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mimithings97 · 5 years ago

Text

ABSTRACT ft BOB ROSS (M) - JJK

Summary: Paintbrush in one hand, joint in the other and you sitting on his dick is what Jeongguk wants. And what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

Genre: smutPWP, timid crack, established relationship

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: jeongguks horny! getting high, body painting, fingering, oral (both receiving), edging, slight subJK, unprotected sex, cockwarming, masturbation (fem), dry humping

A/N: Jeongguk being on his Bob Ross thing to help us through quarantine had me inspired. Fr Bob Ross was a legend. This gets steamy btw

Also pls stay safe everyone and don’t be selfish. Enjoy x

*Masterlist Link*

*Bold italic is JK speaking Korean*

“Tap it off… and just beat the devil out of it.”

“JEONGGUK FOR THE LOVE OF JESUSSS!”

“Isn’t that fun.”

“...What? Just doing what he tells me to do.”

And he persists, batting brush to easel with a rate of knots only a testament to how fast he jacks off. It sends diluted paint across the room so you’re left as a life size dot to dot, with splatters lining your lips down to the hem of your shirt and it’s cold and wet, and this isn’t what you signed up for when he said ‘couples bonding’.

“I’m fucking soaked.” He scoffs, that man sized brain of his conjuring a classic.

“That’s what she said.”

You’re four hours deep, and four hours too many by your standards. Jeongguk was always an avid painter at heart, finding joy in the freedom of all things creativity, but he was also a perfectionist, a competitor. It led him from tutorial to tutorial, because, whilst he’s got portraiture down, his landscaping needed a little brushing up - mind the pun - and it was only an amount of time before you stumbled across a Bob Ross tutorial in all things serene and panoramic.

You shake yourself off in some attempt to help the splay of wet paint and to ease your job with the washing machine later, and lean back on your heels to gather your bearings. Yet, Bob still drones on despite your misery, and your boyfriend’s all too eager to comply with his every word.

“Jeongguk!”

He’s laughing off to himself, easily pleased in the scheme of all things pensioner humour, but murmurs off a halfhearted ‘yeh’ in your direction to ease where he knows you’re about to nag.

“Look at me!”

He does. And it throws you off a little because he eyes you once over, twice and a third time before settling his gaze on your breasts - easily pleased for many more things than just Bob Ross.

“You’re messy.”

“Yeh fuck I am! You listen to Bob more than you listen to me, cockless.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and shuffles so the laptop settled between both your easels can be paused, leaving Bob frozen in time and you to deepen your scowl.

“Yeh, um, cockless, cool... Bob tells me how well I’m doing and lets me hit paint brushes on wooden sticks. You don’t even let me feed Sassy nugs of weed when you sure as hell fucking know she’s a stoner cat.”

Jeongguk was deep into his second joint after he fucked the first two paintings up enough he put a lighter to the edge of each. He even questioned using them as a roach, and you became one step closer to pleading insanity to your landlord and bolting the fuck out of you joint tenancy. But then he got you high and you persevered.

Four more questionable and highly abstract paintings later, he’s got the hots for Bob, and you're left staggering on your words to rope him into lucidity again.

“Guk, he’s a virtual man with 4 million followers, don’t take it personally and-.”

“But-” You deadpan, and point your paintbrush with emphasis.

“And you know full well Sassy gets baked anyways off of fumes. The smoke gets in her fur as well and it was me” he looks innocently at you, muted by your outburst, “who got clawed when she had to be bathed. So tuck your balls away from Bob, and sober up!”

He’s quiet. As are you. And even Bob lies dormant off in your peripherals.

The room grows small as you size each other up, paintings left aside with the sole purpose of being witness to argument, and you think he might just look hot with his nipples standing cold against the open air and abs rolling beneath the line of his sweats.

He’s on the same wavelength:

“I can see your tits through that shirt.”

You take a quick peak yourself, eyeing from one to the other, ignorant of the double chin you’re exposing, but all in the name of making sure the ladies stand perky. He’s got a glint beneath the surface now when he eyes your chest, and the paintbrush in his hand falls a little limper.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” He tongues his lips. Hungry.

Self control in such a situation as this seems important. The ability to stand your ground no matter where your argument lies on the scale of idiocy. If you curtail into being seduced, he might still make you wash the shirt yourself, figure Bob Ross is a turn on and have Sassy seeing smoke rings by the end of the night. No. You’re not a pushover.

He’s an inch closer when you break the silence, the tumbleweed rolled aside.

“Turn it around. Let me see.”

“Ey?”

He’s horny and you’re not playing ball, something his brain can’t quite transfer to his dick yet.

“Turn yours around I wanna see how you did.” You give a nod in the direction of his painting. A spout of curiosity as to what monstrosity he’s conjured this time, but also a distraction, something for him to latch onto aside from your chest.

“I thought we wait til the end. It’s unfinished.” And one thing Jeongguk hates being is unfinished.

“Baby, Bob’s been overworked tonight and I wanna light the last spliff.” You air a finger and twizzle it, “give it a whirl.”

Being the competitor he is, Jeongguk plasters a smile and spins his easel, the pride practically radiating from him with the way he eyes the two trees and awkwardly sculpted sky. The clouds are askew and the lighting is directioned all wrong, in fact, it’s more a Picasso than a Mozart, blocks of colour screaming attention rather than the realism Bob was hoping for.

“What’s it abstract for.”

Jeongguk frowns because your tone clearly isn’t close to praise and that’s what he’s learnt to expect. What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets. Tonight's seen enough of your short fuse, however, that he’s not in the running for your good books.

“Jagi-ya,” he pleads, “you know I speak in small English only when I’m stoned.”

You don’t even attempt to stifle the giggle. His eyes are round and his neck’s falling into his shoulders. A defence mechanism he’s well versed in because he knows it gets you in the feels. The jagi too.

“Yeh and this is how you paint when you’re stoned,” he eyes the work he’s made like your words have got him curious, like he’s never seen the capability of a weed induced state on canvas, “your lines get all boxy.”

He shifts, putting criticism to the test as he takes in his artwork from a new vantage point. In the meantime, the final joint lays naked and unused, almost sculpted like it was made for your fingertips. So you appease it’s calling and bringing tip to mouth, lighting the end until the embers begin to wisp away into smoke. Jeongguk breaths in like he wants it, but there’s an epiphany in sights instead.

“Mmm, it’s more like Picasso,” that’s my boy.

“Exactly!”

“...Bob doesn’t accommodate for high people.” He takes the joint when you offer it.

“Guk! That was a big word!” And he earns himself a kiss on the cheek, perhaps a hand to fiddle with his shoulders too, because those muscles aren’t gonna touch themselves.

He drags long and hard. A third joint kind of high taking hold from where his eyes grow thinning and his posture caves into your touch.

“Heard it on University Challenge,” you scoff at him. Since when was that on cable, “figure if I watch it enough I’ll be just as smart as them.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, bubs.”

Your hands grow fond of his skin, and it’s only when he leans away to trash the fumes away on a burnt out scrapped painting that you realise he finished all the weed. Guk’s a kid in a pram when it comes to sharing his green goods. He compensates with good sex though.

And it’s where his mind lies - beneath the thin layer of your white painting top, a scrap piece of clothing donned for only the messiest of times. He seems to find inspiration in the idea.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” the air buzzes somewhere between stoned and excited with how he eyes you.

“Let me paint you like one of my Korean girls.” It’s said in a tone laced with enough lust that you ignore the reference and are turned on by the novelty of being painted. And you know he doesn’t mean Jack and Rose kind of style.

You offer him a smirk.

“How d’you want me.”

Jeongguk nips at his bottom lip and lets his mind and dick go wild at the thought of free reign. The contemplating drags on, but when his eyes settle on how your pussy lies just south of the hem of your shirt, he’s struck a vision.

“Back, legs spread, and shirt off- wait, no, actually, shirt on.”

He’s easy to comply with in the circumstances of things stoned and shirtless.

Your head is light, limbs soft when they stretch against the carpeted floor and you’re so prepared to be a canvas you’re wondering if maybe Bob had turned you on a little. And everything grows that bit more ambient, strewn into background noise. The paints you’d used now only exist with purpose of your skin, the Sam Cooke vinyl, now on its fifth round, is merely a melody to curl your toes to and the chiaroscuro lighting serves for the curve of your cheekbones only.

He’d call you artwork if only it did you justice.

“It’s cold.” He readies you.

His forth fingertip is crimson red. You think it’s a tester for temperature until he runs it down your thigh. A bold stroke for a starting place, but Jeongguk was never shy with paints.

“Mmm, yeh, cold.”

“You like it?” He asks like he wants to be in tune with you.

“I can get to like it.”

What you mean is you can get to like your boyfriend, in his half naked glory, playing temperature torture on your skin.

He’s beautiful like this. A little lost in the high, but even deeper in the depths of you and your body and your lips and how you lay for him. A shy boy at first now with the pick of the litter. And he’ll take his pick wisely.

“So pretty.” You’ve got enough understanding to writhe in the praise, “Can I ruin your top?”

You are high, careless and ultimately curious.

“Yeh,” and the shirt was fucked anyways.

He pulls up the palette next to him, drawing a sketch with his eyes because paint doesn’t allow for takebacks and twiddles the brush in circles with practised ease.

“Close your eyes for me?”

“Ey?” You question.

“Please, just, for now.”

And you’ll blind yourself for the sake of surprise, but now you’re sure you’ll just end up playing guess the drawing through touch alone, a mimic of what Jeongguk does on your naked spine in the mornings when you’re allowed a lie in.

It’s cold, he’s right, that first stroke. And it dances close to where your breasts hang.

“Can I touch you down there too?”

OH fuck yes. Multitasking you can get on board with.

“Please.”

He’s straight to it. A quirk on the line he was painting down you because suddenly he’s got you pleading and wet in unintentional places.

“You plead so nicely for me, jagi. So good.” You gush to the tune of his native tongue.

It’s all at once. An overload of the senses. Sam Cooke a soulful prayer in time with your boyfriends hum. There’s a perfect juxtaposition of nimble fingers on your clit and a flat planed brush streaking unabashedly on the cotton against your nipples. It’s cold and hot and light and dark and everything in between. It’s sexy.

You delve headfirst into the pleasure of it all, throwing an arm over your eyes and allowing the moans to spew and your body to convulse a little every time you’re hit with a newly loaded brush. Your body brews up a tempest and yo-

“DONE!”

Oh.

You’re panting. Soaked to the bone beneath your silk panties, and when you open your eyes, everything is in disarray.

The lust felt when in the thrones of your imagination is suddenly scattered, albeit, Jeongguk still looks like a feast. Because Sam Cooke doesn’t sound so harmonic and your skin doesn’t glow as bright when you assess the masterpiece you’d been distracted by.

“YOU GAVE ME PICASSO TITS!”

Fucking Picasso tits!

You’re horrified. And Jeongguk looks like he’s won the lottery.

“Yeh. Jagi! Abstact!”

“It’s abstract…” you whine.

Tugging and pulling at the hem of the cotton in some attempt to render the mess undone is your stress ball . Something to help it or just unsee it. Anything. But it’s useless, because the display is etched in primary colours only, a demand for attention that your Vanish Ultra won’t even touch the sides on.

Your eyes fume when they meet his crescents, “and you gave me square tits you freak! I have perfectly good tits, underneath, and this top was clean before you violated it!”

There’s enough rage in you to stand and peel the wet shirt from your body, only to find a coloured imprint on your skin and bra that seeped through the thin fabric. Pick a younger man, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Hildy can shove fun up her ass.

“Baby, it’s kind of funny.”

“Its not- its-,” he’s laughing. You’re exasperated. Both high. And maybe Hildy had a point once you let go of the burdens of sensibility and just crave what he’s having. Go, fat, high, fun.

“Gukkkkkkk.” So you end up whining. And, you don’t resist when he’s off his feet and drowning you in his chest, muscles vibrating to the tune of his giggles.

“Like, now, whenever we Bob Ross paint, I get to be reminded of the time I squared off your boobs then sexed you real good.”

You scoff from under his armpit, but refuse to depart from the embrace. He’s got a sweaty smell you only like on him and there’s nothing like Jeontits in your face.

“Never Bob Ross painting again and you’re not sexing anything, perv.”

“No?”

“Mm-hm,” he giggles over your dramatic head shaking, a true fan of you when he’s got you swaddled and in that high happy place. Jeongguk also, whilst he won’t admit it, likes owing you something. Likes poking and prodding at your sensitivity until he’s got something to make up for - he’s a people pleaser, what can he say.

So it’s a kiss here and a peck there. A mouthed map from shoulder to jaw before you’re the one to shift until your mouths align.

“I’mhard y’know.” Tongue deep into yours because he’s got nothing to hide.

“Mmm, and you’ll stay that way.”

But he really is oh so hard. His sweats hold little surprise under the surface because Jeongguk forgoes underwear on his days off and there’s a perk to his chest from his lunchtime weights set. It’s a self control that the weed in your brain isn’t quite abiding to.

“Jagi, come on,” the way his stance has a gain on your height means he can find friction where your groin lays. The perfect snuggle for his length to cant up into. He’s teasing himself, and pining for the quirk in you that’ll have him squirming later.

“Guk. You’ve stained my top. You’re not about to cum on my La Perla panties.” Yet he’s driving himself deeper into a painful withdrawal. And he can’t wait.

“You wore them without anything on your legs. You should know the risk,” his lips dance from collarbones to shoulder as he indulges in your skin, “You get me so hard, Jagi. So hard it hurts,” he’s biting whilst he ruts, “yet you tease me. How can you do that?”

Your resolve won’t crumble, but you may indulge a little. Press encouragement beneath his boxers and under the small of his back so he can carry himself away in the friction. He glows in it.

“Urgh, god.”

“Mmm, you still can’t cum you know that.”

Frantic. He nods frantic, and rolls his eyes back harder. He’s got balls so tight from the weed induced delusion that he’s lost in, but he knows you’ll have them blue and him mewling soon.

“Want it.” Submissive Korean sounds almost too good on him. He bows into your shoulder and grunts words, understandable in content, but so much more in context. An unfiltered, raw need he can only express in his way.

You almost give in.

Almost.

“Jeongguk, stop- stop.” He stills, and is pliable enough that you can cup his jaw tightly and meet him at eye level where he’s hazy. There’s a smirk nestled deep too because you let him go this far. And you got riled up in the process.

You eye him. Hairs flicking out from the thin headband he donned for painting and painting only. There’s a shine on his skin you can’t ignore and he’s so damn beautiful when he glows with want. Your man. A ‘my eyes only’ specimen except you get to touch.

So you do, hands to peck that draw up and down until you play peek a boo with his tip between the flap of his sweats. It’s the crimson that stains your thigh and the glossy look he’s edged himself to. You’re ravenous.

“Jagi, don’t just look. I’m dying here.”

You take one final glance, watch it bob when your nails scrape his abs and then quirk a look his way.

“Mmm, I’m still angry at you.” You’re not. Not really and never were. Just wanted something on him so you’d have him like you do now:

“Take it out on me” He doesn’t stutter. Doesn’t smile, smirk or indicate humour. Ready to risk it all.

“Lie on the sofa how you want it then… and them,” you once over the material on his legs with your finger, “off.”

He’s so compliant when he’s hard and no one will ever find you complaining at the notion.

There’s easles to dodge and paints that threaten to brim onto the wooden floors, but your apartment never had ‘perfect’ written on the lease, so you’ll let him settle his clothes haphazardly - teetering on messy.

You follow the path he’s strewn, bra off to join his boxers, until you settle your knees against his, shadow elongated on his face by the direction of the sunlight and hair swept over to one shoulder. His eyes follow your curves.

“Will you touch me now?” He’s craving and the concept has your mind whirling and eyes stuck on where he’s hard. You’ve only now come to notice the way he sits on his hands, wrists dug into the sofa from the pressure of his thighs. Filthy. It’s filthy that he edges himself for sport.

With a twitch at the side of your mouth because there’s a million and one different ways to have him crying, you descend so skin is on skin and he’s captive to you. Drunk in the way he looks. Nervous in the way his dick twitches.

“How d’you want me to touch you?”

“Any way, fuck, any way.. Please.” The pleasantries aren’t necessary. He’s at your mercy physically but this boy’s got a hold on you like no other, enough that what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

“Here?” His dick is expecting when he sees your hand move in his peripherals. It’s sure and ready for your touch. But then you moan. Eyes roll back just like when he touches your cl-, “Is here good, Guk?”

“Oh fuck.” You’re two fingers deep and a palm to your clit. He’s taken note in the way you touch yourself before, mutual masturbation a 2 month-in kind of job, but this is different. Your pussy makes him salivate and the way you touch yourself makes him feel all too primitive. Like he’s never heard a girl moan before. “Jagi. Come on.”

It’s so damn hot to you that his dick sits there untouched, hips still glued as though he’s unaffected. You’re tuned in, though, to those things that tell you otherwise. The strain on his neck from where his bottom jaw clenches. English sidelined because he can’t think straight. His dick bobbing every time you hit an upstroke into yourself and the squelch rings out. He’s so damn horny, but he’ll wait on you. Knows seeking the end untouched is like drinking water after parching in the desert.

“So beautiful. You’re so beautiful. The way you touch yourself is beautiful too.” His eyes are fluttering and he can’t look away from you. It has you shamelessly moaning. “God I’m hard.”

You laugh, knuckle deep and feel the spasm of your walls. He’s really hard with precum immodest and when you meet his eyes again he’s vulnerable, too thirsty, maybe, for what he’s subjected himself to.

You’re left wanting, “I really wanna taste.”

“Jesus.” Jeongguk whispers under his breath, throws his head back for good measure because he’s got a visual before the main course has even happened. “You can’t be so shameless, it has me thinking things.” Vivid, things.

And his imagination plays out in real time when you descend onto the wooded floor. He stutters, splutters on his tongue when you’ve got long nails all up in his groin.

“F-fu- wait, Jagi, wait wait wait, jagi.” You’re an inch off, breath catching his tip and so close you can smell him. God you want a taste. “I’m- You can’t just.”

Ohhhh.

“You’ll cum?”

He’s not ashamed, embarrassed or anything in between. Just the longing for more, eating away at him, and knowing he’s a gonner in less than a minute if you’re to lick him.

“Just, fuck, Y/N. Just kiss me.”

You do. The head of his dick too appealing not to offer a peck to.

“Fuck.” He hisses it between his teeth and seeks refuge under an arm as to not concern himself with the way your tits look under him. “Not ther-” but not all cravings can be fixed, and you’ve got a mouthful.

His hand jerks out from where it situates beneath him. The dilemma as to whether his dick can handle the back of your throat, seemingly easier to combat if he can claw at his thighs. But you’ve fallen into a rhythm despite the discomfort of hard floorboards and empty walls, and he’s keening for it, low moans and harsh breaths when your throat constricts.

“Jagi, I real- oh shit, I really might cum.” You want him to. But the look that glazes over him when he’s edged is too good to wait for. Hit hits your throat deep, “fuck fuck fuck fuck,” hands thrown into your hair because he thinks maybe he wants you to stop.

But there’s the edge, and for a second he thinks he’s too far past it, balls tightened and his chest caves at the promise of lodging a load in your throat.

“Fuck!” You’re off him and shuffled back before he can cry wolf. Jeongguk helplessly grasps at his base, and screws his eyes tight to curb the feeling of blood rushing everywhere.

You’ve got a vantage point like no other. A vista genuinely for the ‘my eyes only’.

His chest violently rises and falls and his thighs shake at the same rate. It’s hard to reserve yourself from kissing up his legs, so you don’t, soft nips where the seam of his trousers would run and even though he was driven to maximum sensitivity, he wants you as close as you are.

You litter the expanse of his body until he can vent the lost orgasm into your mouth. A rage of tongues and spit that has your centre warm again. But he mellows out into you and plays seduction.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” you speak amongst the twine of lips.

“Let me kiss you.. Down there.” His eyes plague with sincerity. A wholehearted desire to taste you and taste you again, and you’re one to oblige.

The sofa, whilst a two generation hand-me-down, offers more comfort than the floor and you bask in being pampered when Jeongguk lowers your front to it, situating a littered pillow below you to accentuate the curve of your back. Your behind sits bare with panties discarded and you look beautiful enough he’ll tell you.

“Look at your body Jagi. How can you be mine?”

