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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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our beloved summer | jjk (06)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)

note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

The picture is fucking terrible.

“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”

Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.

“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.

Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.

“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.

You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”

Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.

It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good.

The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it.

One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.

“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.

You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”

You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”

You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.

It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship.

What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?

Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.

Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.

Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?

You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.

“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”

You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?

“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”

“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”

“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”

Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.

“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”

You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.

You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.

“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”

You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.

Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”

“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”

“And say what?” you ask.

“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”

You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.

“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”

There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?

“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”

You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.

After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”

“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.

“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.

“You are literally sitting across from me.”

“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”

“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.

Aaand he’s back.

You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”

“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.

“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”

“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”

“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”

“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”

“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”

He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”

Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”

“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.

“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”

“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”

You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi.

[12:59] You: got a minute?

The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again.

You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.

[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)

You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.

“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.

You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”

“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”

When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.

Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.

“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”

“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”

You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.

“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”

“Yes,” you say again. “To…”

The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.

“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.

“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.

“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”

He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.

“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.

“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”

“You’re being overly confident, Min.”

“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”

“Shut up.”

When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.

“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him.

“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”

“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”

“My place?”

“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”

This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.

Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection.

You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.

But you remember the last time.

College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.

No.

You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.

You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.

You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard.

Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual.

Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.

You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.

You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi.

“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.

You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”

“Just sit down. I got this.”

“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”

“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.

You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.

When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.

You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.

“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.

“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”

It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.

For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.

You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.

When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.

Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol.

You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.

“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”

Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”

“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.

You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.

Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.

“The what train?”

“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”

With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.

Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.

Yoongi is… stable.

You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.

You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.

That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.

Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.

Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.

When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.

“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”

“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”

You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”

“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”

“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”

You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again.

It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written.

Wait.

Back up.

A kiss?

A kiss?!

With Yoongi?

You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!

Fuck.

Fuck?!

It’s the wine.

Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.

You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.

The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.

Baby steps.

You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.

“Goodnight, princess.”

You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened.

Déjà vu?

It’s oddly reminiscent.

You’ve been here before.

Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.

He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.

Something is happening.

He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.

Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.

Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.

Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.

An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.

Like you’re stamping him out.

Like he was never there at all.

Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.

It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.

A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.

And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.

But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.

It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there.

But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.

What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?

You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.

“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.

“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”

At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.

“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”

This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.

“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.

Because he broke things off with her?

Because he gives you more attention?

Ugh. Attention?

This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.

“You said she acts differently toward you.”

“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”

Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up.

You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.

“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”

It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.

Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.

He took initiative, right until the very end.

You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”

Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.

Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.

He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”

At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.

You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.

It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.

If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.

He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.

I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.

You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out. When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.

But at what point does it stop?

At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?

All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?

You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.

Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until someone else does.

“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.

There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.

In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.

Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.

You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”

The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.

Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.

He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception.

That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.

Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.

You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.

These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.

It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.

But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.

You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.

But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.

It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now.

You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.

You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start.

Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.

He takes a step closer, you take no step back.

“You know what I’m about to do, right?”

You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.

“I might have an idea…”

“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”

You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.

“Words, princess,” he reminds you.

Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”

He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter.

Then it happens.

The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.

Yoongi is kissing you.

You’re kissing him back.

He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.

The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.

When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.

Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile.

The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.

Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.

He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you again.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”

He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once.

You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.

You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.

It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.

Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.

The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.

You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.

You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day.

You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.

remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌

701 notes · View notes

fandomfluffandfuck · 2 months

Note

Help, i fell down a Marvel rabbit hole.

So the Endgame dilemma with Steve's decision had me thinking about other 'happy places' for Bucky and of course there's the obvious with Sam after TFWS but can we just for a minute think about Bucky maybe refreshing something nice from his time in recovery in Wakanda?

I found not a lot of fics but the thought of Bucky getting back there and kinda warming up with M'Baku again? This pairing just has something to me, especially with the whole grumpy but secretly subby White Wolf meets sarcastic domineering great Gorilla M'Baku...

Why would I help, lmao? I'm at the bottom of a very similar hole. The more the marrier! Welcome to the trash pile 💀💀

All good options, all good options, but I will say, anon, I welcome you to fully embrace the exhilarating option of: completely ignoring the events of Endgame.

As captivating as the idea of subby white wolf and domineering gorilla M'Baku is 😮‍💨... as much as I love all the ship content that has come out of Sebastian's and Mackie's banter as Bucky and Sam... I am weak for stucky. It's 🤌🏻everything about them🤌🏻 The childhood best friends to lovers, the wartime sweethearts, the going against the whole world for each other, the dying for each other, the living for each other.

Okay, so I'm laying my cards fully on the table to say that I hate Endgame, explaining why I like to ignore it. And with that being said, here are some anti-Endgame (some of them also straight up anti-steggy/anti-peggy) related metas that I find thought-provoking that I think you might, too. They're just to kick around the idea if you're interested in a different perspective that comes from what I see as deeper in the fandom (idk how true that is,though, lol)--something you might not have come across yet if you're new to this rabbit hole. Obviously, you don't have to read these, though! And I'm not saying you can't ship sambucky or Bucky x M'Baku. You're totally welcome to! I see the appeal myself 👀

Anyway, here:

Bucky's insecurities

No mourning of Steve

Secrets between Steve & Peggy

Endgame destroying Steve's character

More character destruction

Steve choosing Bucky

More stucky devotion

I'd rather Steve die

The no-homo-ing of gay ships in Hollywood

Steve and loyalty

Steve, the shield, Bucky, and Peggy

Steve's ending doesn't make sense (essay)

The Bucky Steve leaves behind

The look on Bucky's face

Uhh... I may have gotten carried away with the links. Listen, I just feel strongly, okay 💀💀

If you do find any good M'Baku and Bucky fics, feel free to send them my way 👀

#asks #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #anti endgame #meta #bucky x m'baku #sambucky

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merrellholland · 9 months

Text

Not So Bad After All → P.Parker AU

HEYYYY YALL; its been a minute and I am sooooo sorry LMAO. I promise to get back into my writing era <3

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Person: Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

AU: college hockey player, frat boy, still spider-man in secret

Words: 2.4k

Warning: swearing, slight bullying (but nothing too deep)

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Never in my life would I expect to have been dressed up in the most stinky and bulky fury suit… yet, here I am dressed as Sparky the Eagle. I was currently a junior at Empire State University located in beautiful New York, and throughout the years I may have found myself in a bit of a dilemma.

Money was never an easy task for my family and I, in fact I got into this school with a huge scholarship to help support my financial needs. Despite that, I still needed to pay some tuition fees and that meant that I needed a job. This isn’t my first rodeo though, back home I had many jobs all at the same time during high school in order to help my mom with paying bills. The only hard part was trying to find a job in New York, a place that I’ve never been to until I started my first semester at Empire State.

As I’ve completed the first two years and am now currently in my third, I’ve noticed the major stereotypical things for a college on T.V were coming to real life. The sorority girls were straight-up obnoxious and cruel to other girls who weren’t part of their sorority house, the frat boys were shirtless 24/7 while playing beer pong and having girls in bikinis all over their front yards of their gigantic frat house every Friday, and lastly the sport-frat boys. These guys were a whole different level of frat boys, and I’ve learned that very early on. These guys? Not only were they known for their handsome looks but most of these guys were going to real professional sports leagues after college, and we all know how that goes for them… in terms of love life.

All the girls (and some guys) would be over, flirting constantly with them and not really taking interest in their sport but rather their six-pack abs and looks.

As much as it pains me to say the cliche phrase “not like other girls” it's true. I really wasn't like the other girls swooning over these guys 24/7 and attending their friday night parties after classes were done. I was more the type of person who would prefer to finish homework and then cozy up with some blankets and a classic 2010’s rom-com.

But now I can’t even do that since my new job requires me to be at the ice rink every week on Fridays from 6-9pm. Six to nine! That’s three hours of prime time that I could be doing homework! And that’s not even the worst part,my job was that I had to be the mascot for the ice-hockey team during their games and interacting with the fans. The Empire State hockey team was one of the best in the college leagues throughout the nation and most players got into the NHL as soon as they graduated.

And now I’m their mascot, well I dress up as their mascot and that means getting a big sweaty and gross costume every Friday for 3-4 hours… great. Not that I could complain though, since surprisingly the pay wasn’t that bad due to the fact that you’re a student. Today was my first day on the job. The Empire Eagles were playing against the Cornell Big Red’s today and it was a home game so many students were going to attend.

After I arrived at the rink, the manager handed me the keys to the supply storage room to change into the eagle costume. Getting into that costume was a full ass workout, the smell is something I’ve never smelt before and the amount I was sweating was unbearable. Nevertheless, I got into that God awful attire and headed outside to the ice-rink. The coolness of the air inside did help a little, but I could still feel the beads of sweat trickling down my face.

My manager told me to practice walking on the ice with the costume since during the halftime break you had to collect all the tokens of appreciation from the fans as they threw it onto the rink from their seats. I slowly walked onto the ice with my giant eagle feet and waddled back and forth to try to get used to it before the game started, I practiced bending down to pick up the gifts in character and tried to come up with some signature eagle moves… might as well have some fun with it righ–

“Yo excuse me but the rink is for the players to practice right now.”

I quickly snapped my head to look behind me and–

Great. A sport-frat boy.

Peter Parker was someone that was greatly known throughout the university, top GPA, great looks, apparently great in the bedroom (so I’ve heard), and was the centerman for the Empire Eagles hockey team. Though I’ve never really paid attention to him. And as much as I wanted to dislike him, I’ve never personally met him before or even talked to him… so who am I to judge?

After all, he did ask somewhat politely and– why the heck am I overthinking this? Just apologize and move on Y/N!

I cleared my throat and attempted to have a deeper voice, “Sorry dude I wasn’t aware, I’ll be on my way now” I said… and cringed internally after saying that.

Peter nodded his head and smiled, “No worries, just a little jittery for the game so I wanted some extra practice” He replied.

I nodded my head and then exited the rink, going back to the storage room so nobody would see me yet.

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The game started and was currently ending the second quarter with the score being 2-1, the Empire Eagles winning and the Cornell Big Red’s tailing behind. I could tell that all of the players from Empire State were filled with happiness… and might I add overconfident and cocky. But that was something that I couldn’t pay attention to since I had to focus on giving it my all while I walked towards the ice rink at halftime and collected all the gifts that were thrown onto the ice from the fans in the stadium.

I walked in character as the fun spunky eagle while walking on the ice and picking up the teddy bears with a girl's number in sharpie written on it and a bunch of red roses. As I picked them up and headed back, I took a quick glance and the audience. There were some students who seemed genuinely happy to be there and there were those… What do people call them? Oh yeah puck bunnies? Yeah there were a whole lot of girls wearing those boob jackets from lululemon and attempting to look cold but also cute and petite. I mean again, I’m not one to judge so you do you I guess.

After I collected all of the gifts from the fans, I took some pictures with a couple of kids and I enjoyed that part. I liked seeing the smiles on their faces as they stood proud with me as their parents took photos. It definitely seemed like a core memory for them and I’m glad that I somewhat got to be a part of that.

As the third and fourth quarter went on, it was brutal for us. Cornell absolutely demolished Empire State and beat us 4-2. I guess that’s what our players get for being cocky and overconfident throughout the whole game, thinking that they’ve got this.

After the game ended and the fans left the stadium, my manager said to stay behind and clean the place up and pick up any extra gifts that were left. As I bent down (still in my eagle costume) to pick up some flowers that were left on the ice, something extremely heavy bumped into me from behind causing me to fling forward and make an umph sound.

“What the fuck?” I cursed in a whisper.

“DUDE what the fuck are you still doing here?! You need to get out, it's closed practice now looser” the voice said.

I turned around and looked at the man who was clearly a player on the Empire State Eagles, he had blonde hair and green eyes and was definitely 6’1”. Shit, what was I supposed to do? My manager literally told me to clean the place up and then help security to lock up the stadium!

“Bro be nice, you don’t gotta be mean” Another boy said.

As I looked up, I saw that that other boy was no other than Peter Parker. But before I could register that, he offered me a hand and I immediately accepted it.

I attempted to not sound like a scared wimp so I deepened my voice a little, “Uh thanks dude, I wasn’t aware that it was a closed practice… I’ll uh keep that in mind next time” I said to him.

He smiled, “Don’t worry, Charlie’s just a snob” He replied.

“Yeah I can tell” I responded while walking out of the rink.

He laughed again while combing through his sweaty brown curls, giving me butterflies–

Wait what.

Nope. Nope. Never. Never in a million years. I refuse.

