#anyway this is the fic that has been consuming my brain for the last few days

[goldengalore]

Intimacy

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with someone in a long time, which makes her nervous about having sex with Harry for the first time.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: anxiety, smut (featuring soft dom!harry, fingering, thigh riding, oral - m receiving)

A/N: This is one last idea (for now) that I had for the anxious!reader universe. Lots of smut, but it’s very soft and sweet and full of love :)

***

His hands. Y/N can’t stop staring at his hands.

There are a lot of things she finds attractive about Harry. Too many. It’s actually maddening how one person can have so many attractive qualities. Lately, her brain has decided to fixate on his hands. They’re pretty and elegant, strong and masculine.

His long fingers are often decorated with an ornate collection of rings. Sometimes his nails are painted with vibrant colours; other times, they’re unpainted but still clean and neatly trimmed. She can often see the veins that travel up the backs of his hands into his toned arms. He moisturizes them well too, so they rarely look dry.

Y/N would be lying if she said her obsession with Harry’s hands is completely innocent and merely about aesthetics, that she hasn’t imagined how those fingers would feel in her mouth or between her legs and orgasmed to the thought of that while lying alone in bed at night.

It doesn’t help that he’s a highly affectionate person, finding any excuse to place his hands on her whenever she’s within reach. Even now, as they lounge on his couch, he pulls her legs into his lap and begins massaging them. She’s wearing a knee-length dress today, leaving her lower legs exposed. His hands don’t move up past her knees, but that doesn’t stop her imagination from running wild anyway.

“Y/N?” His smooth, commanding voice—another annoyingly attractive feature of his—pulls her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” Her eyes flick up to his emerald ones staring back at her. She realizes with embarrassment that she hasn’t listened to a thing he’s said in the past minute or so.

“What were you staring at?” He glances down in his lap, where her gaze was just a few seconds ago.

“Oh, just your hands.”

His brows furrow slightly as he starts inspecting his hands, turning his palms up, then down. “Why? Something wrong with them?”

“No! No, they’re just… nice. Nice hands. That’s all. Sorry, what, um, what were you saying?”

A teasing smirk forms on his lips. “Nice hands, huh? Never heard that one before.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. “Please. I’m sure you’ve heard that a million times.”

“Mmm, not really.”

She narrows her eyes at him, not believing him for a second. His smirk broadens.

“Anyway,” he says, resting his hands back on her legs, “I was just saying that I really missed you last week.”

Now she feels even worse about zoning out on him. He’s been out of town this past week for work. They reunited just this morning after his flight landed back in LA.

“I missed you too, H.”

“This week made me realize something.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Made me realize how much I hate being away from you. I know our friendship started over Zoom meetings and phone calls and whatnot since I was on tour, but…” He shrugs. “After spending time with you in person these past couple months, I can’t imagine being away from you for weeks or months at a time. I think I’d go mad.”

His confession feels like being swaddled in a warm blanket. While he was away, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about him. His fluffy hair and dimpled smile, his kind eyes and boyish laugh, even his cute nose consumed her thoughts from the moment she woke up in the morning to the moment she fell asleep at night. She found herself cursing the slow passage of time frequently throughout the week. To hear that her feelings were reciprocated makes her giddy inside.

When she takes a while to respond, he says, “I hope that wasn’t too intense. It’s just been on my mind lately and I had to say it.”

“No, I feel the same way.” I think I’m in love with you, she says in her head but struggles to speak aloud. She has never been the first to say those words in a relationship.

He smiles, relieved. “Okay, good.” He holds her gaze for a few seconds, then shifts closer, her legs still strewn across his lap. His hand comes up to cradle her jaw as he leans in for a kiss, sucking her top lip into his mouth.

She scoots even closer, practically sitting in his lap now. The movement causes her dress to ride up. Harry rests his other hand on her bare thigh, squeezing it lightly. Her heart quickens. His hand inches along her inner thigh, hiking her dress up even further. Suddenly, her whole body tenses up and she shrinks away from his touch.

“Sorry, I—I can’t,” she stammers, quickly removing her legs from his lap and tugging her dress back down.

She sneaks a glance at his face and detects some hurt there. It lasts for a split second, but her brain registers it anyway. She feels awful. This is the second time he has tried to get intimate with her beyond just kissing. The first was the night before he was supposed to fly out of the city. They were cuddling in his bed. She was giving him all the signs that she wanted to take things further—letting her hands roam all over his body, grinding her hips against him—but as soon as he started returning her touches, she pulled away.

It’s frustrating because she fantasizes about it all the time, yet when it finally starts to happen, she freezes up. It’s like her mind and body are on completely different pages.

“I’m sorry, H,” she repeats.

“It’s all right.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “You’re not ready for that. I understand.”

“But I am ready. I just…” She looks up at the ceiling as if the answers to her puzzling emotions will be there. “Ugh! I don’t know.”

A long silence stretches between them, though it probably feels longer in her head than it is in reality.

“I should go,” she finally says, rising to her feet, but he grabs her hand before she can go anywhere.

“Already? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“But I made things awkward!”

“No, you didn’t. Stop that.”

She was trying to avoid his gaze, but he tugs on her hand to make her look at him.

“We’ve been apart for a whole week. You think I’m letting you run off that easily?” He frowns a bit. “Wait, that sounded creepier than I’d intended.”

She giggles, feeling somewhat lighter. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

They order sushi for dinner and crack open a bottle of wine. The awkwardness she felt earlier fades as Harry starts telling her about a deep conversation he shared with the five-year-old girl sitting next to him on his flight. Y/N is glad she decided to stay because if she had gone home to spend the night by herself, her overthinking mind would have eaten her alive.

After dinner, they transfer back over to the couch with their wineglasses in hand. They sit cross-legged, facing each other. The wine has helped her loosen up some more, granting her the courage to explain why she’s been so reluctant to get intimate with him.

“I’m not a virgin,” she tells him. “I know it probably seems that way because of how I act every time we try to do anything sexual, but I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with being one, obviously. I just thought you should know.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Although he doesn’t press any further, his eyes are curious and attentive in a way that makes her want to spill everything, just lay out all her secrets and fears and insecurities in a big, messy pile in front of him.

“I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t had sex in years,” she explains. “And I’ve always had to have a few drinks before doing it. I tried doing it sober once, and it was a total disaster. I was on the verge of a panic attack the whole time, and the guy didn’t know what to do. I just told him to keep going, so he did until he finished and—”

“Lovie, that’s not okay,” he interjects, brows pinching together in concern. “He should’ve stopped when he realized you were having a panic attack.”

“Well, to be fair, I told him to keep going. It was totally consensual.”

“Still. He should’ve at least stopped to make sure you were all right. Seems like basic human decency to me.”

“I guess....” She shrugs, knowing that he’s right but not wanting to think about it much longer. “Anyway, after he finished, he told me that having sex with me was like fucking a scared baby deer.” She forces a laugh, though the memory still makes her cringe inside. “Needless to say, I was mortified and never saw him again. And that’s the only time I’ve had sex while sober.”

“And all the times you weren’t sober, did you at least enjoy it?”

She hesitates. “Um, define enjoy.”

He appears even more concerned now. “If you’re having to ask that question, I’m afraid the answer is no. If you enjoyed it, you would know.”

“Well, I just asked because if by ‘enjoy,’ you mean ‘did I orgasm during it,’ then it’s a no. But my anxiety was a lot more under control, so I guess that could be considered a form of enjoyment… Right?”

Rather than answering her question, he asks, “You’ve never orgasmed during sex?”

She shakes her head. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but her cheeks still feel like they’re on fire.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“Oh, plenty. When I’m alone, that is.”

“I see.” He rubs his jaw and looks away, sinking deep into thought. She can’t read the expression on his face.

“So, now you know how bad I am at sex,” she jokes to fill the silence.

He looks at her with a raised brow. “I don’t know about that. If anything, it’s the guys you’ve been with who were bad at sex if they couldn’t even make you come once.”

“Oh no, they were all very experienced.” Y/N doesn’t know why she’s defending these men, as if they would do the same for her. Perhaps it’s because she’s spent her whole life thinking she was the problem and this is the first time someone has suggested a different perspective to the one she’s become so accustomed to.

“Experience doesn’t always equate to being good at something.”

“I guess not.” She bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do want to try again… with you. I just don’t know how to stay calm without having a few drinks in my system.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to work on that.”

His use of the word “we” doesn’t go unnoticed by her. We, as in this is our problem, not just yours. We, as in we’ll figure this out together, you don’t have to do it alone. She feels a surge of something in her chest, and the only term she can think of to describe it is love.

“I’m calm right now,” she says with sudden realization, placing her wineglass on the table so quickly that it almost topples over. “So, technically, we could try again—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “We’re not having sex for the first time while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk drunk though. Just a bit tipsy. I think we could still—”

“Y/N, it’s not happening,” he states firmly. “Other guys might have been okay with that sort of thing, but I’m not, okay?”

Her shoulders slump. She looks down in her lap. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want you to know that I want it as much as you do.”

“I know. Hey”—he tilts up her chin—“we’ll get there. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

He has no idea how much of a relief it is to hear those words. Her biggest fear this whole time has been him losing interest in her because she can’t seem to get over her anxiety around sex. It’s happened before. Guys often expect her anxiety to disappear after the first time. When it doesn’t, they take it as a blow to their ego and react by making her feel like a freak for being anxious at all. The humiliation leads to even worse anxiety the next time she gets intimate with someone. It’s a vicious cycle.

She doesn’t want to get her hopes up or anything, but maybe that cycle finally ends with Harry.

***

When it comes to Y/N, Harry just doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. Even before they met in person, he would dream of the day he could finally have her in his arms, how perfectly their bodies would mold together, how electrifying that first contact would be. For months, he’s been dying to touch and feel and kiss every inch of her, but after hearing about her sexual history, it’s no surprise why she’s so hesitant to take that step with him.

Taking things slow is not a problem for Harry. If anything, he feels lucky to be the one who gets to show her how fun and exciting and stress-relieving sex can be when the people involved actually care about each other’s pleasure.

It’s been a few days since that initial conversation. They’ve had several more discussions about it since then, and he thinks they’re ready to try something now.

He stares at Y/N lying on his bed, looking cute and cozy in his forest green Pleasing crewneck. Her lips are swollen from all their making out, her neck and collarbone littered with red spots where he licked and sucked on her skin like an ice cream cone.

“Question for you,” he says, leaning his head on his palm. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

“Hmm… A couple days ago?”

“Would you feel comfortable doing that in front of me?”

Her eyes widen. “Y—you want to watch me touch myself?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Her reaction already indicates that she’s not.

“Oh, I… I don’t think I am,” she admits, confirming his thoughts. “I mean, I don’t even like being watched while I cross the street. It’s like I forget how to walk.”

“Okay, different question. How would you feel about getting in a bath with me?”

She thinks about it. “I’d be okay with that.”

He runs them a bath lightly scented with a lavender oil he bought recently, while Y/N leans against the doorway and watches. Once he begins to undress, she follows suit. Starting with his crewneck, she removes her clothes at an extremely slow pace, as if she’s on the verge of changing her mind at any moment. He finishes undressing before she does and pretends not to notice her eyes bulging at the sight of his dick. Instead, he leans over to the tub to test the temperature of the water.

“I’ll get in first,” he says. “Then you can sit between my legs. Sound good?”

She swallows. “Yup.”

He steps into the tub and submerges everything but his head and upper chest into the water. His back rests against one side, his long legs outstretched in front of him.

In the meantime, Y/N finishes undressing. He forces himself not to stare, knowing that it’ll only make her more nervous. She moves quickly now, striding over to the tub and climbing in on wobbly legs. He holds out his hand for support.

“Careful,” he says.

She sits down between his legs with her back facing him. There’s still a lot of space between them.

“Just lean back against me,” he tells her.

She hesitates for a moment, then leans back until she’s flush against his torso.

He smiles. “There you go.”

“Okay, what now?”

“Nothing. Let’s just sit for a minute.”

They enjoy the next few minutes in companionable silence. The warm water seems to dissolve all the tension in her body, which is exactly why he suggested this idea in the first place. Her shoulders relax. She sinks deeper into him.