It’s unnerving being like this. Subject to alien words and a stare you can’t dilute. But it’s a package deal and Jeongguk doesn’t take long to offer the incentive.

“Smell nice too.”

He traces the curve of your back with his palm the same way he strokes you between your legs. Fluid and warm and...

“Goddd, that’s good.”

Jeongguk basks in all things praise. An inflation to his own high. So he hums approval into you as you begin to writhe.

You bite back the urge to push into him and seek a salacious end, frantic in the heat of lust, but Jeongguk keeps a controlled hold on you and eases the pressure away from the good spots, just so it’s better when he comes back for more.

“Mmmm, good, good there.” Where he’s spreading you and planting muscle deep. He doesn’t resist the temptation to go north either and explore tighter areas, and he hums a smile when he garners an entirely different noise from you because, fuck, that’s sensitive.

“Jeongguk, oh- I might cum.”

“Yeh?” He’s in you and around you and kneading at your cheeks like he’s rallying himself up. He is. Running his body in time with your movement so there’s a subtle rut to edge himself to.

“Yeh.”

“I want that. Bad.”

You’re loud and knocking on the door of something breathtaking, now that he’s left romance for dead. He wants you to cum, and hard

Fumbling an arm behind you until you can grapple onto the hairs of his head does little to prevent the sensation, the quaking and the tightening. He’s sinking a thumb against your rim and a tongue in your pussy and you indulge in it all.

“Shitshit oh my fucking god.”

He moans when you strike gold and pulse from every point of your being. Entrapped in that disembodied feeling where everything’s too good and all at once. It lags and Jeongguk’s hands purchase hard when you clench on his tongue.

“Shit.”

He lets you down easy though, mindful of all of the places that could be a cause for over-sensitivity - save that for another day - and nuzzles into your thigh.

The need to move lingers whilst you carry yourself away into the thrones of exhaustion, mind fizzing as you boyfriend sucks the meat of your ass with tempt. He’s wanting and you’ve got a craving to see him cum, but everything's numb.

“Jagi.”

“Mmm.”

You feel him before see him crawling up you, his front flush to you just as a means of exaggerating where he lays hard and in wait. He let you edge him and made you cum, a cause for a gold star among other things, so you flip over, careful not to knock him where it hurts, and pull at the straggling hairs the band can’t accommodate for.

“I want you. I want you really bad.” He feels selfish for feeling like it’s his right to claim an end. But there’s a genuine cause for concern that he’s been hard for so long, and will be as long as you lay bare and beautiful, and the biology of the situation isn’t just coincidental with his want.

But he kisses you soft and the sense of obligation dissipates into the desire to see him undone.

“You gonna fuck me?” He’s desperate to, and you laying pliant beneath him has his lust escalating quickly.

“Yes, yesyesyes jagi.” But as to not cum to quick he settles into stroking his length between where you’re wet. The sensitivity has lessened, but the rush of blood still is a cause for a grimace. Jeongguk kisses it out of you, settling into a rhythm of tongue then teeth then tongue then teeth. You’re lost enough, he’s sinking into your walls unhinged.

“Fuck.”

“God, how can you feel like this every time.” He’s driven to the edge of insanity with every feel of your walls, like a first time every time, uncharted territory he wants to explore as soon as he’s explored.

You grapple from the sweaty hairs that line his neck to where his muscles contract and sink now that he’s easing you into compliance. Not that it wasn’t easy to. But your walls, spent previously, make the glide a little harder in the promise that it’ll make him cum quick.

“You good? This good?” He caters for you in a strained plea.

“Amazing. God. A little faster.”

He’s sure to combust, purchasing his mouth on your neck and choking grunts into the skins there when his hips begin to snap and balls begin to ring an echo onto the four walls.

“Fuck jagi. Thank you. God, thank you.” He prays to your pussy as his abs clench in the knowledge that he’s teetering on the edge. Every run against you has him keening.

“Hold me.” He nestles his cheek to your hair until your breaths are synced, “don’t cum yet. Please, god-hm,” you choke, “don’t cum.”

“Oh god, oh god,” he’ll get you there, but he’s sweating out the urge to spill into you. He wants to see you done, hear you moan, have you every kind of euphoric. So he licks his thumb quick and has it in between you and on your clit quicker. A pressure and nothing more because he knows what hurts you.

He’s hissing at the strain, but you’re left in hopeless moans.

“Cumming, baby, cu- fuck.” There’s nothing stopping the assault of your walls on him as everything tightens and then releases. You quiver into him.

“Oh, you got so tight. Fuckfuck, oh god.” Jeongguk gives into it, too, when his body shudders and he pulls you tight, “ah,” spilling everything and it’s so hot but he’s heady enough that none of it matters.

You bask in that feeling for however long, lulling his shakes with a trail of nails through his hair down to his back, and nuzzle where your cheeks meet.

His back rises and falls and rises and falls and it’s all things soothing.

So you whisper lowly, “Guk.”

He shifts fractionally and huffs at the exertion of it all, body pliable and soft in and around you.

“Baby, we can’t fall asleep here.”

You know he’ll ask for a few more minutes, the true post orgasm baby that he is.

“Just a few more minutes.”

You laugh in the way of your predictable boy and snuggle him further now that he’s cocooned, the tingles in your toes eases and he might lay heavy on you but it’s comforting that his body moves to the puff of your chest. It’s like watching the clouds in the sky morph from one figure to another. Like the soft ticking of a metronome. Like counting sheep. And it’s easy to let ‘just a few more minutes’ trickle on and on.

What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

#uneditedddd #bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #bts jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jungkook #taehyung smut #filth #abstract #ripbobross #stay safe everyone #jungkook things

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 5 years ago

Note

"tell me how you actually feel for once" for starker. Love your writing btw

What You Want

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: Thanks a ton, nonnie! I appreciate the compliment. This was a fun one - I hope you enjoy it! Word Count: ~3.5k Summary:

Peter’s a little tired of the back and forth with Tony, so he takes their ‘relationship’ into his own hands.

His weird tango with Tony started right after graduation.

It took a few months post-Thanos for everyone to get their shit back together, Peter included. He ran off with Ned and MJ to Europe, only to be duped by someone hell bent on taking Tony Stark and the company his family built down to the ground. Mysterio fucked him up and it took a while to find a way to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. While he did, he stepped away from the Avenger’s completely, ducked his head, and finished out the year to the best of his ability.

Walking into the gym in his cap and gown, Peter was genuinely surprised to see the entire crew sitting in the row next to May. Tony, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint, Thor – even Nat and Bruce were tucked into the small chairs mandated for friends and family. His face broke into a wide grin – it’d been a while since he saw anyone and, in that instant, he knew that his decision to go back to the Avenger’s was the right one.

The row where they were all standing broke into the loudest applause of the day when Peter walked across the stage. Thor, in his ornamental garb stood up and yelled – “Bravo, Master Peter!” It echoed around the gym and caused the rest of the people to clap even louder. Red-faced, he grabbed his diploma from some lady he’d never seen before and finished the walk. Right before he stepped off the stage, he lifted the folder in his hands and let out a whoop.

His eyes caught Tony on the walk back to his seat – his whiskey colored eyes bore into him, a soft smile playing on the older man’s lips. In the few months since their final interaction with Thanos, Tony was the only person he tried to keep in contact with. The ruse of being one of Tony’s interns was going to be a great cover for why he was always with Tony and around the other Avenger’s on a pretty constant basis.

No one knew about his secret identity – and he planned to keep it that way.

Peter took the smile on Tony’s face with him all the way back to his seat – the image of it burnt into his brain. They’d been talking on the phone and over text messages since his final brief with Tony and Happy after the Europe fiasco – it sent a bunch of weird feelings flowing through him, seeing the look on Tony’s face in person. The crush he’d been trying so hard to get rid of was still there, then.

Between the look on Tony’s face and MJ’s parting words, Peter was plenty occupied for the rest of the ceremony. It wasn’t until Michael Parker, his line buddy since elementary school, bumped him in the side that he got to his feet and stood with the rest of his class. Back in the moment, Peter found himself grinning with his full face – he was finally done and able to find himself on a different playing field with the people around him. Peter Parker wasn’t a kid any longer.

After giving MJ and Ned a quick hug, Peter rushed to find May and the rest of the rag tag group of people that were there for him. It wasn’t hard to follow the loud noise of everyone trying to talk at once down the hall and right into the swell of his favorite people. The group hug that followed made his heart burst, a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks. Peter didn’t really know much about family – but these people around him felt more like home than anything else on the planet.

Peter got an individual hug from everyone in the group – his face literally on fire by the time he got to Tony; he’d been unable to pull the beaming smile from his cheeks for the past ten minutes. Tony standing in front of him didn’t help, either.

In the few months since their last encounter, Tony let his hair grow out a little, the man not bothering with the dye in it, either. The usually dark locks were streaked through with gray – the salt and pepper look doing too many things for Peter to handle in that moment. He traded the goatee in for a full faced beard that was finely manicured. The wrinkle of his cheek from the beaming smile slipping across his face made Peter’s heart stutter.

Tony looked amazing – better than he remembered.

There was a brief moment of hesitation when Tony let Peter look his fill. Tony’s wide smile got a little bigger when they finally shared a glance – strong arms were around Peter’s shoulder before he could even think to fill the space between them himself. A soft sigh left Peter’s lips, the solid press of Tony against him the best thing he’d experienced all night. “Hey Tony,” Peter mumbled, his head tucking into Tony’s neck without much thought.

It took them a few extra seconds to pull away – both of them obviously reluctant. Peter smiled when Tony made a bit of distance between them, but kept a hand on his hip, too. The normally colored shades were replaced with clear lens, the brightness of Tony’s eyes shining through them. “Congrats, kid – glad you’re finally done with all this,” Tony said in way of reply to Peter’s greeting. His hand squeezed Peter’s hip while he spoke, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Same – and now that I’m done, you can stop calling me kid. Pete will do.” Peter matched Tony’s grin, a soft chuckle falling from his lips as he did. “Thanks, though – I know all of you guys being here was your thing. It was a great surprise.” He looked over Tony’s shoulder to the group chatting idly with each other. “I definitely get the coolest family award.”

Tony’s hand moved from his hip, the arm slinging over his shoulder instead. Peter gasped at the warmth against his side, being so close to Tony something that still made his head swim. Tony was a little less restrained than usual and Peter was more than willing to soak it the fuck up.

“Sure thing, Pete. Everyone wanted to see you – I think it’s finally sinking in, you coming to officially join the team. I figured celebrating your first step into adulthood was a good way to get everyone together before shit gets real again.” Tony cupped his shoulder tenderly, pulling him closer. “And I missed you. I mean – I couldn’t miss this.”

Whatever Peter planned on saying was interrupted by May pulling both him and Tony into a hug. Ever since finding out that he was Spider-Man and the way Tony fit into all of that, May treated Tony like one of her own whenever she saw him. If anything could make Peter like Tony more, it was that – May’s approval of the good person Tony actually was.

With a final squeeze, Tony pulled away, stepping back into the swell of people around them with a raised eyebrow and a wink. Peter watched him turn and engage Bruce in a conversation, the charmer in him fitting naturally into whatever he and Nat were talking about. Shaking his head, Peter moved his attention back to May, a knowing smile on her face.

“It’s not nearly as weird now that you’re not in school. I can’t tell you why – but, I am less opposed. Just make sure he treats you well.” She looked at him, then turned her head to look over at Tony, who, despite trying not to, was also looking over in their direction. He nodded and tried to smile casually – his jerky transition back into conversation with Bruce probably only noticeable to Peter.

Kissing her on the cheek, Peter turned May towards Thor – her eyes lighting up when the blonde god turned and immediately engaged with her. He could always rely on the churlish brute to charm the pants off anyone sent his way.

----

Peter found Tony by himself a few hours later. They were in the newly refurbished Stark Tower – Tony needed to have a sanctuary in the city and missed the old building – he wrote to Peter about it when Happy enlisted him to move some of the things around the penthouse. Tony was leaning against the railing on the balcony that overlooked the city, an untouched whiskey in his hands. “Mr. Graduate – enjoying your party?” Tony asked, his head turning to meet Peter’s eyes.

He stood close enough to Tony for their shoulders to brush, Peter stopping his hands from roaming by lacing his fingers together in front of him. “It’s the best party I’ve been to, for sure. Thor, Bucky, and Steve chugging beer is something I’ll never forget.” Peter felt Tony’s shoulders shake, the laughing pulling one from his own chest. “It’s nice out here, though – it was getting a little stuffy inside.”

“Glad to hear it, Pete. It feels good to christen the place with something like this. I missed this view more than I care to admit,” Tony replied, the hand with the whiskey in it gesturing towards the city in front of them. “I meant it earlier – when I said I’ve missed you. I tried to play it off, but we both know how well that went.” Tony tossed back the alcohol in his glass, the play of his throat distracting enough to miss the man turning towards him.

Mimicking his posture, Peter turned until he was toe to toe with Tony, his hand grabbing the older man’s arm. “I know. I missed you, too. The space everyone gave me was exactly what I needed. My head is clear for the first time in a while.” He gripped Tony’s elbow and pulled until the older man’s arms were around his shoulders, the hand with the empty glass hanging carelessly. “What does it mean, though? Us missing each other?”

Tony didn’t answer verbally, he simply leaned in and pressed his lips to Peter’s. His lips tasted like the old whiskey in Tony’s glass, smooth and warm. Peter didn’t hesitate to open his mouth to Tony’s curious tongue. In his exploration, Peter gave as good as he got, their tongues tangled and fought playfully for dominance. It didn’t really answer anything, but who was he to complain? Pulling away, Peter let his chest heave before attempting to press back in for more.

“Hey, wait,” Tony murmured, his free hand moving to cup Peter’s cheek. There was an odd look in his eyes, then they were trailing over his shoulder to the open glass that separated them from the rest of the people gathered in the penthouse – there to celebrate him. “We should probably head back inside – do this when there isn’t an audience.” There was a second of hesitation, then he leaned in and gave Peter another chaste kiss.

“I think we try and figure out what it means together, Pete.” Tony finally answered Peter’s question, as if the kiss wasn’t enough. And the words were just as frustrating as the man pulling away from him. There wasn’t anything holding them back – Peter didn’t quite understand the hesitation.

The door to the balcony ended up opening a few moments later, Tony raising his brow at him – the subtle ‘I told you so’ not nearly as stealth as he was aiming for it to be. They broke away from each other enough for Steve to fit in the space between them, his arms wrapping around their shoulders and pulling them close. “Feels good for the team to finally be complete,” Steve said, his words a little slurred together from the massive quantity of alcohol he’d consumed.

It took a few minutes for Peter to extract himself from Cap’s tight grip and make a quick exit back into the house, his head swimming with tons of emotions he couldn’t quite process. On top of finally marking off something that changed his status within society, Peter was getting his all access pass to the Avengers – and from the looks of it, a nice look at what being with Tony Stark might be like.

For the first time since Tony pulled his lips away and did the responsible thing, Peter felt grateful. He needed to take a little while to put things in order – starting with his very drunk aunt. Peter helped her to the spare room Tony showed them earlier, her small body following his lead willingly. She gave him a tight hug and collapsed into instantaneous sleep when her body hit the mattress.

He decided he wanted to change out of the stuffy clothes he’d been in all day and made a brief pit-stop in the room he’d be staying in for “as long as he wanted”. Tony looked at him a second longer than necessary when he said that. Peter let himself pull some of the stuff in his bag he put together earlier that day out and into the drawers, the idea of getting to be there for as long as he wanted too good to be true.

In a pair of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, Peter wandered back into the common room where most of the group was still gathered around. All lot of them were drunk, or quickly on their way to being so, but Peter didn’t mind – he always enjoyed watching people making a fool out of themselves when at parties before. Stretching out on one of the empty couches, Peter relaxed and let the sound of his chosen family lull him to sleep.

The sensation of being picked up pulled him out of the delightful dream he’d been having. He tried to keep his eyes closed and fall back into it, but his body wasn’t having it. Blinking his eyes open, he felt himself smile when he saw Tony cradling him to his chest, Peter’s head on his shoulder. Though Peter was much stronger, Tony carried him like he weighed nothing, the ease in which he handled him making his heart race.

Peter clung to his strong shoulders until Tony was kneeling on his bed and depositing him onto the mattress. The arms around him squeezed briefly, then pulled away – the ghost of Tony’s aftershave sitting in Peter’s nose, intoxicating him with every pull of air into his lungs. “You can stay if you want,” Peter babbled sleepily, his eyes already closing as he snuggled into the covers Tony pulled back for him.

Soft lips on his forehead made him smile, the huff of Tony’s breath against his skin spreading all over him like wildfire. He leaned into the touch, his lazy hands trying without much success to pull Tony towards him and keep him there. “I don’t mind.”

Tony pressed another kiss to his cheek, then pulled completely away, his voice sounding very distant the next time Peter heard it. “I’ll take you up on that some other time. You should get some rest.” He let out a barely audible sigh. Peter felt a hand on his ankle through the blanket, then another soft breath. “See you tomorrow, Pete.”

Unable to cling to wakefulness any longer, Peter let the swell of sleep take him under, the smell of vanilla and bourbon fueling his dreams for the rest of the night.

----

They danced around each other for the next few weeks. Peter stayed with Tony until he decided he wanted to make the official move to the Avenger’s compound. It was time to get into some semblance of a normal routine.

Steve and Nat put together a training protocol and a schedule for patrols and surveillance. Since a lot of his skills were better capitalized in the labs, Tony claimed his talents and spent time showing him the ropes of his and Bruce’s labs and all of the things they were trying to accomplish within them.

On patrols, they were separated into trios, Peter lucky enough to have two people who were just as excited to work with him as he was with them – he usually went out with Tony and Bruce to try out some of the new adjustments or pieces of tech they were fiddling with in the lab.

There weren’t any major threats knocking on their door, so they took the time to work with everyone and customize an optimal arsenal of tech and weapons to maximize skill turnover. The new sling-ring they made for Stephen when he joined them at the compound was one of his favorite pieces of work to date.

In a lot of ways, Peter was settling in nicely. There wasn’t a single person that doubted his skill, which was a nice turn of events after being Underoos – at least they recognized his contribution to the team. Everyone was accommodating and went out of their way to show Peter the ropes, offer up suggestions, and stand in as combat partners during training. The sense of family only grew the more time he spent with everyone.

Tony Stark posed a different issue, however. They were constantly working with each other, which brought them even closer than ever. Peter understood the way Tony’s brain worked and could hand him tools before he asked for them – it became a sort of game the longer they spent in the lab together. Peter couldn’t pinpoint what was happening, but his chest got a little tighter with want and need every single day.

He wanted to pull Tony aside and ask him why they didn’t capitalize on the fact that their rooms were right next to each other. A part of him felt so impatient to have work roughened hands on him, pulling his clothes off, touching his hidden depths – it took everything in him to keep control over the emotions that were very quickly bubbling over. The rational side of him knew that Tony was giving him time and space to grow and fit within the group in his own way. He could tell that it was important for Peter to have his own place not just in the team, but in the adult world, too.

Peter wasn’t patient enough to see it all play out, in the end. After a particularly close call during their latest patrol, Peter pulled Tony into his room when they finally found themselves back in their quarters. His hands were rough on Tony’s upper arms, the grip probably going to leave bruises by the end of whatever this ended up being. Pressing Tony up against the door, Peter leaned his head against the older man’s chest – a harsh breath leaving his lungs.

“Tell me how you actually feel for once.” Peter demanded, his head lifting to catch Tony’s eyes. “The idea of not getting to you fast enough earlier made me want to throw things – I couldn’t imagine losing you, not after all this.” His hands moved from Tony’s arms to his hips, his fingers digging in enough to pull them flush against each other. “If I’m reading this wrong, tell me – but I can’t stand this little bit of distance you’ve put between us. You’re killing me, Tones.”

Arms wrapping around his shoulders, much like the first time, was Tony’s first response, the cut on his cheek crinkling as a soft smile slid across his face. “Peter – I’ve been letting you get your feet under you. I didn’t want to swoop in and tell you how much I love you before you found a place that was your own. This team is counting on me and you,” Tony remarked, one of his hands pressing into Peter’s chest. “You feeling comfortable is the most important thing.”

Shaking his head, Peter closed the gap and kissed Tony’s lips. The soft gasp he couldn’t hold back gave Tony the perfect opportunity to press his tongue against the seam of Peter’s open lips – he wasn’t shy about pressing forward and deepening the kiss. Peter flattened his hands, his arms wrapping around Tony’s hips until his palms rested over the pertness of Tony’s ass cheeks. Using his grip, he pulled until they were even closer together.

