'm a little sweaty."

"Mm? No, it's fine. You look good even when you're messy like this." You reassure and Jeongin has to kiss you again just for the compliment. "You know with these arms you might be able to toss me around soon. Just saying."

Jeongin cocks a brow, eyes narrowing as he looks down at you in interest. He wastes little to no time before bending down to pick you up, his arms lacing underneath your thighs to hoist you up against him with ease. He couldn't toss you around in the gym, really, but he could fuck you up against the mirror while holding you the entire time. Just to prove he could carry you, of course. Tossing came later.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix

#skz x reader #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #bangchan x reader #felix x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #seungmin x reader #lee know x reader #ayen x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x you

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nereidprinc3ss · 2 days ago

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hard bargain

in which spencer reid tries to convince reader to get out of bed.

fluff (18+ for implied intimacy) warnings/tags: Spencer is down horrifically, post sex, ur difficult in a fun way, fem reader a/n: teeny tiny blurb for today just 2 remind u this is a fanfic blog

Maybe it’s your eyes.

The way you blink up at him as he strains to flick the bedside lamp on and drowns the room in slow, honey-gold light, lashes fluttering and drooping, sweet and sedated. Their limpid, placated shine, so content on him. Maybe it’s the bare expanse of your back when the sheet slips away, the perfect dips and swells of you, like sand dunes shaped smooth in desert winds. Maybe it’s your hair, or the way your lips temporarily deepen in color when they’re so well-kissed.

But, your eyes—he couldn’t look away if he tried.

The idea that anyone would ever look at him like that would’ve been absurd, to a past Spencer.

Maybe it’s everything about you.

“Need to get up,” he reminds you in soft, whispery tones—almost sorrowful for disturbing your divine rest, mourning the perfect arrangement of your limbs, just inches from his own. A positioning that can’t be faked or recreated. Like leaves carried down to the forest floor on a gentle breeze and settling with a private sigh, far from anyone’s prying eyes. It’s not lost on him, this kind of magic. This secret kind of existing you let him in on.

You blink, slow and unworried.

“Can’t.”

“You can,” he assures you, unable to resist from leaning forward and pressing a kiss as light as a snowflake to the tip of your nose. Your face scrunches into a smile.

“Don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“Not ready. I think I need my beautiful perfect angel boyfriend to cuddle me longer.”

Spencer flushes and presses his forehead to yours.

“I hate when you do that.”

“What? When I’m nice to you?”

You reach up to cup his face. Spencer carefully grabs your wrist and kisses your palm.

“When you’re nice to me because you want something and you know it’ll work. Because I’m weak.”

“I just want you,” you say, innocently, devilishly.

“Just,” he scoffs. “I know you. You’re not a girl who just wants anything.”

“Sorry.”

You don’t look sorry. You’re going for pout, but you can’t hide whatever mischief inside you is pleased by his teasing.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers, softened. “You don’t ever need to be sorry. I love giving you what you want. Keep asking me for things.”

You sparkle as he maps the warmed high point of your cheek with a thumb.

“Careful. I might end up a spoiled brat.”

Instead of pointing out that it’s not a matter of might—you’ve already arrived—Spencer exhales a laugh.

“No, no. Never. You just… have… a developed understanding of your wants and needs, and you communicate them efficiently, and to the extent that I am able, I enjoy fulfilling you. Unconditionally.”

Another wide smile, real and gorgeous. He could die happy, as you hold his face like he’s holding yours, and you speak so quietly if he were any further away, if he couldn’t feel your breath on his cheek, he might not be able to hear.

“You make me sound so good.”

“You are,” Spencer promises, speaking through a smile that mirrors your own but is, he can only imagine, not half as radiant. “You’re perfect. You’re actually perfect.”

“No such thing.”

“But there is, because you are. I’m looking at my proof.”

Another warm giggle.

“Well… okay. Say I’m willing to accept this. Doesn’t that mean… if I’m perfect… I don’t need to get up?”

“No. You absolutely do need to get up. But you’re gonna look so pretty doing it.”

You make a face. Spencer kisses it away.

“C’mon. We could get you snacks while we’re up.”

“Or you could get me snacks while I remain lying down.”

“You have to let me incentivize you.”

“Maybe you just have to do it better.”

Spencer huffs.

“Okay. You get up and go to the bathroom. I’ll get you something to eat and I’ll bring it to you once you’re done.”

“Will you read to me?”

“I will read to you.”

“Will you make me breakfast tomorrow?”

“Was it so bad you didn't get any value out of the experience? You have to take me for all that I’m worth?”

“No, no—” you laugh loudly, realizing your mistake. “No! Okay, no. Sex is not transactional. You don’t have to make me breakfast. Thank you in advance for getting me a snack and reading to me. You’re the nicest person ever and I love you so much.”

Spencer blushes and laughs to hide it and buries himself in the crook of your neck. You slip an arm under his ribs to hold him closer, and over the course of a minute or so, the laughter dissipates. A hand finds its way into his hair.

Spencer presses his lips to your skin and hums. “I was gonna make you breakfast anyway.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine

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flipthepaige · 2 days ago

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driver, roll up the partition, please!

includes. SMUT 18+, paige bueckers x fem! reader. public setting still somewhat private, oral, drunk and nasty, little bit of sub paige, praise and begging, grinding, makeup smudging, just all over each other…

about. after your girlfriend gets drafted number one overall, neither of you have the patience to wait until the afterparty. surely the driver won’t mind if paige celebrates a little early… right?

ju speaks. incase you didn’t know, i am @ohbueckers :) mama had to make a whole new blog, but she’s back! this is a bit of filth but i haven’t wrote any good smut in so long so i poured it all out here lol. p gets drafted in less than a month, let’s cope the right way, amen!

“Driver, roll up the partition, please!”

She says it all politely, like her lips aren’t as red as a cherry and swollen, like your hands haven’t untucked and found their way up under her dress shirt, nails scraping over the ridges of her abs, like she hasn’t been grinding against you for the last two blocks, all while tasting like champagne and every bad decision you were always going to make tonight. Your leg is hiked up over her lap, and she’s been kissing you like she doesn’t give a damn that the limo is still moving, that you’re supposed to be on your way to the afterparty, that there’s a whole world outside this car waiting to celebrate her—number one overall, finally Dallas’ rookie.

The second she stood up, walked across that stage, and held up that jersey, she was already thinking about getting back to you. And when she did, when she came striding over, still grinning like a kid on Christmas, the most anticipated person in the room but still just your girl, she grabbed you like she needed proof this was real.

Her arms slid around your waist, pulling you in like she was scared someone might try to take you from her. You smiled up at her, and expressed how proud you were, of course. Her lips brushed your forehead, and she made sure you heard the six words that followed, whispering into your hair, “couldn’t have done it without you.”

This time, your mouth is on her neck before she even finishes her sentence, nipping and sucking at her skin, breathing in her Valentino like you can pick apart every ingredient in it. Too eager for manners, and way too far gone to care, you don’t even hear the driver’s muttered response, not even the hum of the partition sliding up and clicking into place. No more audience. No more distractions. Just you and her. Atleast for a couple more miles.

And Paige? Back like she never left, like she needed that barrier up before she could really lose herself in you. “Ain’t even gon’ take ya time with it?” she teases, smiling as her hands slide down, find the swell of your ass, squeeze like she’s been dying to do it all night. “Fuck, y’so impatient,” she mutters, tilting her head back just enough to let you work, and when you bite down just right, she shivers, the pads of her fingers tightening against your shoulder for some sense of stability.

“Mhm?” You grin against her throat, licking over the marks you just left. “You wanna do something about it?”

Paige groans, large hands already pushing the fabric of your dress up over your hips. The amount of need in her movements is overwhelming, because she’s been too good the entire night. She’s been sitting pretty at that table, shaking hands, doing interviews, feeling your eyes on her and knowing she couldn’t do shit about it. Not yet.

And now she’s got you all to herself.

Paige never does anything halfway, and that includes kissing you like she’s trying to ruin you. Your tongues move all sloppy, the sounds even nastier than the kiss, and you swear you hear the music get louder, vibrating against every corner of the vehicle, the driver clearly trying to drown out the obscene sounds of Paige Bueckers losing it in the backseat. But fuck, you’re not quiet either.

You let two of her fingers push your panties to the side, gasping as they run through your slick. You grip onto her tighter as Paige hoists you fully into her lap, straddling her leg as she whispers filth into your ear.

Big hands, rough from years of handles, crossovers, midrange shots that got her here, but gentle where they need to be—slipping between your thighs, spreading you open like she already knows what she’s gonna find.

Her fingers are slipping through the mess you’ve already made for her, slow at first, just to get you going, because she knows how much you want it, because she likes making you wait. But then you whimper, and it hypnotizes her to do exactly what you wanted her to do.

Paige is fast, but she’s precise despite being intoxicated, two fingers sinking inside you like your pussy was made for her. Your breath catches, body jerking forward, head tipping back against the seat, but she keeps you secure, pressing down on your stomach. “That’s it,” she urges, free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for her. “Lemme hear it, baby.”

“Mfmph, there.” Your fingers wrap around her wrist while hers curl just right, pressing against that spot that has your thighs shaking, your back arching from her chest. The blonde watches you intently, her pupils blown, lips slick and kiss swollen, owning every reaction like it’s another trophy for her collection. “Right there, P” you drag out.

The music gets louder, and you can’t even make out the lyrics, just the beat of something that never falls low. You’re sure you’d have some remorse for the driver if you weren’t about three drinks in and a little fucked out, but you can’t find it, because Paige wants all of it. Every sound, every plea, every desperate, breathless, “Paige, please.”

And, oh, do you give it to her.

Paige groans at the way you say her name, like she can feel it straight between her legs, like it’s fueling her. Her fingers keep working you open, hitting every spot like she knows your body better than her own, because truthfully, she does. She’s mapped you out a hundred times before, but never like this, never this drunk, never with the high of being number one mixing with the high of you.

“That’s my girl,” she praises, watching the way her fingers disappear in and out with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Look so pretty takin’ it, baby. Knew you would.”

You tremble, a moan breaking past your lips, and Paige just grins, like she’s putting on another show, something like the one she just left from. But this one? This one is just for her.

“Almost there?”

You nod frantically, nails digging at her wrist, trying to keep yourself together—but fuck is it hard when she’s all over you like this. She speeds up just a little, the wet sounds of her digits working you over and making your cheeks burn, but Paige loves it. She leans in, licks up the side of your neck, tasting the wreckage.

“Paige,” you pant, eyes fluttering.

“Say it again,” she rasps, her forehead pressed to the side of yours now, her fingers still moving, hips subtly grinding against nothing, like she’s as desperate as you are.

“Paige,” you whimper, and you wish you could say it was voluntary. “I—”

You don’t even get the chance to finish, because Paige presses down on your stomach again, just right, and your whole body reacts—clenching around her fingers, thighs twitching like she just stole every bit of your sanity. You really think she might’ve. Maybe she’s been taking from you this entire night—the air in your lungs, the thoughts from your head, the control you thought you had.

“Yeah, I know,” she talks you through it, lips brushing against your temple, her fingers still working, still curling inside you, playing you like a highlight reel. “Go ‘head, ma. Give it to me.”

Your release crashes into you, body locking up before breaking apart, your moan swallowed by Paige’s mouth as she kisses all of it out of you, eating up every last sound like she needs it, like she wants it dripping down her chin. Her fingers never stop moving, making sure you know she did this to you.

She pulls away with a bite of your lip, savoring the remnants of her own name on your tongue, and for a second, you think she’ll let you breathe, let you come down from the high she just sent you to.

But then she shifts against you the same way she’d been doing all night, grinds her hips up into nothing, and you feel it.

Paige Bueckers, all six feet of her, usually so composed, the one who calls the shots in bed and most of the time out of it—is crumbling for you now, fists gripping at the leather seat like she’s barely holding on.

Your fingers slide down slowly at the realization, popping open her belt, then her slacks, pushing them down just enough to expose the waistband of her boxers.

All you need is five minutes.

So you move. Drop to your knees right between hers, push her legs wider as you settle between them, dragging your palms up her thighs when she breathes out your name in her gravelly Minnesota accent. You let your nails creep up under her shirt, scratching lightly against her lower stomach. Too much teasing for the blonde, not enough mouth.

Paige growls, actually growls, and before you can blink, she grabs your wrist, pressing your hand right over her, rolling her hips into your palm. “Ain’t in the mood for allat,” she mumbles, jaw clenched, pupils dilated. “You know what the fuck I want, baby. Stop stallin’.”

You listen.

Partly because she’s just had the biggest night of her life, the kind of night people dream about. Winning a National Championship just a few weeks prior to getting your name called first for the draft, becoming the face of a franchise, name solidified in history. She worked her ass off for it too, and tonight? Tonight, she made it.

So you listen. You don’t stall, and you swear you hear the music get louder again—like the driver knows exactly what’s about to happen.

The minute you start mouthing at her, you can feel her muscles jump under your lips. Paige inhales, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, rubbing at your skin. The limo rocks slightly, the bass from the speakers rattling through your ribcage, but none of that matters. The only thing you care about is the way Paige is falling apart in your mouth.

She tries to hold out, tries to keep it together, but the way her thighs twitch when your tongue moves just right? The way she shudders when you suck?

“Fuck,” she groans finally, head tipping back, body lunging upward on instinct.

And she loses it.

Because Paige has never been one to sit back and just take it.

Her hips start moving, rolling into your mouth, and you let her, let her use you, let her chase what she needs because you need it too—the way she sounds, the way she tastes, the way her legs start to tremble, thighs pressing against your cheeks and smudging your makeup because she can’t help it.

She’s ruined and a little helpless, mumbling half formed curses and praises that don’t even make sense. You swear you could come again just by listening. “Been needin’ you all night. Keep doin’ that.”

She rides it out while your tongue works in circles, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her there even though she can’t be still, her body shaking along with her hands that can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you away.

You flatten your tongue, holding her down a little rougher when she bucks up against your mouth. She’s so close, right there, her body trying to outrun her own orgasm, but you don’t stop.

“Please—please, baby—feels s’good,” she whines, her fingers tugging at your hair just the way she knows you love, hips stuttering, moans guttural. “Just like that—don’t stop, don’t—”

She chokes on her next breath, her body breaking just like yours did, just like she’s so deserving of.

And when she finally slumps back against the seat, spent, her chest still heaving, her thumb lazily stroking over your cheek, she grins down at you, tired, satisfied, definitely not ready for the whatever afterparty diorama is waiting for her like a coronation.

“Yeah,” she breathes, licking her lips as she pulls you back up into her lap, kissing you like she could go another round, tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste herself.

“Number one pick, baby,” she slurs. “How that sound?”

Like trouble. Like a whole dynasty in the making. Like she’s already on top of the world, and somehow, that ain’t high enough.

You giggle, pressing her cheeks between your fingers as you peck at her lips. “Fucking great. How’s it feel?”

“Feel like I could do this all night,” she mumbles, hips rocking up into you, her need reigniting just like that. She masks it as a slight shift, but you know better. “What about you? Think you got another one in you?”

Like she even needs to ask.

#flipthepaige #paige bueckers #paige bueckers blog #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers smut #wlw smut #wlw yearning #lesbian #lgbtqia

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luna-azzurra · 2 days ago

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How to Write a Character

↠ Start with the basics, because obviously. Name. Age. Gender. Maybe even a birthday if you’re feeling fancy. This is step one because, well, your character needs to exist before they can be interesting. But nobody cares if they’re 27 or 37 unless it actually matters to the story.

