#wip: the sea is in her blood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

normspellsman · 1 year

Text

To Be Forgiven

part one | part two | part three | part four (wip)

pairing: ao’nung x fem!sully!reader, bff!tsireya x bff!reader, & mentions of lo’ak x tsireya

genre: angst (lo’ak still hasn’t apologized yet), comfort (from tsireya to reader), & fluff

word count: 4k+

warning(s): mentions of lo’ak & ao’nung physically fighting, mentions of lo’ak being a douche to reader, neteyam + tsireya beating (not literally disappointing i know) some sense into lo’ak, cursing, reader thinking lo’ak was right about her (ifykyk – read part one if you don’t), mentions of blood + injury, lo’ak in deep shit that he won’t be able to get out of, slight mention of lo’ak having self loathing thoughts, lo’ak feeling guilty for what he said, & mentions of ao’nung defending your ‘honor’

taglist: @aonungsmate @optimisticblazetrash @dearstell

word bank: eywa / great mother — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in, tsmuke(s) — sister(s), irayo — thank you; thanks, skxawng — moron; idiot, ilu — aquatic creature residing on awa’atlu used for riding + hunting, & txe’lan — heart

note: so i lied, this series is probably going to be three or more parts 🫣. enjoy tho! <3 we stan tsireya in this fic frfr

He was fucked. Lo’ak was royally screwed.

He knew the minute that those degrading words came out of his mouth that he was severely fucked.

He could say he didn’t mean it in the moment, but he did. He knew he did. And that’s why he knew he was going to get a new one ripped into him by his older brother and girlfriend once they found out, but not before Ao’nung nearly beat him to a darker shade of blue and purple.

Both Lo’ak and Ao’nung had left your secret hideout with multiple bruises and blood running down their noses. The boys had shown each other the extent of their frustrations towards one another, yet again. But this time, it was over you.

The two boys walked home silently and limping, washing themselves off in the sea before making their way into their separate marui pods.

Lo’ak had prayed to Eywa that none of your siblings were awake by the time he arrived at the pod, but alas, it seems as if the world is not on his side, once again.

“What the fuck happened to you?” A groggy voice asked, making Lo’ak stop in his tracks and wince at getting caught.

Yep. He was going to get his ass handed back to the Great Mother tonight. He could only pray for a safe return into the deities arms as he turned towards his older brother.

The familiar scowl Lo’ak always saw on Neteyam had painted itself on to his face, eyes narrowing at the various injuries on his skin.

“What did you do?” Neteyam harshly whispered out, striding towards his idiotic younger brother, pulling on the boys ear as he guided him towards one corner of the marui where they kept all healing essentials and forced him to sit down, tsking at him as he did so.

Lo’ak yelped in pain once his older brothers slim fingers pinched the soft skin of his sensitive ear, leaning into the grasp in hopes of easing the pain by a fraction. He rubbed the spot his brother was pinching once he was pushed into his bottom side to sit, pouting at Neteyam’s roughness.

“It’s nearly sunrise and you manage to get yourself into trouble, again!” The elder hissed out, mumbling to himself about how careless and utterly idiotic his younger brother was, shaking his head at his whispers. Always taking care of this skxawng, he thinks, annoyance settling itself in his chest.

Lo’ak decides not to say anything, knowing that if he were to open his mouth and speak, he wouldn’t stop and end up confessing to his crimes due to guilt. He didn’t want to die just yet. He needed time to figure out how he was going to make it up to you and get you to forgive him for the stupid words he spat at you in anger.

Being twins had come with its advantages and disadvantages. Firstly, it was a rarity amongst the Na’vi that it was considered a myth or even a sacred omen, many praising Lo’ak and you after your births and even during the day as you two grew older. Much lore surrounded twins within the Na’vi culture, most of it being just that, lore and myths, little truth behind any of it. So due to this, the Omatikaya practically worshipped the ground the both of you walked on when you were younger, receiving many gifts and prayers to Eywa as a token of their gratitude for gracing them with your presence. But all of this was put to a stop by your Grandmother, Mo’at, once she realized this. She didn’t want all the attention to go to your heads, especially your brothers. Secondly, the both of you were so in tune with each other’s emotion that it was freaky to see you finish each other’s sentences, give the other needed comfort, and see you move together in sync. This proved to be advantageous during training or scouting, one of you following the other and tag teaming whatever came your way. And thirdly, you were the eldest twin, the first born. So you always held it over Lo’ak’s head whenever granted the chance, annoying the boy to no end.

Lo’ak loved you dearly. So much that it was often hard to express or put into words. You were his other half. The other part of his soul. So he knew just how much his words had impacted you. He could feel it. Feel the cold, bitterness of sadness rest atop his chest, right where his heart laid. He felt so guilty. He just wanted to take back the words he said, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He was going to have to work for your forgiveness.

“Sit still and be quiet,” Neteyam mumbled as he sat in front of his younger brother and dipped his fingers into the cream white healing paste Kiri had made a couple days back, lathering it onto Lo’ak bruises and open wounds.

Lo’ak bit back his tongue in pain, wanting to hiss out at the coldness of the paste and the rough application of it. He could tell that Neteyam wasn’t very happy with him. And he was going to be absolutely livid once he found out the truth behind his wounds.

He wished sunrise never came.

———

When you left Lo’ak and Ao’nung to their own devices last night, you made way to another spot of yours that only you, your sisters, and Tsireya knew about. The four of you often came to it to have some girl time and gossip about whatever was going on in either of your lives or just to be in each other's presence and braid another’s hair. It was a bit of a ways away, so you called upon your ilu to take you there.

Once you reached the seemingly tiny island, you noticed another body sitting in the sand, fiddling with something in their hands.

You’d come to quickly realize that it was Tsireya who was on the island, finishing up the bracelet she had promised to make Tuk just last night.

“Hey,” she softly said, turning her head around slightly to glance at your figure, sensing your presence behind her.

You shot a small smile towards the girl before sitting down next to her, bringing your legs close to your chest as you sighed out the breath you seemed to be holding in ever since you left Lo’ak and Ao’nung.

“What’s wrong?” Tsireya asked, concern laced in her voice and evident on her face.

The Metkayina girl had a knack of knowing if something was wrong with you, creeping you out a bit when you first started to get to know her. It was how she found out you and her brother were seeing each other. She practically pried it out of you, squealing in delight once she got you to utter the confirming words, hugging you and excitedly exclaiming that you were going to be tsmukes and how she was glad you were going to be the one.

Tsireya’s question brought a frown to your face, water beginning to pool at your waterlines. Eywa, how you did not want to cry in front of your best friend and boyfriend's sister.

“It is fine if you do not want to tell me, tsmuke,” she reassured, putting one of her four fingered hands onto your back, softly rubbing it up and down in comfort, “I will be here whenever you are ready to say it.”.

Her words were the tipping point and you found yourself sobbing into the sweet girls arms, wrapping around your shaking form as she tried to comfort you the best she could.

“Was it my brother?” She asks, her tone serious and flat. If it was, she wasn’t going to hesitate to smack some sense into her brother. You’re one of her dearest friends and she’d hate to see her skxawng of a brother be one of the reasons you cried.

You shook your head at her question, swallowing down another sob that tried to crawl its way up your throat.

You could only imagine what your brother and beloved were doing to each other in the dark of your hidden spot. Punches were definitely being thrown and insults were most likely being shouted at one another. You felt bad for leaving but at the same time, you needed to leave. To get away from your brother and his angry gaze and hurtful words. You needed time to think and process.

“It was mine,” you reply, reluctantly pulling yourself out of Tsireya’s comforting embrace. If you didn’t, you knew you’d only further continue to sob into her arms and barely get any words out in an attempt to answer any of the questions she asked you.

Tsireya frowned at your words, beginning to worry about what he did to make you this upset.

She knew the kind of relationship and connection the two of you had. That’s what she loved about the both of you. You always followed each other around like lost puppies and rarely ever fought, only arguing over stupid things like who got the last yovo fruit or whose turn it was for Tsireya to teach. So seeing you this distraught over something your twin brother did, had the girl extremely worried.

“What did he do?” She questioned, pointed ears tipping towards your frame in anticipation to hear your answer.