Peter broke away and caught Tony’s eye, mischief obvious in the honey-hazel of it. “I’m comfortable. Will you fuck me now? Or do I need to spell it out for you?” Peter threw Tony a wink and stepped back, his hands moving to pull his shirt over his head and remove the sweatpants from his hips.

Tony’s tongue slipped out to coat his lips, a wicked grin on his face. “I read you loud and clear, Pete,” he whispered, his hands tugging off his own t-shirt. “You should get on the bed so we can make up for all that lost time.”

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #nonnie #canon divergence

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imaginedcreaderinsert · 5 years ago

Note

❤I want to request the reader is apart of the royal army on Tameran and while in a battle she falls from space and she meets the boys and Kori. Jason and the reader fall in love, ya know, but they dont admit it because they are both stubborn babies. Kori gets news that Tameran is getting into another battle and before she admits her feelings to Jason she leaves. Years later Kori and the reader return and feeling are shared between Jason and reader. Lots of angst/fluff (love your work btw😘)

Summary: Explained in the ask itself……… Thought I took a small liberty. ¡ENJOY!

Word Count: 3574

TW: Fluff and angst. In that order. I choked up a bit in A CERTAIN PART.

People that asked to be tagged: @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @dora-the-grownup

A/N: Sorry that I took so long to write this thingy. I loved writing it and I love asks, but my mind is not in the right place, and hasn’t been due to the situation these last days. I have a bit of uni work still on my back and that has been stopping me from writing, but your comments and asks always lift me up, I swear!!! You are all so precious. I hope your lockdown is going better than mine and that your loves ones and you are all safe and healthy.

A chance — Jason Todd x Reader

Some would say it’s a coincidence, but Tamaraneans don’t believe in these. Specially not at war, specially not in battle. Tamaran is at war, an ongoing civil war instigated by its own inhabitants against King Myand’r due to his own decision of enslaving her precious daughter, Koriand’r – Komand’r, Kori’s elder sister, is still leading the battle, wishing to take the throne. But they resist, they will hold long enough until they manage to arrange something. Koriand’r doesn’t have it too bad herself, she thinks to herself, sprawled on hot sun, next to a very very hot body. She slaps, jokingly, perhaps too harshly, Roy’s chest. It is slightly burnt, and that might be why he reacts the way he does, howling and feigning death. Kori doesn’t still get human humor, but she has time.

She’s experimented with humans, has had her fair share of friends and lovers – amongst which Dick Grayson, Jason’s older brother, still remains, they think. Truth is sometimes she can’t even remember the tone of his voice, his pitch or his laugh. Some would say it’s sad, but it’s just not useful. Tamaraneans can be emotional, but they are warriors at their core. It won’t change, no matter how much sun the humans insist on taking, or how much time they insist on spending to rest after eating before entering the sea. She couldn’t care less, truthfully, but she likes to play by the rules.

It never was (Y/N)’s forte, really. Maybe that’s why in her attempt of escaping, she changed routes to a place they never thought of following her into. After all, Earth was where the banished seemed to go. Who would think that such a prideful and honored warrior would end up there?

She crashes into it harshly, though; there’s no elegance in her movements, or her landing when she falls into the water, to apparently never surge ever again. Koriand’r feels it under her skin even before she sees her, which she is not able to due to the speed which she falls into: Roy is paralyzed, and so is Jason, who was holding two drinks before stopping dead on his tracks at seeing the scene in front of him. The redhead and him are the first to react. She is out of the water in less than five minutes.

***

She is beautiful and hot. Like, literally – she is burning as Jason checks her temperature for third time in a row. Kori instructed that no one should touch her as Tamaraneans possessed abilities tightly tied with the sun. It basically meant the more she received, the more chances there were that she would regain consciousness. It had been a while, but there was a feeling of restlessness in Jason’s chest since he had laid eyes on her. Maybe it was her deceiving beauty, softness (she was muscles and tough skin, there was no need of touching her to prove that up); or the waves of her still humid hair, her glistening lips. He knew it was lust, maybe more if not as much as he had felt when he had seen Kori for the first time. She was a unique beauty, with something different which had nothing to do with the physical: dreams died under her eyelids, restlessness in her fingers, which sometimes trembled. She had not muttered a thing, and yet Jason was entirely charmed by her. He didn’t quite believe in those things, but there was something that he would name as “aura” or “vibe” that he felt up from her. She oozed it, and Jason could not get his eyes off from her, which is maybe why he had offered to take Roy’s turn to watch her as well. Koriand’r was impressed to say the least, not expecting this from him at all. Maybe Roy. Not that they had anything serious going on, of course.

“Myan…”. She mumbles, for first time; her voice is soft, dry. Jason shouts Kori’s name and asks for water as he gets closer to the bed the moment he sees her try to get up on her own. “No, no-“

She almost evades his touch, wiggling out of it tiredly, but can’t, in the end. Jason admires her strength, her fluttering eyes that reveal a very intense color (typical of Tamareans, perphaps? Kori possess a similar one), and her furrowed brow, like a pouty kid which makes him laugh. She has to rest for some days, but in the third one, she is out of the bed and crouching on the sand.

It takes him by surprise, carrying a small and humble breakfast as he was, to actually see her out of bed in big clothes and kissing Roy. He can only deduce it has been sudden, since his friend’s hands are paralyzed, hovering over her waist like still seeing where to land. The kiss deepens and only then he grasps her waist, which immediately seems to stop the motion. She squirms, almost pushes him to the sand, taking both by surprise. Is she not used to people caring, touching, or is she just sensitive there? By her slight blush and her bright eyes he can deduce it’s the later as he gets closer and helps his friend get up, as lowkey moody as he feels. What the hell? There is an explanation that doesn’t come until Kori is present and puts them up to date. “A way of learning”, she explains, to which she giggles when he sees Roy’s reaction, confused and mouth gaping. By the way he looks at her when they are having dinner on the beach, he can see he feels something for her. Good for him. That’s great.

***

He should be having a nice time, relaxing and gaining back strength from the last missions they had been involved in in their little exotic heaven, but he doesn’t. It bothers him more than he would admit that Roy seems to enjoy way too much her attention, which she returns, in small quantities. That, to Jason’s own disgust, pleases him – he should not be happy for his friend being rejected, but in a way Jason has been caring more for her. He did not expect something out of gratitude, nothing of the sort, but he thought she would notice.

And well, she does in the end.

They start slowly, with small thanks for breakfast, wandering on the beach, sometimes reading in silence when the sun is down, and the sky is purple. It bathes her darkened skin and she is gorgeous, but more than that, is getting to know her. She is so curious, so inquisitive about the little things and full of life. At times she seems to be on edge, specially with loud sounds, but she slowly gets used to them; Jason, from what Kori has told them, supposes that’s what war does to people. She has scars on her back, her thighs; her skin is hardened, proud badges of honor that she shows off with the little and short clothes she shares with Kori. They both have similar physiques, if anything she is slightly smaller, but they both have curves where they are supposed to, and are full of sharp edges, toned muscles and lean figures. Anyone would envy them.

“… I know.”

“Well then start acting out like it. Your people need you, I need you.” She pleads. Jason has never heard her plead, not even when they had a water fight with Roy, which ended up with Kori up his shoulders and (Y/N) up Roy’s. “You have been out too long, and as much as I start to get Earth’s charm-“

“You understand? How so? Roy Harper? Jason Todd?”. Kori insinuates, making his own heart skip a beat, almost as if she knew he was listening, fruit on his hand, having stopped midtrack from paying (Y/N) a night visit, maybe after going for a walk in the beach.

“Koriand’r, we have been holding out for too long. We need you back, I need you back. If that’s not enough, then I don’t know what I’m doing here. I should return home, I have a duty.”

It feels like he’s going against time from that onwards. Roy and her seem to have “a night”, some hours out in the sand where they sit close to each other but without a touch between. Jason wonders what it is, as he observes them both from the balcony of their home, maybe trying to read lips – but they are in silence, content sighs leaving her mouth as they stare at the infinite ocean. They look further than they really are, and Jason cannot help but think they are wasting time. He is wasting time.

He decides to kidnap her. It’s childish, quick and exhilarating in a sense – stealing her from his friend as they get lost in the fauna, giggling and hand in hand running. She is quick on her feet and had gotten up with ability, used to it almost, before running after him, Jason leading until they were deep into the nature of the island. They’ve never explored that area before, and they have been stupid. Too stupid.

“There might be a hot source underneath this. It’s not dangerous, I promise”. He explains, slowly pulling her into the small lagoon they’ve encountered. It’s warm inside, not hot, but definitively a change from the water. She seems reluctant to enter. “Please? I… I heard you back there. With Kori.”

That takes her by surprise, and she slowly concedes. They both get into the small lagoon, cascade not too far from where they are – still they manage to hear each other without shouting. The water covers both of them more or less to their hips. It’s stupid how incredibly gorgeous she is. He can’t stop staring, and he shouldn’t be that obvious. Jason has had her fair share of lovers, women mostly, and even if he knows this kind of things can work with some, she is Tamarean. Is it rude to stare?

“What did you hear?”. She inquires, moving through the water, slowly the water rising as she gets deeper onto the water. She is grabbing Jason hand, taking him with her.

“I just know you plan on going soon. You have an on-going war and you want Kori going home with you. She explained her situation to us. The bare minimum”. She doesn’t look at him as he talks, which makes him nervous. He has never been nervous around women, but there’s something on (Y/N) that makes him squirm at times. “I think you should do what you feel like doing.”

“That’s very easy to say. But I’m not like that, I’m-“. She seems to falter, not be sure of what she wants to say. She frowns, almost annoyed at herself. “I’m bound by duty. Everyone is. I can’t fail them too.”

“I would like you to stay”. He simply says, bold as ever. This time she does look at him – and her eyes are bright, full of emotion as Jason pulls her closer to his body. “I want you to stay here. With us.”

>> And I know it’s too much to ask. I know you are bound by duty, and-I have had that. I was… Restricted, let’s say, by someone else a couple of years ago. Bound by my duty to a certain city, so I-I understand. I swear I do. But that did not make me happy, and I did not agree to how a certain someone handled things over. So I left, I met Roy, Kori, I joined a couple of groups and after I left again – and now, finally, I am happy. With you. You are – gorgeous in all senses. Don’t think just in the physical sense, please. Your inquisitive nature is fascinating to me, and the way you listen with your eyes when you look at me. You make me feel seen, heard and it has been really a long time since I’ve felt like that. I adore the scrunch of your nose when you don’t get something, and your playfulness. I see you too, (Y/N) – and the way you fight with us is dirty, is sassy. It says a lot about your character, and sincerely I love that. Your attitude, your morals, the way you are bound tom something else you firmly believe in, your freedom… I know it’s asking too much but stay. Please.

There’s silence, but her eyes are filled with sorrow. She lets go of his hand and has to physically hug herself, both arms across her chest, as if to not fall into pieces. She feels like that too – for the first time heard, listened by someone else and not because of her military expertise, but because of who she is. Jason Todd, the strange human known as “Red”, has deliberately tried to get to know her better, get her involved in human customs and shared a couple of things with her without expecting anything in return. He has cared for her in a way that few people have done.

“Jason-“. And he knows, once she turns around and looks at him, eyes full of hurt and angst. Jason hurries to her side, embracing her fully for first time and she sighs, almost desperately. She won’t cry, she tells herself, she commands to her own body as his warm body envelopes her in a way that no one has ever done. That hug is enough to break her in every little possible way.

The horror, the hurt she has been carrying, Jason Todd can make it go away, even for a brief time. There was a dark time where she thought of herself as nothing more than a machine, a war one with the ultimate purpose of resisting… Which by no means feels like living. It’s barely scratching the surface. Jason Todd makes her feel alive, like she has finally taken the desperate breath of hair her lungs were aching for. Jason gives her the hope that there is something more besides war, the horror and trauma that comes with it; makes her feel like there’s something to come “home” to.

But she won’t, she can’t. What if she breaks him? Tamaraneans love, when they do, for life. Losing their long-life partner can be fatal, and people can’t die because of heartbreak, but for their people, it weakens them, incredibly so. What if humans are the same? They are incredibly fragile in some aspects, and even if she knows that Jason Todd is an exception (from what he has let her know), she doesn’t want to think on what it would mean if she were to promise him something she won’t be able to accomplish.

“Don’t say anything”. He mumbles into her hair, maybe knowing her answer. She grips him harder and doesn’t let go.

***

She leaves the next morning. They have slept on her bed, have embrace each other tightly, still wet and cold – but there’s only warmth between their tangled bodies as he gets woken by her movements, as silent as he is sure she has tried to be.

(Y/N) is not wearing her typical outfits, but rather an armor – it’s like silver, shiny and very resistant. It covers her most essential and dangerous zones, while still giving her some flexibility. Jason thinks he has never seen female strength so well represented.

But this is not a show-off, not a runway try-out – Kori appears soon after, wearing a similar armor, slightly more jeweled, and signals her out. (Y/N), almost obediently, follows. But before leaving the room, leaving him behind, she grabs the frame, almost as if afraid to leave the room, her fingers slightly trembling. Is she scared? He hears her take a deep breath and go.

Jason takes exactly five seconds to decide before he jumps off his balcony. The height is not crazy, but enough to make Kori shriek, as she sees him first, which makes (Y/N) immediately turn around. She grabs him, as their bodies almost clash and clench to each other, desperately. They feel like the last two people on Earth.

“Please, try to come back.”

“I will. I will try, I promise”. She nods, glassy eyes and nodding fervently.

She commanded her body to not cry, but she has never been too good at following orders to start with.

***

The conflict takes five years. Neither of them are allowed to write, or return briefly home. Koriand’r acts as commander, and (Y/N) is her second. Every thought they have is fixed on war and coming home – to different ones, apparently.

In the five years they’ve fought, Jason Todd travels with Roy – he is still a mercenary, thank you very much, but becomes somewhat legal. They move here and there, and they never stay too long at any particular place – but they always have their holidays at the small island where they met her. They stay for a month in summer, longer than they’ve been at any place, just in the small hope she will come home someday, sometime. His anxiousness grows worse as years pass and doesn’t hear anything from either. Jason and Roy care deeply about Kori, but he can’t help but feel a bit empty without (Y/N). He hasn’t tried with anyone else, because no one else can catch his attention like she did. Maybe if he tried harder, he would, but he has no interest.

He is fine on his own too. He has been like that for a long time.

***

Kori appears first. Tired, fallen from the sky like a light bolt, it’s impossible to miss her. She cries when she embraces them both, perhaps too tired, too hurt from what she has seen and suffered from. They hug her tightly, but Jason quickly tries to ask about her, with her eyes. And she negates, sadly, before crying more into his shoulder.

“I tried, but I couldn’t. She said it was the only way, and I trusted her. But then she blew up the place and… I didn’t know she stayed behind. I’m-I’m so sorry.” Jason hugs her tightly, his chin on her shoulder. He has been shot to the heart, and he can’t stop the tears that fall from his eyes.

***

“Jason, dearest:

I don’t have much time – I never have, honestly. I wished I could have found a better time to write you. At the start of the conflict, so you could know I didn’t die in the first weeks, like many did. Or that I was still alive – hurt but breathing, as I have been in these last few days. Instead, I am forced to write you in my probably last minutes on the universe. My people are worth fighting and dying for, Jason. I hope you will in time forgive me. I wish we could have met under different circumstances, that we could have lived on that small and precious island forever, frozen in time and covered in annoying sand days and nights to no end. I wish I could have met you sooner, on another timeline or alternative universe where I was not forced to make this decision, but it isn’t possible. Not in this life. Not here. You made me feel seen, and you reminded me that this war if worth fighting over so that my people will live, like I did when I was with you.

Every day with you was worth living. I do not regret meeting you, just not being more sincere, honest. Love is probably too much of a strong word for us, but I’ve never felt like I do with you right now. I probably never will. I’m sorry I couldn’t try harder, but there was no other way. I love you, Jason Todd from Earth.

Always yours,

(Y/N).

***

Jason feels frozen in time. He can’t feel, he is not sad – he knows he is, that something is empty, but he can’t feel that. Everything is numb. He reads and rereads the letter Kori gave him on her behalf every now and then, and he thinks he can hear her voice as he goes through it again and again, but when he looks up she is never there, and he is utterly lost. Roy helps, but Kori’s presence becomes somewhat bitter – he doesn’t blame her, but her absence helps, doing whatever she may be doing with all the free time she has now.

There are days when he doesn’t have the power to get out of bed, but the lightning bolt that crosses Gotham, almost breaks the sky, makes him peak out of his sheets. There’s a commotion, shouts, and a violet sphere protecting something in the middle of the street. Roy is in, with his uniform, as Jason jumps out of bed. Could it-?

He almost jumps out of the window, getting out from his safe house as quick as he can. Roy catches him up, mid-air, and lands them perfectly, Jason immediately pushing his way through the crowd until he gets there.

Kori is protectively hovering a battered and unconscious figure, in the ground – she is clearly hurt and shows sign of starvation and torture. She would be unrecognizable if it weren’t for her eyes, which slowly blink up and adjusting to the change of scenery.

It’s her. It’s her and that’s all that matters.

They have a chance. One more chance.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #reader insert #dcu x reader #red hood x reader

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heyyyharry · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 4: False Alarm

(from the Flatmate Trilogy: Two Hearts, One Home)

…in which their cat’s gone missing and Y/N doesn’t know what to do.

Word count: 3.7k

Chapter 3: Handcuffs - Niall can only think of one way to solve his best friends’ conflict.

Wattpad link

A/N: For those who did not know, I went through a terrible week and couldn't write, so I had to postpone this update until Sunday. This chapter is shorter than the previous ones, but the next will be as long as usual. Thank you for reading! Love, Allie. (Btw, who loves Breakfast At Tiffany’s and Audrey Hepburn?)

“No, no, no, this is not happening to me!”

When Layla heard Y/N’s scream, she was in the living room watching Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Normally she would just shrug it off because it could be another cockroach in the tub. But as Y/N shouted out her name specifically, she had no choice but to click pause and go see what it was.

Her best friend was sitting on the bedroom floor, back pressed against the closet. Once she spotted Layla, she rose immediately to show her the phone. “I missed my period,” she cried out, looking utterly distraught. “I haven’t checked the app in so long and just now realized I’m two weeks late. I can’t even remember the last time I was late!”

“Okay, calm down.” Layla raised her hands, taking a deep breath. “As far as I know, stress can cause irregular and missed periods, and you’ve been working your ass off lately. No wonder.”

“But I threw up yesterday and this morning too.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that...” Y/N paused, shutting her eyes as if she was afraid if she said it, it would come true. But she couldn’t avoid the thought forever, she had to tell somebody. “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Don’t joke like that.” Layla snorted, but Y/N was quick to seize her arm.

“Harry and I had sex without a condom on our honeymoon once and I forgot that I wasn’t on the pills!” The girl said in one single breath, but Layla could hear every word loud and clear. Her eyes bulged out as her jaw dropped. She took a few seconds to figure out how to react to this news.

“How could you fucking forget, dumbass?!” She raised her voice, smacking her best friend on the arm. Y/N jumped away, rubbing the sore spot as she pouted. “We were on the beach and...and there were stars and...it was very romantic and—”

Layla cut her off by putting up one hand. “Spare me the details, please. I’ve seen enough in the last five years, I’m surprised I’m not traumatized yet.”

Y/N huffed and ignored that joke as she went on, “but the point is, I already took the emergency pill in the morning!”

“Those pills don’t always work you know.”

“I know, I just...don’t know what to do now?” The distressed girl collapsed onto her bed, her face was pallid, and her heart was pounding so hard that her chest might explode. “I can’t...I can’t get pregnant now. My husband is drowning under a pile of work, and I just got promoted.”

Standing with her back against the closet, Layla glanced up at the ceiling. She thought for two seconds and looked back to Y/N. “Have you taken a test?”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbows, frowning as she mumbled, “n-no.”

With no hesitation, Layla jumped right at her and dragged her straight towards the bathroom door. “Do you have one of those pregnancy sticks?” Y/N nodded, her mouth turned into a frown. “Good. Now get your ass in there and pee on it, then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

“But what if I’m really pregnant?”

