#build a blurb

[girl-next-door-writes]

If You Love Her

Characters: Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: Morgan tries to set up Spencer and Reader in the hopes that all they need to get together is a little push. Little does he know, they’ve been together for a while.

Word Count: 948 words

Prompt: secret relationship, fierce kiss, chaste kiss, falling asleep, only one bed.

A/N: This is for the magnificent @marvellover-12 and fabulous @kalliblast as part of my ‘build-a-blurb’ follower celebration.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell for you; it could have been the first time you smiled at him, or when you understood his random Doctor Who reference, perhaps it was the many times you had playfully defended him against Morgan’s teasing. More likely it was a combination of all the little moments, the shy glances, the brush of your hand against his. Spencer knew that finding the exact moment was not important, he was completely in love with you, and he knew you felt the same way.

The past few months had been like a beautiful dream. Secret coffee runs, elaborate excuses as to why neither of you could join the team for drinks, stolen kisses in the break room. This was all so new, and it had been agreed that you didn’t want to share it just yet. Better to see how things progressed, build a solid foundation before you had the team interrogating you both. Not that your behaviour had gone unnoticed.

Being pulled from his bed to jet across the country was never Spencer’s favourite thing; sleep being quite a rare commodity for him at times, yet here he was. The flight was going to be a long one, and after a briefing and looking over the notes he had found his head growing heavy. Stifling another yawn, Spencer tried his best to keep his eyes from closing, aware of Morgan’s studying gaze on him.

A weight suddenly fell on his shoulder, and he glanced down in surprise, smiling softly when he realised you had nodded off and were now using him as an impromptu pillow. Shifting a little, he made sure you were comfy before leaning his cheek against the top of your head. This wouldn’t be the first time a team-mate had fallen asleep in him, so he figured nobody would be suspicious. As he drifted to sleep, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, feeling reassured by your presence.

Morgan watched the two of you curiously. He was well aware of Spencer’s not so subtle crush on you, hell, he’d teased the boy enough about it. The boy genius seemed to drop iq points around you like a tree in fall, not to mention the stuttering over his words. He had to admit though, that over the last few months, the boy wonder seemed to have got his shit together a little better, though the longing looks across the bullpen and the dreamy smile on his lips had only gotten worse. Penelope seemed convinced that his feelings were reciprocated, but nothing would happen as neither of you was the type to make the first move. No, what you needed was a push; the whole team agreed.

You shifted in your sleep, your arm coming up to rest around Spencer’s waist as you let out a soft sigh. Morgan nudged JJ, nodding at the two of you with a smirk, which was quickly dropped when the two of them witnessed Spencer turn his head and place a tender, chaste kiss to the top of your head. It was a gesture of such familiarity and intimacy that Morgan had to grab onto JJ to stop her letting out an excited squeal. Yeah, it was incredibly cute, but it was hardly a conscious act. It did, however, show promise. Perhaps sleepy Spencer would be more open to making that first move, and that is how the ‘fool proof’ plan came to be.

If felt like the longest day ever by the time the team rolled up to the motel. Early morning flights combined with a full day wading through the horrific atrocities left by this killer meant that everyone was practically dead on their feet.

“I’ve got two doubles and the rest are singles, so fight it out amongst yourselves.” Hotch said tiredly as he grabbed a key to a single room and padded off down the corridor.

“Rossi?” Morgan picked up a key and nodded towards the corridor.

“Seriously? Can’t you share with Spence?” the older man grumbled.

“Oh, hell no! Not making that mistake again.” Morgan chuckled, glancing over at JJ.

“You two don’t mind sharing do you? I just want to talk to Will and maybe do that ‘falling asleep together over video call’ thing?” She looked at you both hopefully and it took everything he had to stop Spencer agreeing immediately.

“Sure, I don’t mind sharing with Spencer. I can always get him to read to me.” You chuckled as you picked up the final key. “Come on then roomie, I get first pick of bed though.”

As soon as the motel door closed, Spencer had tossed your bags into the room and cupped your face with his freezing cold hands. You were about to protest when his lips caught yours in a searing kiss that made your lack of sleep and the temperature of his hands irrelevant. Stumbling over to the bed, still tangled up in each other, it took you a few moments to realise that this room only had one bed.

“Do you think they know?” Spencer asked, looking at you with a hint of concern in his eyes.

“About us or about there only being one bed?” You asked with a growing smirk. “Do you think Morgan and Rossi are having the same conversation?”

“You think it’s a genuine mix up?”

“I think it doesn’t matter. I think that I get to share a bed with my gorgeous boyfriend and the BAU picks up the bill.”

“Okay, but we’ll have to be quiet, we don’t know how thin these walls are.” Spencer grinned before pushing you back onto the bed and resuming his kisses.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x reader #gndw fic #build a blurb

[fortheloveofwonderland]

☁️👅🎓⛴😵‍💫💦 😮‍💨 and maybe virgin!spence

ILY and your fics are 😍

Hello my dear! I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for! I think this is the first I’ve written virgin! Spencer without virgin reader so I hope you enjoy! Kind of very soft Dom reader.

Spencer would have been like 14 in college so this is during one of his PhD’s (I imagine he is 21 while reader is 18 ish) Minors DNI.

Send me emojis for my milestone celebration and I’ll write you a blurb.

🎓college AU

⛴ Sub! Spencer

😵‍💫 over stim

💦 cum play

😮‍💨 breath play

Summary - one tiny taste has Spencer Reid worshipping at the altar of you.

CW - swearing, meet awkwards, virgin! Spencer, sub! Spencer, Spencer’s a little quick on the draw, breath play, use of “good boy”, cum play, over stim, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem), fingering

Word Count - 3.5k

Milestone Blurbs Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worship

Not my gif

Fluff and smut - virgin Spencer

🎓college AU

⛴ Sub! Spencer

😵‍💫 over stim

💦 cum play

😮‍💨 breath play

Riding his bike through campus and listening to the crunch of fall leaves under his tires, Spencer Reid found himself smiling.

He was just a few weeks away from completing his third PhD in Engineering and once that was through he planned to move to DC and work for the sought after Jason Gideon at the BAU.

Life wasn’t perfect, far from it. His mom wasn’t doing so well and he worried what her fate might be when he left Las Vegas behind him for the east coast.

But this was a job of a lifetime and there was no way he could let it slip through his fingers. His mom would understand. Or more likely, his mom wouldn’t even notice his absence.

He focused his mind on the sound of the leaves crunching beneath his bike, a small commodity that made Spencer inconceivably happy.

He loved fall. He loved to watch the change in nature as it rolled in and the trees darkened before wilting, their leaves spiralling down to the ground to make way for new sprouts.

There was something hopeful this time of year. Spencer never quite knew what it was but fall excited him.

He was so hyper focused on the crackling of leaves he didn’t notice someone step into his path until he was imminently about to hit them.

He panicked and swerved the bike straight into a bench. The bench and bike collided and Spencer was thrown over the handlebars into a pile on the grass.

“Ouch.” He moaned, rubbing the back of his head wishing he hadn’t foregone a helmet this morning.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, brushing the grass stains off his jeans.

When he looked up, a curious set of eyes were looking back at him.

“You ok?” You were leant up against a nearby tree, a book open in your lap.

Spencer blinked a few times.

“Uh yeah.” He croaked, feeling his cheeks flush a dark crimson.

Spencer felt like a complete idiot. Of all the people he could have taken a tumble in front of, it had to be the girl he’d been crushing on all year.

He’d never spoken to you, never dared to. You were so beautiful he wouldn’t even know what to say to you.

You pushed yourself to your feet and came over, picking up some errant books that had fallen out of his bag before holding your hand out for him.

Spencer chewed on his lip and politely took your hand, letting you help him to his feet.

“Testing some kind of gravitational pull theory?” You smirked at him, handing him the books.

“Something like that.” Spencer picked up his bag and stuffed the books back inside.

“You’re the kid doing the PhD right?” You smiled at him and Spencer felt his knees practically give way.

He’d argue that he wasn’t a kid, he was twenty one, older than you, but instead he shrugged.

“I guess.”

“You must be some kind of genius to be doing a PhD at your age.” You nudged him in the arm.

“It’s actually my third doctorate.” His cheeks burned at his admittance.

“No shit.” Your eyes widened. “I’ll be lucky to make it through my bachelors.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

You shrugged and waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m Y/N by the way.” You smiled at him and Spencer felt like all the stars aligned at that moment.

“Spencer.” He scuffed his toe awkwardly in the grass.

“Are you going to the party tonight Spencer?”

“P-party?” Spencer did not get invited to parties.

He also didn’t get spoken to by pretty girls, so maybe his luck was changing on all accounts.

“Yeah, you should come.” Your eyes sparkled and Spencer didn’t think it was possible to say no to you.

“O-ok.” He nodded.

“It’s at the girls' dorms, fourth floor. Hopefully I’ll see you there.” You gave him one last bright smile before turning on your heels and sauntering away.

Spencer watched you go in complete awe of what had just happened.

Had he hit his head so hard he’d imagined that? Surely there was no way you had just invited him to a party?

But on the off chance this had been real, he was most certainly going to go.

***

It was hard to say exactly what had happened between Spencer turning up at that party and now sitting on your bed in your dorm room.

He hadn’t been drinking so that didn’t explain it. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he’d realised.

Or maybe you were so electrifying he lost all concept of time around you?

One minute he’d been talking to you, having to yell to be heard over the music and the next you’d taken his hand and were running down several flights of stairs.

He wasn’t exactly well versed in these kinds of things but he was sure there was only one reason a girl would invite him back to her dorm room.

And that both excited and terrified him.

“Did you have fun tonight, Spencer?” You sat down next to him on the bed and he swallowed.

“Uh…yeah.” He could smell your perfume and he felt a heat rising in his chest at the close proximity he found himself in with you.

“Do you want to have some more fun?” Your lip turned up at the corner and you leant in close to him.

Spencer closed his eyes as he felt your breath on his face. One of your hands cupped his cheek and just as your lips were about to graze his he whimpered, “I’m a virgin!”

Just like that.

You suddenly sat back and stared at him wide eyed.

“Oh.” Your demeanour switched in an instant, shuffling back a little. “Oh.”

Spencer slapped his palm to his face wishing a hole would open in your floor so he could just disappear.

“That was a really unsexy thing to say, huh?”

You surprised him when you chuckled a little and he removed his hand from his face so he could look at you.

“I mean, the timing was weird.” You smiled at him. “But uh…good to know I suppose.”

“Do you want me to leave? I should probably leave.” Spencer went to push himself up but you stilled him with your hand on his thigh.

“Why would I want you to leave?” You frowned curiously at him, keeping your hand on his thigh.

Your touch alone was enough to make his crotch twitch.

“I just…I figured…”

Your hand moved a little higher up his thigh and Spencer lost his trail of thought. Clearly you could see the effect you were having on him as you smirked.

“Are you waiting for, like, a reason? Religious affiliations? The one?”

“No.” He shook his head, swallowing a large lump in his throat.

“So you’re not opposed to…losing your virginity?” Your hand got higher still and you must be able to feel he was completely standing to attention now.

“Not in the least.”

“Well then, I certainly don’t want you to leave.”

With that Spencer found himself being shoved back to the bed and you quickly climbed on top of him and fixed your lips together.

He gasped at the feeling, allowing you the chance to slide your tongue in his mouth.

You held his face in your hands while Spencer kept his hands awkwardly at his sides.

He really didn’t know what to do. He’d watched porn, sure, but he didn’t have any practical experience in this field.

So he let you take the lead. He was powerless to do anything but.

You kissed him deeply, grinding against him causing him to moan into your mouth. Even fully dressed this was the closest he’d ever come to someone touching his cock.

When you sat back, he whimpered a little at your lack of touch but was grateful for the chance to breathe.

You looked down on him with a smirk as you quickly pulled your t-shirt over your head and tossed it to the floor.

Spencer blushed instantly at the sight of you in your bra and averted his gaze.

You laughed softly, cupping his jaw and turning his head back to look at you.

“You can look at me, Spencer. Even touch me.” You told him, as his arms were still plastered at his sides.

“Oh. Ok.” He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth but he didn’t move.

“You do want this, don’t you?” You suddenly frowned.

“What? Of course I do! I most decidedly want this Y/N, trust me. It’s just…very new territory for me.” His blush deepened.

“I find that hard to believe. You’re so…beautiful.”

“I was a twelve year child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school. Girls did not look at me.” He sighed.

“Well I’m looking at you. And I like what I see. But I want to see more of it.” You grabbed the hem of his shirt and he arched his back to help you rid him of the offending item.

It joined your shirt on the floor and he blushed once again while you looked him up and down.

He was painfully skinny, surely that wouldn’t be appealing to you?

But the way you were looking down on him, biting heavily on your lip and your eyes so dark they were practically black, told him otherwise.

You let your fingers run down his torso, your touch featherlight and leaving goosebumps behind in your wake.

Spencer let out a shaky breath at the sensation of someone touching him this way. He was so hard it hurt and he worried that he may come way too soon.

You placed your hands flush on his chest and bowed your head to his ear.

You nibbled a little on the lobe as you whispered, “take my bra off, Spencer.”

He whimpered pathetically and slowly raised his hands for the first time. He cautiously ran his hands over your back and up towards your bra clasp.

He was so nervous his hands shook violently and he fumbled with the clasp. It took longer than he was proud of to finally get it undone.

You rewarded him with a few kisses on his neck before you sat back and pulled the garment off your body.

Spencer moaned at the sight of your beautiful breasts and an animalistic urge took over and he instantly raised his hands and palmed them.

You smiled at him, giving him an encouraging nod as he started kneading them in his large hands.

“That’s it baby, just like that.” You praised him.

He bucked his hips, relishing the praise and he dared to tweak your nipples between his slender fingers.

You gasped, rolling down against him and making him whimper.

You could tell by his flushed face and heavy pants that he was probably already close. You didn’t want to embarrass him by having him come in his pants.

You surprised him when you pulled away from him, jumping up and standing over him. His eyes were heavy and full of lust and confusion.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Get your pants off.” You demanded, working the button of your own and sliding them down your hips.

Spencer whimpered again, staring at the black lace panties you wore under your jeans.

“I said, pants off.” You spoke sternly and Spencer nodded dumbly as he fumbled with his own buttons.

Once you removed your panties Spencer could barely breathe let alone think. He tried to focus on getting his own pants off but the sight of you was dizzying.

You chuckled a little and decided to help him, tugging the last remaining article of clothing down his legs and tossing them away.

His cheeks were redder than ever now he lay completely naked in front of you. But once again, you looked more than pleased by what you saw.

“So pretty.” You cooed as you climbed back on top of him.

Spencer gasped loudly when your wet pussy rubbed over his shaft and his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“F-fuck.” He stuttered.

You smiled at him, he was truly so adorable.

You bowed your head and plunged your tongue inside of his mouth again, gliding over his cock a few times to tease him.

Whilst you kissed him, you took hold of one of his wrists and guided it between your legs, pressing his index finger against your clit.

You both moaned in unison into each other’s mouths.

You let go of his wrist hoping he could continue on his own. Thankfully he did.

He rubbed the pad of his finger in little circles on your clit, absolutely mesmerised by how fucking wet you were.

His cock was throbbing beneath you and he really wondered how long he could hold out for. And when your small hand wrapped around the base of his shaft he all but screamed.

“Jesus.” He mumbled as you tore your lips away from his.

You smirked at him as you brought your hand up the length of his cock, swiped your thumb over the head to collect his precome and then descended again.

Spencer was shaking beneath you, still trying to make you feel good with his fingers but he couldn’t think straight.

The only person to ever touch his cock was himself. And it never felt anywhere near this good.

He had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and his breath was ragged. You knew he wouldn’t possibly last much longer.

With one more stroke of his dick, you let him go and gently guided his hand away from its place between your legs.

“Are you ready?” You smiled down on him, kneeling up a little.

“I-I think so.” He nodded.

“Don’t you worry about anything, ok? I’m going to make you feel real good.” You took hold of the base of his shaft again and lined him up with you.

Spencer gripped the bedsheets and prayed he didn’t come the second he was inside of you.

You were slow and cautious as you lowered yourself on his length. You wanted to give him a chance to get used to it so you let him disappear inside of you leisurely, inch by inch.

Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head the second his head entered you. The noises coming from between his pouty lips could only be described as sinful.

His face, neck and chest were bright red and you could see his whole body heaved with heavy breaths.

Once he was all the way inside of you he looked back at you, wide eyed like a puppy dog.

“How do you feel, baby?” You cooed.

“G-good. G-great.” He nodded.

You smiled a little dangerously and when your hand wrapped his throat he didn’t understand what was happening at first. And then you applied pressure, squeezing his windpipe and using his neck to steady yourself as you started moving.

“Good boy,” you smirked as he gasped for air. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

You started riding him, faster and hard than he could probably take. But every time he felt himself slam back inside of you was like an other worldly experience.

Your grip on his throat tightened and Spencer gasped to try and breath but your hand was heavy on his windpipe.

You bounced up and down on him, eyes fixed on his so you could see when to loosen your grip.

His eyes bulged slightly and you quickly loosened your grip on him, focusing on fucking him as he panted and gasped to try and refill his lungs.

His chest heaved up and down but before long your hand wrapped back around his throat again.

“Good boy, that’s it, keep your eyes on me.” You moaned as he slammed against your g spot and kept your body angled that way to repeat the action.

Spencer’s face turned from red to purple and a few tears escaped his eyes.

He opened his mouth a few times but he couldn’t speak due to the lack of air.

When he closed his eyes and he started shuddering beneath you, you knew why and you quickly let go of his throat.

He was gasping and mumbling incoherently as you felt his whole body convulse as he came inside of you.

“F-f-fuck.” He whined, still trying to stuff air back into his lungs. “I-I…fuck.”

The lack of air made his orgasm even more pleasurable, better than anything he’d ever felt before.

His head was a complete mess and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

You slid off of him, laying down next to him in the small single bed.

You cupped his jaw to make him look at you.

“Are you ok?”

“Hmmm.” He mumbled. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t want to…so soon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” You shushed him. “But you have made an awful mess.”

“O-oh!” He flushed again. “Oh gosh, do you have something I can clean up with?”

Your eyes were dark again and you smirked at him.

“No, but you do.” You gripped his jaw, running your thumb along his bottom lip, hoping he got the idea.

Judging by the way his pupils blew out, he did.

“I-I…”

“I let you come inside of me Spencer. It’s only polite if you clean up after yourself.” You gripped his shoulders and manoeuvred him so he was on top of you.

Spencer was still a little light headed from his orgasm and restricted breathing which allowed him to focus a little less on his nerves.

He moved down your body and hissed at the sight between your legs. His come was dripping out of you and soaking the sheets. It was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer and Spencer’s animal side returned, replacing any nerves he felt as he dove between your legs.

His tongue lapped all the way through your folds, collecting his own come on his tongue.

The combination of both of you on his tongue made him moan against you as rocked on the bed beneath him.

He’d see enough porn to know what to do, so he settled his tongue on your clit as he buried his face into you.

Your moans were like a melody to his ears and it caused his confidence to grow. Your hands found his hair and got lost in the thick locks.

He lapped through your folds again, loving the way his come tasted between your legs.

He worshipped you with his tongue. You were his altar and his tongue was his sweet prayers. He devoured you, eating you out like his life depended on it.

When you came, you tried to push him away but Spencer was too far gone. He kept up his ministrations on your clit whilst two fingers dove inside of you, fucking any of his left over come back inside of you.

“F-fuck Spencer! It’s too much!” You tugged his hair but he kept going.

His fingers plunged in and out of you, curling inside of you while his tongue never let up.

Spencer was a man possessed. He decided then and there his new favourite thing was eating pussy. Nothing had ever felt so fucking glorious as tasting you.

You were writhing beneath him, so over sensitive but Spencer showed no signs of slowing down.

You felt dizzy, like your whole body was on fire.

Spencer didn’t stop until your second orgasm washed over you and by the time it did, you forcibly pushed him away.

He raised his head to look at you, his mouth covered in a sheen of arousal.

He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

You had tears rolling down your cheeks but a sleepy smile on your lips.

“My god Spencer.” You breathed, reaching for him to pull him close but he nervously moved out of your grasp. “What’s wrong?”

His face was bright red again and he gnawed on his bottom lip.

“I uh…I enjoyed that a lot.”

“Me too. So what’s the problem?” You laughed a little.

“Uh…I enjoyed it too much.” He averted his gaze, feeling the sticky patch on the sheets where he’d come whilst eating you out.

“Oh baby.” You reached for him again and pulled him close to you. “It’s ok. If you enjoyed it that much, I won’t stop you doing it again. Just not right now.”

He nuzzled his head into your chest as you wrapped him in your arms.

“I would worship you anytime Y/N.” He whispered against your tender skin.

“Maybe in the morning I’ll take you up on that.” You chuckled sleepily, placing a kiss in his messy hair.

Spencer’s dick twitched at the mere thought. How was he supposed to sleep with thoughts like that in his head?

Soon enough your breathing got drawn out and he knew you were asleep.