You explained to her what happened. How you and Ao’nung were spending time together. How Lo’ak managed to stumble upon Ao’nung feverishly kissing your neck. And the kinds of words Lo’ak spat at you and how they made you feel.

To say the least, Tsireya was pissed at her moron boyfriend.

“I hope Ao’nung beats the shit out of him,” she mumbled, tone angry and harsh as it came out.

You managed to chuckle at her response, stopping your crying momentarily. Tsireya joined you in your short chuckle, giggling to herself.

“I’m serious though, (Y/N). I hope he beats some sense into him,” she added, bringing you into a hug, gently stroking your braided hair. “He shouldn’t have said those words to you. There’s no excuse. There’s no truth behind it, my tsmuke. You are not what he says you are for seeing my brother,” she finished.

You only hum in response. Your head couldn’t help but think that a part of his words were true. Why were you seeing someone that was known for bullying you and your siblings? Why did you feel for him the way you did? Was it because you were what Lo’ak said you were?

Tsireya’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as she laid both of her hands gently onto your damp cheeks, making you look at her as she spoke, “I am serious. You are not a slut for seeing Ao’nung. Yes he may have done some questionable things in the past that aren't excusable. But you have made him a better person. You changed him for the better,”.

Her words bring another wave of tears to your eyes as they run down your nearly raw cheeks. Her words make you feel a bit better about what Lo’ak said prior.

You smiled at your friend before bringing your forehead to hers, both of them resting against each other.

“Irayo,” you replied, truly thankful to have someone like Tsireya in your life.

“Anytime, tsmuke,” she answered back, her dimpled smile spreading across her lips as she did so.

———

“You stupid, stupid boy!” A familiar voice yelled out from outside of the Sullys marui pod.

Lo’ak froze.

Shit, he thought, I’m going to die by the hands of my girlfriend. Fuck.

The teen boy stood still in his tracks, dreading the moment he’d have to turn around.

It was barely sunrise and Tsireya was already out for blood. His specifically.

“Hello, my love,” Lo’ak tried to milk out, hoping she’d melt at the nickname he gave her early on within their relationship.

But all she did was scoff, “Seriously, my love? How dense do you think I am, Lo’ak?”.

To be frank, Lo’ak had a feeling that you’d tell Tsireya about what happened or Ao’nung would, making his stomach twist in anxiety at the thought. He was right though. You told Tsireya of the events that occurred only hours prior and now he was going to feel the wrath of your best friend and his girlfriend.

“Look, Reya, I can explain,” he tried to rush out, pleading with her to at least listen to what he has to say. But she was having none of it.

“No, Lo’ak. You will not. Did you know your sister cried in my arms until sunrise?” She spat, anger clearly evident in her tone and body language, wide tail swishing to and fro behind her.

Lo’ak swore he saw his life flash before his eyes at his lover's harsh tone and deadly glare directed towards him. Tsireya was never the one to resort to violence or anger, believing that killing them with kindness worked best. So seeing her practically growling at him and very much angry made him want to crawl into a ball and cry.

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know because you were the reason she was crying in the first place!” The girl continued, more angry at her boyfriend's attempt at trying to get her to hear him out.

She knew that what he said was completely wrong. No brother should ever call their sister that, no matter how angry. Ao’nung would never, had never. At this moment, Tsireya found herself thanking the Great Mother for giving her a brother like Ao’nung. One who treated her with respect and would never spit out degrading words like that to her.

The poor girl was shaking in anger, an emotion she rarely ever felt or expressed.

Before Lo’ak could utter another word, another voice chimed into their conversation.

“Trouble in paradise you two?” Neteyam asked, a playful smirk etched into his lips as he leaned against one of the many open arch ways of his family’s marui.

Neteyam had been rousing from his slumber when he heard Tsireya’s loud hissing, curious as to what was the cause of it. He’d say he’s not surprised that it was directed at his younger brother. Lo’ak had a tendency to cause that kind of reaction from people wherever he went.

The younger brother groaned out in annoyance, not wanting his brother to get into the middle of his and Tsireya’s conversation.

“I’m glad you’re here, Neteyam. Maybe your presence will smack some sense into your brothers thick skull,” Tsireya spat out, never taking her glaring gaze off of Lo’ak.

The smirk on Neteyam’s lips fell, his usual frown overtaking it. “What do you mean? What did you do, Lo’ak?” He asked, now standing upright, full attention on his brother.

Lo’ak ears drew back to press up against his head and his tail curled itself between his legs, a telltale sign that he fucked up big time.

“I…I caught (Y/N) with Ao’nung last night,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for Neteyam to hear.

Neteyam had a sneaking suspicion that you and the Metkayina boy were seeing each other behind their backs. Sure the realization hurt but it was your love life and if you weren’t ready to tell your family that you were seeing someone, then it’s your choice. It’s not like you were a child who couldn’t comprehend consequences or make your own choices. You were a woman and were allowed to make whatever decision you thought fit for yourself.

The older boy blankly stared at the younger, not seeing a problem in what he just said.

It was then that Lo’ak realized Neteyam knew about your relationship and that Tsireya most likely did as well. A new sense of anger crawling its way up his stomach. Why couldn’t you tell him? Why did they know and he didn’t?

“And…” Tsireya urged him on, losing her patience with the Omatikaya boy.

“And…” Lo’ak continued, avoiding eye contact with both teens and looking down at the soft sand beneath his feet, “I called her some…things as a result.”.

“Things?!” Tsireya scoffed, clearly over her boyfriend's tiptoeing over the actual truth, “You called her a slut, Lo’ak. For seeing my brother.”.

The growl that left Neteyam’s throat made Lo’ak shrink in on himself in cowardice, still refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

“You skxawng!” He shouted, pushing at Lo’ak’s shoulder, making him stagger back, “You’re an imbecile! Why would you call her that?”.

Lo’ak growled back at his brother in retaliation, anger getting the best of him.

“I was angry! I wasn’t thinking straight,” he hissed out, fists clenched into balls by his side.

Neteyam scoffed, “Clearly. You never do, Lo’ak! All you do is talk but never think. Look at where thats gotten you now!”.

Lo’ak wanted to pounce on his brother and punch him in the face, repeatedly. But he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere, especially after last night. It wouldn’t solve that sadness you felt nor the anger he harbored. So, he just bit his tongue in hopes that the pain would distract him from his impulsive thoughts to bury his fist into his older brothers face.

“You really hurt her, Lo’ak,” Tsireya spoke out, voice becoming soft again as some of the anger dissipated over the course of their conversation. She was still mad at him but it started to seem like Lo’ak was beginning to finally understand the weight of his words.

“She cried so hard in my arms that she fell asleep. I had Rotxo help me carry her to my marui so she could sleep peacefully,” she continued, catching Lo’ak’s eyes shift from the sandy floor to her, concern creeping on to his features, “She told me how sad your words made her feel. How she thought they were true.”.

That made Lo’ak’s heart break into a million different pieces. You thought that you were a slut? That he truly meant his words? Oh, Eywa. He really did fuck up.

“We know that you didn’t mean it. She knows. But, Lo’ak, your words have an impact on people and they made a significant one on (Y/N) last night,” Tsireya adds on, gently approaching Lo’ak as she took one of his hands into hers and put the other on his cheek, making him look at her, “You need to make it up to her. You need to tell her that there was no truth behind your words and that you were a skxawng for saying them. She needs to hear your apologies from you.”.

The anger Lo’ak once felt disappeared, guilt replacing it.

He was so stupid. Such an awful brother. He should’ve never said those things to you. He should’ve walked away from you and Ao’nung to collect his thoughts instead of insulting you and beating your boyfriend. He felt terrible. But he deserved it. He should feel terrible for all the pain he caused you with his words.

How was he going to make it up to you?

———

You awoke to a body shifting behind you, bringing you closer to their chest as their arms gripped you tighter.

“Morning, yawne,” a deep and familiar voice groggily said.

You smiled at the voice, immediately recognizing that it was your boyfriend who had you in his arms, just like last night.

“Morning, Ao’nung,” you whispered back, getting comfortable in your boyfriend's warm embrace.

Ao’nung never failed at lifting up your mood and making you feel better. It was his speciality. Just one look at his adorably stupid face and everything in life seemed so much better, more brighter.

