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requiemforthepoets · 5 months ago

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the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.

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It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.

When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.

You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,” you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”

He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.

Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.

“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”

You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.

Pregnant.

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.

“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”

Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.

“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”

“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”

He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.

When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.

With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.

The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.

You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.

“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.

You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”

Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”

Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”

You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.

Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”

Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.

“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.

When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.

“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”

“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.

As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.

“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.

You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.

You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.

“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”

Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”

Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.

You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.

Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”

Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”

“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”

Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.

Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.

Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.

Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.

“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”

You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.

Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.

You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn’t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.

Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.

It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.

“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”

Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”

Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”

Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”

Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.

”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.

“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”

“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.

Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”

Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”

“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.

“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”

You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”

After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.

It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.

“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”

Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”

Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.

“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”

The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.

Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.

Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.

The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.

“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.

She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”

You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.

“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.

“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”

You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.

“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”

Pregnant. Pregnant.

For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.

“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”

You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.

When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.

“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”

Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.

Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.

It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.

But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.

However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.

As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?

These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.

The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.

You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.

“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.

“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.

You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”

Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”

Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.

“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”

Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”

A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”

You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.

Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.

Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”

Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.

“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.

“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.

You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”

Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.

“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.

“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”

Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.

“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.

You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”

Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.

“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.

Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”

Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.

You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”

“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.

Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.

It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”

“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”

“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.

Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”

Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”

“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”

Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”

“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”

Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”

Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”

You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”

Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.

You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.

Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.

Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.

Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.

You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.

But for now, everything else could wait.

2K notes · View notes

fxstpace · 2 months ago

Text

the accidental kiss

summary: one night, when kwon soonyoung is piss-drunk and needs to be rescued by his friends, he accidentally kisses you. now that he’s sober, he can’t stop thinking about doing it again. the problem? he has no idea who you are—but kwon soonyoung is a persistent man, and he is determined to find you.

⇢ pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 3.7k ⇢ note: happy birthday @etherealyoungk! i love you so much & i hope you like this little fic i wrote for you. i love talking to you and making plans to meet up with you (we will do it. someday) & i hope you have the most wonderful year ahead 💌 thank you to @melonppang for beta reading. set in the same universe as the accidental one-night stand.

The music is way too loud.

It’s the kind that makes your ribs thump and your ears buzz. Someone’s playing DJ in the living room, and judging by the way the bass shakes the floor, they’ve never once heard of volume control. You’re clutching a plastic cup of something vaguely lemon-flavoured—probably spiked, probably a mistake—and trying to figure out how long you need to stay here before leaving wouldn’t be considered rude.

You don’t even know whose house this is.

The only reason you’re here is because Sejeong begged you to come. “Just for a little while,” she’d said, grabbing your arm and giving you those puppy-dog eyes. “I swear it won’t be boring.”

She lied. The moment the two of you walked in, she vanished into the crowd with some guy who complimented her earrings. That was forty minutes ago. You haven’t seen her since.

Now you’re standing at the corner of a too-warm kitchen, next to a sticky counter and a bowl of tortilla chips that someone accidentally spilled beer into. You check your phone, pretending like you have someplace better to be. You don’t. But it’s a nice fantasy.

That’s when, you’ll tell your friends later, someone kissed you.

Out of nowhere, someone barrels into you from the side. Not aggressively—more like a very determined, very wobbly puppy. A slosh of your drink nearly spills onto your shoes. You suck in a sharp breath and look up, ready to mutter a half-hearted It’s fine, but—

“Oh,” he says, blinking down at you.

He’s taller than you. Kind of soft-looking. Flushed cheeks, dark eyes, disheveled hair curling a little at the ends. His lips are parted like he wasn’t expecting you to be there, which is funny, because you’re not exactly trying to hide.

“Hi,” he breathes. “You’re really pretty.”

You stare at him. He smells like peach soju and mint. “Thanks?” you say, cautious.

“I’m Soonyoung,” he tells you, and then leans in like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I was just telling my friend that I saw a UFO earlier. But it could’ve been a drone. I wasn’t wearing my glasses.”

Your brain stalls. “That’s… cool?”

“Are you an alien?” Soonyoung asks seriously.

“What?”

“Because I think you abducted my heart.”

You make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Oh, my God.”

“I just said that,” he says proudly, lips stretching into a smile so wide, it makes his eyes crinkle. “And I meant it. I think I love you.”

“You’re definitely drunk.” You blink.

He nods solemnly. “So drunk.”

You don’t know why you’re still talking to him. Maybe because he looks at you like you’re something soft. Like even in his alcohol-hazed brain, he’s trying his best to be gentle. Maybe because he’s clearly harmless and just the right amount of charmingly pathetic. Or maybe because, despite yourself, you’re a little curious to see what he does next.

He sways slightly. You instinctively reach out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm.

Then—without thinking, without warning—he kisses you.

It’s not the best kiss of your life. Not even close. He smells like soju and sweat, and he’s a little off-center. But it’s surprisingly soft. Warm. Hesitant, like he’s afraid you might disappear.

It lasts maybe two seconds.

Soonyoung pulls back, blinking, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened. “Whoa,” he says, kind of dazed. “You taste like… gummy bears. Or maybe that’s me.”

Your heart thuds. You open your mouth to speak, but—

“Soonyoung!”

Someone else’s voice cuts in, and a tall guy—broad-shouldered and exasperated—grabs him by the shoulder.

“Dude,” the newcomer says, dragging Soonyoung backward. “We talked about this. Stop kissing strangers.” He turns to look at you, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m really sorry about that. When Soonyoung is drunk, he’s—”

“I wasn’t!” Soonyoung protests, eyes still on you. “We had a moment. Right?” He squints at you. “Tell him.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what to say.

“Alright, loverboy. Time to go,” his friend says, hauling him toward the door. You hear him mutter under his breath, “Where the fuck is Wonwoo? Minghao said he’d sent him over an hour ago.”

Soonyoung doesn’t resist his friend’s grip, but as he’s pulled away, he twists to look at you one last time.

“I’m gonna find you again!” he calls out, grinning like a total idiot. “Don’t fall in love with anyone else!”

He’s gone after that. You stand there, staring at the space he left behind, slightly dazed, slightly amused, and still not entirely sure what just happened.

Someone nudges you with an elbow. “Was that Kwon Soonyoung?”

You turn. It’s a girl you vaguely recognise from a class you had last semester. She’s holding a cup and watching the door like it might burst open again.

“Uh,” you say. “I think so.”

She snorts. “Typical. I’m not even surprised.”

You glance down at your drink. It’s lukewarm now, all the ice cubes that were floating at the top having finally melted. You should probably leave, you think. But you can’t stop replaying it in your head—the way he looked at you, a little glassy-eyed, like you were the only person in the room.

You shake it off and make your way towards the door. It was just a kiss. That’s all it was.

Right?

After Kwon Soonyoung finishes chewing out his best friends—Jeon Wonwoo and his new girlfriend, since they’d conveniently decided to forget to pick him up after they realised their suppressed feelings for each other—all he can think of is you.

But after that, when Wonwoo’s girlfriend leaves, and Soonyoung is sprawled sideways on his couch, legs dangling over the armrest, he brings up The Girl.

“I kissed someone,” he says.

Wonwoo pulls out his laptop and starts working on some assignment. “That’s not exactly new for you.”

“No, but like—I kissed someone. And I think…” Soonyoung trails off, frowning. “I think it meant something.”

“You were drunk.”

“At least I didn’t end up naked in bed with my best friend,” Soonyoung points out and notes, with vicious satisfaction, that Wonwoo’s cheeks turn pink. “But so what if I was drunk?” he continues. “I still remember her. Like, really clearly. She was standing in the kitchen, and there was this lemony drink, and—God, she looked so annoyed at being there, it was kind of hilarious. But then she looked at me, and…”

And what?

You looked at him like you weren’t expecting anything from him. Not even that stupid pick-up line. Not even the kiss. You just let it happen. Let him happen. And then held onto his arm when he almost tripped like he was someone worth steadying.

“I said the alien line,” Soonyoung mumbles.

Wonwoo makes a pained sound. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did. And I told her I loved her.”

“Oh, my God.”

“But it wasn’t that bad,” Soonyoung insists, even though he’s visibly shrinking into his hoodie like a mortified turtle. “She didn’t slap me or anything. She was just… there. And then I kissed her. And she didn’t pull away.”

“Do you even know her name?” his friend asks.

“No,” Soonyoung says, “but she was drinking from a yellow cup. The lemon one. I think it was hers.”

“That’s not a name.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I’m gonna find her again. I told her not to fall in love with anyone else.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Romantic. And delusional.”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung agrees, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. A smile tugs at his lips. “But if I see her again, I’m gonna ask her out properly. With flowers or something. Maybe apologise for the alien joke. Maybe not. She kinda laughed.”

He sits up straight, a Plan forming in his mind. It’s haphazard, and sort of all over the place, but Kwon Soonyoung is a determined man. Persistence is both a curse and a blessing—and right now, for Soonyoung, it is the latter.

Somewhere between a hum and a sigh, he murmurs, “She tasted like gummy bears,” and walks out of Wonwoo’s apartment.

You hear it first in passing. Something about a guy. A party. A yellow cup.

You’re not even listening at first. You’re sitting under the overhang by the arts building, sipping your drink and pretending to study. The two girls beside you whisper loud enough for you to overhear, because gossip is gossip, after all, and college is the best time for it.

“—like, actually going around asking people. Told Jisoo she had the wrong yellow cup. Can you imagine?”

The other one snorts. “Imagine being that crazy over someone you met one time.”

Your pen stills. It could be anyone. That’s what you tell yourself. Campus is big; parties are crowded. Yellow cups are practically default. This is nothing.

But then, later that same day, you hear it again—this time in the student union, right outside the coffee shop where you’re waiting for your order.

“He said she had this look like she was ready to bolt the second someone tried to talk to her,” a guy tells his friend. “Apparently she was drinking some lemon vodka thing.”

You freeze. Fully freeze—because you remember that drink. That sickly sweet vodka thing someone had poured into your cup without asking, and you’d taken one sip, grimaced, and then kept drinking it out of spite. You’d been annoyed about coming to the party, annoyed about your shoes, annoyed about the whole social experiment of pretending to have fun.

That’s when Alien Boy showed up, with the hoodie and the sleepy smile and the godawful pick-up line. The boy you kissed by accident.

You shake the thought out of your head. It’s probably a coincidence. You’re not that girl. You don’t kiss strangers at parties and leave them wandering about campus with nothing but adjectives and a citrus beverage to go by… Do you?

The final straw is the flyer taped to the bulletin board outside the student recreation centre, flapping in the breeze beside a lost water bottle notice and a poster for an improv show.

It reads, in sloppy black marker:

LOOKING FOR A GIRL yellow cup. lemon drink. looks unimpressed by everything. may or may not believe in aliens. if it’s you, please call/text: **********

You stare at it for a full minute.

It’s handwritten, slanted slightly to the right. There’s no name, just the description. Just the memory of a moment you barely allowed yourself to think about because it felt too much like a glitch in the matrix. A night out of time.

You don’t realise you’ve been holding your breath until someone walks by and bumps into your shoulder.

“Sorry,” they mumble, and keep walking.

You step back from the board like it might burn you. You could take it down, ball it up and pretend you never saw it. Delete the memory of his lips and the way he said, Don’t fall in love with anyone else! like he meant it. But you don’t.

You just stand there for a while, staring at the letters, heart tapping out a strange, staccato rhythm in your chest.

Kwon Soonyoung. You never expected to see him again. You especially didn’t expect him to come looking.

Three days.

It’s been three whole days since Soonyoung put up the flyer.

He hadn’t expected it to go viral. Or for the music department group chat to roast him in real time for his Sharpie scrawl and poor sense of anonymity. He also didn’t expect his Creative Writing TA to stick a Post-It on his latest assignment that read: Nice character work. This wouldn’t happen to be autobiographical, would it?

But the worst part—the worst part—is the university’s student-run Instagram account posting a story this morning with a picture of his flyer, a crying emoji, and a poll underneath that said:

Would you text him back? 🍋 Yes, lemon soulmate ❌ No, he seems unwell

The “unwell” option is currently winning by 63%.

Soonyoung’s sitting at the quad with a bucket hat pulled down halfway over his face, sunglasses he doesn’t need, and the last bite of a cold bagel in his mouth, when Minghao drops down beside him on the grass.

“You’re trending on all the campus meme pages,” Minghao says, taking a slurp from his iced coffee. “They’ve started calling you The Yellow Cup Guy.”

Soonyoung groans, smacking his forehead against his knees. “I didn’t ask for this attention.”

Minghao raises an eyebrow. “You printed out twenty-six flyers.”

“Yeah, but I used recycled paper!”

“You also went into the psych building and asked if anyone there believed in aliens.”

“I was being thorough!”

Minghao slurps on his coffee again, then pulls out his phone. “Do you want to see the Reddit thread where someone theorised you’re part of a sociology experiment?”

Soonyoung makes a wounded sound, somewhere between a yelp and a squeak. “I’m trying to find her,” he says miserably. “I thought the flyers would be sweet.”

“They are,” Minghao admits. “If you squint and ignore the serial killer vibes.”

Soonyoung flops backward onto the grass, sunglasses falling off his face. “She tasted like gummy bears,” he says to the sky.

“And now you’re known across campus as the alien guy with a gummy bear fetish.”

“Okay, that’s not—” Soonyoung sits up straight. “Wait, is that what they’re saying now?”

Minghao nods solemnly. “Also something about lemon girl being a metaphor for delusion. It’s very literary.”

Soonyoung groans again, tugging his bucket hat lower. But underneath all the embarrassment, all the very justified mockery, he can’t help it—he’s still smiling. A little. Just enough to make Minghao roll his eyes and stand up. “You’re not going to stop, are you?” he asks, dusting grass off his jeans.

“Not a chance,” Soonyoung says, flopping back again. “I told her not to fall in love with anyone else.”

“Very healthy,” Minghao deadpans. “Text me when she inevitably sues you for defamation.”

As Minghao walks away, Soonyoung stares up at the clouds and wonders, not for the first time, if maybe he is just a little bit unwell. But then he thinks of you—of the way you stood there in the corner next to the beer-soaked tortilla chips, looking like you would rather swallow a whole lemon than be there—and closes his eyes and smiles. He places his bucket hat on top of his face to block the sun, and, a little bit tired, decides to take a nap.

You weren’t supposed to take the flyer.

You meant to just look at it again. Maybe make fun of it in your head a little. Maybe wonder—again—if it was really about you. You were definitely not supposed to peel it off the bulletin board next to the library printers and fold it into your tote bag like it’s a love letter that you’re too embarrassed to keep in plain sight.

Yet. There it is. In your hands. Crumpled and slightly coffee-stained because your lid was loose and life is cruel.

You cross the quad, dodging longboarders and lazy sunbathers, reading the flyer for the twentieth time like the words might rearrange themselves and tell you what to do. Your friends think it’s a campus prank. Sejeong said it’s giving “Wattpad energy.” But your gut—annoyingly, inconveniently—feels otherwise.

“Don’t fall in love with anyone else,” he’d said.

Stupid. Supid and corny and weirdly sincere.

You shake your head, about to shove the flyer deeper into your bag, when a sharp gust of wind launches it straight out of your hands.

“Wait—shit—no—!”

The paper flips and flutters in the air like it’s taunting you. It skates over the grass, dodging a pair of bare feet and a discarded frisbee. You sprint after it, arms flailing, nearly trip over someone’s backpack, and shout a panicked “Sorry!” as you hurtle across the quad.

The flyer lands on someone.

You don’t notice right away—your hair’s in your face, and you’re winded, and someone just yelled “Go long!” too close to your ear—but when you finally spot it, it’s fluttering gently against a stranger’s chest. He’s lying on the grass, bucket hat over his face, like the very image of college student apathy. He’s fast asleep. Or pretending to be. You can’t tell.

