#WHICH IS ALREADY CANON *TO ME* BUT COULD CERTAINLY STAND TO KISS ABOUT IT.

[remythologise]

no fear (post destiel society) vs. one fear (in the rush of creators investing in the destiel dollar, johnlock actually goes canon)

[prentissluvr]

forget-me-nots — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : soulmate!au, fluff, very light angst ➖⟢ cw : light mentions of canon typical death, violence, and monsters, shirtless sam aaaaa, light descriptions of injuries and blood, reader believes in ghosts before knowing about the supernatural, drinking/alcohol mentions, silly criminal minds reference to my gf elle, kissing, poor editing ➖⟢ wc : 5.6K summary : in a world where flowers grow on your skin in the exact places your soulmate is injured, you’re constantly covered in forget-me-nots.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

heartache is one thing. heartache for someone you don’t know, someone whose face you’ve never seen or who you’ve never met, is another, stranger thing. it’s common for many to feel this heartache before they know their soulmate, but sometimes you feel as though you have to worry much more than most.

you try not to let thoughts of your mystery soulmate consume you, but you seem to have constant reminders of them litered on your skin in the form of tiny blue flowers. admittedly, you find it romantic that forget-me-nots are your soulmate flower, with their symbolism of true love, respect, and fidelity. the flowers themself feel like a good omen, a sweet promise of a steady love waiting for you. but, the frequency with which they appear on your skin feels far less lucky and always feeds you so much worry for this person you’ve yet to meet.

this morning, you wake with new blooms snaking along your left collarbone, peeking out from the seam of your sleep shirt. and when you change into new clothes, you find a few more growing on your bicep and the side of your ribs.

sighing, you stand at the mirror lightly brushing your fingers over the small flowers and wonder what sort of trouble your soulmate got into last night. as always, worry floods your chest, but you do your best to tamp it down considering the fact that you only bear a few new blooms. the more severe the injury, the more flowers appear on your skin. today, your soulmate must only be dealing with small surface cuts.

sometimes, you’re covered in so many forget-me-nots that you’re too worried to do much of anything at all. more than once, you’ve wondered how your soulmate could still be alive, and the continuous flowers on your skin serve as your only proof that they're still around. there were a few years where you barely had any blooms, just the usual flower on a fingertip to signify a papercut or the occasional few because of a small accident. but one night the flowers came in bunches and never stopped.

you imagine what you might say or do when you meet them. maybe you’ll want to check on whatever wounds they have, be sure it’s not too bad, or maybe you’ll scold them for making you worry so much. you’ll certainly ask what they do in their life that gets them so injured so often. maybe you’ll do it all.

but for now, you’ll have to move on and get ready for the day. the flowers always linger, though.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s been a rather strange week. the flowers from last thursday have completely faded, and you’ve gone a day or two without any new forget-me-nots appearing on your skin. the strange part has been at work. on monday night, one of your coworkers died in the building, but you still had to come in to work the next day. one of the rooms was taped off, but that was the only evidence of the misfortune. the same thing happened last night, thursday, and you’re ready to do everything you can to get at least the next several days off of work. you don't want to risk anything.

and now, it seems the goddamn fbi is interested in whatever has happened. you’re not a huge fan of the federal government, but you have to admit that the bureau has sent two of its most attractive agents. normally, you’d keep your head down, but you feel inexplicably drawn to one of them. he’s the taller of the two, which is impressive because the other is already tall, and he has pretty brown hair and dimples that you catch a glimpse of as he talks to one of your coworkers.

he looks away from her as he moves away, seemingly done with the interview. he catches your eye, and your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. he’s a beautiful man; pretty and sweet looking at the same time as he’s traditionally handsome and slightly imposing. you’ve never loved a stranger’s eyes so much.

he approaches you and you can’t help but watch as he grows closer.

“hi,” he greets with a small smile, “i’m agent greenaway with the fbi. can i ask you a few questions about the deaths from this week?”

“i’m not sure i’ll be much help, but sure,” you nod, folding your arms over your stomach. agent greenaway doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but the topic at hand certainly does.

“that’s alright. sometimes the smallest things can really be helpful,” he reassures, keeping the kind look on his face. “have you noticed anything strange about either of the deceased or the building this past week or so?”

you shake your head. “not really. i mean i didn’t work closely with macy, and i never noticed anything off about lex.”

“and the building? any strange cold spots or flickering lights?”

you find the question sort of odd coming from an fbi agent, but you instintually feel like you should take it seriously. “um, yeah, actually. it was really cold by the bathrooms last night when i left. at first i thought the ac finally got fixed, but it was still sort of warm over here. in this area”

“okay. thank you for your help,” he smiles at you again and for a reason you can't quite place, you don’t want the unusual conversation to end. you have to hide a hint of delight from your expression when he hands you his card. “call me if you think of anything else.” you accept the card with a nod. he looks like he’s about to walk away, but he pauses. “and, uh– be careful. you should go home early tonight.”

“oh. okay, i will.” without knowing why, you trust him. you want to see him again.

⟢⟢⟢

saturday night is the second busiest night at the bar, but you’re glad it’s not as crowded fridays normally are. you walk straight to the bar to order your go-to drink. as you wait for the bartender to make it, you stare at yourself in the mirror behind the counter out of the corner of your eye. today, there’s two little forget-me-nots right on your left cheek. they look sort of cute there, and you guess you should be grateful that it’s such a small wound. there’s no other flowers on your body yet, which feels like a good run for your soulmate. that’s a little over a whole week in between different injuries, even small ones.

the bartender slides you your drink and you thank them. there’s a small red carnation on their thumb, and you wonder if they’ve met their own soulmate yet. you suppose that at the end of the day, you’re scared of what just about everyone else is. without trying, you worry about not meeting your soulmate until you're old and left without much time together. you want to meet them, and you think the sooner the better. the idea’s been particularly stuck in your mind since last night.

agent greenaway’s words echo in your head. “be careful. you should go home early tonight.” he seemed so sweet, so genuine and caring, and all you’ve been able to think about since then is meeting someone like him. finding someone kind with a little red mark on their cheek and a forget-me-not on their right pointer finger to match the papercut you got earlier this afternoon.

and simply, you’ve been feeling a little lonely these days. how nice would it be to have your literal soulmate by your side?

you sip slowly at your drink, and when the cup’s empty, you pay the tab. the bar isn’t quite serving as the distraction you hoped it would. as you head for the door, your gaze snags on a mop of brown hair that wouldn’t be considered familiar for the fact that you’ve only seen it once, but feels that way regardless. quickly, you scan the rest of the bar, and sure enough you catch sight of agent greenaway’s partner, across the way and very obviously flirting with a pretty brunette.

for a moment you pause, wondering if it would be weird or too out-of-the-blue to approach agent greenaway, but the pull you feel towards him overrides all else, taking your hand and guiding it to throw all caution to the wind.

he’s facing away from you, and with a friendly smile, you slide into the seat across from him.

“hi,” you greet over the noise of music and talking, “d’you mind if i sit here?” it takes him a moment to answer, like he’s lagging a little bit.

“uh– no, no i don’t mind,” he flashes a quick smile back at you, but his gaze and attention are clearly stuck somewhere on your face. for just a split-second, you’re confused by what he could be staring at, but it clicks not a moment later. you don’t know how you missed it: the red mark on his left cheek, so small that your eyes glossed over it when you sat down. eagerly, you drop your gaze to his hands, one casually wrapped around his beer bottle and the other resting on the table. and sure enough, so tiny and pretty against his big hand is a single forget-me-not on his right pointer finger, exactly where you have a bandaid wrapped around your own.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes caught on the delicate flower and unable to drag themselves away to look back at his face. just like everyone else, you’ve thought about it a million times over, what it would feel like to meet your soulmate, what you would do, how you would act. in this moment, you feel frozen, but you feel right and you feel a million questions and urges rise up in your heart and mind. you desperately want to reach out to him, to touch his hand and the little flower and make sure that they’re both real.

but you absolutely cannot keep your gaze away from his face for long at all and when you meet his eyes, an irresistible smile stretches across your face. you look at him with nothing short of wonderment. he’s just stunning and you can’t believe that he’s supposed to be… well, yours. 

just staring at each other, you feel a little flustered and awkward, unsure what to say to him. then you realize he should probably know your name, and all you know is his last. so you stick your right hand out and tell him your name. he takes your hand with a smile and repeats it back, saying it carefully and savoring the sound and feel of it on his tongue.

when you touch him for the first time, your breath gets caught in your throat and it feels so right that you never want to let go.

“i’m sam,” he says, only letting his hand fall away from yours after a few moments. even then, your fingertips are merely inches apart now.

“sam greenaway,” you echo, easily remembering how he introduced himself yesterday. then you puzzle at his reaction and the way that the name doesn’t feel quite right as you look at him. he cringes slightly, like he’s done something to be guilty of. “or… not?” for a minute, things were starting to add up to you. the way you felt drawn to him yesterday and his job as an fbi agent finally explaining all of his many injuries. you figured he must be in fights often.

“i– i’m sorry, this is so– i mean if we’re really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to reset and figure out how to say things right. “if we’re really, you know, soulmates… well, there’s just a lot– a lot for me to explain. i’m not an fbi agent and my real name is sam winchester. but i swear, there’s a reason for me lying and i promise that i’ll explain it to you if you’re willing to hear it. which i understand if you don’t–”

“i do,” you say in earnest, finally cutting him off. it took you a second because, for a moment, you were too stuck on him saying the word soulmate aloud in reference to the two of you. it felt special and you were only half paying attention to the things he said after because of that. then all you were thinking about was how endearing he seems when he’s flustered and worried. “it’s okay,” you reassure him, “i want to hear it. i– i mean, sure, it’s sort of strange that you lied about, you know, all that, but… i’m not– i’m not gonna just meet my… my soulmate and not give you a chance.” he still looks a little tense, but his shoulders have dropped a bit in relief and there’s the hint of a grateful smile on his features.

“thank you,” he says, glad for your reassurance but still worried about how you might take the rest of the far weirder explanations that he has left to tell you. “can i maybe get you a drink?”

you smile at the offer, but shake your head a bit. “i was actually just heading out when i saw you. would you maybe wanna get out of here? my apartment’s less than a ten minute walk away.” for a moment, you wonder if that’s too much for just having met, but sam visibly relaxes just a little bit more.

“that would be nice,” he smiles. he’s getting ready to stand when he glances across the bar, seemingly remembering about his partner. or not partner. you’re not quite sure. “my brother, dean,” he explains simply when he catches your gaze on the other man. “i should tell him where i’m going.”

“okay,” you nod, filing the new information away in your mind and watching him weave between tables and flirting couples to reach his brother. the exchange is a bit funny to watch. at first dean looks annoyed at being interrupted by sam. then he glances at you with a sly smirk and makes some comment that is probably less than appropriate judging from his expression. and then his face morphs into one of surprise before it’s taken over by a smile. he claps sam on the shoulder and sends him off. you almost miss the look that dean gives you as sam heads back towards you because you’re so focused on the sweet smile that sam’s now wearing. you only catch dean’s look for a second before sam is back at your side. it’s easy to assume dean as the older brother, with his eyes on you being protective, proud, careful, and happy all at once. and they’re close enough that sam told him about you right away.

walking home with sam at your side is both completely strange and familiar all at once. it’s strange for a number of reasons, the main being that you’d never invite any other unknown man to your apartment, especially not one with a cryptic identity and such an imposing build. and yet, you’re not afraid or worried because of how familiar and safe it feels. it feels familiar because it feels right, it feels like exactly what you should be doing.

on the way over, he asks about you a little bit, trying not to overwhelm you with questions or seem overbearing with how eager he is to hear what you have to say. his kindness and carefulness are clear to you, and you love it. you answer happily, despite knowing he’s partially asking to avoid talking about himself until you settle down.

once inside, sam follows you right to the couch in the living room, sitting when you motion towards it and plop down into a chair across from him. he takes in the space, eyes roaming over your furniture, decor, and every little detail. he wants to know about you, just like you do him.

“it’s really nice in here,” he compliments, sounding so sincere that it’s just sweet.

“thank you,” you respond softly, wondering exactly what parts of the room he likes. you let him look around a second or two more before speaking again. “so… can i ask? you know, about it all, i guess? about you?”

he doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks the way that you ask is so lovely. half of him wants to make up some silly, somewhat believable explanation to spare you the truth, but he knows that would never work out well. not if you choose to stay together in some way or another. already, that’s what he wants. he doesn’t doubt that you’re indeed his soulmate, the one who he’s been sharing wounds and flowers with for as long as he can remember. sam has both yearned for and dreaded this moment. he tries not to be obvious about it or over do it, but he’s sort of a total romantic. he’s had doubts about how this whole idea of soulmates could really be real or make much sense, but those thoughts are eased with each moment he spends with you. he still wants to get to know you before he does anything with you, but the way that he wants to get to know you is something he’s never felt before. it’s undeniably special.

the dread is because he’s known ever since he got back into hunting that he’d never be able to hide the truth of his world from you. he has no idea how he’s going to get to you to believe him or convince you that he’s not completely insane, but he’s going to tell you the truth anyway. even if you do believe him, he wants to give you a choice. you shouldn’t have to get involved with this life in any way at all if you don’t want to. he’d never force you to try things with him if it’s too strange or too scary or hard or anything. and already, he knows that he’ll never stop thinking about you if you do choose to stay away, but he also knows that he’d never try to change your mind or force you to do anything else other than exactly what you want.

“of course you can ask,” he responds, matching the softness of your own voice. “i, um– i’m honestly not quite sure how to say all of this without sounding totally crazy, and i completely understand that, but just– try to bear with me, i guess. and if you need proof, which i also understand, i’ll do my best to get it for you, it’s just– sort of hard.”

honestly, you’re wildly confused as to what the hell he could possibly say that would make him this anxious. it worries you a little bit too. you don’t want him to feel afraid to tell you anything at all. so, you nod at him in encouragement, trying not to seem nervous yourself.

“my brother and i, we– we hunt monsters. real ones. ghosts, vampires, demons, the works. they’re all real. your coworkers who died, they were– they were killed by an angry spirit. we got rid of it last night,” he says those words like they’re a ten ton weight off of his chest, but he’s still got another ten sitting there as he awaits your response. he looks at you so carefully, trying to gauge any sort of reaction.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and probably disbelief and a million other things. “angry spirit? like a ghost?” you’re not sure why that’s the first question that slips out, but you suppose it’s an easier one than are you insane? or what the hell are you talking about?

he nods his head carefully, like he’s waiting for you to freak out or call him crazy and tell him to go. “yeah. the ghost, she had died there, near the bathrooms where you felt the cold spot, in the 90s. she was triggered to kill when the man suspected of her murder was granted parole.”

“okay,” you breathe out, sort of nervously. the craziest thing is that you don’t disbelieve him. you’re not convinced by any stretch, but when you look him in the eye and listen close to his voice, there’s nothing but sincerity there. “i mean… that is sort of a kinda crazy thing to say,” you begin, “but i’ve always sort of believed in ghosts, so i don’t think you’re completely, you know, insane.” you laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood a little. you don’t want him to stress, however unbelievable his words are. “the rest is a bit… shaky, i guess. it’s a hard thing to believe, i mean… vampires. and– and demons. it’s a lot. and honestly, i’m not sure how much i’ll really, truly believe until i see, i don’t know, something, i guess,” you admit, “but… but i don’t think you’re lying to me either.”

“thank you for that,” he says, voice as sincere as ever, “and i completely understand. honestly, part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but… it’s sort of my whole entire life at this point and it wouldn’t be fair to hide from you. or– or to not give you a choice right off the bat of whether or not you wanted to be involved. it’s– it’s a lot and it’s dangerous. and if it’s what you want, i promise i’ll try to find a way to prove it to you, it’s just… hard to do that without putting you in danger. and i really don’t want to put you in danger.”

“that’s sweet, sam,” you say, not really bothering to hide the way you feel. “i’m not, you know, eager to meet any monsters anytime soon, but whenever it’s… the least dangerous, i guess, you can show me. until then… i’ll just trust you. and in the meantime maybe we can sort of just get to know each other?” you suggest, surprising yourself with how ready you are to trust him on this.

sam smiles at you sweetly. “that sounds perfect to me. i just– i don’t want to force you into something you don’t want for yourself. i live out of crappy motels and my brother’s car while hunting monsters that shouldn’t be real. i’m just… i’m sorry i’m not someone easier.”

you smile at him sort of sadly. “that’s not your fault, sam. i never asked for someone ‘easy’ anyway. just someone kind and respectful and you seem to be just that so far. besides, there’s gotta be a reason, right? that… we’re soulmates. honestly, if you were anyone else i wouldn’t trust you like this. an–and it’s not like i’m trusting you blindly because of something that we’re supposed to be. we just met. i’m only trusting you because it feels right to. and this whole soulmate thing never made too much sense to me until i met you. now it sort of does, because this feels right so far. at least, it does to me.”

“it feels right to me too,” he quickly assures, not wanting for you to misunderstand that for a second.

⟢⟢⟢

as two people who aren’t quite ready to jump into such a committed relationship with completely different lives, it’s a little bit strange to be soulmates. and yet, nothing about it is anything but honey-sweet to you. the night you met as soulmates for the first time, you ended up talking for hours. all you had to do was sort of ignore the huge and slightly unbelievable bomb he dropped on you within the first hour of talking. oddly enough, that was sort of easy. you learned that sam’s appetite for knowledge is just about insatiable, including when it comes to knowing about you.

he had words rolling off of your tongue, asking the best, most interesting questions and providing such sincere and in-depth responses. that night, he was just lovely, and that’s pretty much all he’s been since. he’s this adorable mix of confident and shy, awkward and knowing just the right thing to say. and he’s incredibly smart, an almost stanford pre-law graduate who was headed for bigger things before he was pulled back into hunting a little over two years ago. this explains the difference in all his injuries from the past two years versus the three beforehand. secretly, you mourn for the life that he, and subsequently you, might have had, but only because he gets a little wistful every time he talks about stanford.

mostly, you talk on the phone, only stopping late in the night when one of you catches the other yawning. he seems to sleep so little, yet he lives such a tiring life. you almost always seem to be the one who gets too tired first. one night, you fell asleep to his voice, and since then, you feel like it’s the single best way to drift into dreams.

sam tries to avoid the topic of the supernatural, but you ask him about it anyway. as you get used to the idea of monsters being real, you find yourself wanting to understand it all better. you want to understand him better. and you don’t want him to feel like he has to hide the biggest parts of his life from you or for him to have trouble fitting you into his world.

he always answers your questions, omitting any extreme gore or death, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize how many people he really saves. that’s his life; saving people.

it takes three weeks for you to see him again since the first night, and three more plus a whole lot of convincing on your end for him to bring you on a hunt with him. he tries to hide it, but he’s so worried for you, despite all the reassurances he’s made that this particular ghost isn’t really all that violent or dangerous. by now, you’ve already come to mostly believe all that he's told you, but to see it in real life is still the final confirmation that you need to be fully convinced.

sam keeps you by his side the whole time, one hand on you every moment that he can afford it. the second the ghost appears, he blasts it with a salt round from his shotgun, and he thinks he could cry when you flinch at the loud noise. yet, he feels comforted that you don’t seem all too scared. and strangely, you really aren’t. sam easily makes you feel safe. luckily, the next time the ghost appears, it bursts into flames moments later thanks to dean burning the bones.

the moment it’s gone, sam drops the gun to the ground and turns to you, accidentally ruining the now unnecessary salt line around you in his rush to check on you.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, a hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek as he looks you up and down.

“i’m alright, sam,” you reassure. it’s true that you’re a little shaky, and just the tiniest bit scared, but to have your confirmation and sam by your side is much more important to you.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes anyway, pulling you into a hug that’s more for his peace of mind than yours. of course, you don’t complain, easily finding his arms to be your new favorite place in the world.

oddly enough, taking it almost slow works well. he kisses you the next time he sees you, a week and a half later, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to have him keep kissing you, over and over again. he just feels like yours and you feel like his and you’ve barely known him for long, but when he kisses you it’s like there’s stars hung from the ceiling and flowers made from nothing but love and healing growing all over you. when he kisses you it’s sunlight and moonglow bottled up and mixed with sweet, pure maple syrup. his lips on yours feel like lucky four leaf clovers, like it’s possible to taste heaven on someone else’s tongue.

and though it mostly works for him to just visit as often as he can, which sometimes isn’t often at all, and to call him at every moment you can, the yearning only grows. you swear that you’re addicted to his lips, to his big hands cupping your jaw all gentle and sweet or his bulky arms boxing you in as he kisses you so hard that you melt right into the sheets.

and some nights, though he tries to hide it, you can hear him struggling with what seems to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. his job is anything but easy or fruitful. before, you thought that you might worry less when you found out exactly why your soulmate was getting injured so often, but now every time new blooms appear on your skin, you spend all day fretting until you can get him on the phone to make sure he’s alright.

you suppose he gets just as worried as you, despite the fact that you’re never in nearly as much danger as he is. a week ago, a jagged edge on a metal wire fence snagged at your skin, drawing a very shallow, but long line of blood down your forearm. seconds later, you had a frantic sam on the phone, so worried about all the little blue flowers on his arm. 

it’s not as hard as he thinks for you to tell how much fear and worry he lives in. you know that he doesn’t tell you the half of it sometimes, even when you ask. all you want is to have him a little closer, to be there for him and provide the sort of comfort that you’re sure he’s never really had before. and though he’s told you that having you to talk to, so receptive and encouraging for him, has been a complete blessing, you still wish for more. you want his arms enveloping you and his lips on yours and his warm body in your bed. really, you just miss him. all the time.