The boy had only gotten back from his fiasco with Lo’ak when he realized you were fast asleep in his bed, laying on your side as you brought up the thin sheet he always slept with to your chin. His sister had explained to him why you were in there, feeling even more anger towards your twin. He hated seeing you like this. He wished he could take all your pain and awful thoughts away and transfer them to himself so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

“I love you, Ma (Y/N),” Ao’nung mumbled against your skin, burying his face into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You giggled at the tickle of breath against your skin, recoiling a bit from the sensation. You turned around to face your lover to combat the ticklish sensation, coming face to face with Ao’nung.

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped when you saw the state of his face.

Ao’nung saw the grimace on your face and gently took your hands in his and kissed each knuckle. He knew fighting with your brother wasn’t the smartest idea and would most definitely end up with him receiving a few scowls from you in return.

“Did Lo’ak do this?” You softly questioned, afraid to speak too loudly in fear that it would bring unwanted attention from his parents.

They had been proud of their only son for no longer picking fights with Toruk Makto’s son and you didn’t want to ruin that by yelling at or reprimanding him for it. You suppose this situation wouldn’t count though. He had defended you against your brother, basically fighting for your honor. It was different.

Ao’nung only hummed in response, placing your palms against his warm and bruised cheeks.

Tsireya had seen to his injuries when he came limping into the marui. She and Rotxo had just gotten you situated into bed when he arrived. She scowled at him for fighting with Lo’ak, but praised him for defending you. She was proud of her brother for being a good partner but was disappointed at hers for saying such cruel words to you.

Your heart broke at his confirmation, though it didn’t come as a surprise. You knew what was going to happen if you left the two boys to deal with the situation themselves but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there any longer. You needed some space from your brother.

You opened your mouth to apologize, feeling guilty for leaving Ao’nung to handle your twin by himself but he stopped you before you could, placing a soft kiss against your lips.

“It is not you who needs to apologize, my txe’lan” he says, reading you like a book, “It is your skxawng of a brother who needs to.”.

You chuckled lightly at his words, bringing your lover closer into your frame as your hands continued to rest against his cheeks.

“He’s stubborn,” you reply, slightly doubting your brothers ability to apologize first.

For a majority of your shared childhood with Lo’ak, he rarely apologized for his actions. You could count on one hand the amount of times he’s genuinely apologized to you. All of the forced and half assed ones don’t count in your book.

“He’ll come around. He has to,” Ao’nung retorted, resting his forehead against yours.

Although he too doubted Lo’ak ability to apologize first, you were just as stubborn, if not more, than your twin. He knew you’d do any and everything in your ability to ignore Lo’ak until he came to his senses and gave you a genuine apology he actually meant. That’s another thing he loved about you. You refused to have anyone walk over you, including family.

“I hope so,” you sadly replied, a small frown painted onto your lips.

Your response made Ao’nung copy your frown, feeling guilty for the kind of brother you had. Albeit Lo’ak not meaning his words and being careless with them and his actions, they still had an impact on those around him. He just hopes that he comes to his senses sooner rather than later.

“Wanna go for a swim?” Ao’nung questions, trying to lift up your saddened mood.

Swimming and exploring with Ao’nung is something you always enjoyed, finding peace in his presence and joy in doing something relatively new, even if you’ve been on Awa’atlu for months now. So you nodded at his question, happily pulling your boyfriend up to his feet and out towards the beach.

No matter what, you knew that Ao’nung would do everything in his ability to make you happy for as long as you were together. And you hoped that even with this small bump in your long, adventurous road together, that it would be forever.

If only Lo’ak could see that. If only he understood.

845 notes · View notes

thewarmblanket · 2 months

Note

How do na’vi feed their babies?

I’ve been writing a WIP that revolves around a pregnancy since june and I still have no idea. I’ve heard and seen so many answers from they can’t breastfeed bc of their low body fat to actually they do breastfeed to actually they use their kurus

That is a good question! Actually whole fandom now struggles to answer that since we've got some new info about na'vi birthing process in the script for ATWOW.

WARNING! So everything I'm going to tell is yet not been proven to be canon!!!! But since before that we didn't have almost any information at all... It's up to you to use it or not. (and sorry it took me so long to get to the point 😅😅)

Firstly a little about na'vi gestation period and birth. It is not stated how long it takes, but we know that it is split into trimesters and na'vi actually "give birth" in the end of the second trimester! They give birth to a translucent chrysalis called "tsalnu".

And for the third trimester mother nourishes her baby with kuru. And when times comes for the baby to "hatch" that is when the na'vi are born.

Neytiri, Jake and baby Neteyam

(there's supposed to be my thoughts on chrysalis thing but then I thought it wasn't important for the topic so, if you wanna hear it then ask me)

Kuru nourishing

I saw people hating on this concept since kuru is supposed to be an extention of the neutral system, how can it transport nutrients and vitamins through it? These questions started even earlier, when we discovered that reef na'vi can extend their time being underwater by connecting to the sea creatures and plants that can transport oxygen through tsaheylu. But how? Well, apparently it has veins.

Avatar the way of water: the visual dictionary

I'm gonna talk more about possible similarities between na'vi and other animals especially tulkun in the way how they reproduce but later in other questions.

So, when tsaheylu is made, it not only connects two creatures neural systems but circulatory too. I have a headcanon explanation of how it works but it's weird lol. So, do you remember this sticky wet sound kuru sometimes made when connecting/disconnecting? Well, what if, when connected, kuru produces some kind of liquid that is similar to something like blood plasma? And that's when nutrient transportation starts? (and now I'm thinking that it can also keep this fragile organ clean and protected from harsh disconnecting that could rip off poor tendrils). I have some questions on how circulatory system works in that case, like maybe Pandoran animals only have one blood type or it somehow separates inside, but we just don't know. That is a question for the speculative biologists out there!

Now, for the everything I said above, I need some proves on can you consider it canon or not. Your word, Mr. Cameron.

So, he never said anything about chrysalis, but kuru nourishing is pretty much a real thing I suppose. But what happens when the baby is out of it's tsalnu?

Breastfeeding

I haven't heard anything about them not being able to breastfeed due to their low body fat, but my immediate thought was... Why do they have breasts then? 😅 Alright, maybe it has a different purpose, but NIPPLES? For what reason? So I'd rather think that maybe their bodies produce hormones somehow differently than assumed that they have breasts but are not able to feed with them.

We even know that they "nurse their infants for up to four months"! So the answer is clear.

Avatar wiki fandom: na'vi species

Summing this all up!

So the answer for your question is:

- na'vi women give birth at the end of the second trimester and nourish their baby (inside a pod) with their kuru until it's ready to born.

- after birth they breastfeed a newborn for up to four months. ☺️

Thank you for reading!

Btw if you'll finish your WIP please let me know!

#Waiting for more questions!#Ask me about avatar series #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar frontiers of pandora #afop #Atwow

99 notes · View notes

slexenskee · 9 months

Text

The Continuation of Satoru Supremacy

Am I just going to slot this poor boy into every fandom? Signs are pointing to yes at this point lol. Ok so I've had either a JJK/HOTD and JJK/GOT crossover rumbling around my brain for ages now and its gotten to a boiling point lol. The JJK/GOT would probably be Satoru/Robb Stark and the JJK/HOTD probably Satoru/Aegon II. I have them pretty fleshed out in my head ngl.

THE PROBLEM is that I love his name, Satoru, and it literally makes no sense to have him reincarnate into ASOIAF works and somehow end up with that name, which means I would need to change it, and I don't know wtf to change it to.

Literally grasping at straws rn lol. I lowkey like Soren since it sounds Valyrian enough and also I feel like Satoru would be over the moon about it because he'd share a name with one of his favorite Fire Emblem characters.

Anyway the HOTD one would be a isekai/reincarnation AU with Satoru as Daemon and Rheanyra's surprise brothel baby that Rheanyra had to get shotgun-wedding'd to Leanor for 😅 so yeah Satoru is once again causing chaos and problems for other people just by existing... this time before he was even born! He's also called the Radiant Prince and also still the Honored One because he's basically a god and everyone in HOTD is going to damn well know it.

WIP:

In this life, as in his last, his birth was heralded with reverence and veneration, and wrought with untenable legacy.