“Just fucking get in there!” Layla grumbled as she pushed her best friend into the room and shut the door. The problem was temporarily solved. Now it was time to go back to her favorite movie.

Every one of Layla's friends knew how obsessed she was with Breakfast At Tiffany’s. She couldn’t recall how many times she’d watched that film and fallen in love with Audrey Hepburn all over again. So when Y/N asked her to come over for a movie marathon Sunday, she had been so excited, knowing her best friend had never seen this one before. But here she was, watching it alone because Y/N was taking forever in the bathroom with that pregnancy stick.

“You’re gonna miss the iconic scene! Holly is putting on her lipstick!” Layla shouted with a mouth full of popcorn and muttered along the famous line “a girl doesn’t read this sort of things without her lipstick,” while grinning from ear to ear.

“Layla...”

The soft voice pulled her attention away from the TV screen. She meant to scold at Y/N for interrupting her, but as soon as she saw her best friend’s pouting face, she knew something had gone wrong.

“H-How was it?” She immediately stood up and walked up to Y/N, who gave her a slight shrug. Y/N didn’t say a word, still, Layla already had her answer. What else could it be when Y/N seemed this agitated? A positive. Definitely a positive.

Frowning, she wrapped both arms around Y/N to pull her in and lay a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry..." she said. "You’re gonna be a great mum."

“But I—” Y/N could barely begin when Layla shushed her with a wave and turned back to the screen. Audrey’s character Holly was now crying in the rain because she’d lost her yellow cat. This was Layla's favorite scene, there was no way she could miss it.

“Cat! Cat!” She mumbled along with Holly, placing both hands on her chest. No matter how many times she had watched this one, she always got emotional as if it was her first. However, her mood was ruined by another scream so loud, that her ears went deaf for a few seconds. She widened her eyes at Y/N, who was now looking from left to right like she was going insane.

“Where’s Treasure?!” She shouted.

It was then that Layla remembered she hadn’t seen the white cat that entire morning. She scanned her eyes around the room, looking slightly concerned. “You told me you were gonna give the cat a bath. But then you screamed, and I came in to see you on your bedroom floor.”

“Right...I was...I was about to give her a bath...” Y/N tried to steady her breath while pacing back and forth. Immediately, she stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw fell slack as she pointed a finger to the front door which was wide opened. “Who opened that door?!”

“You did!” Layla scoffed. “You told me you burnt something in the kitchen, so you let the door opened for the smoke to fly out.”

“Shit...no, no, no!” Y/N wailed, her face contorted. Nam had been cat-sitting Treasure for so long and never had there been a problem. But as soon as he took a day off and let Y/N do the job, Treasure ended up missing. How could she be so careless? If something happened to her cat, she would hate herself forever. Harry would hate her too. She couldn’t let that happen. And so she freaked out and told her best friend, “We need to go find Treasure!”

“Calm down, she’ll come ba—” Layla didn’t get to finish her sentence. Y/N pushed her aside and ran out of the flat in a heartbeat.

“Meow!”

The sound caused Layla’s head to spin. For a second there she had hoped it was Treasure. But unfortunately, it was from the movie. Holly Golightly had found her yellow cat in the alley, and while in tears, she hugged her pet as soft music began to play. Layla exhaled, rolling her eyes. She knew she’d be damned if Treasure never came back again, and so she paused the film to follow Y/N out of the flat.

As the girls got to the lobby, they bumped into Ben, who was on his way to visit them. The smile on his face slipped just as Layla screamed “Treasure is missing!” and Y/N pushed him aside to rush towards the door. Confused, he snatched her arm and pulled her right back.

“Let’s all calm down now. Treasure’s a smart cat. She won’t go far,” he tried to reassure the nervous girl, but those words seemed completely useless as she hissed and brushed him off.

“She’s my cat okay? You don’t have a cat, you don’t get it!”

Y/N’s aggressive reaction left Ben confused. Eyes widened, he turned to Layla, shooting her a look of concern as he assumed she would know what was going on. But her mouth snapped shut instead of giving him an answer. Something about their behaviors made Ben think Y/N’s lost cat wasn’t the biggest problem here. He stepped forward, gently rubbing her arm and leaning down so their eyes met.

“Hey, just take a deep breath and—” Y/N barely let him finish. She grabbed his shoulders then shook him violently. “I spent five minutes with my cat and now she’s missing! How am I gonna look after a human baby?!”

“Okay, dude, stop. You’re scaring him.” Layla literally had to drag her away before she ripped off Ben’s shirt. It took the man around five seconds to figure out what she meant, and once realization dawned on his face, he gasped, covering his mouth.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No, I am not!” Y/N answered, but Layla quickly clarified. “She’s still in the denial phase.”

Ben’s reaction to the pregnancy news was entirely different from the girls had expected. He clasped his hands together, bouncing up and down before reaching out to caress Y/N’s belly. His eyes literally lit up when he smiled at her. “Is it a little Y/N or little Harry?”

“Oh my god, does anyone with a dick know how pregnancy works?” Layla cried out as she smacked his hand away, and he instantly shot her a glare.

“Someone with a dick who’s not into dicks might.”

“Enough with the pregnancy talk!” Y/N raised her voice, sounding exhausted and frustrated at the same time. She knew if she let these two argue it would never end, thus the best solution at the moment was to stay calm as Ben had said. There was plenty of time later to worry about being pregnant. “Now.” She sighed. “Let’s split and find Treasure before something happens to her.”

The search had gone on for almost three hours. They had been to every place in their neighborhood where they assumed the cat might be, but it was hopeless. How could they find such a tiny creature in a city as big as London? A child might be easy to spot, but Treasure was a cat. God knew where she might be. She could've been kidnapped and nobody would've cared or noticed. That, however, was the last thing Y/N wanted to think of right now.

Heartbroken and disappointed, Y/N returned to her building, trying to catch her breath while sweat was dripping down from her forehead and soaking her entire back. There she met Layla, who was also in the same nervous state.

“Y/N, I’ve looked everywhere, can’t find her.” Layla breathed, both hands on her hip as she looked around, squinting her eyes. “Let’s just hope Ben returns with good news.”

That didn't calm Y/N's nerves at all. She slowly released a shaky breath and flopped down on the step behind them. Hugging both knees, she muttered, “this is all my fault. How am I supposed to tell Harry?”

Layla could only sigh as she took a seat next to her friend. With both arms around Y/N’s shoulders, she spoke, “this isn’t your fault. It’s just the pregnancy hormones that make you feel this way.”

But Y/N shook her head. Layla didn't understand that response, yet she had a feeling there was something else she did not know. Without waiting for her to wonder, Y/N blurted out, “I...I didn't take the test.”

“What?" Layla’s green eyes shot open. “What the fuck does that mean?!”

“I-I was about to but I got scared...”

“Fuck, dude…” was all Layla could whisper before letting the silence sink in, and they sat like that, both were thinking on their own. It did sound like a bad thing at first. Y/N let Layla and also Ben believe the test was positive, thus they had been worrying all for nothing. But as Layla thought again, she realized this could be better. She tapped her best friend on the shoulder to get her attention. “But hey, it means you might not be pregnant. We still have hope.”

“Actually…” Y/N’s voice was so tiny Layla could barely hear that word. "That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Huh?”

Y/N sighed, chewing on her bottom lip as she pondered before speaking up. “I know this may sound insane but...we had a pregnancy scare before and...and it was a false alarm. So if it happens again, I think...” She paused right there. Just like before, she was afraid to say something and have it become a reality. But she trusted Layla, and she knew if she was going to confide in anyone other than Harry, it should be Layla.

“What if I can’t have babies?” Y/N spoke at last. Her voice shuddered, and the anxiety was clear in her tone. “I know I said I didn’t want to have kids now...but what if when I’m ready, I still can’t?”

Layla’s expression softened at once. She put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder as a tiny smile formed on her lips. “Hey, don’t be so pessimistic, everything will be fi—”

“You don’t get it." Y/N shook her head fast, her chapped lips pressed together as her eyes swam with tears. “That’s all Harry’s talked about since our wedding. How am I supposed to come back tonight and tell him I’ve lost our cat and I cannot have babies?”

“He’s not gonna leave you because you can’t get pregnant. Harry’s not like that.”

“But he’ll be disappointed…” She shook her head, her eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t want Harry to be sad and disappointed. I want him to be happy.”

“Hey.” Layla exhaled as she cupped her best friend’s face. “I’ve known Harry for five years, and I‘ve never seen him happier than when he’s with you. That idiot loves you. He’s gonna love you if you go bald and lose all your teeth. You think he gives a fuck if you cannot have babies?”

“No…”

“Say it with confidence, bitch.”

“No,” Y/N spoke louder, trying not to laugh as she wiped away her tears.

Layla giggled, rolling her eyes. “And let’s not make assumptions so soon. We don’t know for sure if you’re pregnant, or if Treasure is really missing. Want me to call H?”

“No, don't.” Y/N shook her head slowly, now more relaxed than before. “He’s having lunch with his suppliers...I don’t wanna bother him.”

Layla said nothing else as she nodded. They sat there for a little while, watching people passing by and waiting for Ben to come back, hopefully with some good news. But the thing about living in London was that, one second it was sunny, and in a blink of an eye, it was raining cats and dogs. That Sunday was no exception. It began with a raindrop on Layla’s arm which instantly caught her attention as she lifted her face up. She opened her mouth to warn Y/N about what was coming for them, but as soon as the first sound escaped her lips, the rain came down like a giant waterfall.

“Shit!” She cursed, standing up quickly, yet Y/N was still sitting there, unbothered by the unexpected shower.

“Hey, dumbass, stand up!”

“No, Treasure can’t be out there in this rain!” Y/N shrugged her best friend’s arm away, keeping her hands above her eyes so she could with water was splashing down on them. Layla kept repeating that Treasure would be fine, but neither of them knew if that was true anymore. They didn't want to think of the worst scenarios because it would break their hearts to even imagine. However, the rain turned out to be their stroke of luck. A familiar purr made their heads turned to the other side of the road. This time, Layla was sure it wasn’t from any movie scene.

“Treasure!”

“Meow!”

The white fur ball hopped off the brick wall and ran across the street to jump right into Y/N’s arms. Y/N forgot about the cold as she pulled the wet creature to her chest, giving her soft kisses all over. “I will never let you out of sight again,” she promised, squeezing Treasure tightly.

Standing on the sidelines, Layla ignored the rain pouring down on them three. "My favorite scene," she mumbled, her lips curved into a peaceful smile. The moment was beautiful and warm. But then a yellow cat jumped right out from the bush behind them, causing Layla to scream and almost fall down into the puddle at her feet.

“Tiger?” Y/N raised both eyebrows as the creature approached her and rubbed its face against her leg.

“Jesus Christ, how many cats do you secretly own?!” Layla shouted, making her best friend giggle.

“This one isn’t mine, it's Mason’s.”

“Harry's hot cousin?”

“You mean ‘annoying’?” Y/N snorted. “Yeah.”

That was when Ben came back, holding a black umbrella and looking startled to see the girls standing in the rain. All out of breath, he announced with an enormous grin, “that lady over there said that she saw Treasure with a yellow cat, they were heading to the park and—Hold up!” The man halted when he saw those little troublemakers staring back at him. The look on his face made both Y/N and Layla burst out laughing.

“Okay, Romeo and Juliet,” Y/N sighed as she picked Tiger up with her other hand. “Let’s get you both dry and cleaned.”.

As soon as Harry got home, he dashed into the bedroom. His hair was wet from the rain, but fortunately, his clothes were mostly dry. With a sigh of relief, he leaned against the door, smiling as he saw his wife and their cat snuggling up together while watching a movie. As soon as Y/N spotted him, she cheered, “daddy’s home!” And Treasure meowed in joy when he came in to kiss both of their heads.

He stroked his wife’s cheek in concern. “I ran into Ben earlier. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it was a false alarm.” Y/N nodded, pressing her moist lips into a gentle smile. “She was only going on a date with Tiger.”

“Mason’s cat?”

She nodded again, and both of them turned to look at the guilty one.

“Guess I don't have to wait until we have a daughter to worry about her and the boy next door.” Harry chuckled while shaking his head. He expected Y/N to laugh along like she normally would, but instead, she kept a straight face. It wasn’t her not finding his joke funny, it was something else, he could tell.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he met her eyes again. Instead of telling him the reason, she responded with a question which left him surprised.

“Did Ben tell you about the other thing?”

He stuck out his bottom lip, shaking his head slightly. “What other thing?”

“That I thought I was pregnant, but I wasn’t?”

Harry felt his entire body go numb as he heard that. He didn’t know how to respond because he couldn’t read her expression, so all he could do was stutter and end up shaking his head. “He um…no, he didn’t mention…Are you okay, love?”

“Layla took me to the hospital. All those pregnancy symptoms were caused by stress,” she whispered and blinked her sweet eyes at him. Harry had no idea why she seemed so sad. She had been rambling on about how they couldn’t afford a child at this point. He thought she should be happy instead.

“Oh, that’s a relief, right? You don’t want to have kids now,” he said while rubbing her back as she scooted closer to rest her head on his shoulder. She was quiet for a while to think before she spoke. It was always bad news when Y/N was quiet. He knew her well to realize when something was bothering her.

“Yeah, well...I...” She hesitated. “Maybe...I won’t ever...have kids.” As she pulled away to see how he reacted, he tried to remain calm, yet ended up gawking at her. She gulped, reaching out to squeeze the hand he put on her lap. Her voice shuddered as she went on. “I have high FSH levels, which means low chances of getting pregnant.”

“Oh” was his instant reply. That was a terrible comment to your wife saying she might never have children, but he wasn’t in his clear mind to come up with something better. He was shocked, yes, but he wasn’t upset about the news, not even the slightest.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly, giving his hand another squeeze.

That was how he knew, she forgot. She forgot how much he loved her, and they were married, and nothing in this world could change the fact that, they were together in this forever.

“No, don’t be sorry, love.” He pressed his forehead against her, watching her eyelids flutter as she held his gaze. “This doesn’t matter to me, you do. Besides, having low chances doesn’t mean impossible.”

"But it’s still unlikely...I’m so sorry," she apologized once more, despite knowing he hated it when she blamed herself for something that wasn’t her fault. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like it was. "We’ve talked about having kids since forever, and now I’m telling you that it might not happen, I—"

“Hey.” He grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her to pay attention to his words instead of her own. “This isn’t your fault. This doesn’t change how much I love you. Told you at our wedding, didn’t I? I’ll love you forever, and that means with or without babies. We can always adopt ours, like Brad and Angelina, yeah? We’ll be a family of ten if that's what you want.” With tears in her eyes, she nodded fast, exhaling a warm laugh that got him chuckling as well. “Let’s not lose hope,” he reassured her. “I’m sure we’ll get kids of our own one day.”

“You believe that?”

“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. “But I’m happy with the way things are now. We’re already a happy family. You, me, and—” Sighing, he turned to Treasure, who was patiently waiting for her name to get mentioned. “And this little lady who left home with the boy her parents had warned her about.”

Y/N giggled, hugging the cat close to her chest and pulling her husband closer to kiss him passionately. The film on her laptop was still playing, and she knew Layla would be so mad that she didn’t watch until the rolling credits. However, everyone knew how it would end, with Holly Golightly kissing her lover Paul while holding her cat.

#harry styles fluff #flatmate!harry #husband!harry #ceo!harry #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions

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dontgotothenetherworld · 5 years ago

Note

I really loved your jo x frankie first kiss fic!! would you be able to do something similar for jo x reader with the first kiss/first time prompt?

mac ‘n’ cheese

i think i might’ve done a similar thing with my first jo x reader series, but why would i know it’s not like i look back at my own fics…

btw jo’s enby in this one! that has no reflection on the actual plot though. i realized that with some of the things said in this fic, that that could be perceived as painting enbies in a negative light, because in the past i’ve written jo as a girl, and now all of a sudden i’m saying their enby and also some not so nice things about them, but that is 100% not my intention.

1411 words

cw: femreader. nbjo. anxiety.

your eyes remained fixed on your phone’s screen. nothing else mattered.

”y/n?” jo asked.

you held up a finger. couldn’t jo see that this was important?

”y/n, don’t you think this is getting to be a little much?” they said.

you shot jo a murderous look. but then you quickly looked back at your screen. not a second should be missed.

jo sighed. it was clear you couldn’t be reasoned with right now.

”maria… claire isn’t your twin sister… she’s your clone.” said maria’s butler, george.

you gasped. “i suspected, but i didn’t believe it was true!” you turned to face jo, “maria’s been cloned! do you even know what this means? oh my god… what about penelope? who’s going to tell her she’s dating a clone?”

the theme music for the show played, and you turned your phone off.

”how do you even like that shit? it’s literally just a soap opera.” they said.

”no it’s not, it’s on netflix.” you said defensively.

”that… doesn’t mean anything.”

”whatever, what did you want to talk about?”

”y’know, i was hoping that i would have more of my girlfriend’s attention than a trashy netflix show.”

”it’s not trashy! and i know that’s not what you wanted to say.”

jo laughed. “i was thinking that you should come over to my place today.”

you wiggled your eyebrows, inciting giggles from your lover.

”not like that, i just want to hang out with you.”

”is that what the kids are calling it these days?” you teased.

jo rolled their eyes. “be over by six?”

you looked at your to-do list on your phone. “does 6:30 work?”

”anything for you, y/n.”

”except watching this show!” you waved your phone in their face and giggled.

”keep that dumpster fire away from me!” jo faked panic and ran away.

you chuckled and started up another episode.

a few hours later, after you finished all your homework, because you are a responsible student, you made your way to your lover’s house. jo opened the door before you could ring the doorbell.

they scrambled to find their balance, from sliding on the hardwood floor in socks. you tried to conceal your laughter.

jo cleared their throat, and held out their arm.

you looked around the house. all the lights were out, and their were candles lit everywhere. it looked like a house fire waiting to happen, but it smelled great.

jo led you to the dining room, where two places were set, with a bouquet of flowers set in between.

a sudden flush of anxiety fled down your back. “i didn’t forget anything, right? like, is this an anniversary? it’s definitely not valentine’s day…” you whispered.

”no, i just wanted to plan something nice.”

you sat down, “well, i must say i’m impressed.”

jo grinned at you. they quickly scurried off to the kitchen, presumably to get the food they had made. “i am sorry to report that my cooking ability is not quite what i had hoped, so, uh… yeah.” they placed a plate full of… well you’re not entirely sure, it was all burnt, in front of you.

”what do you mean, jo? it looks fantastic!” you lied through your teeth.

jo nodded, not convinced.

you hesitantly took a bite of what you thought was a bell pepper. it tasted so much worse than you thought, oh god. you fought the urge to spit it out.

upon seeing your attempt at hiding your disgust, jo suggested, “i have easy mac in the pantry?”

you gagged a little on the vegetable. ”yes please.”

jo grabbed the box, while you filled a pot with water, putting it on the stove to boil. jo stood next to you, both looking over the still stagnant water.

you reached your arm around to jo’s shoulder. “isn’t this nice?” you rested your head on their arm.

jo kissed you on the forehead. “yes.” and they settled their head on top of yours.

your body tensed. jo just kissed you. wait, it was just a forehead kiss, it means nothing. except it might mean everything. you and jo had been dating, exclusively, for a little over two months, and you hadn’t kissed them yet.

earlier on in the relationship, you told them that you had never been in a relationship before, never kissed anyone before, never had… y’know before. you told them that you didn’t want to feel pressured into doing anything. but here you were, two months later, and nothing had happened. you thought you might’ve given jo the wrong impression. like you wanted to be the one to initiate all those things. yeah, you asked them out, but that was because you got tired of pining after them and you had gotten a weird burst of courage.

you were caught between two different contrasting certainties. 1) you were going to have to kiss jo first, and this dinner was their way of encouraging you or 2) jo was tired of waiting and no longer cared what you thought, and was just buttering you up to get a whole bunch of your firsts out of the way with.

you felt horrible for thinking so lowly of jo, but you had heard stories of people who had pretended to be good and respectful for years before finally showing their true colors. how could you know that that wasn’t jo?

but one way of making sure that jo couldn’t do that, at least now, was to kiss them. to show them that they are not fully in control of the situation. or did they know this and where trying to reverse psychology you into it? to let you think that you’re in control when you’re really not?

you couldn’t breathe. the water had started boiling.

”y/n, are you okay?” jo asked, in that gentle and kind voice.