⟢⟢⟢

tonight is one of the glorious nights that you get to have him with you. his broad frame takes up so much space in your bed, and you love it more than just about anything. he props himself up on one elbow and you mirror his pose as you let your eyes roam over each other’s features and take turns rambling about every little thing from this past week. unable to resist, sam kisses you often. he just leans over, swiftly closing the small space between you and pressing his lips to yours. he looks so beautiful like this; at peace, his shirtless body and protective tattoo framed all prettily by clean white sheets.

eventually, comforting words turn into a comforting silence, and you drop your head to your pillow. your eyes droop a little as you play with the idea letting a few more words slip from your tongue. you want to say something to him, but you can’t tell if it’s the right time.

sam settles on his pillow, just like you. “what is it?” he whispers, inviting and respectful. his voice tells you that you’re welcome to say whatever you’re thinking about, but that it’s okay if you don’t want to quite yet.

you smile a little at how well he’s able to read you. since he asked so sweetly, you say it. “i can’t be away from you, sam. i love you, i really do.” this isn’t the first time you’ve said the three special words to each other, but his eyes grow infinitely softer than they were before each time you do.

this time, his eyes do soften, but he cringes a little too, because he feels sorry and because he feels the same exact way. “i can’t make you live like i do. i love you, too, so much. and i hate being away from you, but this? this life, it– it’s sort of awful, and it’s dangerous and hard and–”

you swiftly cut him off with a kiss that he more than willingly melts into. “i know,” you whisper against his lips, barely moving from him to speak. “but– but what if we tried something else? you still go on your hunts and all that, but you and dean can stay here in between. there’s this cabin in the woods i’ve been eyeing, it’s sort of small but it’s isolated and we could ward it. i’ve been looking into protection and warding spells, and i think we could make it work… only, you know, if you wa–”

this time he’s the one to cut you off with a kiss, passionate and sweet all at once. when your lips part, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours like he can’t bear to be any further from you.

“i want to,” he says, voice so sure and sturdy. “i really want to… but how’re we gonna get the house? it’s not like me or dean can buy property, and i can’t make you–”

“i want to,” you echo his words, just as sincerely. “please, sam, let me do this. i’ve been saving money for a long time and it’s a little run down so it’s not too expensive. and i’m getting sick of this apartment.”

“you’re gonna live there?” he asks, not bothering to hide his hope and sparkling joy at that idea.

you grin. “of course. there’s three bedrooms and it’s so pretty and i can’t, you know, pay for that and the apartment at the same time. and i– i wanna be there every time you get home.”

that word gets to him. sam doesn’t really have a solid or normal concept of home—the closest thing he has is the impala. but it sounds so right when it comes out of your mouth. “and– and you’re okay with that?” he asks, still needing to be reassured, “you said it was isolated, and–”

“i’m sure, sam,” you emphasize, “it’s only 20 minutes from town and the roads to and from are never busy. i’ve always wanted to live in the woods, i swear. and if it meant i could be with you more, i’d never ever say no to this. please… can we talk to dean about it?”

“yes,” he gushes. “yes, of course, i– you’re amazing.” he seals the deal with a firm, giddy kiss. “and if dean says he doesn’t like the idea, i don’t care. i’m gonna do this with you.” another kiss and your heart softens infinitely. “besides, he loves the pie from the bakery on morrison street, which means he can’t say no.” he gives you another kiss and pulls away again, and you know that he’s bound to keep rambling if you let him, so you wrap an arm around his neck and thread your fingers through his soft, pretty hair. then you kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. he returns the favor by tenfold, whispering through labored breath how much he loves you and wants you and thinks that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Danger lurks in every corner of Small Heath now, a place in which you're forced to stay. A place where Changretta and Section D are ready to get you. As you're trying to work things out with Arthur following your violent argument, Polly tells you something that will definitely complicate your role in the Vendetta.

Words: 6.8k

TW: Angst, mention of drug use, canonical violence, mention of murder, mention of self-harm, co-dependent relationship, grieving.

Notes:

✞ This is chapter 13 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense and better.

✞ Quite a long chapter I admit, certainly the longer. The future chapters won't be as long I swear -- it's just that there was a lot of small "plot twists".

✞ Lucy is @emotionalcadaver's OC.

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The thick fog of the night danced in front of the car’s headlights, swirling at the wind’s discretion. The driver, keeping an eagle eye on your dainty silhouette, had started the engine as soon as he saw you storming out of your house, disheveled and crying.  He only waited five seconds before driving at a very slow pace, scanning the misty streets of foul-smelling Small Heath to find you. For a short while, he was convinced you had managed to escape from his watch and, admittedly, the persistent fog only complicated the task further. “Fucking bitch”, he pestered, turning left on the next street as the car’s wheels squealed against the wet concrete of the road but you didn’t hear, far too deafened by the unremitting drumming of your own heart. You stopped your race near a field, and sat on a small wall, feeling your body wear out now that the adrenaline's effects were dispersing. Once settled, you buried your face in your cold palms and squeezed your eyes shut. Where should you go? What should you do? Were all of Arthur's promises empty? What will happen to your marriage now? Will Tommy keep ruining your life? All these questions played on repeat in your skull, like the unsettling loop of a broken record echoing in a murky abandoned house. And along the haunting tune resonated your and Arthur's voice, from a not-so-far memory.

"I'll marry you one day."

"You're already married, Arthur."

"I don't bloody care, it's you I want ay. Fook Linda, fook the family, fook the rest of the world. It's you. It has always been you."

A shiver ran down your spine as your mind went back to the night you had this conversation. You could almost feel the warm sensation of his naked skin against yours, as he cradled you to his chest, legs entangled, and his cologne all over your bedsheet. The first time you made love.

"Listen, I know you're scared and I know I’ve got a bad reputation. But if you give me the chance to be your man, I swear to God you'll be the only one for me. Look at ya. How could I want another woman? They can all die. I'll never, fucking never, cheat on you."

"But with Linda--"

"It ain't the same. We're talking about you. My sweet angel. My soul mate. My saving grace. The other part of me broken self."

"... Alright. Promise it then."

"Cross me heart and hope to die."

"No drugs either? Like, a bit of snow occasionally never killed anyone but apart from this, no relapse okay?"

"No drugs but..." He paused, gently taking your hand in his, and kissed all your fingers one by one "But in exchange I want ye to stop hurting yourself. I saw the inside of your thighs so please, no more cuts ay?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." You smiled, interlocking your little fingers together in a sweet pinky promise.

You pressed one trembling hand against your mouth at the bittersweet memory, tears tingling your eyes and blurring your vision. A muffled sob escaped from your plumped lips, then a second, and finally tears came in waterfalls. It's been a long time since you really cried, and here you were. Weeping like a lost kid.

Despite the darkness of the night and the patchy coat of the fog, the stalker caught sight of the long crimson streaks that ran down one of your frail arms. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue as his hand reached for the gun hidden in the glove box. Finally, he thought, he was a short moment away from a very sweet vengeance he had spent years carefully planning. A little excited sigh escaped from his mouth while his fingers caressed the cold barrel of the gun, already aroused at the idea of pointing the canon against your head the moment he would force you to get in his car. Even if he knew that the wisest thing to do after your capture was to drive you to them, he thought about going on a little stroll with you. Maybe he'll bring you to an isolated land to shove you on the muddy ground, and make you regret the day you decided to murder his brother in the small mountainous town of Haute-Falaise. Only after he had ruined you enough, stealing every ounce of your dignity, he would drive you to Section D's headquarters. With a bit of luck, he could keep hurting you a little bit more before they decide to pull the trigger and repaint the walls with the contents of your brain.

The roots of his hatred had started the day he realized that each time he closed his lids, his brother's eyes haunted him. Or at least, the two hollow and dark holes on his face since his eyes had been gouged out. There was also the blood, running from his mouth, ears, nose, and even streaming down his cheeks in crimson tears. Maybe he should have listened to the local police when they told him not to look at the corpse, but he had to do it. To his questions, even the forensic pathologist couldn’t answer. The only certainty the experts agreed on was that Christian’s lungs and heart had been smashed to a pulp from the inside and that he had stab wounds all over his body just like the other four corpses found. Five corpses and nothing else. The murderer was nowhere to be seen: no one had witnessed something, not even heard the slightest muffled scream. It was as if Death came, struck them with his scythe, and left without a trace.

Closer. A little bit closer...

You jumped at the sudden and unexpected sensation of a man’s hand squeezing your frail shoulder. As nimble as a cat and as quick as a lightning bolt, you jumped from the wall and unsheathed the dagger you kept hidden in your right lace garter, “Who the fuck are you?!” You hissed, voice burning with fury and frozen eyes darting at the stranger. You had been so quick to react that the man, vaguely confused by what just happened, found himself in quite a poor situation. Indeed, he didn’t expect a young woman to press the tip of a sharp blade against his carotid artery, ready to slit it.  God knew he was a fearless fighter, but you had been too unpredictable, even for him. And yet, he didn’t move nor particularly react despite the unpleasant surprise.

“Heaven Shelby?” He asked.

You snarled and bared your teeth at this unfamiliar voice calling you by your name. If marrying Arthur Shelby had taught you what real love was, you had also learned how to become even more deadly than you already were. Seemed like the Shelby's wariness had turned you feral.

“Make one more step and I’ll bleed you like a fucking pig.” You warned. The cold wind of the night blew in your hair, making your long white locks dance behind you like the ghostly veil of a dead bride. He frowned, unsettled by its uncommon color. What disturbed him the most though was maybe the pale and haunting color of your eyes, whose shade reminded him of two cursed aquamarine stones.

“Mrs. Shelby. I mean no harm, ‘specially not when facing such a young and delicate lady,” He started, the corner of his lips stretching in a fathomless smile despite the awe you inspired him. His small and cunning fox-like eyes squinted as he grinned. Somehow, he didn't seem to mind the blade that was still threatening him as if such a situation was casual -- and it was. If anything, he was impressed by your fierceness and the hatred that shone in your iris, which created a striking contrast with your little frame and doll face, “Well not as delicate as I’ve been told.” His smile widened at his own comment, “It’s dangerous out’here m’lady, I’ve spotted you by chance and thought I’d bring you home safe.”

“Dangerous.” You snorted, unable to hold your sarcasm. “Get the fuck away from me.” Each word from your mouth was dripping with caustic vitriol, leaving no doubt about your hostility and lethal potential. Judging by your quick and deadly reaction, you were certainly more than capable of taking care of yourself -- in truth, he could tell you wouldn't hesitate to end his life. But instead of backing up, the man carefully brought his fingertips on the shining surface of the dagger and pried it away from his throat in a slow movement without breaking eye contact with you.

“A car is following you.” He informed you.

“What?” This phrase hit you like a train, impairing the fierceness and self-confidence you’ve been showing. Surveying your surroundings quickly, you did notice the shadow of a car not so far away in the distance with its headlights shut and two glistening eyes staring at you from the driver's seat. The moment the shadow understood that you had spotted him, the car headed away from you in a loud engine roar and disappeared in the misty night. Fuck, the lad was right: someone had been following you. You sniffed, still in shock, and quickly wiped your tears with the brush of one knuckle before tricking your anxiety into focusing on your unexpected savior again. Your armed hand might be hanging loosely from your slim body, but your fingers were still firmly wrapped around the dagger’s handle. It was an expensive and deadly blade, gifted by one mysterious red-head woman whose hair reminded you of a wildfire. You had trouble remembering the name — Lucy? Something like this. What you knew though was that this troubled soul was called ‘Tommy’s little spy” by the Shelby's family, but since you couldn’t care less about your brother-in-law’s personal life you didn’t investigate further. The girl had been nice with you, that was all that mattered.

Even armed and feral, you felt vulnerable. At your big confused eyes and at the sight of mascara running down your cheeks, the man couldn’t help but feel sorry for you. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you could pass off for his daughter or maybe because you were just a few years older than his own son? He slightly tilted his body to one side to let the weak beam of a street light disclose his face and overall appearance: long and messy gray hair, thin lips, small glistening eyes, and a mysterious and slightly disturbing grin.

“Mrs. Shelby, you should come with me.” He advised, then he extended his arm, about to lay his strong hand on your shoulder a second time when you stepped back to avoid his touch with a dissuasive hiss. He stopped, “Lemme bring you back to your husband. It’s Arthur Shelby, ‘m I right?” This time, he simply offered you his palm and waited for you to make the first step. You replied to his invitation by looking dagger at him: if your eyes could kill, this one would already be sleeping with the fishes.

“No.” You protested, as stubborn as a Shelby by birth. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the mention of Arthur, the thought of him coming back home all coked up and intoxicated was still fueling your rage like gasoline thrown at a destructive fire. The last thing you wanted at the moment was to see your husband. If someone had asked you, you’d have answer that what you sincerely wanted was John and his comforting arms. John and his beaming smile. John and his way of teasing you, his jokes, his softness, his cockiness... Yes, that was John you wanted, and you wanted him now. But the cruel truth was that John wasn’t there anymore. He was lying dead and cold in a morgue, leaving you with nothing but the insufferable pain of his loss and your head screaming. “I don’t want to see him.” You asserted and fled the man’s gaze, who soon understood the situation — with age came experience, and from experience he could recognize the aching expression of a young woman wounded by the hazards of love. These Shelby men… He thought with a certain disdain. Oh, he had not been irreproachable all his life either, but a woman’s heart was a gift he missed every day of his life since his wife’s death. The mysterious lad softly reached for your wrist and, not minding your feral nature anymore, he brought it closer to his face to examine the open gash on your porcelain skin.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I did this to myself.” You broke the physical contact right away and pressed your palm firmly on the still-bleeding wound. Adrenaline had pumped so hard through your veins that the pain had been numbed: only now your nerves were slowly wakening up,  sending unpleasant tingles where the cut was. While he observed you carefully, the man wondered why such a young and fragile thing like you would do this to herself.

“Seems like you had a harsh night, kitten.” He stated with a slight fatherly tone which surprised you before he noticed the goosebumps on your skin. The situation had been so exceptional that he completely obliterated that you were barefoot outside, in the freezing temperature of Birmingham’s night, wearing nothing but a short dress. Without further ado, the man took his long black coat off and put it over your shoulders. While you still shot him a suspicious look, the warmth in which he wrapped you felt good. Your muscles relaxed and your hand closed on the two sides you brought together near your throat to protect it from the wind. “While I get why y’don’t wanna go home, ‘specially if you fought with your man, you have to understand that being alone at night in Small Heath is not safe. Let alone currently, with Changretta’s men trying to murder you all. Maybe you’d like me to bring you to Thomas instead?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the simple mention of your brother-in-law’s name. The sensation of his lips against yours was still burning your flesh and even hours after your last encounter you couldn’t get rid of his cologne’s scent that was still lingering on your hair and skin, “I’d rather get fucked by a horse than deal with this bastard.” The man blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to have such a foul mouth -- that was why let out a soft chuckle, to which you replied with a very faint smile.

“Alright kitten… I get it. No Shelby men. And what about coming with me to my vardo? My son has lit a campfire and he is cooking some rabbits. Would you like that?” He suggested, one brow raised and his fox-like grin widening almost to his ears. 

“You still haven't told me who you are.”

The man took off his brown hat at your clever comment, “Ah yes. Where are my manners ay?” His dark blue eyes glistened with a cunning gleam as he slowly nodded “The name’s Aberama Gold. Nice to meet you.” 

“You bloody idiot… Sit here and don’t do anything stupid anymore.” Polly instructed her oldest nephew as soon as he had entered the room, pointing to an empty chair with her half-consumed cigarette. All alone with Ada and his aunt, who were still waiting for the other guests to come, Arthur took place and kept his head down. Polly simply took a long drag from her black cigarette and exhaled, smoke coming out of her mouth like the Devil as she quietly observed Arthur’s eyebags and bloody knuckles. Soon after your departure, she had heard the cacophony of screams and thuds coming from his house in Watery Lane. When she witnessed all the blood, destroyed furniture, and shards of glass in the living room, she had been was convinced that Arthur had murdered you out of jealousy or something. Fortunately enough, the situation wasn't that dramatic -- at least for her. After throwing herself at her nephew and forcing him to calm the fuck down, she did her best to keep the oldest Shelby brother from hurting himself more than he already did. When things got quieter, she had even scolded him as she did when he was a kid — except that all the other sermons he had been through in his childhood were nothing compared to the anger she had unleashed when he had confessed about taking drugs again.

“Is she coming to the meeting?” She finally inquired, one of her elbows resting on the wooden table and her cigarette consuming itself between her fingers.

“Don’t know Pol.” Arthur’s usual loud and gruff voice was reduced to a shy, hoarse, and saddened whisper. No matter his attempt at distracting his mind, his thoughts always came back to you. Only you. He didn’t know where you were nor if you’d come back to him and that was slowly driving him crazy. Or more than he already was. Arthur felt his fragile sanity slipping through his fingers and knew it wouldn't be long before he went berserk if it turned out you really left. Also, he was growing frustrated and agitated about sitting here in the betting shop, waiting for a useless meeting to start instead of looking for you. All he wanted was to burn this city to the ground and make it bleed until he found you and brought you back home where you belonged. That is to say by his side. Nevertheless, Polly had advised him against this decision, convinced it would only fuel your rage against him even more. She wasn’t wrong though, you needed space.

The fierce Aunt stubbed her cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and leaned toward her nephew to grab his wrist with one of her cold and sly hands. It snapped him out of his crumbling mind. “You’re insanely lucky to have a woman like her in your life, Arthur. Don’t be an ungrateful cunt by letting your addictions ruin the most precious thing you have. The bland and momentarily relief snow grants you will never hold a candle to Heaven. Understand?” She warned with the same tone she used when a young Arthur came back home all bloody after fighting at school. “Hey. Look at me.”  The gangster sniffed and raised his steel blue eyes to his Aunt, his lips trembling and dimples appearing on his cheeks as he clenched his jaws. How right she was. Even when snorting a ridiculously huge amount of snow he didn’t feel better. In fact, his high had been insipid when compared with how you made him feel, blissed out and in pure ecstasy, when his lips crashed against yours. An unpleasant surge of electricity crossed his body at this thought as he remembered how his whole being yearned for you. “She’ll come back. I know she will, and you’ll make up for your idiocy. But let me warn you, boy. Witches usually don’t believe in second chances. If she gives you one, don’t ever fuck it all up anymore, or she’ll tear your bloody heart from your chest and smash it in front of your beseeching eyes. And you’ll consider yourself lucky if she only did it figuratively. ” At these murderous words, which felt like another stab, Arthur bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood on his tongue.

“I’ll do that.” He concluded, closing his hands in fists in a vain attempt to keep his temper quiet despite his spiraling thoughts. Thoughts that revolve around either you and how he would end his damn life if you ever left him. With a loud bang, a strong rope, or hell, his own razor blade, he didn’t care. Polly simply nodded and sat straight again as the other members of the clan entered the room one by one and took place, waiting for Tommy. At each footstep, Arthur raised his head with impatience, wishing it was you and internally screaming when he realized it wasn’t. HeavenHeavenHeavenHeaven… It never stopped, the thought of you compulsive and maddening. He cleared his throat and grunted nervously, his gaze glaring at an invisible dot on the wall that was facing him.

Tommy erupted in the room, a placid expression etched on his face as always, giving the impression he was in complete control of the situation. Was he? No one was truly sure about that. He stood fearlessly in front of the small crowd, far from being impressed by public speeches, and let his turquoise eyes wander on every face. Sometimes you wondered if Thomas Shelby would better drop the criminal life and start a political career. After all, he had all the required qualities: manipulative, sweet-talking, dishonest, and heartless. Tommy took one look at his brother’s face and quickly got a broad understanding of what had happened -- It wasn't particularly difficult though considering how Arthur belonged to the expressive kind. His eyes usually talked before he even opened his mouth. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was his fault. If it was because of the... kiss, or his moment of confusion as he liked to call it. Yet, his sharp instincts knew that Arthur hadn’t been informed of this little event otherwise he would have certainly gone straight for his throat no matter the family blood running in their veins. Loyalty had its limits, and the limits bore your name. When he noticed your absence, Tommy discreetly clenched his sharp jaws for even if he loathed you, you had your place among the family for the meeting and the rest of them would probably not vote if you weren’t there. Nevermind, he thought. He had barely parted his lips when he heard the clicking sound of heels approaching and with the sound came your perfume. Just like Arthur, he immediately recognized the spring-like fragrances of your scent, especially now that he had buried his nose in your silvery mane.

Arthur’s heart made a leap in his tight ribcage as he saw you bathed in the warm light of the betting shop, dressed like the day you left the house except for your hair that was styled in two French braids cascading down the small of your back. He wanted to get up and embrace you, choke you in a hug, or fall on his knees to beg for forgiveness without minding the other people in the room but Polly’s strong hand squeezed his thigh to prevent him from doing so. Thus, all he did was just staring at you with pitiful and beseeching eyes. But you didn’t look at him. In truth, you didn’t look at anyone. Ignoring the burning sensation of Tommy’s turquoise iris following you, you passed by him and headed right to the free chair between Polly and Arthur. As soon as you sat next to him, he obliterated the world in favor of your heavenly presence as he usually did when you were around. The lanky gangster tried his chance and his fingers shyly searched for yours under the table. He was dying to feel your touch again, the coldness of your frosty skin being the only remedy to his troubled soul and broken mind. However, you denied him your affection by slightly shifting your hand away from him no matter how hard it was for you too. Your rejection stung him more painfully than a white-hot blade. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harder but instead of making a scene or bursting with both rage and frustration, he tried his best to be a good boy and simply lowered his head as an unruly child who had just been scolded. His lonely hand rested on his thigh he nervously rubbed, desperately trying to chase away his sadness.

