#i really needed to draw these two near kissing after the fic i just wrote

[bl0rb0]

HOLY FUCK THEYRE GAY

[late-to-the-party-81]

An Understanding

AN: Finally! Part 6 of An Artist and an Engineer. Find the previous part here and you can check out my masterlist here.

We are nearing the poly relationship, which is not where I was planning for this to go when I wrote my first fic for this (which ended up becoming part 3). But these boys have a mind of their own. I'm not sure when part 7 will be coming as I have two seasonal challenges to write.

Unbeta'd. Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Mood board and banners by me.

Summary: After the night where you watched Bucky and Steve together, feelings have changed between the three of you. You need to talk to Bucky about what he wants.

Relationship: Steve x Reader (established), Bucky x Reader (pre-poly)

Word Count: 3.9k

CW: Fluffy feels, pre-poly discussions, domestic fluff, a smidge of anxiety, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex (don't do that, wrap it up!), Bucky being a cocky shit, Reader teasing him right back.

To say that everything had changed since that night would’ve been an understatement. Steve and Bucky had always been fairly affectionate with each other, more than the majority of men who are (mostly) friends, but those displays of affection had increased and you knew it was because both of them felt more comfortable expressing themselves in front of you. There were more hugs, more kisses, more cuddles on the couch. It wasn’t uncommon for you to turn up at Steve’s to find the two of them tangled on the sofa together, Bucky with a book, Steve with a sketch pad, just passing the time in each other’s company.

Steve was happier and more content. His artists block was well and truly gone, and he spent hours in his studio, churning out work after work, half way to the creation of a new exhibition if things kept on in this manner.

But it wasn’t just between the two of them. There was more affection between you and Bucky as well. He’d come up behind you and wrap his arms around you whilst you cooked or washed up. He’d cuddle up on the other side of you when you and Steve were on the sofa, his feet tangling with yours. When he left of an evening, leaving you and Steve alone, he would cup your cheek in his hand and drop a soft kiss to your forehead.

There was always a look of longing in his eyes when he left. An undercurrent of tension between the three of you. You thought back to your brief conversation with him as Steve lay asleep, sated on the bed before you both settled either side of him.

“Thank you for being here.”

“Any time darlin’. I’m always available for my best guy and his gal. You’re pretty special, you know that? Not many women would be happy to share their man.”

“Aahh, but he needs both us, I think?”

“And what about you, sweetheart?”

“Oh, Buck, yeah, I’m starting to think I need both of you too. Let me sleep on it with my two guys, okay?”

“Okay, yeah, I can get behind that.”

Was it possible that you were starting to fall in love with Bucky? And what would that mean for the three of you. You knew that Steve loved you, and you knew that he loved Bucky. But did he love you both in the same way? And how did Bucky really feel? God, it was all so confusing.

It was two weeks after ‘that night’ when you let yourself into Steve’s apartment and was surprised to find your boyfriend on his own.

“Hey, Steve. No Buck tonight?”

He pulled you to him, pressing a kiss to your lips, before sitting on the couch and drawing you to sit sideways on his lap.

“No, it’s just you and me tonight, Cali. Needed some one-on-one time with my favourite girl.”

His nose was pressed into your neck, just below your ear and you felt his lips moving against your skin as he talked. He was holding you firmly, as though worried you were going to slip away and you could feel his nervous energy. You leant back, cupping his face in your hands and tipping up his chin so you could look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong lover?”

You searched his face, trying to read every micro-expression. Whilst he was an extremely passionate man, you knew that he found it difficult to truly open up.

“I just love you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanna cause you any pain...and…”

You could see tears in his eyes, something you’d never seen before, at least in this context.

“Shhhhhh…. I know you love me Stevie. What is it?”

“I love him, Cali! I love Bucky. I…I think I always have, but never wanted to acknowledge it. And I’m so confused, because I also love you and I don’t want to lose you. I need you so much. I’m not me without you. But, I don’t think I can be without him either. I mean, we’ve always been there for each other, but I want more. I want him in my life, the way you are in my life.”

He took a deep breath and forced himself to make eye contact with you.

“You want to be with both of us, don’t you?”

“With everything that I am.”

You kissed him then. A kiss to let him know you weren’t hurt, that you loved him still. You relaxed into his arms, feeling warm and content in his arms, fingers plucking at the slight bobbling on the sleeve of his sweater.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Yes…. He…he says he loves me too, but he doesn’t want to get between us. He doesn’t want to hurt you either. But he did tell me that you didn’t seem adverse to the idea, you know, of the three of us.”

You respond with a hum, letting your thoughts run around your head as you processed everything you’d been told. Night fell outside, but you stayed there, just thinking. Steve didn’t probe you, allowing you the mental space. After a while he put the television on, re-runs of old CSI episodes that didn’t really take much brain power to watch. He shifted you off his lap to sort out a plate of nibbles for you both, plus some drinks, drawing you into his side on his return, the plate balanced on one of his broad thighs and the mugs of chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of you.

You both finished the food and drinks as an episode was coming to an end. It wasn’t late by any means, but you turned in his embrace and pulled him down by his collar to kiss you. He let you take the lead, until the moment you sighed into his mouth….

“Take me to bed Stevie, I need you……”

He swept you up into his arms and did just that.

The next morning, as you lay entwined in each other, you turned to him carefully.

“I think I need to talk to Bucky. Just me and him.”

Steve dropped a tentative kiss on your forehead.

“Well, I’ve got to fly to Boston this weekend to do some of the ground work for the next leg of my exhibition. Would that give you the time you need?”

“I think so. But when I say talk, I don’t just mean that. Buck and I need to see if, you know, if he and I…”

You could feel yourself going red. But then again, you’d never in your life expected to be talking to your boyfriend about finding out if you and his best friend were sexually compatible before you defined the structure of your potential three-way relationship…..

“You two do what you gotta. I won’t be jealous, promise. I just want you to be happy, and him to be happy. For all of us to be happy. Whatever shape that takes.”

The rest of the week was busy, work wise. Thursday night Steve came over to your apartment, in a change from the norm, as you were working flat out. He was heading off to Boston in the morning, and wanted to say good bye properly, despite the fact that you’d see him again on Monday. He made love to you gently and tenderly, in a break from your standard routine of hot passionate, and quite often kinky, sex.

You’d arranged with Bucky for him to come to yours for dinner on Friday evening. That way you could get bits and pieces for it organised in and amongst your work. As 8pm neared you started to feel nervous, like you were going on a first date. You’d told Bucky that it would be casual so you had on jeans and baggy sweater, needing to be comfortable after a day of corporate Zoom meetings.

You’d made up some pizza dough, and it was portioned out, proving in a warm place, and a selection of toppings lay prepped in containers on the kitchen counter. The red wine was breathing, and you’d made the lighting a bit more intimate. This had been the worst bit. You wanted to set the right tone, but didn’t want it to all go straight to seduction mode. He might not want to have a physical relationship with you, at least regularly. He might only want to be with you ‘like that’ when Steve was present as a catalyst.

When he finally knocked on the door, you were so wound up, that you jumped, but when you opened it up, you found him standing there, a slightly shy smile on his face and bunch of flowers in his hand.

“Hey Buck, come in.”

You stood to the side and he walked into your small apartment. He’d never been there before and you could see him trying to take it all in without seeming nosy.

“Hey darlin’.”

He bent down to press a kiss to your cheek and then pressed the bouquet into your arms. You thanked him for them, and directed him to sit on your couch, as you went and fished a vase out from the back of a kitchen cupboard. He sat on the edge of the cushions, thumbs twiddling as you unwrapped the flowers and trimmed their stems. There was no denying that the silence was awkward.

Once the flowers were sorted to your satisfaction and the remains cleared away, you poured out two large glasses of the wine and walked over to the sofa with them. You passed one to Bucky before settling back into the corner opposite him, one leg tucked beneath you.

“Cheers!”

You raised your glass at him.

“To the weirdest conversation of my life.”

He chuckled at your joke and almost immediately the tension was broken. You both took long swigs from your glasses, before Bucky placed his on the table, and plucked yours out of you hand to join it.

“Come here….”

His voice was gruff, but jokey, as he pulled you across into his embrace, almost a mirror of the one you’d had with Steve earlier in the week.

“What about we put a movie on, have our dinner and save the heavy stuff for once we’ve got down this bottle and started the next?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart. What are we having?”

“Create your own pizza. But I tell you now, if you tell me off for putting pineapple on mine we’re going to have to tell Steve that this isn’t going to work out.”

“How can you do this to me, darling! You really making me choose between Stevie and a crime against pizza?”

“Yup! Deal with it Buck-o!”

“What have I got myself into?”

You laughed and dragged him by his tattooed arm into your kitchen area.

Two hours later and you were both pleasantly full, the wine bottle was empty and the pair of you had been good-naturedly bickering about the film you had been watching. As the credits began to roll you pulled yourself up towards your kitchen, returning with another bottle of wine and the opener.

“So…..”

“Yeah……um…Stevie never did like to do anything the easy way.”

You snorted, amused by his tone.

“I suppose, my question is really how do we want this to work? Like is it that Steve is with me and also with you and we sort out some kind of rota. Or is it the three of us, sometimes alone, sometimes paired and sometimes all three? I mean, do you actually want to be with me, or have me involved. I mean this is really the first time we’ve spent together where Steve isn’t involved in some way or another.”

“I think, sweetheart, we should try to forget about Steve for the weekend. Maybe treat this like a first date, just us.”

He moved closer to you, cupping your face with his palm.

“There’s one problem with that Buck….”

You placed a hand over his chest.

“I don’t put out on a first date.”

“That’s not what Steve said.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about Steve?”

His face was close to yours now. You could feel his breath on your face, saw the desire in his eyes. You were having trouble breathing. You knew he was charismatic, but had never been on the receiving end of him at full force before. Your tongue snuck out of your mouth to wet your lips, now feeling suddenly dry.

“I suppose, with everything, we could probably consider this our third or fourth date.”

“Do you put out on those?”

“Sometimes? Depends if the guy can convince me it’s gonna be worth it.”

“Is that a challenge, darlin’?”

His free hand came up to smooth your hair back off your face, tucking a lock behind your ear.

“Bucky……”

His name came out of your mouth on a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I know you’ve done it before, but please, kiss me…..”

His mouth descended gently onto yours, his plush lips moving, tasting you almost timidly. You gripped his large biceps, steadying yourself. He’d barely touched you and you were dizzy. You pressed into him harder, opening his lips with yours, deepening the kiss. He moaned as your tongue slid into his mouth, and you moved to straddle his lap, suddenly feeling the need to devour him, to own him. You could feel him start to harden in his jeans, and one of his hands moved from your face to your lower back, just above your ass, to encourage you to grind against him.

When did you last spend this long just making out and grinding? You felt like a teenager again, but you were so turned on you didn't care. Then Bucky moved both his hands to your hips, using his superior strength to manhandle and flip you, so you were pressed onto the cushions of the couch, with him above you. He pulled his mouth away from yours, kissing and nibbling at your neck, as his hands slid up your shirt, pushing it up and off. His lips then trailed over your collar bone and over the swell of your breasts encased in your comfy cotton bra.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him to your breasts as he sucked at each peak in turn through the thin fabric. You whined, you think it was supposed to be his name, but you couldn’t focus. His fingers worked the button and zip of your jeans and he tugged them down, his body sliding along yours, leaving a trail of sensation in his wake, as his scruff rubbed against your delicate flesh.

His nose pressed into the crotch of your plain cotton panties, and he inhaled deeply.

“Been dreaming about this pussy, darlin’. Almost died when you an’ Stevie let me at it that night we met. And then when I got my hand on it….in it….so tight sweetheart, so gorgeous. Can I make you feel good? Can I touch you here, kiss you?”

“Please, oh god, please, Buck.”

He yanked your jeans fully off, throwing them across the room, before scooping you up in his arms.

“Bedroom sweetheart?”

You flailed your arm out to direct him and he moved across your small apartment in half a dozen strides. He shoulder barged your door open and practically tossed you down onto your mattress, making you laugh as you bounced across the sheet. He pulled his own t-shirt off and your eyes re-familiarised themselves with his toned body, the full sleeve tattoo on his left arm, the dark hair that trailed down from his belly button.

Bucky’s hands gripped your panties and dragged them off your body, looking down at your glistening pussy, and then up into your eyes as he licked his lips. He dropped to his knees at the end of your bed, and pulled you down towards him before tossing your legs over his shoulders. He let out a noise akin to a growl just before his mouth descended to connect with you.

The first time he’d done this you were delirious from the orgasms that Steve had pulled out of you, and dripping with his cum. It had felt fantastic, but later you’d put it down to all the other contributing factors. However, now you were experiencing it for the second time you knew one thing. It was ALL Bucky. He was just that talented. It was like he was making out with your cunt, his tongue curling into your entrance like he wanted to get every trace of your essence.

And then he started with his fingers. Those wide calloused fingers, so different to Steve’s don’t think about Steve. One at first, as his tongue moved up to play with your clit. Then two, stretching you, oh-so-good. You rolled your hips up, fingers gripping his hair again, tugging at it making him moan into your core. He retaliated, using his tongue to trace the letters of his name right against your bundle of nerves.

“Bucky! Fuck!”

He chuckled against your folds and slowly pushed in his third finger, forcing air out of your lung with the pleasurable burn. Then he crooked his fingers and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You could feel the roughness of the pads of his fingers and your channel clenched around the intruding digits.

He sucked on your clit and massaged your g-spot and your legs trembled around his head.

“Oh god, fuck, shitshitshitshit!”

Your orgasm washed over you and through it all you could hear the vulgar sounds of Bucky feasting on you, the squelch as his fingers moved in and out, fucking you through the waves of pleasure, and drawing it out until you were mewling in overstimulation.

Bucky crawled back up your body, kissing your glistening skin all the while, then propped his elbows either side of your head and rested his chin on his fists. You looked up at him and rolled your eyes at his shit-eating grin. He looked completely debauched, hair all over the place and his face still bearing the evidence of your release.

“You’re incorrigible…..”

He just smiled all the more, before grinding his hips, and his erection, against you, making you gasp as the rough denim ground against your still sensitive clit.

“Convinced you it’s gonna be worth it yet? Or do I need to ‘convince’ you again?”

You pursed your lips, making a joke of being deep in consideration, when he ground his hips again. All pretence flew out the window, as your hands scrabbled at the fasting of his jeans.

“Off, now, fuck….”

He just continued to grin as he rolled away and kicked off his jeans and briefs, before grabbing and pulling you over, to straddle his hips.

“Do what you want darlin’, I’m just here to make sure you have a good time.”

You smiled at him and traced the patterns of flowers on his arm.

“You want me to use you, Buck? Just take my pleasure from your body? Make myself come on your cock?”

His eyes closed and he bit his lower lip, trying, and failing, to hold back a moan. You shifted, so your wet pussy was pressed against his cock, and teased him with your warmth and your wetness, rocking slightly so your still engorged clit rubbed against his flared head.

“Sweetheart, please, you’re killing me…”

“You begging Bucky?” “If it will make you fuck me already, then yes! Please darlin’, Cali, babydoll!”

You took pity on him, and yourself, by lifting yourself up, taking hold of his length and slowly letting your pussy engulf the tip.

You’d been dreaming about this cock from the first time your seen it, imagining how it would feel as it entered you, but those dreams didn’t compare to reality. You couldn’t help it, you just had to tease yourself with it, dipping up and down, just letting the wide mushroom head move back and forth through your sensitive entrance.

“God, Bucky, you feel so good, fuck……..”

He whined beneath you, struggling to control himself, so you finally sank all the way down, feeling him fill you and rub against your g-spot.

“Oh fuck!”

His shout was loud in your small apartment.

You leant back slightly, your arms behind you, bracing on his thighs as you lifted your began to fuck yourself on him. His hands held onto your hips, to steady you, doing nothing to change your pace.

“You look so good up there sweetheart, so fucking sexy. Can’t wait for you to cream all over me, fuck.”

You were panting, concentrating on you pleasure, the feel of him inside you, the tightening of that coil in you abdomen.

“Touch me Bucky, please, so close!”

He lifted his left hand to his face, sucking his thumb into his mouth, before pressing it between your folds, rubbing circles on your bud. His right hand trailed up to palm at your breast, tweaking and pulling your nipple.

“Ah… ah… ah… shit!”

“That’s it darlin’, fuck…feel so good squeezing my dick.”

The wave started in your core, travelling up and down your body to the tips of your toes and the ends of your hair, and you cried out at the feeling. You were still riding your high when he pulled you up and flipped the pair of you, hands braced on the mattress, and started to rail you.

All you could do was hold on, legs tight round his waist, nails digging crescent shaped dents into his muscular shoulders. You were still sensitive and the way he was thrusting and grinding against you, his public hair crushed against your clit, had you right on the edge again.

“BuckyBuckyBucky!”

“I know, doll, I know, gonna cum soon, fuck, but you got one more for me?”

This third orgasm slammed into you due to the overstimulation, and you were screaming, your body arching underneath Bucky’s. You hear him groan into your ear, his hips stuttering against yours, his cock pulsing inside you as he came.

You were both quiet for a few minutes after, slightly dazed. Bucky rolled off you, but took hold of one of your hands, either grounding himself or ensuring you didn’t run away or a bit of both. But it was him who broke the silence.

“So... worth it?”

You laughed and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

It… sex… was different with Bucky than with Steve. Steve was brooding and intense. Bucky was silly and fun. Not to say that Steve wasn’t fun, he definitely had his moments, but Bucky was so light-hearted. Maybe it would be good for Steve, to finally have this with Bucky. If he’d been denying himself for so long, it was no wonder he was slightly emotionally constipated. Not that you wanted him to change, you loved his intense side, the way he loved you as if the world could end any moment.

There were other, practical considerations to work out, conversations and negotiations, but lying here, next to Bucky, and thinking about Steve and how happy you could all be together, made you think that this really could work, the three of you.

You turned to look at Bucky, your smile in your eyes.

“Yeah, it was worth it. But don’t let it go to your head…..”

You couldn’t wait for Monday, and Steve’s return.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

are you doing to make a part 4 to the riven one? i’m in love, it’s so good!!

Come back to me

Pairing: Riven x light!fairy

(A/N - there's a little nod to my Silva fic in this one 😂 I finally managed to type this out despite my burned fingers, but the burns are healing. Also, does anyone have an idea for a theme song for this mini series?)

========================

Y/N felt on edge as she listened to the girls talking about a dress they saw while they were on Earth with Bloom. Despite trying to engage, she could hardly hear their voices from the constant pounding of her unsettling heartbeat in her ears.

Swallowing thickly, she glances at the door with a thought, 'What if something happens to Riv?'

Shaking her head, she lets out a heavy sigh, noticing Musa's gaze lingering on her a little too long to ignore. It's more than likely that Musa can feel the dread gripping Y/N's insides and Y/N hoped she wouldn't ask questions because she didn't know if she had the ability to lie anymore.

Gasping as the door slammed open with Sky rushing through had sent Y/N in a state of panic.

"You have to hide or leave Alfea", Sky spoke quickly and loudly, yet Y/N caught the subtle tremors in his usually steady voice.

"What are you talking about?" Stella narrows her eyes at him, unnerved by the way he barged into the room.

Grabbing Bloom by the hand, Sky rolls his eyes, "I'm talking about Rosalind testing out students in direct confrontation with the Burned ones!"

"What?!" Bloom hisses, yanking her hand back, "What does that mean?" She furrows her eyebrows, glancing at the girls.

Gripping Bloom by her arms, Sky shakes her ever so slightly to get her attention, "It means that Rosalind is setting Burned ones loose on the school to test everyone."

