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luveline · 10 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match.

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks.

Finished. his text says.

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened.

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly.

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light.

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough.

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready.

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?"

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen.

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side.

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway.

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head.

Miguel squints at you. "What?"

"What?" you ask back.

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge.

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength.

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek.

"It's going to make my skin clearer."

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible."

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment.

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti."

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake."

"It's fish?"

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides.

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry…

Does Miguel not want to kiss you?

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods."

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest.

"You'd love that."

"Are you teasing me?"

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs."

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders."

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want."

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through.

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings.

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone.

The puppy barks hello.

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta."

"I want what you want," you say honestly.

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks.

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance.

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid."

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up.

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried.

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks.

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–"

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back."

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?"

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?"

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering."

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon.

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?"

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine."

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you.

"I sent you all those photos," you say.

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you."

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch.

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge."

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking.

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better.

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night.

He's talkative tonight.

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much."

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing.

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led."

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime.

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt.

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive."

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad."

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it.

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little.

"Then…"

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?"

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead.

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him.

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that."

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it.

"You're not mad?" he asks again.

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss.

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard.

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away.

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy.

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks.

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?"

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?"

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?"

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?"

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely.

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?"

"Your face was wet."

"And after when we were eating dinner?"

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point."

"A kiss would've made me feel better."

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back.

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know."

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says.

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek.

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a drink."

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands.

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck.

"No!" you laugh.

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down.

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile.

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down.

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold."

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on.

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises.

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo."

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

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lucky-bucky-boy · 8 months

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Changing Tides

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6790

Summary: You and Bucky get paired together for undercover missions a lot because it works beautifully, despite the fact that you don't really even interact at home.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, limited use of Y/N, LOTS of pet names (pretty girl, baby, i think baby girl, my girl etc), praise kink, oral f. receiving, slight angst, reader is in denial for a good bit of this, angst if you squint, reader is a part of the team, this piece takes place in an AU where everyone lives together and everything is happy

A/N: Oh. My. God. I did NOT intend for this to be this long, at one point I thought I was going to have to make this a two-parter but I got it all in here. I really enjoyed writing this, please let me know what y'all think!! :)))

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Hues of velvety violet and radiant amber mixed, painting the evening sky like a scene out of a museum. The scent of warm sea salt was still palpable in the air, the crystal like water of the wide-expanding ocean reflected the light of the setting sun. Dancing specs of light could be seen in the darker shades of the sky, stars bright and clear against the inky color.

The cold metal of the hotel balcony pressed against your exposed skin, shirt having risen up as you leaned over it slightly. The view was beyond breathtaking, something you would argue belonged on a movie screen. It was serene, offering a moment of reprieve from the typical chaos you endured in a day, and a distraction from the man currently sitting in the hotel room behind you.

Hate didn’t describe the emotions you felt for the brunet. On a daily basis, there was an underlying disinterest but every now and then a seething annoyance would bubble at the mere thought of the former soldier. You couldn’t pin-point why. Bucky himself had never done anything to wrong you after his rehabilitation and reintroduction into society, and you could easily say nothing the Winter Soldier had done counted towards your feelings.

The odd part of it all is the Bucky and you worked well together, great even. More often than not, you found yourself partnered with Bucky on just about every mission the two of you had; from quick in and out missions to undercover operations like the one you were on now. The communication was great, the two of you easily fell into a rhythm and could read each other’s body language like you’ve known each other your whole life. It was easy to slip into a faux-domesticity with him, which was a stark contrast to the daily life you lived.

The day to day with Bucky involved a lack of any form of contact. You’d avoid the gym if he was in it, would eat in silence if the two of you happened to be in the kitchen at the same time, eye-contact was consistently avoided - Really, the only time the two of you were seen together at home was during group training sessions and team-building nights. You were sure to never make it awkward for the rest of the team, never bad mouth or be outwardly annoyed at Bucky’s presence, you just really couldn’t care less if he was there or not.

“Sweetheart,” his voice carried from the room, light and sweet, almost intoxicating with a feeling instantly having your gut turn and catch your skin aflame, “Did you want to go out for dinner tonight or just order room service?” His voice got nearer as he moved to join you on the balcony.The cool metal prosthetic wrapped around your waist as he stood next to you.

A soft hum left your lips, gaze moving from the horizon to the prosthetic then to Bucky’s face. He adorned a slight scruff, long hair pulled back into a low bun; His eyes nearly twinkled as they reflected the setting sky in the distance, he wore soft maroon button down and black chinos that truly made him look like a normal, well-off guy. Tony and Peter had finally managed to perfect the color needed to make Bucky prosthetic look like a normal arm which easily sealed the deal on assuring that there was nothing major that could be easily spotted to dox the two of you as agents.

The flight to Morocco was long and the next 10 days were easily going to be even longer, the last thing you wanted to do was be anywhere but a soft bed. “Room service,” you replied, matching the tone he had asked the question with. You leaned your head against his shoulder, moving your gaze back to the ocean, “Did you do a room check and get our things set up?”

He nodded, “Everything inside is clear and put away,” he squeezed your side softly when he said inside, a subtle emphasis to communicate where it was safe to not be in character. “I’ll go order the room service, you can go shower and get comfortable. I know how much you hate the airport.” He chuckled softly at the end, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before making his way back inside.

You let out a soft sigh, making it inside as well and closing the balcony door behind you as you did. This really was going to be a long 10 days.

The bitter taste of the wine nearly made your mouth water, sitting somewhere between too intense and the perfect thing to take the edge off. The first full day had been smooth, an easy itinerary of walking and exploring the city. From the outside, the two of you easily looked like a love sick couple; matching clothes, a large diamond in your hand, Bucky always opening the door for you and your soft smile that just couldn't seem to leave you face; but in reality you had been mapping the city, learning the back alley ways and locating any ports that may be needed for a quick exit.

The small patio of the restaurant adorned a handful of tables, lanterns lighting the area in a soft romantic glow, lucious plants filling in any space, the open space allowed for ease of blending into the crowd while watching any passerby on the street. Bucky had taken up a game of footsie with you, chattering along about some of the shops you had passed along the way.

“Is there any shop you’d want to make your way back to?” Bucky took a sip of the wine in front of him, eyes fixed on you intently.

A soft hum left your lips, swaying your head back and forth softly as you thought. “Well, I wanna hit up the history and art museum, so maybe we could see if there’s any other cute shops there? If not, I’d definitely like to look at the jewelry store and bookstore we passed on the way here.”

“Mmm, I do think it’s time to get my pretty girl a new necklace,” the words fell off Bucky’s tongue like he sweet talked you on the daily.

There was that feeling again, the uneasiness that laid in the pit of your stomach and your skin heated up. Maybe this was why you couldn’t stand Bucky outside of missions, maybe you just didn’t want to deal with this feeling constantly. “You spoil me enough, ya know,” you offered a soft giggle, “I can assure you I don’t need any more jewelry, my love.”

Bucky smirked softly, cocking his eyebrows up at you with a knowing look on his face, “You may not need it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it anyways.”

You shook your head, about to offer a rebuttal as the waiter set your food down in front of you, all thoughts being lost to the amazing sights and smells. “This is easily my favorite part of our trips,” you stated, the distraction of food keeping you from noticing the way Bucky’s gaze stayed on you and a soft smile lingered.

Six days of being enveloped in Bucky’s presence, and thankfully it was getting easier by the moment. It had been a smooth operation so far, the information being easy to locate and gather without raising suspicions. As a result, Tony had said to take a day to relax, lay low and assure no one was able to realize there was something more to you two.

Bucky had made a home on the balcony of your hotel, a book in hand and a coffee sat on the little table next to him.He been there since the early morning and it was easily almost noon, not that that you were bothering to check the clock. A day off meant a day of sleep and eating, nothing much more than that.

However, sleeping wasn't something your body wanted to do so you found yourself with a forgotten movie playing on the television, your gaze consistently going back to him. You weren't sure why, but you couldn't keep your eyes off him. You'd been sitting for the past God knows how long trying to figure out why you couldn't pull your eyes away from him. His hair was down, something he didn't do quite often, almost always finding it easier to have it pulled away from his face. From the angle he was sitting, you could see his light gray button down was still completely unbuttoned, his jean shorts a little too snug around his thighs. He occasionally sipped the coffee that was most likely cold at this point, turning the page of the thick novel occasionally. His lips would purse, eyebrows scrunch occasionally, or a small chuckle, or even a shake of his head as he reacted to the words on the page.

The wind picked up some, indicating a small rain storm that was destined to his later in the evening was starting to make it's way in. Bucky pulled a hair tie from his pocket, tying his hair into his typical low bun before picking his book back up. And it finally hit you; Fuck he's pretty.

The thought immediately made your body heat up and the instant feeling of something in between shame and excitement sat low in your belly. It was like a well known secret your subconscious kept for years finally made it over the wall of denial in your brain, immediately making your thoughts run wild; Fuck he's so pretty, more than pretty actually. What if this is why we've been weird for some many years? Wait. Why would that make it weird? Wait. Why is it weird? Why do we get along so well on missions and then act so differently at home? Oh My God… Has the team been trying to set us up?

Shaking your head, you jumped up, apparently too suddenly because Bucky broke his concentration on his book to glance over at you. You could feel he was watching you move around, the only thought in your head now was to get out for some fresh air as you deciphered the flood of thoughts. You grabbed some fresh clothes, slipping into the bathroom with a heavy sigh once the door was closed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, attempting to ground yourself. Okay, what the hell is going on? The question kept repeating itself over and over in your head as you slipped into a summer dress, a sage flowy piece that Natasha and you bought for this trip specifically. It was cute, and Nat was right when she said it complimented your skin; definitely different than your normal attire but still comfortable.

Walking out of the bathroom, you were relieved to find Bucky still where he was when you entered. After slipping on some sandals, you moved towards him, immediately aware of every detail of your very being. "Hey," you kept your voice soft, waiting for him to pull him eyes from the book and look up at you. There was something about how brightly his eyes shone with the golden sun beating down on him, there was a sense of both innocence and mystique, and the instant feeling of safety just from holding his gaze. "I'm heading out to get some coffee, do you want a fresh one? You've been sipping at the same cup for hours now."

Bucky glanced down at the cup, then to his watch, eyes going wide for a moment before a soft chuckle left his lips. "I've been out here for 4 hours already, shit. Yeah, I'd love a fresh one, doll. Thank you." He offered you a soft smile, "Just get me a-"

"A latte with three honeys on the side," you said matter-of-factly, "I could order for you at just about anywhere at this point." It was a teasing joke, one Bucky laughed at, but you instantly cursed yourself for even saying it.

"We do spend quite a bit of time together," he hummed out, "Did you want to go out for dinner or get room service tonight?" He asked, picking his book back up as he prepared for your departure.

"Let me see how I feel after I get back. But if we go out, it's your turn to pick. I picked last night." You stated before leaning down to kiss his hairline, still needing to keep up the act just in case someone was managing to spy; or at least that's what you were telling yourself. "I'll see you inna bit."

After returning with the coffee, still finding Bucky to be where he was when he left him, it was an instant decision to find a way to give yourself more time a way from the man that had your mind absolutely scrambled. Grabbing a book of your own, you let him know you'd be down by the pool if he needed you, using a quick excuse about wanting some change in scenery before the rain came as you left.

You weren't entirely sure how long you'd been out there, it couldn't have been too long, but you we're aware you were reading the same page over and over again. The words seemed to mix together, jumbling about and not registering even in the slightest, your brain still attempting to make sense of what you were feeling.

You never denied that Bucky was attractive, that's admittedly part of what made undercover missions easy. You never denied that you two got along well on missions, but you couldn't explain or pinpoint why you didn't get along at home. Sure, you were never hostile or rude, but it was exactly friendly or outgoing either. No matter how much you thought and walked through your early memories of Bucky, you couldn't make sense of anything.

At this point, you knew pride was part of the issue. You knew the team would be able to walk you through, at the very least Nat or Pepper or maybe even Steve, but you could never admit to them what you were currently feeling or going through. The only thing you wanted to do, needed to do was to act normal until you got home. Then you could just hide away and go back to not having to interact with the man that was causing you turmoil.

"There's my pretty girl," Bucky's drawl quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing you to jump at the sudden push back to reality. Seeing you jump caused Bucky to chuckle, especially as you turned to glare at him and his bright smile, "It's getting late, baby. We should go get some food."

He moved to the lounge chair you had made home in, kneeling down next to you so he was eye-level. There was that feeling again, low in the pit of your stomach that had your skin warming. "There's apparently food trucks at a park about not too far. Why don't we head there and get some food to bring back and watch a movie?"

Instinctively, you reach to tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, offering a soft nod and a smile, "That sounds perfect."

You wanted nothing more than to kiss him, the thought immediately making your already warm skin heat up more, feeling flustered and like a school girl. It's not like you haven't kissed, it was just agreed upon that it was reserved for dire need situations. All other physical touchs; hand holding, forehead kissing, even smacking each others ass was okay to sell the facade that you were a happy couple.

Bucky picked up on the change, a look of slight worry on his face, "You okay, doll?"

The laugh that left you was slightly anxious, holding the book in your hand up as a quick white lie, "Yeah, you just came down at a particularly… intense scene."

He immediately laughed, kissing your forehead as he stood up. "You're so cute. Let's get going though."

The bustling crowds offered a great distraction - Bucky stood proudly by your side, fingers interlocked together and swinging your joined hands softly like a love sick couple. The both of you scanned the crowd, trying to figure out where to go and what to get.

The lines weren't too long, there were nearly a dozen trucks, and live music playing. The sun was finally setting, more clouds rolling in and bringing in a cooler breeze that allowed for a reprieve from the beach heat. There were benches with umbrellas set up, lantern lights adorning some posts and wires around the lot. It was cute, and if it wasn't for the mission you were still technically on, it would feel so wrong to be here with Bucky.

After a moment of thought, you looked at Bucky, lips slightly pursed in thought, "I have an idea." You stated matter-of-factly.

He cooked an eyebrows at you, intrigued and slightly amused with your tone, "Let's hear it then."

"Let's get a platter or some random menu item from every truck then go back to the room and eat there."

Bucky looked around and nodded, "Ya know what, doll, that sounds fantastic. Do you wanna divide and conquer or go one by one?"

It was then that you realized the clouds were darkening, and the rain was definitely going to happen sooner than later. "Let's divide and conquer before the rain comes."

With a nod of agreement the two of you split, heading to either end of the trucks and working your way to each other. With the lines being shorter, it didn't take too long to get through them all, the both of you holding multiple bags stacked full of food and tied tightly. Quick words were exchanged before you started heading back towards the hotel, hoping to make it back before the rain.

The effort was fruitless though, with just maybe a few hundred feet left before the hotel you were staying at, the cold rain begins to pour down, the dark sky opening up and letting go every ounce of water it was holding on to. With loud gasps from the both of you, and small playful shriek even, you two took off running into the lobby, screeching yourselves to a stop as you entered and stood on the mats in front of the door. You were breathing heavily, attempting to catch your breath; a quick glance to Bucky showed you he was doing the same.

After a few moments, the two of you made eye contact, bursting into immediate laughter. You were both soaked head to toe, the only thing saved was the food. His shoes make a sloshing sound and your feet slid around in your sandals, you clothes clinging to every inch of your bodies. You were easily a sight for sore eyes, but it couldn't have been funnier.

"Why didn't either of us think about the rain?" You managed to get out through your laughter.

"Who knows, but let's get upstairs so we can get dry." He managed to respond.

The elevator ride up felt like an eternity, the cold of the AC feeling more intense from your wet skin. Bucky opened the door for you, letting you in first. He set the foot down, immediately kicking off his shoes. "Go shower, get warm. I'll pull out a change of clothes for you and we can swap when you're done."

Something about the direction made you freeze momentarily, causing him to look up at you, "(Y/N), you're freezing. Go shower. I'm fine to wait." His voice was soft and caring and there was a part of you that wanted to tell him to shower with you.

In the dim light of the room and the soaking wet clothes made him look even more divine, like he was sculpted from the gods themselves. You nodded, handing him the bags before making your way towards the bathroom. You closed the door, then quickly opening it to call out but he cut you off, "You want an oversized shirt and a loose pair of shorts, gets your ass in the shower." His tone was demanding but still playful. You caught the look in his eyes, mischievous, playful, and a hint of something you didn't want to recognize.

You kept your shower quick, ready to be in comfortable clothes and a bed with good food. After quickly drying yourself as much as possible, you wrapped yourself in a towel, and stepped out into the bedroom. Bucky stood in only his boxers, his own clothes in one hand while he scrolled through the television with the other. It wasn't the first time you've seen him with this little clothing, but something about it now made your mouth dry and your skin heat up.

"All yours," you said, grabbing his attention as you moved to the bed where he laid your clothes out for you.

"Thanks, doll. I'll be quick. You can pick the movie," he tossed the remote onto the bed before disappearing into the bathroom himself.

You stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm yourself before slipping into the clean clothes. Bucky had already made work of getting creative. He pulled the ironing board from the closet and set the food up next to the bed, had fluffed the pillows up into a sitting position, and already gotten drinks for the two of you. By the time you had decided on a movie, Bucky was coming out of the bathroom.

Immediarely, you mind started short circuiting again. He looked soft. He had on a light blue shirt and a pair of light gray shorts, his hair was towel dried and brushed against his shoulders, a slight wave to the brown locks. He slid in bed next to you, getting himself situated and comfortable before handing over the massive spread of food for you to start digging into.

After about 20 minutes of eating and watching the movie in a comfortable silence, Bucky turned the volume down some, "Can I ask you a question?" The tone of his voice alone already told you how he was feeling. There was a sense of worry, anxiety almost to him.

"Of course, what's wrong?" You asked, sitting your food to the side so you could turn to look at him.

Bucky followed your lead, moving the food he had off the bed as well before taking a drink, trying to have a moment to articulate how he was going to ask what he wanted. Even though Bucky was sure the room wasn't bugged, he knew that there's was never a 100% chance of assuring that. The fact alone could make talking about things outside of the mission difficult, and this one one of those moments.

"How's the trip been for you? I know we haven't been on one in a while and I just want to make sure everything's okay, that we're okay." He had turned fully to look at you now, the worry in his voice making it to his eyes.

"Oh…" the response was immediate, and you regretted it instantly the second you so that worry on his face grow, "The trips been wonderful, and uh…" You sighed, toying with the blanket around you, "We're fine, yeah. I'm just… not here?" You said, sort of motioning to your head to get the point across.

Bucky cocked his head some, the worry turning to confusion. "Are we going to be okay when we go home?"

That was something you couldn't answer. What was okay. Was okay how you normally act? Was okay something different? Something better? Something worse?

"Uh… maybe?" You offered, immediately wincing at your own words. You sighed deeply, "I don't really know how to explain what I'm feeling."

"Okay," Bucky took a moment, letting you both sit in the uncomfortable silence that was the lull in the conversation. He was doing his best not to become frustrated, he knew there was most likely no easy way for you to communicate what you wanted to say or even what you were feeling, but he's been able to tell for the past couple of days that things, specifically that you, have been off. "What do you know?"