You slow down, sheepish now, and hover awkwardly over him.

The flyer is right there, on his chest. One of its corners is tangled in the strap of his messenger bag. Do you… wake him up? Ask him to move? Slink away and pretend none of this ever happened?

You lean down slowly, trying to snag it without disturbing him, but the paper crinkles. He shifts slightly. Breathes out. Doesn’t wake. You stare at him—at the bucket hat, at the sunglasses tucked into his shirt, at the soft curve of his mouth. He looks vaguely familiar, but it’s college; everyone looks vaguely familiar.

Your fingers brush against the edge of the flyer and you ease it free from where it rests on his chest, fold it carefully into your hand, and step back. You don’t look at him again. But the tips of your ears are warm, and your heart won’t stop thudding, and you swear—just as you walk away—he murmurs something in his sleep.

You can’t make out what it is.

TELLING KWON SOONYOUNG THAT YOU’RE THE GIRL HE’S LOOKING FOR

Pros:

Closure

A great story for your grandkids

Directness

He might be just as weirded out

Cons:

Awkwardness overload

Instant regret

He might not remember (please let him remember)

He finds you… and then what?

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. The tiny, blinking cursor mocks you, like it’s daring you to just type something, anything, already.

Your heart is racing, hammering against your ribs in a way that feels almost theatrical. You try to picture it: telling him. The words are clumsy in your head, and even worse when you imagine saying them out loud. You could just leave it, pretend none of this ever happened. You could bury the memory deep, like a time capsule labeled Do Not Open — Ever.

But the thought of it nags at you. Itches under your skin.

You think about the flyer, still tucked into the back pocket of your journal, creased from all the times you’ve taken it out to look at it. You think about the way he smiled—a little lopsided, a little sleepy—right before he kissed you. You think about how ridiculous this all is, how the normal thing would’ve been to move on with your life and let it fade into some fuzzy, alcohol-tinted memory.

Instead, here you are, conducting a pros and cons list like you're weighing a major life decision instead of deciding whether to text a boy you kissed once.

Screw it.

You take a breath, shallow and shaky, and let your fingers fly across the screen before you can talk yourself out of it.

hey, this is going to sound completely insane, but i’m the girl from the flyer. the one you kissed while you were probably drunk off of peach soju. so. hi, i guess?

You stare at the message. Your thumb hovers over the send button. You can practically feel the moment tightening around you, like pulling a slingshot back to its breaking point.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit send.

The message whooshes away, disappearing into the void of cyberspace where you can no longer yank it back. Your stomach flips violently, your palms suddenly clammy.

You sit there, blinking at the screen, watching the tiny status under your text change from “Sending…” to “Delivered.”

You’re digging through your bag, muttering under your breath about your missing dorm key, when you round the corner of your building at full speed — and slam right into something solid.

Or rather, someone solid.

“Oof—!” The impact sends you sprawling backward, but a pair of hands catches you before you hit the ground. Unfortunately, momentum isn’t on your side, and the next thing you know, you’re both tumbling down in a very ungraceful heap.

There’s a split second where everything feels suspended—the breath knocked clean out of you, your palms splayed against someone’s chest, your face ridiculously close to—

Soonyoung blinks up at you, wide-eyed and startled, and in your panic, you lurch forward—

—and accidentally kiss him.

It's not even a real kiss, more like a clumsy brush of your mouth against his, but it’s enough to freeze time. You jerk back immediately, horror clawing its way up your spine.

“Hi,” Soonyoung says, dazed, still lying on the pavement like you’ve just knocked the soul out of him.

“Hi. What the fuck?” you blurt, scrambling upright.

He sits up slowly, grinning like a lunatic, utterly unbothered. “You’re the girl I’ve been searching for,” he says, almost reverent.

“Um,” you stammer, cheeks flaming. Of course he knows. You were the one who texted him—after forty-seven minutes of pacing your room, after three deleted drafts, after practically giving yourself a heart attack.

“Can I kiss you? Properly, this time?” Soonyoung asks, his voice soft but eager. “I’m not drunk, and we’re not at a party.”

Your brain short-circuits. “How did you even find me?” you manage to say.

He beams, like he’s been dying for you to ask. “Well, I asked my friend Seokmin, because he knows a lot of people, and he asked his girlfriend Jihyo, who asked her roommate Miyeon, who asked her best friend Sana, who asked her boyfriend Jihoon, who told my best friend Wonwoo, and then Wonwoo’s girlfriend told me you might be my best bet.” He shrugs, like this is a perfectly normal chain of events. “She follows you on Instagram.”

You stare at him, completely overwhelmed. It's either adorable or terrifying. Possibly both.

“I—” you begin, but he’s already leaning in closer, his smile turning softer, more tentative.

“So can I?” he asks again, quieter now, a nervous energy buzzing just beneath his words.

You nod helplessly.

This time, when he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, it’s deliberate—not accidental, not hurried—just slow and sure. His mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting, like he wants to savor it, and the warmth of it floods through you, all the way down to your fingertips.

You kiss him back without thinking, your hands fisting in the front of his hoodie, and he laughs a little into your mouth, giddy and weightless.

When you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, he whispers, “Hi,” again, grinning like an idiot.

You can’t help but laugh. “Hi.”

#seventeen #kwon soonyoung #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #kwon soonyoung x reader #kwon soonyoung fluff #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung fluff #hoshi x reader #hoshi fluff #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt #hoshi #soonyoung

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lorialia · 3 months ago

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⋆ pervy hamster!han jisung x bunny!reader headcanons ⋆

tags: pervert!hanji, masturbation, hamster and bunny hybrids, sub!reader, fem!reader, heats/ruts, oral(fem receiving), unprotected sex. minors dni.

a/n: here's some short unedited hanji filth for you guys. sorry not sorry for not posting i am constantly and perpetually sick, but i do have some fun things planned! not just for hanji next time. enjoy <3

masterlist

You've always been warned to never get close to predators. You're a bunny after all—a lesser form. There are people all around the world that could hurt you.

It's been so hard to find someone you can trust :( thankfully, there's no need to worry with your best friend Jisung.

Jisung's just a sweet hamster hybrid you live with. So adorable with his soft, tiny ears and tail. He loves anime and watching movies on the couch with you, and he's the nicest person ever!

Meanwhile hamster!hanji feels so so guilty; really he does. But something about your floppy bunny ears and the skimpy outfits you wear around the house makes his dick hard.

He can't help it—you're so cute. There's no way he can resist taking a peek under your skirt when he bends down to pick something up for the nth time.

Jisung loves petting your ears, especially when he tugs them and you make a soft noise of protest. It sounds like a little moan, and he wishes he could record the sound to jerk off to later.

And the way you hop around when you're excited is so adorable! He hopes you can ride him like that someday <3

He loves to tickle you all over, copping a feel of your squishy little tits and ass. When you're lying on the couch by the end of it, all breathless and giggly, he swears he will cum in his pants.

You trust him so much that you let him hug and cuddle you. Hamsters are naturally cuddly, right? Especially when he can subtly grind on you from behind.

And when you're showering? Jisung's fluffy little ears always prick up; his feet dash to the bathroom door. The sound of the water covers the soft huffs he makes jerking off to your body, thank god. He wouldn't want to be caught, would he?

At night, he dreams of shoving you down to his bed and making you his. Mounting you and pressing you into the sheets, burying his head into your shoulder and cumming into your sweet pussy over and over. He always wakes up to a hard-on that he needs to get off before breakfast.

Meanwhile, you're oblivious to it all—so happy that you have a sweet roommate that won't prey on you. There's no way Jisung could do anything; hamster hybrids are so docile~

You know you have a yearly heat, but you're surprised when it comes a week early. Neither of you are prepared—Jisung is surprised by your snappier, more aggressive behavior and has no idea what is going on.

You immediately retreat to your room and shut the door, forgetting to lock it. Poor Jisung is so confused that he has to open the door a smidge and peek through.

You're laid on the center of your bed, your pussy gushing as you take two fingers. Too desperate, you haven't even pulled off your skirt or panties—they're simply shoved to the side so you can fuck yourself. Your face is pressed into your pillow, muffling the sound of your frustrated whines. You just can't seem to get off no matter how hard you try.

Jisung's mouth drops. His eyes zero in on your pretty cunt and the slick seeping out of it, and his hands fly to the growing bulge in his pants. He palms himself, imagining his dick in place of your fingers.

A groan slips from his lips louder than intended. Your bunny ears prick up; your head moves up from your pillow, just enough so your teary eyes are able to see him. They're dilated and wide, as if there's not much more in your mind than heat and want.

"Help?" You beg in the softest voice, and Jisung thinks he might ascend. He bursts through the doorway and clambers onto the bed with reckless abandon. His lips meet yours before you can say another word, desperate and frantic. When you pull apart he's already pulling your panties down your leg and slotting his face where it was before.

He eats you out so nicely, his arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you close and spread out for him. He takes turns between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit. Since your skirt is covering his head, all you can see are two brown hamster ears twitching with utter delight as you cry and moan like a broken record.

By the time he's lapped up two rounds of cum, you're wet enough so when he finally slips his cock between your folds it doesn't sting. Jisung sinks in like warm butter, and he swears he can see stars. He lets out a shudder and has to take a second just to sit and feel; your cunt so tight he might burst.

Meanwhile, you're impatient and heat-crazy. You beg for him to fuck you, mount you, breed you into submission. When he begins to move, you nearly sob into the mattress, his cock rubbing deliciously against your walls. He pounds into you relentlessly, making sure you're shaped to fit him and him alone. His hands wrap around your bunny ears and tug; the stuttered sound you make causes Jisung to respond with a guttural groan.

"Fuck—bun, bunny, you're so cute," he mumbles into your ear. "I'm gonna cum inside, ok? You're—shit, ah—you're gonna take it, yeah? You're gonna take it~" You can barely manage to nod, all hazy and sticky with desire. When he fills you up, you cum alongside him—your body arching to meet his. You let out a soft, high-pitched whine as he pulls back out of you. He can't help but chuckle breathlessly, his head dizzy with adrenaline.

"Fuck, that was nice...wait, b-bunny, hold on-!" he suddenly whimpers as you crawl onto his lap, sinking right into his hardening cock. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean in, whispering a quiet, drunken "want more" before riding him to the edges of overstimulation.

His last thought before he slips into oblivion is that he might've just found heaven <3

#⋆ jinnie's fics ⋆#han jisung x reader #skz x reader #han jisung smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #han jisung x y/n #han smut #han x reader #han jisung x you #han x y/n #han x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #skz headcanons #stray kids drabbles #skz imagines

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orellazalonia · 22 days ago

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Just a Kiss

Summary: In the quiet moments between missions, Bucky Barnes finds clever (and sometimes painful) excuses to spend time with you, the medic who keeps him patched up and grounded. What starts as playful flirting during routine injury treatment quickly evolves into genuine connection. (Flirty!Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.5k+

A/N: Here’s the flirty version for Bucky. I might make a part 2 for this later. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

You’d been working with the Avengers’ medical team for about six months, which meant six months of dealing with superheroes and supersoldiers who thought their healing factors made them invincible and their pain tolerance meant they could skip post-mission checkups. You weren’t sure if you were more annoyed or amused by it most days.

Today, you were definitely annoyed.

“Sit. Down,” You snapped, pointing firmly at the cot in the med bay.

Bucky Barnes raised his hands in surrender, a cocky little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he limped toward the table. A streak of dried blood ran from his temple down to his jaw, and his left sleeve was shredded, revealing deep lacerations along his shoulder.

“I am sitting,” He said smoothly as he eased himself onto the cot, letting out a grunt of pain that he tried to cover up with a smirk. “See? Perfect patient.”

You grabbed your supplies with practiced precision, already predicting the flirt that was about to come next. He never failed to throw one in usually right after a mission, bloodied but smug, acting like patching him up was the highlight of your day.

“I’m not in the mood, Barnes,” You muttered, pulling on gloves.

“‘Barnes’? Oof,” He said, placing a hand on his chest like you’d wounded him. “That hurts more than the knife wound in my side.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, you cleaned the area around his shoulder with a bit more pressure than necessary, eliciting a hiss from him.

“Easy, doll,” He said through gritted teeth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to punish me.”

“If I wanted to punish you,” You muttered, “I’d let the wound fester.”

He laughed, actually laughed like this was some kind of game between you two. And maybe it was. Bucky had a way of flirting that always sat right on the edge of sincerity, and it was hard to tell when he was joking and when he meant it. But today, with the sweat on his brow and that tiny wince he tried to hide every time he moved, you weren’t playing.

You applied pressure to one of the deeper cuts and his breath hitched.

“Hurts?”

“Not if you kiss it better,” He said without missing a beat.

You stopped, eyes narrowing at him. “You want me to kiss your bullet wound?”

“Technically it was a knife this time,” He said, flashing that signature smirk. “But hey, I’m not picky. You could start with the temple. Work your way down.”

You leaned in slightly, close enough that he went quiet. You saw his grin faltering for a second as you met his eyes.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor,” You said flatly.

He blinked, then chuckled. “Damn. Almost had you.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to work. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But charming.”

“No.”

“Admit it, doc. You missed me while I was gone.”

“I missed clean cots and peace and quiet,” You shot back.

He sighed dramatically, laying his head back against the pillow with a boyish grin. “Someday you’re gonna crack. You’re gonna smile at one of my lines. And I swear, when that happens, I’m gonna make you really regret playing hard to get.”

You paused, glanced at him sideways, then smirked, just a little. Not enough for him to fully catch it. But his eyes narrowed like he almost did.

“Need stitches,” You said, and reached for the needle.

“Be gentle with me,” He whispered, feigning fear.

You arched a brow, holding up the needle in one gloved hand. “You want gentle? You went to the wrong doctor.”

Bucky winced as you threaded the needle through his skin with precision honed by months of stitching up idiots just like him. Though none of the others flirted their way through the pain like this one did.

He grit his teeth but didn’t cry out. You watched the muscle in his jaw flex, the faint shimmer of sweat clinging to his temple. It wasn’t that he was stoic. It was that he wanted you to notice how much he could take. Every reaction was calculated.

“You can squeeze something if it helps,” You offered, only a little sarcastic.

“Oh?” His lips curved up lazily, eyes still half-lidded. “Offering your hand, sweetheart?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. You pulled the stitch taut.

“Shit-“ He hissed, muscles tensing.

“Still want that kiss?”

“Yeah,” He grunted, head falling back. “But now I think I’ve earned it.”

You snorted. “You think surviving your own recklessness deserves a reward?”

He opened one eye and locked it with yours. “If it gets me a kiss from you? I’d take a bullet to the thigh next time.”

“That can be arranged,” You said dryly, tying off the stitch. “There. You’re done.”

Bucky let out a long breath, closing his eyes again. “You’re good at this.”

“Stitching up charming idiots? Yeah. I’ve had practice.”

“You wound me, doc.”

“I could,” You replied, holding up the needle again. “Want a matching set on the other shoulder?”

He chuckled, finally sitting up with some effort. His bare torso was scabbed and bruised, but still maddeningly sculpted. He winced but didn’t complain, and you handed him a bottle of water without thinking.

He took it, his fingers brushing yours. It was such a light touch, but it felt deliberate. Of course it did. Everything Bucky did was just barely crossing the line.

“Thanks,” He said softly. He held your gaze a beat longer than normal. “You know, if you really wanted me to stop flirting, you’d tell me to.”

You blinked. “I have told you.”

He tilted his head. “Nah. You’ve pretended to tell me. But you haven’t told me to stop.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He had that smug look again, like he’d caught you in a trap you didn’t know you were walking into.

So you did what you always did with Bucky Barnes. You deflected.

“You need to rest,” You said, stepping back and peeling off your gloves. “You lost more blood than you think. You’ve got a room down the hall. Don’t faint in the hallway again. I’m not dragging you this time.”