↠ Looks aren’t everything… but also, describe them. Yes, we know their soul is more important than their hair color, but readers still need something to visualize. Do they have the kind of face that makes babies cry? Do they always look like they just rolled out of bed? Give us details, not just “tall with brown hair.

↠ Personality isn’t just “kind but tough.” For the love of storytelling, give them more than two adjectives. Are they kind, or do they just pretend to be because they hate confrontation? Are they actually tough, or are they just too emotionally repressed to cry in public? Dig deeper.

↠ Backstory = Trauma (usually). Something shaped them. Maybe it was a messy divorce, maybe they were the middle child and never got enough attention, or maybe they once got humiliated in a spelling bee and never recovered. Whatever it is, make it matter to who they are today.

↠ Give them a goal. Preferably a messy one. If your character’s only motivation is to “be happy” or “do their best,” they’re boring. They need a real goal, one that conflicts with who they are, what they believe in, or what they think they deserve. Bonus points if it wrecks them emotionally.

↠ Make them suffer. Yes, I said it. A smooth, easy journey is not a story. Give them obstacles. Rip things away from them. Make them work for what they want. Nobody wants to read about a character who just gets everything handed to them (unless it’s satire, then carry on).

↠ Relationships = Depth. Nobody exists in a vacuum. Who do they love? Who annoys the hell out of them? Who do they have that messy, can’t-live-with-you-can’t-live-without-you tension with? People shape us. So, shape your character through the people in their life.

↠ Give them a voice that actually sounds like them. If all your characters talk the same, you’ve got a problem. Some people ramble, some overthink, some are blunt to the point of being offensive. Let their voice show who they are. You should be able to tell who’s talking without dialogue tags.

↠ If they don’t grow, what’s the point? People change. They learn things, make mistakes, get their hearts broken, and (hopefully) become a little wiser. If your character starts and ends the story as the same exact person, you just wasted everyone’s time.

↠ Flaws. Give. Them. Flaws. Nobody likes a perfect character. Give them something to struggle with, maybe they’re selfish, maybe they push people away, maybe they’re addicted to the thrill of self-destruction (fun!). Make them real. Make them human.

↠ Relatability is key. Your character doesn’t have to be likable, but they do have to be understandable. Readers need to get them, even if they don’t agree with them. If your character never struggles, never doubts, and never screws up, I have bad news: they’re not a character, they’re a mannequin.

↠ You’re never actually done. Characters evolve, not just in the story, but as you write them. If something feels off, fix it. If they feel flat, dig deeper. Keep refining, rewriting, and letting them surprise you. That’s how you create someone who feels real.

Now go forth and write characters that actually make people feel something. And if you need a reminder, just ask yourself: Would I care if this person existed in real life? If the answer is meh, start over.

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #character development #writer tumblr #writblr #writing help #oc character #writers life #writer community #writers on tumblr

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago

Text

for @a-chance-of-raine - t4t jegulus - very slightly nsfw

“Wait. Stop,” James panted into Regulus’s mouth, making him pause.

And for a moment, Regulus had to curb his annoyance.

They’d been dating for six months. Six months. And at first, he’d very much appreciated James being a gentleman. Chaste kisses for a while, then his hands firmly on Regulus’s shoulders or behind his neck or around his waist when their encounters got more heated. It made him feel safe, especially when he was still working on his feelings toward his body, and his fears about how James might react.

But then time stretched longer and longer. And Regulus started trusting James more and more.

He didn’t worry as much about the other boy’s reaction to him. He just worried about the deep, gnawing need pulsing inside him.

But, six months later, and James was still stopping him every time he so much as ran his hand down his chest.

“James,” he muttered, sitting back and giving him a hard stare. “It’s okay. You don’t have to…to go slow with me anymore. I want…”

But the other boy grimaced, causing Regulus’s stomach to flip. “No! No, Reg it’s not you!” James immediately reassured him, realizing how Regulus had taken his look. “I…I’m going slow for me.”

“Oh!” he swallowed, sitting back, feeling a bit guilty. “Oh, okay! We can go as slow as you want, of course…” but he trailed off, because he was a bit confused. The way James looked at him, with hunger in his eyes and clear desire written over every part of his face, didn’t match up with this.

“I just…” James sighed, and moved back from him a bit as well. “I need to tell you something. But I don’t know how.”

“Oh,” he said again, mind starting to spin towards the worst conclusions. Was James straight, maybe? Or–fuck. Had someone told him?

“I’m trans.”

Regulus gaped for several long moments, certain James was fucking with him.

“Yeah…I…sorry. For not telling you,” the taller boy said sheepishly. “I just…I really like you. And I was nervous…and then, I got worried you’d be mad about me keeping it from you, and it kind of spiralled, and–”

But Regulus burst out laughing, tears streaming down his face.

“It’s kind of shit of you to laugh…” James mumbled, eyes moving down and face turning red.

“No! No, just…I am, too!” Regulus gasped, lightly grabbing James’s cheek and meeting his eyes.

James gasped. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well…that’s great, then!” he replied, eyes lighting up. But then, he frowned. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Regulus asked, tilting his head.

“That explains why Sirius told me we have a lot in common. I thought he meant we both like Quidditch,” James laughed, eyes bright.

Regulus could only chuckle before pulling him back into a kiss. “Idiot,” he mumbled against his lips.

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finelinefae · 3 days ago

Text

trust [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: bambi wants to try something new

word count: 7.9k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), shy reader, boyfriend!h, smut (soft smut like very gentle and loving), inexperienced y/n

this is part 4 of Bambi, read part 3 here

. . .

How do I shave down there without getting red, itchy bumps?

Follow these six simple steps to prepare for your first time!

How to suck dick 101

Y/N scrolled through a Reddit page at her desktop computer at work, the screen glowing softly in the dim office lighting. It was a page she had found after typing into Google, ‘how to prepare for your first time.’ Hundreds of subreddits appeared, each packed with questions and experiences Y/N hadn’t even considered until reading about them. She had fallen down the rabbit hole, finding a question and then getting lost in the responses.

Lostrabbit23: I lost my virginity at 15 and it was the worst experience of my life!!!! Lasted five minutes and the guy came before he even put his dick inside me, I swear.

Redberry5: Lost my virginity at 25 and it was a good experience. I’m glad I waited for the right person.

Whitedude32: Can’t understand how people can still be virgins past 18 tbh - just get it over with and live a little.

Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes absorbing every word on the page. It seemed unnecessary, and she knew she was overthinking as she normally did, but… Y/N had a boyfriend now. A real boyfriend. And with every boyfriend, she knew what was expected.

The more she read, the more she realized how little she knew. A seed of doubt planted itself within her, growing with every scroll. What if Harry found out just how inexperienced she was? What if he didn’t think she looked pretty naked and ended up having second thoughts about being with her? The thought made her stomach twist in knots.

"Are you watching porn?" Lindsey sauntered over to Y/N's desk, balancing a stack of binders on her hip. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she frantically clicked off the incognito tab and opened a random Microsoft Word document.

"W-What?" Y/N stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "No! Of course not."

"Hmm," Lindsey placed the binders down with a soft thud and crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Then why do you look like I just caught you red-handed? That’s not like you."

"I wasn’t doing anything," Y/N blurted, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just looking at today’s meeting notes."

Lindsey leaned in, peering over Y/N’s shoulder. "These notes are from three weeks ago."

Y/N’s eyes darted to the date at the top of the page. "I was catching up?" she added, her voice faltering.

Lindsey raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on her face. "So, is this Reddit obsession new, or have you always had it?"

Y/N’s face burned hotter. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lindsey gave her a pointed look, "You left your tabs open during lunch. Rookie mistake."

Y/N felt like dying, “I did?” She almost felt like crying, embarrassment washing over her entire body she could feel it burning, “I-I was just researching stuff,”

Lindsey’s expression softened slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. " What kind of 'stuff' are we talking about here?"

Y/N hesitated, her fingers nervously tapping the edge of her keyboard. "Just… things. You know, advice. Relationship stuff."

Lindsey’s eyes lit up with curiosity. "Oh, relationship stuff? Now we're getting somewhere. Who’s the lucky man?”

Y/N and Harry were both sure that Lindsey already knew they were an item but they weren’t going to risk slipping their facade by bringing it up, “Just somebody.”

Lindsey looked knowingly, “Okay well are you planning on taking the next step with this just somebody?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. Whenever things got too intense with Harry, she had a habit of pulling away or steering the conversation elsewhere. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to share those moments with him—she did. But she needed to feel ready, to prepare herself for something so intimate.

“I... I think I want to,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes. Her voice trembled as she added, “I just... I just want to be good.”

Lindsey’s expression softened immediately. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, stepping forward to wrap Y/N in a warm hug. The gesture brought a lump to Y/N’s throat. In the weeks since she’d started her new job, Lindsey had become like the older sister she’d never had—someone she could trust completely.

Pulling back, Lindsey held Y/N’s shoulders firmly, her voice gentle but steady. “First of all, you never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Sex isn’t a performance, it’s personal. It’s about intimacy, connection, and trust. Whatever happens is between you and whoever you’re with, and that’s all that matters.

“Second,” she added with a small smile, “it’s not as complicated as people make it seem. Even if it’s awkward or messy at first, that’s okay. You’ll learn together. That’s one of the best parts of being with someone—discovering their little quirks, preferences, kinks and everything inbetween. Trust me, you’ll be fine. And if anyone ever makes you feel less than beautiful in the process? They’re not worth your time.”

Y/N exhaled, feeling a weight lift from her chest. “Oh no, he’s perfect,” she confessed, her voice tinged with a dreamy sigh. “Better than that. He’s... everything.”

Lindsey chuckled, glancing at her watch. “Well, speaking of perfect, it’s time for us to take a well-deserved lunch break.”

“What?” Y/N blinked in surprise as Lindsey grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the door.

Before she could protest further, Lindsey swung open the door to Harry’s office, revealing him seated at his desk in a perfectly pressed suit. Y/N hadn’t seen much of him that morning, and the sight of him made her heart flutter. She wanted nothing more than to cross the room and curl up in his lap.

Harry glanced up, his lips curving into a warm smile as soon as he spotted her.

“We’re taking an early lunch,” Lindsey declared.

Harry raised an eyebrow, checking the clock on his wall. “It’s 11:30. Lunch doesn’t start for another hour.”

Lindsey waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve been working so hard we deserve an extra break.”

Y/N snapped out of her daze just in time to nod in agreement, though the gesture only made Harry’s gaze soften further.

“Is that right, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. “Mhm,” she mumbled. “We’ve been working very hard.”

Harry chuckled, his gaze flicking back to Lindsey. “Fine. An hour extra, but that’s it. If anyone asks, you’re running errands.”

Lindsey grinned. “Yes, boss. Oh, and we’ll need your credit card.”

Harry scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Worth a shot.” Lindsey shrugged, then headed for the door. Before leaving, she shot them a pointed look. “I’ll grab my coat. No funny business, you two. I’ll be waiting outside.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Harry stood, straightening his jacket before walking over to Y/N. He reached for her hand, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Harry,” she whispered, her breath catching as he leaned down to kiss her gently.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to go with Lindsey, you know. You could stay here and spend your lunch break with me.”

The suggestion was far too tempting, and Harry’s smile only made it harder to resist.

“She hasn’t even told me where we’re going,” Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the rapid beat of her heart.

Harry reached down, tangling his fingers with hers. His touch was warm, grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Wherever she’s taking you, make sure you don’t overdo it, okay? We still have plans tonight, remember?”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. Harry had been teasing her about the surprise date all week. She was excited, but also nervous—especially after his cryptic text telling her to wear something she didn’t mind getting dirty.

Harry kissed her again, but their moment was cut short by a loud knock on the door.

“Hurry it up in there! Time’s ticking!” Lindsey’s muffled voice called through the door.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of her, and Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile at the sound.

“Here,” he said, pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer. He slid out a gleaming gold AMEX card and pressed it into her hand.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “O-Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Bambi,” Harry interrupted, his tone firm but affectionate. The nickname made her heart skip. “Take it.”

His commanding presence was enough to make her stop arguing. She looked up at him, cheeks tinged pink, and nodded.

Y/N stared at the card in her hand like it might bite her. “But Harry,” she whispered, glancing up at him with wide eyes, “I don’t even know what to do with this. What if I lose it? What if I spend too much? What if—”

Harry chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Bambi, all you need to do is enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

Her lips parted, and she blinked up at him, unsure what to say. “I’ll take good care of it,” she promised in a tiny voice, clutching the card. “And I’ll bring it right back. I promise I won’t spend too much!”

“I know you won’t,” he murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. “I trust you.”

Before she could overthink it any further, Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead again, lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth of him. “Go have fun.”

Her heart did a nervous little flip at the reminder. “O-Okay,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lindsey’s voice interrupted again, sharp but teasing. “Alright, lovebirds, seriously! I’m giving you ten seconds before I come in there and drag her out myself!”

Y/N squeaked and turned to the door. “Coming!” she called, her voice high-pitched and rushed.

Harry smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered state. He stepped back and adjusted his tie, looking every bit the polished professional, but his eyes were still soft as they followed her.

“Be good,” he teased, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I’ll try,” she mumbled, giving him a quick, shy smile before hurrying out of the office.

Outside, Lindsey was waiting with her hands on her hips, an exaggeratedly impatient expression on her face.

“About time,” she said, grabbing Y/N’s hand and tugging her down the hallway. “Now, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into with that fancy credit card of his.”

Y/N let out a soft giggle, her fingers curling around the card in her hand. She glanced back toward Harry’s office door one last time, her heart still racing. Even though she was nervous about tonight, she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy, too.

Lindsey noticed the dreamy look on Y/N’s face and rolled her eyes with a grin. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Y/N looked away, pressing her lips together as a shy smile spread across her face. “Maybe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” Lindsey laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s make this lunch break worth it.”

. . .

Y/N stood in the small changing room, staring at the pile of delicate lingerie Lindsey had hung on the door hook. Each set was softer and more intricate than the last, made from lace, satin, and ribbons in pastel tones of blue, lavender, mint, and blush. She felt like a clumsy giant in a room of dainty, breakable things.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Y/N called softly through the door.

“You’ve got this,” Lindsey replied encouragingly. “Try the pink one first. It’s so you.”

With trembling hands, Y/N picked up the light blush pink set, the soft lace slipping between her fingers like a whisper. She changed quickly, careful not to look too long in the mirror, and hesitated before stepping out.

“Alright, let me see,” Lindsey said, her voice full of excitement.

Y/N cracked open the door and peeked out timidly. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise. Now, come on!”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped out, crossing her arms over her chest shyly. The pastel pink lace hugged her figure, delicate straps tracing over her shoulders and down her back. Lindsey’s eyes lit up as she took in the sight.

“Oh, you look so cute!” Lindsey grinned. “It’s perfect! Very soft, very sweet. What do you think?”

Y/N glanced at her reflection in the mirror outside the stall, biting her lip. “I don’t know... It feels like... too much? Or maybe not enough?”

Lindsey shook her head, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s not too much, and it’s definitely not too little. It’s elegant and adorable, just like you.”

Y/N flushed and retreated back into the stall to try the next set. The routine continued for several minutes, with Y/N emerging in pastel greens, blues, and creams. Finally, she reached for the last set—a soft taupe-pink shade, almost like the color of cocoa mixed with milk.