After a while, he says, “I’m going to try something. If you don’t like what I’m doing or you want me to stop, I need you to tell me. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. My ego can handle it. Okay?”

She responds with a tiny nod.

“I need you to answer me verbally, lovie,” he says softly in her ear. “Just so I can be sure we’re on the same page.”

“Yes. Got it. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Don’t have to apologize.”

“Sorry,” she says again, automatically. “Fuck! Sorr— Shit! Why do I keep—” She starts to sit up, but he places a hand in the middle of her chest, gently pulling her back against him. He can feel her heart galloping like a racehorse.

“Y/N, relax. You’re okay. You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

She inhales a deep, shaky breath, then releases it.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

Her heartrate gradually decreases with each breath she takes. Once she appears to have calmed down, he moves his hand from the centre of her chest to one of her breasts, cupping it tenderly in his palm. His other hand comes to rest on her belly before making its descent between her legs. She squirms a little once the pads of his fingers make contact with her clit.

“Are we okay?” he asks.

“Y—yeah.” She takes another deliberate breath.

He rubs her clit in small, tight circles and kneads her breast at the same time. Her hands rest at her sides on top of his thighs. As he pinches her nipple, twisting and pulling it lightly, her fingers dig into his thighs and his cock twitches between their bodies. He wonders if she felt it. His middle finger prods around her slit now and slips inside without resistance. He pumps it in and out a few times before adding a second one, using his thumb to rub her clit.

Y/N is completely silent, but the slick substance coating her pussy and the subtle rocking of her hips is confirmation enough that she’s enjoying this. He peeks at her face to find her eyes closed and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth like she’s afraid of accidentally making a sound.

That is another thing they’ll need to work on. Harry likes being vocal during sex and equally enjoys when his lovers are vocal too. He doesn’t want Y/N to hold anything back around him. But they can work on that another day.

“Does this feel good?” he asks.

She nods, then remembers what he said earlier and answers out loud, “Feels good, yes. Really good.”

Satisfied by her response, he presses a third finger inside and pushes all three of them deep into her with every thrust, turning her into a squirming, quivering mess in his arms. Her back arches off his torso as she comes, the smallest whimper slipping through her self-restraint. He gradually lessens the stimulation on her clit, then removes his fingers completely. She lets her head roll back against his shoulder.

“Wow,” she sighs. “I’ve never… That’s never happened with someone before.”

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, it was great. Um… thank you?”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

Suddenly, she sits up and looks over her shoulder at him. “So… your turn now?”

He waves his hand, splashing some of the water with it. “Don’t worry about that.”

She frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, trying to act cool as if he can’t feel his dick throbbing furiously under the water right now.

He could take her up on the offer, but he wants to focus on her today. Y/N is too nice to admit it, but he has deduced from their recent conversations that her previous partners were too greedy in the bedroom, exploiting her selfless nature for their own benefit. It’s quite unfortunate. Someone like her deserves to be spoiled, not exploited. At least now that she’s with him, he can make sure she gets the treatment she deserves.

After they’ve cleaned up and stepped out of the tub, he grabs one of the towels off the counter and starts handing it to her, then stops.

“Can I dry you off?” he asks.

She seems surprised but not opposed to the idea. “Sure.”

“Okay, just one moment.” He quickly pats himself dry, then grabs the other towel and walks over to her.

Timid eyes gaze up at him. They fall shut as he raises the towel to her face and dabs away all the little water droplets. Next, he moves down to her neck, shoulders, chest, and so on… After he’s done with her upper body, he sinks down to his knees on the mat and works on her lower half, taking his sweet time and humming softly to himself. He glances up to find her smiling at him.

Once her entire body is dry, he leans forward and plants a kiss to her belly before standing up with the towel thrown over his shoulder. Y/N’s eyes follow him as if in a trance.

“All good?”

She just blinks at him.

“Y/N?”

“I’m in love with you.” The words rush out of her like a whoosh of air that had been trapped in a sealed container. “God, it feels weird saying it out loud. It’s been in my head for so long and I didn’t want to say it because that makes it feel more… real.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

She doesn’t reply.

“Because you think I don’t feel the same way?”

“Do you?” She winces slightly as if she’s bracing herself for possible rejection, as if the answer to that question could be anything but “absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent yes.”

“Of course I do, Y/N. I thought I’d made that pretty obvious.”

“You should know by now that nothing is obvious with me.”

It’s true. Even when they were just friends and Harry began dropping hints that he wanted to be more than that, they pretty much all went over her head. Y/N is a smart woman; she just happens to be totally oblivious when it comes to love and romance, which he finds deeply endearing about her.

“Well, take this as your confirmation that I am, in fact, very much in love with you,” he states, taking her face in his hands and giving her a big, sloppy smooch on the lips, which she accepts with a laugh.

***

“That’s it, lovie. Keep going. You’re doing amazing.”

Y/N rocks back and forth on Harry’s thigh, her cunt positioned directly over his tiger tattoo. His thick, firm quads provide the perfect amount of friction against her needy clit.

A week ago, the idea of riding his thigh while he watched her would have made her extremely self-conscious. But since then, they’ve spent each night exploring each other’s bodies. He has given her several more orgasms with his fingers and mouth, while she has given him some with her hand. They’ve masturbated in front of each other. One night, he gave her a full-body massage that turned her on so much that he hardly even had to touch her clit to make her come.

She doesn’t mind being watched anymore. Not by Harry, at least. His gaze is never judgemental or critical. She doesn’t need to fret over saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining the moment. This has made her fall even more head over heels for him.

“Look so pretty getting yourself off on my thigh like this,” he says, toying with her breasts.

A moan starts to leave her mouth until she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to trap it in. Harry reaches up and drags her lip back down with his thumb.

“Let me hear you,” he says. “Wanna hear how good this makes you feel.” He grips her chin between his thumb and index finger, keeping her mouth open.

She’s close now, the heat of her orgasm building in her core. Her hips grind faster against him. He lifts up his thigh to heighten the pressure on her clit. The tight knot in her lower abdomen unravels, and she comes with a loud moan, soaking his thigh with her juices.

“You make the sweetest sounds when you come,” he says, releasing her chin.

She pecks him on the lips and, before she’s even recovered from her orgasm, gets on her knees between his legs.

He frowns. “What are you doing?”

She looks at him like it should be obvious. “Returning the favour?” As she begins to reach for his cock, he grabs her wrist.

“Nope,” he says. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you have to pay me back for every orgasm. Sex doesn’t have to be so transactional, you know?” The smirk on his face conveys that he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop Y/N from having the sudden, embarrassing realization that perhaps she does treat sex like it’s transactional and just wasn’t aware of it until now.

“I—I know that,” she fibs a little. “I just want to make you feel good.” That part, at least, is not a lie.

Harry has been spoiling her heavily this past week, which has been delightful. She can tell he’s making every effort to gain her trust in the fact that he doesn’t expect anything in return for how incredible he makes her feel. But Y/N likes making him feel good too. She likes the way he hisses and shudders when she finds his most sensitive spots. She likes watching his usual composure crumble simply from her touch. She lives for it.

“Please?” she adds to her request, giving him her best doe eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “If you really want to.”

“I do.”

He lets go of her wrist, allowing her to reach for his stiff cock again. Nerves make her hands tremble, as she remembers how long it’s been since she gave someone a blowjob. She wants it to be perfect, but realistically, she’ll probably be a bit rusty.

She strokes him in her hand and runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft until, finally, she feels ready to take him in her mouth. Her lips wrap around his tip and slowly move down his length, tongue gliding against him. She considers deep-throating, then decides against it because it’s been way too long since she’s done it and she needs time to work up to it again. Any insecurity she felt about that disappears the moment she glances up at Harry. His eyes are closed and jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Emboldened by the look of absolute ecstasy on his face, she bobs her head up and down his shaft and massages his balls with her hand. She moans around him, and he releases a low groan at the sensation it produces. Then she lets his entire length slip from her mouth, teasing him by flicking her tongue over his tip and leaving little kisses along his shaft until his fingers are weaving through her hair in desperation.

“Didn’t know you could be such a tease,” he says with a breathy laugh.

She grins innocently, then takes him into her mouth again, determined to suck him to completion this time. His hand feels good in her hair. She imagines him holding her head in place while he fucks her mouth. She never thought she would be into that sort of thing until now.

“I’m gonna come soon, Y/N,” he warns her as he gets close.

She doesn’t pull away. He thinks she didn’t hear him, so he repeats himself. She makes eye contact to convey that she heard him, that she wants him to come in her mouth, which he does moments later. She relishes the taste of it, swallowing every last drop. As she draws back and wipes her mouth clean, he stares at her in amazement.

“You’re really fucking good at that,” he tells her.

“Thanks! I had this boyfriend in college who only wanted blowjobs all the time since that didn’t involve having to make me come, which was basically impossible for him. He was kind of demanding, but he taught me how to give a damn good blowjob.”

Harry grimaces. “You know, the more I learn about your previous partners, the more I want to hit them over the head with something.”

She laughs. “I think I make them seem meaner than they were.”

“No, I think you make them seem nicer than they were.” He pats his thigh. “Get up here.”

She stands up and sits on his thigh with her legs dangling between his this time. His arm wraps around her back.

Locking his eyes on hers, he says, “You are worth so much more than being some guy’s blowjob dispenser, all right?”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I was just young and naive back then, but I know better now.”

“Good. Don’t ever let any man or woman treat you that way. Okay?”

His eyes are so full of care and concern for her that she thinks she might just cry.

“Okay,” she replies.

***

Harry loves writing about the initial euphoria that comes with falling in love. It’s intoxicating and exhilarating and all-consuming. Many of his most successful songs were inspired by this peculiar feeling. It’s no wonder that he keeps heading into the studio lately to harness all this creative energy and inject it into his music.

Today, Tom, Tyler, and Mitch are all in the studio with him. Mitch is riffing on his guitar while Harry adlibs over it when Jeff pokes his head into the room.

“H, Y/N’s here to see you,” he says.

Harry raises his brows. “She is?” She didn’t tell him that she’d be visiting the studio today.

“Yeah, she’s waiting out front.”

“Is she all right? Did she say why she’s here?”

Jeff shrugs. “No clue. She seemed fine.”

Y/N always seems “fine.” She’s quite skilled at pretending everything is okay when it’s not, which can be rather concerning. Harry tells the guys he’ll be back, then heads to the front of the studio where he finds his girlfriend staring at a wall decorated from top to bottom with framed album covers of legendary musicians.

“Hi, darling,” he says as he approaches.

She turns to him, eyes illuminating as soon as they meet his. “Hi! Sorry, I told Jeff not to go get you, but he did anyway.” She gives him an apologetic smile. “I hope you weren’t in the middle of something. I swear if you were writing your next Grammy-winning single and I just ruined your flow, I’ll be so mad at myself.”

“Stop it. You haven’t ruined anything.” He steps closer, taking her hands. “Now tell me what brought you here. Are you okay?”

He studies her as she replies, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m not here for any particular reason. I just…” She hesitates. “I needed to see you.” As soon as she says it, her eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, that sounds so needy.”

“That’s okay. We all get needy sometimes. Do you want to sit in the studio with me?”

She bites her lip, giving it some thought before shaking her head.

“Okay.” He brings her hands between their bodies, swinging them apart and together again. “Then tell me what you need.”

“I—I need…” She glances down in the general direction of his crotch.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “You need…?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

He tilts his head to side, feigning innocence. “Say what?”

“Baby…”

He wanted to make her say it, but the pleading look in her eyes makes him cave. “You need my cock, is that it?”

“Shhh! Not so loud!” Her head spins around to make sure no one heard them.

He laughs. “There’s no one around, lovie.”

“Still!” She sighs and presses her hands against her flaming cheeks. “It’s not fair. You’ve been teasing me with it this whole week, and it’s all I can think about. Couldn’t even focus on my art today because I kept thinking about how…”—she drops her voice to a barely audible whisper—“how you would feel inside me.”

It’s been exactly a week since Y/N first hinted that she’s ready to go all the way with him. Harry was the one who wanted to put it off a little longer. He predicted that if he made her wait long enough, her hunger for it would overpower any anxiety that might crop up during the act.