He was the firstborn son of the Realm’s Delight, lovely and fair and every bit as preternaturally beautiful as his mother. He was said to have his grandmother’s Arryn blue eyes, the king’s tousled white curls, his mother’s smile, and the very birthright of his great Valyrian heritage etched into his very existence; from his heavenly features, to his dragon, to the very name bestowed upon him.

For days on end the whole realm celebrated his birth as a magnificent affair; bells tolled long into the night, nobles spilled from the four corners of Westeros bearing gifts of abundance and splendor, the smallfolk celebrated en masse along the streets of King’s Landing.

They called him a blessed child, a perfect child, a glorious new heir for the throne.

Upon his very birth the Princess Rheanys was said to have looked into his heavenly eyes and pronounced him a gift from the gods of old Valyria. Those same eyes, a precious, celestial blue resembling the late Queen Aemma, were said to have reduced his grandfather the King to tears from the moment he opened them. Lord Velaryon had named them a mark of the gods’ favor; such a curious, mystifying color, never settling no matter the lighting, as mercurial as a tempest sea.

Just the mere sight of such a marvelous child, a mortal so obviously marked by the gods, so destined for greatness, could easily quell the rumors beginning long before his birth.

Such derelict hearsay would never grace the ears of such a divine prince, of course. But he heard it anyway.

They rushed the wedding, they said.

The princess was meant to start her royal procession to select her prince consort, but instead was married to the Velaryon heir within a moon’s turn. (The King had to appease the Velaryon’s somehow, after the way he snubbed their pure Valyrian heiress for his Hightower bride.)

The babe came early— so suspiciously early. (The Princess Rheanyra was so young, of course she would have difficulty carrying to term. Didn’t you see him? The babe was born so small!)

And he looks every bit a Targaryen, not a speck of Velaryon to be seen on him. (But of course the blood of Aegon the Conqueror would run strong within the royal line— and the Princess Rheanys is his paternal grandmother, such features run on both sides. Why, look at Queen Alicent's children! Do they look Hightower to you?)

The Rogue Prince dotes on him, shockingly so. He perhaps even reconciled with his brother just to remain near the young prince. (The Rogue Prince has always remained stoutly devoted to his family, no matter his unsavory reputation, his loyalty to the throne is unquestioned. That he is just as devoted to his brother’s heir as he is to his brother is merely filial piety.)

No matter the rumors swirling around him, it only took a single glance from his blessed blue eyes to halt the whispers in their tracks.

His divine beauty and grace, his mystical eyes, his magnificent dragon— such pedestrian slander seemed silly and absurd in the face of them.

To question the legitimacy of the Radiant Prince, the Honored One… no mere mortal could possibly be capable of uttering such blasphemy.

#fic WIP #Gojo Satoru once again reincarnated against his will into other fandoms #Casually over powered Gojo strikes again #Gojo Satoru as a targaryen

164 notes · View notes

gingernut1314 · 4 months

Text

Wip Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @galaxycunt !! 🩷🩷

I have so many WIPs I'm sitting on right now so this is a good excuse to show what I have brewing in the background!

Feral Attraction: Shanks x F!Reader Summary: You are an aspiring doctor, born and raised in Foosha Village when the very attractive pirate who had been making base on your island saves your village's orphan boy from a Sea King.

You needed to have this man's children.

It was the first thought that crossed your mind when you saw the red-haired man crawling out of that half-eaten dingy. When you saw him covered in blood, having chased off a sea king so monstrous you had been able to see it from your apartment on the hill, and leave with his life. His life and the village's ophan boy, Luffy’s, life.

It was the only thing you could think of as you watched as he made sure Luffy was taken care of, pain radiating in his eyes as blood continued to pour and pool beneath him, dripping back into the sea.

It was a thought so guttural--so feral you had no power over it. It was out of your hands how your body reacted to the man, just how you handled it.

And right now you were handling it poorly, seeing as you were standing there thinking up all the dirty things you would do to him and let him do to you as he slowly bled to death. Handling it terribly seeing you were currently studying in the very art of life-saving.

Makino, who was struggling to console and pull Luffy off of the red-haired man, shot you a panicked-filled look. “Y/N! He’s dying!”

“Shit--” You cursed having to all but physically shake yourself from your horny daze as you ran over, nearly slipping and falling on your ass on the wet wood of the dock. Luffy cried and screamed at you to save the man--Shanks--only to quickly go back to blaming himself for the whole ordeal, as you passed him and Makino.

“I’m fine--just a scratch.” The red-haired Shanks slurred. A slur that was not brought on by any fun sort of activity. You fell to your knees before him, Shanks swaying and struggling to keep himself upright, yet somehow managing to flash you a crooked smile. A smile that had your brain fuzzing again.

Oh shit--focus. You had to focus on stopping the bleeding, not on how much you wanted him to fuck you senseless and fill you’re arching pussy wi--

“I’m sure it is.” You said sarcastically, pulling his ripped and red-stained sleeve gently up and over his shoulder to find the equally as ripped up arm--an arm left in ribbons. “Oh fuck.” You said, unable to hold it back.

You were still just a student.

The worst amputation you had seen had been some fisherman cutting his finger off while gutting a fish. It had been an easy fix. One your mentor had let you handle all on your own, with gentle guidance when needed.

The only thing that came close, and might have been worse, to this type of carnage on the body was the mother you had helped give birth to her sweet baby girl. A baby girl who had torn her mother’s body to shreds, nearly leaving her on death's door, had your mentor not been quick to heal her.

“See. F--” The pirate fell forward, collapsing into you. The air in your lungs nearly gave way as you struggled to hold him up. “--ine.” He huffed out, hand grabbing hold of your hip on a stabilizing squeeze. A touch that had your body jolting. His musky smell infiltrated your nose and threw your horny hormones into a frenzy.

Oh--oh, you needed him so gods damned bad. So bad you debated fucking him right then and there on this dirty, fish gut-smelling dock.

On a great groan, you manhandled him onto his back, his straw hat falling off his head. His oak-brown eyes widened the slightest bit in surprise. Eyes you found to have hints of rich chocolate colors swirling within them.

Focus.

No pressure tags! (though I would love to see what you might be working on! 🩷)

@fanaticsnail , @writingmysanity , @empressofmankind , @miloonmetis

#wip wednesday #wip #shanks #red haired shanks #luffy #shanks one piece #one piece live action #opla #shanks opla #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #shanks x f!reader #shanks x female reader #feral attraction

116 notes · View notes

sweetteaanddragons · 1 year

Text

A snippet from my “Elladan and Aragorn get stuck in First Age Beleriand” WIP.

. . .

“Elladan?” Aragorn asked urgently from the other side of the small camp they had at last dared. “Is aught amiss?”

Elladan could not quite help laughing, high and bitter, at that. “Aught else, you mean?”

Aught else besides the fact that they were mere miles from the worst battlefield in elvish history. Aught else besides the fact that they were several millennia away from home. Aught else besides the fact that they were desperately hiding behind the best illusion Elladan could sing up while roving hunting parties of orcs - and far worse monsters - hunted for the scent of elvish blood - a liquid they had all too much of, thanks to their wounded and currently nameless companion.

Besides all that.

Aragorn only regarded him steadily, concern in his eyes, and Elladan abruptly regretted that he was no longer little Estel, who would have blushed and looked away instead of looking at him with eyes that were uncomfortably like Elladan’s father’s in their seeming ability to peer into souls.

Because there was, of course, something else.

He looked away, into the dangerous darkness overlaying the trees. “It has occurred to me to wonder what my father will say if I have to tell him that I got you killed over a handful of rocks.”

“I would certainly prefer to avoid that as well,” Aragorn said dryly. “Although it is not quite a fair summation of events regardless.”

Elladan’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t protest further; Aragorn would not concede the point, and it would bring Elladan no joy if he did. Aragorn might have pushed the matter further, but their patient - or, more accurately, Aragorn’s - had the good manners to quite conveniently moan, drawing his attention away.

There were a great many other things to be more immediately concerned about, but it had been thoughts of his father that had put the stricken look on Elladan’s face, and he found it hard to shake such thoughts now.