“Can I get a personal escort?” He asked, standing slowly, favoring his right side.

You crossed your arms. “What, in case you trip?”

“No,” He said, moving closer now. His voice dropped just enough to feel different. “In case I get lonely.”

You looked up at him. Close. Too close. You could smell leather, sweat, and blood. But under all that, there was something warm. Familiar. Bucky Barnes, for all his teasing, had eyes that sometimes gave too much away.

You said nothing.

He tilted his head, just a little. “Still not gonna kiss it better?”

Your lips curved up—subtle. Quick. Then you reached up with a hand, brushed your fingers carefully against his stitched shoulder. He sucked in a sharp breath, but not from pain.

And then—soft, brief, and maddeningly light—you kissed just beside the fresh stitches. Your lips barely grazed bruised skin. His breath caught.

“There,” you murmured. “That better?”

When you pulled back, his grin was gone. Not replaced by pain—but something heavier. Something far more dangerous.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “But now I want a hell of a lot more than that.”

You turned your back before you could say something stupid.

“Go lie down, Barnes.”

He didn’t argue this time. But as he left the room, you could feel his eyes still on you.

Watching. Waiting. Plotting.

And you knew the next mission he came back from? He’d make damn sure he needed stitches again.

You were halfway through restocking medical supplies in the quiet lull between missions when you heard the soft, telltale creak of boots on the tile floor behind you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let me guess,” You said without turning. “A paper cut that needs an X-ray? A stubbed toe that requires emergency attention?”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“…I might’ve twisted my wrist.”

You finally turned. Bucky stood in the doorway, holding his left wrist dramatically. He had started a habit of coming in with minor injuries, especially during the slow days. Though, you noticed right away that his wrist wasn’t even red. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, dog tags faintly glinting under his shirt. He looked good. Too good for someone who claimed to be injured.

You raised an eyebrow. “Must’ve twisted it very carefully. No swelling. No bruising. No signs of trauma. Truly, you’re an enigma, Barnes.”

“I like to keep you on your toes, doc,” He said, striding in and hopping up to sit on the exam table like it was a barstool. “Maybe you’re just not looking close enough.”

You stepped between his knees with a practiced sigh, pretending to examine his wrist. You tilted it gently, watching his face.

“Any pain here?”

“Only when you’re not looking at me like that.”

You didn’t blush. You didn’t give him the satisfaction. But you did hold his gaze a beat longer than usual and that was enough to make his flirty grin soften into something quieter.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?” You asked. “That’s what this is.”

“I’m not bored,” He said. “I just… realized it’s been a few days since we talked. Figured if I showed up with a ‘sprain,’ you’d make time.”

You stared at him. “You do know there are easier ways to ask someone to lunch, right?”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you saying you’d say yes if I did?”

“…Maybe,” You said, very carefully, turning back to the cabinet.

“So if I walked in here and just asked you to coffee like a normal person instead of pretending I fell off a stairmaster…”

“I’d probably check if you were having a stroke,” You deadpanned.

He laughed, low and warm. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You looked over your shoulder, catching his expression. He looked… relaxed. Less like a soldier, more like someone trying to learn how to be someone again. That vulnerable thread always tugged something in your chest.

“Lunch,” He said suddenly. “Not as a fake patient. Just… lunch. You, me, somewhere that isn’t filled with needles and bandages.”

You turned slowly. He was watching you, really watching you, and for once, there was no smirk, no wink, no joke at the ready. Just a question in his eyes, and hope buried somewhere underneath.

You walked over, took his ‘injured’ wrist gently in your hand again.

“I’ll allow it,” You said.

“Yeah?”

“But if you fake another injury for attention, I will make you help me disinfect the entire med bay.”

He grinned. “Totally worth it.”

“Lunch break is in twenty minutes,” You added, dropping his wrist and turning back to your supplies.

He slid off the table behind you, lingering just long enough to lean in close and murmur in your ear:

“Guess I better go change into something you’ll wanna stare at.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone with a smirk threatening to curl onto your face.

Bucky showed up exactly twenty minutes later, as promised.

Only now, he’d traded his tactical gear for a dark grey Henley that fit just snug enough across his shoulders to look very intentional, sleeves pushed up over his forearms, metal arm gleaming faintly under the lights. He smelled faintly of aftershave, like he’d gone back to his room just to freshen up. His hair was damp at the ends.

You didn’t call him out for it. But he caught the flicker of your smile before you turned to grab your bag.

“Nice shirt,” You said lightly, not looking at him.

“Oh, this old thing?” He asked, stretching his arms in a way that was absolutely for show. “Had to match the occasion.”

“Which is?”

“Our first date.”

You froze mid-step. “I didn’t say yes to a date.”

“No,” He said, catching up beside you. “But you didn’t say no, either. You said lunch. I’m taking liberties.”

You shook your head, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here you are. Walking next to me.”

You rolled your eyes but your steps didn’t slow.

The cafe he picked was quiet, tucked in a corner of Brooklyn, just far enough from the compound to feel like a secret. Bucky held the door open for you like he was born in another century which, to be fair, he kind of was and you slipped past him with a mumbled thanks.

He ordered a coffee, black, and a piece of banana bread. You got something warm, something that made him tilt his head and smile like he was memorizing the sound of your voice when you said the name of it.

“You’ve been here before?” You asked as you both sat across from each other.

“Once,” He said. “Alone.”

“Romantic.”

He grinned. “Wasn’t then. Is now.”

You sipped your drink to hide your smile. “You always this smooth, or do you just save it for medical professionals?”

“Only the ones who patch me up and kiss my shoulder,” He said, gaze sharp and warm all at once. “That kind of thing leaves a mark, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a pity kiss. You were whining.”

“You kissed me, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” He said, low. Serious. “Wasn’t pity.”

That shut you up for a moment. Not because it scared you but because you could tell he meant it. Bucky could flirt all day, crack jokes, charm his way out of most things but when he dropped the act, when he let it slip just enough to show real interest, it was disarming.

You stirred your drink slowly. “You do this a lot?”

“What?”

“Charm people who stitch you up. Take them to lunch. Blur the lines.”

He leaned forward slightly. “No. Just you.”

Your heart gave a little lurch at that. Stupid, really. But there it was.

“And if I told you,” You said softly, “that this doesn’t change anything at work? That I’ll still yell at you the next time you walk in with a cracked rib and a dumb excuse?”

“I’d believe you,” He said. “And I’d still show up.”

“Why?”

He smiled again, smaller this time. A little unsure. A little too honest.

“Because it’s been a long time since I wanted to show up for someone,” He said. “And you’re… easy to want.”

For a long, quiet second, you just looked at him. Let yourself see him. Not just the smug, flirty soldier but the man beneath it. The one who still flinched when doors slammed too hard, who sometimes sat too quietly for too long, who showed up in your clinic with excuses just to stay close.

You reached across the table, nudging your fingers into his without fully holding his hand. Testing. Letting him feel it.

His eyes flicked down to the touch, then up to yours.

And he smiled like someone who’d just won a war he hadn’t known he was fighting.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel fic #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you

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leashybebes · 3 months ago

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fic: in deep devotion [bucktommy, t, 1k]

hey, gang. have 1000 words of buck having feelings about tommy's gray hairs.

It's been weeks since they've had overlapping time off that hasn't been filled with plans. Tommy's back at work tomorrow afternoon, while Buck is only on the first day of his 72 hours off. He's determined to make the leisurely, lazy best of the overlap and so far, it's a strong tick in the mission accomplished box.

Tommy had made breakfast and coffee while Buck slept off the last of his twenty four hour turned twenty eight hour shift, and they'd eaten in bed. The second cups of coffee that Buck ventured out into the kitchen for wound up going cold because when he got back, Tommy was propped up against the pillows and the sight of him made Buck's breath catch in his throat. One kiss turned into two, turned into teasingly wrestling each other across the bed.

read the rest on ao3 or below

A playfully energetic half hour later sees them like this - naked, breath slowly returning to normal, Tommy's head pillowed on Buck's belly. Buck flails out one hand and grabs a pillow, shoving it under his head so that he's propped up enough that he can look down at Tommy. He has his eyes closed, a half smile curling his mouth, and he just - he takes Buck's breath away. They're coming up on a year into their second go around, and the sight of Tommy, sated and relaxed and here is still enough to make Buck's stomach do a happy little flip. It's not like it was when they first got back together - a little anxiety underpinning a lot of excitement. He feels like they've put in the work now, both of them, so it's more like oh, of course you're here. You'll always be here. You belong here.

In the late morning light, Tommy's eyelashes are practically casting shadows on his cheekbones, and there's a beam of sunlight right across his face. It's probably why his eyes are still closed, just tightly enough to make some of the lines around them stand out clearly. The silver in his hair and in his stubble is all but sparkling in the sun, calling to Buck like a siren song.

Buck strokes his fingertip against the grain of Tommy's stubble, up into his sideburns, close cropped because he went to the barber after his last shift, up further across his temple, watching the way the light plays off the gray hairs as his finger presses across them. There's a patch at the bolt of Tommy's jaw where the grays are more concentrated and Buck touches his fingertips to it. God, he loves how Tommy doesn't shave on his days off. He looks so good.

"What are you doing?" Tommy asks, a laugh around the edges of his voice, and he turns his head to look at Buck, stubble scratching against his ribs, right on the edge of tickling.

"Your grays really show in this light," Buck says, touching his fingers to Tommy's temple again.

Tommy leans into the touch and smiles at him. "Careful, baby. You're gonna make me self-conscious. Should I pick up some Just For Men next time I'm at the store?"

It's clearly a joke, but Buck's heart sinks just at the suggestion.

"Don't you dare."

Tommy laughs and rolls off him to lay at his side. Buck digs a hand into the hair at the top of his head and tugs gently.

"Hey. I'm serious. Absolutely no hair dye. I'll bite you."

"Sorry, is that supposed to be a disincentive?"

"Tommy."

"What?" Tommy says, nudging his head into Buck's touch. "Would it ruin the daddy vibes for you?"

"It's not about that," Buck says.

"No?"

Buck smoothes his fingers through Tommy's hair, down to that silver patch of stubble on his jaw.

"You have more now than when we met," he says, not quite able to explain why that makes his heart beat harder. Not faster, but harder.

"Okay?" Tommy says, corner of his mouth curving up the way it does when Buck's being particularly entertaining. "That's generally how the relentless march of time operates. Except on you, apparently. I swear I'll find that attic portrait you're hiding someday."

"I love it," Buck blurts. "You've changed. I've watched you change. I - I love it."

Tommy's smirk turns into something softer, a little wonderstruck, like he knows exactly what Buck's trying to say.

"Evan…"

"I just - come up here and kiss me, please."

Tommy does as he's told without a moment's hesitation, boxing Buck in, bracing himself with a hand on either side of Buck's head, dropping soft, affectionate pecks onto his cheeks, his chin, his mouth. It's not enough and Buck pulls him into a proper kiss, messier and more urgent than when they were laughingly getting each other off before.

"You're bigger," Tommy says between kisses. "More solid. Stronger. The - the calluses on your hands are rougher. I've watched you change, too."

"Yeah," Buck says, warmth blossoming in his chest because that's it, that's exactly it. Time shared will carry on being written across their bodies, weeks and months and years of little changes and big ones. Changing hairstyles, changing clothing preferences, changing tastes in food, changing hobbies. And they get to see it all. He tugs Tommy into another kiss. "Isn't it - isn't it the best thing in the world? I can't wait to see what you look like when you're forty five. Fifty. Sixty. Retired in a rocking chair on the porch."

Tommy laughs against his mouth. "I'll look like an old man."

"Yeah," Buck agrees. "Yeah. My old man. Bring it on."

He runs his hand through Tommy's hair again, tips his head gently to kiss the lines that frame his eyes. The sun continues to warm them and he thinks beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

#bucktommy #my writing #getting older together is the sexiest thing you can do with a partner i will not be taking questions at this time

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flvvffy · 1 month ago

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. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

wc: 515. not proofread.

chubby chaser!choso who didn't know why his heart was beating so fast, why his palms were so sweaty, and why his throat was so dry when he first met you. your soft curves, your thick thighs, your large chest. he didn't know what to do but to stare at you as you held out your hand for him to shake.

chubby chaser!choso who can't believe it everytime when he realizes that you're now together. a couple. boyfriend and girlfriend. how an extremely beautiful woman like you would ever like let alone love him. you were the only person he would ever lay eyes on. he would stare so much at you when you talk forgetting to listen. "are you even listening, cho...?

"yeah that's... that's so cool"

chubby chaser!choso who is embarrassed to say it, but absolutely adores your chest. they're so soft and bouncy and they call his name everytime your relaxing either on the couch or bed. he quickly gets on top of you placing his cheek onto them and letting out a sigh of contentment. "this is great... don't you think"

chubby chaser!choso who has a habit of lightly spanking or just grabbing your ass when you walk by or when he's standing behind you. then rubs it later to 'ease the pain'. he does this any chance he gets, even if it's in public, he does not care. your ass just looks so scrumptious and he's having weird thoughts.

chubby chaser!choso who kisses your soft tummy when you lay down together, sometimes even blowing into it to tickle you which makes you laugh. he loves feeling it when he hugs you from behind. your so soft in all the right places, he just can't help himself.

chubby chaser!choso who bites your plush cheeks after he kisses them. he just loves how round, warm and soft they are. the way the rise up just a bit when you smile. he swears he's suffering from a heart attack when you do that. but a good one. because he thinks your adorableness will be the death of him someday. "if i were to die in your hands. i would die the happiest man, baby"

chubby chaser!choso who likes placing his hand on your thick juicy thighs whenever he's driving. it's like his hand is just magnetically attached, because he will never stop...ever! he also like laying on them or being crushed by them, just because. he also enjoys watching the way they become 3× bigger when you sit down. he could just scream.

chubby chaser!choso who always makes you feel secured about your body. giving you compliments and placing kisses everywhere leaving your cheeks warm and your heart feeling full everytime he does this. he also effortlessly carries you to the bed or anyway you wanna lay really because he loves having you in his arms.

chubby chaser!choso who learns to cook all your favourite meals and demands he feeds you, because to him, the bigger the figure, the better and the more he can love...

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

#°𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘 #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk fluff #reader #choso fluff #choso x reader #choso headcanons #choso imagines #choso scenarios #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #x reader #fluff #jjk #jjk choso

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vaginalvr · 1 month ago

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oh my gosh the gif where you asked for requests, it has me thinking. perhaps like a spencer x bau! reader and it’s just kinda pillow talk and where they sort of talk about the future, ya know like getting married and having kids type of stuff.

i supposeeeeeeee 🤗🤗🤗

a/n This is super cutie. enjoy!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Come submit an idea :)

cw: Emotional intimacy, mild suggestive content, but mostly soft and romantic

Now, hours later, you’re wrapped up in a pair of Spencer’s sweatpants and one of his old cardigans, warm skin still humming from the shower, your body curled against his under the comforter.

The room is dim, moonlight pooling through the window. Spencer’s lying on his side, propped on one elbow, his fingers lazily stroking the bare skin of your arm. Your head rests on his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.

Neither of you has said much since you got home—just a few soft kisses, a murmured “I love you,” the kind of quiet that only happens when you don’t need words to feel safe.

But now, as your limbs tangle beneath the sheets and sleep threatens, his voice finds you.

“Do you ever think about what comes after this?”

You tilt your head, chin resting on his ribs. “After what?”

“This,” he says softly, gesturing at nothing in particular. “The BAU. Chasing monsters. Jet lag and cold coffee and hotel rooms.”

You hum, shifting so you can meet his eyes. They’re thoughtful, distant in the way they get when his mind is half in a memory and half in the future. You reach up and trace your fingers down his jaw, gently grounding him.

“Sometimes,” you admit. “I used to be scared to.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think I’d get an after,” you whisper. “Before you… I didn’t picture anything past the next case.”