Your gaze met his again, taking a deep breath in to try to gather the courage to say what you needed. "Things feel… different?"

"Different?"

"Different."

Bucky stared at you for a moment, mind calculating and analyzing has he tried to decipher what you meant. In an instant it all clicked, and you didn't miss the way his lips curled into a quick smirk before his features soften. "Do things feel different when I call you my pretty girl?"

He watched as you immediately became flustered, averting your gaze and watching your chest rise and fall quicker. He thought he had sensed your heart rate quickening throughout the past couple of days, but he had honestly assumed it was anxiety from the mission. He had no reason to think it could be something else; Well, until now.

"(Y/N)," your name came as firm and demanding, causing you to look at him. The smirk on his face was more evident now, "We can continue this conversation now, or when we get home. But just remember, you're my favorite book to read."

You were instantly lost for words, mouth opening and closing as you processed what he just said to you. Waiting until you were home was going to be far too long, but talking about whatever this was now? Right now when you were flustered beyond belief, that flippant warm feeling filling every valley and curve of your body?

"Just say the word, doll, and I'll act like everything is normal. I'll go back to watching the movie and eating and ignoring the obivous."

A soft shake of your head was all you could muster as you search desperately for a will to stop the inevitable, or the courage to beg for it.

"Words, (Y/N). Use your words."

"I don't want normal." You swallowed, taking a shaky breath you continued, "I don't want this to go back to normal."

Buckys lips turned to a smile. "You don't want this to stop when we go home?"

You shook you head more feverishly, "No, I - Fuck, what have you done to me?" You groaned out.

"The same thing you've been doing to me for years, I suppose." His tone was matter-of-fact, cool and calm almost.

"What?" Your eyes had gone wide, mouth dry, and that God forsaken feeling low in your stomach was growing.

"You heard me. Obviously, we'll have some talking to do when we get home." He chuckled

Bucky moved as if he was going to grab the food, stopping once he heard, "No," come out of your mouth, "No. I want to talk about it now."

He looked back at you, eyebrows raising as to silently ask how.

"I want to…" You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief at yourself before leaning forward, cupping the back of his neck with your hand and pressing your lips to his.

This kiss was different; It was electricity filled, igniting every nerve in your body. You could feel the heat from your ears to your toes. It was intoxiting and addicting.

Bucky waisted no time in kissing you back, even letting out a small groan at your sudden assertiveness. His prosthetic hand held onto you waist, the other cupping your face as the two of you broke years worth of tension in one swift motion. Bucky pulled away first, taking in the plumpness of your kiss swollen lips, the sluttering of your lashes as your opened your eyes to look at him, and the darkness of your gaze that was stricken with last.

He looked just as enthralled, blue eyes dark as the night sky and hooded with desire, cheeks flushed slightly beneath his scruff. It finally clicked what the feeling you've been having all week was. Lust; pure, unadulterated lust for the man who was currently pretending to be your husband.

"Well damn, doll," he offered you a toothy grin, squeezing your waist, "Wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry-"

"Don't be." He bit his lip, studying your face for a moment, "Whatcha thinking, pretty girl?"

You couldn't help but get flustered, "That I want more. A lot fucking more." You hand moved up from his neck to card through his hair, his breath hitching some as you did. "Please, James, I need more." Your voice had a slight whine to it, something you hoped he wouldn't be able to resist.

"If I knew you sounded so pretty begging this would've happened years ago," he grumbled before kissing you again. This time though, he re-situated himself, helping you move to straddling him and doing his best to let you still have some semblance of control for now. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you from being able to move away from him.

One of your hands cupped his face, the other running down his clothed chest. You lips move in sink, a squeeze on your hips eliciting a small moan from you that he took advantage of, using your open mouth to slip his tongue in. You could feel the tent in his shorts growing, sitting hard against your core.

An experimental grind of your hips pulled a moan form the man beneath you; The sound was music to your ears, and enough encouragement to do it again.

Buckys hands moved, bracing you as he flipped you over to give himself more leverage and take control. Just as he begin to grind himself against you, he moved his lips from your to your neck. He kissed his way down to your pulse point, drinking in the sweet sounds you made. He sucked softly at the skin, moaned himself when you pulled at his hair.

Any rationale thought was gone at this point, any fears or anxieties you had pushed to the back of your mind as pure pleasure and desire took over the forefront of your thoughts. Once Bucky was sure he would be satisfied with the mark he left on you, he pulled back some to look you in the eye.

"Are you sure you want this?" He breathed out, offering you an out.

You nodded so quickly he couldn't help but laugh softly, "God, you look so fucking desperate, doll. You want me to fuck you?" He had a slight tease to his voice.

Another nod is all you could muster, but that wasn't good enough for him. "Uh uh, come on. Use your words. Need to hear you say it if you want me to do it."

You whined at his demand, pouting at him slightly, "Please."

"Please what?" His tone was more stern now, "If you want to continue, I need to know you actually want this."

His insistence to make sure you were consenting pulled at your heart strings. You nodded, "Yes, Bucky," you kept your voice soft before adding a slight whine and plea to it, "Please fuck me."

He smiled, kissing you much softer than had had before, "I'd do anything you asked me to." His words sounded like a promise that had you own emotions bubbling up.

Bucky leaned up for a moment, pulling off his shirt. He motioned for you to sit up and pulled yours off as well, groaning softly when he sat you skin. "Such a beautiful, pretty girl. Look at you," his hands ran up and down your sides and he took in your body before making eye contact with you again, "Most perfect thing I've ever seen, ya know that?"

He could feel your skin heat up at his comments, watching you squirm. "Take your shorts off, doll." Bucky moved off the bed, kneeling on the floor at the edge, "C'mere." He demanded.

You aren't going to deny him at this point, feeling yourself so tightly wrapped around his finger that you'd follow him into hell if it meant he kept talking to you like this. Once you were close enough, Bucky grabbed your thighs and pulled you to be perched on the edge on the bed, legs on his shoulders with his eyes level with your core.

"Look at this sweet little pussy," he squeezed your thighs tight, "You're fucking glistening, doll." He started pressing kisses to your thighs, avoiding the very apace you needed him at. "Smell fucking divine, I just know you're gonna taste even better."

Bucky watched as you already started fishing the sheets, squirming and biting you lip to hold back any noise. He already decided it was his job to make it impossible for you to hold back. Bucky moved his right hand to interlock with yours, taking his left arm and using it to put pressure on your waist, the cold feel of the prosthetic a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Just as he squeezed your hand, Bucky licked a thick stripe from your core to your clit, genuinely moaning at the taste.

He wasted no time in drowning himself in your essence. Bucky licked and sucked, offering the occasional nibble, until you were grinding yourself in his face. Once soft gasps and moans were falling freely from you lips, he moved his left hand to your core, the cool digits of his forefinger and ringer figuring prodding your sopping hole. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as he pushed two fingers in, relishing in the fact that your moans got loud.

Bucky pulled him mouth away, moving to you thighs and sucking hickies into the soft skin while his fingers worked magic. He already knew your body so well, years of working together on intimate missions allowed him to learn how to tell what you liked versus what you loved.

After leaving a few marks, he leaned his head against your thighs, looking up at you through his lashes and watching had your chest rose and fell and you head was thrown back in pure pleasure. "I was fucking right. Taste like honey, could drink you up all fucking day."

He licked a quick stripe again, from where his fingers were to the hilt inside you all the way to your clit. "So, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to continue eating your sweet little pussy until you cum all of face then I'm going to fuck you nice and deep so you feel my cock for days."

He chuckled when he felt your walls flutter around his fingers, "You like the sound of that, pretty girl?" He curled his fingers, hitting the spongy spot that had you gasping for air and eyes rolling into the back of your head. "Look, you're already so close to the edge. You better soak me, baby."

Bucky didn't fall short on his word, getting back to work on your clit with his mouth. His scruff added a nice sensation that bordered on pleasurable pain, fingers moving st the perfect pace and curving expertly, mouth switching between sucking and kitten licks. His right had squeezed your own hand, encouraging you to let go for him.

The pleasure was building quickly, it was intoxicating and inhibition destroying. You leaned up, using your free hand to grab hold of his hair and pull, giving you leverage to grind on his face. Bucky moaned against you, and truly giving you everything he was worth in his determination.

It didn't take much longer for you to fall over the edge, moaning loudly and body convulsing. Your legs squeezed his head as he continued to work you through your orgasm until you fell back, panting for breath.

Bucky pulled away, chuckling softly with a proud look in his face. From his nose down, he was absolutely glistening with your slick, "God you're fucking hot, using my face like that."

Bucky stood, pulling his shorts off, using them to wipe his face some, then tossing them to the side. "Can't wait to see your pretty face when I fill you up. Your gonna take me so good, aren't you?"

You nodded, already getting worked back up. You sat yourself up before he had the chance to grab you, leaning up and carding your hand through his hair again and guiding his lips to yours. You moaned at the taste of your own cum on his lips, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock, jerking him slowly.

He pulled away from your lips, breathing in sharp. "Uh uh, doll, you can do that another time," he kissed your forehead, a sweet gesture that was a drastic difference to what was currently happening, "Right now, I wanna be buried inside you, making you cum all over me again. Cmon, lay back down for me."

You stole one more kiss before resuming your prior position. Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, pulling you back to the edge and holding your legs spread wide. "You can tell me to stop at any point," he said softly, "but unless you do that, I'm not stopping until you're thoroughly filled with me."

You nodded, offering a desperate, "Please, Bucky. Want all of you," and moving to hold your own legs up as the extra step to prove how much you wanted this.

"So fucking perfect," he groaned out. Bucky grabbed his length, teasing your slit a few times to get his thick tip left before finally pushing in. He was slow, listening to your gasp as he stretched you out so nicely.

Inch by inch, he pushed in until he was bent over you and all the way to the hilt, your lower bodies completely flushed. "You feel fucking amazing around me," he moaned out, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Just as you were starting to whine, he pulled all the way out before slamming back in, causing you to moan out loudly when you felt him in the deepest parts of you.

Bucky set a brutal but rhythmic pace, changing it ever so slightly until he heard your moans and whines change to be deeper and louder. He moved one of your legs to his shoulder, which somehow allowed him to go even deeper, alternating between full thrusts and grinding against you.

He reached down between the two of you, rubbing circles in your clit with his thumb and watching as your whole body begin to shake with intense pleasure. "Look at you," he moaned out, "Better than my wildest dreams. You gonna cum again for me, already doll?"

He didn't need an answer at this point, he could tell from how your walls were squeezing him that you were close, and as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't far behind you. Bucky kept his movements consistent until he felt you fall over the edge again with a high pitch moan, his hips finally flattering as you squeezed him like a vice, quickly chasing his own high. A few erratic thrusts and he spilled into you with a moan of your name.

Bucky let your legs down, taking a few deep breaths before pulling out of you. He laughed lightly as you whined at the loss of him. He disappeared to the bathroom, cleaning himself up before bringing back a warm, damp wash cloth to wipe you down with. Bucky pressed softly kisses to yoh skin and he wiped you off, kissing your lips before tossing the cloth to the side and climbing into bed with you.

He helped you move back to laying normally in the bed, laughing once he noticed the credits of thie movie were rolling. He wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and letting you get comfortable on him."How you feeling, doll?"

"Good, a little weird, but good." You said, voice drenched in exhaustion.

"Weird how?" He asked, rubbing his fingers up and down your back.

"Good weird. Happy things are gonna be different when we get home."

With how you were laying, you missed the way Bucky smiled down at you, "You don't understand how happy it makes me that I'll get to treat you like this all the time."

"Really?" You asked, already finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

"Doll, I've been yours since the moment I met you, someone was just too stubborn to notice her own feelings." He squeezed your side before going back to rubbing your back, "Get some sleep, we can talk in the morning."

#bucky barnes #marvel #seb stan #marvel smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes #james barnes smut

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writingoddess1125 · 8 months

Note

how would the old men of the sea react to y/n asking them to join them in the bath tub?

I gotcha Sweety Pop! 🍭

Buy me a Ko-Fi ☕️

Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy x ReaderGN

🫧 Join Me? 🫧

Spicy Themes! + Fluff

Buggy

You lay in the large copper bath with a happy sigh, the sweet smell of lavender bubble bath filling the room as you relaxed heavily. You didn't get much time like this to yourself especially on Buggy's ship. Being the main one to keep the place at some semblance or order.

You sigh and lean back to close your eyes and drifr off. Before you hear your door being roughly busted into-

"(Y/N)! Did you approve for them to paint the sky background light blue for the stage peice I wa- wa.. You're uh-" Buggy stopped at his rant as he saw you in the bubble bath, Calmly blinking up at him as he stopped mid rant.

"Captian? Are you okay?" You calmly ask, seeing how red his face was under his grease paint. He turned away quickly.

"I didn't know you were in the bath! I-I was just coming in for-" you wave off his yelling almost-apology. Knowing this was just what he did when flustered, Sitting up more you smirked at your Captian deciding to tease more.

"Wanna join me?~"

You offer, his eyes locking on you quickly like you had just grown a second head. Nodding rapidly and without even saying anything he was already stripping down to nothing like the clothes were the enemy and flinging them away even using the Chop Chop abilities to strip faster.

You laugh as the man almost swan diving into the water and getting real close with a crooked grin, the makeup already melting off his handsome face and eyes shimmering in mischief. He will defiently not keep this innocent for long-

Shanks

You and your crew had taken a stop on a empty island while sailing for the grand line. Choosing to party here and enjoy a few days of laying low before setting sail in a few days.

You would be taking a midnight dip in a nearby stream- enjoying the nice cool water on your skin as you take the time to wash up.

You heard the sound of rustling from the brush next to the stream and look up quickly- seeing your Captian, Red Haired Shanks stumble through the brush, his cheeks red from the booze as he looked around confused- blushing at the sight of you in the water.

"Ah sorry Sweety didn't mean to stumble on ya!" Shanks said with a chuckle, looking away shyly at catching you in this state.

You giggle at this and sink into the water yo cover yourself, the alcohol still flowing in your own system.

"It's alright Cap just enjoying the water. Well why don't you join me? Its cool in here" You offer, feeling way more bold then normal-

Not catching the giddy smile from Shanks as he sets down the rum bottle and starts to disrobe. Jumping in right after you with a smile as he swims to catch up to you.

"Don't mind if I do (Y/N)!-" He will chime and defienly take the chance to swim close to you. Alcohol defiently playing a part in whatever happened that night.

Mihawk

You where in the main bathhouse of Mihawk's Palace in Kuraigana Island. It was a massive room filled with amazing mineral water- it was quite heavenly in truth.

You floated in the water for a bit, fully frontal on the top of the water in pure relation. Which was cut short when the door opened... Your eyes widened and looked up quickly from your floating full frontal to see Mihawk holding a towel and fresh clothes with wide eyes seeing you like this.

He stared at you in shock at seeing you like this, slowly he started to close the door. As you sank into the water to cover yourself-

"W-Wait! Mihawk do you want to maybe join me?" You stutter out shyly as you stare at him. Blushing at your own boldness for asking such a thing- He paused his own movements, before slowly nodding and stepping into the bathhouse fully. You turned away to be respectful at this so he could undress in peace- however you did see his reflection from the polished walls you were looking at and blushed at what you saw.

Gwad Damn!!

Hearing him get into the water you didn't dare to glance back till you felt something warm appear behind you- Glancing up to see Mihawk standing right before you, His eyes practically glowing as he stood with his chest pressed against you a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

"Embarrassed Darling?"

You will leave that bathtub dirtier then when you arrived.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy the clown x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #shanks one piece

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gaysindistress · 4 months

Text

Limits of a Fae Heart - two

Pairings: Azriel x reader

Summary: part two for this.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of past abuse but no detailed descriptions gaysindistress masterlist one | three | four | five | six

“Impossible?” I hiss at the High Lord of the Night Court. “Tell me how this seems impossible when your own mate was Made as well as her sisters. Tell me how it’s inconceivable when I was stuck forever living and dying.”

He says nothing, only staring down at me with those violet eyes. I sarcastically chuckle.

“Since you drug me here and will be forcing me to stay as it seems, I would like to retire to a room now,” I snap at Rhys and he nods. He goes to place a hand on my upper back and the shadows are quick to rip it away. Rhys sighs but keeps his hand at his side and settles for just pointing to the hallway for me to follow.

He wordlessly leads me up the stairs and down a dark hallway. All the while I feel the blazing stare of the Shadowsinger on my back.

Rhys stops a door at the every end of the hall and gives it a light shove to reveal a bedroom that is cozier than I expected. Dark wood planks cover the expanse of the floor and an equally dark green shade covers the walls. Upon closer inspection, I see that there are trees of varying greens painted all around the room. Surrounded by a forest that feels like home but so foreign, my soul yearns for something I can’t give it.

“This will be your room,” Rhys explains as he walks further in and candles ignite as he passes by them, bringing with them light. “There is a bathing room here,” he explains while pointing a doorway off to his left and then points one to his right, “and there is a wardrobe. If you need anything, my wife’s and my room is to the left of the stairs, Cassian and his mate are on the right, and Mor’s are next door. Kitchen is downstairs and past the living room. I’m sure Mor will come bother you at some point but I’ll try to keep her away as best as I can. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave you for the night?”

It’s not lost on me that he didn’t mention where Azriel’s room is and he knows it too. He shifts his weight ever so slightly under my unwavering stare.

The words spill out of his perfect lips much to his surprise, “He’s across the hall but I can have him stay somewhere else for the night.”

Happy with his confession, I turn away to take in the rest of the room. “No, this is his home after all. Warn him that I will not hesitate if he comes near me.”

I don’t have to elaborate, Rhys understands my meaning. I can feel him grappling with why he told me that so I answer for him so he’ll leave.

“I take it you didn’t think my famed ‘sociability’ was more than a good personality?”

“I’d heard rumors of people telling you their darkest secrets without prompting but I figured it was because of who your mate was.”

I stopped trailing my hand over the cream knitted blanket on the simple wooden framed bed.

“And who was he? What name do they give him now?”

“He’s the King of Hybern now.”

“Of course he is,” I snort and continue my inspection of the blanket. “You may leave now.”

He’s gone in an instant and silence surrounds me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the bathroom and debate whether or not I want to truly see my current state. I’m sure I look like a complete disaster but I’m not sure Im ready to face my reflection.

A sharp pain hurts through my back and the heat of my body disappears as fear takes over me. I can hear my heartbeat pound in my ears as my breathing starts to become labored. Already weak from death, my knees buckle and I stumble forward, desperately searching for something to grip onto. I find nothing as the pain in my back becomes a searing sensation that is only amplified as my knees and hands catch on the floor. They tear into the soft skin and cause blood to leak from the cuts. The candles are blurred around me, and the silence surrounding me becomes suffocating. Water starts to envelop me from within as my breathing picks up pace even more, making it harder to swim to the surface of my emotions. Pain continues to spread from the torn skin and my back when I hear an awful tearing noise. I let out a sob as I feel the skin of my back break open and something tears itself free.