When she stepped out in this set, Lindsey gasped softly. “Oh my god.”

Y/N immediately crossed her arms again. “Is it bad? I knew it was too much—”

“No!” Lindsey interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. She stepped closer and took Y/N by the shoulders, turning her toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. You look like a little deer.”

Y/N blinked at her reflection, her brow furrowed. The taupe-pink color complimented her skin tone, and the simple but elegant design made her feel... grown-up, yet still herself.

“I... I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice shaky.

“Hey.” Lindsey crouched slightly to catch Y/N’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. Stunning. And Harry is going to lose his shit when he sees you in this.”

Y/N’s cheeks flamed. “Lindsey!” she squeaked, burying her face in her hands.

Lindsey laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “What? It’s true! Now, I think we’ve found the winner. Let’s go pay before I start crying over how cute you look.”

Y/N nodded shyly, stealing one last glance at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she felt a spark of confidence in her chest. Maybe Harry would love it.

Or, at the very least, she loved it—and that felt just as important.

. . .

Y/N sat comfortably in the passenger seat of Harry’s Porsche, her old t-shirt soft against her skin and her blue jeans slightly worn at the knees. Her baby pink ballet flats rested lightly on the floor, toes tapping absentmindedly as she gazed out the window, trying to decipher where he was taking her.

Harry, effortlessly cozy in his sweater and loose-fitting jeans, kept one hand on the wheel while the other held hers over the console. His black Vans were slightly scuffed, white socks peeking above the edges. At every red light, he lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against them as if it were second nature.

“Did y’have fun with Lindsey today?” he asked, sparing a glance in her direction.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Y-Yeah, it was… fun.” She tried not to think about the underwear she had bought earlier particularly because she was currently wearing it beneath her very casual clothing.

Harry’s lips quirked up in amusement. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“No, it was!” she insisted, sitting up a little straighter. “It was really nice. I don’t spend a lot of time with other girls, so it felt… different. In a good way.”

His smile softened as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before returning his focus to the road. “Y’know you’re welcome to spend time with Sarah and Alessia too.”

“But they’re your friends,” Y/N frowned. “Wouldn’t you feel like I was taking them away?”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course not. What’s mine is yours, love. You’re my girlfriend, remember?”

Y/N’s lips twitched, a giddy warmth settling in her chest. She let her head fall back against the headrest, a slow smile curling on her lips.

“What?” Harry grinned, flicking his eyes toward her for a second.

“I just like it when you say that,” she admitted.

“What? Girlfriend?” he teased, his dimples appearing as he chuckled.

“Mhm,” she hummed, cheeks heating up. “I can’t believe I’m a girlfriend.”

Harry laughed, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. “You’re not just a girlfriend, you’re my girlfriend. All mine.”

She liked that label even more.

Later on, the soft crunch of gravel beneath the tires signaled their arrival. Harry pulled into a small stone parking lot in front of what looked like a quaint, cottage-style home. The windows glowed warmly against the dusky sky, lace curtains fluttering slightly from the inside. There was no sign or indication of where they were, just an inviting little house with flower boxes lining the window sills.

Y/N glanced around, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Where are we?”

Harry smirked, already opening his door. “You’ll see.”

Curiosity buzzed in her stomach as she climbed out of the car, the crisp evening air wrapping around her. Harry met her at the front, slipping his hand into hers and leading her toward the wooden door.

Before she could ask any more questions, the door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with wispy white hair pinned up in a loose bun. She wore a pastel apron dusted with flour and had a kind twinkle in her eye.

“Harry, darling!” she greeted, pulling him into a soft hug before turning to Y/N with an equally warm smile. “And you must be Y/N! Oh, you’re just as lovely as he said.”

Y/N’s brows shot up as she looked between Harry and the woman. “He’s mentioned me?”

“Oh, love, he wouldn’t stop talking about you,” she chuckled, stepping aside to usher them in. The scent of vanilla and butter filled the air, making Y/N’s mouth water. “Come in, come in, we’ve got cakes to decorate!”

Y/N’s jaw dropped slightly as she turned to Harry. “Really?”

Harry grinned, squeezing her hand. “Thought you’d like it.” Y/N let out a delighted squeal as she followed him inside.

The cozy kitchen looked straight out of a storybook—wooden shelves lined with jars of sugar and sprinkles, floral-printed tea towels hanging neatly by the stove, and a large wooden table in the center covered with piping bags, frosting tubs, and trays of undecorated cupcakes.

Y/N hesitated at the doorway, her fingers curling around Harry’s sleeve as she peeked inside. “I’ve always wanted to do a baking class,” she admitted, eyes wide with curiosity.

Harry turned to her with a grin. “I know,”

She furrowed her brows, “How did you find out?”

“You’re brothers told me,” He shrugged.

The elderly woman, who had introduced herself as Margaret, beamed at her. “Don’t worry if you’ve never done this before—I’ll show you everything!”

Y/N’s fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve as she stepped further into the cozy kitchen, taking in the warm scent of vanilla and sugar. She glanced at Harry, still feeling a little surprised that he had gone out of his way to plan something so thoughtful.

Margaret handed them each an apron, and Y/N hesitated before slipping hers over her head. As she struggled to tie the strings behind her back, she felt a familiar presence behind her.

“Here, Bambi,” Harry murmured, gently tugging the ends and tying them into a neat bow.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her apron. “Thank you…” she said softly, peeking up at him.

Harry just hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reached for his own apron.

Margaret clapped her hands together. “Now, let’s get started! We’ve got a few cakes ready for decorating, and you two can pick whichever frosting colors you like.”

Y/N followed her to the counter, where bowls of pastel-colored buttercream sat beside trays of undecorated cakes. She hovered near the edge, unsure where to start.

Harry, on the other hand, grabbed a piping bag without hesitation. “I used to work at a bakery so don’t be surprised if my cake turns into a masterpiece,” he declared, scooping up a generous amount of frosting.

Y/N watched him for a moment, then turned back to her own cake. She carefully picked up a piping bag but hesitated before squeezing it. “What if I mess it up?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Margaret overheard and smiled warmly. “There’s no such thing, dear. It’s just cake. If it doesn’t turn out how you want, we’ll eat the evidence.”

Y/N let out a small giggle, feeling a little more at ease. She took a deep breath and pressed down on the piping bag, carefully swirling the frosting onto the cake. Her hands were a little shaky, but as she stepped back, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud.

Harry glanced over and tilted his head. “That’s cute,” he said, nodding toward her cake.

Y/N tucked her chin down, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, before turning back to his own. “Almost as good as mine,”

Y/N peeked at his cake and bit her lip to hold back a giggle. His frosting was uneven, the swirls lopsided. She glanced up at him, unsure if she should say anything.

He must have noticed because he smirked. “Go on, laugh.”

She shook her head quickly. “N-No! I—I think it’s lovely.”

Harry chuckled, nudging her lightly. “lovely, huh?”

Y/N felt her face heat up and quickly focused back on her cake, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Before she could react, Harry swiped a bit of icing onto his finger and gently smeared it across her cheek. She gasped, eyes widening in surprise as he leaned in slightly, a playful smirk on his lips.

“I think you’re lovely,” he murmured.

Margaret smiled knowingly. “You two make a lovely pair,” she said as she reached for some sprinkles. “Now, who wants to add the finishing touches?”

Y/N reached for a jar of soft pink sugar pearls, her fingers barely brushing Harry’s as he reached for the same one.

He didn’t move his hand right away, just glanced at her with a small smile. “You take it,” he said softly, his pinkie finger poking her hand. Y/N ducked her head, feeling a flutter in her chest as she carefully took the jar.

With the finishing touches added—Harry’s cake looking as delightfully messy as ever, and Y/N’s decorated with delicate swirls and tiny pearls—they both stepped back, admiring their work.

Margaret beamed at them. “Wonderful, both of you! Now, how about some tea? You’ve earned it.”

Y/N nodded quickly, grateful for something to do other than stand there under Harry’s watchful gaze. She followed Margaret to a cozy table near the window, where a teapot and delicate china cups were already set up. The scent of chamomile and honey filled the air as Margaret poured them each a cup.

Harry stretched out beside Y/N, his long legs brushing hers beneath the table. He didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t letting on.

As Y/N stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea, curiosity finally got the better of her. She glanced between Harry and Margaret before speaking up softly. “How do you two know each other?”

Margaret smiled as she set down the teapot. “Oh, I’m an old friend of Harry’s mum. We go way back.” She turned to Harry with a teasing glint in her eye. “She’s actually coming to visit next week for his birthday.”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around her teacup.

Birthday?

Her mind spun. Harry hadn’t mentioned his birthday. Not once. And now she had to meet his mum?

Oh. Oh no.

She must’ve gone silent for too long because Harry’s gaze flickered toward her, his brows furrowing slightly.

Then, under the table, she felt it—his hand, warm and steady, pressing gently against her thigh.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a knowing look—one that was both amused and reassuring. His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of her jeans, a silent gesture that somehow grounded her and made her even more flustered all at once.

“You alright, Bambi?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded quickly, even though her heart was racing.

Harry’s lips twitched, clearly not believing her. But, mercifully, he didn’t push. He just kept his hand where it was, a steady presence beneath the table.

Y/N took a sip of her tea, hoping it would hide the blush creeping up her neck.

She had two problems now: figuring out what to do for his birthday and somehow surviving meeting his mum without making a complete fool of herself.

And, judging by the knowing smirk on Harry’s lips, he was well aware of both.

. . .

“Thank you for having us,” Y/N said softly, offering Margaret a small smile as they stood by the door.

Margaret waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nonsense, dear. It was lovely having you both.” Then, with a knowing smile, she added, “You’re welcome to come back and do some baking with me anytime, Y/N.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the offer. She glanced at Harry, who was watching the exchange with amusement, then back at Margaret. “Oh—I’d love to,” she said shyly.

Margaret patted her arm warmly before turning to Harry. “Take care, love. And don’t forget to call your mum.”

Harry groaned playfully. “You’ve been talking to her too much.”

Margaret only laughed, waving them off as they made their way to the car.

Once inside, Y/N fastened her seatbelt and turned to look at Harry, who was adjusting the mirrors. She hesitated for a moment before finally voicing the thoughts swirling in her head.

“You didn’t tell me your mom was coming to see you,” she said, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “Or that it was your birthday.”

Harry shot her a side glance, lips twitching slightly. “I didn’t want to panic you.”

She frowned. “About your birthday?”

“I don’t like the attention,” he admitted simply.

That made her pause. She looked at him, watching the way his fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel.

Silence settled between them for a beat before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Are you mad?”

The question shocked her. Her brows knitted together. “No, of course not,” she said quickly. Then, softer, “Just… worried.”

Harry turned to her fully now, one arm draped over the steering wheel as he studied her. “Worried?”

“What if your mom doesn’t like me?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened. “I think she already does.”

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re all I talk about when I speak to her these days, Bambi,” he said, his voice warm, sure. “Believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

A small huff left her lips as she sank deeper into her seat, still unsure if that made her feel better or worse.

“Bambiiiiii,” Harry drawled, his tone teasing. “Give me a kiss.”

She almost smiled, shaking her head as she turned toward him to say something—maybe to protest, maybe just to stall—but she never got the chance.

Before she could speak, Harry cupped her entire face in his hands, tilting her chin up as he kissed her.

Y/N melted instantly, her hands hesitating before resting lightly against his chest. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his lips moving against hers with a kind of lazy confidence that made her stomach flip.

He pulled back just enough for their noses to brush, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You taste like frosting,” he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt.

Maybe she was still nervous about meeting his mom. Maybe she was still reeling from the fact that his birthday was next week. But right now, in this moment, all she could focus on was him.

“Come on,” Harry’s hand rested on her knee, “Let’s get you home.”

The drive back was quiet, comfortable. The occasional hum of a song on the radio filled the space between them, but neither of them felt the need to talk much. Harry’s hand rested casually on the gear shift, fingers drumming lightly, while Y/N watched the familiar streets pass by through the window.

Before she knew it, they were outside her house. Harry shifted into park and turned toward her with a small smile. “Home safe, Bambi.”

Y/N reached for the door handle but hesitated.

She didn’t want the night to end just yet.

Biting her lip, she turned to face him properly. “Do you… want to come inside?”

Harry blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, “Yeah?”

Y/N nodded, suddenly feeling a little nervous under his gaze. “Yeah.”

His face softened into something warmer, more curious. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You sure?”

Y/N swallowed, then nodded again. “I just—” She exhaled, giving a small shrug. “I’m not ready for you to leave yet.”

Harry’s expression changed, something fond flickering in his green eyes before he reached over, fingers brushing her chin briefly.

“Then I won’t,” he murmured.

With that, he shut off the car and stepped out, rounding to meet her at the front steps.

Y/N’s stomach fluttered as she unlocked the door, fully aware of Harry standing just behind her. And as she pushed it open and stepped inside, she couldn’t help but smile when she heard him close the door behind them.

“Everyone’s asleep. We can go upstairs to my room,” she whispered, locking the front door behind them. Slipping off her shoes, she glanced back as Harry did the same, his movements quiet and easy.

Without thinking, she reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his as she led him up the stairs. They tiptoed carefully past her brother’s rooms, the only sound the faint creak of the wooden steps beneath them.

Once inside, she gently shut the door and turned to find Harry standing in the middle of her room, his gaze slowly sweeping over the space.

It was strange seeing him there—so tall, so effortlessly cool—against the soft pink and white of her bedroom. He looked almost out of place, yet somehow, he didn’t.

His eyes landed on the mannequin in the corner, where a partially finished dress hung, delicate ruffles cascading down the fabric.

“Did you make this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he stepped closer, taking in the details.

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “Yeah… it’s taking a lot longer than I thought it would.”

Harry turned to her, something like awe flickering across his face. “Bambi,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “You should be working with the design team at Pleasing, not stuck behind a desk.”

Her eyes widened, heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, no, no,” she protested quickly, waving a hand. “The desk job is more than enough.”

Harry just hummed, still admiring the dress. “At least give it a think.”

Y/N blinked, a confused smile tugging at her lips. “Wait, are you offering?”

Harry turned to face her, already standing just a step away, the small space of her room almost too close. His lips curled into a teasing grin. “I don’t know… do you want me to?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and before she could answer, Harry intertwined their fingers, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through her. He lowered his head, his lips ghosting over hers, just a breath away.

“I think you’re going to do such great things, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain. “You don’t need me for that.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice melting the walls she had built up around herself. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, she kissed him, her lips pressing against his with a soft urgency.

His hands cupped her cheeks gently, his touch grounding her as she stepped back, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of her bed. They both tumbled onto it in a tangle of limbs, Y/N’s heart thudding loudly against her chest.

His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging into her skin beneath her shirt, pulling her closer. The warmth of his touch made her pulse quicken, and her mind raced, completely overwhelmed by the closeness.

Her thoughts scattered, and she found herself whispering, almost breathless. “Y—you can take it off.”

Harry’s hands stilled, his brows furrowing in confusion. “My shirt, I mean.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes widening as he processed what she’d said. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, her heart in her throat, “I-I’m sure,” She replied.

Harry didn’t respond at first, his eyes scanning her face to make sure she truly meant what she said. His fingers tugged on the ends of her shirt and she nodded once more to let him know it was okay and what she wanted.

Harry lifted her shirt, his fingers grazing her skin as he pulled it over her head. The cool air prickled against her newly exposed skin, but the way his gaze darkened sent a different kind of heat through her.