“John is dead.” Tommy exhaled loudly and made a short pause as if he was still processing the awful truth. John. Is. Dead. Your frail fingers fidgeted the fabric of your dress at Tommy’s statement, doing so only to avoid digging them into your own flesh and scratching it until you bleed. For a micro while, Tommy's self-confidence flickered, afflicted by his baby brother’s savage murder, before he regained composure and his eyes darkened again, “Esme’s back on the road with the Lees. She’s taken the kids. Michael is badly wounded, they say it’s 60/40 in his favor.”

“There’s no number, there’s no percentages” Polly cut him off, “So the hand, the hand beneath him stops his falling. Spoke to someone… My son will live.” It was more or less all you’ve heard of the conversation, for your mind soon drifted. As Tommy kept talking, your frozen eyes as glacial as Dante’s latest ring of Hell locked on your husband. Observing him with great attention, you tried to look for anything that would prove he was high. But despite a huge deal of effort, you didn’t see any grain of white powder near his nostrils. Arthur’s eyes weren’t dilated, his hands didn’t shake and his breathing was as soft as quiet. If anything, he looked awfully tired and miserable. To be honest, you could not help but think about how bad you missed him and how handsome he was in his suit even if your mood was still sour and resentful.

Arthur grunted, distracting himself from the pain by following the conversation and playing his henchman role. He took a golden bullet out of the pocket of his trousers and, holding it between his thumb and his index finger, looking at its shiny surface on which he had carved Luca’s name: “Yeah, Well… The bullet’s been written… It says Luca.” He paused, a glimpse of John’s face reflecting on the gold for half a second. “When the time comes and it will come… Me as the oldest brother —“ He swallowed again, John had disappeared, “Will put this bullet into his fucking head.” He concluded his speech by putting the said bullet on the table, the metallic sound echoed in the room and chilled you to the bones. Your eyes were still focusing on Arthur, but this time it was because you felt worried for him. Despite his rough and tough demeanor, the slight tremor in his voice and his need to take short pauses had betrayed his profound sorrow. You closed your fists on your dress because of how much you hated to see him in pain. All you wanted was to hold his arm and support him in these difficult times but you were certainly as pretty as stubborn.

“There’s been some bad blood between us.” While he had ignored you for most of his speech, Tommy’s intense gaze fell on you. Feeling the ice of his eyes burning you, you cocked an eyebrow. Was it a pathetic attempt to apologize? Or was he blaming you for it?

Bad blood… Polly scoffed. You snort. That was the least he could say.

It felt like an eternity before little King Shelby spoke again, not paying attention to his Aunt’s and your attitude. He looked at the ceiling, looking for his words then he went on, “Until this business is settled we stay together. We stay here…” To assert his claim, Tommy explained how the family would be safe as long as they stayed together, surrounded by an army of faces they already knew. His plan was simple: all the family remained together until they manage to kill Luca Changretta. Until then, no one was allowed to stray away from Small Heath. Arthur's first reaction following this suggestion was to turn his head towards you, looking with concern for far too well he knew you didn't wish to stay. A small sigh escaped from your plumped lips as you dived into his sad eyes, but you remained silent. Worst, you remained awfully placid and hated yourself for looking so much like Tommy for a short while. The rest bored you to hell and blurred into a mush of unintelligible bribes of conversation, except for the mention of Aberama Gold and Johnny Dogs’ complaints about the man. Savages he had said. The same word he had used the first time you met him. She's a freakin' savage, Arthur. An evil creature straight from the woods! Rolling your eyes, you bit your tongue to keep your mouth shut, and not scream at Dogs to tell him that Aberama Gold might be a savage but at least he took care of you these last few days better than any members of the Shelby clan did. At least not before interminable months of insults and death/suspicious stares. As the conversation went on, Polly put a glass of whisky in front of you but you pushed it away almost immediately -- you've been feeling nauseous since you left Watery Lane so drinking strong alcohol was the last thing you had in mind. Thus, you simply passed the glass to Arthur, who certainly needed it more than you.

“… Which means we have to agree to end this war between us.” Thomas Shelby might be addressing the whole family, but you knew his words were mainly aimed at you, which only made you move your foot impatiently under the table. Ending this war, of course, you thought. And what about the last two years of misery you’ve made me undergo each time we met? What about the moment you strangled me? And what about all the awful things you said after thrusting your tongue in my fucking mouth?  These would have been all the things you would have screamed at him if your legendary coldness had broken. Which, fortunately for everyone in the room, hadn’t.

Truthful to himself, Tommy asked for the family to vote.

“Peace.” Arthur finally decided, taking the glass and gulping down the amber liquid it contained in hope it would numb him. It didn’t. As surprising as it was to hear the oldest sibling choosing a non-violent approach to a conflict, you knew it was the best decision to make. So as everyone shared their opinion, you thought deeply about yours until your turn came. At first, you didn’t realize it was already your time to speak — only the sudden silence and the weight of a dozen eyes on you could snatch you from your mind. And among the pair of eyes, the one that burnt the fiercest was Tommy’s.  

“Now we’re asking for my opinion?” You said, sarcastic venom coating your words.

“Angel, please…” Arthur whispered, but you waved off his comment with a disdainful gesture of the hand. He currently wasn’t in the position to advise you. Not after hurting you like he did. 

“Truce.” You stated, coldly. The word left your mouth with the power of a guillotine’s blade on an inmate’s neck and surprised everyone in the room. In truth, they were all convinced you would disagree with the idea. Polly and Ada offered you a warm smile, while Tommy lowkey nodded in approval at your wise decision.

“Five for peace, two for truce.  Let’s get on with the war.” He concluded, turning around and walking out of the betting shop without one last glance at any of his family’s members: his scheming mind already focused on the next part of his plan.

As always, Tommy couldn't live without pulling the strings.

As the room cleared out and people left, you remained alone with Arthur in an uncomfortable silence. Because you had nothing to tell him, you got up from your chair and proceeded to walk to the exit without uttering a single word but the tall gangster caught you by the wrist, forcing you to stop. His long fingers closed around you a bit too bluntly than he intended though. You winced and as a result, he immediately let go of you, showing his palm open to indicate that he didn't mean to hurt you.

“Heaven, please." His gravelly voice called. "Enough with the cold treatment…  I can’t. It’s hurting me.” He said rather slowly, for putting words on his emotions was not something he was used to. Most of the time he just yelled and resorted to violence. , “I beg ye, go back home, angel.”

"You had promised me, Arthur." You articulated.

"And you had also promised me not to hurt yourself anymore." His gruff voice raised a little bit, threatening to turn into frustrated yellings because he didn’t know how to properly communicate his emotions, especially not when they were so obsessive and overwhelming. But Arthur didn’t want to scream at you so what he did was take a deep inhale to force himself not to be his usual loud and rude self. “You also promised to me, love.” He repeated in a calmer tone even if his quivering upper lip and twitching mustache showed how much he was struggling.

“So now we both understand how it feels when the other part of your soul breaks a promise. What a great step forward we’ve made.” That was mean. So mean you could barely believe that such an awful taunt came from your tantalizing mouth — but even though you instantly regretted it, you didn’t falter. No matter your mad love for Arthur and the untamable desire to throw yourself in his arms, you weren’t going to bend: things needed to be clear right now or they’ll never never be.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m fucking sorry alright?!" He growled, opening his arms as to silently ask you what he had to do for you to believe him. "I swear there isn’t a second during which I’m not regretting everything I did and said to you.” He finally admitted, long arms falling along his slim body, “I wasn’t meself even if I know this ain’t no excuse. I won't do it again. But…Please Heaven I can’t go on without you. And I don’t want to.” The only answer to his pleadings was a heavy silence combined with your frost-like gaze.

Arthur’s eyes lingered over your arm until they fell on the deep cut you had inflicted upon yourself. This is what it feels like when you take drugs. The powerlessness he had felt when he watched the blood running down your skin and soaking the fabric of your clothes was etched in his mind: he, who had promised to protect you against everything, realized he couldn’t save you from yourself if you chose to destroy you… And that powerlessness was the same you experienced when he egoistically relapsed. That was a harsh lesson, but a lesson he had learned.  “Please forgive me.” He begged and sucked in a sharp breath as if he was physically in pain, yet he still took your arm in his hand with indescribable softness and, with his free one, caressed your still swollen and red gash.

Your dainty body stood still, trying not to give in to the delightful sensation of his warm skin against yours but your heart sunk in your chest “You have to understand that you cannot act like a jerk, hurt me, treat me like shit and then come back with your puppy eyes, and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t work like that." You said.

“So you're not coming back...” His voice broke, warm hand closing on your wound.

Your touch. I need it. It's a damn physical need.

“Don’t be stupid Arthur…” You sighed, the traits of your angelic face softening, “That’s not what I said."

"So please, love. Forgive me. I'll do whatever ye want. I'll get on my knees right now if that's what you want." His body shifted, closing the distance between the two of you until his arms wrapped around your waist. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the sight of his enchanting blue eyes, whose color was so different from his brothers. Slightly darker, far less colder. With your heart beating fast and your mind buzzing, you couldn't keep your fingers from gently grazing one of his cheeks. He half closed his eyelids at the sensation, the tremors of his body already calming down now that you were touching him.

"I don't want you to get on your knees. And I don't want to make a dog out of you like Linda did. All I ask for is my husband, who I know is a wonderfully strong man who doesn't need any chemicals to face the world. Not anymore." Your holy voice sounded like the purest melody in his ears like God's mercy whispered to him. Lulled by your words and strokes, Arthur would have purred if he wasn't already fighting against tears of relief.

"I've been such a fucking bastard... What the fuck is wrong with me eh? I still can't believe every mean thing I've screamed. The words I told ya, they're eating me sick brain." He gritted his teeth, "I don't fucking deserve you." Noticing that his breathing was getting faster, you wrapped his neck with your arms and lifted yourself on your tiptoes to lay a kiss on his chin.

"Stop it, Art. Don't beat yourself." You whispered in his ear, one hand lost in his perfectly slicked hair. "You want me to forgive you? Well; show me that all these promises you made weren’t empty. That our wedding can overcome everything, even the worst. Prove it to me." As you spoke, you softly rocked him from left to right, trying to calm his anxiety. A sigh escaped from your lips: you just couldn't abandon him as everyone else did. And part of you cursed him for making you feel so weak, especially when he was looking at you with his confused puppy eyes.

“I’ll show you then, angel. I’ll show you because without you birds don’t sing anymore.”  He nodded, softly rubbing his cheek against yours. You could feel his heart drumming against your bosom, crying for yours to open up to him again. “I'll show you I'm still a good husband." His lips trailed down your cheek to capture yours, but the moment he tried to kiss them you slightly turned your head to the other side to deny him access to your mouth. He clenched his jaws.

“Go find Thomas and organize the funerals with him." You simply instructed, taking a step back to free yourself from his arms. The lanky gangster nodded and left, head down and arms swinging as he walked away.

All you wished now was that he truly meant what he said.

All alone in the betting shop, you leaned against a wall and closed your eyes, needing a bit of peace to reorganize your thoughts and soothe your overwhelming emotions. Moreover, you had to come to terms with the idea of living near Tommy, here in Small Heath. It has been only weeks since you left your small house in the forest but you already missed it. Suddenly, you jumped at the feeling of two cold hands grasping you by the shoulders. When you reopened your eyelids, you were met by Polly’s motherly smile and dark gaze. Eyes so black it outmatched the bark of the most ancient trees you had ever seen. And just like these trees, they had something mystical, as if they were keeping the Earth's secrets and infinite wisdom. For sure, Elizabeth Gray was a woman of nature, born in the wilderness and raised among the soft whispers of the leaves. You even wonder if her body contained blood or if it was amber sap that was coursing through her veins.

“I’m happy you came back, white Devil.” She said with a soft smile. Since the day she heard Tommy spat the insult at your face, she decided to reverse the curse and use it as an affectionate nickname for you -- an idea you found absolutely delightful.

“I’m a Shelby now, everyone says so… So I suppose my place is here.” The melancholy of your grin betrayed your thoughts and Polly understood that only now you were starting to understand what bearing this family name truly meant. “I'm not gonna lie, Polly, I didn’t want to come. That’s Mr. Gold who convinced me I needed to. After hours of bargaining, he got me by telling me it would get under Tommy's skin.” 

“You call him Tommy now?” She teased, trying to make you smile but little she knew her remark had the opposite effect. You pursed your juicy lips and looked away.

“Something happened with him right.” The fierce Aunt frowned, observing your face as if she would be able to find an answer to her question hidden in your holy traits. Now sincerely concerned, her grip tightened on your shoulders, like benevolent roots anchoring you to reality. While she knew the difficult and rocky relationship you had with little King Shelby, she had never seen you display such a dreadful expression when his name was mentioned. 

“Something always happens with him anyway. But that’s not important.” You closed the topic, not wanting to talk about him any longer. The fucker had done enough to infect your brain, so you didn’t want to give him more space. "Do you think Johnny Dogs says the truth about the Gold? I mean, I'm not Romani but the Gold are nice to me and--"

"Heaven. Oh Lord." She cut you off, her smile swept away from her face so quickly you blinked several times.

"What's the matter, Pol?" You asked, eyebrows frowned.

Freeing your shoulders, her left hand grabbed one of your breasts to squeeze it softly while the right one felt your abdomen at different places, looking for something you didn't know. The more she touched you, the more her facial expression seemed concerned. Completely taken aback by her sudden behavior, your lips parted in surprise as you watched her.

"Does Arthur know it?!" She inquired, her dark eyes switching between you and your tummy.

“Does Arthur know what?"

“That you’re pregnant.”

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @bluevenus19

[animeomegas]

I'd love to see Itachi with an older sibling! I'd like to see the roles reversed for once because I genuinely want to see Itachi being coddled and spoiled to bits. I was gonna say that this is for a non massacre itachi but then i started to think what would happen if Itachi were to kill his older sibling and i am frothing at the mouth for the angst potential

Yessss, love this idea!! I've thought about Itachi and Sasuke having an older sibling a lot. I got mixed messages about whether you wanted fluff or angst haha, so I went for a half fluffy, half angsty story haha.

Ages: Reader 15, Itachi 11, Sasuke approx. 4

Warnings: Nothing worse than canon, just discussions of forcing children to fight in wars, as you do.

...

"You're letting your ego get the best of you, father," you spat. Your voice was low to keep from waking Itachi and Sasuke upstairs but the low volume did nothing to undermine the fury in your voice.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that," he responded, standing from the sofa. He was taller than you but you didn't let that intimidate you. "This discussion is pointless. I have already decided-"

"To throw a child, your son, into ANBU? I won't let you do that to him!"

"You don't get a say," Fugaku growled, pointing a finger at your chest. "It is already decided."

You stared him down for a moment, wondering how the man who so doted on you when you were little could do such a thing to your family, to your little brother.

"You'll break him," you said simply. "Itachi won't be able to handle missions like that-"

"Itachi can handle it just fine," he used the voice he always used when he decided a conversation was over. "Go upstairs. Now."

You clenched your fists at your side, furious at his inability to see his mistakes.

"You're so blinded by having a prodigy, that you've forgotten he's a child," you whispered, tears burning in your eyes. "You'll regret this, father. I know you will."

With that, you turned around and headed to the stairs. You needed to think. You couldn't let him break your little brother like this, not the boy who disagreed with killing spiders, the boy who smiled so happily when you taught him how to bake cupcakes, and who doted on Sasuke like it was his life's calling.

You plodded up the stairs, almost missing the little figure sitting at the top, bathed in the darkness of the night. You were almost on top of him when you noticed the buttons on his pyjama shirts reflecting some of the light from downstairs.

"Itachi!" you whisper-hissed, pressing a hand on your chest to calm your heart. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Itachi looked up at you, big, brown eyes wide, dark hair falling in curtains around his face.

"I couldn't sleep," he said simply. "I was going to get some water, but I heard you arguing with father. Why were you arguing?"

Your heart sank at his innocent question. He almost certainly knew more than he was letting on, but you didn't think he understood the whole picture yet. You knelt down on the stair in front of him and gently ran your hand over his head.

"I have a glass of water in my room you can have," you said, pressing a kiss to his forehead and ignoring his question. "Come on, little brother, let's get you back into bed."

You held out a hand which Itachi obediently took.

"Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?"

"No," Itachi shook his head. "I don't want Sasuke to wake up and not be able to find me."

You smiled despite everything. He always thought of Sasuke first, even when he obviously needed the support himself.

"Then why don't I sleep in your room?"

He shook his head again.

"What if Sasuke tried to find you?"

"Then how about I stay in your room while you fall asleep, and then move back to my room? I'll be able to hear if Sasuke's door opens in the meantime."

Itachi mulled the option over in his head but eventually he nodded. Still holding his hand, you led him to your room first to grab your water, and then into his room to tuck him back into bed.

The little yawn he let out as he rested his head on his pillow tugged at your heartstrings. He looked so young like this, doomed to a life of misery because he was better at throwing knives than the other children.

You knelt at his bedside and lovingly stroked his hair back from his forehead. You couldn't help but feel like you'd already failed to protect him, and that this was just another, if the biggest, failure on your part. ANBU took the worst missions on offer and Itachi wasn't someone who could handle that, you knew that.

"I love you, little brother," you whispered pressing another kiss to his forehead. "We'll figure everything out together, okay? It's going to be okay."

"And Sasuke?" he mumbled, voice sleepy.

"Of course," you agreed, watching his eyes slip closed. "It's always us three against the world. I'd never leave either of you, I promise."

You continued to wait there as promised until you knew he was deeply asleep. Idly, you wondered if kidnapping both of your little brothers and becoming missing nin was a plan you could pull off somehow. Probably not, but you'd think of something. You had to.

"Sleep well, Itachi, I'll see you tomorrow."

[catgirl-catboy]

My Kinji simpism made me overanalyse that ship to the point I have brain damage.

I certainly agree with you about Tsurugi's characterisation and I love Kinji's that character flaw so much I can't even explain it, he was gullible enough to believe the possibility of saving everyone like a.. kid and when you think about his free time events that paints a very disturbing scenario. I hate when some people address him as emotionally mature one.. He was certainly not and this is what makes his morals that morally gray and make his character interesting in the first place, like sure he is a smart one, I can't call him dumb or anything but the way he can't handle the emotions attracted the guilt and.. guilt attracts failure, his failure was certain when he felt the guilt about it and.. I remember he already believed he deserves to death.. Which is very very disturbing. Idiot Kinji, idiot

And I believe Kinji is the one who affected Tsurugi the most in the culprits, like my man legit can't comprehend his words, I sometimes imagine them as Lawlight in portrayal and it makes it even funnier.

And I start to fall for this ship in hand holding moment, their hand holding was made me remember "The kiss of betrayal." They should make out aggresively.

And how would you exploit him in a mlm scheme? I try to write a fic so I like to have some inspirations if it doesn't bother you

Kinji isn't emotionally mature, he just stifles his emotions and doesn't talk about them outside of maybe a religious context that we don't see in canon. I don't think his talent was very healthy to his emotional development, since its his job to console and advise others, so he puts his emotions aside. This is shown when he doesn't want to be in Kinjo's group and talk about his emotions with the rest of the cast! Objectively, I think thats a good decision, but he quite likely made it for the wrong reasons. Not to have Taka on the brain 24/7 (I plead guilty!) we could have had a similar dynamic with pre-sauna scene Ishimondo are we were robbed.

I feel like this dichotomy of logic vs emotions with Kinji is best put on display in his motive. On one hand, there's the logical explanation of the class trial being a trolley problem. Kill your classmates and/or maybe yourself to save a lot more people. This seems like a morally good act unless you are one of the classmates. But he's also not purely driven by logic either, because then he would have killed Kakeru and then confessed to minimize damage. Then again, I can't exactly blame him for having a healthy fear of death and I think its healthy for him to prioritize his emotions, this is just the one time its morally bad to do it.

As a Kinji fan, can I get your opinion on something? Do you think he still would have planned a murder if instead of his orphanage, it was a random orphanage of people that needed help? I wonder about that.

You are so right about Kinji affecting Tsurigi. He literally passed tf out in chapter 4 due to freaking out over his sense of morality being challenged. My 2 cents is that he likely wouldn't have come up with the idea for a suicide pact if Kinji's sacrifice wasn't painted as moral (or at least morally understandable) to a degree. When he sees Satsuki's selfish act in chapter 4, he realizes the mistakes Kinji's approach made and regrets his actions. Thats my 2 cents. I don't think Satsuki would have hit him had Kinji not already done the leg work.

Anyways, the whole Danganronpa Another game is one giant Saw Trap for Tsurugi and I stand by this.

I wouldn't exploit him into one, since I have morals and in an au where I didn't it'd make more sense to target a bunch of low value members than spend more time on one high value one. That being said, his desire to help people makes him not think things through. If I came off as genuine enough, I think I had a decent shot at convincing him so long as I can ward off any potential questions he has. It would also be beneficial to have someone in a position of powers because then he could unintentionally exploit his followers.

[ladymercury8]

1986: A Love Odyssey | Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You work at the local cinema in Hawkins, and Steve is starstruck when he first sees you. [1.8k]

Warnings: 16+ for light steaminess, cursing, no spoilers, fluff.

❃❃❃❃❃

The first time Steve Harrington saw you, he had come to watch Top Gun with Robin.

He entered the cinema as per usual, striding across the red velvet carpet towards the snack stand with Robin in tow. They were bickering about who was more attractive, Meg Ryan or Rebecca De Mornay, and how unfair it was that Tom Cruise got to kiss both of them.

But as soon as Steve looked up to place his order, his hand already reaching for the wallet in his back pocket mechanically, he was dumbfounded. He blanked at the conversation he was having, jaw slightly gaping open, staring at your face across the counter. Your rosy cheeks. Your soft hair, despite the tangles. Your necklace, resting against your collarbones. Your endless eyes.