Blood drips onto the pristine wooden floors around me and there is a heavy weight at my back now but I can’t move. I don’t dare to move. I stay with my hands and knees firmly planted on the floor as sobs rack over my body.

I don’t know how long I stay on the floor but no one comes no matter how loud I scream at the agony in my back. Shadows, the persistent bastards, flood underneath the door and rush to me. I bat them away, unwilling to accept their help. They refuse to listen to me and hover with nervous energy as I crawl to the bathroom. I wince and bite back more sobs as the things that tore themselves free drag on the floor. They catch and hit furniture, ripping at them as I slowly make my way to the massive sunken bathtub. I don’t bother to pull off my clothes and instead just allow myself to fall right into the warm waters that are already waiting for me. I hiss at the feeling of warm water on my skin but it eases the ache in my body enough that I don’t wish for death.

Floating in the water beside me are membranous wings.

Ones similar to those of Cassian and Azriel. I snap my eyes shut and push myself further under the water. A deep dread sets in as I start to accept that this isn’t another nightmare created by my shattered mind.

I’ve been resurrected.

My former mate is now a king while the one I seemingly gained is a Shadowsinger and his pets are frantically tending to me.

What a shit show my life has become.

Waves of cedar, freezing mist, and olive filter through the room as my eyes flutter open. Sweat pools at the hollow of my throat and causes my skin to stick to the sheets beneath me. I brush back strands of hair that are plastered to my feverish forehead as I stare up at the ceiling above.

Shadows hover all around the room and I can only assume they’re standing guard outside of my door.

A shine from beside me catches my eye and I turn to see a blur of those creatures next to my hip. Cautiously, I shift and they awake at my movement to reveal a mess shiny black hair laying on top of muscular golden arms next to my hip. Unwanted comfort washes over me and my chest aches to be so close yet so far away from him.

He stirs for a moment and moves his head so he’s facing me. With his eyes still closed, I get a good at the face I already know by heart. The brave candle light that breaks through the shadows dances across the elegant planes of his face. Faint pale scars litter his skin and my fingers itch to trace them until my touch heals them. Scars cover the skin on his hands too but they are harsher, more jagged and deep than the others. Their angry deep brown color tells me that they’ve been inflicted many years ago and never healed properly. With how deep they go, I can practically feel the pain and damage they must have caused him. Something breaks inside of me to see that he’s been through so much but knowing that it’s similar to my own trauma is too much. I can’t fathom another ever coming close to going through what I did and I have to tear my eyes away from him.

Fate has been cruel to me and I suspect she will forever but this? Giving me a second mate and one who no doubt has the same nightmares that I do? That is a string even she wouldn’t think to weave herself. A part of me wonders if my first mate had anything to do with this. If he’s been able to take the crown, could he have been able to force the hand of Fate in his favor?

I scoff at the idea. That would be giving him too much credit to assume that he could do that or even would. He’d used me until I had nothing left to give and nourished me back to health only to restart the cycle. He’d whispered the most foul words a mate could hear as he bound my wings to my body after he found me. He’d forced me to be his own spy master and extract any and all information from his targets. It didn’t matter if it was important to his mission, he needed everything. When I proved to be too broken and weak to be of use to him, he’d left me for dead. He’d allowed his men to chase after me like hounds chasing a fox. He even demanded that they keep me alive so he could be the one to finish me off. It had my mate, the man the Cauldron said I was fated for, that put me on that island where I laid half alive, half dead for years. I don’t even know how long I’d been there but it doesn’t matter anyway.

Regardless of who Azriel is, I don’t want him. I can’t want him.

I can’t need him the way I thought needed the King of Hybern. I can’t allow myself to be in such a vulnerable position again even if I know Azriel would never do that same.

The two men have to be the same in my mind if I’m going to survive.

And I’ll do what I should have the first time; reject the bond and save myself.

It’s Feyre who does knocks at my door first. A woman who looks like a sharper and more intense version of her stands behind her. I quickly learn that her name is Nesta and she’s mated to the man child Cassian. She laughs and makes a side comment about how we’re going to get along when I tell her that. Feyre laughs as well but she stays quiet, probably in fear that I’ll say something less kind about her mate.

”We thought you might like company,” her gentle voice answers my unspoken question. She sits in the chair I assume Azriel was sleeping in earlier while Nesta makes herself comfortable on the bed next to me.

I go to push myself up but am stopped by the heavy weight at my back. My wings, I realize, as I push myself onto my forearms and watch as they emerge from under my hair. Feyre gasps and I quickly glance over to her to see that she’s also looking at them. She looks at me in wonderment. Nesta shares a similar look but keeps it isolated to her eyes and her face remains a facade of collected beauty.

“He…Rhys didn’t tell me you were Illyrian,” she mutters more to herself.

“Bold of you to assume that I am,” I say with a hint more edge than I intended. Her gaze flickers for a moment and Nesta chuckles under her breath.

Feyre goes to apologize but I stop her, “I was teasing. My father was Illyrian.

“And your mother?” Nesta asks and earns a stern look from her sister.

“Hybern.”

“Oh what a disgusting revelation.”

Once again Feyre tries to reign her back in while I feed into it.

“Yes it is quite unfortunate; however I don’t imagine the King would’ve taken me if I wasn’t from his land at all.”

Nesta shrugs her shoulders, “he’s a disgusted man. He probably still would have just for the fun of it.”

“Nesta!” Feyre gasps and looks to me with apologetic eyes, “I’m so sorry. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her.”

“Do I look offended?” Both women look at me and scrutinize every inch of my face. “No, she’s fine and it’s…refreshing to be around someone with a sense of humor.”

I try to move again and my wings quack against my back from the pain.

“You’ll get used to them with time and practice,” Feyre tells me. There’s an underlying order in her words; don’t push yourself.

“I know you’ve only been here for a day but how is everything?”

I arch a brow at her, “define everything.”

Nesta snickers.

Cutting her off before she melts into her chair, I say, “everything is fine. Thank you for all of it.”

A gentle chill overcomes the room. One of those pesky shadows creeps in and slides over the back of Feyre’s chair. It plays with the ends of her hair before making its way to Nesta and halting by my foot. Nesta shivers and looks like she wants to bat at the shadow.

I clench my jaw and finally push myself further up so Im sitting against the wall. It’s painful and almost leaves me in a tears but I do it anyways. The shadow darts up to me but waits for me to invite it closer. The sisters are watching my every move as I reach my hand out with my palm up. It hesitates for a moment and then circles around my fingers. The shadow is cold but it’s not unpleasant. It crawls further up my wrist and to my arm. The ache in my chest feels content as this shadow traces my arm.

I let out a sigh. Warmth fills me and there is something akin to hope in the waves of comfort but it’s foolish. Hope cannot exist when the king still has his cold hand wrapped around my throat.

I swallow thickly despite the cold pressure on my neck and look to Feyre. “Why am I here?”

Nesta shoots her an uncharacteristically nervous look. Feyre sits straight up and clears her throat. “We need your help.”

“With?”

“The King. He’s planning a war and…”

I interrupt her, “let me guess; you’re running out of options and Rhys thinks that I’ll have some insight you haven’t found anywhere else.”

“And she’s smart,” Nesta pipes up and the shadows agree with her. They’ve made themselves comfortable on my shoulder and nestle against my neck.

“Well I can’t tell you anything you don’t know already. He isn’t the type to sip tea by a fire and spill his darkest secrets. That and I’ve been dead far longer than even your High Lord has been alive. Tell me, Feyre, how did he know about me.”

I want to feel bad about using my powers on her but I don’t think she would tell me without it.

“Az was the one who told him. I…I don’t know how he knew.”

The shadows shutter at the mention of their master and sink onto me even more. Feyre blinks in shock.

“It seems like I need to pay him a visit next.”

With that, the sisters leave. Now it’s just me with the shadows of a man who knows more about me than I would like.

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #az x reader #az imagine #limits of a fae heart az x reader

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soulofapatrick · 8 months

Text

No Words Needed - Jeremiah Fisher x Reader

Summary: Jeremiah joins you at the end of the pier, wondering why you're not having fun with everyone else

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: makeup session

Y/N’s POV

The worn wooden planks of the bench cradle me as I is at the end of the pier, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The evening sun, now a radiant orb of orange and pink, begins its decent, casting a warm glow that dances upon the water’s surface. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the pier is a lullaby, a gentle reminder that time moves in tandem with the tide. The air is infused with the unmistakable scent of saltwater, a fragrances that’s both invigorating and comforting. It tickles my senses, and I take a deep breath, letting the tangy breeze fill my lungs. The distant calls of seagulls add a melodic layer to the symphony of the sea, creating a serene atmosphere that wraps around me like a familiar embrace.

As I watch the sun dip lower, the sky transforms into a canvas of hues — apricot merging into lavender, then fading into the deeper blues of twilight. The colours reflect off the water, creating a mesmerising panorama that stretches as far as the eye can see. The world seems to slow down in these moments, as if the sun and the sea have conspired to gift me a pause button

With each passing minute, the temperature drops slightly, and a gentle breeze ruffles my hair. I draw my knees up to my chest, embracing the slight chill that contrasts the lingering warmth of the day. It’s a sensory feast—the taste of salt in the air, the sound of waves serenading the shore, the sight of the sun bidding its daily farewell.

As the light continues to fade, the ambient sounds of the evening become more pronounced. In the distance, I hear the soft padding of footsteps against the wooden planks, and a shadow falls across the pier. A subtle anticipation rises within me, wondering who might be joining me at the edge of the world.

The approaching presence becomes more distinct, and soon a familiar figure settles beside me. Jeremiah’s silent arrival is like a gentle breeze, a quiet acknowledgement that needs no words. I send him a soft smile before turning my attention back to the breathtaking view.

Jeremiah doesn’t say anything: he just watches. His presence is comforting, and the shared quiet is like a secret language only we understand. I steal glances at him in the fading light. His profile is etches against the backdrop of the ocean, the hues of twilight casting a soft glow on his features. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m prettier than the view unfolding before us. The breeze tousles his sandy hair, and I find myself drawn into the tranquility of the moment. The lines of worry on his face seeming to ease, and it’s as if the sea has a way of soothing not just me but him as well.

The silent dance of the waves below continues as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in its final strokes of warm colour. Jeremiah’s silent company becomes a steady anchor, and the shared quiet between us deepens, becoming a refuge from he world beyond the pier.

I shift slightly, almost instinctively, closer to Jeremiah, feeling the warmth of his presence. The wood of the bench creaks softly under our combined weight, a testament to the intimacy of the is shared space. Without a word, I rest my head on his shoulder, finding solace in the subtle connection that goes beyond the spoken language.

Jeremiah responds with a gentle squeeze, his arms wrapping around me. It’s an unspoken embrace, a wordless assurance that he’s here, not just physically, but in a way that transcends the tangible. The breeze carries the scent of the ocean, and I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, letting the tranquility of the moment seep into my soul.

As the sunset’s glow begins to yield to the embrace of the night, the horizon transforms into a tapestry of deeper blues and purples. The last remnants of daylight linger on the horizon, and I find myself melting into Jeremiah’s side, the lines between us blurring into the fading light. The worry lines on his face seems to soften even more, and the weight that lingers in the air dissipates. We sit there together, a silent union against the backdrop of the sea, finding a refuge in each other’s presence.

I feel an inexplicable peace as I nuzzle my face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck, breathing in deeply. His scent, a subtle blend of saltwater and the warmth of summer envelopes me. It’s a fragrance that mingles with the sea breeze, creating a sensory symphony that feels uniquely ours.

Jeremiah’s heartbeat echoes beneath my ear, its rhythm a steady lullaby. As the world around us falls into quietude, I sense the subtle quickening of his heart. It’s a whisper of vulnerability, a shared heartbeat that transcends the layers of silence. His arms, which encircle me, feel like a protective cocoon, creating a haven within the expending darkness. His hands find their way into my hair, fingers moving with gentle grace. Each touch is a reassurance, a tender affirmation that we’re both present in this shared sanctuary. I close my eyes, savouring the sensations of his hands running through my hair, a tactile expression of understanding and connection.

His other hand moves, bodying shifting towards me more, to cup my cheek. His thumb stroking a delicate path along my cheekbone, a gesture so tender it feels like a silent promise in the dimming twilight. I revel in the warmth of his palm against my skin, the reassurance of his touch anchoring me int he present moment. The night, now fully unfurled, wraps around us like a velvet cloak, and I find myself feeling both vulnerable and secure within the confines of his embrace.

His eyes, softened with the ambient glow of the evening, meet mine. There’s a silent question in their depths, a query that transcends words. The air around us holds a subtle tension, a moment suspended in time. As his gaze flickers down to my lips, a sudden spark of anticipation dances within me. It’s a simple glance, yet it carries the weight of unspoken desires and uncharted territories. In that fleeting moment, I feel a subtle shift in the rhythm of my heartbeat, an anxious flutter that echoes the gentle pulse of the sea.

Jeremiah’s eyes return to mine, and the unspoken question lingers in the air. The sea, the stars, the night—they become witnesses to this delicate interlude, where a shared silence speaks volumes.

A subtle breeze carries the scent of salt and summer, as if nature itself holds its breath, anticipating the next move in this shared dance. Jeremiah, with a gentle tilt of his head, leans down, closing the distance between us. The touch of his lips against mine is feather-light, almost hesitant, as if he, too, is navigating the uncharted waters of this moment.

His kiss is a whispered promise, a tender exploration that resonates with the ebb and flow of the waves beneath us. The world around us seems to blue, the sound of Belly, Steven and Conrad shrieking and laughing in the distance fades to nothing, and for a moment, it’s just him and me. The sweetness of the kiss lingers, a taste o fast and the promise of something new. In the hushed atmosphere of the pier, Jeremiah's kiss is a delicate revelation, a soft caress that resonates with the rhythm of the waves beneath us. As our lips meet again and again, there's an almost ethereal connection, an exploration that transcends the physical and delves into the uncharted territory of emotions.

The kiss is almost overwhelming, the taste of salt lingering on our lips like a secret shared between lovers. Jeremiah’s touch is a whispered promise, a gentle of exploration that communicates more than words ever could. The warmth of his lips against mine creates a cocoon of intimacy, a sanctuary where nothing else matters except the feel of his lips against mine and his hand cupping my jaw, thumb under my jaw.

As the kiss deepens, Jeremiah breaks away, but the lingering connection remains. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed and we’re both breathing heavily, caught in the aftermath of a shared moment that feels suspended in time. The air between us crackles with the electricity of newfound emotions, and I can sense the vulnerability in his closeness.

The moment of separation is brief but pregnant with unspoken understanding. Jeremiah’s ocean blue eyes, when they finally open, search mine as if he’s deciphering the depths of my soul. Without a word, he’s surging forwards again, his lips seeking mine with a newfound hunger that betrays the fear of losing this fragile connection.

The second kiss is different, charged with an urgency as if he’s afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not just a kiss it’s a declaration, an affirmation of something unspoken but profoundly felt. His lips mould to mine, and I respond with an equal intensity, and I respond with an equal intensity, losing myself in the magnetic pull of the moment. The world around us dissolves once more, leaving only the symphony of our shared breaths and the distant murmur of the sea.

Gripping Jeremiah’s shirt in one hand, I feel the fabric bushing under my fingers. The other hand is tangled in his sandy-bold curls, and I tug lightly, savouring the soft sound he lets out—a whispered melody that joins the symphony of the night. His hands, once cupping my jaw, now explore the small of my back, creating a sensation that blurs the line between reality and the ethereal.

The kiss deepens in a convergence of desire and connection, and I feel every nuance of his response mirrored in the rhythm of our shared breaths. Jeremiah’s taste is both familiar and intoxicating, a blend of salt and sweetness that leaves an indelible mark on my senses.

I feel him close, our bodies pressed together in an unspoken promise of mutual understanding. There’s a warmth that radiates from the core of my being, a fire stoked by the intensity of the kiss and the closeness we share. Jeremiah’s hands, strong and sure, traverse the landscape of my back, leaving a trail of electric sensations in their wake.

A soft moan escapes Jeremiah, a muffled melody that becomes part of symphony of our shared breaths. Encouraged by the unspoken exchange, I tug at his curls again, and the sensation is met with a gentle squeeze of my hips. It’s an intimate dance of touch and response, each movement a silent affirmation of the connection between us.

Jeremiah, seemingly guides by an invisible force, pulls me onto his lip. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. The world tilts for a moment, and I find myself straddling him, our bodies now intimately entwined. His tongue runs across the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. The feel of his tongue against mine is new and electric, a dance of warmth and familiarity that sends shivers down my spine. Our tongues move in tandem, an unspoken language that speaks volumes. The taste of salt, the heat of the night, and the passion between us a sensory tapestry that leaves an indelible mark.

But the kiss doesn’t linger on our lips for long. Jeremiah, with a subtle shift, moves his lips to my neck. The sensation is both tender and electrifying as he places soft, lingering kisses along the curve of my neck. His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers through me, and I find myself tilting my head, granting him better access.

As As Jeremiah's lips linger on my neck, his touch takes a slightly different turn. There's a pinch of pain and a twinge of discomfort as he sucks a hickey into existence, the initial sting met with a soothing stroke of his tongue. Embarrassingly, a soft sound escapes my throat, and I can feel him smiling against my neck, the shared intimacy creating a unique connection between us.

The sensations, a blend of pleasure and the slightly awkward reality of a hickey, become almost overwhelming. I find myself yearning for the familiar warmth of his lips on mine, the need to feel the connection more directly urging me to pull him back. My hand instinctively grips his curls, intending to guide his mouth back to mine. But, before our lips can barely brush, our names are called, and a groan escapes me. Conrad, always the untimely intruder, seems to have impeccable timing.

Jeremiah laughs softly, a sound that resonates through both of us, and he wraps his arms around my waist in a comforting hug. He calls back to Conrad, assuring him that we'll be there in a second. As the distant call fades, Jeremiah whispers to me, his warm breath against my ear, "My bedroom door is always open for you.”

His words carry a promise, a reassurance that this stolen moment on the pier is just a prelude to something more. I meet his gaze, a shared understanding passing between us. The interruption may have cut the night short, but the invitation lingers, a whispered promise that the sanctuary of the pier is not the only place where our connection can unfold.

Reluctantly, we disentangle ourselves, the echo of our interrupted desires lingering in the air. As we make our way back towards the distant call of Conrad and the world beyond the pier, Jeremiah's hand finds mine, and we share a glance that speaks volumes—a silent agreement that the night may have been interrupted, but the story between us is far from over.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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whitedarkmoonflower · 8 months

Note

hello

Can I request a sihtric x reader fic where she doesn’t know how to braid, so sihtric teaches her. and when she’s good enough he lets her braid his hair for battle saying it would bring him luck(?)

this is the main idea but you can change & do whatever you like with it! Thank you!

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I think I have never written a fic so quickly as this one. It just touched a string within me. Thank you so much for this absolutely lovely request! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Warnings: fluff, tons of fluff and such a tiny bit of angst, that it doesn't really count��

Word Count: 4,5K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The first light of dawn painted the horizon in delicate hues of pink and orange, casting a soft reflection on the tranquil river below. The water flowed very calm in this part of the river, the gentle lapping of the current seamlessly melding with the melodies of the first birds, praising the awakening of a new day.

