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agendabymooner · 9 months

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high school in jakarta || pg10 fic

"I couldn't have you sit there and think that you're better 'cause you're older."

Summary: Pierre Gasly was in Los Angeles to attend his girlfriend's record label's festival, Head in the Clouds. Sadly, meeting Ensley’s close friends would also mean that he’d have to meet her high school sweetheart, who he believed he couldn’t compete against until Ensley ensured that his two-day attendance wouldn’t be spoiled by some guy who couldn’t let go of some memories she couldn’t even remember.

Content warning: Use of explicit language, established relationship, insecure!Pierre needs a hug, smug ex-boyfriend (fictional), mentions of high school romance and nostalgia, brief appearance of Lando Norris, Joji and WillNE, kind of an abrupt ending, fluff??

Note: I need to get this out of my google docs 🤠 enjoy and let me know what you think! xx

masterlist

Pierre Gasly had always been considered cocky by people who didn’t know him that well. He had a bad reputation when it came to women. His ego always believed that he could be charming or too flirtatious. Too arrogant. In some instances, Charles even had to tell him to get his shit together and make things clear for the woman he was in a situationship with.

But he had an alter ego that he hadn’t met before until Ensley Soleil came along.

He could admit that how it started was a bit too… complicated. But it wasn’t anything that a courtship couldn’t handle.

Ensley was celebrating the first year she’d been single since she left her cheating boyfriend, and yes, maybe shading him was too petty — but he went after her first, calling her out for being too busy and… bland? Yeah, those were his words. Celebrating meant that she posted photos of herself backstage before performing at her last concert of the year in Europe — London.

Then the shitshow began there.

BACK THEN

Her YouTube channel started in the United Kingdom while she was in university. She could remember connecting with William Lenney when her channel grew, knowing he lived a few tube stops away from her school and flat. Then she gradually continued to sing on the internet and made content with Will and some of his friends until she graduated. Then a year passed, and she became a well-known Asian artist based at Los Angeles after she signed a contract with the American record label 88rising.

She didn’t know how the algorithm worked in the internet, initially thinking that maybe the comments about her post being “liked by pierregasly” or noticed by an F1 driver were nothing but some prank initiated by her peers.

At some point, Will had mentioned that he had a friend, who was also a driver in the said sports. Will regularly followed and watched the races on television, attending the race in Silverstone whenever his friend would invite him. She was acquainted with this guy, meeting him once when they celebrated Will’s birthday. Lando Norris was a driver who created content with his peers, including Will himself.

Her sharp memory thankfully had told her to ask him if he knew someone named Pierre Gasly. When Will said yes and asked why, she sent him screenshots of her comment section. He hadn’t responded immediately and when he did, he FaceTimed her and laughed hysterically.

“Oh my god,” Will howled, unable to stop himself from laughing. “Your post was liked by Pierre!”

“I don’t even know who that is?” Ensley almost shrieked. “William—“

“I know, I know,” Will rolled his eyes, “hang on, let me just…” He then added another contact on the FaceTime call, the person answering after the third ring as Lando looked down on his phone with confusion.

“Oh aren’t you a welcome face,” Lando grinned after seeing Ensley on his screen. Ensley’s eyes narrowed. “How’s it going lads?”

“What time is it in there, mate?” Will asked. Lando was moving around in a room, fixing his things left and right before he leaned his phone against a surface to show his upper body over the table.

“We’re in Hungary, so it’s like an hour ahead of London…? Yeah an hour,” Lando nodded to himself before Ensley jumped at the sudden drumroll that he performed with his hands. “Anyway, how about you lots? Anything new?”

“Yeah I sent you a DM,” Will replied with a grin. Ensley remained silent throughout the interaction, too annoyed to even bother speaking.

“Alright I’ll check it,” Lando looked up for a moment and spoke to someone, who then showed up at the screen next to Lando to say hi. The British driver introduced the man as Daniel before “Daniel” left. It didn’t take Lando long to find Will’s text, his eyes widening as Will noticed Ensley flipping him off. Will was going to protest but Lando murmured, “Did he really?”

Thirty seconds passed then… “Oh my… god. He actually did.”

“What is it about this guy?” Ensley grunted in irritation, losing her patience every second as Lando and Will laughed over the news.

If Ensley didn’t know Lando, she would have assumed that he died by the way he fell off with a thud. He then regained his composure before saying, “He’s one of my grid mates. Drives for a different team. A party animal and yeah uh—“

Lando paused and pursed his lips, “Had told me once or twice about coming across your Instagram.”

“What.”

“Oh my god,” Will cackled on the other side of the call, unable to contain his amusement. Ensley shushed him with a glare.

“Yeah,” Lando looked at her with a hint of confusion in his face, “like six races ago? I think it's the Spanish GP. He showed me your timeline and asked if I knew you then I said well yeah I do, I’m following you.

“I had some suspicion that he was somehow trying to slide to your DM,” Lando continued before he asked, “has he?”

“Not that I know of,” Ensley replied. “No. I would have known otherwise.”

“Oh,” Lando’s voice flattened at the answer she gave him. “Well there you go, you have yourself a Frenchman.”

“What— no!” Ensley exclaimed. “Norris, you better give me some context instead of being mysterious and shit. Like who is he?”

“Ensley,” Will gasped in a mocking tone, “did you just tweet bitch who the fuck is Pierre Gasly?”

“Ooh,” Lando grimaced at the post, “yeah, uh… funny thing about that— oi, Gasly! D’ya wanna meet your crush?”

Ensley’s eyes widened while Will’s mouth gaped. They could hear a slight murmuring from Lando’s background. Ensley hadn’t even bothered drying her damp hair, her eyes drooping at the thought of looking like garbage in front of new people.

When Lando began shifting his camera and screen towards a person, she quickly ended the call as soon as the man saw her face. No she wasn’t about to deal with that bullshit.

Then the next thing she knew, the said man slithered his way into her private messages. When she told Will and Lando about his message, Lando brought up that it was an unusual thing for him to say that. Then the driver rattled off about how he’d seen Pierre text a woman before and how… charming his messages sounded.

He’s very much out of character, Lando continued to text, but I’ll see what I can find out.

Lando continued to pry about this whole Ensley-Pierre situation, because not once did he ever witness Pierre text I hope you’re having a good day so far to someone he barely knew.

Ensley was quite hesitant to respond to him as days went on, but she persevered through her doubts and asked general things like how the races worked or how he could even manage to get out of the bed early in the morning without a problem. She had an inkling that he was only trying to get to her pants and she thought that she was right when he invited her to a race.

Everyone knew about the specifics of the invitation, and she did too but thought so little of it. It might have been a passing comment made by the French driver. She just didn’t think that her manager would go as far as allowing Brian to tweet out that he’d send her to Singapore for the race if he got 100K retweets on his post. Next thing she knew she was being sent to Singapore on a first class flight with Will.

Her manager Mavi, and her friend Brian made contact with Pierre’s PR manager and received the paddock passes. But her anxiety was through the roof as she thought about meeting Pierre.

He only wanted one thing and it’s to link up with her. Preferably in his bed. Preferably naked.

But that’s what she only assumed. God, she proved herself wrong when he came picking her up with a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a smile so nice. She was so wrong about him.

NOW

The whole thing that she considered a shitshow became a courtship that lasted for three months. She didn’t know when she fell in love, but she uttered the word yes as soon as he asked if she could be his girlfriend.

Pierre could admit that he was too cocky and there was something about Ensley’s character that toned down his arrogance and strong personality. He liked it. Stability was his favourite thing about his life. She was his favourite thing in life.

But he didn’t think that it would come to the point where he felt so… lost. As if he didn’t know how much Ensley had spoken of him in her interviews, videos and even in her songs. He knew that he should be cocky about being loved by her — it was a win.

But hearing that your competitor was just a day away from meeting you and sizing you up? Yeah. He wasn’t too keen at the thought, only wanting to stay at her LA apartment while she had some fun with her circle of friends from school back in Jakarta. He couldn’t do that to her, though, telling himself that he would be alright with meeting her friends.

Ensley could read his face. Despite his insistence that French people had the resting bitch face, she could see his forehead creasing as he stared at whatever the fuck was on the floor. She knew how much he didn’t like the thought of meeting her friends due to a high school sweetheart that she just recently called out on twitter. She knew that confidence took some time to develop; Rome wasn’t built in a day.

She wished that he knew how much she adored him and his effort to be as accommodating to her— with her previous relationship that ended in a sour note being a factor of his consideration.

But he couldn’t read minds, so Ensley settled for an embrace and repeated murmurs of, “I love you” in his ears while she kissed his cheeks repeatedly. He smiled at her sweetness, his arms pulling her in his lap and allowing her to hold him close to end the night of silent battle with his demons. He won.

The next day consisted of going out for a walk and basking in the sunlight that brightened the Los Angeles area, and rehearsals before tomorrow. Pierre liked the heat and the brightness, but he never thought of it too much until he saw how Ensley’s skin seemed to shine under the sun - how the sun shone over her prettiest face he nearly got in his knees to thank whatever God was up there or anywhere. He liked the sun, overall.

She had an hour rehearsal that didn’t seem to take long as Pierre sat and spoke with Jackson, Joji and Ylona throughout the entire hour. He’d look up to check on Ensley every other five minutes but never stopped speaking with the people he befriended a few months ago.

With everyone knowing that Ensley’s ex boyfriend would be at their high school reunion, she also expressed her worries for Pierre to her peers. So Joji decided to assure the Frenchman, “She barely tolerates him— but he happened to be friends with her mates. So really, don’t worry. He’s got nothing on you but a past history.”

Pierre took that information in, offering him a thanks before he told himself to keep his composure once he and Ensley met her friends.

He was wearing nothing too extravagant. He wore a cream crocheted shirt and left them unbuttoned, white ribbed tank top being at the bottom layer while he wore a pair of khaki shorts that matched well with his tops. He had a subtle gold chain hanging on his neck. His blue eyes were fucking pretty.

She did say she wasn't going to go all out. She lived in this city to know she didn’t have to dress fancy in a bar, knowing full well that she and Pierre would call it a night as soon as 11 PM hit. She had to perform tomorrow, after all.

But still, she wolf-whistled at the sight of him, leaning on the doorway with her arms crossed and her cream dress on. Pierre looked up at the mirror to see her reflection staring at his back, her eyes trailing down on his figure as he tried to keep his composure. She had a bad habit of "admiring" his figure, but it wasn't anything that sets him off - he does it to her all the time and would sometimes tell her "you look pretty to devour."

“You’re staring, bébé,” Pierre chuckled, making her stare at him with a grin.

“How to spot a rich European in Los Angeles,” Ensley jokes, giggling quietly as she approaches him. She hugged him from behind, slotting her head under his arm to look at their reflection properly. She took in the scent of his cologne. God, he was so fucking perfect.

Then she said, “I didn’t think you would wear that colour.”

“No?”

“I thought you’re like Ricciardo,” she quipped, “with his party shirt and all that?”

“Bébé we’ve been together for ten months, you know this is my party shirt.”

“No it’s not,” Ensley snorted, “you’re more of a linen shirt and khaki pants guy. You’re wearing a crocheted shirt.

“But nonetheless,” she said quietly, “we’re going to be the hottest couple in there.”

“I sure hope so,” Pierre chuckled, reaching down to kiss her hair. “I’d hate to be rated as 1.”

“Your driver number is 10 for a reason, bub,” she laughed, now standing straight before she clapped his back gently, “c’mon, we’ve got our sangrias calling for us.”

“An absolute 10,” Natasha might have been quiet, but she wasn’t too sneaky on gesturing at Pierre’s direction when she spoke to Ensley. “You bagged a good one.”

“Hm,” Ensley hummed happily, glancing at Pierre — who stood by the bar counter while waiting for their drinks — and was caught staring at him. His lips curled into a smirk as he winked at her. She rolled her eyes playfully before turning away to talk to her friends. “Yeah, I lucked out.”

“When you told us about him before you even began dating we went full on FBI on him,” Abby chuckled quietly. “It was easy to find him— seeing as he’s a driver and all that. I was worried about you for a moment though.”

“How so?”

“For one, he’s known for the endless line of women trailing after him,” Abby answered before she smiled, “but you setting your boundaries and him respecting it? Phew, now that’s the hottest thing a man could have within him. Respect, of all things.”

“And you are like the happiest woman to have existed,” Natasha smirked, “who passed her honeymoon phase with all the happiness that a woman could get.”

The conversation in the table was tampered with the karaoke at the front, which helped with avoiding nosy people who’d try to get a good story to hear for the night. But alas, there were nosy people that happened to be in the same group as her for tonight.

“Who passed her honeymoon phase?” Ensley restrained herself from rolling her eyes, keeping her mouth clamped shut to somehow respect her ex as her friends’ friend.

Vero Gerard was a year older than Ensley. It felt wrong for a junior to date a senior, but she was smitten. She could remember breaking her own heart and not dating anyone after him, not in a new country or new city. She hadn’t tried again until that guy named Kenny from San Diego. Vero was memorable, to say the least. At least, those memories that made her realize that she was worth more than how he treated her. She forgot the rest.

He’s only a year older, but somehow his “matured” ego and his experiences in life made her feel small. He would often see her notes and would scoff at how easy it was while she was about to shed tears at the thought of failing. Her father was strict because he didn’t want her to be in danger— a daddy’s girl, she was. While Vero’s parents thought that she was too childish for his liking.

Vero didn’t tell her all of that, instead Ensley learned all of those from a friend of a friend of a friend. Her heart broke at that, bleaching her hair orange when he immediately found a girl to string along.

He didn’t care to tell her where he went, only calling her when he’s drunk. She thought it was ideal to say that she was getting drunk at her friend’s house and having a party with the people there— she really wasn’t. She tried to get back at him, like any petty teenager would.

When she moved to the UK for university, she kept tabs on her friends and acquaintances. She’d immediately turn off her Facebook whenever she came across Vero’s new fling while the photos taunted her.

But that wasn’t her anymore. Now she was only irritated with his petty behaviour and the tone of his voice.

He arrived with their two other guy friends, Jason and Mario, and he couldn’t choose a better time to walk over the table.

“Just Henny about to reach the engaged phase,” Natasha told him, “not that you’d know.”

Vero looked peered at the mentioned woman, to which she stared back but with the unequal amount of interest written all over her face. “You’ve made quite a good album.”

“Heard all of it?” Ensley scoffed.

“I like to keep tabs,” Vero shrugged. Nonetheless, Ensley looked past him to greet Jason and Mario before the two settled near Natasha and Abby. Just as Vero stood there, a figure behind him cleared his throat. Her ex turned around, looking in the eyes of the Frenchman who had no intention to even challenge him to some sort of testosterone competition.

Then Pierre’s eyes softened when he looked down at her, “Got your sangria, mon amour.” He placed down her drink before he found himself sitting on his original seat— next to her. Vero found his seat next to Mario, a cocky smile still written on his face as though he would win the game Pierre had no intention to play.

Pierre reminded himself that he was the one that Ensley would fly and come home to, not anyone. Ensley just reminded him yesterday how much she loved him by peppering his face with kisses. She continued to prove to him that she was equally in love with him everyday. He never doubted that.

“Merci beaucoup,” she said with a smile, obviously proud at her skill of not butchering a simple French phrase, before turning towards the men who just arrived. “Pierre, these are my friends— Mario and Jason. Guys, this is my boyfriend— Pierre.”

The three men exchanged pleasantries while Mario told Pierre, “She really wasn’t lying when she said she was dating an F1 driver. She doesn’t even watch any sport so I didn’t know what changed her opinion.” Pierre laughed at this before telling the man that he managed to change her mind on her lack of interest in the sport by competing in it.

Then she said, “Vero, I’m sure you know Pierre.”

Pierre turned towards the mentioned man, “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you.”

He stuck out his hand for Vero to shake, making the others gape quietly. At least, he knew he was a better man without putting it out there. He didn’t need to show his home in Milan to prove how better he was. Vero must have thought of him as some rich boy who would take his pick of the week before moving onto another country for a race.

Vero shook his hand regardless, a fake smile planted on his face. “Likewise,” but he said it as if he didn’t mean it.

Pierre Gasly knew that Vero Gerard was sizing him up. This cockiness of his would eventually humble him, if he didn’t know any better. While the Frenchman felt like he knew very little about his girlfriend in comparison to her ex, Pierre still knew how little she appreciated someone’s egotistical attitude. He experienced her wrath firsthand so he knew exactly her thoughts on people who allow their egos get in the way of reality.

