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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

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Fools in Love

Summary: He can explain how String Theory works. He can figure out Riemann Hypothesis. He can recite all the numbers of pi until he’s blue in the face. Yet somehow, Spencer Reid can’t figure out what to do for his first first anniversary.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Spencer Reid is a self-deprecating mf, Jane Austen quotes? But there’s a happy ending

Word Count: 3128

Fools in Love

He scratches the back of neck, a nervous habit that he’s sure makes him look weak. He wants to find the perfect recipe to make a wonderful meal for Y/N. It’s his first first anniversary so Spencer’s completely lost as to what to do. Y/N deserves the most romantic dinner, especially considering how much chaos he causes. It must be a lot to put up with him, Spencer thinks. He’s even more useless when it comes to love than when it comes to cooking. While he might not be a fan of technology, given he has the Thai place down the street from his apartment on speed dial. She doesn’t deserve some take out Thai with paper plates. But he’s a scientist, a well-known and well-educated scientist who is completely failing at planning his first anniversary.

It was useless. Completely and utterly useless, Spencer thought to himself as he ran his fingers across the various titles of cookbooks. Some featured complex dishes from Korea and others were 30 minute meals of the vaguely Midwest variety. Spencer never in his entire 33 years of living felt so out of place in a library. He’s so at home in between the stacks of books, he finds the comforting words of long dead authors and intricate mathematical theories a second home. However, it seems that Spencer Reid has found the most intimidating section of the library: cooking.

And what do academics do when they are at a crossroad? Well, they call in the experts. The love expert came in the shape of Agent Derek Morgan himself. This idea just might be the most brilliant thought Spencer’s had or the dumbest, but Y/N is worth it.

Okay, maybe it was a mistake to come to Derek, Spencer thinks as he sits in front of his friend, a coffee in his hand and an expression of pure fear on his face.

“You want me to, what?” Spencer asks, shocked at Derek’s suggestive advice.

“Lie in bed naked, call Y/N on the phone and make something up. You’ll be waiting in bed and then BAM! Anniversary sex,” Derek says, his eyebrows wagging as he sips his coffee.

“Are you messing with me, Morgan?” Spencer says, his face pale from the very thought of lounging in bed naked, waiting for Y/N to come over to his apartment.

“Why not, I’m sure it would get you laid,” Derek reasons. Get me laid? Spencer and Y/N don’t get laid, he thinks. They do have sex, but it’s not getting laid. It’s more romantic and loving than just whatever Derek suggests.

God, he can’t tell Derek that, he’d never live it down.

“You have slept with Y/N, right?” Derek asks, suddenly nervous that he touched a nerve with his friend. As much as he likes to tease, Spencer knows that Derek doesn’t mean any harm, hence why he’s the first person he thought to come to.

“We prefer to call it making love,” Spencer says, pretending to be very interested in his chocolate donut and trying to fight off the blush that rises to his cheeks. Even a year into their relationship, Spencer still gets butterflies at thinking about Y/N like that.

“So you want this to be more romantic than just fucking, because you’ve done it for a year?” Derek proposes as simply as if he’s talking about a case. Not that talking about serial victims is anymore normal or weirder than the current conversation.

“Morgan and you please stop talking about Y/N and sex in the same sentence?” Spencer says through gritted teeth.

“Reid, kid. I’m just busting your chops, I know who you feel about Y/N. When you two are in the same room, it’s like there’s no one else in the world. And it’s kinda hard to get your mind to focus on one thing, but Y/N does that,”

“I know,” Spencer says. “I can’t mess this up Derek. I can’t give another person a reason to leave me,”

“Y/N won’t leave because you can’t plan a terrible anniversary dinner,” Derek says comfortingly.

“I checked out 7 cookbooks, Morgan. 7, and I read them on the metro home. It’s useless, I’m useless,” Spencer laments.

He looks up to try to read Derek’s expression. The last thing he’d want to see on his face is pity or worse laughter. No, Spencer. Derek is your best friend. He’s the closest thing you have to a brother. Spencer feels almost guilty for thinking that Derek would laugh at him, while he might like to tease him, especially about his lovelife, they trust each other inexplicably. What’s written on Derek’s face is not pity or ridicule, it’s a smile. A smile not for Spencer, but for the colorful woman walking towards their table.

“You told Garcia?” Spencer groans, but scooting over so Penelope would have a spot to sit with them.

“Of course I told Garcia, kid. You know better than anyone that we can’t keep anything secret,” Derek explains, leaning in to kiss Garcia’s hand.

“Spencer Reid! I can’t believe you,” Garcia says, smacking Spencer’s arm lightly.

“Garcia!” Spencer shouts, clutching his coffee and hunching down in his seat to avoid being hit by the tech goddess with her hard rings on her surprisingly strong hands.

“Don’t Garcia me, Reid. You need me, whether or not you realize it or not. I’m irreplaceable,” she tells him, grabbing a pink notebook and a fluffy green pen from her bag.

Spencer nods in understanding, as much as he hates it, he knows that he needs help. It’s just a hard pill to swallow when help comes in the form of Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia, perhaps the two people on Earth who are the most in love.

“I know I need you guys,” Spencer says, looking from Garcia to Derek, half expecting them to tell him to order some terrifying sex toy from a scretchy store on the edge of town or something equally horrifying.

“What’s something that she likes? You know like a special thing that Y/N would never think about getting herself” Garcia asks, making notes with the fluffy when that bounces as she writes.

“She likes to read,” Spencer suggests, thinking about the first date that they had. They talked for hours about their favorite books and ended up getting booted from the library for overstaying their welcome. Y/N found it quite endearing that The Little Prince is Spencer’s while her is anything and everything by Jane Austen. He thinks back to her eyes gleamed when talking about the book, or how passionate she got when she argued that Mr Knightley and Emma were soulmates.

“Okay, that’s a start Spencer. Really good,” Garcia says, trying to boost her friend’s confidence.

“What else?” Derek asks, thinking about the times when he and Y/N hang out with Spencer and Penelope.

“Fret not, Boy Wonder,” Garcia says, softly patting Spencer’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of this,” she finishes as she reaches into her bag, that seems to have a never ending bottom, and pulls out a laptop.

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“So Garcia and Morgan took over your anniversary plans and basically just made it how they’d want to spend their anniversary?” JJ offers, as she hands Spencer a beer from her refrigerator and sits back down at her kitchen table.

Spencer takes a swig of his beer and shrugs his shoulders, thinking about how wrong this whole anniversary dinner has gone.

“I just wanted this to be special, JJ. I know it’s only been a year, but Y/N is it for me. God, she was it for me on the third date,” Spencer confesses.

“I know, Spence. I’ve never seen you this happy. Happiness looks good on you,” JJ tells him.

“Y/N makes me happy, she puts up with me, so the least I can do is make this perfect for her,”

“Spence, don’t sell yourself short,” JJ says, “You’re a kind man and a wonderful boyfriend, you’re both lucky to have each other,”

“Thank you, JJ, but Y/N is the better person in this relationship. That’s why this needs to be perfect,” Spencer explains, his self doubt still littering his mind.

“What about a baseball game? You can pay for a message to pop up on the Jumbotron. Like Happy Anniversary, Y/N,” JJ suggests, and Spencer really can’t tell if JJ is joking. She can’t possibly think that Y/N and he would have a romantic anniversary with the threat of getting pelted in the face with a baseball.

“Sports games are not our forte, JJ. I honestly can’t tell who’d hate sitting in the sun for hours with angry sports fans,” Spencer adds.

“Okay so no sports, I should have figured, Spence,” JJ winks knowingly. “How about this, think about somewhere that’s special to you two. Somewhere that makes you think of her,”

“The thing is JJ, everyplace we’ve been together makes me think of her. The elevator when she first kissed me, the movie theater we always go to on Saturday nights, even the sidewalk outside my apartment building. Everything makes me think of her because she’s my everything,” Spencer says, hiding his discomfort at the conversation.

“Spence, I think that anything you plan, will be wonderful. Have a little trust in yourself for once, Y/N is already head over heels in love with you, so I doubt that she’d really care where you go or what you do,” JJ advises, clearing up the dirty dishes from their Friday night pizza dinner with the boys.

“I’m going to go JJ, thanks for talking me out of my head. If I took Morgan’s advice, I’d probably end up with a restraining order,” Spencer jokes, putting his jacket on and saying goodbye to his friend.

“You think you need an Uber?” JJ asks, but immediately finds amusement from Spencer’s disgust at the idea of getting into an Uber.

“Germs and technology sound like a nightmare, JJ. And I’m not going to remind you of the statistics regarding missing persons and those rideshare apps-” Spencer offers, but is cut off by JJ’s pretend annoyance.

“Remind me to send Y/N combat pay, you know maybe she is a saint for putting up with you,” JJ teases.

He walks out into the chill of the night, recounting the advice his friends gave him. Derek and Penelope’s plan was a little outlandish, a little too much for Spencer and Y/N. JJ, who Spencer knows means well, only served to remind him of how hard it must be with him. His steps are slow and languid, but his mind anything but.

One step, you’re probably just a charity case that Y/N decided to save.

Two steps, why on Earth would a woman like her even look at a man like you.

Three steps, you’re so pathetic that you can’t even plan a dinner for her. She’s too good for Spencer, you’ll ruin her.

Everyone who you love leaves you or dies, anyway.

It’s that thought, not the thought of being alone, but the thought that he deserves to be alone that sends the tears down his cheeks.

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Somehow, someway, Spencer made it back to his apartment. It never felt so dark, so unlike home. Maybe he just didn’t never realized that these walls aren’t home without Y/N. He really should try to get to sleep, but he’d rather fend off sleep with the endless supply of coffee than have to face a night alone in the cold bed.

Just as Spencer makes his way to prepare a cup of coffee, he hears a distant jiggle of keys and the door knob rattle. And in comes Y/N, as fresh as the cup of coffee brewing and as beautiful as ever.

“Happy Anniversary, my love,” Y/N tells him, dropping the bags on the floor. She moves over to him like a light breeze. All he wants is to welcome her embrace. He wants to scoop her up and carry her far away from the monsters that lie in wake. He feels an urge to be her protector, but how can be her protector when what he really wants is to be protected.

“Y/N, what are you doing here, it’s so late,” Spencer says, praying that his voice doesn’t let go. He knows it’s futile, one look from Y/N, her palm to his cheek or even worse a chaste kiss on his forehead, Spencer would not be able to think. What is a genius without his mind?

“I couldn’t wait for tomorrow, Spence, I just missed you too much,” Y/N says, her voice a prayer that spins around in Spencer’s brain, searching for refuge in his heart.

“You really missed me?” Spencer asks, desperately wanting to believe her beyond belief. Y/N’s frown searches for an answer in Spencer’s distant expression. Even though they stand there with the kitchen light casting shadows touching as much skin as they can reach, Spencer is a million miles away.

“Of course I missed you, baby. And I just had to give you one of your gifts tonight. I just couldn’t wait to see your face,” Y/N says, practically bouncing as she bounds off to get the package for Spencer.

“So this is only the first part, and stay with me, I know how much you hate technology, but I think you’ll make an excuse for this,” She tells him, handing him a heavy cube shaped package. It’s decorated in Y/N’s handwritten flowers and hearts, and a cute doodle of who Spencer can only assume is them. His girlfriend may not be artistic. But she’s the artist who paints the stars in Spencer’s night sky. She’s the tailor who sewed him back up when he was broken. She’s the architect who has the key and blueprint to his heart.

Spencer opens the gift, his hands shaky and unsure. He’s terrified that Y/N can see right though him. He reveals the present. It’s a small wooden box with a red wooden heart that looks like it’s supposed to be pixelated. There’s a blank space on the top, that Spencer supposes is a screen.

“You gotta plug it in, Spence. So the messages can pop up. When you're far away from me saving the world, I can type a message from my phone and it’ll appear on your box,” she explains. Spencer looks up at her trying to search for what he did to get this lucky.

“Thank you, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Spencer tells her, placing a kiss against her forehead. It’s the kind of kisses that tell you so much more. It’s the kind of kiss you give when you know there’s more where that one came from. It’s safe and warm and everything good about this world.

“I gotta make sure you won’t forget me when you go traipsing all over the country. A hot genius like you only comes around so often. I’m sure you got loads of attractive people throwing themselves at you, Spence,” she says with a wink.

“Hot genius?” Spencer repeats half dumbfounded and half joking.

“Yup, I gotta make sure they know that you’re spoken for,”

“I couldn’t forget you even if I tried, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I still don’t know what I did to ever deserve you,” Spencer says, as the tears and the fears of not being good enough bubble to the surface.

“Spencer, baby. You’re shaking. What’s the matter? Huh,” she says softly, brushing her hand over Spencer’s head in a comforting and loving gesture.

Spencer leans into her, his head pressed into her neck. He can hear her heartbeat and he can smell her perfume. He wants to get lost in her. Get lost in the feeling of total and complete love.

“I just wanted this to be perfect, Y/N. For you- you deserve so much more than I can give. It must be so hard dating me. I know that I’m difficult to love sometimes,” Spencer murmurs, his tears pouring down his cheeks and spilling like his darkest thoughts onto Y/N’s shirt.

“Spencer, you make my life so much brighter. So much fuller. I know that you got a lot going on up in that mind of yours and it must be kinda scary. It must be hard always being the guy people expect answers from. But I got you, sweetheart. And I’m not letting go,” Y/N tells him the words falling from lips like a psalm and taking on a new life in Spencer’s heart.

“Thank you, Y/N. I really wanted this to be the best anniversary. I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Spencer apologizes as he peppers light, feathery kisses along her collarbone and up to her eyes.

“Well you’re my mess, Spencer. Let’s be honest, I’d be completely happy to spend our anniversary anywhere with you. Except maybe sports games, that sounds like torture for both of us,” Y/N laughs and Spencer can’t get over how she practically glows in the kitchen light. It could be that his mind is foggy with love, but Spencer hopes that he never grows out of this blissful feeling.

“Well it’s a good thing we’ll have many more to make up for this one,” Spencer says, letting himself get dragged to the large fluffy sofa.

“Oh no, Mister. The next 50 anniversaries have to try to top this one,” Y/N tells him and Spencer’s heart skips and flutters at the thought of having another 49 anniversaries with Y/N by his side.

“I doubt that 50 will be enough, Y/N”

“As long as you’ll allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Y/N says, cuddling so close to Spencer that she can’t see where her limbs start and Spencer’s end.

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” Spencer says running his spidery fingers down Y/N’s side much to her delight.

“Ooh are you trying out some Jane Austen foreplay? Because that’s the way to make my panties drop,” Y/N says suggestively as she rubs her hand over Spencer’s chest and rests it on his neck.

“Maybe tomorrow, I just really want to hold you close right now, Y/N.” Spencer says, sweetly kissing along her temple exciting a bout of giggles from the two of them.

Spencer very well might be useless when it comes to love, but he was eager to learn that he’s worthy of love from his love expert.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader

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butcherknives · 3 years

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Hcs about how the boys would propose to you? 🥺🤲

What a sweet request! I hope you enjoy! I really wanted to give you something high quality, especially for your mans Big D. Thanks for requesting, Ezra!

Sparda Men: Proposing

ft. GN! Reader

> SFW

Dante

The man, the myth, the legend never would have imagined himself in a committed relationship with anyone, and to have that someone be as magnificent – as perfect, as fun, as troublesome and anchored as you? He considers himself lucky in a way he doesn’t believe that he deserves.

For this reason, it takes him a long while to reconcile with what he wants; what he truly, irrevocably desires.

You. Forever.

He’s never believed in marriage. Never saw the point when it’s only another contract, no different than the ones he has his clients sign before he hoists his blade over his shoulder and enters the chaos with a sideways smile. A formal business agreement to show your loyalty?

Seems sus.

Yet the more time passes with you, the more he begins to see the appeal of taking your hand before the eyes of... whatever it is. The government.

It’s on a whim. (It’s always on a whim.) He’s weighed his options prior but the act? After spending the morning in your company, wrapped up in your languid love, he makes a snap decision.

It isn’t a special day until he makes it one when he blocks the television with his body and laughs when you complain that he’s a better door than a window.

“Hold on, hold on,” he says as he reaches for the remote to mute your show as you shout a quick “hey!” yet he swings around to face you, throws a wink, and slides down on one knee.

He doesn’t present anything. There isn’t jewelry or roses, no box of chocolates or bottle of champagne, only Dante with his thousand watt grin and his hand on yours. But Dante is a magnetic man with honey-sweet prose and your breath catches all the same. You need nothing else.

With your name on his tongue, he recites his love for you on center stage and though the whimsy makes you smother a laugh behind your hand, there’s no question of his sincerity.

“Love of my life, dearest of all, my heart beats only for you. Have you any idea the power you hold over me?”

And as his theatrics fade, he peels back the scars and wounds and opens his uninhibited heart for you. He tells you how much you’ve improved his life. How happy you make him.

“Waking up next to you every morning? Heh. I feel like I might just believe in angels, after all.”

His smile is syrup and sugar when you agree to marry him, and as he draws you into his orbit with a long kiss, you know you were made for this moment.

He jokes later that you should get matching tattoos on your ring fingers. His would say “for” and yours would say “ever.” You swing back that it should say “best buds.” He laughs and reels you into a hug.

He buys you an antique band, instead.

Vergil

Much like his brother, Vergil has never seen the point to marriage. To have to prove your loyalty? Should that not be simply understood through the relationship? What is there to further prove? More importantly, to whom do you owe explanation? Your relationship is sound.

He loves you. Is that not enough?

Humanity and their ridiculous traditions have no business being in his.

If it’s marriage you want, however, you will have to express this. Whether it’s because you believe in the practice – religiously, romantically, or a hybrid of both – or because of the tax benefits, he’ll need to hear it from you.

His answer isn’t immediate. He needs time to reconsider his own stubborn understanding.

You, however, come first. You always come first. Even when he doesn’t express it, he pays careful attention to what makes you feel safe and secure. If a marriage license is what it takes, then perhaps he can release his ironclad grip and compromise. It isn’t as though he hasn’t already planned to keep you near until, perhaps, you tire of him.

He supposes ultimately, there’s no harm.

When he comes back to you with his decision, there’s no fanfare. He doesn’t make a spectacle. He doesn’t offer anything beyond his company.

His approach is calm and formal, although you doubt he means for it to be. No, you’ve grown accustomed to Vergil’s peculiarities and your eyes aren’t deceiving you. There’s anxiety knotted between his brows and in the way his eyes seem unable to focus on you. Funny, considering how confident he’d seemed upon entry.

He says your name and stands across from you, hands folded neatly in front of himself. (Reserved, closed off, and you find yourself wondering what he’s up to.)

“I’ve considered your request,” he says, “for marriage.”

You nearly laugh, but you won’t damage his pride. You know how hard this is for him to reconcile, even as he steels his expression with practiced stone-perfection.

You prompt him with an inquiry and smile, patient and curious to hear his conclusion.

“If it’s what you want and you find me worthy, then I would be honored to have your hand.”

You throw yourself at him and reassure him that he doesn’t have to marry you, not if he truly doesn’t want to go that route. That you’d be happy simply knowing he’s yours, but he’s steadfast as he slides his arms around your waist.

“My heart belongs to you,” he says. “And I will gladly give it to you.”

Nero

He hates to acknowledge how much of a romantic he is at heart but he’s told you, in a moment of feathered vulnerability in the lull of conversation, how he’s always kinda-sorta dreamt of marriage. Nothing big, he amends. Only the most important people would be there, but he has envisioned it in a cathedral dressed in white.

“I know it’s lame,” he says. “And pretty fuckin’ stupid at this point. It’s not like anyone even follows the Order anymore. Who needs a cathedral?”

But you don’t think it’s lame or stupid, and you tell him that you’ve dreamt of marriage, too. You’ve always wished for some fashion of a family with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence, even though that isn’t your life and likely will never be. It’s alright to dream.

Nero falls silent. He doesn’t bring it up again, not for quite sometime. Time passes enough that you forget the conversation.

You never see it coming.

It’s your birthday and you’re finished celebrating with your friends. You get home, just the two of you, high from excitement of the day. And Nero says, “Wait-wait-wait. I’ve got another present for you. Hold on a sec, okay?” Then vanishes into the bedroom as you peel your shoes off.

When he meets you in the living room, his hand is behind his back. He’s shifty, bouncing from foot to foot, but he tells you to close your eyes with a wolfish grin. So you do. You cover your eyes with your hands and laugh as he shuffles around. You listen as hard but you only hear a click you don’t recognize.

“Okay, open ‘em.”

And he’s on one knee, a black box in his hand with a ring cushioned neatly at the heart. Your chest seizes. You think you might cry. Perhaps you already are.

“I know I can’t give you the life you want,” he’s saying, soft yet impassioned, watching you with rapt attention. “But I love you more than anything and I can’t imagine life without you. I... want to spend forever with you. So, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You say yes. Of course you say yes. You laugh through your mounting joy as he slides the band over your finger, reverent and fighting back his own emotion glimmering in his eyes.

He may not be able to give you “the life you want” from the dreams you had as a child, but you have no doubt that this is the life you want.

With him.

#devil may cry #dante #vergil #nero #fulfilled requests #all purpose writing tag #me clutching my own heart #please enjoy!!#p.s. likes and reblogs keep me in business

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ackerslut · 3 years

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dancing is the best revenge

Fandom: Tangled the Series

Rating: T

AO3

“Not bad,” Hugo says, dipping his hors d'oeuvre into the bubbling champagne. “You know, for a wedding .”

Varian rolls his eyes. “And what do you, pray tell, have against weddings?”

“Besides the part where everyone cried over a government sanctioned union? The lack of drama . I’ve been more entertained at funerals.”

“I don’t know, the ring bearers disappearing halfway through the ceremony and then showing up last minute covered in-- I don’t know what, was pretty dramatic.”

“You have literally been possessed by the demon of your dead mother.”

“I was fine.”

Hugo snorts, placing his empty champagne glass onto a passing waiter’s tray. “You and I have very different definitions of fine, sweetheart.”

“Fine, so we’ve attended more entertaining venues. What do you want me to do about it?”

Hugo grins, eyebrows bouncing up and down. “I might have a few ideas.”

Varian blinks after his boyfriend, who has suddenly disappeared into the wedding crowd. Unsure whether to go after him, or just embrace the chaos that’s going to unfold with or without his intervention, Varian bounces on his toes, trying to catch a glimpse of his deranged boyfriend.

The orchestra plays a few bars and Varian immediately slaps a palm to his face.

“This is the most terrible day of my life,” Varian says, as Hugo saunters back over to him. The violins in the background, playing a fucking tango . Varian doesn’t know how he convinced the orchestra to take requests, but doesn’t want to ask.

Sometimes, with Hugo, it’s better to live in ignorance.

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly, as Hugo comes to a stop in front of him, the smirkiest of smirks on his dumb face.

“Wanna dance?” Hugo drawls, holding a hand out enticingly.

Varian makes eye contact with Rapunzel across the room. Rapunzel is laughing so hard she snorts wine up her nose.

He looks back at Hugo.

“I don’t dance,” Varian replies, flatly.

“Yeah? Just like you don’t ‘do boyfriends?’” Hugo asks, doing visible air quotes with his hands that makes Varian further irritated.

“I can’t dance,” he says, through gritted teeth.

“Aw, really?” Hugo takes Varian’s hand anyway and begins to gently tug him toward the dance floor. Various dance partners around them are doing incredibly dramatic renditions of the tango --the most notable being Lance and Eugene who are absolutely killing it.

Hugo sharply tugs on Varian’s arm, reeling him into his side with a flourish. “Don’t worry,” he says, teeth gleaming sharply in the candle light. “I won’t let you fall.”

Varian’s face burns so red he can feel the heat radiating from it.

Being the taller of the two--and the one who can actually dance --Hugo takes lead, guiding Varian through a series of complex moves that make his head spin. It’s more complicated than a waltz--the one dance Varian did vaguely know, via watching Eugene and Lance engage in their weird, homoerotic, rituals--with far more moves involved.

Hugo guides Varian back and forth on the dance floor, spinning him every few moves. “Keep the upper half of your body stiff,” he whispers to Varian, looking amused as the blue-eyed alchemist squawks at being dipped. “And the lower half--” his smirk literally cannot get more smirky then this moment, “-- flexible .”

“I have never hated anyone more than I hate you right now.”

“Good we can use that. Dance like we’re about to have hate-sex.”

Varian sputters. “We’ve never had hate-sex!” he hisses, maybe just a tad too loud for a public setting. A courtier, spinning one of Rapunzel’s ladies-in-waiting around, promptly drops her. Hugo snickers.

“Not yet , we haven’t.”

Varian gives Hugo a flat look. Hugo spins and drops him into another dip. “Hugo, I’m not having hate-sex with you tonight.”

“Well of course not.” Hugo picks Varian up into a quick, graceful lift, and drops him back on the floor in time to the accompanying music. “That would imply that you hate me.”

“No, it would imply that we’re going to fuck tonight.”

“What? Dancing doesn’t make you horny?” Another dip over Hugo’s knee.

“No,” Varian dryly replies, blinking up at Hugo. There are tiny gold flecks in his green eyes that are positively mesmerizing. “No, it does not.”

They both stop the twirling and dipping and go back to the general movement of the tango, gracefully sliding down the dance floor. Varian thinks he sees Eugene dip Lance out of the corner of his eye.

Hugo reels Varian in close. Very very close. Their noses brush, lips a breath away from touching. “But arguing does ,” Hugo murmurs, with the confidence of someone who’s gotten Varian in the mood just from picking a fight over why polonium was the best periodic element.

Varian flushes all the way down his neck. Hugo pulls away just as the last few strains of the song cry out across the ballroom. With a grin, he slinks away, back toward the food buffet, hips doing that weird saunter that Hugo thought was sexy.

Dammit , it was sexy.

With a groan, Varian follows.

“Hey Varian,” Rapunzel calls from a few feet away. Varian grins, redirecting his path toward her.

She truly looks beautiful, white wedding dress with an insanely long train that’s reminiscent of her once-long hair. Her look on her face, however, does not make the elegance of her gown.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” she says, grinning in a way that’s just a little too evil.

“I don’t,” Varian says, erring on the side of defensive.

“Hmm, well that was an awful lot of something for someone who doesn’t .”

Varian thinks Rapunzel is hanging around Hugo too much. Or Cass. Or Eugene. Or-dammit, are all of Varian’s friends secretly evil? That’s supposed to be his thing.

“Hugo is persuasive,” he says, flatly.

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Rapunzel continues grinning. “He’s also checking you out, right now.”

Varian spins on his heel, just in time to see Hugo watching him with intent . The minute they lock eyes, Hugo grins sheepishly.

“I need a fucking leash for him,” Varian mutters.