He was so in awe that he didn’t register the confused furrow of your brows, the small smile on your lips, the light giggle as you repeated, “Hello? Are you OK? Can I get you anything?”

It took Robin’s sharp elbow hitting him in the ribcage for him to fall back down to Earth. He grabbed his side, muttering, “what was that for?”

Robin simply nudged her head towards you, then behind her at the developing queue.

Yet, once again, Steve was like a fish out of water when he looked at you.

“He’s trying to think of a pick-up line, so while he’s contemplating, which, I can assure you, is certainly a strain for him, could I get a bucket of popcorn and a Coke?” Robin said.

While Steve grumbled a “shut up,” under his breath, you just smiled at Robin, nodding, your face bright. You then looked expectantly at Steve, slightly shy.

“Ditto.”

You pushed your hair behind your ear, reading out the price, rushing to grab their orders as Steve placed the money on the counter.

“Enjoy the movie,” you beamed, and Steve would have swore his heart stopped. As you reached to give them back their change, Steve grabbed your wrist across the counter.

“No need. Keep it, doll face.”

As the pair headed towards their screening, Robin stared at Steve, bemused. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he feigned.

“Mr. Steve Harrington, flirter supreme, wooer of all women, was just left speechless,” Robin guffawed.

“She’s different,” was all he replied, suddenly slapping himself on the forehead, “shit, I forgot to ask her name.”

“Y/N,” Robin smirked. When Steve turned, confused, she added, “it said so on her name tag. You're not the only one who thinks she's cute.”

❃❃❃❃❃

The second time Steve saw you, he was with Dustin, Lucas and Mike. They were watching Stand by Me, rated R for some reason, which thus required a guardian. Dustin had effortlessly persuaded Steve to join them.

Steve had gone to the movie house several times since your first encounter, hoping to spot you again. But you were never seen, either because you were working 'behind the scenes,' or because it was your day off.

This time, he was ready. The three boys stood behind him as he approached you, hand combing his hair back, signature smile plastered on his lips. His confidence was only boosted when he saw the knowing look in your eyes: recognition. You had remembered him.

“Hi there,” you said, “how can I help you?”

“Look, about last time, I-”, Steve was stuttering, he had to look down, “I came prepared, today, I-I made this whole speech weeks ago, even practiced in front of my goddamn mirror, I just, whenever I look at you I-”

Glancing up, he saw your eyes searching his.

“'Is that canon fire, or is it my heart pounding?'” You whispered. Steve looked incredulous. “Ingrid Bergman. Casablanca. Here,” you ripped a piece of paper from a discarded receipt beside you, scribbling your house phone number. “Give me a call sometime.”

“Can you pinch me? You’re just so damn cute, I swear I’m dreaming,” he leaned his elbow against the counter, your eyes locking together as you giggled.

“What’s your name, dream-boy?”

“Steve. Steve Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.”

“Y/N, right?” he gestured towards you name tag. You nodded. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”

The two of you could have stayed like that for eternity, had it not been for the boys nagging, “Steve, hurry up, the movie’s gonna start!”

As you took their orders, grabbing their snacks, you wished them a pleasant film, smiling at Steve.

Walking away, Steve was starstruck. The boys were teasing him, but he was simply starstruck.

❃❃❃❃❃

The third, fourth, fifth and sixth times Steve saw you, he didn’t care what film he was going to see.

For weeks, the pair of you had been talking on the phone into the early hours of the morning. Steve felt like he could listen to your rambling forever. You mostly prattled on about films, and even though Steve often had no clue what you were talking about, he just nodded along, “yeah, definitely, I totally agree.”

He cherished every word you spoke, the way you pronounced each letter, your cadences and rhythms.

He particularly adored making you laugh. “I look a little like Tom Cruise, don’t I? It’s the hair. Listen, listen. ‘Just take those old records off the shelf. I sit and listen to them by myself.’”

The bubbling joy slipping out of your lips, a smile audible in your voice. Sheer happiness.

And you were new to Hawkins. You had no prejudices or preconceived notions. You listened to Steve attentively, about his absent parents, about his failures in romance. You formed your own image of this amazing young man, uninfluenced by any rumours about what he was like in high school. “Steve, who even cares what you were like then, when this is who you are now!”

Every time Steve came to the cinema, you both exchanged a few flirtatious remarks across the counter. He watched your every movement, your every gesture. The nervous tapping of your foot. The timid way you pushed your hair back. The way you hid your hands behind your face when you grew embarrassed.

He didn’t care about what he was watching. After entering the auditorium, the only thing he looked forward to was strolling out of it, towards the exit, and waving you a small goodbye. For at those moments, no matter what rude customer you were serving, you smiled at him, practically bouncing with joy.

❃❃❃❃❃

The seventh time Steve saw you, it was upon your invitation.

During his previous visit, halfway through the trailers, while munching on his popcorn Steve nearly choked on a piece of paper. Removing it with his fingers and straining to see what it was, he saw a note: “Meet me here. Tonight. 10PM. Don’t be late.”

He knew it was you, recognised your handwriting even. He was so anxious, willing the time to pass quicker.

At 10PM, he arrived. There was a late-night horror film screening that had just started. Entering through the glass doors, hair meticulously arranged and prepared (it had taken hours, but god bless Farah Fawcett), he saw you on the other end of the hall.

“Hey, beautiful,” he waved, walking towards you slowly.

But you weren’t in the mood for slow. You ran up to him, enveloping him in a warm hug as he swayed you back and forth.

“You smell good,” you laughed, pulling away.

“You look good. Great, actually, you’re gonna slay us all dead,” he remarked, as a crimson blush adorned your cheeks.

“Shut up and follow me,” you turned, about to walk off, but then extended your palm backwards, “and could you hold this for me?”

He chuckled, intertwining your fingers with his as you gently pulled him along.

“Where are we going? A hidden cave?” Steve questioned, examining his surroundings, the endless, dark hallways of the cinema.

“It’s a secret,” you whispered, “and be quiet, nobody’s supposed to know you’re here.”

“Don’t worry. I’m stealthy, like a ninja,” Steve joked quietly.

You promptly opened a barely noticeable door, moving out of the way so Steve could see. “Ta da! Fuck, no, wait, now!”

Whatever Steve was expecting, this wasn’t it. It was a screening room - the size of a broom closet. You were providing the single light source through the flashlight in your hand. The room could only fit a film projector on a flimsy table, a chair alongside the projector, and a cabinet. Strewn all around the room were rolls of film, and movie posters: Singin’ in the Rain, On the Waterfront, Halloween, Double Indemnity, Citizen Kane, Psycho… there was not a single empty space on the wall.

“We screen our films here,” you explained, “tonight is Poltergeist. I already set it up, it’s running, but I thought you might want to see.”

You had wrung your hands together, your gaze falling to the ground, and Steve noticed a minor timidness.

“Can I go in?” his eyes were scanning the room. You handed him the flashlight.

“Of course, of course, sit down. Sorry, it’s not luxurious… or big. But this is the projector. You can see the film through the little hole in the wall, or the eyehole on the camera.”

Steve glanced at the darkened auditorium, the audience underneath him, the film playing on the screen. He heard the collective screams and gasps at each scare.

As Steve sat down, you shut the door behind you, awkwardly standing next to him.

That is, before he turned off the flashlight. Before he gently placed his hands on your hips. You held his shoulder for balance as he pushed down, signaling for you to sit on his lap, straddling him, facing each other.

“Have you seen Poltergeist?” you asked, feeling blindly for his face. You traced and followed his features with your fingers: his defined jaw, rubbing the light stubble; his hairline, as you scratched the nape of his neck; the outline of his lips, slightly open.

Steve never replied. As you caressed his face, he wrapped his arms around your waist. Instinctively, you both leaned in, searching for each other’s lips. His found yours first, placing a kiss on the side corner of your mouth, then melting into your lips.

Your chest was flush with his, your eyes closed, your eyelashes tickling his face. You cupped his jaw, pulling him even closer.

Lips already swollen, gasping, you reluctantly pulled away from him. Steve held you, his lips traveling ravishingly down your neck, to your collarbone, nibbling lightly, leaving a mark.

“You know what Clark Gable said?” You gasped out, chest heaving as Steve’s hands played with the hemline of your shirt.

Steve merely groaned against your skin, his teeth refusing to leave the silkiness.

“He told Vivien Leigh,” you could barely speak steadily, “’You need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how.’”

“Smart man,” Steve quickly pulled away to pull his own shirt off his head, the heat of the room due to its confinement, the operating projector and both of your arousal, leaving him sweaty. “Smarter than that Sherlock Homes dude.”

You rubbed your palms up the hairs on his warm chest, resting a hand against his heart, the other reaching his face. “That’s you, Steve Harrington. And I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you. I’m the Clark to your Vivien.”

“I’m not complaining.”

❃❃❃❃❃

Thank you for reading! x

[betty-gb]

characters x short s/o

———————————————

alright here we go, this is hc of some of my favourite boys and one girl with a short s/o. like quite short, like 4’11/5’0. this honestly became more general hcs but they still focus on height factors.

includes: leo valdez, connor stoll, gilbert blythe, carter kane and kate bishop

disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions so please don’t be mean if you don’t agree. also lmk if i’ve made any mistakes regarding canonical facts about these characters.

pronouns: i think i only used pronouns once in this and it was they/them so anyone could read this although some head cannons were more geared towards a female audience as i myself am female.

warnings: some mild language

*not proof read*

leo valdez:

-starting off strong with our short king, mr. leo valdez

-he is canonically about 5’6 so we’re going to go with that

-he’s a little shit

-just putting that out there

-1000% using you as an armrest

-asking you to grab something for him that he knows for a fact you can’t reach

-the whole package of teasing

-but can we really blame him

-he’s been the shorty for a while and he enjoys finally having someone shorter

-now leo i hc as a little spoon

-just because our boy has some major trauma

-but if you were a demigod too you would probably have a whole lot of trauma as well

-we love

-anyway with the height difference i feel like he would big spoon a bit more but you bet he is still laying on your chest with his face in your boobs (for anyone who has them) or just your chest (for everyone else)

-you would probably come up to his nose area so perfect height for him to give you forehead kisses

-although i feel like he prefers to kiss the tip of your nose

-especially when it’s all rosy from the cold

-in terms of clothes sharing

-i feel like leo is more of a ‘let me try on your clothes that are too small for me for laughs’ guy than a ‘wear my clothes that are too big for you and i’ll swoon’ type of guy

-which makes me sad

-but it’s okay because he will still give you clothes if ur cold and he will most certainly blush and pepper your face with kisses

-now with you being tiny and all he feels a certain sense of protectiveness

-not that you can’t handle yourself yk being a demigod and all

-but he’s lost enough people and he will not let anyone hurt you

-anyone messes with you they mess with him

-which isn’t very intimidating as he’s also short

-but he makes up for it with attitude

-all in all leo will be a bitch about your height but he will also love being taller just the same

connor stoll:

-next comes my one of my favourite demigods

-idk why i love him so much but i do so ya

-let’s start with his height bc he’s a tall lad

-all we get from the books is ‘tall’

-so i hc him to be around 6’3

-i also think travis is about 6’2 so a little bit shorter than connor

-and boy he will not shut up about it

-but i’m getting carried away

-as you can imagine this is a biggg height difference

-probably the biggest one i’m gonna be writing about

-it’s like 15-16 inches so ya

-you don’t even come up to his shoulder

-kisses are always a struggle but you make do

-he picks you up

-you stand on a chair

-he sits on a chair

-it works fine

-he is another little shit

-wow i seem to have a type

-this time it’s even more extreme of a height difference tho so it’ll be sooo fun for you

-that was very sarcastic if you couldn’t tell ^

-he will toss you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and parade you around while you whack at his back

-and if you ask him to get something for you

-don’t expect it within the next hundred years because he will hold it just out of your reach so you have to literally climb him to get it

-unless it’s something you need of course because he’s secretly a sweetheart that would so anything for you

-in terms of cuddling, im assuming you already know it would be very hard for you to be the big spoon

-wow i just realized that this height difference is giving those draco fanfics where y/n is like 4’11 and not like other girls

-back to cuddling tho

-i think it would be okay because i see him as more of a big spoon anyway

-or he would like to have you lying on his chest

-omg i’m just picturing the whole him in sweatpants like rly low down on his waist with no shirt because you’re in his shirt which is way to big lying for you lying on his chest in bed

-i’m swooning

-but ya

-i feel like occasionally he would lie like lower on the bed with his head between your legs on his back

-so like the back of his head is resting on your stomach

-idk how to explain this properly i hope that made sense

-speaking of clothes tho

-i think he is more of a ‘wear my clothes that are too big for you and i’ll swoon’ guy

-only because he may rip your clothes if he tried them on

-if you were more similar in height he would totally be stealing your shirts and putting on a goofy fashion show for you

-and like i mentioned before his shirts are huge on you

-it’s adorable

-now for him the whole protectiveness is stumping me

-i feel like he would kinda respect you and know that you can handle yourself

-because you are like a badass

-but i feel like his whole protectiveness would come out more if a guy was like hitting on you and got handsy

-scary boyfriend privileges coming out

-in battle he would for sure try to protect you but not rly any more than you would try to protect him

-your amazingness makes up for the height in battle

-i generally feel like protectiveness in battle would be about equal both ways

-and he’s the quiet jealous type so i feel like if a guy was like flirting he wouldn’t necessarily do anything

-only if the guy got like to touchy or aggressive like i mentioned before

-wow i really rambled for connor

-i’m sorry i just love him so much

-so all in all he would be annoying but he would have so much respect for you and your abilities even with your height

gilbert blythe:

-alright we’re switching fandoms now

-for the first time in forever i don’t think he’s a little shit about your height

-gilbert is around 5’8

-but for my self indulgence let’s say he’s around 5’10

-because he gives decently tall guy vibes

-so that means we have ourselves a height difference of around 10-11 inches

-he really just sees your height as a way to coddle and protect you

-which obviously you don’t need

-but it being the late 19th century we got all the big strong man stereotypes

-he’s not possessive or anything though

-just protective

-especially from a certain someone

-*cough* billy *cough*

-we all know billy is a grade a asshole

-and it’s even better that my phone just tried to autocorrect billy to bully

-quite fitting

-as for cuddling

-gilbert is a big spoon

-and i am set on that

-he also loves being on the couch and just holding you in his arms while your head rests on his chest

-maybe he’s reading to you

-gosh i’m soft for him

-so the height difference works perfectly for you guys with cuddling

-and yes he is a ‘wear my clothes that are too big for you and i’ll swoon’

-i will stand by this until i die

-wear his sweater and he might just blow up on the spot

-from how adorable you are of course

-gilbert is just a sweetheart and such a simp that will do anything for you

-he doesn’t really look too much into the height difference

-he just loves you

carter kane:

-were heading back to the riordanverse because i am unorganized as heck

-i haven’t read the books in a while so bear with me if i make some mistakes

-i saw somewhere on the internet that carter is 5’6

-and sadie is too

-i think i can see this for the age he is in the books

-but when he’s older i’m picturing like 5’11

-because i hc that our boy had late puberty and a late growth spurt

-sorry sadie

-i hope you enjoyed the small amount of time being taller than him

-so ima talk about little carter when he’s still a shorty

-i don’t think he ever really payed attention to his height

-or others heights for that matter

-my guy was travelling so much and had like no friends his age so i don’t think he had much of a perception of how tall he should be

-at least until him and sadie were reunited

-then the teasing was relentless

-for the sake of this let’s say you either came to brooklyn house with them or were already there idc

-so then he saw you and noted that you were short

-yk a little mental note

-‘hey sadie y/n’s shorter why don’t you tease them instead’

-but it’s a sibling thing

-even considering that i don’t think he cares that much about height

-he just wants an inch on his sister

-cuddling with him is awkward but i think he’s pretty flexible with big spoon/little spoon stuff and your height difference isn’t so drastic that you can’t spoon him

-cuddling with him is pretty versatile

-i’m terms of clothes

-i saw someone say that he will leave his sweaters in random places for his s/o to find and hopefully wear

-i love it

-it’s perfect because he’s so awkward but he is definitely a ‘wear my clothes that are too big for you and i’ll swoon’

-i can’t remember who said this tho so if you find them please lmk and i’ll give credit

-now protectiveness is difficult for him

-he’s such a worry wart

-and a total mom

-so he like wants you to be safe and wants to protect you in battle and stuff

-so he used his height to help with that

-even though you’ve told him so many times that you are fine

-now when he’s in his godly avatar thing

-major height difference

-i’m joking

-let’s not get into that

-imaging kissing like this big chicken warrior head

-no thanks

-again i just think carter doesn’t really care about his height difference with you

-he just loves you

kate bishop:

-last but not least is miss kate

-i was originally going to do all boys for this but my bisexual ass couldn’t resist kate

-so kate is about 5’8

-and i like that

-nice solid height

-a bit tall for a girl

-perfect

-but isn’t everything about kate perfect

-i feel like she lies somewhere in between being a little shit and a sweetheart

-because she is so confident and cocky

-but it’s hot and she’s a woman so it’s okay

-on the other hand she gives massive simp vibes

-because she is my favourite golden retriever character

-i feel like some people may disagree but i feel like she’s a big spoon

-that also may be biased though as i love to be the little spoon sooo

-it’s okay tho

-i feel like she likes you to be facing her while cuddling though

-and size works out for you guys because she is bigger and also the big spoon

-if you desperately want her to be the little spoon i can see that too

-and for little spoon kate i feel like you wouldn’t really have an option no matter your size

-you just gotta make it work

-because i see her as a little whiny poop

-big spoon kate is too tho

-who are we kidding

-she was spoiled growing up

-she’s not bad spoiled tho

-now onto clothes

-i think she’s both a ‘let me try on your clothes that are too small for me for laughs’ and a ‘wear my clothes that are too big for you and i’ll swoon’

-but i think she is more the latter

-for protectiveness i have two different cases here

-let’s say that you are an avenger/super hero/fighter or wtv for our first scenario

-she would totally be protective

-you’re her love

-she needs to keep you safe

-and you are also small

-more excuses for kate to be protective

-i feel like no matter your height tho she is just a protective person by nature

-so in battle she would be watching you in her peripheral vision all the time

-not that you aren’t doing the same tho

-option two

-you are not an avenger/super hero/fighter

-you are an average person

-don’t you just love the idea of have a tall sexy woman as your like personal body gaurd

-because i sure do

-dream come true

-but honestly

-you would probably get roped into her business with the tracksuit mafia so you are in danger a lot during that period of time

-and she’s the sweetest

-it’s a sad fact but we all know that shorter people are easier targets for bad people

-so she would be so cautious

-only because she loves you though

-she definitely protective

-especially of you

-and she for sure loves the height difference

thanks for reading and lmk if you want me to do hcs for a tall s/o!!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

(Aiden/Lambert; the morning after; kissing and fondling; the Witcher Game canon)

If there was one thing Vesemir had drummed into their heads the moment they could understand spoken language, it was manners. Not etiquette. There was no need to know which fork you used to eat salad with and which was for picking your nose. But manners. Elbows off the tables, back straight when you're talking to someone, return kit you've borrowed in good nick. The list was endless.

It had been a bit hit and miss with Lambert. He weaponised his manners when they served him most, often when it made someone else's life a touch more difficult. Every other time, they were just another courtesy no one deserved. As a result, he elbowed his way through life being as blunt and unbearable as possible.

So, imagine his fucking surprise when he had woken up that morning, his body aching and his limbs tangled around the most handsome bastard on the Continent, and the first thing he had thought of was how fucking impolite it would be to not make breakfast. Because that was a normal and well-adjusted thing to do after having your backside blown out so well you'd called to the gods, despite being a faithless cretin your entire life.

It was better than standing in the shower and staring at the tiles in post-fuck bewilderment, Lambert reasoned as he flipped the bacon over in the frying pan. Imagine waking up to find your hook up standing in your shower looking like something out the fucking Shining 'cause you made him scream-cum.

Hook up. That didn't really track anymore, did it?

Hook ups didn't go on endless dates or spend time actually watching Netflix on cosy winter evenings. They didn't help you paint your shitty one bed apartment or give you their old couch so you didn't have to eat your takeout on the floor, and they certainly didn't get invited to the niece's birthday barbecue which was due to start in five hours. "Bollocks," Lambert murmured as he shimmied the bacon out and replaced it with an egg.

It had taken Lambert this long to sleep with Aiden because the truth was he had never been a hook up. Lambert didn't do that. He wasn't Eskel, who went cruising and came back with a new pretty face every other week. He had said those stupid fucking words last night to try and reduce the gravity of it all, to make it less... intimidating, and Aiden had the good grace to laugh it off before kissing Lambert so thoroughly he forgot who the king of Redania was.

"Mm, smells good."

Lambert startled, so lost in his thoughts that he had missed Aiden walking up behind him. His body was still bed-warm, his firm chest covered in soft hair pressed to Lambert's back. "Me or the bacon?" Lambert asked, a little breathless as Aiden kissed the soft skin beneath his ear.

"Both," Aiden replied, bumping his hips to the top of Lambert's arse. He was about seven inches taller, which made the sudden and vivid daydream that popped into Lambert's head of Aiden bending him over the counter a little unrealistic. He thought about it anyway. As if he could taste the flush in Lambert's skin, Aiden's hand wandered beneath the apron Lambert had thrown on, fondling Lambert's hardening cock through the soft cotton of his boxers. "Still eager after last night, baby. What a treat for me."

"I'm... There's--ahh, there's bacon."

Aiden rested his chin on Lambert's shoulder to peer down at the pan, his hand still stroking slowly. "I can see," he said, and then after a brief pause, "are you stress cooking?"