"God," he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken, his eyes scanned the underwear she was wearing. He said nothing at first, Y/N’s nerves growing at his silence. Her first instinct was to put her shirt back on to cover herself up but his fingers wrapped around her wrist, “Are you real?”

Y/N giggled, “I think so,” she poked her tummy and Harry laughed.

“I must have been good at some point in time, I don’t think you’d be here if I weren’t.”

“You are good Harry,” Y/N murmurs.

“For you,” Harry whispers, “I’ll be anything. Anything y’ want, Bambi. I’ll bend and break myself to be whatever you want me to be. I’ve never been one for religion, but I’ve only ever prayed long and hard for someone like you, and now here you are. You’re like holding a piece of Heaven.”

Y/N's breath catches, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, tracing the lines of his jaw with a softness that matches her racing heart. "Harry..."

His eyes soften as they meet hers, the intensity never wavering, but there's something tender in his gaze now, something that says he's not just talking about desire, but something deeper, more profound.

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers twitching at her sides before she reached for the hem of his shirt. He smirked, eyes locked onto hers as he helped her tug it over his head, his movements fluid, confident. Her eyes rounded at the tattoos that littered his muscular torso. Her hands hesitated over the hard lines of his chest, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips making her pulse stutter.

"Go on," Harry urged, his voice low, teasing. "Touch me."

Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, palms trailing cautiously over his chest, feeling the steady, unshaken beat of his heart. Unlike her own, which was hammering in her ribs. She traced her fingers over a particular tattoo on his left pectoral.

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she noticed the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, the warmth of his body against hers making her pulse quicken. Harry’s eyes softened as he watched her, his lips curling into a smile.

"Relax, love," he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to his. "S’just me."

And then he kissed her again—deep, sure, in control. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she melted into him, letting him take the lead, letting him guide her through the intensity of it all.

They kissed for a while, Harry’s hands roaming over her skin, slowly learning the contours of her body as though he were memorizing each moment. Y/N melted into him, feeling the heat between them grow, her heart racing, pulse quickening under his touch.

Y/N pulled away for a brief second to catch his breath, his eyes were hazy, his lips were pinker than usual and lazy grin lingered on his lips. “What are y’ thinking about Bambi?”

She wondered how he could already read her so well. Her mind had been drifting the entire evening to this very moment, and now she was in it, her mouth dry and she couldn’t seem to conjure up the words. “H-Harry I-” The words were on the tip of her tongue, her mind drifting to a reddit article she read three days prior with tips on this exact situation.

Harry waited patiently for her to continue, letting her have her space to gain the confidence to ask whatever she needed to. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation in her voice, and he respected it, not rushing her, not pushing for anything.

She sighed, her words barely above a whisper, "I bought this bra today."

Harry nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "It’s very pretty, Bambi. So pretty on you." His lips brushed the side of her neck, a gentle, tender gesture meant to reassure her.

But Y/N could feel the weight of her own thoughts pressing on her chest. "B-but there’s a reason I bought it," she continued, her voice shaky.

Harry paused, his lips stilling against her skin as he pulled back slightly to look at her, his gaze full of warmth and curiosity. “What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she gathered the courage to speak. "I... I want to try things with you."

Harry’s expression softened, the shock in his eyes mixing with a deeper understanding. He gave her a moment to continue, sensing that she wasn’t finished.

"I want you to do stuff with me." She felt her cheeks flush, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away.

He stayed silent for a beat, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his voice calm but filled with concern. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for his, needing his touch to ground her. “I want to touch you.” She whispered in his ear, her cheeks scorching.

Harry choked, “Bambi,” He could feel himself hardening in his trousers.

She quickly continued, her voice a little shaky. “But y—you have to help me because… reading things online make it hard to understand, and those articles about… it’s confusing.”

Harry took her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles as he looked into her eyes, his expression filled with warmth. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured her gently. “We’ll go slow. No pressure. I’ll help you, I promise. What is it you had in mind, Bambi?”

“I’m too embarrassed to say it out loud,” She admitted, breezing past the whole ‘pretending to be confident’ moment she had pictured in her head. “I feel embarrassed not knowing anything.”

Harry’s gaze softened, and Y/N wasn’t sure why it comforted her. He wasn’t showing sympathy, frustration, or excitement—his expression was unreadable, almost effortless. It was as if her uncertainty didn’t matter to him, as if knowing nothing made no difference at all. Being with her was enough, and whatever came with it was just a bonus.

“How about I’ll help you first,” He gently guided her onto his lap, his hands steady on her waist as he settled her against him. “Just follow my lead, yeah?” His voice was soft, reassuring, but there was an edge of something deeper in his tone—something patient yet undeniably wanting.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she adjusted herself, feeling the warmth of his body beneath her. His hands, warm and firm, traced slow circles on her hips, grounding her. “You don’t have to rush,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “This is just us. You and me.”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she let herself relax against him. The feeling was new, overwhelming but not in a bad way. Safe. Warm. Intimate in a way she hadn’t expected.

Harry’s fingers trailed up her spine, his touch featherlight but deliberate. “Tell me what feels good, Bambi,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N swallowed, her body tingling at his words. “O-okay,” she breathed, trusting him completely.

Y/N shuddered as Harry’s hands splayed on her thighs, his fingers playfully playing with the hook of her underwear that rested on her hips. His thumb made circles on her skin, goosebumps rising where he traced, ‘Is this okay?” He whispered, eyes looking into hers.

She nodded. His fingers sliding down further until they cupped her between her legs, “What about this?”

She gaped, “Yes Harry,”

“M’kay,” Warm breath fanned down her neck.

Beneath her, Y/N could feel Harry’s hardening length. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching as she shifted slightly, the sensation unfamiliar yet thrilling. Harry’s grip on her hips tightened just a fraction, his jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose.

“You feel that, Bambi?” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

She nodded, her hands clutching his shoulders, her heart hammering against her ribs. “It’s… um, it’s big,” she admitted shyly, her cheeks burning.

“Do you trust me?” Harry asked.

“Completely,” Y/N whispered with a nod. Harry didn’t hesitate, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before his hand drifted lower.

With careful precision, he hooked his fingers around the fabric of her underwear, tugging it aside. She wondered if he could feel the razor bumps from where she had tried to shave. If he did he didn’t say anything, just whispered, “Y’ the most perfect girl. How are you real?” She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or himself.

The moment his fingers brushed past her folds, searching for her clit, she stiffened, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Letting out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping his shoulders as a wave of unfamiliar yet intoxicating pleasure coursed through her. Harry watched her closely, his eyes dark with focus, making sure she was comfortable.

“Relax, Bambi,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple as his fingers moved with deliberate care.

Y/N’s breath hitched as he found the sensitive bundle of nerves, his touch gentle yet firm. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she instinctively pressed closer to him, seeking more.

“That’s it,” Harry murmured, his free hand stroking her thigh reassuringly. “You’re doing so good for me.”

She felt heat pool in her stomach, her body responding in ways she never imagined. “Harry,” she whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice.

His lips curled into a smirk as he pressed a kiss just below her ear. “I’ve got you, love,” he promised, his fingers working her with steady, patient movements. “You’re truly quite perfect.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his words, but then her brows furrowed as a thought crept into her mind—she wanted to do something for Harry, too. This wasn’t meant to be just about her.

But as his fingers continued their slow, torturous movements, her thoughts blurred into nothingness. Her body responded instinctively, her hips rutting against his hand when he brushed a particularly sensitive spot.

Harry groaned, the sound deep and raw, sending a fresh wave of heat through her. The effect it had on her was instant—she wanted to hear it again. So she did it once more, rolling her hips into his touch.

“Y’ gonna kill me, Bambi,” he rasped, his grip on her tightening as he fought to keep control.

Harry let out a strained chuckle, his fingers tightening around her hips as he steadied her movements. His gaze was heavy-lidded, filled with something dark and reverent as he watched her.

“So damn sweet,” he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin. “All wide-eyed and trembling… just like a little deer.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath catching at his words. His comparison made her feel small, delicate—like something precious in his hands.

Harry’s breath grew heavier, his grip on her hips firm as he guided her movements, letting her find what felt good. Y/N was completely lost in the sensation—his fingers working her with precise, devastating strokes, his voice low and coaxing as he whispered sweet praises in her ear.

“That’s it, Bambi,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “Let yourself feel it.”

Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the pleasure building inside her. She clung to him, fingers pulling on the curls at the nape of his neck, his head falling back as she rocked against his hand, chasing the high she had never quite reached before.

Harry was struggling himself, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged as her movements sent jolts of pleasure straight through him. He was achingly hard beneath her, the friction almost too much, especially when she rolled her hips just right.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers faltering for a moment before he doubled down, determined to push her over the edge first. “You feel so good, love—so perfect.”

His words sent her spiraling. A broken moan slipped past her lips as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing over her in waves. Her body tensed, then melted, a shuddering mess in his arms as she came undone.

The sight of her—the way she trembled, the breathy whimpers falling from her lips—was Harry’s undoing. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering as he followed right after her, lost in his own release.

For a moment, neither of them moved, both caught in the aftershocks of pleasure, their breaths mingling as they clung to each other. Y/N felt boneless, her head resting against his shoulder, her heart still hammering in her chest.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Harry,” Y/N confessed, her voice soft in the quiet light of her room. It was the most honest thing she had ever said, the most vulnerable she had ever allowed herself to be.

Harry’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. Maybe it was love, maybe it was more but she couldn’t quite figure out what meant more than love. Unless what she was feeling was exactly that- something more- because when she thought about loving Harry, the word seemed much too small. She wanted to be the same person, wanted to melt into his skin and never find where she ended and he began.

His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns on her back as he held her, grounding her in the moment. “Maybe it’s your first orgasm talking.” He chuckled and she playfully nudged him before laughing with him.

As her eyes fluttered shut, inhaling the scent of him—warm, familiar, safe, she heard him whisper, “I think I’m two steps ahead of you Bambi.” and her heart pounded against her chest.

Maybe love wasn’t a big enough word for what she felt, but whatever it was, it belonged to him. And she had a feeling it always would.

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solxamber · 3 days ago

Note

Leona, Romantic, Homesick by MICO

"I'd Stay" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Homesick by MICO

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 990

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Happy ending

Leona doesn’t beg. He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t ask people to stay.

And yet—

He sits in the dim glow of early morning, watching the way the golden light stretches across your skin, watching the way you sleep so peacefully next to him, your body curled into the warmth of his own.

And he aches.

Because when the sun is fully up, you’ll leave.

He lets his gaze flicker to the half-packed bags in the corner, the ones you didn’t finish because last night, you were tangled up in his arms, pressing whispered nothings into his skin. Because last night, you were here.

But the morning always brings reality, and reality means you’re leaving.

He should be used to this. To letting things go before they slip through his fingers. He’s done it his whole damn life. But for the first time, something in his chest twists with a foreign kind of desperation—something he doesn’t know how to name.

He doesn’t know what to do with it.

So he does what he always does. He says nothing.

And waits for you to wake up and go.

You wake slowly, warmth cocooning you before you even open your eyes.

Leona.

You shift against him, pressing your face against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair. He’s awake. He’s never awake this early.

That’s the first thing that tells you something’s wrong.

The second is the silence.

Leona isn’t a man of many words, but this silence feels different. He’s thinking—too much, too deeply, like he’s trying to work something out in his head and doesn’t like the answer he’s coming to.

You don’t say anything at first. You just let yourself stay like this a little longer. Wrapped up in him. Pretending the world outside this bed doesn’t exist.

But eventually, you have to break the quiet.

“I’ll visit,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Leona goes still. His hand stops moving against your hair.

You don’t need to look at him to know what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t want a damn visit.

He wants you here.

“…I know,” he says finally, but it’s quiet. Heavy. A lie dressed up in indifference.

You press your lips together. You know it’s unfair, the way you’re waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to give you a reason to stay. But Leona is proud. You’ve always known that. He doesn’t ask for things. He doesn’t admit what he wants until it’s already slipped through his fingers.

But this time, maybe—

“You could come with me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel the way he tenses beneath you. Like the thought had never even occurred to him.

Then, slowly, his fingers resume their absentminded movement against your scalp. He exhales a quiet scoff.

“Can’t just leave everything behind for you, herbivore.”

You close your eyes. That’s what you thought he’d say.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I know.”

The thing is, you would.

You’d stay, in a heartbeat. You’d unpack your bags, cancel your flights, change everything just to be with him. You would. But you know better than to ask him to do the same.

Because Leona is Leona, and he’s never been one to cling to things, never been one to believe in fairytales and endings that don’t end in disappointment.

And yet—

You don’t see the way his jaw clenches, the way he stares at the ceiling like it holds an answer he doesn’t want to face.

You don’t see the way his hand tightens against your waist, like he’s trying to commit the feeling of you to memory.

And you don’t hear the words sitting heavy on his tongue, the ones he swallows down before they have the chance to escape.

Stay. Please, stay.

Because Leona doesn’t beg.

And you?

You’ve already made up your mind.

The silence stretches between you, something unspoken hanging in the air. Heavy. Pressing.

You take a slow breath and shift, preparing to move—to get up, finish packing, and finally leave.

But before you can, a hand curls around your wrist.

Firm. Steady. Unyielding.

You pause, blinking in the dim morning light, and look down at where Leona holds you. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s final. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear completely.

“…Leona?” You murmur, confused.

His thumb brushes against your skin, slow and deliberate. His head is tilted back against the pillow, but his eyes—those sharp, piercing green eyes—are on you.

There’s something raw in his expression, something stripped bare in the way he looks at you now, like he’s finally let himself feel all the things he’s been too afraid to name.

And then, his lips part—his voice low, hoarse, like the words are scraping their way out of his throat before he can stop them.

"Stay."

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t say it like a demand. He doesn’t say it like a challenge, like he’s trying to test you or push you away like he usually does.

He just says it.

Like he means it.

Like he needs it.

Like he needs you.

“…Leona.”

His jaw clenches, and his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s expecting you to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you swallow hard, something swelling in your chest—something warm, something hopeful—and you let your fingers slip between his, squeezing gently.

"Okay," you whisper.

His breath shudders out, and then he’s pulling you back down, into the warmth of the sheets, into him.

He doesn’t say anything else. He just buries his face in your hair, arms circling you like he can keep you here just like this, like he can make up for all the nights he let you walk away without stopping you.

But this time, you won’t be leaving.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar x you #leona kingscholar #leona

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lexiputellas · 2 days ago

Text

Room 1102 — Broken Vows

mdni

The hotel is too perfect. A five-star lie wrapped in gold and glass, designed to make you forget reality. The air smells like lilies—expensive, artificial, like they pump it through the vents to convince you this place is special.

But nothing about tonight is special.

Your heels click sharply against the marble, a rhythmic, deliberate sound as you walk toward the front desk. Your coat, long and black, clings to you, hiding the outfit beneath—a striped button-down blouse, tucked neatly into fitted jeans. The fabric is smooth, crisp, the kind that wrinkles if you grip it too tight.

"Room 1102." Your voice is flat.

The receptionist types something into the computer, then nods. "She’s expecting you."

You nod once. Nothing else is necessary.

Good.

You don’t need anyone to pretend they care.

You move toward the elevators, your pulse a slow, steady drum in your ears. The mirrored doors slide open, and you step inside, pressing 11 with the tip of your finger. The doors close with a soft hush, sealing you in.

Silence.