There had been many times over the years when Elladan had been forced to bring the news to his father that another of Elladan’s cousins had fallen. In battle, to an illness they had not had time to bring them to Elrond to heal, on truly rare occasions to old age - it was always a heavy duty, but it was a duty he could bear.

He had never yet had to bear the news that he had gotten one of them killed, and he truly, deeply, devoutly did not want to begin with Estel.

There had been times, of course, where he wondered if he could have done something different - if he had ridden faster, left earlier, fought harder - but there had never been a true case for blame.

He had never before, for instance, gone into a troll cave with one of his mortal cousins and completely lost his head over an obvious trap.

It had been a set of silver pins that had caught his eye - pins hung with little bells, decorated with tiny sapphires, silver somehow untarnished.

They had looked exactly like the pins that his mother had worn when she had ridden away, never to return whole. They had been missing when they had at last found her, though it had not been until they were carefully packing her most treasured things away to send with her across the sea that anyone had realized.

It had not occurred to him to wonder how the pins could be so gleaming, here amongst the filth of a troll hoard. It had not occurred to him to think anything, beyond his rage that anything of hers should be kept in the filth and the dark.

He had reached to snatch them up, despite Estel’s warning cry.

And for his pains, he had landed them on the edges of the worst battle he had ever imagined, much less fought in. For a moment, he had thought them in Dagor Dagorath itself, until he had seen the banners.

He was still not quite prepared to accept those banners.

How they’d survived, he had no idea; his memory was not quite as perfect as an elf’s, and he was grateful for that hint of mortality now. All he knew was that it was over, Estel was still alive, and they had even managed to snatch one poor elf away from - from something’s blow as they went.

(A balrog. He was nearly certain that had been a balrog. He had screamed defiance at a balrog - )

Said elf had been barely able to stand, so Estel had dragged him with them as they ran, which could have been a mistake on a practical level if it hadn’t kept anyone from shooting them in the back for retreating with rather less organization than everyone else was.

. . . People had been surprisingly helpful, even.

But all of that paled next to the thought that they were in long lost Beleriand, home of a thousand dangers, and, if all those failed, millennia away from any time familiar to them. Even if Elladan managed to get home the long way, Aragorn certainly would not.

And then he would have to face his father and tell him he had gotten Estel killed over a handful of metal and rock.

Bad enough to get anyone killed in such a way; worse for it to be one of his cousins; unthinkable for it to be the last of his cousins, the current last of Elros’s direct line.

And worse than all of those for it to be Estel, who had chased after them as a child, who had played with his little wooden sword with such seriousness, who had grown up grim and strong and still so, so concerned with what he saw when he looked at others with eyes that scraped right through their souls.

His father, who had managed to forgive the Feanorians, might someday forgive him. Elrohir and Arwen never would.

Nor, for that matter, would Gilraen, who might kill him outright. He would probably deserve it.

#aragorn #elladan #fingon #though they don't quite know it yet #time travel #silmarillion #Fic #wip

265 notes · View notes

donteattheappleshook · 3 months

Text

(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

69 notes · View notes

bbcphile · 4 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

I've finally worked up the courage to post the opening of one of the Mysterious Lotus Casebook fics I'm writing (Li Lianhua/Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing), specifically, from my post-canon fic where LLH's shiniang tried to sacrifice herself to cure him.

Tw/cw: suicide attempt, mention of off-page non-consensual medical procedure, internalized ableism

***

Li Lianhua crashed to his hands and knees on the ground as the last trickle of his borrowed qi abandoned him, the densely-packed sand doing nothing to cushion the blow. The impact rattled through his spine and ribs, shaking loose a bout of coughing that forced him to swallow down the burning flare of copper trying to escape from his mouth. He couldn’t cough up blood now, not here, too many steps away from the water’s reach. It would leave evidence of his route, a trail that his shiniang would undoubtedly follow once she had broken free from the immobilization. He couldn’t let her find him until the job was done.

He pushed himself to standing, his arms and legs shaking hard enough to nearly drop him back to his knees, and he blinked to will the dancing black spots from his eyes. The waves awaited him, and he refused to crawl to meet them. He took a staggering step toward the sound of crashing water ahead of him, far fainter now than it had any right to be, and squinted against the sunlight to get his bearings.

A large gray lump on his left snagged his attention, disrupting the blur of gold and blue that filled up the rest of his view. Why did that look familiar? He took an unsteady step closer, pressing his palm against his chest to convince his lungs to hold back a cough one more time, and the gray lump resolved into a rock.

A rock that had once served as a pillow that was soft only in comparison to how hard the rest of the day had been.

Of course. He’d landed at Donghai beach. He swallowed back tears with a bitter laugh. Never let it be said that the universe didn’t have a sense of humor.

He’d returned after all: three months late for the duel and over a decade late for bringing his decrepit body back to the waves that had so decisively spat him out. But surely this time, with all the mysteries solved and no business left unfinished, the sea would accept the offering of his broken frame. Li Xiangyi was long dead and it was past time for Li Lianhua to follow his example. He was already a ghost in every way that mattered. And this was the only way to guarantee his shiniang would live.

She would be furious, of course, but wasn’t furious better than dead? How could it be unfilial to make sure she lived on? Too many people had died for him; he refused to let her join those ranks. Dying to save her was already a far better death than he deserved.

As for the others, Xiaobao would have his teachings and would be too busy climbing the heights of the jianghu to miss the weak physician he once protected.

And a-Fei—

—well, how could he still fixate on defeating a ghost with Xiaobao shining more brightly than Li Xiangyi ever had?

No, this end was far better for everyone, and best of all, no one would sacrifice their life or be forced to play caretaker to an empty husk of a man.

A familiar chill seared through his veins and meridians, despite the warmth of the fur of his outer layer, stealing away his breath and the amorphous blue blur before him. He took another stumbling step toward where it had been, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest.

Not much longer now. It seemed his frenzied dash here and self-shattered heart meridian were more efficient for what he had in mind than the weight his waterlogged fur coat would have offered.

Perhaps he didn’t need the coat for this at all. His body would certainly float further without it. And not even his shiniang could save him now, so what harm could it do to leave some evidence behind? Xiaobao might not believe the beggar’s words, but surely this fur cloak at the water’s edge would put to rest any lingering futile hopes. And then Xiaobao would tell a-Fei.

And if it brought them peace, if it let them say goodbye, then how could he not leave it behind?

It was decided, then.

He lifted his hands to the coat’s laces, then paused. Were those voices? For a moment, he could have sworn he heard—

—Ah, no, the hallucinations must have started again.

He smiled. At least he had heard a-Fei and Xiabao one last time, if only in his mind.

He untied his laces with fumbling, stiff fingers, and let the coat fall behind him.

His heart and lungs clenched with another spasm, and a wave of dizziness broke over him, threatening to drop him to his knees once more.

He fought against it, muscles shaking as they never had during battles. He couldn’t surrender now; not until he reached the water. He could manage three more steps. He had to.

He tried to lift his foot again.

The world swam before him, and darkness dragged him under.

#mysterious lotus casebook #mlc fic #my fic #Li Lianhua #Di Feisheng #Fang Duobing #Feihua #tw: suicide attempt #the fic will end happily I swear!#This is just about the lowest point for everyone #This is my first time really sharing my creative writing publicly in about 4 years #I am sooooo nervous omg #yay for at least temporarily being healthy enough to write!#wip wednesday #the POVs of the fic alternate between all 3 of the MCs #and they are all unreliable narrators in different ways

54 notes · View notes

theunboundwriter · 5 months

Text

Last Line Tag

Thank you @thewriteflame for the tag!!

Rules: Share the last line you wrote

I'm cheating a little bit and sharing the paragraph :)

She was raised to fear nothing. She was a weapon. She was ruthless. Merciless. Valiant. She was trembling.

Tagging (with no pressure): @berryzxx , @otpcutie , @isleofair , @gender-premium-tm , @imaginatorofthings

#wip: the sea is in her blood #tag games

80 notes · View notes

onceuponastory · 2 years

Text

part of a family - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: After Y/N is abandoned by her boyfriend, the father of her 8 month old son, her best friend Bucky comes to the rescue. The same Bucky who’s been in love with Y/N ever since he met her. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Being abandoned by a parent/a parental figure leaving, breakups, a few mentions of Bucky’s past as the winter soldier (but nothing too graphic), a tiny mention of blood, and a tiny mention of how babies are poop and vomit machines if that gives you the ick. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: Look, as soon as I had this idea, I knew I had to finish it even though it’s been sitting on my WIP list for months. It’s Bucky and a baby, hOW COULD I NOT? Thank you to my bestie @staticscreenwriting for my dividers and header, and for listening to me ramble about how cute Bucky + a baby would be.