Smiling, he brings his hand up to her cheek, her skin hot against his cool palm. “Aw, I know, sweetheart. You know the only reason I’ve been teasing is to make sure you’re ready for it.”

“I know. And I’m ready now. I really am.”

“Okay, but we can’t exactly do it here, you know that?”

“Why not? Isn’t there a bathroom in here somewhere?” She pushes up on her toes to look over his shoulder down the hallway where he came from.

“We’re not fucking in the studio bathroom, Y/N.”

She groans and lifts her hands up to his chest, scrunching his shirt between her fingers. “But I can’t wait any longer!”

“Yes, you can.” He wraps his hands around her wrists. “You’re going to be a good girl for me and wait until I pick you up from your flat tonight.”

She pouts and concedes, “Fine.”

He kisses her pout and gives her a hug that lasts for several minutes because she doesn’t want to let go and he never lets go until she does, so they’re in a standoff for who’s going to let go first until finally, Y/N releases him.

After that, the rest of the day moves at a snail-like pace. Harry can hardly focus; he’s too distracted by the thought of what’s to come tonight. Every lyric he comes up with sounds too raunchy to put in an actual song. Even his friends jokingly speculate about why he’s acting so strange—especially Tom, who just loves to make him squirm.

That evening, he has to make a conscious effort not to speed all the way to Y/N’s flat. The plan was to pick her up, take her back to his place, and maybe eat dinner before having their fun, but he thinks he’ll have to skip most of those steps.

Y/N buzzes him into her building. She’s on the second floor, so he doesn’t even bother with the elevator and takes the stairs two at a time. As soon as she lets him in, his mouth is on hers. She kisses him right back, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing up against him. They make their way to her bedroom and remove all their clothes, ending up on the bed with him on top of her.

“Naughty girl,” he says between kisses to her neck. “Came all the way to the studio because you were needy for my cock, hm?”

She covers her face with her hands. “H, don’t tease! I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

He gently pulls her hands away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you want me that badly? Got me all hot and bothered at the studio. Could barely keep myself together for the rest of the day.”

A mischievous little grin makes its way onto her face. “Really?”

“Yes, really. That’s the effect you have on me.” His hand drifts down between her legs to find that she’s already drenched, so he grabs his cock and runs the tip up and down her slit. When he looks back up at her face, there’s a hint of apprehension that wasn’t there before. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just remembered that I haven’t had something so, uh”—she swallows, glancing down at his cock—“big inside me in a while.”

“Do you want to be on top? That way, you can go at your own pace.”

“What if my pace is too slow and you can’t come?”

“What if I come two seconds after I’m inside you? Would you still love me?”

“Of course!”

“There’s your answer then.”

She squints at him, her lips curving up. “Well played.”

They switch positions so that she’s on top of him, straddling his hips while he leans back against the headboard. She carefully guides his cock up to her entrance, inserting the tip before lowering herself onto him. Her tight walls stretch and expand to accommodate him. She winces from the discomfort. He massages her hips, reminding her to take her time.

It takes her several attempts to get him all the way in, but once he’s there, the feeling is indescribable. He curses under his breath, closing his eyes briefly.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

“Perfect,” he responds in a strained voice. “It’s perfect.”

She seems reassured by his response and starts moving her hips in slow circles, getting used to having him inside her. Then she lifts up and sinks all the way down again. Soon enough, she’s riding him at a steady pace, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts swaying gorgeously in his face, beckoning him to place his hands over them. He has pictured this moment so many times, he can’t believe that it’s finally happening.

He starts thrusting up into her, meeting her halfway. As his thrusts become sharper, her jaw drops open.

“Harry—”

The sound of his name slipping out of her mouth like that, all salacious and full of yearning, is a drug he can see himself getting addicted to.

“Please,” she whines.

He slows down, worried that he might have been too rough. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just— Please don’t stop. It feels so good.”

“Feels good, huh? Someone finally fucking you like you deserve?”

She nods, her eyes rolling back as he resumes the movement of his hips.

“This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” he tells her. “Remember this.”

“Oh, I will.” She barely finishes her sentence before he pounds into her again.

He feels himself about to crest and reaches down to rub her clit. A final medley of moans and grunts leave their mouths as they come. Her pussy spasms around his pulsing length. As the waves of pleasure subside, her body goes completely slack in his arms, worn out from the intensity of the experience they just shared. She rests her head against his shoulder, basking in the afterglow while he brushes his fingers through her hair.

Her soft voice breaks through the silence. “I didn’t know it could feel this good. I’ve been missing out.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to catch you up. Don’t you worry.” He kisses the side of her head, earning a contented sigh from her.

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

[bunnypansy]

Little Death

Rated NC-17, read at your own RISK!

This is a dark fic, read ALL of the warnings before you consume. If anything mentioned in the warnings makes you uncomfortable, TURN AWAY. As a creator, I do not condone the things I write about, though that should be obvious enough.

With warnings out of the way, this is the first episode in our 16 part Kinktober season; Drugging and Pseudo-Necrophilia. The Undertaker likes you quite a lot, but he likes you much better when you aren't moving as much. A little drink should do the trick, shouldn't it?

Featuring: The Undertaker, and You, dear reader

Beware! This film contains: Ftm! reader, nonconsensual drugging, noncon/dubious consent, implied/pseudo necrophilia (there is no corpse fucking, but the Undertaker is pretending you are a corpse), fingering, light sadism

You had your suspicions drinking tea from an Erlenmeyer flask, fearing there may be trace amounts of whatever foul chemicals it last contained, but the Undertaker was quite insistent that the funeral parlor had no other vessels with which to drink tea. You should've trusted your instincts.

It had tasted just fine. Not unlike any other cup of Darjeeling you've drunk, but only a few sips in, and his rasping, pitchy voice bleeds into the generalized hum of the air surrounding you. The entire parlor is murmuring and Undertaker has joined the chorus, his voice almost inseparable from the buzzing background. He's telling a story- something about one of the Jack the Ripper victims, you think.

You had no involvement, only knowing of the case from the paper- which you had stopped reading after a particularly gruesome description -but there he goes, describing in lurid detail exactly how the poor woman had been carved up like cattle. He's practically waxing poetic on the fun he had stitching her waxy white skin back together, shoving her remaining organs back into place, and tucking filler into the empty cavities the Ripper had left behind, as though stuffing a sagging stuffed animal until the vacant body was plump and full once more.

The pictures he paints in your mind are ones you can never erase, but you can barely form a clear image anyway. Under any other circumstances, you would be sick to your stomach, moving to leave the funeral parlor and never return, but under the mist of whatever was in your tea, you can't find it in you to move. You can't even find the strength to speak.

Your lips stay parted, jaw hanging open and tongue limp in your mouth. In turn, you watch the Undertaker's lips instead, pale and dry as they move with each word, trying to parse whatever he was saying from the movement of his mouth. You can't hear the Undertaker's voice over your own breaths, slow and labored, and your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. With every second, the world gets fuzzier and fuzzier. The already dark funeral parlor became a sightless void, with the Undertaker becoming a star in the center of your dark universe, his silvery hair almost glowing in the dim candlelight.

With nothing else to reach for, you're leaning towards the Undertaker, a moth drawn to a flame. He's kind enough to catch you, a hand on either shoulder to steady you. Though his skin is no warmer than marble, you feel deeply comforted in his embrace.

"Oh my..." You don't know what he says after that. You only know that it feels so nice when he eases you into a more comfortable position, slumped against a coffin behind you, speaking in a low, soft voice. The sounds don't make sense, but they thrum sweetly against your brain as they enter your ears.

A moment later, the muscles in your neck give way, unable to hold your head upright. Instead, you entrust this task to the Undertaker and he gladly accepts, cupping your face in his spare hand. Your cheek rests perfectly in his palm, those long black nails scratching lightly against your skin; he's cold, but your skin is beginning to feel so hot that you can't bring yourself to care.

A feverish delirium has begun to swallow you whole, with no sign of releasing you any time soon. The energy sweats out of your body with every second, leaving you as still and limp as a mannequin, but warmer than a summer day.

Your brain is boiling within your skull, and it shows on your face. A thin strand of spit oozes from your lips and down your cheek, onto the Undertaker's fingers. Your hand twitches, but you don't have nearly enough strength to lift your arm and clean yourself up. How kind the Undertaker must be to lean close to you- close enough you can feel his frosty breath -and drag his tongue over your skin, tenderly tidying you up.

He traces the trail of saliva back up your cheek, finishing the intimate gesture by flicking his tongue across your lips. You're somewhat grateful he went to the effort, but it hardly matters when he makes a mess of you all over again, only moments later.

The hand on your cheek readjusts to your chin, gripping just tightly enough that the Undertaker can tilt your head this way and that to get the desired angle as he slides his tongue into your mouth and halfway down your throat. The taste of antiseptic and salt coats your mouth, but there's little you can do other than summon forth a quiet whimper. The movements are awkward and messy; the Undertaker eagerly runs his tongue over every crevice and tooth in your mouth, as if attempting to form a perfect map within his memory, while you lay unresponsive to his affections.

Whatever you and the Undertaker are doing together can hardly be called a kiss, but he probably prefers you this way. Still, weak, easy to manipulate; as perfect as a doll, as human as a body.

He pulls away and you're breathless, lips glossy with a sheen of his spit. "Look at you now, so still... What a good boy."

The praise barely penetrates the thick fog filling your skull, but when it does, you make a pitiful attempt at a smile back, barely able to even twitch your lips. You're rewarded with the Undertaker's abrasive laughter, startling a groan from you. "Und...er..."

"Shhh, shh..." His lips keep moving, but you don't pick up on a single word, whatever the Undertaker is saying must be nice, right? You feel so calm, entirely weightless as if you're floating.

Then the sensation stops, and instead, you're being pressed in upon at every side by something soft, a fabric... maybe velvet? The experience rides the line between claustrophobic and comforting, as if you're bound in a straitjacket made of velvet; warm and tight. So warm. Too warm. You want- no you need out, if you stay as you are, you'll surely cook to death. The heat is torturous when you can't even make a move to relieve it, forced to moan out to the Undertaker for help.

Hands dart across your body as he mutters something sugary into your ear, deftly undoing buttons and clasps on his way down. At long last, your skin meets the open air of the funeral parlor, bringing a sigh to your lips at the refreshing feeling. So caught up in your relief, you hardly even notice the cold fingerprints littering your body; poking and prodding here and there, adjusting your posture to his liking.

Legs straightened ahead of you, back flat against the surface beneath you, arms folded neatly. Great care is taken to interlace your fingers with each other, before he places your hands just below your navel, giving you a small pat on the tummy before his hands drift lower.

It's in this moment that it occurs to you where you must be laid and how you must look; in a funeral parlor, there's no place to rest but a coffin, and in a coffin, there's no way to look but dead.

The Undertaker plays with your lax body like a doll, rubbing his fingers across your lips for a few moments before he pauses and holds his thumb up against your lips, reveling in your shallow breaths for a few heartbeats. Although your ears feel stuffed with cotton, you can easily pick out the pleased groan the Undertaker makes.

Further down your body, a shiver crawls up from where the Undertaker's hand is tucked between your thighs. Whether the goosebumps pimpling your skin are from pleasure or temperature you can't tell. Something your mind tries to claw from the darkness, warn you how wrong this all is, but you can't hear it over the slick noise of the Undertaker dragging a finger through your slit.

You should be scared, you should struggle away or cry for help, but the adrenaline never comes; the fighting spirit you need is eagerly leaking away from between your legs and wetting the funeral director's hand. The silence that once fell between the two of you is replaced with a constant squelching of the Undertaker's fingers working over your clit; drawing slow, firm circles around the nub and simply enjoying the feeling of your breath against his hand as if it were an equal pleasure.

That calloused finger keeps rubbing at your clit, the rough skin pulling meager grunts from your lips with greater frequency the faster he moves. There's a twist in your stomach, something that makes you desperate to thrash in place, burning with frustration at your own limp body.

"Uh-" The hand on your lips quickly slaps entirely over your nose and mouth, clamping tight enough to cut off anything you planned to say. Those knife-like nails dig into your soft skin, threatening to cut.