As Sihtric walked, he felt a sense of peace enveloping him. The riverside always had this calming effect, a place where he could gather his thoughts before the day's chaos ensued. Especially now, with Coocham buzzing with warriors gearing up for battle.

Soon, he reached a secluded bend in the river, framed by tall reeds from the side of the river, while nearby a sprawling willow provided shade, shielding this corner from both the sun's gaze and curious onlookers. The air here was cooler, tinged with the refreshing scent of wet soil and the distant fragrance of blooming wildflowers.

Rounding the bend, Sihtric halted, an unexpected sight meeting his eyes – amidst the curtain of reeds and morning's embrace, you were dressing after what appeared to be a refreshing river bath. Droplets of water still clung to your naked arms, glistening in the faint sunlight. You reached for your leather jerkin, slipping it over your undergarment and breeches, then tugged on your boots and fastened your sword. Your damp hair, darker than its usual shade, clung to your neck, small streamlets running down your back.

Even from where he stood, Sihtric could see the focus in your stance, reminding him instantly of how you looked in the heat of training. He smirked remembering the unexpected twist his first sparring session with you had taken.

It had been a mystery to him why Uhtred had taken you in as a warrior. A woman – a small and delicate creature, looking like you would break into two from wielding that long and heavy blade of yours. The way you danced around the hay dolls in the sparring grounds, as if playing some intricate game, made Sihtric just wrinkle his nose and rolle his eyes, even as Finan approvingly chuckled with his tongue, hinting at a different perspective.

Until that one day.

—-----------------------------------------------

It was a late afternoon and the training grounds resonated with the rhythmic clang of metal clashing and the shuffling of feet on dry ground. Sihtric, along with Finan and Osfert, stood slightly off, their gazes fixed once again on you as you flowed through a series of maneuvers with your blade.

"She's got a knack for this," Finan observed, admiration evident in his voice. "See her footwork? Swift and sharp."

Osferth nodded, adding, "She's trained well. That much is clear."

"Since when have you turned into an expert in sword skill?” Sihtric scoffed, “Besides training and actual battle are worlds apart. Dancing around here is one thing, but facing seasoned warriors? Doubt she'd last a minute."

Finan shot him a sidelong glance. "Don't be so quick to dismiss, Sihtric. She might surprise you."

"She might be good," Sihtric conceded, his tone laced with sarcasm, "for training sessions with stray dolls. They don’t fight back. Let's be real; when swords clash in earnest, it's a different game."

Osferth countered, "You're not giving her enough credit. It's evident she has the heart of a warrior."

Sihtric's lips curled into a smirk, "Heart won't stand a chance against seasoned Dane fighters."

Finan, growing frustrated, retorted, "Like you, you mean? There's something else that bothers you about her, and it's not her skills. Spit it out."

“In the shield wall, every man counts. I want my flanks secured by real warriors, not this dancing doll.” Sihtric sneered with disdain.

Sihtric turned to look at you just to realise that you had approached the trio, having caught the tail end of their conversation. Blade resting on your shoulder, you met Sihtric's gaze squarely. "Shall we see? Care for a spar, Sihtric?"

The challenge hung in the air, and the attention of everybody on the grounds was suddenly focused on both of you.

"Perhaps we should use sticks, not steel. Wouldn't want to mar that pretty face of yours," Sihtric jested.

Your retort was swift, "Scared I might leave a mark?" With a confident stride, you took your stance, eyes locked onto Sihtric, awaiting his move.

Amid the expectant gazes of his friends and other warriors now coming closer, Sihtric drew his blade and slowly stepped into the training ground, every muscle radiating the confidence of years of experience and countless battles.

Without hesitation, Sihtric made the first move, lunging forward with a powerful strike, expecting to overwhelm you and end the bout swiftly. To his astonishment, he was met with empty air as you sidestepped evading him gracefully. His initial smugness was replaced with a furrowed brow.

The dance continued, with Sihtric trying to leverage his strength, but you remained elusive. Like a leaf caught in a whirl of wind, you ducked, swirled, and danced around him, evading each of his strikes. Each of your movements, precise and fluid, confounded him, taunting him with feints, luring him in with the promise of an opening in your defences, only to change direction at the last moment, leaving him off-balance. Each time, the crowd's gasps and murmurs grew louder, Sihtric's frustration evidently increased.

The defining moment came when you feigned a low strike, prompting Sihtric to lower his defence. In a split second, you changed your trajectory, using his momentum against him. He stumbled, caught off guard, and with a deft move, you closed in, swirling around, striking his blade hand and burying your shoulder in his stomach. Sihtric could only gasp watching his blade flying out of his grasp, himself landing roughly on the dusty ground.

A wave of cheers washed over the grounds. Standing tall, you extended a hand to a visibly dazed Sihtric, sitting in the dirt.

Finan's smirk was hard to miss as he chuckled, "Told you so. You just wouldn't listen."

The next morning as you arrived at the training grounds, Sihtric was already there, engrossed in sharpening his sword. Every stroke showed his focus, so much so that he didn't seem to notice you approaching. You hesitated for a moment before turning away to begin your own regimen, keenly aware of Sihtric's discreet glances in your direction as you practiced.

Finan approached, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Waiting for someone, Sihtric?"

Sihtric shot him an annoyed look. "Just making sure my blade is sharp."

Osferth, joining them, chuckled. "He's been 'making sure' that for the past hour, you can use that blade for shaving!"

Sihtric sighed, "Alright, alright. I was thinking of...you know...asking her to spar. But..."

"But you're too chicken to ask?" Finan teased.

"It's not that. It's just... What if she feels I'm challenging her? Or worse, trying to show off?" Sihtric shifted uneasily.

"Why don't you just be direct?" Osferth suggested. "Ask her if she'd like to train with you. Simple."

Before Sihtric could reply, you approached, having noticed the trio's discussion. "Something interesting you're talking about?"

Finan, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked, "Sihtric here was just about to ask you something."

Sihtric shot Finan a glare but took a deep breath, "I was...uh...wondering if you'd be interested in...you know, sparring with me? No challenges, just...training."

You looked at him, a playful smile forming on your lips, "Took you long enough to ask. Let's see what you've got."

And so it began. Soon your sparring sessions became a regularity, a steady part of each day.

Despite Sihtric's prowess and experience, he found himself continuously challenged by your fluidity and swiftness. Every parry, every counter-attack showcased your undeniable skill and he dug deep into his experience and strength to avoid repeating his previous mistake.

And while the warrior in him thrived in the challenge, the man in him was captivated by you in a way he had not expected.

The effortless elegance of your movements, the way your hair swayed synchronously with your strikes, glinting in the sunlight, were hypnotic. Your lean body, a perfect fusion of strength and grace, resembled an alerted wild creature, ever vigilant and prepared.

The way your cheeks turned rosy from exertion, the never fading spark in your eyes, full of determination, yet always bright with mischief and joy, your contagious laughter – all this and a thousand other small subtle things captured Sihtric's heart and endeared you to him.

Your wit, as sharp as your blade, was an allure in its own right. The fire with which you defended your views and opinions only deepened Sihtric's respect for you. And the way you never missed a chance to playfully tease those around you placed you at the same level as Finan. In between rounds, even out of breath and exhausted, you would always find a strength to throw a joke, your laughter infectious, lighting up the surroundings. Sihtric often found himself anticipating these moments more than the actual sparring.

Sihtric clearly recalled that one day, after a particularly intense round with both of you breathless and drenched in sweat, his eyes had scanned your form, an unfamiliar sensation washing over him. Unbeknownst to him, he had found himself admiring you – undeniably a skilled and formidable warrior, but also a woman, such a beautiful woman, radiating passion, intelligence, and resilience. In that instant, a warmth spread through his chest, an undeniable pull that made his heartbeat quicken.

—--------------------------------------------------

Lost in his memories, Sihtric failed to see a stray branch on the ground. It snapped sharply under Sihtric’s foot, its sound carrying in the stillness of dawn. Startled, your eyes met his visibly sheepish expression.

There was a lingering pause, stretching a bit too long. With a mischievous smirk, you finally broke it. "Do the riverside reeds make for good hiding spots, Sihtric? Or are you merely lost?"

Taken aback, Sihtric stumbled over his words. "I... I didn't mean to intrude. I was just—"

"Sightseeing?" you teased, arching an eyebrow playfully.

He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to be here. My apologies."

You chuckled, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to see the usually composed Dane flustered. "Next time, maybe announce your presence with a song or dance. At least then I can join in the fun."

He laughed, the tension easing a bit. "Noted. I'll work on my riverside entrance."

You flashed him a grin. "See to it. And perhaps, I'll give you a show worth watching."

The mortified look, appearing on Sihtric’s face, made you laugh.

“Since you’re here, maybe you can help?” you asked, showing him a small blade in your hand.

Sihtric’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Help you? How?”

"These," you tug at your locks, "get in the way and that can be an unnecessary distraction during a battle. It might look less disastrous if you’d help cut them."

Sihtric looked surprised, “It’s just hair. Why not simply braid them?"

Your eyes darted away, "Never learned that skill. Gisela, Hild, and others always do it for me. But they won't be accompanying us. I'm left with few options."

Sihtric chuckled. "So, the master of swords is defeated by braiding?"

You shrugged with your shoulders. "We all have our weaknesses."

Sihtric's gaze lingered on you, his heart's tempo subtly quickening. "Well, lucky for you, I've been braiding my hair for years. If you'd trust me, I could assist."

Amusement glinted in your eyes. "Sihtric, the fierce warrior, a hairdresser? That's an unexpected turn."

Feigning affront, he winked, "Hey, a man can have many talents!"

Nodding, you handed him a comb. "Then, let's give it a whirl."

"Come," Sihtric gestured, spreading his cloak by a willow's expansive root.

How attentive, you mused, not with surprise, but merely acknowledging what you already knew. That’s how he was. Beneath the rough and reserved exterior of the stern warrior you had long discovered the tender inner core of an exceptionally warmhearted man – always loyal, ever attentive and a deeply caring friend.

With an amused smile on your face you settled down onto the cloak, with Sihtric positioning himself behind you, his legs framing you supportively. The touch of his fingers, as he began combing and later skillfully weaving your hair, sent a frisson down your spine. And you let yourself drift away in memories as you listened to him humming a soft tune.

—-------------------------------------------------

You loved the sparring sessions with Sihtric, which became routine soon after your first encounter. Every time you squared off against him on the training ground, a thrill surged through you. It wasn't just the sparring, but the challenge he presented. He was a formidable opponent, hardened in countless battles. Every stance, every move, every counter spoke of his experience.

Your initial easy victory against him was a sweet memory, but the more you trained with him, the more you realised that it had been quite a stroke of luck. Sihtric had underestimated you, causing him to be less vigilant and overly hasty. Now, with every session, it became clearer that keeping up with him demanded all of your skill and focus.

Sihtric's unique combat rhythm was unpredictable. His strength was palpable, not just in his powerful strikes but also in his unwavering stance, making it challenging to catch him off guard as you had during your initial spar. Every session was a blend of instruction, challenge, and exhilaration, all of which you embraced wholeheartedly.

One particular day remained etched in your memory. After an intense bout, with both of you drenched in sweat and panting for breath, you leaned against a tree to recover. Your gaze naturally drifted to Sihtric. He was bent over, hands on his knees, his chest heaving, catching his breath, every muscle defined beneath his sweat-soaked tunic. While you had always respected his martial prowess, that day, an unfamiliar warmth spread within you, accompanied by a flutter you couldn't identify.

You watched as he straightened up, brushing off the dirt and sweat. A stray strand of hair fell onto his forehead. An unexpected urge overcame you—to reach out and tuck it away, brushing your fingers against his skin. You were taken aback by this newfound sentiment. What was that?

Your heart raced, not only from the exhaustion of the spar, but from this unexpected surge of emotion. Memories flooded your mind — flashbacks of your shared laughs, the lingering, hidden glances, the melodic timbre of his soft voice as he shared stories by the fireplace.

You shook your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. It was just the exhaustion playing tricks on your mind. And yet, you couldn’t resist stealing another glance, captivated by the way his lips curved into a smile as his eyes locked onto yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you both wrapped up, the typical teasing that was so common between you both seemed charged with a new energy. Was it just you, or did he feel it too? Something deep within you had shifted giving way to emotions unknown and unintelligible for you, something you weren't quite ready to admit, even to yourself.

—--------------------------------------------------

Now, as you sat nestled between his legs, Sihtric almost regretted his impulsive offer to braid your hair. Had he overstepped? Yet, the allure of the moment was undeniable and too compelling to resist.

His fingers gently caressed your hair, the silky locks gliding seamlessly through his grasp. Every touch sent an electrifying jolt through his entire body, the strange feeling both excited and unnerved him. This closeness was a strong contrast to your sparring sessions—no blades, no shields, just the two of you, closer than a hand's reach.

His heart pounded loudly in his chest. Every sweep of his fingers, every touch of your hair sent a thrill coursing through him, stirring emotions and making his fingers tremble slightly.

The world around slowly faded. Every twist, every intertwining strand tightened an unexplainable knot in his stomach, every occasional brush of his hands against your neck made him yearn for more. The warmth of your back against his torso, the subtle scent that lingered, the softness of your hair—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

He leaned in slightly, his breath uneven, lips mere inches from your head. Every second stretched, deepening his yearning.

The braid was almost complete, but Sihtric took his time, savouring the moment, cherishing each touch. He was in love, deeply so, and while he was not yet ready to speak it out loudly, the intimacy of this moment seemingly spoke volumes.

“You are ready, fair warrior,” he finally whispered, his voice bringing you back from your reverie.

Your fingers gently touched your head, where your ever dishevelled locks had been transformed into three neat strands, overflowing into one braid trailing down your back. Springing up, you dashed to the water to glimpse your reflection.

"Guess I won't need this blade for a haircut after all," you mused clearly impressed, sliding the knife back into its sheath.

Sihtric's eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and mischief. "I did say I had a knack for it."

You chuckled, "Thanks, Sihtric. I’m in your debt."

He shrugged, his casual demeanour back in place. "Just promise to show me a new sword move or something. That would square us, right?"

You grinned, "I've got a better idea. Teach me to braid, and someday, I might offer the same service to you."

"My lady, braiding isn't as straightforward as swordplay. It's an art form. If you wish to have the privilege of braiding my locks, you've got a lot to learn,” Sihtric smirked in response.

And so, the remaining week before departure a new dimension was added to your training sessions – Sihtric became your braiding instructor. You profoundly wondered how he had managed to persuade almost all the small girls in the whole village to sit patiently as his fingers, interlaced with yours, guided you through the intricate process, showing you the weaves and twists, demonstrating how to put pearls and beans in the hair and fasten the braids.

You were amazed by the delicacy and deftness of his rugged hands, contrasting sharply with your own efforts that often left stray hairs or twisted sections that unravelled the entire braid. And one day, the mystery surrounding the patience of the small villagers was unravelled when you saw Sihtric remove one of his silver rings, handing it to one of the girls. A smile played on your lips at the sight as you realised he was actually paying in silver to have you taught to braid.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

You sat beside a crackling fireplace, the camp sprawling amidst the trees with tents everywhere around you. An unmistakable tension permeated the air, as it always did on the eve of battle. Some warriors sought solace in ale, others meticulously sharpened their already perfect blades, while some gathered around the fires, sharing stories and seeking comfort in the company, driven sleepless by anticipation. There was no one else at your fire, sitting alone on a fallen log, you hugged your knees, immersed in thoughts, when a warm hand settled on your shoulder.

“Ever fought in a battle before?” Sihtric asked, taking a seat beside you, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Don’t take me wrong. I know how good you are with the blade. But fighting one to one is different.”

“I know, you’re right and yes, I have. And I will not pretend that it doesn’t scare me. Only a fool would pretend to not fear the chaos of the battle,” you looked up to meet Sihtric’s gaze. “But don’t mistake my fear for weakness. Don’t think I will waver just because I’m a woman. I proved you wrong once and I’ll do it again, if needed.”

“You’ve nothing to prove to me. I just… I…” Sihtric struggled to find the right words. He wanted to ask you to stay by his side, so that he could protect you, shield you from harm, but he couldn’t find the right words to express that without insulting you. He understood that especially now after you had voiced your suspicion that he still didn’t trust you enough, there was no way of saying what he had intended to. You were a warrior, and he had learned his lesson not to doubt it, he respected that. And yet you were a woman. A woman he loved and cherished so deeply that the mere thought of harm befalling you was agonising and driving him to the brink of madness.

You looked expectantly at Sihtric, waiting for him to finish his saying.

"Could you... braid my hair for the battle tomorrow?" he finally blurted out, his cheeks warm, silently grateful that the fire's shadows hid his flush.

The surprise in your voice was evident. "You'd entrust me with that?"

Sihtric didn’t answer, his eyes full of strange anxiety didn’t leave yours and you swallowed back the joke that was already almost rolling over your lips.

His eyes, swirling with a mix of vulnerability and intensity, never left yours. He hesitated, before answering, "Among the Danes, there's an old belief. Having your hair braided by someone you truly trust… brings good luck in battle."

The meaning of the words slowly sank into your mind, making a genuine smile appear on your lips. "Trust me, this will be my finest braid," you replied, gesturing for him to sit down in front of you.

Sihtric slid down from the branch and settled between your legs. You reached out to touch his hair – dark, thick and curly and so pleasantly soft against your fingers, the sensation of the touch so unexpectedly stirring.

You began separating the strands, your fingers working with utmost care and concentration, as you started to pull and twist, enjoying the electrifying feeling of Sihtric’s hair brushing against your fingers. Each strand you took, twisted and wove into the pattern of your choice reminded you of the time you both spent together the last few days. His strong arms wielding the blade like a toy, his face covered with sweat, his concentrated gaze and furrowed eyebrows, as he looked for a weak point in your defences, his genuine laugh at your jokes, his fingers intertwined with yours, teaching you to braid.

Sihtric shuffled between your legs and you felt a warm flush rising to your cheeks as he leaned back nestling more comfortably between your thighs.

Your eyes, usually so sharp and observant, softened as they concentrated on the task and you unconsciously bit your lower lip. First small braids on the sides, then some more a bit higher and then the middle one – twist after twist the braids started to take shape, as you meticulously weaved each strand, ensuring not a single one was overlooked or twisted wrongly.

You tied off the ends and marvelled at your own work, not wanting to let go, to allow this magical moment to end, your fingers remained lingering, tangled in the free curls on the back, and you brushed them gently against the nape of his neck. The touch was fleeting, almost too tender to be noticed, as your fingers slid over his skin for the briefest moment in an unconscious attempt to communicate feelings you were not yet ready to express in words.

Drawing back, pride filled your gaze, your hands resting on Sihtric’s shoulders. "There," you whispered. “You’re ready for the battle.”

You felt Sihtric shudder under your touch, his arms lifting to clasp your hands, pulling them gently to his face and placing a soft kiss on your right palm.