Spencer just had to contain his excitement until the morning when he could do it all over again.

Spencer had never been a religious man, but he would spend the rest of his life worshipping you if you let him.

You were Spencer’s divine being, and he’d pay homage to you with his mouth every chance he got.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #build a blurb #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[little-pondhead]

After Danny is crowned Ghost King, Amity Park becomes detached from the mortal realm and is suspended between the two realms, much like Danny is. In an effort to combat this isolation from the rest of the world, Danny opens up his castle to the residents of Amity. (Not his Lair, just the castle he earned via conquest.)

Now the castle is more like a community center, and it’s constantly filled with both humans and ghosts coming and going. The Amity Parkers are already liminal, so visiting the Zone is actually healthy for them! The school takes the kids on regular field trips, ghost vs. human competitions get very heated, and overall everyone bonds over their shared freakiness and comes to terms with the fact they’ll never venture out into their world ever again.

But just because they’re detached from their world, doesn’t mean the residents of Amity can’t visit other worlds. :)

And it just so happens that their new community castle is filled to the brim with magic doors and ancient treasures to help aid on their noble quest of inter-dimensional grocery shopping.

#pondhead blurbs #danny phantom #ghost king danny #community castle au #liminal amity park #they can’t reattach to their world enough to allow anyone to leave #so for the sake of not going stir crazy #they refurbish the kings castle and it becomes just another part of amity #it’s a community center #people go to hang out or eat free food or raid the library #ghosts and humans mingle #it’s driving Walker nuts #this can work with any crossover #but I’m just thinking of like #Paulina popping into a Batburger in the DC verse to pick up some munchies for community movie night #orders a mountain of food and pays in emeralds the size of her fist #also she’s in like half armor cause she and star were taking javelin lessons from Pandora #gotta build some muscle if she wants to do that one flip at the football game next month #cheerleading is hard okay! #this is not the weirdest thing the Batburger employee has seen #but it’d be even funnier if Jason was walking by and she offered to hold the door for him #except it was the inter dimensional door and he just got kidnapped and invited to movie night #eh #he’ll go home in the morning #which is two weeks later for the dc verse #oh dear #dpxdc

[watermelonsugacry]

i’m getting the feeling that matilda is about 1d!reader, and i already know that it’s gonna break me

Building Harry's House: Matilda

A/N: Sorry this took forever to post but uni work is choking me without a sea view rn so tysm for being patient lovies 💚

SUMMARY: With the world knowing of their once secret relationship, Harry and YN navigate life together as an official couple and everything that comes with it. (9.6k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!reader, famous!yn

WARNING: mention of abuse (yn gets slapped), excessive drinking, mention of drugs

Previous Song Here!🍷// Building Harry's House masterlist // SINCE 2010 masterlist

SIDE-NOTE: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl

Consistency is something that has always been a part of the spine in YN’s storybook. No matter how many years go by, Penny remains a burst of sunshine with a kaleidoscope of colors—Harry can see how YN came to have her own golden light.

Harry turns the wheel of the car with the palm of his hand and parks into the gravel driveway of Penny’s house. When YN finally saved up enough money to take her mum out of the rickety house she grew up in, she made sure to tell Penny that she could have any place she wanted—it didn’t even have to be in London anymore if that’s what she truly desired. Of course, her stepmum opted for a cottage in the countryside along with a forest for a backyard and greenery as far as the eyes can see. Colorful, homemade pottery, wind chimes, and furniture scatter the front porch, adding Penelope’s psychedelic touch to every little thing that YN’s seen since she was little. 

Harry’s been aware of how quiet his love’s been during their travels. After the unexpected phone call from her father in Italy, he didn’t hesitate to pack their things when she said she wanted to see her stepmum. He immediately called his private pilot and made plans to head to Doncaster as soon as possible. 

He watches as she exits the car without so much of a peep out of her mouth. He follows behind her as they make their way up the stone walkway that leads to the front of the house covered in greenery, much like YN’s home back in LA. He sees how YN pushes her fingers against the glass windchimes on the front porch before twisting the handle on the front door and walking in. 

He sees her stepmum round the hallway corner in a tank top that showcases the few tattoos she has scattered along her arms and tracksuit pants, her face bare and glowing. Her bare feet pad across the tiled floor as she readjusts her long black hair in a ponytail. When she kisses her stepdaughter’s cheek in greeting, Harry notices the yoga mat farther into the small living room. 

The place screams Penny: bohemian rugs, funky lamp shades and handmade paintings hung on every space the wall can fit.

After receiving the warmest welcome and being served tea out of her mismatched colorful mugs, the seal in YN’s silent mask finally cracks and it has her pacing across the kitchen floor. As he watches his love spill out everything on her mind that she’s kept in for the past two days and he can do nothing but lean against the doorframe of the kitchen and listen.

“Like, what could he possibly want from me? Money? Fame? A relationship with his daughter after eleven fookin’ years?” YN huffs out a laugh at the thought of her last suggestion with her hands on her hips. “Dunno how this bloke even got me personal number. That’s some hacker shite right there. And now I gotta change my number again and make sure that—”

“I gave him your number.” Penny blurts out from her seat at the table, making YN stop her pacing in the middle of the room. Her breathing stops altogether and the room goes silent with a faint sound of the glass windchimes from outside. Even Harry’s eyebrows furrow from his spot leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Whot? Wha—why the hell would you do that, Penny?” YN shakes her head as she tries to wrap her head around the fact that her step mum gave the one person she never wants to see again a leeway into her life.

“Look, I don’t support what he did or how he raised you—”

“He didn’t fookin’ raise me.”

“But he’s changed.”

“That’s like, the most bullshit reasoning anyone has ever given. And how would you even know that? Have you been talking to him?”

Penny fidgets with a strand of her long black hair and twists the ends as she mumbles out, “He’s reached out once or twice.”

“What the ‘ell? Whose side are you even on?”

With a hand on his hip, his other rubs against the stubble on his cheek as he watches the two women dispute back and forth. He doesn’t know if he should leave to give them some privacy or stay in case anything gets out of hand. 

He hates to see his love this way, pacing with frustrated fingers twisting the rings on her fingers so much that they’re sure to leave red marks on her skin. The crease between her eyebrows begging to be soothed out by his lips and the harsh nails raking through her hair demands to be switched with his gentle ones—the kind that has her falling asleep almost instantly.

“I was in the hippie scene, YN! I was young and naive and I fell in love with this bloke. I didn’t know what I wanted or what was right or what was wrong. But the one thing I knew for fooking sure was wanting you to be in me life.” Penny sighs out as she composes herself. “Look, you know I would never do anything to hurt yeh. He first reached out months ago; s’not like he called yesterday and I gave him yeh number willy nilly.”

“So what are yeh saying? That I actually go pay this man a little visit?” Before Penny could even begin her suggestion, YN scoffs and immediately shakes her head. “No.”

“YN—”

“No, not happening. No way.”

When Harry sees her stepmum let out a deep sigh and rubs a smoothing hand over her forehead, he thinks now might be a time for him to step in.

“YN, maybe you should listen to yeh mum—”

“Stay out of this, Harry!” YN snaps at him without so much as a second thought. “This is none of yeh damn business.”

“YN!” Penny scolds her stepdaughter but it’s no use as YN storms off to the backyard. It’s a rare thing for either one of them to snap at each other but when one does, it can be quite scary. Their last big argument was well over a year ago during the making of Harry’s last album and they’ve made it a habit not to revert back to their shitty way of communication. He almost lost her then and he’s sure as hell not going to let her go now. 

Penelope turns to Harry with a sorrowful expression, “Yeh did nothing wrong, Harry. She’s just stu—”

“Stubborn. Yeah, I know.” With a shrug of his shoulder and a sad smile, he says, “S’unfortunately, one of the things I love about her.” 

...

After walking off some of the steam around the massive yard, YN stumbles upon the garage she helped her stepmum convert into an art studio. Canvases the size of her line up against the wall (a painting in the works up on an easel), buckets of paints and brushes scattered every which way, and a pottery wheel in the center of the room. 

With her arms wrapped around herself, she walks along the shelving filled with miscellaneous items: Penny’s homemade ceramic creations, funky decor pieces, plants, books and the picture they used for the Story of My Life music video framed and displayed front and center.

She runs her finger across the array of books on the shelves, stopping and pulling out a particular book.

“Find anything yeh like?” YN looks up and gives her stepmum a small smile.

“Yeh still have this?” YN waves her old copy of Matilda. The pages were so well loved that one wrong blow of the wind could have the cover fall off of its spine.

“Of course, yeh wouldn’t let that thing go.” Penny takes a cautious step towards her stepdaughter and puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, “But there are some things that you just have let go, right?”

Penny’s ready for the young woman to blow up again, sigh out in frustration, and even walk out of the room. But it’s safe to say that she wasn’t expecting for her to look at her with glossy eyes and a trembling bottom lip.

“I'm scared, mum.” YN whispers out and Penny wastes no time pulling her into her arms.

“It’s okay to be scared, baby.” She reassures her stepdaughter. “But yeh don’t have to be. You have to choose whether or not you want him to have that power over yeh. You are so strong, so courageous. M’sorry that I didn’t warn you beforehand.”

“S’okay,” YN pulls back as she wipes at her cheeks. “If yeh would have warned me I would just keep avoiding him. I think it's a sign, right?"

“Follow yeh heart, baby. You know what to do." Penny brushes the strands of hair away from her daughter's face in a comforting way. "Have yeh told him about what happened?” She doesn't need to say his name for YN to know who she's referring to.

“Does he need to know?” Even YN cringes her face up at her words, already knowing the answer to her question. She blindly points to the general direction of the backyard. "M'gonna go talk to him."

Harry can’t help but think of how much Penny’s house reminds him of his mum’s place he bought for her all those years ago. Like YN’s stepmum, she didn’t want anything too grand in the busy life of London but a cozy cottage with a massive yard. He remembers hearing a lot about how the two mums bonded over gardening and wonders if the sunflowers growing off in the corner of the yard was his mum’s doing.

He gets pulled away from his thoughts on one of the patio couches when he hears the sliding back door open and he’s met with his love.

“Hi,” she breathes out.

“Hey.”

“M’sorry I snapped at you. Yeh did nothing wrong.” YN sighs as she keeps her gaze to her fidgety hands, her thumb twisting the ring on her index finger. “Yeh been nothing but supportive and you didn’t deserve that. M’sorry. Can you forgive me?”

He wordlessly pats the seat next to him and she’s quick to climb up close to him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently holds the side of her head and presses a kiss to her temple. He’d forgive her for anything in a heartbeat; that’s how deep his love is for her. 

“S’alright,” Harry mumbles against her skin and feels her shoulders relax against him. “I forgive you.”

“Good. That would have been awkward if yeh didn’t,” YN huffs out a laugh through her nose in an attempt to ease the mood and he can’t hold back the small smile of his face. 

They stay like this for a bit, wrapped up in one another as they look out into the giant, forest-like backyard before them. As much as he’d like to pretend that everything’s alright and move on, he knows that it’s not healthy to. That’s all they’ve ever done during these past couple of years since the band started: suppressing thoughts and feelings in hopes they would disappear and everything would resolve itself on its own. In a perfect world, maybe, but they’ve wasted so much time doing that that they both see what they’ve been missing out on.

As much as he doesn’t want to pop the bubble they’ve created, he knows this needs to be done—or at least try to.

“YN?” When she hums in response, he puts a reassuring hand over hers and is rewarded with the eyes that make him weak in the knees. “Do you feel comfortable telling me about your dad?”

“He’s not me dad,” YN shakes her head instantly. “He didn’t—doesn’t deserve that name. He isn’t me dad. He’s my father and the only reason he even gets that much is because we share the same DNA.” 

YN lets out a deep sigh and avoids her boyfriend’s gaze to look out to the trees scattered around the backyard. She’s never talked to Harry or any of the boys about her father, nor has she ever wanted to. When topics of her family came up during interviews, music video projects, or even group dinners, Penny was only mentioned and brought along. Out of respect, nobody tried to pry her open for any other information about if she had a dad, any other siblings or relatives she was close with. It was only Penny and the Tomlinsons—no one else.

“I don’t want to talk about my father,” As Harry’s head runs around with unfulfilled questions a thousand miles a minute, ready to close the conversation and reassure her that she can when she’s ready, she manages to mumble out, “But I do feel comfortable with you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes and I’ve never felt anything like this before. I’m never going to want to talk about me father but since I plan to spend the rest of me life with you, I need to tell you about this part of my life.”

When Harry turns his body towards her to give her his full attention, her nerves begin to spike up again. But with his hand in hers, it grounds her and makes her feel an overwhelming sense of safety. So with that, she takes in a deep breath before lowering down the wall of her past that she’s kept hidden from the world for years. 

YN, Louis, and some of her other friends ride their bikes down the streets of Doncaster after getting out of school. It was a particularly cold day this time of year and they were all wrapped up in thick coats and scarves. Now, YN isn’t big on birthdays. She never celebrated them in her own household but the Tomlinson’s never failed to give her a cake, collectively sing her the infamous song, and give her a present or two. But this year is different. This year, YN turns 16 and Penny nearly jumped up and down in excitement when her stepdaughter asked if she could bring some friends over for a little party. 

Nobody has ever really been to her house, even Louis—her best friend since she was five years old—doesn’t spend too much time over there either. He was already so used to her suggesting to go over to his house instead that he began to question if she was feeling alright when she told him her plans.

The only reason why she’s even inviting everyone over is because her father said he’d be out late at work and won’t be back until the late hours of the night. Not that she wasn’t used to him not being home, it’s just when he was, he was accompanied by a beer bottle and bitter comments.

The group drops their bikes on the small yard in front of her house before trekking up the short, creaky steps of the porch as they chat and laugh lively amongst themselves. There’s a sense of relief not seeing anyone in the small living room once she pushed and twisted her key in the lock. Her eyebrows furrow for a second when her step mum isn’t there. She did her car in the driveway but brushes it off before turning to the group.

“Alright lads, yeh guys can just leave yeh stuff in here and I can go get us something to eat from the kitchen.” YN smiles at her small group of friends as they all happily agree. Too embarrassed to admit it to herself but she’s actually excited about her little get-together. She’s never hosted a party before and Jay and Penelope pre-made some snacks for her to pass around.

“Let me help yeh with tha—” Louis says as he begins to shrug off his puffer coat when Penny hurriedly comes into the living room. 

“YN,” The young girl furrows her eyebrows for the millionth time at the way her stepmum’s voice shakes and at the fake smile plastered on her face. “‘ello everyone, welcome. Hun, um can I talk with yeh for a second? Ah—Lou, stay there babe. The kitchen is actually a mess from earlier.”  

Louis stops in his tracks as he feels the confusion continues to rise up. Instead of questioning it, he takes it upon himself to entertain the group for the time being as his best friend and her stepmum step off to the side.

“Penny, what’s wrong? Yeh scaring meh.”

“Baby, um,” Penny anxiously pushes her long black hair behind her ears before looking over to her small group of friends in the living room. “There was a little hiccup at your father’s work today...”

No. Please, no.

“Well, wha’s goin’ on in here?” A voice sounds from somewhere behind her and the inevitable chill runs down her spine. 

 When YN turns around, her father stands before her. She’s quick to assess the situation: dirty white shirt, beer bottle in hand, eyes pink and puffy, and the stench of his breath.

“Having a little party without meh or whot?” Samuel taunts with a sickening smile before taking a swing from the dark bottle. Her stomach drops at the sight of her friends’ eyes widening at the man before them.

“Sammy, baby.” YN sees her step mum quickly come to his side and place a hand on her husband’s chest with a gentle voice. “Come on, we were just heading out, right?” 

Please, this can’t be happening. Not now.

“Come on, let YN have her party and we can go out for dinner like we planned.”

“No,” He says sternly, shrugging his arm away from her gentle hand. “S’me house. I paid for it. Why do I ‘ave to leave?” He slurs.

“S’alright, we were just leaving.” YN tries her hardest to not make this a bigger scene than it’s already becoming. “I actually forgot I left the snacks over at yeh house, Lou. Why don’t yeh lads head over there and I’ll be over in a sec.” 

“I don’t think—”

“Louis, I’ll meet up with you guys over there.” YN smiles reassuringly but her eyes tell a different story. He can tell that she’s just begging him to take the group away next door and let her deal with her father in the privacy of the worn down walls of the house. 

She feels ashamed and embarrassed by the way her friends awkwardly gather their things and shuffle out of the house. 

“Hanging around with that Louis bloke again?” Samuel provokes as soon as she closes the door behind the group. YN wouldn’t usually give in to one of his verbal pokes and digs, but whenever he brings up her best friend, it makes the fire in her chest burn hotter. 

“Got fired again?” She retaliates in a bored tone.

“Yeh being smart with meh? Yeh just think you’re so smart, huh?”

“Well I did skip a grade so what do you think?” YN tries to brush past her tispy father over to the kitchen to grab the pre-made snacks but it’s easier said than done. He immediately blocks her from walking any further.

“Do you think you’re better than me?” Her father yells in her face and the smell of alcohol washes over her stronger than before. It makes her scrunch her up nose up at the scent and she keeps her gaze on his dirty shirt than his eyes. “Yeh think yeh can do whatever yeh want and invite people over? Just like that? Yeh can’t just do anythin’ yeh want, Marilyn!” 

This wasn’t the first time Samuel has called YN by her mother’s name, drunk or not. Marilyn left her father when YN was merely four years old, too fed up by her husband to deal with him for another day and too selfish to bring her daughter to her new life. YN remembers the yelling from downstairs and loud shut of the front door. 

She remembers the bright blue and red lights from the police car flashing from her backyard later on in the night, and the two officers saying something about a car accident. She also remembers how it was the first time she ever saw her father cry. 

She doesn’t remember a lot about her mother. When she was older, she found a few pictures of her that her father kept away and needless to say, she was shocked. She almost thought they were pictures of her until she saw a younger version of her father next to her.

“Yeah, and you know what? I wish I was her.” YN bites back through her clenched teeth, finally having the strength to look up and meet his eyes. “I wish I was her so that I can fookin’ leave you like she did!”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she feels a hot sting on her cheek. The strong impact startles her, her body reacting on its own from the unexpected action that her hands have to catch herself before her face can hit the ground.

“Samuel!”

She hears her step-mum yell, but it sounds muffled. Everything around her fades into a high ringing noise. It wasn’t uncommon for YN and her father to have some heated, verbal arguments. The both of them get red in the face and nasty words are exchanged that should never be said between a daughter and a father. As much they both had the urge to do so, never, never has he ever laid a hand on her until now. 

YN puts a hand on her burning cheek and whips her head around to look up at her father. His chest is heaving in anger, eyebrows deeply furrowed and she can practically see the steam radiating off of him.

As she picks herself off the floor and Penny is quick to her side but YN pushes the woman away from her while keeping her stern gaze on her father. 

Without another word, she marches towards the door. She thinks she hears Penny calling out after her, maybe even her father, but she doesn’t care. She swings the door open and makes headway towards her discarded bike.

She pushes her feet quickly against the pedals, her legs burn at how fast she’s going but continues on. She doesn’t even spare a glance at Louis’ house when she rides past it—her surroundings just all become a big moving blur. The tears on her cheeks feel ice cold as the wind whips at her face, but it simultaneously soothes the fresh marks on her skin. 

“I used to think that if I pedaled hard enough, I would fly away. Like some blue bird in fookin’ Snow White or something.” YN wraps her arms around her legs as she brings them to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she continues to keep her gaze on Harry’s hand in hers. She hasn’t been able to look him in the eyes since she started to share her truth.

“Where did you go?” Harry asks softly.

“Well I wanted to run away, but I literally had nothing on me. So after circling around Donny for a bit, I sneaked into Louis’s room that night. Penny found me easily,” YN lets out a watery chuckle and wipes under her nose with her sleeve. “Was the first place she looked but I um, I didn’t come back home for about a month. Pen brought me clothes from home and stuff; she knew I didn’t want to go back there.”

“And your father?”

YN looks out to the orange sun set that peaks through the trees of the spacious yard and shrugs. “That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to him. Pen still stayed with him, I stayed at Jay’s and when the summer came around I went back when he wasn’t there. Two months later I had me XFactor audition and I never came back home.”

“M’so sorry, YN.” Harry’s index finger nudges under his nose to help keep his tears at bay.

YN shakes her head and kisses her teeth. “Don’t be. Y’know I hate it when people give me pity and all that. Makes me feel like I can’t hold me own. If anything, I just felt bad for me mum. Like I just left her there to go on tour with the band for two years before I could come up with the money to buy her a decent place of her own.”

“Baby, you don’t have to feel guilty for any of that, you know that right? You should never apologize for simply growing up and trying to move on, YN. Hey, look at me,” Harry gently nudges his hand under her chin to turn her gaze to him. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you can handle yourself. I mean, look how much you had to deal with and are still here; your golden light shining through the darkest of times. But you don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

When he pulls her further into his arms, he hears her sniffle back her tears and snuggles further into his chest. His heart breaks at the sound and he feels so helpless, like he could have done something to ease her pain. She was hurting right under his nose and he didn’t do anything. But he’s reminded that this isn’t about him, it’s about her. He can’t imagine going through what she did for so many years. He doesn’t even want to humor the idea of something like that happening to his own mum.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised by her response muffled into his chest.