"Hush. Don't speak." There are a few more words after that, still in a harsh whisper, that are inaudible to you.

Quiet panting, soft groans, slick fingers; the sounds and sensations are all too much, sending a vibrant buzzing through your veins, so strong it threatens to burst from your skin. Faster, rougher, harder; more, more, more-

The Undertaker mercilessly grinds the sharp end of his fingernail against your clit, and your body gives way to him completely. With just that simple demonstration of pain, the Undertaker rips an orgasm from your body as easily as a heart from a chest.

Acid pours through your veins, burning every vessel within you and filling your eyes with white-hot stars. Your eyelids twitch and your steamy breaths heave between the Undertaker's fingers as you lose any former semblance of control. The sleeve of the Undertaker's robe is soaked with your release. You'd be embarrassed with yourself if you could form coherent thoughts, but you can't even form a proper moan, just a pitiful gasp that seeps from your throat like a dying breath.

When the Undertaker finally pulls his hand away from your face, his hands are trembling just as much as your thighs. Briefly, you wonder if he enjoyed this as much as you did- or more.

That is all for tonight's episode of the 2024 Kinktober season, thank you all for viewing and have a lovely night.

I originally wrote a draft of this a couple months ago and was going to post it earlier... but it works so well for the spooky month that I just put it off teehee. i'm very excited about Kinktober, I've never participated before now so... we'll see if I can do it all!

[shiftylinguini]

Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack:

@phoebe-delia asked in response to this fun lil ask game:

Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back? . (for the ask anything) Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back?

Now THIS. This is a good question, and something that is very much on my mind and has been for a while, as I am currently absolutely in the midst of this and trying to army crawl my way out. I don't have any magic bullets (is that the saying? idk) but I have been here before and i do have a small arsenal of tips or methods that I find can help me. 

Here is my Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack (In no particular order):

Write anything 

This is hardly groundbreaking advice, and it's also the hardest thing to actually do (imo) so do not beat yourself up if it takes a while to get to this. Basically, write ANYTHING―it can be aimless, it can be pointless, it can be crap (crap is subjective!! don't let the brain gremlins win!!). 

Don't think about posting it, don't worry about anyone else ever reading it, just fling a few words onto a page and feel the rusty faucet turn on, proving to yourself that it still works. 

Try and sus out what it is that's blocking you 

Again this one is hard and annoying but functional. Once you can put your finger on the particular reason you're staring at a flashing black line on a blank page it can help you kick that reason off your lawn and into the bin. 

And then, take it out of the bin and be kind to yourself about whatever that reason is. Maybe you feel shit because you're comparing yourself to others, your last fic felt like a lead balloon, you can't muster enthusiasm for what you once loved doing and fear that it's gone forever, you're projecting in a Tumblr post―whatever it is, it's something all the writers you admire and aspire to be like have felt, and been annoyed with themselves for, and so you can wrap it up in a blanket and put it on a shelf and be kind to it so it, (respectfully) shuts the fuck up. 

(and remember, everyone feels insecure about their stuff. Like literally everyone, at some stage, feels like their stuff is rubbish)

Cheat on your OTP 

Okay this one might not work for everyone, but it really does for me lol. Ruts (not the sexy kind) can often come with not wanting to engage in my usual ships, being annoyed by my lack of ability to fucking write them/anything/all my ideas taste like cardboard/bleh, and stepping out on them and reading something new can snap me out of it. Just, an injection of new ideas or scenarios or words or even just a little reprieve from being fed up with myself, which ideally, is why we're all here anyway. 

(And then I come crawling back, and am welcomed with open arms haha)

In a similar vein:

Engage in media 

This subtitle is genuinely terrible, i am sorry, LMAO, but essentially: find a piece of media that makes you go "oh, helLO sailor", unhinge your jaw like a snake, and consume it whole. 

Let it nourish you, inspire you, excite you, making you feel SOMETHING, and then take that and think "fuck, what if i wrote bleepbloopblarp" and even if you write nary a single word, you've thought about it and that fucking counts. 

It might be an album, a book, a song, a show, gifs of a hot person, the wikipedia summary of a movie, literally anything counts here if it makes you feel a twinge of creativity. 

Ask yourself, what would Astolat do? 

No for real. @candybarrnerd and I genuinely use this haha.  

Worried your idea is stupid? Astolat would say write it. 

Worried it's too weird? Nah, just write it. 

It's dumb and no one will read it? Just write it for you *waggles eyebrows* (and then find out that yeah, nah, someone else will absolutely read this and be real fucking happy about it haha.)

Worried you're a one trick pony and have already written this fic before, like, and not even once before, and also you're projecting again in Tumblr post? WRITE IT AGAIN! As Astolat once said, "it's a fic so nice, I wrote it thrice". 

It's good advice. 

Make a friend or lean hard on the ones you have here

Misery loves company because it knows they'll come out of this together :). I know, I know, that's fucking NAFF, but fandom is all about finding like-minded freaks and blowing up their DMs because you saw a gif and now feel a kind of ways about it. 

And lastly: 

FUCK STATS! 

I mean I love stats (yay validation!), but god can they make you feel like a worthless shit (hey where did my validation go :((( ). It can be really insidious, so piss that right off when it starts to fuck with your confidence or outlook on your own writing.

Hopefully there is something useful here, even if it's just looking at this advice and thinking "no that's shit, it's writing POISON" cos then you can maybe do the version you think is NOT shit, and that might work. 

Good luck, fellow travelers!!

[heliza24]

This fic is finally complete! An excerpt of the final chapter:

 “Make it stop then,” Daniel said, looking down at their joined hands. Armand was holding Daniel's hand loosely, so that he could hold it steady and absorb Daniel's movement without causing pain. “Use the mind gift and make it stop.” Armand felt his heart shatter, felt the all-consuming void where Daniel's mind had once been. “You know I cannot,” Armand said gently. He tried to keep the pain out of his voice, but he did not know if he succeeded. “I'm sorry Daniel.” They stayed like that for a few minutes, collapsed together on the path, holding onto each other's hands and attempting to hold back the sadness. After a little while the shaking in Daniel's hand diminished and then disappeared. Daniel took a breath. “You know I never would have taken it from anyone but you. Your blood could have turned me into a bat for all I care. If I get to be yours it's enough.” Armand could feel the warmth in Daniel as he said those words. He wondered how they could possibly be true.  Daniel deserved so much more than he could possibly give him. “Come here,” Armand said and pulled Daniel's face close so that he could lick the smeared blood off his chin. “Messy child.” Daniel sighed even as he submitted to Armand’s attention. “I'm not a child. You waited until I was an old man with a degenerative brain disease to turn me.” “You're my child now,” Armand said, and then they were kissing.

It was always my goal with this fic to fill in the space between when Louis walks out of the penthouse and the last scene of season 2 when Daniel and Armand are separated. I wanted to make an argument for how that intervening time could be filled with love, and how Armand might leave anyway. Because of that, angst has entered the tags. I also wanted to make a case for that intervening time being used to really explore Daniel's disability, especially since I'm not sure the show will do that. It's been a joy to write about disability in that way and talk about it with people in the comments.

I can't promise a follow up fic, but health stuff allowing, I do have an idea for a sequel reunion. So follow me here or sub on AO3 if you want to know when that arrives. <3

[chouxsardine]

Hold Me (2)---Jake Kiszka x reader

PART 2 of My fic for @seenoversundown 's Valentine's Day Writing Event! I choose the prompt: Play Truth or Dare;

Here is Part 1

Summary: "hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.” || Your drunk slip-up leads to one of the best Valentine's Day gift you've ever got

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 4929

Warnings (for this part): 18+! Minors DNI (this is 4000+ of pure smut), dom Jake/sub reader, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), penetrative p in v sex, blindfold, bondage (have I tried that tie on myself? yes), swearing, slight insecurity/jealousy, inappropriate use of guitar straps, aftercare, cheesy fluff, Jake singing!

Author's note: sorry that this is late. I was in a dark space mentally for the past few days. But here it is, finally!! Personally, I really like this story. It's a new attempt. I hope you all enjoy it too.

🎧: Someone New by BANKS; Always There by Greta Van Fleet

“Please.” Not only is your brain eager, but your body also aches with anticipation; it keenly awaits whatever Jake is going to give you.

Jake stands up. Him looking down on you makes you press your knees together. Given that it doesn’t happen very often, you marvel at how quick and effortless it seems for Jake to slip into the dominant role.

“On the bed. On your back.”

You wish he would add a nickname to it; even a simple “baby” would do. But you guess you’d have to earn it, don’t you? You silently comply, laying down stiff as a stick. You are suddenly very aware of how naked you are now that your body is pressed against the sheets. The tingling excitement all over your limbs is so loud that they are turning numb.

A warm sensation on your calf almost makes your leg kick out instinctively. You must be too deep in your thought, having closed your eyes.

“Hi.”

You feel consumed when you blink and meet Jake’s eyes. The warm brown color is seeping like blended paint, into the light, into the wallpaper, into the mattress. The soft fabric of his shirt plush on your skin—you just noticed that he is still fully clothed. You squeeze out a coy smile.

Jake dips down, leaving kisses on your ankles. The kisses are carefully choreographed: the wet mark from the last one evaporates as a new one is planted. You warm up as he moves upwards, the vulnerability of being naked disappearing—you are now dressed in his kisses.

The curls at the top of his head tickles your navel when his lips reach the innermost most of your thigh. It only takes two back-and-forth strokes of his knuckles against your panties to unleash the arousal that has been pooling, soaking the fabric, and forming a darker spot.

“Drenched,” Jake appraises in awe, “and I haven’t even touched your upper body yet.”

“Please…Jake, I…” You open your mouth, but you are not sure what you are asking for.

Jake props himself up by his elbows, his face now level with your chest. “And let me guess, I bet these…” he pinches each of your nipples through the bra; your back arches upwards from the shock, “are rock hard too.”

“Jake!” You grab his hands, not caring how pathetic you sound. “The suspense is killing me…”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” Jake quips before lowering his voice, “just making sure that you really want this, angel.”

“I really do, I promise.”

“Good.” Having got the reassurance he wanted, Jake finally reaches for the guitar strap. You hold out your wrist, but Jake shakes his head. He places one end of the strap near your lips. “Hold that for me.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, but you obey anyway, biting down on the leather. Your left arm is bended across your chest as Jake closes your left palm around the same end of the strap that is between your teeth. He guides your right hand to hold the other end, wraps it over your forearm, and leads it through the loop between your wrist and the strap.

He untangles your wrists, so they are now parallel in front of you, then rolls them outwards from the inside. There, he pauses for a heartbeat before respectively pulling your left and right hands apart. You are surprised to see that the thin leather belt is now wrapped around your wrists in a crisscrossed single loop, secured by both ends that are firmly grasped by you. You are the warden and the prisoner, the lock and the key.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jake squints, admiring his work.

You pull against the restraint. The hold is unrelenting, but it doesn’t cut into your skin. You expected it to bite like a rebuke, but it ends up more like a command. “Where did you learn to do that?” You ask.

“Practice makes perfect, my darling.”

Practice? He practiced this? On himself? Before your mind strays further, Jake gathers the two ends of the strap in his hand, wiggles a bit to adjust the tightness. “Is this alright?”

“Yes.” The knot was mostly behind the joint of your wrist, you can still open your hands.

Jake shows you the next thing he got; it’s a pair of chain collar pin with anchor ornaments on both ends that is connected by the braided sterling silver. That’s one of your gifts for his birthday. Under your anticipated glare, he inserts one of the anchor through the hole at the end of the strap, then raises your arms above your head, where he loops the chain around the metal slats of the headboard, finishing the tie.

“There you go. Snug?” Jake hooks a finger in between your wrist and the strap, making sure there’s enough room.

“Like a bug in a rug.” You meant to lighten the mood, but the nervousness surfaces and makes your voice crack at the end. The realization only starts to sink in now: you will not be able to touch him. No combing through his hair or grasping onto it, no roaming all over his torso, no dragging him down and crashing your lips together. You want to rub your legs together, but Jake is kneeling in between.