But Pierre still felt nothing but discomfort as he stood by the bar counter to grab some refresher for Ensley and himself, opting for something nonalcoholic instead of getting pissed in the middle of a street he had no knowledge of. It was a full house and it took him nearly ten minutes just to order their drinks. It didn’t help that Vero had approached the bar with his own order and his smug smile.

“How long have you two been together for?” Was the first thing Vero had asked Pierre, fucking around with his empty cocktail glass while he continued to play some sort of mind games with the Formula One driver.

Pierre wasn’t that into the testosterone game that Vero started. Regardless he answered truthfully, “Ten months,” he paused, “fourteen if you count our unofficial months.”

“Unofficial? Hm,” Vero hummed, cocking his head to the side as he continued, “I didn’t think she’d make you wait.”

“How so?” What was Vero insinuating, Pierre asked himself internally.

“I dunno,” Vero shrugged nonchalantly, “she always jumped at the chance to get into a relationship. Even with me.”

His comment nearly had Pierre fuming. Was he calling her easy? Vero must have noticed him get ticked off by the comment, but he must’ve thought that Pierre was pissed at the thought of having to wait because he continued to run his mouth.

“She’s had a crush on me for months,” Vero continued, “yet when I asked her out she quickly said yes. She was the same with that guy from San Diego I think. So, you’re a different story, if anything.

“Don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” Vero laughed as if he was being fucking funny. Pierre would’ve swung his fist at the man had it been for the fact that this night wasn’t for Ensley. This was her night and he wasn’t going to ruin that.

It didn’t feel right that he was hearing someone talk about his woman like this. Like she was easy and naive. She wasn’t. She was headstrong and her petite figure could do a lot more damage on someone’s physical being should she fight against her morality.

He’d gotten a mouthful from her when he joked about having to carry heavy stuff for her because of how small she was, telling him that she didn’t need him when she could just make trips back and forth. She had gotten into an argument with some journalist who thought that she was only in it for the money and fame, spewing out the most colourful words possible to defend herself and her devotion towards Pierre.

So for someone to call her easy and naive — no matter how direct or indirect it was — never felt right in Pierre’s ears. They were so wrong. Vero, for someone who bragged about knowing Ensley for a long time, didn’t know how amazing and brave she was— and Pierre could only pity him for it.

But he controlled his urge to get into some sort of fight with him, not wanting to embarrass himself or Ensley. He was still a Formula One driver with dignity and respect for his girlfriend’s image and being. He was the better man.

“I’d say good,” Pierre answered with a shrug. Vero gave him a questioning look and so the Frenchman continued, “Different means she was looking for a change — and clearly she got tired of the same thing all over again. It was good for her to be able to get out of the loop she was unhappy with.”

“That right?” Vero muttered, his eyes still challenging the driver. His smile fell off as he listened to Pierre’s words.

“Maybe,” Pierre shrugged again, “I’m not really sure— she’s got her own thoughts, after all. I don’t control her. Maybe that’s why I don’t know her much.”

He then looked at Vero while he grinned, “I don’t like dictating what she likes and what she doesn’t like. She only tells me what she wants me to know. Maybe that’s why I don’t know her much— everything she likes I don’t decide for her.”

Before Vero could speak any more, the bartender had placed a glass of alcohol free tonic and a Shirley Temple in front of Pierre as he thanked the man behind the counter.

The choices of drink left Vero to comment, “She likes tequila sunrise.”

“She loves white sangria,” Pierre told him matter of factly, beaming as he sipped on his tonic before he stood up and grabbed the glasses, “she has a mint plant in my place because she makes a pitcher of the drink whenever she’s around. She loves going to the market to get some citrus for her drink, too— saying she likes the fresh fruits of Milan.”

Then he walked back towards their table, extremely proud of himself for standing his ground. Maybe that’ll get Vero to shut up for once, as Ensley wanted.

“I thought you liked the tequila sunrise better?” “Sangria’s much better. I make more of it whenever I’m in Milan. I’d rather not get drunk tonight though so… I only had one and am settling for a Shirley Temple.”

“You always liked the school varsity jacket I had. Do you still have ‘em?” “Had to toss out half my closet. I’ve been purchasing enough for myself lately.”

“Do you still make Che Banh Lot? Like those ones you’d make at my house?”

Pierre knew where Vero was getting at. He knew when a guy wouldn’t quit— and he was sure that Ensley’s ex was trying to make her remember those happy days.

But Ensley’s genuine confusion nearly had him and the girls laughing. She cocked her head to the side and said, “I’ve been making it at home with Tasha.”

“Tasha was there,” Vero nodded in confirmation, trying to get her to agree with his recalling.

Ensley’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out where he meant before she said, “Eh— nonetheless, I do. You know what? I had Pear assisting me with making them when we last visited his parents in France a month or so ago.”

Everyone but the couple looked at her in awe and shock. Ensley offered them a confused look, only for Pierre to grab her hand from underneath the table to hold it. She rubbed her thumb against his hand mindlessly, a questioning look exchanged between her and her friends.

Jason first spoke up and turned to Ensley, “So you’ve met his parents?”

Ensley, not really aware of the looks exchanged between her friends, beamed happily before rambling, “Yeah! Pascale and Jean-Jacques invited us over when I flew to Milan. I do back and forths, remember? But yeah, P got his flat there and we traveled for six and a half hours. I was glad I had enough time to make it. I’ve got quite a useful assistant right here.”

Natasha, amused at her friend’s excitement, then peered at the Alpine driver and asked with a small smile, “How did they like it?”

“Good,” his French accent thickened while he spoke, “they were wondering if Ensley would come back anytime soon because they wanted to lock her up there forever.”

Her friends giggled at this. “Would you lock her up there?” Abby teased the duo.

Pierre looked down at his girlfriend, not even caring about the man next to Mario anymore. For some reason, there were certain inhibitions that he couldn’t seem to look at anymore. Womanizing, or being a Casanova, was one of them.

In the span of a year, Ensley had managed to slither her way to his heart and found a little space there. He was enthralled with her personality and beauty and it was a shame Vero didn’t see all of that. If you told Pierre that he’d be dating someone that he drooled over on Instagram and that he’d eventually want to marry her, he would have laughed at your face.

But the Pierre in the present wasn’t the same. So he cheekily grinned and joked, “I would but I wouldn’t have anyone to write songs about me.”

Forget about the love that she had back when she was in high school in Jakarta; Ensley wrote more about him, and only him. He wasn’t the same person that everyone would’ve assumed to kick out a girl after one night. She wouldn’t have written Lowkey if she thought of him as someone who didn’t deserve a shot.

She was glad that her relationship with Vero had happened. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to imagine what it’s like to have a life without a certain Pierre Gasly on it.

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kafus · 5 months

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i'm going to be honest, the more time passes, the more frustrated i become with neocities users who do not even make an attempt at making their sites usable on mobile devices. i used to lean a lot more in the middle on that issue, like, "well, someone shouldn't have to make a mobile layout if they don't want to, because they might have a specific vision for how that site looks that can only be achieved on a PC monitor" but the issues with that are compounding for me now.

for one, it's an accessibility issue - not all people own computers/laptops and there are disabled people who may only be able to browse the web through their phone, or have difficulty with a computer in comparison. i am still learning how to make my websites more accessible or have accessibility-friendly options without sacrificing my vision for the page, but i am making an attempt, and i think learning basic responsive design for mobile devices is a part of that. if your vision for your site doesn't include people who cannot afford a laptop or who rely on smartphones for disability reasons, why? besides, there are ways to completely change a webpage's look based on what device or screen size it is loading on. you can still have your elaborate, graphics-filled, wide layout on PC while simplifying information for mobile.

it also just feels short-sighted, i suppose. people can make websites for nostalgia if they want, or keep them very simple and just for fun without spending a ton of time learning how to code, but making a website for me is both for fun and also because i genuinely want a better web, and in my own small way, i want to contribute to that. keeping that in mind, getting the whole world to go back to solely PC browsing is just not going to happen, and our ideal future internet should include smartphones, for better or for worse. i take the opportunity to try to make better mobile websites that aren't a pain in the butt to navigate, or super ugly, or hard to parse, because i think mobile web design, even with its limitations, CAN be improved.

i don't pass this judgement onto people who are still learning or who have just started diving into the hobby and haven't even considered any of this yet because they literally haven't been exposed to it, or trying to read anything about responsive web design still makes their brain melt out of their ears. i just think it should be on people's minds once they're informed about it and taken under consideration. there should be an attempt, at least

TLDR; i just want my websites to be more inclusive of the most people possible, and that includes mobile design. i think hobbyist webmasters can keep their vision for a big desktop site while also making a mobile version to include more people; you can even recommend to users to check it out on PC later! the web should be for everyone!! we cannot return to the early 2000s for a better web, we have to look into the future and how we can improve from where we are now, and that includes mobile web design...!!

#ayano was here #ayano.txt #programming #i disappear for months and come back to infodump i guess

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ashetherando · 2 years

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Date Night| Glitch! Turbo x Human! Reader

Requested by JulianToons

Ps. I’m writing this on my phone, so this is kinda wonky-

Context: Turbos body cannot handle the sudden changes to his world to our world, so he will glitch to his regular form (Turbo) to King Candy, and his Cy-Bug form based off of his emotions (sorta like turning red) aggressive emotions (anger, obsession, and jealously) will be his cy-bug form, happy emotions (joy, excitement, and hyper) will be his King Candy, other emotions (fear, disgust, etc) will be in his Turbo form.

3rd POV It’s been at least a few months with Turbo living in your home, Turbo would constantly ask for you to at least go to the the park for your first date, but you would say no due to how his body is like. You would be brushing your teeth or making coffee before Turbo would ask that specific sentence “can we go on a date” “no” “damn it!” And he would walk away. Today was different though, he didn’t mentioned about at all, in fact he was in his King Candy form half of the day your were awake. You grabbed your coat before you left for work “alright, what’s the hub up?” “What do you mean, my dear? I couldn’t be happy with the love of my life!” “You are allowed to do that, but I have a feeling that you did something, you didn’t even mentioned about that date thing!” “I just thought that you were right, until I get my emotions straight we won’t be in any dates!” You blinked in confusion “uhh, you listened to me? For once?” “Hon, you are gonna be late for work if you are gonna stand here with your jaw open” you snapped thoughts and nodded “right, bye, turbo! You know the rules!” You put on your coat “foods in the fridge, don’t answer the door for strangers, and don’t destroy anything and blame it on my cy-bug form!” Turbo list the things what not to do “thank you” you smiled as you opened the door and step forward out the door “wait!” You turned and Turbo kissed you on the lips “see you later, sugarcub!” You blushed and smiled “see you later, Turbo” you get in your car and drove off.

Turbo watched you drove away, waving at you bye before he cannot see your car. He went inside and closed the door “okay, I need to be more pushy with the whole date thing..hmm” he thought for a long while “I’m sure (y/n) would kill me if I would raise the electric bill for a date” and idea popped in his head “I got it! A Movie night! Both a date and I get to have my emotions run wild!” He cheered, he ran over to the TV and got on to Netflix and scroll on the options “why dose the Netflix originals suck, we watched almost half of the movies here!” It’s quite rare to find good movies or shows that it don’t get canceled or removed from the platform, he remembers very vividly that it was 12pm and he heard you yelled angrily at the TV because they gotten rid of the cartoon adaptation of him or at least one nostalgia show that you wanted to watch with your lunch while Turbo was having his afternoon nap. Turbo switched over to Hulu which took awhile from how uneducated he is with the internet and technology, he’s only good at messing up coding and racing! He scrolled a bit more before he gave up. He’s eyes was now hooked on the VHS player next to the older Nintendo. He tilted his head he does remember a bunch of boxes in the basement where he slept. He got off the couch and went down the basement and over to the boxes that was covered in cotton candy webs, he swiped the cotton candy away and start opening random boxes. From weird stuff that he see inside of the boxes like random clothes, books, and holiday stuff that is not hung up yet, he now knows what clothes he now owns and smells next! He finally found the box full of VHS tapes some of the them have covers and some of them don’t, he picked up the box and struggle to stake up the stairs to the living room, he’s height didn’t go well along with the box weight, he was leaned backwards and struggled to take up the stairs “come on!” He was scared that if he would fall down the stairs and destroy your VHS tapes! He managed to get to the door and try to use his other hand to open the door “almost..Got it!” He opened the door and placed it on the coffee table. He looked inside, there was allot of Disney Movies, cartoons like Super Marios Brothers Super Shows. He placed it on the coffee table gently, he managed to finalized what he wanted to watch Halloween! Fall is coming up and he wanted to be theme oriented! He doesn’t know why there’s a person with a mask, but he doesn’t care! He gets to hang out with you! He glitches a bit to his cy-bug form then back to King Candy he giggled as he placed the rest of VHS tapes back into the box. He doesn’t want to go back downstairs with the stairs of death and the box of the grim reaper, he’ll wait until he goes to bed to place them down. He pushed the box next to the couch then placed the tape down and think about the things to make this date successful!

After a long day, he heard your car pull up from the drive way. He decorated almost half of the of the living room, he ran over to the door and opened the door “(y/n)! Welcome home!” Turbo smiled at you as you closed your door and yawned, oh no… ”are you okay? Did you sleep well? Do you want coffee?” Turbo bomb barded (y/n) with questions “I’m fine, Turbo, I just need a nap or a full blown sleep until I’m 40” you smiled and chuckled “don’t worry! I’ll be right back! Stay here!” “There’s no way I’m getting kicked out of my own home!” You heard a bunch of noises and a couple of crashes “that’s it” you pulled out your house keys and unlocked the door “Turbo!” You closed the door, removed your shoes and coat then ran into the kitchen/Living room, it was a mess the kitchen was in while turbo was glitching like crazy, shifting to his multiple forms while grabbing coffee cups “turbo!” Worry filled you “don’t worry, (y/n) hohoho! We’ll have this movie date!” That is what is about!? “Turbo” you went over and placed him down, and grabbed the coffee cup and placed it on the counter “Turbo, what is up with you about this whole date obsession?” You we’re concerned about him, he was stressed out to the point he was glitching like crazy! You went to him and crouched down to his level “listen, I understand that you want to do something romantic between the two of us, but not until you get your behavior under control or figure out how to me calm. No outside dates” he looked up at with confusion “you didn’t say ‘no dates’” “well, you worked hard to make all of this, so our first date will be here having a movie night” you smiled at him. His eyes widen and smiled as he glitched to Turbo “alright! Let’s go, let’s go!” He pushed you to the couch and forced you to sit down. He ran over to the VHS player and played the movie “what movie did you pick?” “It was called Halloween, so theme oriented! Hoho!” He cling onto you as the movie rolls on “uh-Turbo-“ “hush! Movie starting”

After the movie, you fell asleep but Turbo was still awake, glitching from his turbo and king Candy form. He was thinking of the gory scenes that put him in the fear state but he’s happy to be with you, he looked over and see you asleep “so…(beautiful/handsome)” he went over to you as he glitched to his Cy-big form, he does still have some obsession for you ever since he managed to glitched to your world to see you. He grabbed you and curled into a ball, spooning you. You were small compared to him, he closed his eyes and also fell asleep.

#king candy x reader #king candy cybug #turbo wreck it ralph #turbo x reader #wreck it ralph king candy #wreck it ralph x reader

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deadpige0n · 2 years

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Pinkie Promise

summary- hot cocoa and heavy hearts cry for one another's pain

warnings: deep convos, peter crying, rain, hot cocoa, bruises, crisis, gwen 💀, sad, unbetaed and read twice sorry 😔✋

word count: 0.6k ♡

Masterlist

an: idek what came over me my dudes. one moment i was listening to One For The Road by Arctic Monkeys and the next minute i had this in my notes 😵‍💫😵‍💫. welp i hope u besties enjoy <3 in my tasm!peter era 🤩 this is a repost from my main @writingquillsandpainpills bc i feel like that accounts shadowbanned lmfao

∆

the rain hit the windows harshly, loud and angry and quick like an erratic heartbeat. I was lying down on peters floor, feeling the cold marble on my back through the fabric of my loose tee.

"do you ever feel like..." peter started as he sat down, two mugs of hot cocoa in his hands. I sit up and cross my legs as he hands me my mug, eyeing his bruised knuckles, where yellow and purple speckled his skin.