"No. I'm being a courteous fucking houseguest. I think I owe your brothers a gift basket after the noise I made last night."

Aiden chuckled. "Yeah, you were so loud."

Lambert tensed, his cheeks warming.

"Hey." Aiden flicked the gas off and tilted Lambert's chin up. "You ashamed of what we did? You didn't feel, uh... pressured, did you? I thought..."

Oh, shit. How had he managed to ruin it already? Lambert swallowed and threw the spatula down. The partially cooked yolk smeared through the base of the pan, fat sizzling, and he kissed Aiden right on his worried frown. It would have given him enough time to gather his thoughts, but they all scattered the moment Aiden moaned softly in pleasure.

They stood kissing for some time, one of Aiden's hands slipping into Lambert's ruffled hair to knead and tug gently. His other hand remained on Lambert's cock, which throbbed needily with every passing stroke. Lambert's knees wobbled, and Aiden's arm lifted to his waist to steady him. "Easy, baby. Going a little weak at the knees there." The fact clearly delighted him.

"Don't regret it, wanted it, want... want you." Lambert managed a few broken sentences through the croak in his throat as he looked at the mutilated fucking egg in the pan. "Not... sure how to process it."

"Should've figured that big brain of yours would overthink itself into a rut." Aiden nuzzled into Lambert's dark nest of hair as if he could kiss said brain through Lambert's skull. "Did you have fun last night?"

"You know I had fun last night, arsehole."

"Mm, but I wanna hear you say it," Aiden purred. "You had a lot to say at the time."

"I didn't talk..."

"Ahh--ahh, Aiden, fuck, fuck, ahh, shit, mmm, that--oh my fucking gods, what--"

Lambert elbowed Aiden in the stomach and whirled around to face him. He didn't get to lay in with his rebuttal, because Aiden scooped him up and kissed him again through a chuckle.

When he pulled away, Lambert felt thoroughly gentled and Aiden licked his neck. "Just teasing. No regrets, Bertie. I want you. Have wanted you so bad for so long. But if you need to slow down, need some more time, you're worth waiting for."

And that. That was enough.

The weird tension Lambert had been carrying since he'd woken faded. He wasn't a one and done to Aiden. Not now to be discarded for a new and less complicated conquest. Not another hook up--why had he said such a stupid fucking idiot thing? He'd done this to himself, he was such a dickhead--but someone Aiden would wait for, even without the sex...

No, no, Lambert definitely wanted the sex.

"Bacon reheats, right?" Lambert murmured into Aiden's shoulder.

"Yeah, egg's fucked though."

"Fuck the egg--wait, no, fuck me. Fuck me instead."

Aiden chuckled as he scooped Lambert up by the thighs, guiding muscular legs around his waist. "My pleasure."

[writer-monster]

11 reasons why cap 4 should reintroduce Bucky Barnes as the love interest, an essay

to start this off, i am not writing this essay from a shipping place nor do i believe that this would have any influence at all over the upcoming movie. i expect nothing. this is simply something that i would personally like to see. (of course no hate to anybody who thinks differently)

here are 11 reasons why i think making Bucky into Sam Wilson's love interest in Cap 4 would be a good move for Disney.

-

1. on the Chinese film market - and why it's an irrelevant argument against the inclusion of homosexual themes in Cap 4

the Chinese film market is something that has been blamed for a lack of diversity in Hollywood films a lot lately. many people claim that this market with a lot of buying power has been responsible for the lack of gay and black representation in particular within Hollywood films.

and we have certainly seen Hollywood treating it as such, going so far as to cut gay scenes from movies for their Chinese releases, and vastly minimising John Boyega's (a black actor's) presence in the Chinese poster of Star Wars The Force Awakens.

[image ID: on the left is an image of the American poster for Star Wars The Force Awakens, featuring John Boyega prominently on the right-hand side. And on the right is the Chinese poster for the same movie, in which John Boyega is barely visible.]

so we know at the very least that Disney believes this through their own actions and efforts to self-censor for the different markets.

but Captain America 4 is a black-led movie, don't you forget. and Disney can't minimise Sam Wilson/Anthony Mackie in the movie or the poster because it's his movie and his poster. and no amount of creativity in the editing room can change that (thank God!).

so if by their own argument the film is already going to be either banned, panned or slammed in China... then what do they have to fear from making it a gay movie too?

-

2. oh, the queerbaiting

queerbaiting is an unusual cultural idea. and sometimes i find myself thinking that the term is far too easily used, but then all of a sudden i will stumble upon a movie or show that is so quintessentially cruel and overt in it's... well... queerbaiting that i will start to wonder what the hell kind of a bizarre relationship all these straight people seem to have with their friends. take Troy and Abed from Community or John and Sherlock from Sherlock as the perfect examples of this. (in which my reaction to the show's creators saying the show wasn't gay was to ask so then why did you make it so gay?!)

i felt that Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes in tfatws were getting quite close to this level of queerbaiting.

there was the field scene, the couple's counselling scene, the boat scene, the couple's counselling scene, Bucky going with Sam to face Karli when she told Sam to come alone, the couple's counselling scene, ALL the staring scenes, Sam checking out Bucky's ass here as they said goodbye, the "i would move in with him but" hidden scene, "Uncle Bucky" showing up at the cookout scene, the romantic walking off together into the sunset together ending scene, and the couple's counselling scene. did i forget anything? but i mean seriously, the couple's counselling scene!!! that thing they did with their legs and their crotches while staring deep into each other's eyes, would any straight guy willingly do that? do straight guys crotch-snuggle now?

[image ID: an image of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes during the therapy scene with the quote, "Isn't anybody going to drag me into impromptu couple's therapy and slot my legs firmly between theirs before staring deeply into my eyes?"]

(yeah i stole this image from a buzzfeed article on the fan reactions to the couple's therapy scene. but given that they stole 80% of the content of that article from fandom tumblr, i think it's pretty even-steven.)

there's also the fact that people started talking about bisexual Bucky Barnes a lot after the tiger pictures line, and the lead writer Malcom Spellman responded to the talk of Bucky's bisexuality with "just keep watching". well we watched, Malcolm. but it's beginning to feel like you were just jerking us around.

-

3. the writing

seriously though, what else is Bucky Barnes doing right now in the MCU? his only remaining connection to anything going on right now is through Sam. there is literally nothing else established that's left for him to do that doesn't involve Sam. he moved to Louisiana to be closer to Sam (canonically), he hangs out with Sam's family (canonically), and Steve is presumably gone and is definitely not coming back for more adventures.

he has no villains or loose ends left. he has no other superheroes that he appears to be in contact with. he has no girlfriend or potential love interest, or even other friends or family. he is living in a tent that he has secretly set up in Sam's backyard and is mysteriously appearing from the bushes when it's time for dinner like a stray cat.

in my opinion there is no other meaningful and pre-established progression for Bucky's character that wouldn't just feel cheap.

plus, i don't think the general audience would be all that surprised if they kissed. i think a LOT of people picked up on all that tension. i think a lot of straight people picked up on all that tension too.

-

4. the chemistry between the actors & the chemistry between the characters

the original pitch for tfatws was essentially just this, it was the chemistry between Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie and their respective MCU characters of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson.

now obviously Anthony and Sebastian are simply friends, and i wouldn't mean to imply anything more. but they are also not their characters.

Sam and Bucky's scenes together before tfatws were both limited and short, and yet audiences still fell in love with the dynamic between the two characters.

in interviews, these two actors are constantly slipping into character and flirting with each other and frankly it's adorable. plus it's really entertaining. i'd love to see that dynamic, unfiltered, in a movie.

because believe it or not the flirting is actually even more open in their interviews than it was in tfatws. and i'm leaving some links as proof.

this here is known as the "married" compilation

and here's a "lucky dip" selection of interviews - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,

and here's Anthony trying to get Seb to take his jacket off.

i'm just saying, why not let their chemistry shine? these two are so talented and so entertaining, especially when you put them in a room together. and can you imagine how absolutely hilarious and brilliant it would be to watch them navigate being a couple?

(and for those who bring up the "friends would be uncomfortable pretending to be dating" argument, i'm not here asking for a sex scene or anything. i don't think anyone would expect them to show any more intimacy (physical or emotional) while playing a couple than what they've already shown together in say... tfatws or in their own interviews. not that i actually expect anything regardless.)

-

5. if they were a man and a woman they would've gotten together in tfatws

i have no more to add here. just that... yeah, they would've.

-

6. and i'm not talking about the comics here, i'm talking about the MCU.

i understand fully that none of what i'm saying here falls in line with these characters from the comics. but the mcu itself doesn't fall much in line with the comics either, and these two characters especially are very different from their comics counterparts.

i'm not asking for these two to get together in the comics. tbh i don't think that it would work.

but the mcu Sam and Bucky are different and closer than their comics counterparts. they've got different histories, different backstories, and a very different dynamic. please rest assured that i am only talking about them in the mcu.

-

7. Bucky Barnes is believably bisexual. and Sam Wilson has never been proven to be straight in the mcu, nor has he had a love interest.

(now please continue to keep in mind that these points only stand for the mcu versions of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson, and not at all for their comics counterparts.)

Sam Wilson has never had a love interest, which is crazy because have you seen that man! he has had two blink and you'll miss it moments of verbal expression of attraction to women, both in TWS. and that's the extent of it, through his entire history in the mcu.

Bucky Barnes has had a number of surface-level female love interests, but none of them even came close to the level of connection and chemistry that Bucky shares with Sam.

and i'm sorry SarahBucky fans, but i just don't think there's very much to their relationship either. i love Sarah, i really do. but it's Sam who shares all the meaningful moments and history and chemistry with Bucky. and i don't see what making her into a love interest would do for Sarah's character either, what would that add to her story?

[Picture ID: Bucky at the cookout with Sam, Sarah, Cass and AJ. Bucky and Sam are looking at each other and smiling.]

and also there is the whole tiger pictures thing... again. which does strongly suggest that Bucky is bisexual whether this was intentional on behalf of the writers or not.

-

8. it's representation... AND it feels natural

marvel hasn't had a lot of queer representation that's been noticeably present in the MCU at the time of writing this.

there have been a lot of failures so far, from the bisexual erasure of Valkyrie in Thor Ragnarok to the wlw erasure in Black Panther.

there was queerbaiting almost identical to the bisexual Bucky baiting for Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2. when asked if he had considered featuring a gay hero in gotg2, director James Gunn stated that "We might have already done that. I say, watch the movie." after the movie's release audiences were understandably confused about the lack of queer representation. To which the director followed up his comments with, "But we don't really know who's gay and who's not. It could be any of them."

there is also Loki, considered by most fans after the airing of his six episode series on Disney+ to be both a poor attempt at both genderfluid representation and bisexual representation. with both attempts being summed up fairly well by the term "blink-and-you'll-miss-it". (also it's just terribly written and Loki doesn't wear any interesting clothes! fanficcers are a Goddamn blessing in this hard time!)

and let us not forget that Andrew Garfield was apparently FIRED for pushing for a bisexual spiderman. a bisexual spiderman within an interracial mlm relationship no less.

so for all these failures, marvel, why not allow us queer fans this? two brilliant and heroic men in a loving interracial relationship. two heroes that we can look up to.

now, one of the biggest detractions from the argument for representation is the idea of "forced diversity". and some poorly written characters certainly do end up feeling forced into the narrative. take Iceman in the comics for example, with Jean Grey just straight up suddenly telling him he's gay. like, marvel, sweetie, that's not how this works! and i don't know a lot of queer people who thought much of that "representation".

but the crux of the "forced diversity" argument is almost always that it feels unnatural within the story, right? and i don't think that anyone could say that about MCU Sam and Bucky ending up together, given these characters' existing chemistry and their history. they've both played characters in gay relationships before so we know that it's not outside of either actor's wheelhouse. and y'all know that Anthony and Seb can act, people. if it's in the script i believe that they'll make it seem like the most natural thing on earth.

-

9. it'd be a nice change

there's been an ongoing meme lately about "Disney's first gay character", the joke being that they continually announce gay characters without really ever including gay characters in their films.

this is to the point where Disney has formed a reputation amongst queer audiences of being homophobic.

if Sam and Bucky were to become a couple, then Disney could have its first actual gay character within a gay relationship. AND have him be in the lead of his own movie, no less.

it's also worth keeping in mind that there's likely an overlap between the people who were outraged by a Sam Wilson Captain America, and the people who'd be outraged by a gay Captain America. and if they were already not seeing the film, then i don't think much is gonna change that.

queer audiences would definitely love it, and the media attention would be guaranteed to be huge. i mean, simply look at the amount of media attention mere rumours of a character's queerness gets you and multiply that by a canon confirmation of said rumours.

but i'm pretty sure that Disney already knows this.

-

10. and yet, in truth, it's not about the representation

in truth i've never felt that i had any trouble relating to characters of any sexual orientation, race, gender, sex, body type, etc. (although that is not to throw any shade at all on people who do wish to see themselves represented) but for me, i think it's more about the story than the packaging.

and yet, a love story is still just a story. straight or queer, monoethnic or interracial. when two characters have chemistry and history and have sacrificed for each other time and time again, and they also can't keep their hands or their eyes off each other, then i'm pretty sure that that's a love story.

straight or queer, monoethnic or interracial, it shouldn't be about these simple labels. it should be about how well written the relationship is. it should be about chemistry, and history, and sacrifice.

because i'm fucking sick of all the hollow, forced romances in media no matter the genders of the participants. i'm sick of lazily written, shallow relationships where any two people sharing the same space for any extended period of time will simply fall in love. it's boring, it's repetitive, and as a writer myself it drives me up the wall!

romance stories suck! and everyone knows that romance stories suck. between twilight, and most of the entire YA genre, and love triangles (so boring), and romance used as poorly-written throwaway subplots in Hollywood movies, the world is in agreement that the romance in western media is simply dreadful. and yet we still want love stories. it's an entire genre that sits at the heart of the human experience (<3), and yet one which so few of today's best known writers seem truly able to capture.

i don't think that i'm the only one who feels this way, either. i suspect it's actually a large part of why fandom is so romance-centred in the first place, that we're all just starving for a good love story.

(btw i think fandom has a reputation for being something that as a whole that it is not. it has this reputation for straight up demanding things and harassing people until they get their way. while unfortunately there are a few people who do this, they're fucking annoying and i swear that they're far from the majority.

in my experience fandom is mostly about writing a five thousand word story at three am while drunk off your ass because it might make someone whom you've never met smile, editing it in the cold light of day, and then posting it. expecting nothing. sometimes getting nothing. and sometimes getting someone send you kudos or a comment so heartbreakingly wonderful that it makes you smile in return.)

-

11. so once again, it is all about the writing.

i want to see Sam and Bucky get together in the mcu, not because they would be a gay couple but because i genuinely believe that their story has potential to be an amazing love story.

and i know the mcu isn't about the romance. it's why in my personal opinion we haven't gotten a lot of good canon romances besides Peter Quill and Gamora. and i don't think that the mcu should be all about the romance either. i fucking love the action and the fighting scenes. i love the comedy. Captain America: The Winter Soldier had no romance and it was a fucking treasure, it was an amazing spy-action-thriller and it made my little gay heart dance. Thor Ragnarok had no romance, and it was an utterly brilliant comedic spectacle action film. not every movie needs romance.

but mcu Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes were doing couple's therapy and fixing a boat and walking off into the sunset together in tfatws. they were inseparable on the battlefield. they've got a dynamic. it's beautiful, it's romantic, and it's gold.

a budding relationship between them in the next movie would be a good way to explore both characters more without the narrative feeling too stilted and separate. at the end of tfatws, both Sam and Bucky fans found that their respective fave felt somewhat underutilised and that their characters were underexplored.

now, that problem would be even more difficult to remedy in a movie, because the plotline of a movie needs to be really tight to work (giggity). and we know that the central conflict of the movie is gonna be action-based (which is good), but we still need each character's personal journey and growth to tie into the main conflict. (which is another issue that some fans found with tfatws, that these characters didn't really feel connected to the action-based plot on a more personal level.)

if Sam and Bucky are already in a relationship, however, this whole dynamic changes. first, their relationship has already been set up for nicely since TWS and through tfatws and they would officially be the best-fleshed-out couple in the mcu. but most importantly, a relationship gives them a perfect vehicle to explore both of their pasts comparatively and connect them personally to the action-based plot.

do you want to establish that Sam is a little too trusting and naïve? then establish this through his relationship with Bucky, and through showing his placing his trust in Bucky. (rather than through having him sympathise with a villain who threatened to murder his sister and his nephews).

perhaps you want to show Bucky recovering from his trauma? show us how comfortable he is with Sam. they get along, they're enjoying each other's presence, we see more of Sam's life and of his family, and then let Bucky tell Sam something that's raw and dark and honest about his life as The Winter Soldier. something about a memory, one that he only just recalled. he's opening up. and maybe what he tells Sam is even something that sets up the future action-based conflict, to ground that in something real.

you want to explore that Sam has trauma too? do this through Bucky. he tells Bucky a story about his time in the military. in the form of a flashback, he shares his own story of loss to evoke before the audience the shared theme of feeling at fault even when you're simply a helpless bystander to an act of pure destruction.

then, action sequence! and it's directly connected to Bucky's time as the Winter Soldier. explore the grief of someone whose life the Winter Soldier tore apart manifesting into a villain perpetuating the cycle of pain. establish your villain.

Later, Sam is dragged into battle against this villain for protecting Bucky. But Bucky doesn't want Sam to protect him. He feels guilt for what he can't control and he doesn't want Sam getting hurt because of him. Bucky reminds Sam that he has a family, one who needs him and who loves him. He tells him to go home.

Sam reminds Bucky that he's a part of that family. And that sure Sam's a hero and his job is to protect anyone and everyone, but that he's doing it because he wants to. It's not simply to prove that he can, or to prove that he's not a bystander (this connects to Sam's trauma here), but that he's doing it to help people.

and this gets Bucky thinking about who he is and what he's doing here. is he a hero who stands by Sam's side? or is he an ordinary man who stands aside? or perhaps, does he stand alone? what does he stand for? Maybe Sam knows. But does Bucky?

Sam and Bucky fight off the villain again, and for the first time Bucky meets this adversary face to face. And Bucky recognises this villain, and has a flashback to the genuine pain that he inflicted upon them in the form of the Winter Soldier. Bucky freezes mid-fight, he almost dies, and Sam has to save him.

Sam chews Bucky out for almost getting killed because he was afraid for him. but Bucky takes this the wrong way and goes off to fight the villain alone, or perhaps to die alone, he's not quite sure.

He puts up a half-hearted fight. He apologises for what the Winter Soldier has done, and he waits for the killing blow, when Sam swoops down and he saves him. He asks Sam why he saved him and Sam calls him a moron. And then, Sam asks him what sacrificing himself would solve. He tells him that you can't choose your past but you can choose your future (connecting to his own experience of loss and guilt and grief). And that no matter what Bucky Barnes still has a future, whether that's as the Winter Soldier or the White Wolf or just some dork with a day job. And that he has a future as a part of Sam's family too.

Sam fights the villain, and it's toe to toe. He delivers a few good blows, but receives a fair few himself. And then the villain tears off his wings, first one and then the other, in a manner reminiscent of what the Winter Soldier did to him in TWS. Through Bucky's eyes there's a flashback to highlight the parallels. Sam gets back on his feet and he fights his best fight, but is now losing.

And then the heavily injured Bucky steps up and fights by Sam's side, and only together do they take down the villain.

"So... I inspired you, huh?" Sam teases with a smile, utterly exhausted. "With my heroism and-"

"You inspired me." Bucky said, equally exhausted. "Let's leave it at that."

Together, Sam and Bucky go back to the safety and warmth of their family. Sam fixes his wings. Sam goes back to being Captain America. And Bucky... he's around, but it's unclear what he's doing.

That is, until the very end. When Sam is in a fight, and suddenly Bucky shows up and helps him out.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asks.

"I've made up my mind." Bucky says. "I'm the Winter Soldier. But now I'll save lives, Sam. Now, like you, I'll be a hero."

Sam smirks. "So does this make you my sidekick, then?"

Bucky smiles. "C'mon, at least make me a partner." He says.

"How about co-workers." Sam says (in flashback, he remembers back to the death of his last on-the-job partner).

"How about friends." Bucky says, with a wry look.

"Bucky... I don't want to see you put your dumbass self in danger." Sam says.

"Oh, and it's ok for you to go running off into danger on your own all the time?" Bucky asks.

"Yes." Sam says stubbornly. "Absolutely it is."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a dumbass?!"

"Sam, if you think I'm not gonna be watching your back for the rest of time... then you're the biggest dumbass I know. And I don't care if you need me or not, I will be there for you."

"Because Sam, you're more than Captain America. You're more than a good soldier. You're a good man. And I think sometimes, the world forgets what the difference is."

-

...or something like that.

(i only spent like 15 minutes on that. you know if i were actually writing this movie i would come up with something much better. and if anyone from marvel is seeing this, yes i can come work for you. i will make the time, let's do this thing right!)