“Thinking a bit too hard, are we?” Jake’s finger brushes your cheek. “But tonight, your job is not to think; it’s to feel.”

He reaches over to the bed stand to retrieve a thin piece of fabric, “Do you mind?”

It’s Jake’s infinity scarf, the one that is often paired with his pendant necklaces.

“I still want to see you…” you mumble shakily.

“Hum….with all the little fantasies in your mind, I say you’ve seen enough.” Slowly but surely, the scarf slides over your eyes. Jake holds the back of your neck as he scoops your itchy hair out of the way. Your nose flares at the familiar bluebell scent of the fabric softener that lingers on the cotton. Oh, is this why Jake intended to do the laundry yesterday? Jake is right about using the blindfold; your brain is already too big a distraction, dialling down one of the senses is only going to help you.

“You’re gonna help me out here, y/n. Your eyes are always so eloquent, but since I can’t see them now, you are gonna have to use your words.” Jake snakes a finger in between your fold, you moan out loud at the first proper loving that your pussy has received all night.

“Oh, I will gladly accept that too.” Jake chuckles, his finger presses into you deeper.

You sigh in relief as you finally feel the elastic band of your underwear being tugged down your pelvis bone. You lift your hip fawningly, allowing Jake to slip it off you swiftly. Next off is your bra. Jake was right; your nipples are hard, the tiny muscles red, contracted, and erected. Even the unintentional brush from the bra when it is taken off you feels like a tease.

“I want you, Jake. I want you to touch me.” You whimpers, the frustration building up in you fuelling the fire in your core. Jake leans the root of his palm against your mound, adding just the right amount of pressure to your clit, echoing his finger in you that is pointing slightly upwards. Your desire is sandwiched in between his hand. You feel your body sizzles like a burning hot pan with water splattered on.

“Oh God, just like that!” You whine out loud. The pleasure flashes your mind like a lightning that cracks across the sweltering summer sky, illuminating an image that has been plaguing you. You don’t know what possesses you to speak; you are never overly vocal in bed, but now the urge to convey how good you feel prevails. “It feels like…”

“Yes, angel? What does it feel like?” Jake’s movement pauses, just like the way he is being attentive and tilts his head while listening to you speak. To be fair, in some way, there is a conversation going on right now, between him and you, between his fingers and your pussy.

“The time when you…Aghh! You cup the…the guitar around…” Jake starts moving again, a silent reward and encouragement, “around its body and the neck…Mhmmm…with the, the…” you fumble for the correct term.

“The slide?”

“Yes, the slide.” The fact that he knows exactly what you are talking about turns you on even more. Has he always known?

“I like the way you think, love. Maybe we should try it next time.”

Jake is quiet after that. The mattress dips down further under your legs as Jake finds the comfortable position to rut his hard cock against the bed for some friction. He has no doubt that he will get something out of this too, but not until he gets you where you want. Before that, he can, and he will wait.

His hot breath fans over your silt, hovering over your clit. Your knees draw up but are immediately pinned under his elbow. Jake’s thumb pulls back your hood to expose you more, taking a moment to admire the way your clit peeks out, deep pink and engorged, before having a proper taste. He presses the area above the tip of his tongue against your clit, the velvety flesh pushing the bud tantalizingly.

“O-Ohhh, yes! Feels so good, Jake…More, please, more.”

That’s when you feel another current surge from inside of you. Jake’s fingers never left; you are clenching so hard that you almost forget that they’re there. Now he is curling his knuckle and pressing a particular spot like a button.

You pull hard on the strap. Your arms straightening to the point that it sends a burning pain down your armpits and ribs, which only adds to the mixture of joy. Bubbling groans are pumped out of your throat. All the restraints are making you tensing your muscles more on your own, making all the skin-to-skin contacts buzz.

Jake changes to fully lapping up at you. He drags out every flick, making sure you feel the texture of his tongue.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you are a panting mess, rolling your head on the pillow as you beg.

Jake backs off, even withdrawing his finger too, bringing a string of your slickness with it. “Already?” It sounds more like a rhetorical question, one that is beyond your ability to answer.

You cry out disappointingly, tears dampening the scarf. Jake spreads your juices against your labia, stroking them lazily. His other hand brushes comforting strokes down your sides, taking away the burn.

“You’re really close, I know. But the good stuff is always worth the wait.” Jake crawls up. He kneads and kisses your breasts. He loves the way the base of the softness fits into his purlicue. “We are in this together. Do you have any idea, how it feels to have a sumptuous feast laid out before you, but you have to mind the table manners?”

The thought of him holding back his hard-on somehow makes you find the courage to flirt back: “Well, your meal is begging to be tasted.”

“Very convincing. But manners are to be respected. You are a genteel lady; you know better than that,” the last few words seem to be gritted through his teeth, “I like to enjoy my meal with class.”

When his tongue is finally back on you, the intensity doubles. No, triples. This time his fingers also take a 180-degree turn. The calloused finger pads are reaching as far back as can be, tapping and massaging the bottom of your vagina.

You want to wrap his hair around your fist, claw at his arm, hold onto him so hard that you will leave marks on his skin. But you can do none of that. Your fingers are twisted together, your knuckles turning white. Your toes curling so bad that you might just able to ballet-dance. It’s like sprinting full speed towards a cliff, you know there is only abyss after the final misstep——

“No, really, I can’t—-”

“Let go, darling.”

That’s the exact moment Jake is waiting for. It’s like train hopping, it’s all about finding that pinpoint among the frenzy.

If that orgasm did throw you off the cliff, you didn’t fall. Quite the opposite, you are lifted up. Lifted by the armpits and invited onto the Chariot with the archangels and Apollo himself. Your vision is filled with blinding brightness beneath the blindfold. Waves of pleasure pulsing through your body. Trails of moans and screams are crumbled by your breathing, which has become very vocal. Each exhale is followed by a high-pitched “Mmhhh”. Your chest heaves, your shoulder moving up and down. All the noises are drowned out, except for the ringing in your ears.

Jake’s voice is the knife that cuts you out from the suspended state of bliss.

“You’re okay, love, doing amazing. So beautiful.” He brushes away the sweaty strands of hair that is sticking to your forehead, wipes aways the spit on the corner of your mouth, and is reaching upward to unclasp the strap when you mutter a “no”.

“No? Are you sure?” He already shimmied out of his shirt, his upper body bare, ready to provide you any skin-to-skin contact you need.

“No, please,” you’ve grown attached not only to the control but also the support that the strap provides. That’s what lifts you through the ecstasy you’ve just experienced. A reminder that you’re his, a common denominator between you and his guitar—connected to him, under his mercy.

“No need to beg, anything for my baby girl.” Jake’s eyebrows are knitted in thought, his eyes traveling back and forth between your fucked-out face and your hands that are red and sweaty with obvious signs of struggling. He knows that the strap feels grounding for you, but given your state right now, he doesn’t think you’ve thought far enough about how your arms will feel after another twenty minutes or so in this position. After a few moments, he still removes the collar pin that’s holding the two ends together, and places them in your palms.

“Here, doll. I untied the pin, but you still got the strap around you,” He closes your finger around them, “you can hold onto the headboard, or get yourself out if you want. You take the reins, alright?”

You nod, your heart swells with tenderness of the unadulterated care and thoughtfulness he has for you as you calm down. Your tongue still too sluggish to form coherent words. “Thank…”

“You are more than welcome. Just want you to feel good, love, be safe and feel good. You want the scarf off? ”

“Yes, please. Wanna see you.”

“Me too,” Jake whispers, “close your eyes and don’t open until I say so. The lights may feel a bit too strong for you now.”

Jake’s hand replaces the blindfold as it slides off your face. “No peeking yet.” He reminds.

You keen to the warmness of his touch, your eyelashes tinkling his palm. From the change of light, you sensed that Jake is lifting off his fingers one by one, letting the light refill gradually.

“Okay. Open now, slowly.” Jake says softly.

When you blink open your eyes, Jake’s hand is still blocking the left side of your face where the light is. Your vision are still a little blurred by the tears, which makes Jake look like a deity descending. Your stare at him like he’s the first person you’ve ever seen, like he is the picture you were shown when the word ‘beautiful’ was first taught to you. Your pupils are blown out.

“Hey you.” Jake dabs a few stray tears that have been gathering on the side of your nose.

You finally remember to blink again. You feel the died-down flame inside you reigniting, reinforced by the realization that he has been holding himself back this whole time. You raise you leg, trying to squeeze you toes inside the waistband of his pants, trying to tug it off—your way of urging him without using your hands.

“Whoa, my girl wants more?” Jake quirks his eyebrows in feigned surprise.

You roll your eyes, then remember your task and starts pleading: “Please, want to make you feel good now.” You are about to free yourself from the strap when Jake stops you, something sparkling in his eyes. Now you see why he’s not in a rush at all? He has always known that his girl will take care of him as well. “Want to be inside you, want to feel you around me, may I?”

And he’s talking about you being polite. You respond by raising you neck up for a kiss, which Jake coddles. He seals your lips with his, his tongue gliding past the soft pillow of your lower lip, only to be met with the tip of yours in the same fervent.

His forehead finds yours when he pulls back. “Have I told you how beautiful you are? I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

“You do, baby, you always do,” you are feeling expressive again, your words making up for the touches of your hands, “I feel like an absolute goddess when I’m with you.”

“Thank you, love, that means I’m doing my job well.”

He leaves you one more kiss before taking off his pants and grabbing a condom. You lay back and take it all in, fighting against the urge to keep your hands together. The veins on his hands, on his cock, the scar on his forearm, all woven into a lascivious blur. To be fair, even though you and Jake are together for quite a while, sometimes you still needs to let it sink in that your lover works in a business that is full of temptations and performs in front of thousands of people night after night, but still chooses to come back to you at the end of the day. Don’t get it wrong, you’re not belittling yourself, you just feel genuinely lucky that you’ve found someone who holds onto his true color through it all.

You try not to let your thoughts show, rubbing your knees gently up the side of his hip as he hops back. It may be that you haven’t seen him for the first half of the night, he looks alluring and glowy. His hair is dishevelled, his eyes casting downwards, his lips dewy and pouty. His chest is glistening with sweat, much like the way it is on stage. Your eyes following the bead that is rolling down his happy trial, down to the aroused purple of his cock cupped in his fingers. You gulp in anticipation.

It’s like a circuit running a closed-circle when his tip touches your entrance. You involuntarily buck up your hips. He taps the head of his cock against your clit leisurely, satisfied in the way your stomach rolls.

“Inside, oh God, Jake, come in already.” You bite down hard on your bottom lip.

“So eager for me. Very nice.” Jake takes a hold of the side of you thigh, pushing it outwards as he moves forward. He only goes in a few inches before he pauses and leans back, his eyes fluttering closed at the long-awaited sensation, taking deep breaths to get a hold of his bearing.

“Heavenly.” He utters to himself. When he comes down again, he holds himself a little higher, makes it intentional to grind down forward and over you, making sure his pubic bone is pressing down on your clit.

You feel the leather of the strap wrinkled in your palm, becoming damp and slippery. The sparkly titillation shoots up your navel. You heels graze the sheets harshly, plowing the mattress. When he finally bottoms out, you immediately cross your ankle over the small of his back, locking him to you.

“You feel so, so good.” Jake’s voice trembles. He lowers down his body plush against yours, his elbow on either side of your head. He goes in for another kiss and starts rocking weightily. You strives to keep your eyes open, studying his face and looking for the similar expression he has on stage. God, you hope that you are making him feel equally as good. Tears are threatening to well in your eyes as the thought occurred. It’s so unnecessary and irrational, but you can’t help it. The next moment, you get rid of the strap urgently, leaving it bundled up beside your head. Your hands fly to his back, fingers digging into his shoulder, grabbing his bicep.

Jake doesn’t even flinch. For you, his psychic ability is crazy. As if reading your thoughts, he takes one of your hands and places it right where his heart is. His mouth was right by your ears, his voice a whisper but reverberates in your whole body, every word underlined by a full-length thrust.

“All, my, love.”

Your eyes widen before you shut them tightly. A solitary tear still manages to escape, but is instantly drained by a kiss. Jake catches your chin: “Eyes on me, love.”