The sound of a phone ringing soon disturbs the mid morning silence in Bucky Barnes’ apartment, waking up the super soldier almost immediately as it begins. Not that he was getting much sleep, anyway. Especially not with a past like his. Groaning, Bucky grabs his phone, accepting the call without even looking at the caller ID. As an Avenger, he knows that the call could be important. Or it could just be Steve or Sam needing something. Still, despite his heroic obligations, Bucky still wishes that whoever or whatever it is would just go away and let him sleep. Although he doesn’t get much sleep nowadays, he’d at least like to try to get some.

“Yeah? What is it?” He answers, his words mostly mumbled.

“Bucky?” He hears a voice sniffling on the other end. Almost immediately, Bucky comes awake, and he sits up, recognising the voice on the other end right away. Y/N. His best friend for almost a decade. From the pain in her voice and the sniffling, he can tell something is wrong immediately.

“Y/N, what happened? Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call.” Y/N mumbles, and Bucky feels a pang in his heart.

“Y/N, I told you, you can call me anytime you need help. I’ll always answer.” He tells her. “Now, what happened?” A sob sounds from the other end of the phone, and Bucky swears that sound almost breaks his heart. He just wants to keep Y/N safe and happy, so when she isn’t, he feels like he’s failed in his position as a best friend.

“...He’s gone, Bucky. Brandon. He just left us.” Another sniffle. “...He said he wasn’t happy being with Oscar and I, and that he didn’t want to stay anymore. He told me he didn’t want to be a dad in the first place, and that I trapped him in a relationship by getting pregnant. And he tells me this now? When Oscar is eight months old?!” Bucky is already out of bed and getting dressed before Y/N continues to explain the situation. Bucky hears another sob from the other end of the line, and he clenches his fist angrily. Brandon is...or well, was Y/N’s boyfriend, and the father of their son Oscar. And he’s fucking abandoned them both, left them like they’re worth nothing to him. “....Oh god Bucky, what am I supposed to do now? I don’t know if I can do this on my own and my mom is so far away, a-and-” Y/N sobs, each tear feeling like a gut punch. “Buck? Are you still there?” Y/N asks, sniffling again.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Bucky makes the trip to Y/N’s house in exactly eight minutes. He storms up to the door. If Brandon is back, he better have a good excuse for leaving. Not that there is one, mind you, but still. Or at least, have a good apology. Because who does that? Who leaves their girlfriend and child alone with no help? Yet, before he can even knock on the front door, it swings open to reveal Y/N standing there, tears streaming down her cheeks. Bucky’s heart breaks, and all his thoughts of anger towards Brandon leaving are forgotten. For now, anyway. “Oh Y/N.” He soothes, pulling her close for a hug, which she gratefully accepts, squeezing him as tightly as she can. Like he’s a rock stopping her from being swept out to sea. Y/N sniffles into his shirt, and Bucky strokes her back, knowing it helps calm her down. Y/N savours the moment for a while, enjoying Bucky’s comfort and support. And for the first time that day, Y/N feels better. Not fully better, but it’s a start, anyway. She even feels a small smile grow on her lips. As far as she’s concerned, Y/N could stay here forever, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace.

“You, um, you should come inside.” She mumbles once they pull apart, stepping aside. “Oscar’s in his playpen in the living room. I’ve been trying to stay strong for him, but clearly it’s not working.” She sighs, gesturing to her face. “I know. I look like a mess. Thankfully, Oscar’s still barely talking, so he can’t ask me what’s wrong.” Bucky shakes his head. He thinks she looks gorgeous. She always has. After all, he’s been in love with her ever since he met her. He’d know that. But she was with Brandon back then, and then she had Oscar, and Bucky knew he couldn’t ruin their relationship. He’s already ruined so many lives and families, he can’t ruin hers. She’s too special to him for that. And besides, finding out your best friend is in love with you is probably not what you want to hear after your boyfriend just walked out on you and your child.

The pair enter the living room, and Oscar notices Bucky almost immediately, kicking his legs and babbling away excitedly. Y/N starts smiling as soon as she sees her son, and Bucky grins. People say there’s nothing like the love of a mother, and Y/N is clearly full of it. And the way she lights up when she sees her son shows she’s one of the best out there. Besides, she definitely has more love in her little finger than Brandon ever did, for a start.

“Oscar, this is Bucky. Remember him? Can you say hello? Can you say Bucky?” Y/N asks, holding him up to see Bucky. Oscar’s wide eyes look up at Bucky. Bucky chuckles. Oscar is definitely the spitting image of his mother. He has the same eyes as her, for a start. The same pair of eyes that Bucky fell in love with the first time he met Y/N.

“Blubbla!” Oscar babbles, showing him a toothy grin and reaching out for Bucky with his little hands. Bucky laughs.

“Hey buddy. Good job at saying my name!” Bucky gives a small wave. Oscar tries his best to give him one back, making Bucky’s heart swell. He never knew such a tiny human could generate so much love and happiness.

“I’m gonna go put him down for a nap, then we can talk. Is that okay?” Y/N asks, her happiness suddenly fading again. Bucky’s face falls. He wishes he could just take all that pain and sadness away from her. He swears that when he sees Brandon again, he’s going to punch him in the face. Well...Sam would tell him to just give him a stern talking to. And Bucky will do that. After he punches Brandon in the face.

“Of course it is, Y/N.” He gives her arm a reassuring rub as she leaves the room.

“I just, I can’t believe he didn’t say anything up till now!” Y/N sighs, clutching one of Oscar’s teddies close to her chest. Even though she’s never told him this, Bucky knows that holding his toys close is a comfort for her. It means she can be extra close to him, even when he’s just upstairs napping. Despite how cute that is, it only makes Bucky even angrier about the situation. Y/N cares so much about her son’s well being, and yet life and her ex have treated her so poorly. “Like, he said-” She takes a deep breath to steady herself, and Bucky gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Once again, it helps her feel better. “-he said he’d been thinking about this for a while, probably even a few months. And he tells me this today? God, Bucky, what am I going to do if he doesn’t come back? What if I have to raise Oscar on my own?” She asks as tears roll down her cheeks again.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Bucky replies, pulling her closer for a hug and letting her cry into his chest. “You do not have to do this on your own, and you will never be alone.” Y/N smiles.

“Would it…would it be okay if you stayed over for a while? Feel free to say no, it’s just that I trust you, and Oscar adores you. I mean, I do too, it’s just- ah, fuck. Sorry.” Y/N mumbles into his shirt. “And it would be nice to have some help around here while I try to sort this whole mess out.” Bucky sighs softly. If he could, he’d take all this pain away from her and deal with it himself. After all, he’s been through so much of it already. In fact, most would argue that Bucky Barnes has been through far more pain and trauma than one person deserves. But despite that, he’d go through it all again if it meant Y/N never had to go through any pain of her own. “Just for a little bit. If you need to leave because of your whole Avengers thing, that’s totally okay. I don’t want to stop you from saving the world.” She pulls away, looking at him nervously, and Bucky can tell that she’s worried he’ll leave her too. Bucky leans in even closer, so close that she can feel his breath on her face.

“Y/N. I could never, and would never, leave you or Oscar. I’ll always come back for you both. Promise.” He whispers. With a small smile, Y/N nods.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“There’s that smile.” He grins. Bucky hasn’t had much happiness in his life ever since he became the Winter Soldier, but he swears that Y/N’s smile is the most beautiful thing in the world. More often than not, it’s the only thing that makes him happy, and makes him feel all warm and gooey inside. And because she’s so heartbroken right now, Bucky’s going to make sure that both she and Oscar have reason to smile for as long as he can.

“I really appreciate you doing this when you’re so busy, Bucky. I appreciate you a lot, you know?” That makes Bucky feel even better. Sometimes, he swears that Y/N’s the only one who appreciates him.