“Can you um...do you mind coming with me to see him next week?”

...

The day to go meet up with her father for afternoon tea came around sooner than YN expected. She barely slept the night before, tossing and turning every which way to release the pain in her temples. If it bothered Harry so much, he did a good job at hiding it because with every wiggle and frustrated sigh, he adjusted their position along with her. He peppered loving kisses to anywhere her skin was near his mouth at the time and whispered sweet nothings in her ear, encouraging her to relax. 

It wasn’t until Harry tugged her on top of him, tucked her head into the crook of his neck and massaged his blunt fingers into her scalp and back that she was finally able to succumb to sleep when the sun began to peek through the sheer curtains. 

After a few phone calls from Jeff and work related matters, Harry walks back into the master bedroom of his home in London with his eyes on the phone in his hand. 

“Darling, wanna start heading o—?” He stops when he sees YN still in her pajamas and her hair messily clipped to the back of her head. She sits criss-cross on the floor with plastic packaging and cardboard all around her. “Baby? What are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“Look, I finally framed my ABBA poster. It’s been rolled up and stuck in that closet since forever and I found these fancy frames I ordered a while ago but never put them to use. I think I’m actually going to order more and just redo all my posters and stuff.” YN rambles on with her hands on her hips as she looks around at the items surrounding her.

“Baby—”

“Oh! And I have to show you this viral TikTok I saw earlier.” YN scrambles to her feet, moving around Harry and swipes her phone from the dresser behind him. “It’s a life hack on how we can maximize space under the bathroom cabinets because as much as I hate to admit it, we both have loads of skin care stuff and this way we can stay organized! And then—”

“YN,” Harry grabs a hold of her shoulders. When he sees her wide eyes look up at him, he gently takes her jaw in his hands. “S’okay to feel nervous. We don't have to go to your home if you don’t want to, lovie. You did nothing wrong and if you don’t want to go, there’s no harm in that.”

He sees the way her wide, tired eyes soften as he can practically see her working the gears in her head. 

“No. No, you’re right.” YN lets out a deep sigh before kissing her teeth. “I hate it when you’re right. Bruises me ego.” 

Harry huffs out a chuckle and presses a loving kiss to her forehead before heading towards the connected bathroom.

“Come on, I’ll even get the shower going for y—” Once Harry opens the glass door of the shower stall, he eyebrows knit together at the balled up pieces of clothing on the floor banded together by rubber bands. YN gives him a sheepish smile. 

“I learned how to tie-dye.”

...

It’s hard not to notice the way YN’s knee keeps bouncing and her hands fidget with the rings on her fingers. He doesn’t point out the way she keeps moving the dials for the AC or how she tweaks the volume of the music every other minute. 

He licks his lips before giving her thigh under his hand a loving squeeze and saying, “Baby, do you mind grabbing me that chapstick I put in yeh bag?”

YN rummages her purse in search of the tiny tube. Harry glances at his love and finds that while one hand is shoved sifting through her bag, the other one holds an abundance of items: her keys, her wallet, a snack-size bag of Haribos she bought at the airport and their two passports.

“I can’t bloody find this stupid, little—”

“Hey, hey. S’alright, forget about it yeah?” Harry takes the items in her hands and tosses them in the spacious footwell of the car. He intertwines his fingers with hers and brings their hands to his mouth. “Thought it would take your mind off of things but I guess it only made you more upset.” Harry chuckles, trying to lighten her anxiety by pressing kisses to each of her knuckles. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Fook.” YN brings the heel of her other hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. Harry can feel the frustration radiating off of her. It’s heavy and bleak, and not like his YN at all. He’s suddenly thinking of making a “wrong” turn to the airport to go back to Sunny California where her golden smile shined the most. Or even pulling over at the side of the road to say how there’s a suspicious noise coming from the engine and how they need to wait it out before they continue. “I know m’being a bother. I just can’t stay still. I feel so silly—”

“You are not silly for feeling the way you feel. This is a huge step for you and I just want to thank you for allowing me to be with you during this time. I never want yeh to go through this alone, I know you wouldn’t let me go through this thing alone if it was the other way around. And if this turns out bad, I got a few—” Harry pinches his index finger and thumb together and brings it to his lips. “—back home we can do after.” 

“Yeh could have told me that before we left?”

He laughs at her disappointed tone before making a turn onto the designated property. “I didn’t think we’d make a good impression on your father if we showed up stoned.”

“Holy shit,” YN ducks over to Harry’s driver’s side window at the mansion driveway they pull into. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

“You’re the one who put it into the GPS.”

Like second nature, Harry opens her car door and intertwines his hands with hers before making their way up the driveway.

“Now I feel fookin’ underdressed.” YN adjusts the cardigan that keeps falling off of her shoulder. 

“You look fucking gorgeous.” Harry leans down to plant a kiss to her cheek. 

“Oh, no.” YN cracks a smile and pinches at his lips with her knuckles. “I’ve been a bad influence on you, haven’t I?” 

“Wha’ do yeh fookin’ mean?” She giggles as Harry micks her Yorkshire accent. Him and the boys would like to make fun of her accent throughout the years but Harry’s always done it to defuse her anger, to bring a smile on her face and ease her bundle of nerves. “This is how I bloody talk and shit, innt?”

“Is it now?” 

“Aces, man.” Harry smiles brightly at the way she covers her laugh with the back of her hand as he reaches over to push the doorbell. “Just buzzin’ in excitement, aren’t yeh? Oh bloody ‘ell, bloody ‘ell.”

YN and Harry’s laughter gets cut off by the front door opening. There stands an older woman, probably in her late fifties. Her blonde hair looks like it was freshly done at the salon and looks like a fluffy yellow cloud on her head. The woman’s sparkly cocktail dress and matching red lip are way too fancy for an afternoon tea, and if it wasn’t already for the massive size of their house, YN might have been surprised at her attire. 

“Hello there. We were just expecting you both.” The woman’s American accent rings through YN’s ears. As the woman extends her manicured hand to greet the couple, YN’s eyes immediately go to the sparkly rock on her finger. “My name is Della and you beautiful young lady must be—”

“YN.” A voice continues from behind the pristine woman, the same voice that runs a chill down her spine as it did when she was a kid. 

A man appears at the doorway, his eyes widening like he almost expected her to not come at the last minute. 

She doesn’t know who this man in front of her is, but it certainly isn’t the man she remembers. There’s no beer bottle in his hand but a gold wedding band on his ring finger. Instead of his stained shirt, a freshly pressed white button-up and a sweater vest covers his chest. Her nose doesn’t burn from the stench of alcohol but of minty freshness. 

But even though his eyes aren’t surrounded by pinky, puffiness, she can tell that those are her father’s eyes.

“Hello, Samuel,” YN utters out the words with as much professionalism as she can, almost as if she were interviewing him for a prestigious job. 

“I’m—I’m so glad you were able to make it.” The older man huffs out a laugh of disbelief as he runs a nervous hand over his thinning hair; his clean, combed and styled hair. 

When Harry sees his love swallow thickly from uncomfortableness, he extends an outreached hand, “Hello, m’Harry. It’s nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Barlowe.”

YN just stands with her hand still clasped in his as the older couple shakes her boyfriend’s hand. 

“Please, please come inside.” Della steps aside and opens the door wider. 

YN can feel her skin tingle by the feel of her father’s eyes on her and she hates the way she’s having trouble meeting his eyes.

It’s an uncomfortable experience walking through the spacious house, everything clean and neat that it almost looks like no one has ever lived in it before. The couches and decorative carpets are white and aesthetically minimal, grand chandeliers hanging in every room they pass and a kitchen that looks like it’s never been used. She almost feels the need to take off her shoes in fear of leaving a mark on the perfectly clean titles. 

As YN looks around the museum-like house, she quickly looks down at the feeling of Harry giving their intertwined hands a reassuring squeeze. Even if he can’t do anything about her situation, she appreciates the fact that he’s letting her know that he’s here with her for any support she needs. 

Once the group sits down on the patio outside, YN almost jumps in her seat when two women with white aprons come out with trays ready for their tea. 

Della and Samuel move in sync with one another as they drink their tea. They might as well be robots, lifting their white tea cups with such delicateness and gently dabbing their cloth napkin around their lips precisely three times. It’s borderline scary, like a jumpscare out of a horror movie was bound to pop out any minute. 

But she has to admit, Della isn’t a stuck up monster as she initially thought upon meeting her at the front door. She’s actually a very sweet woman who smiles at her husband with so much love in her eyes.

YN’s learned that her father was working as a janitor at a law firm company shortly after she and Penny left his life. There, he was inspired to go to law school and with some help from some people in the company, he was able to attend. He soon worked his way up to become a partner at the firm and the small company became bigger than anyone ever expected. He met Della in 2015 when she was working as the firm’s secretary and married a couple months into dating. 

“He would always stop by my desk and take from the lollipop bowl I had there. He would always ask me to go out with him and I kept telling him no—I honestly think it was because he liked my accent and I was playing hard to get.” Della whispers not so quietly and it makes a chuckle bubble out from YN’s throat. It puts a smile on Harry’s face to see his love more relaxed, not totally letting her guard down but enough for her shoulders to come down from their pinched position. 

“What made you change your mind?” YN questions with a sincere smile and takes a sip of her honey-induced tea.

“This guy—” Della playfully slaps her husband's chest. “Got in front of the whole office, guitar in hand and sang to me. Oh the name of the song is slipping from my mind...how did it go again?” Della snaps her fingers as she racks her brain. “Um... don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control...”

“I want a perfect body,” Samuel says along.

“I want a perfect soul,” YN finishes and looks down at her lap. “That's um, that’s Creep by Radiohead.”

“If m’not mistaken, that was one of the first songs I taught you how to play on the guitar.” Her father smiles and sits up straighter in his seat. 

“Yeah, you let me use your old Lancaster.” Harry sees the way her smile falters at the mention of the memory. YN was in middle school when her father showed an uncommon amount of kindness one day. It was the day she rummaged through the garage and found the pictures of her mum along with his old eclectic guitar. Instead of scolding her to not look through his old things, he sat down with her and showed her the simple cords to the song (thanks to the years of practice from Penny, she was able to pick up the melody pretty quickly). They smiled, laughed, and bonded. But like many things in her life, consistency crept its way back in.

Samuel saw sight of a picture of his deceased wife peeking out from YN’s hoodie pocket and a switch flicked inside him. He suddenly snatched the beautiful guitar and smashed it against the ground. After three swings, the base completely disconnected from the neck. He walked out without so much as another word and left YN panting, frozen in a state of fear and shock.

“I loved that guitar,” YN says softly and she’s back at avoiding his gaze. 

“I did, too. S’a shame I don’t have it anymore. Sold it to an old buddy of mine back in the day.” Samuel sighs out in disappointment and YN’s eyebrows quickly knit together. When she looks up at him in confusion, he sees him shake his head in reminiscence.

“Hey, maybe you should treat yourself and buy a new one, huh?” Della puts a hand on her husband’s arm with an encouraging smile. “There’s got to be a store somewhere that sells some.”

“Reckon’ you’re right, D.” Samuel smiles. While he leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek, Harry too leans over to his love. “That’s a great idea.”

“Baby, y’alright? Wha’s wrong?” Harry whispers.

“S’just that—”

“Okay, so I would hate to have you both feel uncomfortable about this and Sam warned me not to bring it up,” Della chuckles. “But before you two leave, would you guys mind signing a CD for my kids? They just love both of your music and they would absolutely die if they knew you guys were here without a little something.”

“You have children?” YN raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Two girls,” Della smiles brightly. “Sydney just got back from college—oh sorry, uni—last month and our little Abigail just turned the big 16 last week. We had a little surprise party for her and we invited all of her friends over. Oh, it was so much fun. And the cake was just so delicious—”

“Della, honey.” Samuel puts a gentle hand on his wife’s. “I think we’ve heard enough about the party—”

“I would actually love to hear more about it.” YN speaks up, straightening up her back and turning her full attention towards the older woman. 

“YN,” Harry whispers gently into his girlfriend and puts a comforting hand on the back of her chair.

Della nervously chuckles. "Oh, I don't know-"

“Please. Please, go on." YN insists. "Did you bake the cake yourselves? Did you spend all night the day before preparing little snacks for all of her friends, too? Did you guys buy her a sentimental gift? Samuel?”

YN gives her father an expected look, patiently waiting for his answer as he squirms in his seat. He nervously coughs into his hands before saying, “Um, we uh...well she just got her license not too long ago so we um...we put some money together to buy her a car.”

Della shifts her gaze back and forth between her husband and his daughter as the tension begins to build up. She sees the way YN purses her lips together and nods. 

“She had been asking for one for so long and since it was a special occasion, Samuel wanted to do something nice.” Della reasons with a wavering smile. “I’m sure that Sam here did something just as special for you when you turned her age. What did he give you?”

Harry—all of them really—can see the way Della tries her best to lighten the mood but right now he knows that she should just stop talking altogether. 

“A slap across the face.” YN nods nonchalantly, not at all bothered by the horrific look on the older woman's face. “Yeh know, the kind where yeh least expect it and the force of it is just so strong that it actually knocks yeh off your feet. Makes you hear a little ringing sound, too. Isn't that right, Samuel?”

Della looks over to her husband as he furrows his eyebrows and as much as Harry hates to admit it, the resemblance she has with her father’s current expression is undeniable. 

“I’m sorry,” Samuel shakes his head as he clears his throat. “I actually have no idea what you are referring to.”

The wind immediately gets knocked out from YN’s chest and if it wasn’t for Harry’s hand on her back, she’d think she was dreaming.

“M’sorry whot?” She scoffs. “So you’re telling me that you don’t remember the reason I left home?”

“Yeh went on to become a world famous singer. I always knew you would someday.” 

Harry can feel the anger radiating off her body as her father lies right through his teeth. Till this day, she can still hear his drunken words slurred to her:

You’re a waste of space.

Yeh think you’re gonna make it as a singer? You’re pathetic. 

You’re not worth it.

Just as Harry mentally (and almost physically) prepares himself from standing in between his girlfriend and her father when she goes off on him, he’s taken back when she lets out a laugh. She’s laughing. Her eyes squeezed shut with one hand over her stomach and the other over her mouth.

“Why is that funny?” Della looks around at the people surrounding the table.

“Sorry, m’sorry,” YN says in between giggles. “But that’s the biggest load of shit v’ever heard. So you’re saying that yeh don’t remember all of those years of yelling at me? Yelling at Penny? Drinking excessively? Breaking things violently in front of me? Hitting me?”

“Enough!” The loud bang to the table and the movement of the fine china startles everyone as Samuel’s voice booms throughout the patio space. “I invite you into me house to try to rekindle our past, to heal wounds and move on yet you bring up with shite?”

“Rekindle our past? Dunno how you expected to do that when you can’t even be honest about what yeh did to me! And heal wounds? Hate to break it to yeh Samuel, but those wounds aren't wounds anymore. They’re scars now. Already patched up and healed with no help from you.” YN lets out a small chuckle to herself before shaking her head. “I don’t know why I even came here. Della, you seem like a smart woman so I would advise yeh to have a little chat with your husband because he clearly isn’t the man that you know. Thank you for the tea.” And with that, YN’s chair screeches against the pavement before standing up.

“So that’s it?” Samuel spits. “And you? Harry, you’ve barely spoken a word since yeh got here.”

“How believe me, I have plenty to say,” Harry bites back as he stands up and puts a protective hand on YN’s back. “But out of respect for the love of my life, all m’gonna say is that you’re a piece of shit, man.” 

“Get the hell out of me house!” Samuel yells as he abruptly stands from his seat, the metal chair falling loudly to the ground behind him and he points towards the door.

“Glady.” YN scoffs and once Harry intertwines his hand with hers, they make their way out of the house. 

It’s a known fact that throughout the years of the two being in the public eye, they’ve been media trained to be the sweetest people they can be towards anyone they meet. Harry has been portrayed for years as a ‘bad boy’ who's never done anything bad and YN the ‘good girl’ with permanent innocence. It’s been rumored around the fandom since the band started that as sweet and soft spoken as they come off for their jobs, when they get mad—they get furious. So while many fans think it’s one of the many delusion based fandom-facts, no one has truly seen how scary the two can become when they get angry. 

“Wait!” The couple turns around to find Della quickly making her way over to their car but the two ignore her calling as Harry proceeds to open her door. “YN, please!”

With an annoyed look to her love and a sigh, YN relecutaly turns around, “Whot?”

“I’m so, so sorry about what happened back there. I had no idea he had done those awful things to you. If-if I would have known...”

It doesn’t take long for it to all click in YN’s head. Her expression softens as she recognizes the look in the woman’s eyes from a mile away. 

“You don’t know about me past.” She tilts her head to find Della’s eyes. “But you have experienced it, haven’t you?”

Harry’s surprised by the bold assumption, but when he flicks his gaze over to the prestigious woman, his heart strings pull greater than they have ever before.

“I don’t know what happened.” The older woman brings a shaky hand to her mouth as her eyes begin to water. “It first started shortly after we got married all those years ago. He was nothing like that when we met.”

“What I said back there is true. You are a smart woman. You know what to do. Think about your girls. They deserve the world, not this. Don’t let them go through what we did.” She surprises herself by wrapping her arms around the older woman, Della is quick to reciprocate. The hug doesn’t last longer than a couple of seconds,

but it was somehow something they both needed. So as she watches the couple drive away, Della is left with a truth she pushed back facing years in the making.

...

No matter how many years they’ve been working together, writing songs together and making music side by side, Harry still manages to get nervous showing her his work. But this isn’t any kind of love song he’s written about her in the past. This was on a deeper level of intimacy between them. This isn’t just about himself or his feelings of longing and loving towards her, but of her past.

He taps his leather journal in his open palm, gathers his tin container and with a deep breath in, he makes his way over to her where she’s seated in his backyard. In the middle of his closed-off yard, she’s sitting on a blanket he put out earlier, a guitar in her hands as she mindlessly plucks pretty melodies from the wired strings.

He leans down to press a kiss on her exposed shoulder before lifting the spaghetti strap of her dress back up and plopping down next to her. She easily flicks open the lid from the container and she smiles at the sight of a lighter and the familiar rolled up substances. 

“Romantic dinner for two, Mr. Styles?” She pauses her movements when he puts a hand on top of hers and she looks up at him expectantly.

“I uh, before we get into it, I actually wanted to share something with you first.” YN notices the familiar journal in his lap and gives him a cheeky smile.

“Another love song about meh? M’starting to think you fancy me.” When she notices his knowing look, she gives him a closed lipped smile. “Sorry, go ahead.”

When she sets down her guitar, he reaches out and takes into his lap instead. She’s pleasantly surprised by his actions. He usually writes on piano as his choice of instrument and feels the butterflies start to flap their wings in anticipation of what’s to come.

He leans over himself to make sure his fingers are placed correctly over the strings and right as he’s about to begin, he stops, “Don’t make fun of me, alright? M’still practicing.”

She laughs and grabs a hold of his chin as she plants a sweet kiss to his lips, “Promise I’ll keep my opinions to myself.” Her giggle is muffled when he pulls her back in for another kiss but sits back and patiently waits until he’s ready. 

With a final deep breath in, his fingers begin to pluck beautifully. He still needs a little finer tuning on his part but he’s doing a wonderful job so far. 

You were riding your bike to the sound of "It's No Big Deal"

And you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels.

YN tilts her head at the lyrics but lets him continue on.

Nothing 'bout the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now.

So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal.

It’s been a few days after the visit to go see her father and after crying and venting to her mum about what happened, the couple hasn’t brought the topic up since. 

You don't have to be sorry for leavin' and growin' up, mmhm

There’s still so much she’s holding onto, so much still sitting on her chest that she's still unable to let go of. But Harry knows her more than anyone and understands her love language right down to the T: music.

Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright

YN lets out a watery chuckle at the book reference, the one she loved so dearly as a child.

But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead insidе.

You showed me a power that is strong еnough to bring sun to the darkest days.

It's none of my business, but it's just been on my mind.

“This song was inspired by an experience YN and I had with a mutual friend—a person who we disguised as Matilda by Roald Dahl.” Harry explains from his interview chair for the Harry’s House documentary. The couple agreed without a doubt that they wouldn’t fully explain that the song was about YN. They usually never do but the song speaks for itself. “I played it to a couple of friends and all of them cried. So I was like, ‘Okay, I think this is something to pay attention to.’”

You don't have to be sorry for doin' it on your own.

It shocks YN to realize that while she went through this part of her life by herself, she wasn’t alone. Ten years ago, YN gained brothers, a family consisting of the boys, her managers, tour and production crew, and the fans. She had a family by her side this entire time and she didn’t even register in her mind. 