"Thank you," his voice was husky with emotion, though he didn't turn around to face you. You felt like there was something in the air, something electrical, something unspeakable and indescribable, and you wondered whether it was the looming battle or the accumulation of the suppressed feelings and emotions or maybe both.

Sihtric slowly touched his braids, a hint of smile playing on his lips. He had finally found the right words.

“Promise me something,” he murmured, finally turning to face you. “Promise to stay by my side tomorrow. I need to know my left is guarded by such a skilled and formidable warrior as you.”

You looked in his mismatched eyes, feeling a warmth enveloping you.

“I promise,” you whispered, lowering yourself down next to Sihtric and almost melting at the feeling of Sihtric’s strong arm enveloping your shoulders, pulling you closer and wrapping his warm fur coat around you both. You leaned against him, the warmth of the fur, combined with Sihtric's steady heartbeat, making the world outside seem to blur. There were no words needed as he held you in his unwavering embrace, the silence between you both and the profound comfort of simply being speaking volumes on their own.

As the night wore on and the camp around you finally slowly drifted into sleep, you both remained wrapped in the coat, holding onto each other and the softness of the moment. His arm, strong and secure, held you close, while your head rested on his shoulder. It was a solace, a reprieve from the world outside, and a reminder of what is worth fighting for, the embrace becoming a silent promise—to stand by each other, come what may.

—----------------------------------------

The battle was over. Sihtric rose to his feet pulling his axe from the dead body, his eyes searching his surroundings for another enemy to release his anger over, but none remained. The ground, once firm and unyielding, was now a morass of muddied, trampled grass, blood, and the footprints of countless boots and hooves.

Abandoned weapons littered the field, gleaming dully. Swords, spears, and shields lay strewn around, some half-buried in the earth, others still clutched by lifeless hands. Bodies of the fallen were strewn across the landscape, and vultures were already circling overhead. Small groups of men searched the field for survivors.

Sihtric looked around and a pang of dread constricted his heart. He still remembered you beside him when the enemy's shield wall shattered. He remembered the fierce look in your eyes, the way you leaped at some random man swinging his axe at you. You had looked like a goddess of war, stabbing, chopping, parring, dancing around your enemies with an ease only you were capable of. But then Sihtric had lost you out of his sight. He had turned to face a big, red faced Dane swinging his impressive war axe at him and when he turned back, his hands smeared with blood pouring out of the Dane’s neck, you were gone.

The air was thick with a mixture of smoke, blood and filth, as Sihtric roamed the battlefield, shouting your name, his face pale and eyes darkening in despair with each moment there was no answer, his breathing growing laboured and hope waning. In the very moment when despair threatened to consume him entirely, he finally spotted you, sitting on a fallen tree at the rand of the battlefield. You sat there with your face, hands and your whole armour smeared with blood, breathing hard, your sword driven into the ground and serving as a support for your arms.

Rushing to your side, Sihtric knelt before you, his hands framing your face. "Are you hurt? Is that your blood?" he asked, his eyes wide, anxiety plainly written on his face.

“I’m fine. Just a few scratches. Nothing that won’t heal by the next new moon.”

“Don't ever do that again.” Sihtric murmured, his voice just a hush, pressing his forehead against yours. “For a short moment I thought I’d lost you. Believe me, I’ve never been so scared in my whole life.”

Your fingers slowly touched Sihtric’s face, tracing the lines and scars on his face, your eyes locked. Sihtric’s thumbs gently caressed your cheeks as he slowly, deliberately began to lean in. The space between you both diminished, charged with an electrifying tension, as you felt the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

His fingers brushed your neck, and as you closed your eyes, you felt the tender, hesitant pressure of his lips meeting yours.

“I love you, my fierce warrior,” Sihtric whispered against your lips, “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“And I love you too,” you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible, melting against the gentle touch of his lips against yours.

It wasn't a fiery, passionate kiss. It was a gentle, lingering one, full of unspoken words and emotions, a culmination of all the shared glances, soft touches and unspoken feelings that had built up between you. It was a deliberate melding, like two flames coming together to form one and every nuance of the kiss spoke volumes—the delicate way Sihtric’s fingers cradled your jaw, the soft brush of his thumb across your cheek, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer.

“Hey, your braids are still intact. I did well, didn’t I” you laughed as you both pulled back, gasping for air.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fanfic #sihtric fic #the last kingdom #tlk #arnas fedaravicius #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfic #arnas fedaravičius

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beanzfandoms · 9 months

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Enough Adventuring for One Day

Pairing: Dean x Sister! reader x Sam

Description: The Winchester's sister gets lost in a store.

Warning: Separation, anxiety attack

-‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’-

(Y/n) follows her brothers into a local grocery store. It was a large building, with high concrete walls and a ceiling that towers over the sectioned shelving. Red, yellow, and blue stripes follow along the edge of the interior, like an Elementary school does to add 'excitement'.

"OK," Sam says as he takes out a folded list from his flannel pocket. "We just need the basics. We can start with- Dean! Where are you going?"

"They have cakes over here," Dean says in an obvious tone, "They might be on sale."

"That's not essential," Sam sighs as he watches his older brother walk towards the bakery with a childish desire. "I guess it's just me and you, bug."

(Y/n) obediently waits behind Sam as he analyzes the prices of lunch meat. She holds in a bored sigh as she lazily looks around. The young Winchester's eyes seem to brighten as she notices a small aisle of room decorations. Even though she's not home a lot, doesn't mean she can't admire the aesthetic objects of the store.

The girl scrolls down the different comforters and figurines until a painting on the top shelf catches her eye. The moon on the canvas cascades over a lake and a shadow of trees; its reflection ripples through the waters like a pale entity. Orbs of colorful light dance about the scene like frilly dresses at a lively ball.

The inspired energy that the girl got from it didn't last, however. (Y/n) casually glances to where Sam was, only to find that he was gone. She quickly looks back and fourth from the walkway to see if she could spot him. With no luck, and panic starting to settle, she backtracks to the bakery to find Dean.

Tears form in her eyes as she turns the corner to find that he disappeared as well. She begins to feel claustrophobic as she helplessly looks around for her brothers.

The world begins to spin and it feels like she is slowly falling. Her cheeks become wet and she knows the dam in her eyes finally broke. (Y/n) is scared.

A large hand grabs her shoulder and the Winchester jolts forward defensively. Her fist connects to the palm of Dean's hand. "Whoa there," Dean grins, "I know we told you to keep your guard up, but gee. That could've hurt someone." His eyes glance over her shoulder, " I found her, Sammy."

Sam walks over and grabs (Y/n) by the arms. "Don't ever wander off without telling me again," he says sternly. "One minute I thought you were right behind me, then I look and your missing. What if something bad-"

"Lay off her," Dean says, "(Y/n), you okay? you don't look so hot."

Sam stops his ranting and notices his sister's pale expression. "You feeling well?" He questions as he feels her forehead with the back of his hand.

"I- I couldn't find you. I'm sorry- I was looking at a painting and was going to go back to you, but when I did, you were gone. S-so, I went back to the bakery to find Dean, but he was gone too-"

"Hey, hey." It's alright. You're okay," Sam coos, brushing away a few stray tears rolling down her face. "I'm sorry I blew up."

"Yeah," Dean butts in, "Don't cry, cause I got you cake."

�� "For her?" Sam spectates with a raised brow, "Really?"

"Of course," Dean bickers back.

"Can we just stick together while Sam finishes his shopping... Please?" (Y/n) interjects, "I think I've done enough adventuring for today."

#dean winchester x sister reader #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #supernatural x sister! reader #fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean x reader x sam #platonic reader #platonic #light angst #comfort

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reaper2187 · 1 month

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Asami sato x earthbender reader

Asami Sato loved the freedom of riding her motorcycle. It was the one thing that made her feel alive in the bustling city of Republic City. In a world where technology and bending coexisted, she appreciated the simplicity of the open road.

One sunny afternoon, Asami decided to take her motorcycle out for a ride. She had no particular destination in mind, just a need to feel the wind in her hair and the roar of the engine beneath her.

As she reached for her helmet, a knock on her door interrupted her. She opened the door to find her friend, an earth bender named (Y/N), standing there with a helmet in hand.

'Hey Asami!' (Y/N) exclaimed, 'I heard you were taking your bike out for a ride. Mind if I join you?'

Asami's heart skipped a beat at the sight of (Y/N). She had always been drawn towards the down to earth bender, with her easy-going nature and mischievous grin. But she knew better than to act on her feelings. After all, (Y/N) was not only her friend but also from a different bending nation.

But Asami pushed away those thoughts and smiled. 'I'd love the company.' She took the helmet from (Y/N) and they both headed out towards her garage.

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up at the sight of the sleek motorcycle, and Asami couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. She had designed and built it herself, with no help from the Future Industries team.

Once they were both geared up, they hopped on the bike and rode off towards the outskirts of the city. As they zipped past skyscrapers and busy streets, Asami couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom wash over her.

The wind whipped through their hair as they rode along the coastline, with the sun setting in the distance. The atmosphere was serene, and Asami couldn't imagine sharing this moment with anyone else.

As they reached the edge of the city, (Y/N) motioned towards a dirt road leading up to the mountains. Asami hesitated at first, unsure if her bike would be able to handle the rough terrain. But (Y/N) reassured her with a wink and a smirk, and Asami's heart skipped a beat.

They rode along the bumpy trail, with (Y/N)'s hand resting on her shoulder for support. Asami couldn't help but notice the warmth of her touch, and the little butterflies in her stomach at the thought of (Y/N) being so close to her.

Finally, they reached the peak of the mountain, and Asami couldn't believe the breathtaking view in front of her. The city glittered in the distance, with the lights from buildings and cars reflecting on the water. The sunset was painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, making it the perfect backdrop for the moment.

(Y/N) took off their helmets and shook out their hair, letting it flow freely in the wind. Asami was transfixed by their beauty, and she couldn't help but stare.

'Isn't this amazing, Asami?' (Y/N) exclaimed with a big grin on their face.

Asami nodded, unable to find her voice. It wasn't just the view, but also the company that made it special.

They sat on the edge of the cliff, their feet dangling off the edge as they watched the sunset. Asami was lost in her thoughts, trying to find the right words to express what she was feeling. Before she could say anything, (Y/N) turned towards her and said, 'Thanks for bringing me here, Asami. I never knew this city could be so beautiful.'

Asami's heart fluttered at the mention of her name, and she couldn't hold it in any longer. 'I'm glad you enjoyed the ride, (Y/N). I've always loved exploring the city on my motorcycle, but I never knew it could be this special with the right company.'

(Y/N) turned towards her, their eyes filled with curiosity. 'What do you mean?'

Asami took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to confess her feelings. 'I mean, spending time with you makes everything better. You make me feel alive and free, just like this ride.'

(Y/N) smiled, and Asami could feel their heart rate increase as they leaned in closer. Without any hesitation, Asami closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against (Y/N)'s.

It was everything she had hoped for and more. (Y/N) responded with the same passion, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. Asami's heart was filled with joy and she knew she had made the right decision in confessing her feelings.

As they pulled away, Asami could see the smile on (Y/N)'s face that mirrored her own. (Y/N) leaned in for another kiss, and Asami knew that this ride would be one to remember.

From that day on, Asami and (Y/N) spent many rides together, exploring every corner of Republic City. And every time they took to the open road, Asami was reminded of the magical ride that brought them together and the love that grew between them.

#lesbian #wlw #wlw post #asami sato x reader #asami x reader #asami sato #tlok asami #tlok #lok #legend of korra #the legend of korra

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sorceresski · 1 year

Text

The Babysitter | Neymar Jr

Inspired by another fic I read by @

This gif is so hot…😵‍💫

Reblogs help push my fics out, thank you!☺️

“Do you want this?”

Pairing: Neymar x young!fem reader (reader in their early to mid 20s)

Summary: Weeks of teasing between Neymar and Davi’s babysitter reach a crescendo as Neymar comes home tipsy after a loss seeking comfort and an outlet.

Tags: sexual contact, teasing, babysitter reader, oral! fem receiving, age gap, there will be sexual intercourse, slow burn, a long read I guess

Minors dni

You expected him to walk in any moment now, already anticipating his sour mood which you had come to observe first hand over the past few weeks working as his babysitter. You had watched PSG’s match curled up with Davi in front of the tv in Neymar’s Parisienne penthouse and calling the team’s performance underwhelming would be an understatement. The match ended 2 nil against psg and Neymar had been given a red and sent off the field.

That was 2 hours ago anyway. Now, Davi had dosed off on the couch, resting his head on your shoulder. You began to plan your course of action for when Neymar returned, wanting to keep as much distance between you and him as much as possible.

These days you didn’t trust yourself around him. Neymar was an attractive man and if you didn’t know better you would say he was flirting with you. It began a week after you started babysitting Davi. You were sitting on the floor of Davi’s room, watching him “paint". The top you wore wasn’t particularly revealing but as you hunched over the low table, the girls were very visible(you didn’t know this at the time). You didn’t notice Neymar at the door till Davi looked up and shouted

“Daddy!" Abandoning his paint brushes.

You looked up in surprise, just in time to catch his eyes leave your chest as he looked at Davi. You decided not to dwell on how long he had been standing there watching you two. But in the weeks that followed, you began to feel his gaze as you walked past, stolen glances, “accidentally” walking in on him in a towel fresh after a shower and winks when he said goodbye to you and Davi.

You realised your mind had wandered when you heard shuffling outside the door. It was a few minutes to 12am when Neymar walked in, eyes slightly glazed over, tossing his duffle to the side. The apartment was dimly lit so you couldn’t read his expression as he stopped in his tracks after noticing you on the couch.

"Welcome!” You said, standing up hurriedly. He blinked at you, swaying slightly. He was tipsy. “I’ll take him in," you gestured to Davi. You heaved the boy up and made a beeline to his bedroom, not waiting for a response from Neymar.

You took your time tucking him in and when you came back, Neymar was by the kitchen sink gulping down a glass of water, his jacket tossed on the couch.

“I didn’t expect to meet you here." His gaze was piercing. "You should’ve gone, I’ll pay you for the extra time"

You looked everywhere but at him.

“It’s fine. I stayed because Davi wanted to stay up to watch the match, so he slept later than usual. I’ll just grab my things and go.”

Neymar nodded, turning to head for his room.

"Let me know when you’re about to leave.”

Five minutes later, you were stood outside his bedroom, with your purse and jacket hanging on your arm. You took a shaky breath and knocked.

“Come in”

The room was dark illuminated only by the city lights flooding in though the big windows facing the street. You froze at the entrance when you saw him. He was in front of a full length mirror in sweatpants, a very defined V disappearing below the band.

“Close the door,” he spoke, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You gulped and stepped in, wondering why you were suddenly so obedient.

He stalked towards you. You didn’t know you had unconsciously stepped back until you felt the door knob dig into your back. You felt the heat radiating off him as he came impossibly close. Neymar touched your chin, dragging your eyes from your feet to his. Your breath hitched in your throat.

He leaned in and slumped on your shoulder with a sigh, wrapping his hands around your waist pulling you even closer. As if programmed, you dropped your purse and jacket and wrapped your hands around his shoulders breathing in his scent.

In the mirror behind him, you saw how defeated he looked and you instantly knew he needed comforting. You caressed his back, not sure what was expected of you.

Luckily, he pulled away but before you could recover, he crashed his lips into yours. You closed your eyes, kissing him back, your mind already racing. Neymar jr was kissing you or was it the other way around. Eventually, he pulled back, you both needed to breath.

This time, you looked into his lust filled eyes unabashed. You reached up pulling him down to your level and kissed him. Slow, deliberate but desperate. His hands fell below you waist, groping your ass through your pants, you felt wetness pool at your core. You bit his lip and he groaned into your mouth picking you up. Your legs latched to him as he walked to the bed, beginning to leave sloppy kisses against your neck.

Neymar gently placed you on the bed, positioned himself between your legs and tugged on your shirt. You rested on your elbows, giving him room to lift the shirt off you. He kissed his way from your mouth down to your chest, stopping just above your lacy bra.

He looked up at you, brows furrowed. "Do you want this?” You nodded desperately, not finding your voice in that moment. That was all he needed. Moments later, your bra was off, tossed somewhere as he sucked on your breasts, giving each nipple equal attention. You moaned, fingers caressing his head and back.

He tugged off your trousers and you watched as he stood to remove his, his bulge very visible through his briefs. You bit your lip as you watched him crawl up to you, a sly smile on his face. Neymar kissed you and ground his hips against yours, the only obstruction being both your undergarments.

His hands explored, as if trying to commit your body to memory.

“I’ve wanted this since the first day I saw you,” he said.

He loved how you responded when he sucked on that spot on your neck which didn’t take him long to find. Neymar kissed his way down to your core and you trembled in anticipation as he slowly pulled your panties down your thighs. Neymar kissed your inner thigh, his beard tickling you.

You sucked your breath in anticipation as you watched him finally dip where you wanted him desperately. You moaned as he ran his tongue along your slit, hands automatically reaching down to grab his head.

“You’re so wet," he rasped against your thigh. He flicked his tongue on your bud and you gasped, grabbing the sheets. He continued his ministrations, loving your moans, glancing up occasionally to see the effect he had on you. You thrashed in his sheets as he introduced a finger, then another into you.

“Oh fuck, daddy,” you cursed beginning to feel that familiar tingling in your stomach, he knew you were close. You came with a loud moan, grinding against his face, chest heaving.

“Daddy?” He asked, teasing you as he came back up with a satisfied smile on his face. You smiled back as he kissed you, tasting yourself on his lips.

He had taken off his briefs somehow and began to line himself at your entrance. You looked down and gasped at his size, just as he began to push into you.

Neymar groaned as he bottomed out in one thrust. “You’re so tight,” he breathed against your neck giving you time to adjust before he began thrust into you. The pain you felt quickly gave way to pleasure, raising your hips to meet his thrusts. He took one nipple in his mouth, his hands giving attention to the other breast and alternating between the two.

He placed your legs on his shoulders, the new angle giving him access to that spot deep within you. You moaned and scratched at his back, the beginnings of another climax creeping on you. He quickened his movements when he felt you begin to clench around him, your moans driving him crazy. His thrusts became irregular and strained as he chased his pleasure and yours.

You came all over him with a deep moan, rising to wrap your arms around his neck. He pushed into you a few times before pulling out, his seed splashing on your belly as he came with a groan.

“Fuck,” he said as he kissed you again. Neymar rose to go to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel which he used to wipe you down. He laid beside you and pulled you closer. You rested your head on his damp chest, and sighed deeply feeling sated.

You had just fucked your boss, you thought for a brief moment as his hands rubbing your back lulled you to sleep.

A/n: this is my first fic on here, my first time writing again after about 4 years. And it’s my first time writing smut😵‍💫 Please be nice lol.