You do, giving in to that sea of satin-smooth caramel. He is right here, in you, above you, with you. His beating heart thumping under your touch, so lively and so sincere. What more could you be asking for?

You jaw hangs slack, immersed in the moment, feeling how good he is stretching you, feeling his heartbeat strong and fast. Jake raises up your butt, allowing him a better angle to thrust in deeper. He was rolling his hip, so each pump lingers. Your heels are knocking on his back, his balls are thrumming against your perineum.

Jake reaches down between where you are connected, but you bring it up to your lips, mouthing at his knuckles: “I…wait for…let me cum with you, want to cum with you.”

Jake takes a gasp. His eyes narrow. “Fuck, you’re a such vision.” He throws back his head, his breathing turns ragged as he plunges into you faster and harder, setting off a spark at your every nerve-end.

“Almost there, come with, baby.” He hissed out. His movement now messy, falling out of pace. His hand still goes down to your clit, and this time, you let him. You cover his hand with yours and just rest them there, letting the pounding of his body provide all the impact you need. Your fingers lacing and squeezed between your mons.

Jake purses his lips together, his beautiful nose scrunches up, his hair bouncing on the side of his face as he lets out a guttural growl. He comes in shuddery jerks, the spasms of his cock hauling you with him. Your orgasm, white-hot, whirlwinds over your body. Not as deafening as the last one, Jake’s weight anchors you.

It is incredibly intimate, your skin sticking, the up and downs of your bellies inescapable from each other, keeping each other warm from the feeling the cold film of sweat by being so close, so aligned. You are still holding hands. As Jake rolls off you, he kisses the back of your hand, wet and sloppy, like leaving a seal.

The room is quiet again. For a while, your jagged breathing is the only sound you hear. When your senses are restored, the first thing you feel is Jake’s nose. Starting from your hairline, the tip of his nose is tracing down your face, nudging yours, skimming over your cheek. You giggle, pulling him down and fondle with his damp hair.

“Only for you, love. Haven’t done that to her before.” Jake says, and you know that “her” is referring to the guitar.

“Oh lord. Please, never do that. Only for me, please.” You roll your eyes.

“Just kidding, doll. I have to say she makes me feel good too, but never quite the way you do. Nothing, ever, makes me feel this way like you do.” His tone turns really serious near the end. He picks up the strap that has been long ignored, examining it before letting it slip through his fingers and dropping to the floor. “I guess you did your little trick, huh? How can I go on stage now, with this draping over my shoulder, without thinking of you?”

You never thought that far. Well, it might be hard for Jake, but damn, you could live with that. You flash him a languid smile, stifling a yawn.

“How does a bath sounds to you, sleeping beauty?” Jake pulls himself up, holding out his arms to you.

“Heavenly.” You smile, allowing him to cradle you as he walk towards the bathroom.

A fluffy towel is draped over you to keep you warm as you sit on the toilet seat, watching Jake preparing a bath. He sits down first, holding you steady as you step in and lower down. You lay down against him, your head on his chest.

“How’s your wrists?” He straightens your arms.

“They’re fine.” You let him inspect the skin around your wrists; he takes the opportunity to pamper the skin with sweet pecks.

“Remind me to put some lotion on them after we get out.” He mumbles. You hum half-heartedly, knowing that it will be an empty promise because you will probably fall asleep mid-bath. Plus, it really doesn't hurt at all.

Jake is quiet after that. You let the comfortable silence mingle with the rising steam from the tub. His heartbeat is accentuated by your ear, rhythmic and reassuring, like waves. The best kind of white noise.

The next time Jake speaks, he is just speaking under his breath. You wouldn’t be able to hear him if you weren’t this close. Half the sound is rumbling deep in his chest. For sure, he has been mulling over what to say for the past few minutes. He is as much of an over-thinker as you.

“I hated it as much as you do when I have to leave, you know that.” His head is burying on your shoulder. Knowing what he’s taking about, you turn pink in embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Forget that, I’m just being stupi—”

“Human,” He interrupts.

“What?”

“You are just being human,” Jake’s voice hangs low, “that’s what I want you to see tonight. It’s a completely human thing to have desires, fantasy, as well as feeling jealous and insecure.”

“Unless you’re a secret vampire and has been hiding it exceptionally well all this time, which I’m also fine with,” he banters, drawing a laugh from you, “but given all the spicy films and books that people write, I think even vampires have those feelings too.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you answer coyly, “it’s just all in my head. I hate overthinking, but you know I trust you, Jake, I really do.”

“Of course, y/n, of course. And to be frank, sometimes I get jealous of you too.”

“You do?”

“You have no idea. Do you not realize the exceptional work you’ve done with your job, and what a wonderful person you are? All I do is just…” He gestures with his hands, “fiddling with some strings.”

You jokingly swat him away for the nonsense. Jake pecks at the nape of your neck, “drawing the ugly and beautiful side from us, stripping us bare and all…Love really is a bittersweet thing, hey? I guess that’s why Josh has so much to say about it all the time.”

You giggle at the slight dig on his brother and join him when he is humming that line in The New Day:

Love isn’t greed it’s a need that goes unspoken love doesn’t leave when you fade away Pain isn’t vain if it means your heart’s been broken Pain is the same as a means to heal

You lean back in his embrace and relax, feeing all the nerves uncoil. Your limbs are growing heavier by the second. Jake’s skilled massage on your scalp is just so soothing. You are dangling on the edge of slumber when you feel Jake draws your left arm out to the side, his left hand holding your left waist, his right hand holds against your breasts. You are too tired to open your eyes, leaving him to his manoeuvre. It takes you a while to recognize those taps on your wrist as guitar chords: G, F, C, and back to G again; and that makes his movements on your chest…strumming*. Meanwhile, you hear the low register of Jake singing.

You’re the woman in my dream One that makes me fall in love…

Your brain pick up on the familiar melody. Always There, but he changes the lyrics. You crack open an eye, stuttering: “Jake, what are you…?”

“Shhh…” He kisses your earlobe, shushing you as he continues.

Stay a while in your slumber Tumble under And never wake Dream forever in your wonder We’ll never sunder Into the day Into the day …

Eventually convinced, content and care-free, your brain quiets down and decides to stay that way for quite a while. Love seeps through every fold and wrinkle, saturating them with Jake’s name, and becoming entangled with your rising serotonin. And just like that, you are blissfully falling asleep, much like the way you fall in love with Jake: slowly, and then all at once*.

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

*1: inspired by @deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth 's fic I’m Gonna Crawl Chapter 17

*2: the infamous quote from The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, pg 125.

If you're wondering about the tie, here's the visual for it, inspired by DPR Ian's Don't Go Insane belt dance that is trending now, choreography by sooram

taglist: @gretasfallingsky

Yeah! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

My other works: Permission to Fall || Mariner's Complex || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones || Coming back to me || Warm Honey || He Would

[ishgard]

Tag ppl you want to get to know better

Tagged by @myreia - thank you!!!

LAST SONG: so I meant to go to my history to figure out what it was but forgot and by the time I did it changed so uh, haha 'Hozier - 'Francesca'

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Sousou no Frieren, Dungeon Meshi

THREE SHIPS: Ohboyokay let's see. Obviously I have a ton, but three.

Mana & Belial: These two are everything to me. This is me and the besties pandemic ship, we started text RPing with them while I was up north in 2019 and then everything spiraled. They were originally GBF characters but they've jumped to so many different universes and become full blown OCs by this point. They're enemies-to-lovers, they're 'I'll find you in every life time', they're unapologetically horny, they give me so much joy and happiness I could vomit rainbows.

Ahru & Deryk: This is probably pretty obvious if you've been following me at all. Ahru has a lot of ships I could ramble about for an age but this is the one I'm rotating in my brain 24/7 these days. I love how they fit together, I love how they get to experience the world all fresh and new, free of their burdens, together. aughghghg anyway. (Holds up boombox blasting 'Francesca' by Hozier)

Ahru & Arshadaya: This is like, my sleeper ship. Like Thanahru it's kinda present in every Ahru verse, but more. They're platonic, they're romantic, they're inextricably linked in ways that should be concerning and even questionable but it works for them. Arsh wanted to meld with Ahru's soul ('to save Nyx') before he inevitably accepted her as herself instead of 'Azem's Shard' and swore that same loyalty and devotion to her that he did Nyx. To the extent that when she got chopped up by the Servants of Light he sacrificed a good portion of himself to restore her, only adding to the 'inextricably linked in concerning questionable ways'. As a result he's in like a magical coma that could last gods knows how long but he maintains a link with Ahru continuing to protect and watch over her even now. They've basically fused into one being but he sleeps on the sidelines because her happiness and continued existence is the most important thing to him. :''')

FAVORITE COLOR: Light Pinks, Red

CURRENTLY CONSUMING: Just had a brownie 😌

FIRST SHIP: Geez... I mean probably Sailor Moon/Tuxedo Mask. Hilariously I feel like I've been a self-shipper + ocxfandom shipper from a young age because I remember my little saiyan oc I shipped with Trunks way back when. 🤣

PLACE OF BIRTH: USA

CURRENT LOCATION: Nope. 😘 (Seconded)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

LAST MOVIE: Geez I can't remember... I honestly have such a hard time watching movies. I watched a few parts of 'When Harry Met Sally' when mom had it on T.V. a few days ago???

CURRENTLY WORKING ON:

I Will Share Your Road - Ahru x Deryk screens set about their journey around Eorzea post-Myths of the Realm

The Road Ahead - tentative name for a fic of the same scenario above. Mostly a lot of all over the place drabbles at the moment.

Miqomarch X'D I'm trying to get ahead a bit for when I'm away on vacation.

[name pending] original work about faeries and shit, inspired by the Elfhame series by Holly Black. Has been put grievously on the back burner because of XIV brainworms.

Tagging: @icehearts, @eorzeanflowers, @uldahstreetrat, @twelveswood (i know you but i'm tagging you anyway teehee) - no pressure though and if you've already done it please ignore me 😂

[ailendolin]

Hello! I love your ficlets!

I would like to request DI Bones/Mike Peabody, and No. 8 Comfort - thank you!! :)

Thank you for the prompt, anon! As always, I will use the name Milton for DI Bones as I have done in my other fics. I hope you enjoy your ficlet!

List of prompts is here. Filled prompts are here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

————

Better

“How are you feeling, love?”

Mike blinked through the fog in his brain until Milton slowly came into focus. He blinked again, just to make sure that Milton was really there. It wouldn’t be the first time his fever-addled mind conjured him up that day.

“Like someone has stuffed my head full of wool and is trying to get rid of it with a sledgehammer,” he croaked out once he was convinced this wasn’t all in his head.

Milton’s face softened in sympathy. He sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed back Mike’s hair from his forehead with a blessedly cool hand to feel his temperature. “At least you’re not burning up anymore.”

The naked relief in his voice that made Mike wonder, somewhere in the back of his exhausted mind, how sick he’d actually been.

“Doc gave me the good stuff,” he said and attempted a grin despite every single muscle in his body aching as if he’d run a marathon. Or maybe two. It was worth it, though, because the small furrow between Milton’s eyebrows disappeared in favour of an incredibly fond if exasperated look before Milton leaned close and pressed a lingering kiss against his temple. There was a desperate note to it, something frantic and worried buried under layers of love and devotion that made Mike’s heart hurt. They really needed to stop doing this – getting hurt and sick; scaring each other. Too many sleepless nights had been spent holding bedside vigils in the few years they’d known each other, too many days consumed by worry and fear. Mike had been in Milton’s shoes more times than he could count and, knowing exactly how he relieved he felt right now to see him awake and smiling and talking again, wished he knew how to stop putting Milton through it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured hoarsely when Milton pulled away. He reached for his hand and entwined their fingers. “You must have been worried sick.”

The laugh Milton breathed out sounded brittle and tired.

“Still am, to be honest,” he admitted. “You’re not well yet, love.”

There’s no reason to deny that – Mike could already feel the exhaustion pulling at him again, beckoning him to drift off into unconsciousness once more. He couldn’t give in to its alluring call, though, not yet; not when Milton looked like he was barely holding it together.