Spencer’s eyes soften, and he brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle slowly. “Me too.”

The silence that follows is full of understanding. You’ve both seen things that make the idea of ‘later’ feel fragile. But here, wrapped in each other, it feels possible.

“I think about it all the time now,” he says. “Not in a desperate way. Just… little flashes.”

“Like what?”

Spencer smiles, that boyish curve of his lips that still melts your heart. “Like you in a wedding dress. A quiet ceremony. Maybe just us and the team. And then this ridiculous honeymoon where we forget how to do anything except be happy.”

Your breath catches a little. He says it so casually, like he’s just listing grocery items. But you can see the honesty in his eyes.

“You want to get married?” you ask softly, more touched than surprised.

He gives you a look. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with you for three years. I want everything with you.”

You blink back the sudden sting in your eyes, smile wobbling. “Well, you’re in luck. I want everything with you too.”

Spencer’s hand rests over your stomach, fingers idly brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. “Do you think we’ll know when it’s time to stop chasing monsters?”

You exhale, thinking. “I don’t know if we ever really stop. But I think someday we’ll want to stay. To build something instead of always cleaning up after what’s broken.”

He nods. “Yeah. I want that. A house. Not too big. Maybe a porch. Some bookshelves I can overfill.”

You grin. “You’ll overfill every room.”

He chuckles softly, then quiets, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want kids?”

The question lands gently, not like a bomb but like something sacred. Something careful. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“I think I do,” you whisper. “I used to say I wasn’t sure. Too dangerous. Too messy. But lately… I see a life with you, and it feels different. Like it’s something we could protect.”

Spencer’s eyes shine in the moonlight. “You’d be such a good mom.”

You snort softly. “Yeah? Even when I swear like a sailor and get hangry on stakeouts?”

He laughs. “Especially then. You’re real. You care so deeply. I see it every day. And any kid would be lucky to grow up with you as their mother.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone, overwhelmed with love. “What about you? Think you could handle the chaos?”

His smile fades into something more vulnerable. “I used to be terrified I’d turn into my mom. That I’d pass something down without meaning to. But now… I think I’d be okay. Not because I’d be perfect. But because I’d have you. And because I’d try.”

Your heart swells at the tenderness in his voice.

“You’d be the most loving dad,” you say, fingertips brushing through his curls. “You’d read them stories with all the voices. Make them pancakes shaped like animals. Teach them to be kind and curious.”

Spencer closes his eyes, like he’s imagining it. “I want to teach them chess. And long division. And how to spot a lie.”

You laugh quietly. “You’d turn them into little profilers.”

“Just the healthy kind,” he promises. “Smart, but not afraid to feel things. I want them to know it’s okay to cry. That being strong doesn’t mean being silent.”

You rest your forehead against his. “We’d build something beautiful.”

He nods, and his voice goes soft. “You make everything feel possible.”

You lie there for a while, breathing each other in, wrapped in a future that hasn’t happened yet but feels real enough to touch.

After a few minutes, Spencer murmurs, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I already have a ring.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, heart stuttering. “You what?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’ve had it for a few months. I’ve just been waiting. For the right time. The right moment.”

You stare at him, heart thudding wildly. “Spencer…”

“I wasn’t going to do it tonight,” he adds quickly, voice warm and calming. “Not like this. Not after a long case, in bed with no grand gesture. But now that we’re talking about the future, it feels silly to keep it a secret.”

You bite your lip, eyes stinging again. “Is it weird that I love that you told me like this?”

He shakes his head, brushing your cheek. “No. Because this—us, talking about our lives in bed, dreaming together—this is what I want forever to feel like.”

You lean in and kiss him, slow and deep, full of promise.

When you break apart, you whisper against his lips, “So… when you do ask, I’ll say yes.”

Spencer smiles against your mouth. “Good. Because I plan on asking a hundred times over the years. Just to hear you say it again.”

You laugh, pulling him close, and he settles into the crook of your body, arms tight around you.

The future is still uncertain. The work is still hard. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like it’s okay to dream. To imagine wedding rings and bedtime stories and messy pancakes on Sunday mornings. A life that’s more than surviving.

And in Spencer’s arms, you know—whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

#criminal minds #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem reader

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enhaflixer · 3 months ago

Note

Sined sealed and undone is such a beautiful story! I loved it! It would be lovely if we could get some more snippets of their lives someday! Maybe about the pregnancy or when the baby is born???

First Trimester

Jay doesn’t know how to react at first. Not really. He’s not shocked—he’s prepared on paper. They talked about children. They were careful. But deep down? He always knew Mina was going to come early. And yet somehow it still knocks the breath out of him.

He doesn’t celebrate at first. He calculates. Sits up late reading medical journals and government maternity policies. Makes a spreadsheet of every hospital in a 100km radius. Sends your doctor a thank-you gift after every appointment.

You find him one night in his study, staring blankly at a half-done nursery mood board, his phone open to an article titled “Intergenerational Trauma and Pregnancy Outcomes.”

“Jay,” you say gently, stepping into the room. “You’re allowed to be excited, you know.”

He blinks at you like he forgot how to breathe. Then:

“I don’t want her to inherit anything broken.”

You kneel in front of him.

“She won’t. She’s getting the best of you.”

Then, softer:

“And the rest she’ll learn to survive. Like we did.”

He wraps his arms around you so tight you can barely breathe. But you don’t mind. He needs this more than you do.

Second Trimester

Jay gets weirdly charming during this time. Like, glowing. He stops answering calls after 6PM. Starts making dinner. Starts… humming while folding laundry???

You ask him one day, “Are you nesting?”

“I’m stabilizing our home environment,” he says, dead serious, as he alphabetizes the spice rack.

He talks to your belly every night, even before you can feel movement. His voice goes low, affectionate, incredibly gentle—like he’s already protecting Mina from the world.

“Hi, Baby,” he whispers against your stomach. “It’s Appa. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll handle it.”

You cry the first time you hear him say her name.

He panics and tries to call your OB.

You have to explain that these are happy tears.

Later, you find a leather-bound journal hidden in his drawer. Inside: handwritten letters to Mina. Every week. Every milestone. Every fear. Every dream.

Third Trimester

Jay is officially in full Dad Mode™. He speaks to your belly in boardroom Korean. You swear Mina kicks harder when he starts using his “negotiation voice.”

He buys three diaper bags. Tests the car seat installation seven times. Has every caregiver within his family vetted by a private firm.

But also? He’s scared. You catch it in quiet moments—when he watches you sleep with a crease between his brows. When he lingers at the hospital lobby longer than necessary.

“I don’t know if I can protect you both,” he admits one night, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” you say softly. “You just have to love us.”

And he holds you tighter. Doesn’t say a word. But later that night, he changes your contact name in his phone from just your name… to My Family.

The Birth

Jay doesn’t cry. Not until they place Mina in your arms, all tiny fingers and sleepy squints and scrunched-up nose that definitely came from him.

Then he’s gone. Sobbing silently, shoulders shaking, forehead pressed to the edge of your hospital bed like he’s trying to keep himself from collapsing.

“She’s real,” he says. “She’s here.”

And you nod, exhausted, whispering, “She’s perfect.”

Jay kisses Mina’s forehead, then yours. His voice cracks when he says, “Thank you. For giving her to me.”

Postpartum / First Months

Jay doesn’t sleep. Not out of stress—he just can’t look away. He watches Mina breathe. He learns how to swaddle from six different sources and compares their efficiency. He insists on doing midnight feedings because “you carried her for nine months, I can carry her through a few nights.”

He works less. Holds more. Laughs more.

One night, Mina won’t stop crying no matter what either of you do. You’re both exhausted, on the edge. You find Jay in the living room with her on his chest, softly singing a lullaby his mother used to hum to him.

“Please sleep, Mina,” he whispers. “Appa needs to believe the world is good again.”

She finally settles.

And you know, in your bones, she already believes it is.

Because he’s here.

And he loves her.

And you.

More than anything.

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhaflixer: ssu #jay park x reader

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 3 months ago

Text

BREATHE AGAIN.

PAIRING — lumberjack!bucky barnes x f!reader

CONTENTS — one-shot(?); alternate universe—small town; lumberjack au; angst angst angst; mentions re: death of a loved one; estranged childhood friends; bucky has lots of self-deprecating thoughts, but honestly what’s new?

SUMMARY — Bucky could never bear to look at you for too long because of how brightly you shone. But now, it’s somehow unbearable for the same and entirely different reasons.

WORD COUNT — 3.0k

NOTES — this is my last entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s bucky barnes birthday bingo event. i didn’t think i’d make it, but i made it by the skin of my teeth! thank you to everyone who expressed love for the stories i wrote for this, i had a lot of fun writing for my first bingo!

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog ✩ bingo event masterlist

Out of breath, I am left hoping someday I’ll breathe again. —SARA BAREILLES, “Breathe Again”

Thin shafts of pale light creep through a gap in the faded curtains, stretching across his face and tugging him from a restless sleep.

A few seconds later, a calloused hand sneaks out from beneath the threadbare covers and fumbles for the blaring alarm clock on the bedside table, silencing its ear-splitting toll with one firm tap.

Bucky blinks his clearly eyes a few times, squinting against the intruding brightness, and pushes himself up onto his right elbow. The covers are then thrown off, and he doesn’t even flinch at the bite of chilled air against his bare skin. The springs of the narrow bed creaking under his shifting weight as he swings his legs over the side, bare feet finding the cool floorboards.

Pushing himself to his feet with a soft grunt, Bucky pads over to the bathroom with his eyes still half-closed. After brushing his teeth and a quick shower, he heads back to his room and dresses quickly, pulling on some clean underwear, a trusty pair of Levi’s, and a form-fitting t-shirt.

He searches around for his flannel, only to find it hanging off the back of a wooden chair in the kitchen. Bucky grabs it, shaking it once, then twice, before shrugging it on. His fingers move automatically doing up the buttons, but they slow as they reach the left sleeve, hovering for a heartbeat over the pinned-up fabric covering the space where his arm used to be.

Shit. He should probably wear the arm today.

He normally goes without, especially on days when he’s got nothing better to do but hole himself up in the squat brick building of Barnes, Torres & Wilson Logging. It’s easier not wearing it, much less hassle—never mind that the damn thing hurts him more often than not.

Besides, if people were going to whisper and stare anyway, he might as well give them something to talk about.

But things are different today, he’s got a job to do and people to meet… and the last thing he wants is to see that look of pity on your face when you realize that, in the years since you’d left Cobble Hill, he’s become mangled and broken and incomplete.

He didn’t want to see it on you, the same look everyone had given him when he woke up in the hospital after his surgery, when he’d sweated through the nights that followed in excruciating pain no matter how many painkillers they’d pumped into him.

Bucky had made everyone promise, especially Wanda and Natasha, not to call you. He made threats not to forgive them if they did, closing his eyes against the burn of shame and agony, swearing that he’d rather die than let you see just how damaged he’d become.

So Bucky grits his teeth now, grabbing the metal limb propped up in the corner of his bedroom that’s gathering dust—Jesus, he thinks he actually pulls it out of a cobweb—and shrugs out of his shirt again.

It takes him a moment to remember where he keeps his socks and liners, sighing in mild frustration as he takes the extra time to put them on before attaching the arm and putting his shirt back on.

He flexes the false fingers a few times, trying to familiarize himself with the prosthesis again after not wearing it for so long. Bucky doesn’t take the time to check his reflection in the spotted mirror propped up against the wall. He already knows what he’ll see—eyes shadowed from too little sleep, his long hair shaggy and unkempt, the lines around his mouth carved a little deeper, harsher.

Gone is the boy from the dust-covered pictures on his dresser, the ones that captured moments of carefree laughter from years and a lifetime ago—back when he was still whole—and in his place is an angry and resentful man Bucky doesn’t recognize or like. He’d rather not look.

For good measure, he tucks a pair of work gloves into his toolbox. With those, you’ll be none the wiser, even he does have to spend all morning at your house. Sam had mentioned you needed help clearing those old dead trees in your backyard, so you could finally put the place on the market.Just another reminder that even though you are back, it doesn’t mean you’re staying.

However, they didn’t have enough hands… Sam and Joaquin would be busy on another job, which just left Bucky.

“You sure?” Joaquin asked carefully when he ultimately volunteered to go in their place. “I mean, we can—”

“It’ll be fine, alright?” Bucky barked, rougher than he intended, regretting it instantly. His business partner just patted his shoulder in understanding.

Bucky grabs his tools and stomps into his heavy work boots, not bothering with the laces. The chill of winter takes its time moving on despite the dawning of spring, but he simply drapes his old Carhartt jacket over his good arm before heading out the door, snagging his keys from a bent nail driven crudely into the frame.

The pink of sunrise is long gone, replaced with a vast and clear blue sky, golden light from the sun reflecting off windows and pooling on sidewalks.

The stairs creak underfoot on his way down, his truck’s faded red door groaning in protest as Bucky wrenches it open and hoists himself up into the cab. He twists the key in the ignition and the old Ford grumbles to life, then he guides it out of the driveway and onto the main road.

It doesn’t even take ten minutes to reach Orchard Street, the road soon giving way to gravel and then dirt. The houses around these parts are older, painted clapboard with wide porches and overgrown yards. He’d been to most of them in his youth, bringing homemade pies to neighbours, visiting friends and classmates, coaxing them out to play until the sky darkened.

But it’s the old Victorian at the end of the road that’s the most familiar, its blue paint peeling and shutters slightly crooked. Bucky pulls up next to the curb rather than parking in the driveway, as there’s another car already parked there, a shiny black sedan sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the ancient-looking buildings and weed-choked lawns.

Shutting off the ignition, Bucky jumps out of the truck and grabs his tools from the trunk. There are butterflies gnawing at his stomach as he balances the handle of an axe over his shoulder, the nervous feeling growing sharper and sharper with each step up the driveway.

The yard is overgrown now, the grass, although still slightly matted from a long winter, is so tall and unruly it almost reaches his knees. Dead weeds crowd the path to the front door, dotting the cracks in the porch.

It didn’t used to be this way. It used to be tidy and trimmed, with small beds of pink and white impatiens lining the path. Your mother’s garden, besides you, was always her pride and joy.

An old tire swing sways from the large oak out front, its large sturdy branches still bare as they snake towards the sky, the thick rope hanging from one of them all frayed and worn.

Memories push against his ribs, of laughter and skinned knees and the buzz of cicadas in the heavy summer air. Your mother, wearing her big sun hat, would be humming to herself while she gardened. Bucky would be lying in the grass next to you watching the clouds roll by, laughing when you grabbed his arm and screamed at a big fat dragonfly buzzing overhead.

But that was a long time ago now, before everything changed… before it all went wrong.

Finally reaching the door, Bucky raises his hand to knock and hesitates, his fist hovering an inch from the weathered wood. His jaw tightens, a muscle flickering in his cheek. He curls his fingers, nails biting into his palm, and drops his hand to the side.

Regardless, the curtain in the front window twitches, a face appearing briefly in the gap. Eyes meet his, widening a fraction before the fabric falls back into place. There’s a beat, then the sound of the lock turning. The door opens, its hinges whining.

And just like when he was that hopeless teenage boy so long ago, not so secretly in love with his best friend, Bucky almost forgets how to breathe.

High school feels like a million years ago, but the memories come so easily. All those walks together on your shared lunch periods to the ice cream parlour just a few minutes from school. He’d open the door for you, calling out to the shop owner your usual order—two scoops of strawberry in a waffle cone, maraschino cherry on top.

The two of you at Joaquin’s baseball games in a show of support, but always ending up in your own little world, sitting side by side on a picnic blanket next to the bleachers, hands so close to touching but never quite.

And despite your fears of leaving Cobble Hill’s safe and quiet borders, the only ones you’d ever known, he had been the one to tell you to go. Bucky had placed his hands on your shoulders, lowering his head so your eyes were level with his, and insisted that you weren’t allowed to be afraid of success.