”i’m fine,” you murmured, “i just need to-” you turned away from jo, intending to walk away, for a little space. but your knuckles grazed across the pot, and pain shot to your brain. “fuck!” you softly whispered.

jo jumped away from the stove, “y/n!”

”i’m fine… i’m just going to put some cold water on it.” you cursed the small kitchen, with it’s oven and it’s sink a mere step apart. you ran your hand under the water, each drop seeming to remind you of your stupidity.

jo poured the pasta into the pot. they grabbed your non burnt hand. “y/n, what’s going on?”

”nothing. i’m just stupid and put my hand on a pot of boiling water. that’s it.”

jo scoffed, “you’re not stupid, y/n. you’re one of the smartest people i know.” they gave the pasta a quick stir. “i just think you’re distracted. and, you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to, but i want to know what’s going on inside that beautiful head of yours.”

was this part of their plan too? wait no, they don’t have a plan, it’s all in your head. unless it isn’t.

you teethed at the inside of your mouth, and stared at the water.

jo stirred the pasta some more, not letting go of your hand.

”i… i just thought that maybe you were getting tired of waiting. i thought that maybe you’d… jo, you know i have trust issues.”

jo was silent for a minute. “i didn’t invite you over to try to trick you into doing anything. yeah, i’d love to kiss you, but i can wait. i don’t want to pressure you into anything, okay, y/n. i know a little voice in your head is going to tell you that i’m lying, but i am going to do everything i can to prove that little voice that it’s wrong.”

you turned off the faucet, and wiped your hand on a towel. you turned and fell into a hug with them. you smiled into their shoulder, “thank you.”

jo’s phone started beeping. they chuckled, “the mac ‘n’ cheese is almost done.” they held on to you a little longer before turning off the heat on the stovetop.

you got out of their way as they finished making the meal.

the two of you walked back into the dining room, the flowers now seeming silly for the bright yellow food, so you laughed.

just before jo was going to sit down, you caught their hand. “can you kiss me now?” you asked quietly.

@meangirlsx @meangirlmurphy @eliza-is-confused @boredomimi

#jagged little pill #jagged little pill musical #jagged little pill broadway #jlp #jlp musical #jagged little pill fanfiction #jlp fanfiction #jo #jo jagged little pill #jo jlp #jo x reader #fic

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leeontheneonx3 · 6 years ago

Text

Hoodie

Here, have a BakuDeku One-shot cuz i can’t friggin’ sleep-

Warnings - None that I can think of, this is just fluffy gayness okay.

Aged-up characters btw (they like, idk 20 i guess)

“Where’s the fucking milk?”

Izuku blinked, lifting his gaze from where it had been glued to the computer screen the past… three hours? Damn, had he really been working that long? He thought this crime report would only take an hour, tops. Of course he had to add so many details. The greenette sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

“What, Kacchan?”

“The milk. There’s none in the damn fridge.” Katsuki answered, slamming the door to the refrigerator shut. “How am I supposed to make dinner when there’s no milk, huh?”

“I think… I finished it this morning?” Izuku muttered, staring up at the ceiling in thought. God, he was so tired. “Yeah… Forgot to put it on the list… Sorry, Kacchan.” He let out a small yawn, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Katsuki was staring, his eyes narrowed.

They both stared at each other, seconds ticking by. Katsuki was the one to break eye contact first, as he glanced down at the open laptop in front of Izuku. Before he walked over and slapped it shut.

“Wh- Hey! Kacchan, my report-”

“Relax, it saved.” Katsuki rolled his eyes, strolling past the smaller man and towards the door. He began slipping his shoes on, taking one of his sweaters off the rack to search the pockets for his wallet. “We both have the next two days off, ya damn nerd.”

“I… I know that.” Izuku replied, rubbing his arm sheepishly as he watched his boyfriend.

“Then stop working,” Katsuki growled softly, shooting the other male a pointed glare. “And get some fuckin’ rest, already. You look like a shitty zombie, Deku.”

The blonde scoffed when he couldn’t find what he needed in his hoodie, throwing the piece of clothing onto the couch as he stalked down the hall, to the bedroom. He returned moments later, shoving his wallet into his pants pocket as he opened to front door.

“F-fine, but wait, where’re you-”

“The store, obviously.” Katsuki grumbled, glancing back at the freckle faced greenette. “I’ll be back in a bit. And take a fucking shower, you reek.”

With that, the number three hero left the apartment, slamming the door behind him - mostly out of habit than anything else.

Izuku frowned, self consciously lifting his arm to give his pit a quick sniff. His nose scrunched up in response. Okay, yeah, shower. He needed one. Badly. The pro-hero stood from his spot at the table, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes traveled over to Katsuki’s hoodie that he’d thrown to the couch. It was one of Katsuki’s favorites, his go-to hoodie. All black, of course, except for the white skull on the front. Izuku picked it up absentmindedly, rubbing his tired eyes as he made his way down the hall.

He tossed the hoodie onto the bed, fighting the urge to just plop down face first into the mattress. He had to take care of himself first. Just take a quick shower and then he can rest for a bit, until Katsuki came back home and dinner was ready. The man yawned again, stumbling into the bathroom connected to the bedroom and starting the water.

The warmth was nice as it pelted his tense muscles. He hadn’t left that damn table for hours, why did he torture himself like that? Oh well. At least Katsuki was right, they did have the next couple of days off. He should get some proper rest… Otherwise, his boyfriend would probably reprimand him for his unhealthy habits. Again.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the shower, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. It must have been quite a while, though, considering he only got out when the warm water started running out. Izuku sighed, much more relaxed as he exited the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He got half-dressed, boxers and shorts the first things he tugged on. As he looked for a shirt, though, his eyes wandered over to the hoodie still bundled up on the bed.

Izuku blinked blearily, reaching over and picking up the soft clothing. The greenette smiled slightly, his actions mostly driven by fatigue. He lifted the material to his nose, giving it a small sniff.

Sweet…. Like burnt sugar… like Kacchan.

Izuku giggled a bit, hesitating only for a couple seconds, before pulling the hooded sweater over his head. It was a little big on him, obviously, since Katsuki was still taller. Not to mention, the blonde preferred wearing baggy clothes. The green eyed man pulled the hood up over his head, which covered his eyes a bit, and the sleeves were floppy, which made him giggle a little more. The hoodie was comfortable though… Warm, soft, sweet…

Like Kacchan…

“I’m back, nerd.”

Izuku blinked his eyes open when he heard Katsuki’s voice, and the front door close. The greenette smiled, wandering out of the room to greet his boyfriend. Katsuki was putting the milk and a few extra groceries away when he glanced over, spotting Izuku in the entrance of the kitchen. The blonde’s eyes widened slightly, eyeing the smaller male up and down.

“...The fuck?”

“It’s cozy.” Was Izuku’s simple response. He shrugged nonchalantly, hugging the material closer to himself. “And… a-and it smells like Kacchan…So…”

Katsuki continued to stare, and Izuku giggled when he noticed the tips of Katsuki’s ears and his nose turning a bright red. The number one hero smirked slightly, a mischievous glint in those bright green orbs as he played with the drawstrings of the hoodie.

“What’s wrong, Kacchan…?” he asked softly, tilting his head as he tucked one of strings in between his teeth, chewing softly. Katsuki just turned a brighter shade of red. Izuku giggled again, enjoying the teasing, as he took a couple steps closer - until he was right in front of his boyfriend. “You look a little red, Kacchan…”

“....Fuck.”

Faster than Izuku could process, arms were around him, tugging him up to sit on the countertop and Katsuki was pressed against him. Red irises met green, both alight with fiery emotions.

“You little shit. You should be resting in bed.” Katsuki whispered, his warm breath ghosting over Izuku’s lips. Izuku smirked again, his arms looping around the other male’s neck and tugging him closer, flush against his body.

“Hm? But, Kacchan… I don’t want to be in bed without you.” he pouted. Katsuki growled, closing the distance between with a slightly fierce, hungry kiss. Izuku hummed into the other’s mouth, melting in his arms.

But, before he could kiss back, Katsuki’s lips were gone, and Izuku was being hauled over the blonde’s shoulder as they made their way to the bedroom. Izuku squirmed, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“W-wait, Kacchan! The dinner!”

“Fuck that, I’m not hungry for dinner.” Katsuki growled, kicking the bedroom door open and tossing Izuku gently onto the mattress. “I’m hungry for something else, Deku.”

Izuku swallowed, staring as his boyfriend climbed on top of him, hovering above the smaller man. The greenette smiled bashfully, face flaming with heat.

“O-oh… really?”

“Yep.” Katsuki leaned down, lips brushing against Izuku’s neck, causing the curly haired man to shiver. Izuku’s eyes drifted closed, but snapped open when his neck was attacked.

Not with love bites or kisses, though. With raspberries.

“WHA-chan!” Izuku snorted, bursting into laughter as Katsuki blew raspberries into his sensitive skin. “Th-that- haha! - that tickles! N-no! Gah!”

Katsuki didn’t relent until Izuku was wheezing, tears in his eyes as he continued to giggle softly. The blonde looked down at him with a smile, brushing green curls from the other’s eyes.

“Go to sleep, nerd.” he said, voice so soft and loving that it sent another shiver down Izuku’s spine. “Rest while I make dinner, ‘kay?”

Izuku bit his lip, gently caressing Katsuki’s muscles as he stared up at the fellow pro hero.

“Cuddles.”

“Deku, I gotta make dinner.”

“Cuddles.”

“Zu, seriously-”

Izuku cut off his words with a bruising kiss. When they separated, Katsuki barely stopped himself from chasing after those plump lips.

“I want fucking cuddles.” Izuku stated firmly, and damn did he know exactly how to sway Katsuki’s decisions.

“Fuckin’ fine, ya damn baby.” Katsuki grumbled, easing his weight on top of Izuku, both of them wrapping each other in their arms. Izuku sighed contently, nuzzling his face into those soft, sweet smelling blonde spikes.

Cozy…

Neither of them could stay awake long, when they were wrapped in the comfort of the other.

THE END

#oneshot #bakudeku #fluff #kissing #cute gay boyfriends #bkdk #soft bakugou?#ye yeet #i did this instead of sleeping #i listened to Hoodie by Hey Violet #on repeat while i wrote this #i should be sleeping

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jeserai · 5 years ago

Text

burnt sugar (2/8)

“Sorry I’m late,” Catra says, and she knows she doesn’t sound sorry, and she probably doesn’t look it either. She slowly, slowly takes all of Adora in, from her messy ponytail to her varsity jacket, the unbuttoned plaid flannel with the plain shirt under, her shorts and thighs littered with small scrapes and bruises. She’s—kind of really cute. And she’s eyeing Catra up and down too.

A few heads turn as Catra’s phone buzzes once and then again, and Catra stares them down with one brow raised in a silent challenge. While they look on, faces showing their obvious disgust, Catra flips her phone over to check it. Hordak continues speaking as if there had been no interruption, but the look he gives Catra is absolutely murderous, just like always.

[unknown number] (6:55pm): Hi, I saw the post about needing a date for a family dinner? Is that...legit?

[unknown number] (6:55pm): I’m Adora by the way

Catra (6:56pm): Hey, Adora

Catra (6:56pm): And yes, it’s legit

[unknown number] (7:01pm): cool :)

Catra hides her scoff behind a palm pressed to her mouth, now only half listening as one of the shareholders raises yet another complaint. She knows she’s going to get an earful later on about how disrespectful she’s being, but this Adora girl is already endearing enough to make it worth it.

Catra (7:02pm): Hey. Find out whatever you can about an Adora and get back to me asap

Entrapta (7:03pm): when you say Whatever….

Catra (7:04pm): Just. Make sure she’s not a serial killer or something. A last name and a picture would be nice too.

Entrapta (7:04pm): :(((((( but thats so boooring

Catra (7:05pm): I mean it, E. That’s all i need

Entrapta (7:05pm): fine, boss :(((((

With that, Catra slips her phone into her pocket, and begins to doodle on the corner of board meeting program. One hour down, one to go.

When the meeting is finally adjourned, Catra breezes passed everyone else, ignoring Hordak’s half-hearted call of her name in favor of pulling out her earbuds and phone. There’s an email from Entrapta—likely whatever information she’s found out about Adora—and a text from Adora herself that Catra finds herself opening immediately.

[unknown number] (7:29pm): so i was just wondering if we could meet up sometime first?

Catra (8:02pm): What, do you think I’m some kind of serial killer?

[unknown number] (8:05pm): what??? No!! I never saidi that!

[unknown number] (8:05pm): whats ur name btw?

Catra (8:06pm): My name is Catra, but you can call me whatever you like

[unknown number] (8:07pm): sdjfhkkfdgdf>????

Catra finds a grin curving up the corners of her lips; Adora is so easy to rile up. She doesn’t know anything about the girl yet, but this is promising. It also doesn’t seem like Adora knows who she is—another godsend. People always tend to treat her differently once they find out she’s rich, once they know who her family is. Catra’s lip curls at the thought of them: it’s not her fault that they picked to adopt her.

But it is what it is, and being Hordak’s daughter does have its advantages, Catra thinks. She jams the down button for the elevator with one hand, and with the other, opens Entrapta’s email. It’s brief, the subject message a simple sad face, but it’s what she’d asked for. Adora’s full name—Adora Sideris—and a college ID picture of her, smiling awkwardly into the camera. God, she looks dumb, especially with the little hair poof thing going on. Entrapta’s email also says that she’s in college, that she’s only a few months older than Catra, and that she’s the captain of her school’s fencing team.

That makes Catra pause. Looking at the picture, she would’ve guessed prep, or nerd—definitely not fencing team captain. But then, she reminds herself, appearances don’t mean shit. A few of the businessmen from the board meeting around the corner as she steps into the elevator, and Catra takes extreme pleasure in watching the elevator doors close in their faces as they flag her to keep it open. Dumbasses.

Catra (8:16pm): Lol

Catra (8:16pm): You’re cute, Adora

Catra (8:17pm): Anyway, can you meet tomorrow? You pick the place

[unknown number] (8:20pm): i have fencing practice until about noon, so anytime after then. And do you know Bright Moon? It’s a little cafe by the high school

And Catra doesn’t know, but she looks it up and as the elevator doors open, she texts Adora back one last time.

Catra (8:22pm): bright moon, tomorrow at 3:30pm. Give you some time to get cleaned up, princess

Adora (8:22pm): :) okay!

“Lonnie!” Catra calls out as she pockets her phone again. Her driver startles and glances up, expression souring as she sees Catra waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. Catra feels just the same.

“What do you want now?”

“Um, for you to do your job? Wouldn’t want you to get fired, now would we? Now come on, I’m hungry. We’re getting pizza.”

Lonnie heaves a sigh, but she nods and opens the back door, slamming it with more force than necessary once Catra is inside. As the car peels away from Horde Industries’ Corporate Headquarters, Catra busies herself with her phone, drowning out the rest of the world with loud, angry music.

Just like always.

The first person she sees when she gets back to the house is Daemon, sitting on the living room floor with a coloring book in front of him. He blinks up at her when she approaches, and gives her a toothy grin. With the canines that have just come in, his smile looks decidedly fanged, and Catra hates it.

“Hey, imp.” she mutters as she passes. Daemon clumsily parrots her words back, but quickly returns his attention to his crayons, and Catra rolls her eyes at him when he’s not looking. She fucking hates kids, especially this one. But now, all she has to do is manage to sneak upstairs and safely make it to her room before—

“ Catra. ”

Catra freezes, one foot on the stairs, and for a moment, she debates running. But as quickly as the thought comes, she dismisses it and pivots around, pasting her best unimpressed look on her face. “What?”

Her adoptive mother stands in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, distaste on her face as she stares Catra down. “And why did you come home so late? The deal was straight home after your board meetings, wasn’t it?”

Anger rises up like a tidal wave and Catra only barely manages to quash it with a deep breath in and out. “I was hungry. I got food. Get off my back.”

“Now, Catra, you know that both your father and I only want the best for you. Ever since we rescued you from that dreadful orphanage, we’ve only been preparing you for the business you’re going to inherit.”

In the background, Daemon giggles, as if even he knows what a joke that is. For once, Catra has to agree with him. “Okay, well, I’m here now.”

“Then act like it, insolent child.” And with that, Weaver soundlessly sweeps away, leaving behind only her words and the cloying scent of her perfume.

As Catra starts up the stairs, Daemon laughs again and parrots, “Insolent child.” Catra whips around and hisses at him, and reluctantly lets the sound of his laughter follow her upstairs.

Catra (9:02pm): What are you doing

Entrapta (9:15pm): working on a project

Entrapta (9:15pm): Do you need more infomration about Adora??

Entrapta (9:15pm): thats a lot more interesting !!!

Catra (9:16pm): No. And because I know I can’t stop you, just don’t tell me whatever you find out

Entrapta (9:17pm): :))))))))

Entrapta (9:20pm): anyway, did you need someting?

Catra (9:21pm): Not really. The hag was just on my ass again

Entrapta (9:22pm): u know what wuld make ufeel better :)))))

Catra (9:22pm): No to whatever you’re going to suggest, unless it involves me getting out of here

Entrapta (9:23pm): well. No

Entrapta (9:23pm): i was going to say i could tell u about adora !!

Catra (9:24pm): No! I’m meeting her tomorrow, I don’t need to meet her and be thinking about her ugly baby pictures or whatever it is that you manage to dig up

Entrapta (9:24pm): :(((( her baby pictures werent ugly they were actually really cute

Catra (9:25pm): Oh my god.

Entrapta (9:25pm): [image sent]

Catra (9:26pm): I am not opening those.

Entrapta (9:26pm): :(((((

Catra (9:27pm): It is an invasion of her privacy???

Entrapta (9:28pm): they shouldnt have been put online then. ANyone can find them!

Catra (9:28pm): Still. I’m not looking

(Not ten minutes later, Catra ends up looking. And she hates to admit it, but Entrapta is right. Adora’s baby pictures are actually kind of cute.)

Catra shows up at Bright Moon at just after four, slamming the car door shut much harder than necessary before Lonnie can get a chance to throw out some scathing remark in lieu of a farewell. If any of the people around her notice, they don’t show it, and Catra takes a moment to focus on the café, trying to get a sense of what Adora is like before she goes in. Already, she can see that she hates it—too much pink, too much light. Catra knows how well she stands out but she doesn’t care, ignoring the curious looks she gets as she storms into the café.

The inside is just as bad as the outside , and—objectively, it’s nice. It’s definitely Instagram worthy, and there are more than just a few groups of teenagers taking pictures of each other, of their food, of the room around them, but Christ. Catra feels disgusted on a molecular level.

But as much as she hates it, she’s here for a reason, that reason being the blonde ponytail of a girl sitting alone in a booth all the way in the back. She’s looking down at her phone, idly scrolling through something, and as Catra watches, she looks up and around, smiling crookedly at a boy and a girl sitting at a table nearby. She—Adora—doesn’t notice Catra, and neither do her friends, so Catra waits for them to look away from each other before making her way over to Adora’s booth.

“Hey, Adora,” she says, leaning against the booth, and when Adora looks up, eyes wide and startled, “how’s it hanging?”

“You’re— you’re Catra?” her voice comes out a little weak, and Catra can’t help the grin that twitches up the corners of her lips. Adora quickly stands and holds out her hand, still looking just a little bit embarrassed, just a little bit dumbstruck.

“Sorry I’m late,” Catra says, and she knows she doesn’t sound sorry, and she probably doesn’t look it either. She slowly, slowly takes all of Adora in, from her messy ponytail to her varsity jacket , the unbuttoned plaid flannel with the plain shirt under, her shorts and thighs littered with small scrapes and bruises. She’s—kind of really cute. And she’s eyeing Catra up and down too.

“Were we supposed to dress up?” Adora suddenly asks, and Catra looks down at herself and what she’s wearing , and oh.

“No, I was just at a meeting.” Which isn’t a total lie. Lonnie drove her to the meeting and waited to leave until she went inside—and as soon as she pulled away, Catra walked right back out and headed to Entrapta’s.

“Oh, well—you’re here now! Did you want to order anything first?”

Catra shrugs. “You order whatever, I’ll pay for it.”

Seemingly without thinking, Adora reaches out, taking Catra’s hand in hers to tug her up to the front of the shop. She drops her hand as soon as she realizes, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink as she splutters out an excuse, “Sorry—my roommates, they’re my best friends, and I’m just used to doing that—I’m so sorry!”