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The next couple of weeks went by normally, except I’ve started to notice Peter Parker more often. I never realized he was in three of my classes. In my morning class he would wear his hockey sweatshirt with gray sweatpants and in the afternoon he would take off his sweatshirt, revealing a tight-fitted white shirt that showed off his biceps.

Damn, now I understand why girls swoon over guys like him… bro’s majestic.

But my mama always told me to focus on my studies, boys come after. And that's what I planned to do, stay focused. He probably doesn’t even know me since at school I’m practically a nobody. I mean I join clubs, I’m in choir, and I’m part of many study groups so most people would know who I am but they probably have other friends to talk to besides me. The same goes for my roommates, they know me but they have other friend groups.

Once again, it was Friday and that meant that we had another home game. The Eagles were playing against the NYU Bobcats. I went into the stadium and got into my disgusting and sweaty eagle costume. Throughout the weeks, I think I slowly got into character and found new dances to help entertain the little kids during timeouts and in between quarters.

As the game started, I did my little dances whenever I could and the score at the end of the second quarter was 1-1. The stakes were going to be high but I have a feeling that we were gonna win this one.

During the third quarter, I sat on the bench that was reserved for me and watched Peter, jersey number 4, skate all over the ice with his hockey stick. He had the puck, all of his attention was on it. The whole audience had a feeling that he was gonna score a goal but then all of a sudden one of the NYU players stole the puck from him and skated furiously across the other side of the rink.

You could see Peter cursing and quickly going to the other side along with his other teammates. Ever since that moment, it seemed that something triggered Peter… he was starting to get more aggressive and ruthless. It made me anxious to see his behavior on the ice, but nevertheless I kept watching.

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Despite the tight game, the Eagles won 3-2 and the whole crowd celebrated which meant that many gifts were thrown down onto the rink. Teddy bears and roses were everywhere and it was all me that had to clean it up. I walked on the ice with my feet stuck in the puffy eagle claws of my costume, gathered all of the gifts, and put them in a big container that I dragged with me across the ice. After I got all the stuffed animals and flowers in the container I headed towards my manager to give it to. As I handed it to him, he thanked me and said I was free as soon as I checked the whole stadium again to see if there was anyone else. I nodded and went back to the arena.

I checked to see if there were any other fans that were trying to stay behind, but didn’t find any… but gosh my feet hurt so much and I just need a little break before heading back to my dorm.

I took out the headpiece of the eagle costume and sighed as the cool breeze from the arena chilled my flushed cheeks. I then took out the rest of my costume which left me with my sweaty ponytail and loose hair strands framing my face along with my black leggings and shirt. Though I didn’t take it into consideration that there would be anyone else entering the stadium again after the game was over. But I guess I was wrong, because all of a sudden I heard a voice from behind me:

“I didn’t realize you were a girl,” I turned my head around to see who it was.

Peter Parker? I thought in my head.

“Or pretty.” he finished his statement with his mouth parting slightly.

I could feel my cheeks warm up despite the cool air as I laughed awkwardly, “W-What? Oh t-thanks… you look pretty too” I replied, not thinking about what I just said.

Peter just nodded and he looked like he was seconds away from drooling as he continued to stare at me… he really does make a girl feel special.

“Uhm, are you doing some extra practice? Or–” I say trying to break the silence.

Peter slightly shook his head and cleared his throat, “Uh yeah, it’s just I don’t feel like I gave it my all today even though we won so I wanted to get some practice in… if that’s okay?” he says.

I smiled and nodded my head, “Yeah sure, I’ll just go tell my manager and put this costume away.” I told him as I stood up.

He smiled back at me with his teeth as I walked towards the manager’s office, feeling intense butterflies cause Peter fucking Parker just called me pretty… WHAT IS MY LIFE?!

You know, I said in the beginning that I wasn’t like other girls but now I definitely think I am (well at least internally).

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

AN: PART TWO?? 😏

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker au #peter parker #merrell holland #spiderman au #new york #empire state university #mcu peter parker #mcu peter x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker ice hockey #tom holland ice hockey #peter parker ice hockey au #peter parker one shot

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anonauthorsworkshop · 1 year

Text

compiled masterlist: the blog's iceberg

finally got around to making this - will update whenever lmao

to those new to the blog: the Pansophical Pretender section is referring to my SCP fanfic, which is currently published only on Quotev. masterlist mostly consists of my writing, headcanons & some of my favorite asks. i also dug up everything, even all the way back to the start of my blog in 2021. excuse the length of this lmao and keep in mind some of this is dated

hope this also gives some context to some of this blog's inside jokes for newcomers (ex. MC rickrolling Yellow Lord)

Part 2 of masterlist

Requests are open!

SCP:

MHA x SCP AU: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, bonus

SCP-049 x Injured!Junior Researcher Reader (Gender Neutral)

All-Death headcanons

An anon's 035 headcanon

035 vs Mental Illness & again & again

Pansophical Pretender Related

Ask Blog: @askpansophicalmc

Playlist (unorganized & silly)

2021

Who would attempt to murder MC & why?

What if MC met Brothers Death?

Which SCPs would protect MC?

Explanation of MC's skills

MC's biggest flex

Pangloss & MC headcanons

Reversal AU

More Pangloss & MC headcanons

079 & MC headcanons

049 & MC headcanons

How would MC even play Uno with 079?

049 x MC x 035 poly headcanons

Even more Pangloss & MC headcanons

Small Death & MC headcanons

Things MC is Not Allowed Discouraged To Do At The Foundation

More 079 & MC headcanons

Pining 049 x MC x 035 poly

MC the walking Wikipedia

High school AU

Musician AU

2022

MC's interview with Agent Bibs

Old Gods & MC headcanons

Gremlin MC

682 is an emo whale carcass

A piece about MC

The beginning of the peepaw 106 saga

106 & MC headcanons (platonic)

What if MC had a big book containing SCP tales?

MC & foundation employees headcanons

How would MC interact with D-9134 from SCP:CB?

053 & MC fluff

999 & MC headcanons

How would Bright feel about MC wearing 963?

Angst MC headcanons

MC & their knowledge of Ship in a Bottle & Part 2

O5 headcanons about MC

MC conspiracy board

Peepaw 106 you made a mess

Bright x MC headcanons

MC makes 106 wear a pretty pink princess dress

Eldritch anons prevent MC from getting medicated

MC & 191 headcanons

Why is 079's favorite color green?

Eldritch anons interact with foundation staff

Gears tries to teach eldritch anons English & with MC's child AU

A poor employee discovers the eldritch anons true form

What do the chapter drafts look like?

More about Amingvolvin

"This jumpsuit is not orange"

Ambassador vs MC

Small Death & MC Angst

"Were they hot?"

What if MC met Mekhane?

Congratulations

It's simple, really

And a strong right hook

MC rickrolls Yellow Lord & again

The iconic Kraken post

Mini Death headcanons

MC's SCP-978 photo

Expectations vs Reality

A touch-starved 049

MC forgets how to breathe

Technicalities

Smartass MC

Alagadda-Friendly LGBTQ+ Flags

Drunk MC

Time changes things

MC pranks 035

Will MC become familiar with some MTF members?

Fun fact anon's short story about MC rickrolling Yellow Lord

079 needs MC to complete a captcha

"Hey, remember when you tried to kill me?"

Ambassador's dilemma

MC x White Lord headcanons

Expectations vs Reality yet again

MC & Glass on a first-name basis

Over my dead body

"It must be an anomaly!"

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airitree · 4 months

Note

letting you know i would 10000% buy an eraserhead baby pipe if you sold them im literally obsessed with them. how well did it work when you used it?

I'm glad u find him true and beautiful <333. When I used it, it actually worked fine! I should have made the hole at the bottom of the bowl smaller, but otherwise it worked.

I'm heavily considering opening up some pre-orders, once I figure out my clear glaze dilemma... I've been using the glazes in my campus studio and honestly their clears tend to craze. I might have to somehow ask a ceramics major to make a custom glaze for me, or I just deal with the pipes having crazing.

Tbh I don't think crazing would hurt it—it's not like you'd be eating off it lmao. It would just mean that any ash n gunk could settle between the lines and it would be hard to clean completely...

#anonymous #asks

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hannibals-hubcap · 1 year

Text

Niccals Headcanons because I’m losing my mind over here:

- Little kids crave attention and validation especially from distant parents, I like to think Murdoc and Hannibal use to have like sibling rivalries for their fathers attention and validation when they were younger. The most they got was a clap on the back but that was still something!

- Hannibal had that iconic “I hate the new baby!” phase. Especially since Murdoc was a surprise and bunking with Hannibal and y’know babies are loud and smelly 😞

- Murdoc was very late in his development and by that I mean he wasn’t talking or really walking at the proper ages since Sebastian really didn’t care enough. So I imagine 8 year old Hannibal sitting with Murdoc and trying to get him to talk. Or standing up and holding Murdoc’s hand to encourage him to stand. He got it eventually

- Speaking of first words I’m positive Murdoc’s was something provocative like “fuck” while Hannibal’s was more normal. Maybe Hannibal’s was “Dada” or something.

- Hannibal definitely self-pierced his ears and it got madly infected. Murdoc laughed at him.

- Hannibal cut his own hair growing up when he was about 10 and beyond and Murdoc thought it was the coolest thing ever.

- I’d like to imagine Hannibal when he first started getting into the punk scene in the 70s decided to give himself an undercut mullet and then later decided to buzz it. Was not the best look but when it grew back it was short and shaggy. 🤗

- Hannibal taught Murdoc to steal, smoke, gamble, argue, fight, ect.

- Hannibal didn’t nearly get smacked around as much as Murdoc since he was at his Mums for some of the time but he still had his fair share of black eyes from Sebastian.

- Hannibal had a little lisp when he was just a lad and probably got bullied and/or was told to knock it off that eventually he forced himself to fix it.

- Hannibal’s Mum was one smashing lady in the 50’s but I do think the pretty privilege went to her head a bit. Still she is in contact with Hannibal and while she is probably borderline verbally abusive she’s not one for major beatings so Hannibal probably honestly prefers her house.

- Hannibal didn’t do week on week offs with his Dad and Mum, Sebastian had main custody (not his choice) and Hannibal’s Mum would visit for birthdays and pick him up for occasional weekends and holiday celebrations.

- While both Murdoc and Hannibal definitely have mystery half-siblings from Sebastian I’d like to think Hannibal’s Mum remarried and maybe popped out 1 or 2 more babies. Hannibal has no real relationship with his half-siblings on his Mum’s side nor his step-father probably but he knows they exist. Dealing with one snot nosed brother is enough. 🙌

- I haven’t thought much on Murdoc’s Mum because I believe a big part of his character is lack of parental love but I will say that she was probably quite smitten towards Sebastian back in the mid 60’s. Being emotionally damaged I’m sure she got attached easily and felt conflicted when he finally showed his true colors. I can’t even begin to imagine the dilemma when she found out about Murdoc.

OK THATS IT FOR NOW LMAO

#hannibal niccals #Sebastian Jacob Niccals #murdoc niccals #gorillaz #gorillaz headcanons

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blossom-hwa · 5 months

Note

omg same anon here that requested the model soobin + designer reader that was so good aoaajddkjjjs&#@*kdj thank you ☆_☆

also i feel like i might have sent a similar ask to the following (maybe tumblr ate it) but if no one yet has straight up asked for taehyun fandancer au then plz taehyun fandancer au. and/or any other txt members in the same au if you want (no pressure to again though it's ok !!!)

I am so late...it's fine it's fine it's fine LMAO anyway idk if anyone is still looking for their drabbles from the summertime fest, but I'm trying to do them now - hope y'all enjoy :)

this is an excerpt from a fic idea I'm trying to flesh out; it might be a little confusing but here's the gist - fan dancer mc is trying to hide soobin, the missing crown prince, from those who want to kill him, and in the meantime taehyun is trying to court them and mc desperately wants to say yes but can't because caring for soobin is first priority (they promised a friend). horrible dilemmas I feel for mc so bad (I want taehyun too </3)

summertime drabble fest: send me an idol from the list (Stray Kids, Ateez, TXT, Seventeen) + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

REQUESTS CLOSED!

Title: In the Eyes of the Night

Pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: slight angst, fan dancer!mc and nobility!Taehyun

Warnings: mentions of blood

Once backstage you nearly fall onto one of the benches behind the gauzy curtains that frame the dais, dropping your fans and gingerly taking off first your shoes, then the wrappings around your feet. They come away sweaty and smelly, which is only to be expected, but a pained hiss escapes your lips as you peel cloth off the blisters that burst during your time on the stage, leaving stains of yellow and red on the fabric.

Your stomach drops. It's not as if you had expected anything less, not after what happened last night, but seeing the mess of blood and pus in the light somehow makes it all worse.