Drawing a shuddered breath, Y/N stands on her shaky legs, "Sky", she steps closer, "Where is Riven? Does he know?" Her lips quiver as Sky's jaw clenched and her heart skips a beat with his answer.

"Y/N, please leave. All of you need to go."

Hands trembling, Y/N realized Riven did know of this. He knew and he asked her to find company so she wouldn’t be alone and in a way, it warmed her heart. In other ways it had made her mad - instead of sticking close to her, he decided to throw himself in danger’s way. 

Is he going to fight these things or is he the one standing guard while others are butchered?

"I will once you tell me where the fuck is he", Y/N raises her voice ever so slightly, much more determined than before.

"He's waiting for me to come back", sighing, Sky licks his lips, "We want to stop Rosalind." Glancing at Bloom, Sky frowns because he knew Y/N was told the truth but he never told Bloom anything. "Tonight", he adds and Y/N nods.

"So you two are playing heroes?" Chuckling dryly, she folds her arms across her chest, "You want to get killed?"

"Sky, I'm not leaving if you're not", Bloom steps back and Y/N moves next to her.

"I don't give a shit about what Riven or you say, I'm staying." Y/N states, suppressing the thought of how angry Riven would be at her stubborn refusal or how amusing he'd find her swearing again.

"One of the soldiers we managed to get on guard duty is helping Silva escape tonight. If we manage to stop Rosalind and", Sky pauses as his eyes flicker to Stella.

"And my mom", Stella finishes for him and he nods, adding, "And my father, we could regain Alfea's independence again."

Swallowing thickly, Y/N inhales sharply, "You said Riven is waiting for you?"

Sky nods and she heads for the door, "Come on, we don't have much time. Sundown is upon us."

Sky lead the girls to the archive room, careful not to draw too much attention. After all, one wrong move and the rebellion would be over.

Faced with the possibility of such consequences, Y/N refuses the very thought of giving up. She didn’t care what peril awaits, only that Riven is in the line of fire. 

Some say to grow up means you have to move on from the ones you're attached to, but Y/N thought you’re meant to hold them closer to your heart. The tender, small gestures are what matters and perhaps Riven isn’t a hopeless romantic she once thought she’d end up with, but Riven is her beginning, her middle and she’s hoping he’ll be her end too.

As Sky opens the doors, Y/N holds her breath as her eyes find Riven. It’s a basic instinct, second nature really. Riven didn’t see her as Sky stood tall before her but the moment they stepped further inside, Riven’s gaze fell to her and she couldn’t read him; not anymore. His stare, his parted lips, his silence had unnerved Y/N and she didn’t know what to say or do. 

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Riven snaps at Sky, but his eyes are chained to Y/N. “Take her back, take all of them back!” Riven shouts and Y/N rolls her eyes at him.

“Did you just”, Riven chuckles dryly as he nears her, “roll your eyes at me?” 

“Yes”, Y/N raises an eyebrow, “I can do it again if you didn’t get the full experience the first time around.”

“What’s going on?” Terra pipes in, nervous as she tries to step between the two.

“They’re boning”, Musa steps in as well, giving Y/N a pointed look.

“AM NOT”, Y/N exclaims, scoffing at Musa’s knowing smirk. “We’re...” Y/N trails off, unsure what they are. They’ve kissed a few times, exchanged love proclamations and he wrote her love notes...well, Riven’s version of love notes.

“I’m whatever she wants me to be”, Riven sighs, taking her by the hand.

Nodding, Terra steps aside. She joins the girls and Sky, giving the pair a chance to clear things.

“I asked you to stay inside”, Riven speaks softly, quietly enough for Y/N to hear but not the others.

“And I would if you weren’t on a suicide mission.” Wetting her lips, Y/N wraps her arms around Riven, pulling him in for a hug. She can feel his muscles relax under the palm of her hand, bringing a smile to her face. “Don’t be the hero, Riv.”

Parting, she swallows thickly as he furrows his eyebrows, “But heroes get all the girls.” Chuckling, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “And I have one particular girl I want to make mine.”

“Ever thought she might be a sucker for the bad boys?” Smirking, Y/N can feel her heart is where it’s supposed to be, with Riven. When he smiles like this; when his eyes smile even when his lips are still, that’s when she can sense both the gravity of the situation and his love shining through. 

“Don’t be the hero, Riv”, she repeats, “I’d rather be with a bad boy than a dead hero.”

He nods with that serious look that still has his warm eyes, "While you're by my side, Sunshine, I promise I won’t be reckless. Not when I have you to come back to." 

And that's just what Y/N needed to hear, that he's hers for now and into the future... that there will be a future... one they can survive.

“Riv”, Sky calls out, “It’s time.”

As Riven’s hand captures Y/N’s, the sense of dread inside her grows. It’s taken root and she can’t help but fear for Riven’s safety. For all of their safety.

PART 5

[nanagoswife]

I Failed Everyone. I Failed You.

(^^these are related to the fic^^)

HAPPY MAY 4TH EVERYONE

In celebration, I decided to write this random idea I had literally just last night (right before I wrote it. I wasn't even planning to write last night 😅) Anyways, I thought we could use some Obi, even if he isn't going through entirely good times. With me, I had to end it on a lighter note so sad Obi doesn't necessarily last the whole time.

Pushing this aside, happy May 4th everyone.

May the force be with you, always.

- - -

Summary: After Order 66, Obi-Wan has to go and deal with Anakin. Taking place after the duel, he comes to you for support but, as the next hours go on, you're the one needing comfort.

W/C: 2.2k

Warnings: Mention of flame boy, mention of mass death, character death, angst, Obi being a sad boy

The threatening shades of red and orange accented by the black, soot covered ground would’ve frightened him in any other situation. Even the locals had an unwelcoming presence as they floated over the molten lava, gathering Maker knows what.

Now, though, he was more focused on a different fear that had come true. The order was destroyed, his friends turned on him, he failed Anakin. Obi-Wan Kenobi had failed one of the people he strove to do only good for.

Instead of his true duty, he had just battled his closest friend. His brother. His son. The one other he cared and watched over not because his master had told him so, but because he felt inclined to. There had been something in Anakin that peaked something inside of him that drew him to Anakin.

What good was he if he failed everyone he ever loved? First, Qui-Gon, then so many others. Even people who had just been there that fought by his side or died to save him. Then there was this current moment. He had failed to see how the war was a fool’s game. The person leading it was really on the enemy side and let his true colours show in a drastic change.

Obi-Wan had failed. He had even failed you. Compared to you, Obi-wan knew so much more about what was truly going on. Had he seen how overly fond the Chancellor was for Anakin, even you were suspicious. Yet, he didn’t act on it soon enough.

Due to this, you were caught up in Anakin’s tirade before it turned into the battle he had endured. You had come with Obi-Wan hoping that you could talk him back. Anakin always did have a strong connection with you. He had told Obi-Wan at a point that he looked to you as a mother figure, a role model.

It almost worked, too. It was almost as if something snapped in Anakin as you tried to step closer. All you wanted to do was embrace him and tell him how it would all be okay even after what happened with Padmé moments before. That’s not how he saw it. So, he had used the force and threw you against the ship, rendering you unconscious.

Being protective of both you and Padmé, Obi-Wan tried a last ditch effort to try and talk Anakin down. Despite being known as the ‘Negotiator’, his negotiating skills greatly lacked compared to yours. He had failed your mission to bring him back to the light.

With everything, it led to him watching as he was burned alive, almost pleading for help. Instead of listening, he turned away, unable to watch.

The image was sure to haunt the rest of his days as he walked back to the platform with Anakin’s lightsaber. Before this had all happened, he was able to check to make sure both you and Padmé were still alive. Thank the stars that you both were. He could only hope the baby was alright.

When it came to you, he was relieved to know that the one person he loved most dearly was alright, considering. You would’ve been the last straw had Anakin killed you.

Even in this time of pain and grief, he couldn’t help but be amused at the thought of how, not only did Anakin see both you and him as parental figures, but the two of you had really been together the whole time. Whether Anakin knew or not, the two of you raised him like your own because both of you knew that you couldn’t actually have a child of your own. So, Anakin played that role.

That was why you were so adamant on trying to talk him out of it. Unlike Obi-Wan, you refused to raise a hand to Anakin. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have either, had he not almost killed you and his own wife who carried his child. It repulsed him.

As he neared the platform, fear filled him at thinking something may have happened while he was gone. Did clone troopers arrive and find you here? He didn’t want to think about it, partially because, at this point, he would just give himself up to it.

Stepping up the platform, intense relief overtook him when he saw you with your back turned to him. You only turned when both R2-D2 and C-3PO had greeted him.

He didn’t need to say a word for you to know what happened. Why else would he be carrying the lightsaber? Although you hated that it happened, you couldn’t blame Obi-Wan at all. His pained expression showed how heavily it weighed on him.

Obi-Wan didn’t stop when the droids met him. Instead, he kept his path to you until he was in your arms. The tears that he had just wiped away now mixed with the ash on his face once again as he buried himself into your neck. One of your hands easily held the back of his head while the other gently rubbed his back.

As you held him, your own tears filled your eyes. You were unable to bring Anakin back. You had lost the closest thing you had to a son to the dark.

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan said, barely coherent through his cries. “I-I failed him. I failed you.” Just his voice wrenched your heart as his pain was so prominent.

His words pained you in a way that they never have before. In your mind, he didn’t fail you or Anakin. You were just as much to blame. As was everything else in and around your lives. That wasn’t what he needed to hear, though.

“Shh, it’s alright,” you said quietly into his ear. To further comfort him, you traced delicate circles in his hair. “You didn’t fail me and you definitely didn’t fail Anakin. There’s no way we could’ve known that this is what was going to happen.”

“But-”

You cut him off, “No,” you said firmly but stayed soft so you could comfort him further. “You taught him well. The rest were his decisions. We couldn’t force his path, Obi.”

Carefully, you moved his head so that you could look him in the eyes, cupping his cheeks with your hands. The usual soft, caring blue was now dimmed with pain and grief. Although that’s how you felt, you tried to remain strong on the outside. He didn’t need how you felt added to his own emotions.

“Come on,” you said gently, “Padmé is inside. We need to get her into medical care.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan nodded and you led him inside by the hand that didn’t carry the lightsaber. When you walked in, you left Obi-Wan by Padmé’s side as you went to pilot the ship off this dreary planet.

-

“Twins?” you exclaimed when you heard the news. You, Yoda, and Obi-Wan all glanced at the other when the medical droid told you this.

“Go. By Senator Amidala’s side, you should be,” Yoda told you when you had looked worriedly at your friend. The fact that she was dying hadn’t quite settled in just yet. Instead of voicing this, you nodded to Master Yoda and quickly made your way to Padmé’s side.

Out of pure instinct, you grabbed her hand.

“Y/N,” she said weakly.

“Shh, save your strength. You’re about to have a couple little ones making themselves known,” you said with a slight chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. To your relief, she let out her own laugh.

The rest of it was all a blur. Padmé’s tight grip on your hand was merely a reminder that you were still here. It was a reminder that these may be the last few moments you get to spend with her.

At a point, you had looked up to where Obi-Wan was watching from the other side of the glass. Trying to be brave, he offered a small smile in comfort. It did help a bit before your attention was drug back to the situation as the grip on your hand was tightened.

Once both Luke and Leia were born, Obi-Wan joined the room and held Luke as you held Leia.

When you looked down, Padmé was smiling at the two babies that the two of you held. Then it fell. “There’s good in him,” she whispered, breathing deeply. “I know… I know there’s… still…” and she faded.

Obi-Wan looked as desolate as you felt. Other than the two of you, there was no one else. Sure, there was Yoda, but relationships with him weren’t as deep as with everyone you’ve lost today. Now, you and Obi-Wan were left with the children of your closest friends.

-

Later, after your discussion with Yoda and Bail Organa about what would happen with the children, you were watching the twins in the nursery through the glass wall. So many thoughts were running through your mind, the most prominent being what would happen with you and Obi-Wan.

During the meeting, the relationship you had with Obi-Wan no longer needed to be hidden. Even though Yoda already had known for years, he was open to what the two of you had to say. This was all to lead up to the point that the two of you would take Luke to his family on Tatooine and, together, you would watch from a distance.

Your thoughts now were about how the two of you would stay hidden with this duty. You thought about how this all would affect the next days, months, stars, maybe years. Would this plague both of you for the rest of your days? Would this draw you apart? Would it bring the two of you closer? Would you finally start the family the two of you wanted?

“Darling?” Your racing mind was interrupted as you heard the familiar voice. Turning to it, you saw Obi-Wan’s worried gaze. This time, it wasn’t because of everything else that had happened. It was a worry for you. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite…” you trailed off as you looked back to the two newborns.

Seeing your gaze, he immediately knew what you were probably thinking. He stepped up to you and pulled you into his embrace as he placed a kiss to the top of your head. What you needed was comfort, and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

“Don’t worry, Darling. This won’t pull us apart, I promise,” he said reassuringly.

As he held you, an idea popped up in his head. It was something he continually thought about, but never was able to do. There was so much that he could finally act on that was once held back due to the code. Now, he could tell you and ask you everything he wanted to for so many years. Especially with this idea now.

“Y/N, darling?” He moved slightly back so that he could look into your eyes. The troubled look that he saw in your eyes earlier was now dimmed down and was replaced with the usual fondness he loved to see. “To prove this, I want to ask you something.”

Confusion suddenly took you over. What could he ask that would prove to you that nothing would happen? That is until he started to sink downwards. He kept going until he was kneeling, looking up at you and held one of your hands in his. The whole time, he didn’t remove his eyes from yours.

“This has been something that I’ve wanted to ask for so long. I haven’t been able to before, but now I can. Y/N, will you marry me?”

Overwhelming happiness threw every thought from everything from the last twenty-four standard hours. It was the first time you truly smiled for days, maybe even weeks. It rendered you speechless as this was a day you thought you’d never get. Eagerly, you nodded your head before pulling him up to kiss him. The first time you would share a kiss without the fear of others catching you.

“I love you, Obi. So much,” you said, resting your forehead against his.

“I love you too.” Obi-Wan lifted a hand to your cheek and traced small circles with his thumb. Although the reasons that made this moment possible were horrible, he basked in this small thing that helped both of you forget. This was well needed for now. “Maybe we could finally start the family we’ve always fantasized about,” he said while bringing his lips to your forehead.

You pulled your head away, but didn’t move away from his hold. “Really?”

“Really. Those dreams can finally be a reality.”

Without any more hesitation, you kissed him once again. There will be much to overcome, but you’ll have each other to work through it. You’ll have the other to comfort the other. Eventually, you’ll have another that will make you want to be better.

Then, you knew that Obi-Wan hadn’t failed you and you hadn’t failed Obi-Wan. Even though you both lost your closest friends, and you may have failed so many, you hadn’t failed each other. And in this blissful moment, that’s all that matters.

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @hopeladybug

If you want to join a taglist, message me or send in an ask. I'll eventually get something set up, but this is the only couple ways for now 😅

[uwuwriting]

Wearing his jersey w/ Daichi, Kageyama and Osamu

Request: hi!! can i req the ‘wearing their jersey’ with daichi kags and osamu plss! i loved the one u wrote for kuroo akaashi and ushi. -anonymous

Okay I haven’t written for my Haikyuu babies for quite some time and that sucks. Everyday is Haikyuu day and I simp for a different character every hour of the day lmao. Although my new found obsession with Nanami is taking up most of my time. Oh well guess he’ll have to share my spare time with one of the Haikyuu boys every time. Love ya. 💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: fluff, I don’t think there are any warnings for this one. 

Sawamura Daichi

-Captain Daichi thirst is active 24/7 lmao. 

-He is used to you taking his clothes.

-From hoodies, to t-shirts to his sweatpants, it has become a regular occurrence in your relationship. 

-He loves seeing you in his clothes. 

-They are always too big on your body, his hoodies almost reaching your knees and it makes his heart go doki doki. 

-He just wants to hug you to his chest and never let go. 

-He has given you one of his t-shirts to wear to sleep cuz he loves the idea of you having a little part of him with you even if it's just a shirt.

-You two were having a sleepover before one of his major games and of course you were helping him unwind. 

-You helped him make his duffle bag and double check for his knee pads, gave him a massage for his sore muscles after a long week of non stop practices and finally forced him to take a self care evening after he asked you to help him practice with his receives. 

-While putting on his face mask you were going on about something random when you noticed the furrow of his brows. 

- “Everything is gonna be fine baby, you’ll see. You and the boys have practiced really hard for this match and you;ll make it I know you will.” 

-Smiling up at you he gave you a peck on the lips, careful not to smudge your own face mask in the process. 

- “I know or at least I think I do. I just feel off knowing you won’t be there.” 

-Oh that’s right….You weren’t sure you would make it in time to catch the beginning of the match due to a family obligation but you were certain you would get to see the later half of the game. 

-Though Daichi didn’t have to know that yet. 

-Kissing him again you reassured him that the team didn’t need you to be there to wipe the floor with the other team’s ass, that he didn’t need you there. 

-The pout on his lips said otherwise though but he didn’t push it. 

-When the time came for the match to begin, he kept glancing at the stands mainly out of habit but also because he half expected you to make it on time. 

-No such luck though, you were nowhere to be seen. 

- “Oi Daichi focus!!” 

-Suga nearly karate chopped him in the stomach when he didn’t stop looking for you. 

-Everyone could see that their captain was a little out of it but they chose to keep quiet.

-You on the other hand, were sprinting through the streets of Miyagi to get to your boyfriend’s game as fast as possible, his jersey spurring you forward as you pounded down the school’s courtyard. 

-In a flash you were in your regular seat in the very front of the bleachers, chest rising and falling frantically as you tried to catch your breath. 

-You took off your jacket and rushed to the railing, tracing the ball with your eyes as the opposing team spiked it right into your boyfriend’s arms. 

- “GO DAI!!”

-His eyes found you immediately, quickly shooting down to your chest where the number 1 of his dark jersey rested proudly flushing at the sight. 

-The game was over rather quickly after that. 

-Daichi was in top form, his receives being immaculate while his serves were on point. 

-The first thing he did when he walked out of the lockers was to hug you, hug you so close and tight you could barely breath as he thanked you for coming.

- “You r-really thought I w-would miss this???” 

- “........Baby I can’t b-breath.”

Kageyama Tobio 

-Flustered babyyyy.

-He will never get used to seeing you in his clothes. 

-You have worn his hoodies before and he has had a heart attack every time. 

-It reached a point where you thought that he hated seeing you in them and you stopped asking for his hoodies or jackets even if you were cold. 

-That caused the frown on his face to deepen and a very shy confession that he indeed loved seeing you in his clothes. 

-Ever since that day you always have at least one of his hoodies in your closet. 

-Now your relationship is a secret. 

-Considering who his teammates are, you both agreed that it would be wise to keep your relationship under wraps, neither of you want to go through their reaction in this lifetime at least. 

-Keeping that in mind, you never wore his clothes out in public so you wouldn’t draw unwanted attention to you. 

-You go to all his games of course, being his best friend before becoming his girlfriend does that to a person, plus he had convinced you to become a manager alongside Yachi.

-So even if you wanted to skip a game you couldn’t. 

-Now that you think of it this must have been part of his plan since now he can be near you all the time. 

-You couldn’t bring yourself to be even remotely mad at him, he was just too cute. 

-You were so proud of your boys for making it to nationals that you decided to hype them up a bit. 

-Convincing both Yachi and Kiyoko you stole three jerseys from the team while they were changing before you took your seats in the sidelines. 