-

finale

at the end of the day, whether or not the mcu chooses to make Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes a couple, it's their decision. and they don't owe me anything.

i'm just some random person on the internet. who thinks that Captain America 4 should #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend

[hypmicdaydreams]

helloww!! its me hitoya simp again hihihi i'm soo happy to see your requests box are opened so can i req hitoya being jealous with s/o who loves to playing otome and sometimes they ignore him for giving more attention to their oshi?? hahaha i think canonically he's not a person who get jealous so easily but when his loved one ignoring him... 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ maybe he'll look soo cuteee wkxbsksnso oh my... i already imagine his pouttie face 🤭🤭

anyway if you feel this is tooo much you can just ignore it, okay? just want you to be happy! 💖 have a nice day, bby 🥰💗 -Y

omg i adore this request haha; so cute! i'm ngl i'm kinda a sucker for this trope, so i hope i was able to do it and hitoya justice! i'm such a simp for him as well 🤧thank you sm for the request, and i hope you enjoy ❤

-pairing: hitoya amaguni x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

-word count: ~1.8k

hitoya wouldn’t necessarily consider himself to be a jealous man. 

he was impatient, sure - it’d be a little hard to convince otherwise. and it was rather easy to get on his nerves; he did have a bit of a short temper in a way, though he’d certainly claim that it wasn’t really his fault but simply those of others. he didn’t like to wait too long, and yeah, he did get irritated at the slightest of things. perhaps he was a little protective over you as well, always looking out for you and making sure that you were alright (his temper was even lower towards anyone or anything that hurt you). but hitoya definitely did not get jealous, so easily at least. 

and he was impatient - not jealous - with you that evening. that damn switch had taken over your entire attention, and the greeting you gave him was not-so-enthusiastic when he came home that evening. hitoya was a little disgruntled; you always liked to meet him by the door, maybe even sneak in a small kiss here and there, if you got home earlier than hitoya. it was practically routine at this point, a small thing he did look forward to each time (even if he wouldn’t directly admit it, neither to you nor himself). it was warm, it was comforting, and it definitely helped with his stress after such a tiresome day at the firm. 

there was nothing better: he’d, at the very least, admit that. 

but this time around, you were much too focused on whatever game you had in your hands, not entirely sure what it was. you only gave him a small ‘hey’ when you turn for a split second or so at the sound of the door, no kiss or anything, no asking why he had that characteristic frown and furrowed brows that day. and the smile you gave upon seeing him was cute and warmed his heart, but the smile you had when you turned back to the game at hand was much larger. 

no, he was not pouty. 

perhaps it had been a long day, and perhaps hitoya had looked forward to coming home today, greeted by your sweet kiss at the door. perhaps a small part of him was somewhat disappointed when you only greeted him so coolly, and perhaps hitoya was a tad annoyed (read: jealous, which he did not get) that you were too focused on a game instead. 

“what are you doing?” he asks with a sigh, the slightest bit of poutiness masked irritation in his undertone. you pay no mind and continue on with your game, a new sort of feeling festering at the pit of his gut. it wasn’t too large, but it was a sort of heat, though not the kind of warmth he enjoyed around you. this one felt a bit prickly, in a sense, as if poking him inside and out.  

he could clearly see it was some sort of romance game, perhaps one of the many you had talked about before, as he stands above the couch, and hitoya’s furrowed brows and small frown clearly gave his feelings towards it away, if only you could see. ha, that guy that was trying to hit on in-game you stands no chance, he muses. 

“playing a game,” you mutter back so nonchalantly, with a shrug of your shoulders. you didn’t seem to pay any mind to the fact that he was behind you, which only made hitoya’s impatience grow. it had been a long day after all, and the fact that you hadn’t given him a kiss yet was blasphemous almost (he was a bit too shy, no matter how he tried to put it, to do so himself really). it was almost as if he couldn’t relax until then. 

and the yelp you give as you cut to a kiss scene - so visibly flustered yet excited as the love interest you were going for leans in for a kiss - only serves to make that irritating bubble of warmth within him grow, somehow even more annoyed than the last. your expression was cute, the way you acted so shy at the buildup and climax of it all, which did make him more impatient. it should be directed towards him after all. 

oh to be the center of your attention after such a day.

now, hitoya didn’t want to think that he was growing jealous of some game. that’d be embarrassing, and he held too much pride in himself for that. but damn was it getting harder to deny, brows only furrowing more and his frown deepening as he watches you get so flustered and excited over some fictional guy when he was right there. your reactions were cute, definitely, but they’d be even more so if he was the reason. 

and the way you looked at your fav, the ever-so-evident sparkles and admiration in your gaze, rather than him made hitoya that much more jealous (though unbeknownst to him, you had the same look, intensified even, towards him). perhaps it even hurt his pride just a tad, to be outcasted by someone not even real. 

ok, maybe he was a little jealous. 

“he’s not even real?” the annoyance in his tone was starting to bubble over, but only because he was pouty - for lack of a better term - that you were ignoring him for some character behind a screen, no matter how much he may try to deny it. truth be told, hitoya didn’t entirely get it, the entire attraction of otome games. it was confusing to him just a tad, even as you went on and on all about it. he listened, of course, but there was always this prevalent confusion he had, perhaps because he was certainly out of the target demographic, or perhaps because he didn’t even know what it was until you explained it. or maybe he was just confused simply because he was jealous that it was getting all your attention, of course. 

“yeah, but he’s cute.” case in point, given the way hitoya could tell with near certainty how your heart fluttered in response to the sudden confession on screen. he knew you all too well by now, unlike that damn heartthrob of yours. and cute? he was much better-looking, surely. 

the tiny bit of jealously he felt wasn’t too great, the way it ate at a bit of his gut. hitoya knew it was unreasonable to get jealous over this; it was downright embarrassing for someone as prideful as him, even. but all the nerves and stress from work were starting to get to him, and hitoya had wanted nothing more than to come home and relax in your arms. and yes, he hated to admit, but he was jealous that your attention had mostly gone to whatever was on screen. he was a tad impatient, really. 

and he wanted your attention, to fluster you even more so. hitoya wanted to be just a bit petty, to remind you who could truly make you feel such a way. 

so he leans in from behind, so close that his lips are barely grazing the tip of your right ear. you can feel the way his breath tickles it, feeling so sensitive that goosebumps appear almost immediately down the length of your arms. you flinch a little in your seat, surprised by how bold your boyfriend had just gotten, and the squeak you let out is involuntary yet so cute-sounding to him. you swear you can feel a slight smirk on your boyfriend’s lips, playing against your ear. 

“‘t-toya?!” you mumble, so taken aback by it all and game long forgotten. you turn your cheek to the side almost instinctively, face so close to hitoya’s, nose-to-nose almost. and the blood starts to rush to your head, a look of bewilderment ever-so-present on your face. you were certainly flustered now, more so than before when you were playing your otome game. 

and he liked it just like that. 

“could he do this?” hitoya whispers ever so quietly, the handsome smirk oh so clear. you notice how close he is, and you’re so certain that he’s leaning in, though maybe that might’ve been nothing more than an illusion. it was so forward, even for hitoya, and you can hear your heartbeat so loud in your ears. it’s difficult to calm yourself when you can actively feel the way you were growing warmer by the second, when the slightest movement had your alertness aroused. 

he’s so up close, able to take in the minuscule details of his features, which didn’t help in the slightest. he seems tired, you realize, probably from the long day, but damn was your boyfriend not the most attractive. and you had to fight the urge to not grab his lightly loosened tie and pull him in, to finally feel his lips against yours after such a long day. it’s not as if your own love interest in the game could do so for you, to quell that heart of yours. 

it’s clear as day that your flustered reaction is so satisfying to him. he was the only one that could induce it, to have your heart pounding for him in particular. 

and yet, just as quick, he pulls away, content with it all. he had finally gotten your attention. perhaps it didn’t feel all too good to get all jealous over an otome character; he felt a little stupid, of course, to have his agitation take over (he never had the best of tempers, i mean). but your flustered reaction and that cute yelp of yours were more than satisfying, to have you more frazzled than that character of yours. 

he walks to the bedroom to get ready for bed, smirking rather victoriously to himself. he had gotten your attention, and that was what he wanted. 

and you’re left on the couch, trying to calm yourself. your hands go to your cheeks, and you feel how incredibly warm you are, emitting heat as if you were some radiator. you could very well still feel how close he was, your lips ever so sensitive and prickly. how badly you had the urge to kiss him. 

oh what an asshole, you think to yourself, pouting just a little for teasing you like that. but what a loveable one at that. 

(and when you tease him later on for being jealous of an otome guy, he denies and brushes you off, acting as if you had just suggested something so childish; but you can spot the slightly embarrassed look from a mile away)

[highdramas]

the billboard said the end is near | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers, canon typical violence, bucky is soft and loves his doll and will do anything to keep her safe

word count: 2184

summary: bucky is protective over what has given him solace.

note: here's tawlb part 4! you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like!

enjoy! <3

chaos has always controlled your life.

in all of the best ways, and all of the worst ones, too. in the best ways, it has allowed you to not take life too seriously. it has allowed you to let things roll off your shoulders and keep your easy breezy demeanor. you like to think that you don’t allow the little things to affect you-- you also note that it’s because the big things have been so all consuming.

who knew that turning to dust for five years would turn your life into such a shit show?

the five years hadn’t felt like five years to you at all. it felt like one day, you had been laying on your couch watching tv, and then five years later you were appearing in someone else’s apartment. all of your things, gone.

you will never forget their screams as they watched you materialize from nothing.

of course, you can’t blame them. and it wasn’t just this apartment. the screams and the chaos broke through the entire building. people busting from doors, crying and scrambling to use their cell phones, to see if this was really happening.

the couple that had moved into your apartment after you dusted had been kind, all things considered. the woman had held you and you could feel her crying and she kept saying do you have family? do you know their numbers?

finally, you couldn’t help yourself. you had asked, “what happened to me?”

“you’ve been gone for five years, honey.”

these sorts of revelations had ruled your life for the months since you came back.

like when you called your boyfriend only to find out that he was engaged.

like when you found out that you certainly didn’t have a job anymore.

like when you found out that you had no apartment, no savings, no anything. nothing left.

it has been over a year since the blip and you are still feeling the repercussions from it. you are still feeling the hurt of having your life upended, you are still feeling the hurt of missing a life that went on without you. it’s hard not to daydream about what could’ve been. what could’ve stayed the same.

then bucky looks at you, and you’re reminded that not all change is bad.

change is hard but you know that he kisses you and it makes your brain fuzzy, he lays you back on your mattress and he stays with you until the sun rises. change is hard but you introduce him as my boyfriend, james to every new person you meet and you watch as he smiles and pride lingers in his eyes and he carefully places his arm around your shoulders. change is hard but he doesn’t wear the gloves around you anymore.

change is hard, but bucky is better than any of it.

he’s been gone more than normal lately.

of course, you understand. and, really, you think it might be good for him. not the fighting-- while you understand the benefit it has for him, the purpose that it gives him, that’s not the thing that you believe serves him best. no, it is sam. it is sam’s family. it is knowing that there are other people out there in the world who are looking at him the same way that you look at him.

okay, maybe not exactly the same.

bucky had sent you a text from that stupid dinky flip phone that morning, saying that he would be home that night. the implications go unsaid.

you and the winter soldier have formed quite the routine-- he has a key to your apartment on his keyring (it’s a disney princess key. it’s the only spare that you had, and the laughter that erupted from you had made him relent in trying to barter for the cat printed key you have). he’s going to let himself in, probably around ten. you’ll already have the chinese takeout spread out on the table. you’ll spread your arms out and do little jazz hands towards the food and you’ll say, “ta-da.”

and you will watch as the tension in his shoulders starts to ease and he sets his duffel bag down in your entryway and he will cross the room to you. his arms will snake around your waist and his face will be buried into the crook of your neck. he will sigh and you will stroke his hair and you will say, “welcome home, buck.”

but now, it is nine. it is nine and you are curled up on your couch and kitty rests in your lap and you feel yourself growing antsy waiting for bucky to come home. she looks up at you and lets out that little trill as you scratch her head and you smile.

the smiling doesn’t last long.

the building that you and bucky live in is not swanky by any means. it was built in the 40s, with creaky floors and ugly carpeted hallways. the walls are thin and you can hear everything-- really, everything. and the shouting and commotion is certainly not typical.

you move to stand just as the door bursts--or explodes, you’re not sure which is the better word-- open. a scream leaves your lips and you hold onto your cat for dear life, scrambling back into your bedroom and clicking the door behind you. your limbs are shaking and you nearly trip over your dresser and your cat nearly claws your arm off.

you hear bucky before you see him.

“you really think i wasn’t gonna find out about this little stunt?” you’ve never heard his voice like this-- so low, so full of absolute rage. “you’re out of your fucking mind.”

the other person is stammering and though you don’t see the blow that bucky lands on their face, you do hear the aftermath. bucky is talking to someone and you finally set your cat down and you hear bucky on the other side of the door. “doll, it’s me.”

you open the door and look at him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. he looks just as shaken, but more than that-- he’s angry. his fists are clenched at his sides. “buck--” you lay a hand on your chest and you try to gain control of your breathing and you can see that he is doing the same. “what happened?”

bucky hesitates. you watch the gears turning in his head, and it makes your head tilt to the side. “bucky, i’m not kidding-- tell me.”

“we were on our way back and sam got a tip from torres that the flag smashers were--” he cringes even at the thought and he shakes his head. “they were going to try and--”

you watch as he struggles to say it, to really say it, and you touch his face. the touch seems to open him up. his hand takes your wrist and he rubs his thumb along the bone. “they wanted to take you as a hostage.”

a hostage.

bucky opens his mouth to say something else as you blink, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that someone wanted to take you as a hostage, but sam interrupts him. “sharon’s got the guy in cuffs downstairs,” he says in your doorway. when you look, you can see that a mess has been made of your living room-- and not the sort of mess that you create. no, it is a mess of destruction and chaos. “i’m gonna head out. call me if you need anything, i’m staying in town.”

bucky nods and you muster up your best smile to sam and then you look at bucky and you say quietly, “can we go to your apartment?”

he nods and you scoop up kitty and you pad down the hall beside him, still in your loungewear and fuzzy socks. you notice that he constantly keeps a hand on you. whether it’s his fingers tangling with yours or his arm around your shoulders or his palm pressed into the small of your back-- you know exactly what it is that he’s doing, and you lean into every touch, hoping that the contact whispers i’m here, i’m here, i’m here, and you are not losing me.

kitty drops to the floor and, surprisingly, it’s bucky that speaks before you do. “you’re gonna move in here. with me.” he stares at you firmly. “i’m gonna make sure that you’re safe. and the safest place you can be is with me.”

you open your mouth to reply but he continues. “i can’t--” you watch the gears in his head turning, the scenarios turning over and over and over again in his mind. “i can’t lose you.”

“buck…” you move over to him and you place your hands on his face. his eyes are fixed on the wall behind your head, and you watch as guilt overcomes him and you can practically hear him saying if i hadn’t been there in time… “bucky, you’re not going to.”

you feel his hands fist into the material of your t shirt and he holds you even closer. “i’ll move in with you,” you finally whisper against the stubble of his jaw. “and not just for safety. because i want to live with you.”

bucky pulls away and he looks at you with a wobbling lip and you shush him. “i’m okay,” you whisper and you lean your forehead on his. “i’m okay, and i’m here, and i’m staying.”

“okay.”

his hand caresses the back of your head and you touch the place where his heart is. you watch his shoulders rise and fall, you watch his eyes flutter shut and you see some of the tension finally seep out of his pores. he opens his eyes at you and he looks so tired.

“i sleep on the floor,” he blurts it as he pulls away slightly. for a moment, it looks like he regrets it, the way that he winces slightly. “i don’t like… i don’t like sleeping in the bed. it’s too… soft. i always slept in your bed when i stayed over because i didn’t want you to wake up and i wasn’t there.”

“bucky…” you lean into every single place that he touches. “i’ll sleep on the floor with you.”

an incredulous sort of laugh leaves bucky as he stares down at you. he shakes his head a bit. “i don’t want you to do that.”

“i don’t care,” you say with a steely resolve and confident defiance, jutting your chin up at him. “because i’m sleeping next to you. tonight, and every night after. i don’t care where. i’ll never care where.”

bucky’s exhale is shaky and broad arms encircle your waist entirely, drawing you in closer and closer. his face presses into your neck, the exact way that you had imagined him coming home to you hours earlier. you can feel his lips pressing into your skin, can feel the sheer need in it. “i don’t deserve you,” every movement of his lips against your neck is entirely felt, sending sparks through your limbs. “i don’t know what i did to get this lucky.”

“shh,” you rake your fingernails down his scalp and you can feel his fingers gripping you tighter. “if you say that stupid shit again, i’ll kill you. you deserve me.” you tap his chin and he fixes his gaze on you. “and i deserve you. we deserve each other. we deserve to be happy. together. and i’m tired of people thinking otherwise.”

bucky finally cracks a smile. “you’re very stubborn.”

“i thought you liked that about me.”

“i love that about you.” he takes a beat. “among other things.”

you bite down on your lip and finally lean up on your tiptoes. “i promise i’ll be a good roommate.”

“that’s bullshit,” he says and his hands find the curve of your waist once more, traveling to your hips. “i’m going to be cleaning up after you every damn day.”

“yeah, probably.” your hand goes to the back of his head. “it will feel safe. staying here.”

bucky’s nose trails up the side of your face. “good.” he presses his lips to your jaw. “i’m sorry about your apartment. that fucker would’ve been dead if you weren’t there.” he grows more serious again. “i would never let anyone get away with anything like that. i will never let it get that far again, doll. i swear to god.”

“bucky,” you breathe. “i know. it’s okay.” you take his hand and you pull a few blankets off his couch, toss down a few pillows. “let’s go to sleep.”

there’s a twinkle in his eye as he watches you shuffle around his apartment, putting together a makeshift bed on the floor. you fluff the pillows before setting them down and you give him a smile that tells him everything is going to be alright.

even though he says you moving in is about keeping you safe… he sleeps that night on the hardwood, holding you, and he feels safer too.

[clonecyare]

I Can Handle Myself

Summary: You were perfectly capable of handling yourself when it came to matters of your safety. But that would never stop Fox from doing his part.

Pairing: Commander Fox x senator!reader

Tags: assination attempts, protective fox, senator!reader, republic gala, canon typical violence/shenanigans, banter, secret relationship, kissing, suggestive ending,

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: The 2nd instalment of my outfit series. This one is based on this outfit submitted by @murdertoothpick for Fox. Each fic in the series can be read as stand-alone fics.

1st instalment: Playing a Dangerous Game - Captain Rex x medic/!reader

|| Masterlist || Tag list ||

----

“I am going to say this one more time, Commander. I do not need a babysitter for this Gala, I am more than capable of handling myself.” You said matter-of-factly as you walked through the halls of the senate, datapad in hand, tapping perhaps a little passive-aggressively on the screen.

Commander Fox chuckled under his bucket, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“With all due respect, Senator, you were the target of an assassination attempt 4 days ago.”

“And I survived. Nobody would be stupid enough to try a second attempt at Republic Gala, not with the Senate present.”

Fox chuckled and fell in step with you, bumping shoulders with you as you walked. “Maybe so, but it’s the wishes of the Chancellor that you have a member of the Guard escort you, while the rest patrol the Gala.”

You stopped outside the entryway to your office and put one hand on your hip, datapad and a stack of flimsi files clutched under one arm and pointing accusingly at Fox with the other from behind the death grip you had on your caf. “You’re enjoying this.”

You nodded politely to Hound who had been standing guard at your office, and he saluted with a polite, “Ma’am.” He took his leave as Fox took his place, leaning against the doorway with his head tilted as you punched in the keycode. The doors slid open, and he followed you inside, removing his bucket with a gentle hiss and holding it under his arm against his hip.

You couldn’t help but stare a little, just briefly. He was sporting a few soft grey hairs at the sides of his neatly trimmed hair. It made him appear just a slight bit older and more sophisticated, the neat locks of loose hair framing his handsome face.

“Perhaps a little. I do get quite the kick of you not getting your own way.”

His smug comment brought your attention back to the present and you muttered something in response with narrowed eyes. Dropping the stack of files and the datapad on your desk, you hopped up to sit on the edge and crossed one knee over the other. The lightweight fabric of your skirt sported a high slit, exposing the skin of your legs and upper thigh.

You sighed, resigned to your fate and leaned back on one palm, swirling the steaming caf in your paper takeaway cup.

“Who will be my knight in shining red armour, then?”

You asked as you blew on the hot caf and took a sip.

Fox, whose eyes has been previously occupied following the slit of your skirt up to your thigh, snapped out of his daydream and plastered a handsome smirk on his face.

“Oh, that would be me. I’ll pick you up at 7 sharp, mesh’la.”

“Wha-” You did a rather ungracious spit take withyour coffee, as the Commander slid his helmet back on and moved through your office doors with one final look back at you.

“Oh, and don’t be late.”

----

Leaning into the mirror you carefully applied the deep crimson red lipstick, treating the task with the utmost delicacy, lest you waste your look entirely. You stepped back once you were through and took a moment to admire your handiwork.

Dressed head to toe in deep, rich red tones and soft fabrics, you felt you had outdone yourself this time. If you were to be on your Commander’s arm all evening, the least you could do was make an effort, right?

You smirked softly, tilting your head in the mirror. Yeah, this would show him.

You had decided to go for an elegant gown for this evening, floor-length and a deep wine red in colour. The upper portion was a bodice lined with velvet and fitted to your body, with sleek black linear detailing down the front. Around the upper edge and over the shape of your chest was lined with intricate gold detailing.

In the centre of your chest, just under the hollow of your throat, sat a delicate golden brooch, which held from each side 2 long strips of the same wine-red material from your dress, draped prettily back over your shoulders, accentuating your chest and neck.

You had chosen several simple gold jewellery items, and tied your hair up into an intricate bun, completing your look and signature red lip. You were just touching up the corners of your lipstick when there was a firm knock at your door.

You headed for the door, opening it with a smile.

“Good evening, Commander.”

You smiled, voice sweet like honey. Your Commander, to your delight, was stood frozen in the doorway looking at you. In one hand he held the cap of his dress greys and in the other, a bouquet of Queen’s Heart flowers.

“Fox?”