“You’re too good for that, you know?” And even though it felt like his half of the world was ending, you beamed up at him through tears because you knew that he’d never lie to you.

He decided in that moment he’d be brave for you. Four years will go by so quickly, you’ll see. You could call, and so could he. Maybe you could come home during your breaks, or maybe he could go visit you in New York for a weekend. You could show him all the sights, wouldn’t that be fun?

And when news came that you would be staying in New York for a little bit longer, Bucky tried not to be discouraged. Then as he, Sam, and Joaquin decided to start their own logging business, and as you painstakingly climbed up the corporate ladder, the calls became less frequent. After your mom got sick, plans to visit one another had to be put on hold—just until she got better.

Regrettably, she did not. And regrettably, all of it stopped after he lost his arm.

It didn’t matter that he once promised himself he’d wait for you. It didn’t matter that you once had a way of making him feel invincible, regardless of the fact that he knew himself to be anything but. It no longer mattered that you were once able to make him feel like he’d been struck by lightning, with just one look.

“Bucky,” you breathe, the cadence of your voice so familiar it’s like he’s being transported back in time. He swallows hard, not saying your name back. He doesn’t think he can handle the sound of it out loud, and certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves the taste of it on his own tongue. “It’s really nice to see you.”

Still a sweetheart, he thinks, even if he doesn’t call you that anymore. Bucky can’t bring himself to look at you. Even now, you still shine so bright. He dips his chin in greeting instead, not meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it,” you say when you invite him inside, closing the door once he’s in the foyer. It’s so formal, not at all how like the two of you used to be.

“Sure,” is all he says, bristling under your stare, the air thick with unspoken words and fractured history. Bucky can feel your eyes scanning him even as he turns away, trying to ignore the fact that he hasn’t been this close to you in so long. He gestures towards the backyard, the reason he’s here—to help you prepare this place for sale, so you can go back to your life in New York. “I should… get to work.”

“Oh, right,” he tries not to lean into the idea that you sound disappointed, as though you were expecting him to stay and chat. “Yeah. Thanks again.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he strides away without another word towards the sliding glass doors. The backyard is just as familiar, though so much smaller than he remembers. There is a haphazard row of half-dead pines standing sentinel along the back fence, their needles carpeting the ground.

The screen door bangs shut behind him as he steps out into the morning sun. Dew soaks through the toe of his boots as he crosses the yard, gleaming on the overgrown half-dead grass like scattered diamonds.

He keeps his eyes on the trees, not letting them stray to the old shed where you used to hide to scare him when you were kids, not letting the memories crowd in like hungry ghosts.

He sets down his tools near the deck, rolls his shoulders, and gets to work. The first swing of his axe cuts deep into the trunk of the smallest tree, sending a judder up his arm. He welcomes the sting in his good palm, the stretch of muscles long unused.

Bucky loses himself in the rhythm of the work, in the strain of his breath and the heat building under his flannel. The air fills with the clean, sharp scent of resin and the drumbeat of the axe finding its mark over and over. Each impact of steel on wood feels like a small, necessary violence—both a penance and a promise.

To your mother whom he remembers fondly as an affectionate woman with a kind smile she’d passed on to you, and a pair of warm hands in which flowers always seemed to grow.

He’s sorry that she had to go so soon and so painfully, that he couldn’t be there for you when you needed a friend the most. He promises that you’ll have no reason to feel sad because of him again.

When the first tree finally falls, he barely notices the burn in his arms, the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He moves onto the next tree, and the next, until—at least for these short moments—his world narrows to the bite of the axe and the shivering pines and the distant ache that never quite leaves his chest.

But as he goes to lift the axe again, pain lances through the ghost of his missing limb, hot shards of agony stabbing into an arm that’s no longer there.

A gasp rips from his throat, his shoulder spasming. The phantom sensations intensify, invisible muscles clenching, nonexistent tendons straining. Bucky braces himself agains the trunk of a nearby pine with his good hand, knuckles white, as a wave of nausea washes over him.

He should be used to these by now, but the episodes never seem to get easier no matter how much time has passed. More beads of sweat trickle down the side of his face as he tries to breathe through the pain. Don’t let her see, he tells himself, damn near pleading.

Bucky’s eyes dart towards the glass doors, his fingers fumbling for the axe again, determined to keep working and to act normal. But his movements are jerky, uncoordinated. His tools clatter to the ground, unnaturally loud in his ears even as it lands on the softening earth. He makes a frustrated noise, halfway between a growl and a whimper. Then he hears the sound of the sliding door open. No. Please, anything but that.

“Bucky?” Your voice, laced with concern. He looks up to see you hurrying towards him, setting down a glass of water on a nearby stump. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he grits out, but another bolt of pain makes him hunch over involuntarily, jaw clenched.

“What’s wrong?” You reach his side, your hands fluttering helplessly. You frown at the sight of his distress. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” he says a little too harshly, flinching away from you instinctively. “You can’t do anything.”

This is exactly what he didn’t want, for you to see him like this—weak, diminished. Bucky straightens with effort, trying to shove the pain down to where it can’t reach him. His left shoulder aches, the muscles around his prosthesis socket sore and tight.

“Is it your arm?” You ask carefully, and his eyes snap to yours.

“What?”

“Steve told me,” you confess, your hand finding its place on his, a hundred emotions flickering through your eyes—sadness and compassion, two things he does not want right now, and then something a bit fiercer. “Don’t be angry with him. He was afraid this would happen and wanted to warn me.”

“Of fucking course, the punk could never keep his mouth shut.”

“In his defence, he only told me two days ago.”

“Forget it,” Bucky jerks out of your grip, turning away as shame simmers louder in his gut, hot and sour. “Just… I’ll be fine. Go back inside.”

“I really think you should take a break—”

“I mean it, just go. Please,” he hates the way his voice cracks on the last word, but after a tense beat of silence, the soft scruff of your footsteps cross the yard, fading into the distance. The bang of the door closing behind you has a horrible finality.

Alone again, Bucky slumps against the tree, all the strength draining out of him, and finally lets the tears come. His nonexistent left arm throbs and tingles, a cruel reminder of everything he’s lost. He wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ghost in his own life, haunted by the past and unable to grasp the future.

He tries, as he closes his eyes against the pain, to remember what it was like to hold you with two good hands.

Or will he spend the rest of his life reaching for things he can no longer have?

fin…?

AFTERWORD — this may turn into a miniseries eventually… i honestly can’t say either way lmao. not for a while though, so… yeah 😇

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #lumberjack!bucky #bucky barnes x asian!reader #4bbingo #happy 108th birthday bucky!

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andy-15-07 · 1 month ago

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The One That Got Away

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1082| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Pre-Outbreak – Austin, Texas

"You’re really gonna leave the house lookin’ that good and not expect me to say anything?"

You smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand. "You’re really gonna be late for work again if you don’t stop flirting with me every morning."

Tommy wraps his arms around your waist from behind, lips brushing your ear. "Ain’t flirtin’ if it’s true."

"Still makes you late," you tease.

"And worth every second." He spins you around, kissing you like the world isn’t on fire, like nothing could go wrong.

Post-Outbreak – Jackson, Wyoming (Years Later)

"Tommy!" Maria's voice cuts through the biting winter air as she hurries toward him. "We’ve got a new group coming in. Patrol found them southeast , couple of 'em are hurt."

He sighs, tossing his gloves into the bin outside the stables. "Another one? That's the third group this month."

"I know. But there’s someone you’re gonna want to see." She hesitates. “I didn’t believe it at first.”

"What do you mean?"

Maria tilts her head. "Just… come with me."

He walks through the clinic doors, the cold following him in. Jackson’s med bay is warm but tense. People shift around, helping a few newcomers settle in. And then,

He sees her.

You.

You're sitting on a cot, bundled in a jacket too big for you, bandage on your arm. Your hair’s shorter, skin a little rougher, but your eyes , those damn eyes.

He freezes.

You look up.

And your whole body stills.

"...Tommy?" your voice comes out cracked, disbelieving.

His feet move before his brain catches up. “No way. No. No, you," he stumbles, chest rising fast. "You died. I saw the house. I saw the flames,”

“I got out,” you whisper, tears immediately spilling over. “I ran. I,Tommy, I looked for you for years.”

Tommy’s hands are on your face before either of you can say anything else. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You’re real. You’re,"

“I’m real,” you nod, laughing through the tears. “You’re real, too.”

Later That Night – Jackson Lodge

You're sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket Maria brought, sipping hot tea. Tommy hasn’t left your side.

"You really thought I was dead?" you ask softly.

"I didn't just think it," Tommy says, voice tight. "I knew it. There was no way someone could’ve made it outta that mess. We lost power, the whole block was burning, your street was overrun. I... I lost it."

You stare at the fire. “I remember the screaming. The smoke. I grabbed a bag and bolted through the back window when I heard the infected. I thought I’d find you on the road.”

"I went back for you. I swear. Joel tried to stop me, but I went back. Place was gone."

“I kept hoping maybe you’d made it out. That maybe I’d see you again.” You glance at him, smiling sadly. “Guess we’re both stubborn like that.”

He chuckles dryly. “You have no idea.”

A Walk Through Jackson – The Next Day

"So… married, huh?" you ask, nodding at his wedding band.

Tommy hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maria. She’s good people. Smart. Brave. Keeps me grounded.”

"I figured you’d find someone," you say, forcing a smile.

He studies you. “That a problem?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… weird. We used to talk about getting a dog, a porch swing, a bunch of loud kids running around.”

Tommy sighs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah. We did. Life just had other plans.”

“Clearly.”

You stop walking.

“Tommy… do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this happened?”

He nods. “Every damn day.”

Flashback – A Week Before the Outbreak

"You gonna marry me someday?" you ask, half-joking as the two of you lie in bed, limbs tangled.

Tommy looks down at you. "You kiddin’? I’d marry you tomorrow if I could afford a ring."

"You don’t need a ring."

"Well, I want one. You deserve more than some last-minute courthouse vows and a beer after."

You grin. "What if I like beer?"

He laughs. “Then I’ll buy you the fanciest beer in the state and make sure you’ve got that porch swing, too.”

Back in Jackson – Present Day

"Things have been… hard," Tommy says later that evening, walking you back to the guest house. “Even in this place. Even with good people. You keep surviving, but it doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”

You nod, voice quiet. “You were the only thing that kept me going some days.”

He looks at you, raw emotion swimming in his eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you’ve got a life now. A wife. A town. And I’m just… a ghost.”

He grabs your arm gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk like you don’t matter.”

“But I don’t belong here.”

“You belong wherever you want to be.”

Silence stretches between you. Snow begins to fall.

“Can I stay?” you ask.

His voice breaks. “Please.”

A Few Weeks Later

Life in Jackson is calm. Quiet. You help in the greenhouse. Get to know people. Share meals in the dining hall. Sometimes Maria watches you and Tommy with a distant expression, unreadable.

One evening, as you and Tommy walk past the stables, you break the silence.

“Does she know?”

Tommy nods. “She knew the second I saw you. I told her everything that night.”

“What did she say?”

He hesitates. “She said love before the world ended still matters. She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of what we were… whatever this is.”

You stop. “And what is this, Tommy?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”

You step closer, snow crunching beneath your boots.

“Then don’t.”

That Night – Tommy’s Porch

He brings out two mugs of hot cider, handing you one before sitting beside you.

"Think we ever get to be happy again?" you ask.

"I don’t know if it’ll look the same as before. But I think we can make somethin' new."

You glance at him, warmth flickering in your chest. “Even without the dog and porch swing?”

He smiles. “Well, we’ve got the porch. And I’m sure someone’s got a mutt around here.”

You both laugh.

Then you lean your head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.

It feels like a beginning.

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year ago

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NATIONAL ANTHEM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Rich! Peter x Country Club! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You work at the local country club as a barcart girl and you run into your crush, aka the son of the richest man in town-Peter Parker. Simple flirting becomes something... more.

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing, drinking :)

i'm your national anthem, god, you're so handsome- take me to the hamptons, bugatti veyron... he loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon, holding me for ransom, upper echelon -national anthem, lana del rey

Money is the anthem, of success- so before we go out- what’s your address? You hummed along to the sweet melody as it trickled out of the old stereo from your cart, speakers crackling slightly.

It was a hot summers day, you felt a little bead of sweat drip down the back of your neck as you breathed in the fresh air, smelling of fresh cut grass and fancy colone. It was days like this when you were most busy on the golf course, barley able to squeeze in a lunch break before someone came up to you, begging for a whisky sour.

But today you had tucked yourself away in a little hidden spot, a perfect view of scenery, the green hills stretching on for miles.

Sipping on a sweet ice tea from your straw you fiddled with, you watched as Peter Parker braced himself before swinging, club hitting the ball with a clean wack! before thudding down near the hole.

The wind rustled the flag and the fabric of his polo shirt, hair ruffled under his baseball cap.

You tried not to stare but it was impossible.

The way he smiled was intoxicating, and the way he laughed at his friends jokes… god you hoped to make him laugh like that someday.

Though he was almost four years older, the two of you had met during your freshman year of university. You weren’t close, but you werent strangers either. The odd hello was said, a smile and a passing glance in the library from his books.

Now you were practically about to graduate and he was working on his masters, his school out of state. He was home for the summer though, which was nice.

It just meant you could possibly serve him, which also made you anxious beyond belief because that meant you had to talk to him again. You took a bigger sip until you heard the straw suck up the bottom of the glass and the melting ice to ease your butterflies.

Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck- I said can we party later on he said yes, yes, yes!

Another deep breath.

He walked in your general direction, but you doubted he could see you. You prayed the low hanging branches covered you, or at least your face. You tried to look out at the rolling hills in the distance, admiring the scenery.

It was very out of your element, but you couldn’t deny the fact it was beautiful here. The ever so fancy country club estate glimmered in the sun, tall hedges trimmed to perfection with roses blooming in the gardens.

You could just see the tall fountain spilling water down, next to the tennis court. Sometimes you worked the bar there, or handed out water and towels, but you preferred being a cart girl.

It made your life much more interesting, to drive around and to see more people. Today you got to see your favourite person.

And apparently he got to see you.

The branches rustled and got pulled to the side, a buff, 6’4 man staring down at you. “Hey sorry, am I bothering you?”

You almost choked on your straw as you bite down on it. “No, no sorry I was just on my break. But how can I help you?”

“Oh shit my bad, I’ll leave you to it-“ He went to turn away, then stopped. Whipped back around.

“Wait- Y/N? Is that you?” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah hey Peter.” you smiled.

“Jeez it’s been a while! I missed seeing you around. How’s life been?”

He missed you?! No, he missed seeing you. That’s different. Get a fucking grip woman.

“I missed you too! Or- wait erm… It’s been good! How’s life at Warner?”

His eyes brightened as you stumbled over your words, pleased you remembered where he was.

“It’s good. Super good. Lots of sunshine, and I’ve made some friends.”

“Not failing anything I hope?” you teased and he laughed.

“No, no I would never. But it’s good to be home for the summer. How’s your program going?” he asked, taking off his hat to run a hand through his messy hair, slicking it back from falling back into his eyes.

You tried not to stare at his arms but it was deemed impossible. His shirt fit him so well, his biceps strained in the fabric as they curled, and you could see whispers of a tattoo on his one arm. Jesus Christ.

“Super good. Almost finished, actually. Not sure what’s next, but working here has helped pay for most of it.”

“That’s awesome, you should be so proud. You’re a hard worker Y/N, seriously. You’ve always been.”

You almost melted at his praise, sinking deep into your seat as your tennis skirt fanned out across your thighs. There was no way he didn’t know about the effect he had on you. He had to know he drove you crazy.

“Thank you so much Peter. It means a lot coming from you.” You beamed.