“There are so many ways I could respond to that,” Rapunzel sighs. “Varian, go take your boyfriend somewhere else before he ends up making out with you on a table or something.”

“We’re not going to makeout on a table!” Varian hisses, throwing his hands up in the air as he stalks toward his boyfriend. Said boyfriend looks just a little too excited at Varian’s glaring.

“Oooh, is this the part where you murder me and hide my body in Corona’s sewers?” Hugo asks, as Varian drags him out of the ballroom.

“Hugo, shut up,” Varian snaps, completely done with his boyfriend’s idiocy.

“Make me -mmphff -”

Varian spins his boyfriend around, pressing him into a nearby wall. He has to stand up in his tip-toes to kiss him, but it’s entirely worth it. “Did you just dance with me to make me mad so I would have sex with you?” Varian asks, when he pulls away.

Hugo, who’s brain hasn’t caught up beyond Varian’s kissing me , gapes at him for a moment. “Uh, maybe?”

“I hate you, you’re ridiculous,” Varian says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

“Is that a no on the-”

“Shut up.”

Hugo grins, bending down to press his lips to Varian’s so Varian doesn’t have to strain himself. Varian lets himself be kissed--lets Hugo run his fingers through his hair, and brush his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and sigh contentedly into him.

The slow, gentle strains of a waltz float out into the corridor. Hugo pulls away, something between a gentle smile and an amused grin present on his face.

“Wanna dance?”

#varigo #varian #hugo tts #hugo vat7k #tts #tts fanfic #my fanfic

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Attached: Words We Don’t Mean

(...and Those We Do)

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7950 👀

Summary: Your parents decide to visit for Thanksgiving, which alone is a trial.

The fact that they haven’t met Steve yet and they have no clue who he is… yeah, you better brace yourself for a storm.

A/N: Attached: Words We Don’t Mean (and Those We Do) is a one-shot to the Attached series. Technically, you can read it as a standalone.

A/N: In the Stockings fic, I mentioned that no one in their household talked about (last) Thanksgiving. Here’s why. Also: I named the parents Paul and Jane, it’s enough of a mess to work around with nameless reader; if that offends you, sorry, feel free to move on from this fic.

Warnings: angst, parents-daughter fight, mention of sexual relationhips and of using one’s body to earn money (negative view), mild flashback, emotional H/C, swearing, sprinkles of fluff and Disney

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

“Sweetheart, please, sit down for just a second,” Steve requested gently; however, there was no mistaking the drop of amusement in his voice.

You hummed in acknowledgement of his words and continued scrubbing the bathtub clean.

Everything had to be perfect. Had to be. You bought the tinniest of the giant turkeys yesterday – just so you wouldn’t have to eat leftovers for a month –, ingredients for the stuffing, potatoes and cranberry sauce. Your mum had promised to stop by somewhere to get four slices of a pumpkin pie. But cooking was on your list later today; first you needed to make sure that the apartment would shine with cleanness.

Not that you considered yourself a neat freak, thank you very much… maybe occasionally. And Steve? Yeah, he was more of a neat freak than you were and now he was telling you to rest and take it easy? Uh-huh, nope.

Nope, because… your parents -- gosh, your parents.

“Honey-“

Your head snapped to him as he bounced off of the doorframe, soft steps leading him right to you.

“Did you just call me honey?” you asked incredulously.

Not that you didn’t like it, it was just-- you were Steve’s sweetheart, his babygirl, his good girl… now honey? That was new and frankly, it might have freaked you out a bit.

Also, your heart skipped a frantic beat upon looking at him.

Damn, you forgot again about what he had done yesterday and it always startled you to see him like that. Too unusual – not bad-looking by any means, just… unusual.

Steve chuckled as he crouched to you, dropping a kiss to the top of your head and cupping your mildly sweaty cheek. He grimaced a bit at your surprised tone.

“Not a fan?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, hun, it’s just that… it’s a bit ominous, the change.”

One corner of his lips rose at your choice of a petname. “That’s because you’re freaking out and I need you to calm down a bit, sweetheart.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you scoffed, rather offended. Mostly because he was right – but also because he was being a damn hypocrite.

“Oh, am I? Me? Did I spend about an hour in front of the mirror yesterday, trying and almost failing to solve the dilemma whether I should or shouldn’t shave off my beard?”

Steve’s face turned entirely sour at your snarky remark.

“Don’t be mean, it’s a valid concern to-- I don’t want them to hate me,” he murmured and dropped his gaze in shame along with his hand, seemingly shrinking into himself, his insecurity returning.

You sighed and mentally cursed yourself for bringing it up again.

You dropped the brush to the tub with a thud and lost one of your gloves, wiping the ew feeling onto your old sweats before you tried to smoothen the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“They’re gonna love you, Steve,” you assured him again, letting you fingers travel over his clean-shaved jaw, lightly pulling at his cheek to make him smile again. “I miss the beard, not gonna lie, but you do have an extremely sweet boy-next-door look now, you are my handsome, funny, smart as hell guy, who’s somehow all grown up and has life stuff figured out and you’re making me happy. You’re the epitome of the guy a girl wants to bring home to meet her parents.”

Despite slightly panting from exertion, you took care to sound as convincing as possible, pushing away your own worries for a bit.

Steve was your perfect guy, perfection incarnated; you weren’t worried about him not making an impression… except for the fact that Steve did have a few years on you and worked at the uni and—well.

Yet, you couldn’t but dread the moment your parents realized that you were everything but perfect since they let you loose on the world. You had never been the daughter to show off like the epitome of everything good and wholesome, but you always tried your best to please them…. Now though? Darting your professor? Even if he wasn’t exactly your professor?

Yeah, you didn’t think that a spotless apartment could make up for that, but it helped to ease your anxiety when you kept lying to yourself that it just might.

Steve grasped your palm in his, planting a tiny kiss there – a gesture to warm your heart, always – his lips once again curled up a fraction as his gaze met yours, his mesmerizing blues kind and hopeful.

“You really think so?”

“Of course.”

And with the way he was looking at you – you finally figured it out. Just a fleeting thought and an answer to an unspoken question you had been failing to grasp at since yesterday; it escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Gosh, you look like a Disney prince!”

Steve’s eyes went comically wide, laughter erupting from his throat and he pulled you to him in one swift motion, falling on his ass with you in his arms in the process and nearly getting crushed by you. Clearly, he did not care one bit as he shook with laughter, kissing your nose, your cheeks and finally your lips despite your protests that you were gross.

“That’s golden! Oh babygirl, you’re the-”

“Tell me I’m Cinderella, I dare you,” you grumbled, but Steve just shook his head and kissed you breathless, fingers of one hand curled around your nape to guide you closer, to breathe you in, while his other hand stayed wrapped around your waist.

You tried your best not to touch him with your gloved hand, having it ridiculously stretched out to nowhere in order not to spot his clothes, but your free hand clutched at his t-shirt with enthusiasm.

His lips left yours only when the world started spinning and your mind turned blank besides the thought of Steve’s mouth being on yours and how much you loved it when he stole all the breath from your lungs – and how much you always missed him when he withdrew.

You stared at him, dumbstruck, as he watched you like you were the eighth wonder of the world, your messy self in baggy clothes, your heart growing three times its size, your insides positively tingly from the heated make-out session.

Steve was smiling again too at last, brushing your nose with his and planting one last soft kiss on your lips.

“Okay, babygirl, now hand over the brush.”

You had to blink several times, your oh so lazy brain taking its time to realize what he said. Huh? Also, did he just said it as if he was asking you were a robber holding a hostage on gunpoint and he was asking you to lay down your weapon?

The thought made you internally snort.

“Why?” you demanded, suspicious.

“Because I’m taking over.”

You instantly shook your head. “No-“

“Yes. I promise I’ll make sure it’s spotless-“

Okay, yeah, that was one of our arguments against him doing the clean-up. However, there was one more. “But you still have papers to grade and lessons to prepare!”

“And you want to cook too and then we’ll have to clean up the kitchen. And you’ll want to take a shower and and and. Papers can wait. Gimme the brush.”

“You make it sound like it’s a weapon of mass destruction… or I am,” you muttered, but you kissed his cheek – such a strange feeling, you truly missed the sensation of his beard scraping your lips – and climbed out of his lap with a meek and cautious thank you. He cackled at your antics, but quickly fished out a new pair of gloves from the bathroom drawer and started working.

You swallowed your smart remark about him being the Cinderella now. Mostly because his gesture was one of the sweetest things and really – seeing Steve scrubbing the bathtub might not be the sexiest thing in the world… but it kinda was.

It pulled at your heartstrings as you imagined that this might be how it would always be; you and Steve, settling together, taking care of the household, then cuddling on the couch—the domesticity you hadn’t always been sure you craved.

Now you were certain of it; but to get to that, you had to survive your parents’ visit first.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had somewhat stayed in touch with your parents, mostly with your mum; you two had been calling on a so-so regular basis, sometimes with video, and both her and your father were obviously aware that you had a boyfriend (gee, that sounded kinda trivial, a boyfriend). In fact, Steve played a huge role in them deciding to purchase their plane tickets… besides wanting to see New York City… and you.

The thing was… you had managed to keep Steve’s identity secret so far; you never used a videocall when he was around, so your mum only had heard his voice, sweet and polite in the most Steve fashion possible, you sort-of danced around his age and his job. Yeah, you found it strange as well that you kept it up so long, a divine intervention even; or maybe your mum simply had a good idea of your dirty secret all along and purposely didn’t probe.

Now, with your parents in the apartment, your dad’s eyes more on Steve than on you (your mum’s eyes wandered too, you noticed, but she had enough decency to show you she missed you first), you felt dread fill every cell in your body. Your heart was pounding in your chest with too much ferocity, your temples pulsing, your palms uncharacteristically sweaty and if it wasn’t for Steve’s warm hand on your lower back, its weight oh so comforting, you might spontaneously combust because of your nerves.

You were suddenly entirely grateful that Steve had shaved off his beard, was giving less of a an incredibly hot (and still very young, thank you very much) professor vibe and looked--- well, kinda like he could be your classmate.

But of course, of course the subject came up. Inevitably, after the small talk about your parents’ flight, about how their job was going and if they picked up a new hobby (…or heard some gossip), you and Steve became the centre of attention.

First, things went smoothly enough; you talked a bit about school, about Penny and some of your classmates and professors, about your part-time job. Steve had been subtly drawing small comforting circles on your thigh whenever he wasn’t eating and he in fact succeeded in lowering your heartbeat so much that you might appear even calm.

And then it oh so predictably went to shit.

Because apparently, your materialistic father had to ask Steve what he was studying and what his plan for his future career was.

“I actually finished my studies,” Steve admitted in an admirably dispassionate manner.

Meanwhile, your own heart started racing again, sending you to the verge of a cardiac arrest; your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a hint of a smile played in the corners of his lips in effort to remain polite… for now.

“Oh? Was that recently?”

You deflected that question by bringing up the pie and snatching Steve with you to bring it to the table since you two were the hosts.

The question forgotten, your mum – god bless her, she had caught up enough to know you did not want to discuss Steve’s age, even if it wasn’t that bad – asked about Steve’s field of study.

“History, minoring in pedagogics.”

“Oh? So you are a history teacher?” your dad chimed in and you swallowed as Steve confirmed that claim, walking straight into a death trap. You had seen it coming, you had, but you still winced when your father’s icy tone cut the almost festive atmosphere. “And it wouldn’t be that you’re more of a university professor, would it?”

His hand balled into a fist on the table, your mother’s lightly covering it as she whispered his name; the gesture of comfort, a silent plea for him to stay calm, didn’t quite work.

Steve, to his benefit, looked only a bit sheepish, meeting your dad’s eye with bravery worth of the Disney prince you had called him earlier that day. Also, with the same honesty… why hadn’t you agreed on lying to them again?

“It would, sir.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose then that it is a coincidence that you two met in school?” your dad continued and you sighed, your breathing progressively turning into a more and more of a difficult task with the anticipation of a storm.

“It is not, sir,” Steve replied calmly and you honestly didn’t know whether you should kiss him or punch him, unsure if his attitude made your father madder or not. “However-“

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and enraged; you felt yourself sink into your chair involuntarily, your mind travelling years back to the moments when he wasn’t pleased with you at all, yelled and sputtered words tasting of venom.

“Do you have any explanation for this inappropriate joke?” you father hissed, not caring he interrupted whatever Steve was about to say to your defence.

Your chest grew heavy, edges of your vision blurring subtly; your eyes burned and suddenly, you weren’t only remembering. You were reliving a memory, feeling like your child-self, like your teenage-self, being scolded for every imperfection; and there had been generous amount of those as you had been growing up.

Steve’s hand somehow slid under the table again, squeezing yours, a gentle wave of attempted comfort washing over you.

But it took one glance at him and you understood that silent support was not the only goal of his when he sought your touch.

His jaw was set tight, his grip a little too strong; he was trying to maintain composure, while not at all impressed with the tone your father was speaking with you.

Yet, Steve’s gesture did provide you with something you hadn’t had whenever you faced your father before; strength and true support, the essential reminder that you had done nothing wrong.

“Dad, this is not a joke,” you said, your voice shaking only slightly as you squeezed Steve’s hand back, “Steve and I are dating. Yes, he is teaching at the same college I study, but-“

A fist hit the table, causing the remaining tableware clank with the force behind the blow and you winced in fright, all muscles tensing in an instant.

“There is no ‘but’ applicable in this case!” your father spitted out, the anger in his voice making your guts twist, the sting in your eyes intensifying. “We help you to pay for school so you could study, not sleep around!”

Several things happened at once; your mother admonished your father, a level-headed whisper of his name. Your voice, too quiet as always when your father reprimanded you, tried to protest, to defend yourself. And Steve’s patience ran out, his outrage at your father’s demeanour showing.

“Paul-“

“That’s not what’s-“

“Don’t talk to her like that!“

“You keep your mouth shut now,” you father snapped at Steve, pointing a finger at him accusingly before turning his rage towards you again, the deep disappointment in his eyes somehow more hurtful than the anger. “Is it that bad with your grades that you have to—to--- Jesus Christ.“

The world stopped for several frantic beats of your heart, everything else in standstill. Multiple sharp breaths were drawn in, but you didn’t think either of them was yours.

Your father’s unfinished sentence echoed in your ears as if from a terrible distance and just like that—just like that, you were thrown several months back to the days before your graduation.

Rogers’ whore

Bet she’ll get the highest score

The icy feeling that froze your bones and crystalized the blood in your veins made for a stark contrast to the few hot tears you were distantly aware of that were running down your cheeks.

Many had thought of you that you were a set of holes to fill for the professor in exchange for passing an exam or two, which was disgusting, deeply insulting and obviously wrong. But those people didn’t know you- they weren’t your blood.

Your own father was now seconds from calling you a whore. The dinner turned into a stone in your stomach as the verbal punch knocked all air from your lungs.

“Paul!” you heard a swift reproach, quickly followed by Steve’s voice, dangerously low in a threat. “I’m sorry, what did you just imply about her?”

“You zip it-“

“Paul!”

It felt like a fucking elephant stomped on your chest, the spiral of pity and despair, mocking voices swirling wildly, tossing you around with a quickening speed as the circles got smaller and smaller, as if you were circling down the drain, your breaths coming shorter and shorter too-

And yet your father still continued, ignorant to all warnings and your inner turmoil.

“That’s over, my dear. I refuse to support such disgusting thing. And you, I don’t see how it’s possible that you still have your job-“

“DAD!” a loud cry cut off the monologue and it took you a moment to realize that it was you who just snapped and yelled, despite the unmistakable addressing.

Your father stared at you in mute shock as you dared to interrupt him; and frankly, with the world spinning, your stomach twisted and your chest constricted with anxiety, you were shocked by your actions too.

It was the fact that he doubted Steve’s position at the uni, flashed through your mind, the way he insulted the man you loved and who deserved all the good things. Or maybe it was his fucking attitude towards Steve and you in general and you just finally reached your limit. You weren’t sure; but shit, this ended now.

The silence that fell on the room granted you a few moments to breathe and calm your frantic mind.

“He is not using me like some f-“ -fuckdoll- “-fling or whatever. And he’s not even my professor, he’s-“

“Like it matters!” you father snapped from his trance, spitting the words, a vein on his temple visibly popping up as he rose to his feet swiftly, nearly sending the chair flying to the ground.

You stared up at him, the coil of despair and rage in your gut burning hot as he literally looked down on you.

You hadn’t been ready for this. You hadn’t been ready for your father to despise you for being in a relationship with a great man, to judge you so harshly without being able to listen for a damn second.

“It DOES. But even if he was-“ you tried to explain again, losing patience and the ground under your feet too as Steve’s hand started practically crushing the bones of yours.

You could physically feel Steve trying to hold back and slowly succumb to his not so nice emotions no doubt swirling in him just like in you.

“How can you not see that’s he’s only looking to get his---” your father gestured wildly towards Steve and rather low and you could hear Steve’s teeth grinding at the implication. Your blood reached the boiling point. How dared he to- “-that he’s only seeking a physical thing-“

“That’s not what this is. I love your daughter-“ Steve emphasized, expression fiery, voice surprisingly measured for a man who you believed was one moment from punching your father.

“Sure you do, son, until something with long legs and tall heels walks by-“

Steve’s chair scrapped against the floor and you quickly laid a palm over his chest to stop him from jumping to his feet and succumb to his righteous anger.

“Steve-“ you whispered soothingly, seeing the light tremble to his hands, tendons dancing under his shirt with the effort to hold back.

“Paul, that’s enough,” your mother interjected, grabbing her husband’s wrist to keep him back as well.

“I do love your daughter, I respect her and I fully intend-“

Steve closed his eyes as he inhaled shakily to compose himself. In the very back of your mind, you spared a single thought to what he was going to say before he shook his head and looked your father dead in the eye again.

“-I am serious about her and I want to and will be with her as long as she’ll have me.”

You had two full seconds to sink into the gentle sentiment behind his words, to cherish how much he did respect your choices and strangely, how he still doubted he could be enough for you, before your father scoffed dismissively.

“Well, I hope you are serious, because if she comes crawling back in few weeks, the door and the account will be closed.” He shot you one disdainful look that made your heart stop before twisting his arm from your mother’s hold and stepping away from the table. “We’re leaving.”

Your eyes slipped shut, a fresh wave of hot tears painting your cheeks, all strength leaving your body, darkness enveloping your mind.

He was cutting you off. He was going to disown you no doubt; that much of a disappointment you were to him.

Your own father hated you.

Dull ringing filled your ears, muffling your mother’s low voice.

“I’m so sorry for his behaviour.” She sounded truly regretful, her voice quivering a bit, you thought. “I’ll talk to him about what he said. Thank you for the dinner, baby. It was nice to meet you, Steve, truly.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve responded firmly, his voice the only solid thing in the room. “I’ll—I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary, Steve. But thank you. I’ll call you, sweetheart.”

A low whisper about a promise fell from her lips next as she brushed your shoulder, but you couldn’t hope to understand what she was saying, the buzz of blood in your ears growing louder.

And then you knew she was gone along with your father. You knew because a warm hand touched yours, another gently wiping way the endless waterfall of your tears and then you were pulled to your feet and practically dragged to the couch in Steve’s protective embrace.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You wouldn’t be able to tell how long you were drenching Steve’s shirt in tears, sobbing into his chest as he held you firmly and yet tenderly, whispering sweet nothings, words of comfort empty and yet so meaningful.

You couldn’t tell how long it took for the tremble subdue, for the sobs to turn into sniffles and then die out entirely.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so so sorry,” Steve whispered to your hair, caressing your scalp, your back the next, dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“I know,” you creaked back, gripping the fabric of his shirt for one last time before you gathered your breath and courage to face him; you had to. You might be a mess, but it was vital that he heard you say this: “It’s not your fault.”

You withdrew slightly, meeting his eyes, so big and regretful, a bit watery as if he was the one crying. The corners of his lips, apparently having been turned down the whole time, twitched, his whole face twisting in a grimace; little sad, little defiant, but he didn’t protest even though you were certain that he wanted to.

Perhaps it was a testimony of how well you two fit, how your thoughts worked on the same wavelengths; you understood what he must have been thinking. If you were dating literally anybody else, this wouldn’t have happened.

So you had to assure him that you didn’t blame him; even if he did so himself. You didn’t have the energy to be angry with him for such thing. Mostly because that in a way, there was a tiny bit of truth in him thinking so.

“Don’t do that to yourself. I chose you. Yes, this relationship is on both of us… but we knew the risks and went for it anyway. And—it’s worth it, it’s just… fuck, this is so fucked up. I’m in such a mess now,” you whispered, your voice breaking as fresh tears burned in your eyes.

Steve’s fingers were quick to dry your cheeks, gently stroking, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“We are, babygirl. We’re in this together. What’s mine is yours,” Steve said, determined. You couldn’t find yourself sharing his optimism, but his eyes locked onto yours, serious as his words. “We’ll figure it out. Find ways of saving more. Hell, if it comes to that, I’ll try to find a job that pays better-”

Your palms landed on his chest, pushing away, putting some distance between you; his hand dropped from your face.

Say WHAT?

“Absolutely not!” you protested instantly, sobering from your despair and letting indignation take over, ignoring entirely the voice in your head sweetly nudging you with the idea of what Steve was willing to give up for you. “I’ll drop off college before I let you give up being a professor, Steve-- you are made-“

“Not an option, sweetheart,” he shot back instantly, expression turning strict. “You leaving college is off the table.”

Mentally, you threw your hands up in the air, growing confused and frustrated by the minute.

“Why? How is that different from you finding a new job, giving up something you worked for so hard?”

“The difference is,” Steve raised his voice slightly, speaking slowly as if he wanted you to remember every word, “-that the chances are that I could come back at some point, that I might only lose a few years. You dropping off, on the other hand, would affect your whole future.”

The same exasperation you felt burned in his eyes now and you gulped, realization hitting you that… yeah, okay, that was a good point. But you hated it anyway.

“…okay, that’s a fair point. But I rather work three jobs and didn’t sleep at all than seeing you leave the university.”

“And work yourself to the ground? I don’t think so, babygirl,” Steve shook his head, just a smidge of patronizing which stung more than you would expect.

Obviously, he was presenting you with more of a feasible option, but you had a feeling that the primal instinct to be the provider played a role in his attitude too – and at any given moment besides this one you would like that; you were completely fine with him wanting to ensure you were secured, taking the larger portion of the burden on his shoulders.

Except now it reminded you of your father in the worst possible way despite knowing that the sentiment was nothing but sweet, no malice in his intentions. It chased tears into your eyes.

Steve’s expression instantly melted, panic flashing in his eyes as he must have figured out that this was not the right thing to say… or not the right way.

His hands were quick to frame you face, tender but unwavering, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

“Hey, hey, no. It’s just… we’ll work it out, somehow, okay? We can even move out and share an apartment with someone else if we need to. Though you’re forgetting I used to pay this rent and bills on my own.”

Your lower lip quivered, your heart fluttering in fondness for this incredible man, your chest constricted at the idea of taking anything away from him, even if it was comfort. God, the distance he was willing to walk…

“You were living on school cafeteria food and ramen,” you mumbled, corners of your lips twitching upwards for the shortest moment.

Steve’s smile, on the other hand, was almost blinding, tight-lipped but honest, thumbs sweeping at the tears that appeared yet again.

“See, another possibility to save money. Don’t cry, my pretty girl…” he pleaded lowly, kissing your nose before shaking his head lightly. “Or cry if you need to. I’m here, sweetheart, okay? Whatever you need.”

Shit, your heart couldn’t hope to contain this amount of love-

How could anyone ever doubt Steve was the right man for you? The best man? The most wonderful loving human being? How did your father think he was just looking for a mindless fuck?

“I love you,” you whispered hoarsely, smiling through your tears. “Fuck my father. He can’t bully me into being his perfect daughter by cutting me off, can’t make me behave. There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.”

“Or me loving you.”

There was no questioning his honesty; it was written all over his features, his irises bright with emotion. And yet, you worried your teeth over your lower lip, insecurity, your old friend, crawling into your head.

“You do, really? Even with my asshole of a dad?”

You didn’t mean it. Entirely. Though momentarily, your dad was being an asshole, not for the first time.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re my everything,” Steve promised, releasing your face in order to tuck messy loose strands of your hair behind your ears.

“That’s the sweetest thing to say, but you can’t exactly sell me to put food to your mouth-“ Oh. Even though… maybe that would be an option? “Well, technically-“

All the gentle warmth radiating from Steve’s expression turned ice cold, smile dropping so fast it startled you.

“Don’t you even-“

“Hey, why not, I mean how much do you think-“

“Stop that right now!” Steve’s voice cut you off, razor sharp voice as if cutting into your skin.

You flinched at the mental blow on instinct, air stuck in your throat, muscles in your back straightening enough to inflict a sharp pounding in your head.

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling painstakingly slow, as if he got punched in his gut too. His fists on your sides clenched and unclenched, Adam’s apple bobbing. When he looked at you again, it was obvious he realized he had scared you – and that he regretted not keeping his anger in check.

“I’m sorry, babygirl, I didn’t mean for it to come out this harsh.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, focusing on nothing but your breathing and keeping yourself from sobbing again as you were reminded of your father’s yelling. With each long second, you could see Steve’s face twisting and his body sinking into the couch in shame.

Well. As much as you hated him snapping at you, you had to give it to him – it sobered you up. Frankly, you didn’t blame him for being so harsh.

But you were also aware that Steve was a painfully kind and gentle soul and he never wanted to be rough with you… well, except under certain very consensual special circumstances.

“I know,” you forced an unconvincing smile, laying your palm on his cheek, affection Steve was quick to lean into with a sigh – probably both relieved and content. “I’m sorry for talking stupid.”

He covered your hand with his, carefully manipulating it so he could brush his lips over your palm.

“You’re not, not really. Our heads are a mess, rightfully so. I know people still do that, some purely by choice, but—I don’t want that for you, ever. That’s the same level on a will-never-happen scale like you not continuing your masters. Not an option for me. You’re my girl and if someone’s gonna change their habits, it’s gonna be me first.”

The surge of affection at his words filled your stomach with butterflies, wrapping around you like the softest and warmest comforter.

Great, now you wanted to cry for a whole different reason.

“I don’t deserve you,” spilled from your lips before you could think twice. Steve’s sweet smile made its return.

“Other way around, babygirl. Other way around…. Now how does a bath and a bed sound?”

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Steve hadn’t planned on you and him having a bath when making the suggestion. He found a bath-bomb even and few candles so the light wouldn’t have to be on and hurt your previously teary eyes.

But then you looked at him with wide eyes, pleading and so vulnerable, a single look so heartfelt that it would make the devil’s black heart break and the angels weep – and he was done for, sinking into the bath with you even if the bathtub was not meant for more than one person, especially when one of them was of Steve’s built.