And surprisingly, Catra—who hates touching, who hates being touched, who hates any form of intimacy, really—can’t bring herself to mind.

Ten minutes later finds them back in the booth, Adora with an iced blueberry black tea and Catra with a triple mocha frappe. Adora is tracing her finger along the rim of her cup, collecting condensation as she stares down at the table, and Catra knows she should be talking, maybe explaining why Adora is here in the first place, maybe getting to know her, but she’s content to just watch Adora, to take in the beauty of her silence.

Until Adora looks up, of course. She tilts her head a little in obvious confusion when she sees Catra already looking, but she seems content in waiting for Catra to speak. There is a kind of shuttered kindness on her face and in her eyes; from just her face alone, Catra can tell what kind of person Adora is. She sees stubbornness in the rigidity of her posture, kindness in the hint of a smile on her lips, strength in the calluses of her hands. She is soft, but she is strong too, and Catra likes that.

“So, you’ve had the night to think things over, do you have any questions?”

At that, Adora nods. “I guess—” she tugs out a lock of hair from her ponytail and twirls it around her finger before shoving it back behind her ear in what is clearly a nervous gesture, “I just wanted to know what this involves exactly? I know it’s a dinner, but I need time to prepare—if this is going to be a thing —and I just—”

“It’s really just a stupid family dinner. We go in, play nice, dance, eat, play nice some more and leave. You’d get paid after, I don’t care how much.”

“Dance? Like—”

“Fancy dances and shit,” Catra waves away Adora’s concern with a dismissive hand, “I’d teach you.”

“So what, this is like a ball?”

Catra shrugs. “If you want to call it that, sure. It’s nothing to stress out over though, and besides, it’s not for another month or so. Plus, you can always say no, I can find someone else.”

“That’s…” Adora twirls that same lock of hair around her finger, tugging on it hard before asking quietly, “how much would it be?”

“How much do you want? It’s not my money, I don’t care.”

Adora snorts out a startled laugh, tucking her hair back again as she rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious. See, this is why I thought this was fake—”

“I’m being serious. How much do you want? I’ll write the check now.”

The sudden ringing of Adora’s phone interrupts them, and Catra waits patiently as Adora fumbles for it, checks to see who is calling, rolls her eyes as she answers, and hisses out, “Guys, really? ” before hanging up.

“Everything okay?” Catra asks mildly. Adora twists around and sticks her middle finger up at the boy and girl from before, then turns back, cheeks going pink.

“Yeah, it’s just my friends. They wanted to make sure that—well...”

“That I wasn’t some kind of serial killer?” And before Adora can begin to protest—because Catra can already see it on her face—she says, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. It’s good that they care that much about you.”

Because god knows her friends wouldn’t do the same.

“Anyway, I should get going before Lonnie comes to drag me back to the hellhole. You’ve got my number, if you change your mind, let me know before the end of the week.” Catra says as she stands to go; Adora reaches out as she passes, catching at her wrist and standing hurriedly as well.

“I want to do it.” There is a familiar look of determination in Adora’s steel-blue eyes; Catra grins at the sight of it and nods.

“Then I’ll text you later. Bye, Adora.”

Catra (4:53pm): Does Adora have Venmo?

Entrapta (5:11pm): im guessing it went well then?

Catra (5:12pm): Well enough. I’m coming over.

Entrapta (5:15pm): yoou got it boss

Entrapta (5:15pm): What about adoras venmo?

Catra (5:16pm): Send her a couple hundred bucks from the hag’s card

Entrapta (5:20pm): :)))))

Catra (5:20pm): What.

Entrapta (5:20pm): im glad u found someone nice :))))

Entrapta (5:21pm): :)))

Catra (5:22pm): Don’t push it

Entrapta (5:23pm): :))))

(last | next)

#she ra #catradora #shera #my writing #burnt sugar

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paulisweeabootrash · 6 years ago

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Retrospective Review: Rewatching Azumanga Daioh as an Adult

This may seem hard to believe if you are a younger reader or one who got into anime only recently, but there was once a time when recommendations spread by word of mouth, it was absolutely commonplace for anime seasons to last longer than 13 episodes, and the vocabulary of the anime fandom wasn’t nearly as full of internet-originated in-jokes. A time when the internet-savvy congregated on forums dedicated to specific topics instead of social networking sites, and the imageboards that generate so much of the internet meme landscape were just starting to take off among lonely nerds as an obscure haven for perverts, racists, and assholes instead of the role they have today as… uh… well... a well-known haven for perverts, racists, and assholes. A time when there was no such term as “weeaboo trash” because that Perry Bible Fellowship comic hadn’t been published yet, let alone used for that meaning. It wasn’t some golden age, but it was different, and today I’m taking a self-indulgent trip back to the end of that period, when I was in high school in the mid-2000s.

Azumanga Daioh (2002).

1. Why is this show important to me?

My introduction to anime consisted mostly of Pokémon and Sailor Moon, and took off with scattered episodes of several other shows that aired on WB and Cartoon Network, which were generally driven by action and combat. I can’t remember the circumstances or even who did it, but someone who owned, or perhaps pirated, a copy of Azumanga Daioh must have shown me a few episodes at some point.

Here was a show that had been on the leading edge of the moe trend a few years earlier, and although certainly available, such things were not yet common. Moe has, of course, taken over a large chunk of anime since, to mixed reception since it can range from innocently delightful to extraordinarily creepy. Azumanga is close to the innocent end of the spectrum, and absolutely delightful (as, BTW, is the author’s current ongoing manga series Yotsuba&!), with a softer, cuter art style than I was accustomed to and instantly-lovable characters.

It was clearly in a different genre and had a different sensibility about how to make a show, too. It had few repeated or filler elements, unlike any of the shows following the “monster of the week” formula. It was broken up into several vignettes per episode — a practice that I was familiar with from the format of many Nicktoons, but while American shows with that format told multiple self-contained stories, the short segments here were typically parts of larger episode-long stories, often focusing on different parts of the same event or different anecdotes about the same character. It showed us, the foreign audience, something about life in Japan, and at least for me was the first time I’d heard of distinctly Japanese school practices like applications for public high schools, students cleaning classrooms, or the particular kinds of seasonal festivals they have. It lacked story arcs driven by overcoming some enemy and instead was driven by character relationships themselves and the instantly-relatable experience of school. It was an encounter with something utterly different — and it made an excellent first impression.

Eventually, I bought a copy of the complete series of the manga it’s based on. Azumanga Daioh was originally, well, a manga, written by Azuma Kiyohiko and originally published in the form of a 4-panel comic strip that ran in the magazine Dengeki Daioh. See, it’s Azuma’s manga in Dengeki Daioh. Azuma manga, Dengeki Daioh. Azumanga Daioh. Ha. Clever. Anyway, in there, I encountered largely the same characters and interactions, a mix of believable school life and quick gags, just presented in a different format. I eventually got the DVD box set of the show, too, and I’ve rewatched a few favorite episodes several times, but this review is the first time I’ve revisited the whole series in years.

2. Who are all these people?

Rather than focusing on a small core friend group like Three Leaves, Three Colors, another much more recent adorable high school slice-of-life I greatly enjoy (and should maybe review?), Azumanga has a pretty large ensemble. Most of them are students and the “story arc” such as it is follows them through three years, from entering to graduating from high school, over a single 26-episode season. So rather than cover a plot synopsis, I think it would make more sense to dive into specific characters and their relationships. The show its at its funniest and sweetest with the dynamics of certain combinations of the main characters, and there are a lot of combinations available. Covering all of the recurring named characters approximately in the order we meet them (except a few characters who show up only in an episode or two each and another classmate named Chihiro who shows up on the periphery as a friend of Kaorin), let’s look at the relationships that stand out:

Yukari and Nyamo: Yukari Tanizaki, the English teacher who is the homeroom teacher to most of the cast, is unprofessional and insensitive from the first moment we see her, traits which are elaborated in later episodes into a sort of impulsive over-the-top-ness that clashes with the fact that she actually is a pretty good teacher. Emphasizing her less-serious attitude, students even refer to or address her by her given name (although the subtitles exaggerate this a bit by consistently calling her “Miss Yukari” when she’s usually just addressed as “teacher”). Minamo Kurasawa, the gym teacher, is a long-time friend of Yukari. She and Yukari (who calls her “Nyamo”) were even classmates at the same high school they currently teach at. In addition to being central to the gym class/sports-related episodes, she’s also Yukari’s more caring, approachable, and professional foil, which sets up interactions where Nyamo tries to be helpful and manage situations in the face of Yukari being antagonistic (and, outside of school hours, drunk) towards her and the students. Yukari in particular prods at Nyamo’s sore spots: being single and having done embarrassing things in high school.

Tomo and Yomi: Tomo Takino is 100% genki girl. I mean, come on, she’s the illustration for the TV Tropes article by that name. She’s not only enthusiastic, but loud, intrusive, and pointlessly competitive to the point of being just plain mean. She’s the kind of person who might mature into a less competent Yukari if she burnt out a bit. Koyomi Mizuhara, on the other hand, is much more serious and self-conscious, and although she still genuinely is Tomo’s friend and goes along with some of her silliness, she barely puts up with Tomo’s teasing and flurry of bad ideas. She is the Nyamo to Tomo’s Yukari, complete with Tomo enforcing a nickname on her, so she’s almost always called “Yomi” throughout. Yomi is much more considerate than Tomo, too. This often comes out in Yomi scolding Tomo’s insensitivity, but it’s also seen less directly when they are giving Chiyo (more on her below) birthday presents — Tomo offers first a joke that doesn’t go over well, then a magic wand she apparently expects Chiyo to believe will make her grow taller, which Chiyo dismisses, while Yomi offers a book which Chiyo enthusiastically accepts and says she expects to enjoy.

Osaka, Tomo, and Kagura: Ayumu Kasuga is a distractible and soft-spoken transfer student from Osaka whom Yukari, Tomo, and Yomi pester with misinformed questions and assumptions about her home city. Tomo, naturally, saddles her with the nickname “Osaka” as if that is her entire identity. The nickname quickly catches on, with even Yukari calling her that instead of her actual name in class. She is accepted as a friend by the other students who still consider her eccentric and baffling, but not annoying or embarrassing like you might expect. (In fact, the other girls react more and more to Tomo as the annoying and embarrassing one.) During the second year of school, she bonds with Tomo and Kagura (introduced as a star athlete from Nyamo’s homeroom during the first year, she becomes a major character in the second year) over their similar incredible forgetfulness and poor academics. Yomi calls them “bonkura”, translated as “knuckleheads”, and the three of them adopt the name for themselves as they study together — an idea which is doomed from the outset. The three of them together, or any two of them, play off each other wonderfully.

Chiyo and Osaka: Chiyo Mihama, a child prodigy who is only 10 years old at the beginning of the series, is so academically gifted it can upset and embarrass her classmates, but on the other hand is naive, and not just because she’s a child. She is in fact clueless about the outside world. She fails in the first summer break trip (ep. 5) to understand that the other characters’ families are nowhere near as rich as hers, and in the second summer break (ep. 14), even after a year and a half of being around high schoolers, she entirely fails to understand Nyamo’s off-screen explanation of “adult relationships” (kids innocently being oblivious to what sex is seems to be a common basis for jokes in Japanese media). Chiyo being five years younger than her classmates — and on the other side of puberty from them — also makes her lag far behind them in athletics. On the one hand, this makes her very self-conscious and afraid of being a burden on her classmates in team activities, and on the other, it sets up a running gag of Chiyo and Osaka teaming up to be by far the worst pair of athletes across the board. Oh, and Osaka’s dream about Chiyo’s pigtails in the New Year’s episode is one of the weirdest and most authentically dreamlike dream sequences I’ve ever seen. Although maybe that just says more about my own dreams than about the show.

Sakaki and Nobody (or, Multiple Kinds of Unrequited Feelings): Sakaki is considered effortlessly cool and somewhat intimidating — Kagura calls her a “silent lone wolf” — but she’s not big on that reputation. Students openly admire her, especially for her athletic talent, and treat her with distance and respect by almost universally calling her “Miss Sakaki” (since this is apparently her family name, not given name). She does not enjoy this treatment, but is also too private (and perhaps too insecure) to complain about or discuss it. She is indifferent to sports despite excelling at them, and doesn’t even recognize Kagura when she proclaims herself Sakaki’s rival, presumably because the first-year sports festival just didn’t stick out in her memory the way it did in Kagura’s. Despite calling it rivalry, however, Kagura quickly inserts herself into Sakaki’s life in a friendship that Sakaki responds to more with quiet tolerance than reciprocation.

Kaorin, meanwhile, mistakes Kagura’s one-sided friendly rivalry for a very different kind of attention, and accordingly treats her one-sidedly as a romantic rival (although she does eventually calm down about it). Kaori (family name not mentioned), usually addressed by the more affectionate “Kaorin”, is shown at first to ambiguously admire Sakaki, but it quickly becomes clear that she is infatuated with her. And, despite the insistence of many fanfic writers since, Sakaki never catches on to this, even with Kaorin gazing dreamily at her while dancing with her, or clinging to her arm while posing for a picture together. I'm sure, given how over-the-top she is, that Kaorin’s unrequited feelings are supposed to be funny, but I find it sweet and sad and end up rooting for her.

Sakaki and Cute Animals: Sakaki is not unfriendly, or even very socially inept, though. She gets along well with the main cast, especially Chiyo. But she is aloof, not just because of shyness but because she has a secret love of all things cute, especially cats and dogs, and gets caught up in her own thoughts about cute things. Although she loves animals, they don’t necessarily love her back. There is a series-spanning running gag with a cat in the neighborhood whom she repeatedly tries to pet, no matter how many times it bites her for doing so. In fact, in that very same episode where Kagura declares her rivalry, the strongest emotional reactions we see from Sakaki are horror directed at Kagura for scaring that cat away and, later, being moved to tears by a story she’s constructing in her head about another cat while Kagura is trying to talk to her. Sakaki’s thoughts on cute animals also yield a second running gag: "Chiyo's dad". An orange cat-like doll (evidently some kind of character or mascot in-universe?) that appears numerous times in the background early in the show appears in Sakaki’s New Year’s dream and introduces himself to her as Chiyo’s father, so Sakaki refers to the doll as “Chiyo’s dad” for the rest of the series without explanation, much to the confusion of the other characters. While he’s an inanimate object in the background before the dream, afterwards he appears as alive and magical, sometimes in Sakaki’s imagination and sometimes intruding into the real world as short transition clips between scenes.

Kimura vs. Everyone (mostly Kaorin): Last and certainly least, let’s consider Mr. Kimura, the literature teacher. Within a minute of the first time we the audience see him, Tomo asks him why he became a teacher and he blurts out that it’s because he likes high school girls. Which a group of creepy boys in the class call “brave”. Ugh. This presages chronic inappropriateness of varying levels from Kimura — from unsolicited suggestions for cheerleading uniforms to hanging out during gym class to watch the girls swim to heaping unwanted “favors” on Kaorin, to whom he is obviously attracted. Beyond the increasing variety of his inappropriateness, he doesn’t really develop as a character. He is, interestingly, shown as an otherwise decent person outside of school, but this is not portrayed as excusing him. Rather, it’s made clear that his creepiness is contextual, and his role throughout the series is consistently as a grotesque comic relief, not a sympathetic character. Kaorin even consciously tries to improve her opinion of Kimura because his wife is so nice, leading her to believe that this means Kimura himself must have good points to deserve someone like that, only to be immediately shown otherwise. We the audience are laughing at him, not with him, and at some points are genuinely upset at him on the girls’ behalf. Or at least, I hope that’s how the rest of the audience takes him.

3. Yeah, but there's some kind of progression, right, even if it's not really a story arc?

Again, it's not the kind of show that has an overarching goal or conflict. The goal, such as it is, is the characters' graduation from high school. The topic of what they'll each do after graduating comes up several times, as you might expect, but isn't that much of a plot point. Not all of the main characters even have clear plans laid out that we know of, but the plans we do know about match their established personalities well. Tomo changes her mind repeatedly between several half-baked ideas. Osaka decides at the last minute to try to become a teacher based on Chiyo straining to think of something fitting Osaka's... unique way of looking at things. Chiyo is perhaps overconfident, planning to study abroad in America despite being only 13 when she graduates. Sakaki anonymously showed interest in veterinary school early on, but didn't discuss it with her friends until much later, after she started showing her weakness for cuteness in front of them.

The main progression that happens is some evolution in the characters' relationships and attitudes. There is of course the progression from strangers to friends among the main cast, but also some character development growing out of things that started as gags. Osaka, for example, begins as the butt monkey of the class, but by the end of the first year, she is very well accepted by her classmates, and she even gets along particularly well with Tomo, who was originally shown teasing and stereotyping her the most but has now toned it down a bit. Nyamo’s miserable singlehood, previously a running joke, leads her to open up to the idea of trying matchmaking instead of dating. Sakaki becomes more willing to express her love of cute animals in front of the other girls, starting with Chiyo, and her running gag experiences with the hostile cat play out to a resolution when she adopts, of all things, an endangered wildcat which is the only cat that doesn’t bite her, then has a final encounter with the hostile cat where she tries to make amends. Chiyo's academic talents were met with light irritation and mockery at first, but by the end, her new friends are grateful for her help and rise in applause when she is recognized for her grades during the graduation ceremony. Kagura relaxes her Tomo-like tendencies more and more, and shows a degree of gratitude and sentimentality towards her new friend group that would’ve been shocking when she was first introduced. Even Tomo, usually the show's last bastion of immaturity, shows tiny bits of improvement: self-reflection and regret during a serious conversation with Yomi over what American audiences would call "finding your passion", and later leading the applause for Chiyo. To compare Azumanga to Three Leaves, Three Colors again, it’s true that this show doesn't go into as much depth in character relationships as that one despite running for more than twice the number of episodes, but I don’t think that’s a flaw in Azumanga so much as a combination of Azumanga’s larger main cast, gag comedy focus, and choice of a different “zoom level” on the main cast’s lives.

The show itself evolves a little bit, too. As it goes on, more episodes have segments that flow together and they contain more references to events in previous episodes. By the last few episodes, with graduation looming, it almost feels like it has become a conventional plot-driven show. The shift from shorter to longer segments, shorter to longer jokes, etc., is seamless — and pretty typical of comic strips where perhaps the author hasn’t “figured out” their own characters at the beginning. Surreal elements also get more common, like the “Chiyo’s dad” running gag and increasingly-elaborate looks into what characters are imagining. As I recall, these changes reflect the stylistic evolution of the original manga, but... uh... my copy of the manga is with my parents at the moment so I didn’t check myself on that.

4. How is it different in retrospect?

As I said, I first saw this in high school, so I was about the age of the main cast. Perhaps this was one of the things that made it so enjoyable. The characters seemed relatable, and I lacked the aversion to depictions of ordinary life that some people had because I didn’t have a particularly negative high school experience despite being decidedly uncool. (I was, in fact, neither interested in being cool nor in being self-consciously uncool, and was content with the set of people I got along with. I was never really an angsty teenager so much as a sad one.) My experience of the show is, if anything, even greater appreciation now. Some of that difference comes from knowledge and some from aging.

I’ve become a bit less of a poser and/or snob about some things since then. I’d seen a lot of obviously-atrocious dubs growing up, and they really put me off the idea that anyone actually cared about dubbing into English well. Since then, I’ve lightened up a bit, partly because it seems like nowadays distributors do a lot less 4Kids-style butchery of shows when they’re translated and partly because I’ve realized that there is plenty of bad Japanese voice acting, too, so sometimes the English version is just plain easier on the ears. So I’ve watched this mostly in the English dub this time around (some episodes in both to check the different versions of specific jokes) and I really enjoy it. The voices are character-appropriate and the English lines fit the lip movements better than the original Japanese voice track while only rarely resulting in rhythms and stresses that sound unnatural in English, which really impresses me.

Just from the sort of vocabulary one picks up by being weeaboo trash, I occasionally notice differences in meaning between the dialogue and subtitles when watching the sub version. And I even picked up on an interesting translation choice for a joke I hadn’t noticed before. When Yomi tells Osaka that Chiyo is a child prodigy in ep. 2, Osaka responds comparing Chiyo to a boy she knew growing up, resulting in her expressing a different misunderstanding in each version about how the boy was described by adults. In the English dub, Osaka says something about him “smarting off”, the joke being she thinks that means he’s smart. In the English subtitles, she says he was “precocious”, to which Yomi says she doesn’t think that meant he was smart by calling him that. This time around, I finally caught that the Japanese dialogue there clearly uses the phrase “otoko no ko”, insinuating that the boy is a crossdresser and/or gay. Even though I don’t understand the full Japanese joke, the implication is clearer than it was in English (because I, um, also didn’t think of the double entendre on the word “precocious” until now), as is the degree of the misunderstanding.