“Awh shucks. Well anyways, I just came because I saw a cart over here and was going to snag a drink, but if you’re on break I won’t bother you.”

“No, no don’t be silly. What can I get you?” you scrambled up, popping open your cooler filled with ice and drinks. “You’re sure?” he asked, standing closer to you, to see what you had.

You squirmed, shivering even though there was no breeze. “Of course. I’m practically done it anyways. Happy to help.” you smiled, trying your very best to be professional and not look at him like you wanted to rip his clothes off at this very second.

“Just a Heineken please doll.” The pet name was going to make you spirial. Jesus. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. I’m easy like that.” You grabbed a cup, scooping ice before pouring the chilled beer. “Here. It’s on the house.” you handed it to him, setting down the empty glass. He shook his head, fishing into his pocket.

“Don’t be silly. Here-“ he handed you a hundred and your eyes widened in surprise and shock.

“For your troubles.” he smirked. “Peter- I can’t, I can’t take this.”

“Then take this too.” He pulled out a tiny slip of paper, crumped as if it had been in his pocket for some time. You opened it, revealing his phone number in fancy writing- the cursive that reminded you of your grandmothers. A little smiley face was printed next to it, which you mirrored back.

“Have you just had this in your pocket in case you bump into a girl?” you asked, laughing.

“I found out you worked here and I wrote it down, waiting until I had an excuse to bump into you. Now I have one.” he winked, lifted his glass in a cheers motion before turning around, emerging from the forest to jog up to his friends.

You watched him in disbelief, jaw slack on the ground. You fought to pick it back up, trying to not crumple the paper anymore as you held onto it for dear life. A wave of giddiness washed over you, your body hot to the touch, head spinning. Clutching the paper to your chest, you sighed.

Simply hoping something would actually come out of this.

For once in your life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Something was coming out of this. Key word, was. Lines were blurred, and you weren’t sure if it was currently happening, could’ve happened, or had happened.

It had been a week since the original occurrence, when he had you nearly swooning and begging at his feet. Each day was a little game the two of you played, who could spy on each other first.

It had you picking up extra shifts, just to possibly see him that day, or for longer. The past few days you had worked at the bar by the tennis court, watching the ball bounce back and forth until a familiar face found his way to your bar, despite the fact he was on the opposite side of the property, and had bar carts at his disposal.

It made you feel like a teenage girl again, kicking your feet at the slightest interaction. If he wasn’t at your bar, he had found time to walk past your station (which was always very much out of his way), just to give a little wave, or to check up on you.

A few little texts had been exchanged, nothing more then simple, harmless flirting. That’s what you were telling yourself, and that was the story you were sticking to. Nothing more then that. So whenever he came over to fiddle with the straws, or suck the lemon wedge dry without making a face just to prove he could, you smooshed the feelings of need deep down, as much as you could.

Today was no different.

It was hot, one of the hottest days of the summer. You fanned yourself with a clipboard, thankful for the first time you were working in the bar by the tennis court, where it was air conditioned.

You didn’t understand how people could continue to play as if their life depended on it in the hot, beating sun. It was torturous to watch. You were extremely busy, barley getting a moment to sit down and rest your poor, aching feet- dozens of people swarming the bar for a cool drink.

Ice had to be refilled two times already, and you presumed it would be another two times before your shift was over.

“Busy there eh?” a familiar voice called from across the counter, and for the first time all day you were genuinely happy to serve someone.

“You again! It’s almost like you’re stalking me, or something.” you teased, quickly dropping everything you were doing to go over to see him.

“Something like that. Hey listen, I have a question to ask you.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it, I swear. The cops have nothing on me.” His eyes widened in mock surpise and his hands went up in surrender.

“Woah. Jeez, I’ll let them know. I have no idea how you found out I was working for them but I guess my disguise is shit.”

“It is shit. I’ve been keeping tabs on you to give you tips on how to be more discreet.” He laughed, swatting you with a straw he grabbed.

“No seriously, my parents are out of town and I was going to throw a party, but I won’t unless you come to it.”

“Well shit, that’s a lot of pressure. You’re basing this whole thing on me going, so if I don’t go everyone will be disappointed at me for cancelling it?” you teased, grabbing the ingredients to make his usual.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know I don’t mean it like that. But I’d like you to come, it wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

“I don’t really socialize, so I’m sure no one would miss me. Plus, no one knows me.”

“I know you. And I would miss you, and you’re the only person I care about in terms of showing up.”

You smiled softly as his confession, trying to play it cool despite the fact your stomach was currently doing cartwheels. You didn’t even know if you were making his drink right, you prayed muscle memory would save you this time.

“You’d miss me? You just wanna talk to me more, do you like me or something?”

“Or something.” he smirked, smacking a twenty on the table, and you didn’t even bother to give him back his change. He refused to accept it back, you had already tried.

“Thanks for the drink sweetcheeks. It’s on Friday, and if you don’t show I’m gonna call the whole thing off, mid party and then everyone’s gonna be pissed at you.”

“Or at you for making up that stupid rule.” you snarked, sliding him over his glass, and grabbing a clean towel to wipe down your space. You could already feel two peoples eyes on you, waiting for a drink. They could wait a little longer.

“Show up then.” he shrugged. “But wait, I don’t even have your address-“ you called after him as he walked towards the exit, back towards to the heat and blinding sun. He waved his phone, without even looking back.

“Good thing we have these then eh sweets?”

“Smartass.” you grumbled under your breath as his laughed, and you watched the door swing behind him as you were stuck behind the bar.

“What can I get you?” you asked the stranger sitting near you, wishing more then anything it was Peter still there instead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He was massive. Wait no- sorry, his house was massive. (Did you seriously think you’d jump the gun that quickly? Get over yourself).

You stared up at it as you emerged from your car, so out of place in this fancy establishment. He lived not only in a gated community but his property was privately gated as well.

Didn’t shock you.

You knew his family was rich, but jesus you didn’t know this rich. Dozens of cars were parked, all range rovers and catialcs as you locked your simple looking black civic.

Oh well. He invited me after all.

You belonged here. You were allowed to be here, no matter how many second thoughts you had looking at the fancy fountain, the perfectly manicured lawn and ferns, a perfect cone shape as they lead up to the massive pillars and white staircase.

You had dealt with snobby rich people before at your job, and you could do it again. Not that Peter was snobby in any way. If anything, he was one of the only ones you knew who was humble and down to earth. Hopefully his friends would be the same.

You smoothed out your mini dress, attempting to get rid of the wrinkles. Nervous, you figited with the pearls on your neck, listening to your heels clack on the pavement before you found yourself up the stairs.

You heard music, but it wasn’t as loud as you expected. No thumping floors or shaking walls, and you couldn’t see any flashing lights. You weren’t even sure what you expected. But it certainly wasn’t this. This seemed oddly calm. You could still clearly hear the cicadas as they chirped outside under the stars.

You lifted your hand to knock, and the double doors swung open as your hand was mid air, mouth opening in confusion.

“You’re not Peter.”

“So you’re observant too. You’re prettier then he described you. He’s been watching out the window for you like he’s on guard duty.”

“Bucky stop flirting with my girl!” a voice called from the other room, and you watched as Peter emerged from the other room, jogging over to you with a smile.

My girl? You fought a smile, trying to pretend his words meant nothing but you lost. Bad.

“Hi. Sorry I was just-“

“Waiting for me. I heard from your friend here. It’s nice to meet you Bucky.” you nodded, laughing as Peter’s cheeks turned a lighter of light pink.

“Likewise. Go into greater detail next time Parker.”

“No, because then you dicks will try to steal her.”

Bucky laughed, walking back in the direction Peter came from, which you assumed was where the main party was. You looked around, surveying the massive foyer- tall pillars also inside, bright chandeliers glistening over the towering staircase.

It was beautiful. You couldn’t help but admire the mural on the ceiling, mimicking a Renaissance style piece.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. You look beautiful, by the way. I mean you always do- but you look amazing now. Sorry I’m not sure why I’m rambling, I just smoked a joint and I’m nervous.” he trailed on and you laughed, reaching up to touch his bicep in reassurance.

You weren’t sure where the confidence came from, but you were happy about it. His skin was soft and warm, and he leaned into your touch.

“Don’t be nervous. If anything, I’m nervous. This is your party! And it’s so- wow.” you breathed, looking up again at the fresco.

“Everyone’s so excited to meet you. You’ve already met Bucky, I see.”

You giggled. “Hopefully they all like me. Are they friends from school?”

“Some from school, some from home, some from the country club.”

“Ah I see. So a wide variety.”

“Something like that.” he smirked, placing a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards a mysterious hallway. The hand placement. Oh my god the hand placement. You savoured his touch as he guided you, looking up at him despite wearing heels.

Somehow he still towered over you. It made you feel things.

You heard bustle from the room he was guiding you towards, the sound of music leading you onwards. Dozens of people mingled around what looked like a game room. Some lounged on leather couches with drinks in their hands, others playing a round of pool.

You saw Bucky and some others with a deck of cards, others at the bar top. It was spacious, detailed wood panels across the ceiling, with soft lights mounted on the walls, creating a glow. You admired the dozens of paintings perched on the walls, staring at Peter in amazement.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Thanks.” he smiled, taking it in with you, as if he didn’t see this every day. It made you like him even more somehow, if that was possible.

“Hey everyone this is Y/N. Party is no longer threatened to get cancelled. You’re welcome.” he called out, and everyone cheered.

“To Y/N” Bucky called out in toast, raising his glass. They didn’t even use solo cups. This shit was fancy as fuck.

You laughed, waving to everyone before Peter pulled you aside, the music picking up its tempo as the chatter resumed. “Can I get you a drink? For once?” he asked, and you nodded- following him over to the bar.

“It’s nice to see you behind the counter for once.” you smirked, giggling as he whipped a towel over his shoulder like a real bartender. “What do you mean for once? I will let you know that I am the most prestigious bartender in France. They don’t even call me a bartender, the call me “tender of the bar” " he drawled.

“Just a cider please. I’m easy like that.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank god. I don’t know how to make anything but a whisky sour.”

“Hey, that's a start!” you smiled, watching as he grabbed a chilled glass and slid ice in it, before pouring your drink from the can. “Madame.”

“Thank you, monsior. Mmmm fantastic. You should work with me!” He snorted, throwing the towel down. “They would fire me before I could pick up a glass. You’re too talented, you'd outshine me. You already do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You’re being silly.”

“Silly is my middle name.”

“I thought handsome was your middle name?”

“Alright woah now-“

----------------------------------------------------------------- A few hours had passed, and the night was still young. You were drunk, a little- and your shoes had come off. You didn’t know where they went, or where your phone was, or why you were outside with Peter.

But you were outside with Peter. And it was nice.

The air was chill against your skin, but not cold enough you had goosebumps. It was soft against your flushed skin from the alcohol, and you savoured the breeze as it fluttered your dress. Everyone was still inside, but you needed a breather.

You could see the lights shinning brightly from here, where you were on the pool deck. Because of course he had a pool. He also had a tennis court, a golf course, and an indoor pool. No surprises there.

You heard the sliding glass door open and shut, Peter emerging with glasses of water in hand. “I figured you’d want this.” he said, walking over to you with a grin, and a fluster on his cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” you sighed, the water trickling down your hand as you grabbed the ice cold glass, taking a long chug. It cleared your head as it slithered down your throat, relieving your thirst.

“So, is it okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Here. This. Me.”

You stared at him, cocking your head in interest, attempting to study him. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

“You think so?” he asked, a glimmer in his eyes as he stepped closer to you, your chests practically touching as he grabbed your empty glass, setting it down beside you.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid up, cupping your cheek- thumb brushing your skin making you shiver. Your nipples hardened under his touch- or the chill, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that his eyes were burning holes into yours with the utmost lust you thought you’d simply combust.

“Is it okay if I touch you here doll?”

You nodded.

“What do you want Y/N? Do you want this?” he asked, voice practically begging. The music from the party thudded off the windows, lyrics slipping through the cracks under the doors to echo into your ears.

I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your body hold you like a python, and you can’t keep your hands off me or your pants on, see whatcha done to me, King of Chevron…

“I want this. I want it all.” you murmured, leaning into his touch.

“Can you swim?” he whispered, inching closer and closer to your lips.

Wait- what?

“Ye-” you let out a scream as you felt the world tilt under your feet, tumbling backwards into the hands of a strong man holding your waist. A splash erupted, the world turning a murky dark blue as the music muffled. The water was surprisingly warm as you gasped for air, frantically reaching out for Peter to hold.

He was even warmer than the water despite the cool air, and he laughed as you clung to him, wrapping your legs around his torso, dress hunched up as it stuck to your body like a second skin.

You became very much aware of how his shirt did the same, except it was white, and you could see the perfect outline of his abs and his arm tats.

“Peter what the fuck?!” you shrieked, cut off as his lips crashed to yours, engulfing you with heat and a tenderness you’ve never felt before.

His lips were like pillows as they caressed yours, hands squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist as he tugged you closer and closer, until your breaths had merged and you had practically become one.

Hands flew up to his hair, tugging on the wet strands as he begged for more, and more- teeth clashing, tongues begging for entrance before they slipped in.

You couldn’t help but moan, breathing harder as his squeezed your ass hard enough to bruise, unleashing whatever restraint he had been holding. You moaned again and he had to pull away, resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard as he watched your mascara smudge and trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N fuck- if you keep moaning like that… I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you asked innocently, shivering.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman and not go past this, but if you keep doing that I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” he murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke a stray strand of water from your cheek, kissing each one.

“That’s okay.” you smiled, grinding your hips against his, rubbing against him as he moaned.

“Jesus christ baby. Fuck.”

You giggled, feeling his very prominent bulge through his pants. You grabbed his chin, lips melting against his once more, just to get a taste of him. You were addicted- heart thudding in your chest, blood turning to molten lava in your veins.

It was like his lips were coated in honey, so sweet you practically licked them. “You’re just so sweet.” you sighed into his lips, kissing him harder. It wasn’t long before you were interrupted, the sound of a sliding glass door opening.

“You guys almost done out here?” Bucky called out, Peter's head whipping to him in annoyance.

“ What do you want?!” he called out, exasperated. “Steve and I wanna swim. Unless you guys want us to join you, I’m sure there wouldn’t be too many complaints on this end.” Bucky smirked, winking at you.

What a goddamn flirt. You couldn’t help but smile back, even if he had just interrupted the best experience of your entire life.

“We’ll be out in a minute Bucky- calm down.”

“No need!” a voice called from the house, to which Steve ran and cannonballed into the pool, splashing you.

Peter sighed, leaning his forehead back against yours. “I am so sorry about them. This is not as romantic as I had hoped in the slightest.”

“What are you talking about? This is totally romantic. The drenched rat look I’m wearing is what the movies had envisioned.”

He laughed, kissing your forehead with a quick peck, before Bucky jumped in right after. “The most beautiful drenched rat I’ve ever seen. I promise you, we’ll have time for this again.”

“Many times?” you asked flirtatiously, and he nodded.

”Many times.”

“Good. Now, I suppose we should all play mermaids now. What powers do you wanna have?”