He couldn’t tell you no. Less so after the shitstorm the dinner had turned into.

Yes, Steve’s own emotions were running high, anger, disappointment and self-hatred he knew he couldn’t confess to, certainly not at the moment, but you. You were the priority here because he had a feeling that no matter how overwhelmed he felt, he had nothing on you.

The ceramics of the tub was hard against his back and against his knees at the side, but you fit into his arms and between his legs so perfectly and contentedly that he wouldn’t dare to complain. Head in the crook of his neck, your back to his chest, you melted into him, eyes closed, fingers absently and yet affectionately running over his forearms above water, sometimes along his calves.

You didn’t talk much, mostly repeating that it wasn’t his fault, that you loved him – something he found himself echoing every time – and it slipped through your lips too that while you would never change the fact that you picked him… you were sorry for being a disappointment to your father.

At that, something in Steve’s chest cracked and he swore to himself – that he would never ever be the cause of you feeling like a disappointment. And why would he – you were his perfect girl, his best girl. As much as he regretted that he indirectly did have a hand in making you feel like this now, he wouldn’t change who you were to each other and who you were had he had the chance. Never.

What he could do was to hold you tighter after your admission and whisper more sweet nonsense that made perfect sense to him to your ear.

By the time the water got cold, you were practically asleep, completely groggy, pliant. Somehow, you both climbed from the tub without sustaining any injury. He might have been holding you upright a bit as you both brushed your teeth and pulled on a pyjama.

You fell asleep almost instantly, face hidden in Steve’s chest, few stray tears dampening his sleepshirt as you mumbled one more love confession into the fabric.

“I love you, Steve... I’m sorry… you have to put up with such bullshit…” Your words slurred but Steve didn’t need to hear them to understand what you were saying.

He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you closer to his side, ignoring the sting of guilt in his gut.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered, earning a hum that might have been a sign of contentment… or you being entirely drained. “Let’s go to sleep now. Clearer head in the morning.”

Another hum and then nothing but your deep slow breathing, the last remnants of tension leaving your body.

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Steve didn’t think he would follow you to the dreamland anytime soon, too agitated, thoughts swirling wildly in his head, but he caught himself snapping back to consciousness at some point, unsure when he fell asleep – and what woke him up.

An intrusive buzzing on your nightstand provided him with the answer, your phone lit up.

Steve spared you one glance as you stirred only to nuzzle deeper into his frame, sighing.

As carefully as he could so he wouldn’t wake you, he stretched over you and checked who was calling.

Blood crystalized in his veins, heart sent into frenzy as he read a simple short word.

Mom.

He squeezed the side button, silencing the vibration as he pondered what to do; and yet, even as his heart jumped to his throat – as if he was a teenager about to face his girlfriend’s parents after he took her virginity – he had already made a decision, accepting the call as you sank into the cushions without him as a pillow.

He slipped from the room as silently and quickly as possible, announcing himself before you mother could say something not meant for his ears.

“Oh. Hello, Steve,” your mother greeted him, clearly surprised – but much to Steve’s relief, not angry.

He could do this, he could talk to your mother even with the lump in his throat; could have been much worse. Could have been your father and Steve wasn’t so sure if he would manage him. For one, he would hate to be reminded, once again, of what the numerous hate letters had told him about being a total perv; for two, Steve feared he might exchange words with your father that couldn’t have been taken back and would seal the damage done to the relationship with your parents .

“I’m sorry, ma’am. She fell asleep and—I can wake her, of course, but-“ He stumbled over his words and was immensely grateful when your mother saved him from his misery; more se when she said what she did.

“-but she had a rough night. We all did. I’m okay to talk to you, Steve.”

“Alright… how can I help, ma’am?”

“Tell me how bad she is, Steve? She stopped crying before she falling asleep?” the woman on the other side asked softly, causing Steve’s heart to squeeze in a painful memory of his own kind mother, God bless her soul.

And perhaps it was that very memory that encouraged him to speak openly, the genuine worry of a mother who cared deeply for her child, her heart full of love.

How such woman could end up with such an asshole and stay with him was beyond Steve’s understanding, but he certainly wasn’t in position to judge the choices of the women in your family – after all, he was your choice and there was a long line of people who looked at the two with disdain.

“For a while,” Steve admitted with a sigh, his gaze automatically flickering towards the bedroom. “She’s—she feels like she disappointed you in a way, she’s scared of the what’s next, but she’s angry too, because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong by being with me.”

And Steve thought the same… to a point. Didn’t matter that sometimes he would find himself in a dark place where he simply awaited the moment you’d change your mind and left him; for someone your age, with better looks, someone smarted, someone funnier, someone who didn’t have to shave off his beard just so your parents made it through the front door without yelling.

Such gloomy images always left him more desperate than he was comfortable admitting and with searing jealousy in his gut.

He needed you. Yes, he’d survive if you left – but he was certain that you’d take his heart with him, leaving him unable to fall in love ever again… or to feel whole, for that matter.

“She wouldn’t leave you to get her financial support back, Steve,” sounded gently on the other end of the line and Steve’s heart skipped a beat in alarm, brief wonder if he had said any of his latest thoughts out loud.

He supposed he didn’t – your mother was just too intuitive, just like his used to be. He gulped against his dry throat, suddenly guilty for – in a way – forcing you to leave them.

“…I suppose not… I’m sorry if-- it was never my intention to steal your daughter from you, but I’m- I’m not gonna pretend I mind that she would rather be with me than had her money.”

“This is not your doing, Steve, don’t you think I don’t know that,” she continued, a subtle smile in her voice, Steve thought. “And it’s good that she’s willing to make this choice. We wouldn’t want the bride to get cold feet, after all.”

Steve’s heart stopped altogether, he was sure of it. Colour him mortified.

How the hell—but- she couldn’t--- he hadn’t proposed yet and he- what?

His stomach twisted in a tight knot. He couldn’t but ask, voice barely above whisper.

“…how did you know?”

“You stopped yourself mid-sentence, Steve. And as cliché as it sounds, you had fire in your eyes, defending my daughter. It is clear to me that you are serious about her, that you love her, and from the little I heard about you, you are the kind of man who would put a ring on it to seal the deal.”

You mother was definitely smiling now and Steve found himself doing the same, even if the lift of his lips turned sour.

“I would have asked for parents’ blessings, but…”

“I give it,” she was quick to assure him and Steve’s breath hitched, his chest puffing with pride, filling with endless relief and joy. Your mother approved of him. Even knowing who he was, how old he was, how—she was willing to give him her blessing! “You seem like a good man, Steve.”

Steve was both embarrassed and ridiculously proud when he realized he was blinking against tears gathering in his eyes, enormous weight falling from his shoulders.

“That, uhm—that means a lot, truly,” he choked out, swiftly clearing his throat, the embarrassment definitely winning now. He had to get it together before he gave out how weak he could be in front of your mother… she had given her blessing; she could easily take it back.

“I like you, Steve. You’re a good blend of an old-fashioned and modern man. Don’t mess it up and keep my daughter happy.”

“I will try my best, ma’am,” he declared in an instant, meaning every word.

A sigh sounded from the speaker. “That’s all I ask for… now the less happy reason to call. I talked to Paul, but he… I’m sorry, Steve, as for now, he still isn’t fond of you.” That didn’t surprise Steve, but it hurt nonetheless. Then again, he was grateful that your mother tried to put in a good word for him; that meant a lot too. “He only agreed to pay for three more months.”

Steve’s free hand balled into fist, the other clutching the phone considerably tighter as hot surge of anger flooded his veins.

Three more payments. As if the relationship with your family was a damn job contract and this was the notice period.

Steve was sure he was going to be sick.

“Thank you. That’s… we appreciate it,” he managed to grit through his teeth, trying his damnest to remember that he wasn’t mad at the sweet woman – only at her husband.

“You really are a good man, Steve. You’re good for her. I’m glad she found you.”

Steve would once again be entirely joyful at being at least your mother’s favour, but he heard you call out his name from the bedroom, low, hoarse and utterly confused and all he could focus on was the idea of you, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair and still adorable, looking for him in the dark room with a pout to your lips.

“Steve?” your mother called out unsurely and Steve snapped from his reverie.

“Sorry, uhm, she’s awake-- do you want me to hand you over or-“ he blurted out swiftly, hoping the answer would be no as he couldn’t wait to crawl back to bed with you.

“No, just tell her I called. I believe you two have things to talk about. Take care of my daughter, Steve. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Jane, Steve,” she offered kindly just as Steve heard the soft patting on your fluffy socks on the floor.

“Yes, Jane,” he corrected himself then, unable to contain the satisfaction as he tested the name on his tongue. “Thank you, really. Goodnight.”

He ended the call as you emerged from the bedroom, squinting to the low light, your eyes instantly finding him – he automatically smiled for you, unsubtly splaying his arms wide. You didn’t hesitate, aiming straight into his embrace even if it was at snail pace.

It was funny and strange and wonderful how Steve still loved simply holding you, his heart calmer the moment he found you melting into his frame. Christ, he loved you… and clearly, your mother noticed; he was so obvious, that-

“You were gone,” you muttered into his chest discontentedly, nuzzling into him and Steve automatically cradled you to him tighter.

“Sorry, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admitted bluntly, propping your chin on his torso to look up at him, eyes growing wide and surprisingly soft with emotion. “More so because I was talking stupid and crying into your shirt instead of comforting you after my dad accused you of the things that--- those things that aren’t right.”

Steve felt the painful nudge to his consciousness, because he knew there always would be some truth to ‘those’ words; but you were here to dilute the pain and make it all better. Your care for his well-being served like a shield for the sticks and stones for now at least, when you were the priority. You had it worse at the moment, no matter what his former colleague had accused him of in those hate letters – and now your father.

“Hey, no. Don’t worry about me now.”

You gazed into his eyes, pushing on your tiptoes to peck his lips and the small gesture of affection was like a balm to his soul, much like your words.

“But I do. Always. I love you, Steve… I’m sorry we can’t catch a break… but we’ll… somehow, we’ll push through, right?” you whispered, hopeful and wistfully determined and Steve could only nod, feeling the corners of his lips rising.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. You’re my girl.”

“And you’re my guy. My prince charming,” you hummed, cradling his unusually smooth cheek, irises full of wonder, the sensation was as foreign to you as it was to him. But it was your babble that made him chuckle, the nickname that seemed to catch on; you were too cute for words. “Guess I am Cinderella after all and somehow you accidentally fell in love with me.”

“Damn right I did,” he confirmed, brushing your forehead with his lips before tugging you back to the bedroom. “Not all that glitters is gold.”

“True. Though you might have some glitter from the bathbomb on you.”

“Cheeky girl.”

He didn’t bother pretending to be offended or grumpy; he was simply too happy to see some of your snarky teasing side making its return, that was always a good sign.

“I try… but really, are you okay?”

Steve didn’t respond at first, climbing to the bed, manoeuvring you to his arms where you belonged and fit so naturally. Only when the lights were out and you were both comfortable, he replied, truthfully.

“I will be. I have you. Plus, your mum seems to be okay with me.”

More than okay, apparently.

Steve’s heart fluttered with a bit of nerves as his mind wandered to the ring he kept in the very room you fell asleep every night.

“As she should,” you hummed, sounding very pleased. “She has a nose for good people. And you’re the best.”

“After you at least.”

“Best man, then,” you argued playfully and Steve was perfectly content to have you think that. It would play in his favour when he would finally find the courage to sink to one knee in front of you.

“Well, I’m certainly a lucky one… I have the best woman.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you do. Love you,” you whispered, kissing his chest over the fabric of his sleepshirt and sighing blissfully. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.”

If you only knew how much…

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S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

Stockings (next in timeline)

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Wink wink. I once again stretched this quite a bit, but hopefully you reached this very end without skipping something ;)

Thank you for reading and extra thanks if you happen to like, reblog and/or comment. Stay safe and happy!

(Also, to American friends: I hope you'll have better Thanksgiving than this ;) )

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reinerispretty · 4 years

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rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt2

if you’d like to read part 1, click here!

thanks so much for reading!! i hope you guys are enjoying it. if you have any ideas/thoughts about how this story should go, message me!! i have a pretty good idea about where i want to go with this but i’m always open to suggestions :) also i apologize for this chapter being shorter!

Things started to change the summer of her eleventh year. The two families spent yet another summer on Ember Island. Since her family was of a lesser status than Zuko’s, (Y/N’s) summer house was in a completely different section of the island. It was a long walk, but she didn’t mind it. She tended to travel to Zuko’s house rather than the other way around, because Zuko was required to use a palanquin to travel around the island and they both agreed that it was horribly embarrassing.

---

After Prince Zuko’s birthday celebration, (Y/N) had been invited to the Fire Lord’s Palace much more frequently. While she did not mind being with Zuko and Azula at all, she couldn’t understand it. Her father and mother were not being invited to the palace, so why was she going?

“Perhaps the Fire Lord would like to keep an eye on the future of our nation,” was the only explanation her father had provided. It satisfied her to think that Fire Lord Azulon admired her bending skills that greatly that he would want to keep her close to his own family.

Throughout the years, every aspect of her life had become entwined with the royal family’s. Their families vacationed together at Ember Island every summer. She even joined Zuko and Azula’s firebending lessons. She did not mind being invited to the palace every day. As she grew older, the tension between herself and her mother amplified, so it was a relief to be able to get away from her family. When she was at the palace, she was treated almost like royalty. Azula and Zuko reminded her of her place occasionally, the former sometimes more harshly than the latter. While she did consider herself to be friends with Azula, and although she would never admit it, (Y/N) preferred to spent her time with Zuko. They had become fast friends since the night of his birthday celebration. When she was not at the palace, they exchanged letters which updated each other on every aspect of their lives. When she was at the palace, she and Zuko were attached at the hip. Where Zuko went, (Y/N) went, and vice versa.

She walked through the town square and waved to friends that were also there for the summer. Her beach bag bounced against her hip. Zuko promised that they would go swimming today. He wasn’t a big fan of water, but she had won a bet over who could fit the most Fire Flakes into their mouth.

(Y/N) bounced up to the steps of the royal family’s beach house and knocked. A servant answered the door. “Hello!” She said, a bright smile on her face. “Is Zuko free?” Despite his family being away for the summer, (Y/N) found herself waiting around for Zuko a lot because of his duties. The servant nodded and left silently to alert the twelve-year-old of her presence.

“Beach day with Zuzu?” She peaked around the corner to see Azula reading a Fire Nation newspaper. The young princess was only ten, but she had more than proven how vicious she could be. (Y/N) didn’t mind. Azula could be a pain sometimes, but she was mostly harmless. She had spent a lot of time with Azula and could see the small acts of kindness the girl was capable of.

“Yeah! Would you like to join us?”

“I think I’ll stay home today. I doubt Zuzu would want me to ruin the proposal.”

(Y/N) blinked at her friend. “I’m sorry?”

Azula smirked. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. You two have just been spending so much time together that I thought you knew.”

“Azula, I would really appreciate it if you would stop being so vague.”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Why do you think Grandfather made you present your firebending at Zuko’s birthday? Or why you’re always at the royal palace? Or why you’re always spending time with us?”

“I...I don’t know what I thought--” Azula turned back to her newspaper.

“They’ve been grooming you to marry Zuko. I heard our fathers talking about it before we came here. It’s only a matter of time before the proposal becomes official.”

Zuko entered the room then, wrapped in a Fire Nation robe. He glared at his sister, but smiled at his friend. “Are you ready to go?”

Azula giggled but remained quiet. She nodded, unsure of whether or not she could trust her voice.

The two walked in silence down to the beach, which was very uncommon for them. Usually, she had some sort of story to share about how ridiculous her mother was being, but now she could only think of what Azula had said. It made her feel a bit rotten that the royal family only wanted her around to make sure that she would be a good wife for Zuko. And what did Azula mean, that it was only a matter of time before the proposal becomes official? (Y/N) was eleven! She was far too young to get married and far too young to even consider it! Sure, she had developed a bit of a crush on Zuko over the years, but she just thought he was cute! She definitely wasn’t ready for him to propose to her!

“You’re being quiet today.” Zuko took the towel from underneath her arm and laid it out on the sand. She shrugged and sat on top of it, watching absent-mindedly as he set up their umbrella. “Did your mom say something mean again?”

She shook her head and chewed on her bottom lip. She did that when she was nervous. Should she bring it up to Zuko? What if he already knew? What if he didn’t? Was he in on it the whole time, or did he genuinely have no clue that this plan had been orchestrated behind their backs since they met.

She swallowed. Her throat felt dry. Zuko was her best friend. He knew her fears, her hopes, and her dreams. She liked to think that she knew all of his, too. She decided to be honest with him.

“Azula told me something today.” Zuko frowned.

“If she said that I cried while eating Fire Gummies, she’s wrong, I had something in my eye and--”

“No, it’s not that. She said that your father and mine had been planning on arranging our marriage, and that’s why I’m always invited to the palace and why I always hang out with you.” She avoided his gaze by looking out at the water. The waves were calm today and were a brilliant shade of blue.

Zuko inhaled a deep breath. “(Y/N), Azula always lies. You know that.”

“Well her lie sounded pretty convincing if you ask me.” She turned to face him, her eyes staring deeply into his. Zuko couldn’t lie to her: they both knew this. It was too easy to tell when he was lying. “Did you know that your family has been basically grooming me to marry you?”

Zuko stared at her blankly, giving no answer. But that was all the confirmation that she needed. She tossed sand at him. “Hey! What the heck?”

“You knew and you didn’t say anything?” She demanded.

“What was I supposed to say? Hey, by the way, our parents agreed that we’d get married to each other once we’re old enough?”

“You could have said something, at least. Azula told me. Azula! Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

“I only just found out about it a few weeks ago. I was sworn to secrecy! Please don’t be mad.”

She crossed her arms and looked away from her friend. On one hand, she did not like having her future decided for her. But on the other hand, she knew she had a duty to her nation. If she married Zuko, both of their parents would be happy. She would be taken care of. And she supposed that marrying her best friend wasn’t the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

“I don’t think you being the Fire Princess would be so bad,” Zuko continued. “You could get as many Fire Flakes as you wanted, at any time that you wanted.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“I guess I can’t really say no if our fathers already decided for us.”

“I mean, you could, but you’d still be forced to marry me.” She punched him then stood, extending her hand.

“It’s gonna take a lot to get married to your stupid face. You’d better get started.”

read part 3 here

#atla #atla zuko #zuko x reader #sokka x reader #aang x reader #katara #toph #aang #zuko #sokka #azula #avatar #writing #fanfiction

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commentaryvorg · 3 years

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Digimon Savers Commentary Episode 5 - Break into the Digital World! Drimogemon’s Trap!

In this episode, both Tohma and Masaru separately enter the Digital World to resolve unfinished business with the Digimon they failed to stop last episode. While there, they meet up in a perilous situation and end up bonding, learning to respect each other and work together at last.

Since this episode follows on directly from the events of the last one, we start with a recap of last episode. This is a rare thing for now as most of these early episodes are self-contained events, but it’ll soon become very regular once we get into the series’ overarching plot.

There’s nothing particularly interesting about the recaps; the narration is done by a non-character narrator, and they sometimes tend to show far more clips than necessary to remind people of the relevant things that happened. I often just skip them, though since for the purposes of this commentary I’ll be obligated to watch every single part of an episode to comment on the full experience, I will probably end up moaning about how unnecessarily long they eventually shift into being.

Narrator: “To fulfil his duty, Tohma went to the Digital World to chase down Drimogemon.”

It’s interesting that the narration frames it this way, since disobeying very strict orders isn’t exactly what one would usually consider fulfilling a duty to the organisation that gave him those orders. And yet, this also is to do with Tohma’s very strong sense of duty and need to complete every job perfectly.

Anyway, as we get back into events happening in the present, please appreciate this Very Done Yoshino Face as she realises that Tohma’s gone and endangered himself by going to the Digital World alone and she’s going to get in trouble for it.

As it happens, Masaru and Agumon have got the exact same idea into their heads of disobeying orders and sneaking into the Digital World to finish things with Drimogemon. While Tohma was legitimately very good at the stealth aspect of this plan, Masaru and Agumon’s idea of stealth is, uh… not so great.

Masaru: “Successful infiltration!”

Agumon: “We’re so smooth, Aniki!”

Yep. The smoothest.

Yoshino: “What are you doing.”

Naturally, Yoshino has very much noticed them. The subs put a question mark here, but I’m using my judgement to not include it, because her voice is so deadpan and I love her.

Masaru: “Tohma did a Digital Dive? Damn it, he got away before us!”

Yoshino: “Before?”

Agumon: “Nothing, he’s just talking to himself.”

Yoshino does seem to be genuinely rather wrapped up in trying to deal with the Tohma situation and bring him back, because she doesn’t appear to pick up on the obvious implication of Masaru’s slip-up here (and the obvious only reason they’d be sneaking in in the middle of the night like this in the first place).

Yoshino: “Doing a Dive when the equipment hasn’t even been tested on humans…”

Huh, interesting. I guess this particular version of the Digital Gate equipment that DATS has is newer, then, which tracks.

Yoshino manages to detect the signal from Tohma’s Digivice, but before she can use that to bring him back, the signal is lost.

Masaru: “Really. Well isn’t that a pity.”

Masaru sounds so incredibly (not) concerned here. Though I’m sure this isn’t him genuinely not even caring if Tohma dies; he just assumes Tohma can handle himself and doesn’t see this as his problem at all.

Yoshino: “Listen to me! It’s dangerous!”

Masaru: “That doesn’t matter! I’m just going there to settle my fight!”

Yoshino: “Who cares about your fight? You’re just going to make things worse!”

I mean, it seems like Tohma cares about this fight just as much as Masaru does, actually, if in a somewhat different way. We have two stubborn idiots refusing to let this go here, not just one.

Masaru wanders into the Dive chamber, and, naturally, doesn’t have a clue how to start it up. Yoshino seems quite willing to leave and not help him with this, until he and Agumon start the appropriately Masaru approach of hitting the machine to try and get it to work. (We saw how successful that approach was last episode.)

Masaru: “You think I’ll just sit back while that guy gets all the action?”

Obviously, Masaru is not exactly thinking this through here; he just wants to somehow get to finish his fight before Tohma can do it for him, damn it!

Since Masaru and Agumon are clearly not about to be sensible and stop trying to break the equipment, Yoshino has no choice but to give in.

Lalamon: “Yoshino, are you sure about this?”

Yoshino: “Letting him have his way is better than a broken machine and Tohma stuck over there…”

It really is only because Tohma went first that Masaru is able to get his way here. A broken machine that can be fixed later would be better than Masaru throwing himself into the unknown, but a broken machine while Tohma is stuck over there is not okay at all.

Yoshino: “Listen! I’m sending you the co-ordinates where we lost Tohma. Make sure to bring him back, okay?”

Masaru: “Whatever, just do it!”

Yoshino is making the best of this she can and at least using Masaru as a way to try and ensure Tohma is safe. Masaru acts like he doesn’t care – but note he also isn’t explicitly saying he definitely won’t try to help Tohma and will leave him to fend for himself no matter what.

Yoshino: “I can’t help you when you get to the other side.”

Masaru: “Like I even need it.”

Yoshino: “Oh, really.”

Obviously. Masaru is a tough independent fighter who can definitely throw himself into a completely different world without a clue what he’s doing and manage just fine. Being a liiittle cocky there, Masaru. (Exactly as much as Tohma was when he sent himself over knowing he’d have no backup.) And I love how Yoshino isn’t buying it for a second.

Yoshino: “Return to where you first entered by 0500. That’s where I’ll bring you both back.”

Apparently they need to be in a specific location in order for the Dive equipment to work in reverse (since there isn’t a big handy machine with a chamber in it on the Digital World side). Yoshino was briefly attempting to pull Tohma back earlier before she lost his signal, so I guess that was when he was still within the range of the reverse-transport?

Masaru: “Bah, it’s like having a curfew.”

Haha. Something Masaru is probably quite used to, since he is only fourteen and his mother must worry about what he gets up to a lot. He did mention having to sneak out of the house to come to DATS last episode, which I surmised was not because DATS was a secret to Sayuri but rather just because it was late.

Masaru looks at his Digivice, which has a clock feature telling us it’s 0:33 right now. Yoshino apparently expects him to navigate a completely unfamiliar world, find Tohma (and also defeat the Drimogemon because she knows he’s going to want to do that even if she’d rather he didn’t bother), and get back to where he arrived, within four and a half hours. That seems a little bit tight – why couldn’t she just let him have as long as he needs and just wait to pull him and Tohma back whenever they appear back in range?

The reason, I imagine, is that she’s really hoping she can get this all wrapped up before the morning shift at DATS starts and Satsuma finds out what’s been going on here. I don’t blame her.

Agumon: “Aniki, I’m kinda nervous…”

Masaru: “Don’t get scared now, idiot.”

I like how Masaru is admonishing Agumon for getting scared not as if he’s being a coward or anything like that, but just as if he’s being an idiot. Obviously if they let themselves get scared and hesitate, that might get in the way of them winning their fight! It’s like Masaru is thinking of “getting scared” less in terms of the initial emotion that you can’t help feeling, but in terms of whether you choose to let it control you, or you just push it aside and press on anyway. Anyone who wouldn’t want to do the latter is an idiot, right?

Agumon: “You sure this is okay?”

Masaru: “You think I know?”

As the countdown to transfer gets close to zero and the energy starts swirling around them, I love the tiny little hint that Masaru is actually just as nervous about this as Agumon is – he has no idea if this is gonna be okay or not either! – and is just very stubbornly refusing to show it.

As we briefly see here, moving from one world to another involves travelling through a trippy computery in-between void. Future trips to and from the Digital World in the series will (usually, with one notable exception) skip over this part, but we can assume that it’s a thing that happens every time.

The opening also contains a shot of the characters going through this void between worlds. Yoshino doesn’t head to the Digital World herself in this episode, of course, but she will in time.

Masaru: “This is the Digital World? Cool… The sky and the ground are upside-down!”

I like how Masaru is totally willing to buy that the Digital World really is this weird.

Agumon: “Aniki… You’re the one who’s upside-down.”

Masaru: “I knew that.”

…Rather than the much more likely option that he’s just a huge ridiculous dork.

(The subs say “I knew that” like Masaru’s trying to save face, but the word he says in Japanese could also translate as “Oh, I see,” as if he isn’t even trying to hide how he genuinely thought the Digital World was upside-down for a second. That doofus.)

Agumon: “It’s my first time seeing it, too.”

Masaru: “But you’re a Digimon, aren’t you?”

Agumon: “Yeah, but I’ve been in DATS all my life.”

Yep, just like he said in the first episode about not remembering anything but being in DATS. Seems like, unlike the rampaging Digimon they deal with, Agumon came to the human world while he was not exactly “alive”, as such.