The space is sleek, modern—mirrored walls, brushed steel, the faintest scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, probably from the last person who stood here. You stare at your reflection. Your posture is stiff, your expression blank, but beneath the surface—beneath the careful armor—you are unraveling.

The floor numbers blink past one by one, a slow ascent, a quiet climb toward something you shouldn’t be walking into.

By the time the doors open, your breath feels too tight in your chest.

You walk down the hallway, plush carpet soft beneath your steps, the muted glow of wall sconces casting elongated shadows along the corridor. The walls are a deep, muted gray, textured, cool under your fingertips when you let your hand trail against them.

1102.

You stop in front of it.

Exhale.

Knock.

Alexia opens the door too fast. Like she’s been waiting.

She looks like shit.

Messy hair, tired eyes, wearing your t-shirt—one she stole years ago and never gave back.

She still wears your things.

Like she still belongs to you.

But she doesn’t.

You stare at each other.

"You gonna let me in?" Your voice is cold.

She swallows. "Yeah."

You step inside, and the door clicks shut behind you.

The suite is a disaster. Clothes everywhere—some crumpled on the floor, some half-folded, some tossed carelessly over furniture like she was in too much of a hurry to care. A half-empty glass of water rests on the nightstand, the condensation long since dried.

The room itself is pristine beneath the mess—polished floors, soft cream-colored walls, the kind of expensive minimalism that belongs in places like this. A sleek, modern lamp casts a dim glow over the king-sized bed, its crisp white sheets slightly rumpled. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, the heavy curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the city skyline, glittering and vast against the night.

You don’t sit. Neither does she.

"You wanted to talk," you say. "So talk."

She exhales. "I don’t know where to start."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Try starting with the part where you decided to fuck someone else."

She flinches.

"Come on, Alexia," you press. "Be honest. Was it fun? Did she make you feel special? Did it make you feel young again? Or was it just exciting to sneak around behind my back?"

Her throat works. "It wasn’t like that."

You tilt your head. "Then tell me—what was it like?"

Silence.

"Who is she?"

Alexia freezes.

You smile—sharp, cruel. "Oh, you don’t want to say? That’s funny, because you had no problem fucking her."

She swallows. "Her name is Eva."

Something twists in your stomach.

You blink. "I know that. And what does Eva do?"

Alexia exhales. "She’s… on the medical team."

You laugh. A sharp, bitter sound. "So she sees you every day?"

Alexia shifts. "Yes. Not like that anymore—"

"Oh, so that makes it better?" Your voice is razor-sharp. "So tell me, Alexia—where? Where did you do it?"

She blinks. "What?"

You take a step forward. "Where. Did. You. Fuck. Her?"

Alexia closes her eyes. "Hotel rooms. Sometimes… her apartment."

You nod slowly. "And when? When did it start?"

Her voice is small. "Nine months ago."

You laugh. "Nine months. A whole pregnancy."

Her face crumbles.

"How did it happen?" you push. "Did she just look at you one day, and suddenly your wedding vows stopped mattering? Or was it slower?"

Alexia swallows hard. "We were talking. We got too comfortable."

"Too comfortable?" Your voice is sharp. "What does that mean? Did she touch you first, or did you touch her?"

Alexia hesitates.

You step forward.

"Did you kiss her first? Or did she kiss you?"

Alexia’s voice is barely there. "I kissed her."

You let out a slow breath.

"You kissed her," you repeat.

She nods.

You smile—sharp and vicious. "And then? What? You just couldn’t stop yourself?"

Alexia shakes her head. "I wasn’t thinking—"

"Clearly."

She flinches.

You press a hand to your forehead, exhaling hard.

Then, finally:

"I want her fired."

Alexia’s head snaps up. "What?"

"You heard me." Your voice is cold. "I want Eva gone."

Alexia hesitates.

And that hesitation?

Pisses you off.

"You shouldn’t even have to think about this," you say, voice ice-cold. "You should want her gone. You should want to erase every fucking trace of her."

Alexia swallows hard. "I’ll talk to them."

"You’ll do more than talk."

She exhales sharply. "I’ll handle it."

You nod. "Good."

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself. "I'm going to ask you something, and you have to promise me. No lies. No excuses."

Alexia nods, hesitant, like she already knows what's coming.

"Do you love her?"

Her answer is immediate. "No."

"Do you want to be with her?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You search her face, looking for any hesitation, any flicker of doubt. But there’s none.

Still, you need to ask.

"At any point… did you ever think—maybe if I didn’t have a wife or kids, I’d be happy with her?"

Alexia flinches, her lips parting, but no words come out at first. Her breath wobbles. She looks away.

"Not with her," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Never with her."

Your stomach clenches. "But?"

She swallows. "But there were moments where I felt… stuck. Not because of you. Not because of them. Just—because of me."

She exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. "And I hated that. I hated myself for even thinking it."

"Was it just her? Eva? Or was there more?"

Alexia hesitates, just for a second. "Just Eva."

"That should make me feel better." You shake your head. "But it doesn’t."

Her brows furrow. "Why—"

"Because if it had been more than one person, it would’ve meant nothing," you cut in. "But just her? That means you wanted something in her. Something you won’t even admit to me. Or to yourself."

You step back.

Your breath shakes. "We’re done."

Alexia freezes.

"I can’t be with you." Your voice is steady, even as your chest caves in. "I need space. I need time. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you."

Alexia shakes her head, quickly, desperately. "No. You don’t mean that."

"I do. But the girls need stability. I’ll stay at the house. If you want to stay instead, let me know, and we’ll go." Your voice is firm. "Either way, we’re not together. We’ll figure out how to co-parent later."

Alexia looks wrecked.

You turn to leave.

She grabs you.

Her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm, desperate, like she can’t let you go.

Like she won’t.

She pulls you back, closing the space between you in one slow, deliberate step.

You should pull away. You should leave.

But you don’t.

She tilts her chin down, eyes locked on yours, dark and desperate. "I love you."

It sounds broken.

Like it’s not enough.

Her forehead touches yours. Her breath mixes with yours.

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

Her hands tremble where they rest on your waist, fingers pressing into your coat, holding you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And you hate her. You hate her for what she did.

For throwing you away.

For making you feel like this—like you still love her, like you still need her, like your body still remembers her even when you don’t want it to.

You kiss her.

Hard.

Her gasp melts into a moan as she kisses you back, hands desperate, frantic, pulling at your clothes like she can’t get you bare fast enough.

You shove her shirt—your shirt—up and over her head.

It’s barely off before she’s reaching for your coat, your blouse, her fingers shaking as she undoes the buttons, one by one.

She spins you.

The backs of your knees hit the bed, and you sink down, breathless.

Alexia follows, kneeling between your legs.

You start on your blouse, slow, deliberate, making her watch.

Her lips brush your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

Her breath is hot, unsteady.

She doesn’t stop kissing you.

She doesn’t stop touching you.

Her hands skim your ribs, your stomach, mapping every inch like she’s trying to memorize you.

Your blouse falls open.

She pulls it off your shoulders, soft, reverent, like she’s undressing something holy.

She stares.

At you.

At the body she knows so well.

The body she gave up.

Her hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, your stomach, tracing every curve like she’s trying to remember what it feels like to have you.

She leans in, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, your stomach, her breath shaky against your skin.

By the time she reaches the edge of your thighs, you’re already trembling, already too far gone.

And then—

Her mouth is on you.

Wet, relentless.

Her tongue presses, curls, flicks in a way that sends electric shocks down your spine.

Your body reacts before you can think, back arching, thighs trembling as you gasp and fist your hands into her hair, holding her there like you need this to survive.

She groans against you, the vibration shooting through your core, making your stomach tighten.

Your breath stutters, eyes squeezing shut as she spreads you open with her hands, holding you in place as she devours you.

Her tongue dips inside, then moves up again, circling, teasing, never stopping, never giving you room to breathe.

"Fuck," you gasp, your fingers digging into her scalp.

She hums in response, flicking her tongue faster, drinking in every moan, every shake, every broken sound she pulls from you.

Her hands grip your thighs harder, thumbs pressing into your skin like she wants to leave bruises, like she wants you to feel her even after this is over.

You feel the build, the sharp pull of pleasure rising higher and higher, winding tight inside you.

Alexia knows—she always knows.

She shifts slightly, the new angle sending fire through your veins, and then you’re gone, the orgasm ripping through you so hard you forget how to breathe.

Your body jerks against her mouth, thighs shaking as you cry out, your grip on her tightening.

She doesn’t stop.

Her tongue keeps moving, slow, lazy, dragging out every last tremor, making you whimper as the pleasure turns almost unbearable.

Only when your body sags against the sheets, chest rising and falling in desperate pants, does she finally pull away.

She kisses her way back up your body, slow, reverent, her lips brushing over your stomach, your ribs, your chest.

When she reaches your mouth, she kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

She pulls back just enough to whisper, "Can I use it?"

Her voice is wrecked, low and husky, her eyes dark with something that makes your stomach tighten all over again.

You should say no.

You should stop this before you lose yourself completely.

But you don’t.

You nod, desperate.

Alexia reaches for it, in the suitcase—the one you threw all of her things into, every single one of them.

She pulls out the strap, the harness fitting snug around her hips, adjusting it with practiced ease.

Your stomach clenches at the way her muscles flex, at how confident she looks, at how much you still want her.

She slides her fingers between your thighs again, groaning when she feels how wet you still are.

"Fuck," she mutters, almost to herself.

She drags her fingers through your slickness, spreading it, coating the toy in it, preparing.

Your breath catches, your body already reacting to the thought of her inside you.

She kisses your chest, your stomach, biting gently, teasing.

You reach for her, trying to pull her closer, but she catches your wrists, pinning them down above your head.

Her grip is firm, commanding.

"You were always so impatient," she murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

You whimper, shifting, trying to move your hips against hers, needing her to do something, anything.

She takes your own hand, guiding it between your legs, pressing your fingers against yourself.

"Feel that," she whispers.

Your breath stutters, your fingers trembling as you follow her lead.

She watches, her breathing turning ragged.

Then she takes your fingers into her mouth, her tongue moving slow and deliberate as she sucks them clean.

She groans, eyes locked onto yours, and then—

She pushes inside.

A sharp gasp tears from your throat as she fills you, stretching you, the pressure overwhelming in the best way.

Your hands fly to her shoulders, fingers digging in, holding on as she starts to move.

She sets the pace slow at first, so slow it makes you whimper, makes your body beg for more.

"God, you feel so good," she groans, voice breaking.

Her forehead presses against yours, her breath hot against your lips.

"I love you. I love you so much."

You feel the tear slip down your cheek.

You turn your head so she can’t see, but she does.

She kisses them away, soft, apologetic.

Her hands grip you tighter, like you’re the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

And maybe you are.

Because you feel it too.

This is the end of something that was once beautiful.

Until it wasn’t.

You don’t want to be here anymore.

You are devastated in a way you can’t put into words.

It hurts. Deep, bone-crushing, breath-stealing pain.

Your nails dig into her back, desperate, needing to feel grounded, needing something real to hold on to.

You can’t believe she did this to you.

That she did this to you both.

#barcelona x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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mochroialainn · 2 days ago

Text

Think I need someone older

Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older ft. ex boyfriends dad John Price tw. age gap [reader is 22 and John is in his mid-late 40s], oral sex [male and female receiving] mentions of cheating [not by price or reader], insinuation of multiple rounds, PIV sex, creampie, mentions of a bitchy ex-wife, fem!reader, female anatomy, illusion to toxic and psychologically abusive relationship a/n. this turned out a lot longer than i anticipated it to be or i intended but when i started i just couldn't stop. price also works in security in this. this is also the first ime in ages that i have written something this long, so i apologise if it non-sensical or it makes no sense. word count. 3769 banner by @kaitsawamura

ex boyfriends dad John Price who had grown to hate the man his son at become, he was spoiled and entitled and thought he was gods gift to mankind always looking down on others and it was all because of his ex-wife. The woman worshiped her son, saw him as her prized possession, she did everything for him. Washing, cooking, cleaning and never punished him for anything he did and turned him into the monster he was today. John had tried to change her ways, tried to punish him and instill some discipline and human empathy into him but his wife wouldn’t have any of it. If John took his electronics away for misbehaving, his wife would give them back in 5 minutes. If he grounded him for any period of time, he knew all he had to do was ask his mom if he could go out and she would immediately tell him yes and to be safe and have fun. Any time he showed disrespetful behaviour, to them and to the other people she would always say ‘boys will be boys’. It was one of the many things that led to their eventual divorce when their son was 15. They shared custody and anytime his son was over Price tried to correct his behaviour, believing it was never too late but all of his work would be undone anytime he would go back to his mothers and by the time his son was 18 and stopped coming over as mandated by the courts, it was too late. Now his son only came round when he wanted something or was in the type of trouble he didn’t want his mother to know about.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who met you for the first time at his son's 21st birthday, he didn’t plan on staying long and was only going to show face, put some money on the tab for his son and give him his present. And there are you, a pretty little thing wrapped in the arms of his asshole son and he decides to stay just a little longer than he planned to talk to you. You are oh so sweet when he talks to you, telling him you had heard good things about him from his ex-wife and son (which he instantly doubted, his wife was still bitter he went through with the divorce and his son saw him as this hard-handed father always dishing out punishments he believed he didn’t deserve), you voice is positively dripping with syrup and John feels his heart pick up in a way he hadn’t felt in years. But as he walks with you, he watches. Closely. Watches the way you're never too far away from his son, how you talk to nobody but him, how your eyes are always searching for his son in the room, how you rub your hand up and down your arms to comfort yourself as you watch his son talk, no, flirt with every other woman in the room. It makes something in his gut twist itself into knots because his son as this absolutely beautiful and sweet girl right there and he was just throwing it away

ex boyfriends dad John Price who meets you a few times in the next year, in cafes or supermarkets or even just when you’re out for a walk in the local park, you always look so pretty especially in the warmer months when you’re out and about in little summer dresses and short skirts, the warm summer sun shining on your skin and giving you a gorgeous glow, and you are always so so nice to him, making conversation with soft smiles and wide eyes but he notices you're a littlemore skittish, always checking your phone and looking around you anxiously as if someone was watching you, how your clothes start to get a bit more conservative the little hints of your gorgeous skin now being hidden behind long sleeves and trousers. When he asks if you’re okay you give him a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and tell him everythings fine, the feeling he had in his gut when he first met you gets worse. He knew something was wrong and though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was he knew it had to do with his son.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who hasn't seen you for a few months since he last saw you in December, the last time he saw you all the warmth had drained from your face and your eyes and though you were smiling there was an undeniable sadness and pain just rolling off you in waves. It broke his heart to see someone who was once so full of life become lifeless, like all the light and warmth that had radiated from you when you first meet was sucked out and replaced with a deep darkness that penetrated the very fibers of your soul. When he see’s you again, its Spring and the world has started to gain a bit more of its colour back, and so have you. You’re in a local bar, your friends surrounding you as you laugh and drinkand dance, John watches from the bar. Watches the way your eyes light up and your smile finally reached your eyes, the way your cheeks are dusted in a small pink hue as the alcohol flushes your skin. He smiles as he brings his whiskey to his lips and turns away from your group, who unbeknownst to him were trying to convince you to go up and talk to him despite the fact that he was your ex-boyfriends dad. They rolled their eyes and shoved at your shoulder every time you tried to brush them off, saying what better way to get revenge against your cheating, toxic ex-boyfriend than to sleep with his dad? And with the encouragement of another shot you decide to go ‘fuck it’ and walk up to the bar, sliding in comfortably beside John your hand falling right beside his your pinky finger brushing against as you turn your head to look at him only to find him already looking at you, his eyes raking up and down your body. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud, at least not to you at this very moment, but gods was he glad you were showing a little bit of skin again, the tight crop top you had on giving him the perfect view of your cleavage and leaving the delcious skin of your sides exposed while the short skirt you wore hugged the curve of your hips in such a teasing manner that he just wanted to reach out and palm the fat with his big hands just to feel it squish between his fingers, and your thighs gods he just wanted to bury his face inbetween them and feel the fat press against his head.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who smiles at you, warm and welcoming, eyes twinkling with mischief and mirth as he greets you with a friendly ‘hi’, you give him a flirtatious smile and a ‘hi’ back. You quickly fall into an easy conversation, catching up with one another and skirting over the glaring question of what happened. You talk about your classes and how glad you are to be graduating soon and, saying how you’ve already secured a graduate position in one of the top companies within your industry and he tells you some stories of his time in the military and when he tells you about a scottish man called ‘Soap’ you can’t help but giggle and ask how he got that name and when John tells you its classified you pout at him and he damn near pulls you in for a kiss right there. Time flies by so quickly when you’re talking to him that you don’t even notice your friends leave, your best friend sending a text letting you know everyone got home safely and to use protection and not to do anything she wouldn’t do (which causes you to roll your eyes and John can’t help the dirty thoughts and images that flashes through his mind when he sees it), or how the numbers in the bar keep dwindling down until its just the two of you left and the bartender gives you a cheeky smile as you close out your tab (John insisting on paying for yours as well).