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

You can start a family who will always show you love

You don't have to be sorry, no

As soon as he plays the last note, YN quickly shuffles on her knees over to him and wraps him up in her arms. She digs her face into the crook of his neck as he grips onto her shoulder blades, pulling her incredibly closer to him as he can. 

“People have so much guilt with things that they don't necessarily need to have guilt with sometimes. I think it's your right to protect the space around you and be protective of yourself and look after yourself.” 

“I’m sorry you went home to that.”

YN shakes her head reassuringly and takes his face in her hands. She’s been crying so much lately that she’s surprised that she hasn’t run out by now. She has so much love for the man in front of her. She was serious about before: she’s never felt this way about anyone ever before. YN presses her lips lovingly to his. “You are my home, Harry.”

Her favorite dimpled smile appears on his face and she presses her forehead to his. 

“You are my home, YN.” He says before pulling her back into him for more kisses.

“I think this song is going to touch a lot of people. It speaks to so many who’ve gone through toxic family members in their lives, people who weren’t loved in the way that they should have been loved,” YN gives the interview camera a sad smile. “S’a powerful one, this one.”

Back in the studio, YN can be seen in the recording room sitting in front of a Casio piano. With her chunky studio headphones on she plays along to Harry’s voice singing in her ears. 

Oh, there's a long way to go,

I don't believe that time will change your mind.

She can’t help but tuck in her lips in an attempt to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. 

In other words

I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go.

YN takes in a shaky breath and closes her eyes as her fingers continues to press on the keys.

You can let it go.

In a cathartic way, she finally releases the bands that she kept from her past. She lets go of her abusive father and the power he held over her for all of those years. She lets go of her biological mother’s name and accepts that she was never her, she’s her own person. She lets go of the guilt of leaving home, of leaving Penny—of leaving her mum there with her father for two more years and lets gratefulness seep in for the fact that her mum isn’t in that position anymore. 

But most importantly, she lets go of the nasty feeling her father soaked her in. 

She’s not pathetic, she’s brave. She’s not worthless, but worthy. She’s not a waste of space, she lights up the room with her golden light.

Taglist:

“It’s a weird one, because with something like this, it’s like, ‘I want to give you something, I want to support you in some way, but it’s not necessarily my place to make it about me because it’s not my experience.’” Sometimes it’s just about listening.” Harry sneaks a discreet peek at his teary-eyed girlfriend from her seat somewhere behind the camera. “I hope that’s what I did here. If nothing else, it just says, ‘I was listening to you.’”

Next song here! 🇬🇧

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[fayes-fics]

Atonement

Paring: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony returns home early and catches you breaking his rules.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, light d/s tones, innocence/corruption kink, spanking, fingering, squirting.

Word count: 2.4k. These might as well be subtitled Faye cannot write short Drabbles

Build a blurb prompt: Anthony + 👅 smut + 😇innocence kink + 💦squirting + 🏓 spanking (from @iboopedyournose)

Authors note: Fourth 1k follower celebration fic. Betaed by the fab makaylan. This is for the lovely Emmy as she battles through her finals. I hope you enjoy <3

“Anthony!” you exclaim in shock, rapidly attempting to smooth out the bedding as he strides in, looking very handsome. He’s been away on a trip for three days, less than two weeks into your marriage, and you have missed him terribly.

“Y/n,” he greets, his brow knitting slightly, “not quite the welcome home I was expecting; why did you retire to bed so early?” he asks, obviously expecting to find you downstairs upon his arrival.

You are reluctant to speak the truth. You are not unwell or tired, not even slightly. You retired to bed to think on him, more precisely, to touch yourself and think on him. Even though he asked you not to, expressly saying he wished for you to remain untouched until his return so that you might be mindless for him. Those were the exact words he whispered in your ear as he took you on the morning he left.

He pulls off his jacket and unloops his cravat, looking at you expectantly. Like he is awaiting an answer, or at least for you to get out of bed and greet him. When you do neither, he looks intrigued.

“You seemed to call my name in surprise when I walked in. What exactly did I catch you doing?” his tone is laced with something else you can't put your finger on as he draws closer to the bed.

“Nothing,” you fib, smoothing over the bedding unnecessarily again, the nervous energy and built-up arousal making you fidgety.

“Wife,” he drawls slowly as he reaches the bed. “I know when you are lying to me,” he tuts.

Your cheeks blush hard, but you stay quiet.

“Were you… touching yourself?” Anthony questions, his pitch much lower this time, leaning over and looking deep into your eyes as you instinctually lean further back into the pillows, gripping tightly onto the cover pulled up around your neck.

“You’ve been away for three days, Anthony. I… I… missed you,” you answer honestly but with a hint of a defensive tone, staring up into his eyes.

“Hmmm indeed,” he smirks, lowering his face right over yours so all you see are his beautiful brown eyes blazing at you, making your heart pound in your chest. His gaze falls to your lips briefly, and then his hand rounds behind your neck and cranes you up slightly, your lips meeting. You make a whimper into his mouth as he kisses you fiercely, demanding entry into your mouth and swallowing your little noises. He tastes of cigars and expensive brandy.

“What did I expressly ask you not to do while I was gone?” he questions as he ends the kiss, pulling away slightly with a raised eyebrow and brushing his fingers over your face.

“Touch myself,” you exhale onto his cheek.

“And what did I catch you just doing?” He queries, resting his forehead against yours, licking his lips almost predatory. He knows; you should have guessed.

“You are home earlier than you said you would be,” you whisper, divulging the truth through deflection.

“Indeed. How many times did you touch yourself while I was away? Every night?” His questions are across your lips as you are so close you breathe each other's air, his mouth ghosting over yours as his hands are buried in your hair, holding your head.

You bite your lip.

“More than that?” he intuits. “Dear god, what have I created? I took your innocence a mere two weeks ago, and now you are touching yourself like a harlot. Is that what you are?” Anthony demands, moving to cup your jaw firmly. “Are you a naughty little harlot?” he asks again, his breathing becoming slightly laboured. His pupils dilated. His touch firmer.

“No, husband,” you whisper, this seems to be a new game he wants to play, and you are unsure that is the answer he wants from you. You so desperately want to please him.

“Hmmm, the evidence would suggest otherwise,” he hums and pulls away quickly, yanking back the covers from you.

He gasps raggedly at the sight before him. You are entirely naked save your wedding ring.

“You have been sleeping without a nightgown? Completely nude?” he growls, his eyes finally tearing from ogling your body, returning to your face. His eyes are on fire now.

“Yes, but sometimes… I… sometimes sleep with your shirts; they smell of you,” you confess quickly, lowering your gaze, almost ashamed.

“Wife,” his hand is back on your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him towering over you, standing next to your martial bed. “I think it’s time you learned when I ask you to do so something, you need to obey me. Or there will be consequences,” he warns, his eyes glittering.

You inhale sharply. “What sort of consequences?” you query, something sparking in your belly, a tang in the air that suggests they will be pleasant. His grip on your face tightens, a thumb in the divot under your cheekbone, pressing your cheek against your molar teeth.

“I will need to spank you to atone for your defiance,” he states firmly.

You gasp and stare up at him wide-eyed. You have heard rumours of this from your ladies' maid—husbands who like to provide discipline to their wives via something called ‘spanking’. You only know it as something you experienced as a child as punishment; you assume this must be something different. But you are innocent of what it might entail—yet something hot flares between your legs.

“Turn over,” he says, almost menacing, staring down.

You do as you are told, an oily feeling of fear mingled with suspense low in your belly. A warm hand touches your bare bottom, rubbing a gentle circle.

“What did I tell you not to do, wife?” he challenges his tone a little steely.

“Touch myself,” you breathe against the pillow, craning to look at him over your shoulder.

“That's correct,” his hand moves to your other cheek. “And how many times did you touch yourself while I was away? How many times did you disobey me?”

“Six times,” you exhale.

“Six times in three days?!?” he exclaims. “That is twice a day, my darling little harlot of a wife. Do you know what that means?” he checks, clawing his hand so his fingernails scratch the globe of your bottom.

“No.”

“You get one spank for every time you disobeyed me,” he tuts, “that is six spanks, three on each cheek,” he explains, his tone clipped. He leans down and whispers quickly into your ear. “Should you wish me to stop, dear wife, say red. But I really hope you do not.” As it is muttered, he is back, standing up straight.

You realise he has given you a way to stop the process should you not enjoy it. But an insistent buzz between your legs suggests you at least like the idea.

His hand raises briefly from your skin, then slaps back down, spanking your right cheek.

You squeak in surprise. Your skin tingles where he made contact, and you feel your muscles flex.

“Ohhh,” escapes your lips unsolicited. You realise this is the same action you encountered as a misbehaving child, but this experience is different—something teasing and indeed exciting. Being spanked by your husband naked in bed is a new sensation you find quite intriguing; you definitely don't want him to stop.

“I would like you to count your punishments, wife,” he lectures as his hand gently rubs where the sting fades.

“One,” you reply quickly.

“Good girl,” he compliments, and you feel a flood between your legs at his praise. Nothing brings you more pleasure than pleasing him.

The warmth of his palm is gone again then there is a mirroring smack on your other cheek. The sensation is similar, and you feel a throb at the juncture of your thighs now.

“Two.”

“Excellent. Are you enjoying learning new things, wife?” he buzzes gently, again soothing the sting.

“Yes,” you whisper quietly.

“Mmm, I thought you might.”

Then there is another spank. This one is harder than the last two; back to your other cheek. You jump slightly at the feeling.

“Three.”

Rapidly he repeats the action on the other cheek, hitting the same spot, and you feel warmth spreading there like your skin is blooming a new shade under his attention.

“Four,” you count obediently. This time as Anthony made contact, you pushed your bottom up a fraction, pushed up onto his stroke, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Oh, you are enjoying this, aren't you?” he gloats.

“Yes, husband,” you admit softly, almost ashamed but going with the feeling. He has been the person to teach you that.

“Just two more, then perhaps there is a treat I can give you, seeing as you are doing so very well with your first spanking,” he flatters, his fingers digging into your bottom a fraction as he grips your flesh.

This time you actively jump as his hand slaps onto your cheek with a sound that echoes around the walls of your bed-chamber. You make a noise halfway between a squeal and a groan at the pleasurable pain that radiates from the impact.

“Five,” you choke out.

You puff out a little air to deal with the resulting sting just as you feel his hand slip down between your cheeks and lightly brush your core. You inhale sharply, your legs parting on instinct as you press against his fingers ploughing between your lips and catching against your clit.

“Anthony,” you breathe so, so desperate for him.

“Someone is enjoying their punishment far too much,” he chuckles darkly, bending over and biting your earlobe. “I think you’ll really enjoy what comes next,” is a hot breath against your cheek.

Just as he finishes his promise, he deals your last blow. Again it is loud and on the edge of pain; you feel the sting radiate across your skin as you blow out a breath to lessen the ache.

“Six,” you dutifully end your count with a tremulous exhale.

“Well done,” he lavishes praise, rubbing your sore bottom with soothing strokes as he kisses your shoulder and up your neck to your mouth, your lips meeting in a lingering passionate kiss. “Would you like a little treat for being such a good, dutiful wife?”

Then his hand is slipping between your thighs and forcing them wider apart.

“Keep your head down but bring your knees up, please,” he orders, moving closer to your feet.

You heed his instructions without a second thought. The position feels lewd and vulnerable, your face on the pillow, your hips up high off the bed.

Anthony climbs onto the bed between your legs, and you crane your neck to look around, assuming he will remove his trousers and enter you from behind, as he has done before. You are more than ready for him, aching, in fact, from your enjoyment of the discipline he metered out.

But he does not undress further; instead, he leans over your back and places a kiss there.

“Are you ready to try something new?” he asks gently, his tongue tracing over your spine.

“Yes, husband,” you pant, intrigued.

The fingers of one hand drag across your bottom, then sink between your legs again, teasing your clit, and you gasp and push back against his feather-light touch. As you chase more, he moves, and two fingers slip inside you, sliding deep; you exhale and moan at the sensation. You make a surprised noise as he brushes a particularly sensitive spot, and you feel him chuckle quiet but triumphant against your skin. He shuffles, and suddenly, there is a rocking force on that spot inside.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself as much as him, an entirely different sensation blooming.

You feel his fingers moving in and out of you at rapid speed, the squelching noises he is drawing from your body making you blush even as you push back against his actions. You look around to see a handsome smug smile on his face as he pulls upright.

“How is that wife?” he inquires, his voice a touch breathless from continued exertion.

“What the….” your words die out on a long groan as your channel convulses tightly around his fingers, almost trying to push them out.

Your legs start to twitch and spasm, and he has to remind you to focus, stay up on your knees and open for him. All the while, his fingers push hard, jabbing against a place that feels like a shortcut to your clit.

“Ready?” he warns.

“What on earth for?” you wonder, but the answer comes with actions. You start squealing and clawing at the pillow, gripping the headboard above your head for dear life as your body writhes unbidden, an unrelenting pressure building up inside around his fingers. His thumb now catches your clit and flicks against it rapidly. You feel like you are dandling breathlessly over a precipice but scared to release, something foreign feeling so ready to burst.

“Let it go,” he instructs, and you break—a massive release of white-hot pleasure, exhaling a scream instead of fighting your instincts. Your core pulses in strong waves as you bite the pillow, and shudders wrack all of your limbs. You are floating somewhere both routed within and miles away from your overwrought body.

“Well done, darling, that was perfect,” he praises as you return to the room, feeling a wetness dripping down your thighs. You shift your knee, and it lands on a wet patch of bedding.

“What the…?” you whip around to see Anthony has pulled off his white shirt and is wiping his arm. “Anthony, what was that…?” you demand, “What is all this…?” you curl away from the spot, stunned by what you see.

“That is all you, darling,” he crows, gently manoeuvring your legs so he can wipe down your thighs. He chuckles as you spy the dampness on his trousers. “You made such a beautiful mess everywhere; you should not be ashamed of what happened, what I can make your body do. I could not be prouder,” he smiles.

Still not wholly comprehending, you curl up on your side, feeling spent and exhausted, and he spoons around you.

“Although I will have to sleep on your side of the bed with you tonight, wife, as you have made mine unusable. What a terrible shame,” he smiles warmly against your neck.

“What about you, husband?” you ask drowsily, feeling something hard and hot pressed up against your bottom.

“You can wake me up with your mouth on my cock,” he murmurs gently with a yawn.

“Sounds nice,” you hum sleepily.

“Yes, it truly does,” he opines as you both slip into a slumber wrapped together.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k follower celebration #build a blurb celebration

[selestialsprout]

my voltron reboot doc has reached 37 pages. and im still not done moving everything i currently have onto it. what the fuck

#& theres no actual like. writing/dialogue/screenplay stuff on there either #havent even written down the whole timeline yet #yall #its all just random facts & blurbs about the characters & world building #this is so bad #SOMEONE MAKE IT STOP #MY BRAIN IS GOING CRAZY #ITS WORKING SO FAST LMAOO #HELPPP #ok but fr #very satisfying to see that page number steadily increase #good shit #voltron #vld #my remake #voltron rewrite #klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #ofc i tag everything klance #idc

[dreamkidddream]

hey, how about 🗣,🍯 and 📆 with dazai osamu for the game? i absolutely love you and your writing btw!!

Thank you so much!! <33 hope you enjoy and reader is gender neutral! (Also Dazai is a very complex character to write abt and I remember this every time I write something serious with him 🫠)

TW: tiny mention of suicide (it’s in reference to Dazai. Really tiny mention but still wanted to tag it!)

Build-A-Blurb Ask Game! *closed

🗣 having an argument

🍯 friends to lovers

📆 office romance

It was always people getting mad at Dazai.

From minor inconveniences that he creates to the downright risky and dangerous choices that he makes on missions (even if it does work out in the end). He was always the one that people get frustrated and aggravated with, even if it wasn’t serious half of the time.

You never thought it would be the other way around.

And you never thought you would find yourself on the receiving end with him glaring at you.

It was already tense in the room, and as much as you wanted to believe you could still hold your head high to face him, it was a bit hard to do.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai mad before- sure, you’ve seen when his irritation would slip through the cracks of his playfulness and when he gets serious, but not actually angry. It was an unfamiliar sight, and the longer he stood there, the more you started to squirm under his stare.

You felt small underneath his gaze, like a child standing in front of their disappointed parents. But you weren’t scared or embarrassed- if anything, it was causing your own anger to flare up.

“Wait- are you seriously upset with me right now?” Crossing your arms, you tried to keep your emotions in check, it was hard if you guessed the reason why he’s upset- it’s not like Dazai’s an open book and wash to read, no matter how close you’ve gotten lately.

But all he did was keep his hard stare on you, scoffing. “I don’t even know why I even bother-“

“Why you even bother- excuse me? Bother with what- me?”

The silence was enough for an answer, and enough for you anger to boil over.

“You know what your issue is Osamu? You don’t know how to communicate- you just run away from every single problem and then pop back up when it’s convenient for you, leaving the people you so call care about to pick up the pieces of the mess you left.”

You saw his eyes narrow and the petty side of you hoped that you struck a nerve.

“How is that fair to anyone? You just abandon them and then decide to come back when you’re ready to come back. And then you don’t even try to solve it- you just flash a fake smile and try to push everything under the rug like it’s already been handled when it wasn’t!“

Now you were raising your voice, fingers balling up into fists as you finally let out all of your pent up frustrations and emotions.

“And then you don’t even let me try- you don’t even try to let me in to help!” You stepped closer to him, and you missed how tense he was getting. “I got to a point where I thought I was finally getting somewhere,” you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “But I wasn’t, of course I wasn’t.”

The late nights leaving the office together, the soft glances he would give you, the gentle touches between you both- all of your shared moments ran through your mind, causing a sense of dread to fill you. Did those mean nothing to him? We’re you just there to pass time for him? Just a placeholder until he gets bored and moves on to someone else?

Even as you stand here and pour your heart out, all Dazai could do was stare.

Your chest was starting to get tight, voice cracking, “You’re just- do I even mean anything to you?”

He called out your name before you cut him off.

“Do I?” It came out as a whisper, and the silence afterwards was deafening.

His breath hitched and his eyes widened a bit, fingers twitching before being balled up at his side.

Something wet trailed down your cheek, and it was just then that you realized you were crying. You wanted to stop, but the thought of knowing that you didn’t mean anything to Dazai weighed on you heavily. It became nearly impossible to choke your sobs back.

“I care about you so much and it’s like I get nothing in return. It’s just- you’re so damn selfish Osamu!”

You cursed at yourself for being so vulnerable like this, but you couldn’t help it. Everything you were feeling came out all at once, and you were unable to hold it back anymore.

Was he even feeling anything now-

Something pulled you forward and you found yourself surrounded by warmth. It didn’t register that you were in Dazai’s arms as he gently pulled you against his chest.

You tried to tilt your head to meet his gaze, but he just pressed you closer.

“I care about you more than you’ll ever realize.”

You felt his chest rumble from his words. It came out quiet, but sincere. It only made you cry harder honestly, but you felt a sense of genuine comfort from him that’s been lacking for some time.

And Dazai knows it- he knows that he’s not a comforting person. He’s never been known to bring anyone a sense of comfort- only pain and despair, as dramatic as it sounds. He’s ruined lives, his hands are coated with blood that will never wash off, and he’s sure that he’s destined for hell once his time is up.

He deserves it though, he believes. He doesn’t deserve the peace that you bring him, he doesn’t deserve you. You made his time on this earth a bit bearable, and he doesn’t deserve that after everything that he’s done. And that alone made him even more worried about losing you.

But you were right about him being selfish. As much as he wants to end his life, he wants to indulge in you for as long as he can before he’s successful. It’s hard for him to be vulnerable- the only time he could be was when speaking to his dear friend, whether at their cherished bar or now at his tombstone.

But Dazai still didn’t want to lose you. He wanted you to know how much you meant to him before he passes on. The time that he’s finally ready to open up won’t come anytime soon or would be easy to do, but he hopes that one day he’ll be able to bear his sins and all to you.

But for now, he’ll simply hold you to remind you of how much you mean to him.

#build a blurb ask game 🫧 #dream rambles about bsd 🐶🔍 #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs x gender neutral reader

[akkivee]

my hypster fc magazine came in the mail, and it was full of bangers as usual, but it is so important to me that you all know that kuukou, out of concern for the youth who can’t afford to travel to a temple, or that it’s too far etc etc, has decided to create a temple in the metaverse and therefore accessible from your smartphone LOL

#vee queued to fill the void #KUUKOU IN VR CHAT LMAO?????????????? #the little blurb was written like he’s talking to us about his plans and he’s so funny lol #kuukou: those old farts aren’t gonna understand the use of tech so it’s up to me to show them the way 😏 #also kuukou: idk how our patrons will hear my sermons i haven’t thought that far ahead yet #kuukou is literally faking it until you make it LOL #and i mean that so literally pls towards the end of him talking out of his ass about his plans he relays to us #kuukou: obvs this is going to cost a lot and i don’t got money jyushi’s broke and hitoya’s a stingy btch so i can’t rely on them #kuukou: and so i’m recruiting bon line dancers!!!! #kuukou: for those who apply as thanks i will build you an in metaverse grave using a percentage of donations yall generated #KUUKOU????????????????????????? HUH??????????????????? WHAT???????????????? #anyway petition to get kuukou a vtuber or some digital avatar he keeps trying to reach out to us LOL #c: kuukou👑

[problemswithbooks]

With the tentative and rough translations out, i have to say, yeah, Hori really doesn't get what he's actually writing and if he was trying to make Toga's entire deal a metaphor for queerness, he's ended up being quite offensive.