They wander through the Digital World for a while, marvelling at some of its weirdness. Circuit board patterns in the sky! Pixelated rivers! All sorts of Digimon walking and bouncing and flying around!

Masaru: “We’re looking for that mole thing. If we keep walking, we should come across a clue or something.”

Man, Masaru, you sure thought this through and planned things out real good.

Agumon: “What about Tohma?”

[cut to the DATS control room]

Yoshino: “‘Leave him, he’ll figure something out on his own.’ …If he said that, what’ll we do?”

Lalamon: “You’re overthinking it.”

[cut back to the Digital World]

Masaru: “Leave him, he’ll figure something out on his own.”

Oh dear. Yoshino has already got Masaru pretty figured out and knew full well he wasn’t likely to take looking for Tohma that seriously. Though, to be fair, it is pretty reasonable to assume that Tohma can figure something out on his own. Masaru wouldn’t admit this just yet, but this is him having faith in Tohma’s capabilities! If Masaru had reason to believe that Tohma was definitely in life-threatening danger he couldn’t get out of by himself, I’m sure he wouldn’t be so nonchalant about this.

As Masaru and Agumon explore more Digital World weirdness – more stuff in the sky! Digital plants! A crystalline colosseum-looking thing that’s actually a Chekhov’s Gun for this episode! – a particular piece of BGM is playing that evokes a sense of grand exploration and discovery, as you’d expect for this moment. This piece happens to be called Savers’ “Main Theme”, which was a little surprising to me when I saw its name on the soundtrack. You’d expect this series’ main theme to be something more actiony, in fitting with all the focus on fighting and the way Masaru is. But maybe a more discovery-like piece is actually quite appropriate for what the overall themes of this story are.

Agumon: “But it feels kinda nostalgic.”

An interesting comment from Agumon here. Though he doesn’t consciously remember anything about the Digital World because he was born in DATS, it seems like he has a subconscious sense of familiarity with it. As we’ve seen every time DATS defeats a Digimon, they don’t die and are simply turned into eggs and “reborn” – so maybe this is a sign of Agumon’s previous life, in which he did live in the Digital World, still vaguely there with him even though the conscious memories of it are lost.

As fun as showing off Digital World weirdness is, we soon get to the point as Drimogemon happens to pop out of a cliff face nearby. Which, yes, is kind of arbitrarily convenient. But I will take this any day over them wandering aimlessly having unnecessary filler adventures for episodes on end before getting to the actual point that the story is here for.

It also may make some reasonable amount of sense, actually. Masaru was sent to where Tohma was last seen, and it’s likely that Tohma deliberately sent himself somewhere near where he could detect Drimogemon. Tohma sending himself over here with absolutely no idea where to find a single Digimon among an entire world would have been incredibly stupid, after all, and I don’t think he could have justified that to himself even with his determination to fix his mistake. Given that, it’s not so unreasonable that Masaru would have run into Drimogemon at some point, since it was going to be somewhere near to where he arrived.

Also, while the other Digimon they’ve seen were just kind of wandering around naturally, the Drimogemon straight up crashed out of a cliffside. It’s still rampaging, exactly as they were worried about last episode, and therefore it’s even more likely that Masaru would have noticed it sooner or later with all the commotion it’s making.

Drimogemon tunnels into the ground, so naturally Masaru heads straight after it – and back at DATS, Yoshino loses his Digivice signal just like she lost Tohma’s. So apparently these signals can be picked up through the boundary between worlds, but not if someone is in another world and also underground. Uhhh, okay then.

This also means that presumably the reason she lost Tohma’s signal is because he went underground while trying to track Drimogemon, not because he was necessarily in any severe danger.

Lalamon: “This may be the worst…”

I’m amused by Lalamon borrowing Yoshino’s catchphrase, but hedging her bets on it a little bit. Maybe it’s not actually the worst! Maybe.

Satsuma: “What are you doing?”

Yoshino: “Searching for an idiot! Geez, why me?”

Yoshino is so focused on frustratedly searching for Masaru’s signal that she doesn’t even register that Satsuma and Kudamon have shown up at first, which is probably the exact thing she was really hoping wasn’t going to happen until Masaru and Tohma were back. Nope, turns out this definitely is the worst.

Back in the Digital World, Masaru’s tried-and-true strategy of tracking Drimogemon down by simply following it through its own tunnel has led them into a huge underground cavern.

Masaru: “Doesn’t matter where this is! Let’s go, Agumon!”

As before, Masaru doesn’t care about the location so long as he gets to fight! Or, perhaps, he’s trying to tell himself the location doesn’t matter, because on some level he’s realising that Drimogemon is very much in its element and has the advantage here. Which it does, as Masaru and Agumon quickly learn they’re not very good at Whack-a-giant-Digimole.

Bear in mind that Drimogemon is not saying a word, just like it hasn’t since it grew bigger last episode. It’s still in that mindless rampaging state, and so it seems to have no issue with straight-up collapsing the ground underneath Masaru and Agumon. That would be going a bit far if this were a Digimon that was still properly in control of itself.

Agumon: “Aniki!”

Masaru: “Idiot, don’t get scared over something like this!”

Masaru is still trying to set an example for his follower and insist that there’s no point in getting scared, even though being in an underground cave-in is in fact a pretty legitimate reason to be scared right now.

They both fall into a pretty deep-looking chasm but manage to somehow land reasonably unhurt, because shounen anime. Agumon’s awkward legs-in-the-air pose he landed in is pretty cute.

It turns out that Tohma and Gaomon are down here too. Seems like Drimogemon took the same approach when it was faced with them.

Masaru: “What’s this? Does that mean the same thing happened to you?” [he and Agumon burst out laughing] “I see, you’re just like us!”

I really like Masaru’s reaction here. He’s not trying to be mean-spirited; if you listen to the tone of his laughter, there’s nothing malicious or mocking about it. It’s just such a huge relief for him to finally be seeing proof that Tohma’s human. He can fail sometimes and mess up in ways as equally ridiculous and undignified as Masaru. He’s not actually some kind of infuriatingly perfect walking supercomputer who can never do wrong like Masaru’s kind of been resentfully seeing him as. He’s just a person.

The relief of that realisation comes out as laughter not because Masaru’s really trying to mock Tohma for failing, but just because of the elation of finally being able to see Tohma as an equal. “You’re just like us”, indeed.

Tohma’s response is also great. He’s not getting frustrated and snapping back at Masaru like he often would in the previous episode, because he must be able to tell that Masaru isn’t actually trying to insult him here. He’s just embarrassed to be unable to deny the fact that he really is more of a fallible human person than he would have ideally liked Masaru to see him as.

Gaomon, meanwhile, the good dog that he is, has been carefully excavating rocks and found a potential way out. As Tohma heads towards it, he stumbles, because his leg was injured from the fall.

Masaru: “Hey, you’re hurt!”

Tohma: [grimacing] “This barely counts as an injury.”

Tohma clearly doesn’t want to give Masaru even more reason to think he’s human and fallible and might need help or something. But Masaru doesn’t care about Tohma’s stubbornness and immediately moves to put himself under Tohma’s arm to support him.

Masaru: “Here.”

Tohma: “Stop that. I don’t need you to help—”

Masaru: “When you’re a man… When you’re a man, there are some things you just have to *do* despite yourself.”

I love Masaru so much. This is the first time we’re getting to see that his manliness thing is about a whole lot more than just fighting. It’s about honour, and integrity, and simply being a good person. The “despite yourself” is because he still doesn’t really like Tohma just yet and there’s a part of him that stubbornly wants to continue to be irritable and contrary towards him for the hell of it – but since Tohma’s injured and needs help, Masaru’s principles about doing the right thing in this kind of situation are more important to him than anything, so he can put that petty stubbornness aside. And these principles of Masaru’s come from exactly the same place as the reason he always gives it his all in fights!

(All those parts earlier in the episode where I confidently asserted that there’s no way Masaru actually wouldn’t have cared if Tohma had got himself killed, and that if he’d believed Tohma was in genuine danger then he wouldn’t have just left him to his own devices? Yeah, this is why. Masaru is Good.)

Masaru’s manly speech was mostly about himself, but it also works as advice to Tohma in this situation. He could continue to try and be stubborn and prideful and insist he doesn’t need help from anyone, but when there’s someone right here offering to help him – someone who was until recently at his throat, no less – what kind of a dick move would it be to reject that offer? Accepting Masaru’s help is the right thing for Tohma to do as well, despite his own pride. And he does.

Agumon: “You’re making me cry, Aniki!”

Agumon also approves of his aniki’s manly principles, like a good follower should. Aniki is teaching him so much.

Masaru: “Let’s get outta here first. Then we can think about other things.”

Implicit in Masaru’s statement here is “then we can get back to arguing with each other if we want” – but I like how he isn’t even mentioning that here, because right now it isn’t about that. Their lives are in danger, they need to help each other and work together to get out, and so nothing else matters for the time being.

This turns into a brief cute montage of the four of them helping each other make their way through the tunnels, which turn out to be quite the underground labyrinth. A lot of time implicitly passes here, and while I doubt Masaru and Tohma are saying very much to each other, this is no doubt making them bond a bit. They’re finally spending some time seeing each other as a person and an equal, rather than as some kind of infuriating representation of everything opposite to their own approach that brings out all their insecurities.

Meanwhile at DATS, Yoshino is indeed getting fiercely chewed out by Satsuma.

Yoshino: “But that was all I could do…”

It really was, or Masaru would have broken the equipment and left Tohma stranded there! She did the absolute best thing she could under the circumstances! Alas, Yoshino doesn’t seem to quite have it in her to stand up for herself and more clearly express this.

Kudamon: “Instead of berating them, we should find out where they are quickly!”

At least Kudamon has the right idea. And I imagine Satsuma understands this, too – he’s probably only so furious at Yoshino because he’s worried about Tohma and Masaru. He likely would have chewed them out if he could, since this is absolutely far more their fault than Yoshino’s. But they aren’t available for him to yell at, so poor Yoshino got the brunt of it instead.

Masaru: “Hey, why didn’t you evolve Gaomon and break out?”

Back in the Digital World, Masaru asking this suggests he’s been thinking himself about, naturally, the most straightforward way to get out of here – he’d just evolve Agumon to GeoGreymon and smash their way out, if only he could!

But it says a lot that Masaru is then also applying his mindset to Tohma and assuming that he’s probably thought of the same thing, hence asking why he hasn’t done so, since Tohma can evolve his partner more easily. Masaru’s starting to empathise with Tohma and see him as a person!

(I guess technically Masaru might be able to get his Digisoul by turning around and punching Gaomon in the face? But it’s entirely possible that it wouldn’t work against a Digimon that’s not actively trying to fight him. Or, even if it did, that’d be a dick move to suddenly punch someone who’s not ready to fight and defend themselves, so I doubt Masaru would want to do that.)

Tohma demonstrates why he didn’t just evolve Gaomon by asking Gaomon to punch the wall, showing how dangerously unstable these tunnels are. Which is, uh, something he really could have just explained with words rather than taking a risk like that. But then again, Masaru is definitely someone who learns things better through actions rather than words, so maybe this is Tohma beginning to appreciate that!

They reach another fork in the tunnel and disagree on which path they should take. Tohma explains that the path he’s choosing isn’t random; he’s been dropping coins on the ground as they’ve been moving, and the path Masaru picked has a coin in it, indicating that they’ve been that way before.

(This is a 100 yen coin, by the way, which is roughly equal to one US dollar, and Tohma’s apparently been dropping loads of them. Could he not have used, I dunno, just 1 yen coins? Someone has more money than he knows what to do with.)

Masaru: “Hey, you’re pretty smart!”

I like how Masaru remarks on this like it’s the first time he’s noticing this, as if he wasn’t already infuriatingly aware that Tohma’s a straight-up genius. This is Tohma displaying his smarts in a low-key, down-to-earth way that a regular person like Masaru can understand and appreciate is a useful way to go about things, rather than a way that makes him just come across as incomprehensibly, unreachably perfect.

Tohma: “As I said, I’m not like you.”

Tohma’s still taking a little longer to warm up to Masaru and acknowledge that they might actually be similar to each other in a lot of ways, since he insists on stressing this point. Come on, Tohma! Masaru’s already started to admit that maybe you’re more like him than he would have liked you to be a day ago; you should start closing that gap, too!

Masaru makes a face in response to this comment. Apparently he’s agreeing with my sentiment about Tohma being a little too unnecessarily uptight here.

Agumon: “Aniki… When are we gonna get outta here?!”

Masaru: “Don’t worry! Keep up your spirits and we’ll use it to work this out somehow!”

Tohma: “Spirit has nothing to do with it, but we *are* heading up.”

I love the contrast between Masaru’s baseless emotion-driven optimism, and Tohma preferring to base his optimism in actual facts. Both are good ways to be optimistic!

Masaru: “You’re really unbearable.”

Tohma: “You too.”

They say this, but they both sound a lot less vitriolic about it than they did in the previous episodes. They still have huge differences in their approach to things that inherently frustrate each other, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be beginning to respect each other anyway!

Masaru and Tohma reach an opening into a wider cavern, but they’re too high up for it to be safe to drop down into it. They’re about to turn back when Drimogemon shows up in the lower cavern.

Masaru: “He’s out of luck to meet us here! Let’s go, Agumon!”

Yes, out of luck, this is definitely the least advantageous possible position that Drimogemon could be meeting them in. Masaru is still being Masaru and paying no heed to the environment; he sees Drimogemon as being out of luck to meet him at all, because hey, this means they don’t have to go searching for it later!

Tohma points out the incredible disadvantage they’re at, including reminding Masaru that it’s not safe for their partners to evolve in here, and insists they should keep heading for the surface and leave it be for now. But Masaru is having none of it.

Masaru: “Not gonna!”

I absolutely adore his ridiculous grumpy walk towards Tohma. It’s so perfect for getting across his stubborn attitude here. No. Masaru is gonna fight the thing and no amount of logic or safety is gonna stop him.

Masaru: “I’m not gonna run or hide! A man takes his fights head-on!”

Also, running away at a time like this isn’t what a man does, according to him, and it’s already become pretty clear just how important sticking to that principle is to Masaru.

So he pulls Tohma with him to the edge of the tunnel and straight-up leaps down onto Drimogemon’s back, with Agumon and Gaomon frantically jumping after them.

(Tohma grimaces in pain as he lands on its back. Yeah, considering his leg injury, ouch.)

Masaru: “Yo.”

Masaru climbs forward onto Drimogemon’s head and has this delightfully audacious moment.

Then, realising they’re there, Drimogemon goes mad trying to shake them off. When they keep clinging on, it rushes towards the nearest wall trying to tunnel away. Masaru tugs on its fur like reins to redirect it to tunnel where he wants it to – in a more upwards direction, since they soon emerge out on the surface.

(It’s a little questionable how Masaru and co. aren’t just utterly crushed between Drimogemon’s back and the earth as it digs its tunnel, but then again it’s questionable how Drimogemon’s drill even manages to drill out a tunnel big enough for its entire body through what seems like not earth but solid rock in the first place. Shush, it’s anime physics; it’s fine.)

Tohma: (He… Did he plan all of this from the start? But wait…)

And here’s Tohma applying his mindset to Masaru, imagining that Masaru might have planned this! He’s, uh… not precisely correct on that one, but it says a lot that he’s even considering it at all.

Rather than jump off its back and fight it here, Masaru keeps pulling on Drimogemon’s fur to direct its panicked running.

Masaru: “Yahoo! This is just like a rodeo!”

(And he’s having a whale of a time while doing it, too, the huge dork.)

Tohma: “Where are you taking us?”

Masaru: “You’re the one who said to think of a good battleground!”

Look at Masaru actually thinking about this and applying a decent amount of strategy! He’s really not that bad at doing so when someone prompts him to actually consider it; he’s just usually so raring to jump straight in that it doesn’t occur to him to do so.

The “good battleground” in question is the crystalline colosseum Masaru noticed earlier – just the kind of place where Drimogemon won’t be able to dig. Inside the crystal arena, Masaru gives it a nice big punch before leaping off its back, and its evolution time.

…Except, it turns out, it’s also about to be evolution time for Drimogemon. For some reason. It starts twitching and shaking like it’s having some kind of adverse reaction to something, but I cannot come up with any possible reason why it would be doing so. The robbers who may or may not have been (read: they definitely were) responsible for it growing bigger and rampaging in the first place back in the human world are long gone and out of the picture. This does not make any sense to me. Maybe this is just something that happens if a Digimon that’s grown bigger but not evolved is left to rampage unchecked for long enough? I don’t think we see any other instances in the series that would contradict this, but this is definitely me reaching here.

Meanwhile at DATS, Miki and Megumi have also been called in to help search for the two reckless idiots, and they finally manage to relocate their signals – probably because they’re above ground again now. But they also detect Drimogemon evolving, which, for some reason, activates DATS’s alarm. You know, the one that’s supposed to be for Digimon appearing in the human world, because it’s hardly like a Digimon evolving back in the Digital World is usually anything they need to worry about.

Drimogemon finishes evolving, and it’s now… a Digmon. (Dig, without the second “I”; yes, this is very easy to awkwardly misread as just Digimon, I know.) And, uh, Digimon evolution level facts: this shouldn’t be a stronger Digimon.

If Drimogemon, an Adult-level like Gaogamon and GeoGreymon, had evolved upwards like you’d expect into the next proper evolution level, it’d have reached Perfect level. And, as I’ve mentioned with regards to evolution levels, they are each ridiculously exponentially stronger than the last, to the point that even GeoGreymon and Gaogamon working together would not have stood a chance against even a single Perfect-level.

So, well, obviously that couldn’t actually happen here, because Masaru and Tohma need to win this fight. Instead, Drimogemon just evolved sideways into a bonus gimmicky evolution level called Armour level, which, from its appearances in other series, seems to be roughly just as strong as Adult. This is not actually any significantly more of a threat at all.

Tohma: “It’s Digmon. He’s far more powerful and has a higher mobility than Drimogemon.”

I guess we’re meant to assume that Armour levels work somewhat differently in this Digimon universe and are in fact just a little bit stronger than Adult, while not nearly as much so as Perfect? Sure, I guess; the general mechanics of Digimon don’t always work exactly the same in different universes.

(Still, Tohma conspicuously does not mention Digmon’s evolution level and explain the fact that it just evolved more sideways than upwards, because the writers don’t want you to notice how awkward this is.)

This whole thing, nonsensical DATS alarm and all, is a hilariously transparent attempt by the writers to inject more artificial tension into this situation, and, I dunno, to maybe showcase a different Monster of the Week since we’ve been dealing with Drimogemon for two episodes now. It’s very silly. Drimogemon should have just stayed as a Drimogemon and everything would have been fine.

At least this does mean, thanks to Digmon’s apparent higher defences and mobility, we get GeoGreymon not winning the fight in a single attack. (Though my brain looks at Digmon and sees something that’s clearly a Bug/Steel-type and is very bothered by how an obviously Fire-type attack like Mega Flame doesn’t harm it at all. Shush, I was raised on Pokémon; I can’t help but see things this way.) It puts up a decent fight for a while, dodging or withstanding their attacks and hitting back, which at least is a refreshing change from the one-attack victories we’ve seen before – because there’s a narrative point to be made in this fight that wouldn’t work if they won straight away.

…I still think this could have been made to work just fine with Drimogemon turning out to be tougher and have more mobility above ground than they’d been expecting, though. It shouldn’t have needed to evolve sideways for this fight to be a challenge.

So anyway, after a little bit of them not getting anywhere in defeating it, Tohma reminds Masaru of the part last episode where GeoGreymon and Gaogamon’s attacks collided from opposing directions and cancelled each other out.

Tohma: “But what if the opposite happened?”

Masaru: “What’d happen?”

Tohma: “Let’s find out!”

Look at Tohma getting into the Masaru spirit of things! He has an idea, but unlike his usual carefully-calculated strategies, he doesn’t know exactly how this one’s going to play out. And yet he’s going for it anyway!

Tohma: “Isn’t that your style?”

Masaru: “Now you’re getting it!”

Not only that, but Tohma knows this is him pulling something Masaru would pull, and he’s okay with it! And of course Masaru enthusiastically approves.

Believer kicks in here, by the way, not earlier when they were evolving. We’re still hearing it every episode for now, but even then, the music directors know better than to just blindly throw it in the moment an evolution animation happens, regardless of context. They’re deliberately saving it for the actually triumphant moments, like all “evolution” songs should be.

Masaru: “The timing has to be perfect.”

Meanwhile, Masaru is taking a leaf out of Tohma’s book and caring about little strategic details like timing! Look at them both go.

On their command, GeoGreymon and Gaogamon fire their Mega Flame and Spiral Blow attacks together in the same direction at the same time, which turns them into a huge flaming tornado that engulfs Digmon and overwhelms it.

Tohma: “The opposing attacks didn’t clash… they fused! Their combined powers enhanced each other and became amplified to more than before!”

Which, though I don’t know if Tohma himself quite realises this or not, is also a very fitting metaphor for his and Masaru’s methods, just like what happened last episode. If they oppose each other, all they do is get in each other’s way and achieve nothing at all, but if they work together, they can each complement the other’s skills to become something greater than either of them could be on his own!

Masaru: “Who cares about that? All that matters now is… he dies!”

Meanwhile, of course Masaru doesn’t care about figuring out the sciencey logistics of how this is working (and he certainly cares even less about possibly making some kind of metaphor). He just knows that it’s awesome and it means they win.

(The “he dies!” is, uh, rather dark, especially considering it’s only being turned into an egg, but I’m pretty sure that’s a subs thing and that Masaru doesn’t actually directly reference death here. The subbers were probably just going for something that sounds a bit snappier than “he’s defeated”, which I imagine is closer to what Masaru actually literally said.)

As Masaru starts celebrating their win like the adorable excited dork he is, GeoGreymon and Gaogamon give a small smile to each other, and it’s cute.

Tohma, meanwhile, isn’t quite the type to join in with Masaru’s loud celebrations, but he has a smile to himself and is obviously happy about this outcome as well, in his much more subdued way.

We cut to sun…set? Huh, now that I think about it, I guess this part of the Digital World runs on a different timezone to Japan in the human world, because it was daytime the whole time over here while it was night in Japan. Maybe this world even has an entirely different day length.

Masaru, Tohma and their devolved partners are heading back to the recall point – with Masaru still supporting Tohma’s walking, because he is still good and Tohma probably still needs it.

Tohma: “When you jumped down towards Drimogemon… Did you plan right from the start to use him so we could get to the surface?”

Tohma only asks this now even though they’ve been implicitly walking back from the fight for a while. It seems he tried to tell himself that it probably was all planned, but the thought kept nagging at him – was it really, though? This is Masaru, after all – that he eventually just had to ask and confirm it.

Masaru: “Nah, that was just spirit! But the result was great, wasn’t it?!”

Aaaand of course it wasn’t all planned from the start. Of course not. But, hey, there was still deliberate intent and strategy involved as it was happening. It seems Masaru can be pretty good at the whole seat-of-your-pants, make-it-up-as-you-go type of strategising when he needs to be!

Tohma: (I hate to admit it, but I can’t analyse his ability with my intellect.)

And that’s okay, Tohma! This is Tohma acknowledging that Masaru’s approach is nothing like his, but that it still works just as well and is just as valid a way of going about things. He’s opening his mind to more than just his very rigid way of thinking!

Tohma stops in their walking and… offers Masaru a fist-bump. I really like how he’s the one to offer here, after Masaru was the first to offer support to Tohma earlier and Tohma was still being kind of hesitant about fully accepting Masaru as being similar to him. He’s making up for that now and closing the rest of the gap himself, just like he began to do in the battle when he suggested a Masaru-like risky strategy!

Masaru accepts it without question, of course. He probably already felt like they’d grown enough of an unspoken bond from their experiences that it didn’t need to be said, otherwise I imagine he’d have already made this gesture himself sooner. But I like that it didn’t occur to him, so that we could see Tohma be the one to choose to initiate this.

They are friends now and it is good!

Agumon: “Aniki’s got himself another follower!”

That’s, uh, not quite what this is, Agumon. But it’s adorable that Agumon jumps to seeing things that way, because to him his aniki is just The Coolest and he can’t imagine anyone else ever being his equal. So if Aniki’s gained the respect of someone new, that must mean he’s also become an aniki to them, right?

Gaomon: “Master is no follower!”

Meanwhile, maybe Gaomon feels pretty similarly about his master, too. He is, after all, a very good dog.

Safely back at DATS, Masaru and Tohma and their partners have the grace to look appropriately sheepish about this whole thing as Satsuma yells at them. Yoshino is also there and also looks like she’s getting yelled at along with them, which seems unfair to me – she already bore her share of the blame earlier, and it was far less her fault than theirs!

Kudamon: “You were able to make it back this time, but did you think about what would’ve happen if you’d failed? You still know nothing of the Digital World!”

It’s pretty interesting that Kudamon says this to them, considering that he knows far more about the Digital World than anyone else in this room and yet hasn’t ever thought to inform his agents about it in case something like this ever happened.

Satsuma drops his anger and turns his back to them before finally complimenting them on managing to return. Despite his sternness, he does care about his subordinates! I really do think he was only so angry because he was worried about them never making it back. Going there in the first place was monumentally reckless on both their parts, but Masaru and Tohma did at least handle things quite impressively while they were there, and that deserves to be acknowledged.

(Speaking of worried, I imagine Masaru is very much not planning on telling his mother about how he nearly went and got himself stranded in another world, which is definitely for the best. Poor Sayuri would be terrified just thinking about how close that came to happening.)

Overall thoughts

When I first watched Savers, I think there was a part of me that expected the Masaru-Tohma rivalry to drag on unnecessarily long, like for ten episodes or more, and probably become kind of stale and tiresome before it finally got resolved. But no! Savers doesn’t waste any time with this mini-arc. We’ve seen Masaru’s insecurities brought out by Tohma; we’ve seen Tohma’s insecurities brought out by Masaru; now it’s time to shove them into a situation where they can learn to get along, so that the story can move on with them actually working together.

And, really, it was never going to take Masaru and Tohma that long to reach this point. They always had so much in common along with their differences, and they’re both fundamentally decent people despite their tendency to be very stubbornly insistent about their own way of doing things. All it took was putting them in a situation where they can come to see the other as a person and not have their own issues brought out by the other’s very presence, and each one was always going to see that there’s plenty about the other that he can respect.

So I like this episode a lot, because I think it pulls this off really well. There’s a lot more to it than just the basic premise of “put them in danger so they’re forced to work together” – there’s all sorts of little moments I’ve talked about here that show each of them is slowly beginning to see the other as human and come to understand and respect his different way of thinking. The writers really thought about this, and about these characters. Savers’ character writing is great.