ex boyfriends dad John Price who insists on walking you home when you’re ushered out of the bar, his hand casually slipping around shoulder as he pulls you against him, using the fact that the spring night is chilly and you didn’t bring a jacket out with you and he just radiates warmth, which instantly spreads through you at his touch. Starting in your cheeks, causing an adorable flush that quickly spreads through your entire body settle deep in your stomach and your core. You continue to chat as you walk, more stories flowing between the you and you flush even brighter at the big belly laugh he lets out as you share your drunken stories from freshers week when you first started university. Before you know it, you’re outside your apartment and you dwindle for a bit conversation dying down but neither of you wanting to say goodbye yet. It takes a nothing more than a few nanoseconds for you to decide to invite him up for a drink, telling him you had a bottle of 15 year old single malt your father gifted you for being accepted into your dream job after college and he accepts even quicker.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who follows behind you, his hand in yours and his heart beating rapidly in his chest feeling like a goody teenager as he crosses the threshold of apartment, he doesn’t even let the door fully close before he’s turning you around and pinning you to it. One hand gripping your hips and the other cradling your jaw like you are the most precious thing in the world, completely contradicting the way he kisses you. Its deep, harsh, bruising and full of passion, lips slotting against yours like they were always meant to be there. The kiss is absolutely intoxicating, one hand reaches out to fist at his shirt while the other tangles in his hair at the back of his head, your grab is a little tighter than you expected and tension at the back of his skull causes a moan to ripple from deep in Johns chest and spill into your mouth and you arch into him, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him, your hand moving from his chest to grip at his shoulders. You dig your nails into his skin beneath the soft fabric of his shirt as his hand moves from your hip to grab at your ass and pull you against him, his hard cock pressing into the plush of your stomach through his jeans. John pulls away from the kiss far to quickly for your liking and you go to chase his lips but he quickly buries his head in your neck, lips pressing against your pulse point as you pant and move your neck to give him better access to the skin, his teeth graze your skin as the kisses turns to bites and the moan you let our is absolute music to John’s ears.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who feels a little guilty about what he’s doing, the rational part of his brain at war with the emotional part, telling him it’s wrong and he shouldn’t be doing this, apart from the fact that you were more than 20 years younger than him you were also his son ex-girlfriend for gods sake and maybe part of him was doing this to spite his son and maybe you were doing the same thing, he didn’t know the details of what happened you didn’t elaborate when you told him you had broken up just after new year, maybe you were just doing this for revenge to screw with his son, to show him what he missed but the emotional part is screaming at him that this is right, that right there is where he’s meant to be. He found you attractive, had since he first saw you, but it was more than that he thought you were amazing and kind and so so smart, he enjoyed every second of the small amount of time he got to spend with you idly chatting when you meet, you made his heart beat so erratically in his chest that he was sure it was going to rip out of this chest but he wouldn’t even mind if it meant he go to give it to you for safe keeping because he knew there was no better place it than in your hands. Eventually the rational side wins and John’s panting as he pulls back from your neck, pupils wide as he looks in your eyes. You see a hint of hesitation in his eyes, and something inside you shrinks back a little and the heat that had been pooling inside of you was slowly turning stone cold but the way John rubs his tumb against your cheek stops it from flaming our completely. His voice is quiet as he ask if you want this, he’s still breathless as the words pass it lips and you barely hear it but when it registers in your brain you are instantly saying ‘yes’ and nodding your head. That’s all he needs for his emotional side to win and he is pressing his lips to yours once again and his hands are gripping onto your thighs as he easily hoists you up into his arms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who doesn’t even take you to the bedroom, instead he gently places you on the sofa as his hands reach out to remove your shirt, throwing it over his shoulder hapazardly (you notice in the morning it’s hanging of the edge of your lamp shade), his lips trailing down your throat and across your collarbone intermittently changing from kisses to bites to sucks something akin to pride blooming in his chests as the purple marks bloom across your skin. Heat blooms where his lips touch and you grind up into him, the fabric of your skirt having rid up when he lifted you and being bunched around your hips leaving your panties and pussy exposed and allowing you to seek a delicious friction as your clit nudges against the fabric of his jeans through your panties, it helps that the fabric is tented from Johns hard cock. The moan you let out is almost pornographic from just the simple movement and John groans at the sound, moving his hips to meet yours as you grind just to hear it again.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who had planned to take his time with you, to learn exactly what made you come undone underneath him and to draw out orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a trembling mess who couldn’t even remember his own name, he wanted to make you moan and scream until your throat was raw and watch those pretty little eyes roll to the back of your head as pleasure overwhelmed your body, but he could feel the wetness of your underwear through his jeans and the way you nails dug into his skin through the fabric of his shirt so hard he was sure they would leave little crescent indents on the skin and bruises that would last days, ones he would proudly show off and he decided fuck taking his time. He quickly removed his lips from your skin and you mourned their loss but the feeling was quickly replaced with pleasure as he moved down and presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear as John hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down your thighs once again throwing it over his shoulder haphazardly not caring where they landed as his hand wrapped around your thigh and he dove into your pussy. He licks at your clit, tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves and pleasure shoots through your entire body, sparks lighting up your nervous system and it feel like every nerve comes alive more the fire inside of you heating up to a new degree with every swipe of his tongue and as John presses a finger to your entrance gently to your entrance, at first testing the resistance before slowly pushing into you and curving in such away it presses against your g-spot and its almost like he can directly inside of you with the precision he hits it at. The pleasure causes a moan and an ‘oh god’ to tumble from your lips and your eyes roll black, which John watches from between your legs and as your head falls back against the arm of the chair he nips gently at your clit the tiny bit of pain causes a whine to tumble from your lips and a smirk forms on Johns lips

ex boyfriends dad John Price who says “eyes on me sweetheart” and the ways the words tumble from his lips, deep and rumbly and dripping with heat that almost makes you melt. And oh god the vibration against your clit has you almost seeing stars and pushes you closer to the edge but you quickly snap your head back so you can look down at John who presses another kiss to your clit as a reward but then he pulls his finger from inside you and for the briefest second you think you’re being punished but he replaces his mouth on your clit with his thumb and starts circling your clit while he raises the rest of his body to give you a bruising kiss, your tongues mixing together as you taste yourself on him and with one last flick of his thumb John feels you tense underneath him as your orgasm rocks your body. You feel like your whole body is on fire, little fireworks lighting up every single nerve ending you have and causing you to moan into John’s mouth, your fingers scramble to to hold onto something, anything to ground you, eventually tangling in the fabric of John’s shirt as you ride out the wave of your orgasm. Your chest heaves as you come down from your high and you separate your lips from John to mumble the words “you have too many clothes one”, he chuckles at you and ducks down to place a kiss against your pulse point again before sitting up and pulling off his shirt first and then reaching down to unbuckle his belt, his jeans and boxers joining the mess of clothes all over the floor. Your eyes scan his body, his years in the military and security doing wonders for his body, corded muscles bulging in his arms as he brings his arms down on side of yours head forcing you to look him in the face once again where you’re meet with inquisitive and teasing eyes as he asks “like what you see sweetheart?”

ex boyfriends dad John Price who doesnt expect or wait for an answer as he presses his lips to yours in another searing kiss, lips and tongues melding together its almost like you were trying to drain each other life essence out just through the kiss. When John pulls away from you, a string of saliva connects you and only breaks when he dips his tongue out to swipe across his lips as he checks in with you again to make sure that this is what you want and when you nod, he takes one of his hands by your head and gently guides himself inside you. The stretch is absolutely delicious and a moan rips through you, starting deep in your chest and falling from your lips before you can even stop it but John doesn’t want you to stop it instead he grips your chin and tells you to be louder that he wants to hear every little sound that tumbles from your lips and so you do. With every thrust inside of you and every circle of Johns finger against your clit your moans get louder and more uncontrolled every fibre of your being filled with nothing but pleasure and your mind numb to any other thought than Johns name and the pleasure he is giving you. You cum again with John inside you, your nerve endings lighting up like the sun itself as you clench around him, the tightness of your pussy clamping down on Johns dick causing a jagged moan to fall from John’s lips. He knew he wasn’t going to last, he was already so worked up from kissing you and eating you out that he knew he was going to cum soon. And as you clench around him again, a mini ograsm richocting from your last one, he groans into you neck and takes your hip into a bruising grip, fingers and nail digging in to the plush flesh, he can’t himself as she sheathes himself inside of you right up to the hilt as his own orgasm rocks through him and he fills you with his cum. Your both panting, your chests heaving as you both come down from your high with ecstasy and adrenaline filling your systems and you notice, John is still hard inside of you so you say with a smile, “another round?” which may have turned into 2, including a round in the shower as he tried to clean you up from the previous rounds.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who decided that night that he wanted this to be more, more than just sex. He wanted you in your entiretly, he wanted not just your heart but your soul. He wanted to know every secret you kept hidden buried deepen inside you, he wanted to know the simplest most basic parts of you, your favour colour and favourite food, what made you laugh and smile and what pisses you off. He wanted to hold your hopes and dreams in his hands and support you to reach to them, wanted to hold your hand as you rose and comfort you when you fell. He wanted your happiness and your pain. He just wanted you. Every part of you, no matter how knarled and ugly you thought it was because to him you would always be the most wonderful creature the gods had ever created.

#cod x reader #cod smut #cod x female reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price smut #price x you #price x yn #price smut #john price x you #tw. cheating #tw. PIV sex #tw. oral sex #tw. age difference

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rafes-slut · 3 days ago

Note

could you write one where the reader is a total pillow princess. idk maybe they’re going to bed or something but rafe gets horny so she tells him to make it quick. he just pounds her into the mattress

Pillow princess

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Warnings: Pure smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, manhandling, pillow princess dynamic, dom!Rafe, degradation, possessiveness, overstimulation, breeding kink (mention), creampie, spanking, choking (light), fingering, filthy language, hair pulling, slight dub-con vibes (only because you're lazy/tired and he's relentless), semi-public moaning risk, heavy praise/degradation mix, bed shaking, marking/biting. 18+ ONLY.

You were dead tired. The kind of lazy that sinks into your bones, making your limbs feel heavy and your mind float somewhere between awake and asleep. All you wanted was to slip into the sheets, curl into Rafe’s chest, and knock out for the night.

Rafe had other plans.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened as he stood at the edge of the bed, bare chest rising with each slow breath. The smirk on his face was dangerous—he knew exactly what you were trying to do when you tucked yourself under the covers, burying your face into the pillow with a soft yawn.

“Nah, don’t even try that sleepy shit,” he growled, yanking the blanket off of you in one swift motion, leaving you exposed in your thin tank top and panties. His large hand gripped your ankle, dragging you back to the edge of the bed like you were weightless.

“Rafe…” you whined, your voice already breathy, lazy. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah? Too fucking tired to take this dick?” he muttered, kneeling on the bed between your spread legs, hand sliding up your thigh with a slow, threatening grip. “That’s fine. You don’t gotta do a damn thing. Lay there, princess. I’ll handle all the work.”

You shivered at the promise, biting your lip as he tugged your panties down your legs, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder. His eyes stayed glued to your heat, already glistening just from his tone alone.

“You’re so fucking wet for me and you’re claiming you’re too tired?” he scoffed, dragging his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick. “You’re such a dirty little pillow princess, you know that?”

You whimpered, squirming a little, but he pinned your hips down with one hand, fingers sliding through your slit before plunging two deep inside you without warning.

“Fuck—Rafe,” you gasped, arching off the bed as his fingers curled and pumped hard, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Lay the fuck down and let me take what’s mine.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. He yanked his boxers down, cock already throbbing, veiny and thick, tip flushed with need. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide open for him, and you could feel him dragging the tip through your folds, teasing your entrance.

Then he slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, fuckin’ heaven every time,” he groaned, head tipping back, hips immediately slamming into yours without mercy. The bed creaked under his weight, his pace relentless, rough, like he was punishing you for being lazy.

Your hands fisted the sheets, moans spilling out, but Rafe wasn’t satisfied. He leaned down, wrapping one hand around your throat, applying the slightest pressure, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You wanted to lay there and do nothing, right?” he panted against your ear, his hips pounding into you, balls slapping your ass with each thrust. “Just let me fuck you stupid? That what you wanted, baby?”

You nodded, barely able to form words, eyes rolling back as he drove deeper, faster. He grabbed one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder for a deeper angle, the new position making you cry out.

“Fucking take it. Be a good little pillow princess for me.”

His free hand gripped your breast, squeezing hard before his teeth sank into your shoulder, marking you, claiming you. His rhythm never faltered, hips slamming against yours so hard the headboard banged the wall.

“Shit, listen to you,” he growled, his hand slipping down to rub your clit in tight circles. “You say you’re tired but your pussy’s sucking me in like a fucking whore.”

You screamed, body shaking, pleasure building fast, and he knew it. He could feel you clenching around him, your slick coating his cock as he fucked you into the mattress like an animal.

“Gonna cum? Yeah? Cum on this dick, sweetheart. Make a mess on me. I wanna feel you fucking gush.”

You shattered, back arching off the bed, walls squeezing him so tight he nearly lost it. He fucked you through it, never slowing, his own release building.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill this pussy. Take it. Take all my cum like the good little fuck toy you are.”

His hips stuttered, cock buried deep, tip kissing your cervix as he spilled inside you, groaning low and dirty in your ear, grinding into you to milk every drop.

You lay there, boneless, gasping for air, thighs shaking. Rafe smirked above you, leaning down to kiss your neck, his cock still twitching inside you.

“Lazy bitch,” he muttered, pulling out and watching his cum leak out of you. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck it back in later.”

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gf2bellamy · 1 day ago

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I have no idea if I hallucinated that requested this or smt, so totally ignore this if i've already asked.

But could you ever do a fic where spencer is at the hospital from that time he got shot at, and reader gets his belongings while he's in surgery and she sees a ring box in between them. (Engagement ring ofc) And she talks with spencer after and tells him that she saw it.