-Many would think that you wearing Kageyama’s jersey was a mere coincidence. 

-You chose him because he is your best friend, not because something else was going on. 

-Sugawara and Tsukishima aren’t most people and you soon found yourself in some hot water with those two. 

-Apart from the fact that Kageyama couldn’t look your way without having a stroke, he whipped the floor with the other team, gasps and applause filling the stadium every time he dunked the ball on the other side of the court. 

-It got to the point where the other less observant member of the team started noticing the significant difference in his attitude. 

- “Kageyama why are you playing so aggressively the ball keeps going like WOOSH and BAM without me even hitting it.” 

-Poor boy almost chocked on his water at Hinata’s words and when you went to help him he turned 50 shades of red in a matter of 0.0005 seconds. 

-This whole charade ended with your relationship being exposed after Noya begged you to wear his jersey and Tobio wasn’t having it, three nosebleeds and a whole lot of teasing. 

-He moved to your room that night despite the fact that the third years kept teasing him about being safe and wrapping it before tapping it. 

-Held a small grudge for like five minutes. 

Miya Osamu

-Love of my life number 20.

-The superior twin and this will make it evident. 

-Atsumu is always being a little shit about your relationship and how you don’t look like a couple cuz you don’t make out in the hallways all the time. 

-Em sir excuse you!

-Anyways, you know to ignore him at this point figuring that he’ll get tired and stop but no such luck; he irritates Osamu to no end resulting in one of them needing bandages at the end of practice. 

-PDA is not something you are both comfortable with and you prefer small reassuring touches throughout the day. 

-This has led to many believing that you two aren’t a couple just like Atsumu says and other people have confessed to you or asked you out WHILE Osamu is with you. 

-It doesn’t bother him much since he trusts you but it still tugs at his insecurities. 

-And because of those insecurities you get a new wardrobe. 

-Literally a whole ass new clothing line made by none other than Osamu Miya himself. 

-What is in this new clothing line you ask? 

-Osamu’s hoodies and shirts in general. 

-Every time he stops by your house he brings a new item of clothing with him, something that he has worn recently and others have seen just to get his message across. 

-You aren’t complaining, you love wearing his clothes, they are always so big and they completely swallow you plus they smell like him. 

-It’s like you have him with you. 

-Now Osamu might not show it often but volleyball stresses him out, like a lot. 

-It means the world to his brother and despite their fights and bickering, he loves seeing him happy and if that means he has to play the sport like his life depends on it so be it. 

-Osamu would do anything for Atsumu. 

-So you can understand the pressure he is under as a spiker. 

-His distress is you basically and you give him a small pep talk right before he enters the court. 

-Imagine his surprise and pure childish glee when he saw you making your way to him wearing his jersey. 

-It reached just above your knee and it made you look so cute he wanted to bottle you up and keep you forever. 

-Atsumu and Suna could be heard in the background teasing the living shit out of Osamu who remained frozen in place, the whole stadium turning into white noise as the only thing in his view, the only thing that mattered in that moment, was you. 

-He noticed your glare as you told his brother off, saw the way you played with the hem of his jersey as you walked near him and the furrow of your brows when he didn’t answer your calls. 

-Wordlessly he enveloped you in a tight hug, picking you off your feet and twirling you around a little bit much to the dismay of his fanbase in the stands. 

- “Hi.” “Hey ‘Samu”

- “Whatcha wearin?”

- “Oh this old thing? I figured you might need the motivation.” 

- *cue kissing assault*

TAG TEAM AY:

Arcana-Fan-at The @-FIC @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @dnarez @ storage11037 @ezoyscorner @letscheereachotheron @ wolfkid22 @ Dark-Thoughts-and-Red-Roses @threeamwriting @ysatrap @yashinosakura @yongboxerrr​ @meena-in-a-nutshell​

[aphroditestummyrolls]

i wrote a fairytale au moment

my country has reached a terrifying level of disarray and i am scared. so i wrote some escapism (literally) for Joe and Nicky. i was even inspired by this to write a whole fairytale au fic!!! it is long-- like, my star wars fics level of long, and im very excited about it. it feels good to be excited about something lol. 

Folks that wanted to be tagggged: @ilostmyothersock, @littlerosetrove, @antukini, @sunriseseance, and @polarcell <3333 i hope you enjoy it! let me know if you do. 

His heart pounded in his chest, the nighttime’s dewy grass sending him slipping and sliding as he darted between the trees. He didn’t dare take his usual, well-trodden path. Not tonight— not if his father had sent anyone after him. 

The gardener’s cottage was on the edge of the palace grounds, where the lush, even lawns, sculpted shrubs and elaborate floral displays gave way to the foothills of the mountains. The ancient groves of chestnut trees were wilder, monuments to the artistry of a natural, unpruned life. Silver blue moonlight shone on their trunks, guiding Yusuf’s frantic steps as he dove deeper into the woods. He had slipped out of his chamber window without a sound that night— just as he had many nights before. There were no guards stationed out this far. He’d left the last of them blissfully ignorant,  back by the last of the rose trellises— he knew it, but the urgency of tonight was twisting him into knots. He had to be sure. He had to take all precautions. 

He couldn’t live with himself if he accidentally exposed this secret. 

Finally, the endless shadowy forest gave way to a familiar clearing. The iron fist clenched around his heart loosened some, and he heaved a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

The cottage was small. The roof leaked when it stormed, and the front door had gone crooked with age, providing a gale-force draft that rattled the windows on windy nights. The stones used to build it were near as old as the trees around it, starting to crack after weathering centuries of snowy winters and sun-baked summers. 

It was small, yes. But he knew that the bed was warm, that the verdant rows of growing vegetables smelled like earth and honey under the sun’s heat, and that he felt relaxed there. It felt more like a home than the Palace of Genoa, where he was all but trapped under the constant gaze of gossiping strangers. It was even more comforting than the silks and spices of home, across the sea where his family and his people ruled. 

His father had told him that he was accompanying him to Genoa to discuss trade imports between their kingdoms. He had said that they were to spend the year solidifying their connections with the Genoese royal family, drawing up important contracts— it's time you learned a thing or two about compromise, Yusuf. 

That was what he said. 

Yusuf rapped desperately at the door, a ragged half a sob punching out of his throat when he realized that he was finally there, on the flagstone threshold of someplace warm and safe, and— 

“What’s happened? Yusuf?” The door opened to the smoldering orange light of the hearth, the brightest lantern hastily lit by the sleep-ruffled man blinking owlishly at him. “You said it would be too dangerous to meet tonight, while you met with your father…” 

Yusuf would have laughed at his sweet face, if he weren’t about to cry from relief. 

“He means to marry me to her.” He said, shaping the words outside of his panicked head for the first time. They felt too loud in the quiet night, too starkly horrible against the pristine haven of the trees. “The Princess, she—“ Yusuf choked. 

Only now did he notice how his hands trembled, the way his vision was going steadily blurrier— he blinked against the heat building behind his eyes. The summer night was cool, but not cold, yet he still shivered. He shivered until a work-rough hand took pity on him. Nicolo reached out and pulled Yusuf into him, like he had all those months ago, back when everything changed. 

He pulled him through the threshold into the cottage, the floorboards creaking and the door swinging shut behind them as Yusuf spun around to immediately throw his arms around his love’s shoulders. The fog of sleep was gone when Nico’s pale eyes locked on his, suddenly and horribly awake. A hot tear broke ranks and burned a track down Yusuf’s cheek. 

Nico made a sad little noise. It rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, a hum and a moan, the quiet syllable of no hidden in behind his teeth— like mourning. He cradled Yusuf’s face, his thumb brushing the wetness away. 

“When are you to be betrothed?” He asked, his voice hoarse, like the sentence had to be yanked out of him. 

Yusuf just shook his head, the thought of it flipping his stomach. “They intend to announce the engagement by the end of the summer.” 

Something broke behind Nicolò’s eyes, and Yusuf knew what he was thinking. They had barely a fortnight left. The arm around his waist squeezed tighter, pressing their chests flush. 

He could feel their hearts, pounding in time with each other. Usually it was a comfort, but it was a ticking clock between the two of them now. Their moments together were numbered. 

Nicolo shuffled them around after a few tender seconds— breathing each other’s air, stroking over each other’s backs, existing in shared space— and maneuvered Yusuf to sit on the edge of his bed. It was still warm, the covers rumpled. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. I just… I had to see you.” 

Nico shook his head, “No apologies, Tesoro.” He puttered around the room, stoking the fire from embers to flames before setting the kettle over the highest heat. He settled on his knees, knelt at Yusuf’s feet to study him face to face. 

He brushed Yusuf’s tousled curls off his forehead, and gazed into his eyes. His love’s eyes were a pale, silvery green, but tonight, they looked darker. In the dim glow of the cottage at night, they were bluer than usual, contrasted with the amber firelight. Yusuf leaned into his palm as it traced his hairline, down over his beard and jaw. Nico sat in silence, watching him with the gentleness of someone patient enough to watch the flowers grow. He was waiting. 

“I…” he didn’t know where to start, what to say, “She’s so… She’s so old.” 

Nico’s smile was unmistakably sad, little more than a quirk of lips, but his nod of agreement spurred Yusuf on. 

“It has nothing to do with her looks, really. She’s just so old, and so wasteful, and her gaze on me is so… I just… I understand that I’ve put off marriage as long as my father can take. But she’s 25 years my senior. Her children are my age, Nicolo!” 

He had told these things to his father— he had begged him not to go through with the arrangement, not to agree to the Genoese king’s proposal for his daughter’s hand. It’s already done, he’d said, it was arranged months ago. 

Yusuf had no choice in the matter. 

“I suppose it’s stupid that I was surprised.” He groused, his throat feeling tight and his voice thick. “It’s been so long since any of his children were more than bargaining chips to him— I’m not his son, I’m a new trade route.” 

The kettle on the fire began to whistle, but Nico was sure to take his hands and kiss his knuckles before standing up to fix their tea. 

Left to drift in his mind, Yusuf chewed his lip and floated through his memories, mentally listing the siblings that he’d lost to distant royal families. Only his eldest brother, Farouk, would never leave home. The throne was his, but what about the rest of them? What was the point of having children, of lovingly raising a family, if only to scatter them to the four winds in exchange for trade routes, dowries, and peace treaties? 

It would be different if Mama was alive, he thought with a despairing little whimper. She wouldn’t let him do this…

“Yusuf, breathe.” His love’s voice broke into his thoughts, calling him back from the tangle of his mind. A steaming mug of rosehips, mint and honey was pressed into his palm, and Nico took it on himself to mold his hand around the warm pottery. “D’you have it?” 

“If I say no, will you keep holding my hand like that?” Will you never let me go? he added silently, sure that his eyes were saying it all for him. Nico’s grip was warm and solid, and the calluses felt rough against him. It tethered him to reality, right there on his love’s bed. His pale gaze was soft and glimmering a little. Like he was going to cry. Like he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Yusuf anymore than Yusuf could bear the idea of letting Nicolo go. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, reaching out his free hand to card into his long hair. “Don’t let them take me, Nicolo— come away with me.” 

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He didn’t mean to spring this half formed, half delirious, half perfect plan on him so soon after waking him up in the middle of the night. The words fell from his lips, unwarranted and chaotic, but suddenly he was desperate to go, run, and be free. 

Before he knew what was happening, the hot mug was lifted from his hand and Nico’s were on him, cupping his cheeks to slam their lips together. His waist was wedged between Yusuf’s thighs, his arms slipping down to wrap around him and tug his hips closer while Yusuf twined both of his hands into his love’s hair,  desperate and trembling with the need to have him as close as he could be. 

He nearly gasped with the need for air by the time they dared to pull away, but he missed his love’s lips the second they weren’t on his. Nico pressed their foreheads together, drinking in deep gulps of air, tear tracks wet on his cheeks and clumping his lashes as he fisted his hands in Yusuf’s tunic. 

Yusuf’s hands in his hair slid down to stroke gently along his cheeks, feeling the wetness and studying how it gleamed in the glow of the hearth. 

He held tight to Yusuf, fingers flexing in the fine fabric of his sleeping clothes. His jaw worked, jumping the way it did when he was holding his tongue. Everything about him was grim and elegant, as still as a statue. 

He was so beautiful, and so sad. 

“Why d’you look at me like that, Hayati?” He sighed, his own heart gripped in a terrible vice. 

Nico swallowed, lips twisted with concern for a moment before he finally sighed and said, “I cannot ask you to leave your life, Yusuf. You are of such importance—“ 

“I am the sixth child of the Tunisian King. Farouk is his heir, and he already has three children of his own. I am nothing more than a mountain pass into the north to my father. My people barely know a thing about me— to them I’m simply the handsome, unmarried oddity of the royal family. My love, you know the wealthy trappings of royal life have never been something I need— but I need a life where I am appreciated and loved for who I am! I need simple comforts and a partner to walk hand and hand with through life. I need you, Nicolo.” 

The fire crackled, and the cottage was quiet. Yusuf’s chest heaved, and tears streamed down Nicolò’s face. His bright eyes shone with a reverent light, like he had in the early days of falling in love— like he still did, in the pale morning hours when Yusuf was still half asleep by his side. It was as if he was falling in love all over again. Awestruck and grateful, his eyes looking like glimmering, full moons as he beheld Yusuf like a fallen star. 

It took a long moment for Nico to find the words. Yusuf stroked his hair, hands still trembling from the adrenaline, even as the knots in his gut began to loosen. 

“Yusuf, you…” he trailed off, rose back up on his knees and kissed him like an act of worship— firm, tender, salty with tears and trembling just as much as Yusuf was. Nico pulled slowly back, just far enough to nuzzle their noses and look him in the eyes. “I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”  

“Will you come with me?” 

“To the ends of the earth. Yes, Tesoro.” He sucked in a breath and let it out long, in a sigh that seemed to clear out all the corners of Yusuf’s cluttered mind. And then, he smiled. 

Nicolo was a man of intricate reactions. There was beauty in each and every one, but it was a private, special thing to see that broad, happy grin. 

“Drink this while it’s still hot— it’ll help your heart calm itself.” He fussed, pressing the mug back into Yusuf’s palm, and this time, he took it gladly. Nico stood to his full height, standing over him where he sat for a brief moment while Yusuf didn’t dare take his eyes off of him. Looking back down at him with the glow of something divine in his eyes, Nico bent himself down to press a soft kiss to Yusuf’s brow. 

“Well, my Prince— where shall we go?” 

Yusuf grinned back, something bright and hopeful growing in his chest. 

They had planning to do. 

********

Yusuf gazed up from where he laid in the glen, soft grass and wildflowers under his feet. The sun dappled the forest floor, streaming down into the parting of the trees where the cottage sat. Nico flickered his lips into one of his barely-there smiles as he gazed down at him where Yusuf had pillowed his head on his thigh. 

Summer was nearly done. The full, green leaves were burnished gold around the edges by the hot sunlight; the garden smelled heavy with ripe harvests and vibrant flowers; and— on the far side of the palace grounds, beyond chestnut groves and manicured lawns, and terraces— the home of the King was glittering with silk flags and banners for the harvest ball. The last days leading up to the festival were certain to be wildly busy— there wouldn’t be a single moment where Yusuf could slip by unnoticed. Nicolo would be fussing about in the palace gardens with last minute preparations from dawn to dusk. 

Usually, Yusuf would be tearing his hair out from the stress. He couldn’t stand the pomp and circumstance, the endless preparations of a ball. He spent hours per day, standing stock still and poked with pins while he was fitted for another itchy, Genoese costume. King Vincenzo was seeking out any opportunity to discipline the palace staff, and the courtiers got particularly insufferable as the long awaited date came to peacock around at the height of their finery. Even back at home, festivals were terrible, but in Genoa, Yusuf’s father had become even more strict. You are representing our kingdom! Act like it! was the most common phrase, hissed into Yusuf’s ear for the most minor infractions. He was constantly watching him, his shrewd eyes looking for any moment to say stand like royalty, Yusuf— shoulders back. 

He hated standing on ceremony and the never-ending scrutiny— but, this time was the last time. His escape was in sight. He didn’t complain a single time about the drapes of scratchy, heavy fabric piled on his shoulders, or the way standing with such rigid posture made his back ache. He took each new indignity with a smile so gracious that even his father was smiling back. 

Thinking of Nicolo made every pinprick more bearable. Lying there in the sun, eyes closed to bask in the warmth, he thought about the expertly packed saddlebags under his love’s bed. He listened to his soft humming— a tune Yusuf had only heard when he was rearing his most delicate seedlings, or on their quietest, gentlest mornings together— and the way it blended into the sounds of the birds. 

Yusuf had never felt so certain of his path. 

He was so content that he didn’t notice that the fingers twining their way through his curls had gone until they must have been missing from him for quite a while. He cracked open one eye, peering up at his love with mild accusation. Nico wasn’t paying attention to his pouting lips, though. 

Sitting up to get a better look at him, Yusuf found Nico’s deft hands full of colorful flowers. He weaved their stems back and forth, his steady gaze flicking over to Yusuf with a sparkle in them. 

“If I didn’t know you like I do, I’d have thought you’d fallen asleep.” He chuckled. 

Yusuf sat close to his side, able to look over his shoulder and study the intricate bouquet. “What a beautiful braid.” He murmured, awe in his voice. 

Some of the blooms were the small, wild ones that grew in the glen, poking out between the wide circles of bright blue coneflowers and puffs of golden orange chrysanthemums that Nico must’ve pulled up from the garden bed beside them. 

“Let me show you how?” Nico replied, phrased as a question even as he handed over his work for Yusuf’s inspection. “It’s not as hard as it looks, I promise.” He said, tiny smile tilting his lips again. 

Perhaps it was his imagination, or his own excitement, but it seemed as if Nicolò’s smiles had gotten wider, his eyes gone softer. The rod of nervous tension that always clung to his spine in the days before a ball wasn’t as unyielding and stiff. 

Nico was more at peace. He weaved the stems of his beloved flowers in, out and under each other, dutifully guiding Yusuf’s hands as he collected his own flowers. He was right— it wasn’t as difficult as it had looked. The rhythm was steady and relaxing, a balm on the last of his nerves as he tucked flower after precious flower into his braid of grass. The crickets chirped, the birds sang, and the sun fed the earth— Yusuf sat side by side with his love, and it felt right. 

“You know, I have been thinking.” Nico murmured, his rich accent nothing more than a purr into the summer breeze. 

Yusuf chuckled, knocking their shoulders together, “Dangerous.” 

Nico huffed an indignant sound, but his eyes rolled playfully when he met his gaze, “Of course, of course— thinking is only for those supremely educated, princely philosophers. How dare I—“ 

“No, no no no!” Yusuf shook out his curls, letting out a full, genuine laugh, “Tell me every thought that has ever passed through your head, Hayati— it is my privilege to be your audience.” He was grinning, laughing, cupping Nico’s sunkissed cheek and basking in the light of his eyes. “What were you thinking about?” 

Nico licked his lips, swallowing like his throat had gone dry as he maneuvered himself to face Yusuf, sitting on his knees like he had not so long ago. Something about it squeezed at Yusuf’s heart, his smile fading into seriousness as he waited. 

He carefully took and set down their braided flowers on the grass, scooping Yusuf’s hands up into his own. 