“Don’t be silly. It’s no problem at all.” He smiles. The pair stay close for a little while longer, so close that they could reach out and touch one another. They’re both silent, yet it’s a comfortable silence. Because Y/N and Bucky don’t need to talk. They can just be happy in each other’s company. For a moment, Y/N’s gaze lowers, almost as if she’s looking at his lips. Bucky’s cheeks go a little pink, and his heart rate rises as he pictures kissing Y/N.

“Bucky, I-” Y/N whispers, and Bucky raises his brows, waiting for what she’s about to say. Yet, Y/N stops herself before she can finish her sentence. Bucky’s mind wanders, and he thinks about kissing her even more. Despite how much he wants to kiss her, though, he knows he can’t. Y/N’s just had her heart broken and been left to raise her son alone. Him admitting his feelings for her will probably mess things up even more, which is the last thing she needs. And with a past like his, the last thing Bucky wants to do is put either her or Oscar in danger. Before either of them can say or do anything more, Oscar’s crying sounds from upstairs. “He’ll probably need his nappy changed. I’ll go do it.” She murmurs, leaving before Bucky can offer to do it.

Once he’s alone, he starts to think. Even though he’s been in love with Y/N ever since they first met, he can’t act on his feelings, or tell her the truth. He loves her so much, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt her. And besides, she definitely doesn’t need him acting like his life is hard because he can’t be with her. Soon, Y/N comes back, cradling Oscar to her chest. “You alright?” she asks, seeing Bucky deep in thought. And even though he knows he’s still upset about not being able to admit his true feelings for Y/N, the sight still makes Bucky smile. She really is beautiful.

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. “I’m great.”

A few nights later, as Y/N sleeps (or at least tries to, despite everything that’s happened), the sound of Oscar’s crying sounds from the baby monitor. Immediately, she’s awake. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m coming.” She murmurs, feeling around for her slippers and robe in the darkness. Of course, she’s accustomed to Oscar’s late night routine…mostly since she’s the only one who actually woke up to feed him and check on him.

Yet, as she opens her bedroom door and heads towards the nursery, the sound of crying seemingly stops. Y/N’s brow furrows, and she slowly tiptoes towards the door. Oscar rarely, if ever, stops crying out of the blue, and especially not when she isn’t there. So what’s changed? When she peeks through the gap in the door, Y/N gets her answer.

“Hey buddy.” Bucky whispers, clutching Oscar to his chest. “I know you’re hungry, but you’ve gotta try to get some sleep, alright? You’ll wake your momma.” Oscar babbles something, and Bucky laughs. “I know, I know, I gave you some food...but your momma’s going through a rough time right now, so you have to be nice and let her get some sleep, alright?” Y/N watches the scene unfold, smiling to herself as she wonders what on earth she did to deserve someone as supportive and caring as Bucky Barnes in her life.

As she watches Bucky cuddling her son close, his metal arm protectively cradling and rocking Oscar as he grabs fistfuls of Bucky's shirt in his tiny hands, Y/N's heart swells, and she sighs happily. “It’s not nice to not have a lot of sleep, is it? I should know.” Bucky says, laughing awkwardly. Y/N sighs. Even though Bucky doesn’t admit his feelings very often, she knows that he’s still having trouble coming to terms with his past and the things he did as the Winter Soldier. Of course, Y/N knows she has no idea of the true scale of pain that Bucky's actually going through. She can see it on his face, though, when he thinks she isn't looking. Sometimes, Bucky just stops, staring into space in silence for a while as the horrors and nightmares of his past flood back to him, and he remembers what he used to be. Y/N just wishes Bucky could see himself how others see him. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as Bucky Barnes. And she especially wants him to see how loving he is. After all, despite the anxieties and blood stained history connected to his arm, Bucky’s still using it to protect and support her son.

Because Bucky Barnes is not a monster. He never was. In fact, he's the complete opposite. He’s warm, and he’s loving, despite everything the world did to him. Or well, at least he is to her and Oscar.

And maybe that’s all that matters.

Since Bucky started living with Y/N and Oscar, he’s helped her so much more than he could ever know. He’s done everything: night feeds, changes (although it took him a little while to get used to how much poop and vomit babies generate), building cribs and other furniture, and more. He also reached out to his superpowered friends and coworkers for help, and true to form, all of Earth’s mightiest heroes rallied around them both. Sam and Sarah gave her spare, old clothes from Cass and AJ, Tony and Pepper offered all of Morgan’s old toys and playdates, Natasha and Wanda promised to take her out on girls' nights for a night out, and all the others offered babysitting and other ways to help. Y/N is incredibly grateful to them for all their help, but she’s especially grateful to Bucky, more so than he’ll ever know. She tells him that every day, but doesn’t know if he truly believes it. Without him, she knows she would have fallen apart. Bucky might not see himself as a hero, but to Y/N, he truly is her saviour. Their arrangement was only meant to last a few weeks, but now it’s been months, and Oscar’s first birthday is fast approaching.

“So, how’s your son Barnes?” Natasha grins one day after a debrief meeting.

“He’s not my son.”

“Buck probably wishes he was, though.” Steve murmurs, and a few laughs sound from the group. Bucky rolls his eyes, but still can’t stop a smile from growing on his lips. It’s small, yet the others still notice, and an ‘Ooooh!’ ripples throughout the room.

“Shut up.” He hisses, his cheeks flushing pink. Of course, he’s still head over heels in love with Y/N, and would love nothing more than to be with her, and to be a father figure to Oscar (officially this time). But he’s still too scared to admit his feelings for her. And besides, they’ve both been through so much pain already. Even though he’s a reformed assassin, Bucky knows his past could still catch up to them both, and he’s terrified of putting either of them in danger. “Anyway, speaking of, Y/N says you’re all invited to Oscar’s first birthday party as a thank you for all your support. It’s in two weeks.” The room fills with the sound of agreement, and once again, Bucky is smiling.

Later that evening, Bucky comes home from an endless day of meetings, exhausted and ready to see his two favourite people. However, as soon as he steps into the house, Y/N’s voice shouts:

“Bucky? Is that you? Come upstairs, quickly!” Bucky runs upstairs the quickest he’s ever moved in his life, terrified that his past as the Winter Soldier has caught up to him, and that Y/N and Oscar are in danger, or hurt. But when he gets there, the scene that greets him is thankfully not what he was expecting. Y/N kneels on the floor, with Oscar sitting a few feet away. “Come on, sweetheart. Show Bucky what you can do!” Y/N urges gently. Without another word, Oscar pushes himself up on his little legs, and toddles over towards Bucky. Once he reaches Bucky, he stumbles forward slightly, wrapping his little arms around Bucky’s leg and holding on tightly.

“Good job Oscar! Who’s my special little guy?” Y/N praises. “He’s been close to walking all day, and just as you got home he looked like he was about to do it, so I had to call you up.” Bucky looks down, and Oscar stares back up at him with a toothy grin. Immediately, Bucky feels tears stinging at his eyes as Oscar holds onto him even tighter. After being responsible for so much death and destruction in his lifetime, Bucky’s never felt so loved before. He’s also never been involved in such an important part of life before.

Because being a part of something like this, something so tender, so loving…is showing Bucky that maybe he’s capable of good things after all he’s done. “Bucky? Are you- Oh my god, are you crying?” Y/N gasps.

“No!” Bucky lies, trying furiously to wipe his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Buck….” Y/N soothes, picking up her son and pulling both him and Bucky into a hug. “Thank you. For everything.” She smiles. “I’m so grateful to you. More than you’ll ever know.”

“You’re welcome.” For a moment, as they both look into each other’s eyes, Bucky swears that this is it. This is when he could kiss her, with no care or any fear. But before he can, Y/N leans in first. As her lips get even closer to his face, Bucky’s heart rate picks up, rising so quickly he fears his heart is about to break free from his chest. Part of him, the scared part, wants to run, but he finds himself rooted to his position. Y/N presses her lips against his cheek. As her lips brush against his skin, heat immediately rises into Bucky’s cheeks, and he blushes deeply. He turns his head quickly, almost catching her lips with his. A gasp leaves Y/N’s lips, and her eyes widen ever so slightly. The familiar worries enter Bucky’s mind then, that despite how right this feels, and how much he wants to kiss her, it’s wrong. That a monster like him doesn’t deserve love after what he’s done, and especially not from someone like Y/N. Maybe she doesn’t even like him back.