That's kinda the idea, love your work and thanks in advance if you decide to write it. 🥰

ring — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer is in the hospital because of his neck injury , mention of a shooting, reader being worried / panicked , a/n: hii !! i loved this request so much that i ended up writing like 5 different versions of it - i hope you like this !! <33 ( also i definitely got carried away with this )

Blake had practically shoved you out of the hospital waiting room, insisting you go to Spencer’s apartment.

You didn’t want to leave—not when Spencer was still in surgery, not when every second felt like an eternity of uncertainty.

But Blake had been firm but kind. “He’s going to be okay, but he’ll need things when he wakes up.”

You had resisted at first, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Garcia’s call hours earlier had sent your world spinning. “Spencer’s been shot,” she had said, her voice trembling.

You didn’t remember the drive to the hospital—only the blur of streetlights and the pounding of your heart. When you arrived, Blake had met you in the waiting room. She explained that a bullet had grazed Spencer’s neck, that it was serious but not life-threatening.

Still, the word “surgery” had lodged itself in your chest.

It wasn’t until the doctor emerged to tell you the surgery had gone well that you finally agreed to leave. Spencer was stable, but he wasn’t awake yet, and visiting hours were over. Blake had told you, “Go pack a bag for him. He’ll need clothes when he’s discharged.”

Now, standing in the middle of Spencer’s apartment, you felt weird.

The space was so him—neatly organized bookshelves, a chessboard set up on the coffee table, and the faint scent of Earl Grey tea lingering in the air.

It was comforting, but it also made his absence feel more pronounced. You took a deep breath and got to work, pulling out a duffel bag from his closet and starting to pack.

You began with the essentials: a few pairs of pants, sweaters , and socks. You couldn’t help but smile as you grabbed a handful of mismatched ones. But then you remembered his purple scarf, the one he always wore when the weather turned chilly. It was his favorite, and you knew he’d want it when he was discharged.

The problem was, you couldn’t find it.

You opened drawer after drawer, your frustration growing with each one. Spencer was organized, but the scarf was nowhere to be found.

“Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, your hands moving faster as you rifled through his things. You checked the top shelf of the closet, the hooks by the door, even the laundry basket, but it wasn’t there.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you pushed aside the row of clothes hanging in the closet, your fingers brushing against something soft and familiar.

There it was—tucked away in the very back, as if it had been hidden on purpose.

But as you pulled the scarf free, something else tumbled out, landing softly on the carpet at your feet.

A small, rectangular white box.

Your breath hitched as you stared at it, your mind racing.

You carefully placed the scarf in the duffel bag, your hands trembling slightly as you bent down to pick up the box.

The box was too small, too specific to be anything ordinary. You held it in your palm.Slowly, almost hesitantly, you lifted the lid.

And there it was.

A ring.

A beautiful, delicate ring with a diamond that caught the dim light of the room, scattering tiny rainbows across your hand. It wasn’t just any ring—it was an engagement ring.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of your lungs. You sat down heavily on the edge of Spencer’s bed, your legs suddenly unable to support you.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your eyes were wide, your mouth slightly open as you stared at the ring, unable to look away. The diamond sparkled, almost as if it were alive, and you reached out to touch it lightly, as if to confirm it was real. The metal was cool against your skin, the stone smooth and perfect.

Your mind raced, trying to process what this meant. You couldn’t help but already imagine the moment he might have planned—his nervous smile, his hands fidgeting, his voice soft as he asked the question. The image was so vivid it made your heart ache.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the ring cradled in your hand, your thoughts spiraling. But then, like a jolt, you remembered where you were supposed to be.

The hospital. Spencer.

He was still there, still recovering, and you were sitting here staring at a ring.

Carefully, you placed the ring back in its box and closed the lid. Your hands were still shaking as you tucked the box into the duffel bag, burying it beneath the clothes and the scarf. You stood up, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and took one last look around the apartment.

As you locked the door behind you and headed back to your car, your mind was still spinning.

The drive to the hospital was a daze. The streets blurred together.

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the parking lot. You sat in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to steady your breathing.

The ring. It was all you could think about.

Finally, you forced yourself to move, grabbing the duffel bag and stepping out into the cool night air. The walk to the entrance felt surreal, like you were moving through a dream. The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and you made your way to the waiting room.

You sat down in one of the stiff chairs, the duffel bag resting heavily in your lap. Your thoughts were a swirling mess, replaying every moment, every interaction with Spencer over the past few weeks. Things that had seemed innocent at the time now took on a new meaning.

A couple of weeks ago, he had dragged you into a jewelry store, casually asking what styles you liked. You had laughed it off, thinking he was just curious. Then there were the random dinners at different restaurants, him intently watching your reactions as you tried new dishes. “What kind of food do you like best?” he had asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. Now it all made sense.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice Blake walking in. She sat down across from you. It wasn’t until she spoke that you snapped back to reality.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You blinked, finally noticing her presence. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” you mumbled, forcing an awkward smile.

Your voice sounded distant, even to yourself, and you could tell Blake wasn’t entirely convinced. She studied you for a moment, her gaze flickering to the bag in your lap.

“Did you get everything you needed?” she asked, her tone casual.

You glanced down at the bag, your fingers tightening around the fabric. “Yeah, I got him some sweaters, pants, and just… clothes in general,” you said, your voice trailing off as your gaze drifted to the wall behind her. Your mind was already wandering again, back to Spencer, back to the ring, back to the unanswered questions that were swirling in your head.

And then, almost casually, Blake added, “And scarves?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, your eyes locking onto hers. She was smiling slightly, her gaze knowing. “You found it, didn’t you?” she asked. She took in your wide-eyed expression, the way your hands tightened around the duffel bag, and she didn’t need an answer.

She already knew.

“He asked me for advice,” Blake continued, shaking her head as if recalling the memory. A soft laugh escaped her, and you could tell she was amused by the whole thing.

“He did?” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was pounding, your mind racing to keep up with the conversation.

“Yes,” Blake said, her smile widening. “He wanted to make sure he got it right. Spencer’s not the type to do anything halfway, you know that.”

A smile tugged at your lips—maybe the first genuine one since Garcia’s call had shattered your world hours ago. You let out an emotional chuckle, the sound shaky. “It’s a beautiful ring,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“It is,” Blake agreed, her voice warm. “He spent weeks looking for the perfect one. Even spent hours in one store, agonizing over the details. You should’ve seen him.”

You had to brush a tear from your eye as another chuckle escaped you. “That sounds like him,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

The thought of Spencer meticulously searching for the right ring, second-guessing himself, trying to make sure it was perfect—it was so him. So thoughtful, so Spencer.

It was a lot to process and your mind was still spinning, when suddenly a nurse appeared in the doorway of the waiting room.

“Are you two here for Spencer Reid?” she asked.

You nodded immediately, jumping to your feet so quickly that the duffel bag slipped from your lap and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Blake reached down to pick it up, handing it to you with a small smile. “He’s awake,” the nurse continued. “You can see him now.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, a mix of relief and nervousness flooding through you. You turned to Blake, expecting her to follow, but she stayed seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Are you not coming?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Blake shook her head, her smile soft and knowing. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said gently. Her tone left no room for argument, and you realized she understood. The emotions were about to be high, the moment intimate, and Blake was giving you the space you needed.

You smiled, gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Blake,” you said, your voice sincere. She nodded, her eyes warm, and with that, you turned and hurried after the nurse, the duffel bag clutched tightly in your hands.

The walk to Spencer’s room felt both endless and far too short.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions, but all of them faded into the background when the nurse stopped outside a door and gestured for you to go in. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

The nurse gave you a reassuring smile before walking away, leaving you standing there, your hand hovering over the door handle.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and then pushed the door open. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Spencer was lying in the bed, his eyes closed, his face pale. For a moment, you just stood there, taking him in, relief flooding through you at the sight of him alive and breathing.

And then his eyes fluttered open, as if he could sense your presence. “Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Hi, Spence,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you closed the door behind you and stepped closer to his bed. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion and the bandage on his neck.

You set the duffel bag down on a nearby chair, your hands fidgeting nervously as you tried to find the right words.

But before you could say anything, Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “You’re here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Of course I’m here,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage. Spencer watched you with a weak smile, his eyes soft but tired.

You weren’t entirely sure how to approach the situation. Your hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to touch him or keep your distance.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, your voice gentle as you stood right next to his bed, close but not quite touching.

“I’m okay,” Spencer said. He tried to sit up slightly, wincing as he shifted. You instinctively stepped forward, your hands reaching out but still not making contact. “You sure? Do you want me to get you something? Water? A pillow?” you offered, your voice tinged with worry.

“No, no,” Spencer shook his head, managing a small smile as he finally settled against the raised bed. He glanced at you, his eyes searching yours, and then he whispered, “You can touch me.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. He had noticed—of course he had. Your hesitation and your fear of hurting him if you touched him.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You immediately rushed to sit down on the edge of the bed, where he had slightly patted the space beside him with as much energy as he could muster. Your hands found their way to his face, brushing the hair away from his forehead, your fingers trembling as they traced the lines of his face.

“God, you scared me so much,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as you continued to gently twist his hair between your fingers. Your hands eventually drifted down to his face, brushing over his cheekbones, your touch feather-light.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, his eyes still closed, his breathing steady but shallow. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

When he opened his eyes, you stared at him for a moment, trying to absorb the fact that he was really here, awake, and alive. The relief was overwhelming, but so was the flood of emotions you’d been holding back. You wanted to say so much, but the words felt tangled, caught somewhere between your heart and your throat.

Instead, you forced a small smile and shifted the conversation to something lighter. “I got you some clothes,” you said, gesturing to the duffel bag. “I figured your hospital gown isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“It’s not,” Spencer admitted, his voice still weak but with a hint of amusement. You set the bag on your lap and opened it slightly, pulling out a few items to show him. “I got you some books too,” you added, hoping to distract him—and maybe yourself—from the heaviness of the moment.

Spencer’s interest was immediately piqued, his tired eyes lighting up just a little.

“Which ones did you—” he started to ask, but then he stopped mid-sentence. His gaze had landed on something in the bag, and his expression shifted.

You followed his eyes and realized what he was looking at: the purple scarf. It was peeking out from beneath the stack of clothes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker.

Spencer’s mouth opened slightly, his eyes darting from the scarf to you and back again. You could see the realization dawning on his face, and your stomach dropped.

“It was an accident,” you finally said nervously, breaking the silence. Your voice was rushed, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to find it. I was just grabbing your scarf because, you know, it’s freezing outside, and I thought you’d want it when you’re discharged, and—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling. “I’m sorry,” you added, shaking your head and offering an awkward smile.

Spencer, meanwhile, was full-on blushing, his pale cheeks now flushed with color. It was a stark contrast to how he’d looked just 20 seconds ago.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes darting nervously around the room before finally settling on the wall behind you. He looked completely lost in thought, his mind racing a mile a minute.

“No—it’s… it’s okay,” Spencer finally managed to say, though his voice was quiet and hesitant. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“Spence?” you asked softly, your slightly trembling hand reaching up to gently cup his face again. Your touch seemed to pull him back to the present, and his eyes slowly met yours.

“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Your hand fell from his face, but he caught it before it could retreat, his fingers intertwining with yours. His grip was firm, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away. “I asked Blake for advice,” he admitted, his tone sheepish.

“I know,” you whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She told me.”

Spencer didn’t seem surprised that Blake had shared that with you. Instead, he nodded, his eyes dropping to your joined hands.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I had a speech prepared, and I—I was going to have this whole routine on how I would ask you.” He tightened his hold on your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m sorry you found out like this,” he added, his voice hesitant.

He opened his mouth again, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking away, as if he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze.

The room fell silent. You could see the disappointment in his expression, the way he was beating himself up for not being able to execute his plan the way he’d envisioned. But to you, none of that mattered. What mattered was the love behind it, the thought and care he’d put into something so meaningful.

After a beat of silence, you finally spoke, your voice soft.

“My answer is the same either way,” you whispered.

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“You want to…?” he started, but he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The hope in his eyes said it all.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yes,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes. “Of course I do, Spencer. How could I not?”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and pure joy. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire being. He squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again.

You smiled, your own eyes slightly glossy as you looked at him. The room felt quieter now, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“Now you have to heal faster,” you whispered, your voice teasing but tender as you brushed your thumb over his fingers, “so we can get working on our wedding preparations.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at the word wedding, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts shy and delighted.

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he were trying to process the reality of what you’d just said. Then he let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and genuine despite the hoarseness in his voice.

“Wedding preparations,” he repeated, his tone a mix of awe and amusement. “I… I hadn’t even gotten that far in my planning yet.” He paused, his smile turning sheepish. “I was so focused on the proposal that I didn’t think much about what would come after.”

You chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of ideas,” you said, your tone playful. “But first, you need to rest and get better. No more getting shot, okay? I can’t have my fiancé—” The word felt strange but wonderful on your tongue, and you paused, savoring it for a moment before continuing, “—running around getting himself hurt.”

Spencer’s smile widened at the word fiancé, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fiancé,” he murmured, as if testing out how it sounded. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice soft. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment against his skin. When you pulled back, his eyes were closed, his expression peaceful.

“I’ll heal faster,” he promised, his voice quiet. “I’ve got a wedding to plan now, after all.”

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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justladders · 2 days ago

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To everyone in the art community, please:

Tracing is effective. But only as a learning tool. Telling people "never trace" can be robbing them of methods that could have been effective to their learning process if they'd known about them.

The "art of using tracing" is a bit looked over, so I have five points:

(it's a long one)

1: AS A RULE OF THUMB, DO NOT POST/SHARE TRACED AND STOLEN ARTWORK. This is not only lying to anyone you show it to, if you're trying to come off as, "I'm so good, look at what I did," but most importantly, it's lying to yourself. You'll trick yourself into not needing to get any better, and you will stagnate if you start to rely on tracing as a form of stealing. If you come to realize that you are, you should stop using any tracing methods altogether to keep yourself from abusing it. It's a slippery slope for beginners, and a big reason why you’ll hear almost everyone echo that you just shouldn’t trace at all. The issue is that this ignores the ways that tracing can actually be good.

2: Tracing sets the stage for motor skills/hand-eye coordination. I've seen so many early-stage beginner artists get upset that the art that they make of their favorite character/oc is messy, or maybe they just don't even know what they want to draw and can’t "make themselves mindlessly doodle.” These early arists then become completely disheartened and upset, especially if they start to look at other people for comparison. Tracing over work or even over photos is a way to train your hand to hold and wield a pencil/stylus properly without you being worried about the finished product. Think of it like a way to dip your toe into learning the process of what making art feels like, without having to get overwhelmed with searching up pointers and people telling you, "10 quick tips to become a master artist!!!!!!!" (<- please ignore those) If you’re just beginning, your hand-eye coordination needs to be trained, and you shouldn't bog yourself down so much thinking about end products just yet, so if tracing is the way to get you started, go for it. If you're a bit more experienced, tracing and drawing over reference can also help you warm up without being committal or stressing your art brain too much.

3: Practice "mindful tracing." While I said the previous point was targeted more at beginners, this point is actually about something that experts in their field use. Doing "mindful tracing" over art means that you aren't worried about getting the lines "correct," you're studying why those lines are there. You're taking note of where the shadows meet the highlights based on the light source, how it shows off the forms, and how sharp or soft the lighting is; you're going over the lines of action in the piece to see how your eye is guided by the artist's intention and planning; you're seeing how characters may be stylized into shapes and the feeling that those shapes can give; you're noting how the artist uses line weight or weird blocks of color or stark breaks to split up the art or separate ideas within it; you're experiencing the flow of the poses within the artwork to grasp how that kind of thing feels; you're breaking down the overall composition like in a thumbnail sketch; and the list goes on.