"Need some help?" Juyeon's deep voice sounds overhead. You meet his concerned smile with a wry grimace of your own. "Don't worry about me," you reply, already grabbing one of the clean towels nearby. "Your performance is next, right? You should go prepare. I'll be fine."

His eyes flicker over to the clock on the wall and a grimace of his own passes over his lips as he registers how little time he has left. "I'll send someone with water," he promises. "Clean your feet properly."

"Thanks, Juyeon. I'll be fine," you reassure him, even as the stinging pain threatens to bring tears to your eyes. "It's just a few blisters."

Juyeon disappears into the gauzy curtains, and you take the moment alone to stretch your feet onto the bench. Stars above, your legs ache something awful. Normally you would just attribute this to the endless cycle of performance and practice, but all that running around yesterday took everything out of you. The adrenaline of the chase, the fear that you would be caught, captured - or even worse, that the prince you were hiding would be seen -

Not for the first time, you curse your friend in the shadows for saddling you with the responsibility of a missing prince. How do you hide a prince in your own tiny room? How do you keep him out of sight but still get him food, get him water, get him the basic things he needs to survive? She didn't tell you anything when she dumped him on you, didn't tell you anything except that he was the prince who the royal family had declared missing and that you needed to hide him or else people would kill him.

You're not an assassin. You're nothing special, not like she is. You can't use a knife. You can't wield a sword. You're just a fan dancer and nothing else and the responsibility of a prince is going to kill you, if it doesn't kill him first.

Ugh. You rest a hand on your heart, forcing deep breaths. "Everything is fine," you mutter to yourself, as though saying it aloud will make it true. It is true, in a way. Your prince wasn't seen last night, for all the danger you were in. He wasn't captured. He wasn't killed. You were able to distract those who would hunt him, even if your bare feet and legs took more cuts than you were used to on the sharp stones outside. Even if it took all of your remaining energy not to collapse in a heap of silk and fans onstage.

Gahyeon comes running over with a small basin of cold water. You thank her, brush her away when she offers to help, and begin cleaning up the mess of blood on your stinking feet. As soon as it's all cleared away and you've wrapped the open sores in clean bandages, you force yourself to stand and limp to your room. With every step, pain hisses up your legs, but you make it there in the end.

You tap the door slightly, knocking once, twice, three times in a pattern to announce your presence. When a few knocks sound in return, you slide it open and step inside, closing it quickly behind you.

Soobin sits in the corner of the room, looking small and hunched over for all his height. His eyes are dull, despondent. "Hello," he mumbles.

All of your previous curses about the responsibility of a prince melt away, replaced by pity in the face of the crown prince's misery. "Hello, Your Highness," you murmur respectfully. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," he replies quickly, which is how you know he isn't. "Are your feet alright?"

"Just a few cuts and blisters." You smile a little, trudging over to the small mirror set on one of the walls. "I'll survive."

"...I'm so sorry."

"There is no need to be," you respond firmly, turning around from touching up your makeup. "You are my prince and I swore an oath to our friend in the shadows to keep you safe. If I have to bear some pain in my feet for it, no matter. I'm a dancer, anyway." You smile at him. "I'm used to it."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't try to apologize again, so you count that as a win. "You said someone helped you last night," he says, changing the subject.

Your eyebrows furrow. "Yes," you reply lowly, unwanted memories rushing back of shadows and snarls and blades flashing in the moonlight - and above all, one familiar voice shouting for you to run as his sword slashed down, starlight shimmering on the metal.

Your heart skips a beat. Taehyun Kang. In the moment, when you couldn't breathe and couldn't think, you couldn't believe it was him. But you've replayed those seconds over and over in your mind, and there's no question anymore. Taehyun of the family Kang, one of the middle nobility who frequents your performances and has been trying to court your interest for almost two months...

He saved you. And you can't even thank him, because he didn't see your face, and you can't reveal that that was you.

"Did you see who they were?" Soobin asks.

You wipe your fingers on a towel by the mirror, eyes carefully downcast. "No," you reply, and truth be told, you're not sure why you lie. Maybe because you want to keep this moment to yourself. Maybe because deep down, you aren't sure it was really him.

Maybe because you don't want to acknowledge how hard this makes everything, knowing that you owe Taehyun your life when all he professes to want is your love - and you can't even give him that, however you might want to, for fear that your duty to a missing prince will come to light and all your shadow friend's carefully-laid plans will be ruined.

"I must go now," you say, turning back around. A pair of soft slippers waits by your door and you slip them over your bandaged feet, wincing. You cast the missing prince a soft smile. "I'll be back later, with some food and water."

Soobin nods. He looks exhausted. "Thank you."

With a final smile, you slip out of the room and step lightly down the halls, forcing yourself not to limp the entire way.

. . .

Back in the crowded main hall, Jinyoung waves you over the second you step in his direction. "Can you take the section in the corner?" he asks, gesturing to an area close to the stage.

For the second damn time that evening, your heart skips a beat. Because before you even look over, you know who will be in that section. At least who will be taking one of the tables there.

Taehyun.

"Of course," you say anyway, because while Taehyun's stare may be unrelenting, he's never disrespectful - in fact, it's cute when his friends tease him for his never-ending stare and his cheeks tint with more blush than you can attribute to the alcohol. And you can't lie - you like seeing him. You like being around him. He makes you feel comfortable in a way few other men have, and even if he's been clear with his intentions, he's never forced you to make an answer to him, only greeted you with kindness and care.

Gods above, your heart aches to finally say yes to one of his offers - to buy you a drink, to take you for a meal, to walk with you on the shoreline under the night sky. How could you not, when those sparkling eyes shine at you with all the grace and care in the world? But you can't sacrifice your duty to a missing prince for even a few nights spent in Taehyun's arms - it's too dangerous, with your friend in the shadows gone. Until she returns, and who knows when that will be, you must stay put.

A wry smile curls your lips. Stars, it would be so much easier if he were less easy to fall for.

Someone hands you a tray of drinks, and you begin to make your way through the chaos. The first group that waves you over isn’t his. It’s a rowdy group of sailors who laugh a little too much and talk a little too loudly, but they’re harmless as they thank you for the several glasses of alcohol that you pour out on their table. The second group isn’t his either, nor the third, nor the fourth. Slowly, you wade through the chaos, flashing a pretty smile at everyone who deigns to meet your eye, filling orders as fast as you can until you find yourself near the stage.

The music is louder here, and it slowly thrums its way through your body, settling your heart. Beomgyu is dancing now and you allow your eyes to meet his once, an encouraging smile on your lips just before you turn to serve the table to your right. Then you turn to the left.

Taehyun's small group is a friendly sight to your eyes. Your smile grows a little as you pour out their usual drinks, laughing and bantering as they thank you. By the time you've reached Taehyun, who is on the other side of the table, you feel somewhat better.

"Good evening, my lord." You smile softly, taking in the empty glass before him. "Would you like your usual?"

"No, Y/N, I'll be fine for tonight." His voice, soft-spoken as always and so different from the commanding shout that rang through the air last night, fusing you with the energy and adrenaline to run. And all of a sudden you're back in that moment, under the dark sky, cornered, feet bleeding, breath sharp and fast with panic...

"Y/N?"

You force yourself to breathe. To come back to earth. You dig your foot into one of the floorboards and the pain that flares from one of the blisters forces you to focus. "I apologize," you say quietly, ignoring the strange look that Taehyun is giving you now. He can't know. He won't know -

"You're limping."

His words pierce through the fog of your thoughts, hitting your ears with a startling precision.

You’re limping.

You straighten immediately, ignoring how the pain in your feet flares when you do. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re limping,” he repeats, and one glance at him is all you need to know that you didn’t convince him at all. The dark eyes that stare at you with so much intensity fall down to the floor where your feet stand, hidden beneath your robes. When he looks back up, only gentle concern floats in his magnetic irises. “Are you all right?”

Something in his voice almost makes you tell the truth, that no, you aren’t quite fine, you probably shouldn’t have danced today but you had no choice when the only other option was to explain where all the sores in your feet came from - and for a moment, you almost feel tears well up in your eyes. What is it with him, this noble with eyes as intense as his voice can be gentle, this son of a lord who has never once taken his eyes from you but always manages to stare with a respectful distance, never once making you feel like something less than human?

Why is he so perfect, and why is it that for all he wants you, you can't have him?

But training kicks in, the easy, bland smile lifting the corners of your lips as your exchange begins to catch the attention of the rest of his friends. Just in time, really, though there is still a little ache in your chest when you nod. “I’m fine,” you say. “Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I assure you I’m all right.” You turn away from their table, then, making sure not to limp on your way.

No matter how much it kills your feet to do so.

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slutterhaus · 9 months

Text

.temptation

AN: Reposting some old works while I sort my life out lmao I miss Nanbaka ngl CWs: Religious themes, sacrilegious relationships, smut, you two technically get caught, unprotected sex, Enki's dick is also too big and should be classified as a weapon. Other: Smut, Second Person POV, Priest!Enki AFAB!Nun!Reader, Female pronouns are used once. Not proofread. Under read more for obvious reasons. Word Count: 2.5k+

This wasn’t right and you knew it. The thoughts that were running through your mind were impure and sinful and it was all too much at times. Going through confession with him wasn’t helping either since he was the source of your dilemma.

Father Gokuu, one of the sibling-duo priests that had arrived almost a year and a half ago to take care of the frequent demon sightings around town, had a way of tapping into your most primal instincts with little-to-no effort.

His handsome face, his built physique, his towering height, and his combat skills were only some of the few things that had you completely enamored with him; not to mention there was something in the way your name rolled off his tongue, his voice so deep and alluring, so calm and disciplined that it had to be considered a sin in itself.

It wasn’t until he called your name again that you remembered where you were: the confessional. You cleared your throat and apologized, deciding to leave out the reason you spaced-out in the first place. Fumbling with the rosary in your hand, you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself. It was only a confession—you reminded yourself—it was nothing you haven’t done time and time again during your years at the institution.

“You’re distracted, Sister.” He stated, and you could make out the slightest detail of his silhouette as he shifted his position. It made you nervous. You felt like he saw through the confessional screen and right at the deepest depths of your being, like he knew what you wanted to say. “Forgive me, Father. I’ve been feeling uneasy.”

“Demons?”

More like inner demons.

“I don’t know if it has anything to do with last month’s incident, though my nerves have been on end.”

You could hear him hum; low and deep. It made you bite you lip and grip your rosary tighter. How could something so simple break every vow you ever took? Truth be told, this situation annoyed you quite a bit. “Rest.”

His words made you blink in confusion. “Pardon?” You could hear the wood creaking in relief as he got up and out of the confessional. You sighed and leaned back in your seat before finally letting your rosary fall to its usual place on your chest. It left a bad taste in your mouth, lying like that, and you could feel a headache coming on. Maybe you did need to lay down.

Pushing the door to your room open, you made your way to your bed and fell face-first into the mattress. Your body felt heavy and right now, all you wanted to do was sleep. Rolling onto your side, you wondered if you should tell Enki what was going on, even if it meant leaving the institute.

Some of the Sisters murmured about the way he looked at you, and if those were true, then keeping your feelings secret was more trouble than it was worth.

Finally rolling onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling and wondered if you should write him an anonymous letter, maybe ask for some advice or even just let it all out and confess, anything was better than letting this consume you. You groaned, thinking about the situation only made your headache worsen.

Sighing, you reach out to grab the glass of water set on your nightstand and have a drink. The sun was starting to set, you noted, hopefully Enki would tell Sister Hyakushiki why you missed out on dinner. Dealing with her in the morning would definitely be better than having to sit at the same table with him right now.

Maybe he did.

It took a while of tossing and turning before actually drifting off to sleep, and your subconscious certainly did not help. You weren’t safe from him even in your dreams. The worst part of it was that everything felt so real. His tall frame looming over you, his skin slick with sweat shimmering under the moonlight as his chest heaved with the grunts he kept under control, those piercing red eyes staring into yours so intently that you thought he could see into your soul.

The only light you had was the illumination coming through from the full moon, just like the one in your dream. It was enough to let you find your way to the bathroom, where you quickly filled the tub and got in once the water level was enough to reach your collarbone. The cold water made your hair stand on end and got a shiver out of you, but it erased any heated thoughts you had at the moment.

Maybe he saw everything you wanted to tell him. The thought alone made you jolt awake, breathing heavily as you wiped the sweat from your brow. That’s it; you needed a cold bath now.

After getting out and throwing on a fresh nightgown, anything impure relating to Enki was gone.

“Come in.” You called, making sure not to be too loud and disrupt the Sisters next door. And there he was, bending slightly as he came into your room. You gasped and quickly pulled the blanker up to your chest, covering up just in case. He closed the door behind him but didn’t move, just stared right at you.

That is, until you heard a knock on your door.