You smiled softly and reach a hand out to touch his forearm. The gentle touch broke him from his stare and he quickly cleared his throat, offering you the bouquet with a bow. “For you.”

You smiled and took them with a courtesy, “they’re beautiful, come in, let me find a spot for them.” You stepped aside to let him in, finding the perfect spot for the flowers on your table.

When you turned back, Fox was watching you again, though this time he was smiling handsomely. You smiled back, “well, how do I look?”

“Mesh’la. Truly mesh’la.” He smiled as he offered his arm. Your cheeks flamed a pretty pink, bringing a satisfied smirk to the Commander’s face as you slid your arm through his own.

You locked up the apartment and made your way strangely quiet Senate District. The air was crisp against your skin, cooling the warmth you felt where you were brushing arms with the soldier lightly.

“You know, you clean up pretty well outside of all that plastoid.”

You smiled playfully, looking up at him. He smiled back, chuckling and shaking his head lightly, hair bouncing lightly in the gentle breeze. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm. I would go so far as to say a 10/10.”

Fox groaned deeply in his chest, head hanging sightly. You swore it was to hide his smile.

“I hate you.”

You smiled fondly and pressed into his side, free hand resting on his arm that was holding yours.

“No, you don’t.”

----

Perhaps you may have been wrong about the Gala. Fox had his reputation for being a little… prickly, at the best of times. But, as the over the top affairs go, the Commander had proven himself quite the charmer.

He has stayed dutifully by your side most of the evening, So, having a bodyguard was, as it turned out, a blessing in disguise - though you would never admit as much to anyone else. Far fewer senatorial aides tried to approach you upon spotting the head of the Coruscant Guard on your arm. Even several of the more conservative senators passed you by upon receiving his death glare.

At one point, towards the end of the evening, you had even managed to convince the stoic Commander to join you on the ballroom floor to dance. Well, sway, would be more accurate. The two of you moved around the room in a gentle sway, you humming softly along to the tune while Fox rested his cheek atop your head.

You raised your glass of Algarine wine to your lips in an almost mini toast, “Well Commander, it seems we had noth-”

Your words died in your throat as the glass suddenly shattered in your hand. The blaster bolt that has cause it clipped your right cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A roar of commotion suddenly filled the room, with several masked individuals pushing through the crowd. Most of the shots were trained on you, but you now noticed a group of them firing off into the guests as a distraction.

“Get down. Now!”

Fox barked, crowding you to the floor. Thire and Thorn were already pushing through the crowds, firing at 2 of the intruders and calling in backup.

“Commander!”

Hound threw Fox’s blasters towards him and took off after one of the assailants, Stone calling for backup. The leader of the group was faster, though, taking another shot that you managed to dodge as Fox tackled him, throwing himself between you and the hitman, and knocking his blaster from his hands. The pair wrestled for the single DC-17 that had fallen between them, each landing several punches.

In the end, the hitman got the upper hand. Blood rushed to your ears, cancelling out the commotion behind you. As soon as he pulled the pistol on the Commander, you were behind him, panting heavily, pistol to the back of his head.

“Drop it. Now. I promise I’m faster.”

Fox looked at you with wide eyes, before the dropped to your exposed thigh and the small holster secured around your upper thigh, soft brown irises slowly darkening. Discreet, made for a small pistol like an ELG-3A.

The man dropped the blaster and Fox grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, binding his wrists and looking over his shoulder at you with a chuckle as he pushed the man towards one of the Corries that had arrived.

The room was emptying now, only a few shaken aides left milling around, and few vod who were cleaning up and securing the room. Fox lifted a hand to brush a few hairs back behind your ear, and you smiled.

“I told you I could handle myself.”

Fox laughed, holding your cheek as his calloused thumb swiped over your cheek, wiping away the trail of blood. “Yes, you most certainly did, cyar’ika.”

You turned your cheek into his palm and pressed a light kiss, looking up at him.

Fox took one precursory look around the ballroom and bent down, kissing you hard. It wasn’t soft or sweet like you knew they could be. It wasn’t careful and quick, like so many of your kisses had to be in order to remain a secret.

It was rushed, and desperate. You could practically feel the adrenalin rolling off him in waves. It was an oddly comforting feeling, one you had grown to know only too well. The kind Fox radiated after gruelling sessions guarding the Senate. Or after the occasional run-in with the cesspool of Coruscant’s underworld.

But it was most notable in these moments. When you had found a way to put yourself in the firing line again. When he couldn’t let his mask slip, when he couldn’t treat you as more than a senator under his protection. When all he could do was his job.

It was these moments afterwards that he needed you the most, that you needed him. It was in these moments, you knew exactly what you both needed.

You broke away, eyes never leaving his own as you took his arm.

“Take me home, Fox.”

----

Tag list:

@captainrexsfuturewife

[madswonders]

A Lesson In Romance #11: Actions

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: A little ✨spice✨ and a little ✨action✨

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, gun violence, mild (???) dirty talk

Word Count: 2.3k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they pretend to be married.

A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to the Classy Restaurant Music playlist on Spotify for capturing the fancy restaurant vibes I needed hahahah

Masterlist | All chapters here!

---------

"You know, this is not how I imagined coming back here." You said quietly. Next to you, Spencer smiled.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the warm light, a stark contrast to the blue winter evening outside. This was your second time here, technically, but the sensation of his hand on your waist and the cool metal on your left hand made it all feel brand new.

"Table for Mr. and Mrs. Reid." He said to the hostess, calmer than you'd ever seen him before. You didn't miss the way he tugged you closer when he said "Mrs." and despite the truth of the matter, giddy smiles tugged on both your lips.

But it was the hostess' reaction that gave it away for you. When she glanced at your intertwined hands and matching rings with a soft smile, you began to realise why the two of you were chosen for this in the first place. The effect you had on each other was hypnotising.

Sending you and Spencer undercover as newlyweds was probably the easiest decision Hotch has ever had to make. His reasoning came from basic human psychology; people are drawn to extreme events, and while this generally applied to accidents and tragedy, it also applied to marriage and child birth.

In this case, few things would stand out more in a crowded restaurant than a pair of shiny new wedding rings, a large bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of champagne for two. And to top it all off, he had the two of you. Everything else came secondary.

Still, it was strange. Being isolated from the operation only made you more in awe of your team. Even under the duress of three hours, they operated like clockwork; devising a comprehensive undercover mission, building a profile for an unsub they didn't even know, and training an entire restaurant's staff in a handful of hours.

By the time the final pieces fell into place, all that was left was for you and Spencer to carry out the final stage of the plan.

Maybe it was the pressure of having the entire team rest on your shoulders, or this new "character" you had to play, but something felt different tonight. It was like electricity crackled in the air; you felt it when his hand lingered on your back, low enough that you felt a growing warmth in your belly, making you yearn for his touch long after he let go.

Maybe it was the stress from going undercover for the first time that made you trail your gaze down his suited figure, muscled and lean as a side effect of this job. Maybe that's why the image of him standing at the foot of your bed in this very suit couldn't leave your mind, until the physical action of squirming in your seat jolted you out of your own imagination.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Spencer locked eyes with you, his hazel eyes dark under the dim restaurant lighting.

"Just thinking about you." You admitted, placing your hand across the table. He took your hand in his instantly, his thumb tentatively resting on the jewel on your ring finger.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Nothing but good things."

"Well, perhaps I can add to that. You look beautiful." He pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his eyes crinkling playfully when your cheeks turned pink in response.

"How do I know you're not just saying that for our audience?" You whispered, eyes darting to his tie where the mic was hidden.

"If it weren't for our audience, I'd be saying a lot more, love." He replied lowly, and you bit back a thought you didn't want any of your colleagues to hear. You could already imagine them cringing as they listened in on your conversation, and the image made you giggle.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Dr. Spencer Reid?" You accused jokingly.

"When love is not madness, it is not love." He answered simply.

You thought for a moment, before the reference clicked in your head. "Pedro Calderon de la Barca. Interesting choice. You weren't lying about your education in classic literature, doctor." You looked impressed.

"I'm hurt that you even doubted it." He mocked insult, and you grinned.

"No, I'm just surprised."

"Wait until you see my actual surprise." He smiled, gesturing behind you as a waiter appeared carrying two plates in your direction.

"I took the liberty of ordering our food in advance." He explained. When you looked at him in surprise, he simply shrugged. “I figured I should expand my theory beyond breakfast.”

"And here I thought tonight couldn't get anymore exciting." You said, marvelling at the appetisers as they were placed in front of you two.

“You can reserve your compliments for when I guess everything correct, and I will.” He mock bowed.

“You're on." You giggled. "Now, can we finally have some of this champagne?"

Dinner went by smoother than you thought it would, and thankfully for your team listening in, your conversations steered away from thinly veiled flirting to classic films as the food appeared.

Not that it was any easier for you talk about Billy Wilder and Francis Ford Coppola with what was happening in front of you. Spencer had taken to playing with the ring on your finger while you talked, and each time his long fingers brushed against yours, it sent chills down your spine.

But it was when his leg brushed against yours underneath the clothed table that you felt yourself lose grip of your facade. The first time it happened, you even thought it might be a mistake. But after the second and third time, it was clear that Spencer knew exactly what he was doing, even if the innocent expression on his face didn't betray anything.

If you didn't know him better, you would even think that he liked it, teasing you underneath the restaurant table on case, where you couldn't act on it. Instead, you pushed away the thought and allowed your skin to prick with every touch; all the while you sipped on your champagne, taking the chance to observe the patrons around you through the rim of your glass.

Unfortunately, your luck was a little worse in the unsub department, and your concern only continued to grow as your entrées made way for dessert.

Before you entered the restaurant, the team had discussed the best-case-scenario for tonight — identifying and apprehending the unsub quietly before the dinner shift was up. But if you ran out of time, there was always one back-up plan, something that would definitely force the unsub's hand.

The good thing about having two unsubs now was that victimology became incredibly simple to decipher. What you and Spencer had considered inconsistencies at first, were now clear patterns distinguishing each one.

The first one was impulsive but experienced, driven purely by a compulsion to complete his pattern as fast as possible. Despite that, he had the sense to stick to high-risk victims and secluded locations, which made him so hard to catch in the first place.

It was the second unsub that was interesting. He seemed more controlled and calculating, choosing low-risk victims and public locations. The team profiled him as the narcissistic component of the original profile. The more high profile the victims, the more they attracted him.

And now that you’d spent the entire night drawing attention to yourselves, all you had to do was present an easy opportunity for the unsub to pounce — right into the BAU’s trap.

The moment Spencer beckoned you to come closer, you knew something was up. "Listen carefully, love. I'm going to call for the bill, and we're going to go outside. If I'm right about my guess, the unsub is going to be right behind us. Do you understand me?" He whispered into your ear, low and calm.

You made an obvious move to cup his cheek as you leaned back. "Can we go home now, baby?" You cooed. Yeah, you got him.

As you walked out of the restaurant, you intentionally stumbled as you clung onto his arm, letting out a loud giggle. Your gaze fixed adoringly on your date, even as Emily and Hotch called for their bill on your left, Derek and Rossi no doubt already rounding to the front of the restaurant from the back exit.

"Trust me." Spencer murmured as he opened the door for you, and when you nodded, he pulled you into one final kiss for the public. What you didn't expect was for him to move his hand down and squeeze your ass, causing you to let out a loud squeak at the doorway.

If anybody was looking at the two of you before, they were certainly staring now, and the doctor confirmed this with a low whisper. "He's coming."

When he finally caged you against his car, you had to remember not to go overboard for your listening colleagues, but you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan into his mouth as he pushed his leg lightly against your core.

"Sp— Spencer—" You breathed, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"Just hold on a little bit more, love." He muttered, cupping your cheeks with his large hands and stroking your hair. "Just a bit mor—"

You heard the sound of a gun cocking next to you as you broke apart, lightly gasping. A middle-aged man stood in the shadows, waving his gun aggressively. Bingo.

"Get into the car."

The two of you raised your arms warily. "Who are you?" Spencer shouted, moving to shield you from the unsub.

"I said, get into the car!" He yelled. "Starting with you."

"Okay, okay." The doctor conceded, unlocking the car and slowly getting in the backseat. He left some room for you to get in next, but the unsub trained his gun on you.

"Not you, sweetheart. I'm going to finish you right here." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Drop your bag on the ground."

Everything seemed to fall silent as you slowly lowered your bag, and your hidden gun, to the ground. When you stood back up with your hands in the air, the unsub slammed you into the side of the car and you groaned at the sudden impact.

You didn't need to gather your senses to know that his gun was pointed right at you.

"Leave her alone, James." Spencer threatened, already out of the car and levelling his gun at the unsub. All around you, the team moved into the light.

"FBI! James Luther — put the gun down." Hotch ordered.

The unsub looked shocked for a moment as he looked around, finally realising the situation he was in. His expression was unusually calm, and it chilled you to the bone.

"Very, very interesting. Are you a fed too?" He sneered down at you.

"It's over, James. Either you put the gun down, or you don't walk out of here alive." Spencer warned, but the unsub only laughed.

"I should have known that it was too good to be true. It's not often I get such a perfect couple, much less one with a wife this pretty." He drawled, waving the gun in your face.

"Spencer. I'm okay." You ordered through gritted teeth, already knowing what the genius was about to do.

"Look at her, so brave. Are the two of you even married? Or is everything about this fake?"

"I won't say this a second time. Put the gun down." Spencer repeated, cocking his gun straight at the unsub's head.

"T-think about this, James." You reasoned. "If you kill me, they'll kill you, and you won't be able to hear what the press will say about your murders after we expose you. Isn't that what you want? Don't you want to stop living in somebody else's shadow?"

The unsub's grip on his gun slackened. "They're not going to run a story on me. Why would they unless I keep killing?"

"They will if you give us the names and descriptions of all your victims, and we will make sure your face is front and centre for every single one." Spencer added. The unsub looked into both your eyes, seemingly searching for a hint of a lie, but there was none.

"Fine. Looks like the lady lives, this time." He gave up, dropping his gun to the floor and putting both hands on his head.

"James Luther, you are under arrest for the murders of Lucy Patt..." Derek recited his rights while dragging him away. You braced yourself against the car, catching your breath.

"Are you okay?" Spencer rushed over, sweeping you into a hug before you could even reply. You buried your face into his shoulder, tears welling up in your eyes involuntarily as you inhaled the familiar scent of paperbacks and coffee.

"I-I'm okay, baby. I'm okay." You mumbled, not sure if you were reassuring your boyfriend or yourself in that moment.

"It's okay, just let it out. You're safe now. I'm here. You're safe." He repeated, stroking your back as he kissed the top of your head again and again and again until you lost count.

You'd never been so relieved to arrive back at the BAU. Penelope was the first to give the two of you a big hug when you returned, fussing over the small cut on your face and the bruises on your arms, while you reassured her that you'd been cleared by the medics to go home.

"Good work today, both of you." Hotch called out from behind, shooting a small smile at you and Spencer. "Reid, take her home, and take a day off tomorrow. The two of you deserve it."

"You wouldn't be able to drag me into work tomorrow if you tried." You joked, and Spencer chuckled. For the first time, he wasn't about to argue with an order to take a break.

Nor was he about to argue when you asked him to come in to your apartment, or when you asked him to stay the night.

The only thing he wanted after tonight, was you.

---------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @mellowalieneggsknight @kenny-0909 || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

[dabiboy]

Ok, so I tried to keep this one as canon as possible, so I hope it turned out good and you guys like it!

Tiny Thing [Dad!Dabi]

Your relationship was not even a relationship. The two of you were together, yet there were days in which Dabi went missing for weeks, and you had no idea if he was coming back alive. And didn't change when the happy not so happy little accident happened. He let you make the choice, keep it or... Just finish with all of it. After days and days of thinking, you have decided that you were going to keep the baby, and of course, you gave him the liberties, either if he wanted to stay or just go away, at the end of the day a kid was not a game, neither something simple or temporary. It was a surprise when he said that he was going to be there, not all the time, but he was going to try. It was not only his past that haunted him, but also the fact that he was a villain. How were you going to explain your hero friends? family? How could he tell the LoV that now he had a kid? The two of you just couldn't, and that creature was your best secret.

Everything was set for that Friday morning, your best friend was going to babysit Kaji as you were out for half of the day, but things are not always how you expect them to be.

''I'm coming!'' You said, letting the ten-month-old infant on his crib as you went to open the door. 

''Hey there'' Your jaw dropped when you saw the black-haired man standing in front of you.

''Dabi? What are you doing here'' Your voice was full of surprises, but you quickly pulled him in so no one could see him. 

''Told Chapstick he could fuck off today'' He smirked, sliding his hands on each side of your hips as he kissed your jaw.

''As much as I would like to do this, and ask you where have you been, I can't. I'm already late and-'' He interrupted you when it hit him.

''The thing. How is it?'' Dabi asked, moving away from you so he could see you.

''The thing has a name, Kaji. And it is your kid'' You raised an eyebrow.

''My thing'' He replied back, making you roll your eyes. 

''He's fine'' you punched his chest softly ''Ema is coming today to take care of him.''

''Who the fuck is Ema'' he asked furrowing his eyebrows ''Where are you going?'' Dabi asked again. 

''My best friend, and I got a call from the job. They need me there until two pm, so she will be here in a few minutes.''

''I can take care of him'' He stated simply raising his shoulders, and you opened your eyes in surprise. 

''You what'' 

''I can take care of him today, is my son after all.'' he said again ''I'm not gonna burn him alive as my father did with me, so don't worry princess''

You hit him on his shoulder again, making him laugh at his dark joke. And you thought for a second, was it a good idea? You trusted him, but not the people that were after him. What if the League finds out? What if some hero arrived at your door and saw him with a kid, without knowing he was indeed his father? Those questions were screaming inside your head, but you decided to give it a try. It was the first time in three months he was back, and... You wanted Kaji to spend time with him.

''Ok, fine. But call me if you notice things start getting messy, or if you suspect something, got it?'' You said with concern, the baby boy was your life. And certainly, your love for Dabi remained the same even though things were informal between the two of you.

''Messy as in he threw up on me, or messy as in there's a bunch of villains coming over?'' 

''You know which one'' you said and started moving quickly, grabbing your bag. ''Listen, gotta go now or else I'll lose my job. He's sleeping in his crib, the toys are all over the place, if he doesn't stop crying you'll have to pick him up, his favorite toy is the one that looks like you, he has to eat at one pm, then take a nap. But I should be back soon, I'll call you''

For more than you wanted to stay more time with the two of them, you couldn't. Your incomes were the only thing that allowed you to live in the apartment, and of course to give Kaji what he needed. You left a soft kiss on Dabi's lips before going back to the baby's room and press a kiss on his forehead. You were going to call Ema on your way to the job to tell her there was someone else taking care of the baby. 

Dabi just stood there, and look at the number of colorful toys scattered on the floor, why had he said that he was going to take care of the baby? He had no idea what to do, but a part of him wanted to spend time with Kaji, his son.

He walked slowly towards his bedroom, and saw at the crib with some kind of panic, confusion, and maybe a little sadness because he had lost enough of his life already. The boy sleeping in the crib was just like him, the same facial features, and he was thankful he had your hair color and not his, not another reminder of his past. It was still hard to believe that he had a son, that tiny innocent creature had no idea of the father he had, but he was trying, trying hard not to be so shitty. Dabi rested his forearms on the cribs, looking at him.

''Fuck you're cute, you little accident'' He said to himself, trying not to wake him up. ''So you're just gonna sleep there until you find something better to do, huh? Fine then''

Dabi started walking around the room, looking at the plushies, interactive toys, everything. Was his childhood like that? He had some good memories, but the bad ones were more. And looking at the little thing sleeping on the crib, he couldn't even imagine putting him through the same hell he went. He was a bastard, but not a psycho. Nor a selfish hero.

He had no idea how many minutes he spent looking at the toys in the room, until he heard a babbling. Dabi turned around, and there he was. Awake, showing off his turquoise eyes. The same eyes he had. There was no doubt he was his son. Once more his forearms were on the edge of the crib.

''Hope you remember me, you came out of my pants anyway'' He raised an eyebrow. The infant moved his tiny hands, and also his legs. But right after a few seconds, he pouted his lips and started crying as if there were no tomorrow ''Shit, don't cry. C'mon you thing'' Dabi almost pleaded, and he grabbed the first toy he saw, moving it in front of him ''Look at the toy, c'mon''

But the cries didn't stop, on the contrary, they just kept increasing. Was he hungry? did he miss you? maybe he wanted to go back to sleep, and Dabi had no idea what the hell to do until your voice echoed in his head ''Pick him up'' and then he cursed to himself. He was smart, so it didn't take him too much time to know how to lift him, however, he was scared he might hurt him.

''Is this what you wanted?'' He asked when the baby's cry was slowly fading. Kaji looked at Dabi, right in his eyes and it felt like looking at a mirror. He was thinking about everything he has done, all the crimes he had committed until now, how could he be holding a bundle of innocense in his arms? It was as if Kaji heard his thoughts, because he started crying again, louder than before. Dabi hissed and started walking around the apartment, trying to calm him down. ''I know I have an ugly ass face, but you'll get used to it, your mom did so you can too''

Dabi looked around the toys in the living room, looking for the one you said looked like him. Was it a blue one? Or maybe one that was ripped or something. But right in the corner was a pirate teddy bear, his ears and nose full of rings, more like piercings. He scoffed and picked it up, it doesn't look like me, he thought. He moved the plushie, trying to call Kaji's attention with it.

He sat on the floor, letting the kid there too, trying to ease his crying while moving his favorite toy in front of him. But it wasn't working either. And Dabi was frustrated.