“If we are to truly leave this place, I want to do this properly.” He said, eyes clear and trained on him with an unwavering focus. “I love you, Yusuf, but I can’t promise any royal comforts, or an easy life. I have no ring or dagger to give,” his breath came out long and slow, intentionally calm even while his fingers squeezed around Yusuf’s hands. He let go, then, picking up his circlet of braided flowers to hold in his lap. “I can only promise you the kinds of beauty I can make grow. Would you…” 

His voice stuttered, his gaze dropping down to his lap and the blue flowers there, as if Yusuf was too blinding to look at. He could feel his smile splitting his cheeks, bright and unabashed, the cry of yes on the tip of his tongue, nearly jumping from his lips.

But he waited, patiently holding space for his love. He reached out and cupped his hand over his wrist, feeling his pulse race under the delicate skin, just to make Nico meet his gaze again. 

“Would you marry me, my Prince?” 

Yes. “Yes, my Gardener. I will marry you.” He replied, whispered like a secret, but more resonant and proud than anything he’d ever said. He was grinning, “Though, I’m not sure how much of a Prince I’ll be by the time we wed.” 

Nico huffed one of his little laughs, meeting Yusuf with one of his rare, open smiles as he lifted the circlet of blue and orange and braided white to rest gently on top of his curls. 

“No, but you will always be mine.” He said, swiping a tear from Yusuf’s cheek, not unlike he had done so recently, for such different reasons. It was more breath than sound, matching Yusuf’s hush. 

I’ve never been so proud to wear a crown, he thought. 

With his chest feeling expansive and warm, his cheeks hot with a pink flush, Yusuf hastily reached out for his own circlet of flowers. Their wide, fragrant petals and little sun-yellow centers felt silky under his fingers as he lifted it to Nico’s brow. 

“If I maintain such royalty, then, my husband must, too.” He replied, voice nearly lost in the birdsong. “King of my heart, my true love.” 

Nico’s face had gone soft and slack with a familiar expression— as if Yusuf was the sun itself, as if his warmth and light had singlehandedly brought him to life. 

Yusuf let himself be held as Nicolo took his face in his hands and leaned in close. He pressed his lips to his tear-stained cheek, and then the other. He peppered the smallest, gentlest kisses across the freckles on his nose, and Yusuf wrapped his hands around his love’s wrists to keep him close. The last kiss was softly, loving left on the crest of his brow bone, tender enough to bring the forest to a standstill. 

[analogicisms]

[Gift Fic] The Best Laid Plans of Sides & Dark Sides

Summary: Virgil and Janus were meant to be together. Everyone could tell. It was just obvious. Obvious to all except, the two of them. But the rest of the sides plan to fix that, one plan at a time.

Giftee: Em (@aceoffandoms)

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

--------

Logan was the first to try. He had thought of every possible way this could work. Finally, he had come to the conclusion that the best course of action was to try to write a letter to each that mimicked the speech patterns of the two. He had done his best but, apparently, he had not done his job because Virgil and Janus had congratulated one another on a great prank and laughed about having done it at the same time. 

The point had been for the two to think the other had sent the letter and while that had worked, the outcome had not matched his proposed hypothesis and since they were supposed to believe the other wrote it, he could not correct their misunderstanding. 

With a put upon sigh, Logan went to inform the others. 

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

Patton had been the second to try. He had conjured a stuffed spider dressed like Janus for the emo side. He had then conjured a snake dressed in a purple plaid hoodie with smudges under the bead eyes for the lying side. Each had a gift bow of their associated color wrapped around them. He then discreetly delivered them to each side’s room. He started with the spider because though he created it, it was still rather scary! He wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. 

With the plushies delivered, he waited with excited breath for the results. Once again, the two had snorted and made sly comments about the “gag gifts” before grinning and smirking and parting ways. 

Patton, sad that love had failed him once again, dropped to inform the others. 

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

Remus had planned to help, seemed eager to actually. However, after hearing all the ideas that his brother had, Roman quickly put a stop to it. Remus merely shrugged and cackled. For all his gung ho of wanting to contribute, he seemed just as happy to be benched. So instead of proposing any more lewd or disturbing ideas, he simply grinned and settled back to hear Roman’s plans. 

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

Naturally, Roman had the most obvious and romantic ideas. In Logan’s mind they were outrageous and over the top. But for Roman, they were just perfect. 

His first idea was to send a bouquet of red roses to Virgil. If anyone was near his level of showmanship, it was Janus. He had Logan dictate the card and had Patton add in hints of his own version of love before reaching out to Remus for just a touch of desperation and a pinch of lasciviousness. He then made edits and flourishes here and there. 

At first, Roman thought it had worked. The four of them had watched from afar as Virgil found the bouquet and had blushed but said nothing, instead dropping out with the roses. Later on, and rather loudly, Virgil had snarked at the other in regards to the roses and assured the lying side that his pet spider was quite fond of them as a snack. Janus, in response, claimed that they had been for the spider in the first place. 

For a moment, Roman thought he had seen some confusion and concern in the snake-like side’s expression. However, whatever he had spotted vanished just as quickly as he had seen it, to be replaced by open amusement. It happened so quickly, the creative aspect wasn’t sure if he had really seen it at all. In the end, he decided it didn’t matter. Not in the wake of his plan going down in flames’.

But Roman, as the Romantic side, was not done yet.

Unfortunately, ideas two, three, and four ended up just as Logan and Patton’s ideas had. The constant failure made Roman loathed to try again, for fear of it happening once again. Stopping would have been the sensible thing to do but at this point, he was determined to make it work. Also, he was quite invested. Janus and Virgil were clearly meant for each other, they all knew it. It was why they decided to play matchmaker to begin with. So he couldn't give up! He had to go back to the drawing board!

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

Idea five had seemed to work at first. Roman targeted Janus as the gift receiver the next time around but just as Janus seemed to go in for the kiss, something stopped him. Instead he gave the other a punch to the shoulder and a snarky little comment instead. Roman never felt frustration as great as he did as he watched the embodiment of deception walk away after that exchange.

Groaning, Roman decided that was the end of his and the other’s playing matchmaker. Besides, Christmas was now just a week away and there was still so much to prepare for the sides’ holiday party. 

That was the much more important focus now. 

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

He had meant to give up. Truly, that had been the plan, but he was stubborn. Almost to a fault. As the epitome of Romance among the aspects, how could he stop when two people were so obviously destined to be together? Surely there was something he could do.

So Roman had decided that he would give it one last try. The ‘ol college try, as Patton had called it. He had quickly gone deep into the imagination to find the plant that would help him out. Deep in the imagination, thick in the forest, there was a plant that was very similar to the real Christmas Mistletoe. In fact, it basically was the real Christmas Mistletoe. 

The only difference?

This Mistletoe had magical properties. The properties were that they “caught” an unsuspecting person and followed them until a potential romantic partner came into their vicinity. It would then pull that potential partner to the “host” and, if their chemistry was strong enough, would sort of urge romantic feelings to surface and usually resulted in those two people kissing under the magic Mistletoe. 

It proved itself to work well when it fixated on Logan and Roman quickly found himself pulled toward the intelligent side and professed that he found the Pointdexter to be quite cute for all that he was an insufferable know-it-all. Logan had then confessed to being quite taken by Roman for all that Roman was a flighty, silly, outrageous drama king. The two then kissed and Roman forgot for a few moments what he had been testing in the first place. 

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

The second time Roman attempted to catch the slippery sides in his Mistletoe trap, he had the added bonus of having his new boyfriend there to assist. Of course, the two argued about the way in which to make it work but it was with love and affection. 

Unfortunately, it caught Remus instead who cackled, exclaiming that Roman would now have to go into the imagination to find another, if one existed, because no one would ever be drawn to one such as him. 

Remus’ foot was soon shoved into his mouth, though not literally--not that anyone would question if it had been literal--because Patton turned the corner and smiled brightly at the naughty and intrusive side, praising him and building him up before Remus cackled again, tugged him in hard by the loops on his dad jeans, and quickly dropped them out to one of their rooms. Not that it mattered as their lovemaking could be heard all over the mind palace. 

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

Roman had decided to give up. That was, until he caught sight of Virgil standing under the mistletoe at the sides’ Christmas party. He had a moment of confusion, certain he had released the mistletoe back into the imagination after the second failed experiment. But maybe he had forgotten to or it had come back of its own accord, maybe sensing that two other sides needed to be matched. 

Whatever the reason, it was here. And Virgil was under it. Roman glanced around and started to wiggle in excitement as he tugged on his boyfriend’s sleeve and nodded in the direction of Virgil and at the snake-like side who was heading toward him. 

“Well, perhaps the theory was not unlikely after all,” Logan surmised. He waved at Patton, who was decorating his own boyfriend with tinsel and Christmas bows, trying to catch the Moral side’s attention. Once it was caught, Patton and Remus joined them. 

Silent, they watched as Janus walked toward Virgil as if in a trance. They watched as Virgil turned to look at the aspect of self-preservation. At first, a snarky sort of smile spread over his lips. Once his eyes fell on Janus, however, a softer, more open gaze fell onto his face. 

“Janus…” 

“Virgil…” 

The four other sides watched, breath bated as they waited for the match to finally be made. The two spoke in lowered tones, their playful banter steadily becoming more flirtatious and engaging. Finally, the two moved into each other’s space, Janus reaching up to press a hand to Virgil’s cheek and the Emo side leaning into the touch. 

“I… I can’t believe…”

“I… I know, Virgil... “

Roman was wriggling with unbridled romantic excitement as he clung to Logan while Patton was squealing as quietly under his breath as it was possible to do. Roman didn’t notice what Logan and Remus were doing as they were quiet in their reactions. 

If he had looked, he would have seen a sudden look of understanding pass over Logan’s features as a knowing smirk slipped over his twin’s lips. He was not looking, however, and so he watched as the two went in for a kiss--Janus even gripping Virgil by the waist, dipping him as their faces grew closer only for the two to stop just before their lips met. 

“I can’t believe…” Virgil started.

“That these idiots…” Janus continued.

“Think that they are the ones…”

“Who got us together.”

Roman blinked as the words caught up in his brain suddenly growing red with exasperation. 

Virgil and Janus both turned their heads to smirk at the four of them.

“YOU TWO… YOU… YOU!!!”

Janus snorted as he lifted Virgil up, kissing his nose before holding him close by the waist. 

“Yessss. Us two.” 

“What just happened?” Roman asked his boyfriend. He knew of course, to an extent. He was the center of Thomas' Romance. He just didn't understand how all of that had come to be. And right under his nose!!!

Logan, readjusting his glasses, shrugged.

“It seems that we’ve been… what is the word… oh, right… played.”

Patton giggled. 

“Oh, this is quite the twist, kiddo,” Patton enthused, laughing as he looked at Roman. 

“So what… you just let us all believe that you hated each other when you’ve been dating the whole time?”

Virgil shook his head. “Not all of you…”

Janus snickered. “Remus knew from the start. He is our closest companion, after all. But yes, the rest of you we played like a fiddle.”

Virgil shook his head. “Logan figured it out right there at the end, though, didn’t ya, nerd.”

Logan cleared his throat, ignoring the heat rising up his neck at being called out, but nodded. 

“I did. It was too late to say anything about it. I did not, however, surmise that Remus was involved, so well… ah… played.”

Roman was still fuming but the others were able to get his attention focused on the festivities. He was shocked however that he had not realized that the Mistletoe at the party was of the non-magic kind. Magic and fantastical stuff was supposed to be his area of expertise after all. 

He supposed, however, that it served him right trying to involve himself in someone else’s love life. 

“Well, my dear, it was not a complete failure,” Logan reminded him. Roman tilted his head in confusion. Patton giggled. 

“What Lolo means is that even though it didn’t work on Virgil and Janus… since they already had fallen for each other… it is because of this whole thing that you and I found our other halves in Logan and Remus.”

Roman, smiling, supposed they were right.

[katierosefun]

Fic writing question: 4, 12, 19 and 20!

thank you for the ask! // from this ask game

4. Which has the most “you” in it, however you’d define that?

oh, i think that would have to be until the starlight fades into night. i don't really know where that story came from except one day i was in a weird, blind panic and i scribbled as much as i could of this story in my notes app: something that's usually only reserved for personal writing. so i guess the fact that i wrote this on my notes app, something that's usually meant either for fic outlines or personal poetry / journaling / prose pieces means that i might have poured a bit more of myself into it.

12. What WIPs do you have going now? Are you excited about them?

so many. so many. excluding star wars related wips, i think my main wips (that haven't been posted yet) for beyond evil is the joseon dynasty jwds au (which i am . . . so excited to post, bc it's already very near and dear to my heart. i also think it's . . . very different from anything i'd written before, in part because i think the pining/slow burn levels are genuinely off the charts this time (and i say this after / while writing the fake married jwds au, where joo won and dong sik only finally kiss after 97k words).

besides that au, i've got some other shorter wips: i have one that has something to do with joo won and dong sik and ice skating (brought to you by a real life event that happened to me yesterday lmao), another wip that has something to do with joo won, cats, and growing trust/affection . . . another wip that's about ghost yu yeon, another wip that's like . . . i think it might be a two or three-parter, but it's hades/persephone jwds au (there is one scene that started that au and i am so excited) . . . there's yet another fic that i haven't started but i want to start, but so far it's just titled "alexa play this is me trying by taylor swift" . . . i have one fic about jeong je and dong sik and whatever the hell was their youth (i'm as much on team "park jeong je unrequited feelings for dong sik </3" but also "park jeong je and lee dong sik may or may not have actually had some kind of "more than friends" relationship, but mostly because a) they know each other best + so think okay, it's harmless to try this with each other, right? and b) two queer boys growing up in a small town? yeah.). oh, and of course . . . a midnight mass/beyond evil au that's so far called "and to dust you shall return", and there's one scene that lives rent-free in my mind and i don't really know if i'll survive it.

i realize this answer is now three paragraphs long, so i'll stop here--but as you can tell, i am very excited about them.

19. Do you make up scenes at work/on the bus/at the gym? Who are the characters that pop up the most? Do you write them down?

i make up scenes wherever i go! although i'm more than willing to admit that some of my fics were written/scribbled down in my notebook during my 10 am class last semester . . . i'm pretty sure that was where i wrote the entirety of with paper rings lmao--

the characters that are currently popping up in my head the most are, of course, probably han joo won and lee dong sik. although oddly more of han joo won these days. i'm not sure why--i think he needs attention right now. obi-wan kenobi comes to mind every once in a while too (we're currently on a break, but y'know, we get coffee from time to time).

but anyways--i do write them down! or try to, as soon as i'm able.

20. Go nuts, and talk about writing. Or write me a little ficlet-whatsit using a character/image/line I shall now specify:

talk about writing . . . just writing itself? i feel like after watching things and noticing the interweaving themes/character archetypes, i'm becoming pretty influenced by mike flanagan. or at least, i want to write something that draws on what i've learned/observed of a lot of mike flanagan's works: something that's frightening, but something that's also very quiet and very lovely. something about loss, for sure, and something about a love story disguised in horror. i've honestly fallen in love with that genre--something twisted and terrifying turning out to actually be a love story (beyond evil, the haunting of bly manor, the haunting of hill house, midnight mass) . . . and so, i think it would be cool to write something like that of my own one day. (which is what i'm kind of doing? i have a few original works that very much sit in the horror genre, but also, it's about people falling in love despite the potential of loss and so on and so forth.)

[mycupoffanfiction]

Mi Vida

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x Reader (smut)

Summary: After pushing the love of his life away to keep her safe, Creeper reunites with her when she calls him for help and they end up rediscovering everything they had before and more.

Warnings: Fluff, allusions to an abusive ex but no details, mention of a fight, smut, oral (female and male receiving), unprotected sex.

Word count: Approx 2600

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, I have had this idea on my mind for a while and I couldn’t shake it until I wrote it. Writing this made me feel soft, I hope it makes you feel soft too. This fic was partially inspired by a quote I saw ages ago about how the night sky connects everyone and how you can take comfort in knowing that someone else is looking at the stars at the same time as you. If I could remember who I saw this from, I would reference it, but I don’t remember unfortunately! Anyway, sorry for the waffle, I hope you enjoy this 💖 (Gif is my own)

Creeper sat at your side, passing you a hot drink. Sitting out on the steps up to the clubhouse, Creeper felt you lean a little against him as he looked up at the night sky, letting out a sigh. It felt strange to be under the stars at your side again, memories of the two of you sharing many nights watching the stars in each other’s company. “I didn’ think I’d ever see you again.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you both. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to-.” “Ay, no hermosita, you ain’t gotta apologise, you needed help, I came the second you called.” He interrupted. “I jus’ meant it’s been a long ass time.” Creeper sighed, internally scolding himself for making you think you had inconvenienced him. “It has, too long.” You replied quietly, the words coming out a little hesitant, like you were afraid to admit that to him.

Glancing down at you, Creeper gently rested his hand on your knee, watching as you took a sip of your drink. You felt his eyes on you, lifting your gaze to meet his and Neron gave you a soft, half smile. His eyes left yours, trailing over the remnants of your earlier altercation with a persistent ex that had been the cause of your reunion with Creeper.

He hated that you had been hurt, he hated that someone had laid their hands on you, leaving marks, cuts that went deep. “You know he won’t hurt you again, don’ you?” Creeper asked, watching as your eyes went wide. “Shit, is he- did you-.” “He ain’t dead, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Creeper couldn’t help but chuckle. “We just roughed ‘im up a bit, that motherfucker knows you’re protected, he won’ come back.” He spoke with sincerity in his voice, adding conviction to his tone that told you that you could still trust him, just like you had those years ago.

“Thank you.” You said, lifting your mug and taking a sip from it. “No thank you’s hermosita, that motherfucker hurt you. It’s my fuckin’ job to keep you safe. I promised you that a long ass time ago.” Creeper smiled and you looked up at him with a sweet smile. “You remember that?” You asked, surprised he had held onto that moment you had shared years ago.

“Look we can’t be around each other all the time, I don’t want you gettin’ mixed up with this life, it’s dangerous.” Neron had told you. “You’re pushing me away?” You asked in a soft whisper. “You know I gotta, hermosita. I gotta keep you safe.” He held your shoulders with a gentle grip, looking into your eyes with a gentle, but persuasive stare. “Please, you’re all I’ve fuckin’ got, I need you to trust me. I need you to keep your fuckin’ distance from this, from me, yeah?”

Letting out a shaky sigh, you nodded. You knew from the tone in his voice that he was being serious, that this was very real and you needed to trust him. “Only call me for emergencies, ‘aight? I promise, I'll always protect you.”

“Alright.” You said, voice wobbling slightly as you held back tears.

After years of friendship and something that had been slowly moving towards something more, Creeper had pushed you away. You knew he had been right to, but all you had wanted was to be with him.

“‘Course, did you think I was jus’ gonna forget ‘bout you?” Creeper asked. Lowering your mug and setting it down on the step next to you, a soft sigh left your lips. “I never stopped thinkin’ ‘bout you.” He said, reaching into the inner pocket of his kutte, pulling out a slip of paper and handing it to you. Taking it from him, you gently unfolded the crumpled paper. It looked as if it had been through a lot, it was creased and the folds were fragile. Tears came to your eyes as you looked down at the photograph he had kept, younger versions of yourselves looking back at you, holding each other as you both looked at the camera with bright smiles.

“I wish we never left that behind.” You whispered, leaning fully against Neron, resting your head on his shoulder. “Me too, baby.” He sighed, the Mayan putting his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “You meant more to me than just a- a friend.” You sniffled, trying to hold back your tears as Neron pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Hermosita, you have always been everythin’ to me.” He said, kissing your forehead again, loving the way it felt when you leaned into him.

“Please don’t push me away again.” The words were quiet as you spoke them against his shoulder, the Mayan looking down at you and gently soothing his thumb over your cheek. “I won’t.” He whispered to you, leaning in, lips brushing against yours. “Promise?” You asked against his lips. “I promise, sweetheart.” Creeper said, kissing you gently.