And yeah, the Drimogemon evolving into Digmon is pretty silly, but that’s only a small thing. The conclusion of the metaphor started last episode with GeoGreymon and Gaogamon’s attacks is a narratively appropriate way to end the fight, at least.

---

[Dub comparison]

#digimon #digimon savers #masaru daimon #tohma h norstein

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megatraven · 3 years

Text

Great and Precious Things

A/N: The title is taken from the quote, “All great and precious things are lonely,” by John Steinbeck. Because I forgot to think of a title while I wrote this :) Character(s): EAA FMC, EAA MMC, Arin Pairing(s): N/A Summary: A look into what it might have been like for FMC following the casting of the memory spell, and how she gave up much more than just her knowledge of magic.

AO3

___

It doesn’t happen the moment the words leave her mouth, as most spells tend to. It’s more delicate than that, and it takes time to wrap around her heart and mind, to seal away a lifetime of memories. She has a few days. A week at most.

“How are you feeling?” Arin asks her, concern bleeding through their voice, their furrowed brow making her smile, albeit weakly.

“I’m just tired. Took a lot more out of me than opening a door, that’s for sure.” She turns to her brother. “How about you?”

“I... Yeah, I’m fine. I will be.”

Reaching out, she squeezes his shoulder, and it’s enough to ground them both and scrape together the energy they need to ask the labyrinth for a way home.

They part ways with Arin, promising to see them tomorrow for an update. It’s a quiet, mournful walk back to their house, but when they finally reach the basement, they don’t quite remember why they were down there in the first place.

___

“Does it feel strange?”

Arin is sitting across from her, their leg bouncing a little nervously, an old tic that only shows up when they’re really anxious over something. She reaches across and drops her hand down on their knee, keeping them still.

She wants to reassure them, but there’s no easy way to tell someone that you’re leaving them behind. There’s no easy way to let them know that you’re forgetting promises that you said you would keep, and memories that you’ve laughed or cried over together for years.

But she does her best.

“It’s... like waking up from a dream. You want to tell people about it, but when you reach for the story... it’s slipped through your fingers.” She pauses, and takes her hand away from their leg, leaning back into her own seat. There’s not much else to say.

Silence stretches between them, almost suffocating in how heavy it is, before Arin breaks it.

“Does it... Does it hurt?” they whisper, and her heart aches for it.

At least she can tell them the truth here, provide some small comfort.

“Not at all.”

___

She’s making herself a fresh pot of coffee when her brother comes into the kitchen. She doesn’t look up, eyes glued to the list of classes available next semester as she decides which ones she wants to take.

He sits down at the counter, and she can practically feel the weight of his stare on her, though she doesn’t look back.

She’s got to figure out her classes- she remembers feeling a little bored this past semester, like there wasn’t enough to fill her time.

When her coffee fills the pot, she pours herself a steaming mug, and finally looks over at her brother, finding him to be a little apprehensive.

With a sigh, she sets her mug back down and turns to face him fully.

“Alright. No being all mopey, tell me what’s up.”

She’s prepared for just about anything- but what he says makes her thankful she’d already set her coffee down.

“I’m going to law school.”

For a moment, all she can do is stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She knows exactly what that means- god, she’d seen the letters when she checked the mail, but she never thought...

“You can’t be serious,” she says, disbelieving and maybe a little angry. Maybe a little hurt, too. He couldn’t leave, they had-

They had...

Something!

She was too angry to recall what obligation it was, but he was supposed to stay! He was supposed to stay with her.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I just can’t get that argument with dad out of my head. This might be my only chance to go, and I-” he swallows, looking away- “I’m going to take it. I don’t want to be stuck here looking after the lighthouse all my life.”

“You can’t leave,” she says, a little desperate. “Arin and I need you.”

She isn’t sure why she says Arin’s name- they’re doing just fine in their work, they know what direction they’re going in. But it feels right, like it needs to be said. Like it should always be the three of them, together.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to sway her brother.

“I have to. I already accepted, I’m getting a full-ride scholarship... it’s happening, whether you want it to or not.” He gets up, and starts to leave, pausing only to say one more thing. “I hope you’ll respect my decision.”

And then he’s gone, a preview of what’s the come.

Her coffee is cold by the time she wills herself to pick it up again.

___

“I’m sorry,” she says, out of the blue.

She’s just finished submitting her classes for the next semester, filling her schedule to the brim. If her brother’s not going to be there, then she really needed something to occupy herself with. Not to mention, she wants to learn a better way to keep the lighthouse going, since it’ll be just her.

Her brother looks up from his phone, cheeks a little flush.

“Huh?”

“For acting the way I did when you told me about law school. I want you to be happy...” She glances down at his phone and gives him a teasing smile when she meets his eyes again. “So I support you. You should go.”

“Really? I knew you’d come around!” His smile grows, and he rushes around the table to squeeze her in a tight hug, making her laugh. “What changed your mind?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but she closes it again.

Why did she change her mind? Why was she so against him leaving? She remembers feeling angry, but why? It wasn’t like her to hold him- or anyone, for that matter- back just because of her feelings. It feels like she shouldn’t have had to change her mind at all.

Shaking her head lightly, she shrugs.

“I guess I just realized that... well, you know what you want to do with your life. I don’t want to get in the way of you doing it.”

“Thank you. It means a lot, you know.”

She can hear the smile in his voice, and has to blink away tears before she pulls back and grins at him.

“Of course. If you ever need anything...” She steps back, and gestures around them, at the house that they grew up in. “You know where to find me.”

___

He leaves.

Her parents are gone, on vacation in California.

The house feels more empty than it ever has, and it breaks her heart a little. Some part of her knows it wasn’t meant to be that way, but there’s nothing to be done about it, now.

She takes out her phone and pulls up Arin’s number.

At least she still has them.

___

She sits at one of the tables outside, just beyond the line of food trucks. It’s a nice day, and all the food smells so good. She’d love to grab a bite to eat, but she waits, checking her phone for any response.

Nothing.

“They said they’d come,” she murmurs, looking out at all the people passing by. No bright red hair sticks out to her, no friendly face.

Sighing, she shoots them another message- she knows they get busy, so maybe they just forgot?

A few minutes go by with no response, and she’s about ready to grab something and go when they finally arrive, looking harried.

“Arin! I was wondering-”

“I’m sorry,” they interrupt, their voice sounding rough. There’s something sad in their gaze that she can’t quite place, and they look more exhausted than usual. “I thought I’d be able to meet you today, but I have a meeting that moved up, it’s in a couple of minutes. Can we reschedule?”

Her heart sinks, but she pulls out her best smile anyways.

“Of course! I’ll text you later!”

And then they’re off like a bullet, leaving her behind, too.

Leaning back in her chair, she decides maybe it would be better to stay out for awhile longer. The sun is shining, the food smells great, and there’s no reason to waste it all by sulking at home.

Eventually, she decides on getting an ice cream before she settles back into her seat, watching all the people coming and going. A silly sort of idea strikes her, and she smiles a bit.

“Maybe I can make it into a little game...”

___

Rain check.

Cancelled.

Busy.

Reschedule.

Try again at a better time.

Maybe soon.

The excuses wear away at her, until she stops texting Arin altogether.

Most of her messages go unanswered, and she can barely even catch their eye on campus anymore. She wonders if it’s something she did. Maybe they were just growing apart. Maybe she’d finally become too much for them to handle.

It didn’t really matter either way. She couldn’t keep their friendship alive on her own, and they clearly didn’t see it as important right then. If they weren’t going to put in the effort, that was fine.

And if they needed space... she could give it to them.

No problem.

She swipes their contact away, looking for her brother’s name. Her finger hovers over the call button for a long moment before she sets her phone down.

He was probably busy studying. Or making out with his boyfriend. The idea of that makes her snort.

She didn’t want to bother him, anyway. He’d call her in a couple of days.

Slumping in her seat, she looks around her, looking for something to get her mind off it all. Her eyes land on a pile of books she’d brought home earlier, mostly on the subjects of lighthouse maintenance, computer programming, and engineering.

Sitting back up, she reaches over and grabs one.

“Well... no time like the present, right?”

___

The lighthouse runs on its own, hardly needing anything more than a weekly check-up to make sure things are running smoothly.

She’s proud of her work- it’d taken a good year to work out all the kinks of her new system, but it was so worth it. It kept her occupied, gave her something to focus on.

Only, now that it's finished...

She doesn’t quite know what to do with herself.

Her brother is way too busy with school to talk often, Arin is still strangely distant and ridiculously busy, and even the lighthouse doesn’t really need her anymore.

Somehow, she finds herself feeling more lonely than ever.

But that’s okay, she thinks.

It’s normal.

#lovestruck #lovestruck voltage #ever after academy #eaa #arin langdon #eaa fmc #eaa mmc #my fic #ok im still? not satisfied w the ending but i rlly didnt know how else to end it so efrgtefrgtrfgt #if it’s not clear. fmc is. is the great and precious thing-

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anauthore · 4 years

Text

Escape From Halloweentown {Jack Skellington x Reader}

Summary: When a game of hide-and-seek goes wrong, you find yourself lost in the woods without a way home. Whether it be fate, or just dumb luck, you suddenly find yourself in a far bigger predicament than you ever thought you would be- and it's not just because you can't seem to find your little brother.

**Pairing: **Reader / Jack Skellington. A very slow burn fic.

NOTE: This is a full-length fanfic! If you don’t want to read chapter by chapter on tumblr, please use the following links to read in a different format / on a different website!

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Next Chapter

~PROLOGUE~

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Except it wasn’t Christmas, or anywhere close. Instead, you recited the familiar rhyme to your little brother for what felt like the thousandth time. Despite it being extremely out-of-season, this is the only bedtime story he would fall asleep to, and if it wasn’t A Visit from St. Nicholas, then it was out of the question. You knew almost every word by heart, barely glancing at the pages and instead opting to check every so often to see if your little brother had fallen asleep yet. You could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open, and even though he was on the verge of being whisked away to dreamland, he still held on to every last word.

“...happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

You whispered the finishing line and just like that, his quiet snore filled the room. You gently closed the book and sat it in the nook on the shelf that it came from. You tiptoed away as silently as possible, leaving his dinosaur night-light on and shutting the door before you let out a breath you’d been holding to avoid making any unnecessary noise.

You walked down the carpeted hallway toward your kitchen, opening the fridge and searching the mostly-empty shelves for something- anything- to eat. You settled on a half-eaten container of hummus and some crackers that had been left out on the counter for God knows how long.

You were 17, almost 18, jobless and living in an apartment with your father and little brother. He worked long days, barely ever home to spend time with his kids in order to support them. Despite feeling lonely most of the time, you appreciated it immensely because, in the end, it was WAY more than your mother ever did. Your apartment was what real estate agents tend to call “cozy”; nestled in between the edge of a good-sized city and a large expanse of unkempt forest, you often prowled around outside to be completely alone with your thoughts.

The night was bitterly cold, the outside air seeping in from the walls and up from the floor, causing you to shiver and wrap your jacket closer around your body. The house had no heating; your family relied on warm clothes and fluffy blankets to keep comfortable during the winter, and fans and cold showers to stay cool during the summer. Sometimes, you did wish that you lived with your mom, although you always felt guilty for thinking that. To leave your brother, your father… all for what? Central air and heat? A full fridge? You knew the price you’d have to pay, along with the weight of your betrayal, would be more unbearable mental abuse.

You shook off the idea, throwing your scraps away and entering your bedroom. It was smaller than your brother’s room, and way less decorated, however it was yours. You slipped under the covers and curled up, pulling your knees to your chest and shivering for a while before your body heat became equally distributed and warmed you, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

You hadn’t realized you were awake, but you suddenly were. Your eyes were well adjusted to the darkness of your room by now, so you could make out the dark shapes of the furniture and walls surrounding you. Outside your window, you could see the deep blue sky, a star or two bright enough to outshine the streetlights planted on the side of the road. You rolled over, stretching, and got comfortable once more before you slowly fell asleep again, only this time, your sleep wasn’t as dreamless.

You woke once more, the same dark sky you saw from your window now consuming everything around you. There was a myriad of stars above your head, brighter than you’ve ever seen them before. A canopy of leaves swayed back and forth in an invisible breeze, seeming to beckon you further, deeper, into this unknown forest. The ground beneath you lurched forward, your legs moving as if they had a mind of their own. You felt evanescent; every atom within you buzzed with energy but at the same time, you were almost completely numb to the world around you.

Further down the path swirled shiny, white flakes, the delicate crystalline designs somehow able to be seen by your human eye. They called to you, whipping your strands wildly about as the chill got worse, the hair standing on end across your arms and neck.

A voice… a small yip- or yowl- penetrated the sound of the air flying across your ears. A dog? Or maybe something more dangerous… a wolf maybe? No, you reasoned, it would have to be a coyote. You walked farther into the storm, squinting and shielding your eyes against the cold when all at once the sky lit up as if the sun had risen: An almost unbearable baby blue tainted everything in shadow, and then-

You opened your eyes, your vision slowly unclouding to reveal the plain walls of your room, your hands gripping the blankets you'd covered yourself with as you felt your body jerk upon impulse. Your heart beat fast and loud in your ears, sensing danger, yet, as always, there was none.

* * *

School was a drag. The hours kept getting longer and longer, the gloomy overcast sky not exactly helping with the problem. You kept zoning out while teachers were talking, your lids bobbing up and down until something startled you or a classmate noticed and shook you awake again. You hadn’t been getting the best night’s sleep, though you tried not to stay up late and follow the advice almost everyone’s parents gave to them:

Stay off your phone. Avoid bright lights. Go to bed early. Do something tiring before bed.

Hell, you’d even tried drinking warm milk! Nothing seemed to be keeping those odd dreams at bay, and every night you’d wake up with your heart hammering in your chest as if you’d just ran a marathon.

Your friends didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong, and if they did, they didn’t say anything, so you didn’t bother to mention your trouble sleeping. They talked to you and carried on as normal, commenting on the upcoming tests and unfairly long homework sheets given to everyone.

“C’mon, it’s our senior year, AND fall break is almost here! It’s ridiculous that teachers are just loading us up with homework”.

“Well,” chimed in your other friend, walking beside you as Rebecca led the both of you, “senior year is supposed to be difficult. We’re going to college next year, did you forget?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and continued walking while Hailey laughed, shaking her head at the group’s antics. You smiled, but kept quiet, following the other two outside through the heavy metal doors into the school’s student-filled campus.

All around you people swarmed into untidy lines. They rushed to busses, ran to the parking lot, or sat idly by at the front of the school. You waved farewell before you parted from the now-duo and climbed aboard your bus, barely registering the ride home. From there you shivered in the mild breeze, waiting for your little brother to step off of a similar-yet-different yellow transport.

When he saw you, he grinned widely, trotting toward you as his bag swang side-to-side.

“(Y/n)!”

He barreled into you, wrapping his small arms around your waist before you pried him off and let him run up into your apartment.

“What was that all about? Did something happen today?”

Thomas shook his head, throwing his backpack down in your living room with the rest of the mess that lay there. “I just felt like hugging you.”

You mouthed an, ‘oh, okay’ before beginning to head down the hall to your room, but, not to your surprise, you found Thomas bouncing up and down behind you with each step as he repeatedly said your name.

“What?” you replied, used to his antics by now.

“Can we puh-leaasee play outside? Please please please!” He begged, throwing his body around the hallway in a dramatic, childlike fashion. You humoured him and sighed, the edges of your mouth threatening to turn upward into the hints of a smile.

“Fine. We can’t be outside for too long though, I have stuff to do.”

“Why not-?”

“Because I said so. We play a little bit now, or not at all.”

He huffed and mumbled an ‘okay’ before practically flying down the stairs and out the door, leaving you in the dust as you halfheartedly ran after him. Once you reached the edge of your building’s property, you glanced around, waiting for Thomas to suggest a game for you both to play for a while.

He asked if you would play hide-and-seek with him, but before you could agree, he asked something somewhat… dangerous… for an elementary school student.

“-but let’s play in the woods! C’mon, it’ll be fun, I promise!”

You mulled the idea over before complying to him- not because you were a good older sister, oh no, it was because he was incessantly tugging on the hem of your shirt and hanging off of your sleeves until your top threatened to come off.

“Okay, okay! But we can’t go far into the woods, it’s not safe.” You pointed to a mangled trunk in the distance. “You can’t go past that tree back there, alright? And no cheating.”

He nodded furiously and let go of you. You could tell he was just excited to be outside with someone other than the neighbouring kids. You couldn’t really blame him- the neighbours raised their children to be socially awkward and unable to chime in or have an imagination. In Thomas’ words, they were ‘boring’.

You turned around, facing away from the tree-line and started counting down from ten. You gave your brother some extra time to hide- after all, he was up against you, his eight-teen-year-old sister. You finished counting and yelled the famous “ready or not, here I come!” line before you began to search for his bright orange parka and shaggy (hair colour) hair.

You trekked into the forest, the leaves and twigs crunching underneath your feet as you looked back and forth for Thomas. Minutes passed, and you started to get concerned about the lack of his presence in the designated play area. He couldn’t have gone very far, being nine and of small physical stature. Still, you called out his name, warning him that he would be breaking the rules if he passed the barrier you’d set before the game started. There was no response, and you sighed, pressing on.

“Thomas! This isn’t funny, you cheater!”

You checked your phone- twenty minutes since the game had started and there was no sign of him. He couldn’t have gone far, but that didn’t stop you from worrying. You called out for him again, louder and more frantic this time.

“Seriously, we need to go back!” You paused for a moment before bribing him; “I’ll make you some cookies! Just come here!”

Thirty-five minutes. You had circled around, thinking maybe he didn’t go that deep into the woods, but he was definitely nowhere in the shallows of the tree-line. Your pulse sped up and you thought of your dad coming home to only you and the police- a search party crossed your mind, as well as the guilt you’d feel if you didn’t find him. Your mind ran a thousand miles an hour, trying to focus on the orange parka. Orange parka, orange parka, orange parka, orange… Orange!

There, in the distance, just past the twisted trunk of the tree you’d set as the barrier was a flash of orange and the tell-tale snap of twigs under someone’s quick, evading footfalls.

“Thomas, stop running! Get back here, now!”

You broke out into a sprint, dodging thick trunks and gnarled vines, following the orange parka that somehow kept getting farther away from you. You breathed hard, and despite wanting to stop and catch your breath, you pushed forward.

“Thomas! Thomas, plea- Ugh!”

Your shoe caught a root hidden underneath the entangled blades of grass and you lurched forward, catching yourself on your hands and your knee. You scrambled back up, limping a few paces before you wiped the damp dirt onto your pants and sighed in frustration. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the distinct giggle of your little brother. You called out again, but to no avail.

You had half a mind to just go home, but when you looked behind you, all you could see was trees. You checked the time. It’s been an hour since the start of the game, which was supposed to be fun, yet the stress of it all coupled with your sleep deprivation exhausted you.

Your pace was slower than it had been before, the overcast sky darkening as time stretched on. You didn’t see Thomas anymore, nor could you find your way back to the apartment’s property. You had been running in a straight line, hadn’t you? You didn’t recognize anything when you turned around, nor did you when you walked back.

You tried different directions, but again, it was useless. You hated to think about it, but you were lost.

You checked the time again, unlocking your cell to send an emergency message to your neighbour detailing your time in the woods looking for your brother and asking if he knew the way back home. Your phone buzzed almost immediately, however not with a message you’d wanted to receive.

Message failed to send. Will try again when service becomes available.

You cursed under your breath. No service, huh? That was great.

You couldn’t just stay here. If you picked a direction and just walked in it, you’d eventually find a way out, right? The theory was sound enough, and so, without hesitation, you began to walk.

Soon enough, the trees started to thin, exposing a well-traveled path bare of grass and debris. A wave of relief washed over you, and you quickened your step. The brown of the earth beneath you became exposed as you reached a small clearing surrounded by a circle of trees with what looked like doors plastered on the front of each one.

...Doors? You furrowed a brow, confused as all hell. You stood in the center of the clearing, and sure enough, seven trees stretched into the sky with seven differently-decorated doors facing you in the center, gleaming golden knobs and all.

Despite your utter confusion, you drew closer to the tree nearest to you, running your fingertips over the carvings and delicate handiwork of the unmistakable Christmas tree. You reached for the knob, thinking maybe it would turn and reveal a secret hiding place or- or something, but the knob didn’t budge a single centimeter. You tried again, in a different direction, but the attempt yielded the same result as before.

You walked to the next tree over, and the next from that one, and the next from that one, trying each of the doors only for them to all stay stoic and unmoving. You still admired the craftsmanship and time put into the designs, regardless of whether or not they were completely functional, settling in front of the Halloween-themed tree and idly feeling the divots in the pumpkin’s eyes and mouth.

The sun started to set, casting a very orange glow on you and the circle of trunks. The rays shone particularly bright on your back, and while the warmth was welcome, you stepped out of the way to gaze upon the carrot-coloured sky. After all, it looked like you were spending the night here.

The beams focused on the knob, the warm light reflecting all around you in an intense glow almost as strong as the sun itself. Golden flecks danced around your vision; there was something so beautiful about the refracted light that drew you closer, distracting you as your digits reached out and played with the shadows they made on the knob. Your fingers barely brushed against the golden sphere, the warmth filtering through your skin and pouring into the rest of your body without any semblance of notice, shocking your system. You pulled your hand away out of impulse, as if you’d been burned.

Your eyes didn’t leave the door, nor the knob, and although you hadn’t turned it- only touched it- it swung open, beckoning you, calling you.

And exactly who were you to refuse such a warm invitation?

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nike-shawn · 3 years

Text

Hockey Shawn Part III

A/N: Lol this took forever. Exams really are the worst. Pls, as always, let me know what you thought of this! Feedback is the best motivator.

Trigger Warning: Talk of Drug Addiction/Usage

Part I

Part II

If you were more confident, you would say you and Shawn are dating.

You aren’t, not really. He just sleeps over at your place every night, texts you at random times to tell you things that reminded him of you, and brings you your favorite restaurant’s takeout on nights he knows you are working too hard to remember to eat, grading papers and emailing parents.

This has been going on for too many months.

One night, while your head rested on his chest, you tapped out the rhythm of his heart on your mattress. It sounded too familiar to be comforting. You knew him better than you knew your roommates. You loved him more than you loved that college boyfriend. You---

“Are you okay?”

You tensed in his arms. Part of you wondered whether your feelings for him were so deep that they melted through you and into him, like sap trailing down a broken branch and into the grass. It seemed impossible for him to not at least be hinted towards your love for him-- it was so obvious to you. A bit too obvious.

“Hmm?” you asked, though you both knew you heard him.

He lightly pinched the skin of your upper arm, playfully scolding you but he asked the question again, this time his lips closer to your ear. “I said, ‘are you okay?’”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shawn laughed lightly. “You fall asleep in two seconds flat on every other night, but it’s been an hour and you’re still awake.”

You sighed out your exhale. You could’ve told him then. You could’ve said actually, I'm not okay because you don’t love me like I love you and you could’ve gone from there, could’ve made him tell you what he really thinks of you, but instead you told him that “school’s been crazy.”

He didn't believe it. You could tell by the way he didn’t immediately kiss away the fold between your brows or rub his thumb up and down your shoulder. He just mussed up his hair and swallowed like he was keeping something from leaving his lips.

Okay, you thought. He doesn't wanna talk about it either, then.

Since then, although you both act the same way you always have, there’s some kind of unspoken tension between you. When he comes over it seems like he’s biding his time, waiting for you to blurt out what he knows you’re waiting to say. When he hugs you hello, his arms are stiffer. When he kisses you goodbye, his lips are colder. But he still texts you every night with random, seemingly insignificant things that happened that day. You know it’s because he finds some comfort in hearing you interact with these quips of his. You tell him oh, that’s interesting or really, he said that? like you are together. Like you’re dating. Like he loves you.

Shawn’s flying back to New York from Toronto today. Yesterday was the first day in almost three months that he didn’t text you to tell you what he was up to. You checked your phone between each class period, your heart getting lower and lower until it was just about in your stomach. You know why he was there. You knew who he was with.

And you knew you didn’t stand a chance against her.

After school yesterday, you finished up grading and tugged your winter coat closer around your shivering shoulders as you walked from the school to your car. Your mind refused to let you forget the disappointment that now was associated with Shawn’s pretty face, the betrayal that has now settled deep into your bones. How could he love Maddy? How could he be with her while you’re tidying up the bed you two have shared for months on end? How could he hold her while you’re still shivering in his absence?

You rest your head on your steering wheel as tears start to fall down your rosy cheeks. Your car is freezing cold but you barely notice, frustrated sobs ripping from your throat. There’s some kind of rabid, angry energy bouncing around in your chest, and your hands itch to grip your phone and dial his number and scream at him until that feeling goes away.

And why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you scream at him? Does he not deserve it?

Once you compose yourself, you decide that, no. You won’t call him. You’ll wait for his slow slither back to your apartment. You’ll wait until he pretends like nothing happened.

Then. Then you’ll confront him.

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

“What?”

Shawn has pizza sauce at the corner of his mouth. Your eyes narrow in on it. “Nothing,” you say, finally tearing your gaze away.

Everything he does annoys you. It’s like the knowledge of what he did last week is choking you from the inside out. His hands on her hips, his lips on hers, his clothes in her closet, his clothes on her floor...

“Seriously,” Shawn says, louder than before. “What’s up?”

You shake your head, fiddling your thumbs. The food in front of you has gone cold. Your appetite is gone. The idea of confronting him sounded a lot easier before he was in front of you, all innocent looking and warm. His hair has gotten longer so it falls in his eyes now when he looks down, and you fight the adoration in your chest as he, annoyed, pushes the stray hair from his face. His eyebrows raise, waiting for you to answer him.

When you do, he wishes you hadn’t. “You were with Maddy.” You say it not as a question, but as a one-off statement, something not up for debate.

Shawn finishes up the pizza he was chewing before sliding his empty plate further into the table, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his sweatshirt pocket. He takes a deep breath, pushes his hair back again, and answers with a simple “yes.”

“Why.”

“She asked to see me.”

You bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying angry tears. You can already feel them crawling their way up your throat. “That doesn’t mean you need to see her.”

Shawn has a tick in his jaw and you wonder if he has the audacity to be mad at you, if he thinks you’re being ridiculous. As if he hasn’t spent all his time with you, hasn’t told you things under bed sheets and under streetlights as the New York chill frosted up his car windows. You let one stray tear fall. The rest you manage to hold back, but the damage is done. You’ve broken the facade.