Like first off it seems he has Toga say she falls in love easily with boy and girls and...animals. Which, I always felt the bird thing as a kid could have negative connotations, but wrote it off as 'she was a little kid and this was before her desire for blood was wrapped up in her romantic feelings' type things. So having Hori reinstate that yes, she does still love animals to the point of blood drinking desire--a desire Hori coded as sexual/romantic is not a good look.

It also just makes me question if she could ever own a pet or if she'd end up killing it because she loved it to much and she needed to drink it's blood.

Also getting her perspective on the boy she attacked isn't great either. The translation is rough and basic so it could change, but I don't think there's any translation that could make the situation not read poorly.

In the rough translations she says something along the lines of "I didn't ask to drink his blood because I was afraid he'd hate me and think I was a decent monster."

I could see an alternative translation being "I asked for his blood and he called me a deviant monster, and I sucked his blood."

Again if Hori is trying to make a queer metaphor with Toga, this is a huge issue. Her attacking the boy was always a big problem, but if he didn't bring it up again I think a lot of casual readers would have forgotten it. But now it's front and center again and brings back bad connotations for Toga and a queer reading of her character.

Because again if we read her blood drinking as queerness, and Hori has already coded it in the past as lust while just last chapter confirming that Toga sees it as kissing in the very least we get two equally bad reads.

A) Due to fear of rejection Toga did not ask for consent and decided she'd just make sexual advances toward someone she had a crush regardless.

or B) She got rejected and told no, and then made the sexual advance anyway.

With a queer reading this only becomes worse because it pays into the really negative and even dangerous idea that same sex attracted people will go after anyone regardless of consent or the other persons orientation. It continues to perpetuate the idea that queer people are sexual predators, who target straight people or in the very least do not care about consent, or are unable to control themselves long enough to get it.

But even without a queer reading what Toga did is wrong. It sucks that people don't get her way of showing love, but consent is still needed regardless. You can't just do what you want to someone because you were to afraid to ask them out. You can't just do what you want with someone after they tell you no. Even if the boy had called her a monster that would not make it ok for Toga to, essentially sexually assault him (yes, kissing someone against their will is sexual assault, which is what Toga sees her blood drinking as).

And I think that's why Toga's character is really hard to get behind for some people--because at the end of the day she's literally just saying "I can't help but sexually assault people (and animals apparently)', and the solution to this is to give her exactly what she wants and apologize for not seeing how much pain she was in when she was actively trying to sexually assault people.

#bnha critical #anti toga #anti himiko #bnha spoilers #bnha 394 #this isn't me saying all queer stories or romances have to pure #but it's not framed as toxic or negative and Toga is the only openly queer character we have that's still alive #(Tiger was confirmed trans in a character blurb not in the text. Any one who only reads the magazine wouldn't know he's trans) #it's also just hard to get behind because the way Hori draws and frames them it feels more that he does it because he thinks it's hot #like the way naked toga is hugging ochako with her legs spread is bad #I mean he could have drawn it with ochako in front to hide toga's body or have toga with her legs closed #or he could have not had Toga's power remove her clothes to begin with #it also doesn't help that we don't get much build up for these characters #like i don't believe either of these girls actually understand or genuinely care about each other #like there was an opening with Twices death for Ochako to start to care about Toga and feel genuinely bad for her #but instead she just kind of decided to care for toga and her smile because Hori said so #like she thinks of her during the speech #but wouldn't it have been better and made more sense if she saw dabi's vlog and heard Twice died and then she understands why Toga was sad #not just randomly think 'man i want that girl who tried to murder me with a smile to smile again' #it also would have helped wrap up the twices death better too

[stacotto]

I'm going to play devil's advocate here (and yeah, devil seems like a pretty mild appelation for Prospera Mercury right now), but I want to point out it's just Belmeria assuming that Prospera turned Eri into Aerial for the evulz. I'm getting vibes of the Alaya-Vijnana dilemma, and there may have been a point where Eri simply couldn't disconnect from the Lfrith (we do see her literally wired in during the prologue, but sunrise has been so stingy about how mobile suit interfaces work here), so Prospera just decided to make lemonade; less "hahaha I'm going to turn my daughter into the OS for a WMD" and more "at least you can stay alive this way". Not trying to be an apologist, especially since according to some interpretations Aerial as she is now is more than enough to just pull the trigger on Quiet Zero and mama's trying to push her even further, so who knows.

#g witch spoilers #g witch theory #mobile suit gundam the witch from mercury #Prospera Mercury #Elnora Samaya #ericht samaya #quiet zero #belmeria winston #sunrise please give us some world building that isnt just blurbs in a model kit manual #also man the question of 'what' is suletta just keeps getting more interesting #g witch #g-witch #g-witch spoilers

[girl-next-door-writes]

Tightrope

Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: It is only when Loki realizes how much he could have lost that it hits him, just how much he needs you.

Word Count: 1088 words

Prompt: best friends to lovers, unexpected kiss, assumed together

A/N: This is for the excellent @randomhumanoid512 as part of my ‘build-a-blurb’ follower celebration.

Other people bored him. At least that is what he always told himself. There was no need to get drawn into their pathetic little lives, to connect, because whenever he let someone in, he had always ended up hurt. No, better to stay above it all. That was until he met you.

Walking into a meeting room in the Avengers compound, reluctantly following his brother, he was greeted with the sight of you and Stark in a lively discussion. There was a fire in your eyes, something about your general spirit that sparked something inside him. That was unusual, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was a pleasant feeling. There was just something about you that he knew he needed, he assumed to further whatever plot he was going to come up with to get out of here. Loki automatically moved to stand behind you, as if taking your side in whatever this disagreement had been, and from that moment on, he had always been your biggest ally.

Some people wanted a simple life, nice and quiet, white picket fences, but the two of you seemed to roll from one chaotic situation to the next without breaking your stride. Much to Loki’s delight, he wasn’t always the one who initiated the madness. He would happily follow you into the great unknown, ready to battle whatever monsters the two of you may come across, prepared to do whatever he needed to in order to keep this little bubble you existed in, your own little piece of paradise. You were his best friend, his closest companion, and he felt more like himself when he was in your company. He liked himself when he was with you.

Of course, this close friendship of yours raised eyebrows. Thor had long since stopped asking his brother if he was gaining a sister-in-law and just assumed the two of you were together. You made Loki happy, and that was enough for Thor’s approval.  Tony was sceptical, convinced that Loki would break your heart, but as time passed, he began to think you may just have what he and Pepper shared. Whenever teams were split, or people paired up, there was no hesitation in who you should go with. It was an unspoken agreement; the chaotic couple were a package deal.

Another day, another mission, another Hydra base. There were times this life was tediously predictable and as he made his way down a corridor, he felt something he hadn’t for a very long time. The pulsating power that seemed to call to him like a siren to a sailor. He knew it was dangerous, that he should stick by your side, but his feet seemed to move of their own accord. This part of the compound was eerily quiet, and possibly a trap, but the familiar thrumming in the back of his brain pushed him on until he stood in front of a large, reinforced door.

There was a swooshing sound as it slid open, as if expecting him. The darkness of the room was pushed back by a blue glow that drew him closer. It wasn’t possible. The Tesseract couldn’t be here, couldn’t be so easily acquired… could it? His eyes were wide as he circled the podium, scanning the block as if he could ascertain this was a fake somehow. His fingers itched to touch it, to feel it’s coolness against his skin. His breath hitched as he made contact. The things he could do with this power. Mountains would crumble, seas boil, civilisations bow to him. He would be unstoppable, simply taking control of anyone in his way. His lips curled up into a humourless smile, the blue light highlighting his face in a way that made him look cruel and soulless.

“Loki?” Your voice was small, echoing from his comms and breaking him from his thoughts. Pulling back from the Tesseract, he looked at it now with horror. Had he really been so easy to corrupt? Was he really willing to risk everything he had, this life with you, to repeat previous mistakes? Would he really choose a life without you in it?

“Loki?” Your voice sounded concerned, but he couldn’t respond. The guilt, the shame, they stole his ability to speak. His heart pounded in his chest, the sudden realisation that he was about to ruin everything hit him so hard it was like a punch to his stomach. He hadn’t registered that he was now slumped on the floor, leaning against the wall, or the footsteps echoing down the corridor towards him.

Your hand slipped into his as you crouched beside him. “I’ve got you. Whatever it is, I’ve got you and I’m not letting go, okay?”

He blinked as he looked up at you, his eyes finally focusing on yours. In that instant he knew, he knew that it wasn’t just something about you he needed, it was just you. He was in love with you. He had been in love with you this entire time and had been too blind to see it. It was as if he had been walking a tightrope this entire time, so focused on you that he didn’t even consider that he might drop, or how far he could fall.

You hand caressed his cheek as your eyes scanned his face with a look of concern. He couldn’t say what possessed him, why he did what he did, but suddenly he surged forward. His hands cupped your face as his lips met yours and it was as if the whole world stopped. He wasn’t falling any more. You had caught him, and he was safe, and his future looked bright. Loki kissed you softly, as if scared he had already lost you. As he pulled back and opened his eyes, he saw you still had yours closed, your lips pouted slightly with a surprised and somewhat blissed out expression on your face. It made him smile fondly, kicking himself for taking so long to realise what everyone else had seen from the moment the two of you had met.

“I’m sorry.” he said softly, although he wasn’t sure if he was apologising for kissing you, or not kissing you sooner.

“You picked a really weird time to finally do that, but I’m glad you did.” you hummed, leaning in to kiss him. This time it was slightly more heated, and Loki knew he was hopelessly addicted to you. The lure of the Tesseract had faded, his mind completely consumed by you.

#Loki x reader #my fic #build a blurb #something i wrote

[fortheloveofwonderland]

For the milestone blurb, if possible:

🔒 Prison AU…post

🎃 Halloween

😈 Dom! Spencer

😇 Innocence Kink

🦷 Biting Kink….the emoji that came up for me is question mark in a box,so..I took a guess

Spencer and Female Reader, post prison.

Spencer gets dragged to Garcia’s annual Halloween party. He’s not having fun until he meets the reader who is dressed in an innocent costume ( angel,librarian,nun…whatever you choose) and he goes feral. Fluffy smut…biting included.( optional to have Spencer dress up as a character who bites or you can leave it as a kink without costume reference). Happy ending!

Thank you!

I LOVED writing this! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

NSFW Minors DNI.

Summary - Spencer is sceptical of going along to Garcia’s Halloween party. After his stint in prison, he isn’t feeling exactly sociable. But when a literal angel graces the party, his love of the holiday is restored.

CW - post prison Spencer, vague mentions of prison arc, cocky Spencer, Dom! Spencer, choking, biting, fingering, handjobs, oral (m receiving), penetrative sex, protected sex, swearing, general Halloween related stuff, lots of Dracula references (Italics are quotes from Bram Stoker’s Dracula.)

WC - 4.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Bitten

Not my gif

If there was one thing that could be said about Spencer Reid it’s that he loves Halloween. 

Love doesn’t even feel like a strong enough word to describe the way he feels as the holiday approaches each year. 

As soon as August gives way to September, Spencer can feel the exhilaration coursing through every single one of his veins. As leaves start to turn from greens to browns and start their descent to earth from the trees, anticipation rumbles through Spencer’s whole body. 

Maybe it was because Halloween was one of the few fond memories from his childhood. With his mothers illness and his fathers abandonment, Spencer took himself trick or treating alone every year. 

But he wasn’t lonely. Far from it. It was probably one of the only times he didn’t feel lonely. 

Having an excuse to dress up, to be a completely different person even if only for one night, appealed to Spencer greatly. For one night only he could just be a normal kid with no sick mother and no abnormally high IQ. 

His love of Halloween stuck with him his whole life. It became a comfort of sorts, one day a year where he could be anyone other than Doctor Spencer Reid. Because sometimes, he wanted to be anyone other than himself. 

On October thirty first he wasn’t a former drug addict. He wasn’t a man who had witnessed the love of his life killed in front of him. He wasn’t the culmination of a lifetime of trauma. 

He was whoever he wanted to be. 

He was released from prison two months before Halloween this year. But his time spent inside was the first thing Spencer didn’t think could be placated by throwing himself into his favourite holiday. 

As early October rolled on with no mention of the holiday from him, his team started to worry. Spencer was known for starting his Halloween talk as early as September and so far he’d yet to bring it up once. 

Garcia’s annual Halloween party rolled around and Spencer had no intention of going this year. He didn’t want to dress up and pretend to be someone else this year, because the trauma he’d sustained in prison wasn’t going to be alleviated by some stupid holiday. 

But Garcia being Garcia didn’t take no for an answer. The whole team were going to be there as well as some of Garcia’s friends and Spencer was categorically not missing out on the fun. 

He’d tried to insist he would only bring everyone down with his presence which made them more concerned about him and more determined to get him to the party. 

Usually he would relish in getting dressed up, spend hours if not days on his costume and take pride in his new persona. 

This year Spencer applied the bear minimum to his Halloween get up. 

He got away with wearing his usual attire, white shirt with a black tie, jacket and slacks and purchased a cheap black cloak he tied around his neck along with donning a set of fangs he clipped to his canines. 

With the final half hearted touch of a little fake blood around his lips, his attempt at Dracula was complete. 

Stepping into Garcia’s apartment it was clear she’d pulled out all the stops. Cobwebs and strings of eyeballs hung from the rafters, bowls in the shapes of pumpkins were filled with candy. 

A large Calderon sat in the kitchen with a hand crafted sign stating “Witches Brew: Drink With Caution” which Luke filled him in was just an extremely alcoholic punch the tech analyst had concocted. 

He filled a plastic skull chalice with a can of soda from the fridge and popped in a couple of eyeball ice cubes. He stuffed a handful of candy in his mouth, finding that chewing was made slightly cumbersome by the fake teeth. 

He sipped his soda, leaning up against the kitchen counter as the festivities continued around him as though he weren’t even there. 

His team members would check in on him every once in a while and he would insist he was fine. 

The truth was, he was far from fine. Even in a room full of people Spencer felt the loneliness wash over him in waves. 

It was easier to be lonely when you were actually alone. It made sense to feel that way when trapped inside his apartment by himself. 

But feeling this isolated in a sea of people seemed pathetic even for Spencer. 

“Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.”

He sighed to himself as the Bram Stoker’s Dracula quote flooded his mind. How apt, he rolled his eyes.

He nursed the same soda for almost two hours, ate a few more pieces of candy and was about ready to call it a night. 

And then the apartment door opened. 

He heard the click of the door even over the music pumping through the room. He was trained to notice minute noises like that and his eyes quickly darted to the direction of the sound. 

Everyone else was too intoxicated by this point to have heard the barely audible clicking of the door as another guest arrived. 

Spencer’s entire body tightened involuntarily. His shoulders snapped back, pulling him up to his full height while his chest puffed out, his legs locked at the knees and his hands, one around and his glass and the other in his pocket, curled tightly. 

He felt his eyes widen and his lip turn up at the corner whilst the air felt like it was being squeezed from his lungs. 

He was staring right at an angel, a literal angel. 

An obscenely tight fitting white dress paired with white knee high boots, angel wings and a halo. 

And goddamn if Spencer didn’t feel like he’d died and gone to heaven. 

He noticed then, aside from the obvious, another part of his anatomy had stiffened just from one glance at the ethereal beauty. 

His skin tingled in anticipation and he decided in that one look, I have to have her. 

Spencer had never felt such an animalistic desire for someone before. He’d never felt this heady kind of lust over someone after just laying eyes on them. 

You had an innocence about you, pure and untarnished from the horrors of the world. You didn’t carry the weight of your burdens around on your shoulders. 

You were almost virginal but Spencer knew by the shortness of your dress and the way it hugged your breasts tightly you were anything but. 

You showcased your body for men to lust over, some of whom you may deem worthy of your attention, others you would ignore. 

You knew exactly how to make men fall hook line and sinker for you. 

And Spencer knew, as he watched you sashay confidently into the room, he would not be leaving this party without having first destroyed you. 

He downed his soda as he observed you. Penelope gave you a large hug and the two of you chatted for a few moments before you were directed towards the kitchen. 

Spencer quickly hurried ahead of you towards the kitchen, hoping for an easy way to strike up a conversation with you over the pouring of drinks. 

He grabbed another soda from the fridge and decanted it into his glass. Years ago Spencer might have needed some liquid courage in order to talk to a woman, least of all one as beautiful as you.

But these days Spencer was more comfortable in his own skin than he’d ever been, it was funny the kinds of things prison put into perspective.

He didn’t need to be the most attractive guy at the party, he just needed to show confidence and you would be putty in his hands. He was sure of it. 

You strolled in and again his whole body tightened. You had this strange effect on him, effectively making his body work of its own accord. 

He watched you ladle out some of Garcia’s witch’s brew into a chalice matching his own. At first it didn’t seem as though you’d even noticed him. 

And then you slowly turned, pushing your wings back from where they were sinking on your shoulder and your eyes met his. 

He knew as he looked into your eyes you were certainly not as innocent as you were dressed. There was a devilish glint in your eyes as you looked him up and down. 

But you were far more innocent than him. 

Oh the things he would do to you. 

“Hi.” You smiled at him, stepping a little closer as his eyes curiously roamed your body. 

He didn’t even try to disguise the fact he was checking you out and you found it incredibly hot. 

“Hi.” He replied, eyes finally landing back on your face. 

“Vampire, huh? Original.” You smirked, bringing your lips to your glass and sipping the potent liquid. 

“About as original as an Angel. At least I’m a monster of sorts. And I’m not just any vampire, I’m Dracula.” 

You narrowed your eyes on him, clearly trying to size him up. 

Your lips pinched together in thought before you smiled again.

“No one but a woman can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart.” You recited straight from Dracula, waiting to see how he would respond. 

“Is that what you think?” He stepped even closer and bowed his head toward your ear, his breath fanning across your skin in delicious waves. “The devil may work against us for all he's worth, but God sends us men when we want them.”

You cursed the involuntary shiver that passed up your spine at his words. He hadn’t missed a beat in reciting the line as though he’d planned it all along somehow. 

His large hand ghosted up your arm, sending another shiver up your spine. 

Spencer knew he had you right where he wanted you. He could take you right here and now and he was sure you’d thank him for the privilege. 

But he wanted to have a little more fun first. 

He stepped back again, leaving you reeling from his previous close proximity. 

He knew what he was doing to you. His eyes sparkled with a kind of knowing. He had you and he knew it. You both did. 

But you didn’t want to make it so easy for him. 

“You think just because you can recite Dracula that impresses me?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, trying to keep your voice steady and not give away how turned on you were. 

“I didn’t say that.” His lip curled up. “But I think you should be a little impressed that I turned you on so much without doing a thing.” 

Your cheeks immediately reddened and it was all Spencer needed to see to know he was right. That and the way you pressed your bare thighs together anyway. 

“Cocky son of a bitch.” You scoffed, sipping your drink to try and hide your red face. 

“It would be cocky if I wasn’t right. If I was making assumptions, yes that would be cocky of me. But I’m not making assumptions. I saw the signs, I read the clues. I put the pieces together and I formed a hypothesis.” 

“And what might that be?” The pitching to your voice only added fuel to Spencer’s fire. 

Once again he stepped back close to you, his hand this time ghosting up your back before settling to cup the back of your head.

“You want to sleep with me.” Once again his words caused your body to shudder, even more so when his lips brushed against your earlobe.

When those same lips skimmed your jaw, barely grazing across your skin, a wanton moan floated out your own lips and Spencer knew he had you more so than before. 

“Do you think you’re god's gift to women or something?” You tried to sound indignant but your voice wavered when his lips brushed down across the side of your neck. 

“Not at all. I don’t mean to be cocky or arrogant, I really don’t. But I can’t ignore the way you’re reacting to me. I can’t ignore the way those delicious thighs press together every time I speak, the way your breathing gets heavier when I do this…” he trailed off and swept his lips across your jaw again and as expected your breath caught in your throat. 

Spencer smirked to himself, moving back to your ear where he tucked your hair behind it. 

You were too dumb to speak. You’d never had a man be so straight forward, so bold. Maybe it was because he was older. He knew what he wanted and it was clear he was going to take it. 

You’d let him take you. 

“And don’t try to pretend otherwise, angel. Don’t try to play hard to get because you will be disappointed when I don’t try to chase you. I am all about openness and honesty so I am telling you that I want to skip the games and I want to take you home with me.” He pressed his body against yours for a fleeting moment, but long enough so you could feel he was painfully hard. 

When he stepped back and looked at you, you felt utterly dizzy. This stranger was reducing you to a puddle and you had to try and claw back at least a tiny element of control. 