His lips were gentle against yours, warm and soft. You could taste the light hint of smoke on his lips as he moved against you, hands tugging you closer. Neron let out a soft groan as your touch trailed over his chest, fingers passing over the patches on his kutte until your fingers met at the nape of his neck. Carefully, Creeper pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him, deepening the kiss, his tongue finding yours, caressing you gently.

Carefully, he lifted you in his arms, holding you tight as he walked you across the yard to his trailer, pausing to kiss you every few steps, far too occupied with you to pay full attention to where he was going and he almost tripped up the step into his trailer.

“I want you, baby.” Neron whispered against your lips as he gently walked you back against the bathroom door. “I want you too, please Neron.” You replied, your voice hot and needy against his lips and he loved it. Creeper craved you, he craved to have you beneath him, to have you wrapped around him, to be with you, to feel you.

It had never really been a secret between the two of you that you were in love, even when you were just friends. It had been obvious and you both knew it, and maybe that was why Creeper had been the one to push you away so abruptly and put an end to things.

But if he knew anything, it was that the love you shared would never keep you apart for long and those years you spent away from him were just as excruciating for you as it was for him. Looking up at the sky at night and taking comfort in knowing that perhaps you too were looking at the moon at the same time and maybe you would be reunited again one day was the only thing that seemed to ease the ache.

Falling onto his bed, you weren’t even sure when you had begun to cry, but tears rolled down your cheeks, making Creeper pause in his movements, your hands clinging to him, afraid to let go in case it was all a dream, in case this was meant to end all over again. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Did I do something wrong?” He asked softly, reaching up to wipe away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. Shaking your head, you sniffled, trying to compose yourself as you looked up at him. “I just don’t want this to end, I don’t want to let you go again.” You admitted, the weight of the confession finally lifting as he scooped you up, holding you against his chest.

“I got you, I ain’t ever lettin’ you go again, we’re in this together, you an’ me.” He reassured you, his voice gentle and sweet as he leaned down to kiss you. “Let me show you, baby. Lemme take care of you.

Slow and hazy, as if everything seemed to align for the first time in years, the chaos you had endured seemed to calm as you undressed each other, taking in one another. Tender kisses pressed against your skin as Neron trailed his attention down, down until he reached your core, gently caressing the sensitive bud with his thumb as he parted your legs, pressing sweet, hot kisses against your thighs.

He went slow, savouring each soft moan and gasp he drew from you with each movement, his tongue pleasuring you in the most intimate way, bringing you the love and the devotion he had always wanted to share with you.

“That’s it, baby, I got you, you can let go for me.” He encouraged, his deep, soft voice was soothing as he brought you close to the edge, his tongue swirling in tight, slow circles around your bud. Nearing your high, he sped up, looking up at you, holding your gaze as he gently stroked you to your orgasm with his tongue, watching as you threw your head back, the euphoria sending slow, rolling waves through you, taking over every sense and bringing you to a new sense of peace as Neron worked you down from your orgasm.

Slowly, you worked his jeans off, pulling his boxers down to reveal his hardened length. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He groaned, voice low and heavy with lust as you took his cock into your hand, drawing your tongue up his length until you reached the tip. With an unhurried pace, you took him into your mouth, taking him deep, your tongue flattening against him. You met his gaze, his eyes wide with lust as his fingers gently brushed against your cheek, lips parting in pure bliss as you began to move, pulling away before taking him in again, swallowing his length as much as you could.

“Oh shit- fuck you feel so good.” Creeper could barely speak. “Please baby, I gotta feel you.” He spoke gently, caressing your cheek with his thumb before you slowly pulled away, swirling your tongue around the tip before you parted from him completely.

Lowering you against the bed, Neron leaned over you, the cool gold chains that hung from his neck touched your hot skin, drawing a soft gasp from your lips as he gently pressed his length against your heat, sliding in with a heavy, slow thrust that let you feel every inch of him. “Neron,” It came out as a breathy moan, your touch soft against his skin, sending shivers through him. “Neron, mi cielo.” “I’m righ’ here, mi alma.” His words brushed against your lips as he ghosted over them, his lips gentle against yours as he kissed you, thrusting into you with a heavy, slow pace.

Working you both up, Neron kissed you until you were both breathless as he embraced you. He rocked into you, soft, low grunts leaving his lips as he worked to hit your sweet spot, watching the way you got closer and closer to your release. You looked beautiful, blissful as he rode you towards your next orgasm, the hazy, dreamy look in your eyes captivating him and he wondered how he had ever managed to stay away from you as long as he had, knowing that he loved you with all of his heart.

“Cum for me, lemme feel you, baby.” He whispered to you, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him. His words were all you needed and with one more thrust, you reached your peak, warmth spreading through you as you let out a long moan, fingers digging into his tattooed skin, holding onto him as you came. Your gaze on his, the way you moaned out his name in pleasure, how you held him, your walls clenching him as shockwaves rolled through you and his thrusts became sloppier, heavier and harder until he let go, groaning as he finished.

Looking down at you, spent, taking in quick breaths, Creeper leaned down to kiss you, his beard tickling your bare skin. The silence was comfortable as Neron pulled out of you and quietly cleaned you both up before relaxing next to you. Taking you in his arms, you cuddled up against him, resting your head on his chest as he ran his fingers up and down your back, taking his time to process everything you two had done, the feelings shared between you, both spoken and silent.

The question lingered in his mind for a short while. He was afraid, perhaps it wasn’t what was best for either of you, but he knew he couldn’t live without you, not again. “Will you stay with me? We can work this out, together this time.” Neron broke the silence, his voice was quiet and soft, as if he didn’t want to break the peace the pair of you had created. “I can get a new place and- fuck I’ll do anythin’ for you to make this work.”

Propping yourself up and leaning on his chest, you smiled softly at the man who’s embrace you lay in, the man you had fallen in love with when you were both young, a love that followed you each night and played on your mind in the form of painfully realistic dreams. But nothing compared to how it felt in real life, nothing compared to how it felt to be together.

“Of course I’ll stay with you, Neron. I love you.” You replied, watching as he smiled, such a deep, sincere smile that it reached his eyes.

“I love you too, mi amor de mi vida.”

Mayans Taglist (OPEN):

@everyhowlmarksthedead @woahitslucyylu @trulysuccubus @iambabyharry @starrynite7114 @ifoundmyhappythought @claytoncardenasbabymama @peaches007 @angelreyesgirl @thesandbeneathmytoes @plentyoffandoms

Permanent Taglist (OPEN):

@scuzmunkie @scarlett-berserker @megantje123 @sideeffectsofyou @loving-life-my-way @searching-for-neverland​ @kitkatd7​ @shadycupcakefox​ @psychiccreationtaco​ @damienwitcher​ @thesewaywardskies​ @abbiesthings​

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Christmas Lights

John Wick  x reader (A/n- posting two fics in one day cause my phone deleted the notification for the Christmas challenge. A/n2- this one is based on the Coldplay song Christmas Lights, and its for the lovely @toomanystoriessolittletime​ Christmas writing challenge. I had sooooo much fun writing this that I wrote 2 versions, though, the John Wick one won)

Masterlist

Warnings- Angst  (there’s a hopeful ending, no worries.)

Winter in London was cold, but it felt even colder knowing that when he got home, she would not be there. Standing near the window in his room at the Continental, leaning on the beige wall and staring at the huge tree in the nearby square, the colorful, blinking lights taunted him with their cheer, as if to remind John that he had none, he’d given it all up when he walked out the door. If he closed his eyes right then, momentarily blocking them out, he could still see the pained look on Y/n’s face as she watched him get ready to leave again. 

“It’s almost Christmas John,” she’d pleaded, her voice breaking, “Please just stay.”

The hurt in her eyes when John had brushed off her pleas, arguing that he had to take the job because the money would do them good, they were planning a wedding after all, was unmatched. And that was when Y/n broke it to him; if he left, she couldn’t promise that he’d be coming back to any wedding planning. Still though, they’d just had a fight, the worst one they’d ever had and John was so, so mad, that he’d just wanted to get out of their shared home. Maybe he could have gone to the hotel in New York, but hearing Winston tell him that he was in the wrong one was the last thing he needed, so instead, John did what came naturally to him, turned to what he usually did when he needed an outlet; he went to work.

Usually, all it took was a job and a couple days for John to clear his head before he went back to Y/n, apologized and let her take her in his arms and make everything okay again. But John knew that that time, he’d gone too far, and as he brought the remainder of his smoky bourbon to his lips, he thought back on what Y/n had had said as she followed him to the door where the taxi had waited; “If you leave tonight, then I’m leaving too.”

John hadn’t said anything, his mind playing a foolish trick and telling him that Y/n’s threat was empty; she wouldn’t leave, she loved him. They loved each other, and their love had survived so much thus far. But then he’d called her cell the next morning, to try to mend things, disappointed when she didn’t pick up, and then, even more heartbroken when he called the house, where the ringing ended with the voicemail. It had taken days after that for John to hear from Charon that Y/n had dropped off Dog at his desk along with a message for him; she’d left her key to their house, or rather, his house, there too. She had left.

Without as much as an outgoing pleasantry, John had disconnected the call, his jaw locking as tears gathered in his eyes. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, it was just a fight, one stupid fight. All because she’d asked for one thing; for him to stay home and spend Christmas with her. All Y/n ever wanted was to be with him, the big wedding had been his idea, John’s way of trying to give her something special after she’d promised to spend her life with him. 

Sniffing, John glanced at the lights again, trying not to liken the tree to the one he and Y/n had put up at home. The one in the square only served to dredge up those memories; her drunken giggle between sips of hard cider and moments putting delicate ornaments on the spruce, the way he’d lifted her up into his arms so she could put the star on top, how they’d kissed and then some after she’d slid down his body; safe in his arms. 

Throwing his head back against the wall, John let his eyes slip closed for the briefest of moments as he wondered what it would take to will Y/n back into his life. Christmas was in three days and it would be the first one without her in almost five years and he’d taken to wondering if he could really call it that if she wasn’t there. It was Y/n who’d made the day something special; she’d come into his life and together, they’d made memories and traditions. Opening one present on Christmas Eve after their stroll around the neighborhood to see the lights, making hot chocolate instead of coffee on Christmas morning and spending the day buzzing around the kitchen making dinner after unwrapping the rest of their presents. If only Y/n knew that she was the only gift he needed. 

With a heavy sigh, John pushed off the wall and straightened his back, giving one last glance at the lights illuminating the area around the grand tree, wishing on the glittering star at the top that the past week had been nothing but a bad dream.

Y/n rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some heat as she quickly walked up the sidewalk to a familiar apartment building in Brooklyn. She was all bundled up and though it hadn’t started snowing yet, New York’s frigid winter air was enough to have your fingers and toes icing up if you weren’t careful. She couldn’t wait to get back home that evening and just curl up in her favorite sweats after a long, hot shower. It was Christmas Eve, the first one she’d spent without John in five years, and it went without saying that his absence and the end of their relationship had thrown her for a loop; nothing seemed right anymore and without their usual traditions, the holidays seemed empty.

She missed him. 

Trying to hurry up, Y/n fiddled with her hands again, that time, trying to ignore how bare her finger felt without the engagement ring she’d left behind with Charon. She’d gotten used to it, and moreover, she’d gotten used to being his fiancée. Being the only person allowed to see and care for him when he was at his worst and hold his hand when he was at his absolute best. John, the only person that she’d ever seen as the love of her life, she’d wanted so much with him, but just a week and a half ago, what Y/n wanted the most was to spend Christmas with him, the way they had every other year for the past five. But John wanted to work and even if he’d rattled off some excuse about how the money would be good for their nuptials, Y/n knew otherwise; they’d been fighting a lot lately and he wanted to get away for a while. He’d wanted to run away from the problem, instead of staying home and working things out with her.

Looking back on it, Y/n realized that she didn’t even care about the things they’d been fighting over, it was all so trifling in the scheme of things, a wedding venue, how much money was too much to spend on a caterer and where they would go after they were married. Y/n wanted to move to a place in the suburbs and John wanted to stay put. After they’d broken up though, or rather, after Y/n had broken up with him, she’d come to see that she couldn’t have cared less about any of those things, as long as she was with John, then none of it mattered. 

But he was gone, and Y/n was left, walking along the cold streets of New York back to her old place, trying to come to terms with a life without him, thinking of how she’d take him back in a heartbeat if they’d found a way to work things out.

She was just a few feet away from the building when Y/n started rummaging through her handbag in search of her keys, clumsily getting the little bunch out without much effort. About to turn to start up the short flight of shallow steps, Y/n unconsciously raised her head, stumbling back slightly as a soft gasp escaped her lips in a white puff. Even if he was the person she’d wanted to see the most, he was the last she’d actually expected. Though, maybe the universe, by some wintery miracle, had decided to give her exactly what she wanted; a second chance with John Wick.

He’d taken a cab straight to the place where he’d suspected she’d be, right after making a quick pit stop at the hotel. John had booked the first non-stop flight from London to New York that he could get, all in a bid to get to Y/n before the stroke of midnight, before he could start another day without her. The plane had landed late Christmas Eve and even if it was past ten and even if he didn’t even know if she was still awake, John knew he had to try.

With his hands in his pockets, trying to combat the temperate air, John walked quickly along the barren sidewalk, passing storefronts illuminated with tiny, festive bulbs. They were proving to be as unwavering as the love that was fueling his mission and had added to the spirit that seemed otherwise absent. It hadn’t started snowing in Empire City and even if the lack of fluffy white and icy pavements dared to subtract from the holiday, white Christmases were rare in their neck of the woods. It never felt like winter without snow, just like the next day wouldn’t feel like anything special if he couldn’t convince Y/n that she was all that mattered to him. He didn’t care how they spent it, as long as they were together. If only he’d realized that before.

He was drawing nearer and nearer to the building he’d been in search of, and in his coat pocket, John’s finger brushed the cool metal of a familiar ring; the one that was made especially to be worn by her, the one that had been gone from it’s home for six days too many. If all went well, then maybe it wouldn’t have to stay warm in his pocket for much longer and maybe his heart being stitched back together would be his first present.

As he walked, John had kept his eyes straight ahead, only slowing down when a familiar figure came into sight. She was twisted awkwardly as she’d continued walking, rummaging through her handbag until Y/n produced a jingling set of keys, straightening up, only for them to come face to face. She wasn’t too far off, just a couple feet away and John thought that his hopefulness was mirrored when he matched her gaze.

Unseen to her, he closed his palm around her ring, trying to find the words as they stood there, seemingly the only two out at that late hour. Taking a chance, he finally found the courage to utter one lonesome word, “Hey.”

Y/n seemed hesitant, but eventually, with what John thought to be the first glimmers of a sad smile tugging at her paled features, “Hey.” It was just one mirrored word, but it meant so much more, it was a bridge to forgiveness, and as it left her lips, John glimpsed the first flakes of snow falling between them; white specks descending slowly, some of it getting caught in her hair, and on her clothes though most of it starting to pepper the ground.

As the snow fell for the first time that winter, the two lingered before the steps to Y/n’s apartment, realizing that, as always, they’d be finding their way back to each other.

Maybe it would feel like Christmas after all. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[justreadingfics]

His Girl (Revamped Version)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’re perfect. Anyone who could read his thoughts would say he’s cheesy, but he genuinely can’t find a single flaw in you. Well, maybe the only problem is the man by your side.

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Love Triangle, Pining, Smut, Revamped version of first fic written by the author, 18+.

Word Count: 4k.

A/N: Hi!! I’m sorry to say but this isn’t something entirely new. I’ve been thinking about revamping the first fic I’ve ever wrote for a while now. I love the story, but every time I read the original, it made me cringe for several reasons. I like this version better, but I haven’t sent this to a beta and you all know English isn’t my first nor my everyday language, so you may still find a significant number of cringy stuff, lol. If you read it and like it, don’t hold back on the feedback 😊 I’m tagging my permanent list.

Masterlist link on description.

He pays no mind to the loud beating of the music thundering into his ears, nor to the sea of dancing bodies and cheerful laughs around him as he makes a beeline for the bar. Another one of Tony’s big shindigs, one he can barely remember the reason for, if there ever has been one to start with…

He has lost count of how many he had to attend since he had joined the team. He hates it, of course he does. Everybody knows it… Bucky Barnes hates parties. He hates so many eyes which cross path with his, some condescending, some pitiful, others gleaming with fear… or hatred. He hates them all, but he knows he still deserves them all.  

It has been a slow process after he came back from Wakanda, where Shuri has finally found a treatment for the trigger words and other horrors Hydra had seen fit to grace his mind with. He still struggles… with social events, with talking to people, with letting them in, showing himself… What could they see if they really look?

He hates parties, yeah… but he goes to all of them. For one and only reason. He takes a seat by the bar and, while he waits for the whisky he just ordered, his gaze roams and search through the crowd, looking for the reason he’s there after all…

You.

It’s been like this from the moment he laid his eyes on you. His gaze always searching, seeking you, longing that the sight of you can ease the ache in his chest that comes with the absence of your touch. To be honest, Bucky can’t understand why you have this effect on him,  you two have barely exchanged more than two words and, even if his gaze is always sneakily on you, he shies away whenever you draw near. He rather keep his distance… he needs to.

But he’s completely and utterly infatuated by you. Not like he remembers much of his life, but he’s damn certain he has ever felt this way about anyone. Ever. He can’t stop thinking about how you held his left hand with no sign of hesitance when you two were introduced.  He was so entranced by you that he’s sure he has held on to your touch longer than socially acceptable, and yet you didn’t make a move to let go before he did. He’s obsessed by the way your hips swing from side to side when you walk,  by how you always looks straight into the eyes of whomever you’re talking to, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh and a small and adorable snort comes out of you… yeah, your laugh! The most amazing sound Bucky has ever heard. And there’s always a smile on your lips, for everyone.

Except for him.

Why, after that first time you two met, wouldn't you speak to him again?  Fear… That’s the only possible explanation in Bucky’s mind. Of course you would be frightened by him…The Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra, the Assassin… He may be called the White Wolf now, but it doesn’t erase what came before…  

With the whiskey now in his hands, his lips barely touch the glass when he finally spots you.

There you are, his reason, across the room, laughing while Sam says something. At that moment and every other moment, Bucky wishes he could be the lucky bastard who’s able to make you laugh like that. He takes a minute to take in the sight of the woman who he keeps up all night thinking about. You have your hair styled on that way you always have at parties. Bucky knows you choose that style because it’s easier and then you can do your hair yourself, oblivious to the fact that it drives him crazy with want to dive his fingers through your locks and tilt your head so he can ravish your neck with kisses and intake the sweet scent of you…

He gulps as his gaze falls down your body and he notices what you’re wearing that night. A long black dress. The side slit goes high enough to make Bucky’s heart speed up as he takes in the exposed skin of your thigh. The deep V neckline isn’t doing any good to his mental state either…

God, you’re perfect. Anyone who could read his thoughts would say he’s cheesy, but he genuinely can’t find a single flaw in you.

Well, maybe the only problem is the man by your side. Holding your hand the way Bucky only can in his dreams. The lump is thick on his throat at the reality.  

Steve Rogers. Captain America.

His Stevie. Bucky’s best friend and brother, the punk who started a fucking war with the rest of the World to defend him. The one who introduced you to Bucky.

You…

His girl.  

And that’s the reason why, besides the fact he damn sure scares the shit out of you, Bucky would never get to touch you, feel your skin on his. Breathe you in… Taste you…. The reason why he avoids any kind of close contact and is happy to worship your image from a distance. He can’t , by any means, give in to his feelings or get closer to you. He can’t take that chance.