#neymar x reader #neymar jr x reader #neymar smut #neymar imagines #neymar fics #neymar

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matchadobo · 9 months

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Hi Cha, just wanted to say that I love your works on Captain’s Madam and Reconciliation!🫶💕 I saw in your bio that your request is open. If it’s not much, can I request a piece for Izou where he lets you wash his beautiful hair and let you comb it .. (or possibly braid it) for the first time before going to bed together? Thank you ☺️

helloooo, glad u're enjoying my stuff!! here u go 🌷added a few little tweaks but did i manage to make all your requests possible?? ueueueuueue hope i did this justice! *w*

IZOU; haircare with izou

wc: 1418 warning/s: afab reader, purely sfw, izou gets nakey for the washing but it's wholesome, pure fluff!!!

it was deep in midnight; the distant waves of the sea had already vanished as you were lost in your slumber. you had grown tired of waiting for your lover to come home from their celebration in the nearby tavern. you turned down their offer to come with since the previous battle had tired you out more than it interested you to celebrate rowdily in victory.

in the dimly lit dining hall of the moby dick; you had one of your arms on top of the other, serving as the soft surface to carry your drowsy head as you drifted off to dreamland not too long ago. you didn’t seem to notice the light carry of footsteps approaching and the heavy shift of atmosphere from the arrival of someone that sat beside you.

you didn’t seem to acknowledge how earnest this visitor was studying you, how your lips part ever so slightly from the little snores. he remembered how serene you look that he almost felt like a nuisance sitting like a rugged rat beside you. he was reeking of booze and was dirty from the battle, you awoke at the change in environment.

“ah sorry, did i wake you?” izou welcomes you from your deep nap, a gentle smile on his painted lips.

you rubbed your eyes to see him clearly, “yeah, you stink!” you joked, pinching your nose slightly.

evoking a chuckle from him, he leaned back at the backrest of the seat. “you’re right, i could use a bath right now.” he let out a sigh as he stretched his legs forward and his arms upward on his seat. “my wounds hurt though, mind helping me out?” he met your eyes, his sharp eyes that never seem to make your heart skip a beat.

you blush a little, tucking a hair on your ear and smiling at him. “i-i’d love to!” he then returned your smile, patting you on the head as he relished your little reactions to his gesture.

you two made it to the bathroom where you willingly took off his pink kimono. to which you slowly did, musing at the scars of battle engraved at the expanse of his brawny back and most of all, the kozuki crest he takes so much pride in. this is not the first time you saw it, of course.

“hm? something the matter, name?” he looked slightly over his shoulder to you. you shook your head and brushed it off, ushering him to the tub after taking off his last article of clothing.

once he is settled in the tub, you untie his hair and watch how his gorgeous raven locks unfurl from his bun. you poured water over his head and watched him shiver a little from the cold, you let out a giggle and teased him for it.

the bath went by as he rambled about the hilarious things that happened in the tavern and especially at the battle. you two exchanged laughs as you scrubbed his back and washed off the grime on his skin.

the sight of izou without his bun as his silky, stygian locks contrasted with the wintry tone of his skin made him look so divine as the water reflected on him. you went to the tip of the tub and shampooed his hair, running your fingers through his locks onto his scalp and watching him take delight in the pleasure of your fingers. “feels good, love.”

once the shampooing is over, you rinsed it off as the product slid off his shiny locks. his hair scented like cherry blossoms as it wafted across the room. “‘m glad your enjoying yourself.” you leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead. “i’ll take care of you and your beautiful hair tonight!”

“i seem to have got myself a sweet one, how lucky am i?” he looked up at you with the kindest eyes and the softest smile. your chest tightened at that moment, stuck in the chocolate of his eyes. “stop flirting, izou! i’m too sleepy for this.” you pouted, pulling yourself up from your seat and escaping before you puke out your volatile heart. all you heard from him was a hearty laugh before the sound of the water splashing from him standing up reverberated across the room.

he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips, another towel to dry off his hair. he caught your eye as you unconsciously observed him in the mirror, gawking at the beauty of this man and his toned body. you felt weak in the knees when he smiled, winking at you in the mirror. he laughed at how you turned to the side where you can’t see him and the mirror, this man will soon be the death of you.

“mind doing my hair too, darling?” he proposed, towering over you as he got insanely close with his damp body. “comb it for me, hm?”

“you’re enjoying this way too much.” you tried calming down your heart as you tried escaping the situation again, only to be hindered by his arm extending to the wall. trapping you by his grasp.

“and maybe braid it for me in the morning, yes?” he smiled wider, relishing how flushed you are. “and please, i must enjoy myself! you’re spoiling me a lot tonight, dear.”

“plus, we’ve only got together recently. doing these new things are quite… magical, don’t you agree?” he added, leaning over to meet your eyes.

“f-fine, just put something on i can’t breathe!” you instantly let out, only to get redder. izou burst into laughter, holding onto his stomach and wiping off a tear in his eye. you marched out of the bathroom, sitting at the edge of the bed and burying your face in a pillow.

it took a while before you heard the door open again. “doing okay, name?” he left the bathroom, wearing his fluffy bathrobe and his hair damply hanging from the crown of his head and pristinely accentuating the grace in his features.

“yeah, get over to the damn vanity.” you responded quite snappily, only because you were kind of overwhelmed. he paid it no mind and heed your commands.

he sat in front of you before the mirror, you stood up and picked up the comb. the teeth of the comb smoothly carded his lustrous hair, no tangled strands whatsoever to hurt him. too occupied with your task, you didn’t notice how izou looked at you with so much intent in the mirror.

“hey, name.” he called out, seeing as you’re too engrossed in combing his hair. you met his eyes with a hum. “can we do this every night?”

your heart melted at how kindly he phrased it out, with the most gentle tone of his voice that had turned your heart into putty. “all that from earlier until whatever comes next to this, i’d like to do it again, always.”

“of course, i’m more than happy to spoil you, izou.” you smiled, pinching his cheek. “now, can we please go to bed?” you pouted, yawning soon after.

“absolutely, love. after you.” he smiled, flipping off the light switch. he followed you to the bed and crawled into the sheets with you. he opened his arms for you to settle on, embracing him and melting in his tight hug.

“ah, you have no idea how long i waited to ask you to do those for me. it’s truly a dream come tr-” his sentence was interrupted by your snoring; he laughed a little to not wake you. he shut his eyes in hopes of steadying the rhythm of his heart and to forced the intense urge to smile ear to ear at the events. he truly finds you too endearing it’d trouble his breathing.

he whispered before placing a kiss on the top of your head. “oyasumi, anata.”

the morning after, he insisted on getting braids from you. so you heed his request and did intricate waterfall braids cascading down his raven locks and decorated it with flowers and butterfly clips, finishing it off with a pink bow not too far from the bottom of his hair, tying up the rest of it. he outsold rapunzel at this point. he wore it the entire day and puffed up at all the compliments he got, bragging that you did it for him. he annoyed everyone on the ship and insisted on you doing it again for him for tomorrow and the following tomorrows.

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tenelkadjowrites · 2 years

Text

Arrow in the Dark - Part One: Money - Seonghwa x Reader

PART TWO HERE.

💸 Summary: Your quiet life of working at a convenience store is upended when ultra wealthy Seonghwa convinces you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night in order to fool his parents.

💸 Word count: 11k

💸 Genre and warnings: wealthy seonghwa. fem pronouns for reader. fake dating trope. depictions of emotionally manipulative parents. there is no smut in this part - parts two and three will have it.

💸 Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @spiderrenjunfics - @whatudowhennooneseesyou - @jess-1404 - @just-here-to-read-01 - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @talkbykhalid - @rdiamond2727 - @dreamtof0rget - @8tinytings - @xirenex - @meowmeowminnie - @revehosh - @nevieatiny - @nirvanawrites111 - @madamdionysia - @a-tiny-teez - @idunnowhatonameit - (sorry if i forgot anyone, i’m horrible with tags.)

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

The street is laced with puddles reflecting the city lights back at you through the rain streaked window. Your chin rests in the palm of your hand, staring at the small restaurant across from the convenience store that you work at. Half of the sign is burnt out, the other half flickering, and the water droplets falling down the window distort it just a little.

A customer who has been milling in the back debating what ice cream flavour to purchase for ten minutes finally meanders their way to the counter, holding a pint of vanilla. All that time and that’s what they settle on, you think, scanning the item and telling them the amount owed.

As they rummaged for their wallet, the door to the store opens and a man steps inside. Having worked here for a couple of years, you know the regulars by now and he is one of them. The designer coat is a clear indication he lives at one of the fancy apartment complexes just down the street. The convenience store is on the cusp of the financial district and occasionally rich people dart inside to grab something and leave quickly. He always takes his time, checking each aisle as if something new might appear.

The customer with the vanilla ice cream mumbles a thank you and leaves, their fingers gripping the container so hard that you wonder what sort of day they’ve had if that is their lifeline. Now it is just you and the rich guy.

It is nearing midnight and your shift is almost finished. The tinny music that plays over old speakers is background noise to you, easily filtered out. When you first started working here, the fluorescent lights gave you a headache. You are used to that now as well. The shop is small, unremarkable, but in a good location and always has steady business. You know every object on the shelf. Comforting and depressing at the same time.

The man ducks his head, grabbing a few items off the snack aisle before walking up to the counter. He is tall, high cheekbones, not a blemish on his skin. Wearing all black, with light blonde hair, he looks as if he stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Of course, that’s easy to do when you have money.

You scan the items, tell him the total and wait. The man pulls out a Gucci wallet, removes some cash and hands it to you. His fingernails are painted black. That’s new, you think absentmindedly. When he popped in last week, his nails had been bare of any polish.

“You’re short.” You say after counting, tapping the counter.

“What?” It is the first time you have heard him speak and his voice is deeper than you would have expected.

“The total,” You say, waiting for it to click that you aren’t insulting his height, “You’re short. See?”

He glances downward at the money on the counter, his brows furrowed before opening his wallet again and fishing out more cash. You finish the transaction and he leaves without another word.

The next night, to your surprise, Rich Guy returns. He is wearing slacks, dress shoes, and a button up black shirt as he looks at the beer selection. There are two other people in the shop this late, a giggling couple with their heads bowed together as they look at the snack foods. You glance at the clock. Just ten more minutes and your shift is done.

Someone’s phone goes off, cutting through the music from the speakers and a low voice answers. You turn your attention to the window, watching yet another night of steady rain. The couple goes to the counter with a random assortment of items waiting to be purchased. After ringing them up, they leave, cozying up to each other as the rain takes them.

“No, I told you that isn’t needed,” The voice says, floating over to the register, “I’m bringing someone.”

It’s Rich Guy talking, you realize. He sounds on edge. Maybe he always sounds like that. It isn’t as if you sit and chat with him all the time. Yesterday was the first time you heard him speak.

“I’m bringing my…girlfriend,” He hesitates on the word before going on, his voice growing louder as he approaches the register, “So, please listen to me and cancel whatever you had planned.” He stops in front of you, putting down a few energy drinks, having apparently decided against the beer. “I have to go.”

Rich Guys hangs up the call as you ring up the items. Of course someone like this would have a girlfriend. He probably has twelve of them all around town, competing for his attention and money. Does he switch to a different one each night or…

Suddenly acutely aware of Rich Guy staring at you, your hand falters scanning one of the drinks, glancing upwards at him. He even looks handsome in this horrible lighting, some part of your brain thinks.

“You’ve worked here awhile, right?”

For a split second, you wonder who he is talking to before it sinks in. “Me?” You ask, a little thrown. When he nods, you reply, “Uh, yeah. A couple of years now.”

“Do they pay you well?” is his follow up question.

You wonder if the frown shows on your face. What a weird question, you think. If Rich Guy is having some sort of mental crisis in the convenience store about giving up his wealth and trying to live a “regular” life, you aren’t sure you can handle that right now.

“Uhm. It’s a convenience store job,” You say slowly, “So…” You give him the total for the energy drinks.

But it is as if he hasn’t heard you. Something is spinning in his head, pieces coming together for some problem that must be floating around in his life. What sort of problems did someone like him have, anyway? You couldn’t fathom it.

“Why don’t you get a different job?” He asks.

You picture tossing the energy drink at his head but manage to restrain yourself. You aren’t even sure why you keep replying to his invasive questions. “All retail jobs are the same.” You fight the overwhelming urge to add the word dude to the end of the statement just because you doubt anyone has called Rich Guy a dude before.

The answer seems to quell whatever is going on in his head because he falls silent, handing you some cash. Giving him his change, your hand brushes against his. His skin is soft, almost unnaturally so, probably because he buys high end lotion or something.

Rich Guy leaves without another word, the rain swallowing him up. You shake your head when he leaves, thankful your time here tonight is finished.

Your shift wraps up a couple minutes later and you step outside, ducking under the overhang to try to find your umbrella in the bag. The rain is steady and has been for some hours now. The puddles glow from the lights and the gasoline run off. In the distance, a group of drunk people laugh loudly, exiting a bar. You wish you took your bicycle this morning but the tire popped a couple days ago and you cannot afford a new one at the moment. It’s fine, just a twenty minute walk back home to your place and then –

“Excuse me?”

Startled, you jump, looking to the right of you. Rich Guy from earlier is standing under the overhang, one hand on his bag of energy drinks, the other gripping his cellphone. In the dark, the screen is bright as the sun, illuminated on a text messaging screen. He shuts it off hastily, taking a step towards you.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

“Uhm…” Perturbed and on your guard, you move away from him to create some distance. “Sure.”

Rich Guy has always been silent, coming in to buy snacks, sometimes beer, and leaving. Why he is suddenly feeling so chatty is beyond you.

“My name is Seonghwa,” He introduces himself, the earlier tone he had with whoever was on the phone is now gone, replaced by a casual confidence. “It’s fine, I know your name already.” He gestures to your name tag. “I’ve been coming in here for like a year.”

“Close to where you work or live or something?” You ask, mostly because you don’t know what else to say.

“That’s right. I live in Garden Gates.”

Garden Gates isn’t just for rich people. It’s for the rich rich, the sort of people who could go into a high-end designer store and they would close the entire place of business down so they could shop in peace. Just standing next to this guy feels wrong as if you should be dropping to your knees and cleaning his shoes or something.

“Listen, not to be blunt, but you could use some money, right?” Rich Guy – no, Seonghwa, asks.

You take another step away from him, guard raised even higher. “What?” You ask because how does someone answer such a rude question.

“I have a proposition for you,” He says, his phone lighting up again with an incoming message.

You have no idea what sort of American Psycho shit you are stumbling into but it’s time to leave. Forget the umbrella.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“Please, just a few seconds of your time.”

“Nope. Uh, have a good night though.” You turn around, wondering if there is an alternate way home through a lot of traffic or something so the crowds could make you feel safe –

When Seonghwa speaks next, he sounds positively desperate, his voice higher pitched and raised. “It’s nothing like that! I’ll pay you to pretend to be my girlfriend!”

The words bring you up short, your feet stopping automatically even as your brain tells you to keep moving. Out of all the things you thought he was going to say, this was not one of them. Even though you know better, you still turn around to look at him.

“What?” You want to tell him off – you may be inexperienced when it comes to matters of romance and sex but you aren’t a fool. Pretending to be my girlfriend most certainly has to be code for paying for sex. What is with this guy?

Buoyed by the fact you have not run off screaming, Seonghwa approaches you carefully, peering at you.

“I know how this sounds but I swear it is just that. I need someone to attend this dinner with my parents and pretend to be my girlfriend. After dinner, we’ll leave and that will be it.”

“Uhm. Why?” You ask, perplexed, “Don’t you have an actual girlfriend?”

“No and my dad is trying to set me up with the daughter of another company to create some sort of merger between our families.”

What year is it? You wonder. “Is she that bad? That you don’t want to go on a date with her?”

“It’s nothing against her personally. But my father simply won’t drop this idea.”

“So…” You speak slowly, “In the shop. You said you had a girlfriend…”

Seonghwa rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I said it without thinking. Just to get him to back off. But now, I actually have to show up with someone.”

“Okay, so you take a strange woman with you to this dinner and then what? I mean, they will want to see your girlfriend again at some point, right? Then what?”

Seonghwa blinks. You can tell that he has not thought this out very much. Impatience nips at your heels. You could be halfway home by now and instead you are listening to this man you don’t even know try to explain the most batshit idea ever.

Continuing, you say, “So, I don’t think just one dinner will work. Especially if he is pushing this other woman on you. Would your dad drop it just cuz your ‘girlfriend’ shows up to a single dinner?”

Seonghwa looks resolute now. “I’ll figure that part out. I just need to get through this dinner. I’ll pay you whatever amount you need. Would a few thousand be okay? It’ll be at my dad’s penthouse for a few hours. I can always lie and say that we are going overseas for a month or two afterwards and he won’t know you’re not with me.”

There’s a lot to take in here: the use of penthouse casually, the fact Seonghwa can apparently fly overseas for weeks at a time without blinking, the prospect of money for one dinner. Would a few thousand be okay? He had uttered that sentence without hesitation.

But there is one big issue that stops you from accepting.

“Sorry, but I can’t. I don’t even know you. The entire thing just sounds too sketchy.” You tell him, all of it being partially true but not the whole truth.

Seonghwa’s face falls silently but he nods. “Right. I get it. I know how odd it sounds. But if you change your mind, the dinner isn’t until Friday. May I give you my number? You can text me if you decide otherwise.”

“Uhm, sure,” You reply, mostly to look polite, “Is that why you asked me those questions in the store? I was the first person you saw who might agree to such a thing?”

Seonghwa looks up from his phone. The screen illuminates his face, driving home just how attractive he is. Next to him, you feel like the crypt keeper.

“I pop in here a lot and you’re always working. I thought maybe the money would help. If there’s something you needed it for.”

Well, I need a new wheel for my bicycle, you think but don’t say it because it sounds so pathetic. Seonghwa gives you his number and then opens his umbrella, stepping out into the rain. He turns to look back at you. In his tailored coat, and hair perfectly in place, he makes for a slender and well put together shape in the streetlights.

“Have a nice night.” He says, nodding his head in your direction before turning around and walking down the street.

You watch Seonghwa go, frozen in place, as he traces a neat and clean line through a small crowd until he is swallowed up.

Opening the door to your apartment, you drop your bag on the floor, still wrangling with your umbrella which won’t close properly. Your roommate is out, probably for the night, which is fine by you.

Once the umbrella finally closes, you look around the apartment. Small is an understatement. You bet Seonghwa’s closet is the size of your apartment. Stop thinking about him, you scold yourself. His offer was ridiculous. Pretending to be dating someone is a joke because the real problem at hand is that you have barely any experience in that department.

You’ve gone on dates, you’ve even had sex a few times, but all of it fizzled out pretty quickly. Now, between working all the time and just trying to scrape up enough money to get by, you have let that entire aspect of your life go to the wayside. How in the world could you try to fool a rich guy’s family that you are dating someone you don’t even know when your own experience is so limited? That’s the real reason you turned Seonghwa down.

Going to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes, you step under the water when it’s still cold because it takes ages to get the hot water going. By the end of the shower, it will be nice and warm but you aren’t going to run up the water bill waiting for that in the meantime.

Washing the day off your body, your mind wanders back to Seonghwa. Some part of you wishes that you had enough experience to agree to the fake dating thing. It would be one night, make you thousands of dollars, and then you can wash your hands of it. Unless you are being blinded by the money and there is more going on here than it appears. You would hate to agree to such a thing and it turns out Seonghwa is some lunatic who made the whole thing up just to get you alone somewhere.