You downed the witch's brew, ignoring the way his hazel eyes seemed to look through you, deep into your soul.

“Why take me home?” Your eyes danced with mischief. “Penelope has a perfectly good guest room going unused.” 

It was Spencer’s turn to shudder and a shaky breath erupted from his lungs. One simple sentence caused his composure to waver. 

“I thought you were supposed to be an angel?” He raised an eyebrow at you. 

“We all have a little of the devil in us, Spencer.” 

“H-how do you know my name?” He stumbled over his words a little. 

“You think Penelope hasn’t told me about her team? I knew who you were the second I walked in.” You smirked, feeling happy in the knowledge you were regaining some power. 

“Isn’t it fair I know your name then?” 

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. For now you can just call me angel.” You offered your hand to him and he looked at it for a few seconds before dumbly taking it. 

You smiled to yourself as you weaved the two of you through the party towards Penelope’s guest room. 

You closed the door and locked it behind you, staring up at Spencer, waiting for his next move. 

It seemed like you’d frazzled him. You were pleased with that. 

But then as though a light switch had been flicked, Spencer’s eyes turned dark, practically black, as he strolled confidently towards you. 

He pushed you back against the closed door, his large hand finding a home around your throat. He squeezed the tender flesh, feeling your pulse between his fingertips. 

“A brave man's hand can speak for itself, it does not even need a woman's love to hear it.” He hissed the passage at you, pinning you against the door.

You choked a little as he tightened his hold, grinding his hips against yours. 

“Doesn’t Dracula…bite?” You spluttered out as best you could, staring him right in the eyes. 

Spencer smiled a toothy grin, showing off the fangs he’d donned for the night. 

“You want to see how strong these things are?” He flicked one of the clip-ins with his free hand. 

You whimpered a little, short, sharp breaths through your nose helping you to breathe. 

“P-please.” You pressed your thighs together tightly. 

Spencer dropped his hand from your neck and you gasped as you tried to refill your lungs with air. He bowed his head, lips ghosting over the skin at the apex of your neck. 

“Right here?” He breathed against your soft flesh, sending goosebumps flaring all over your body. 

“Hmm.” You hummed. 

He watched you swallow, the way your flesh dipped with the action and it was all the impetus he needed. 

Praying the clip-ins would hold out, he sunk his teeth into your milky skin, moaning viscerally as he did so. 

You gasped at the feeling of his teeth piercing your skin, whether it be his own teeth or the fake canines you had no idea. 

Either way it caused you to fall flush with the door, eyes rolling back in your head as your thighs pushed harder together. 

Spencer swiped his tongue over the fresh wound, a combination of sweat and perfume exploding in his mouth. 

He needed more. 

He angled his mouth downwards and bit down on your collarbone, excerpting more pressure than his first bite. 

He was briefly impressed by the sturdiness of the fangs and that they were able to penetrate your skin so well. 

You yelped and your hands flew to his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. 

Again he lapped his tongue over the new wound before lifting his head to take in his handiwork. 

He’d left behind some fake blood he’d forgotten he’d applied to his mouth and it made the red welts look even more appealing. 

His dick throbbed in his pants as he marvelled at the way he’d marked you. 

“There are darknesses in life and there are lights,” he began reciting as his lips trailed over your jaw again. “And you are one of those lights, the light of all lights.” 

You felt your whole body explode as he finally pressed those lips to yours. 

You were quick to wrap your arms around his neck, opening your mouth to allow him access. 

His tongue plunged into your mouth, exploring every inch of it as though his life depended on it. 

You could feel those false teeth crashing against your own and you gave a fleeting thought of how impressive it was that they lasted through all this. 

He kissed you with bruising force, shoving you further back against the door and caging you in. 

One hand rested in your cheek while his other started to wander. 

His fingertips grazed your thigh and you moaned against his mouth. He managed to part your legs with one large hand and then he was moving higher. 

He didn’t have the patience to wait any longer to feel you in some capacity. He moved your panties aside with deft fingers and dove between your legs while kissing the air from your lungs. 

You moaned again as his long, slender digit pressed against your clit.

“Fuck,” he panted against your lips. “You’re so wet.” 

“Can you blame me?” You moaned again as his fingers found a dizzying rhythm. 

You removed one hand from around his neck and your fingers danced down his body and made quick work undoing his slacks. 

He wiggled his hips a little to aid you in getting his pants and underwear off just enough to free his aching cock. 

As soon as his clothing was pushed down to his thighs, you took hold of his shaft and tried to match your rhythm with his. 

Your legs were shaking beneath you as his finger circled your clit with experienced determination. You hoped you were making him feel even half as good as he made you feel. 

Judging by the way his hips were bucking into your hand and the precome already leaking from his head, you assumed you were. 

“Fuck, Spencer.” You mumbled, throwing your head back against the door. 

Spencer took the chance to sink his teeth into your neck again which made you whine and whimper and your legs shake violently. 

“Angel your hand feels so fucking good.” He panted, licking your bite marks. “But I need more. Need more.” 

You agreed wholeheartedly. 

You guided his hand slowly away from your desperate pussy, making you both whine. You gave him a few more strokes before letting go of him. 

You looked at him with dark eyes which he mirrored. His messy curls were even messier somehow and the fake blood smeared across his mouth and onto his stubbly jaw. 

He took you by the hand and led you backwards towards the bed. He sat down on the edge of it before pulling you on top of him. 

He made no show of getting undressed so you didn’t either. It was somehow sexier this way, only getting to see select parts of him. 

You toy with his tie while he fished a condom out of his trouser pocket which still hung around his thighs. 

He located one, quickly ripped the packet with nibble fingers and you watched in awe as he rolled it over his cock. 

Once secured, he grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you down to crash your lips together again. 

He kissed you frantically while you shuffled up his body and positioned him between your legs, moving your panties aside for him. 

He gripped your neck hard, keeping you close and mumbled another Dracula passage against your lips. 

“My life is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for her."

You had an idea of what he meant by that so as he pressed against you and started sinking into your waiting heat, you moved your lips to his neck and bit him hard. 

He yelped, bucking his hips and entering you roughly which made you whine. But that only spurred Spencer on. 

He slammed up again, filling you up in a way you’d never been filled before. You rocked your hips against his violent thrusts as you loosened his tie and undone the top few buttons of his shirt. 

You gently pressed your lips against his chest, right about his left nipple before quickly sinking your teeth into his flesh. 

“Fuck, you filthy fucking bitch.” He groaned, roughly grabbing your hips and frantically moving you up and down on his cock. 

He was relentless, pounding you as hard as he possibly could. 

When you sat back he saw the tears pricking the corners of your eyes at his harsh intrusion but he could see by the dopey smile on your face how much you were loving it. 

Your halo bounced as he thrust again and again and the noises you were making were so far from angelic. 

Needing more leverage, Spencer suddenly flipped the two of you over, causing you to whimper in confusion. 

He pulled out harshly, making you yelp once more, but he was quick to stand on his feet, pulling you by the thighs to the edge of the bed. 

You stayed on your back and he wrapped your legs around his waist. Moving your panties aside again he suddenly slammed back inside of you. 

You arched your back to meet his thrusts, now he was on his feet he could control the pace a lot better. 

He was unyielding, snapping his hips back just to slam right back inside of you. Each thrust earned him a delicious and sinful moan from your lips. 

“Some fucking angel you are, letting a stranger fuck you this way.” He reached down and wrapped his hand around your throat again. 

You felt dizzy in the best possible way. Spencer tightened his hand on your neck, squeezing hard as you fought for breath whilst he continued fucking you into the mattress. 

Your orgasm completely snuck up on you, you blamed the lack of air circulating in your brain for not realising it was happening until it hit you. 

Spencer clearly noticed by the way you clenched around him and the soft string of strangled moans that left your lips. 

Your face was starting to turn red and tears rolled from your eyes so he let go of your neck and kissed you hard instead. 

You fought to catch your breath and you mumbled incoherently against him. 

He moved his lips to the shell of your ear and whispered another line from Dracula although you didn’t register it, now rendered dumb 

“Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose?"

You simply whimper in response as he pounded into your spent body a few more times. 

More tears rolled down your cheeks and you loudly yelped when he suddenly pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and sore. 

He smirked down at you, pupils blown out wide as he quickly discarded the condom. 

He gripped your throat again, using it to pull you to a sitting position on the edge of the bed but decided against choking you again. 

Your wings were bent and ruffled from the activities and your halo was closer to the side of your face than your crown. 

Your dress was ruched up to your hips and your panties were still off at an angle. 

You looked a goddamn mess and Spencer was filled with pride that he’d reduced you to this. 

“Oh angel,.” He started pumping himself pulling you towards his member. “Open wide, I’ll have you at heaven's gates in no time.” 

Your mouth fell open, too dumb to refuse. 

Spencer thrust his cock inside your waiting mouth and you moaned around his shaft. 

He roughly fucked your mouth, hand on the back of your head to manouver you. 

He’d been close when he’d pulled out and your warm, wet mouth around him sent him straight back to the edge. 

He slammed into you a few times before he felt the telltale tightening of his stomach. 

He sheathed himself completely in your mouth as his cock spasmed and you felt his come shoot down your throat. 

You choked a little around him but swallowed everything he had to give. He stayed buried inside your mouth until he was completely spent. 

His legs shook a little as he pulled out, a string of saliva dripping from your lips to the tip of his cock. 

He wiped the dribble from your chin before practically collapsing next to you on the bed. 

Your mascara was running down in streaks from your eyes and he gently rubbed the marks away with the pads of his thumbs. 

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.” You mumbled sleepily. 

“Beautiful, angel.” He kissed your lips before pulling you into his arms. 

You nuzzled into his chest hearing his heart beating frantically beneath your ear. 

“S-should we leave?” You muttered although you didn’t want to go anywhere. 

“I’m sure Garcia won’t mind us staying the night.” He placed a kiss on your messy hair, pulling you closer. 

You hitched a leg up and wrapped it around Spencer’s waist as you sighed in content. 

“O-ok.” You stifled a yawn. 

He looked down at the half sleeping angel in his arms and his heart soared as if it had wings of its own. 

One night was not going to be enough with you, he knew that with startling clarity. 

He was going to hold onto you with everything he had. You were the first ray of sunshine to come into Spencer’s life since prison had cast him into darkness. And he certainly wasn’t going to let that go. 

He couldn’t believe that he’d almost missed out on this party. He’d almost let his misery get in the way of celebrating his favourite holiday. 

His love of Halloween has certainly been reignited tonight, thanks to the angel of a woman who laid in his arms. 

His eyes started to flutter and his mind started to shut off as he gave over to sleep, one last line from Dracula came to pass. 

No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid blurb #build a blurb #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert

[purplepixel]

OK I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS:

The 2012 turtle's reaction to the chris bradford finale foreshadowed how I'd feel towards the season 4 finale.

And idk if this was done on purpose, or if this was accidental and just bad writing. Spoilers for the last two episodes of 2012 TMNT season 4.

Every season in TMNT 2012 has the characters occasionally watching an old cartoon that will often foreshadow or tell the audience what this tmnt episode will be about. We get to see the finale of season 4's cartoon show, the Chris Bradford show, in the second to last episode. At first glance, it seems to foreshadow its own episode, Requiem.

Hero character is on a building, someone falls off a building. That's the common denominator of both the Chris Bradford final episode and the episode requiem. Unlike the episode requiem, the Chris Bradford finale is sudden with little to no pay off and has the turtles going..."that's it?"

Which is the opposite of the episode it's showcased in. The episode requiem has one of the most emotional showdowns and death where the actors, storyboarders, and animators put their heart and soul into it. I'm convinced the entire budget went to this second to last episode.

The episode after that on the other hand. The actual finale episode "Owari" is a different story. I'm gonna ignore the questionable writing choices they made to get certain characters where they needed to be in the last moments of the episode bc I have a lot of issues with that but that's not what this is about. This is about Leo and Shredders final stand off.

Actual spoiler time. Shredder should've died either after Leo almost got through to him but went ahead and stabbed him, or when the bros had shredder pinned and Donnie used the retro-mutagen. Not the moment we got.

The death we got seemed to happen...randomly? Why this moment? It was a simple attack that Leo has done before. What made this instance more special? Was it splinters word of wisdom? (Which made no goddamn sense btw) The anime esque freeze frame we get held no emotional weight. It felt simply like a "Leo was faster and stronger" moment. Which. Who cares? This is a weak character moment on both Leo and shredder. A good hero vs villain final fight should ALWAYS be more than just "they were faster/stronger". This is hero vs villain finale showdown 101.

It doesn't help that the final shot we see was unclear on what actually happened. It did not read that he died by Leo's sword at all. Which btw shouldn't have been able to happen anyways since we established that his swords can't pierce shredders heart but whatever. I'm ignoring that rn.

I'm wondering why that creative choice. Did Nickelodeon not want to show a kid killing someone? They had no problem with showing splinter being brutally stabbed on screen an episode earlier. Is it only ok if shredder kills someone? The cross fade from that one "dramatic" freeze frame shot to the next scene paired with all the other context I mentioned had me go..."thats it?" After that, I didn't care that Leo walked to the edge of the cliff and dramatically dropped shredder's helmet. Bc I was still stuck wondering "wtf happened. And also. THATS IT??" Just like the turtles reaction with the Chris Bradford finale.

So I'm wondering. Bad writing? Or was the audience supposed to feel that way towards Shredder's death? If the latter. That's a weird writing choice. Why do that to your big villain of FOUR seasons? And if the former. Well this is 2012 lmao. With every good writing moment you get an equally bad or worse writing moment. Just kinda sucks this happened on arguably the best season of 2012

#if you want to have your characters be unable to go back to the big battle #make it more convincing #youre really trying to convince me that raph donnie mikey just sat there watching a burning building #and didnt do anything to get back #despite the wall looking like it was scalable with a grappling hook #THAT THEY ALL CARRY #like cmon do better of you dont want them in the final scene #cuz i didnt by it one bit #ughh 2012 i simultaneously love and hate you #pixel blurbs #tmnt 2012 thoughts #tmnt 2012

[watermelonsugacry]

Building Harry's House: Music For A Sushi Restaurant

A/N: a itty bitty baby chapter for you lovies 💚 oh and...TYSM FOR 1500+ FOLLOWERS??

SUMMARY: With the world knowing of their once secret relationship, Harry and YN navigate life together as an official couple and everything that comes with it. (1.5k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn

Previous Song Here! 🧦 // Building Harry's House masterlist // SINCE 2010 masterlist

SIDE-NOTE: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl

Harry pulls open the glass door of the small sushi restaurant and steps aside for YN enter in first. 

As the world is still trying to progress through the pandemic, businesses were slowly but surely opening up their doors again. As much as the couple missed interacting with other people and found some comfort in a crowded area to blend into, it was nice to be in a public place again. Plus with the added protection from their masks (both from the virus and privacy from paparazzi) it puts them at ease to think they look a little less recognizable. Especially when they trade in their colorful trousers, cardigans, and jewelry for hoodies and sweatpants. 

So after being escorted to a booth and handed paper menus, they discard their masks and Harry sees his girlfriend’s beautiful smile once again.

YN leans over the table a bit and whispers, “It’s kinda like m’undercover with these on.” She giggles, waving her pink mask between them. “Feel every ninja-like.” 

When she goes to put her mask on the table beside her, her hand accidentally knocks against one of the glass sauce bottles. Harry reaches for it just before it hits the table, no harm was done but it did make a rattling noise that caught the attention of an older couple sitting at a table across from them at the tiny restaurant. 

YN quickly looks away and stares at the wall as she tries to hold back her laughter while Harry gives an apologetic smile to the on-lookers before they go back to their meals.

If he were out with other people, he probably would have decided right then and there to try to quickly but politely make the dinner go a little bit faster since they’ve been spotted, probably text Jeff to give him a ring with a fake excuse to go home.

But how can he even think to leave when she puts her hands beside her face to hide her cheeky smile? A faint blush to her cheeks and her eyes sparkling with amusement? It’s a pleasant change of pace to have the urge to stay at the restaurant for as long as possible rather than flee the scene.

“Excuse me? Can I have more green tea please?”

Right as the waitress nods, her eyes squinting in a smile under her mask and walks away, the couple give each other an amused but confused look when they hear an all too familiar “cou cou!” sound through the speakers of the restaurant. 

“Ah nothing like a depressing song about our past to get me in the mood to eat some raw fish.” YN snickers.

“S’very romantic.” Harry agrees with a playful smile on his lips.

“Just makes me wanna get up and dance. Oh wait, hold up—” YN hovers a hand over her chest, pumping her chest up and down to the beat of the song like she’s about to break dance. Her stanky face crumbles into a smile as she joins Harry as he laughs. 

He really can't believe how far they've come since that song was created. They were both in a place of confusement and horrible communication, both never expressing to each other their true feelings for one another which lead to their inevitable heart break. But as Harry sits across from the woman he loves, he knows that he's the only one who she calls him 'baby,' that he gets to hear her beautiful accent every day—from either phone or person—thanks to the fact that they actually talk with one another about anything and everything. In a way, Cherry still remains a 'pathetic' song of their past but oh what a great reminder it serves in times like these that tells them they are nowhere near where they used to be.

“This is really strange music for a sushi restaurant.” He says through a mouth full of rice. “Wouldn’t that be a cool name for an album though? Music For A Sushi Restaurant.”

YN nods, giggling when she reaches over to thumb away some sauce away from the corners of his lips. “That does sound pretty wicked. But then I feel like you’d be stuck to a certain theme though. Maybe for a song?”

“Yeah. I like that.” Harry nods.

“How do yeh think it’d sound like?” YN asks, mindlessly pushing some leftover rice together with her chopsticks. And that’s yet another thing he loves about her. The way that they both share a keen interest in music, constantly hearing new melodies in their heads before they even get a chance to write down their previous one.

“Mhm, maybe something funky. Like, you could be walkin’ down the street to it.” Harry softly begins to adlib a slow bass line, his hand gently patting against the table to make a beat. YN moves her head along to the beat before she experiments with a line:

“Green eyes, fried rice. I could cook an egg on you. Bum bum, bum bum, coffee on the stove.” 

“Wait, did yeh just call me hot?” Harry playfully gasps before he leans in close and asks in a whisper, “Is this you telling me you fancy me?” He giggles and shields his chest with his arm as she throws her balled up napkin at him.

“I tend to do so much writing in the studio, but with this one, I did a little bit here and then I went home and added a little bit there, and then kind of left it, and then went into the studio to put it all together. That was a theme across the whole album, actually.” Harry explains and a soft smile inches its way onto his lips. “This record was recorded in a couple different places in different parts of the world. One of my personal favorite places that we made a song was at YN’s home studio in LA.”

It's 'cause I love you, babe

In every kind of way

Just a little taste

You know I love you, babe

"Dunno. M'kinda stuck on what rhythm I should do for that." Harry says from behind the glass window, putting his hands on his hips.

The production team has been over at YN’s LA home for a couple of hours now and they all migrated towards her guest house that she converted into a home studio. The place was spacious enough for a little recording room in front of the huge console panel, racks of guitars and a seating area. Along with some other fun decor, the walls were covered in various silver, gold, and platinum framed record plaques of either her own records for other artists’ songs she worked on.

YN pouts in contemplation. One thing that she loves about this team, about the atmosphere Harry created for everyone, is that she feels comfortable enough to throw out ideas for songs and everything it entails without judgment. Add her confident, strong headed personality to the mix and she doesn't feel a bit bashful when she says, "You can make it sound like an orgasm?"

All the men in the room, including their videographer Mike, raise their eyebrows at the unexpected suggestion. It certainly isn't the craziest suggestion they've ever heard, tried, and kept, but it does still catch them all by surprise. 

Harry loves that she's able to throw in fresh ideas and on various occasions, keeping everyone on their toes.

"So like scale it upwards, yeah?" Harry adds, throwing her a nod through the glass window.

"And make ‘em a bit whiny at the ends? Oh, and gimme one of yeh scream-growl thingies.” She gives him a thumbs up before playing the track again. When she leans back in her chair, she does a double take at the group still staring at her. "Whot?"

“This song is right up my alley: the harmonies, the funky bass and guitars, the horns—ugh!” YN throws her head back with a slap to the armrest of her interview chair. “He has a little Pentatonix moment in this song, too—who am I kidding? He has many, which I am absolutely livin’ for."

If the stars were edible

And our hearts were never full

Could we live with just a taste?

Just a taste

"Give us somethin' sexy, Mitch." YN says into the recording booth speaker before spinning herself around in her swiveling studio chair. The production team has been on a roll with the making of the song for the past three days, everyone coming into her home studio with an eagerness to create something fun.

Mitch just shakes his head with a barely there smile before he hears Harry’s interlude again. His fingers quickly press on the wired strings to create the guitar melody YN came up with earlier. Everyone waits in anticipation to hear what he’s going to bring to the table and like always, he never disappoints. 

With very little body movement, Mitch moves his hand down the neck of his guitar, the new riff lowering in scale and it has everyone’s jaws on the floor. Harry has his hands frozen in his hair in disbelief while YN literally gets up out of her chair and pretends to leave the room.