It was actually kind of embarrassing.

“Did I disturb you?”

“Ah, no, not at all, I was already awake. Is there anything you need, Father?”

He seemed to dislike it when you called him that, since he scrunched up his nose slightly. “You can call me Enki in private, if you’d like.” His deep voice was almost enough to make you red. “Alright. Is there anything I can help you with, Enki?”

“There is.” You motioned for him to take a seat on your desk, which he took, the wooden chair groaning at the stress. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms over his chest, making sure to maintain eye contact with you. “I have a request and a question. Your answer determines if I tell you my request.” You nodded slowly; a bit curious to what he could ask of you.

“What do you think of me?”

“E-excuse me?” His question caught you a bit off-guard, but it didn’t fail to make your heart start racing. He asked you again, slower this time, and you could swear he was doing it on purpose. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath through your nose. “Why would what I think of you matter? I’m sure you’ve heard the Sisters’ muttering.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Unless you tell me why you want to know, that is my answer.”

Enki couldn’t help the small smirk that came to his lips. He was certainly pleased with it, so he guessed it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. “I’ve been called for an extermination in America.” Your heart dropped; you were sure he could see it in your eyes. “I’m leaving in a few days, and I want you to come with me.”

You let out a surprised gasp. His gaze never left you, making you bite your bottom lip. “Are you sure of what you’re asking? The Sisters already talk about us as is, what would they say if we—“

“I don’t care what anyone has to say about the matter. However, if you do not wish to come, I won’t force you to.”

Both of you sat in silence for a few moments before you spoke. “Why me?”

Enki shifted in his seat slightly. “I suppose, I haven’t exactly told you…” He got up and walked towards your spot on the bed. “I have feelings for you, that’s why. It’s also probably the reason why the Sisters are snooping around to see if anything is going on between us.” His words made you turn red. “Enki…” You voice was barely above a whisper. “Of course I’ll go with you.” You could see his muscles relax. Was he actually tense at the thought of you rejecting him?

“Is it late to admit that I have feelings for you too?” He looked down at your smiling face, which was contagious to say the least. Lifting his hands towards your face slowly, he cupped your cheeks. You nuzzled against his palm gently as he bent down, breath fanning against your lips as he spoke. “Of course not.”

The husky tone of his voice made your hairs stand on end as he pressed his lips against yours. It was a deep, quick kiss the first time; the second held more passion behind it, his lips sensually guiding yours in a slow sync. The only sound that could be heard in the room were the smacks and sucks of your heated make-out session before he pulled back, much to your disappointment.

He ran his thumb across your bottom lip, eyes staring longingly into yours before he placed a kiss on your forehead. “Out of curiosity, what was so bad that you couldn’t tell me at confessional today?”

“I, um, was… having some sinful thoughts about you…” He chuckled at the embarrassed look on your face. “Perhaps we’re both guilty.”

“So the rumors were true, you were side-eyeing me.” You giggled; he stuck his tongue out playfully, giving you the view of his pierced tongue. The sight made heat pool between your legs and had you wrapping your arms around his neck.

Placing one knee on the bed, he shifted his weight to his arms, effectively caging you between them and eliciting a small gasp from you. His next kiss almost seemed hesitant, as if you were going to change your mind at any given moment. You lifted yourself up slightly, brushing your lips against his in reassurance. “I want you, Enki. More than just physically, I want to be by your side as someone you can depend on.”

You could feel a relieved exhale escape him and thought that was kind of endearing. He came down again, this time with feverish enthusiasm as his lips moved against yours, nipping at yours lightly and urging you to do the same. His kisses traveled from the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, and finally latching on to your neck where he left pale hickies in places that made you squirm and whine.

His tall, built frame loomed over you as he pulled away, giving you enough space for you to remove your nightgown and for him to undo his white button-up before discarding both of them onto the floor. You felt a bit nervous as his gaze traveled along your body, hands giving a few experimental caresses here and there. His touches ended just below your breasts, enjoying the small blush that dusted your cheeks when he gave them a kneed. Your breath hitched, a shaky breath leaving you as he thumbed your nipples and placed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

Sneaky fingers unoccupied their place on your left breast and ventured down slowly towards your hip all the while ghosting random patterns here and there with his teasing touches. His mouth replaced his hand, earning a small mewl from you as his tongue and thumb worked simultaneously on your sensitive buds. Your fingers laced themselves into his hair, giving an involuntary tug whenever something felt better than good.

His attention to your breasts almost distracted you from his adventurous hand and how his index finger hooked onto the waistline of your underwear. Pulling them down, he admired how the goosebumps on your skin appeared as soon as he started trailing kisses down your abdomen. He didn’t, however, appreciate the way you were trying to hold in any sound. His gaze met yours when you looked down at him, and he made sure to tease you with slow and sensual kisses to your skin. A tentative lick went down your pelvis, and a smirk appeared on his face when you cried out right after his tongue went flat against your clit.

This was sinful, this whole situation was, but neither of you seemed to care anymore. All that went through your minds was enjoying everything both of you had to offer.

Your grip on his hair tightened and your hips rolled on their own, breath catching in your throat whenever he looked up to meet your eyes. Every kiss, every lick, every suck drove you wild and all you could do was throw your head back, let his name fall off your lips like a prayer, and move against his tongue. That piercing sure did wonders; it had you cumming in no time.

Maybe it was the sexual tension you had been building up since God knows how long, but Enki had your legs trembling and your chest heaving using only his mouth, and that orgasm left you seeing stars even after your breathing calmed.

You looked down, the red on your cheeks returning when you saw his slick lips and chin. He looked at you through half-lidded eyes and ran his tongue along his lips slowly, undoing his belt as your breath hitched again. The sight alone had you trying to rub your legs together, only to be stopped by his hips. He gave you a moment to take in everything, slowly sliding down his black slacks and his boxers before grabbing your thigh and hooking your leg onto his waist as he brought you close.

His eyes locked with yours, searching for approval. You nodded your head slowly and he took both your arms to drape over his muscular shoulders. The head of his cock brushed against your wet folds, coating itself before he rubbed the rest of himself against you. You bit your lip, mostly because the feeling was arousing, but also to try and relax yourself.

Your hands hold onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pushed himself inside you slowly. He locked his jaw, teeth slightly bared as a groan vibrated in his chest. One of his hands makes sure to rub circles around your clit and ease away the discomfort with some pleasure while the other leaves your thigh to cup your cheek and bring you into another searing kiss.

He grunted into your mouth when you rolled your hips against his. You pulled away slightly, murmuring a soft ‘Move’ before going in for another kiss. Enki did as he was told and started a slow pace, all the while making sure his thumb kept in sync with his rhythm. When you threw your head back in a moan, he latched his lips onto your neck again. His thrusts started to pick up, and he appreciated the way your hips met his half-way.

Your hold on his neck tightened and you could feel the familiar sensation starting to build up again. Judging by the frequent grunts that were drowned out by your own mewls, you assumed he was too. His name spilled from your lips again, and both of your legs tightened around his waist while his free hand gripped the sheets beside your head.

It wasn’t long before you came again, contracting against his cock in a tight squeeze that had his hips sputtering against yours as his orgasm washed over him too.

The aftermath had you in a daze, fingers absent-mindly tracing over his toned chest. His eyes were trained on your face, taking in the sight of your glowing face, before snapping his head at the door when both of you heard a knock.

“We need to talk. Both of you.”

It was Sister Hyakushiki. And she didn’t sound amused.

#—Loading Content #—Unholy #—In my Delusions #—Enki Gokuu #—Enki x Reader #—Nanbaka #—Nanbaka Smut #—my writing

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gemini-care-barr · 3 months

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Okay, I’m an effort to lighten up here’s a more fun question.

It’s Saturday night and Oppenheimer just dropped on Amazon prime. And all ur favs and their respective partners (so like Bruce brings Selina and Barry brings Iris etc.) to a JLA watch party!

How do you think all (or some) of your favs would react to the movie? Who would like it? Who would say words? Any fun commentaries? Who’s talking the most? Who’s eating the most? Who disagrees with Oppenheimer etc.? Who’s spiraling? 🤣

I’m still reeling at the fact that you think anything to do with Oppenheimer would lighten things up hahah 😭🤣

To answer, as briefly as possible haha:

Barry/Iris: Barry is interested from a scientific and historical perspective and very moved by Oppenheimer’s dilemma and the emotional burden he carries after the realization of his creation lands squarely on him. Iris is hyper-fixated on why tf Florence Pugh had to be naked right in front of her salad lmao.

Hal/Carol: Hal is high key bored and asking Barry when the explosion happens, once it does happen he’s in absolute shock that the credits aren’t immediately rolling. Carol is enjoying it as a closet movie buff and is feeling very seen in all the scenes showing the stress of organizing large projects haha.

Bruce/Selina: Bruce is interested for similar reasons as Barry and is getting ready to enter an hours-long debate with Barry and Ollie about the validity of creating something so dangerous for the sake of making it first. Selina is recognizing the validity of avoiding marriage when men like Oppenheimer exist, and is getting ready to enter into an hours-long debate with Lois and Dinah on how marriage could possibly be an option lol.

Arthur/Mera: Arthur is approaching the movie from a king’s perspective and is appalled at the idea of weapons of mass destruction because of the endangerment of so many innocents, he’s getting ready to join Ollie’s fight against the preemptive motive of mutually assured destruction. Mera is surprisingly okay with mutually assured destruction and even more surprisingly likes the movie as a movie, so she’s just vibing while eating popcorn haha.

Clark/Lois: Clark is saddened by the story, but understanding of Oppenheimer’s hunger for knowledge, it’s nothing he didn’t already know, and now he’s getting ready to play referee for the Barry/Bruce/Ollie/Arthur fight debate. Lois is looking up articles on Oppenheimer’s life to see just how accurate this movie is, “no way he said that ‘I am become death’ line right then,” she thinks.

Ollie/Dinah: Ollie, ah Ollie, he’s ready to fite, Oppenheimer’s complete disregard for human life and the flimsy excuse of the safety of mutually assured destruction or getting ahead of the “bad guys” when creating something so dangerous just isn’t enough for him, he holds little sympathy for Oppenheimer and doesn’t believe in his remorse, he’ll fight Barry and Bruce’s scientific/pragmatic/forgiving natures on this. Dinah has Ollie’s back on this, she’s slightly more forgiving, but that gets overridden by Oppenheimer’s treatment of the people in his life, granted, she’s also not that willing to fight over a movie no matter how historically accurate (or not) it is, so she’ll be supporting Ollie, but also reminding everyone to chill.

J’onn: He’s amazingly brought down by thoughts of his home world that are sparked by the movie, he has a deep appreciation for art though and is marveling at the technical and artistic aspects of the movie, the cinematography, audio, writing, and acting are all stunning and he is moved, he’ll be the one to sober everyone up afterwards and remind them that they’re all friends here, he’s the true mediator of the group, everyone trusts him on this since he’s the closest to all that pain.

And those are my thoughts! Sorry for getting a little sad there at the end haha, but can you blame me?? It’s Oppenheimer 😭

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 11 months

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𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 ║ Chapter 3 - Let's Meet Again for the First Time

║ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ║⋄── •✧• ──⋄║ ＮＥＸＴ ║ ✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧ "𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎! 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜." --Wᴀʟᴛ Wʜɪᴛᴍᴀɴ ✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧

Despite your initial meeting being a tenuous at best first impression, you and Joel had really come into a groove, and you might even feel bold enough to say you’ve had some really productive dialogue while collaborating on the build site.

Joel in general liked being left alone, and that was amplified where work was concerned. Being able to head up the project and team as well as operate on his own terms meant he and the crew could promptly complete a multitude of things on his build plans. When the workflow was like this, it reminded him of days past when he and Tommy could knock out a project over a weekend and rake in cash hand over fist. He was older now with bad knees, a bad back, a bad you-name-it. His output wasn’t all that it used to be, but that never seemed to stop you from heaping praise over the progress. He pretended to be hassled with your hyperbolic engagement, but really he found himself looking forward to the lavish attention and compliments you gave him. It felt nice to be fussed over, sometimes. Joel also liked that you innately trusted his capabilities, never giving an impression that you were looking for mistakes. You had made it clear that ultimately you trusted his decisions. In return, he decided to make an earnest effort to be more friendly towards you, especially after his lackluster manners when you first met.

He was really kicking himself over being such an ass to you once he saw how Ellie had taken to you. He had observed the two of you chatting whenever your paths crossed, how Ellie would call you over if she saw you in the dining hall, and how your focus shifted almost entirely to her, even if Joel was around. Ellie befriending you was a point of common ground and an easy conversation starter. Joel felt Ellie had distanced herself a bit after their conversation right before coming back to Jackson.

“Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.” “I swear.” “Okay.”

The more Joel and Ellie got settled into Jackson, the more comfortable she felt distancing herself from him, and that absolutely terrified him. So, he used any bridge to get to her, and you were an easy passage.

Initially you would stop by the worksite every 3 days or so but now regularly showed face every day. It wasn’t necessary for the success of the build to show up daily, but you could lie and tell yourself that instead of the truth, which was that you just wanted to see Joel. And sometimes it seemed like he wanted to see you, too. You had gotten a lot more comfortable in maneuvering his cranky fits and avoiding any flare-ups. You were more perceptive than Joel had originally given you credit for. And more persuasive. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it didn’t take more than the absence of a sour mood on his part and the presence of a smile on yours to get him to be more flexible. Joel still wasn’t entirely sure how you had somehow managed to get him to agree on an early summer opening date for the building renovation project you had dreamed up. At first Joel argued with you, of course, citing all the required work that far outweighed the timeline you were trying to hand down. Even though they were ahead of schedule, he still preferred overdelivering and underselling than vice versa.

You went back and forth with him, ostensibly calm, but it only made him dig his heels in more. That is, until you did that little befuddling maneuver of yours that made him get sort of fuzzy in the head and want to make you happy and tell you yes.

“No. Not happenin’,” Joel had reaffirmed flatly at the tailend of your debate. He turned in his stool at the makeshift work desk he had set up in the far corner of the building. He would often spot you there before you came to say hello for the day, eyeing over his plans and notes with a content smile.

You took a deep breath in through your nose and let yourself sink down a little bit with the exhale. Joel gave you the space to stew in your thoughts for a moment, patiently sitting with his elbow on the desk and opposite leg propped up on the stool’s foot ring.

“Is it really because you can’t get it done by then? Or are you just nervous you’re making a promise you can’t keep?” you cautiously explored.

Joel bristled at the touchy wording and huffed weakly, annoyed at your persistence. He set down the pencil he had been holding so he could rub the bridge of his nose.

“I’m tellin’ you, this isn’t up for deb-,” Joel fired off, only to be interrupted by your hand gently grabbing his and pulling it from his face.

You stepped in closer, his hand still awkwardly resting in your retrieving grasp.

“C’mon. Please? I’m not trying to debate you. If you say you can’t do it because it’s not possible, then I trust you. But if you are saying no because you’re afraid of disappointing me, I’m not worried about that.”

Joel blinked slowly, mouth open with words that wouldn’t materialize. Your eyes were wide and sincere, and he couldn’t look away.

“I know you probably think it’s just some half-baked idea , but giving this to everybody– having an opening movie night to kick off the summer just . . it just means a lot to me.”

You stopped for a moment, shaking your head at your stream of consciousness. Joel’s hand loosened and allowed yours to sink further into his palm.

“And I know you’ve already been working like crazy to get everything going. I know that. I’m already blown away by everything. Seriously. But Ellie is getting used to town, too, and school and all that … so I’m sure you’re thinking about that a lot of the time instead of this whole thing. It’s asking a lot from you. I know I’m asking you for a lot, I just-,” you tapered off.

Your tongue flicked at your bottom lip in nervous appeal. Your brain was trying to pick which of the million things you wanted to rattle off right then.

“If I need to stop coming by so often, I can get out of your hair. If that’s what it is, then I can do that,” you offered.

“Okay,” Joel stopped you.

“Okay? Oh, okay. Yeah. I can. Okay,” you rambled, trying not to show your disappointment that the prospect of seeing you less was the key incentive to Joel agreeing on your deadline.

Joel rolled his eyes and gave you a wry “ppffttt”.

“Okay, as in, we can do your summer opening.”

“As long as I get out of your hair?” you pushed, unsure if that was part of the agreement.

“No. We can do your summer opening. So long as you don’t go tellin’ everybody I’m apparently a fuckin’ pushover,” he grumbled, attempting to hide his satisfaction of giving you what you want.

“Joel!” you declared in a stern, mocking tone. “I would never spread that kind of vicious gossip about you! What’s next? That you’re actually a nice guy? A total sweetheart, deep down?”

You shot an exaggerated confused face at him, your head tilting in pretend disbelief.

“Yeah, alright, that’s enough from you,” he cheekily scolded.

You laughed and reluctantly let go of his hand. Joel turned to busy himself with the first thing he could find on the desk in front of him. Giving in to your wants shouldn’t feel this rewarding. That exchange marked the change in your dynamic where you didn’t feel as though you were incredibly irksome to him all the time.

The build continued, as did your visits. The topic of conversation was usually work related, which was the sort of cut and dry communication Joel seemed most comfortable engaging in. Sometimes you chatted about Ellie, but it was very skimming the surface type conversation. Joel still held the opinion you had a tendency to carry yourself in a way that was arrogant and off putting, but the kindness in your voice, your warm smiles; the small physical touches you unconsciously imparted more frequently as you got to know one another more; your distinctly feminine, woodsy scent that had become his favorite bouquet . . .

It had become a task all on its own to focus on his work whenever you cropped up. He was mindful around you so he didn’t angle in closer to you when your hand brushed his arm as you tried drawing his attention somewhere; to not dip his head to get a deeper inhale of your unkempt hair when you sidled next to him and his drawn plans, bending over in concentration as you penciled in your own adjustments on the papers.

The worst part of it all to Joel was that you weren’t even flirting with him. This was just you in your element, excited to create a space where the people of Jackson could relax, socialize, and escape. Based on the many times he had caught your eyes raking over him, he felt certain you wouldn’t manage much subtlety if you did decide to get flirtatious. Joel almost wished you were actively laying on the charm because at least that way he could blame his budding attraction to you on your concerted efforts to pursue him. He had seen the way the crew looked you over every time you showed up even though most of the time you wore lax if not oversized clothing. Joel sort of admired how you prioritized comfort over presenting a little more polished. He had heard the crew's muted conversations about how they would win you over if you ever gave them the chance to strip you down and give you the night of your life. The conversations about how it wasn’t going to happen because you weren’t taking anybody home, no matter how friendly you were.

It just added to his growing preoccupation at unraveling all the conflicting elements of your cryptic identity. At times you drove him up the wall with your endless observations and suggestions. Then there were the moments Joel couldn’t help but be impressed with your resourcefulness at obtaining scarce materials and goods needed for the project to move forward. He couldn’t decide if you were a sight for sore eyes or just a sore in his side every time you appeared. He didn’t like the duality, and his curiosity at pinpointing whatever was stirring deep down inside of you made him restless.

Joel was pulled from his thoughts when you sprung into view. Your unbridled elation was coming off in spates. The heady aroma wafting from the lidded cup in your hands was unexpected but welcome. “Ellie told me you had a thing for coffee,” you purled. Joel hadn’t had coffee in months. “Ta-da!” you sang as you raised the coffee cup for him to take.

You were positively beaming, teeming with pride at your perfect gift, and Joel decided right then and there all the good things about you far outweighed the things that annoyed him. “Here’s to friends helping friends,” he toasted, raising his cup in imitation cheers. “Friends,” you murmured in agreement.

Ellie was wary of most bids of contact you attempted in the first couple of weeks, but she had nowhere near the brick wall after brick wall of guarding Joel maintained. It felt like you would always be endlessly chipping away at him, trying to truly get to know him. If Ellie was a fort, Joel was a citadel. Although her rough exterior was an impressive deterrent for many, you mainly saw how bright she was. There was a fire in her that sometimes burned everything in its path, but if she could learn to govern that tenacious force, she could take on the entire world. Ellie didn’t see the depth of power she carried within herself or how unstoppable she would be once she learned to tap into it instead of succumbing to its whims. It would probably freak her out to understand the force a personality like hers held. She reminded you so much of Caroline that sometimes just talking with Ellie made your chest sting with each breath you dragged in. She had a need to prove herself to others and impress people close to her - even if she wouldn’t admit it - and that made you nervous. You knew how the story ended of the girl with the powerhouse will that she never learned to regulate. Your stomach twisted at the thought of Ellie’s last chapter closing that way.

You had tried a few different approaches to round up interest from her, but getting the sort of enthusiasm you wanted had you getting creative. The secret to getting her to warm up to you ended up being harnessing her inexhaustible curiosity. Under the guise of getting her better acquainted with Jackson, you let Ellie know you didn’t mind her asking about whatever she had on her mind and to not worry whether or not she might offend you. After that, it was no holds barred and an outpouring of questions. She asked all about Jackson: how things worked, who were the important people, why they were important, who was the town idiot, how many kids had come from the outside like she had, how many people lived here, what was your favorite place to go, what did people do for fun around here, and on and on. You had answered some questions more honestly than you probably should have, but it was all in an effort to gain mutual trust. Second thoughts about being so truthful with her were easy to ignore when that approach worked so well. You were holding casual conversations more often than fielding an interrogation. Ellie was quite the talker once you got to know each other a little bit better. She didn’t ask you much about your past, but you didn’t mind. It wasn’t uncommon for a teenager to be a little more inward focused and forget to politely listen as much as they talk, and you were perfectly fine not dredging through your life. It was clear Ellie was glad to have somebody to just talk to about nothing and everything. A real turning point in your budding friendship was when you noticed the outline of a knife in her pocket.

“You always carry that with you?” you asked, keeping your eyes straight ahead as you walked side by side.

“Uh, keep what with me?” Ellie was a bad liar. You smiled to yourself and chanced a look at her.

“The knife you keep in your pocket. Do you always carry it?”

She paled a little at her secret being discovered. She opened and closed her mouth a few times without saying anything.

“Here, come here,” you nudged, directing your path behind a building and out of sight.

“I’m not gonna use it. It’s sentimental value or whatever. I swear I don’t have any plans to use it on somebody or something. Please don’t tell Maria. She’ll take it!” Ellie pleaded.

“I’m not going to tell Maria. I want to see it!” you clarified.

“Uh, you want to-you wanna see my knife? You’re not upset?”

“Yeah, I wanna see your knife,” you confirmed adamantly. You flashed a curious smile and motioned for her to show you. Ellie shifted back and forth on her feet, glancing over her shoulder as though she was doing something she knew she shouldn’t be.

“How about this, I’ll show you mine, and you show me yours. Deal?” you offer.

“You have a knife too?” she whispered excitedly, instantly relaxing.

“Yeah, just don’t tell Maria,” you teased. Ellie giggled and waited expectantly. You did a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was around before reaching into your boot and retrieving your favorite knife: a brass handled butterfly knife with filigree detailing on the hilt.

“Whoaaaa,” Ellie breathed in awe. She gawked at the ornate piece in your palm with reverence.

“Okay, your turn,” you motioned again. Ellie was so eager to show off her knife she didn’t think to ask you to open yours. She quickly retrieved her knife, ejecting the blade gleefully.

“Nice,” you roose. “Mine’s not exactly sentimental value, but I’m still super attached to it.”

“Does it open?” Ellie wondered, searching the brass handle for the release. Her brow pinched in curiosity when a devious grin sprung up on your face.

You unhitched the latch at the base of the hilt. “Oh yeah mean like this?” You held your arm out straight, gently released the knife from your grasp and brought your bicep forward to meet it. You give the hilt a firm bump, causing the hilt to part and reveal the blade, before catching it by the handle as it fell.

“WWHOOOOAAAA THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME!” Ellie raved.

You shushed her as you both stifled your giggles. “Can you teach me some knife tricks?!” she begged.

“Maybe. Let me get to know your dad a little better before I ask him if I can show his kid combat techniques,” you chortled.

You paused for a moment to consider your joke. It occurred to you that maybe she shouldn’t tell Joel you were dragging her behind buildings to show off your hidden weapon and the neat little tricks you could do before stabbing somebody with it. You weren’t confident how he’d take that. Ellie was about to interrupt you to say that Joel would probably love for her to learn more combat techniques, but your thoughts were vocalized first.

“Uuuuhh, actually, you know what? Let’s just not mention this to him at all quite yet? Not sure how he’d feel about me doing knife tricks for you,” you groaned in a laugh.

“Okay, I won’t tell anybody - even Joel. Nobody will know that you have a secret knife on you all the time IF you promise you’ll teach me some tricks a few months from now,” she countered.

Ellie knew how to drive a hard bargain. Truth be told, you would love to teach her some knife tricks and tips. It wasn’t a hobby or interest that many people had, and you felt a strong connection to her over it almost immediately.

“Okay. I promise. But no saying anything to anyone!”

She nodded enthusiastically and returned her switchblade to her jean pocket. You in turn gingerly spun your butterfly knife between your fingers and over your knuckles as a parting stunt before shoving it back into your boot. You were showing off - just a little.

“Oh my god, that is so fucking cool. I cannot WAIT to learn some of that shit!”