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garagesesh · 1 year ago

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HOTD headcanons

I can hear the bells // p. 2 & p. 1

gif source

⤷ pairing(s): aemond targaryen x reader, s*r criston cole x reader, jacaerys velaryon x reader

⤷ warning(s): unplanned pregnancy, angst, criston cole

⤷ a/n: idk criston cole is fun to write and it helps that he’s pretty, this isn’t my favorite work and I’m sure I’ll rewrite someday but I wanted to get it out now before my vacay

masterlist

―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―

★ aemond targaryen

You are not a highborn lady or any type of Targaryen or Velaryon Princess, you met Aemond in the bowels of Flea Bottom at a tavern by chance, not knowing who he was. The two of you connected, talking until dawn about adventure and the history of Valyria

Aemond was charmed by your ignorance of his standing in society, reveling in the secret but simple life affair

It wasn’t two months later that you figured it out. A gold cloak addresses him by his title out in the streets in a tavern. You’re not thrilled by this revelation and in fact swear to never see him again but he’s persistent, determined to keep you

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to resume your relationship and suddenly-

You’re pregnant a year into your affair with the one-eyed prince, he was overjoyed with the news but you were scared he was going to abandon you like his elder brother had done time and time again

You call him mad and laugh, thinking it's some sort of cruel jest when he confesses his intent to marry you and make you royalty. He will not raise a bastard, he says as you kick him out of your small one room

It takes a month before you finally accept his proposal, it took sleepless nights and worried days before finally talking yourself into his idea as a good one

There are no flowers except the ones he brought you at dawn on your wedding day, it is a warm sunny morning when you both enter the sept of Baelor, a skeptical high septon, and his sworn guard

It is rushed but Aemond is determined and ready as he swears his vows and barely waits for you to finish your own before kissing you hard

You have never met a dragon before when Aemond takes you before Vhagar and tells you that you’ll be riding south for a fortnight, there is no fear that runs in your veins but excitement

You spend a sennight in Dorne, hidden away from the world, unbeknownst to the wrath awaiting you and Aemond in the Red Keep

Alicent is cold and unwilling to understand the situation. It is not easy or happy meeting for you.

★ criston cole

After the dance of dragons, criston cole is given a choice. To be stripped of his white cloak die within the cells of the Red Keep or to be stripped of his white cloak, return to Dorne and live a quiet life out of the realms politics. Cole chooses the latter, of course. It’s far more kindly than what he assumed would be his fate.

Dorne is not what he remembers it being, it’s dry and vast with little in it’s lands. Cole doesn’t consider this desert his home.

His father was not proud of him, but he needs to still secure the house lineage and secures a marriage pact

As the youngest daughter of house Dayne, you’re not thrilled at the prospect of marrying the fool (one of many nicknames they’ve aptly named Criston in Dorne). You have only heard of the most vile and selfish stories about your now betrothed.

When you first meet Criston Cole, you’re shocked. He’s attractive, his hair has grown out to his shoulders and there’s a scar running down his neck but the weeks leading up to your meeting you had envisioned all sorts of monstrosities, considering you and the realm had decided he was a cruel inept monster

He is quiet and replies with a soft voice, you’re puzzled how the ex-Lord Commander and Hand of the King for the traitor king is gentle. However it is hard to see past what he has done to tear the realm apart

When your wedding day comes around, he replaces your cloak with a rough cloth with colourless dots adorning the back. House Cole is not wealthy and the dowry wasn’t large.

He kisses you well not really. His rough hands squeezes your own gently and barely brushing his lips to your cheek

There is no feast, just a family meal that is supplied well with meat and wine in the gardens well into the evening

The bedding is just like his kiss, hardly anything to recount to your sisters or companions. It isn’t romantic and your sure he doesn’t even finish. You hope that this isn’t what it’ll always be

★ jace velaryon

Growing up alongside your future husband isn’t the norm, but you are glad for it. As many ladies are stuck with brutes and old men for husbands

Jace has matured into a handsome man that you can’t bare to look at without blushing. With every look he gives you, you can’t help but turn your head with cheeks red

But despite your embarrassment, you are both more than excited to finally be married

You opt for a traditional Valyrian wedding, the same as Rhaenyra and Daemon had done. There was no fancy ceremony with cloaks of golden threads, just Jace and you

Sleep did not come the night before, as the excitement and giddiness ran through you like shots of lightning. You couldn’t even feel the exhaustion in your muscles as you readied yourself in the robes and headpiece

Jace could not find sleep himself, as he was too excited as well at the prospect of finally calling you his

Jace’s eyes watered while waiting for you, he choked on his Valyrian as you laughed at his sweet mistake

The kiss wasn’t needy or greedy, but it wasn’t the cordial kiss of the Lords & Ladies of the Seven would display. It was tender and loving and gentle.

The feast was celebrated through the night and full of laughter. When it came to the bedding ceremony, you and Jace instead fell asleep quite quickly in your now shared bed

However the next evening…

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hellvst · 2 months ago

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OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.1k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; hey...it's been over a month oops! was in a bit of a writer's block, but i'm here now. i am not abandoning this lol, i have a lot of ideas planned for this fic :D not proofread! happy reading <3

CHAPTER SEVEN

SYDNEY

Note to self: No matter how desperate a coworker asked you to fill in for them on a Saturday, don’t do it.

I hadn’t planned on working today. The weekends were my days off, but Micah–one of the other instructors at the studio–had texted me this morning, practically begging me to cover for her classes because she had an emergency.

The moment I stepped inside the studio, I was met with a full day of back-to-back sessions that absolutely drained me.

Although, that was all my fault–I probably should have refused the moment she asked–considering Micah was notorious for her heavy workload. We have been coworkers for a while now and she promised to make it up to me someday, so a part of me didn’t mind it.

Now, exhausted, I finally made it home. I was quick to drop all my things onto the floor and had barely made it to my living room. My muscles ached, although the quiet hum of my apartment was a welcoming contrast to the loud and constant chatter in the studio.

I caught a moment to breathe–before my thoughts were instantly flooded with the session with Quinn earlier in the week. It was like a loop replaying in my head constantly. I could’ve easily shut them out, but no, it was easier said than done.

After I had embarrassingly fallen on top of him, I tried not to let it get to my head before the next session. But strangely enough, the following Thursday had felt like a regular routine between us.

He came in as he always did, we stretched, and we talked during the session. A lot.

I had introduced Quinn to a different style of Pilates such as Cadillac Pilates, a bit of a challenge at first since the new equipment–the straps and bars–had intimidated him.

But he was determined–I’ll give him that–almost stubborn in his refusal to back down from a challenge. To no surprise, by the end of the session, he had managed to hold his own.

I had to admit, seeing his drive to improve was oddly satisfying.

After getting comfortable on my couch and sinking deeper into the cushions, the weight of my eyelids were getting the better of me. Just when I was about to fully shut my eyes, my phone buzzed. A text from Diane.

‘On my way over. #readytogetfuckedup’

I groaned, tilting my head back against the pillows.

I hadn’t forgotten about Diane’s birthday, but I hoped Diane might. Unlikely, though, she had been talking about it all week. Her birthday had been lingering in the back of my mind all day, but I’d barely had time to process it with training sessions and classes, it became a fleeting thought.

We had unofficial plans–or rather, Diane told me what we were doing later in the night.

Going to the club and getting absolutely fucking wasted.

A page taken straight from Phoebe’s playbook. Diane and Phoebe lived by the same philosophy of go out and have fun.

It honestly concerned me how similar they were–like Diane was the younger version of Phoebe. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe that they were related.

I sighed, staring at the text.

I wasn’t against clubbing. Not entirely, it wasn’t my scene. But I would be lying if I had said that I hadn’t stepped foot in a nightclub before.

There were several occasions that I had been dragged out of my own will–losing a bet to Diane, celebrating milestones or birthdays, losing more bets to Diane. I was horrible at rock paper scissors.

I wasn’t much of a drinker either, but I never shied away from drinking games or an opportunity to dance when the music was good. And if I was being honest, sometimes Diane and Phoebe were right–it was fun.

Before I could reply to Diane, my phone buzzed again. This time with an incoming video call. Simon.

Why was he calling?

Then again, I haven’t heard from him in over a week. I promised not to bug him, knowing that he had a lot on his plate with Cassie and the baby. I told him to update me whenever he could, I just wasn’t expecting him to call this late.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answered.

Simon’s face filled the screen, then the camera shifted to show a tiny bundle in his arm. “Look who’s here. Syd, I’d like you to meet your niece.”

I sat up straight, my eyes going wide. My heart melted immediately. “Oh my God–Simon!” I cooed at the screen, voice softening. “Hi, sweet baby girl. Simon, she’s beautiful.”

The baby stirred slightly but remained asleep, her cute little nose scrunching, her tiny face peaceful as she rested against Simon’s arms, and my chest instantly tightened with warmth. Simon was finally a father.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

My brother offered a smile before looking at the baby. “Her name is Stella.”

Wait. I paused at the realization. “Stella? As in our grandmother?”

He nodded and smiled down at his daughter. “Funny story actually. Cassie was sleeping when the nurses gave me the birth certificate to fill out, and I was so set on naming my kid after me somehow. But then, I thought of Grandma Stella, and it just felt…right.”

I let out a small laugh. Of course, he’d name his own daughter while Cassie was asleep. I wasn’t sure if I was more concerned or impressed that Cassie had let that slide.

But the name was only fitting, perfect even. Our grandmother had been a significant part of our childhood. Despite our parents introducing us to our respective sports on the ice. Grandma Stella was the person who taught both Simon and I how to skate.

The tears threatened to fall, but I blinked them away just in time. Although, my brother couldn’t miss an opportunity to tease me. “Don’t get all emotional on me now, Syd.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes at him before I let one tear escape. “That’s really beautiful, Simon. But–” I frowned at him when I took note of what he said earlier. “–you filled out the paperwork without consulting Cassie?”

Simon let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry. When she woke up and found out, she ended up loving it. It was perfect.”

I smiled, shaking my head at him. “It really is. Grandma would’ve loved that and would’ve loved to meet her.”

Our grandmother was my absolute world. She was everything you could ask for–sweet, kind, caring–most of all, very supportive of her grandchildren. She couldn’t make it to all of my competitions, or Simon’s games, but she still cheered us on from the sidelines even if she was ill and had already passed years ago.

Simon’s voice broke through my thoughts before I could reminisce. “Sorry I’ve been MIA recently. This past week has been crazy, and I barely touched my phone. But, I should’ve at least texted you.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I figured you were busy with everything that was going on.”

Simon nodded, gently setting down Stella into her crib. “Mom and Dad are already on a flight out to San Diego.”

“Oh, really? That’s great.” The ‘enthusiastic’ tone in my voice wasn’t necessarily believable, Simon didn’t miss that either.

“Have you talked to them?” He asked, watching my reaction carefully. “Mom was asking about you. I thought you said you already spoke with her.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I haven’t spoken to our parents much lately. I was so caught up in work and life that I let it slip my mind. But if I were being honest, there was more to it than that.

My relationship with my mom was fine–we still talk every now and then–but with my dad, it was different. Simon was his pride and joy, the son that made him proud and made his dreams come true–making it to the NHL. Meanwhile, we hadn’t been the same since my accident.

I had been his talented figure-skater daughter he was once proud of. Now, I was just his daughter, and that didn’t seem to be enough.

“No, not yet. I’ll call her soon.” I answered back vaguely.

It was enough to let it go by Simon, he knew he was walking around eggshells just by mentioning it the first time.

He was well aware of our family dynamic over the years, and we had a few conversations about it. Simon had always encouraged me many times to talk to our dad about the problem, and I appreciated that he cared strongly about making amends, but he didn’t understand how hard it was.

I wasn’t ready for that, at least not right now.

So my brother didn’t push any further. “Alright. Just making sure.” He paused before shifting gears and letting out a deep exhale. “So, why didn’t you tell me that the cross-training program was still happening?”

Shit.

“I didn’t want to bother you. You had more important things going on, and I figured–”

“Figured what?” Simon cut in, his voice slightly sharper now. “That I’d rather hear it from someone else? Because that’s exactly what happened. I had to find out from the guys instead of hearing it from you first. You’re my sister, Syd. And that sucks.”

Guilt rested heavily on my chest, like it was about to crush me. “I’m sorry. I just…didn’t want you to explode or freak out when you heard about it.”

He sighed, knowing I was completely right about that given his reaction. “Well, too late for that. When JT told me, I was about to lose my fucking mind. To the point that I was debating on booking a flight back to Vancouver to give Tocchet hell for continuing the sessions.”

I snorted. It was exactly how I called it–my brother proving me right yet again, he’s always been so dramatic.

“So, how’s it going? Have you been making Hughes work? I sure hope you are.” He said.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I tried to play it off. “But, he’s surviving and doing much better than I expected.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I wanted to hear, Syd. Perhaps ‘no, he’s doing terrible,’ or ‘no, he’s the worst student I’ve had.’”

I shook my head at him. “I would much rather have him cooperating and trying his best, than him not trying at all, Simon. If anything, I think he’s doing better than you would have if you were still here.”

“Ouch, that one hurt,” he grimaced playfully. “But I am glad he’s not giving you a hard time, because if he was then I would’ve–”

“Simon.”

“What? I’m being serious, Syd. I would rather fly back to Vancouver than let you deal with Hughes alone. Especially when he’s…”

I blinked. “Especially when he’s what?”

What if he found out about the incident at the studio? He definitely knows that I was in Quinn’s car and drove me. What if he found out that a part of me actually liked training with Quinn. Simon was going to kill both of us.

“Especially when he’s such a dick,” Simon said after hesitating for a second. “He’s such a teacher’s pet, so don’t ease up on him just because he’s keeping up. Also, don’t let his pretty face get to you. I haven’t seen him with any girls yet, but how would I know? He and his brothers are popular with them, so probably gets with girls all the time and–”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ve heard enough, Si.” I stopped him before he continued to spout out things that probably weren’t true at all, or could be, who knows?

I let out a loose breath out my lungs. Good, he didn’t know about the media incident.

“Remind me again–” he started. “–you still don’t have a thing for hockey guys, correct?”

Now that caught me way off guard by the way I almost choked on air. Where was this coming from?

I narrowed my eyes at him. “No? Why are you even asking–”

“Nothing. Just making sure that Hughes has zero chances with you.”

My body almost leaped out of my couch after hearing those words from my brother’s mouth. The last few times Simon had talked about Quinn, I barely knew him. Now, after spending time with him, I wasn’t sure that was entirely true anymore.

Quinn wasn’t at all what Simon painted him to be, he was quite the opposite.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” Simon added, “because if you did, I swear, I’m going to end him. Seriously-”

“God, Simon.” I groaned, I wasn’t about to talk about my dating life with my brother. “I am not looking to date anyone right now. It’s not a good time.”

“Good, let's keep it that way.” His expression seemed to relax, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. But, he believed me–I hoped. He nodded but then suddenly frowned. “That still doesn’t explain why that prick left me on read after my texts.”

Texts?

Well, that definitely piqued my interest. “Wait, what texts?”

“Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Simon. What. Texts?”

Before he could even answer, a constant knocking sound at my door. I already knew who it was–she was the only one who ever knocked on my door like a drum.

“Who’s that?” Simon’s overprotective instincts kicked in.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just Diane.”

I made my way over to the door and sure enough, Diane bursted through it. “Let’s get partying! Wait–” she eyed me up and down. “–why aren’t you ready?”

I glanced down at myself, I was still in my studio clothes, sweaty, no makeup, looked completely burnt out. Definitely not club-ready opposed to Diane’s attire–tight black mini dress, hair that was styled to perfection, and a vibrant red lipstick smeared on her lips.

“I just got home from work,” I sighed at her. “Do we really have to go?”

“Where are you going?” Simon butts in, his skepticism was practically palpable through the screen. I almost forgot he was still on video call for a second.

Before I could answer, Diane beat me to it, bringing her face to the screen to see Simon. “Hey, Simon. It’s my birthday, so we’re heading to the club. Can you convince your sister to come with me, she seems pissy today…”

“Excuse me,” I gave her a look. “I’m standing right here.”

Simon let out a chuckle. “You should go. It’s her birthday after all, Syd.”

They were both right. But more surprised with my brother’s instant support. He would be barking at me for even considering going to the club–just like the other time. He practically wouldn’t let me out the door.

I struggled to find the words, but there was no reason to refuse Diane. I wouldn't miss my friend’s special day just because I was tired or didn’t feel like going–then I would be a shitty friend for that.

“Okay, okay. Give me a few minutes to get dressed.” I caved in.