But then, Y/N turns her head towards him, leaning in close. This time, it really does feel like his heart is going to break out of his chest. As their lips almost meet, for a moment, it feels like everything is right in the world. But before their lips touch, the phone starts to ring, stopping them both.

“I um…I better go get that.” Y/N mumbles. Bucky reaches out, about to stop her. And it almost seems as if Y/N waits for him to do it. When he doesn’t, her face falls slightly. “I’ll be a sec.” As she walks away, Bucky sighs. Now he’s really messed up. Fuck.

Two weeks later, Oscar’s birthday party arrives, and Y/N’s house is full of Avengers. Away from the madness, Bucky helps Y/N as she brings more bowls of snacks through to the kitchen. Despite their continued ease and comfortableness around each other, there’s still a sense of awkwardness around them. Since they almost kissed, neither of them has spoken about it. Even though it’s been replaying in Bucky’s mind constantly, and all he wants is to admit his feelings and kiss her properly this time. If he could, he’d kiss her forever.

“Where’s Oscar?” She asks, and Bucky chuckles.

“He’s in there, being fawned over by all his honorary aunts and uncles.” Y/N follows him into the dining room, where the Avengers are all playing with Oscar.

“He’s so cute! Like a little angel.” Wanda coos, cuddling him close.

“Yeah, just wait till he’s older, though.”

“Don’t worry about that, Natasha. We’ll teach him what’s right and wrong, Y/N.” Steve promises.

“Oooh, yeah, videos in gym class. How exciting.” Sam teases, taking Oscar from Wanda. “What I wanna know is when he can go for a flying lesson with me.”

“That’s not happening.” Bucky shakes his head.

“Not for a while yet, Sam.” Y/N laughs.

“Ah, they grow up so fast! Soon he might even be able to lift Mjölnir!” Thor chuckles. As Y/N watches Earth’s Mightiest Heroes cuddling and playing with her son, Bucky notices tears shimmering in her eyes. He takes her hand, interlinking his fingers with hers.

“You’re not alone.” He whispers, giving her hand a squeeze. He knows his friends are probably teasing him about this, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is making sure that his two favourite people in the world are happy. So when the doorbell rings and Y/N goes to answer it, he’s confused. As far as he knows, everyone else is already here. So who the hell could this be? His concern grows, and he readies his metal arm just in case. When Y/N comes back with a familiar face, Bucky is just as confused and concerned.

“Everyone…this is Brandon. Oscar’s father.” Y/N announces, her gaze falling to the floor. Immediately, the mood of the room changes. The others don’t know the full extent of the story, but they do know Brandon left them both.

“Hey everyone.” Brandon mutters, warily looking around the room full of superheroes. Then, he makes eye contact with Bucky’s glaring face and flexing metal arm, both warning him that there’ll be serious consequences if he ever hurts Y/N and Oscar again. “Hey Bucky.”

“Hi.” Bucky hisses. Brandon visibly gulps, before noticing his son in Sam’s arms. Right away, his face lights up.

“Oscar! Hey buddy! Come to daddy!” He grins. As Sam reluctantly hands Oscar over, Bucky leans in closer to Y/N.

“Are you okay? Did he show up out of nowhere? If you need me and the others to get rid of him, let me know.” Bucky whispers. To his surprise, Y/N shakes her head.

“No. I invited him.” And then Bucky’s heart sinks. She invited him? Sure, he’s Oscar’s father, but he gave up that role a long time ago. After everything that happened, she still invited him back? Bucky looks over at Y/N, who’s now chatting with Oscar and Brandon, like they’re a happy family. One that Bucky clearly doesn’t fit in. Maybe that’s why she invited him back. Maybe after her and Bucky’s failed kiss attempt, she wants to try again. Because maybe she didn’t feel anything for him at all. And that thought tears Bucky apart.

“You alright?” Steve murmurs, and Bucky nods. Even though it’s obvious he’s not okay. He casts one last look over at Y/N, smiling as she holds her son. But if he doesn’t fit into her life anymore, he just has to accept it.

Despite the awkwardness of Brandon being there, and Bucky worrying that he no longer fits into Y/N’s life, the party is fun. At least, it is when Bucky isn’t throwing glares at Brandon and sad glances at Y/N. Once it’s over and everyone has left, Bucky joins Y/N in the kitchen, helping her clean up. And hopefully he can find a way to talk about his feelings about this whole situation. He just can’t find the words right now. As they clean in silence, the air around them both is awkward.

“Hey, um.” Bucky finally begins. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll move my stuff out whenever you want.” Y/N frowns.

“Why would I want you to do that? You’ve been such a great help, I don’t want you to move out.” Suddenly, her face falls. “Oh god. I’m sorry if I’ve been taking advantage of your help, Bucky. I promise, I didn’t mean to-”

“God, no!” Bucky exclaims. “You haven’t at all. I was happy to help. I just don’t want to get in the way of you and Brandon.” Y/N continues to frown until the realisation dawns.

“Oh. Bucky, you don’t have to worry about him. There’s nothing more between us.”

“Then why did you invite him?” Bucky asks, and Y/N sighs. “He abandoned you both and told you he didn’t want to be a father!”

“I know! I don’t need the reminder.” Y/N huffs. “I honestly didn’t think he’d reply to me, because he barely replied to any of the messages I sent him before now. But when I asked what he was giving Oscar for his birthday, he replied and asked what I was doing for it, so I mentioned the party. Don’t look at me like that!” She orders, pointing out Bucky’s expression. “Yes, he left, but he’s Oscar’s dad, Buck. I know he’s an asshole, but I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t invite his dad to his first birthday party. Like what if he grew up and found out I kept his dad away from him? I just want Oscar to be happy.” She sighs with a sniffle. Bucky’s face softens, and he steps forward, pulling her into a hug.

“And he is happy, Y/N. He’s the best kid I’ve seen, and it’s a testament to you. Nobody else.” He rubs her back as she sniffles softly into his shirt. “I’m sorry if I was being a dick about everything.”

“No, you weren’t. You were just looking out for us both, like you always do. I’m so grateful to you.” Y/N tells him. “The way Oscar turned out may be a testament to me, but I think it’s a testament to you too, Bucky. You’ve done so much for him, for us both. You know, Brandon had no idea what to get Oscar for a present, or what his favourite things to do are. You do, and I think the toys you bought him might be his favourite presents. To be honest, I don’t even know if he knew when Oscar’s birthday was until I told him. And you helped me teach Oscar how to walk and talk, not him. You were the one helping me with baths, night feeds and changes, not him. I told you Bucky, you’ve helped us both more than you can ever imagine, and I am so grateful to you. Brandon might be Oscar’s dad by blood, but to me, you are his father figure.” Bucky stands in shock. As Y/N’s words sink in, he feels tears building in his eyes. Nobody has ever said anything like that about him before. A huge smile grows on his face. Both Y/N and Bucky stay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s embrace. “Bucky?”

“Mhm?”

“I want to tell you something. Something that I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but have never had the confidence to.” She takes a breath. “The reason it won’t work out with me and Brandon anymore is because I’m in love with someone else. I’m in love with you, Bucky.” Bucky’s eyes widen, and he gasps. “If you don’t feel the same about me, then I understand. I just felt like I’d be going crazy if I didn’t tell you the truth.” Lifting his hand, Bucky cups her cheeks.

“Y/N, I love you too. I have done for years, but I never said anything because you had Brandon and Oscar, and I didn’t want to ruin your happiness.”

“Bucky. You could never do that. After what happened, I never thought I’d have happiness again, but being with you and Oscar in our little family has brought me so much joy.” Bucky leans in close, running his thumb along her lips. Without another word, he leans in close, pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss. As they pull each other closer, Bucky’s arms hold her tightly, so tightly that he’ll never let go ever again. That he’ll keep her safe forever.

“Thank you.” He whispers when they pull apart. “Thank you for making me part of a family.”

I don’t do taglists anymore, so please follow @onceuponastory-library and turn notifications on to be notified when I next post!

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x Female Reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel oneshot

892 notes · View notes