"Mindful tracing" ends up looking like you've marked up an English essay: it should be messy, because the intent with it is not to copy or replicate, it's to notate. It's like how literally writing notes on things helps you remember better than if you only read it. You're acknowledging instead of just looking. And you can always learn, even from styles that you don't intend on actually using. As you get to be more experienced, you may come to realize that you can do "mindful tracing" analyses on artwork without having to literally write over top of the piece, which is great: that means you're improving your creative brain, and prepping it to be able to break down your own works in this way as you make them.

4: Trace for specific character or style studying. For this point, I want to especially stress that this is what makes everyone say, "don't trace," because this is what tracing is most commonly associated with: art theft. There's really no excusable reason to repost someone's art in this way.

I feel like you have to be a bit more experienced to properly use tracing specifically for style studies. The benefits that come with tracing a certain style is that it can quite literally teach your hand/brain to recognize the patterns that are present. You get a feel for how far apart a specific characters eyes are, how big their hands are, how the shapes of the body make up their form, how the exaggeration in the expressions feel, and when traced you know you have all of these proportions correct. This makes it so much easier to start drawing the specific character on your own if you know that you have a correct baseline (and of course you should still use reference from then on). When you study many different characters of the same style, you can start to grasp what actually makes up this style that you're studying, where -similar to point #3- you train your art brain to recognize the original artists' intentions and ideas. I would even argue that doing this is MORE IMPORTANT than using reference at the very beginning of a style study, because it makes you worry less about if you're pulling from the reference correctly and instead lets you focus on the original art by thinking through it during the process; this kind of thing is done by professionals. Although tracing can net you these benefits for studies, it is not a way to get around the rest of the learning process, which is the pitfall that normally ends up making tracing ineffective.

5: Lastly, I actually kind of lied about tracing "only being good as a learning tool." The other case where tracing gets used is within the process of making hand drawn animation, and I do mean the professional stuff. Model guides are constantly used in classic animation as reference to keep by the animator's side so that characters stay on model, but sometimes there are unnoticeable parts of a character that just get straight-up traced from either the model sheet or a different scene that's already animated. When used smartly and sparingly, this keeps the character on model, is unidentifiable to the audience, and takes up less time for the animators to work (and by "used smartly" I don't mean moments where characters blatantly have 5 seconds of reused animation). I can basically guarantee that this practice was done throughout the making of any 2D project you can think of.

In digital hand drawn art, key frames between points in an animation may get the "shift and trace" treatment, where the tween frame is just a smudged-around-version of the key frames until it looks about right, and then it get traced over. Backgrounds get traced all the time by artists in the professional field through modelling a 3D render of the space, going over it so they have the layout, and then painting on top of it. When drawing characters, people will take photos of themselves and trace the pose, then keep it to the side as reference. And this is all without even mentioning rotoscoping.

When people say, "don't trace," what they actually mean is, "don't trace as a substitute for experience."

The issue is that people blanketly state, "x thing is bad," because then people that aren't learned in the field go, "oh, okay, x thing is bad, it will always be bad, I shouldn't look into it or consider it any more, and I should correct/disgrace anyone that thinks otherwise or does x thing."

So please. Trace. Tell other people to trace. But remember: trace mindfully. :)

#justtalks #art tips #art #long post #tracing #tumblr

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flower-blossoms654 · 11 hours ago

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No bc like it’s so hard to get people who only know pop psychology to understand how severe shit can be or how things can have many complexities. It actively does harm to these groups of individuals when people just fucking say “oh they have this” so they must be evil or “someone has done this” so they MUST have this condition, associating abuse or mistreatment as diagnosis and the disorder itself. It makes it so hard to stand by your own existence because you can’t even prove yourself. I have witnessed so many conversations like that - “oh they’re a narcissist” because the person acted selfishly, automatically tying the connotation to NPD.

Then there’s my own experiences with undershooting the severity of other mental conditions, as they only know them by how the terms have been used in a pop context or by the glamorized version of things. There are so many people that’ll be like “yeah depression is so hard” and then turn up their nose when you express how hard maintaining hygiene and cleanliness has been for you. Yeah I used to not shower for 2 weeks and struggled to brush my teeth even once a day and I never flossed - and they look at you like you are disgusting when you could barely muster the energy to wake up and survive.

My sister tells me she got “overstimulated” and I’m like yeah it fucking sucks. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have to flee the room and I have to stop myself from putting so much pressure on my head that it hurts - to stop from clawing at my ears in the hope that things will just quiet. Rip the clothing from my skin and resist the urge to scratch the feeling away. And then there’s the look again - that I’m crazy even though they used the word for what that feeling is. And then I realize that oh she meant overwhelmed and she is not in fact feeling something crawl under her skin and suffocating her with a feeling that is not quite claustrophobic but something close to it.

My mom says that she is “a bit adhd as well” and I think she understands but then she mentions how she’s just sometimes absentminded. And I have to navigate if she really does experience some of the things I do or be hit with the “you shouldn’t be doing that” or “I guess it’s not important to you then” when I forget something or I sit for hours not drinking, eating, or using the restroom because the only thing that exists is what is in front of me. How I feel like crying when I’m forced to sit in a chair for just an hour and fifteen minutes of class because my body is screaming at me to move and I can’t catch onto anything my professor is saying.

I have such bad intrusive thoughts sometimes that it’s taken me years to admit that I even had them to someone else, because I knew that if I told someone they would likely view me terribly, even as I try to scream in my head to drown those thoughts. How it just makes me freeze as I tense and try to think of anything but it - until I forget that I had the thought in the first place bc I don’t wanna ever remember it existed in the first place. How it took me forever to view myself as something other than evil and terrible and monstrous—because that’s what I’ve been told that that’s how people with those thoughts are, regardless of anything else.

It all just makes it so hard to get support. To get accommodation - not even speaking in a work sense. To just get the people around you to realize how you might struggle or what you are fighting against and be there because you are not evil for the disorder you have. That hey, this person might not be able to stand the same things you can because they ARENT the same person as you. They just think you are either the same as them or not even human at all, and it makes it so isolating when sometimes all you need is someone to look at you and see you.

I genuinely can't stand pop psychology I'm not an expert on this stuff but the damage it has done to the general public's understanding of mental health and psychology must be notable. People with low empathy are evil. NPD is The Abuser Disorder. here's how your partner is subconsciously manipulating you. OCD is when you like cleaning. If you ask him a question and he looks away for one second he's lying to you and abusing you. Follow for more dark psychology tips. Letting my intrusive thoughts win and dyeing my hair. I thought this guy was into me I'm so delulu. Anyone who comes to you with their problems is traumadumping and abusive. Anyone who gives you gifts is lovebombing and abusive. Being neurodivergent means Liking Things. Neurotypicals don't like things. They are empty shells without feelings. Neurodivergent means ADHD or ASD. What, BPD? Schizophrenia?? That's not very quirky or fun. And that's what neurodivergent means. That's just weird. Being mentally ill isn't an excuse to be weird. Only Evil People manipulate and abuse. There are certain people who Are Evil by nature (people with NPD) and they Will abuse you. Loving someone means it's impossible to abuse them only Evil People Who Hate You are abusive. Have I mentioned that people with NPD are evil. I really want to drive that home

#its the demonizing of some disorders while minimizing others #and I can only really speak personally on the minimizing side but it’s terrible to see the demonizing happening #okay on second thought #maybe I do have some experience in the demonizing as well #takes a bit to recognize how much your own struggles have been minimized #really tired of thinking someone can finally connect with me and getting that same look again and again #like they look at you as if you should be in a straight jacket and it’s like well I thought we were connecting here but I guess I was wrong

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leyavo · 1 day ago

Text

| Now you talk |

Summary: Bug and Roach find themselves in the Captain’s office after a physical altercation. (Harassment)

PART 4 of 🐞 Bug’s series [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Men, they loved to talk shit. Especially in the military, saying the most misogynistic shit and brushing it off as a joke. Half the time when it was directed at you, you’d ignore it. The other half? Ask them if they’d ever been loved by their mother, because they’re obviously lacking in something.

You didn’t get a chance to react to the latest shit this guy was spewing though. A blurred figure appeared out of nowhere, shoving the guy against the nearest surface, a truck.

Thick with dirt, the guys face pressed into the mud, but no matter how hard he thrashed against the other’s hold he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Roach! What the fuck,” you gasped. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, too focused on the guy in front of him.

One simple word, “apologise,” Roach snarled, his eyes softened as he glanced back to you. He’s not in his usual tactical gear, a navy pair of jeans and a black hoody draped over his shoulders, Roach printed across his upper back. The grey mask looks off without his goggles and helmet, you have to do a double take. The guy obviously didn’t recognise him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so brave.

He’s not one for words, rarely speaks to you or the task force, but when he does it matters.

“What’s going on ‘ere.”

You tense at the firm, deep voice at your back. Lieutenant Riley living up to his call-sign, ghost. The only way he’ll announce his arrival is if he wants to be heard. You don’t get a choice.

There’s something off-putting about him, you’re still trying to figure him out. Lieutenant Riley you understand, Ghost and whatever personality he has as a civy you have no idea.

Ghost pries Roach off the guy, but he doesn’t let him scurry away. No, the lieutenant grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and gives him the once over.

“Sergeant Haines,” Ghost reads the patch out loud, brown eyes flitting to Haines and then you. He lets go of his shirt, patting the creased fabric from his grasp. More of a slap in warning. “137, huh? Captain Reynar will be waiting for you. Now go.”

You’re still staring at Roach, wondering what exactly he heard or how much. He won’t glance your way though, no he’s watching Haines retreat. Face hidden, no tells to inform you of what he’s feeling other than anger.

“Come on you two,” Ghost barks, nudging his head to the main building. You don’t protest, just fall in line with him and Roach.

The pounding in your head increases with each step you take. You just want to run off to your room and stay there till you forget the whole thing. Hopefully Roach will keep his mouth shut.

You catch up with Roach, tugging his arm. “I can look after myself, don’t need you…” you muttered under your breath, head dipping as Ghost glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Save it for the Captain.”

Fuck, the captain. You don’t want this to drag out, don’t want to repeat the words Haines said to you about them. If Roach hadn’t got involved, you’d have easily got on with your work and tried to dodge Haines around base. Now you’ll be forced to say something you’re not comfortable saying to them.

You follow them through the building, down the narrow corridors. Bodies parting like the Red Sea as soon as they spot Ghost walking in their direction. He knocks on the Captain’s door, making you both stand outside whilst he gives John a heads up of what’s going on.

⋆⋅ꕥ⋅⋆

“Why is it, that you two are in my office two days in a row?” The captain says, leaning back in his chair and scratching his moustache. It’s rare to see him without a hat, short clipped hair brushed back.

In your defence yesterday was unlucky, a faulty flash bang going off in the armoury and the two of you were at the scene. Your eyes still stung and head throbbed from the aftermath.

“Sexual harassment, Captain.” Roach said, quick and to the point as if he’d been asked the time.

“Oh, now you talk.”

“Bug,” ghost interjected, he’s leaning on the edge of the desk like a scary gargoyle leering over a church. His arms folded over his chest, gaze fixed on Roach who’s glaring back at him.

The Captain stares at you though, of course you’re the newest recruit. Must be your fault. And it’s very out of character for Roach to lash out.

You’d never seen Roach lose it so quickly. His frame still trembling with rage as he sat in the chair, back straight and fists balled up on his knees. Even during an op he hadn’t displayed this much rage. Maybe before you joined the 141, but you’d never witnessed it till now.

“He didn’t touch me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Well Roach didn’t give him a chance to, twisted the guys arm before he could and slammed him against the side of the nearest truck.

Not that it would have gone that far, you’re good at ignoring and walking away from those pricks. Capable of standing up for yourself too, without Roach’s help.

Price sighs, glancing between you and Roach. “So what happened then?”

You really didn’t want to do this, either way you don’t win. If it’s not you telling them, it’ll be Roach.

“He said I only got on the task force so you could all pass me around,” you mumbled, embarrassed to say it out loud to your captain and lieutenant. You’d heard a lot worse about yourself and others, advised by other women to ignore it and silence them by climbing the ranks. Warned to never date someone in the same line of work.

And you’d climbed the ranks, joined the task force. Your hard work still getting overlooked by the simple fact of being a woman. There’s no way you got it alone, must have done favours for men in high places (which you did not). It made you sick.

Just saying it out loud made you feel like an object, dirty and used. A tiny part in the deepest pit of your mind hoping they don’t laugh it off and tell you to toughen up, hand on your thigh.

Silence. You rose from your chair, if you’re moving they won’t try it. Brush it off before they can.

“It isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Roach just needs to grow thicker skin, Captain.” The same thing you were told when you complained to your superiors when it happened the first, second and third time. You didn’t bother trying to report them after. Knowing the only person in your corner was you.

“I’ll talk to his C.O,” the captain said, clicking away at his keyboard. No doubt, compiling a useless report. You don’t know why he’d waste his time.

If anything Haines would get a slap on the wrist and a warning, but you. You’d be labeled too sensitive and emotional, not fit for the military. What are you going to do if you’re getting interrogated? That question always thrown at you.

You scoffed, “What so they can have a laugh? Pass the joke around like you all pass…”

“Bug!” Roach snapped, you’d never heard him yell. His chair tipping over as he stood up. The clang of metal making you back up a couple steps.

As calm as ever, Ghost placed a hand on Roach’s shoulder and steadied him.

If anything it should be you raging, not him, but you’re tired of letting the opinions of others control you so much. What’s your anger going to do? Other than tear yourself apart. No you’ll just push it down and deal with it when you get back home.

“Why don’t you go cool off, Roach.”

Ghost is on his feet, “I got it,” he says over his shoulder as he goes after Roach. He closes the door behind him, the sound bothering you more than it should. Just the thought of being alone with the Captain setting you on edge.

The Captain points to the sofa, he’s rounding the desk and coming for you, but you return to the uncomfortable metal chair you were seated in before.

He doesn’t question it though, just sits on the sofa as you turn the chair to face him.

You cross your arms over your chest and slouch in your seat. “I’m not emotional,” you mumbled, staring down at your scuffed boots.

“I didn’t say you were.” He’s quick to reply, brow raised at your words.

“I know how this goes.”

“How does it go, Bug?” He shifts on the edge of the sofa, leather creaking with his movements. His hands clasped together in his lap. Head tilting in attempt to meet your gaze, but you’re looking at his fingers twitching.

“You tell me I’m being sensitive, that I shouldn’t report it. There’s no need to ruin a good man’s career and reputation. What else do you want me to do?” Your heart hammering in your chest, hoping the Captain doesn’t ask something of you. Hoping he won’t give you some boring task like cleaning the rec room and saying how you’ll be able to think whilst you do it.

“I want you to help me fill out a report.” And right on time, the ancient printer spits out a piece of paper. He plucks it off the filing cabinet beside him and offers it to you.

You scan the black text, the paper still warm between your grasp. “I don’t…”

“Task force 141 and I, do not take any type of harassment lightly. We’d never treat you like that, ever Bug. You hear me?”

You nod, unable to find the words.

“I’m angry, but not at you Bug.”

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