“I think that since we kinda made it very causal-like, just staying at me house for a couple of days, it made the production process really fun.” YN beams at the camera. “I fookin’ love this song, mate, I can't get over it. Like how can you just sit down and listen to this song?”

Then there’s a video compilation moment of the production team through the making of the song: 

YN in the recording booth sliding her hand up and down her bass guitar as she grooves to the music through her big studio headphones. 

A clip of Mitch sitting on the velvet couch in YN’s studio with her standing on the cushion next to him as she dramatically plays the air guitar to his solo. 

Another clip of Kid, YN, and Tyler working at the huge console panel all the while Harry dances behind them. He bounces from foot to foot, his hands moving close to his chest with his palms facing outwards.

“After Fine Line, I had an idea of how I thought the next album would open. But there’s something about ‘Sushi’ that felt like, ‘Nah, that’s how I want to start.’" Harry chuckles, sliding his fingers down the corners of his mouth as he smiles."It becomes really obvious what the first song should be based on what you play for people when they’re like, ‘Oh, can I hear a bit of the music?’ It’s like, how do you want to set the tone?”

Next Song Here! 🍷

Taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m

#harry x 1dbandmember!reader #since 2010 series #building harry's house series #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #one direction fanfiction #one direction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic #harry styles and y/n #harry styles and reader #harry styles fluff #famous!reader #famous!yn

[fayes-fics]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Five hours of snowfall, four miles from the nearest paved road, three weeks before Christmas, two old friends and one bed….

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, fingering, handjob, vaginal sex, passing mention of oral sex, all sorts of feelings.

Word Count: 7.9 k I'm so sorry...

Build a blurb prompt 1: Benedict 👅 smut 🌲 mutual pining 🛌 only one bed - from @amillcitygirl Build a blurb prompt 2: modern Benedict 👅smut 👥friends to lovers 🌲mutual pining 🛌only one bed - from anon

Authors Note: *beep beep* make way for the trope bus, it’s coming thru!! Is this original? No. Was it fun to write? Hell YES! This thing was supposed to be 1k follower celebration Drabble (HAHAHA) but it grew its own legs and took over my brain for the last week. This is my winter epic and I even listened to the namesake song as I was editing it. I hope you all enjoy. Betaed by the total trooper @makaylan and beautiful artwork above made especially by @bridgertontess thank you 🧡

“You’ll just have to stay here,” he shrugs, peering out at the falling snow.

You glance at your watch. It’s 5pm and already dark, snowflakes swirling furiously in the glow cast by the window.

This was not your plan. You are booked onto a late flight back to London tonight. You only came out to the beautiful Highlands for a day in nature after your business trip to Glasgow. OK, and a dose of time with the most handsome friend you have, but mainly for the scenery.

He’s rented a tiny cottage for a week as a painting retreat. Why he would do that in early December is a slight mystery. However, the scenery will undoubtedly be even more breathtaking with a blanket of snow tomorrow—an artist's dream.

“Look, the roads here are tiny and treacherous. It’s too risky to attempt the airport drive tonight in the dark in this snowstorm. I will pay for you to fly home tomorrow instead,” Benedict assures, “penance for not checking the forecast before inviting you?” he winces in the hopes of forgiveness.

“But…” you protest weakly, not exactly hating the idea of being trapped in a remote cottage in the mountains with the man who has haunted your dreams for more years than you care to remember.

“This place is warm,” he points to the roaring fireplace. “And well stocked, in more ways than one,” he adds, gesturing to the kitchenette full of supplies and, with a flourish, to the small selection of single malt bottles on a nearby shelf. “There’s even some festive decor,” he argues.

You are entertained that he believes some sprigs of holly, which he has obviously collected on one of his hikes, count as Christmas decorations. Although, to be fair, wrapped around the bookshelves and candles the way it is, it does look lovely.

‘Yes, but… there's also only one bed,” you argue, nodding to the not-exactly sizable double bed at the other end of the room, partially obscured by a room-dividing bookshelf. Even as you mention it, your belly has a warm fizz at the fleeting thought of waking up pressed against him.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” he says hurriedly in a reassuring tone.

“Ben, don't be ridiculous. You are six feet tall, and that thing is barely five. We are not so young we can just sleep anywhere and still be okay anymore,” you remind him.

“Yeah, thanks for that reminder,” he deadpans.

“We are grown-ups; we can share a bed,” trying to keep your tone breezy, but it feels like the reassurance is for yourself as much as him.

You pretend not to see how he swallows thickly at your suggestion, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I can fashion a barrier with some throw cushions,” you shrug, a short nervous laugh bubbling up as you secretly chastise yourself for suggesting such a thing.

“No, no,” he rushes out very quickly. “What I mean is… it’s not a big bed, so by the time we do that, we would both be clinging to the edges. Let’s just, as you say, be adults about this and share the best we can.”

“Agreed.” You give a business-like nod, wanting to change the topic.

“Besides, the night is young,” he states, clapping and rubbing his hands together as if reading your mind. “What do you say we cook dinner together? Then, well, it’s card games or jigsaw puzzles, I’m afraid,” he skews his mouth with an apologetic twist.

“Sounds delightful on all counts,” you assure and bump him with your shoulder.

The evening seems to fly by, and the snowstorm outside somewhat abates as you make a delicious spaghetti bolognese together. Even though it's a tiny kitchen space, you make it work, moving around each other with an almost balletic fluidity as soft music plays from a Bluetooth speaker. There's no Wi-Fi or even much phone signal out here, but he came prepared with songs loaded onto his laptop. You exchange easy chat about mutual friends and what has been happening since you last saw one another a few weeks before.

As you sit down to eat together, the conversation flow continues. It's one of those meals you sop up the sauce from your plate with the warm bread rolls you serve as a side. Lingering in your chairs long after eating is complete, chatting amiably and animatedly about anything, everything and nothing all at once, with a delicious bottle of scotch.

Later, you take turns in the bathroom, cleaning teeth and changing into pyjama bottoms, and then you drift to the living room area. You watch as Benedict pours you both a nightcap into scotch glasses and glance outside to see the storm has picked up again, large clumps of fluffy snow gather in the corner of the window pane; you feel very cosy in this small but perfectly formed little rustic cottage.

“So, how have you been entertaining yourself all alone here for the last four nights?” you inquire, enjoying the smooth, smoky burn of the single malt.

Benedict is now sprawled across the nearby armchair in the most Benedict way, legs akimbo.

“I’ve read two books, and I’ve slept for nine hours every night,” he confesses, taking a sip of his drink and looking at you over the top of his glass.

The room feels like it's getting warmer regardless of the fire; how much is due to the delightful fog of whisky in your veins versus the handsome man across from you is indecipherable.

“Are you not lonely?” you blurt out.

“I live alone in London. What's the difference?” his brow knitting in confusion.

“Alone in the city is very different to alone out here,” you offer, “you can’t be that lonely when you’re only twenty feet from your neighbour through a wall.”

“Hmm, never thought about it like that,” his mien turns thoughtful, scratching his palm on the shadow of stubble on his chin.

You hear the rasp from where you sit, and you almost squeak in surprise as your treacherous mind supplies a vivid snapshot of that stubble teasing the soft skin of your lower belly as he looks up at you with a seductive smirk. You have to shake your head to get rid of it.

“Fear of murder out here is different,” you offer, trying to reroute your thoughts.

“Morbid,” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow with a bemused expression on his face.

“Out here, no one can hear you scream,” you jest, aping the movie line.

He guffaws into his glass. “Sometimes that can be a good thing.”

“Murder?!”

“The ability to scream and not be heard,” he clarifies, his tone markedly more languid than before.

“Painting not going well?” you ask with a chuckle.

“It’s going great, but not what I was referring to,” he argues, and you can’t seem to look away from his mouth all of a sudden.

Damn, how much whisky have you had?

“Had a girl here, Bridgerton?” your venture, a flutter in your chest even as you ask.

“Not until now,” he scoffs, but the intensity in his hazy blue stare causes a riot in your stomach.

You have to look down at your feet before you do something stupid, like climb into his lap and suck on his luscious bottom lip.

“Have you been masturbating loudly?” you quip, still looking down, the thought leaving your lips before you can censor it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, making you look back at him—big mistake. His eyes look stormy, and you can see a vein in his neck pulsing hard. Like you’ve awoken something.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” you stutter even as your mind floods with images of just that—him stroking his cock and panting, preferably your name.

The atmosphere feels a little too thick, and you briefly curl your lip into your mouth and bite it to give yourself something else to focus on.

“More whisky?” you offer, standing up and changing the subject.

“Sure.” He holds out his glass, and you swear his fingers intentionally slot between yours as he passes it to you.

You use the few moments it takes to refill your drinks, with your back turned, to gather your thoughts and slow your breathing. Having served, you sink onto the couch again but intentionally shift to face him more directly. The alcohol makes you bold and intrigued to know where this might go. He seems to do the same, his feet looping over the armchair's edge and almost touching yours.

“Hey, do you remember that summer when we were, l think, maybe twelve and…”

“Excuse me, point of order,” you butt in, “If you were twelve, I was ten. OK? Continue…” you motion with your hands for him to go on.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me I am older,” he snarks and skews his mouth into an affectionate pout.

“You are welcome, old man,” you tease with a slight smirk.

“Well, anyway… do you remember that summer Colin came home with headlice? And Ant’s answer was to shave all of our heads? Mum almost had a heart attack when she walked in on that. She was forever grateful he’d only gotten around to doing us three boys. She might have died if we’d made it down to Daph or El…” he is laughing heartily around his scotch glass at the memory.

“Remember it?!?” you pipe up, “of course I do! Don't you remember you were trying to push me in front of your sisters in Ant’s barber line? You seemed concerned to ensure I either got rid of or never got them in the first place; I don't remember which,” you laugh, an ache of fond nostalgia in your chest at little Benedict.

“Well, of course, I’ve always looked out for you,” he rolls his eyes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You smile a genuinely warm smile at him. He's been a wonderful person in your life for as long as you can remember.

“But you’ve always looked out for me too. I remember you brought me a Malteser every day when I was sick with the mumps.”

“I did?!” your voice incredulous; you do not remember doing so.

“Yes, and I've never forgotten it,” he voices sincerely before he takes a draw of his drink. “But then there is so much about you that is unforgettable, isn't there?” he adds, looking at you with an intensity you don't know what to do with.

“Stop it,” you answer bashfully, embarrassed to meet his gaze, staring beyond his shoulder at the snow falling heavily and sticking to the window in fluffy clumps. “And if we’re on this flattery train, what about you? You think I don’t know it’s been you sending me an ‘anonymous’ rose every single Valentine's Day?”

He gapes at you in surprise. “Wait, how did you know it’s from me?’”

“You are the sweetest person I know. It could never be anyone but you, Ben.” You shrug as if the answer is obvious, “and I know it was never out of pity for the times I’m single because you sent one those years I was with Dan, which used to make him so mad, by the way, and when I was with Julian and Paul….”

“Urgh, Dan deserved to be mad,” his tone dismissive, and his face ticked, “I always hated him.”

“You hated everyone I dated, that you met anyway,” you point out, that fact just dawning on your as you speak it.

“But him the most,” he grouses with a sour expression.

“Why?”

“‘Cos he got the closest to marrying you. And I really didn’t want to have to do that whole stand-up in church and object thing. But, by god, I would have.”

His powerful words stun you; you had no idea how deep his feelings on the subject ran.

“Y… you would?” you stutter.

His eyes are so intense now. Even as he takes a swig, he doesn't look away. “He was not worthy of you,” he declares, slow and deliberate, enunciating each word crisply.

“So, who is?” you ask quietly as you take a sip, the question echoing hollowly in your glass.

“I haven't met anyone yet,” he notes with finality.

You had no idea he had judged every single one of your boyfriends and, what’s more, found all of them to be somehow lacking. In hindsight, he was correct, but he never said anything to you at the time, and you can't decide if you want to hold that against him. It might have saved you a lot of heartache and possibly a lot of money.

“Well, if you meet someone that has the Benedict seal of approval, you’ll be sure to send them my way, yeah?” you volley, your voice light.

He breaks into a smile that makes something flutter strong in your ribcage.

“Certainly. I hope you don't mind waiting until possibly your eighties for me to find a worthy suitor,” he jokes.

“Oh god, really?” you groan, “but I can’t not have sex until then,” you lament and kick your legs out as if in a fit of pique.

“Oh, you can have all the sex you want,” he lobbies back, waving his hand dismissively, “you just can’t fall in love,” his eyes twinkle with mischief you’ve always found beguiling.

“Duly noted,” you giggle.

There is a beat where you just look at each other with a shared fondness that makes your heart ache a little—perhaps under different circumstances, he could be the one person worthy of you, as he puts it.

“Well, that is the last log on the fire dying down. I'm not going out in that damn snow to fetch more, so I think the safest thing to do is get under the covers before it gets too cold in here.” he opines.

“Ben, it's 10:30 pm… really?” you whine, “are you really going to bed already, grandpa?” but as you complain, you stifle a yawn.

“Haha, I saw that yawn!” he retorts triumphantly, “and I've got news for you, missy. You are going to bed too.” He grabs both of your hands and easily hauls you off the sofa.

“Why?!?” you scoff but are secretly enthralled when he rounds behind you, his sizable hands landing warm on your hips and propelling you towards the bedroom area.

“Because I’m not having you crawl under the covers later bringing in all that cold air with you, nope, no thank you, not happening,” he chimes over your shoulder.

“So I have to go to bed now?!” you throw your hands up in the air, but he keeps propelling you forward.

“Yup,” he grins, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously.

You capitulate with a weary sigh. “Urghhh, fine. But I will be up reading for a few more hours, so I hope you can sleep with the light on.”

“Fine with me,” he chuckles, herding you towards the bed. “I once slept in your dorm room when your flatmate was having a full-on dance party. I think I can sleep through your reading.”

You collapse onto the bed giggling at that memory, tugging off your shoes and socks but nothing else as he does the same. He pulls the covers back, and you both settle under, still in your fleecy jumpers. Without your socks, however, your feet feel freezing, and with a wicked grin, you cook up a solution.

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with your feet?!? Why are they so cold!!” he exclaims as your toes wrap around his exposed ankle.

He twists to try and get away from you, but your feet chase him under the covers, you laughing, him shrieking.

“My hands are cold too,” you chortle, clamping them onto his surprisingly muscular forearm.

He squeals in the most undignified manner, trying to shake your grip, but you just limpet on harder, giggling in that way only tipsy people do.

There is the most delightful resulting tussle, him trying to wrestle your hands and feet away as you try your damndest to keep them on him—the duvet entwining around all of your limbs.

You end up with his weight and warmth partially on top of you, pinning you down, him triumphantly ensnaring your wrists and holding your hands firmly onto the pillow. Your joint heavy breathing and giggles slowly die out as you stare at each other. Your faces have never been so close before. You have no doubt your pupils are as blown as his, and you are certain that he can feel the racing heartbeat at your wrists where he pins you down. His breath is warm on your cheek.

After a few silent moments, his gaze drops to your mouth; he suddenly mutters an apology and starts to pull away.

As if in slow motion, you push up and press your lips to his. You are not thinking at all, just going with your instinct. His lips are warm and plush, and you want more. So much more.

You feel the moment his whole body freezes; he is stunned in the truest sense of the word.

You pull back quickly, sinking into the pillow under him.

“Oh god. I’m so, so sorry,” you whisper, mortified, “please forgive me, I….”

Your words die out as he makes a noise you’ve never heard before. It seems to come from deep inside him, making every hair on your body stand on end.

Then he is on you. Closing the gap between you and capturing your lips with a passion that steals your breath and thoughts. He is kissing so hard, so quickly, you feel lightheaded, pressing you into the mattress under his body. His lips open over yours, his tongue teasing against your lips. He tastes of toothpaste, traces of whiskey and something that is all him, and you flood your underwear; there's also a noise from your throat that doesn’t sound human. He kisses like a storm, hot and electric, and you want to drown in him.

Suddenly his hands are everywhere, and so yours follow suit. It’s a desperate clambering of wanting more. Before you can completely acknowledge it, his hands are questing under your jumper, squeezing your waist, sliding up and over your bra, and tweaking a nipple as his tongue parries with yours.

“Please, please take this off,” he implores passionately into your mouth, tugging at your top. His voice, this close and breathless, is lethal. He is everywhere, surrounding and covering you, and your focus narrows to just him as he sits up to peel off his jumper and t-shirt together, exposing his torso. You freeze. Your arms crossed, halfway through taking off yours.

“Fucking hell,” you exhale before you can stop yourself.

You figured Benedict would be in shape from the feel of his body when you hug, but you haven't seen him shirtless in a long time, and just how much in shape he is, is a revelation. He smiles demurely at your outburst, which makes you want him even more if that were possible.

“Take yours off,” he sounds impatient, and you realise you are still frozen in the same position. You quickly whip yours over your head; his responding noise is your new favourite sound. You feel so grateful you only brought nice underwear on this trip; your lacy bra appears to work for him.

“The knickers match,” you murmur, revelling in the flash in his eye.

You grab his hand and move it to the drawstring on your pyjamas. His long slender fingers pluck the bow tied there; his gaze is on your face the whole time, his kiss-damp lips glowing softly in the low light. You breathe deeply and can’t look away from his captivating face. When the string relents, he winks. Rather than pull them down, his hand quests inside and between your legs.

You gasp and buck up off the pillow as warm, strong fingers press on your clit through the lacy fabric. You know he can feel your heat, just how wet the material is.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he rumbles low and sinful as his fingers tease a circle over your clit. “Although this seems unreal - I half assume I’m going to wake up in a minute with my hand wrapped around my cock, alone.”

Hearing him say the word cock makes you moan. He licks his lips, and his fingers curl firmer on you.

“Tell me this is real; I’m not dreaming again,” he pleads fervently, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing your air. He is achingly beautiful this close up, his eyes just a thin ring blazing around dark inky pupils staring into your depths. This man has always been able to make you feel seen, but this close, this intense, it feels like he’s peering into your soul.

“You’re not dreaming, Ben,” you reply shakily, trying not to lose all composure at what the word ‘again’ might imply as he gradually tortures you with unhurried, steady movements.

He is watching your face, so closely observing, cataloguing your micro-expressions. His fingers move, spidering along the lace trim before pushing under the fabric this time, sliding down through your trimmed pubic hair and into your naked, soaked folds.

“Ben!” You call out, grasping that strong forearm again, biting your lip and staring into his fiery gaze.

“What do you need?” he questions. It’s the first time anyone has ever asked you that in bed.

“You,” you reply honestly.

“You have me, 110% you have me,” he asserts in a tone that melts something in your chest. “As if you don't know it, you’ve had me for many years,” he admits as his hand slides lower. You cry out as he pushes two fingers just a fraction inside you.

“Fuck, you are on fire,” he exclaims, a shaky exhale across your lips.

“Only for you,” you answer, knowing you’ve never been this turned on before in your life.

He growls, actually growls. And then his lips are back on yours in the most potent kiss yet. You pulse around him and groan into his mouth as he sinks his fingers deeper. When the kiss ends, you glance down your body, seeing the stiff peaks of your nipples poking insistently through the lace and his sinewy forearm buried into your pyjama bottoms.

“Do you like what you see?” his voice a velvety tease.

“I’d like it even more if we were naked,” you respond honestly.

He chuckles at that, and his lips descend, dropping light kisses down your neck as his fingers tease you, surging in and out of your body so achingly slow. His thumb rests on your clit, a little nudge of pressure every time his fingers rock into your channel.

“I need to make you come like I need air,” he confesses, his voice resonant, his warm breath skittering over the sensitive skin of your throat. It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“Please do…” it’s a quiet plea.

You feel the curve of his cheek as he smiles, and the fingers inside you flex.

“I suppose if you’d like to be more naked, then I’d better strip you down first,” he remarks, gently withdrawing his fingers.

Warm hands hook into your underwear, and he scooches away, pulling them down your legs, taking your PJs with them. Suddenly, the image that flashed in your mind earlier becomes a reality, his stubbly chin grazing your belly as he crawls back over you.

“You look amazing,” he sighs over your belly button and leans his forehead on your stomach as he takes a deep breath. “You smell it too.”

He runs his nose and lips over your skin as he surges up and nuzzles your bra, pleading with his eyes for you to remove it as he pulls the straps down over your arms, kissing along the lacy cup edge.

When his lips wrap around one of your nipples, you grab his hair and push up against him, the swoop of sensation in your belly like riding a rollercoaster, the thrill tingling along the back of your scalp.

He moves to lay beside you, and you watch the duvet move as he strips off his bottoms under it. Suddenly there is a thick wave of body heat as he rolls next to you; you feel something sizeable and solid brand your hip.

“Oh, Ben,” slips out on instinct, but he stops your questing hand.

“Not yet,” he shakes his head and smirks at your corresponding pout. “When you have come, preferably screaming, then you can touch my cock. Okay?”

You physically feel the shiver down your spine at that line. Who even says things like that?