At the sight of your sadness, he seems to lighten just a bit. The tick in his jaw is gone and his arms uncross. But still, he says “we’re not dating” like someone would say ‘today is Tuesday’ or ‘the weather is nice’. “I love spending time with you, Y/N, but we’re not dating.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” you say, your voice rising above its normal volume. “What the fuck are you doing when you spend weeks on end here? What do you tell Maddy you’re doing?” Incredulous, you throw your hands in the air as you exclaim “and I’m crazy?! To think that I had some kind of claim on you?” You wrap your arms around yourself as you suddenly cold and exposed. You’re crying a lot now, and you use the back of your sweatshirt sleeve to wipe at your running nose. “Fuck you Shawn, honestly. You spend your time pretending that you love me for what? For something to do?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what? What do I offer you that you can’t get from Maddy?”

Shawn just drops his head as he shakes it, rejecting everything you’re throwing at him. “It’s not like that.”

At a loss, you drop your face in your palms. Tears slide through your fingers. You say, sadly, “I can’t keep seeing you if you can’t commit anything to me.”

Shawn stays silent, twisting the ring on his left middle finger around and around.

Quietly, you say, “get out, please.” When he doesn’t move, you say, louder, “I said, get out.”

“I don’t think I should leave--”

“Well I think you should’ve left three fucking months ago,” you bite back, poison in each syllable.

“Stop being so mean: I just wanna talk this through.”

“Then talk!” You yell, throwing your hands to the sides. “Talk! All you’re doing is deflecting! I fucking wish you’d talk to me.”

Angry again, Shawn stands and you feel your confidence shrinking as he dwarfs you in his height. He takes a few cautious steps forward and you can see that he wants to yell, wants to match your volume, but he doesn’t want to scare you. So, instead, he puts his hands out in the same way you do to a wild animal-- cautious, yet imposing, as he walks closer and closer to you. You’re nose to nose now and you're in a cloud of his cologne.

His hands come up to your shoulders and you notice that you’re shaking with all the pent up anger and love and whatever the fuck else you’ve been feeling for the past few weeks. He places a careful kiss on your forehead. You let your eyes close as tears slip out from under your eyelashes.

He handles you like some kind of fine china as he guides you to sit again in the dining chair, him taking the place beside you, his hand gripping your knee lightly. He starts with, “Maddy was my first friend after I got signed.” His thumb rubs over your leggings once before wiping his sweaty palms on his own thighs. “I moved to the city and had no one besides my teammates, but even they weren’t super welcoming. Went to this party and Maddy was there, dancing on a table. She was really drunk and I heard some guys talking about how they could see up her dress so...” he shrugs. “So I helped her down and the rest is history I guess.”

“You started dating?”

Shawn nods. “Yeah. She was a model. She was just getting started, then, but after a year or so she made a good name for herself.”

“And you did too,” you add.

“Yeah, I did alright,” he says, smiling a bit. “But then... um.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I got hurt. I think you said you saw the video. I couldn’t play so I ended up spending a lot of time with Maddy. Stayed at her apartment most of the time, actually. And when you move in with someone, you start to see their... mannerisms, and the way they are when they don’t think anyone is looking.” He leans back in his chair again, faking nonchalance. “I broke up with her and she reacted badly. I think I was the thing keeping her sober, since I was there all the time and she had someone to hang out with besides her friends who all used.”

Things started to click for you, then. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So when we broke up, she went back to hanging out with the wrong group of people. She’s always had addiction problems, to drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. But I had no idea that me living with her was keeping her on the right track.” He clears his throat and you can see his eyes getting red rimmed with tears. “I just want to make it clear that I care for her a lot, but we were never meant to be together. I apologize for keeping this whole situation guarded but it’s... tough. It’s tough for me to talk about.”

“I understand,” you whisper, guilt lacing your words.

“I can see how you’d be angry with me. I really can see it. But I can’t cut Maddy off. I’m afraid that the one time she reaches out and I say no... I don’t know. I just recognize that she’s fragile.”

You nod.

Shawn rubs at his watery eyes. “I care for you, too, though,” he says in quietly. “I just don’t know if I can commit right now.”

You fight the frustration in your chest. Calmly, you ask him, “what is the difference between what we’re doing now and a relationship?”

He’s silent.

You continue. “In my eyes, a relationship is exactly what we are. The label is the only difference.”

“And the publicity.”

“What?”

“The public thinks I’m with Maddy. She likes it that way.”

Your heart sinks. “Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t care for you—”

“I get it,” you interrupt him.

The two of you sit in silence and it feels like an 80 lb. weight was placed on your shoulders. He moves forward to kiss you and you let him, though your brain is screaming at you to cut him off for good. He doesn’t feel for you the way you do for him. You’re wasting your time.

But as he jokes around with you and tries to stuff pizza in your mouth and tells you that he’ll be around tomorrow you just can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this will work out.

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

You get home from work the next day and Shawn is waiting for you outside your apartment complex, car running and headlights on.

You recognize his car because it’s much too nice to be in your parking lot that’s riddled with pot holes and fading painted lines. The lot is almost always empty, since most city-dwellers choose to take public transportation over their own vehicles. Plus, he’s easy to spot because when he sees you with your coat pulled around your shoulders and your school bag slipping down to the crook of your elbow, he rolls down his window and shouts “Hey, miss? You’re very beautiful and I’d love to take you to dinner.”

You smile and walk over to the driver’s side, close enough now to see the familiar scar on his cheek. “Hmm,” you tease, “what’s in it for me?”

“A lovely dining experience at the finest restaurant in New York City with the most handsome bachelor on the East Coast.”

The cold wind whipping your hair around, you give him a quick peck on the lips and walk around to the passenger side door, shoving your bag in the back. His cold palms rest on your cheeks as he pulls you in for a deeper kiss this time, his tongue darting in your mouth for only a second before he pulls away. You ask, “what did you do today” in the normal way that you do, unable to stop the wide smile from crossing your face.

“Went to a few meetings,” he says casually. “Then I had a doctor’s appointment...”

The way he trails off makes your ears perk up. “Oh? And what did they say?” You watch as a wide grin takes over his features and your heart leaps for him. “Can you play again?”

Shawn nods and you just about jump out of your seat, wrapping your arms around his neck as his arms meet behind your back, your body leaning over the center console. You can see people walking by your parked car and you know you should be worried about them looking in, but you can’t care about any of that right now. You can feel Shawn’s smile against your shoulder and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such joy for someone else’s successes. “They said my hip has healed a lot more than they thought it ever would, so I can maybe get back to practicing in the next few months.”

“Wow, that’s so fantastic, Shawn, really.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he says again. “I thought I’d pick you up for a celebration dinner.”

You kiss him on the cheek and pull away for him to put the car in reverse, turning on to the bustling New York streets. “Where are we going?” you ask. Your mind is racing through all the nicest places, places he surely would fit in like the true celebrity he is. A feeling of dread washes over you as you look down at your outfit. “Oh my god, I need to change. I’m still wearing my work clothes.”

Without missing a beat, Shawn says “oh, don’t worry. I was thinking we could just pick something up.”

You swallow back your disappointment. Of course he can’t take you out in public. You’re stupid for thinking otherwise. You dig your fingernails into your pants to keep yourself from showing any signs of let-down. “Okay, yep. Sounds good.”

He looks over to you like he knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t say anything.

The two of you chat for a bit about where you want to go. He talks about his meetings of the day and how he felt like his life was getting back to normal, like old times.

He speaks and you stare at his ruby red lips as they form each word, and you’re trying your hardest to pay attention, but all you can do is wonder where exactly you fit in his new world.

Deep down, you know you’re on borrowed time, because his new world doesn’t have any room to spare.

#Shawn Mendes imagines #angst #hockey shawn #fluff #hockeyshawn #TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT #it's a bit short

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years

Text

Jokes on You

AU: Phoenix Gai Au

Words: 1723

Rating: General

Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Shisui, Tenzo|Yamato

Warnings: None

Summary: After a long morning of training, Sakura feels like taking a nap. Possibly the biggest mistake she has ever made.

Made with Help from @sakura-rpblog

When Tsunade-sama had told Sakura to start her adventure into the world and gain knowledge, she hadn’t imagined that it would be full of such interesting experiences. Meeting the forest spirits, and the various creatures and humans that inhabited the land was something that she fully expected.

But being part of a group that included the last remaining phoenix, a Kodama, and a Half human-half Yatagarasu? That had not been in her plans. Neither had training under Kakashi-sensei to learn Kenjutsu or watching the small group she had become a part of bicker over where they were going to go next.

It made her miss her days at the temple. Where food was always collected by some of the other priestesses while Sakura hid away in the basement studying up on the various creatures and clans of the world.

“We need supplies,” Gai insisted, his hands on his hips as he stared down Shisui. “And the last thing we need is you following Kakashi and Sakura to the town. If anyone spots you…”

There’s no moment before today that Sakura can think of where Gai looked so serious. Usually, he was the definition of brightness and sunshine. Both personality-wise and literally. He looked like the sun if he relaxed enough to let himself revert into his true Pheonix form, rather than hiding away in his human disguise.

“You and Kakashi rarely ever spotted me,” Shisui argued, one large feathery arm coming out to rest on Yamato’s shoulder. “Come on Yamato, tell him. I can keep hidden.”

“I’m with Gai on this one,” The Kodama huffed as he brushed Shisui’s arm away from him. “It’s too risky. If you are spotted the humans will chase you down, and if you bring them back to camp…”

Throwing his arms up into the air, Shisui groaned “I know I know. We have to protect the last phoenix. But come on, humans can’t be that bad. Sakura and Kakashi aren’t horrible. They haven’t tried to skewer me for lunch, or kill Gai.”

“You wouldn’t taste good,” Kakashi shot back, coming to a stop by Sakura’s side. “Too stringy. Plus that half-human part of you would make me feel bad about eating you.”

“Ay!” Covering her mouth, Sakura chuckled when Shisui jumped back behind Gai and glared at the older man. “Don’t act as if you’d eat me, Kakashi! It’s creepy!”

“Well, if we don’t go to town to pick up some supplies then my options may be limited,” Kakashi gave his shoulders a shrug. “And if you get caught and we have to retreat because a bunch of humans decides they want to try and make you a trophy for their home, then I won’t be able to get myself food that I want to eat.”

Gai laughed, Yamato slapped a hand over his face, and Shisui hid completely behind the Phoenix.

It was the most ridiculous thing Sakura had ever seen in her life.

“We’ll leave in an hour,” Kakashi stated, his eyes travelling down to Sakura. “Once you’ve had a bit of rest.”

“I’m fine,” She insisted, clenching her fists and throwing a punch into his arm. “You didn’t even tire me out that much during training, Sensei. I could go for another hour.”

As soon as she said that it felt like all of her energy was zapped away from her. Her knees gave out, and the only thing that stopped her from crashing into the ground was Kakashi catching her in his arms.

“Another hour, huh?” If she could glare at him she would, but her body refused to move no matter how hard she tried to force herself to do something. Even just standing up on her own seemed impossible now. “I think at this rate I’m going to end up going into town on my own.”

“ ‘m not… that tired.” Sakura protested even as her eyes started to close.

“Perhaps if you rest, we can have some food ready for you when you wake up,” Yamato offered a soft smile on his face when Sakura glanced his way. “What would you prefer? Yatagarasu soup or some fresh apples from town?”

Shisui screeched, yelling something about ‘bad jokes’ and ‘terrible friends’. No matter how hard she tried to stay awake and listen to what it was Shisui was saying, Sakura found herself slowly passing out in her Sensei’s arms.

She’d just have to ask Gai how the rest of the argument went later. When she was awake and able to listen to the grand story that he’d come up with.

It was already dark when Sakura finally opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, the smell of something delicious filling her senses. Slowly, she stood up from a makeshift bed Kakashi carefully placed her in earlier and walked towards the direction where the smell is coming from.

There, sitting around a small campfire was the rest of the group. Kakashi was leaned up against Gai’s side, his head on the Phoenix’s shoulder and his eyes half-closed.

Across from them, Yamato’s resting under a tree that she’s pretty sure wasn’t there before her nap. Though, it’s not abnormal for the Kodama to grow new tree’s just for him to sit under.

“Sakura!” Gai’s cheerful voice greeted her. “Come, sit down. We’ve already made soup.”

“I made soup,” Kakashi corrected him, sitting up so that Gai could lean forward and scoop up some soup into a bowl for Sakura. “You and Yamato argued over whether or not you should wake her up.’

Rubbing her eyes, Sakura took a seat between Kakashi and Yamato and carefully took the bowl from Gai when he offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she covered her mouth as she yawned, still groggy from her nap. “How long was I asleep?”

“About four hours,” Kakashi explained. “I was able to go into town, get supplies, get back and make soup while you snoozed the day away.”

Impressive, considering town was about an hour and a half away. Though, she wasn’t too surprised. Kakashi didn’t like being around big crowds in her experience, so she could imagine him bouncing between stalls desperately grabbing whatever he needed and getting out of there as quickly as possible.

Usually, he took her along for the trip so that she could talk to people. Get some human interaction.

He always said it was healthy for her, even though he avoided it as much as possible.

“Well, it smells good. Thank you,” digging in, she groaned when the flavour hit her tongue. Delicious as always, and warm. With just the right amount of vegetables and a slice of meat that tasted exquisite.

Examining the group in front of her, she tilted her head when she noticed that Shisui was nowhere to be seen.

Even when she turned her eyes up towards the trees, his favourite place to hide away, there was no sight of him. Almost as if he had disappeared.

As if…

Her face paled, and her eyes shot back down to the bowl in her hand. Now that she thought about it the meat was tastier than what she was used to and tougher.

A little stringy and harder to pull apart than beef or pork.

Setting the bowl down on her lap, she glanced between the three men in front of her. Not one of them was looking at her, and that smile that had been on Gai’s face when she first joined them was now gone.

All three of them looked haunted now.

As if they were thinking about a lost friend.

“K-Kakashi-sensei,” the older man looked at her when she spoke up. “W-where is Shisui?”

Her heart dropped when he turned away from her.

“Sakura,” Yamato spoke up, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry, we tried to save him. We didn’t think…”

Throwing the bowl away from herself, Sakura scrambled to her feet. Horrified by what she had just done. She couldn’t believe it. Surely it had to be a joke.

“You’re lying!” Tears streamed down her face. “Tell me you’re lying! This can’t be. He can’t be…”

She should have defended him. Told her Sensei off for making such a cruel joke.

Covering his mouth, she stared down at the large bowl of soup.

Had they done it?

Did they think it was the only way? The best way to respect their friend?

“You three are terrible!” She snapped, pointing a finger towards her Sensei. “He was our friend! Our comrade! And you…”

“Awww, Sakura-chan,” A smiling face appeared directly in front of her, sending her spiralling backward in shock as she took in the face. Shisui’s face. “You’re so sweet. I knew someone in this group liked me.”

Suddenly the air around the fire changed. The heavy feeling of regret disappeared instantly, replaced by laughter and a light, cheerful energy.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” Yamato curled up into himself. “I didn’t think that would work.”

“Best idea ever,” Kakashi-sensei hid his face in Gai’s shoulder, barely keeping himself up while he laughed. “Shisui, you’re a mad genius.”

Shisui?

“You!?” Sakura pointed at the Yatagarasu with a look of betrayal. “This was your idea!?”

“You shouldn’t have slept so long, cherry blossom,” Shisui chuckled. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.”

Dropping her arm to her side, Sakura lowered her head.

“Aww, Sakura don’t tell me we upset you,” Kakashi-sensei teased. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Come on, Cherry blossom.” as soon as Shisui reached out to poke her, she lashed out. Landing a fist right against his face and sending him flying backward into the campfire. Knocking the pot of soup onto the ground and spilling their food all over the ground.

She could hear Kakashi-sensei muttering something about ‘eating before she woke up’ but she didn’t care.

If they starved tonight it was their own damn fault.

“Next time you think about pulling a stunt like that, just remember that it’ll be the last time!” She screamed, turning her back to the group and storming away. “And next time I’ll shove my Bomuti right up your-“

“Sakura!” Yamato cut her off, horrified by what she was about to say.

Good. Maybe it would prevent them from trying to pull a prank on her in the future.

#Phoenix Gai AU #Hatake Kakashi #Uchiha Shisui #anbu #Maito Gai #Haruno Sakura #Taryn's birthday celebration 2021 #Taryn's birthday fics

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qwertyfingers · 3 years

Text

faith healer, come lay your hands on me

here’s a snippet from the self indulgent traumatism (trauma and autism) fic if anyone wants to read it lol. Sam and Cas love to have have problems in the middle of the night. Gen, 2k words, warning for discussions of food scarcity and calming someone down from a panic attack, nothing graphic though. Set in a nebulous late-seasons time period because I respect canon literally not at all.

It’s the middle of the night, sometime between Dean’s custom of falling asleep on his keyboard and Sam shepherding them both to bed, but before his nightly waking up from a nightmare to wander around the bunker checking the wards. Cas is in the kitchen wiping away mostly-imaginary detritus from the counters when Sam finds him; wild-eyed and looking frayed at the seams. He nods at Cas, but nothing follows it. He just stands there in the centre of the room shaking slightly. His eye sockets look like bruises.

Cas tilts his head and squints, considering, “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam startles in a big way. Huffs breaths in and out of his nose, forehead crinkling with the effort. “What? I. yeah I’m- I’m fine.” He pauses for a few seconds though, hands twisting at the edges of his shirt like they do when he’s worrying. He makes several aborted attempts to keep talking, each less successful than the last. Kicks gently at a table leg and scowls to himself. “It is fine it’s just...” but he doesn’t continue, just starts gesturing with his hands, like he’s run out of words.

Cas turns back to his cleaning, watches Sam filter through all of his most common nervous gestures in the edges of his vision, seemingly not comforted by any of them. He clenches his hands, drags them over his jaw and face, tugs his hair through his fingers roughly. He bounces, frenetic, from foot to foot, socked feet making muffled tapping noises on the hard floor. Says nothing for a long time.

Cas doesn’t sleep much, so he measures his nighttimes in completed tasks rather than minutes and hours. He gets through wiping the surfaces, cleaning out the sink, and setting the dishwasher to its self-clean cycle, before he hears anything from Sam.

When he does finally speak, the words seem to burst out of him all at once, quiet but tense and all in a rush — pressured speech it was called, in the books Cas had been reading. He figured at least one person in the bunker should know about trauma’s effects, and twelve years’ experience had taught him it wouldn’t be the Winchesters.

“You know, when Dean and me were kids we- we didn’t always have a lot to eat. A lot of the time we didn’t have enough to eat. And Dean would… Dean would always feed me first.” He stops and takes a heaving breath, then three, hands clenching and unclenching arhythmically in front of him. They’re hovering just above the kitchen counter without touching, arms held awkwardly aloft like he doesn’t know where to put them. He’s curled forward, and down, head and shoulders hunched in. He looks pained.

The instinct to make oneself small learned from a childhood desperately trying to hide from the reality of his own life. Cas has long since chased away the instinct to get angry about their life before he knew them, but he never stops feeling the sadness of it. There is a deep well of agony that will never be truly told.

“The portions were already so small and he’d- he’d do this thing where he’d, like, eat half his meal and pretend to be full so he could pass the rest on to me. Never took no for an answer. And of course at first I was too young to notice what he was really doing, but then I was twelve, thirteen, and he’d still feed me like I was-” Sam winces, coughs out a small laugh, grimaces, drags his left hand over his face. “God, like I was his son. His ‘baby boy’ he used to say. And he was so thin for so long and-” Sam stops himself here, looking winded. He taps the fridge door sixteen times with his right hand as he bites at his left thumbnail.

“And obviously we were both fine in the end, Dean’s big and he’s tough but. Sometimes I get this-” he interrupts himself to tug his hands through his hair, sharp, “god it sounds so stupid but I get this thought that. That if Dean hadn’t had to feed me he’d be as tall as I am now and I get all. Normally it’s fine and I just laugh it off because it’s so ridiculous it is a ridiculous thought.” There’s a wet catch in Sam’s throat, and he’s looking at Cas like he can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or cry.

Cas nods slowly, feeling sombre. “Dean is six feet and three quarter inches tall. He is hardly a small man, Sam.” He tries a small smile, to be encouraging, in-on-the-joke but not poking fun, but he can still never tell if he’s hitting the mark or not. A face has so many muscles, and only so much conscious control over them.

Sam surprises him by laughing and crying at the same time. “He’s six feet tall, and he’s one of the strongest humans I’ve ever met — despite being completely allergic to the concept of exercise and I hate him,” he rants, a hint of panic tingeing his voice purple, “so fucking much, and I’m so tired of his bullshit, and yet sometimes I startle awake at night in a panic convinced that I deprived him of his “true height” by having the audacity to be hungry.” The air quotes are a little twitchy, but the attempt to be funny is probably a good sign. Hopefully. Sam’s less prone to sarcasm as a cover for soul-crushing misery than his brother.

Sam starts rearranging the sauce bottles scattered by the stove, hands jerky with the motion. Cas notes in the back of his mind to put them back in place once Sam calms down — Dean needs the kitchen just so. He’s been prone to his own late night trips down memory lane, lately, and he doesn’t need the added stress of obsessive compulsive cleaning on top of it all.

“I told you it was stupid, Cas,” he splutters, and he’s fully crying now, teetering on the edge of hysterical. “Christ, I feel like such an infant.”

Done with the cleaning, Cas folds his cloth into a neat rectangle, hangs it carefully through the loop of the oven door handle as he passes by. He picks up a clean cloth from the pile in the cupboard below the sink too. He heads towards Sam, movements slow and careful to give him a chance to back away — Sam’s liable to startle like a rabbit even on his best days. Cas has been trying his hardest not to trigger it; the ‘fight/flight/freeze instinct’ as he’d learned. It’s helped him understand a lot of Sam and Dean’s reaction better. He only wishes he’d known about it sooner.

He presses his hand gently to the outside of Sam’s elbow, looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze steady. “It’s not foolish, Sam. But surely, your childhood was full of enough tragedy, that you needn’t add to it.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy and ragged, and his eyes are darting between Cas, and the walls, and the condiments he’s still twitching across the counter. He stops, breathes deep, tugs his long sleeves down over his hands and dabs at his wet face. He huffs a laugh between bouts of sobs, mutters something that sounds like “Yeah, yeah, doesn’t help me stop thinking it though,” but Cas can’t be entirely sure, because Sam’s speaking into his shirt cuffs with hands clamped tight over his mouth.

Cas moves his hand slowly from Sam’s elbow to his shoulder, leans in slow to bring his other arm around Sam’s back and hold him loose to his chest. Sam gasps loudly and sobs, wet, shoves his face into the front of Cas’ shoulder indelicately as he responds with his own arms. He clutches at the back of Cas’ coat and weeps, done with trying to hold it all in. He’s shaking less now, but it’s impossible to know whether it’s progress or if he’s turning further inward without seeing his face.

Cas pulls him closer and moves the hand on his back upwards, rubs it in slow, careful circles across his shoulder blades. Pressure is good, he’d read, especially with flashbacks. Pressure grounds you in the present; a small, physical beacon of something that’s unquestionably real. He’s not sure if Sam notices or appreciates it, but he’s not going to ask; doesn’t want to run the risk of making their home feel clinical.

It seems like the kind of crying where speaking wouldn’t help, so he lets it run its course. He keeps up the pressure at Sam’s back, and takes his palm to pet at Sam’s hair, something he’d seen Dean do so many times. Sam seems to jump at first, coughing once into Cas’ sodden shirt, but doesn’t move or ask him to stop, so after a long moment of awkwardly holding his hand still on top of his head he strokes his fingers out, and Sam sighs on the end of a gurgle.

Cas hears words now and then, ‘stupid’s and ‘christ’s and once, bafflingly, ‘fucking lucky charms’, but for the most part Sam seems content to simply cry until he stops. It’s not a quick thing. The air stills around them as Sam calms, gentled down from wracking gasps to sniffling tears, to simple heavy breaths.

Extricating himself is a clumsy affair even for Sam. His arms seem to catch, held in that clutching shape by the tension of the moment, and he has to slowly roll all of his joints loose. He unfurls slowly, like a flower in sunlight, until he stands back at full height. He does look brighter, now, and he carries the crackle of something almost like grace in him, Cas thinks. Peace always shines out of a person.

He grasps Cas’ upper arm for a moment, takes the offered cloth to dry his face before handing it back to Cas and gesturing at the front of his shirt. From the wry, wrinkled-nose smile he throws him as he steps away, Cas thinks he’s also realised the shirt is already a lost cause, but Cas pats himself down anyway, something to occupy his hands for a moment.

Sam leans back briefly to rest against the counter, then gets a different idea and twists around toward the cupboards. He takes out three cups, some chamomile tea, fills the kettle up to the line drawn on the side in red sharpie. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispers with his head in a cupboard, ears tinting red. “I - heh - think I needed that.” He huffs a laugh again, some genuine mirth in it now. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s quite alright. How are you feeling?” Cas can feel himself gazing a little too intensely, watching for Sam’s reactions, but he’s not worried. They know eachother well enough now that Cas can predict what would happen if it got too much; Sam would tell him knock it out, would you, would punch him lightly on the upper arm. He’d most likely try to crack a joke that would land flat, because Sam and Cas have never understood eachother’s humour very well, even when Sam isn’t sleep deprived and beginning to fade at the edges. Cas would apologise and start cleaning again just to keep out of his way. Out of his hair, as Dean would say. These are familiar dances.

Cas also knows he’s not likely to do it though, that Sam is used to his staring. And then he’s blindsided by another thought — that Sam is used to him. His presence and his quirks and his whims. Cas feels himself smile at that, warm, knowing that it’s true. They’re standing in the kitchen, in their home, and Sam just got snot all over his shirt — the shirt he’ll have to wash, manually, and iron, because he’s not really an angel anymore, doesn’t have the grace to maintain his signature look without effort anymore. The shirt that he’ll still choose to put on each morning when he could choose something simpler — because he trusts Cas enough to subject him to his 3am childhood trauma meltdowns. Cas is a human, with inexorably fallible human hands, and Sam is willing to hand him his heart in the quiet hours of the morning for a little field surgery. Cas almost thinks he feels a little sick.

#spn fic #mine #spn #cptsd manifesto #blank tag to keep out of searches #sam winchester #castiel

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flamencodiva · 4 years

Text

GBTY 1 - Nothing Against You

Book Cover by: @talesmaniac89

Description: Amaya Campos and Dean Winchester had a playful rivalry. what happens when Dean is no longer her Dean. Will this change make one of them realize what they really desire, or will they continue to keep secrets?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Amaya Campos (Original Female Character) , AU Dean Winchester x AU Amaya Campos

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word for Chapter: 5704

Beta: @superfanficnatural

A/N: Special thanks to - @crashdevlin @atc74 @smol-and-grumpy @winchest09 @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @malfoysqueen14 @emoryhemsworth @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @whatareyousearchingfordean @katehuntington @anathewierdo and to all my friends who listen to me ramble about my writing. your words of encouragement mean the world to me! Without you I don’t think I could have found the courage to come back and share what I love most to do, WRITE.