You both laughed as you headed back into the busier area you had left, both genuinely excited over the future plans to practice knife skills together.

When the topic meandered into food, she admitted the offerings of Jackson were far superior to FEDRA school or even traveling with Joel. You asked if she liked anything enough to deem it her favorite, and she quickly informed you that Chef Boyardee was probably both her and Joel’s favorite. “Oh wow, I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” you chuckled. “Ever had it?” she asked. “Yeah, but that was over 20 years ago now,” you recalled. Ellie did her best to describe all the detailed wonders and beauty of Chef Boyardee to you. Her intention was to gift you the memory of its delight, and it was such an Ellie sort of thing to do that it made you grin. Her heartfelt, profound symposium on the mass produced, canned pasta juggernaut made you laugh after 5 straight minutes of presentation.

You thanked her for her thoughtfulness but explained you actually didn’t mind too much because you make your own pasta every now and then. It never occurred to Ellie that she could make her own Chef Boyardee. Feeling like this was another foot in the door, you casually offered to show her and Joel sometime how you make it so they could replicate it for their own dinners. Ellie took you up on the offer immediately and informed you she was going to tell Joel that you’re hosting dinner tonight.

She was bounding out of your house and practically skipping towards her own before you could stop her. Your calls down the street to her that Joel might not be up for such sudden plans were ignored. You smiled nervously, hoping Joel will be okay with Ellie’s concocted dinner party. You decide to get everything set up just in case.

Joel was cautiously intrigued when Ellie informed him that they would be attending dinner at your house that evening. Based on the fact that it had been Ellie and not you to share this news, he had a sneaking suspicion Ellie had invited herself and Joel instead of politely waiting until an invitation was extended. Joel grumbled when he realized he should probably bring something to the dinner, but there wasn’t a whole lot in the pantry other than random ingredients and a bag of coffee you had gifted him. Joel and Ellie made their way to your door, empty-handed. A quick scope of your porch revealed an old but charming wooden bench just off to the side that was offset by a small table. Greenery and sparse, dried florals poked out a green glass bottle that served as the vase for your arrangement. A small blanket draped against the back of the bench, and one of the corners was slotted in between the pages of a book near the edge as if it had been set aside in a hurry. Joel could almost imagine you sitting out here reading, losing track of time, and stuffing your blanket bookmark into your chapter before scurrying off inside.

Joel raised his fist to knock, but Ellie let herself inside with the familiarity of someone who had done this dozens of times already. He immediately thought to himself you should keep your door locked and didn’t care about any excuses about how safe Jackson was that you would undoubtedly give him if he brought it up. Ellie sauntered casually down the hallway into what looked to be the kitchen.

He stalled for a moment, jarred a little by his protective instinct over you. He shook it off as just wanting to be helpful. Still, he felt compelled to make sure you would be more vigilant in the future. Joel didn’t want to make assumptions about your ability to handle yourself just based on your size alone, but he had a hard time imagining you getting the upper hand in a physical fight. The sound of dishes clinking drew his attention to where Ellie had just wandered. Your house smelled like you but stronger. The distinct lavender and cedar aroma filled his lungs like a balm. It was warm and inviting. His shoulders dropped ever so slightly as he absorbed your home. To the left were two large French wooden doors. It was probably the living room, but why it was nestled away from prying eyes was a point of curiosity.

Though he had only been in his and Tommy’s houses, Joel’s construction background recognized the copy and paste sort of style of both. Neither had the closed off room right when you entered, and it didn’t make much sense that your cluster of houses would differ that much. He stepped closer to examine the curious entrance and quickly deduced these weren’t original to the home. The general configuration and molding were different from the rest of the architecture and design of your home.

The work at least was good quality, in Joel’s opinion, so it must have been a job for someone with the honed skillset to renovate. Maybe the original owners of the house had them put in? Otherwise you had to have gone out of your way to get those doors put in. The only thing Joel couldn’t understand was why? And what was so important that it had to be kept behind them?

He followed along the hallway and pondered your stylings as he tracked the smell of basil and tomatoes. The kitchen was a familiar echo of his and Ellie’s, but you had put your own flair on things.

A tall hutch housed rows of glass jars filled with what looked to be dried herbs or tea leaves. A stack of books tucked into the corner of the bottom shelf turned out to be a collection of field guides, a natural medicine encyclopedia, and a foraging handbook. The other titles were too worn or too small for Joel to read without picking them up.

A small cut branch hung over the window by the sink. Bundled bunches of drying herbs and flowers hung upside down along it, secured by the same type of twine that suspended the entire thing to the ceiling.

A shiny silver kettle sat atop the stove, reflecting soft yellow light from the dwindling sunlight. Another span of countertop was littered with jars, a mortar and pestle, various sprigs of green things Joel didn’t recognize, and an open book. The last bit of countertop was clean and butted up to a line of pots, pans, and utensils hanging along the backsplash.

The kitchen table was nearest the wall of the backdoor and window. Eclectic pots and containers rested on the windowsill, and Joel recognized a few of the plants in them. Rosemary. Basil. A little herb garden in your kitchen, most likely.

Your space was cozy and simple and earthy. He had expected something more bold and chaotic based on your general temperament, but this was a nice surprise. His wandering eyes eventually met your gaze, and Joel scratched his neck sheepishly when he realized you must have been patiently waiting for him to finish goggling over all your things.

“Hey there, friend,” you greeted with a smirk. “Door was unlocked,” Joel remarked with an obvious tone of disapproval, eager to direct the conversation to anything other than his absorption with your home.

“Oh, I knew you two were coming, so I just left it unlocked,” you explained with a casual, dismissive wave.

“You still shouldn’t-” Joel started, but Ellie cut him off with her buzzing excitement and swirl of questions. Your focus shifted from Joel to Ellie, and the conversation was over before it even started. Joel decided he’d have to just bring it up again later, before the night was over.

You started up the private pasta class and offered Ellie and Joel aprons. Joel declined and instead opted for a towel over his shoulder. Ellie was engrossed with every step and did most of the work. The concept of using a flour well instead of a mixing bowl absolutely tickled her. When she revealed she’d never cracked an egg before, you insisted she give it a go. Several pieces of shell inevitably fell into the dough, but you declared it a good a time as any to learn how to remove them.

“Believe it or not, using another shell piece is the best way to get them out. Trying to grab it with your fingers or a spoon just pushes it away, but the shell being made of the same stuff just kinda draws it in.” Ellie made an exaggerated impressed noise at your instruction. You laughed and elbowed her over the cheeky taunt. Joel sat and watched the two of you work with a reserved smile on his face.

Once the dough was kneaded and ready to rest for 30 minutes, you went over some of the options for the filling. Most of it was precooked in the few hours before their arrival, and Ellie helped herself to a taste test of the potential combinations. “I’m, like, a real fucking chef, you guys.” You and Joel both grinned at her youthful confidence. When she smelled the garlic and pulled a face, you caught Joel curiously leaning to see where the doorway from the kitchen leads to. “Guess I should’ve offered a quick house tour.”

Still pink in the cheeks from being caught taking avid interest in your house, Joel shrugged his shoulders with a cool, cavalier edge. “S’alright. Not one to impose.”

Your lips puckered into a contained giggle when you told him Ellie had already made the rounds, so it was only fair if he wanted a quick walk about. “If you insist, I guess,” he mumbled. He was eager to see what else your home looked like, but he preferred if you didn’t know that. Joel wondered to himself what you were like when you were home alone. All the things you busied yourself with. How you passed the hours until it was time for bed.

Another door matching the ones Joel first saw when he walked in was closed at the end of the corridor right off the kitchen. You beckoned him along with a small swirl of your hand. Your oversized jackets and various bags hung on hooks along one side of the corridor. The opposite wall was decorated with a mismatch of framed art. When Joel leaned in to get a closer look, you explained that they were floral and botany hammer art or pressed flowers or sun prints - all different pieces you’ve crafted over the years.

Never one to comply with societal expectations, Joel didn’t offer up any compliments or even a comment, period. You thought he seemed to enjoy your work, though. “Living room?” he assumed, gesturing to the door. There’s an underlying question of why your living room is closed off from the rest of the house.

“Uh, technically, I guess,” you offered. You never seemed to answer a question directly, and it drove Joel crazy.

He didn’t move to open the door. Was he supposed to venture in? You brushed past and opened the door, realizing your lack of direct answer made him unsure if he had permission to enter. If anything, Joel was big on boundaries and respecting said boundaries. It was admirable, in a way.

The mystery door swung open to reveal what was once a living room. It now functioned as your living room, library, and bedroom combined. Your bed is pushed into the corner against the front windows, and it’s the first thing Joel notices. Not only do you leave your door unlocked, but your bed is right next to the window and main entrance of the house. Incredibly unsafe, in his opinion. Your bed was cocooned in a curious mimicry of an outdoor space, like being out in the woods. Surrounding your bed and the walls above it is a makeshift tree you created with branch bundles nailed to the wall. Fresh cedar swags are scattered throughout the “limbs” on your ceiling. Small string lights zigzag the ceiling directly above your pillows. “You make that?” Joel wondered, pointing to your imitation forest. “Yeah. I just sleep better wi-” “Spend so long makin’ camp and travelin’ by foot it feels strange not sleepin’ outside,” Joel said knowingly. “Yes, exactly.” You were astonished at his dead-on conjecture. Anyone who had ever seen your house was intrigued but confused by your design elements. “S’that why you decided the reward of gettin’ some fresh air while you sleep was worth the risk of sleepin’ right next to some open windows?” His firmly downturned mouth was almost cartoonish. The extra flourish of turning to face you with his arms folded across his chest to look at you added to the entire theatrical air. His abrupt pivot into lecturing authority figure almost made you snort. “I like to think that it makes it easier to hear if someone is trying to break in, which isn’t very likely.”

Joel grunted in disapproval, and you mentally concede that the evils of humanity are present everywhere, even in Jackson. “Sleepin’ on the first level, too. Primary entry point right through those doors. Front door wasn’t even locked,” he listed off in a scathing tone. You swallowed a laugh at the rundown of all your tactical shortcomings. “Joel, I appreciate your concern, but—”

“Do these doors even lock properly?” He crossed your room in a few large strides and wiggled at the handles in question.

“Okay, tour’s over,” you snickered. You stomped over to Joel and made the futile attempt of hauling him away by his arm from the double doors. He lifted an eyebrow at your failed power move. A snarky smile formed along the curve of his mouth at your expense.

“Good thing I’m not an intruder ‘cause if that’s your idea of takin’ somebody on, you’re fucked,” he derided.

You didn’t find his condescending opinion on your self-defense capabilities very amusing. He didn’t know a damn thing about how you had made it to Jackson, and his assumption was a clueless, boorish take at best. You tried to not sound insulted when you responded.

“Well lucky for me, you live close enough that you’d hear the screams of the poor damsel in distress and could come to my rescue,” you heckled. Your hands still circled Joel’s bicep from where you grabbed him, and you felt his muscles tense under your hold at your flippant statement. Something severe flashed in his expression before turning steely. You realized that was not the right thing to say. “I’m serious. It’s not safe.” His voice was low and stern. The gravelly edge to it hinted at the restraint being exercised to not let your cavalier attitude get the better of his temper. “Joel,” you appealed with a gentler air. His regard for your well-being was unnecessary and bordering on condescending, but you appreciated the intent behind it, nonetheless. “Hey, is this supposed to look like this?” Ellie called from the kitchen in a strained worry. You threw Joel a sigh and an exasperated look before turning and heading back into the kitchen.

“Promise you won’t nail my windows shut when I’m gone, okay?”

It didn’t ease any of the tension like you had hoped. Joel crossed his arms again and studied the rest of his surroundings. Framed pressed flowers lined the walls. Apothecary bottles with sprigs of dried wheat, flowers, and grasses trailed the mantle above the fireplace. A string of dry herbs and flowers above the doorway to the kitchen. A small desk housing papers, books, your signature clipboard, some pens . . . There’s a small bedside table with a book lying open. Joel was curious what sort of things you like to read about since he didn’t get the chance to find out on the porch. He got close enough to lean over and read the title: The Healer Has the Bloodiest Hands. He’s not sure what to make of that, but it took him back to the times he’d seen something deep inside you bubble to the surface before diving down again. Joel strolled around the room, peering here and there, resisting the urge to touch things. Another corner of the room was set up as a reading corner with a cozy armchair draped with heavy throws. A large bookcase loomed behind it, next to an overhead lamp. A warped, brown hardback leaned against the arm of the sitting chair. Short Stories for Sinners and Fools. Joel’s eyebrows quirked together at the title. You were no fool, and he had a hard time pinning you as a sinner. Joel’s curiosity about you overrode his manners, so he ventured back over to your desk, now brazenly snooping. The chalkboard mounted on the wall beside your desk was as messy as your hair. There were random scribbles on the chalkboard, and the only distinctly legible thing is a short poem along the bottom frame:

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever. Joel stiffened when he read it. It resonated with him all too well. He quickly moved on to the rest of the wall. Pages you had ripped from books and magazines, depicting famous paintings or peaceful landscapes. The Young Botanist lying on your desk, spine up. He finally ran a comprehensive, sweeping glance over your room.