He smiles against your temple as he slips his fingers back into you, and you moan at the sensation. He curls his body around you, legs twining around your right one to hold you open. That cock is still rigid on your hip; it feels sizeable and delicious.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing a circle over your clit his fingers stroking in a come hither motion.

“This… exactly what you are doing,” you reply breathlessly, “just please don't stop and maybe go a little harder?” you request timidly.

He smirks and pushes his fingers deeper; his motions get stronger and faster. You close your eyes and nod, licking your lips.

“Yes, that oh god Ben, thattttt,” you stumble as his magical fingers spiral you higher.

When they jab a spot inside, a bloom of pleasure hits you, and your eyes fly open, going wide.

“Oh, that’s the spot,” he preens, redoubling his efforts as you start to pant loudly, clinging to his arm and whining his name—the hot and intense pleasure building remarkably fast.

“That’s it come on,” he encourages, whispering into your hairline right above your ear; his tone is both soothing and achingly filthy.

“Ben… I,” your words morph into needy noises, drunk on the sensations rippling through your body, fanning out from his fingers buried inside you.

“Yes, yes,” he hisses, “you’re close now; I can feel it. Look at me,” he orders.

And you do. Mouth hanging open, squirming on his fingers, feeling something primal washing over you. His eyes burn into yours.

“Don’t fight it,” he warns.

It's almost like permission; you feel something inside you give way. You scream loudly as a tide of orgasm washes over you. Blood rushes in your ears, and you feel his leg bear down over the apex of your thigh, holding your pelvis onto the bed as you cry and convulse. Your body fights his fingers, trying to push them out as your whole channel clenches in strong waves.

After a few moments of deep breaths, you open your eyes, and he kisses your cheek, then your lips.

“Wow… that was…. absolutely amazing,” he confides, kissing more. “And it's a damn good thing no one can hear us here. You scream like a horror movie queen, and I mean that with all the very best compliments.”

You laugh a little abashed and bury your face into his armpit, loving the smell of his deodorant and just him.

“Your turn,” you mumble, deciding to be bold and snake a hand down your side to grab his cock at your hip.

It’s large and thick enough your fingers don’t quite meet when you wrap around it. It makes your insides melt at the thought of how it would feel sliding into you. He makes the neediest huffing noises as you twist onto your side to face him and begin an unhurried rhythm, watching that pretty cock twitch in your hand.

You tease him with a gentle twisting motion, squeezing a little as you reach his head, swiping a thumb over the bead of precum that appears, gently massaging his frenulum as he lets out a faint moan. His hand covers yours, stilling your movements.

“This is so wonderful, but I need you to stop if you want sex. Do you want to… have sex?” he asks so demurely your heart clenches.

“Yes, Ben, please,” you whisper.

“I didn't bring any condoms with me,” he says quietly, “I didn't think I’d meet another soul up here, let alone well…” he trails off, pitching forward, so his lips are warm on your cheek.

“I didn't either, but I'm on the Pill,” you shrug. You've never had first-time sex without a condom, but this man isn't a stranger; he's a lifelong friend, and you trust him with your life.

“I know,” he says softly, kissing your nose.

“Wait, how do you know that?” your brow knitting lightly.

“I know everything about you,” he asserts against your skin, staring into your eyes. “How you take your tea - English breakfast before 2pm, Earl Grey after, both with milk and one sugar. I know how the tip of your tongue here,” he softly trails his nose over the corner of your mouth, “sticks out of your mouth when you type on your laptop. I know you always loop your glasses into the neckline of your top,” a finger tracing gently over the swell of your breast, “and somehow always forget they are there and have a ten-second panic every time.” He laughs gently. “I even know how you prefer plain Hobnobs over chocolate; I have no idea why, and you are so wrong on that, by the way,” he shoots you a devastating lopsided grin. “And I know you are on the Pill because I've watched you take them religiously for years; when I stay at yours, and you make coffee in the morning, it’s the first thing you take before your multivitamin.”

His casual recounting of so many little, human things that make you, you, astounds you. This man knows you better than you know yourself, and you get a weird swooping sensation in your chest. Of elation that you've finally figured it out, he might just be the one - your human, but also a crushing regret you haven't done so sooner. You could have been doing this, intimately entwined with this wonderful, thoughtful, sensitive, handsome man, for so many years.

Not wanting to waste any more opportunity and so very desperate to have him inside you, you use all your strength to roll him onto his back and climb on top. Surprised and aroused, he looks up at you devotedly, his pupils blown wide.

Silently and without breaking eye contact, you reach between your bodies, line up his weeping beautiful cock, and sink onto him without another thought. The needy noise he makes is like poetry.

He feels perfect, and you close your eyes to revel in being stretched around him, a solid hot presence filling you up and holding you so open. Just the perfect length and girth for you, almost like his cock was made for you.

Warm hands grasp your hips, and your eyes fly open and look down at him, his expression pleading with you to move. Gradually you rise up, then drop down just once, savouring the sensations as he drags against your walls.

“You feel perfect,” he groans “please….”

You know what he is asking, begging for - more. Something in you wants to draw this out, go so achingly slow both of you get mindless. Luxuriate in this carnal, sensual meeting.

“Talk to me,” you implore, starting a leisurely pace.

“What about?” you watch him glance down between your bodies, watching his cock disappear into you as you sink down.

“Talk to me, Ben,” you repeat but pointedly, grabbing his chin to look at you and raising an eyebrow.

There's a lightbulb of understanding behind his eyes, and that killer crooked smile spreads across his face.

“You like my voice, don't you?” he says, pitched low, and you bite your lip, grabbing his hands as leverage for your movements.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, gasping as the pleasure grows between your legs just as he says those few words.

“I know,” he smirks, “I’ve known for years.”

You look at him in surprise. “Wait, how?” you breathe, disbelieving.

He grabs your shoulders and pulls you down on top of him: so much heat and warm flesh.

“I have noticed your pupils dilate every time I drop my voice just like this,” he murmurs low and sinful into your ear. “The temptation to say so many dirty things has been so strong. God, I love it when you are aroused, and you think you can hide it. I knew you were getting wet; it would take all my willpower not to grab and kiss you senselessly. Especially those days when you are only in a little floaty skirt, I could actually smell it. Delicious and sweet and so fucking sexy. That little squirm you would do. How you move your body is fucking sinful. And now I get to enjoy it. You riding me like this. Fuck, if this isn't every fantasy I've ever had coming true.”

By the time his filthy soliloquy is done, you are panting hard, not from the exertion as you rock on him but the way he has pushed you so close to orgasm with so little effort - just his voice and words.

“Ben,” you shudder, “I….” words fail as you feel your body flush.

“I can feel you are fluttering. Are you going to come so soon?” he exhales, impressed. “Oh god, please, please do it,” he urges. “I need to feel it.”

You sit up and reach down to touch your clit, and he swears at the sight. You are tipping over the edge, stilling your movement as you sit with him at your hilt and clench around him. He feels impossibly huge inside you, twitching and pulsing.

“Fuckkkkkkkk,” he groans long and loud, clenching his teeth. You know he is also fighting the urge to come, wanting this to last much longer.

Greedy for more, for another stronger climax, you go to move again, but he stops you.

“Please don't move, not yet,” he pleads, grabbing your hips and quelling your movement. “I need… a few moments, please.”

You smile down at him indulgently and link your hands again, bringing the back of his hand to your mouth and kissing it delicately. Then to be a tease, you envelop his middle finger in your mouth, running your tongue over it, tasting his tangy skin. He growls as you add his pointer finger and suck hard, staring down at him heatedly.

“This isn't really helping,” he warns reluctantly with a playful pout.

You let his fingers slip out of your mouth and guide his hand to your breasts, pressing his now-damp fingers against your nipple. He enthusiastically grips your flesh, and you throw your head back and moan as he teases your sensitive buds, pinching them between his fingertips. You gyrate your hips, dragging his tip against your cervix.

There is another growl, and suddenly you are tipped over onto the mattress, him still buried inside you. He grabs your legs and loops his arms under them, pulling your body so open under him.

“Hold onto me… twine your arms around me,” he instructs.

You do, fingers digging into his smooth, muscular torso. Panting in anticipation; at the feel of him holding you down, his pelvis crushed against your engorged clit.

He begins to move, and you can't help but make noises; he just overwhelms all your senses. His kisses, his skin, his arms, your legs held high and wide. He is almost delicate in his motion, but you can tell he is holding back.

“Don't be too gentle, Ben,” you beg, bringing one hand up to cup his jaw and running your thumb over his bottom lip. “Please just fuck me.”

His mouth captures your thumb, and you gasp as he spears into you hard. You hiss your approval as he crowds over you to kiss you fiercely. Then everything is a haze as your mind switches off, and you are rooted in your body, chasing sensation as he takes you hard. He feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as you lay under him, pinned and almost helpless to this onslaught but wanting nothing more than being right where you are. For a first time together, it’s not awkward or timid; it's exciting and mindblowing but somehow still safe, knowing you can trust him with everything, including your body.

Between kisses, there are whispered encouragements against lips and hands grasping so tight to each other as movements become more frantic and fast. He is hitting your clit on each stroke and panting, so present in the moment, eyes boring into yours. You know he is so close, hanging by a thread when he screws his eyes shut and pleads with you to come with him. A few more strokes and it is happening, your orgasm hitting you hard and breaking over your body in waves, fanning out from your core as you clench around him, making your muscles spasm and your toes curl. You feel him coming hard, too, a warm bloom inside you as he jerks a few heavy thrusts, then stills, mouth open over yours and huffing gulps of air as he twitches.

After a few moments of deep breaths and slumped limbs, he pulls his face up to kiss you tenderly.

“Wow,” he breathes, and you giggle and nod your head. “Why haven't we been doing that for the last god knows how many years?” he shakes his head, his voice a little ragged and rough-edged.

“I don't know, but we should be doing a lot more of it,” you respond brightly, “make up for lost time?”

He laughs warmly and agrees, taking his weight off you and rolling and rearranging your bodies so you are both on your sides, facing each other, hands laced together, noses touching. And that is how you fall asleep.

—

You awaken to dazzling sunlight streaming in, reflecting off all the snow. You wince against the brightness and clamp your eyes shut, burrowing back into Benedict. You feel surrounded, in the best sense of the word. He is a warm solid presence behind your back, an arm slung around the dip of your waist, a hand curled around your breast, legs entangled, downy hair tickling your calves. And best of all, a hard cock nestles the back of your thighs. You flex your hips and shuffle until his tip is poised right at your entrance. He stirs, and there is a hot exhale on the back of your neck.

“Get inside me, please,” you petition quietly, voice scratchy from sleep.

Wordlessly, he rolls his hips, surging into your body in one swift stroke. You moan so loudly that he huffs a laugh, then stills, buried inside you.

“Now go back to sleep,” he grumbles affectionately, arm pulling you into him tighter, your whole body flush to his, curling his legs up so you are almost in the fetal position.

“Like this?!” your tone incredulous, as his fingernails trace an idle ellipsis around your areola.

“Mmm hmmm,” his hum vibrates into your spine.

“Bennnn…” you protest, clenching around him, so he groans deeply.

“I promise to fuck you so hard you forget your name… later, if you let me sleep just a little more,” he proposes, nuzzling your hair.

What a lovely thought. You lay still in his arms for a few minutes, but his cock holding you open is far too distracting.

“Bennn…” you try again.

“Shhhhh…” he reacts, but you can tell he's not sleepy anymore; there is a smile on the nape of your neck.

“You feel too good; I can’t sleep,” you whine, slightly petulant.

“You’re not even trying,” he chuckles richly.

“You can't do this to me,” you wheedle, your breath hitching triumphantly as he tilts his pelvis and slips a fraction deeper.

“If I fuck you right now, will you stop complaining?” his tone laced with amusement.

“Hmmm, maybe,” you shoot back, twisting to glance at him over your shoulder, seeing his eyes dancing with mirth.

Your lips meet, and it's a breathy passionate kiss, all open mouths and tongues, teasing each other and fighting for dominance.

As your mouths dance, he starts to move at a languid pace, just rocking into your body gently, and it’s the best wake-up you have ever had. You cover his hand on your breast, and he intuits what you are asking, squeezing the swell, your nipple snagged between his middle and pointer finger. You break the kiss, and his teeth gently skim the cord on your neck as he speeds up a little.

“Will you wake me up like this every day, please?” you sigh, not thinking about the implications of your words, just drunk on the sensation.

“Happily,” he rumbles and spears a little stronger, making you call out his name.

“The sound I really want to wake up to though….” his voice teasing and low. “is this one…” and his hand slips from your breast to between your legs.

You moan and writhe in his strong hold, little sparks of pleasure firing where he touches.

“That’s it, that’s the sound,” he encourages as you both move together in sync.

It’s a wonderfully sensual experience, growing in intensity until he rolls you over onto your front, still inside you, fucking into you from behind, covering your entire body with his. His hand is trapped between your body and the mattress while teasing your clit.

“Oh god, Ben,” you cry as he seems to slide deeper than ever, your thigh trapped shut together, his legs bracketing yours, using all his effort to drive into you, the tone shifting from languid to vigorous. You’ve never been taken in this position before, and at this angle, he is hitting all the right spots inside you to make your eyes roll back and bite the pillow.

It hurtles you fast, beginning to pant raggedly, and you urge him on, asking for more and harder, and he obliges, thrusting so strong your whole body rolls and the bed squeaks loudly in protest. Your voice becomes one long moaning sound; you are pushing back onto his cock as much as possible, a chorus of please don't stop as he drives you fast towards a climax. His body is bowed, breathing hot puffs of air across your upper back, with an occasional kiss, his lips soft and wet.

He holds you on a precipice for a moment; you crane to look back at his face pleadingly; his expression is wild and so gorgeous it catches your breath.

“You are magnificent,” he rasps against your skin.

Then the hand not on your clit suddenly spanks your butt cheek while his teeth sink into the top of your trapezius muscle, pushing you over the edge, calling his name as you pulsate hard around him. Him grunting and thrusting deeper, fighting your clenching muscles. Then he stills, and every muscle tenses as he empties into your body, almost shaking from the intensity.

He collapses onto your back, breathing in wracked sounds.

“Fucking hell,” you both say almost in unison, then giggle at your matching assessment of the experience.

He pulls out of you reluctantly and flops down onto the mattress to your left, wrapping an arm around you and manoeuvring so are the little spoon once again.

“That was intense,” he voices, and you make a noise of agreement, lacing your fingers with his and holding your joined hands up, watching his fingers sink between yours and curve over, his fingertips resting on your palm.

“We are awesome at sex,” you opine. Benedict chuckles at that, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” his tone lilting.

“We just have to keep doing it all the time,” you observe with a mock, burdened sigh.

“What a terrible hardship for us,” he concurs with an ironic laugh, nuzzling your neck with a grin on his face. __

Half an hour later, you have showered together - which proved almost as distracting as morning sex until the hot water tank ran out, and you jumped out squealing as the water turned ice cold - and are now leisurely making brunch. You both only wear towelling robes you stole from your Glasgow hotel room, the fireplace roaring again. You agree to go for a walk in the snow later, neither of you mentioning booking your flight home.

“Wait, why is this sofa so bloody uncomfortable” you bemoan, taking a sip of coffee and flicking idly through a book you took from a shelf. “I don't remember it being this bad last night,” you ponder aloud.

“Well, you had had a couple of whiskeys by then,” Benedict points out as he cooks an amazing-smelling breakfast a few feet away in the kitchenette.

“True, but honestly, what is going on with it?” you grumble, putting the book aside, not yet sufficiently caffeinated.

“Sofa beds tend not to be comfortable. As either a sofa or a bed,” he rattles out, flipping a slice of bacon in the pan.

You grind to a halt in your efforts to get comfy.

“Sofa bed…?” You echo out loud.

He suddenly freezes and realises what he has admitted.

“Benedict bloody Bridgerton!!” you exclaim loudly, standing up, “did you trick me into sharing your bed?!?”

He turns around slowly, knowing he is foiled and pulls a sheepish face.

“Yeahhhh, a lil bit…” he admits as you gape at him, attempting his most winning remorseful smile. “But, in my defence…” he adds, waving the spatula, “you are the one who kissed me first. I just stacked the deck; you drew the first card.”

He expertly swerves the cushion you throw at him before flicking off the stove and pushing aside the pan.

“Right…” he charges at you as you squeal.

He corners you with ease in the compact space and throws you over his shoulder.

“We are using this stupid sofa bed right now,” he instructs and, rather attractively, casually flicks a handle on the side with his foot to open it. He practically throws you onto the (admitted thin, rather uncomfortable) bed and tugs open your robe, snaking his way down your body and throwing your legs over his shoulder, shooting you a molten hot gaze from between your thighs.

You have no arguments with this development. None whatsoever.

—

You return to that tiny cottage every year for that same week as a ritual—a little private anniversary. Sometimes you stay through New Year, just the two of you ringing in the entire festive season.

He buys it for you as a wedding gift, and you cry at the sentimentality of the man buying you the place you first got together. (One thing you do early on - buy a new, comfortable sofa.)

It becomes a haven for your lives together, even when you have to bring cots and camp beds for your children, all sleeping communally in that one room. (You don’t tell them, but all of your children are named after characters in an obscure old book he finds hidden in the rafters when you are renovating while pregnant with your firstborn.)

Nothing brings you more joy than when you can escape to that little cottage in the Highlands. You never tell anyone besides your children where it is—it’s your escape, your sanctuary. The “somewhere only we know,” as Benedict always called it.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

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[dreamkidddream]

🩹🍯 with mammon and Mc, but Mc Is hurt this time.

I'm a suck for these tropes they got me in a chokehold. I love your writing and have a good day :) by the way

SAME THEY GOT ME IN A CHOKEHOLD TOO! I debated on doing the blurb game again but I went with prompts instead 😔 but I loved the ask game too much and Mammon so I couldn’t deny this :) thanks so much the support and have a good day/night <33 reader is gender neutral!

🩹 tending to each other's wounds

🍯 friends to lovers

You don’t think you ever seen Mammon this quiet before.

You can tell that he’s focused with the squint of his eyes, the precision in his movements, how gentle he’s trying to be with his nimble fingers. You can count on one hand how serious you’ve ever seen him, and this would be one of those moments. Especially with how much he’s biting his tongue right now, holding back his emotions to make sure that his first priority is okay- you.

He’s always been like that, even if it was begrudgingly in the beginning. Now it’s like he’s not even the same person- it’s still your Mammon, but the Mammon kneeled in front of you now isn’t acting as the same irresponsible demon that you know. He’s acting as the second in command, as the responsible older brother that Lucifer relies on when he truly needs him.

Which is making the silence between you unbearable.

Even the throbbing pain in your knee isn’t enough to distract you anymore.

“You alright?”

His voice was so soft, you would’ve thought that you only imagine hearing him. “Yeah.” You nodded. Your body was sore, your headache was steady coming and going, and the new scratches littering your skin was a little hard to look at- but you were okay.

Was he okay though?

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You didn’t realize you said it out loud.

Mammon had his selfish moments, even you couldn’t deny that. But despite his slip ups, Mammon cares about his family- and it wasn’t an act. The same man that would steal and sell their things away was the same man who would risk his own safety for them. He proved time after time that his sin was greed and he would fall prey to it, but he also proved how selflessness he can be too. Which included downplaying his own emotions and checking on everyone else- like he’s doing now. It wouldn’t take much to realize that this is bothering him, that it’s heavy on his mind but he only wants to bury it deep down and focus on you. Letting you be his distraction like he always does.

But you won’t let it happen this time.

Your body reacted before your brain could, and Mammon’s face was soon sitting in your hands, your thumb wiping over the thin cut. You heard his breath catch, and you thought that he was going to pull away- but instead, his eyes closed and you felt him relax in your hold.

You don’t know if your ointment would really work on demons- or if it’s really needed rather- but you still got a bit on his cut, doing the best to mimic his movements from before. He winced a little at the stinging sensation, but it felt like he sunk into your hands even more. You palmed at his face, unable to put your thoughts in words. Gazing into his eyes, you counted yourself lucky to see the gold in his eyes sparkle this close.

“I want you to be okay Mammon. Are you?”

Mammon tore his eyes away from yours, looking down at the ground, but you gently titled his face back up. He seemed so dejected, so defeated, but he had no reason to be.

You brought your arms around him, cradling his head to your chest, directly above your heart. He tensed up again, but just like before relaxed in your hold. He eventually wrapped his own around you too, and you can tell he was trying to be mindful of your own injuries as he didn’t squeeze you as he usually does in moments like this.

But it didn’t matter to you, whether you were covered in delicately wrapped bandages or not, you would never turn down holding Mammon. You didn’t know how long you sat there with him in your arms, just taking comfort in his presence.

“Thank you Mammon- for everything. I don’t know where I would be without you.” You whispered, placing a light kiss on his forehead.

And as his heart raced with his teary smile on his face, Mammon didn’t know where he would be without you either.

#build a blurb ask game 🫧 #dream rambles about obey me 😈💜 #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x reader #obey me mammon x reader #mammon x reader #obey me reader insert