Getting Back To You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The rumble of the black ‘67 Chevy Impala echoed in the alleyway as it came to a soft stop, the driver turning off the ignition and looking to his brother beside him.

"You said she was coming, right?" the driver said as his brother placed the bookmark in the book he was reading.

"For the millionth time," his voice dripped with annoyance, "yes, Dean, I called Amaya, and she said she would meet us here."

"Sam," Dean ran his hand across his face. "Look, she is a great hunter. You know it, I know it. But, she got injured in her last hunt. So I'm sorry if I'm a little apprehensive about whether she’ll be --"

The loud bang against the Impala's roof made the brothers jump as a soft chuckle filled their ears. They could see Amaya Campos through the window on the driver’s side, laughing. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He tried not to get distracted by how beautiful she looked when she smiled. Closing his eyes, Dean flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw.

"You know what, Campos," Dean barked as he threw open the driver's side door and climbed out. "You are a real pain in the ass."

"Yeah, I know," she shrugged and punched his shoulder. "But you know I'm the best."

"If it weren't for that fact, you would have been dead by now," Dean grumbled as he made his way to the trunk.

"How you doin’, Amaya?" Sam asked as he gave her a gentle hug.

"I bounce back, Sasquatch," she gave them a bright smile. "So, a coven of witches is in there," she pointed at the warehouse then crossed her arms.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "but get this. These witches have been gathering ingredients for a big spell." Sam pulled out his notes as he showed them to Amaya, "They killed specific victims and took certain body parts from them."

"Well, that's just wrong… and creepy," Amaya shuddered.

"Something we agree on," Dean cocked his gun as he checked to make sure it was working. "I wish there was an easier way to get rid of these hags all at once."

"You and me both, Short Stack," Amaya breathed. She grabbed a few Witch-killing bullets and loaded the clip into her pistol.

"I'm taller than you, Campos." Dean pulled up close to her, his form towering over hers.

"I'm using Sasquatch as a reference," she gave him a sly smile before letting her fingers dance along his chest. "Wanna make this interesting?"

"What, like the ghoul hunt last month?" he raised an eyebrow at her before letting his eyes roam over her body.

Her Ramones crop top and leather jacket was accentuating her chest, her cleavage leaving Dean imagining dirty things he could do between her breasts. He continued to let his eyes roam over Amaya's figure; her bootleg jeans hugged her hips in the right place. He bit the inside of his cheek, Dean's way to hold back from reaching out and placing his hand on the curve of her hip. His eyes continued to move up to her hair in a neat ponytail. He could always see himself pulling on the elastic to let the tendrils fall, his fingers running through her brown and purple highlighted hair. Shaking out of his thoughts, he looked into her eyes, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

"Come on, Winchester," she moved her hand around to the back of his neck. Her fingers began to play with the small hairs at the nape of it, "If you can last five minutes without a witch blasting you away," Amaya's fingers ghosted over his cheek while staring into his green eyes, "I can make it worth your while."

"Whatever you're trying to sell me, sweetheart," he licked his lips. It was his way of controlling himself. He could not fall into the trap he knew she was trying to set, "I ain't buying."

"Come on," she cooed, "what's one little harmless bet?"

"Last time we had a--" Dean lifted his hands as he pushed back away from her, making air quotes, "' Harmless bet ' I had to drive the Impala in my underwear while listening to Taylor Swift." He shuddered at the memory of Sam recording the evidence to send to Amaya.

"Admit it," she chuckled, "you enjoyed it."

"You wish," he shot back.

"Guys," Sam sighed. "Can you guys please, just make a bet. Hell, I'll mediate. If Amaya wins, Dean has to--" he paused to think.

"Give up pie for a month," she crossed her arms, smiling.

"You bitch!" Dean growled. "There is no way I'm giving up pie. You win, I'll kiss you for two minutes," he gave an inward groan as the words came out.

"Two minutes of making out with Dean Winchester?"

Dean watched as she popped out her hip and placed her hand on it. He could tell she was thinking about it.

"I'm not thrilled about it either, but it's all I could come up with, outside of humiliating myself farther," he grumbled.

"I was gonna say you could dance to the Macarena while wearing women's underwear," Sam shrugged.

Dean watched as Amaya's eyes lit up and he gave Sam his best bitch face, "Asshole."

"I like Sam's idea better. Not just the Macarena in women's underwear, but I want a live performance!" She smiled, “You need to sing the song too!”

"We're wasting time," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he looked between Sam and Amaya. "Fine. You got a deal. But if I win--" he licked his lips, "you are going to give me a very nice strip show in the Bunker to the song of my choice."

"Bueno, que quieres? (Well, what do you want?) All nude reviews or bare minimum?" she asked as she gave him a casual shrug.

"All nude with a very nice view of the sweet stuff," he said, smiling. "Quiero ver a to-do tu que-ehr-po," ( I want to see all of your body.) Dean smirked, hoping he got the wording right for his Spanish.

"Spanish is getting better, perv," she muttered. "Fine. But you are only looking, not touching!"

"Fine with me, sweetheart," Dean held out his hand for her to shake.

But she did something unexpected. Grabbing Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket, she pulled him in for a short kiss on his lips.

Pulling back, she smiled, "Sellado con un beso (Sealed with a kiss). No backing out now Winchester. The challenge, you can't go fifteen minutes without getting blasted by a witch spell."

"You're on," he squeaked before clearing his throat and making his way inside.

Sam cocked his gun before looking at his best friend, "You love making him squirm."

"It's only ever going to be fun and games, Sam," she put on her bravest smile. "Nothing can ever come from two hunters in this world being together. Happy ever after doesn't exist."

Sam sighed as he watched his friend and brother head inside. He knew they were ridiculous, but there was nothing he could do except let them be idiots together. As the group filtered through the warehouse, Sam could hear the faint sound of chanting.

An eerie lavender glow came from an open door along a dark corridor. Sam crept towards it, self flush against the wall as he peered inside.

At the same time, in another universe, a group of men dressed in black surrounded the warehouse, each one with a radio and a body cam hooked up to them. They all waited for a signal from their leader to storm inside and take down their targets.

"It's too quiet in there," one of them whispered.

"Yeah, but we have to follow protocol," the second one answered.

"Squad leaders, move in," a gruff voice called over the walkie talkie.

The warehouse had filled with the sounds of feet stomping the pavement. The women found themselves surrounded — weapons aimed at them. One of them strolled forward, her cackle bouncing off the walls and filling the warehouse with its shrill sound.

"The Men of Letters can't stop us," she proclaimed. "The spell is in motion. It has begun!"

"Fire!"

The command came from above as the warehouse filled with the sounds of gunfire, figures dressed in black emptying their clips. The witches all dropped one by one, save for one, who cowered on the ground behind the cauldron. When the firing calmed down, the mysterious soldiers in black all pointed their guns at her, waiting for her to make a move as she bled through her wound. As the silence began to fill the air, the faint sounds of high heels and heavy footsteps echoed around them as the men all moved aside for two figures dressed in suit’s approaching closer to their target.

One of the figures was a woman, about 5’4 with long brown hair that flowed down her back. She wore a navy blue pencil skirt with a button up quarter sleeve white shirt that went well with her four-inch black stilettos. The other figure was a man, 6’1 in height, wearing a navy blue three piece tailored suit, his brown hair perfectly combed back in a short cut. Both figures stood side by side as they surveyed their surroundings.

"Is this her?" the female spoke.

"Yes, ma'am," came the reply as the woman made her way closer.

She stood in front of the Witch and took her chin in her hands.

"Excellente. Bind her and take her to the prison, we'll question her there. Whatever they did, we need to find a way to reverse it." She looked over at the green-eyed man who followed closely behind her, "Que esperen y muévanse!" (What are you waiting for and move!)

"We will," he said, looking over the papers before signing his name to the documents. "I believe Grandpa Henry will be happy with what we've done. We do make a great team, Amaya."

"I wouldn't be marrying you if we didn't, Winchester," she smiled before making her way to him.

"We've been tracking them for a long time," the man sighed as the Witch had a black cover placed on her head. He watched as one of the men dragged her off, "I'm worried about the repercussions to their spell. I mean, according to Sam, they were working on something that could be transdimensional."

"Then all the more reason to get back to headquarters and interrogate her," she said, placing her hand on the man's cheek. "Dean, everything will be fine. Vas a ver. We've been doing this for years, and we have almost eradicated this world of monsters."

"I know but," he said as he leaned into her touch, "what if they bring something over here to throw the balance off?"

"Then we will deal with it," she reassured him. "Together, as we've always done things, mi amor. (My love)"

The Witch smiled under the hood over her head. Everything was working according to the plan. It was all a matter of time for the other world to align and cast their spell.

Meanwhile, in the slick black restored ‘67 Chevy Impala, Dean looked over at his fiancee. He couldn't help shake the pit he felt in his stomach. Following behind the black van, Dean pulled up into the garage of the compound.

Before exiting the car, he turned to Amaya, "Are we sure this witch is going to talk?" he reached over, caressing her cheek.

Leaning into his touch, Amaya took in a slow deep breath, "We can only hope that she does. The only one who can really make her talk is you, Dean. Yo sé que no te gusta, pero, (I know you don't like it, but,) it's your specialty."

"Yeah," Dean rubbed his eyes, "I know. Mientras que me ayuda a proteger a mi Familia y el Mundo, (As long as it helps me protect my family and the world) I'll keep doing it."

"I love it when you speak Spanish, mi amor," she leaned over towards him and pressed her lips gingerly against his. "I will be in the other room, observing if you need back up."

"Amaya," Dean kissed her forehead, "you know I hate it when you watch."

"Don't get performance anxiety on me now, Winchester," she teased. "I mean, you look hot when you get all dom on them."

Dean let out a low growl before pulling her in for a deep kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth as she moaned. Her hands found their way around his neck, fingers playing with the short hairs that she could find. Amaya shifted her position to press her body against his, her legs straddling him as they made out on the bench seat of his hunter car. The Impala was always good for making out after a hunt well done. Dean smirked against her lips as his hands found their way under her blouse; her soft skin sending a shiver down his spine. He loved touching her, kissing her, tasting her. The two lovers were engrossed in their feelings, too lost in their touches, they never noticed the person stalking towards their car. With a devilish smirk, they lifted their hand and slammed it on the roof of the Impala, making the lovers jump.

"That is very unprofessional of you two."

Sam Winchester smiled at the lovers as they both flipped him off. Letting them exit the car, he watched as his brother Dean adjusted his tie and smoothed out his hair.

"Is the witch ready for interrogation?" he helped Amaya out after she fixed up her appearance.

"Yes," Sam said, still smiling, "she's in your favorite room."

"Good," Dean linked his arm with Amaya's, "I say, after I’m done, we head on over to Albert's and celebrate with a nice meal."

Dean led her towards the dungeon where the interrogation would take place.

"Sounds good, baby," Amaya kissed his cheek as she helped him remove his blazer before lifting the sleeves of his dress shirt, "give her hell."

"I always do, sweetheart," he said, giving her a wink before entering the room and closing the door behind him.

Back across the universe, to one where the Men of Letters is all but dead, Sam Winchester watched as his brother and Amaya began to signal to each other. The witches all gathered as, what looked like, the leader started chanting.

"Vocamus, antiqui potestates, audire nostrum dicere, sentire nostra potestate. Per tempus et spatium, sit animarum artem. Sicut anima est, luxatis sit pati in solatium, ut desiderium pro amore et carnem esse eius ruinam." (We call upon the ancient powers, to hear our call, feel our power. Across time and space, let the souls switch. As the soul is displaced, let it suffer in solace as the longing for love and flesh be its downfall.) There was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning. All the while, the witches began throwing the ingredients into the cauldron.

"Sam, Now!" Dean bellowed as all three began shooting at the witches. Both Sam and Amaya found themselves back to back as they aimed at the ones running. Dean decided to make a beeline for the leader and had reached her when she gave him a devilish smile.

"It is done, my followers cast the spell, and there is nothing you can do," she cackled.

"What did you do?" he demanded as he aimed the gun at her as she smiled.

"You'll see," she teased and raised her hand and thrust it forward. She used her power to send Dean back, crashing against some empty crates.

His body crumbled to the ground while Sam and Amaya screamed his name. A shot rang out, and the Witch's body fell with a thud.

With a groan, Dean opened his eyes and sighed, "Did we get her?"

"Yeah," Sam chuckled as he helped his brother up, "but you lost the bet."

"What?" Dean cried and looked at his brother with disbelief. "No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did! I had my timer on, and you had two minutes left," Amaya boasted with a bright smile. "We'll talk later. You're bleeding, and we need to make sure you don't need stitches."

Dean hissed as Amaya brushed her fingers along the cut on his head; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at her touch. Dean could see the concern in her eyes as she looked for any more wounds; he never wanted to see that look again. He wished he could protect her from all this: protect her from himself. He made a small note to push her away once he was all healed. But then, she did something that made him change his mind. It was subtle, but the way she cared for him, it made him rethink how he should keep his distance from her.

"Okay, Romeo," she murmured after cleaning up his wound. "You'll be flirting with barmaids in no time."

"I guess I'll have to learn the Macarena then, huh?" he sighed.

"I'll give you a few days to recover before I collect," she said as they made their way back outside and towards their vehicles. "I gotta jet," she used her thumb to point to her bike, "need to get some stuff done."

"You know," Dean cleared his throat, "you can-- you can come live with us-- in the Bunker," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Did the witch curse you with something?" Amaya wondered and raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, we're friends but--"

"Look, we have a friendly competition," Dean grumbled. "Besides, it makes it easier to collect on a debt when you're close by."

Amaya bit her lip as she looked from Dean to Sam. She always found an excuse not to stay with them in the Bunker, ever since Sam first suggested it. It was easy to reject the offer when Dean would argue that he and Sam could no longer call it a bachelor pad if she moved in.

"Come on, Amaya," Sam's voice broke her out of her thoughts. "It would be better than being out on your own, and you always have a bed to sleep in."

"I--" Amaya hesitated as she decided to find the ground fascinating.

"Either you're coming or not," Dean growled. "We don't have time to argue about this when we have to figure out what those witches did."

"Fine," she breathed. "But I swear Winchester," she walked up to him and poked him in his chest. "One wrong move, one smelly sock or underwear in my room. I catch you playing Peeping Tom, and I am out of there so fast after laying your ass out you won't know what hit you."

Dean raised his hands in the air as he used his finger to draw a cross over his heart, "Cross my heart. I will be on my best behavior."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed, "I'll follow you on my bike."

Dean watched as she made her way towards the gleaming black motorcycle and waited for him to start driving. Dean couldn't help but glance now and then at the rearview mirror. He had to make sure the bike was still behind them. He could never shake the feeling that something would happen to Amaya if she stayed near him for long. Even with their friendly banter, Dean had known her since they were kids. And when they started hooking up, much to Sam’s dismay, he couldn’t help but feel he had cursed her in some way. The last thing he needed was for Amaya to end up like every woman in his life, gone, broken, and/or dead.

"You know you could just actually tell her you like her," Sam sighed as he read through his book, using his phone as a flashlight.

Dean let out a scoff, "What? I don't like Amaya like that. She's -- she's just a very good hunter who I consider a friend and is nice to look at."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed as he shook his head, "you keep telling yourself that, Dean."

"I'm not kidding Sam," Dean denied, glancing at his brother. "You know how this story ends. Jo, Lisa… they both ended in tragedy, and one of those was an experienced hunter."

"Dean," Sam shook his head, "what if it's different? I mean, Amaya is not Jo. Jo lived a sheltered life away from actually hunting. Yeah, she knew about it, but she didn't become a hunter until she met us."

"Yeah. And I don't want Amaya to meet the same fate," Dean huffed. "It's better this way, Sam. We don't get happy endings."

"Dean," Sam rubbed his eyes, "I know you guys have gotten together more than once."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he made the turn towards the Bunker.

"You guys are not quiet," Sam pointed out. "You both are being stupid, and keeping each other at arm's length is only going to get messy. You guys think you're going to keep each other safe, but you aren't. And you are only going to hurt each other, or worse."

"What could be worse?" Dean asked as he pulled the Impala into the garage just as Amaya's bike pulled in behind them.

"One of you gets seriously injured protecting the other," Sam breathed. "You know it's true, Dean. You guys are so alike and…" Sam looked back as he watched Amaya grabbing what little she had on her. "The last hunt, where she got hurt… can you imagine if we were with her?"

Dean stayed silent as he tried to imagine the scene. Sam was right, Amaya wouldn't have gotten injured. He was sure that he would have jumped in and taken the hit for her. Or at least taken out the monster without any casualties. But Dean shook the thought out of his head.

"All the more reason for me to keep my distance," Dean argued.

Sam let out a frustrated groan as his brother got out of the car. He looked over at Amaya just as Dean caught up with her and was glad that she decided to stay with them. He only hoped that it would be a good thing and they wouldn't hurt each other in the process.

Amaya watched as Dean paced in front of the Witch. The Witch's body hung in the middle of the room, her arms above her head as she dangled like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop. The double-sided mirror was the only thing separating her from him. She walked over to the mirror and pressed the button, indicating that the microphone was on, Amaya needed to hear what was going on. If she listened in, there was a chance that she could help read between the lines. Witches, like demons, always found a way to lie.

"What does the spell do?" Dean asked as he walked by the weapons table.

Amaya watched as his fingers ghosted over the various knives and tongs. She could see his fingers linger over his favorite weapon. It was a double-edged Turkish knife that had a serrated edge on one side and a smooth blade on the other.

"There is still one component left," the witch sneered.

Dean moved his way towards her, letting the blade drag along her exposed skin, the blood dripping down to the floor as the Witch laughed.

"You can torture me all you want son of man," she growled as she took in a deep breath before breaking the chains.

Amaya tried to rush towards the door, only to freeze in place as the room filled with the sound of evil laughter.

"Foolish mortals," the voice boomed.

The Witch was now floating a few feet above Dean. Her eyes were glowing lavender.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she floated towards him and grabbed his chin. "Your counterpart in a different world brought this upon himself. You're collateral damage."

Dean tried to move, but he found himself frozen in place. He took in a sharp breath as the Witch placed a finger on his forehead and whispered an incantation. He watched as a life that wasn't his flash before his eyes. He saw a different life than what he lived, watched as he saw pain and suffering and a life without Amaya.

"No," he growled, "you are not going to do this to me." He tried to break free but found that he couldn't, "Who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare," she boasted with a smile as she let out a shock wave of power. "It is nothing against you, well this version of you, Dean. This version of you is more mature. But, you decided to mess with the daughters of Hecate."

Dean's eyes widened at the name. They were not dealing with ordinary witches any more; they now pissed off the goddess of witches. His gaze shifted to the double-sided mirror, hoping that Amaya was safe before hearing a small laugh.

"Your little slut is fine," she assured him and gave him a pat on his cheek. "But I'm going to give you a few days before I rip you from her. Enjoy your time."

Before Dean could ask what she meant, the dungeon shook, the lights flickered, and everything went black. After a few moments, Dean gasped as he shot up, hissing in pain as he reached up to touch his head, flinching when he felt the familiar sticky feeling of blood. Looking around, Dean coughed, the pain in his chest radiating. He took a closer look at the damage; the double-sided glass had shattered when Hecate escaped. The Bunker filled with red lighting as the alarm was ringing around him and he could make out the faint yells of the other hunters stationed there, all on high alert.

"Amaya," Dean breathed as he made his way to the window.

The room was in bad shape; the roof had caved in. The destruction of the dungeon kicked in Dean's protective mode as he tried to look around for any signs of Amaya. He ignored the searing pain that was pulsing through his body as he filtered through the debris.

"Amaya?" Dean called out as he began to move the rubble. "Sweetheart, Donde estas? Amaya responde por favor!!" he called out.

"Dean?!" Sam's voice called through the door.

"Sam?" Dean croaked. "Sam, I can't find Amaya."

"Just hold on," Sam said.

He could hear orders echoing in the hall as he continued to look for Amaya.

"Dean!" a female voice called out.

Dean froze at the sound of Amaya's voice.

"Amaya? Where are you, sweetheart?" he said as he looked around.

"Over here," Her voice was firm. "Maldita madre de la gran puta. Cuando encuentre esa bruja la voy a matar!" (Damn mother of the big whore. When I find that Witch, I will kill her!)

He smiled at her outburst and sighed when he could see movement coming from one of the corners of the room. Dean rushed over, forgetting the pain that radiated from his wounds. He moved the debris, thankful that it seemed to only cover her without crushing her, helping her up and carrying her over to where Sam and his men had cleared out a path.

"What the fuck happened?" Sam asked as he looked at the damage then his brother's wound.

"Hecate," Dean said and winced when he felt Amaya's fingers assessing the damage, “she made an appearance.”

"How did we miss that?" Sam wondered as he looked at the damage in the dungeon room before turning to his brother.

"She was inside one of the witches," Dean sighed. "I guess they invoked her before we got there."

"How do we explain this?" Sam asked.

"As with any other hunt that can and will go wrong," a voice came from down the hall.

Walking towards them was Henry Winchester. His salt and pepper hair short and neat, his face clean of any facial hair. His green eyes surveyed the scene before landing on his grandsons.

"Grandpa Henry," Sam acknowledged as he stood at attention.

Dean took that moment to show respect to their grandfather. He mimicked his brother's stance; back straight, shoulders squared, hands at his sides. Both brothers observed as the Patriarch of the Winchester family assessed the damage.

“Boys,” he said and offered them a small smirk, “it seems the witches have decided to stir up trouble.”

Amaya looked around the Bunker. She had only heard the stories from the boys themselves a few times. Looking around the garage, she took in all the classic cars. Amaya held in her excitement; she couldn't wait to get her hands greasy from looking through the engines. As Amaya took in more of the garage, she made a note to look at the bikes and make sure they were in top condition. Parking her bike in an empty spot, she grabbed her things from the saddlebag and waited for the boys to approach her.

"So this is your man cave?" she asked and looked over at Dean.

Dean scoffed, "This is just the garage, sweetheart." He took her hand in his, ignoring the jolt of electricity that coursed through his veins, "The man cave needs a… private tour," he gave her a wink.

Amaya gave a small smirk before pressing her body up against Dean, "Does that include a private show of your Macarena performance, Gringo?" her breath was right on his ear.

"Okay," Dean groaned as he placed his hand on her shoulders and pushed her away from him, "one, I still need to recover," he gave her a devilish smirk before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body flush with his, "B, if you want a private show," he caressed her cheek, "I'm in room eleven."

Amaya tilted her head at him, "Oh? Me vas enseñar algo privado?" she let her fingers dance on his chest. Two could play the flirting game. "It's okay," she pulled away from him, "I'm sure I've seen guys who are… bigger." (You going to show me something in private?)

"If you want to see bigger, sweetheart," Dean reached for her again. "I'm not shy."

"I know you're not," Amaya shook her head while pushing at his face playfully. "But, slow your roll cowboy. I'm here as a roommate. I know in the past we've…"

"Danced the mattress mambo," Dean interjected.

"Yeah, among other things," Amaya smiled. "But, let's keep our hands to ourselves."

Dean let her go as she pulled herself back and grabbed her duffle from the floor, watching as she made her way out of the garage and walked down the hallway leading to the main entryway. He couldn’t help but stare at the way her hips swayed when she walked away from him. Shaking out of his thoughts, he decided to follow after her. Grabbing his bag, he traveled down the same path she did before seeing her in the middle of the hallway.

"Come on," he called to her, "this way."

Amaya followed Dean as he made his way to the kitchen. Upon entering, they both found Sam eating dinner.

"What took you two so long?" Sam asked as he took a bite of his salad. "It's been a good thirty minutes since we got here. Everything okay?"

"We're good, Sam," Amaya chuckled. "We were discussing where Dean was going to dance the Macarena."

Dean rolled his eyes as he put his bag down and grabbed a beer from the fridge. His mind wandered to what he and Amaya did in the garage before turning back to his brother and friend.

"Why don't we show Amaya a room and let her get settled?" Dean grumbled and grabbed his bag before motioning for Amaya to follow.

"So my room is here," he announced and pointed to room eleven, "and Sam's room is right there," he pointed to room twenty-one. "So, you can have a pick of any of the other rooms that are empty."

"Looks like Twenty is empty, so I'll take that one," she said with a smile.

Dean nodded as he looked at the room down the hall closer to Sam's. He had hoped that she had picked a room closer to him, but this was for the best. He wouldn't be as tempted to make his way to her room. He watched as Sam led her down the hall, and they disappeared around the corner.

Amaya looked around the room she had picked and smiled, she liked the feeling of finally having her own room. Amaya could decorate it how she wanted and listen to her music. All the while, she never noticed Dean. Never saw how he watched in silence as she settled in. Deep in his thoughts, he had to make sure he could stay away from her. But if they fell into bed again… well, he would figure it out and do what he always did.

Later that night, when the Bunker filled with soft snores, Dean found himself in front of Amaya's door. Opening the door to her room, Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. Amaya laid sleeping on her bed, blanket almost falling to the floor, her brown hair with purple streaks sprawled on the pillow, some of the strands on her face.

Dean walked in and sighed. She looked beautiful and he had to make sure he could protect her. Taking the fallen comforter, he placed it over Amaya, tucking her in. His fingers grazed her skin as he put the stray hairs that were on her face behind her ear, smirking when she leaned into his touch. Dean could feel a pull in his heart. It took all his strength not to lean in and kiss her soft skin. With a sigh, he pulled back and walked out of the room, giving one final look before closing the door, making sure it didn't make a sound. He had to keep his distance, but he knew he had to get her out of his system one more time.

Chapter 2

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olivereliocorcordium1983 · 4 years

Text

Summary: "I will try it on for Oliver. If Oliver thinks I look like a scarecrow in it, I'm not wearing it." - Elio, (call me by your name) basically what would have happened if Oliver had stayed instead of going to see his translater. XD

(got inspired by a pic on @charmied and my muse hit here is what became of it! Enjoy! ❤️)

Oliver

The sun was particularly hot that day at the villa I was sitting outside with Elio and his family relaxing at the breakfast table, when I had heard Elio say something that caught my attention. More specifically caught me off guard as I was thinking about meeting my translator for the day and going over my book that evening.

“I will try it on for Oliver. If Oliver thinks I look like a scarecrow in it, I'm not wearing it.”

“Wait hold on! What? Why am I being roped into this and show me what?! “

I keep totally silent for a second until Elio catches my attention, and I just give him a look as he says, “Oliver? What do you think?” his eyes are hopeful.

“Why does he care what I think?”

I look at Annella who gives a soft smile and I quickly say, “What time you got?” grabbing Elio’s wrist, turning it in my hand so that I can look at his watch and he gives me another look that wishes for me not to go. Or is that irritation upon my multiple times of leaving? I can’t tell, either way this situation makes me nervous and I don’t trust myself.