I hummed in response, intrigued by his question and wanting him to go on. his eyebrows raised lightly as I sipped the cocoa, as if asking is it good? I nodded in his direction lightly and waited for him to finish his sip so he'd speak.

"like the worlds moving so fast and i-its like you don't have any way of catching up?" he continued, eyes dazed and far away. I stared, worried.

"I didn't know you felt like that, pete. yea sometimes....sometimes it feels like i'm losing track of everything, but i don't worry much about it.'' I reply, fiddling with the hem of my jeans. his eyes focused on me again and he opened his mouth as if to say something. he hesitated for a beat and then took a sip.

"i jus-i feel like with the whole spiderman thing, i jus don't have enough time to live my own life. after everything with gwen-'' he gulped, choking back tears, "i'm just so scared that-that it'll happen again to you..or-or may and i just can't have that happen to either of you, y'know." he finished, fat tears falling down the his cheeks.

I stared at him, his brown eyes squinty and drowning in tears, his hair mussed and falling everywhere in spikes, his stubble starting to come through. he looked so tired.

I scooted closer, putting my mug down and gently prying his from his hands and putting his mug down next to mine. I tugged him towards me and he fell into me, his forehead on my shoulder and his tears dropping down on my ankles.

"how long have you felt like this?" I whispered, tears of my own flooding my eyes making me blink them back.

"jus a few months or so" he whispered back, sniffling slightly. he wrapped his arms around my back as he pulled me closer towards him, till I was nestled in his chest.

"I wanted to tell you, but I jus...couldn't. i'm sorry." he apologised, his chin resting on my head.

I pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes, looking at the thinly veiled regret and sadness he was fighting back.

"pete, you don't ever have to apologize, okay? jus tell me when you feel ready. don't force yourself to do anything before you're ready, okay?" I said softly. he nodded and brought up a hand, his fist closed tightly, his veins bulging and his pinkie pointing towards me.

"pinkie promise?" he said, a sad, sideways smile tugging his lips and making his left eye squint slightly.

i chuckled at the sweet, adolescent gesture, nostalgia flooding in my heart as I brought my pinkie up to interlock mine with his.

"pinkie promise." I returned, with a similar smile.

he kissed my forehead, a light peck so gentle i barely felt it. I leaned into him further, my ear on his heart, our pinkies still interlocked.

the rain continued to thrash against his windows outside, still loud, still angry, still quickly and still like an erratic heartbeat. but inside his apartment, in his arms i heard his heartbeat, slow and steady and calm. we sat like that till our hot cocoa got cold and our eyes became drowsy.

"what kind of name is peter?"

"oh, shut up"

∆

tags!: @gay-prentiss @sadgirlml @will-on-the-internet @lil-stark @gold-onthe-inside @fightingdragonswithreid @ssabelova @broken-stardust ik ive alr tagged you but 🧍🏻‍♀️i had to repost ♡

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munadrawson · 1 year

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Commentary on the "Pardner" project

Before I mention the musical number project, fair warning that this will get personal. I worked on this project during the month of Ramadan when I could not leave home, which resulted in some mental anguish. But I won't get into details since it is pretty much self-explanatory if you're queer. FYI: This is long af. Lots to say.

Background:

I've been drawing fan illustrations/fan comics for 15 years. I never once reference anything from my cultural background. Wild, I know. One of the reasons why I have yet to do so until now was that there wasn't a desi-inspired character that I would enjoy as much as Frye, especially from a franchise that I had adored since day one when I was broke and just started college. There was no way 17 years old me would believe an inkling idol with a Desi background would be a thing and not be offensive. I know some voiced their issues with Frye's design, but after looking through the art book, I am GLAD this was the design they approved. I won't talk about colorism/racism in this post. Don't want to get into the social issues. This is a representation that I'm okay with, and it is a positive one.

So, I grew up watching musicals, whether it is from Disney or Bollywood/other box-office desi movies. Music is a pretty biggie dealie for yours truly. Gosh, I remember in elementary/grade school, I had a classmate who had the same energy as Frye and did the teeth thing as she brought a tape to school. She shared "Lal Dupatta" with the homeroom teacher on the school CRT tv. She was dancing and singing along with the song and tried to have me join in the festivity. But I was and am a shy girl, so I couldn't do it. I did enjoy her enthusiasm and the song. This was something I culturally understood. I felt connected.

Reminiscing that moment, I declared that I should reference one musical number that would fit in the Splatoon universe. For her sake and mine.

Old musical number:

One rule I had while I was searching for a song was that I didn't want the song to be too culturally specific or ignorant of stereotypes. So, no dancing. In the future, I'll draw Deep Cut dancing but nothing culturally significant until I do some well-deserving research before flinging myself into the fiery pits of hell. I learned my lesson internet, lol.

I had one specifically in mind before the partner song. More romantic implications, but it had one person singing. No duet. Sure, BM would appear more, but it would be just him playing an instrument while Shiver singing. Then I would have them crashing together while Frye witnessed this whole shebang at a distance. I also planned to add the Squidbeak Squad be the peanut gallery and have Craig do the "Harold, they're gay" joke. That was the initial idea until I stumbled upon a better one.

New musical number:

After eating my dinner, I passed by my mother while she watched Sholay. During that time, Mom was watching movies from the 60s and 70s on youtube. One was nostalgia, and the other was missing out on some or does not remember some of the stories. Sholay, particularly, caught my attention because the silver fox daddy, Sanjeev Kumar, appeared on the screen. Rood af, bruv. I know, thirst trap.

Seeing him in this movie triggered a memory where Dad showed me a motorcycle scene. I remember Kishore Da was the singer for that song, but that scene was from a different movie. A similar concept of two buddies riding on a motorcycle together, but the energy wasn't there. Out of curiosity, I ended up watching Sholay with Mom.

After viewing the friendship song, I shot up with excitement. "THIS! This one screams them!" As I initially said in the main post, I sought that chaotic energy. Two morally good-leaning thieves sing in a duet about their friendship while being a menace to society. That's THEM!

I know BM is an essential member of Deep Cut, but I'm not considering the movie but this specific score. If this project was about the movie, I would have DJ Octavio as Silver Fox Daddy, and BM would be Shiver's romantic interest. I did have plans on doing so in a separate post, but I gave up on that thought because I became exhausted after drawing eight pages of Fryver. I thought this would take me at least three weeks to draw. Instead, it was more than a month! I couldn't continue because of the lack of going to the gym, a month's worth of fasting, and in the middle of the holy month, I got sick from a stomach virus. Sorry BM. I want to tackle some other projects right now, and as promised, there will be more of him.

4 became 6, then 7, and finally 8:

Initially, I had the project divided into four pages. These were the four:

While drawing the four, I debated whether I should add in the coin toss scene. At that time, I could not figure out who could fill the village girl role until I was gobsmacked, realizing how slow and stupid I could be. I thought BM for the longest time, but he's too nice. If the coin rejects the idea of sleeping, he will give them the signature bear hug instead of waddling away. I want these two to be dunked on, especially after stealing his icy pop. "I'm upset that the dastardly duo stole my ice cream, but FRIENDS!!!" That kind of energy is NOT needed for this goof.

Once I figured out that the cousins could fill the Village girl role, the project became six pages long. I left that as a bonus. I acknowledge some people ship each of the cousins with Shiver/Frye. I nodded in some parts, like Callie's blushing. Hopefully, this bonus one was respectful enough. I didn't want to offend anyone.

At this point, I was confident that I was done until I realized there was no introduction to this project. Who the hell would know this 48-year-old movie reference? Very few. Which is fine. I don't know many pop cultural references. If you mention something about star wars, I would go whomst. Not a musical? Disengage, lol. I am not a movie buff to begin with. Music (folk metal plz) and (indie) games I fuck with. Anyway, I drew the introduction to the sketch dump:

I've laid the chorus across on the top. The background is straight out of the game (you got me bent sideways if you expected me to draw a unique background. Like, I'm insane, but not THAT insane.) I drew the characters that appeared in the sketch dump. These three stealing the show. How the hell did I draw this in one go?:

Damn, this hand. They're too cute for any school.

After, I've drawn the introduction. Surely, at this point, I'm done with this project. Nope. There is no conclusion. Can't have an introduction without a conclusion. Gotta include an ending. So, I contemplated. While doing that, I cleaned up some of the sketches, and I shared a part of the WIP with my partner, jokingly stating:

She was right. To close this project, it's literally sealed with a kiss. Why didn't I think of that?! Maybe because I assume they ARE together.

Despite being romantic, I often don't draw two characters kissing. I drew four kisses, including this one, within 15 years of actively drawing. I guess either I'm not confident at drawing that, or it's not a huge part of my love language. Also, it can't help when your girl towers over you. Usually, it's me receiving not giving. I need to carry a ladder around to kiss, lol.

At last, I drew the kiss. And boi, isn't it dramatic, huh? Nonetheless, It's thematic. I can finally close this project for good...? *Nervously laughing* There's more coming.

Additional Thoughts:

Fryver: If they're partners in crime, then they gotta gay equally. I made sure both of them had their moment in the spotlight. For example, in the coin toss scene, I initially had Frye flipping the coins. But, after drawing four pages where Frye leads some parts more than Shiver. Break the role and have Shiver take charge in this scene.

It works well, especially Shiver using their hand as a fan while simultaneously displaying the coins. This was before the art book! Pure coincidence that a character I finalized happens to like counting money in their pass time. This entire time, I thought BM was the money person. Big Man, big money. Naw, it's your local octoling, Shiver! Also, Frye doing the ;d with a tooth sticking out, giving a thumbs up. Great. Love to see it.

Big Man: Before the introduction page, BM only appeared once in the "MY ICECREAM" scene. This was drawn after the introduction:

The idea of having BM playing the trumpet while he perches on top of a moving truck, it's fucking hilarious. He rather not risk his life whenever either of the two operates a vehicle, but he's okay with playing incidental music on the roof of a stranger's car. Sure, buddy. You do you, lol. Squid Sisters: I have a project I want to do about the cousins. I am still determining how long that will take, but it's pretty long. I want to start something small.

This was my first time drawing them. I've drawn the other idols. Although chibi Marina should not count as adequately drawn. I do have an Off the Hook comic I want to work on. First, I need to write the script!

This was the first panel I drew before I worked on the other panels. This is basically my sister and me whenever we encounter someone we don't like or don't have the energy to engage. Lil sis will give her signature fake smile, and I'll give a stank look. No mask, no filter. I'm glad I could capture the dichotomy of the cousins in a single frame.

Final Thoughts:

There were moments when I wanted to give up entirely on this project. Negative thoughts such as, "No one would bat an eye at this," repeatedly. But as a perfectionist, I hate unfinished work. My work specifically. I persevered by telling myself, "Just do it for yourself."

It was a good drawing exercise. I want to get better at drawing these characters. Get to know and understand them better. I've abandoned trying to draw in Splatoon's anatomical proportions. Not my style, lol.

I'm happy that I drew the kiss. After sketching, yes sketching, seven pages, I was exhausted. I got sick in the middle of the fasting, unable to leave home because of fasting. It was too much (it's a good thing, I work remotely from home.) BUT. It's not gay, ya know. I'VE got to draw the SMOOCH. Or else this project will be trapped in the "gal pals" limbo. Also, not me struggling to NOT be wed to a cishet desi man. Anyone that is queer, plz.

Sigh. I had to draw this kiss secretly, away from my parents' prying eyes. I don't want them to question why I'm drawing two bipedal cephalopods kissing, let alone it being gay. And for whatever reason, they keep entering my office and staring at my monitors. I am a professional graphic designer, too. Let me work in peace!

Anyway, the kiss.

Honestly, talk about a mood. Especially when you're in a long-distance relationship. Five years in a romantic relationship and will be nine years in a platonic relationship with my partner in crime.

#Muna's Commentary #I'll be tagging commentaries just to keep things organized #That's the tag from now on #In case anyone is curious about my thought progress even if its zany shit like shitpostting

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secretconstellations · 26 days

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The Kind You Could Grab A Beer With (Platonic!Steve x Sam)

pairing: platonic!Steve x Sam

warnings: slight swearing, mention of alcohol (no alcohol misuse)

synopsis: steve hasn't felt normal in a long time. he just needs someone to be his friend, someone he could grab a beer with.

a/n: this is my second post!!! thank you so much for reading and i really hope you enjoy it :) again, feedback/constructive criticism would be great and requests are open!!! just use the ask feature on my page

Steve ran. It was all he could do. It was his constant, his saving grace. The feel of the morning breeze caressing his face brought him back down to earth. The feel of his feet hitting the worn pavement gave him a surge of adrenaline that made him feel ready for anything. The sunrise, a painting of colour splashed across the sky, gave him a sense of nostalgia, of belonging that he couldn't quite place. The beautiful, long shadows of the few passers-by placated the ever-growing numbness that had formed in the pit of his chest the moment he woke up from being iced for seventy odd years. It made him feel okay, even if only for a moment. So Steve ran.

"On your left!" He huffed out to a (rather attractive looking) man he passed running on the same path he was. He had seen him a few times before, sometimes out even earlier than he was. They must have followed the same route or something considering how often they passed one another.

"Uh huh, on my left, got it." Steve chuckled at the sarcasm lacing the man's voice as he sped past him, glad to have a way to show off his abilities that didn't include fighting and killing. He looked back at the man, his expression sour but playful as he shrunk to a mere iota in the Captain's peripheral. Oh, it's on.

Steve ran around his route with ease and came upon the man again. This time, the man sensed Steve's presence approaching him.

"Don't say it... Don't you say it!"

"On your left!"

"COME ON!" He whined.

Steve sped away once again, a smile decorating his deep set features. He decided he liked this guy. He seemed nice. Funny even. Someone you could grab a beer with. How Steve longed for a friend he could just grab a beer with without the baggage of war and aliens and New York 2012 and HYDRA looming over their heads the whole time. That sounded nice.

"Wanna grab a beer?" Steve asked Sam, his now longtime running companion and member of the Avengers. So much for friends outside the field.

"Eh, I've got a couple in the back, I don't feel much like going out." Sam sighed whilst getting up out of his chair. He appeared to sense Steve's disappointment. "I can get a card game out too, if you like. You play solitaire?"

"Not my favourite but I play."

Sam grabbed a stack of cards from a cabinet as he headed to the back to grab two beers. Steve leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to have a moment of peace away from the terrors of battle and missions and all that crap. That was why he liked Sam's place so much. It felt homely, like a family could live there. It was so far removed from the waking nightmare that was being an Avenger. Don't get him wrong, Steve loved his job and he loved the 21st century. The food was better, no polio was nice, the internet was so useful and, of course, the Troubleman Soundtrack was a godsend! Honestly, it was the best music he had listened to since... ever. Thanks, Sam. And not to mention, fighting for justice had been his life purpose since he popped out of the womb. But sometimes he just wanted quiet. He just wanted some peace. A sense of normality. Why was God so dead set against giving it to him?

"I got us two Stellas." Sam's voice broke his train of thought.

"Neat." Steve took one out of Sam's hands as he placed the cards on the coffee table between them. "Ready to play?"

"Oh it's on-"

!MISSION ALERT!

"Aw, shit, dude. Duty calls."

"Language." Steve slipped out.

There was silence for a moment. A really long moment.

"You did not just say language, Rogers. You have got to be kidding me."

"I didn't mean... It just slipped out!"

"Uh huh, it slipped out." Sam was giggling like a little girl. "I am never letting you live that one down, Cap."

Steve rolled his eyes but he couldn't help but smile, too.

"I'm taking my beer."

"Yeah, goddamn right you are!" The sarcasm was evident in Sam's voice, but he was still holding his. "Ah, fuck it. Let's take 'em. Let's see how much we can drink without spilling on those HYDRA motherfuckers!"

Steve had no clue how Sam could stay so chipper, so loose, after all he'd been through. It was a miracle. Sam really was the kind of guy you could just go grab a beer with. He was the kind of guy to lose a race by a mile and still manage to take it on the chin (after he had made a few dirty quips directed at Steve first). He was the kind of guy to make pop culture references that he knew Steve wouldn't understand and then explain them right after so Steve could make that reference around other people. He was the kind of guy to taunt you jokingly but always knew where the line was (whether he crossed that line or not was another story). He was also the kind of guy Steve could always count on to have his back in a fight, no matter what. Steve thought he lost all that when he lost Bucky. Gosh, it felt like Steve was making a real best friend again. Maybe God was answering his prayers.

#marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #steve x sam #oneshot #slice of life #marvel

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godsandtorrance · 1 year

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Introduction

Ideally, with a new blog, I would start at the beginning. Introduce myself, explain who I am, tell my life story from newborn to adulthood. However, it makes more sense to me to take facets of my life - small shards that make the bigger picture - and explore that way.

Firstly, I want to remain generally anonymous. There's nothing that putting my name out there can do to actually enhance this blog. In a way, it makes my thoughts and experiences more relatable for those who stumble on to it.

Secondly, I don't have any illusions that this will necessarily reach a wide audience. I love writing and I have a lot of complicated feelings that I like to express, more for my own sanity than anything else. If you happen to be reading this (and got this far into the post) then great! I hope you are in the very least mildly entertained for a short burst of time rather than regretting the continued reading of this paragraph that is steadily getting more lengthy by the second.

I just want to write, and write about the mess in my brain. I've got a diary, of course, and various other notebooks and typed documents in which I turn introspective or, at other times, attempt to be some grand writer with a bestselling novel just waiting to be created (or script, I was a film student so my creativity leans towards the world of film). It's just for now, it feels right to put everything into a quiet corner of the internet where maybe it will get seen. Maybe my voice will be heard, since in the real world mine is very quiet. Maybe someone reading what I write will actually recognise themselves within what I say and there will be, even fleetingly, a human connection (as human as tumblr can get).

I have a lot I could write about. Complicated childhood, father issues, mental health issues (the wonderful trio that is anxiety, depression and OCD), low self-esteem, being socially inept, film student (and post-grad) experience, eating issues (technically emetophobia), sexuality, nostalgia, caring for an elderly grandparent, the endless struggle to figure out life and to make friends. However, I promise I'm not all misery. I'm actually quite, at times, happy.

If you're still reading this far (well done and big thanks) and you're intrigued, I hope I write something that makes sense to you or in the very least gives some kind of entertainment. If not, that's fine. The important thing in life, as I'm trying to learn, is do things that make you happy without the influence of other people - what they'd say, do, think or even if they'll care about you at all.

#Blog #Writing #Inner thoughts #Early twenties #23 #Twenties #Woman in her twenties #British #Uk #Introspection #Written blog #Musings #My picture #Godsandtorrance #Mental health #Figuring things out #Loneliness #Film student #Graduate

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jindallaebe · 1 year

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[ 🥀 ] 𝖕𝖚𝖓𝖐 𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖎𝖘 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖔𝖒—

𝖙𝖑𝖉𝖗 / A LOOK INTO JINDALLAE’S BAND LIFE, AS WELL AS HIS LOVE OF MUSIC IN GENERAL.

jindallae first fell in love with music when the internet blessed him with ability to access western media. a close friend of his from school moved overseas and, in keeping up with him, he shared with jindallae all of his favorite musicians at the time — most all of whom existed in the punk-rock, grunge, emo, and pop-punk genres. at the time, he was mystified by it all. the sound was unlike anything he had ever heard before, and it inspired him so much that he began to dissect it obsessively. he was marveled by how all of the instruments came together in order to create such incredible art. it felt as though something was unlocked within him from those moments onward, and it wasn’t long after the spark was lit that he saved up the cash to purchase his own guitar; teaching himself the ropes since it was more of a challenge to do it that way. some of his family members probably found it annoying that he would practice all hours of the night — they were subjected to a lot of horrible guitar-playing — but he didn’t care. he needed to master it, and over time, he likes to think he’s gotten pretty close. his skills nowadays are fairly polished, but he still strives to get better. to him, it’s a never-ending learning process. he likes that.

his obsession led him into meeting other people in the city that liked the same things he did, and they realized that they all knew how to play different instruments. one of them had the crazy idea to start a band, and as smooth as butter, their collective was created. it’s not easy for jindallae to make friends, but he considers his bandmates family members in many ways as they showed him support, and patience for his usual mood swings, whenever his own mother didn’t. he leaned on them a lot, and still does, and hopes they know that he’s there for them, too. after months of brainstorming name ideas and trying to solidify their sound, they settled on what they’re still known as today: a punk / pop-punk inspired pack of misfits called XXXXXXXX. they’re relatively new; have been playing somewhat frequent gigs in hongdae as of late, though. they feel lucky to have been given opportunities, so it’s likely they can be heard at least once per week in one of the venues. jindallae’s role is the guitarist, but he’s been getting into the composition game little-by-little.

as far as sound references are concerned, they’re most similar to the existing korean punk band called winningshot, particularly in the songs “nostalgia,” “summer night breeze,” “when the white turns to gold,” and “mystic energy.” they claim their influences are the greats of their craft, i.e. green day, ramones, dead kennedys, blink-182, and so on. they want to bring that style to south korea in their own way, and they feel as though they’re doing a decent enough job at that; working on expanding their reach and getting more people to come to their sets. however, in the midst of all this, the other band members don’t know that jindallae’s been nurturing a rising interest in rap music and writing his own lyrics. he’s kept that largely secret from everyone except for his brother, as he isn’t sure how the others will feel about it. it’s his latest obsession, and his personality has him diving deep into researching rap’s founding fathers, and everything there is to know about it that he can access on the internet.

much like punk music did for him in the past, rap truly fascinates him — inspires him in a way that, once again, feels almost indescribable. he’s no idea if he’s any good, or how he’ll improve, but he’s enjoying learning about something new and dissecting it to its core. that’s always been how he operates. he finds something new to obsess over, learns everything there is to know, and moves onto something else. that’s not to say these interests of his ever fade, but he can’t help but get distracted by the excitement of newness. for now, it’s a secret personal project—one that may or may not shift his focus entirely depending on what happens in the future.

#ㅤ* ╱ 조진달래. ━━━━ SOLO.#ㅤ* ╱ 조진달래. ━━━━ 710.#/ could not think of a name for his band... 😅 i'm so bad.#/ if you have any ideas; you should help me out omg i'd love that!

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just-another-blog-of-fluff · 3 years

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Can't Keep a Secret

Word count: 4300

Warnings: tickling, fluff, reader with an inability to keep secrets, reader with a crush on a certain god of mischief

I'm so excited for 100 followers!! I didn't expect so many people to actually be interested in my writing when I started posting 🥰

This one is based on @atlas-of-the-universe's request here for a fic where Loki tickles the reader to get information of some kind 😉 I hope this is what you were looking for!

This one also has a little more crushing/romantic fluff than some of my other fics at the end, so if you're not into that just skip that part. As always, completely SFW!

* * *

No one ever seemed to do anything nice for Loki. So, when Thor approached you to ask if you’d help him and the others plan a surprise birthday party for his brother, you wholeheartedly agreed to assist. As the Avengers’ best party planner, you jumped at the chance to start brainstorming ideas to make this party the best Loki had ever experienced – including on Asgard. And, if it meant he’d pay a little extra attention to you, well… that was an added bonus.

The only problem was – you were terrible at keeping secrets.

It wasn’t as if you went around spilling the details when someone asked you not to tell the others about something. You knew enough not to just blurt out the fact that you were planning a party. Unfortunately, though, you had a tendency to let your feelings show in your facial expressions. Trying to keep secrets made you anxious, knowing you’d been the one to accidentally say just a little bit too much in the past and ruined other surprises.

The fact that you were the worst secret keeper was no… secret, for lack of a better word. Your teammates frequently exploited this fact when they wanted to know what you were hiding from them. Tony, especially, loved to talk circles around you until he could get you to trip up and give some detail away. On the other hand, they also tried not to let you in on too many details when they were planning a surprise for one of the other team members.

This time, you were determined not to give anything away. You were thrilled that the team was finally going to do something special for Loki, and you were NOT going to ruin it by spilling the beans to the trickster. Thor was probably one of the more trusting members of the Avengers, and he assured you when he asked you to help with the party that he had faith you wouldn’t screw up (quite literally in those words).

You started researching online to get some ideas. This party had to live up to the standards of an Asgardian prince, so you couldn’t just order a few pizzas and beer and call it a party. Plus, Tony had offered to pay for the whole thing (you suspected he felt guilty for having accidentally blasted Loki through a wall in the training room with his new Ironman suit the week prior) so your funds were basically limitless.

Inevitably, though, you were bound to run into situations where you had to spend time with the raven-haired god without allowing yourself to let any details slip.

The moment Loki first started to suspect you were hiding something was when he walked in on a conversation you were having with Thor in the kitchen. You had been asking him about the Asgardian mead his brother loved so much and wanted to know if he could manage to get some here on Midgard for the party.

“What is it about the Asgardian mead that you like so much better than standard alcohol?” you inquired curiously.

“Ha! That is a very funny question, Lady Y/N,” Thor laughed heartily. “As if any Midgardian liquor could so much as hold a candle to the spirits we drink on Asgard.”

“Hey! I enjoy my tequila! Margaritas are arguably a delicious alcoholic beverage,” you bantered.

“You truly believe this ‘margarita’ as you call it could compare to the smooth, sophisticated taste of an Asgardian mead?” Thor countered.

“I must agree with my brother on this one – I have seen this ‘margarita’ drink you speak of, and it is highly unlikely to be superior to Asgardian spirits.”

You gasped involuntarily when you heard Loki’s voice in the doorway, spinning around to face him with a look of bewilderment on your face. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized your expression.

“Oh, hey Loki! Didn’t see you there,” you greeted, trying to lean casually against the counter you were standing beside.

“Yes… it appears you didn’t. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Loki folded his arms across his chest, eyeing you intently. “What was it that brought you to the subject of Asgardian liquor?”

“Oh, that? Well…”

“I was just informing Lady Y/N that I have been feeling a bit nostalgic thinking about the celebrations we had on Asgard, when we would drink heartily with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three,” Thor cut in, quickly interrupting you mid-sentence. “Brother, you must recall the time you had a bit too much while drinking with us and…”

“I believe that’s quite enough nostalgia for one evening, dear brother,” Loki cut in, appearing almost frantic as he glanced quickly at you before turning back to glare at the elder Asgardian. “Stark asked me to inform you he requires your assistance in the laboratory. You’ll need to continue this conversation another time.”

“Ah, yes, alright then. Another time,” Thor agreed, winking at you before he exited the kitchen. Loki followed close behind, but not before giving you one last calculating glance before he crossed through the doorway and out of sight. You let out a breath of relief, hoping he hadn’t thought much of the conversation.

You noticed, though, that Loki started conveniently popping up around you more often after that incident. Maybe he didn’t want Thor to have the opportunity to tell you about whatever embarrassing story had occurred when they were younger, you thought. Regardless, it meant that you had to be extremely cautious about doing any planning for the party in any of the common areas.

The second time you nearly let something slip was during a hushed conversation in the training room with Peter after one of your sparring matches. He had pulled you aside after training to ask your opinion about whether he should ask his friend MJ to attend the party with him. He’d had a crush on the girl for quite some time, and now that she knew his secret identity he thought it might be time to introduce her to his Avengers family.

“I’m nervous she might not want to come, but I think it would be a great chance for her to meet everyone when the focus would be on someone else,” he explained. You hiked your backpack up onto your shoulder with your training gear and made your way toward the door to the training room with Peter by your side.

“Why wouldn’t she want to come? From what you’ve told me, she seems to be more of a social butterfly than you are, even,” you asked.

“Yeah… you’re right, I’m probably overthinking this, aren’t I?” he chuckled. “I just don’t want to screw things up!”

“What are you screwing up this time, spiderling?”

You stopped short as you heard Loki’s voice from behind you, making your heart leap into your throat. You turned around, trying not to look startled.

“Oh, Peter wants his friend MJ to attend… a training session with us!” you fibbed, trying to think quickly. “You know, so he can show her his Spider-Man moves!”

“Yeah! That’s right,” Peter agreed, nodding vigorously. “I’m going to go call her right now, thanks Y/N!” Peter scurried off down the hallway, leaving you standing with a somewhat skeptical looking god of mischief.

“Why was Peter asking you about inviting a friend to his training? Would he not have asked Stark?” Loki inquired. You shrugged in a non-committal way.

“Who knows? Anyway, uh, it was nice talking to you, but I’ve got to get going… big assignment to finish up tonight, can’t really stop and chat. See you later!” you blurted, not waiting for a response as you hurried toward your room. Phew, that was close, you thought to yourself, hoping he hadn’t been standing behind you for too long.

Later that week, you found yourself alone in the common room while watching television. You pulled out your laptop during one of the commercials and started searching the internet for caterers, hoping to find something fancy enough to appeal to an Asgardian god. You had thought that everyone else was out for the day, so you weren’t overly concerned about anyone seeing what you were doing.

“What mindless reality television show are you watching today?” The smooth, baritone voice caused you to jerk your head up from your laptop screen and instinctively slam it shut. He hadn’t even been standing behind you to see what you were searching – it was purely on reflex that you closed the computer. Loki raised his eyebrows at you. “I see you aren’t really watching anything, are you? What is it you were viewing on your computer?”

“Nothing! I mean, nothing exciting, really. Just some old photos that I was trying to sort through,” you stammered, standing up with the laptop clutched to your chest. “You can have the TV if you want, though. I have to go… work on that assignment some more. I was just taking a break. It’s almost done!” Loki opened his mouth as if to say something, but you didn’t wait around to let him ask any more questions that might make you give away something you shouldn’t. You spent the rest of the evening in your room, avoiding the trickster at all costs.

The next morning, after getting ready for the day, you grabbed some breakfast before heading back to your room to continue to do some additional party planning research where Loki wouldn’t walk in on you unexpectedly. You shoved the last bite of one of Thor’s pop-tarts that you’d stolen into your mouth as you approached your door, opening it and walking toward your desk where your laptop sat. You always left the door slightly ajar when you were in your room, and so you were quite surprised when you heard the door thump shut behind you, the lock clicking into place.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned around slowly, staring wide-eyed at the god of mischief now standing in your bedroom between you and your only exit. His hands were clasped behind his back, his blue-green eyes gleaming ominously as he stared you down.

“Oh, hey Loki! What brings you to my room?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Let’s end this little charade, hmm?” He took a few slow paces forward into the room, closing the distance between the two of you. “It’s become clear to me over the last week that you have knowledge of some information that you do not want me to become aware of. I’d like you to tell me what it is.” His tone was calm; low, but dangerous. You swallowed hard.

“Loki, I-I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t have any secrets.” You took a step back from the advancing Asgardian, your back meeting the cold, hard wood of your desk behind you.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is up to you,” he threatened, stepping even closer so he was only a foot away from where you stood trapped against your desk. “Tell me what it is you’re hiding, or I will… coerce you into talking.”

“Coerce me? Heh, what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked nervously, your hands gripping the desk behind you.

“I have my ways. I am the god of mischief, after all.” Loki stood in front of you unmoving, a barrier holding you hostage against your desk.

“Even if I did have something to hide, you wouldn’t hurt me. Your brother would kill you,” you warned.

“I never suggested I would hurt you, darling. I would never do such a thing.” He took the slightest step closer. “You seem tense. Am I making you nervous?”

“Very.”

“Good.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Have you decided, then? Will we be doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

“I told you, I have nothing to hide,” you insisted.

“Very well then. We’ll do this the hard way.” Quickly, you darted around Loki toward the door, trying to make your escape. He was faster, though, catching you with an arm around your waist and dragging you back so your back was against his chest. “Tell me, darling…” he growled in your ear, making you shiver, “… are you… ticklish?”

“Wha-“ you opened your mouth to protest but stopped speaking as you felt gentle scratching on your side. You shook your head quickly, suppressing the giggles that were threatening to rise out of your throat. If you stood still long enough, maybe he would give up.

“Do you think you’re fooling me by not allowing yourself to laugh? I felt you tense up immediately the moment I touched you.” He tightened his grip, wrapping both arms around your waist and digging his fingers into your sides. You snorted at the sudden sensation, doubling over to try to fight your way out of his grasp. “As I suspected. You are extraordinarily ticklish.”

“S-shut up, Loki!” you demanded, your muscles relaxing as his fingers stilled against your sides. He released you, allowing you to turn and face him but still standing in between you and the door.

“Now then – are you going to tell me what it is you’re hiding? Or do I need to tickle you until you are begging for mercy?”

You felt your face flush with heat. You’d been tickled before, certainly, but only for a few seconds at a time, and never as a means to pry information from you. Truthfully, though, you were enjoying this playful side of Loki. You were also determined not to tell him about the party – it would be so much more fun if it were a surprise, and he deserved to have fun. You braced yourself, folding your arms defiantly across your chest.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Before you could react, Loki had tackled you, and you found yourself flat on the floor with your wrists pinned over your head. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as the dark-haired Asgardian loomed over you, his smirk growing wider.