Despite not matching his idea of what he’d have guessed your bedroom would look like, it was somehow very you and made more sense than what he had envisioned. There was an inviting sense of ease just being surrounded by your things. It was homey, intimate, and familiar. An errant thought emerged: what sort of things would you bring into his and Ellie’s house if you shared a space with them? You waltzed back into the room. “Any more fatal flaws you found while I was gone?” Joel turned to you, snapping out of his thoughts. You were struck by how he looked like he belonged in your home, a new addition that felt like he had been there all along. When he didn’t respond, you sighed and started to hash it out again. “I am perfectly fine and safe in my house and have been for many, many years.” “Lettin’ your guard slip ‘cause you get too comfortable is a good way for a bad thing to happen.” The hard clench of his jaw should’ve made you timid, but instead it just made you double down. “Oh my god, okay. Just because I’m not on high alert all the time doesn’t mean I’m mindlessly complacent, Joel,” you shot back. You were deeply annoyed by this point and didn’t care to hide it. “Now, can we please go enjoy dinner?” Joel made a grumbling, dissonant noise but didn’t push the issue any further. Over dinner, Ellie gave herself a rave review for her pasta creation. Joel was mortified at the satisfied moan that almost escaped him when he took his first bite. Thankfully neither you nor Ellie had noticed. This was the best meal he had eaten for as long as he could remember. Maybe even back to Bill and Frank’s culinary luxuries he was rarely afforded. The line of your mouth curved the tiniest bit as Joel served himself a third helping.

“Dun eatitall,” Ellie garbled through a mouth full of food.

“I’m not gonna eat it all,” Joel snipped defensively.

“Gon’be old AND fat,” she said past a big piece of ravioli. He shot her an acidic look that would’ve had you scurrying under the table if it had been lobbed your way.

You giggled at their back and forth. They really were an even match for each other. “So the rest of the tour after we do the dishes?” Joel asked. He tried to sound casual. He wished he didn’t care so much about exploring every nook and cranny of your home.

“Oh, that’s it, actually,” you answered sheepishly.

“You don’t use the rest of the rooms?” he probed.

“I use the bathroom and shower upstairs, of course. And my clothes are up there. But, yeah, just really the kitchen and the other room.”

“She said it was weird having a whole house to yourself after living alone in the woods for so long,” Ellie piped up, paying no mind to your antsy shift in your chair. Joel looked back over to you and was surprised that Ellie seemed to know a lot more about you than he did. “Oh. Yes. I guess I did mention that to you before,” you muttered, glancing in Ellie’s direction as she scooped another large forkful. “Hm. Makes sense,” Joel said. Your tight posture slackened at his obliging demeanor. “Just figured you’d have all sorts of stuff set up to entertain a bunch of folks.” “No. Just me here.”

Your voice sounded so small, and you didn’t know why you felt so embarrassed. It made sense that you would host all sorts of dinners and parties with all the people you knew here, and it almost came across suspicious that you didn’t. Joel and Ellie were the first guests you’d have over in probably a year and a half. You were grateful when Ellie started ranking her favorite ravioli filling combinations and opened the floor for additional commentary. Joel cleared the table while you and Ellie did the dishes and chatted aimlessly. Joel could have listened to you two all night with the way conversation flowed so easily between you. Giggly bantering morphed into twenty thousand questions from Ellie, which didn’t seem to tire you one bit.

They thanked you for inviting them over - Joel sparing Ellie a withering glance for impolitely inviting herself and Joel - and put their coats on. Ellie sauntered down the path from your porch as Joel turned to you.

“Thanks for the dinner lesson. And thanks for the coffee, again, from before,” he muttered as if that wasn’t the last of what he wanted to say to you.

“Of course. Anytime. And I’ve always been more of a tea drinker myself, so when I came across it I knew just who would love some hot bean water,” you teased. You were relieved earlier when the tension between you two died down a bit, but now you thought you should’ve given it more time before declaring it old news.

Joel sniffed a laugh and rested his hands on his hips. He chewed at his lip for a split second before giving up on holding back.

“You really oughtta move your bed from those windows.”

“Oh. My. GOD. Joel! Leave it,” you laughed humorlessly, exasperated with this man’s security detail obsession.

“It’s ridicu-”

“No, this is ridiculous, Joel,” you cut him off. “I’m closing the door now.” You began to smoothly edge the door closed.

“Lock your door,” he ordered gruffly.

“Yes, sir!” you taunted. Who the hell was he to be giving you orders?

Joel’s foot wedged between the jamb and the door, stopping it from closing. “Cut the shit. I want to hear the bolt when you close this thing,” he snipped as you rolled your eyes. “You are really unbelieva–” “Hey.” He said the word so softly it caught you off guard. “Please?” You stared back, jaw slack with surprise. You had never heard him say please to anyone. His weight shifted to one foot as he leaned closer and gripped the side of the door next to your face. “I know I’m asking for a lot, but it means a lot to me.” His words mirrored yours when you had asked him to agree to the summer opening deadline. He wasn’t mocking you. He was being earnest in his request. And, he was asking for a lot: for you to overlook his patronizing corrections and just do what he asked because it would make him feel more at peace. How much it actually meant to him - how much you meant to him - that you weren’t sure of just yet. “Okay,” you agreed in a hush. Joel nodded and took a step back as he removed his foot, prompting you to close the door. You turned the lock and slid the deadbolt over. “Alright,” Joel called through the door to let you know he had heard you lock yourself in. You leaned your palm against the door and rested your head against one of the panels. “Goodnight, Joel.” “Night.”

His heavy footfall faded across your porch and down the steps. You opened the double doors to your right and scooted up to the windows. You had to have one last look. Joel caught your curtains shifting ever so slightly in the dim light of your front room. He hid the emerging grin to avoid any grief from Ellie.

You watched his large silhouette until it blended into the night. You plopped down on your back and stared up at your pretend forest night sky. Giving in to Joel shouldn’t feel this rewarding.

I didn’t mean for this chapter to get so *~*~GIRTHY~*~* but oh well. Most of the time I go shorter, but there are times where I just feel like I don't want to break the flow of the story into different parts, kinda like they belong together in one go if that makes any sense.

Like the quote for this chapter implies, this is where we really start to see how EnNi Gal® and Joel are similar in ways that can sometimes lead to major clashing. Next chapter is when some shit really starts get rocky before the following chapter where it's a full on descent. Hope you enjoyed this calm stretch of the story while it lasted lmao.

Other random thoughts:

✧Joel trying to fight that simp destiny is my jam. Him being all secret service agent made me laugh while I wrote it bc this man is truly ridiculous sometimes.

✧AU Ellie from this chapter would say “ravioli, ravioli, give me the formuoli” over and over again until Joel banned her from watching Spongebob ever again.

✧The poem on EnNi Gal®’s chalkboard is from Alfred Tennyson. My man has some absolute bangers if you are ever in the mood for some good, flowery shit.

Catch ya later,

♥Puddles♥

#enni #fic: endless night #joel miller #tlou fic #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #the last of us #pedro pascal characters

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kevotsuka · 6 months

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I need to hear your detailed thoughts on pregnant bezz lol. It's clear it's going to be like a single dad situation bc he has no clue who the dad is. He's a Lil nervous but the academy is very nice about it. Pecco just wordlessly starts accompanying him to every doctor's appointment. Luca is making sure he gets his prenatal vitamins on time and resting his feet and cele is a little distant at first which makes bezz feel a little sad and he doesn't know what to do about it and Luca comes over to cele and tells him to not hurt bezz when he's expecting and cele feels soo guilty he would never do anything to hurt bezz or the baby but he feels insane about the whole situation and also is a little bit obsessed with bezz and his teeny growing bump anyway they make up and cele never leaves his side like they sleep together and he rubs Bezz's feet and let's Bezz hug his cold post shower body because he's burning up due to the baby. Just my silly thoughts I want your preg bezz thoughtsssssssssss

Anon you're sooo smart because all what you say IS TRUE. Cele is so weird about preg!bezz and luca need to talk with him “how you can make our pregbez being sad?” Jail for celin. Personally I am more into bez/pecco for this AU, but bezz has a harem who cares about him and his lil babybug :)

SO THANKS for waiting for my little silly thoughts about preg!bezz, he’s very important to me lmao.

I'm writing a fic (in spanish) about this snip, i don't think i wanna post it, but preg bezz is a 9k gdocs and tried to kill me

A thing about Bezz is how PRIVATE he wants to be (he fails). Like, he tried to separate his work and his personal life.

So in my timeline bezz was pregnant in Aus, and at first he had a very asymptomatic preg. Maybe he confuses the symptoms with the consequences of his broken collarbone, idk.

anyways, he don't ride out of weekend, don’t go to the ranch, barely training and lives stressed, sad and high in FEELINGS

It's not until before Valencia (Friday maybe) that he realize “oh, I might be pregnant” and then he DON'T CARE because it's the end of the season and all he want to do is go take a nap with his dog. He will deal with the bug when the tests are over.

He rides on Saturday and he doesn't do too bad but he hates himself because he could be better, but it is Sunday when he FALLS because Marquez HIT HIM and he realizes that with that blow he could have lost the bug and suddenly it is unacceptable. He drinks beers on an empty stomach, goes to yell at Marc at his truck, drinks some more, goes to SKY and says “Did you know Marquez hit US?” to anyone who wants to listen to him (people think he's talking about him and Martín, so they don't pay much attention to him)

He goes, picks up his prize completely done and thinking about his bug and how maybe he lost it because of Marquez and cries a little because of the alcohol and hormones, but do you remember that he is a private person? DON'T TELL ANYONE. Not his family who is there for him. Not even Valentino.

pass the valence tests (and Bezz is irresponsible and gets back on the motorcycle) and is wednesday and Marco is at home, with his dog and looking for the number of a former schoolmate who he is sure became a gynecologist and deal with his bug that he may have lost (and he touches his belly and silently begins to pray to a god he hasn't believed in a long time).

the bug is okay :) But beez need to stop riding rn, avoid the levels of stress that he have subjected his body and mind to in recent weeks. That is if he want to take the baby to term, if not there is also an abortion clinic quite close there.

THEN he have the dilemma of “have the baby or continue your life as if nothing had happened?” And the answer is that he will have that baby because he is a selfish man who feels lonely.

THEN, only after the first visit to the gynecologist post valencia test he calls Valentino and says “haha boss sorry I need to terminate my contract due to health problems :(“ and “don't you need a sexy pregnant secretary? I really can't stay without a work rn”

Valentino just lost TWO drivers in less than a month and is, of course, mad as shit, but he's also a father and tells Marco (once he hears that apparently he's going to be GRANDPA because bez is also his son) that it's okay, the academy will help you and support you in everything etc etc if you decide to return.

Marco doesn't want to tell to the boys of the academy. Like, not at all. He prefers to go hide in the hills before telling his friends that he chose to be a 'father' instead of chasing everyone's dream and becoming a motogp world champion etc etc

So he doesn't tell them anything (yet, he will eventually).

It is made public that he will leave the category to focus on his health and this is how the boys at the academy find out that Marco will not compete in the following season. and Bezz practically vanished from the face of the earth.

It is not until January, on Pecco's birthday, that he asks to meet when Bezz sends him a message to congratulate him.

Bezz says “Well, meet me at the hospital” and Pecco is clearly panicking and running to the address Bezz gave him.

Then he sees Bezz in the parking lot, beaming and wearing those horrible oversized clothes that he likes so much and he can finally breathe easy. He tries to ask Marco how he's been and why he disappeared, but Bezz asks him about the academy, about his family, about Pecco's grandmother?? as they walk through the hospital, towards the maternity section and Pecco begins to suspect

Then they arrive at reception, the secretary tells them that they are on time and Pecco is panicking while Marco drags him to the gynecologist, who only raises an eyebrow when she sees the MotoGP world champion there but greets him easily.

Then it's a haze for Pecco, Bezz talks about the changes in his body and the gynecologist tells Marco that they are normal things, that he has been very good and that his baby, whom Bezz insists on calling bug, has no health problems visible and developing very well for being 15 weeks old. She then turns to Pecco and asks him to remind Marco to take his supplements because he tends to get very forgetful sometimes and that he is glad to finally meet the father. And have him sign some documents that he has overdue :)

Pecco comes out with ink stains on his hands, lots of questions, and a strip of ultrasounds while Marco laughs at him and his expression. Then bezz explains that he needed a companion who can come sign the papers. That does not link Pecco to the child, only to Marco in case his family cannot come look for him in an emergency related to his baby.