I appreciate now how many scenes are psychologically-savvy. Just in the episode in which the main cast of students move up to their second year of high school, we see two scenes that just click with me as “yes, people do this, and I don’t know why we don’t seem to notice it!”. I mentioned above Kagura wanting to compete more because of the sports festival while Sakaki thinks nothing of it at all, which hinges on the simple difference in the sports festival having been a memorable event in Kagura’s life but not Sakaki’s. That episode also features a scene in which Tomo eggs on her classmates to eat their lunches early because it’s a thing that (according to her) second-years do, which sets up Mr. Kimura to arrive the room for literature class, see everyone eating, and therefore assume he must be the one who has the time wrong and go back to the faculty lounge for his own lunch. This tendency to defer to others in decisions in our own lives, not through peer pressure per se but through assuming that something done commonly or confidently must be correct, is just something I don’t see portrayed or acknowledged much in Japanese or American media. And I love it. For those two scenes alone, this is one of my favorite episodes in the whole series.

As far as the characters, I still find the students charming and relatable, and I’m willing to bet that everyone knows someone like most of them in real life. They fit Japanese character archetypes to a certain extent, but are also developed enough especially in their interactions with each other that they come off as realistic to me. So they hold up well. But mainly, I find I have much more appreciation for the teacher characters as an adult. I can think of times when I’ve been the Yukari in a situation, whether that means being overbearing and inconsiderate when I think I’m being funny or whether it means or digging through a messy desk swearing that I know exactly where something is before creating a landslide. And I can think of times when I’ve been the Nyamo accidentally antagonizing the Yukari by trying to be helpful. I even appreciate Kimura, not because I think he’s relatable or a good guy, but because he’s distressingly realistic. His creepiness comes at the same time as genuine competence and, as far as we are aware, a normal and functional home life. It is widely-acknowledged yet never stopped by the administration, even though it ranges from unprofessional obnoxiousness to genuinely alarming sexual harassment. Kimura is unfortunately plausible and all-around frustratingly topical.

Revisiting these characters, I’ve also realized something about myself. When I first watched this show (and read the manga), I got a serious crush on Osaka. She would go solidly in the “endearingly pathetic” column if I were to evaluate her that way, and she also reminded me at the time of a few different confidently strange and spacy people I went to high school with. And then, getting older, I realized… She’s endlessly distractible by trivial things. She asks weird hypotheticals and follows odd tangents to other topics. She often misunderstands people. She’s hopelessly unathletic and clumsy. Oh no. I'm the Osaka of my circle of friends. So, uh, that’s a thing that happened, and I have no idea what to make of it.

Azumanga is relaxed, wholesome, and hilarious, and its characters and major events are believable even when highly stylized for comedic effect. When it's not in hyper-simple comedy mode, the art can be downright beautiful. It’s clearly an artifact of its time given, for example, the lack of cell phones (even basic ones) and persistence of film cameras, but that kind of aging happens to any show. The situations are still relatable despite not being topical, which makes me think — or at least hope — that this can last well into the future as something new audiences find worth watching.

—–

W/A/S Scores: 8 / 3? / 3

Weeb: There are lots of little things that will seem odd if you go in believing that Japanese school schedules and activities are the same as American ones, but anime is so saturated with high school comedies nowadays that it is much less weeb now than it was then to expect that background knowledge. Many non-school things like flower-gazing or the fact that seasonal fairs in Japan have different activities and expected clothing than in American ones will seem distinctly foreign but understandable to a naive audience, while a few episodes might need some looking up to “get” because they expect audience familiarity with things still obscure to most Western audiences, like lucky dreams in the New Year’s episode or the yōkai in the second culture festival episode. Mostly, familiarity with the conventions of other anime or of Japanese culture will enhance enjoyment but aren’t strictly required to enjoy it. The art style sometimes shifts for specific gags to a particular style of minimal-movement chibi characters on very simple backgrounds which is more at home in the 4-panel comic world in which Azumanga originated (and in pre-moe-era comedy anime, or at least the few I've seen) than in other manga formats or newer anime, creating an additional small hurdle even for those with different Japanese media exposure.

The show runs into more of a barrier with hard-to-translate jokes than anything else, leaving the viewer the choice between replacement jokes with similar general ideas in the dub vs. the occasional feeling that there should be a joke but you’re not quite getting it in the sub. One particular joke that they made no attempt to adapt ended up being utter nonsense in both the sub and dub unless you get that "Mr. Yukichi" refers to 19th Century Westernization advocate Fukuzawa Yukichi, who is on the ¥10,000 bill, and I gave the show an entire extra point on the Weeb scale just because I had to look that up.

Ass: Unless you’re Mr. Kimura, probably no “ass” score at all as far as sexualizing the characters, but there is the occasional sexual joke or implication. Even the obligatory beach episodes aren’t fanservicey in the way or to the degree that a contemporary moe high school show often is. Probably the single most sexual-looking thing is characters holding their skirts down in the intro, which is tame by comparison to anything released in the last decade. Kimura, however, does make the show unsuitable for audiences… well… younger than the show’s main cast, probably.

Shit (writing): I have very little problem with the bulk of the content. I think the show works and the characters are relatable and delightful. But I do have some gripes about translation, mostly in the dub. Although I still maintain the dub is unusually good in acting and synchronization, they do take more liberties than I’d like with changing jokes, and the dub and sub both lose some subtlety in how characters address each other, as mentioned before.

On top of that, there are some odd localization choices in the dub. For example, the way Yukari, their English teacher in the original Japanese, is not portrayed as teaching a foreign language at all in the dub, while still making a big deal of her foreign language skills outside of class, or how characters repeatedly say “taiyaki pastry” in the dub instead of just establishing once for the English-speaking audience that taiyaki is the name of a specific style of pastry and using the name “taiyaki” from then on. Also, I know this is very small and specific, but I noticed a place in ep. 17 where they inserted a strained pun in the dub where there was intentional awkward silence in the sub, so that’s just… weird.

Shit (other): The animation is often sparse, and although this is usually fine, it does sometimes come off as cheap. The biggest problem visually is that the DVDs I’m watching have noticeable and pretty frequent combing, which I was able to reduce but not eliminate by fiddling with video player settings. On the other hand, kudos to the director for hitting a sweet spot on shots that are lingered on or actions that are repeated for “too long” (e.g., Nyamo demonstrating chopstick use, or any of the scenes of Chiyo and Osaka failing at sports, or Osaka trying to wake up Yukari) because they end up hilarious when they could have been tedious.

Oh, and I love the soundtrack. Some people may also find the frequent use of recorders annoying, but those people are (1) wrong and (2) not writing this blog. The soundtrack is appropriately lighthearted and/or relaxing. The opening theme “Soramimi Cake” is catchy and accompanied by an opening credits sequence that decently shows who the main characters are. But “Raspberry Heaven”, the ending theme… ah… the sequence accompanying it is a beautiful dream and the music is movingly bittersweet for reasons I lack the music theory background to articulate. Like, this is a really weird example, but it conveys my feelings: have you seen Soylent Green? You know the scene where Sol is listening to a medley of classical music while he’s being euthanized? If the last thing I ever heard were “Raspberry Heaven”, I would die totally content.

Content Warning: Kimura.

—–

Stray observations:

- I think Kaorin may have been the first unambiguously gay character I saw in any anime. Sailor Moon or Cardcaptor Sakura would’ve beaten Azumanga to the punch with representation, but I grew up on the butchered-for-pearl-clutching-audiences versions of those shows.

- Kimura has, incidentally, produced one piece of lasting weeb culture. While trying to save his illustration for a proposed magical girl cheerleading outfit, he drops a picture of a woman. Tomo picks it up and wonders out loud who it is. Kimura responds, in heavily-accented English, “my waifu”. So… yup. We have him to thank for the whole waifu/hasubando phenomenon. Or, well, the terminology, since attraction to fictional characters is probably a phenomenon as old as fiction itself.

- More of a fun fact than a stray observation, Kuricorder Orchestra, who collaborated with Oranges & Lemons on the Azumanga soundtrack, recorded two Yotsuba-inspired concept albums, which are also adorable. They’re hard to come by in official copies, but I can’t help but notice that nobody seems to be stopping anyone from uploading them to YouTube...

- The background music in the cheerleading scene in ep. 6 is the “Grandpa Polka”, a.k.a. “The Clarinet Polka”, which fans of various other weird geeky media may recognize as the melody for the Candy Mountain song in “Charlie the Unicorn” and/or as the song between “Love Shack” and “Pump Up the Jam” in Weird Al’s medley “Polka Your Eyes Out”.

- My junior high, oddly, did have sports festivals somewhat like those depicted in anime, but I don’t hear much about other American schools doing similar things.

#weeaboo trash #retrospective review #anime review #azumanga daioh #this post is way too long

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goforwardgreenwriter-blog · 7 years ago

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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 28 - 29

I honestly don’t know how it can get worse from here.

So they start the real official meeting that Rowan called in Rolfe’s office, and Aelin wastes no time making me want to rip my eyes out.

[Rowan’s] face—oh, gods, [Aelin]’d missed that harsh, unyielding face

Back to Ratlin (that’s what I’m calling it from now on) splooging I see. Great. Can’t wait for multiple paragraphs of Aelin busting a nut at the thought of Rowan’s peen while SJM insists these books have a plot.

Aelin decided she didn’t particularly give a shit who was watching and rose up on her toes to brush her mouth against [Rowan’s].

UHHH WHAT THE FUCK AELIN. THIS IS AN IMPORTANT MEETINGS THAT’LL DETERMINE IF ROLFE JOINS YOUR WAR EFFORT OR NOT YOU CAN’T JUST - oh forget it, I’ll just sound like a broken record.

[Aelin] just prayed she’d be able to warn Aedion before he ran into his father - who was now sitting two seats down from her, gawking at her as if she had ten heads. Gods, even the expression was like Aedion’s. How hadn’t she noticed that this spring in Wendlyn?

My monkey brain is having feels because I’m sucker for the “child is spitting image of their parent” trope..... bad monkey brain.

“And who would verify the word of a nineteen-year-old princess?” [Aelin] jerked her chin at the wax-sealed tube. “Murtaugh Allsbrook would. He wrote you a nice, long letter about it.” Rolfe picked up the tube, studied it, and chucked it in a neat arc—right into his rubbish bin. The thud echoed through the office.

LMAOOOOOO YOU GO ROLFE!!! SLAY THAT BITCH!!!! I mean considering all the shit Aelin put him through I don’t blame him not wanting to align with her.

Rolfe let out a low laugh. “The talk of young idealists and dreamers.” “The world,” Aelin said, “will be saved and remade by the dreamers, Rolfe.”

See, this is the kind of shit I would be getting excited about if this was a good series. Sounds like something straight of Les Mis. SJM can come up with some good quotes, but if I don’t care about the horrible characters and there’s no plot, why should I give a shit?

Aelin purred, “Do you want gold, Rolfe? Do you want a title? Do you want glory or women or land? Or is it just the bloodlust that drives you?”

Oh my god, SJM is a furry!

Looks like you bid on the wrong horse [Rowan],” Rolfe crooned. He flicked his eyes to Dorian. “What news did you receive?” But that wrong horse [Rowan] cut in smoothly, “There was none. But you’ll be glad to know your spies at the Ocean Rose are certainly doing their job. And that His Majesty is quite an accomplished actor.”

Jesus Christ this writing

Dorian said coldly, “For a petty grudge, you’d refuse to consider allying with us?” Aelin snorted. “I’d hardly call wrecking his shit-poor city and ships a ‘petty grudge.’”

T-this... this can’t be. I am reading Empire of Storms by SJM, right? Aelin? Having self awareness? In my SJM book? Well, it’s more likely... to never appear again.

Rolfe tells Aelin to go fuck herself and that scene ends, permanently establishing Rolfe as one of the few Well Written Characters. I want him, Darrow, Manon, and Gav to leave this shitty series and go forth to a better one.

Aelin hit the narrow hallway, a wall of muscle at her back and by her side, and faced another dilemma: Aedion.

I smell Aedion daddy issues angst over the horizon. Also, are the ‘walls of muscle’ supposed to be Rowan and... the other Fae??? God SJM stop jerking off to your own characters for 5 minutes please.

Aelin made it all of three steps down the hall when Gavriel said behind her, “Where is he?” Slowly, she looked back. The warrior’s tan face was tight, his eyes full of sorrow and steel.

Damn, I just feel really bad for Gav. Keep in mind I don’t remember why he left Aedion (if it was revealed previously) but I’m hoping SJM actually uses him and makes him a good father, this series is severely lacking in good parental figures.

But Aelin sucked on a tooth

“You don’t get to decide when and where and how you meet him,” Aelin said. “He’s my gods-damned son. I think I do.”

Nooo SJM I’m begging you I like Gav please don’t make him a toxic fuckboi pleeeeeease

Aelin just tells Gav not to order her around and that scene ends...? Okay. I hope SJM is implying Gav calmed down and respected his son’s boundaries. I just want one character to stay good and pure and to be a good father is that too much to ask.

Later Aelin goes to have a chat with Dorian.

“It seems you and I are currently without crowns, thanks to a few bullshit pieces of paper.” Dorian didn’t return her smile. The stairs groaned beneath them as they headed for the second floor. They were almost to the room Dorian had indicated when he said, “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

I mean, Dorian, you seem like a good king who would fight to defend his people. You deserve to be king. But Aelin? Yeah if she was queen her kingdom would be already burnt to the ground, so you’re half right.

They have another meeting where Rowan/Dorian share more information about the witches.

“Manon Blackbeak,” Aedion mused, “would be a valuable ally, if we can get her to turn.”

NO NONO NO NO KEEP MANON’S BEAUTIFUL SELF AWAY FROM AELIN’S CRUSTY ASS I’M BEGGING

It was never-ending, [Aelin] supposed while they dined that night on peppered crab and spiced rice.

Reading this as a Cape Bretoner was a mistake. Now I’m hungry for some good seafood..... mmmm, battered fish and chips.....

And [Aelin] was to be given nothing more than obscure commands by long-dead royals to find a way to stop it, nothing more than gods-damned months to rally a force against him.

Gods-damned is a stupid word and SJM should feel bad for abusing it. Aelin decides to make sure Rolfe’s hand maps work and the chapter ends. Next!

Too many animals loitering about the streets at this hour would attract the wrong sort of attention. But Aedion still wished that the shifter was wearing fur or feathers compared to … this.

Greaaat are we gonna get Aedion slut shaming Lysandra? Just what I wanted....

He glanced at the delicate gold chain dangling around Lysandra’s pale throat, tracing its length down the front of her bodice, to where the Amulet of Orynth was now hidden beneath. “Admiring the view?” Aedion snapped his eyes up from the generous swells of her breasts. “Sorry.”

The only reason Lysandra is wearing the Amulet is so Aedion can drool over her boobies. I’m right and you all know it.

“Rowan claimed Rolfe would find the amulet interesting enough to go after it.” “Rowan and Aelin have a tendency to say one thing and mean something else entirely.” Aedion heaved a breath through his nose.

Aedion actually criticizing Aelin?? What the fuck is going on??

Lysandra gets pissy when Aedion points out she’s tired. Not even to condescend towards her, he’s actually concerned, so calm down, Lysandra. We get an ““““explanation”“““ for Lysandra’s shifting powers.

Each shift took something out of Lysandra. The bigger the change, the bigger the animal, the steeper the cost. Aedion had witnessed her morph from butterfly to bumblebee to hummingbird to bat within the span of a few minutes. But going from human to ghost leopard to bear or elk or horse, she’d once demonstrated, took longer between shifts, the magic having to draw up the strength to become that size, to fill the body with all its inherent power.

Better than nothing, but... how does shifting into bigger animals exhaust her but shifting into smaller animals doesn't? Each time the mass of her body is changing, so shouldn’t shifting in general exhaust her? Btw, read Animorphs, it’s a great gritty series that deals with shifting powers way better.

Aedion, however, stiffened slightly as those steps grew closer, and he found himself staring at the son of his great enemy. King, now.

This is confusing as fuck. Stop referring to Dorian as king and use his name so we can understand who Aedion is staring at, thank you.

[Aedion] reined in his scowl as he said to the king, “So, you and Whitethorn didn’t kill each other.” Dorian’s brows scrunched. “He saved my life, nearly got himself burned out to do it. Why should I be anything but grateful?”

Great, now we have to add Rowan splooging that isn’t from Aelin to the list.

He did not resent what she had been, what she portrayed now, only the monsters who had seen the beauty the child would grow into and taken her into that brothel. Aelin had told him what Arobynn had done to the man she’d loved. It was a miracle the shifter could smile at all.

What the fuuuuck why is Aedion portrayed as ~noble and amazing~ for not judging Lysandra based on her past? It’s common human decency to not judge people for things out of their control!! Does SJM not understand how humans operate?

Aedion tells Dorian to fuck off and he leaves, and Lysandra gets understandably irritated by Aedion being a dick.

“He stabbed Aelin. If you knew him as I have, you wouldn’t be so willing to fawn over—”

1. Dorian was, to my memory, being controlled by a demon thing when he stabbed Aelin. He was not in his right mind, and did not have control over himself. Stop holding that over his head, you prick.

2. Aedion you were an asshole too! You tripped Dorian and sent him falling into a thorn bush when you two were walking in HOF. You fucking judgemental asshole, I cannot believe I ever liked you.

Aedion’s like “b-but he was an arrogant kid” and Lysandra, being voice of reason, is like “Um, we all were as kids Aedion, including Aelin” and we litERALLY GET THIS

“I don’t care if he was as arrogant and vain as Aelin, I don’t care if he was enslaved to a demon that took his mind. I look at him and see my family butchered, see those tracks to the river, and hear Quinn tell me that Aelin was drowned and dead.” His breathing was uneven, and his throat burned, but he ignored it.

JESUS TAP DANCING CHRIST. Okay, I’m not saying Aedion isn’t wrong to be weary of Dorian after what happened to his family at the hands of Dorian’s father but this is literally Aedion going “It’s only okay to be a dick if it’s Aelin! Everyone else is a bad ruler and should bow down to her uwu”

FUCKING HELL. I’m willing to bet if it had been Aelin mind controlled, Aedion would be jumping through hoops to justify her actions and convince everyone she couldn’t help herself. Assdion has no character outside of being a dick and kissing up Aelin’s ass. I fucking hat this character almost as much as I hate Aelin.

Aedion braced his palm against the wall again and leaned in to glower in [Lysandra’s] face. She did not yield an inch. “There is an order and rank in our court, lady, and last I checked, you were not number three. You don’t give me commands.”

(...) And the last I checked…” She poked his chest, right between his pectorals, and he could have sworn the tip of a claw pierced the skin beneath his clothes. “You weren’t pathetic enough to enforce rank to hide from being in the wrong.“

*Mortal Kombat voice* FINISH HIM

His blood sparked and thrummed. Aedion found himself taking in the sensuous curves of her mouth, now pressed thin with anger.

W.....

YOU TWO ARE ARGUING AND ASSDION SUDDENLY HAS A BONER OVER HER MOUTH. HOW THE FUCK IS THIS HEALTHY IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM. This is nearly as bad as the “kissing a spouse during an argument instead of solving the problem” trope.

By the way, Aedion is demoted to Assdion. Aelin to Alien, and Rowan to Rowboat. I hate these characters so much.

Lysandra backed away a step, too casual to be anything but a calculated move. But Aedion tried—for her sake, he tried to stop thinking about her mouth—

WHAT THE FUCK DOES SJM THINK ALL MEN ARE HORNDOGS WHO WANNA FUCK 24/7?? This is an incredibly upsetting and inaccurate stereotype! It’s not goddamn hard to not think with your dick for five seconds jfc

Too soon—she wouldn’t want a man’s touch for a long time. Maybe forever. And he’d be damned if he pushed her into it before she wanted to.

Are you sure about that? Because a minute ago you were nearly cumming at the thought of her mouth.

Subject changes and Assdion asks if his father wanted to see him.