“I see you’ve made your choice, then. But I should warn you – I don’t do mercy.” The fingertips of his free hand connected with your belly, lightly tracing the soft skin through your shirt. You turned your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him, his knowing stare making it more difficult to prevent yourself from laughing. Slowly, he applied more pressure until he was clawing at your belly with all five fingers, varying between the center and sides and analyzing your expression to evaluate your response.

“I-I’m telling y-you, t-there’s nothing to t-tell,” you insisted, jolting a little each time his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe you.” He shifted his attack to your side, his fingers spidering gradually up your ribcage. Your nerves were alight with ticklish shocks, helpless giggles now bubbling out of your chest.

“W-whyhyhy don’t you believe mehehe?” you asked, your tone starting to sound more desperate.

“You’re not exactly subtle. It’s rather obvious when you’re trying to keep a secret.” Loki was now scratching in between your upper ribs, and your giggles were evolving into desperate laughter. “I see this is becoming more challenging for you. I wonder – should I try to identify all of your weak spots? Surely one of them will get you talking.”

“NOHOHO LOKI!” you pleaded, thrashing to try to free your wrists from his grasp.

“You’ll need to provide me some information, then. What was it you were really discussing with my brother the other night?”

“HE TOHOHOLD YOU!!” You shrieked as Loki’s fingers found purchase under one of your arms, your feet pounding against the floor in desperation.

“Honestly, Y/N, I didn’t believe a word either of you said.” His fingertips grazed the underside of your upper arm, tracing from your elbow down to your underarm and back up again. You hadn’t realized how ticklish the soft skin of your arm could be, but his maddeningly light touch had you writhing to try to evade his fingers.

“STAHAHAP THAT!” you begged, yanking at your restrained wrists to try to lower your arms. Even before you were in this weakened state, the god of mischief was stronger than you.

“Then talk.”

“NEVER!”

“Aha!” he exclaimed suddenly, lifting his fingers away from your arm. You sucked in air desperately, letting out the residual giggles as he allowed you a moment to recover. “You ARE hiding something! You’ve given yourself away.”

“I… but… no I didn’t!” you pouted. He chuckled, a genuine grin spreading across his face at your adorable, disappointed frown.

“It’s too late now. You may as well tell me your secret.”

“I won’t tell! I’ll never tell!” you barked, a sudden surge of bravery rushing through you.

“I’m afraid I must continue, then,” he stated, feigning pity. “Why don’t you tell me where else you are ticklish instead?”

“What? No! I won’t tell you that either!”

“Fine. It’s much more amusing for me to locate your weak spots myself anyway.” Loki released your wrists and in the same motion reached behind him to squeeze above your knees with both hands. You yelped at the unexpected touch, trying with difficulty to sit up now that your arms were free. You reached toward Loki’s sides to try to retaliate but he was too perceptive, grabbing a wrist in each hand using his cat-like reflexes. “You don’t want to do that, darling,” he warned.

“Oh, but I think I do,” you argued, trying your hardest to break free of his grip. He wrestled with you for a moment, successfully forcing you onto your stomach so you could no longer sit up and try to counterattack.

“Now then – where were we?” he huffed as he sat himself down on the back of your legs, pinning you in place. You lifted your upper body up onto your elbows and turned to look at him, keeping a close eye on his hands. “Ah, that’s right. You were about to tell me what you were discussing with the spiderling the other day.”

“No I was-“ your retort died in your mouth as Loki’s fingertips touched down on the backs of your knees. “L-Loki, hold on, don’t you even think about it.”

“Why? Too sensitive?” he teased, tracing one finger along the tendon in the back of your knee. You let out a squeal, only egging him on as he began to flutter his fingers against the thin skin there.

“LOKI I WILL KIHIHILL YOHOHOU!”

“You hardly sound threatening when you’re giggling like a child,” he taunted, tracing along the skin on the inner sides of your knees. You reached back desperately with one hand while holding yourself up with the other elbow, trying to grab hold of his tickling fingers. He snickered at your feeble attempts, reaching up quickly to slide his fingers under your arm so your elbow would buckle beneath your torso before returning his attention to your knees. “This could all stop if you’d just tell me what your secret is.”

At this point, you’d come to the embarrassing realization that you were actually having fun, despite your abdominal muscles aching from laughing so hard. You were also still determined to keep the party a secret, if not for you then for Loki’s own good. You picked yourself back up onto your elbows so you could turn and look back at him defiantly.

“No!” you declared.

“No? I see I must not be trying hard enough, then. Let’s try somewhere else, shall we?” Loki shifted his weight so he could pin your legs down with his shin, his gaze turning down toward your socked feet.

“Don’t… you… dare!” you warned, noticing where his line of sight was directed. He placed his fingertips teasingly against the soles of your feet, maintaining eye contact with you, eyes glowing with mischief.

“I’ll give you one final chance. Spill,” he ordered. You merely smirked back at him.

“Make me.”

Without another word, Loki sprang back into action, his torturous fingertips skimming along the soles of your feet. Frantic giggles spilled from your lips as you tried jerking your feet away from his touch without success.

“I’d wager you’re regretting what you said now, aren’t you?” he goaded, scratching under your toes with one finger on each foot. Your giggles pitched up as you curled your toes to prevent him from reaching the sensitive skin. “Are you prepared to talk now?”

“NEHEHEVER!!” you screeched, still determined to win. Eventually he’d get tired of this and give up, right?

“Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” You practically screamed in ticklish agony as his fingers once again connected with your ribs, darting rapidly up and down your sides and under your arms, scribbling into the small of your back, fluttering against the sides of your neck and behind your ears, never staying in one place long enough to grow accustomed to the sensation. Your laughter fell silent as you tapped your hand hard on the floor, signaling you were giving up. Seeing your signal, Loki’s fingers stilled against you, still pressed gently into your sides as a warning that he could start right back up again at any moment. “Talk.”

“I will… alright… just… just give me a sec,” you huffed, your chest heaving with exertion. Your mind was racing, trying to come up with a plausible lie that would satisfy the god of lies. Your heart sank as you realized you couldn’t possibly come up with something in the next ten seconds that would fool him. It had to be the truth. “I’ll tell you, but you have to swear to me you won’t tell your brother that I told you.”

“That depends on what it is you’re about to tell me,” Loki bantered.

“No, I’m serious!” Loki shifted so his weight was no longer pressed on your legs, and you turned over into a seated position on the floor. “Promise me you won’t tell.”

“Fine. I promise. Now tell me.” You took a deep breath.

“We’re planning a party. For you. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Loki was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. His blue-green eyes searched yours as if trying to find any hint of a lie in your face. His face softened a bit as he began to realize you were actually telling the truth.

“What for?” he asked, his tone flat.

“For your birthday.”

“We don’t celebrate birthdays on Asgard, we have far too many of them to be excited for them.”

“Ugh, Loki, don’t you get it? Thor wanted to do something nice for you! I wanted to do something nice for you!” You held his gaze, trying to prove to him you still weren’t lying.

“You wanted to do something for me?” His voice was low, but there was something different about his tone; something you hadn’t heard before. Hope? Excitement? You averted your gaze down to the floor, poking at the fibers in the carpet with your finger.

“Yeah, I did. You deserve something nice. You’ve come a long way since New York. And you’re… a good friend.” You felt heat rush to your face. You’d nearly revealed another secret, one you had no intention of telling him today. Or ever. Unfortunately, Loki was perceptive.

“That sounded like another lie, Y/N,” he stated ominously. You risked a glance up at him, seeing a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“What?! No, it’s not!” you argued, the warmth in your face spreading to your ears.

“Haven’t you learned not to lie to me by now?” Loki suddenly grabbed hold of your waist, dragging you closer to him. “Or do I need to repeat the lesson?” His fingers latched onto your ribcage, squeezing and kneading with maddening precision. Still exhausted from the previous attack, you immediately caved.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I like you, ok??” Loki stopped tickling you, not yet releasing you from his grasp. You covered your flushed face with your hands. “Happy now?”

Loki pried your hands gently away from your face, tilting your chin up with his finger. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them before as he gazed at you, a small smile on his face. With a surge of confidence, you closed the gap between your faces, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back, gently but passionately all at once. When he finally pulled away, he grinned at you.

“Yes, I am happy,” he said simply. You smiled shyly back at him.

“Good.” You hardened your expression a bit, although admittedly it was hard to wipe the smile off your face. “You still have to act surprised. I can’t have people thinking I can’t keep a secret.” Loki laughed at that, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“But you can’t, darling.” He gave you one last poke in the side, eliciting a whine from you. “I’ll do my best to act surprised. I am the god of lies, after all. I should be able to put on a convincing display.”

“Good.” You allowed him to help you to your feet before shooing him out the door. “Now, get out of my room. I still have planning to do.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, stopping in the doorway to look at you. “I’ll go, but only if you’ll have dinner with me tonight.”

“Only if you don’t tickle me,” you countered.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t make any promises,” he replied, winking. You sighed, smiling at him.

“I guess I’ll take my chances then.”

#loki tickle #ticklish!reader #tickle fluff #tickle fic #marvel tickle

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bakerolivias-archived · 2 years

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femslash february moodboards: hayley marshall and rebekah mikaelson ✓ the originals

"I don't mean to alarm you," Hayley begins, which, of course, has Rebekah's hackles rising, but 1000 years of experience allow her to manage to hide the way her body tenses. Hayley's always been intuitive to her needs, though, and vise versa, because she immediately feels the weight of a comforting hand finding its way onto the crook between her neck and shoulder. "No, it's okay, Bex. I just think Hope's vamp... werewolf... whatever, her super strength is kicking in."

She swivels in her desk chair, accidentally elbowing the carving Nik had made for her as a girl, the knight currently Hope's favorite chew toy to gnaw on. Rebekah allows herself to clutch the toy with fond reverence in the privacy of the Mikaelson's home office, remembering a better, quieter, more peaceful time, long before cars and cell phones and internet, before the curse of vampirism and the inopportune deaths that had always followed them no matter where they went. A familiar ache of nostalgia creeps into her heart - because while the alienation and loneliness, the abandonment of being loved by selfish monsters, has softened over time, it never quite goes away at times.

"She's been a menace as of late," Hayley continues, completely unaware that she's interrupting Rebekah's inner turmoil. Hayley absentmindedly runs her thumb across the exposed skin of Rebekah's arm and shoulder blades, her flesh prickling with goosebumps in answer. If she hears the way Rebekah's breath hitches at the contact, which she probably is given her hybrid hearing, Hayley gives no indication. Nontheless, Rebekah leans into the intimacy. She sees a question forming in Hayley's eyes - Rebekah's never quite this needy - and she squeezes her hand in a non-verbal answer.

"Oh? How so?" Her curiosity spikes, wondering if she'll recognize this supposed menace like behavior. She's heard the stories from Elijah of how Klaus was as a baby and a toddler - constantly demanding attention, biting and hissing and scratching when he didn't get his way, but always so sweet and gentle with her and Kol. Lord knows that behavior hasn't changed in quite a few centuries, as Klaus is always determined to make himself a handful. Her lips tilt upward in amusement. He may be an ass, but she loves him all the same.

"Oh, she's been stubborn, and grumpy, and sometimes anti-social, almost ripped one of my favorite shirts, pulls on my hair. A real handful. Like father, like daughter, I guess." Rebekah smirks at the thought, lacing their fingers together idly. "I think she misses her favorite aunt." Hayley's eyebrows raise with a not so subtle implication, and maybe, if Rebekah isn't imagining it (god, that annoying, blissful optimism swelling in her chest hopes not).

"Don't say that in front of Freya, she'll go mad with jealousy." Hayley grins, eyes crinkling at the corners in that soft, tired-but-happy maternal way - and Rebekah realizes how much she's missed this, missed the easy camaraderie and love that flowed between them. How much she's missed being an active, daily part of Hope and Hayley's lives.

And a stupidly sentimental part of her misses the electrifying spark she feels when they touch, skin-to-skin contact like no other. Misses Hayley's smooth, chestnut brown waves and earth toned eyes, and their soft, pleading gaze, an invitation to stay, maybe even to kiss her.

"You can, you know. Stay. Hope would love it." A brief pause, filled with things unsaid. "I - Rebekah, I would love it if you stayed."

And in Hayley's eyes, she sees her dream, their dream, of settling down and having a life together in New Orleans, of forehead kissed and walks in the park with Hope, of chaotic family dinners and bad Netflix movies. Rebekah knows in her wretched, pure, survivalist heart she'd do anything for that life. So she nods.

"For you, for Hope, for Klaus and Kol and Freya and Elijah and maybe Finn if he stops being such a dreadful bore. But lost of all, for you." And given the beam that splits across Hayley's face, it's all she ever needed to hear.

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hes-writer · 3 years

Text

deja vu

Summary: part two of drivers license!

Warning: angst

Word Count: 1643 words

let me know if you liked it!

_____

If this was a movie, Y/N would’ve collapsed on the floor, knees hitting the ground as her legs lost the ability to keep her weight up. The corners of her lips would tilt downwards as a fusion of sadness and nostalgia bombarded her at every corner. Tears would collect at her waterline, waiting for the remarkable blink that would send each drop of salty liquid down the apples of her cheeks. Y/N imagined she would call Harry on her phone and scream at him as soon as the click sounded, signalling that he had picked up the call.

Yet as seconds passed by, none of those theatrical episodes happened. Unlike in the movies, Y/N’s physical reactions were minuscule. Her heart ached in her chest. Her throat scrunched like a wad of tissue papers in her hand, drying up with shock and the shallow inhales she let out. The swirling of her stomach increased tenfold as she teetered between feelings of anger and indifference. This should not affect her anymore--or should it? It had barely been a few months since she last saw him and a little bit after when the first photos of Harry and his girlfriend went viral on the internet.

Everyone, especially him, seemed to move on from the relationship that they had shared. Y/N felt like she needed to catch up to him, racing to throw away the feelings she still held for him and to pretend as though nothing happened. But it was easier said than done. There were still endless memories that replayed through her head every time she passed by an ice cream shop. It was a hidden gem, past the popular hot spots. Not a lot of people knew about it because of its distanced location. And as much as Harry was a certified health nut; his guilty pleasure was a scoop of strawberry ice cream--in a cup instead of a waffle cone, of course.

Y/N still remembered those drives-turned-beach-trips. It was mostly during his days off. She and Harry would spend the whole day together, sharing one spoon amongst each other while they passed the cup of ice cream back and forth. The sound of the ocean encompassed them as they lay hidden around an alcove of rocks. It was a secluded area of the beach that Y/N had found way before. The sand was grainy beneath the layer of a checkered picnic blanket that Harry kept at the trunk of his car, their bodies laying on top of it. Eventually, Harry would proceed to just spoon-feed her, ‘accidentally’ nudging her nose with the cold treat.

Y/N could feel her shoulders slump at the flashback, body sagging as she sighed at what her phone screen was reflecting back to her. It was her Instagram feed showcasing Harry’s profile. A picture of a haunting landscape was captured by his phone lens; it was the very same beach spot that she had taken him to. Deja vu.

She bit her lip, wanting to smile about how he still visited it even without her. It showed that Harry still kept a memory of her at the back of his mind. Y/N’s heart fluttered at the thought, a sliver of hope shining through the dimness of her days. But it was impossible to keep an optimistic stance when she saw the caption. A simple tag of his new girlfriend’s Instagram handle puckered her lips into a sour expression, brows pinching together in curiosity as Y/N continuously denied the obvious constituent of events.

“There’s no way,” She muttered, breath hitching as Y/N’s thumb hesitated on tapping the bolded font.

There was absolutely no way that Harry would bring someone else in such a coveted spot. It was hers; she found it first and now he was acting as though it did not hold any meaning to her. Not like Y/N didn’t spend the last few days laying on his lap, watching the sunset over the horizon. Harry’s fingers would comb through her tendrils, tucking his jacket tighter around her chin to ensure that she was warm despite him being covered in goosebumps himself. Y/N would look up to see the beginning stubbles of his facial hair as Harry looked ahead, his green eyes mirroring the artistic hues of orange, pink and purple.

“What’s up, Y/N?” Jenny asked, returning from her short trek to Y/N’s small kitchen. One hand was carrying a large bowl of chips while the other held two cans of soda.