And even if he is legit, how could you pass off as truly dating him in front of his parents? You could count the number of people you’ve kissed on one hand. To act like some adoring girlfriend is well beyond the scope of your abilities. He might not even pay you when the night is finished because you aren’t convincing enough. I’d have to ask for half up front, just to make sure I don’t leave empty handed. Then you catch yourself – there won’t be anything up front because you aren’t going to agree to such a thing.

After the shower, your bed is calling. Sinking underneath the covers, ignoring the worrisome way the bed frame shakes, you grab your laptop off the night table and turn it on, wondering what mind numbing stuff to put on tonight. But you still don’t know anything about Seonghwa. He comes in a couple nights a week to buy snacks and then goes back to his Barbie Dream Life. The whole thing sounds like it is way too good to be true. To make that much money from pretending to date a guy for a night…why doesn’t he have any friends to pull into this scheme? Surely, someone close to him would agree to such a thing just out of friendship. Wait no, damn it, you aren’t supposed to be thinking about this. The entire thing is over and done with. Focus on a TV show.

But even as the images flicker across the screen, your gaze sweeps the small bedroom. Most of the things in here you got at thrift stores; some pieces are even hastily repainted in an effort to personalize them. Your lava lamp broke a few weeks ago and is still on the shelf. A stack of books are shoved in a corner with no space to put them anywhere. You don’t even own a TV and instead hope your ancient laptop can last as long as possible. If you agreed to Seonghwa’s idea, you could get everything replaced in this room. It would look like a proper bedroom, not a hidey hole. You bet Seonghwa’s room at his Garden Gates place must look immaculate. The thought depresses you.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you reach for your phone. The battery is almost dead but you manage to fire off one final text before the screen goes black.

“I changed my mind. I’d like to meet with you to discuss it.”

The coffee shop Seonghwa agrees to meet at the following afternoon is the sort of overpriced place you never step foot in. But he offered to pay so you are ready to take advantage of that and order the most ridiculous drink you can imagine at his expense.

It takes about half a second to locate Seonghwa. It is difficult not to. Between his height, slender frame and annoyingly good looks, most people are shooting glances in his direction. He is studying the menu as if never been here before, something you doubt very much.

Immediately, you wonder if you are underdressed. But no one glances in your direction minus a friendly greeting from the barista which gets Seonghwa’s attention. When he notices you, he gives a small wave. Today, his blonde hair is slicked back, while wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black turtleneck. He just screams money in a low effort sort of way whereas you scream on three hours of sleep and propelled out the door only by the hope of money.

“Good afternoon,” He says formally, nodding his head as you approach, “I was just looking over the menu.”

“You haven’t been here before?” You ask doubtfully.

“Not in some time. I can’t recall what I got last time.”

Seonghwa smells amazing. Some cologne, you assume before turning your attention to the menu. It has more options than you know what to do with and that doubt from last night blooms in your chest. If I get anxious ordering coffee, how in the world could I pull off being his fake girlfriend?

Seonghwa goes to the register, placing an order of something you didn’t even know existed. Whatever the baristas are being paid, it cannot be enough. Seonghwa’s order sounds like a foreign language. Timidly, you order next – something simple in contrast to the big dreams from this morning of ordering something super overpriced and fancy.

Seonghwa pays, you mumble a thanks, and then trail after him as he grabs a seat by the window. The coffee shop is next to a small side street where you can watch people hustle and bustle in and out of stores. The sun is high in the sky, not a cloud in sight for once.

Seonghwa doesn’t even look out the window, turning his attention to you. “I assume you wanted to discuss specifics?”

It had been your idea to meet today. The idea of not seeing him until the night of the dinner left you unsettled.

“Uhm, yes,” You take a deep breath, “Just because…you know…this situation is unusual and I don’t actually know you.”

“Right, of course, I understand.”

“Like, I was wondering why a friend can’t do this for you? You don’t have anyone else in your life who could pretend to be your girlfriend?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. “No, it can’t be anyone my father knows. It won’t work then. He won’t believe I am dating anyone he’s met before. He knows I don’t see them in that light and no amount of lying would convince him otherwise. It has to be someone brand new.”

His explanation made sense. Chewing on your bottom lip for a moment, you say, “We need to establish what is allowed then. I understand you need to convince your dad that you are dating but I don’t feel comfortable doing certain things.”

It is then the barista comes over, dropping off the drinks. Seonghwa has gotten some fancy looking latte with pretty art on top. He admires it for a few moments, momentarily distracted, before taking a small sip. He didn’t even stop to take a pic, you think thunderstruck, because he drinks them all the time and this is just another coffee in a long list of coffees.

You regret not getting a nicer coffee just for the sake of posting it on Instagram and looking fancy for a few seconds.

“What is that?” You ask curiously, unable to help yourself.

“It’s an oat milk lavender latte,” He pushes it towards you, “Do you want to try it?”

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” You say sheepishly, “I was just curious. It’s pretty. You should have taken a pic of it.”

Seonghwa blinks in surprise, looking back down at the ruined art on top. “Why?”

“Cuz it’s so pretty. That way you’d always remember it and how you felt when you first saw it.” You explain.

“I never…thought of it like that before.”

You shrug. “Maybe next time.”

“Right…” He looks incredibly thoughtful, as if you just told him the meaning to life and not to take a photo of a latte.

You clear your throat a little when it is evident he isn’t going to speak. “Anyway, like I was saying. Ground rules. For the dinner.”

Seonghwa breaks out of his thoughts, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on the top of his hands. “My father isn’t big on public displays of affection so you don’t have to worry about anything overt. I was thinking some handholding and maybe touching your shoulder or waist occasionally, sitting really close together, things like that.”

You could handle all of that. “Okay. But obviously, no kissing.”

“Naturally. I’d rather die than kiss someone I was seeing in front of my parents anyway. What about kissing your cheek? When we leave for the night.”

Seeing as all that requires of you is to stand there, you agree. “There is one more thing,” You tell him, “I want half up front.”

Seonghwa raises one eyebrow delicately. “Do you not trust me?”

“No,” You reply bluntly, “Sorry. But I don’t even know you. You could be leading me upstairs and turn into Hannibal, I have no idea.” Setting boundaries and asking for things is not your strong suit but given Seonghwa is brand new to your life, it is less anxiety inducing to ask him for things versus someone you have known for a long time.

“Hannibal, the Carthaginian general?” He asks, confused.

“What? No, Hannibal Lecter, the fictional serial killer – forget it. You understand the risk I’m taking, right?”

Seonghwa looks stricken. “Of course, I understand. I’ll give you half before we go upstairs. Would this amount work for you?” He gives you a total that is enough to make you pass out on the spot and it is all you can do to nod.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you add, “I also want the address of where this penthouse is and the full names of you and your parents. Oh, and we should add each other on Instagram cuz who is dating and don’t have each other added on at least one social media site?” You rattle off the ideas as they pop into your head.

“I’ll text you everything you need. Whatever you need to make you feel comfortable, of course.”

On a whim, you add, “I’ll also be telling my friends where I’ll be that night.” You aren’t sure if that one will actually happen for the mere fact you don’t know how to explain something this ridiculous to your friends, especially your best friend. But better he thinks you will.

Seonghwa is nodding so much he looks like a bobblehead. You finally stop talking to take a sip of your drink, giving him a chance to speak.

“Like I said, whatever you need. I’ll also give you half before we go to the penthouse. Do you need me to send a car to pick you up?”

“Uh, no, I’m okay,” You say quickly, unsure how you would explain such a thing if your roommate saw it, “And this is all just for one night. I’m not your fake girlfriend after this.”

Seonghwa shifts positions, his fingers back to tapping against the table. “I know. However, if my lie about going overseas doesn’t swing, maybe I could ask for your help again? For more money, naturally.”

“Let’s just wait and see how the first night goes. You might not be impressed with my performance. Your dad could possibly tell it is total bullshit.” You see, Seonghwa, I actually have no clue what I am doing and am just doing this to get your money and leave. The chances of anyone believing we are together is laughable and you definitely won’t want to see me again after this dinner.

The two of you fall silent, drinking your coffees together for a few minutes before you talk again. “I don’t know anything about you. You should probably tell me stuff about yourself and your life or your dad won’t believe that either.”

“Oh.” Seonghwa looks sheepish. “I’m not very good at talking about myself.”

Join the club, you think but instead go, “Just tell me generic stuff, I guess. Your favourite colour.”

“Black.”

That’s not a colour, you think but instead go, “What do you do for fun?”

“For fun?”

“Yes, you know like…a hobby. Something that gives you joy.”

Seonghwa’s brows come together. Wow, he actually has to think about this. “I like going yachting,” He answers finally as you take a sip of the drink.

Which you then almost promptly choke on, coughing at his reply. He looks alarmed, asking if you are alright. You nod in between coughs. Yachting! Imagine having that as your hobby. This is so not going to work.

“Do you own a yacht?” You ask once the coughing fit passes, afraid of the reply.

“Me? No. Father does and so do a couple other families we know well.”

“What do you do on the…yacht?”

“Soak up the sun, drink a little, just relax. We usually take the yacht to the island we own and spend a few days there before taking it back. A mini vacation, you know?”

No, you don’t know. Your idea of a mini vacation is faking an illness to call out of work and then staying in bed to shove your face full of potato chips while watching the worst movies imaginable for twelve hours straight. Wait, he said they own an island. Oh, this is a clusterfuck.

“Uh, right. I like to watch movies.”

“Oh, my movie knowledge is pretty limited,” Seonghwa replies.

I assumed that when you thought I meant Hannibal from a war twelve billion years ago, you think but don’t say. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did your family get rich enough to own a yacht and an island?”

“Oh, my family owns a chain of supermarkets. It started about a hundred years ago. But then the chain expanded out of the country about thirty years ago and our money with it, very quickly.”

“What chain?” When Seonghwa tells you, your stomach clenches. I’m going on a fake date with the heir of one of the biggest supermarket chains on the planet…I should’ve asked for more money.

The doubt, which has been a wiggling creature in your stomach since Seonghwa first proposed this idea, is now screaming for attention. It is difficult not to wonder if this is going to be a giant mistake. You are not only out of your depth in regards to his money but also the fact you are woefully inexperienced in relationships. The need for money is blinding your common sense – and it continues to because you grab your coffee, standing up.

“I should go. I have work tonight.” Which isn’t a lie but you suddenly desperately need to get away from Seonghwa before you call the entire thing off and miss out on making money.

He looks surprised. “You’re going already?”

You find his answer a strange one. What did he think, you two were gonna hang out?

“Yup. Thanks for the coffee. Just text me all the information, okay? See you later.”

You dart off before Seonghwa can even reply. You know that it appears as if you are running away – and fine, maybe you are. But the gravity of what you agreed to is hitting you and it is hard to breathe.

For some reason, you know that Seonghwa is staring at your back as you walk down the street, leaving him behind in the coffee shop.

It is past ten at night and the store is completely empty. Bored to tears and knowing your manager has snuck off for another cigarette break, you finally give in to the urge that has been tugging on your sleeve all shift.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you bring up the text Seonghwa sent a few hours ago. It has the address, his parents’ names, and his Instagram handle. Curiosity gets the best of you, clicking it to see what sort of things Seonghwa posts online.

His follower count is obnoxious and anxiety inducing; the idea of that many people seeing what is posted would freak you out. The page itself is clean and minimalist and Seonghwa is barely in any. Most of the photos are of streets at night. One is even of the outside of your store, the windows frosted over with snow from last winter, the yellow lights of the sign bright and visceral.

You aren’t sure how long you scroll. You aren’t even sure what you are looking for. Does he just wander the streets at night or something? Most of the feed is of the city lights, the tall towers glittering like gems, occasionally a photo of a gorgeous hotel lobby, always the location tag with some other country.

You finally find one photo of Seonghwa, with his hair dyed a more vibrant blonde than it is currently. He also doesn’t have black on, instead wearing a dark red button down shirt with the sleeves hastily rolled up a bit. There is a glitter smear across one cheekbone, catching the light. He is in some restaurant, face somewhat covered by his hand as he laughs. The angle is slightly tilted as if someone took the photo on a whim just to capture Seonghwa’s expression. Behind him is what appears to be the ocean dotted with expensive boats. The restaurant must open out onto some sort of balcony. You linger on the photo, unsure what you are looking to discover in Seonghwa’s laughter. Who took the pic of him? What made him laugh this hard? You have a difficult time picturing that same Seonghwa laughing like this now. Maybe you just don’t know him well enough but he seems to be much more distant and static than what this photo shows. Perhaps you are just overthinking it.

You are so entranced by the post that when you bring your finger down to keep scrolling, you accidentally heart it instead. Breath catching, your eyes drop to the date on the post. It is from two years ago.

“Fuck.” You say aloud and then quickly make sure a customer hasn’t come in when you were busy scrolling.

But the shop is still empty. Looking back at your phone, you feel momentarily frozen at the idea of Seonghwa realizing you scrolled back years through his Instagram. The embarrassment rolls through you. You aren’t even sure why you scrolled back so far in the first place.

Panicked, you unlike the post and drop your phone on the counter as if it burned you. Would it still notify him? Had you waited too long in unliking it? Maybe he won’t mention it.

Deciding your phone has brought you enough danger, you shove it in your pocket and turn your attention back to work. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, I’m sure he didn’t even get the notification.

You don’t check your phone again until you get home from work a few hours later. To your surprise, there is a text from Seonghwa and a notification on Instagram. He had hit like on a photo of yours from two years ago, a poorly lit picture of you and your best friend at a shitty bar for someone’s birthday.

His text message reads: I can scroll too.

When you turned down Seonghwa’s offer to pick you up for the dinner, you’d forgotten that your bicycle still had a popped tire. That meant texting him and asking if he could, in fact, come get you. Originally, you planned to walk. But when another storm rolled in, you knew that showing up looking like a soaked rat wasn’t going to sell the lie that Seonghwa was dating you or that you were taking this entire thing seriously.

For some reason though you assumed Seonghwa would come by in a normal person car so you are baffled at the sight of a limo in front of your small apartment complex. Great, you think, so much for not attracting attention. To make it worse, a driver opens the door for you to scamper inside. You can practically feel people staring from their windows at the sight. Your roommate isn’t home again but if anyone mentions it to her, she will ask you a thousand questions.

Seonghwa is sitting comfortably in the limo, another surprise. You hadn’t thought he would be here too. Having never been in a limo before, you take in the sight of the plush seating, a small TV playing the news, a bottle of champagne cooling in ice, untouched and unopened. Tiny lights run the floor length of the seats and the partition separating you and the driver is rolled up.

“Good evening,” Seonghwa says, always slightly sounding like he belongs to the early 19th century, “Before, I forget…” He opens a formal looking bag next to him, looking for something.

Seonghwa is dressed in a black button down shirt, the Prada logo evident on the small front pocket. With matching dress slacks and formal shoes (also Prada), he looks well put together as usual. His hair is slicked back again, making his cheekbones as attention grabbing as ever. Everything about Seonghwa is professional, distant, and clean. Your mind flashes to the photo of him in the restaurant. For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the Seonghwa in that photo and the one currently in front of you.

“Do you want to put this in your bag?”

His words shatter your thoughts. In between slim fingers, he is holding a white envelope. Hesitating for a moment, you take it, glancing inside. It is a fat stack of money. Seeing the amount like this makes your head spin. You hastily shove it in your purse.

“Don’t want to count it?” Seonghwa asks.

“Uh, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

“You look nice.” He says casually before looking down at his phone.

You narrow your eyes a little, trying to gauge if he is making fun of you. Your outfit feels like a dismal imitation of what someone would wear around a bunch of hyper wealthy people. But Seonghwa’s attention has already shifted away from the compliment.

“I told my father you were coming to dinner tonight. Listen, my parents…” He pauses for a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable, “They obviously don’t want me with anyone they don’t pick for me. So I apologize ahead of time if they come off rude or ask too many personal questions. I’ll do my best to step in.”

Great…like that doesn’t fill you with a sense of growing dread. You nod, lapsing into silence. The moment is quickly arriving. You have no idea if you are going to pull this off. What the hell am I thinking?

When the limo slows down, your heart jumps to your throat. The door opens, and you get out of the limo first, looking at the extremely tall building. There is no name on the front, no indication it is an apartment complex minus the doorman. You assume every floor is a penthouse and it has to be at least seventy stories high. It is dizzying. You have gone past this building many times during life in the city and never glanced twice at it. It belongs to a different world than you. Now you are stepping directly towards it like a tiny fish getting ready to be swallowed by a whale.

Seonghwa stands next to you and asks, “May I hold your hand?”

You take a small sharp breath. This is it, you think, panic poking at the edges of your brain. You nod and Seonghwa slips his hand against yours, holding it gently. Your heart immediately starts to race. Seonghwa walks towards the doors and you let him pull you along. The doorman nods at him, pushing the wide silver doors open, and then you are in the lobby.

It is as silent as a tomb in here, so minimalist that it feels completely uninviting. A large sleek reception desk makes up one of the walls, a large fountain in the middle, and the temperature just low enough to remind you of a morgue. The floors are black and white marble, sparkling in the soft lights. A row of elevators along the right side catch your attention as Seonghwa goes towards them, pressing a small key against one of the buttons which emits a soft dinging noise as it registers.

As you wait, you catch your reflection in the elevator doors, slightly distorted. Seonghwa, looking posh and professional, handsome in that untouchable way…and then you. Absolutely no one will believe we are dating, you think, this is insane.

The doors slide open silently and you realize the elevator only has one floor – the top one. Holy shit, his parents have their own special elevator. He presses the small key against the button signaling the top floor and the doors close.

“Hey,” Seonghwa says, “You’re so tense.”

“There’s no way this is going to work.” The words spill out before you can stop yourself, “Your dad will know in two seconds we aren’t really dating.”

Seonghwa gives your hand a small squeeze, standing very close to you now, one hand resting on your hips. It is intimate and your heart is fluttering. “This will work. Just follow my lead.”

Whatever the hell that means. Before you can ask, the doors open and you are suddenly in the penthouse.

Alright, let’s go.

The next hour is an overload of information. You meet Seonghwa’s mom first, who takes you on a tour through the penthouse. You end up being glad that Seonghwa is holding your hand because it is the only thing that steadies yourself to the overwhelming show of wealth that is touted in front of you. If the lobby was minimalist, then the penthouse is maximalist to the tenth degree. Every section is covered in expensive artwork in gold frames, vases on display that look incredibly old and easily breakable, and even a large salt water aquarium running along one wall.

Yet in all the objects and jewels and beautiful things that fill the penthouse, it is hard to find anything personal, anything that indicates this belongs to a family with a history or affection for one another. Who doesn’t have any photos of their kid? You wonder, not seeing a single photo of baby Seonghwa anywhere.

By the time you finally sit down in the living room (on a couch so plush that you worry for a second that it is going to suck your body inside and never free you) your head is spinning and your grip on Seonghwa’s hand is so tight that it probably looks less romantic and more horror movie.