He’s been fighting… against himself. He’s been dating around, trying hard to get you out of his head out of his very soul if he’s going to be honest.  But all he accomplished is to compare every single woman he’s seen with you, and wonder how it would feel if you were the one he was holding, kissing, making love to.

“Jesus, you’re so screwed.”

Drowned in his thoughts Bucky has missed the redhead approaching, martini in her hand, sitting on a stool next to him with a smirk on her lips.

“What are you talking about, Romanoff?” He tries to play the ignorance card, knowing damn well that it would be pointless. The stunning spy is able to read his mind like no other, Steve included. Maybe it’s their shared past, the one they never speak of, but lingers in the air. The ex-assassins simply understand each other.

“Please Barnes, you’re wounding me.”  Natasha rolls her eyes and brings the drink to her lips.  

Bucky bites on his lips before letting out a humorless chuckle, “That obvious, huh?” He says, defeat in his voice and a hint of worry that his secret may not be as hidden as he thought.

“To me, yes”.  She shrugs before spending a moment observing him, while he goes back to watching you across the room, hand in hand with his best friend.  With a sigh, Natasha kindly places her empty hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “Just be careful, Bucky. Neither of you have been much discreet lately. Everyone else is a bit dumb, but I don’t know…”

Bucky snaps his head back to her, as his eyebrows knit close together, spotting the rare sympathetic smile on her tightened lips.

“What do you mean? In what way she’s not being discreet?”  

The empathy on Natasha’s face falls and is swiftly turned into a familiar glare. Letting out a huff, she stands up and turns her back to him, leaving Bucky behind, mumbling words that his enhanced hearing catches as “Stupid Super Soldiers. No Serum in the brains, for sure”.

He’s left confused as he watches Natasha joining the rest of the gang who is now sitting by a round table close to the dance floor. As usual, she takes the chair next to Clint and orders for another drink. Bucky moves his eyes to Steve, who has his back to him, sitting across the Widow, leaning forward to say something to her. She responds by pointing to the bar where Bucky stands.

Steve turns his head to his best friend and whey their gazes meet, the blonde grins and waves, calling Bucky towards the gathered group.

Finding no way to decline the offer, Bucky sighs before he nods and heads to the table that is also accommodating Sam, Wanda and Maria Hill. Getting close, his heart rushes to his throat when notices that the only empty seat is the one next to you, who have your back turned to him.

“Hey Buck, come here and take a seat, the food is amazing,” Steve says with a mouthful, pointing with the fork to the mountain of food in his plate.

The fact that his fellow Super Soldier is the only one eating – the exorbitant amount of food- makes him think of the skinny kid from Brooklyn who could barely finish a whole glass of milk. The memory brings a warm smile to Bucky’s face, which fades as soon as he spots your stiffened shoulders as you glance nervously at the empty seat beside you, still avoiding to look at him.

“Ahm, I don’t know pal, I’m not really that hungry” Bucky replies, brushing the back of his neck. The last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable by imposing his closeness.

“Oh, come on Tin Can, grace us with your broodiness… It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. Or do you already have a broad waiting?” Sam asks, emphasizing the outdated slang in an attempt to tease his centenary friend.

Missing how you take a long sip from your own whiskey, Bucky pretends to be amused by the conversation and makes a face to Sam. He can’t find it in him to prolong the subject or to say no the puppy eyes Steve always wear to break him and never fails, so he pulls out a chair and takes his seat. Right beside you.

Steve goes back to his food and the group goes back to chatting. The words are far from the focus of his attention as it’s so damn easy for him to feel the heat irradiating from your body, so close to him all he has to do is... Bucky’s glad for Sam and his never stopping mouth as no one seems to notice how his whole body flinches when his right thigh ever so lightly brushes against yours under the table. He quickly pulls his leg away, but not before goosebumps spring unbidden across his skin at the brief yet burning touch.

He’s expecting you to move the chair closer to Steve, to prevent any kind of contact with him to happen, but… but instead, she leans back on his touch, seeking the overwhelming sensation again, brushing her leg against his and leaving it there.

All the sound around him fades away, replaced simply by the thundering sound of his beating heart.

Every single inch of him is completely stiffened when he rests his hand on his leg and by the corner of his eyes he sees you furtively doing the same thing. Feeling a rush of boldness and a lack of better judgment, he moves it closer to yours until your pinkies link between your laps. He feels dizzy when you softly caress his finger with yours and all of a sudden, like it’s the most natural thing to do, he has all of his fingers tightly interlocked with yours.

His holding hands with you under the table cloth and it’s so damn hard to breathe now. Bucky’s mind runs in full speed, matching his heart, but yet, for that moment, time seems to freeze and everything’s slow motion as a forbidden, yet beautiful promise takes over his senses.

No… It wasn’t fear the reason why she kept his distance from him… She’s touching him, he has her soft hands on his. And it feels so right…

“Are you ok, Barnes? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Bucky’s stupor is swiftly interrupted by a familiar voice in the far distance. It’s Natasha, of fucking course.

The unwanted attention makes you quickly remove your hand and back away your leg.

Bucky feels empty.

“Ahm, Yeah I..I guess I need another drink, I’ll be right back” Bucky’s chair screeches against the floor as he stands up and leaves the table, choosing to ignore Natasha’s suspicious look. To his relief the rest of their friends are apparently unfazed and oblivious to anything.

In need of a place to calm his restless state, he heads to the rooftop. Getting out of the elevator, he takes in the fresh air, relishing into the breeze of the night and, watching the city lights, the puzzled events of the last couple of minutes keep running over in his mind.  You touched him… he can still feel the burning where your skin met and he knows that you were as much affected by it as him… What the hell’s happening?

The quietness of the rooftop is broken by the elevator ding behind him. His heart jumps when he turns his head and spots the person coming out of it. He can’t. He can’t hold back a second longer anymore, and without even thinking, he takes two quick steps, closing the distance between you and him to press his lips against yours. As he pulls you to him, you immediately kiss him back, one hand tangling in his lose locks, while the other snakes up his chest.

Without breaking the sloppy and needy kiss, Bucky pins you against the nearest wall. He’s so drunk in your taste, he doesn’t want to let you go…Not again. Not now. He feels the whiskey you’ve been drinking mixed with your Chapstick and something sweet, that he knows it’s all you and he thought he would never get to taste.

Finally…

Both of your arms circle his neck while one hand still holds the back of his hair in a grip. You gasp for air and Bucky takes the chance to ravish your collarbone with a trail of hot kisses, reaching your pulse point to lightly bite on it. You let out a moan and while you tighten  the hold on his locks, Bucky realizes he has never listened to anything as beautiful.

“I need you… Please.” You’re breathless when you whisper the words to his ear, reaching down between your bodies to palm the bulge straining his pants.

If Bucky had a tiny bit of control until then, it is completely lost now with the husky plea coming from your lips.  He captures your mouth once again, and moving quickly, he travels his hand up your exposed leg through the dress slit, burying his fingers under the band of your underwear to find the velvet skin already damp. He lightly brushes the little nub there and the sensation pulls a primal groan from him and a deep sigh from you through the kiss.  

Tangling his tongue into yours, he pulls the black lace material down and when it falls to your knees, you wiggle your legs to let it drop to the floor before you step out of it. Without breaking his lips from yours, Bucky quickly goes to his belt, as you pull the skirt of your dress by the side slid up to your waist. When his erection springs free, Bucky holds your leg up to open you for him and just can’t waste anymore time as he guides his impossibly hard cock to your wet entrance.

It’s almost too much… the sensation of being inside you, so damn close, the velvet heat tightening around him…a kind of intimacy he only dreamed about. You cling to him as he slowly pushes himself further and the air leaves him a sharp exhale when he bottoms out. Only then, your lips detach from his as your breaths come out short.  

Keeping your leg locked around his waist, he uses his metal hand to support himself on the wall, while you maintain a firm grip on his shoulders.  You two exchange gazes for what feels like the first time and for a moment you just stay like that, staring to each other, studying every little inch of each other’s faces… Getting acquainted… Body and soul, Bucky suspects, as something entirely new and powerful grows inside him. A sense of calm, of peace, of belonging…

When he starts to move, he goes slow at first, allowing you two to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. You fell so damn good around him, better than any day and night dream he ever had, he realizes, as his flesh hand leave your leg, secured around his waist, to pull down the shoulder straps of your dress. One, then the other, dropping down your arms and exposing your breasts to him.

Beautiful, so damn beautiful, it makes him breathless…

He watches as your eyes close and your lips part a little, whimpering in sheer ecstasy, when he grabs one of your breasts into his hand, never stopping the slow and deep move of his hips. He gently massages the soft flesh, and can’t take his eyes off your face as the slight shift of expressions in synch with his actions shows how much pleasure he’s giving to you.

“Oh, Bucky…”

Hearing the whisper of his name in your mouth, especially in such a sinful way, makes his heart melt and his cock twitch inside of you.  His thrusts grow faster and the two of you become a mess of heavy breaths and moans. Bodies glued together, your skin is hot against his and your breathe tingles over his neck. It’s perfect. And it feels so right, so damn right, when your pussy clenches around him…

He needs to feel it again and the frenzy you both share boosts when Bucky’s flesh fingers meet your clit.  He circles the nub in fast, harsh circles as you tighten your leg around him for support.  A slight change in the angle and the extra stimulation makes you let out a scream of pure ecstasy. He feels it coming as your cunt grips his cock in the most delicious way.

Your whole body shakes against him as you let out a wanton moan, signaling your climax. As you fall apart, Bucky’s fingers leave your heat to hold you tightly by your waist. He  knows he isn't going to last much longer, he just can’t, even if he wants to have you like this forever, breathless in the pleasure he’s provided you with while he can feel your heart thunders against your chest and your tongue brushing over the skin of his neck.

“I need to taste you,” you breathe and it startles him for a second when you push at his chest, forcing him to pull out of your pulsing heat.

His mind goes blank when you sink to your knees and grip the base of his cock, coated in your arousal, and your mouth wraps around the throbbing tip. He watches down in awe, supporting himself with both arms on the wall. Your soft lips around his cock makes him lose his fucking senses and a few bobs of your head is already too much for him to handle.

“I.. I’m … gonna…. ”, Bucky tries to warn you, only making you grab his ass and clutch his hips still, not letting him pull away from you.

He groans loudly and can’t hold back anymore before you take everything he has to offer, not missing a single drop of the most powerful orgasm he ever had.

Struggling to breathe and gather his thoughts again, Bucky offers his hand to help you get on your feet and pulls you in a tight embrace as his forehead leans against yours, sharing the blissful state.

He loves you.

If he didn’t know that before, it’s pretty damn clear now. He loves you and this love will ruin him. Of that he’s sure, while he holds your half naked body to his.

When breathing  isnt’t so hard anymore, you’re the first one to speak.

“I love Steve… I really do.”

Bucky’s eyes close and he sighs at the mention of his friend’s name.

“Yeah, I know, I love that punk too,” he responds matter-of-factly in a sad smile.

“You must think I´m a-” A sob breaks through your lips before you have the chance to continue.

“Shhh,” He whispers as he cups your face and uses his thumb to caress your cheek and wipe the tears falling down. “Never,” he assures you, shaking his head, “I would never think anything like that of you.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” you add, pleading for him to believe, and Bucky hates to hear the sorrow in your beautiful voice.

“I know sweetheart, I know…” He tries to sooth you, even if his own heart is breaking at how ashamed you seem to be of what just happened, prompting his own guilt to tighten his throat.

“I don't want to hurt him,” You add. “But you…” The whisper is low as you lean your face against the touch of his hand, shutting your eyes.  “God, I can’t take you of my mind ever since I first saw you, not matter how hard I tried. I’ve been going crazy,” You breathe hard as your eyes open and you look up at him, gripping hard the back of his suit with your hands.

Bucky’s heart beats harshly against his ribcage at your confession. “I know the feeling,” he says in the steadiest voice he can manage, keeping the brush of his thumb on your cheeks. “All I think about is you, all the time.” He almost can’t believe he’s actually telling you this, “I-I´m in-”

You don’t let him finish when you abruptly part from him, ceasing any kind of touch. The pained expression in your face is nothing but a plea, one that begs him: “please don’t say it”.

He doesn’t. He sulks in a breath and doesn’t say he’s completely and desperately in love with you and it feels so right even if he knows how damn wrong it is.

You bite on your lips and a heavy silence falls upon you as you fix your dress and hair, allowing him to put himself together, too. Your head drops, before you lean down and take your underwear from the floor.  

“This can’t … won’t happen again,” You manage to make your words convincing, standing up in front of him as your jaw clenches, holding the small piece of black lace tightly in your hand.

Bucky shuts his eyes and nods. He knew this was coming, but the fact does nothing to ease the pain of hearing those words.

When he feels your grip on his chin, his eye pop open. You two stare at each other for a long moment, sharing the words, the ones forbidden to be said out loud, before you lock your lips together again.  

As he pulls you to him, he focuses on every move, every touch, every sensation. Your tongue brushing against his, how he can feel himself and you through the sweet taste of your mouth, your skin, the shallow breaths and small whimpers, your hand into his hair… He clings to all of it. Memorizing how you feel, holding the sensations into his mind… his heart.

Bucky feels your hand slipping inside a pocket on his pants before you break the kiss and, without looking at him again, you run past him towards the elevator.

He sighs, bringing his fingers to his lips, as if this way he would make the phantom of your touch last longer… His gaze turns to the city lights when he hears the elevator going down and he places his hands inside his pockets.

His lips turn up in a longing smile, already missing the touch of yours, while his fingers play absent-mindedly with the piece of lace he finds inside his pocket.

He knows it would all come eventually, the sorrow, the guilt, the heartache. The pain. But at that moment, all he feels is you…

You….