Y/N stared at her friend with hesitance. Was it worth bringing it up? She must be sick of her talking about him all the time.

“He brought her to our place,”

It was harder to hear it out loud. She didn’t even recognize her own voice; void of emotion except for a strained sound of pain.

Jenny tilted her head to the side, “Who did?”

“Harry. . .” Y/N cleared her throat before continuing, “There was this place I found in Malibu. At a beach. It’s pretty hidden and I used to go there by myself whenever I needed to think. I took him there. It was our place, you know? Somewhere only the two of us knew and I don’t know,” She trailed off.

“You thought he would keep it between you guys,” Jenny finished off, nodding her head in empathic comprehension.

“Yeah, it just sucks,” Y/N furrowed her brows, staring at the space in front of her as she took in the gravity of the situation. “He even took her to D’Campos,”

“The ice-cream shop?”

She nodded, “It was on her Instagram story today,”

“Forget about him, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve your tears,”

“I’m not even crying,” She chuckled, slapping Jenny’s arm jokingly.

“You look like you’re about to,”

Y/N sighed, “It hurts. Feels like he’s everywhere. Just when I thought I was moving on, he pulls shit like this and I’m forced to remember how good it was between us, you know? I haven’t driven past D’Campos or anywhere else that I might see him because it hurts too much to reminisce what I don’t have anymore.”

It was ridiculous how much Y/N has had to change her routine in order not to feel any more pain. She actively avoided places where Harry frequented in fear of confrontation and also because he might be with his girlfriend. She didn’t know how she could stay stoic seeing their hands clasped together, gazing at each other lovingly when Y/N wanted that from him for herself.

“You’re doing just fine, honey. Do you know who can’t move on? Him.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s doing fine,” Y/N said sarcastically, resting her back on the couch. “Better, even.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Jenny argued, “Out of the two of you, who’s the one always going to the places you shared?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but a swift hand in the air caused her to halt.

“It’s him, right?” Jenny answered rhetorically. “I do not care what you say; that man misses you and it shows. Harry’s going to where he expects you to be, probably in hopes of running into you. Maybe even because he wants to relive the moments you shared together with her in hopes of him feeling the same way he felt like when he did with you,”

“T-that’s insane. He’s fine without me,” Y/N stuttered out, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

“First of all, you are in denial. Secondly, you cannot tell me that he doesn’t. He’s practically doing everything you guys used to do with this new girl. Why? Because he fucking misses you, Y/N. Hell, you’ve even got the same name.”

“It’s just a coincidence,”

“My ass,” Jenny scoffs, “Answer me something, do you still remember how it felt being there with him?”

Y/N nodded, “Always,”

“Describe it to me,”

Y/N squinted her eyes in suspicion. Where was Jenny going with this?

“Uh, as cheesy as it sounds, I felt happy and free. I could talk about anything without being judged. He had a way of making me feel comfortable without even saying anything. When we were together--wherever we were--I could be vulnerable about myself in front of him,”

“Would you do whatever it takes to feel that same way again?”

In a heartbeat, Y/N stated, “Without a doubt.”

“Tell me, if Harry asked you to meet him there right now, would you go?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took a moment to process the question. She had just said that she would do whatever it takes to feel the same unconfined emotion again. So why was she saying ‘no’?

“I-I wouldn’t,”

“Exactly,” Jenny concluded with a quirk of her brow.

“You’re gonna have to explain,”

“Gladly,” Her friend quipped. “You want to feel liberated, vulnerable, and honest again but not necessarily with Harry. That place meant a lot to you--sure. But it doesn’t matter. What counts is who you are with. Who’s giving you that type of comfortability that you’re able to be just yourself around them. Do you understand?”

Y/N leaned forward in interest.

“You are well aware of that but you won’t accept it. You won’t go with him because you know that it won’t be the same anymore. That’s the first step of moving on. Once you acknowledge that as much as you miss him, as much as you think you want him to be around, you know better than that. He’s changed and so have you. He’s searching for that same feeling by going back to the places that you used to go to. Thinks he will find it there but--,”

“He won’t.” Y/N finished off. “Because she is not me,”

___

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #deja vu #sour #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic

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bogkeep · 3 years

Text

i know i talk about this on twitter like every other week but. when it comes to Media I Enjoy, the secret sauce for me is Sincerity.

i know this isn’t a thing you can measure objectively in any way, and you sort of have to take their word for it. and just like the concept of Authenticity, it can be Manufactured, which makes it... contradictory. like. there is no way for me to measure pieces of media against one another and say that “well creator A clearly but more love into their work than creator B”. besides, that’s not what i want to measure at all. i think it has more to do with, the willingness to be vulnerable, i think? how willing are you to throw away your sword and shield before stepping into the battlefield.

if you look at my favourite movies, they’re like. pacific rim, mad max: fury road, the secret of kells, atlantis: the lost empire, treasure planet, promare... and like, i think they’re excellent movies. but more importantly to me, they’re not afraid of being what they are. they kinda know that at their core they’re kinda silly and wishywashy (not you, secret of kells. you are Perfect), but they aren’t denying that. they lean into themselves. every parody i’ve ever loved has been an Affectionate Parody, building upon its roots rather than mock them.

meanwhile, i am struggling to feel any hype at all for newer disney movies. some of it is because of my own nostalgia and my growing up (even if it feels like a betrayal to admit to it), some of it is the growing awareness of disney as an all-consuming and cynical corporation, some of it might be the shift in genres and mediums and it might simply not be as much to my tastes as my old faves. that’s all valid. because i do not doubt for a SECOND that the people working on all these new movies are deeply passionate and full of love for the stories that they’re telling! but there’s also something about how every movie feels like it’s being polished down more and more and more to appeal to the w i d e s t audience possible. it seems like it’s so difficult for them to keep anything quirky or strange or challenging because they know what the backlash and criticism will be - which also feels deeply dissonant to me knowing that if anyone can withstand the backlash it’s fucking disney. it feels like cowardice, not on the creators’ behalf, but of the corporation. it would rather be safe than sincere. and like, the movies aren’t BAD by any means!! they have every resource available to them, of course even the least well-recieved movies they release are still going to be Pretty Okay.

i mean. i dont work in the industry at all, maybe i have no clue what i’m talking about. i don’t know what it’s like to make a movie or what it’s like to make your vision come to life. it’s very easy to armchair diagnose movies. maybe it’s my Taste that is wrong!!

it’s not just movies though. i read a lot of webcomics and sometimes Books and also we live in the age of youtube and podcasts. there’s a lot of mediums for people to tell their stories and stuff. and i really do have soft spots for kinda wonky webcomics that have a lot of heart. i have probably watched more amateur video essays than i have watched professional documentaries in the past couple years. i still refuse to think undertale is cringy because it dared to be more sincere and vulnerable than anyone calling it so ever hoped to be. and like, yeah, i want to be careful about lauding the “FOLLOW UR DREAMS TELL UR STORY” narrative, because we live in a society and we gotta pay bills and sometimes your most self-indulgent story just isn’t gonna cut it. i’ve followed enough webcomic artists for years to know that the internet is a graveyard of abandoned passion projects. creating webcomics can be such thankless work that might bring you little to no revenue and pushing your body to create it might break it permanently. it’s awful to think about. i have so much love for every creator that had to end or abandon their work prematurely for whatever reason. thank you for giving us the gift of reading it at all, you know?

idk i love creators and i love it when they get to do their thing and i know it’s complicated. thank you for daring to share your heart’s blood with us

#[vibrates gently]#do not get me started on webtoon reader entitlement #also botw is a Sincere game. you can tell from the motorcycle #too long for twitter

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mosswillow · 4 years

Text

Come back (Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Dark! 18+, stalking, cults, kidnapping, blood, drugging, bondage.

Summary: Your father's death brings you back to your childhood home and the cult you grew up in. You just need a few days to pack things up before selling the place and leaving forever.

A/N This is for @tansypoisoning spooky challenge. I picked the words nostalgia and ritual as a prompt. It’s supposed to have a horror element. I was going for more of a suspenseful/creepy vibe.

It’s been eight years since you left. You walked away and never looked back, at least not until you got the call that your father had passed away in his sleep. His only possession, the small cabin you grew up in, was willed to you. So now you stand outside the cabin, suitcase in hand, taking deep breaths before opening the door and walking in. You look around the one room cabin, taking it all in. you’re surprised to feel nostalgia creep into your bones. A blanket on the couch reminds you of forts you used to build. The smell of the forest brings back memories of climbing trees and picking wild fruit. You notice a knife sitting on the kitchen counter and imagine your father whittling figures out of wood. You look back on your childhood with mixed emotions. It was a cult, plain and simple. Leaving was the hardest thing you ever did but it was necessary. You feel happy and free now. You’ve made new friends and family. You’ve gotten an education, a job. You’ve fallen in and out of love multiple times. You’ve lived life to the fullest. So looking around now and feeling loss is both unexpected and unwelcome.

“Y/N?”

A voice brings you out of your head. You look over to see a mountain of a man standing in the doorway. The last time you saw him was right before you left. The cult had told you that you and him were chosen to marry. It’s not that you hadn’t liked Steve or anything, you just couldn’t do it. You had made friends in the city who had helped you get out. They introduced you to the internet and taught you that there’s more to the world than the little community in the woods. You were to marry him as soon as you turned eighteen but instead you left without a word.

Steve stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. His eyes travel down your body, stopping at your breasts for a few seconds. You cover them by crossing your arms and force yourself not to step back. You don’t owe him anything and shouldn’t feel intimidated by his presence.

“You look good Steve.”

“So do you.”

The two of you stand in silence for several moments longer than is comfortable.

“What are you doing here Steve?”

“Come back Y/N.”

Steve cuts in without interlude, his voice strong and commanding. You close your eyes and brace yourself. He’s always been like this, all of the men you grew up with had the same attitude, Stubborn and assertive. You had hoped you wouldn’t see Steve because you knew exactly what his reaction would be, that he would aggressively try to make you stay.

People in the cult can’t remarry. They have the belief that soulmates exist and once yours is picked that’s it. When you left you were condemning Steve to a lifetime alone. The price of your freedom was Steve's. He would not be allowed to rise in the cult without being married, would never have children or have what the cult deems is a fulfilled life. You remind yourself again that you don’t owe Steve anything. He can leave just like you did.

“No.”

you make your voice sound as strong as you can. you were taught from childhood that women are supposed to be submissive and docile. It comes back now in full force, pushing you down like an invisible hand. You’re a boss now, having worked hard to create the life you have. You’re strong and confident but here, under the watch of Steve's cold blue eyes you feel like a child.

A look of apathy moves across Steve's face before his expression lands in a controlled smile. Your body language wavers and you take a step back. Steve smirks at you, leaning against the doorframe.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just a few days, I’m just going through some stuff before I sell the place.”

Steve nods and places his hand on his chin, scratching the stubble that surrounds his jaw.

“Stay safe Y/N”

With that he leaves, shutting the door softly behind him. You walk to the window and look out to see a group of cult members dressed in white cloaks surrounding the cabin, half hidden in the woods. They just stand there, unmoving like zombies. You shudder and close the blinds, locking the door quickly. You need to get out of this place as soon as possible.

---

That evening you hear a knock on your door. You walk to the window and peak out. Nobody is there. You open your door and find a dead rat. A steak knife punctures through the eyeball into its head. You gasp and close the door quickly, locking it and stepping back. You check every window to make sure they’re all locked and look out at the woods only to see darkness.

After the sun rises you open your door and run to your car. It won’t start. You curse, returning to the cabin and grabbing your cell phone. There’s no reception and you curse again. You had reception yesterday. A knock makes you jump and you see Steve in the doorway, eyebrows knitted in concern. You could have sworn you had locked the door when you came back in.

“You ok doll?”

You always hated when he called you that.

“My car won’t start and my phone doesn’t have reception.”

“You want a ride to town?”

You eye Steve wearily.

“Do you think I’m going to kidnap you or something? I could do that right now if that’s what I wanted to do.”

He looks at you like he might pounce at any second. You can tell that’s exactly what he wants to do and the thought of him kidnapping you makes you want to lock yourself away. You’re in a tight spot though and don’t know what else to do.

“Ok, thanks Steve.”

You get in Steve’s truck and he drives you to a mechanic. He puts his right arm on the back of your seat casually, brushing his hand over your hair. the action is purposeful and you both know it.

“Did the cult, uh, leave a dead rat on my doorstep?”

Steve scrunches his face in disgust.

“Um, no we didn’t.”

You look out the window, not totally convinced Steve is telling the truth but also not sure that he’s lying. You never experienced any of the cults rituals as only married adults were allowed to do them. You have no idea if the dead rat is a cult thing or not but can’t really think of any other reason for the events of the evening prior.

You park at the mechanics and get out. It looks the same as when you were a kid. you remember running around playing hide and seek with other children in the woods nearby, coming over for a soda after an afternoon of playing.

“Y/N, long time no see.”

You smile sweetly at the mechanic, Mr. Stark.

“My car isn’t starting and I need to leave tonight.”

“Soonest I can come look at it is tomorrow sweetheart.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet but nod. One more night won’t hurt. Steve drives you back to your cabin and walks you to the door. He leans over, placing his shoulder beside the door and looking at you. You refuse to make eye contact and unlock the door, opening it and walking in.

“Thanks for the ride.” you say, shutting the door and locking it.

“I’ll see you later.” Steve yells through the door. You hear him whistling as he walks to his truck and you watch though the window as he drives away.

---

That evening you sit at the kitchen table, hugging your knees and biting your nails. As soon as you hear any noise you stand up and open the front door confidently.

“Go away!” You yell to the empty yard.

You slam the door and lock it, moving to the window to look out. Shadows move through the woods but you can’t make out any defined shapes.

You find a baseball bat in the closet and check all of the doors and windows once more before getting in bed. You fall asleep cuddling the bat.

Half way through the night you hear whispering outside your window. It doesn’t sound like talking, more like chanting. You clutch onto the bat and sit up in bed waiting. There’s rustling outside and then suddenly banging on all sides of the cabin. You cry, holding onto the bat for dear life like it can save you. The banging stops as suddenly as it started and the cabin becomes eerily quiet. You run to the window and pull the curtain back but nothing’s there. The rest of the night is spent awake and shaking. You’re not sure if they’re just trying to scare you or do something more nefarious. You’re not going to wait to find out. Tomorrow you’re leaving and never coming back, if you stay here any longer you may never leave again.

---

Mr. Stark drives up around noon and you meet him outside. He takes a look at your car and you sit on the porch watching.

“I need to order a special part.” He yells and you walk to him.

“I can’t stay here any longer.”

“It’ll be in tomorrow and I’ll come as soon as I can.”

You’re stuck. Panic starts rising in you but you push it down. One more night. As soon as your car is fixed you’re getting in and leaving. You don’t care anymore about finishing work on the cabin. You’ll sell it as it, heck give it away. You’re sure the cult will take it.

Mr. Stark gets in his truck and drives away. You spend the rest of the evening working in the cabin, sorting and boxing things. You’re just trying to pass time by at this point and not actually trying to finish everything you originally wanted to.

You check all of the windows and doors obsessively. They’re always locked but that voice in your head tells you to check again and again. As the sun sets, your anxiety rises, finally falling asleep out of pure exhaustion.

“Y/N”

You jolt awake to find Steve standing over your bed.

“What the fuck are you doing here Steve?”

“I won’t tolerate that language once we’re married.”

“Get out!”

“It’s our wedding night Doll.”

Steve reaches out to grab your arm and you pull away, falling out of the bed and scrambling up. Steve looks like a monster in the dark. His tall frame blocks the light coming from the window, blurring most of his features. The only thing you see aside from his outline are his eyes. They glow in the dark, ethereal and terrifying. You run past him and out the door. The woods are familiar, having played in them all growing up and you take a well worn path. You hear Steve calling after you.

“You can’t fight this. We’re soulmates.”

You keep running and crouch down behind a fallen tree. You peak your head over to look back toward the house and see a white figure walking towards you. You stand again and run only to see another ghost like person. Every time you turn in another direction someone is there, walking slowly towards you. You’re surrounded and soon you’re standing in the middle of a circle of people, dressed in white cloaks. You kneel down, tears streaming down your face. Steve breaks the circle and walks toward you, needle in his hand. He sticks it into you and your eye’s flutter before closing.