It is then Seonghwa’s dad enters. You assume it is his dad because it is the first time Seonghwa lets go of your hand, standing up immediately to greet him. You also stand up to introduce yourself and the gaze his dad gives you is enough to curdle milk on the spot. Oh, he hates me, you think, but he probably would hate anyone dating his son who he didn’t pick.

After everyone sits down again, there is a few seconds of silence. You can feel Seonghwa’s parents staring at you, their eyes scanning your clothes, the necklace you threw on at the last second (fake gold, can they tell just by looking? Probably.) and the way you scooch over closer to Seonghwa, closing the gap between the two of you while still keeping it respectful. It doesn’t matter what they think of me. All of this is bullshit. So, why am I so nervous?

Seonghwa is grazing his thumb against the top of your hand, a minor touch that feels so strangely intimate that your heart skips a beat for a second. His father is staring daggers at the gesture and it is all you can do not to yank your hand away, apologize and leave hastily.

“Have you lived in the city long?” It is Seonghwa’s mom, Mrs. Park, who breaks the silence, beginning the interrogation.

“Since I was about five.”

“What do your parents do?” This one is from Mr. Park.

You tell them, watch the subtle change in both of their faces. It is evident the answer does not please them.

“And what do you do?”

This is about to please them even less. “I’m a convenience store clerk.”

Seonghwa’s parents glance at each other. In that millisecond of a look, tons of information is exchanged, none of it positive. The scent of dinner is wafting into the room, cooked by an entire staff hired just for that purpose. Last night, you made instant ramen for dinner.

Seonghwa speaks then, “It’s not too far away from where I live. I go in there sometimes to buy stuff when other places are closed.”

“It’s dangerous to be out that late,” His mom scolds, “You could just get it delivered.”

“I don’t mind,” He replies breezily.

“What do you like about Seonghwa?” Mr. Park asks suddenly, his eyes focused on you and only you.

Great, you think, I know almost nothing about this man besides the fact his favourite colour isn’t a colour and he thinks going to his own private island is a hobby.

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for your answer. This will make or break the belief that you are dating Seonghwa and you regret not learning more about him at the coffee shop before running off. Seonghwa has stopped grazing your hand with his thumb as if he hadn’t expected his dad to ask a question like that.

You glance at Seonghwa out of the corner of your eye, hoping to glean some last minute information from him. But nothing is forthcoming. Your mind randomly flashes back to the pic of him smiling at the restaurant, the slightly blurry nature of the photo, the glitter smear on his cheek, the dark red fabric bright against his skin.

Turning your attention back to his dad, you reply, “He’s focused and professional. Always well put together,” Thinking of his face as he laughed, you go on, “But once you get past that exterior, Seonghwa is funny and charming. He’s thoughtful and considerate,” Where is the Seonghwa in the photo now? “He knows what he wants even if he puts other people’s needs before his, sometimes to his detriment. But there’s something in him that,” The glitter smudge on his cheekbone. “…that wants a sort of freedom that I hope I can give him.”

His parents gawk at you. But it is Seonghwa’s gaze who feels the heaviest. You turn your face to look at his. His lips are parted slightly as if in question. You cannot read his expression. You haven’t seen it on him before. Something about it tugs on you.

On a whim, just to twist the knife further against his parents, you lean forward and very softly kiss his cheek. The touch is so slight that it barely counts. But Seonghwa stiffens slightly in surprise before relaxing into it. When you pull away, your eyes meet for a moment and then you turn back to look at his parents.

Mrs. Park stands abruptly. “I should go make sure dinner is coming along. Seonghwa, perhaps you can help.” It is not worded as a question.

Seonghwa pauses for a moment before releasing the hold on your hand and following his mom into the gigantic kitchen, leaving you alone with Mr. Park, glancing worriedly at you over his shoulder before he vanishes.

You should probably ask him a question now but your mind is completely blank. What do you ask a man like this? How many millions he made in the last five minutes? You would rather not know. Shifting uncomfortably, you scan the room trying to find literally anything to remark on. His gaze is heavy on you, almost suffocating.

“You understand my worries, I’m sure,” Mr. Park begins instead, “And why I ask such questions. Seonghwa comes from a family of considerable wealth and there are those who would take advantage of it.”

“I understand, sir.” By the way, your son is giving me a fat stack of thousands to pretend to date him tonight.

“How am I not to know that you recognized him and decided to approach him simply because of his money?” Mr. Park is clearly trying to intimidate you but it is difficult for it to work when the situation is entirely fake.

“He approached me, actually,” You reply which technically isn’t a lie, “I wasn’t familiar with his connections until recently. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth around or give any indication on who he is.”

His dad chews on this for a moment. Deciding this would be a good time to flee, you stand up, asking where their bathroom is. Mr. Park rattles off a confusing amount of instructions which you pretend to understand and turn around, shuffling towards the hallway.

The path you take, which may or may not be in the actual direction of the bathroom, takes you past the massive kitchen. You glance inside to see a few people hard at work making dinner. The sight is strange to see and as you go to turn the corner, the voices of Seonghwa and his mom float over, stopping you in your tracks.

“This is all very funny, Hwa,” Mrs. Park is lecturing, “But bringing some poor girl to the house and flaunting your wealth around to make her smitten with you is in poor taste.”

Great, we are definitely going to be caught already. Maybe your speech had come off completely artificial –

Mrs. Park continues, “If you think the idea of you dating someone in another class would scare us into giving up the arranged marriage, you’re wrong. All we have to do is offer her a check and this….convenience store clerk will vanish. People like her only care and want one thing. You know that.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at her words. You know that. How many times had his parents paid someone off to leave Seonghwa? Sounded like more than once. And wait…arranged marriage?

“That isn’t why I’m dating her,” Seonghwa replies sharply, “I’m dating her because I like her. I know you and father have other plans for me but that doesn’t mean I have to marry whoever you pick.”

“You know what happens if you don’t,” His mom’s tone is slightly pleading now, “I don’t want to see you left with nothing.”

All this new information is throwing you for a loop. So not only is Seonghwa being forced into an arranged marriage, which he conveniently left out, but he might be kicked out of his family if he doesn’t agree to it?

“I don’t know why we are talking about this. I told you. I’m dating her because I like her a lot. You should give her a chance. I wouldn’t bring her around if I didn’t care about her.” Seonghwa sounds convincing as if every word out of his mouth is completely true.

However, there is a low rumble of anger in your stomach now towards Seonghwa’s parents and the intensity of it is throwing you off. You don’t know why you care so much about this new information when you took Seonghwa’s money to pretend to be his girlfriend. But before your logical brain can stop yourself, you come around the corner and feign surprise.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt. Seonghwa, I think I got lost finding the bathroom, sorry.”

Seonghwa moves towards you, one hand coming to rest on your waist. “No need to apologize.”

“I guess it’s because my own apartment is so much smaller,” You say with emphasis, looking over at Mrs. Park, “All these fancy things are kinda over my head.”

Mrs. Park looks stricken at the reminder of the disparity in wealth which you take secret pleasure in. When she replies, her voice is steel. “Seonghwa can show you. I should get back to the kitchen.”

Right, time to boss around the servants. Seonghwa, his hand still on your waist, gently wheels you around, heading down the hallway and making a left. Then he opens the bathroom door.

“Thanks,” You say, “But I actually don’t have to use the bathroom. I just wanted to get away from your dad grilling me.”

Seonghwa’s mouth quirks at the corners and for a second, you think he might smile. But he doesn’t. Instead, he searches your face to see if you have heard the conversation with his mom. You want to bring it up but now isn’t the time – not in the middle of the penthouse, his parents breathing down your neck, and a fake date to complete.

“How did you come up with that speech? And the kiss on the cheek at the end was genius,” Seonghwa asks, his voice quiet, taking a step closer to you. You get the feeling he has done a lot of whispering in this penthouse and the thought makes you a little sad.

You can’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the Prada logo on his shirt. Cologne faintly clings to the fabric, a warm and spicy scent, mingled with clean laundry. “I don’t know,” You lie, “Just came to me. You know what? I actually do have to pee. Sorry, excuse me.”

Slipping past Seonghwa, you close the bathroom door, trying not to be visually assaulted by how over the top and spacious the room is. Your heart is beating quickly. Just nervous. This shit is stressful. That’s all it is.

Dinner is as awkward as the living room conversation. Between thinly veiled insults from Seonghwa’s mom about being beneath the family and his dad asking you questions as if you’re on the stand in a court room, it is all you can do to remember you are supposed to appear as if you are dating Seonghwa. Remembering to touch his shoulder when you are laughing, to look shy when Seonghwa tilts his face close to yours to tell you something and to cast adoring glances his way when he speaks while juggling his parents acting as if the world is ending in front of them is draining.

On top of that, the food is rich people fare, which means most of it is completely new to you and the portions are so small that you are daydreaming about inhaling French fries once you get out of here.

By the time the night is winding down, you think that the ruse may have worked. Mrs. Park seems thoroughly disturbed at the idea of you dating Seonghwa and his dad watches you like a hawk. The two of you fall into a simple routine of light touches and hand holding although there are no more kisses on the cheek. The singular one you gave Seonghwa earlier seemed to do the job.

And while you are waiting for Seonghwa to finish saying goodbye for the night, you think maybe I don’t need a lot of experience to pull this off. In fact, maybe I just found my secret talent of acting. I could get into that. Maybe –

“I was thinking perhaps your girlfriend could come with us to the beach house next weekend.” Mr. Park suddenly speaks, directing this at Seonghwa but carefully watching your face.

Oh, he doesn’t believe us, you think with a thud of your heart, glancing at Seonghwa and trying to compose your expression into one of subtle questioning versus the panic that is bubbling in your chest.

Without hesitation, Seonghwa replies smoothly, “I’m not sure if she is working next weekend.”

Mr. Park gives a wave of his hand. “I’m sure you can work your schedule out?” He asks you and without waiting for a reply, goes on, “We like to go every six weeks or so to the beach house as a family. It’s important. And since Seonghwa is clearly so taken with you,” He lingers on the words, “We would love to have you.”

You don’t work next weekend. Actually, it is the first weekend you have off in months. The universe is clearly laughing at you. But Mr. Park doesn’t know that and the last thing you plan to do is go to this beach house and pretend to date Seonghwa for an entire weekend.

Stumbling over your words, you reply, “I would have to see my schedule. I can’t remember if I work or not. We are short staffed so I can’t just take off. As much as I would love to see the beach house.” You amend quickly.

Seonghwa is pressing the elevator button multiple times as if that will make it arrive faster. Mr. Park is still staring at you as if he can read your mind. You take a step backwards, your hand going to Seonghwa’s lower back as the elevator doors finally open.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” You tell his parents, trying to shove Seonghwa into the elevator without it being too obvious, “It was nice meeting you.”

His parents say goodbye and the doors glide shut, leaving you alone with Seonghwa. You go to open your mouth to tell him that you failed when his hand circles around your waist and crushes you against him, lips grazing your ear. The touch is sudden and electric that your skin breaks out in goosebumps, heart racing so quickly that you wonder what in the world is wrong with you.

“H-hey,” You stutter.

“There’s a camera in the elevator and my father might be watching,” Seonghwa whispers in your ear, “Don’t talk about anything until we are in the limo.”

Your cheek is against his chest, his hands around your waist, lips near your ear. The entire position is incredibly intimate which conflicts with his words of basically being spied on. You realize you should probably hug him back or you will look like a limp fish. Gingerly, you wrap your arms around Seonghwa, hating the fact your face feels warm and your heart is racing. You have no idea what is wrong with you tonight. Seonghwa smells even more amazing this close and your fingers press against his lower back, realizing how slender his waist is. His chest underneath your cheek feels hard and firm as if he works out or something….which you suppose he does because what else did he have to do all day?

The elevator ride feels roughly fifty years long this time around. You can hear Seonghwa’s heartbeat in your ear, the warmth of his body and it feels so personal that when the elevator doors open it is all you can do not to run fleeing from the small space like someone desperately swimming to the surface for air.

Scuttling through the lobby holding Seonghwa’s hand into the city lights outside, you are ushered into the limo and it is only then you finally speak.

“We failed. You saw your dad, right? It was like…” Your mind searches for some sort of example, “It was like when Katniss failed to convince President Snow she was really madly in love with Peeta.”

Seonghwa stares at you blankly. “When who didn’t convince who about who?”

Frustrated at the fact Seonghwa is apparently too rich to understand basic pop culture references, you slump in the limo seat, secretly enjoying how comfortable it is. “We failed.”

“We didn’t fail. He just knows me too well,” Seonghwa replies.

“If you think the idea of you dating someone in another class would scare us into giving up the arranged marriage, you’re wrong.” Mrs. Park’s earlier words float back to you. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wonder if it is time to mention to Seonghwa what you learned. It feels wrong not to bring it up.

But Seonghwa keeps speaking. “I know I told you it would be for just for one night. A weekend is asking a lot –”

“Wait. You’re not asking me to actually go with you on this beach trip,” You blurt out.

Seonghwa looks resigned as if he expected that answer. “Even if we say you are working next weekend, my father will just push it off to when you are available.”

“And? I thought you were going to lie and say we were going overseas. You know, rich guy showing poor girl all the wonders of the world, making her wonder if she’s in love with him or just the fact his money opens every door sort of thing.”

You mean this as a joke but Seonghwa’s face darkens like a storm rolling in. Whoa, hit a nerve with that one, you think, wondering if you pissed him off.

But if you did, he doesn’t say anything about it, opting to ignore the remark. “I know. I told you this would be my problem, not yours,” He opens the bag he had left in the limo, pulling out another white envelope, “This is the rest of the money.”

He hands it over but you find yourself hesitating to take it. “Are you sure? We didn’t technically pull it off a hundred percent.”

“It’s fine,” Seonghwa’s voice is stiff, “We convinced my mother. It counts.”

You slip the money in your purse, thinking about how much cash you have in there. More than you ever had before. “All we have to do is offer her a check and this….convenience store clerk will vanish. You know that.” The two of you fall into silence. Seonghwa is staring wordlessly at the unopened bottle of champagne, most likely trying to figure out his next move. This has nothing more to do with me. I agreed to this for the money and nothing else.

As the limo turns down your street, you try to think of what to say to Seonghwa but no words come. The limo comes to a stop, the driver opening the door for you to get out.

“I’ll walk you,” Seonghwa says suddenly, ignoring your protests when you say that isn’t necessary.

Your apartment is on the ground floor which means escorting Seonghwa through the courtyard made up of mostly dead plants and a bench that has seen better days. You really didn’t feel like showing him where you lived any more than necessary.

As you cross the courtyard, Seonghwa goes, “I’ll pay you triple.”

Stopping in your tracks, you look over your shoulder. “What?”

He seems to be mentally chewing on something, his brows furrowed and his gaze intense. “For the beach weekend. I’ll pay you triple what I paid tonight. I’ll pick you up Friday, bring you back Monday morning.”

Silence settles across the empty courtyard. Somewhere, very faintly, you can hear thunder. Seonghwa has shoved his hands in the pockets of his overpriced slacks but his posture remains as regal as ever.

With a tiny sigh, you say, “I heard you. With your mom. About the arranged marriage.” Seonghwa stiffens, his lips pressed in a thin line. You keep going, “Why didn’t you tell me they are trying to marry you off? There is way more at stake here than your parents wanting you to date someone. You’re going to be…what, cut off from the money if you don’t marry who they choose?”

“I’ll be cut from the inheritance and not allowed to take over the company when my dad retires. I have money of my own but my family’s wealth won’t go to me if I don’t marry who they pick.”

You exhale slowly, starting to pace the courtyard. You make a mental note of the fact his mom made it sound like he would be left with nothing which is obviously far from the truth. You are getting a sinking feeling that they know how to manipulate him. The thought makes you sad.

“Seonghwa, you have so much at stake here. And I don’t think I’m a good pick for what you need. Don’t get me wrong. As you can see,” You gesture to the building, “I need the money. I want the money. The amount you’re offering for the beach trip…that’s life changing. But there is no way I could pull it off for an entire weekend.”

Seonghwa, perhaps panicked at the thought of his already tenuous grip on this absurd plan falling apart, takes a step towards you. “I – I can’t suddenly change people. It has to be you. I didn’t think – I didn’t think my father was going to invite you to the beach trip. He’s never done such a thing before. I can do the overseas lie after, I just –”

“No, Seonghwa, I mean…” This is so awkward, you think. “My dating experience is tragic. You understand? I’ve never even been in a real relationship. I’ve gone on a few dates. That’s why I said no originally until I changed my mind for the money. I don’t know how to be in a fake relationship because I’ve never been in a real one. That’s probably why we didn’t convince your dad tonight. Going to the beach house means I have to act 24/7 and there is no way I can pull it off. I’m not just saying no because of me. I’m saying it for you too. If I had known…if I had known there was this whole marriage thing going on, I wouldn’t have agreed to it. There’s too much at stake here.” You want to crawl in a hole now – what an embarrassing speech.

You see a flicker of surprise cross Seonghwa’s face which only makes you feel worse.

Adding on before he can reply, “It’s like…you’re paying me so this is a job, right? I’m not qualified for the job. So, you should fake break up with me and find someone better.”

You have stopped pacing now and Seonghwa approaches you. Your nails dig into the palms of your hands as he does so, your breath catching in your chest.

“So what if you’re not qualified for the job? Have you seen most people at their jobs? Anyone in middle management usually doesn’t know how to rotate a PDF.” His voice is quiet, his gaze steady. “We have a week until the beach trip. We’ll do a crash course in relationships.”

“Uhm, I don’t think that is how relationships work.”

“I’ll show you the ropes so you can act better next weekend. We will go on dates, spend a lot of time together, you’ll learn more about me so you can loosen up at the beach house. I’ll show you what a relationship is like and you can use that on the trip. By the end of it, my parents will be convinced we are in love with one another and they will give up on the arranged marriage. I’ll lie and pretend to go overseas with you, threaten elopement. I might need to see you one or two more times after, which I’ll pay you for, and then I’ll tell them you left me and I’m too heartbroken to consider anyone else.”

“Seonghwa, that is a batshit plan.”

“I’ve tried everything else with them. You’re my best shot. I’ll pay whatever you want. I’ll pay your rent for a year. I don’t care.”

You want to ask him if this is how his family does things – just pay for someone to stick around, pay for someone to leave. You want to ask him who his parents erased in his life with money. You want to ask him what happened to the Seonghwa in the photo.

But your brain is glitching on this whole relationship practice thing followed by an entire weekend around his scary parents. No words leave your lips and instead you just stare at him.

“Do you need time to think it over?” He prompts.

Your mind flashes back to the elevator, his lips near your ear, his arms around you, your heart racing. There would be more of that if you agreed to this ridiculous idea. But then you think about the money in your purse. There would be more of that too. A lot more of that.

Thunder again. Louder this time. It rains in the city constantly at this time of year. You haven’t been to the beach since you were a kid. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to be an asshole. There could be way worse people to fake date or learn about relationships from.

“No,” You say, “I don’t need any time. I agree.”

PART TWO HERE.

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fics #ateez fics #ateez smut #kpop fic #arrow in the dark #100 notes #500 notes

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