“[Gav] nearly bit Aelin’s head off when she refused to tell him where and who you are.” Ice filled [Aedion’s] veins. If his father had been rude to her—“But I got the sense,” Lysandra quickly clarified as he tensed, “that he is the sort of male who would respect your wishes if you chose not to see him.

*sniffles* Gav deserves to be a good father.

“What would you do?” “I can’t answer that question. My own father…” She shook her head. He knew about that—the shifter-father who had either abandoned her mother or not even known she was pregnant. And then the mother who had thrown Lysandra into the street when she discovered her heritage. “Aedion, what do you want to do? Not for us, not for Terrasen, but for you.”

I would be having feels and starting to ship them had we not had a whole scene dedicated to Assdion being a dick and nearly kissing Lysandra without her consent sooooo

[Aedion] bowed his head a bit, glancing sidelong at the quiet street again. “My whole life has been … not about what I want. I don’t know how to choose those things.”

A little late there to make me feel sympathetic towards Assdion, SJM. You CANNOT have Assdion act as an Aelin worshiping prick and then turn around and expect me to feel bad for him.

Assdion asks Lysandra to come with him to meet his father the next day and then splooges about how much he apparently cares about Lysandra. I don’t care.

From the shadows of his hood, he monitored the alley ahead, the shadows and shafts of moonlight, bracing himself. They’d picked the dead-end alley for a reason. The girl realized her mistake a step too late. “Oh.”

The girl is Rolfe’s barmaid. She immediately leaves and they suspect she’s Rolfe’s spy. Finally, I am free from this god awful chapter.

#the worm talks #the worm reads: eos #anti sjm #anti tog #anti eos

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gguktastic · 8 years ago

Text

Some Things Shouldn't Be Kept Secret.

A/N - I am exhausted. This has taken three days. My finals are coming up in a month. I have had to complete the question and answers to two chapters in our 2nd Language Studies, which is Hindi. I had to write two informal letters and a 7-page-long essay on what I did when I visited my native village, how I spent NYE, and the essay was to be written about a house on fire. Then Maths. You'd better be happy with this one, guys. This is VERY LONG, so sorry if you don't like such long imagines. Also what even is the title I am horrible at that stuff. Also, I had the inspiration for the 'diary' part of the fic (WOOP WOOP SPOILER) from somewhere else, whether it was a published book or an imagine, it just crossed my mind and I wrote it down. GENRE - Fluff. WARNINGS - None. // It had been a particularly great day for me yesterday. I had begun the day with a much-needed mug of coffee, and finally having a bagel after several weeks, managing not to burn it, for once. After an insanely amazing and relaxing shower, I had flopped onto my bed, logged onto tumblr, and stayed there for the next 3 hours in the fluffiest onesie I owned. #BestMorningEver. Then, when I finally decided to head out of the house to go pick up some groceries, I ran into an old friend. Not any old friend, mind you, my best friend from when I lived in Lancashire. Also, it doesn't hurt to mention, that the 'old friend' I bumped into was world-famous-YouTuber, Phil Lester I had been looking for microwaveable popcorn with the extra butter at Tesco, and then, when I finally found it, it was too high for me to reach. Tesco with it's bloody high shelves. I was looking around for help, when a shopping trolley rammed me from behind. I almost fell onto the dirty linoleum floor of the super market when I tried to steady myself on my cart, which was right in front of me. Of course, me being an incredible clumsy person, tripped thrice over my own legs while trying to do so, and pushed my cart away from me, which collided into a wall, the groceries spilling out. I had, however, steadied myself - successfully and without dropping anything - on a rack beside me, thankfully on my feet instead of being flat on my stomach. (A/N - That has actually happened to me, guys. It has been inspired by real, true life events). Now you're wondering- [Y/N], so you had the best morning ever with coffee, un-burnt bagels, and then three hours of scrolling through tumblr in your fluffiest onesie, but when you said 'particularly great day' - well, doesn't that mean the whole day went by smoothly and don't you think almost falling over onto your stomach in Tesco and ramming your shopping cart against a wall in the space of 7 seconds puts a sour spot on your day? Well, it was all okay because the person that rammed into me from behind was my long-lost best friend, who recognised me as soon as I turned around to look at him and graciously accept any apology he offered, and smothered me in the warmest hug ever. I tensed up and pulled myself away from them. It took me a few seconds of scrutinising their hopeful face to realise who the man was. When I did realise, my mouth dropped open. "Oh my god, are you Phil? Phil Lester?" I said, overwhelmed, as he just nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, I am! And would you be [Y/N] from Rawtenstall, Lancashire?" He asked, hope shining in his eyes. I too nodded enthusiastically and, after a second of grinning at each other, he grasped my hands and looked me in the eyes. "Don't worry, [Y/N], I don't hold you responsible for the dead rabbit on my parents' bed incident." I burst out laughing as I recalled Phil's sad face as his mum yelled at him for putting a dead rabbit on her bed, something which had been my idea. He pulled me into a hug again and, this time, I hugged back. "It's been so long, [Y/N]," Phil said as we hugged. "No kidding, Mister Famous," I joked. He pulled away and began to say something when he looked over my shoulder to see my groceries fallen out of my trolley. He frowned and ran to it, and, in a minute, got my trolley back to me, the cracked eggs now paid for and replaced. I thanked him. "No problem, [Y/N]! It's so nice meeting you after all of these years! How about I give you my phone number and address so we can meet up at my place sometime?" He suggested. "Why not, Philly! Here you go," I said, unlocking my phone and giving it to him, allowing him to put in save his contact as, of course, Phil Striker 🦁🐗. He put in his address in notes, and handed my phone back to me. "Well, I think I should leave now-" I cut Phil off. "But could you just get me the extra butter popcorn from up there before you leave, Phil?" I asked, and he happily obliged, using his height to my advantage. I grabbed my popcorn from him as I gave him a small wave, him walking away, waving back at me. Coming back home, I lounged around, eating some Nutella from straight out of the jar, when I decided to text Phil about our plans. [Y/N]- Hi, Phil! It's [Y/N] here. So, about those palms for meeting up- don't wanna seem too eager, but are you free tomorrow? I could come over to your place if you like! Within minutes, Phil replied, Phil Striker 🦁🐗 - Hey [Y/N]! Btw what palms are you talking about? I blushed and face palmed when I saw the typo. (A/N - That was an actual typo I made while writing this. I decided to leave it in). [Y/N] - Oh Lord Jesus I hate myself. I meant plans, not palms. 😓 Phil Striker 🦁🐗 - hey that's k I was just joking around with ya! Oh and I'm completely free tomorrow, except that I need to film a video, so would you do it with me? I want to do the 'long-lost BFF challenge tag' with you. Let's see how much you and I remember 😜 and then we can go out for dinner, though do you mind if Dan (room mate fellow YouTuber and current BFFL - soz) tags along? I laughed at his message. He wanted to do a video with me? I decided to give the man-child what he wanted. [Y/N] - Whew thanks! Oh and sure no prob, I'll be glad to (tho you'll have to help me with my camera shyness k) and I am offended Phil Lester you replaced me how could you?! Jk don't worry ofc he can tag along no prob. Phil replied 10 minutes later. Phil Striker 🦁🐗 - Sorry [Y/N], Dan yelled at me for eating his cereal without his permission ): and thank you! Ps Whew for a second I was worried you were actually offended. I grinned at my screen. [Y/N] - You need to learn how to be a good room mate Phil Michael Lester you cereal-thief. And no prob, I'm sure Dan will be lovely as well (: haha don't worry I won't ever be offended by that we had lost contact for so many years after all! See you then, gtg, the monster in my stomach wants some food. Your place tomorrow, then? I'll be there by 5:00? If you're not okay with that time or want to shift to another day that's fine (: I put my phone aside to get a cookie, but was interrupted by the harsh 'ping!' Of my phone. I sat back down on the couch. Phil Striker 🦁🐗 - No no no that time and place are k! And I know I have a problem I need to be a better room mate and deserve to live in shame (A/N - Phil missed the 'to leave' after the 'to live' high five if you got my reference before reading this A/N. Back to the story now). I smiled. [Y/N] - Sure, Phil, see you tommorow! Also, you were very correct about having to live in great shame. Jk. You're AMAZING, PHIL (Bd-Dm-tss). Bye - for now! My phone 'ping!'- ed with one last text from Phil. Phil Striker 🦁🐗 - Hmm I read that pun out to Dan and he's still cringing you already have a bad impression well bye to you too and see you tomorrow, I have to go to Tesco (again) to get some more cereal for Dan because I forgot to earlier today ): the things this boy makes me do. I laughed and just responded with a 'Haha, bye!', as I tossed my phone onto my couch, it landing safely, but not before doing three triple loops in the air and almost giving me a heart attack. I softly laughed at yesterday's memories, as I waited for the lift to reach the 11th floor of the building. 9... 10... I nervously bounced on the balls of my feet, careful not to be too excited, scared that the lift would shudder and fall down. 11. I heaved a sigh of relief - the lift was incredibly slow, and I was not doing too well in such a cramped space. It felt like the nervous energy radiating from me bounced off of the four walls, ricocheting back into me. Did that make sense? I don't even know. The lift doors opened, and I was out the second they did - closed, cramped, spaces are not my friends. At least I had stopped having panic attacks now. Phil, however, had helped me out every time I had a panic attack on a lift, when we were still in contact. I had to use a lift almost everyday while I was an intern at the Rawtenstall Times after a course in Journalism at university. I remember having his contact open on my phone, and calling him as soon as I got into whichever lift was empty and functional. He would stay on the line with me for whatever length of time I needed him to be. Thankfully for me - and our phone bills - never in my life have I had to suffer through several minutes and even hours of pure terror in case of the lift braking down. After seven years, I finally had the option to call him if I had a panic attack, and I was finally getting to sit down and talk to him about the most random of things like we used to. I knocked on the white door. Just two layers of paint and a moderately thick wall separating me from my once-best-friend. I anxiously drummed my fingers on my thigh, my eyes flitting from one spot on the monotone grey carpet to another. Finally, after a painstakingly long minute, I was blessed with the visual and sound of the doorknob turning. As the door opened, I grinned wide and prepared to greet my friend who opened the door - except that instead of the raven black hair and blue-green-yellow eyes, what I saw were twinkling brown eyes, ones you could easily get lost into, and a slightly-wavy chocolate brown fringe. "Not to sound rude, but-may I know who you are?" The man asked. My grin, which had faltered just for a second, returned as a much smaller version of itself. "Hi, I'm [Y/N]. I'm here to meet Phil," I said, extending my hand to the incredibly tall man, not unlike Phil. He opened the door wider, and took my hand, shaking it. "Oh, nice meeting you, [Y/N]. Phil told me you'd be coming by today. My name is Dan, by the way, I'm Phil's room mate," he said, and I smiled at him. I opened my mouth to say that I had heard about him, when realisation dawned in his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, come on in!" He said, and I thanked him before entering. Dan led me to the lounge, where we were making small talk, when Phil walked in, wearing black skinny jeans and a red-and-black button up. His eyes brightened up. "Oh, hello, [Y/N]! Dan, this is the friend I was telling you about. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, [Y/N], I was actually in the shower," he said, sounding truly apologetic. I laughed. "Don't worry, Phil, I don't mind. Also, I got that you were in the shower as soon as I walked in, hearing your soulful and romantic rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On'," I said, making Dan guffaw. Phil's cheeks were painted with an angry red blush as he mumbled something about Dan and I not recognising his artistic abilities. "Well, [Y/N], even after you have mercilessly shamed me for honing my artistic abilities, I'm still willing to do that video with you, for I am the kind prince of England," he said, taking a 'regal' pose. I laughed again, getting up and off the couch, as Dan just rolled his eyes and leant back in what he had told me was his 'Sofa Crease'. "Have fun, you guys," Dan said, as we disappeared into Phil's room. // "I completely and utterly destroyed you at the challenge tag, [Y/N]," said Phil proudly as we got out of the room, after filming the video for his channel. I shrugged. "Well, at least I remembered all of the embarrassing stories, so that's fine," I said. "But you could've stalked me on social media and found out all of those facts about me, and yet, I WON," Phil said, smug smirk placed upon his face. Dan interrupted our small little argument. "That aside- Phil, you never told me how you 'bumped into' [Y/N] yesterday," he said, eyebrows raised as his eyes remained focused on the screen of his laptop. "I met her at Tesco, I actually accidentally rammed into her with my shopping cart from behind-" Dan snorted. "Wow, Phil, you meet a friend after seven years and how? Because you rammed your shopping cart into them. Good going, mate," He said, not once looking up at us as he slowly munched on Doritos from a bag and scrolled through, from what I could see, tumblr. I sat down beside him before putting my hand into the bag and starting to eat the Doritos. Either Dan didn't notice, or he just didn't mind. "You know how clumsy I can be! Anyways, when I did, [Y/N] almost fell down but, using my super strength, I caught the damsel in distress in my muscular arms. She -" I cut Phil off. "-is so horrified by the lies you are telling your best friend that she has decided to ask you to tell the truth," I said, glaring at Phil. He sighed. "Okay, I'll tell you the truth- or is it?" He said, wiggling his eyebrows. Dan and I looked at him, annoyed. "Okay, fine. So what happened was that [Y/N] tried to steady herself by grasping onto the cart, but tripped thrice over her own feet and pushed the cart away, which then rammed into the wall and most of her groceries spilt out while [Y/N] managed to actually and successfully steady herself using the ledge of one of the shelves nearby." Dan looked throughly amused. "And then, when I turned around to look at the person who had rammed into me and then graciously accept any apology they offered, Phil hugged me," I said, and Dan's head snapped up, eyes wide. "You did WHAT?!" He said, looking at Phil, who looked just as confused as I was. "Dan, I just hugged my friend-" Dan cut him off. "You idiot! What if it had been some other random person who you didn't know instead of [Y/N]? You could've been reported to the authorities!" He said, almost yelling at Phil. I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Phil, what if I was a middle aged mum whose husband was just down the aisle, gazing lovingly at his beautiful wife?" I said. "Okay, you could've been anyone, but I recognised you from the tattoo on your wrist-It's a heart-rate thingy with the twenty one pilots logo at the end and, below it, in neat cursive, 'Stay Alive' is written. Which middle aged mum has a tattoo like that?" He said. "Okay, so you have a valid point," I said. "Now, who wants some brownies?" // I groaned as I turned around in bed, trying to shut the alarm off. It was a Sunday,and I didn't have to go to work. Yesterday had been the 10th time in a row that I had dropped by Dan and Phil's place. Dan, Phil, and I had plans to hang out this whole week as well, and I was supposed to be over at the 'Phlat' (or the 'Phalace Of Dreams', as Dan sometimes referred to it as) in an hour to help Dan film a video. I, of course, would be behind the camera, not in view of it. I lazily got up from bed, walking into the bathroom. I let the water heat as I got out of my clothes, stepping into the now pleasantly hot water. I just stood in the cubicle, letting the water run down my body, relaxing my muscles and taking away all of the exhaustion from the day before with it as it fell down the drain. 15 minutes later, I was done, as I stepped out of the shower wrapped in a fluffy towel. Seeing as I was already comfortable being in my pyjamas around Dan and Phil, I decided to wear an old MCR merch tee with my trademark light-wash skinny jeans and worn-out sneakers. Today, I felt extravagant, so I took a cab from my place to the Phlat, seeing as it was a 15 minute walk and I was not in the mood. As I sat in the cab, I put my hand in my fringed satchel to get some money out, only to be met with the sinking feeling of not having my trusty notebook there. It was a small A5 sized leather bound notepad, into which I jotted down my reminders, lists and also about the highlights of my day. It was the first thing I'd rescue if my house was on fire, that's how important it was. And it definitely wasn't at my place. It must be at Dan and Phil's place. I let out a sigh of relief at the fact that if it wasn't at my place or in my bag, it would be at Dan and Phil's, and they knew better than to peek in it. That's because Phil had once tried and then got a pillow thrown at him at full force. They wouldn't dare. They better wouldn't. // As soon as I let myself into the house after Dan opened the door for me, I had known something was wrong. Without so much as a 'hello' to me, he told me to follow him. Dan led us over to the lounge, and asked me to take a seat as he closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath as he took the seat beside me, looking down at his feet. "So, I found something..." He said, all flustered. Forget the diary, Dan's behaviour was #1 on 'The List Of Things [Y/N] Is Currently Concerned About.' "Continue," I said. "And, um- there were some things written about me which flattered me," he mumbled, me, however, being able to catch every word he said. "And...?" He pulled his hands out from behind his back, and my whole world came crashing down. My diary. "May I ask, Miss [Y/L/N], what this object is?" He asked, any trace of being flustered gone. His nervous twitching of the left hand was now replaced by a confident and smug smile on his face that he tried, and failed, to conceal. It was my turn to blush. "I- uh- I work at a- a newspaper office," I said. "And t- that's just the diary I write in. You know ideas f- for my column." I hadn't been lying about me working at a newspaper office. I was interning at the Daily Mail, where I would soon get a job under the Teen Magazine section, where I would write articles for teens. (A/N- I know nothing about the Daily Mail. Just making things up over here). However, I did lie about writing down ideas for my column in that diary. In that moment, if the world hasn't crashed badly enough around me before, the pieces burst into flames as Dan opened to a page and started to read. "18th of February, 2017, I just came back from the Phlat and had a genuinely good time with Dan. When I looked him up, I mean- he was actually so good looking- but now that I know what he is really like, I think I might really like him. 21st of February, 2017, woah, just had the best day ever with Dan! Phil was out today, so Dan called me over to help film a video of his. Later, we had Chinese take out for dinner, and I felt my gut do a 180 whenever we made physical contact. I'm actually falling for him hard, aren't I?" Dan snapped the book shut and looked up at my face, which was painted with a violent crimson. "You just go on and on about how you love my smile, my eyes, me, for a whole week, [Y/N]. And then, I stumbled across this paragraph," he said, and I knew which paragraph he was talking about. "28th of February, 2017, I'm still at their place, but they're currently not in the room, so I thought, why not? Just wanted to write about how I utterly wanted to kiss Dan Howell then and there after he opened he door, shirtless, hair not straightened. Well, they're back now, so goodbye." Dan smiled bashfully at me. Some of the blush had started to creep back into his cheeks, and I was currently biting my bottom lip, looking down at my tattoo, very embarrassed. Again, I felt my guts do a one-eighty as Dan lifted my chin up with his thumb, making me look at him. I fiddled with the aquamarine ends of my black hair, as I looked up at Dan with my green eyes. He leaned down, our foreheads touching, and smiled at me. Those dimples are going to be the death of me. "[Y/N], like how you wanted to kiss me yesterday when I opened the door for you, I have wanted to do that ever since Phil told me about the bad pun you had texted him, before I had even seen you. I've been madly and truly in love with you, [Y/N]. It seems impossible that these feelings could develop in just 10 days, but they did, didn't they?" Saying so, he put his lips upon mine. The first thing that crossed my mind was that this was the first kiss that had held any meaning to me. Sure, I had had my first kiss at a party while we played Spin The Bottle, but they didn't open up the gates to zoo in '[Y/N]-tummy-land'. I remembered that my breath could be stale by now, considering the fact that I had run out of tic-tacs to eat in the lift, but reminded myself that I had brushed not an hour ago. I felt my eyes flutter shut as Dan pulled me closer to him, hoisting me onto his lap. I tangled a hand in his curly hobbit-hair, the other on his cheek. He ran a hand through my freshly-washed, soft, and untangled hair, easing it out of his ponytail. His other hand encircled my waist, pulling me closer every time I pulled my body away from his. At this point, a kiss would've probably gotten much heated, but our's still remained sweet and innocent, yet heavily passionate. We slowly pulled away from each other, my eyes still closed as I touched my forehead to his. He bumped our noses together, making me giggle. Just then, the door opened and Phil entered. I turned to the door, eyes wide in horror, while Dan just gave Phil a crooked smile. Phil, in reply, almost dropped his laptop, and rushed out of the room, but not before Dan yelled out - "I JUST KISSED HER!" I, of course, blushed. The 'being flustered' soon changed to confusion. "Dan," I asked, "Why was he so terrified? I mean, sure, he acts like he's an innocent ray of sunshine, but we weren't even kissing that time! Why did he run away like that?" Dan turned away from the door, and looked at me. He grinned at me before replying: "Didn't you see? The camera was pointed towards us - he was doing a live stream."

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