''For fuck sake.'' He cursed, using his hand to cover his face, a few gleams of tiny blue flames leaving his hand. And the crying stopped. ''Did you like that?'' Dabi asked, moving a little bit away from him so he could do it again, and when he did, Kanji laughed with puffy eyes. ''You little bastard'' Dabi smirked, repeating his actions and the boy clapped in happiness.

It looked as if the blue fire caught his attention, since it was the only thing Kaji was looking at, not even his toys. Dabi kept using his fingers to light up little but multiple blue sparkles. ''Ok, I need to stop this or else I'll burn the entire apartment down, and we don't want that, do we?'' In a gesture that surprised himself, Dabi left a soft pat on Kaji's head.

The two blue-eyed boys stood there, sitting on the floor. Dabi didn't even notice his own expression, a tiny smile on his face as he saw every little action the kid did, how he crawled around the living room, or how he chewed some toys. But at some points, the toys were boring again, because he started to climbs Dabi's thigh, a way of asking for his attention. Dabi picked him up again, holding him right in front of his face.

''What is it no-'' Dabi hissed. And he hissed in pain because the baby grabbed his chin, pulling at the skin, and by doing so also the staples ''You little fucke-'' He interrupted himself again, as he tried to pull his hand away, and when he did the kid giggled ''There are better things than my dirty staples'' He lifted him on the air, making Kaji laugh again. ''Yeah, you're cute''

Dabi was smiling again, repeating the action of lifting his arms with Kaji on his hands. It was a weird feeling, was it unfair? The baby had no idea what his father did, the things he had done. His smile was slowly fading, the little boy's eyes were pure, shiny and innocent, how could he clap at that man's face? Dabi was feeling guilty, he wasn't worthy of that cute little thing.

''Listen,'' He sat him on his lap, flexing his knees so Kaji could lay his back there. ''I'm a shitty father, but... Damn, I am a shitty father,'' He scoffed at the affirmation ''I'm trying, okay? I know I'm fucked up but I'll try not to be shit with you'' He pocked at his chubby cheek with his index finger.

Hours went by, playing and talking at him as if Kaji could understand every word, even the bad ones. The clock on the wall stroke 1pm, and being functional he stood up holding the boy in his arms, walking to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he found a tiny dinosaur bowl, the content? A disgusting green color, probably many vegetables crushed in order to make that kind of... Soup. Dabi looked at it with a disgusted expression, but he had no idea how to cook for a kid so Kaji would have to it anyway.

The black-haired man took the bowl and the kid back to the living room, sitting him on his tiny chair. He heated the food with his hand, and took the spoon to try to make him eat. Kaji seemed to enjoy it, until he slapped a full spoon against him, staining Dabi's cheek. He cursed and his face had a deadpan expression As if my face wasn't fucked up enough already he cursed under his breath and took a napkin so he could clean up himself. The rest of the lunch went smooth, and once the bowl was empty he left in on the table.

Dabi remembered your words, Kaji had to take a nap after his lunch. Big failure. Twenty minutes, thirty five, an hour, and the baby was still awake. To his eyes, his father was funnier than a nap. But then he thought you should have been home by now, but that changed when you called him. A trip to another city, you said. And a part of him was happy, and the other was worried. Was he going to be able to take care of him the rest of the day? Maybe. He took a deep breath and kept with his task for the day.

They went back to the floor, the kid sitting between his legs as he kept playing distractedly with his toys. There were moments when Dabi lift him up, and made him set his little feet over his, and trying to make him walk, but Kaji was having the time of his life rather than learning how to walk. Dabi took some pictures of him, even he got a selfie. And there was no way he was going to let Toga near his phone again, they couldn't found out about Kaji. No way.

When night arrived and after his dinner, Dabi tried to make him sleep on his crib, but then a thought haunted him. What if something happened? What if someone entered through the window and take Kaji away while he was sleeping? He couldn't do that. So he picked him up again and went back to your room. Dabi opened the bed and set the kid in the middle of it. He got rid of his boots so he could lay by his side, and resting his weight on the side of his body he laid a hand on Kaji's tiny belly, preventing him from falling.

''I meant what I said earlier, tiny thing'' He whispered ''I'll try not to be a shitty dad. Just give me some time and I’ll figure this shit out’’ '' He closed his eyes.

Taking care of a baby was tiering, and eventually, Dabi could feel his eyelids heavier and heavier. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep next to him, not moving an inch away from Kaji. He didn't want that.

You arrived home at two am, and you were quite scared because Dabi was not answering your calls, and when you got home all the lights were off. The door of your room was open, and you slowly walked in. And the sight made your heart clench. Dabi was asleep, and Kaji was peacefully sleeping by his side, his tiny hands over Dabi's hand, somehow holding his fingers. When you took a step in, Dabi woke up and move away from Kaji a bit.

''I was... I was making sure this thing was breathing'' He said, raspy voice and tired eyes. You laughed softly at his embarrassment  ''How was the trip?'' he asked in a whisper. 

''It was fine, longer than I expected tho'' You laid on the other side of the bed, kissing Kaji's forehead and caressing his head. ''Was it hard?'' You asked him.

''I think this creature loves me more than you do'' Dabi teased and tried to sit on the bed, but the baby whined a bit. 

''I think you're right. He doesn't want you to leave'' You looked at him ''And honestly, I don't want you to leave either, Dabi'' He scoffed.

''I guess I can make an exception for the two of you today'' He laid on his side again, and Kaji curled up next to his side. ''And you owe me my payment, dollface'' Dabi said, laying a hand on Kaji's back. Your heart melted again.

''And what is it?'' You asked in amusement.

''Your shitty kisses, because I haven't got one since I fucking got here'' He smirked, closing his eyes one more time.

You didn't know in what stage your relationship was but at that moment? It didn't care. You were there, with the two men you loved the most by your side, and even if it was one night in a hundred, it was a night you were going to keep in your heart and soul forever.

............................................

Tag list [open]: @angelofdarkness1020 @totallytouya @pemichh @hecatve

[dotthings]

Let’s talk about why Dean dancing with a lamp is subtext, but it’s subtext that supports textual arcs. Dean dancing with a lamp is not random. Meta on why Dean dancing with a lamp is part of the build of a textual arc for Dean, thematically, which also connects to his relationship with Cas. This symbolic moment being tacitly about Destiel will only feel like reaching if you ignore context, ignore canon, ignore long arcing, ignore textual material surrounding it. This isn’t just me talking about a ship, this is an important arc for Dean himself emotionally and the way canon’s working, Cas has become the star player in this specific emotional Dean arc about yearning. 

Here are some canon quotes. I could just leave these here and not write another word of meta because the canon wrote it for me. But I’ve added some further commentary to spell out clearly what I’m getting at.

Dean in 8.14 “Trial and Error” by Andrew Dabb:

“You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know – it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get.”

Dean in 10.16 “Paint it Black” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:

“You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I’d go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it....Now, um… recent events, uh… make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don’t know. I mean, you know, there’s – there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.”

Sam and Dean in 11.04 “Baby” by Robbie Thompson:

SAM: Really? You don't . . . Ever want something more? DEAN: I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM: You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?

Sam and Dean in 13.23 “Let the Good Times Roll” by Andrew Dabb:

DEAN: But on a beach somewhere, you know? Can you imagine? You, me, Cas, toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously. Some hula girls. SAM: You talking about retiring? You? DEAN: If I knew the world was safe? Hell, yeah. And you know why? 'Cause we freaking earned it, man.

Sam and Dean in 15.08 “Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:

DEAN: Look, man, I didn't want to say anything, okay, 'cause I was kind of in in a bad place, and, uh, yeah, I didn't want to jinx it or whatever, but, you know, I tried the family thing, right? SAM: Yeah, me too. And that's not for us. DEAN: No, not really. But I'm just saying if it was to work, Eileen, you know, she gets it. She gets us. She gets the life. She's hot. SAM: Dean. I mean, I'm not even- DEAN: Look, all I'm saying is you- you could do worse, okay? And she could certainly do better. Like, so much better. I'm happy for you, Sammy.

Dean and Garth in 15.10 “The  Heroes’ Journey” written by Andrew Dabb:

DEAN: You know, I gotta say, aside from pincushion in there… this is pretty nice. GARTH: Yeah, better than I ever thought I'd get. I mean, hunting -- I figured I'd be dead before I'm 40. You know, go out young and pretty. But now I've got a great wife, great kids. I guess...sometimes things work out.

Dean in 15.10 “The Heroes’ Journey” by Andrew Dabb:

Dean, wistful, watching through the window as Garth and Bess dance: You know, I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be.

Ok, let those roll around in your brain for moment. 

Now: CONTEXT. CONTEXT. CONTEXT.

There’s this long running arc about maybe Sam and Dean could each find a significant other, not white picket fence, but...something, with someone already in the life, who gets their life. There’s Dean’s move from despairing and believing the only ending he could have, the only ending any hunter could have, is dying with a gun in hand, to Dean’s enthusiasm for the concept of retirement, Dean’s wistfulness about finding a significant other, for what he thinks he can’t have, and he starts the cycle all over again, if he can’t have it, then he wants Sam to have it, so Dean encourages Sam with Eileen. Saileen, the Dean-blessed, Dean-approved Sam ship. Dean ships it. And that is how the canon is trending, complete with Sam and Eileen kissing goodbye and saying “this is real” and even God himself saying their feelings were real, “that was all you,” even if God manipulated events around them. Which is an overt mirror to Dean and Cas and Dean’s expressly stated doubts about what’s real and what isn’t, and Cas telling Dean “we are.” 

Much the way Sam has been witness to Destiel, and has often pointed out Dean’s Cas feelings. Dean’s got a front row seat to Saileen and approves; Sam’s had a front row seat to Destiel and approves. 

Let’s throw in Robert Berens’ work in The Trap here, since that’s relevant to this specific topic as well, because why did Sam and Dean in the potential future timeline where they’d killed Chuck give up and cave in to their vampire instincts? The world being overwhelmed with monsters...and losing Eileen and losing Cas. It’s right there in the dialogue. I’ll give you the quote and everything:

Sam and Dean in 15.09 “The Trap” by Robert Berens:

SAM: You want to quit? What's happened to you, Dean? Ever since -- DEAN: Ever since what? We lost pretty much everyone we've ever cared about? Ever since the Mark made Cas go crazy? Ever since I had to bury him in a Ma'lak box? Ever since then? Yeah. You know why? 'Cause the monsters -- they're everywhere. Everywhere! What we do -- it's not even Hunting anymore. It's whack-a-mole. We don't even save people. Every friend we've ever had is either dead, or they got wise and they packed it in. SAM: Jody's still fighting, and Bobby -- DEAN: Bobby has a death wish, and you know it. And Jody -- ever since what happened to Donna and the girls, she does, too. And after Eileen... so do you.

“Ever since” Dean had to bury Cas in a Ma’lak box. “After Eileen...so do you.” 

So there’s this canonical long, long thread across multiple authors (and those weren’t even all the quotes, I’m sure people could dig up more) about Dean in particular yearning towards finding a significant other, some contentment, with someone who already is in the hunting life, who gets it, who understands.  

An episode that flat out shows how losing their significant others is the final straw that rips out Sam and Dean’s last will to fight, and they lose themselves, and after they’re turned into vampires, they just...give into the darkness. Where Sam gives up their shot at destroying the big bad because losing everyone they love is too high a cost. Where losing Cas makes Dean lose hope, where losing Eileen sends Sam into a death wish mindset. Sam and Dean don’t just need each other. That’s not canon, it never has been.

And then right after that, along comes meta episode The Heroes’ Journey. Sorry if you don’t like The Heroes’ Journey, but it’s what the canon did, it’s textual, along with everything else I’ve pointed out here, and in among the crackish humor are some real emotional narrative points. 

In The Heroes’ Journey, Dean gets to see Garth’s life. Garth found his significant other, Bess, and she’s another werewolf. Now, Garth’s life resembles the traditional white picket fence idea a lot more than what Team Free Will are headed for. Garth has a big house with a porch, and he’s a dentist. He’s also a werewolf and his wife is a werewolf and his kids are werewolves because Bess is a pureblood werewolf, Garth didn’t exactly leave the life, and he helps Sam and Dean on a case. But nothing’s been indicating to me that anyone in Team Free Will is headed for that kind of settling down, with a house, becoming a dentist. However, the canon has been practically shouting now, as we near final episodes of SPN, to make the point about a desirable outcome--some kind of stability, contentment, and a significant other. Dean gets a front row seat to seeing a hunter can have that. Garth’s a hunter who turned into a werewolf and he can have that. 

When EP’s talk about how they aren’t headed for a white picket fence or driving off into the sunset or settling down, none of that rules out them finding...something...with someone, and some form of stability and contentment.  Nope, I can’t really imagine them in the suburbs becoming dentists. But canon sure is putting up big neon arrows to...something. Think outside the box. This isn’t about the white picket fence. 

And in The Heroes’ Journey, Dean, conked out on the good gas so Garth can fix his teeth, has a trippy dream where he dances with a lamp.

Rewatch the ep. Look at how the dance is choreographed not just the use of light, because that’s a clue too. The whole dance could have been Dean and Garth being dancing bros, but Garth fades off the stage, and Dean dances alone...until he grabs the standing lamp. In a season where Dean and Cas’s relationship is an A-plot, define it how you like, it’s A-plot. Their breakup and their reconciliation, which played like a marital breakup and reconciliation, are tied to major mytharc beats. In a season where a long-running textual theme about Dean’s developing hope for retirement and his wistfulness about “things...people...feelings...” is getting further play. Where Dean and Cas’s relationship continues to be one of the show’s most central ones.

Dean dances with a lamp. While his emotionally fraught, intense close relationship with Cas--A BEING MADE OF LIGHT--has a long-running arc and recently more and more textual level content spelling out the sublimated romantic interest in small words, while there’s an arc about Dean’s yearning for that stability, contentment, a significant other.

CONTEXT. 

We don’t think Destiel’s “going canon” because Dean dances with a lamp, it’s that Dean dancing with a lamp is kinda loud serving as reflection of canon textual arcing. Sometimes subtext adds a layer. Sometimes subtext is directly tied to the surface layers, an echo, a highlighter.

I’ll just be over here, crying because Dean danced with a lamp.

[the-badger-mole]

Let's say you're on the writing team for Avatar when it was just an idea Bryke had. They've stepped back, letting the writers do what they do best. While Bryke certainly offer suggestions, they don't try shoehorning in their ideas.

What aspects of canon would you change and keep the same??

Would you have elements of a one-sided Kat@@ng, with Aang learning to let Katara go, or not have it at all??

If you were to write Aang as a character you actually liked, how would you do it??

Oh! I like this ask. Bet! Get a snack, because this is a long one.

In Book 1, I would keep Aang pretty much the same, but I would frame certain things he did the way they should have been framed. Like his whole deal on Kyoshi, leaving Katara to do all the work so he could flirt. That would have much more of an impact on his friendship with her. Subtle at first, but it would be the first blow against Kataang. Katara would gradually over the course of that first season have to confront the fact that she's pinned all her hopes of ending the war on a child. I think that making her face that reality would open the door to more conversations about how he felt about what the world expected him to do, and that would in turn lead to Katara helping Aang to face what happened at the siege on the NWT, and what he was being trained to do honestly.

Book 2 would be where Aang is confronted with his duty as the Avatar and what "ending the war" would mean. By this point, he knows in no uncertain terms that he's expected to kill Ozai at the very least, and his crisis of conscience happens here, and this is where he would start trying to figure out alternatives. At the same time, the people he's meeting talk to Aang and his friends honestly about what they've experienced in the war- famine; disease; loss of homes; seeing loved ones suffer and die brutally.

It all has an effect on Aang, and makes him cling tighter to Katara. Katara interprets it as platonic and doubles down on mothering Aang, even trying to shield him from the worst of the realities of the war as much as she can. When Aang tells his friends once again that he isn't sure if he can kill Ozai, someone snaps at him- Sokka I think- and tells him how the war has affected all of his friends personally, and that they don't have the luxury of feeling bad about Ozai dying, and what did Aang really think the army they were trying to gather was going to do on the battlefield, have a tickle fight (yeah...this feels like a Sokka moment). Here is where Aang finds out about Kya, I think.

Aang still goes to (the much less racist version of) Guru Pathik, and still fails to let go of his attachment to Katara. Zuko and Katara still have that moment in the caves. I haven't decided if Zuko still turns on them- on the one hand, I do think him joining the Gaang here could work. on the other hand, I think he needed to go home and see how much it doesn't fit him anymore. I could go either way. Aang still gets shot by the lightning and Katara still saves him.

As Aang and his friends travel through the Fire Nation, they spend more time with the poorest citizens. They find out how much they've suffered because of the war, and how much they also want it to end. Katara's stint as the Painted Lady lasts much longer, and she becomes a sort of urban legend, which may or may not get back to Caldera. If Zuko is on their side at this point, they start planting the seeds of rebellion on the promise of ending the war (none of the FN citizens know who he is of course). The Footloose episode doesn't happen. It's stupid and adds nothing. Instead, there's more focus on the propaganda and fear the FN leaders are spreading and finding out that there's already a rebellion brewing among certain pockets of the people. Piando plays a much bigger role in this season. He knows who they are, and helps connect them with a growing resistance movement.

Aang is still hung up on Katara, and still hasn't told them that he can't enter the AS or why. On the DoBS, he figures it won't matter since neither he nor Ozai can use firebending anyway. He keeps it too himself, and lies to his friends about being prepared to kill Ozai (well...not so much lying as telling them he's going to do what he has to and letting them assume). He still kisses Katara. They still lose this battle. The adults still sacrifice themselves for the kids to getaway.

When they get to the Air Temple, things get heated with Aang and Katara. Aang tries to run off and go play immediately, but this time, Katara lets him have it. She reminds him that she just lost her father again because he and so many other people surrendered to give them the chance to escape. She lays into him about his laziness and disregard for the people around him and tells him that he needs to shape up, or he'd get everyone killed. She becomes a lot stricter with his training at this point. Not cruel, but she's a lot less likely to tell Toph or Zuko to go easy on him, and she raises her expectations for his waterbending.

Aang gets his feelings hurt and he goes off by himself deep into the temple. He finds writings on AN culture and philosophy and actually begins learning about his people. He learns about airbending techniques he never learned. Some of it is clearly meant for battle. Aang learns that his people's views on the sanctity of life and killing aren't as black and white as he'd believed. This is also where he gets a hint of energy bending.

The Firebending Masters, Boiling Rock, and TSR still happen. Mai does not rescue Zuko and Co- that was something that never made sense to me. But then, most of Mai's characterization after CoD makes no sense to me. She's a character that needs a redo, too.

Katara and Zuko get closer during this time. Same as they do in the show. It's not quite yet a crush on either of their sides, but a lot more focus is given to the development of their friendship. They quickly become each other's go-to person in the group for support and to just hang out. Aang sees this and does not like it. It also makes his reaction to the play make a lot more sense, because he's already starting to suspect there's something between them. He confronts Katara about his feelings for her, her feelings for Zuko, and the kiss they never talk about. Katara says she doesn't really know how she feels about any of it, and she doesn't think this is the time or place to talk about it. Aang kisses her again. It's bad. Katara probably hit him this time. They don't talk alone again.

Aang is once again confronted with the expectation that he's going to kill Ozai. He has to this time, because Ozai is going to be at the height of his power, and won't hesitate to cancel Aang's subscription to Life. His friends finally realize he never actually intended to kill Ozai on DoBS, and demand to know what his plan is now. He still hasn't got one. He still hasn't told his friends about the AN philosophy scrolls he found at the air temple. He still insists that he can't in good conscience kill Ozai. Then his friends point out that millions more people will die if he doesn't. Aang goes off, gets kidnapped by the lionturtle and has the conversation with the past Avatars. They tell him he not only should kill Ozai, but he also has to let Katara go so he can use the Avatar State. Aang doesn't want to do either. Then the lionturtle gives him another way. Energy bending

The lionturle's way has consequences, though, and Aang is informed upfront that energy bending would bind him to whoever he used it on, and that it's influence was corrupting. If Aang wasn't careful, he could become as big a threat to the balance of the world as any Fire Lord had ever been. Aang doesn't understand that warning. He chooses energy bending and goes off to face Ozai.

It does not go well. There is no Rock of Destiny to magically give Aang access to the AS. There is just hyperpowered Ozai- with his decades of experience bending, and Aang, whose firebending is also strengthened, but who can't control his power as well as his opponent. He tries some of the battle techniques he read about in his scrolls. He hasn't got them down either, and some of them just feed Ozai's flames, but he manages to trap Ozai in a ball of air and suffocate him and the fire. He doesn't kill Ozai. He just leaves him disoriented long enough to energy bend him. Battle's over.

Aang brings Ozai back to Caldera, expecting to be hailed as a hero. He isn't at first, but then Iroh, Hakoda and other older and wiser people agree that it's better that Ozai gets to stand trial for his crimes. He ends up being sentenced to die anyway. Aang is furious, and then he discovers that some of his anger is Ozai's. He's bound to Ozai and now Aang has to work really hard not to let that bit of Ozai influence his personality. It's difficult, because Aang is genuinely angry enough that he can't tell what's his feelings and what is Ozai. Aang is now dealing with the fact that despite being the Avatar, people aren't willing to take him seriously, and won't not kill Ozai. He also has still not gotten over his crush on Katara and can't control the AS. On top of that Katara tells him that she doesn't feel the same way about him, and later he finds out that she's fallen for Zuko. Hard. Stupid hard. Like, they've already decided to get married in a few years, hard.

It's a bad time to be Aang. Book 3 would end with him being overwhelmed by his hurt, disappointment, and anger. Roku comes to him and suggests that he go back to Guru Pathik and learn from him. And so the last scene is Aang slipping away without telling anyone he's leaving. Toph may or may not join him. IDK.