Diane squealed in my eyes and clapped her hands together excitedly.

I quickly said my goodbyes to my brother on my phone, and made sure he would give updates to me whenever he could before ending the call.

I looked over to Diane, a very mischievous expression written across her face. “Oh, we’re going to make you look so hot tonight.”

I rolled my eyes before she dragged me towards my closet, raiding it without asking, and began looking for something to wear. She had suggested a few dresses–which I forgot I owned–and I quickly shut it down, saying they were too revealing for the occasion.

As Diane was working through my wardrobe, I was lost in my own thoughts as I couldn’t help but revisit what Simon had said earlier: Just making sure Hughes has zero chances with you.

I thought about it for a brief moment.

And I wasn’t sure if I could say that was still true.

Diane and I agreed if this was the night we were getting absolutely fucked up, there was no way in hell either of us were driving.

It might’ve been the smartest decision we made tonight.

The Uber ride to The Inferno mostly consisted with Diane’s excitement, her voice buzzing with anticipation. Majority of the time I just nodded along, my mind was too preoccupied with what the rest of the night could spiral into. And they weren't necessarily good things.

I should’ve known better than to let Diane pick my outfit. The moment we stepped out of the car, a gust of wind sent a shiver down my spine, and I tugged at the material of my thin dress. I regretted my decision entirely.

The city was alive, buzzing with the kind of energy that only a Saturday night could bring. Bright neon lights glowed, illuminating the crowded streets as groups of people filed into nightclubs and bars, so eager to drown themselves the only way they knew how–in alcohol and music.

The Inferno stood center of it all, one of the hottest new clubs in downtown Vancouver. Its name alone promised chaos. I would know, considering this wasn’t my first rodeo here.

The line outside stretched far, but Diane barely seemed to notice.

She bounced on her heels, gripping my arm ever so tightly. “This is going to be the best night ever.”

I wasn’t so sure of that.

Once the bouncer checked our IDs and waved us through, we walked down a long hallway leading to the main doors. With each step, the pulse of music grew stronger and stronger, vibrating through my bones.

As soon as we stepped inside, we were hit with an explosion of sound and light.

The Inferno was infamous for its massive, open-concept that it was hard to believe a nightclub like this existed–that you would only find in the lively cities like Vegas or Florida.

There were two sleek bars on either side, a second-floor balcony overlooking the entire club, and the center filled with booths and couches for those who wanted a more chillaxing scene–to escape the chaos.

The real action, though, was further back, where the dance floor stretched beneath flashing strobes and a DJ booth commanded the large crowd of people.

Diane’s fingers wrapped around my wrist as she dragged me straight to the bar. “First round’s on me!” she shouted over the blaring music.

I slid into one of the empty stools next to her, my gaze flicking across the sea of people. There were way more bodies packed in here than the last time we came. The heat, the scent of booze mixed with expensive cologne and perfume–it was intoxicating and overwhelming all at once.

“Don’t you think there are more people here than last time?” I asked, shifting on my seat uncomfortably.

Diane barely glanced around before dismissing my concern with a shrug. “I don’t think so. Seems about the same to me.”

Of course she’d say that. Diane didn’t have a care in the world right now–she just wanted to get shitfaced.

She wouldn’t let me ever stop her from doing so, especially when she turned to the bartender, and ordered two shots. He sent down the glasses, I immediately recognized the bottle he began pouring in front of us.

“Tequila?” I winced. “We won’t make it home in one piece, Di.”

Diane rolled her eyes, lifting her shot glass. “Syd, it’s my birthday today. So for the love of God, take the shot.”

She glared at me, waiting. I hesitated, glancing down at the golden liquid.

I thought about it. Taking this shot would be the beginning of a very, very bad–or possibly great–decision. Either way, there was no turning back. It’s my friend’s birthday after all. Don’t ruin it for her.

With a sigh, I clinked my glass against hers. “Cheers to turning twenty-four.”

We downed the shots in one go, the burn racing down my throat. I hissed, shaking my head. “I forgot how much I hated this.”

Diane only laughed, knowing what we both got ourselves into. She tapped the counter for another round. “It’s going to be a long night, Syd. I hope you’re ready for it.”

I was definitely not ready.

By the time we hit our fourth–or was it fifth?–I could feel the alcohol settling in my system, warm and intoxicating. My limbs were lighter, my movements became more sluggish, and my heartbeat thundered faster.

I thought I had a higher tolerance for booze, I didn’t remember being this much of a lightweight. And soon enough, five shots turned into eight and I was starting to feel incredibly drunk.

Diane, naturally, was in her element, feeding off the energy of the club, throwing back drinks like water. At some point, we found a group of strangers to drink with, all of them laughing and clinking glasses as I raised mine–very out of character for me to do so.

“Everyone, it’s my best friend Diane’s birthday today!” I shouted, my voice louder than I intended at the group circling us by the bar. “I want everyone here to wish her a happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday Diane!” The group cheered, and we all easily tipped back another shot.

Moments have gone by as I chatted with a few girls by the bar, while slipping in another glass.

Until a familiar song blasted through the speakers, and my eyes lit up. My body reacted a lot faster before my brain had even processed it–I wanted to dance.

I turned to Diane, only to find her head resting on the bar’s counter, her eyes barely open.

“Diane, I love this song! Come dance with me, please?” I shook her shoulder, trying to get her to move.

She groaned, lifting her head just enough to meet my gaze. “I’m not really feeling good right now.”

I frowned at her. “But you were the one who said to have fun tonight. That’s what I’m trying to do, silly.”

“I did,” she laughed, though it was much weaker now. “But now that I’m on the fucking verge of throwing up, I think I might tap out.”

I let out a deep sigh, glancing at the packed dance floor. The energy was electrifying, the kind of moment I wouldn’t want to waste. “I’m having such a good time, but it would be even better if you danced with me.”

“And I’m so glad that you are enjoying yourself. I wouldn’t want to be the reason you aren’t.” Diane gave me a sleepy smile. “I’ll watch you from here. Now, go dance–I know you love this song.”

I hesitated, giving her a look before nodding anyways. Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t miss this song for the world.

“Okay, but don’t die.”

“No promises.”

She sent me off, shooing me away from her as I weaved through the crowd. I found my way to the center of the dance floor, singing–more like screaming from the top of our lungs–with a few girls surrounding me to the song Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado.

The beat pulsed beneath my feet, and I let myself go, moving fluidly and effortlessly with the music–like there was nobody else in the room. My body swayed, arms raised, my hair swinging side to side as I lost myself in the moment.

It felt good, better than I had in a long while.

Then a pair of hands landed on my hips.

I froze instantly. Then I turned my head just enough to see a man. Tall, smirking, and too fucking close.

“Hey, get your hands off me!” I stepped away from him.

He leaned in closer, voice smooth. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You looked so hot while you were dancing, I’m just trying to have fun here.”

Almost immediately, panic and disgust clawed its way up my spine. “I said, get the fuck away from me! Fucking creep.”

He didn’t listen. His hands reached for me again, and this time–I smacked them away. My eyes flicked to his, only to find his gaze burning through my skull. Oh fuck, he didn’t like that.

I tried to step back, but he followed. The more I moved, the gap between us closed, the smaller my world became as bodies pressed around me. I was starting to feel trapped, my body has never felt more stuck and unable to move.

But then I hit something–no, more like someone. A hard, unmoving chest.

I turned, ready to push away whoever the fuck it was, until my eyes widened when I met his familiar green orbs.

Quinn.

“She said to get the fuck away from her,” his voice was cold and sharp. “And I think it’s best that you do that. Now.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #vancouver canucks #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #qh43

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synergysilhouette · 6 months ago

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12 nitpicks with "Baldur's Gate 3"

This is a game I hadn't expected to love as much as I do--I think it's one of the best I've ever played--but just to play DA for a second, I thought I'd be nit-picky with some things about it (not that I'm ungrateful, Larian!)

Halsin's romance is rushed and lackluster--Halsin can only be recruited if you join the druids and tieflings against the goblins, and his storyline is only covered in Act II of the game with the Shadow Curse. Afterwards, he's just along for the ride, and if he becomes a love interest, you only get one romance scene followed by flowery words from him when addressing Tav, and the nature of your relationship is confusing, since Halsin finds the word foreign, emphasizes (optional) polyamory, and the implication from other love interests is that you're just sleeping with him. Seeing how the game was eventually patched so you could recruit both Halsin and Minthara, I do wish that it was made that way to begin with, with both of them having more pronounced arcs throughout the story. I have heard that they had cut content, so it'd be nice if it was reinstated someday.

2. The female companions are racially more diverse than the male companions--This isn't really an issue for me, but an observation; for female companions, we have a Githyanki, a drow, two half-elfs, and a tiefling, while for male companions we have two elves and three humans. I suppose they didn't wanna experiment too much for male companions, but I could've seen Halsin as a half-orc like Jord, and Wyll a dragonborn--not that I'd trade out their designs as-is; that's just an observation.

3. We get Yenna in our camp, and she adds nothing--After having the spirit of nature AND a tiefling with newly discovered magic powers in our camp in Act II, getting an average human kid in Act III just because felt dissatisfying. Yenna will come up to you, regardless of whether you're invisible or not, when she will tell you that she can't find her mom. After talking with her, she'll appear in camp a few days later and ask to stay. You can say "no," but it's a weird option anyway. Plus if you do as I did and just misty step off the cliff into town to avoid talking to her, she will still be Orin's victim if the others are not available, even if you never meet her (note: I do not know how this works if the other options aren't available and Yenna is dead). And even when you rescue her, there's the guilt because her mom and her cat are dead, so you kinda feel like you have to let her join. I'd much rather keep Arabella, or find a way for Thaniel and Oliver to bond and then separate, with one of them joining us on the journey if Halsin is recruited. Or another option...

4. Lae'zel and Shadowheart have similar storylines--While the details are different, the overall plot is the same; both women find out that they've been lied to by the culture they've grown up in, and have to decide how they feel about it. The difference is that Lae'zel can choose between helping Vlakith, Orpheus, or stay out of the Githyanki conflict, while Shadowheart just gets to choose between following Shar or turning her back on her. That said, Shadowheart's storyline is much more satisfying and emotional since the goddess erased her memory and now she has to decide how to take that. With Lae'zel, she never really evaluates what it means to be independent like Shadowheart does, first swearing loyalty to Vlakith, then joining Voss when she seems to be lying, and becoming intent on freeing Orpheus when she finds out he's been kept away. Only at the end can you tell her to find her own path. Because her culture highlights strength and a warrior lifestyle, the similar arc she has to Shadowheart can't be executed as well. In fact, one unique thing about Lae'zel's storyline never comes into play during the main story: the githyanki egg. She'll mention feeling bonded to it, and will say it hatched during the epilogue, and that she named him and wants him to choose his own path in life (which doesn't really fit if she chose to stay with Vlakith or Orpheus, imo). It would've been nice if Xan was hatched and kept in our camp, or if the egg is taken from us immediately after leaving the creche, and we have the option to rescue Xan from the SoB and let him join us.

5. Astarion's viewpoint/approval doesn't change--I'm in the minority here I'm sure, but given the sympathy people give Astarion due to his past as an abuse victim and Astarion learning to love himself, I do wish the change was a bit more impactful, with Astarion showing more compassion for others and certain altruistic or optimistic choices earning his approval. Even in Act III, there are a couple of times you get to say you can't believe he's letting his family be led to the slaughter or think of harming them. He'll respond that they're screwed anyway or that no one else looked out for him except you. It doesn't feel like as much progress has been made, and even after Cazador's mission, he's still himself, just with less burdens and more closure. His epilogue epiphany of people not minding you committing murder if it's bad people feels like something he should've learned along the way.

6. Romance initiation is based on the afterparty, for the most part--People will say that initiating a romance isn't dependent on the goblin/tiefling party, but I've only had ONE time where I had the chance to begin a romance began afterwards--or at least, one time where it was someone I was interested in (there were a couple times Lae'zel flirted with me). In my experience, it's very difficult to start a romance after the party, despite having a lot of approval. I'd rather there be a perpetual romance option to pick when talking to a companion, and them accepting once you have enough approval, rather than them coming to you.

7. Karlach's only ending is the "bad/sad" ending--As many will tell you, there was a planned Upper City portion of Act III that included furthering Karlach's quest, with the ending we got in the final version being the bad ending if we neglected her quest. I understand cutting content, but since literally EVERYONE ELSE'S fate is dependent on your decisions (Shadowheart and Lae'zel's loyalties, Wyll being a devil or not, Astarion completing the ritual and killing the spawn, killing Minsc and Jaheira leaving, saving Minthara, Halsin's resolving the Shadow Curse or not, Gale giving into his ambition), Karlach should've gotten the same treatment. If a section had to be removed, they could've moved her quests to the sections of the game that we did get.

8. Getting Minsc when we could've gotten Rolan--While Minsc is a neat companion to have, his lack of a storyline (outside of his recruitment) and being a non-romanceable companion makes him feel almost like a wasted slot to me. If we wanted to add another male companion, I definitely feel like Rolan would've been a better companion, coming across as a cross between Astarion and Gale due to his cockiness and ambitious nature. It'd be fun if he was recruited in Act II after rescuing his siblings; honestly, he wouldn't be on any worse footing than Minthara and Halsin for having limited content, but Rolan has the added benefit of having family that we can interact with, joining Wyll and Shadowheart as the few companions who do. In fact...

9. Only plot-relevant backstories--Okay, this is a real nit-pick, but that's the title of the post! For the most part, characters only mention their past in relation to their quests, though there are brief exceptions: Wyll, Minthara, and Karlach mentioning their mothers, and Tara mentioning Gale's mom. Maybe I just didn't get the dialogue, but I do wish we got more about each character's childhood/backgrounds--and not just in a one-convo-type thing like the aforementioned individuals. I guess I have to give Astarion a pass since he says that after being a vampire for centuries, he can't even remember his eye color, let alone his life before, aside from being a magistrate (which I find SUPER interesting). Plus it'd be interesting to hear more about old flames like Gale and Halsin mentioned, and the conquests Astarion reunited with as spawn.

10. Act II slimming down the number of tieflings--If you do nothing to help the tieflings or side with the goblins during the raid, all of the tieflings die. However, even if you side with the tieflings and defeat the goblins' leaders, several tieflings will die anyway. When cultists corner them in the shadowcursed lands, Zevlor is distracted by the Absolute while the other tieflings are kidnapped and brought to Moonrise Towers, find their way to the Last Light Inn, or are killed on the spot--or in the case of Arabella's parents, killed after escaping the cultists and trying to hide. While these things happen in war (or cultist territory), it felt disheartening to see that the people you went through all the trouble of saving died anyway. It's almost a waste.

11. To be young--This is really scrapping the bottom of the barrel, but I do wish we could make Tav look a bit younger (I think you can look younger than this picture, but this is just a visual aid). I also have this nit-pick for some of the companions, but I'm sure a mod for that will eventually be approved.

12. Getting companions to romance each other--This isn't something I need as much as the other things, but it's still something I thought about when watching origin playthroughs. To my understanding, they're all pansexual (personally I imagine Karlach, Astarion, Lae'zel, and Minthara as male-leaning pansexuals and Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart, as female-leaning pansexuals while Halsin is middle of the road; no idea why, just the vibes), and it'd be fun to pair them up together. Not saying there are endless combinations; I can imagine Gale/Astarion wouldn't be something that exists in the Tav route (especially after Astarion straight-up told me he doesn't want an open relationship/polycule with Gale), but Karlach/Wyll, Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Jaheira/Minsc, Karlach/Gale, Gale/Wyll, and Astarion/Halsin are ships I think of being possible.

Don't kill me! I already love the game as-is, but I did want to point these things out. I was also gonna include a other nitpicks such as the option to have kids/discussing it and Aylin/Isobel being active companions and not just space fillers at camp, but maybe I'll save that for another nitpick post.

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