So, as best as he could with limbs that felt as heavy as lead, he tugged at Milton’s hand until Milton got the hint and crawled into bed next to him.

“It’s the middle of the day,” Milton murmured in protest before he burrowed under the blankets anyway. Mike wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. A moment later, Milton let out a long, trembling sigh and relaxed against him.

“Better?” Mike asked softly.

He felt Milton nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It was a struggle for him to hold onto consciousness at this point. The rhythmic pattern of Milton’s familiar breathing made it only too easy for him to close his eyes and let his mind drift. He was about to let go of his last hold on consciousness when he felt Milton’s arms tighten around him.

“Please don’t ever scare me like that again,” Milton whispered against his chest.

Oh Mil, Mike thought before sleep finally pulled him under.

He wasn’t awake when the first tears fell, when Milton bit his lip to keep quiet so as not to wake him or when the storm passed and Milton finally gave into his own exhaustion. He was in Milton’s arms, though, alive and breathing and on the mend. In that moment, that was enough.

[feathers-in-the-night]

Ok I think I'm going to do something "crazy".

I know that fandom has changed a lot in the past 5-10 years and that we've all been conditioned to "consume content" over actually "admiring art, watching movies, reading books" etc. I've heard that people get less and less engangement on their fics - I just didn't realize how bad it was.

I think as I wrote this fic, I built the anticipation up in my head. I kept thinking about how excited I was for people to read it and to see their reactions and such. That's my mistake - I built it over in my head for almost two years.

I admit I'm spoiled - it's rare for ficwriters to have as much engagement as I enjoyed back in the day, and I appreciate now perhaps more than ever how spoiled I was back then.

But uploading this fic has straight up become bad for my mental health because I'm stuck in a loop of getting excited when I post a chapter, followed by total disappointment when I get a single comment. To be clear, I have a few faithful reviewers/commenters, and I love you so much. You're the only reason I'm not just deleting the whole thing.

But this fic has gone from being my proudest work, to something that's taking up way too much space in my head in a negative way, and I don't like that. I'm supposed to be relaxing and recharging right now so I have a lot of energy for next semester, where I'm writing my master thesis. But I can't do that when my brain is just full of this fic.

SO. I'm going to pause uploading until I've buckled down and finished the last chapter and the epilogue. I hope it'll be done within the next two weeks.

And then I'm going to upload the entire thing over the course of a day or a few days. Still separated into chapters, for an easier reading experience, of course.

But Ive reached the point where I just want this to be over so I can be free from this cycle I've got myself stuck in. There's no reason for me to upload once a week over the course of the next six months, if it's just making me sad. I'd rather just release the whole thing so my few lovely readers can enjoy the entire thing and I can get out of the unhealthy loop I'm in.

I'm not writing this to be a downer - I don't blame anyone but myself, because I'm the one that's allowing it to take up this much space, and allowing the lack of engagement to hold so much power over me. Getting your beautiful and indepth reviews are like crack and it makes my day, and I hope that people will still feel compelled to leave reviews, even though I'm releasing the entire thing at once. I honestly want to cry that I've allowed things to get this bad for me and that's why I just want to be done with it.

Anyway. I love you all and stay tuned for the entire fic in a week or two I guess ❤️ I sincerely hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I've loved writing it. Ive really rediscovered my love for writing and I have other ideas I'm going to pursue once this is done. Which is why I need it to be over

[missmaywemeetagain]

Dear Miss Madisyn May,

I don't know if I totally understand how Gala's work, and when I don't understand something I usually hesitate and lurk around, but I've been following your's and worked up the nerve to send you a message. I first found Pink Scarf on A03, and it is something I go back and reread when I want cheering up or inspiration. Like so many I was immediately captivated by your writing and I love your newest fic Broken Glass and also the epilogues/one-shots/shorts you've written. I'm relatively new to active fandom, I have been a lurker for the last few years reading here and there, I feel like I came to fic late in life (32-33ish) and only just started writing it last fall. It has become one of my favorite pastimes and I wish I had found it sooner, but oh well.

I was wondering if you would be willing to share your own process for how you map out where your stories will go and how you work out plots, or find inspiration and work through writer's block, and/or honestly any advice you'd give someone starting out writing fic.

cheers,

norah

A little black-tie a little black-tie E and Frank ready for your Gala...

Dear Lil’ Miss Darlin’ Norah,

Firstly, I’m sorry this took me a million trillion years to respond to!! This is the sweetest and loveliest, and thank you for coming by to share and ask such a great question!! 💜 I, too, came to fic late(ish) and was also most definitely a lurker, so I can very much relate.

Oooh, boy, my writing process is a bit of a mess, honestly. I wish I could say that I was a super outliner/organized writer, but that’s just not who I am, and I think trying to be that writer got in my way for a very long time. I find that I get stifled if I’m outlining really specifically because my brain tries to lock everything in even if the story needs to go in another direction. So for me, I take more of an organic approach.

I tend to think in scenes or beats that I want to hit instead. Often, my ideas start from daydreams, so it’ll begin with a “scene” that I then want to build a story around. Sometimes that scene is really clear but may not happen for many chapters into a fic, so I have to figure out how I actually get my characters there. But giving myself time to daydream is one of the most important things to me as a writer. Usually when I’m having trouble figuring out a scene or arc or pushing through the writing, it’s often because I literally haven’t closed my eyes and laid down and let it play out in my head.

And inspiration can come from almost anywhere! Writing Elvis in particular, I’m heavily inspired by historical events and personal anecdotes. I love weaving real moments into my E fics!! There are honestly too many to count for PS.

For Broken Glass, Dolores came to me first as a character and I was like, “hmmm, that’s interesting,” and I am super fascinated by E’s health journey, so I was like, how do I put those together?

Songs are also often big sources of inspiration, like with Power of My Love and Without Love for PS. I try to consume a lot of media too, which gets my brain going—what I mean by that is the more I’m reading books and fics and watching shows/movies and listening to music, the more goes in my brain bank, so to speak.

I am by no means an expert, or even a professional writer (yet!), so this is just part of my process which (usually) works for me. Take of that what you will, but of course every writer is different and there is no one “right” way. I definitely struggle with perfectionism, and that tends to be my biggest source of “blocks” or frustration. So I’ve found that I just need to write. Practice. Get something on the page, even if it sucks lol! Cuz I’m always gonna go back and revise and tweak it anyway.

Anyway, I hope that’s helpful! Thank you so much for supporting my little stories and wishing you all the best in your writing adventures! 💜 Feel free to drop in my DMs if you have other questions or tag me in your works!

And I looooove me some black tie E and Frank!! To have been in that room…phew! 🥰😏🤩

💗 Madi

[nobodysdaydreams]

okay I’ve been wanting to ask you stuff for ur…ask game things but I genuinely cannot find the post to know what to ask. does that make sense?

So uh *slams random emojis and numbers on the counter* whatever these will get me.

32??? 1? 12….52?

🐢🧍‍♂️❤️‍🩹💕🤲🤩

I have to at least get one of those right…hopefully.

((also side note I’ve been meaning to say I like ur new username! very nice 👍))

Ember, I tried my very best to find old ask games I reblogged with these emojis, sadly I could not. I found this one for the numbers. I already answered 1 and 32 here. I answer 12 and 52 below and have a few other fun treats for you.

12. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support help you? Feedback helps me so much. It lets me know that my writing is good and that I’m doing something right. Originally, fanfic was just supposed to be me getting my brain bees™️ out of my head so I could focus. I didn’t expect people to actually enjoy them to such a degree. I mean, I figured someone else who liked TMBS might like them a little, but I did not expect such incredible feedback.

I got a tumblr in September of last year to release my thoughts on TMBS, including my SOS fan theory, but I never intended to write any fic about it, because it was a super specific head canon (and also I'd never even read fanfic before at that point, though I'd heard of the concept), I wasn't sure people would like it, I'd never done any serious creative writing before, and at the time, I had no idea how much season 2 canon would continue to support it's plausibility. But, for better or for worse, eventually I was inspired enough to write the fic. And if you told me in January of this year, before SOS was published, when it was just a little idea in my head that I’d have people drawing fan art based on my fics, doing elaborate analyses call out posts based on my fics (thank you @sophieswundergarten and @itsgoghtime🥰), making a whole personality quiz based on my fic (again thank you Sophie), getting a tumblr to compliment my on my fic and share headcanons, and, the latest of the fandom's beautiful compliments, someone doing a whole podcast episode based on one of my fics (thanks @heyitsthatonesmolgay), I would not have believed you.

This feedback means the world to me, and it's also taught me the importance of leaving feedback on other fics as well. Part of the rational in writing SOS was releasing the thoughts that are inside my head about my hyperfixation, since I'd be thinking about it constantly anyway. Writing it out is certainly more rewarded than daydreaming alone, but it's also more time consuming. Knowing that someone out there is not only listening to what I'm saying, but enjoying it to such a degree lets me know that this is a hobby that's worth the time and energy. Obviously, it's fine to do hobbies only for yourself, I did that for years, but being able to do something you enjoy in such a way that it makes someone else happier and brings joy to someone's life is incredibly rewarding. And if I didn't receive any feedback, I would assume no one was listening. I'd release my ideas into the void to get the brain bees out, and then when the hyperfixation died, I'd just delete them. But now I know that I'm not just talking to the void anymore, I'm talking to a group of people that are invested in the stories I have to share. Feedback on fics lets authors know that they're good at writing, because they might not know it. I certainly never thought so. Sure, I thought my ideas were cool, but has everyone else I've ranted to about mbs irl thought that? Not exactly. So leave feedback on your favorite fics, go crazy about them. Don't burn yourself out, obviously, but trust me, it will not go unappreciated, especially in a smaller fandom.

52. Do you respond to comments why or why not?

I always try to respond with something. They make me so happy; someone took the time out of their day to say they liked my fic, my ideas, and comment or ask questions about them! It’s a great honor, and thank you all for your lovely comments and feedback!

Finally, the emojis you sent didn't correspond to an ask game, however, I do have one little treat I think you'll like.

As you may be aware, I am writing a secret fan fic for Curio's secret fic gift exchange. I can't promise the fic is at the level of my usual work (as you may have suspected from my lack of SOS updates, I've been quite busy), but I shall try my best. However, what I can promise you is that A) more SOS is coming, and B) regardless of who my gift fic is for, it will include a brief reference or mention of the book "The Little Prince", which I know you are a big fan of. Unfortunately, I can't give any more context beyond that.

Oh, and thank you! I'm glad you like the new username!

[sugarsnappeases]

Tell publicly 3 facts about yourself or your three favourite songs or favourite books (it can be anything, really-whatever you want to share/feel like talking about) then send it some people you like <3

hello!!! tysm for asking here are my current three favourite songs and i say current bc these literally change every few days

1 - come down soon by lizzy mcalpine, i got called out by airbuds earlier bc appaza my ‘playlist is about as diverse as a one-flavour ice cream shop’…. i’d only listened to it 31 times by that point and they weren’t even all in a row…. there’s variety, i promise!! anyway also this song is deeply bartylily and i’ve been obsessing over it bc i think i wanna use a lyric as the title for one of my wips (library fic anyone?) so that’s number one rn

2 - guilty as sin? by taylor swift, the swoopy bit after the bridge going into the chorus again makes me so so excited every single time i love this song so much…. again it’s another bartylily coded song (as a wise person once said (it was lane, hi baby), a lot of ttpd songs are bc matty & tay were bartylily coded. which. horrible thing to think but unfortunately true), but my mind has also been consumed by thinking of it as andromeda before she runs away, as evidenced by the edit i made lmao

3 - the bolter by taylor swift, it just does something so satisfying to my brain idk, it’s another one that been on repeat also that’s mrs. zabini right there, i think about her everytime i listen to it like the entire bridge… there’s escape in escaping…. yeah makes me a little crazy

wow actually maybe airbuds was right, maybe i do need some variety…. but i will say, these are my faves right this very second and they will undoubtedly change once i get over this specific little obsessive moment, last week it was sabrina carpenter’s espresso and glen campbell’s wichita lineman (a song which nobody but me understands actually that one’s a long time favourite) and who knows what it’ll be next week….

[eyenaku]

YOU SAID SEND ASKS EVEN IF THEY'RE DUMB SO I'M GONNA SEND ONE.

WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THE DAYCARE ATTENDANT WHEN SAW THEM FOR THE FIRST TIME (IN GAME AND IN FANDOM) AND WHEN DID YOU REALIZE YOU REALLY, REALLY LIKED THEM?

okokokok so basically i was avoiding fnaf like the plague bc i am terrified of animatronics and horrible with jumpscares in particular! but my best friend is a long time big time fnaf fan and so since like 2017 i was consuming fnaf content passively through them, and even since the game came out i was seeing stuff about it i just never got into it bc it wasn't super appealing

i was really invested in afton family lore n such so i got into fnaf because of that but was avoiding most animatronic content bc weee big fear (a few exceptions of animatronics though i.e. ballora) I could not figure out why i was so scared of them but I FIGURED IT OUT!! more on that later-

so fnaf sb came out n ofc I was watching playthroughs on call w/ my friend (before i played it, i played it soon after) and when sun showed up i was very much,,,, not scared of em?? i could not figure out why?? but i didn't really *focus* on them cuz i wasn't super into fnaf outside of afton family stuff

my friend kept sending me sun and moon fanart bc I did not have an upset reaction to them which was abnormal up until that point, and so i started to actively think they were neat! not super into them to the extent i came to be though- but i did figure out that the reason i have no issue with them and do have an issue with outer animatronics is because of their eyes! even moon who has "pupils" doesnt have the horrible doll-like "realistic" eyes most of the animatronics have- which is what was so unnerving about them to me. absolutely hate dolls and stuffed animals with eyes i have no idea why but one day they were just BAD and as a kidd i threw all the ones i had away and never looked back for the most part,,, but anyways sun and moon's designs were very appealing to me as i've always loved clown/jester type designs, celestial designs, pantomime-esque designs, marionette/bjd type designs (every time i draw them they have ball joints even now), etc. i also love love play structures and i've also always lowkey wanted to work in early education or in a daycare so the very environment was appealing! the designs really hit all of my interests AND were free of what was terrifying about the other animatronics

ANYWAYS i think the turning point (like it was for a lot of people in this fandom) was bamsara's work/solar lunacy! up until that point i had specifically avoided and never touched self insert fics + art, but it's so well written it changed my initial views about the whole category entirely ! because of that i was able to appreciate/consume more of the dca fandom content, which has so many talented creators! aside from that i remember being really really invested in 8um8ble8ee's dca work!

the designs being so appealing to my interests is likely one of the main reasons though aya!! jesters! bells! glow in the dark! stars! sun and moon motif! they remind me of those porcelain pierrots- one of my interests is the history of pantomime/commedia dell arte! i really don't think there's one thing about them or one moment i can remember that i was like YOOOOOOOOO!!!! it kinda just took over my brain hdsjkhsad

anyways i do remember distinctly sometime last year going wait- wtf?? because i'd thought this was a small time interest! something small i'd only taken casual interest in for a month or so, like so many other things, but then realizing i'd been making ART (not just consuming media) of them since at least december of 2021??? which is kinda insane to me!! (/pos ofc) before that time i was going through a really messy and just bad point in my life, and one of the ways I was tracking time was by the way my hair looked- i'd gotten obsessed with mykull afton after all the bad stuff and impulse cut my hair into a mullet and re-dyed it my natural colour after having bleached it brown, but this "first" drawing of sun was BEFORE my hair changed?? which i had not realized at all?? somehow in my head it was bad thing->mykull->dca but it looks like i was consuming and creating dca content through it all

anyways hsjhsjakjas i forgot what i was saying but i think i just really really liked them since i first saw em- i just didn't realize how much they had infiltrated my life until later somehow?? so ~may 2022 was when but really it was more like ~dec 2021? they make me so so happy i have no idea what it is to be honest

so ye in-game wise it was sorta on sight, fandom wise it was bc of solar lunacy + 8um8ble8ee !!

i still think its really funny that i like em so much, considering some of my biggest fears are Animatronics, Jumpscares, and The Dark BAHAHAHA

[zenlesszonezero]

Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.

[darkjusticiar]

I was tagged by @agnikai for a "get to know you better" tag game!!! TY I love doing these they're so fun TT_TT

three ships

Wyll/Astarion if you can believe it

Ada/Leon

Every other Wyll ship TBH (esp with Karlach, Lae'zel, and Tav :3c )

last film

Brain Damage. Loved the practical effects and inherent eroticism of brain parasites. BG3 has a lot to learn from Henenlotter

currently watching

IWTV, TPB, The Bear, there's more I'm forgetting certainly

currently reading

Orientalism by Edward Said- been on my "to read" for a long time and I finally got a copy

Next on my list: some of the pulp novels I've gotten recently (I collect them). Possessed, Four From Planet 5, Night Club Nurse, to name a few.

currently consuming

Alwazah brand black tea with cardamom. Try it. NOW

Listening to Dracula's Wedding by Outkast cuz I woke up with it stuck in my head...

currently craving

Food from a bakery that closed in January. I think the owners sold/gave the recipes to another bakery but that bakery was very accessible to me so having it gone like tore out a chunk of my HEART

Seconding more Wyll scenes Larian give me your address I just want to talk (I have sent Larian messages actually but they're probably squashed underneath all of the people admitting they send Astarion xreader fic to the official Larian contact page)

Anyways THANK UUUU ummm if anyone wants to do it say I tagged u but I will also tag @dracoshield @strawbebemilk @park-and-blow @escachromepb @evildead2 and if any of you have already done this sowwy

[leporschespam]

tag 9 people you want to get to know better

[the thing is 9, but i've got 4 :) ]

i was tagged by @braceletofteeth

fhfhf thank you sm <333

i was asked yesterday on tellonym is there anyone you want to know better and i thought of my tumblr moots so hell yeah let's go~~

(i say all enthusiastically as if i have the ability to start conversations 😔✋️✋️)

three ships

no stop there is no possible way for me to narrow this down to three, i've watched far too many shows

we shall attempt 💪💪

- kinnporsche

vegaspete could definitely be up here too, but i'll stick with kinn and porsche (also porsche is my all time favourite character so of course he's up here)

- moonjo x jongwoo from strangers from hell

whatever they had going on was not heterosexual and i will be standing by that

- sae-bom & yi-hyun from happiness

a healthy relationship being on this list? fake marriage, childhood friends, found family, of course they're here. happiness has to be one of my favourite shows and bfhfhdh i adore them

first ever ship

i definitely had some in childhood but the one that i'm really thinking of has to be mulder and scully from the x-files

they consumed my 10/11 year old brain, and continued to do so until i was maybe 12/13

last song

timezone by måneskin

their new album is actually so good, and this is probably my favourite song from it

it's giving kimchay au imo

nah i really need to write a kimchay fic because i've got ideas but the words aren't wording

last movie

eternal summer, and i think this letterboxd review summarises it very well [spoilers firstly]::

it was a solid 3.5/5 i'd say, but especially considering it's from 2006- oh my god,,

currently reading

i literally haven't read a whole book since about summer last year and i feel awful-

anyway

various stuff on ao3, mainly kinnporsche, but a few gap stuff, some goncharov (the fics are so good istg), and yeah dude a lot

i've got 488 fics downloaded–

yEahh

currently watching

- gap

let's fucking go sapphics

it's perhaps a bit all over the place, but i have been in desperate need of sapphics, and it hasn't disappointed

- all of us are dead

(rewatch) korea just does zombies so much better. su-hyeok x cheong-san, and mi-jin x ha-ri supremacy

- between us

i haven't watched it in a little while because i wasn't feeling amazing and wanted stuff i knew well, hence going back to aouad, but i've got to ep 4 (and omg omg), and will be resuming at some point soon hopefully

i'm also gonna mention stuff i recently finished because aaaaa

- vincenzo

went in expecting a dark mafia show, got a comedy mafia show (and i am SO here for it)

- till the world ends

i need other people to watch this for my own sanity, had me sobbing at 2am last sunday when i finished it

currently consuming

do you consume oxygen–

currently craving

no more writers block would be nice :)

i haven't had it for so long and i thought i was free, but uh no :(

i am vaguely writing though besties (30 wips 😩✋️ send help)

tagging

of course there's no obligation to continue this <33

@saturnskyline @kinnporsche-n-chill @spookyspiderseb @achilleanskops

[wicked-jade]

Tagged by @crimsonblackrose, thanks for the tag!! 💖

3 ships: I guess they probably shouldn’t all be from the same fandom, huh? Because if so, it would just be my usual cycle of Lawrusso, Dutch/Johnny, and Johnny/Lyle. 😂 Those are the ones that live in my head rent free.

But if I have to pick ships from other fandoms...guess I’ll go with Stranger Things and Steddie, and IWTV and Loustat. 

1st ever ship: Look, I’m old. I honestly don’t remember. Xena/Gabrielle was one of the first to come to mind. And again, Louis/Lestat. Everything really does come back around, I guess.

Last song: NFWMB, by Hozier.

Currently reading: Mostly just fic. I have a stack of unread books, but I just can’t summon the energy to start on any of them.

Last movie: Finally got around to watching Glass Onion over the weekend, which I really enjoyed. I need to rewatch it soon. And on New Year’s Eve, I rewatched Chicago. It’d been a few years since my last watch, so that was fun. Screaming along to “Cell Block Tango” is always therapeutic, lmao.

Currently consuming: Coffee. Trying to get my brain to function enough to write, but so far it’s not working.

Currently watching: Nothing really. I’ve got a Spurs-Knicks game on in the background, but I’m not actually paying attention. It’s close, but I know the Spurs will choke by the end of it, anyway. As for series, I haven’t started anything new recently. I keep thinking I’ll watch Wednesday, or maybe go back and finally watch Black Sails, but I haven’t found the motivation yet.

Currently craving: A freeze from Dutch Bros. Yeah, I’ve got coffee, but I want coffee I didn’t have to make myself. 😂

Tagging: I think pretty much everyone has done this already, but if you haven’t, consider yourself tagged! 💖

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

I’ve been reading fic for over 20 years and I have genuinely read fic in some fandom that is better (both in quality of writing and creativity of ideas) than some published novels that have come out in the last decade. These people who insist fic is bad think all fic looks like poorly spelled, poorly constructed drivel that is only written by (in their opinion) vapid teenaged girls. They can’t fathom there being anything of worth or quality in an area that is A. free, and B. largely populated by women and queer people

I think people get really angry at the idea of fic being as good as published writing, but like I said in my one post, I think there are a lot of differences between fan fiction and original fiction to the point where outright comparing the two isn’t really fair, so that yes, the quality of the writing in a fic can be genuinely very good even if the story wouldn’t work when published outside of the context of fandom, and that’s okay. As long as a fic is in-character with good pacing, dialogue, and descriptions or prose, then why wouldn’t it be considered good writing? I don’t think something needs to meet traditional standards of published work to be good at its core when the piece of writing was never written for that intention, anyway. People can have raw talent without ever going professional.

But yeah, there are fucking awful published books all the time, and only idiots say all books or bad, but people look at the worst fanfics and dismiss the whole genre, or there’s the patronizing bullshit I was talking about with people saying fics are a fine hobby but always unreadable garbage, and you can’t tell me that fic mainly being produced and consumed by women and queer people has nothing to do with that. Like you said, people think that it must be shit because it’s all written for free and almost always written by women, and the hobbies of women are constantly derided, especially in this context where most fics are essentially love stories, and there are few women seen as more pathetic than those who read and write romance. Even otherwise progressive people on here pop a blood vessel over people saying fan fiction is good, because they still view fic readers and writers as cringe losers writing incomprehensible smut and rotting their brains instead of reading the classics, but it’s like, bitch, I read both lmao. It’s not either/or!

Sorry for the ramble, but people being willfully obtuse about misogyny always makes me mad, as does people generally being shitty over people’s harmless hobbies. Fic has been around long enough that if a person says it’s all bad, then they’re either ignorant or just an insufferable snob tbh. Someone can be a good writer just through posting their 20k friends-to-lovers fanfic and people can die mad about it.

And I’ll reiterate: no one says all fan art is bad, because fan art isn’t gendered the way fan fiction is.