---

When you wake up you’re strapped to a large stone slab. Memories come back of being told over and over never to touch it, never come near it. It feels wrong to be strapped onto it now and you wiggle trying to get away. you look down and see that you’re wearing matching clothing to everyone else. How long have you been out? It’s dark outside so you assume it’s the same night. Everything is fuzzy and you look around at the people’s unintelligible faces.

“Steve, do you promise to love, to care for, and to control Y/N” You recognize the voice as an elder of the cult.

“I do.” Steve speaks clearly and you perceive a hint of pride in his speech, like he knows he’s won.

The elder brings a knife to your hand, making a small cut, doing the same to Steve. Your head becomes more and more clear and you pull on the restraints.

“You may kiss your bride.”

“No!” You yell before Steve’s lips cover yours.

When he finally pulls away you yell at him again.

“Leave me the fuck alone Steve, you have no right.”

Steve ignores your cries, undoing your restraints. You try to fight against him but he leans over and whispers in your ear.

“It’s done Y/N, your mine. Do you really want me to punish you now in front of all these people? You know I will.”

You still long enough for him to carry you to his cabin. You’ve never been here before, have never wanted to be here. He sets you on the bed and you back into the headboard.

“Let me go Steve.”

“It’s done now Doll, you can’t leave ever. I own you.”

“You don’t own me Steve, none of it is real. It’s a cult. I’ll run away the first moment I can.”

Steve's eyes darken and he stalks toward you. You roll off the bed and try to run making it out the door but fall as soon as you hit the treeline. It feels like something is stabbing your chest and you cry out in pain. Steve slowly walks toward you, letting out a displeased sigh before picking you up. The pain disappears as soon as you’re in his arms.

“It’s ok doll, You’ve just gotten false teachings in your head but you’ve been brought back to me like it’s always meant to be. I’m here to help you learn your place. Soon you won’t even be thinking about leaving.”

“This can’t be happening.”

Steve gives you a look of pure joy.

“Oh, trust me it is.”

#dark!steve x reader #dark!steve x you #dark!fic #TansySpookyChallenge2020

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

“Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

“What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

“Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

“Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

“You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.

Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

“I think we should do gifts.”

It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

“‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

“It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

Sam heard anyway.

“You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

“I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

“Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

“Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

“Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

“I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

“That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

“I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

“They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

“It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

“It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.” You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

“Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

“Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

“Want to open the other one?”

Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

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kissesinthekitchen · 4 years

Text

Teeth

Prompt: It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so.

Smut and fluff. Needy Harry. More than 6,560 words of sub!Harry.

Pairing: Harry x Reader

A/N: I’m really excited about this! This story was written for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge - and my prompt was 9F - Sub!Harry. It really pushed my writing and forced me to write something different and out of my comfort zone. I have so much love for @for-fucks-sake-h @andwhenshesays and @oh-honey-styles for their patience and for putting this event together. These writers have inspired me so much, they literally brought me back to fanfic -after years of writer’s block- and I could not be more thankful. This was my first time taking part in a writing challenge too! I would appreciate any love or feedback this gets. Thank you! xo

His eyes are full now, they’re brimming, prickling with tears. And his jaw is tense. He leans into the cup of your hand and you watch the features of his face flutter, the desperation is still there - simmering, but a calmness passes over him as he leans into your touch. He could be good, he could be so good for you.

God, you want to wreck him.

It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you.

Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting.

And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so.

But aside from passes of food and medication through the door of your apartment and fuzzy Facetime calls, he hasn’t seen you.

It’s been hard. The evening after you first slept together, you were taken away from him - a girl’s trip to Maui, for one of your best friend’s bachelorette parties. You’d given him time, moments tucked away in your hotel room when your mate was gone and you had an hour to yourself. An hour of grinning at him through the face of an unreliable internet connection to tell him that you missed him so bad. Selfies taken hidden in the bathroom. Cheeky voicemails. He’s kept them all.

Then, when your plane had touched down in California, there had been another road bump in your reunion when you’d come back ill. Your achy, trembling voice had croaked into the phone delivering him the bad news. “Harry, I’m sick.”

You’ve been sick for the last week and a half and it’s been hard to give you your space, Harry will admit to that. But you’re adamant, serious. You remind him that he has rehearsals for tour starting soon and he can’t risk it.

“Miss you,” he croaks into his phone when you touch down.

“Miss you more,” you tell him back, a cough slicing through your promise.

“Let me buy you groceries. I can pick up your prescription-”

Harry watches your face soften through the video call, wanting nothing more than to touch your cheek.

“I’ll pay you back,” you tell him, smiling as if you both don’t know he has a bank account worth millions of dollars. Later, you both stare at each other miserably through the window of your living room window as he places your groceries and medicine on your doormat. He blows you a kiss goodbye before he leaves and you pretend to catch it with your hand.

But that had been a few days ago and now you’re on your way to his house, caught in Los Angeles traffic but on your way nonetheless.

He wonders if you’ve thought about it too, thought about him. If you have missed him just as much. He doesn’t feel alone in this feeling, if the look in your eyes as he left your window is enough to tell him, but there’s something else gnawing at him-

Harry is sure he’s in love with you.

It’s a feeling that kindled inside of him before you slept together, but now it feels more palpable, real. Bigger than himself. The weeks without you have only cemented it for him. He loves you. He’s in love with you. He might have even written a few songs about it already.

He wants to tell you. He likes the idea of feeling right, but he doesn’t want to wait. He wants to tell you when he feels like he can’t take it anymore, and he knows that feeling is dawning. The words feel like they are bubbling in his chest, nearing the tip of his tongue each time he talks to you.

You’ve been together five months now. And he knows maybe that’s a bit of a long block of time to get into each other’s pants for some people - god knows he might have wanted to jump your bones earlier than that.

But time was always in the way, the same way it feels now. A trip to take him across another country away from you. Your job making you stay late or taking you out of state. You’ve done other stuff together before - of course. Hurried handjobs when you were visiting the studio, his fingers tasting you, he might have even gotten his cock in your mouth when he went to visit you at work. But the real getting together, the real sleeping together - had taken five months. And now that he knows what you feel like, what sounds you make, how you look underneath him - Harry can’t think of anything else. It’s the only thing that has carried him through the last few weeks without you when he’s been miserably lonely. His need for you, and yes, his love for you.

It happened in your bedroom, on the small - full sized bed in your apartment, rather than the massive mattress in his house. But he thinks it was perfect that way. He loves your apartment now, he knows it. He has his favorite mug and you stock a box of his favorite granola on top of your fridge. He names the plants in your living room. (“Bowie,” he points to a colorful succulent. “Obviously.” And then “Freddie” to the pothos sitting on your bookshelf.) And there are photos of you together tacked up with magnets in the kitchen and frames next to your bed. That night you had given him his own toothbrush to keep on the sink in the bathroom next to yours.

Everything about him seems to ache without you here. His hands feel empty without you against them, music -even, he realizes- does not feel as vibrant without your voice there to sing along with him.

You’ve kept him close though, and for that he is happy. He muses on this as he finishes some dishes in the kitchen, trying not to glance at the clock again.

It started with the text messages. Then the photos you sent him from Hawaii. He has to stiffle a grin at the memory - A sex shop your friends had pulled you into a few days into your trip. You’d sent him a photo of a wall of toys - floggers, gags, dildos, chokers, blindfolds. Harry had barked out a laugh at first when he saw the picture unfold in front of his eyes. See anything you like? You’d teased.

He remembers how he’d been sitting in his living room, the sound of the latest Packers game fading in the background. His ears felt hot as his fingers hovered over the letters on his phone.

The choker. He’d typed out, teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. Maybe the blindfold too.

For me or you?

Me. xx

Harry swears he must have felt all the blood rush to his groin when he saw your reply.

They have handcuffs too.

Your talks and messages had only escalated from there. It was as if you were both daring each other to go further, but instead you were crossing new territory together, hand in hand. You made him feel dizzy with want, the way you were meeting him inch for inch.

It’s the only reminder that Harry feels like he needs - he can trust you in a way he hasn’t been able to trust anyone before. He finds himself pledging devotion to the intrigue in your eyes, the way you don’t shy away when he teases you back or admits something through the phone. The feeling leaves him breathless, if he’s being honest. Most of all, it makes him miss you even more.

His skin is buzzing as the minutes crawl by and your arrival gets closer and closer. He can’t stay still. He paces the hall until he sees the text banner on his phone announce you’re arrival. I’m outside.

Harry’s favorite thing about you is the way you look perfectly at home in his house. Like you’ve alway belonged here. He swears sometimes that he must have dreamt you into life. It’s like you have just always been here. He’s reminded of this when he hears your voice over the security camera - “It’s meee.” And when he pulls the door open -

“Baby-” he opens his arms.

You drop your bags on his doorstep. And you’re grinning as you launch yourself into his arms, your cheek flat against his chest and your nose buried in his neck. “Harry.”

“Oh baby,” he says, his fingers gingerly stroking your cheek, pushing your face up so your foreheads meet. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes are glistening as he presses your lips together.

The last few weeks feel like a lie of nostalgia. Your memories of him have not done him justice. Not to the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, not to his warmth or his laugh and definitely not to the way he kisses you.

He smells good, like something crisp and floral - his expensive aftershave and cologne, and something still so distinctly Harry. That’s the part you have missed the most.

You kiss him with both arms around his neck to pull him down to your height and you don’t stop until his back hits the door, reminding you both that you need a break to breathe. He’s laughing as he grips your waist.

“Sorry,” you muse, smudging some of the lipstick that you’ve gotten on his mouth and teeth.

“Don’t be, love. C’mere,” he takes your groceries (you owe him, don’t you?) and bag from you.

You shuffle into the house, checking your keys twice to make sure you locked your car even though Harry laughs and reminds you there’s a gate and a security guard that patrols the neighborhood.

Harry helps you unpack the groceries, while you work on relearning the map of his kitchen again, pulling drawers and opening cabinets, trying to get acquainted with his space again. He throws on some Fleetwood Mac and The Zombies filter through the space between you as you start dinner. He muses that the song could not be more perfect for the feeling inside his chest. “Should I try to hide, the way I feel inside? My heart for you? Would you say that you love me too? I can tell the way you smile. If I feel that I could be certain then. I would say the things I want to say tonight.”

He stares at you with something that feels like pride, watching the sun filter through the window as you work. He thought -maybe- it might be hard to look you in the eyes or to push the feeling inside him aside but this, it feels easy. Watching you and being together with you in this way. His house, he feels, it finally feels like home now that you’re here.

The smell of garlic and olive oil begins to fill the kitchen as you prepare the ratatouille and pasta you promised him you would make. You smile when he leans down to rest his chin against your shoulder as you work, sometimes squeezing your side with his hands.

“Smells good, love,” he says, a watchful eye hanging over your shoulder at the pots and pans on the stove.

Harry pours wine into glasses for the both of you and you hum your thanks when he pushes the throat of a glass towards you, closing your eyes as he kisses the top of your head. And when you unwrap the loaves of bread from the store, he laughs and barks out “Could’a told me to make some, love. I used ‘ta work in a bakery!”

You laugh as you tug on his waist, reaching up to catch his lips. “I know. You never make me forget.”

You make tiramisu later, trying hard not to stare at Harry too much as you work together. His long fingers dipping the ladyfinger cookies into the espresso mix. And you know he catches you blushing when he asks you to taste the whipped cream from his fingers. It has not stopped catching you by surprise, the way he can make you feel beautiful and important and lucky all at once.

And even though he knows this was the plan for tonight, he can’t help but beam at the promise in your voice when the words come tumbling later. “Brought my bag,” you tell him over your empty plates. “Packed an outfit for tomorrow. Hope you like my pajamas.” You smirk at him.

“S’the ones with coffee mugs and lattes on them?”

You throw your head back and laugh at the fact that he remembered them.

“Sexy,” he teases. You catch him leaning against the counter and taking you in. “Got you a toothbrush.”

You smile, memories of last time quickly flooding your thoughts, but don’t take your eyes off the napkin in front of you. You know he’s lost in the same memories. When you’re washing dishes later though, he leaves you to place the fancy -electric, you’ll notice later and expensive- toothbrush sitting on top of your overnight bag.

After dinner, when you’re both feeling warm and giggly, you pull him back into the sitting area of his bedroom. Harry gulps hard as he watches you insist on lighting some candles, and the smell of teakwood and rosemary fill the room. Watching you makes his stomach clench, this is all he has wanted, craved, needed for the last few weeks. You in his arms and in bed, taking up his space again.

He’s sitting on the small sofa next to his bed, the enormity of his room could almost beat the entire size of your apartment. But you feel at peace here, in the same way he feels comforted and hidden in your home. He’s more than the expensive, designer clothes in his closet, the guitars that line one wall, the pile of leather bound journals and gold and white accented bathroom. Here, he’s just Harry. Your Harry.

When he’s finally relaxed, you push some gifts bags into his hands and insist that he unwrap the gifts you got him from Hawaii. There are books, boxes of chocolate, bags of pineapple candy, floral shirts from vintage thrift stores, and a kitschy keychain with hula dancers and his name on it - that looks so hilariously out of place next to the keys for his Mercedes and vintage cars.

You look warm and inviting as you turn towards him, the candlelight taking your skin glow like amber. Your skin looks kissed by the sun thanks to your trip. And Harry’s suddenly overwhelmed with how he wants nothing more than to kiss you for your thoughtfulness, for the disbelief he feels at having you here, for the feeling bursting in his chest.

“Got you one more thing,” you tell him as you close the distance between you, reaching around him to place a small gift box in his hand.

“Another present? Or summat?” he smiles.

You kiss the side of his face, humming softly in response, stroking the back of his hair and neck. You try to stay composed as Harry’s fingers gingerly pry the lid of the box open.

The air feels like it has been sucked out of him. He hates that his fingers tremble a little as he takes the collar out of the box. It’s black and thick, feels smooth like leather, with a buckle that slides closed on the side. He swallows hard as his thumb gingerly runs over the loopholes, imagining the way it would feel gripping his throat or how you would look tying it in place - god, help him.

“Thought we could use it sometime. Doesn’t have to be tonight. You mentioned-”

And then he’s kissing you. Kissing you so fiercely that your mind stumbles before your body can catch up. Both of his hands on your face, knocking the collar down between you.

It’s what you have both been walking around all night and it feels like the feeling that had been simply growing in his chest is about to burst. His vision feels like it is swimming right now, but your hands on his face are the only thing tethering him to the ground, whatever is growing between you makes him feel like so much more than himself. The feeling in his chest feels bigger than he has words for right now.

Your eyes search his. “Do you trust me?

“I do. Y’know I do.”

“Then Harry?”

His pupils are so wide. “Yeah?” he says.

“Get on your knees.”

You watch him carefully as he moves to his knees on the floor, idly shifting closer to the bed. When he stills, you reach for the belt he had discarded on the way into his room. Your fingers rubbing against the leather. “This okay?”

You listen to his sharp intake of his breath, watch the curls at the front of his face fall briefly in his eyes. “Y-yeah.”

His hands are one of your favorite things about him. Their large, calloused - his fingers long and tapered. You reach down to press a kiss to the cross on his hand and then move to coil the belt so it loops around his wrists, biting into his skin.

Realistically, Harry knows he could get out of this, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t that thrills you. He’s patient and pliant beneath your hands, reduced to his knees and shuddering when your touch leaves him. The line of his neck arching as his eyes follow you. He uses his mouth to follow the line of your palm, kissing your skin until you let go.

He crawls for you - and oh, you love that. The way his back arches, his long legs and knees hitting the floor, his mind unable to grasp what his body can’t right now - he’s so eager to follow where you go, to be with you, to be a part of you.

“Harry-” you say, sitting down on the mattress and spreading your legs wide. You lean back to rest your weight on your elbows, thighs lazily spread wide so he can rest between them. You shimmy the end of your dress up, loving the way his nostrils flare and his pupils widen, watching your hands - your fingers grazing where he wishes his skin could go too. Have hungered to for days and days.

“Harry, do you want to taste me?”

“God, love. Please-”

“Say it again.”

“Please?” he begs.

His nose and lips skim the same path your hands followed. His head of full dark curls turning under the hem of your skirt. You’re gracious enough to help make it easier for him by tugging it up and he groans a sound of thanks into your skin with his lips.

He’s hungry for it. He inhales deeply, licking you through the fabric of your panties in a way that makes you shudder. He’s even more grateful when you take pity on him by raking your nails through his hair and shifting the material down so he can look at you bare. The tug makes his eyes flutter, it feels so good.