“Two thirty.” Annella replies for Elio, before she puts her cigarette to her lips, all knowing smirk on her face.

I watch Elio disappear into the house after that, practically running as fast as he can to get away from the table.

‘I shouldn’t follow him, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I’ve been good, I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of… yet.’

I have been so good up until now, I have kept my distance from him not giving into the thoughts that come to my mind. My feelings about this boy have been kept to myself and the fear of them, make me nervous yet, it is no secret that I want him. But he doesn’t know that.

‘Don’t follow him. Don’t…. Oh what the hell sate the curiosity before it’s too late. Besides, you have plenty of time.’

“Welp later mrs P.” I reply giving her a closed mouth smile.

“Later.” she replies and as I head into the house, jogging lightly I can feel her eyes staring at my back the entire time while I go and search for Elio.

Once inside I look around and search for the professor I look into the kitchen, the study, the hallways, I even poke my head outside again just for good measure, and he isn’t anywhere to be found. The only person I find is Mafalda taking care of the fish Anchise brought from his daily catch, she looks up at me expectantly as if to ask “can I help you?” and I just smile, backing out of the room and then I hear yelling coming from upstairs.

It’s the professor’s voice along with Elio’s petulant whine and I can’t help but head towards the staircase, my shoes giving off soft taps as they hit the floor, I place my hand on the railing and look up debating on whether or not I should go up and see what’s wrong.

“Papa! It will look up like a put up job!”

“No misbehaving tonight! No laughing. When I tell you to play you will play! You’re too old not to accept people for who they are! What’s wrong with them?”

There is a pause and I slowly decide to ascend the stairs slowly, sliding my hand up the railing. The argument doesn’t sound like a full on angry fight like shouting but clearly pro is trying to make a point, I can also hear the sound of things being shuffled around, like hangers being dragged across metal.

“What’s wrong with them? You call them Sonny and Cher! Behind their backs and then you accept gifts from them!”

“That is what mom calls them!” Elio shouts back a soft laugh in his voice and I shake my head slowly, as I stop at the top of the steps that lead into the hallway to the room I am staying in.

“The only person that reflects badly on, is you. Is it because their gay? Or because they’re ridiculous?”

Elio is laughing by this point and all I can think is that if it was me, my father would have smacked me. No conversation at all just full on smacked. But I can’t help the snickers that come from my mouth that I muffle with the back of my hand, as I come closer.

“Now get into this you.” and that was the last of the conversation and I move to the side as the professor comes out of the room, he looks at me and he shakes his head softly. I give him a look of comfort shrugging softly as I watch him move to my left to go back down the stairs, the sound of his shoes echo in my ears.

I walk slowly to the bedroom door and gently knock once, twice, and then I open the door and step into the room, the sight that I see makes my eyes widen and my mouth goes dry.

Elio is standing in front of the mirror with what I assume is the shirt in question on backwards with a fallen, almost frustrated look in his eyes as he finally notices me standing there. A blush comes over his cheeks and he looks away from me, ashamed almost from not being able to figure out how to put it on as I sit down in his chair at his desk.

“That’s quite the… um... look you got on there, Elio. It’s-”

“Stupid. It’s stupid. I knew this was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have never-” He shakes his head, his soft curls bouncing around with the movement, his eyes welling up, his nose turning pink, he grabs the shirt and is about to pull it off when I suddenly reach out and stop him with my words.

“Elio, come here… please.”

‘What are you doing?! You said you wanted to be good! This is NOT being good!’

Silently he walks to me with his head down, slight pout on his red lips and all I can think about at that moment is wanting to kiss him. To taste his lips with mine, and admire the effort he has so strategically put together in order to I don’t know… get my attention. Well, you have it Elio you have my full attention now what? What is it that you want from me?

I look at him then at the “shirt” running my fingers over the straps first, they are softer than they look, that is surprising and I give an experimental tug on them.

“What the fuck even is this? Cuz, this is the weirdest shirt I’ve ever seen!” There is a smile in my voice and Elio shrugs his shoulders at me, the pout isn’t there anymore but is replaced with slight mirth, and I know he is trying his best not to laugh.

“How should I know, it was a gift from one of my parent’s friends and his husband, who are coming over for dinner tonight. I don’t know what the fuck they were thinking sending this to me, I can’t even put whatever this thing is on right.”

Against my better intentions I decide that we should inspect this so called “shirt” a little further and Elio blinks at me, hands down at his sides, he does this awkward sway and the air has turned and changed between us.

“Let’s see if we can’t figure this thing out together.”

“Yes, please,” he replies biting his lip. It comes out in a nervous almost breathless nature and I can tell he wants me to touch him. This is why he wanted me up here after all isn’t it? To show me what he was going to wear or was it just a false pretence for something else.

I gently tug on the straps and pull his slender frame towards me, so that he is close standing between my legs, his stomach fully exposed to me, his chest slightly covered by the top of the shirt oh hell, lets just call it what it looks like alright? It looks like a damn bib? Yes. I will settle for that than calling it a shirt, most shirts that I have seen have backs on them. This thing… doesn’t and the skin that I have longed to touch is staring me in the face right now.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Go shut the door please.” I instruct and I watch Elio do as he is told, shutting the door and locking it. He makes his way back over to me and again I grab the straps hanging down his front and pull him towards me again.

“Okay turn around for me.” He turns slowly so that his back is facing me and I see the whole bib is sequenced into some wild pattern. Without even thinking I reach out and let my hand run it slowly and I see Elio visibly shutter, now whether that is because of me or the temperature of the room I don’t know.

“Well…” he trails off in an annoyed sigh. “Hurry up! They could be here any minute and I don’t want to have my father come back up here and scold me again!”

“Do you want my help or not Elio cuz if not-” he interrupts me then as he turns to face me again, his hand shooting out to touch my left shoulder, his eyes focused on mine, the nervous energy he holds comes out, as he tries to back petal his attitude towards me.

“No! I mean… uh, yes, I do want your help.” He looks away from me staring at something more interesting to his left side, picking out a book possibly to look at other than my face. “I’m sorry, I just don’t see why I have to impress those people who have known me since birth Oliver. It seems I don't know… redundant don’t you think?”

I chuckle leaning forward. I purposefully press my lips into his belly and close my eyes briefly when I hear Elio’s soft gasp, and his long fingers playing with my hair. I know I shouldn’t be doing this but I can’t help myself, his skin is so soft looking and I want to help him relax so why not?

‘There goes my will for being good’

“Whaa… Oliver, What are you doing?!” He laughs when I nuzzle him and he pulls me closer, trying to steady himself as I let my hands roam over his sides, over his ticklish spots and back down.

“Helping you relax.” are the only words that leave my mouth and I smirk of course I am doing what I always do with him teasing, in hopes of lightening his mood. “You worry too much, you know that. They probably aren’t even going to notice your shirt. It doesn’t even look stupid so… take it off and let me put it on you the right way.”

So far all we have done was constantly flirt with each other on occasion. From the day I sat with him in the hallway and massaged his feet, to the playful banter back and forth in the pool. It all has led to this moment right here, and all I can think about is wanting to touch and kiss every inch of his skin. He is all I have dreamed about, the consequences be damned. It is his fault, he ignited the flame first, and now I have no control well, at least not when he is sliding his hand through the collar of my shirt, his fingers brushing over my collar bones.

I slowly stand up to full height and he takes a step back, lifting his arms up over his head, off the bib goes exposing his beautiful pale skin. I smile down at him and he looks up at me with such innocence,that I don’t know what to do with myself.

‘Focus on the task at hand Oliver!’

My mind chides me while my heart is in my throat. I turn the contraption around and slowly slip it over his head and he slips his arms through the holes. Then he slowly turns around so that I can help him with the straps, I pull them, tight but not tight enough to hurt him and tie them off, my knuckles gently and soothingly brushing against his skin.

He turns to face me and without preamble I take his face into my hands, my thumbs sweeping across his pale cheeks, my eyes soften. “It looks lovely on you, Elio.” and then I press my lips to his, closing my eyes, I breath him in briefly as his body slowly melts into mine, my fingers curl around the back of his neck gently.

The kiss isn’t demanding; it's just brief too brief as I pull away at the honk of a horn and Elio’s father calling him from outside.

“See you at midnight. Later!” I say enthusiastically with a wink, leaving him standing there in his room, with his eyes closed and a smile on his kiss swollen lips.

(sorry for any mistakes I typed this out rather quickly)

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years

Text

Powers Against the Father (Vanya)

Luther, Diego, Allison and Klaus, Five, Ben

Author’s Note: The last story in the series, thanks for sticking with it this far.

Warnings: None

Tag list:

@lunamusamelark

@ll-short-breadstikz-ll

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Birthdays are difficult when you have six other siblings sharing them on the same date, and a father who doesn’t allow you to celebrate them. For as long as Vanya has known there have always been varying levels of enthusiasm throughout the group.

Of course, Klaus is the one who enjoys them the most. Whether it be they celebrate by sneaking off to Griddy’s or secretly finding something to give each other without their father noticing.

Allison and Ben seem to like their birthday for sentimental reasons. Enjoying everyone making an effort to spend time as a family, away from competing against each other in training or on missions.

Typical to his nature, Five doesn’t care about them, they are just another day to him. You get older, such is the nature of life.

Luther and Diego always feign that they don’t care about the date at all, but Vanya can see that they secretly enjoy it more than they let on.

As for herself, Vanya normally boards with Five, she doesn’t care for them much either. For the most part anyway. Sometimes Allison can convince her to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Though this year she feels completely different about it. From the limited children’s books they have to read around the academy, she’s learned that when you turn 16 it tends to be a pretty big deal. And being on the cusp of 16 she feels like doing something to celebrate it.

But as the lights go out on her final night of being 15, she still hasn’t figured out how.

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In typical tradition on the morning of their birthday, everyone congregates early at the top of the stairs before breakfast. This morning Luther and Allison have bet her there, where they stand holding hands and talking quietly to each other.

When she reaches them, they both wish her a happy birthday and she reflects it back to them. Making sure to keep their voices low, careful not to be heard.

Five is next to enter the group and they all send their wishes onto him. He collectively nods back to them and they each smile, knowing that is as much of a “happy birthday” as they will get from him.

Diego and Ben appear next. They both send their “happy birthday’s” along to the group, Ben speaking far more enthusiastically than Diego.

Klaus is last to join them and in typical fashion bounces around the group wishing them all a happy birthday and hugging everyone in turn. Even Five who looks uncomfortable about it but doesn’t make a move to throw him off like he normally would.

When Grace comes to collect them for breakfast, she smiles knowingly at them but doesn’t say anything. Vanya briefly wonders whether she knows the date is significant at all, or she just responds to them being extra happy. Though when they are seated at the table to find their pancakes smiling back at them, she figures it is the former and that their mother has been programmed by their father not to say anything. But the subtle notion of smiling pancakes is enough for her.

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Dear she say it, but her individual training is boring. For weeks her father has been trying to get her to master creating a contained sound bubble. It had been going well and she had hoped they would be able to move on today. But it wasn’t to be the case with her father wanting continued perfection.

For hours she stands in the foyer her father at her side, containing the sounds of the gramophone within a metaphysical forcefield. Bored, she lets her mind wonder, watching Pogo as he writes notes outside the boundary, watching her father as he writes notes next to her, wondering what her siblings are doing upstairs. Eventually she gets so lost in her thoughts that when she resurfaces, she’s shocked to find that the sound bubble is still intact.

After being filled with the initial dread of partaking in an exercise which doesn’t challenge her for the next half hour or so, an idea dawns on her. Biting the side of her cheek to keep from smiling, she finally realises what they can do for their birthday. She just has to think more about how it could work.

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

“Should we just go to Griddy’s?” Allison asks from where she lies on the lounge floor.

“I could get out” Ben muses, sitting upside down in a chair with his legs hanging over the back.

“We did that last year!” Klaus complains, also sitting upside down in a chair opposite Ben’s so they look at each other the right way up.

“Come on guys, sit up properly. You’ll both start complaining about a headache like you always do” Luther tells them.

“Yeah, like I always do” Ben’s voice drips with sarcasm, fixing Klaus with a pointed look before he begins to sit up all the same.

Klaus initially tries to as well but he can’t coordinate it and gives up, unceremoniously rolling to the floor in a flail of limbs to lie next to Allison.

“It surprises me that you aren’t a gymnast” Diego says to him from where he lies across the couch.

“I have been told I am blessedly graceful” Klaus tells him.

“Who said that?” Ben scoffs.

As Klaus begins to whine and make up lies about who could have possibly told him that, Vanya cuts in. “I have an idea.”

“Like what?” Klaus cuts himself off mid-sentence.

“I-I don’t know how well it will work and I” – Vanya starts unsurely.

“Well out with it” Diego pushes.

“Theoretically I could create a sound bubble and we could play some music” she says.

“Theoretically or you actually could?” Diego raises an eyebrow at her.

“I could, I guess” she speaks quietly, looking down at her fingers fidgeting on her lap.

“I like the sound of that” Allison says pushing herself to sit up from the floor.

“I could go for that as well” Ben agrees.

Klaus gasps in excitement clapping his hands together. “Ben, will you dance with me?”

“Sure” he says flatly. “Do I have a choice?”

While Klaus rattles off about how Ben most certainly “does not have a choice,” Luther turns to Vanya. “What do you need?”

“Could you move the gramophone from the foyer into here?”

Luther hums in agreeance and pushes himself out of his chair to do just that.

“Whose music are we going to play?” Allison asks.

“Not Luther’s!” Klaus is quick to throw in.

“What’s wrong with mine?” Luther’s voice raises a pitch in hurt.

“It’s boring” Klaus accuses.

As they both begin to argue back and forth, Five groans loudly before blinking from the chair he was sitting in.

For the next minute the room is silent aside from the sound of Luther moving in the gramophone from the adjacent room. Vanya wonders whether Five went to get something or got so feed up with them arguing that he disappeared off to his room. She was just about to go check on him when he stepped back into the room out of thin air.

“We’ll rotate them” he settles, setting a small stack of records on the table next to where Luther had set the gramophone.

Klaus squawks and rushes to pick up one of his records from the pile.

Five makes a sound of disapproval, using an arm to hold Klaus back from putting the record in the player. “Vanya chooses first.”

At Klaus’ look of disappointment Vanya nods to him and his face brightens in a smile as he puts his record on the turntable. Though Five remains in control of the needle and he waits for Vanya’s signal.

She barely has to think twice about the security of the sound bubble before she nods to Five and he drops the needle, the space soon filling with the soft sounds of ominous guitar strumming.

As the music is still winding up Klaus is already dancing his way towards Ben, rolling his shoulders in time with the music and moving his arms around like a glorified piece of seaweed in a current.

Ben seems to have accepted his fate and grooves on the spot as he waits for Klaus to join him. When he reaches him, Klaus beckons to Diego and Ben signals for Vanya to come and join them. As cliché as he is, when Vanya starts to move towards them Ben uses an imaginary fishing rod to reel her in. She can’t stop herself laughing at its ridiculousness and he can’t stop himself either.

Next to them Allison dances next to Luther until she sees Five standing and watching alone from the record player. When she stops dancing and looks at him, Five shakes his head and his eyes go wide, knowing exactly what she is going to do.

She ignores the signal and makes her way toward him. Five doesn’t allow less than five steps in-between them before he takes off away from her. It only seems to encourage her as she chases after him throughout the lounge, begging him to dance with her.

After a little while of watching Luther steps up to the other group, figuring that it will take awhile to resolve. They are both incredibly stubborn, but Five will give in to his sister’s wish eventually.

Though Vanya still watches on as she dances, occasionally taking Klaus’ hand so he can spin her around, sometimes to spin him. Around her she can see the swirling white patterns where the soundwaves stop at the edge of the bubble and she moves in time with those. Swaying about to the beat of the song, a smile etched permanently on her face. Knowing that this is the best birthday she has ever had.

#tua #The Umbrella Academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #the white violin #reginald hargreeves

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dc41896 · 4 years

Text

Between the Lines

Hey guys! Really quick, the song we’re gonna pretend is the reader’s is Hallucinations by dvsn (I would try to link it like I’ve seen other songs on posts but I don’t know how nor do I want to mess up anything so I’m just gonna leave that alone lol). It’s really good and may put you in your feels but I recommend it☺️. Okay that’s all, hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None🥰!

“Can we dim the lights just a little bit more please? There, that’s perfect! Thank you!”

“Okay I got a few outfits picked out for you so after rehearsal you can pick which two you want to wear tonight,” your stylist and best friend Gina smiles walking up to you on stage.

“Thank you! I already know I’m gonna love everything and then not be able to decide until the last minute and stress out even more than I already am.”

“And then I’ll help you and you’ll do incredible as always,” she laughs wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry girl you got this!”

In less than five hours, you’d be performing for the first time on live television as the musical act for Saturday Night Live and to say you were nervous was an understatement. Your stomach felt as if you had gone upside down on a rollercoaster at least a hundred times and your hands were already sweating and shaking. Even your bottom lip was starting to hurt from you biting on it so much, which was something you tended to do when you were anxious.

“Looks like I made it just in time for the performance,” an all too familiar voice announces as they walk up to the front of the stage.

Oh and as the cherry on top to your stress, your ex was tonight’s host.

Not that you guys ended on bad terms, it’s just some unresolved feelings on your end made it difficult for your heart not to break every time you saw him. “Agreeing” that you both made better friends than you did a couple, you watched the love of your life walk away after leaving a kiss on your forehead. With every atom in your body, you wanted to pull him back and hold him so tight that he couldn’t move, but there was a piece of you that wondered maybe he had a point. Maybe he was meant to be someone else’s even though all you wanted was to be with him.

And if that were the case, who were you to get in the way of that?

Of course with you being exes there were additional eyes planning to tune in to see whether things would be painfully awkward or if everyone would play dumb and circle around the obvious elephant in the room. The executives swore to both of you that you guys getting set for the same show wasn’t on purpose or a way to boost ratings. They even offered to move one of you, or accommodate in any way they could.

However, you and Chris assured that everything would be fine and there was no hard feelings between you. Whatever they needed you both to do, you’d happily be there.

“Any other time I’d let you sit in, but this is a secret rehearsal so...,” you answer pointing towards the door as he stands in front of you.

Sitting on the edge of the stage, he lightly taps under your chin immediately making your now lightly red tinted bottom lip appear. “Bite it anymore, you won’t have a lip to sing with tonight.”

“Maybe that’s for the best so then I won’t embarrass myself.”

“I know there’s nothing I can say to take away your nerves, but you got this trust me. They wouldn’t have chosen you to be here if they didn’t already know you’d do amazing.”

“Mm that’s a strong assumption, and you know what they say when you assume,” you counter slightly tilting your head and making Chris roll his eyes.

“Y/N...”

“Okay you may have a point,” you giggle meeting his baby blues. “How are you though? I’m not the only one with a first tonight.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he sticks his hands in his pockets switching from one leg to the other. “I can’t lie I’m nervous, but once I get up there I’ll try to focus on just having fun and doing my best.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry to interrupt but they need you to run through your song to check the mics and everything,” a stagehand explains from behind you.

“Okay I’ll be there in a second,” you smile before turning your attention back to Chris. “Looks like I gotta go. If I don’t see you before everything starts good luck, you’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks and same to you. Try to turn that beautiful mind of yours off and remember what I said ok?”

Smile on his lips, he pulls you in for a hug before softly kissing your cheek leaving a tingling sensation on your skin along with slight remnants of his warm cologne. Watching as he rounds the corner officially out a sight, a shaky breath escapes your lips as your hands cover your face.

You hated how this was always your response. Feeling as if tears would stream down your face at any moment while your heart pounded against your chest with no sign of slowing down. And it didn’t only happen being in his presence, just the mention of his name made a lump develop in your throat as the rest of your usual symptoms soon followed.

“Y/N, you good?,” the sound tech asks from the side of the stage taking a break from checking the numerous wires plugged into the system.

“Yea I’m fine, sorry about the wait I’m ready now,” you softly smile as you stand to grasp the cold mic in your hand.

———

So far everything had gone really well with the show tonight. Every skit Chris was in made the crowd erupt with laughter, including the one where you two played the ridiculously competitive couple at game night making your friends regret inviting you guys.

Reading the tweets from those at home, it seemed they were loving it too, but of course mainly happy to have Chris on their screens.

With the show winding down, it was time for your last performance, which was the one you were most worried about. Not only because of the performance but the song itself.

“Last song of the night!,” Gina claps lightly bouncing on her toes. “You ready?”

“I don’t really have a choice do I?,” you nervously laugh looking over yourself in the mirror one last time fixing your top.

“Technically yes, just say the word and we could parent trap this thing.”

“And that would possibly work if we were identical twins, which we are definitely not,” you laugh. Placing her hands on your shoulders, she leads you in a few deep breaths before fluffing out the pineapple puff on top of your head.

“You’re gonna do great and everything will be fine. And I’m not just talking about the singing.”

Gina, along with your band, knew what this last song meant for you and gave you their full support when you brought up the idea to perform it tonight. You planned on taking it with you to the grave when you first wrote it, but something in the pit of your stomach urged you to be honest with how you truly felt.

Taking your position on stage, you take one last deep breath before Chris’ voice flows through your ears.

“Ladies and gentleman, Y/N.”

Lights dimming around you, the soft beat plays in the background waiting for you to make your entrance. Wanting the performance to feel as intimate as the song itself, you sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling in front of you as you peer out into the crowd of various faces.

Having hallucinations

I'm losing sleep every night

Keep trying to cover my eyes

My eyes, yeah

Is it my imagination?

I think I'm losing my mind, yeah

Still see your face all the time

All the time

Tryna rewind 'til we're back where we started

Yeah, that's all I want

Yeah, night after night after night

I'm still haunted

I'm haunted, baby

———

Watching you gently sway on the tv in his dressing room, he couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Bearded chin resting on his knuckles, the look in his eyes as he witnessed you on stage in your element was reminiscent to that of a proud parent in awe of their child’s first play.

“You are so smitten it’s not even funny,” Scott smirks looking at his brother.

“I’m just really happy for her that’s all,” he replies, hand nervously raking through his hair.

“Mhmm that’s all.”

I'm haunted by you, you, fall asleep and dream of

You, you, late at night I scream for

You, you, waiting on a deja-vu

But until then

I live with hallucinations

Yeah, they're just hallucinations

And I'll just hallucinate

'Cause you're not here

Hallucinations

The band playing being the only thing heard, he notices you quickly wipe under your eye setting the mic away from you as you quietly laugh to yourself and the audience claps telling you it’s okay. Listening to the lyrics, there was a small twinge in his gut that maybe what he was currently thinking was true, but it wasn’t until your next movement that he was knew for sure what you were saying.

“Wait you saw that right?”

“Saw what?,” Scott asks as Chris positions himself closer to the screen.

“She tugged her ear.”

“Okay...and what about it?”

It would probably sound silly to others, but during your relationship you two created your own secret signal of lightly tugging on your earlobes to say hello during interviews and that one was thinking of the other.

Although it was something small that would definitely go unnoticed by everyone, it helped tell Chris everything he needed to know.

Losing my concentration

Hearing your voice in my head

Seeing you when you aren't there

You aren't there

And I can't keep living like this, yeah

Something's gotta give (give me you, yeah)

If I could make it all go away

Then I would

Tryna rewind 'til we're back where we started

Yeah, that's all I want, that's all I want

Yeah, night after night after night

I'm still haunted

I'm haunted, baby

I'm haunted by

You, you, fall asleep and dream of

You, you, late at night I scream for

You, you, waiting on a deja-vu

But until then

I live with hallucinations

Fall asleep and dream of you, you

They're just hallucinations

Late at night I scream for you, you

I'll just hallucinate

Waiting on a deja-vu

Cause you're not here

Hallucinations

Finishing your song, you give a small bow as the crowd erupts with claps and cheers making you shyly smile. Although you made it through your biggest challenge of the night, there was still one last worry taking up space in your mind.

———

“Thank you to the cast, the crazy talented and beautiful Y/N, and everybody for watching! Goodnight!,” Chris smiles waving into the camera as the rest of the cast claps and begins hugging each other.

Moving from person to person exchanging “congrats” and “good job’s”, you eventually end up face to face with the host himself, a small bit of panic setting in causing you to freeze in your current spot.

Pulling you in, he gently rocks you back and forth as his hand caresses the back of your head instantly making you melt.

“Congrats Y/N you did amazing!,” he whispers in your ear as you try to hide your smile in his neck.

Before you could even say thank you, a tap on his arm informs him he’s needed across the room for something important and returning that familiar ache to your chest. “I’ll talk to you later Y/N.”

“Um yeah, sounds good,” you answer as he kisses your cheek before heading to the area he was needed.

“Maybe he didn’t notice. Or what if he did but doesn’t care” you thought with a sigh as you continued to make your rounds talking to everyone.

Finally arriving back at your dressing room, you’re met with confetti and the sound of popping champagne bottles as your team and band shout “congratulations!”

“Congrats girl!! We did it!,” Gina squeals hugging you. “Oh how did everything go just now?”

“Not bad, he had to go do something so we weren’t able to talk really but we’ll try later.”

“Well I know it didn’t go how you wanted, but at least it wasn’t the worst outcome you know?” Giving you a sympathetic smile, she hands you a solo cup filled a third of the way with the bubbly liquid. “Now you know I hate to see you down, so lets celebrate this huge accomplishment and take care of the heart later.”

Tapping your cups together giggling, Gina makes her way to the others leaving you standing against the makeup counter watching your friends laugh and converse amongst themselves while music began to play overhead.

Catching the corner of your eye, numerous notifications illuminate your phone with people reaching out to you to say how good of a job you did and how happy they were for you. Scrolling down the line, you click on the tag from Chris’ Instagram to find an old video of you in the studio.

Arms crossed over your head in your grey sweatshirt and eyes closed, you were singing into the mic lost in the music playing in your headphones as your producer nodded along watching your vocals on the computer screen. Towards the end of the video, you finally open your eyes to see Chris recording and lightly tug your ear as you smiled.

chrisevans: Tonight wasn’t only a first for me with hosting SNL, but it was also y/IG/n first live tv performance and I just want to take a moment to say how so so soooo proud I am of you💙!! I’ve seen all the hard work, dedication, long nights, and heart you put into your songs and this album (don’t know if I’m allowed to say that last part now that I think of it lol) and I already know great things are coming. I know Scott’s gonna try to fight me on this, but you’re bringing me to the Grammys right🥺👉🏾👈🏾? #mygirl #shemightkillmeforthealbummention

Taglist: @honeychicana @fumbling-fanfics @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @my-rosegold-soul @curlyhairclub @renfrewscorner @secretmysteriousperson @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @itshinothey @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged and don’t see your name, only wants to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

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