His girl.

~~~~~~

The end. 

[poptod]

Say My Name (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You’re a harpist that gets noticed by the Prince, to your own terror. The prince is only trying to get your affection - but you simply won’t break the rules. You won’t even say his name. After all, it’s not allowed.

Prompt: Harp

Notes: Okay so recently (just now) I realized I can post my long fics! When I first came to Tumblr I couldn’t post them due to length, but now I can! I used to write big, long fics all the time, but it turns out people prefer smaller, more frequent fics, and since it takes me around three weeks to churn one of these babies out I’ll probably stick to my shorter fics. Gender neutral again, your name is Nour for historical reasons :) Also, I wrote this before I found out how Ahk was killed, so apologies. Enjoy!

AO3 Link: Say My Name

Word Count: 11.9k

It wasn’t your place to say a thing. In fact, if you did say a thing, you might get punished for it. Yet that was the partial beauty of him - if you mentioned your observations to him, and him alone, he would take it in stride. You hadn’t ever spoken to him before, never met him, but you’d heard rumours. Still, you continued playing your instrument, avoiding his gaze.

Celebrations such as this (a birthday) were one of your favorite things to do, despite how stressful they were. Constant pressure from superiors, a near command to memorize complicated music. Oftentimes, you felt you hadn’t picked the right career. Other times, you saw yourself doing nothing else.

The prince continued to stare at you, his gaze menacing. He hardly ever looked at you like that, or anyone for that matter. It led you to the conclusion that most likely, he was not directing his anger at you, which only raised more questions.

You were not allowed to leave in order to eat, or drink, or take a break. You and your ‘band’ were the best players that the palace had; thus the orders were to play till the last guest left. Because of this order, you could not ask the prince. You shouldn’t anyway, you knew that very well. You weren’t even supposed to look at him. Yet with such piercing eyes set upon you, it was a little hard to follow orders.

The birthday celebrations lasted long into the night, and you continued to play until the last guest left, leaving only the royal family. A mother and a father, friendly in stature and cruel in rulings, an elder son looking highly displeased, and a younger son, deep in thought.

“You may stop,” the Queen told you, and you did not meet her eye. You bowed low, packing your instruments up.

“Harpist,” the prince’s voice called you, and you turned, eyes fixated on the floor. It was beginning to look very interesting. “I’d like to discuss some things with you,” he said. His mother whispered something to him, and he whispered back, louder, though still indiscernible.

“Yes, my prince,” you said, bowing. You turned back around, eyes wide, face red with embarrassment. You finished packing up, and as your friends left, they pat you on the shoulders comfortingly. A weak way of apologizing for whatever fate you were about to face.

The prince turned down a hallway, golden robe trailing behind him. You looked around confused. Were you to follow him? His mother quickly gestured at him, frowning at you. You bowed quickly, following him down the hallway.

Torches lined the painted walls, giving light to the stories that had been etched there. Your eyes followed the stories, the marvelous art that you hardly ever got to see in your daily life. Eventually he turned into a room, and you followed, your instrument still in its’ case by your side.

He turned quickly around to you, watching as you set the case down. He caught your eye, and your eyes zipped down to the floor.

“No, don’t do that,” he said, practically floating over, lifting you by the chin so you could meet his eyes.

You’re pretty sure you might’ve blacked out for a good two seconds. You weren’t allowed to know what he looked like. You weren’t supposed to see his face, and by all that was holy you were not supposed to touch him.

“I need your advice,” he said, now heading towards the balcony. You did not follow him, thinking it would suffice that you could hear him from the large doorway. He did not seem to agree, as he beckoned you over. You bowed your head a little, following his command, soon standing at his side.

“Do you have any siblings?” He asked you, looking up at the sky. You stared at the ground as you spoke.

“No, my prince,” you answered simply, addressing him properly.

“Do not call me that,” he said firmly, and you watched as his hands gripped tighter around the edge of the balcony. You took a deep breath, feeling your body shake. “You may simply refer to me by my name.”

You nodded, though didn’t fully process his request.

“My brother,” he started quietly, tensing and intending his muscles. “I am worried he will do something rash. What do you suppose I should do?”

Why in the world was he asking you for advice?

“Pardon my questioning,” you said, knowing you shouldn’t at all be asking this, “but why do you request my advice? I am just a citizen.”

“That is exactly why,” he said, and he turned to face you. Knowing the demand before he pronounced it, you looked at him. You hoped the fear was not evident on your face.

“Why would the prince do something rash?” You inquired, tightening your grip on the railing.

“He has been angry recently. I’m not sure why, but when he gets angry for long periods of time, he tends to end up murdering people,” he said quickly, intaking a shaky breath.

“I think you’re stressed,” you said before you thought about it. He turned to you, looking a little surprised.

Ah, so this was how you were going to die.

“I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled, looking to the ground as if he were ashamed. Why would he be ashamed in front of you?

He looked back up at you.

“Do you have any suggestions for stress relief?”

“My prince, I really do not believe this is appropriate-“

“My name?” He asked of you, and hesitantly, you obeyed.

“Ahkmen, this isn’t appropriate,” you told him flat out, no more beating around the bush. He nodded in agreement.

“Fun things are seldom ever appropriate,” he said with a smirk, grabbing your wrist and leading you back into the room. You might’ve blacked out again. He led you to his bed, where he sat, making sure you stood exactly in front of him. He grabbed both your hands, holding them in his.

“Would you mind playing your harp again, for me? A private performance,” he asked quietly, a tenderness you didn’t expect very apparent in his eyes. Hesitantly you nodded, releasing yourself from his grip and wandering over to your case. You took it out, wondering where you could sit in order to play it. Deciding against asking for a seat, or heavens forbid sitting next to him, you kneeled on the ground. The rounded end of the harp let it fall onto your left shoulder, and you plucked out a melody. The sharp and staccato sound was pleasant to your ears, but you’d heard a great deal of it already that night. You took some liberty, changing up a few of the tunes and chords, stroking the strings a tad different than usual.

“You play beautifully,” he commented near the end of your piece. You smiled up at him, before directing your attention back to the music, not wanting to lose concentration.

“Do you sing as well?” He asked, moving to lie back against the pillows of his bed. You shrugged. Yes, you sang, but you weren’t a singer. You told him this, and he told you to sing for him.

“If you don’t mind,” he added at the end. You nodded once more, starting on a lullaby that you knew very well. It was comparatively short next to your last piece, and when you finished, he asked you where you had picked it up.

“My mother used to sing it to me,” you informed him quietly, putting the harp back into its’ case.

“My mother sang me songs sometimes. Oftentimes it was other women,” he said, sitting up properly. “Sit next to me,” he asked of you, and you obeyed. There was no hesitation in your movements, realizing at this point he was trying to make your life difficult by bending rules that you didn’t have a desire to bend. The faster you listened to him and obeyed, the faster the night would end, and the faster you’d be able to breathe again.

“Spend the night with me,” he requested. You felt yourself mentally draw the line right there.

“That is not appropriate, my prince, I must leave now,” you said, hands shaking and voice reverberating your fear into him. You immediately stood up, briskly walking over to the door where your harp lay safely in its’ case.

“At least let me say good bye,” he said hurriedly, getting up after you. He grabbed your wrist before you could reach your case, pulling you towards him. You turned to face him, bright red and highly embarrassed.

“I will see you again,” he said, and your eyes immediately directed to his lips. He raised your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, watching you intently the entire time. You stopped breathing momentarily.

“G - good bye,” you said quickly, pulling your hand away, grabbing your harp, and leaving. You avoided the stares of palace workers and officials as you left, keeping your head down as you were taught to, until you reached more common streets.

You blacked out once you reached home, collapsing onto your bed.

Two days later, you’d achieve the same state of terror, or more, as you had two nights before. Palace guards showed at your door, giving you a notice that you were to present yourself to the royal family. Your roommate congratulated you, but you felt the opposite reaction was called for. Stress such as this was not a thing you handled easily.

Nevertheless, you presented yourself, with your instrument, as they had told you. A man you did not know, dressed extravagantly, informed you that you were to become a private musician for one of the princes. You nodded, sort of expecting that.

You respected the royal family. It wasn’t that which made you sour, or the fact that your servants quarters were shared with four other people when you originally lived with only one other person. You didn’t mind leaving your possessions behind.

Your problem was that you could get caught. The prince was the one being rash, doing things he aught not to do, things that could get him punished and you killed. Unfortunately, you had a thing about death, where you sort of didn’t want to die. Sounded a painful, unpleasant experience all around.

Later that evening, after mulling about in your new room alone, you were ordered to the young princes room. They never spoke his name, you noticed, and you realized how much worse that made the fact that you had called him by his name at least once.

You knocked once on the door, it being loud enough that you didn’t feel the need to knock again. A voice from inside called, ‘come in,’ so you let yourself in, announcing your presence with what was left of your dignity and professionalism.

He didn’t wear his cape or crown, but he kept his skirt and sported a light shawl.

“My prince,” you said simply, bowing. He chuckled, nearing you. You stood straight once again, keeping your eyes on the ground.

“Good to see you came back instead of running away. I told you I’d see you again.”

“What do you need, my prince?”

He frowned slightly, leading you further into the room.

“I thought we got over the formalities last night,” he commented sadly, still holding your wrists.

“What am I here for?” You asked once more. He sighed, giving in to your question.

“I told my parents about your music. They suggested you live here so you can help me with my, uh, stress, when needed. I thought it to be a good enough idea, and besides,” he leaned in a bit closer, “I wanted to see you again.”

“Are you currently stressed?” You asked, observing him with a calculated look. You shoved your emotions as far down as you could, hoping that would help for this evening.

“Yes, I’m afraid my brother has been a continuous worry to me,” he said, stepping away from you, beginning to pace the room. “He accuses me of awful things, and because it would be shameful for him to physically harm me, he has begun harming our servants and slaves. It’s painful to watch, and I can’t do anything about it. If I do, I will seem unfit to be royal, and I may be cast out. I can’t risk that.”

“Have you tried asking him what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do that. I thought of it, but he’s closed off, and even if he would tell someone he would never tell me. I don’t think he trusts me.”

“The trust of cowards is not something worthy to gain,” you said distractedly, looking at the patterned ceiling.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, stopping his pacing. “You’re really quite intelligent, aren’t you?” He neared you, standing in front of you again. You hadn’t moved from your position near the door.

“I have my uses,” you said, and he laughed, his smile delicate and very unlike who he currently presented himself as. You felt yourself weaken for a moment.

“Would you mind singing to me again?”

“Of course, my prince,” you replied, kneeling to open your case. He held a finger beneath your chin, raising your head to look at him. He towered above you in this position, a general air of dominance that made you shiver emanated from him.

“My name?” He asked quietly, his kind voice betraying his commanding exterior.

“Of course, Ahkmen,” you repeated yourself, weaker. He smiled, and left to lie on the bed. You resumed pulling out the harp, taking once more your kneeling position on the floor, the harp falling on your shoulder as you plucked at the strings. You tapped your foot to the beat, making sure that you didn’t lose your count. Every now and then you’d look up to the prince, watching his expression for any sign of displeasure. Each time he showed none, so you continued.

“What’s your name, harpist?” He asked, interrupting your playing. You shook your head a bit, getting back on track. You continued to play as you answered.

“Nour,” you said simply, concentrating deeply.

“Beautiful name,” he said quietly, sighing as he relaxed back into his bed once more. You took a deep breath, calming yourself as you kept playing. A few minutes later, he stood, walking up to you. He paused your playing, asking that you put your harp down. As always you obeyed.

“Come with me,” he said, and you again followed him. He led you out the door, and down a back hallway. The paintings on the walls disappeared, and eventually all the torches faded away. He continued leading you down more and more complex hallways, the structures confusing you. It hit you then that it would be very easy to trap you here, and that if someone wanted to kill you here, it wouldn’t be that hard. But, if the prince wanted to kill you, he could’ve done it in broad daylight.

You continued walking behind him until a small doorway appeared, lit up by the moonlight. You jogged a bit to catch up, watching him disappear down steps.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” He called back to you, now practically running down the steps. You watched him, his eyes glued upon the river in the distance. He began running, you trailing after, weaving through the reeds that grew on the banks of the water. Eventually he stopped at the rivers edge, the sandy shore riding just above his sandals. You stopped beside him, panting, crouched down slightly. You weren’t used to exerting yourself physically. Apparently, he was.

“My prince, you must be careful, you don’t know what kind of animals could sneak up on you,” you panted, finally standing to your full height beside him. He looked at you, laughing.

“Don’t worry, much of this stretch is harmless. Too narrow to truly be a resting spot for anything dangerous,” he informed you, stepping out into the river. You froze, eyes wide as you watched him. As he continued, the water only came up to his mid calf, soaking his pants.

“Join me,” he said to you, facing you with a hand outstretched. You clenched your hands into fists, thinking about how awfully wrong all this was. You weren’t supposed to be here, not with him, certainly not by yourself, and you weren’t supposed to look at him. You weren’t supposed to touch him. He wasn’t supposed to deal with sorts like you. Lowly sorts.

You took his hand. Barely laying your fingers in his before he curled them tightly around yours, pulling you in. You stumbled slightly, regaining your balance in the water as it splashed up your legs. The moon reflected brightly in the water, but despite this you couldn’t see much of the details of his face. You could tell that he smiled though, his laughter echoing in the silent lands. However much you knew this to be wrong, you smiled with him, warm water coming up to your legs.

“See? Nothing wrong,” he said quietly, pulling you in closer and grabbing your other hand in his. All ease slipped away, and you choked up, staring petrified at him.

“We shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this,” you said, voice high and shaky.

“Shouldn’t be doing what? Enjoying myself?” He raised a single eyebrow at you, judging you with a funny look in his eye. He was smiling.

Your fears came pouring out. They filled your entirety, boiling beneath your skin and itching to come out, like a rash upon your tongue.

“You shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be talking with you, I shouldn’t look at you, I shouldn’t touch you, I-“

“It’s not your fault. If anyone is to put blame on us, it will fall solely on me, I will make sure of it,” he told you quietly, an attempt to calm your fears.

“And what will happen to you then? You’ll be punished,” you choked out, feeling your throat swell up.

“All worth it to spend time with you,” he whispered, drawing ever closer. You took a step back, the water splashing up the back of your legs.

“Why are you so invested in me?” You asked, trying weakly to pull your hands out of his grip. He did not let go.

“Your playing enchants me, and the way you refuse to, well… bond with me, I suppose, is intriguing. Most people I’ve met jump at the chance to form a sort of relationship with me. Simply because of my standing,” he explained quietly.

You hardly believed people only associated with him because of rank. He happened to also be an incredibly nice person, as well as truthful and sincere unlike any royalty you’d met before. Not only that, despite what you continuously told yourself, he was very handsome.

“I hardly believe it’s only because of your royalty,” you said, voicing only half your thoughts.

“Why’s that?” He asked quickly, leaning in further, pulling you closer. He looked desperate, curious for your answer. You breathed deeply. He smelled of perfume. Of course.

“You’re one of the more benevolent royalty that I’ve met,” you said simply, not meeting his eyes. His eyes however, did not waver from yours, attention directly on you. Your skin felt hot beneath his touch.

“Is that why you won’t say my name?” He came chest to chest with you, the words from his mouth heating your cheek beyond what was comfortable.

“My prince, I am only here to play music for you,” you breathed out, weak and indecisive. Your gaze stay fixed on his shoulder and past, to the river shining behind him.

“You are here to help with my stress. That’s your job specification, and you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he laughed, his body swaying slightly.

“I think I would be better at it if you didn’t put me in stressful situations,” you retorted before you could think. Eyes widening upon reflection of what you just said, your breath caught in your lungs. An unpleasant tingle shivered through your legs, making you weaker than you already were.

“Don’t worry so much and you’ll be fine. I have to say you’re doing a wonderful job distracting me from my brother,” he told you, continuing to sway, moving your arms back and forth in some mock form of a dance. “Enjoy yourself,” he said, leaning in and whispering the words against your ear. You blacked out for two seconds again, before blinking, looking to his face, his eyes attracting you immediately.

He was scanning your face, a concentrated look in his eyes. He blinked a few times, sighing, before letting go of your hands.

“Let’s go back to the palace,” he said quietly, turning and leaving you calf deep in the water.

+

The sick pit in your stomach began feeling worse the longer you spoke with the prince. After three full moons had come and gone, you came to a comparison. It was a terrible comparison to make, and you’d never, ever voice it, but you felt as though you were being tempted by a demon. Play for him. Look into his eyes. Touch him just a little more. Call him by his name. Lean into the temptations and be damned for eternity, but stay away and you’ll suffer heartache worse than death.

You decidedly never crossed the border of touching him in any sort of way - no, anything that happened in accordance with that was entirely his fault. You never called him by his name. You tried your best not to look into his eyes, in fear of losing yourself within them. They swirled gold and foreign delicacies, new and familiar all at once.

You didn’t dare look at him.

“Perhaps if you become my advisor, I will be able to see you more often,” he pondered, staring up at the ceiling. He was lying next to you, in a pile of blankets of pillows, arms crossed behind his head. You played your harp quietly, not wanting to disturb his thoughts too much.

“You want to spend more time with me?” You asked quietly, astounded. You weren’t exactly an incredibly interesting person.

“Of course. You’re intelligent too, so it’s not like you’d give me terrible advice. The position wouldn’t just be for show,” he added at the end, looking up at you, before resuming his study of the ceiling.

“I do not believe commoners can become royal advisors. Or should, in the very least,” you said, trying to continue your concentration on your playing. You plucked a few wrong notes as the conversation continued. He didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s possible, and it’s not like you have to be a vizier or anything. That’d only happen if I became pharaoh, which would only happen if my older brothers died, which they hopefully do not,” he said, continuing on to describe what your life would be like if you became his advisor. You had a thought, but waited till he finished his spiel.

“My prince, is it not a bit redundant for you to have an advisor? You’re not making any political decisions, and-“

“Think of it more as a personal assistant,” he interrupted, looking up at you hopefully. You sighed tiredly, but nodded. He was quiet for a while after that, so you could continue playing in peace.

You were informed the next day that your job had been changed from ‘stress reliever’ to ‘personal servant/advisor,’ and that your quarters would be moved nearer to the princes’. It was quite the step up in the world, which was the last thing you needed, but the prince seemed to think otherwise. You were treated with an ounce more of respect, and at first you weren’t sure what to do with it, and your confusion only got worse throughout the day.

Apparently, when you’re someone’s personal servant/advisor (a job that has never existed before) you have to accompany said person everywhere they go. This included meetings, meals (where you weren’t allowed to eat), as well as important openings, surveying building and planting, and a good amount of educational programs.

Overall, a very tiring day, and you were very much ready to collapse when the moon finally shone.

You accompanied the prince back to his room, wondering how he kept his energy up. You quickly answered the question for yourself, remembering that he’d been doing it his entire life.

He must’ve noticed your state, dragging behind him but keeping your posture up despite.

“Are you alright Nour?” He asked, stopping and turning around to face you. You quickly nodded, trying to keep your eyes open. He looked doubtful however, eyeing you suspiciously.

“You don’t have to play for me tonight if you are this exhausted,” he comforted, resting a hand on your shoulder and trying to give you a sincere look. You didn’t look at him, still too afraid. Especially now, in public, with his hand on your shoulder, where anyone could see.

“I am able to play,” you said, shaking your head a bit, trying to clear out the drowsiness. He continued looking at you skeptically, but allowed you to enter his room, you once again taking your harp from its’ case. He sat in his new pile of pillows and blankets, closing his eyes, and losing himself in your playing. You blinked slowly, feeling a warm, fuzzy blanket come over your thoughts. Despite this you continued playing, trying your best to concentrate. Unfortunately you must’ve made some mistake, because you felt a hand on your wrist, and a voice penetrating the warm blanket that had come over your eyes.

“Nour, go to sleep,” he said, and you opened your eyes, your consciousness falling immediately into his warm and worried eyes. The whole world still felt fuzzy, as though you were half in a dream, the only thing fully grounding you being his hand around your wrist.

“I can play,” you said thickly, the words sounding as though they came from far away, but reverberated in your empty chest.

“No you can’t-“

You closed your eyes, just to blink, but ended up doing a lot more than that. You fell straight asleep, flopping forward onto the prince’s shoulder… unfortunately.

When you awoke, it wasn’t your assigned room. You then quickly remembered that you had moved rooms the day before, settling your worries. You were then further worried when you realized you did not own a golden vase, and the blankets you were given certainly weren’t this soft. You sat up quickly, feeling dizzy.

“Good morning,” the prince said with a soft chuckle, smiling at you from his bed. You felt about ready to throw up.

“D- did I fall asleep?” You asked hurriedly, ready to apologize as soon as he confirmed.

“Yes, but it’s not a problem,” he said, stopping you before you started. You gaped at him, horrified.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” You asked, instead of screaming. His eyes widened, glancing sideways as his cheeks darkened. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. You blinked again. Were you seeing this right?

“… I didn’t want to wake you,” he admitted quietly, head dangling embarrassed between his shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to fully understand the situation.

“Okay. So… you let me sleep in your room all night… because you didn’t want to wake me up?”

He paused before answering.

“… Yeeeesss?”

You got up, dusting yourself off. You waved good bye to him silently, smiling awkwardly, ready to leave.

“Wait, don’t go,” he entreated, his hand moving towards you, still against his bedsheets. You turned to him slowly, practically shaking. You looked him up and down, deciding this was a terrible idea, before turning to leave once more.

“Please,” he murmured, his entire body pleading. You took a deep breath, looking at your feet. A feeble attempt to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t directly disobey him. It was bad enough that you turned away the first time - you didn’t think it possible for royalty to say please, or beg the way he practically was. So you turned back around, looking at him exhausted once more, before walking towards him, standing beside his bed. He smiled brightly up at you, the tenseness in his body completely evaporated.

“You glow perfectly in the morning sun,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist, before venturing up further to your arm. You nearly instinctively pulled away, fear coursing pain through your blood, but you stayed put.

“Inappropriate,” you chided quietly, highly embarrassed.

“I know,” he winked at you, smiling cheekily. You took a deep breath, nearly rolling your eyes.

“Do you know how to ride a chariot?” He asked you out of nowhere, still smiling up at you like you were a dream.