He’s frozen though, stilling as he waits for your instruction, and you gingerly cup the side of his face in thanks.

“Go ahead,” you whisper, when he’s almost at the point of whimpering. And then he moves forward, making a home between your thighs.

Last time you did this, you learned that you love when Harry has both his mouth and his fingers inside you - but this is - well it’s lovely. It’s fucking heaven. Watching how desperate he is to get you off, the way he presses all of his face into your cunt - heeding the deepest part of you, where you’re so wet and just as desperate for him. He’s needy, messy with it. His lips and tongue remembering you all over again, his nose smashed against your cunt and the hint of his teeth against your clit - just enough to have you grinding down on him in a way that makes your brain feel fuzzy.

Feeling the slickness of his tongue as he slides it inside you makes your cunt feel like it’s fluttering around him. Your face pinches every time he comes back to lick you deeper and you listen to the half garbled words that he’s sucking and pleading into your skin.

“So wet. So fuckin’ wet for me. Tastes so good. Missed ‘yeh so much.”

Without the help of his hands, Harry uses one long leg to push himself against the length of the bed- trying to be close to you, while also finding some friction against the mattress. He finds no relief, but when he hears you voice gasp out for him, your fingers weaving in his hair - it’s almost better than any vision he had of you these last few weeks. Oh, it’s so much fucking better.

He’s so greedy for it. He wants to taste you, needs to feel you cum more than he wants it for himself. You can tell by the way he pushes his tongue between your folds, trying to get deeper, like he’s trying to reach inside you and be a part of you. If his hands were free, he would use his fingers to spread you wide and open. To stuff you full. He knows he would tug on your legs, wear your thighs around his neck like a fucking necklace but there’ll be more time for that - another time, another place - right now, he just wants to feel you cum.

“Harry,” you beg him. “Harry. I’m close-”

He moans when he watches you slide your fingers down to help aid him, his jaw dropping down in awe as you rub your clit. He works hard to sink down and lick around your fingers before dipping inside of you again.

“You’re gonna make me come. You’re gonna - I’m going to come in your mouth. God, I’m going to come in your mouth-”

He’s lost in it, but it’s when he looks up at you - his big, green eyes against your flushed pussy, that you feel yourself lose it. It’s simultaneously loving and yet so obscene - you can’t bear it.

You fist your fingers through his hair, shoulders trembling a little off his pillow, your thighs shaking just as hard- and if his hands were free, Harry knows he would be forcing your thighs and your hips down onto the bed. But all he can do is take it now, take it as hard as you are giving it back to him. His face getting wet and messy with it.

You could scream with how good it feels. And he licks you through it all, only stalling when your nails dig into his head and he feels you shift away from his incessant mouth. “Too sensitive,” you murmur, and Harry finally relents.

He sits up on his knees, leaning his forehead against your thighs, trying to breathe through his nose.

“Harry?”

He makes a sound in his throat, still gasping against your thigh. You touch his head, urge him to rest against your thigh and he’s grateful. He feels something hanging off the tip of his tongue-

“Harry. Harry, what’s your color?” Tell me. Where are you?”

“Green,” he groans, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “That was- that was just a lot. But I’m green. So fuckin’ green, love..”

You giggle at that and when he finally does look up at you, he looks so pleased with himself. When you take his face between your hands, he feels warm against your fingertips, from the pressure of your hips and how deeply he was digging his face between your thighs. His lips and jaw are soaked, glistening with you and you’re more than happy to help clean him up, licking the taste of yourself from his mouth and pressing soft, appreciative kisses against his face.

When you finally step aside, his eyes follow you. He’s appreciative of the fingers you still have in his hair and the way you use them to steer him up and onto the bed.

“Harry?” His eyes look drunk as they meet yours. He’s still kneeling. “Are you with me?”

“Always, love.”

You smile at him, giving him another pat on the head, your fingers running through his matted hair. And he nuzzles deeper into your hand.

“Breathe, baby. Give me your safeword.”

His mind is swimming. He thinks of your eyes narrowing at him over dinner - a field - the bright painting on the wall behind your head. - Plastic crinkling around the bouquet of flowers he held clenched between his fingers on your very first date. The vase of them you keep on the island in your kitchen and next to your bed- smiling over at him, the smell of coffee drifting, the sun hitting the bare skin of your back, the name he has you saved under in his phone-

“Sunflower,” he says, the smile on his lips lazy and triumphant when it finally comes to him. “Sunflower. Sunflower.”

You’re beaming as you stare down at him and he feels like he wants to sink into the praise in your eyes.

“Good,” you tell him. “Good. You’re doing so good, Harry.”

God, you want to wreck him.

“M’cock’s hard,” he says, in the same lazy, almost dazed voice. “S’leaking.”

You make work of both your clothes and then unbuckle his pants and take him out and true to his word - he’s hard. So hard. His expression looks pained when you thumb the raspberry tip of his cock, your mouth watering. He’s too sensitive for that right now, but maybe- you think- hope blooms in your chest. In the future. You could use a ring or-

It’s endearing how reactive he is to you. Not only do his eyes always follow you, but it’s as if his skin’s instinct is to follow you too.

“Harry, I’m going to untie your hands. Would you like that?”

“Yes-Yes Please.” And god his voice breaks twice around your name -you almost want to take pity on him.

Almost.

“I’m going to untie them but I want you to listen to me. Listen to me, okay? I want you to raise them above your head, hold onto the headboard. You’re still not going to touch me. Is that understood?”

“Ye-yes,” he stutters out. And oh you love that. Your golden boy, who has had the world at his feet since the beginning - he’s never been denied things. But this, this he’s doing just for you. And for himself.

He gasps as you work to undress him, pulling his jeans down the length of the bed, then his briefs. You move to straddle his thigh first, leaning down enough to rub yourself against the tiger inked into his skin. At the touch of his thigh against your clit, you moan - and he moans with you - as if he can’t help himself, can’t bear it- feeling you spread open against his skin and being unable to touch you.

“So wet,” he whimpers. “Fuckin’ christ. You’re so wet.”

You allow yourself this moment, a few seconds to rub yourself against him like some kind of cat in heat. Using him until you feel more wetness begin to pool on his skin. You note that his arms are straining with the stretch of the angle he has against the headboard, the veins in his arms a flash of trembling light blue as his fingers shake.

When finally you feel like you’ve had enough to bear, you swing your leg over his hip and draw yourself down to his pelvis. His face is almost flush with your chest, and you can see the restraint he’s trying to give you - the pupils of his eyes are so wide, and he’s biting into his plush bottom lip, trying not to close the distance between you to suck a beautiful, puffy nipple into his mouth or between his teeth - He needs to be good. He needs to prove to you how good he can be.

You’re more patient and forgiving this time, spitting on his cock and taking him into your hand. You stroke him a few times, letting the tip of him - just the tip- graze inside of you.

His eyes and forehead crease at your teasing.

“You’re so big,” you tell him, and his skin flushes beneath the phrase, his hips bucking up to meet you.

“B-biggest?” he stutters out and you don’t mistake the nervous lilt at the end of his voice for anything but what it is - a need for confirmation.

“Biggest. Best I’ve ever had,” you affirm. “Harry. Fuck.”

Pride swells in his chest, making him gasp.

“God, Harry. That first time we...I didn’t think I’d be able to-. It hurt something good the next morning. Felt like I was aching without you there anymore. - Missed you so much. Missed my baby boy, so much.”

He’s rutting up, hips lifting off the mattress and you feel equally pained for him, your cunt miserably fluttering around nothing too.

“Fuck. Please,” he begs you, the deepness of his voice making you tremble from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. “Take me. Take me.”

You relent, letting yourself slide down the length of him - and oh, this is nice. A snug fit. Another memory of him gone unjustified. You can feel him in your belly. His cock is so thick and deep, it’s still new but comforting. Like coming home.

“Feel good, Harry?”

“Yes! Yes. God. Christ. You feel so bloody good-”

You shift so you’re resting against him, the palms of your hands flat against his chest. - But not moving.

“Please,” he groans, his jaw straining towards the side of the bed. “Please fuck me, princess.”

“What do you want Harry?” you indulge him. You’ve missed his voice just as much as his touch, and you need to hear him say it outloud.

“Fuck me till I cry. Fuck me, ‘till I’m done for. Christ.”

His skin flushes like he’s embarrassed, so you lean down to kiss his jaw and mouth. “I will. I will. I’m going to fuck you, Harry.”

You use your hands for balance as you lift your hips, sliding up and down the length of his cock. Moaning loud and gasping hard when he shifts up to meet you thrust for thrust.

“H-Harry,” you call him, only continuing when his head shifts up, his eyes peering up to meet you and tell you he’s listening. The green intensity of them makes you clench around him. “What if I tied you up? Would you like that?”

His feet are flat against the bed now, his hips shifting up in response - he doesn’t trust his voice right now. He feels so wrecked. All he can say is your name as he impales you on his cock.

“Or maybe- maybe we’ll go somewhere and you could wear a collar - your collar - tight enough around your neck. Something to take out, huh? Just between the two of us - so you’ll know you’re mine. And when I’m gone again, you won’t ever have a reason to forget.”

Harry could almost choke on his disbelief. Hope and lust seem to twine together and something that feels like hope has been freed from his chest. Your mouth - it’s every fantasy, every secret he’s had - coming alive, coming to fruition hearing it in your voice.

“I’m going to come on you, going to come on your prick, baby,” you promise him. “Then-then you can come.”

“Yes,” he sputters out in response. “Yes-yes. Use me. Please. Please, love. It’s all I’ve been able to think about-since you’ve been gone. Wanting to make you come.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, and you feel yourself grow wet at the sound. He knows he’s safe. He knows he has you. His exhibitions are unraveling like a thread. They have been since that first message you sent him.

He’s rambling now. “Wanna come too. Wanna shoot it in deep. But-need ‘ta feel you first. Need ‘ta feel you quaking around me-Baby, please-”

His eyes go wild when you press your hand against his throat, small tears slipping down his cheeks. Your red fingernails look beautiful against the paleness of his skin. And his knees lift up in a desperate show to fuck into you harder.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. Fuck please. Please!”

He’s too lost, plummeting into the safety of the haze you have taken him to - he doesn’t notice the way your eyes narrow in surprise as he gasps from between your fingers. Your heart feels too full, like it might smother your rib cage and you let that feeling take you under. He loves you. He loves you.

Something overtakes you then. A wave of pride, and something territorial. You feel his words sinking into your bones, and you don’t feel afraid. In fact, you feel something like pride and adoration make a home inside your chest. You’re soaring. He loves you. Your teeth sink into the skin between his neck and shoulder and he groans, a heated sound that makes your skin flush, makes you feel impossibly wetter where you’re holding him between your thighs. It’s a mark to match the ones you have left on his left pec and his thighs, the line on his hip, and your handprints around his throat.. And for days to come, beneath the dim candlelight of his bedroom or the sunlight peeking through his bathroom in the morning - he will marvel at them, but now, now he’s too overcome.

“Harry,” you rake your nails through the back of his head and grab a fistfull of his hair, harsh and tight. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me cum. I want to come for you. You’re so good.”

He chokes as he feels yourself clench around him, swallowing him deep. You’re shaking, tugging his hair, and saying his name - “Harry, you’re perfect. My beautiful-Harry.” And watching you come on his cock, it’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You kiss him through it all and as you come back down. You’re tired, slick, and still recovering but your hands grasp Harry’s. Your fingers clenched between his long fingers, squeezing tight around his rings and pressing down on his wrists.

You lean down so your mouth is pressed between the pink wetness of his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth.

“Do you want to come inside me? You can, my sweet- Harry. You can. Only you. Come inside me Harry-.”

He doesn’t need much now. You’re grinding against him, lazy and slow. Licking into his mouth.

“Come inside you,” he repeats your words, gasping against your face. You feel his arms flexing beneath your touch, his hips pistoning his cock in and out of you. Arousal -both yours and his- dripping between your thighs. It’s a mess, but it’s your mess. “All I want - ‘ta come inside you.”

You press your fingers against his throat again and his eyes roll back into his head again. You push the weight of your hips against his pelvis and then feel it - the first few spurts of his release inside you, warm and comforting-

“Fuck. I’m coming. Y/N. I’m fuck-”

You hold him as it happens, your fingers around his throat only relenting when his hips have stopped stuttering and he’s finally stopped calling your name.

Spent, you collapse on him. Tapping his hands and wrists and loosening them. - “You can touch me. Harry- you can touch me.”

You stay with him for a long moment, it’s a space of time you both need. He’s coming down from where you took him so high, and you need to feel grounded, tethered next to him in every way you can right now. The bites and marks you’ve left on him pulse and throb, and his skin feels like it’s been lit on fire. He aches in the best way possible. He feels each throb like an ache under the intensity of a magnifying glass.

Your hair acts like a curtain over both of you as you plant soft, wet kisses over his neck, his temple, his face. Kissing away his tears. Your fingernails tracing over the tattoos on his stomach and chest as you tell him how well he did, how good, how hard he made you come. It makes him feel looked after, cherished, adored.

Your skin is a warm and comforting weight against his back, until he feels like he’s floated down again, his feet firmly planted.

It’s only when you’re sure he’s stopped trembling, and his heartbeat has slowed beneath the palm of your hand, that you break the surface of this bubble you’ve created together-

“Harry?” you call to him.

“Mmm,” he grunts.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fuckin’ perfect,” he says. “Love?”

“S’okay if I...I’ll be right back. Need to get us both cleaned up, babe.”

“I’ll-” he starts, and you can almost see his tall frame trying to lift from the bed.

“You don’t have to do anything, beautiful,” one of your hands comes up to press him back down against the mattress. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, handsome.” You press a wet kiss to his head again to soothe him and laugh as he makes a joke - “Think ya properly fucked my brains out. Can’t move, love.”

You walk to the bathroom on trembling legs and feet, and retrieve a wet washcloth to clean both of you up, only pausing to smile faintly at your reflection in the mirror - you look disheveled and happy. You hurry to grab a water bottle from the fridge and then patter back to Harry’s room and make him take a few sips from it. He stares up at you from beneath the throat of the bottle and you try to ignore the way you feel yourself flush beneath the awe in his eyes.

Only after you’ve pulled a clean pair of underwear on him, do you join him on the mattress again. You crawl onto the bed knees first, and Harry’s breathing slows as he feels you tug him towards you, your face pressed between both of his broad shoulder blades.

You listen to the heavy thud of his heartbeat through his back.

“I love you too,” you tell him quietly, finally. “Love you too.”

He makes a muffled sound, and then though he feels heavy and his body protests against the movement, he turns in your embrace so he can look in your eyes.

“Heard that, did you?” he tries to laugh. But you feel worry cementing itself in your heart when he doesn’t look up to meet your eyes.

“Don’t have to say it back, y’know?” he finally says. “Don’t have to say it just because I did. Don’t have to know what to do with it. You can have it- you can have me either way.”

You lean up a little to brush your hands through his hair, and so he can tilt his head up to meet you. The edge of his jaw against the cusp of your breasts, the pink of his mouth sitting so pretty against your chest, his eyes half lidded and still so fucked out. You wonder if he grasps exactly what he’s telling you.

“I know I love you. And I know I missed you so much, Harry. I want to take care of you.”

His heart thrills at what that could mean. “Want ‘ta take care of you too. Want to make you feel good.”

“You do. You’re the best. I love you and,” you smile a little, fingers brushing over the bite you left on his neck. “You’re mine.”

He laughs a little, drawing a glance at the mark too. His big hand closing over yours. “I love you too. Been wanting to say it for a long time.”

“I’m glad you did right now.” You smile at him, and the anxiety he was feeling seems to falter. He smiles back.

“Did you mean what you were saying?” Harry says, reaching for you even as sleep looms over the edge of his thoughts. “About the choker and the ring and summat?”

“’Course, whatever you want,” you smile at him above the duvet pulled up over both of your shoulders. “Trust me?”

“Know I do,” he smiles, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

Your face softens as you reach up to trace it with your fingers. “I’m many things, Harry Styles, but I’m not a liar,” you laugh.

“Know you are,” he laughs back, the gravely sound of it making you feel light and wonderful. Bright and adored. “First and foremost though, you’re my sunflower.”

You seem to beam under the look in his eyes. You pull him close, tucking yourself under his chin, and kissing one of the sparrows on his chest. “I am,” you tell him. “I am.”

A/N: If you’re wondering, yes, the story and title were both inspired by the song of the same name by 5SOS.

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