Pecco: what.

#motogp rpf #beznaia #preg! bez #Sorry if this dont have sense i just wake up and my english doesn't work well at these hours #alexa play sorry for my english by in2it

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franklespine · 5 months

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Ok lowkey why am I actually having a grand old time watching s14 rn. I think it's because at this point they have truly embraced the campyness and I enjoy a bit of sillyness. Like, in terms of the later seasons of supernatural there are certain chunks that I have enjoyed. I loved the start of s11 (yes mainly because of Sam's visions that he thinks are from god - sue me), didnt like the end of it so much tho. s12... had some moments, like I actually found the crazy child soldier conditioning of the BMOL interesting but that wasnt really a big thing. And obviously I loved sam torture time in the first two episodes - he thinks he's lost everything, nothing to live for and he's still crawling through the think of it. I LOVED the start of s13 with its sam, dean, jack nuclear family - all of them barely hanging on to their will to live - fantastic. The ending was...... something that happened..... and now ngl s14 has had the most episodes consistently that I've very much enjoyed. Idk like sure is it like a whacked parody of supernatural?? sure but it's fun. And has its fair share of juicy and intriguing character dilemmas going on. Sam running himself ragged, barely sleeping trying to create a safe hunting network. Dean not being an asshole and having Michael on lockdown in his head 24/7 banging away like damn. Cas and his Empty deal which means the second he experiences a moment of true happiness he's going to be taken??? Jesus. Jack and his constant uphill climb trying to be useful, then having this payoff being his soul to use his powers - and then he EATS Michael?? Crazy. Maybe I'm just easily entertained. Only question is literally where are they going to go from here?? I'm like 3/4 the way through and Michael's been eaten by Jack so like.... where is this going to go now??? Like sure Nick I guess but he's just some whackjob guy. You may be thinking how have you avoided this many spoilers for something that came out ages ago, and I mean I did know broadly some things that were going to happen in the series as a whole but I genuinely have no idea where s14 goes from here in the slightest. Also I had zero interaction with this show in the slightest until 2 months ago. Guess I get obsessed quickly lmao.

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #s14 #just a little review for the void <3

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animews · 2 years

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“wolfwalkers (2020) is a beautiful piece of queer cinema that delicately reflects on the coming out of queer youth in this essay i will- except that i actually write the essay”

sorry in advance for the weird way this is structured i wrote it as a literature assignment to copy the writing style of virginia woolf. which. made the writing a little weird and overly formal so!!! just ignore that lmao

also to anyone who says “wolfwalkers isnt an anime why ru writing about it on an anime blog” HUSH. maybe it’s a cartoon to you, but it is like an anime to ME.

-o-

Wolfwalkers (2020) should, all things considered, be a typical coming-of-age story. But I think it’s not about coming-of-age, but instead coming out. A girl emerging from the closet, rather than from childhood. Wolfwalkers’ queer themes kept me up for a while, joining my late-night musings about stem cell ethics and the Lovecraftian horror of the Bee Movie. So here’s my thoughts. Make of them what you will.

First, let’s talk about werewolves. Werewolves are known to be general personification of “other”, so they’re a common metaphor for queerness. The separation of “wolf” and “man”, the monstrous coming to light and destroying the normal. They’re savage beasts that spend some time in human form, outcasts from society feared by the surrounding population. Whether they’re mindless and beastly or intelligent and misunderstood is up to interpretation, as Wolfwalker illustrates.

With that out of the way, let’s get started. Here’s our protagonist, Robyn Goodfellowe. Her father, Bill, has been summoned by the Lord Protector to hunt wolves. Said wolves are preventing the destruction of their forest home, which, as I am sure you agree, is truly baffling and without reason. For safety reasons, Robyn remains confined to her new home, as Bill informs her that it is “for her own good”. This will come up again later.

Of course, we would not have a story if Robyn stayed indoors, so we follow her as she sneaks into the woods. Her innocence is clearly shown here: she displays no signs of fear of death, confident that the world revolves around her. Therefore, the Robyn who accidentally shoots her precious bird is one at the beginning of her journey: a flower not yet bloomed, eyes closed to the harsh truths of the world. As she watches her bird fall from the sky, a mysterious, wild-looking girl scoops it up and runs off.

Here we take a break from Robyn’s dilemma to meet our antagonist, the religious leader of the town. It must be said that the title of Lord Protector fits him better than a simple name, unyielding and high-minded as he is. Here we see another staple of the queer narrative: religion. The Lord Protector is single-minded in his hatred of wolves: he wants them gone, and believes firmly that such action is God’s will. I don’t believe I must describe the long-held hatred of the Homosexuals by the Christian Church, but if that is something with which you are unfamiliar, feel free to visit your nearby conservative old-timey church and ask. Inherent in many religious folk is the “righteous anger”, the certainty that there is a holy mantel placed upon them to rid the world of the vermin gays, and this is certainly what the Lord Protector represents in this story.

The Lord Protector, angered at the presence of A Female, assigns Robyn to scullery duty, an appropriately womanly task. Robyn gets no support from her father, who believes it will do her good to act more like a woman should. If she conforms to the standards given to her, she won’t have any need to worry. Robyn, unswayed, escapes yet again into the forest to find her bird.

Robyn, not a particularly nimble individual, quickly gets herself caught in one of her own father’s traps after finding her bird (in the distance, a voice yells something about symbolism). Along comes a young wolf, and a scuffle ensues. After a stray bite on the arm, Robyn is set free from the trap, and follows the wolf into its secret cave, wherein it reveals its true form: the wild girl from before, named Mebh.

Mebh is a wolfwalker: she turns into a wolf when asleep. She quickly heals Robyn’s bite, and after a few mishaps, the two quickly make friends. Robyn’s preconceived notions of wolves go out the window: the wolves mean no harm. They’ve been planning to leave the forest to find safer lands, and are waiting for Mebh’s mother to return: she’s been asleep, her wolf-form missing.

There’s a particular scene here, in the middle of the movie, that really got to me. Robyn takes a brush and combs out Mebh’s hair, gently removing the forest debris; she then tucks a saved flower behind her ear. The vulnerability of letting someone touch your hair is not one to be taken lightly. Such a gesture is intimate, offered between close friends, family (or pack, rather). And to slip a flower behind one’s ear? What other indicator of blooming love might there be? This marks Robyn’s progression, as she begins the next step of her journey. As children, Mebh and Robyn believably reach this place in their relationship quickly, beginning their childhood friends to lovers (slowburn, 200k, last updated 2020) love story. They say goodbye, and Robyn runs off into the sunset, eager to tell her father her discoveries.

Predictably, Bill is furious at her breaking the rules, as well as disobeying the Lord Protector. He refuses to listen to Robyn’s pleas, dismissing her claims as “childish stories”. Such language is incredibly similar to those that a queer child’s parents would say under a situation where they are questioning their identity. They’re punished for breaking society’s rules, occasionally for fear of mistreatment by society, or because they disobey the religious conventions. Their exploration of their identity is dismissed as stories, false and made-up. Queer people don’t exist, and if they do, they’re evil and you’re not one of them, they say. You’re just tired, or hallucinating, they swear.

The next morning, Robyn goes to the scullery, as previously instructed. Bill yet again informs his daughter that this is for her own good, before leaving her to slave the day away. Exhausted and hearing mysterious voices, she escapes yet again to see Mebh in the forest (paralleling classic love story format), and ends up promising her to help find Moll, her mother.

You may observe yet another deviation from the typical girl’s coming-of-age path that Robyn has declined to follow: the absence of a male lead. Men instead appear as antagonists, through the Lord Protector, and to an extent, Bill. Thus, the movie further establishes itself as a less male-focused story, focusing instead on the girls (one might refer to the Korean word for girl: 어린애- female child: not a teenager but a child, innocent in their understanding and exploration of gender, as Robyn is here, on the cusp of discovery, still androgynous in the conduction of herself, unaware of who she is). As a fellow wolf (or is it Woolfe?) once mentioned, a problem in fiction is the absence of women and their inter-relationships: in this work, we are exposed to girls at their core, wild and genderless, before society attempts to corral them into their proper gender roles.

Robyn returns home to sleep and is shocked to awaken in wolf form. At this moment her father discovers her: a wolf perched atop the sleeping body of his daughter. Another aspect of queer adolescence emerges: fear of discovery. When one has watched their family openly condemn their kind, can they trust their promised unconditional love? If one’s family recognized them as “the enemy”, would they be accepted? Robyn wrestles with this as she stares her father in the eyes and runs into the streets for fear that he will kill her, runs haunted by the fear that he would raise his sword even if he knew it was her. With this, she finds Mebh in the forest and demands answers.

Mebh, confused, insists that she healed the transforming bite, but is distracted by the prospect of teaching Robyn the joys of wolfing (as children do), and so I shoulder the burden of explanation in her place. While the reason for Robyn’s wolfification could be the failure of Mebh to properly heal the bite, I would urge you to consider that Robyn, unconsciously recognizing the bond that she held with Mebh, created the wolf within her even after healing. Rather than getting “infected” by Mebh (as so many believe queer people do), the wolfwalker was within her all along, merely brought to the light.

While trying to sneak back through the gates, wolf-Robyn is discovered and a hunt ensues. To hide, she sneaks into a secret passage in the castle, and stumbles upon Mebh’s missing mother, Moll (alliteration abounds), trapped in a cage. Moll begs her to tell Mebh to flee the forest and stay safe, unknowingly paralleling Robyn’s father. Robyn, out of time, fails to free Moll, and rushes home to ‘wake up’ and turn back from wolf to human, refusing to sleep for the rest of the night.

After another day of grueling work in the scullery, Robyn has lost hope. Her safety hinges even more on her compliance, as her father has been demoted for failing to kill the wolves. Mebh, worried that Robyn hasn’t yet returned, sneaks into town to check on her. Appalled, Robyn begs her to return to the forest and leave without her mother, breaking her promise to help free Moll. Robyn, broken, has forced herself to grow into the role that the world assigned her, becoming exactly what her father and the Lord Protector wanted her to be. In this, she reflects the queer youth forced to stifle their identity to reflect their family’s and society’s expectations, simply to maintain a normal life.

Just then, the Lord Protector holds an announcement. He reveals a chained Moll, restraining her with the help of several soldiers. Seeing her, Mebh is enraged, and after an emotional scuffle with Robyn, who desperately tries to stop her, she jumps onstage. Moll bites Robyn’s father to stop him from catching Mebh, Mebh runs to gather her wolf pack, swearing revenge, and an enraged Lord Protector shouts for all troops to set the forest on fire and drive out the wolves (much like homophobic religious folk attempt to invade the safe spaces of queer people in an attempt to “eradicate” them). Robyn, stunned, can do nothing but watch her friend fight against her father.

Finally, Robyn chooses to side with the wolves (embracing her inner girlboss, etc.), standing against her father and freeing Moll. After a tearful reunion with Mebh and her now moll-ified pack (do you get it? do you????), tragedy strikes: Bill shoots Moll, who collapses. This is not dissimilar to the actions of many parents of queer children, who hurt people not only because of preconcieved notions of danger, but because they fear their children’s “corruption”. Robyn, heartbroken, shifts into wolf-form and runs off, in a twisted coming-out of sorts. Finally, Bill chooses to accept Robyn as both his daughter and a wolfwalker, at which point his own bite takes effect, helping him defeat the raging Lord Protector.

Moll is healed, the pack moves, and the story ends with Robyn and Mebh falling asleep, then running ahead in wolf form. The ending expresses Robyn’s final transformation and acceptance of her wolf-self not as an alter ego but merely as another part of herself, just as queer youth learn to accept their queerness as a intrinsic, unchangeable quality.

The movie isn’t groundbreaking in the way that most people crave queer films to be. The queerness isn’t explicit, and there could be arguments made for a “friendship movie”. But this movie isn’t about that, to me. For someone who has seen so few movies where queerness as an exploration isn’t punished, where the “bury your gays” trope isn’t implemented, where the main characters are children without themes of inherent corruption… I won’t lie, it made me cry.

It’s just. Isn’t it beautiful to see such a simple movie about love between girls? Isn’t it lovely to know that cinema is allowed to be like this? Wolfwalkers (2020) is many things, a stepping stone and a soft touch, a children’s movie and a mature film, a work of art and a labor of love. all that, and most of all, it is deeply, intrinsically, queer.

#wolfwalkers #movies #cartoons #queer love #animated movies #wolfwalkers meta #meta #long post #honeyspeak

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