“No, I have no desire to,” you said, knowing that if it were time to fight for your pharaoh, you would physically be unable to fight. Thus, most likely you’d be put on different duty, like planning, or meal prep. The prince, however, looked a bit saddened.

“That’s a shame. I’m going riding today, if you wish I could teach you,” he suggested, tugging your arm lightly.

“Thank you for the offer, but I will stay here instead.”

He offered once more, and you once more declined. Leaving it at that, he redressed into looser clothing.

You stayed in your room for the time he was gone. There wasn’t much for you to do, and you had to stay on call in case someone needed you, so you mostly tried to write new songs. Still slightly new at it, the songs were a tad plain, but you were getting better.

When the sun was near set in the sky, you received a knock at the door. You quickly got up, and a soldier informed you that the prince had returned, and was requesting you in his chambers. You acknowledged, packing your harp up and heading down long hallways to his room.

You knocked, which was met with a small ‘come in.’ When you opened the door, the prince was sitting on his bed as usual, with a large, deep scuff mark on his cheek. You nearly dropped your instrument, staring at the red and black mark.

“No need to be surprised,” he smiled, before wincing and returning to a straight face.

“My prince, doesn’t that need attending to?” You had to physically stop yourself from walking over, digging your nails into the flesh of your leg.

“It’s alright. I fell off the chariot,” he explained, laughing as he thought back. He twitched slightly from pain, letting his face fall again.

“You should clean it in the very least,” you suggested, setting your instrument on the floor. You turned to the door, ready to fetch some water and a cloth.

“You worry too much,” he said as you left, fetching a tight basket of water and an old but clean cloth. You returned a few moments later, setting the supplies on his bed where he sat. He looked at you expectantly, tilting his head slightly. You fidgeted, muscles twitching as you tried to stay calm.

“If you’re so worried, you should do it,” he closed his eyes, ready for you to clean him, “I doubt you’ll accept anyone else doing it.”

You sniffed indignantly, a little ashamed and a little embarrassed. More embarrassed than anything. Nonetheless, you dipped the cloth into the clean water, wringing it out once you pulled it out. You dabbed at his skinned cheek and jaw, trying to make sure it didn’t hurt. The mark reached to his ear, behind the lower part of his crown. You thought of asking him to move it, or moving it yourself.

“Um, my prince, could you remove your crown?” You finally asked hesitantly, still trying to removed the dirt from the visible mark on his cheek. When you removed the rag he nodded, taking off the golden ornament and setting it on the bed. Biting your lip you took a deep breath, once more setting to clean the rest of the scuff.

Finally you dropped the cloth into the water, setting the basket on the floor.

“Done?” He asked, smiling pleasantly at you. In a minute motion you nodded, turning quickly away. You bent down by your instrument, getting ready to play for him once more.

He stared at you for a while as you played, his face straight and his emotions unidentifiable. It put you on edge, as most of the time he was rather see-through. You kept playing despite your worries.

As night came, he did not tell you to stop. You were starting to get a little tired, but you continued playing diligently. The sounds outside the room subsided, silence enclosing the space around and between you and the prince. He shuffled on the bed, lying down, his eyes closed in deep thought.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, piercing soft silence that had lasted so long before. In your shock you struck a wrong string, the dissonant sound making you curl in on yourself. However, you didn’t find yourself too surprised - his actions indicated he had to have felt something different with you.

“I am aware,” you said quietly, picking up another piece. You steadied your hands, trying to play the right chords once more.

“In that case,” he said, clearly annoyed at your passiveness, “you should also know I am free to marry who I wish, and I want to marry you.”

He stood, legs swinging off the bed and waltzing over to you. He grabbed your wrist, stopping your playing and pulling you upwards. Your harp shifted, falling to the ground, softened by the pillows surrounding you.

“I want to marry you,” he repeated softly, breath hot against your face. He leaned in close to you, his eyes hooded, desperate for you to just touch him.

“I can’t,” you said hurriedly, the words coming from pure instinct. You felt your hands shaking in his grasp, terrified by the whole situation.

“Why?” He whispered, face contorted near tears. You hummed uncomfortably, a meager sound in automatic reaction to his sadness.

“I have to go,” you rushed out, ripping yourself from his grasp and running out the door.

Why did this keep happening?

Your tiresome night was not to come to an end, as you ran into someone in the hallway. You fell to the ground from the impact, profusely apologizing to whoever it was you hit.

“Aren’t you that servant my brother’s traipsing around with?”

Fuck, this must be the prince’s eldest brother.

You did not meet his eyes, instead keeping your body in a bowed position.

“Yes, my prince, he has requested it,” you answered obediently.

“You’re rather acquiescent, aren’t you? Such a small thing,” he commented, and you felt his stare on the back of your neck, harsh and cruel. He pressed two fingers to the back of your bowed head, pushing you so you looked upwards at him. Out of fear, you allowed him to move you as he wished.

This was your first meeting with the brother you’d heard so much about, and he was nothing like the prince. His eyes pierced you, emotionless and senseless. It made you long for the warmer, welcoming man you had run from.

“Hm. When I become pharaoh,” he spoke as royalty should; proud, and succinct, “I should make you serve me instead. Most of the servants I get are defiant and rude. You’d be quite the change.”

“Yes, my prince,” you said, too afraid to say anything else. Too scared to mention the fact that the prince that currently owned you would not give you up very easily.

Distantly you heard feet running down the hallway, halting before you and the older prince.

“Kahmuh,” you heard him say, voice practically unidentifiable with the vindictiveness in it.

“Ah! Brother, here’s your, uh, thing,” he said, flicking your head towards his brother. After, the older prince turned and left, his stride confident and domineering. The younger rushed to you, kneeling in front of you.

“Did he hurt you?” He grabbed your face, turning it and inspecting for wounds and marks.

“No,” you mumbled, looking down. He was so human compared to his older brother.

“Did he say anything to you?” He inched closer, looking worriedly at you. His hands moved to your shoulders, gripping them tightly.

“He said that… he wanted me to be his servant when he becomes pharaoh, because I’m obedient,” you said hesitantly, hoping that the prince wouldn’t do anything rash in retaliation. Instead he grimaced, and you watched as his muscles tensed.

“If only he knew you’re the exact opposite of that. You just follow rules. You won’t bend them, not for me, and definitely not for him,” he said, his tone bordering on venomous. He helped you up, patting the sides of your arms awkwardly once you stood.

“Spend the night with me?” He asked haltingly, giving you a look of it’s alright if you say no.

“You know I can’t do that,” you answered quietly, hoping to convey that maybe, you wished that you had the confidence to bend the rules just slightly.

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said, ceasing all contact with you.

“Do you know where my room is?” You asked, walking beside him, instead of behind.

“Uh… no,” he answered shyly, laughing quietly. You smiled cordially at him. The walk to your room was silent, a few people flitting by but besides that, lonely.

“Thank you, my prince,” you bowed your head respectively, before turning to open your door. He held your hand, keeping you there as he spoke.

“You’re welcome… my love,” he answered gently, letting your hand slide out of his.

You stood outside your door, dumbfounded as he left, watching as he disappeared around a turn.

My love?

+

Four more full moons passed. Overall, you must’ve been working for him for seven moons, which was quite a while, looking back. A few days ago the Pharaoh and his Queen had announced that the throne would have to be passed soon. You gave them around a year to actually hold to their statement.

It was to your surprise that, a few days later, the Queen called you to her quarters. You had been playing for the young prince, when a messenger directed you away. You bid a quick good bye to the prince, heading where the messenger took you.

Her room was larger, shared with her husband, who was not present. It was only her, pacing back and forth in her room, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

“Harpist, good,” she said, upon noticing you, directing you inside. She sat you on a chair, and you thanked her.

“What do you think of Ahkmen?” She asked you, finally stopping her pacing, looking directly at her.  You kept your eyes on her feet, always remembering your place.

“He is a kind man, overtaken with emotion and confused, but that is expected of someone so young. He’s benevolent and wise beyond his age,” you answered, attempting to summarize your observations of him over the past half year.

“You’ve met my other son, correct?” She asked you, and she began pacing again. You confirmed. At this point you’d met him a few times, none of the meetings being entirely pleasant. He seemed to favour you though, which you hoped would continue. You still had a thing about dying.

“What do you think of him?”

You swallowed. Would you really dare speak ill about a woman’s son, especially a queens’?

“He is brave, and well, succinct. He knows what he wants and he achieves it. He’s ambitious and also overtaken with emotion, though the emotion is… not kindness,” you ended hesitantly, starting to fidget just like the Queen was.

“I know you are a commoner. My youngest son has told me about you, and he says you follow rules and tradition no matter what someone of higher power says. But now, I need you to be honest with me,” she kneeled before you, looking you directly in the eyes.

This had to be incredibly important, for her to kneel, let alone in front of you.

“Who is fit to be king?”

Your mouth fell open. You weren’t qualified to answer this. Was the fate of the entire kingdom resting on you now?

“My Queen, is it not appropriate for the eldest to take the throne?” You asked quietly, knowing the answer already.

“Yes, but… Kahmuh has been doubtful in all essence of the word. He is violent and rash, he does not think over his decisions. If it were a choice the obvious choice is Ahkmen, however it isn’t right. It’s never happened before, so I thought the advice of a commoner might be of some use.”

“Your youngest son would be the best choice,” you said. Given the choice, you’d choose him every time.

“You don’t think the citizens will be outraged?”

“I suppose you could… lie, if you’re worried about it,” you suggested, choosing your words carefully.

“What kind of lie could you or I come up with that would soothe their worries?”

“Could say that the Gods chose him. Which is technically true,” you added that at the end, seeing her eyes widen with horror. She took a deep breath.

“You’re right. You’re very wise for a commoner. Dismissed,” she said, standing up. You bowed, thanking her for the time spent with her, and left.

When you returned to the prince’s room, he asked what she needed you for. You thought about telling him the truth, but instead you lied, saying that she was simply checking up on how her son was feeling through the person spending the most time with him. He believed you, and you resumed playing your music.

“Why can’t you marry me?” He asked you, lying next to you in his large splay of blankets and pillows. You sat on the edge of his cushioned area, a blanket to soften the floor for your knees.

“It is prudent to marry within your social class,” you muttered, voice quiet as you still tried concentrating on the task at hand.

“In that case, do you wish for me to marry my brother?” He laughed, before sticking his tongue out and gagging.

“Please don’t,” you chuckled.

“I’d still like you to know that since I’m not becoming Pharaoh, I can marry whomever I want,” he teased, poking you in the shoulder. You rolled your arm back, shaking him off. You thought back to what the Queen had said - if she was to give you credit and follow through your advice, he would be Pharaoh, and that’d be a big problem.

“You can’t assure that you won’t have to become Pharaoh some day,” you said quietly.

“Are you planning on killing my brother?”

“Not yet,” you gritted under your breath. He laughed, rolling onto his side. He stared up at you, a subconscious smile on his face.

“My love, you mustn’t worry. He will become king, not I, and I will be able to marry whomever I please, and whomever I please will be you,” he still smiled at you, sure that he was correct. “As long as you’ll have me,” he added quietly after a beat of silence. You cautiously nodded, aware that while he valued your opinion and input, he could simply force you to marry him. Though knowing him as well as you did, you didn’t think him capable of something like that.

“I don’t think I’m fit to rule,” he sighed a few moments later, letting his hands intertwine behind his head to cushion him. You gave him a quizzical look, silently requesting for him to continue his thought.

“I’ve never been good with fast decisions, and as you might’ve realized I’m terrible under pressure,” he said very matter-of-fact like, sighing dejectedly as he finished. “I’m just not fit to rule.”

“Given the opportunity and right people, anyone with a kind heart and brave soul is fit to rule,” you hummed, letting your fingers pop more gracefully as they plucked the strings.

“That would mean you’re fit to rule,” he said offhandedly, rolling his shoulders back.

“Afraid not, my prince. I’m a coward in my soul,” you laughed, but it was partially true. You’d never break a single rule.

“Perhaps so. You’re not willing to break a rule that isn’t even real, but your kindness more than makes up for it. Besides, with how pretty you are, I’d let it pass,” he casually flirted with you. He was beginning to do so often, and with increasing smoothness. It seemed as though he was really coming out of the shell you really wish he’d go back into.

“Uh - thank you, my, uh, prince,” you stammered. “Do you have any plans for your birthday?” You quickly changed the subject.

“My parents are throwing another party, not much else. I would very much love it if you attended.” He looked up at you expectantly.

“Of course, my prince. I was the harpist at your last birthday, I would be happy to reprise my role.”

“No, I meant as my… partner. My plus one.”

You paused, thinking over the implications if you were to arrive with him, as his equal.

“Who will play harp then?”

“We’ll find someone else, though they won’t be as good as you, I would prefer you to stay at my side,” he said, sitting up and turning to face you. Your skin burned, nerves tingling as you imagined events of the night playing out. You’d probably be expected to do a lot of things you weren’t raised to do.

“Please, my love?” He wrapped his hand around your wrist gently, and his calm demeanor seeped through the contact he made with you.

“… Of course, my prince.”

+

Two months had passed since that eventful day, where you’d learned that the Queen was doubting her older son, and that you were to attend a royal party as a guest, not an employee. The prince had done to the best of his abilities, as much as he could to soothe your nerves. You hadn’t told him about your anxiousness surrounding the event, but it was easy for him to pick up on it. To help you, he educated you on the different replies to various things. You’d mainly learned that staying silent and by his side would make people avoid talking to you. After all, if you stayed with him, most people would be too enamored with him to notice you, and if they did, they’d probably ask the prince who you were and not you. After a few days of his etiquette training, you’d felt a little better.

Around evening when you and the prince retired to his room, he had been called up for a surprise meeting. You were instructed to stay in his room, so you did, tuning your harp and waiting for him to come back.

He did, a long while later, his shoulders drooping and eyebrows furrowed.

“Nour,” he sighed, rubbing his face as he walked forward. He came in front of you, bending to his knees before planting his face in your shoulder. His arms came around you, tired and slow, but tightly encircling your waist.

“My prince?” You questioned awkwardly, unsure of where to put your hands.

“They’re thinking of breaking the rules. Of giving me the throne,” he whimpered, voice muffled by your body.

“That can’t be so awful,” you murmured, ultimately deciding to rest your hand on his back and head.

“I can’t marry you,” he partially whispered, pressing himself into you further.

“Oh,” was all the tiny sound you could muster. Was that really what he was worried about?

The two of you stayed intertwined on his makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. You, with your heart beating straight out of its’ hole, and him, with his face pressed tight against your body, crying ever so slightly. It gave you time to think of a plan.

“I might regret telling you this, but I have an idea,” you started off slowly. He didn’t move, or make any noise, so you continued.

“You could marry me now,” you said, feeling much more stressed and yet less anxious with the thought now in the open. Open for judgement, yes, but also for accepting, and which one terrified you more you did not know.

He removed himself from you, mouth slightly parted and wide eyed. He then knitted his eyebrows together, cocking his head to the right.

“You’d do that?” His tone was quiet and uncertain, unbelieving and a half whisper.

“If you married me now and you or I decided that it wasn’t a thing we wanted, we could later divorce. However if you let your father announce you as Pharaoh before we are married, it would not be allowed. It’s simply…” you trailed off, unsure of where you were headed.

“The logical decision, to help with my stress?” He smiled shyly. You laughed awkwardly, and nodded.

He leaned forward, looking like he was about to kiss you. Instinctively you pushed him away, heart beat increasing once more.

“It’s just a place holder. Nothings changed. I still don’t think I should even be looking at you,” you quickly relayed to him, hoping to make him realize that you didn’t want to act married.

“Alright. I will kiss you one day though,” he reminded you with a teasing lilt, raising your hand to his mouth, kissing you with a touch that was barely there.

“It appears you already have,” you replied, thinking back to the many times he’d kissed your hand. You knew it to be a sign of utmost respect, and it had confused you when he first did it. Now, you were far more accustomed to it, though you still didn’t approve of it. You supposed he had a right to whomever he respected.

Three days later, he’d convinced you that it was okay to tell his parents. You were hesitant for obvious reasons, but he assured you there wouldn’t be harsh consequences. Unfortunately, he wanted you to be there when he broke the news.

So you stood behind him, shaking, going into a mild cardiac arrest.

“We’re married. It was my idea,” he started with, which was very outright, and you wanted to berate him for that.

“… Married?” His father confirmed. You hadn’t ever spoken to him before, but he had a commanding voice. He, like his eldest son, had a posture, an air about him that simply made him fit to rule.

The prince nodded. His parents exchanged looks, before their eyes fell on you.

“You are?” His father asked, eyes burning your skin.

“My name is Nour. I was the harpist for many of your parties. I have been the youngest princes’… stress reliever,” you answered, attempting to be succinct. You kept your head down, a sign of submission and respect.

“Oh, you were his whore?”

You spluttered, face turning red as you made flabby attempts at defending yourself.

“No, father, Nour has helped me to calm down through music… not, uh, sex. Nour won’t let me touch them,” the prince stepped in to defend you, and at the same time, completely discredited your claimed marriage.

“You two wish to be married, yet you’ve never touched each other? Just, holding hands?”

The Pharaoh seemed confused. He turned to his queen once more, before looking at the two of you again.

“I’m very adamant that I not be touched until marriage. It is a simple personal preference,” you said quickly, coming up with the explanation on the fly. You begged to whomever would listen that it would suffice. Still your eyes were trained on his feet, simply to avoid accidentally meeting his eyes. Despite this you saw him shrug helplessly, waving his hand at his son.

“Alright then, whatever. Why are you telling me this then? Do you want a celebration?”

“Y-“ The prince started, being promptly interrupted by you.

“We’d prefer to keep this quiet for a little bit,” you quickly requested, still keeping your head down. The Pharaoh grunted something, dismissing you quickly. The prince grabbed your shoulders, rushing you out of the throne room and down a quiet hallway. It was open, with large pillars replacing a wall, allowing you to see the city.

“Before you ask, I thought it would be best to have a celebration when we actually get married, if we do,” you told him, which made him finally stop pushing you ahead. He pushed you into a wall, trapping you between his arms. For a moment you were scared, but he was smiling for some reason.

“I care what you believe more than anything, but for right now, I don’t care. We’re married,” he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. He looked elated, and it made you scared, but it also made love rush beneath your fingertips, spritzing out in the form of a desperate need to touch him.

He reacted before you did, leaning in as slow as he could, still smiling. As he neared your lips, you caught onto a rather scandalous idea.

“Oh my prince, what are you playing at?” You asked coyly, giving him a coquettish grin. For a split second you saw confusion paint his face. You grabbed his wrist, pulling him back into the wall. You switched places with him, pinning him to the wall. There was the unfortunate bit where you were quite a bit shorter than him, but his knees buckled beneath him, bringing him lower than you. Mimicking some of his first actions against you, you pressed two of your fingers beneath his chin, moving him so he looked you in the eyes.

His eyes were wide, staring into yours with happy anticipation. You could almost see him mentally devouring up the attention you were giving him.

“We both know it goes like this,” you whispered, words dripping with amorously inviting intentions. He seemed to melt further into you, smiling with a blissed out look. You were sure if you simply left him like that, he’d only find you more inviting.

So you did.

You ceased all contact all at once, leaving him breathing heavy with wide eyes. You smiled innocently at him, and continued down the hallway. A few minutes later, he finally caught up with you, looking embarrassed but more professional.

“Nice play my love, but I’ll get you someday,” he whispered into your ear, still walking behind you. You just let out a giggle, wondering if he really had it in him.

“Of course, my prince,” you smiled at him.

The two of you returned to his room, feeling much less stressed about the whole situation. However, he asked that you not play the harp. Instead he wanted to simply sit with you, and you agreed as if you had any other option. He led you to the nest of pillows and blankets you were both too familiar with, sitting you down across from him.

“I could write endless poetry about you,” he said dreamily, leaning in and taking your hands. You flushed red, attempting to stammer out a reply.

“Uh- um, t-thank you? I’m hardly deserving,” was what you got out, not meeting his eyes out of embarrassment.

“Nour, you must realize that at this point you are my equal. You can look at me,” he lifted his hand to your cheek, pulling you back to face him, “and you can touch me.”

This was true. Now the only thing stopping you was your own inhibitions, and to you, it felt like enough. When for a few moments you did nothing, he sighed, dropping his head onto your shoulder.

“Whatever you wish, my love,” he murmured, falling back and away from you.

Before you fully knew what you were doing, you pulled him back, sitting yourself in his lap. He looked surprised, staring at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you ran your hand through his short hair, your heart rate increasing as he continued staring at you.

“My love?” He asked in a hushed voice, full of tension, and yet excitement as well.

“My prince,” you responded, your voice holding the utmost reverence and adoration. Once more his hand came to rest on your cheek. He eased you closer, letting you follow his hand of your own accord. It seemed incredibly like him to allow you to take control in such a situation as this.

At long last you relaxed in his touch, melting into his hand with a sigh and closed eyes. You heard him chuckle just slightly, felt him leaning in and felt his nose press into your cheek.

He was letting you make the final move.

You did just so, moving forward not even a centimeter before you felt his lips upon yours.

The tension in your muscles, the tension that had been there since the moment you stepped foot in the palace, faded away. The longer he stayed there, moving his lips against yours, the more anxiety faded away, being replaced by unending need and laudation. The fondness you felt for him consumed your entire being, burning in your blood and electrifying your movements against him. Your hands found a resting place on his shoulders, pulling him ever closer to you. Everything else besides him felt numb, your senses existing only to feel him.

He sunk deeper into you, hands coming beneath your shawl. You leaned away, landing you on your back with him above you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to land soft, open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“You’ve mentioned that,” you breathed out, eyelids fluttering shut as he worked away. You felt out of place, confused, and unsure of where to put your hands. Ultimately he took charge, holding your hands in his and holding them above your head. His fingers threaded into yours, and he came up to kiss you upon your lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are,” you said as he removed himself from you, sitting on his knees. You followed his actions, coming close to him, settling your hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure how,” you gave him a curious look, “but you seem to glow, whenever I see you.”

“That’d be the moonlight,” he teased.

“I think it’s actually just you,” you murmured, leaning in for another kiss. He hummed pleasantly, chasing after you when you tried to pull away.

“I’ve hesitated to say this until now but I truly love you. I’m sorry I haven’t said it before, I -“

“Was following the rules?”

“Yes,” you said in a hushed voice, hoping he’d understand. He shifted, moving his body so you could sit in his lap, before pulling you into him.

“I know. I admire you for it, you’ve got quite the tenacity to disobey orders just to obey rules,” he smirked, teasing you. You giggled quietly, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

Finally, everything felt correct. Maybe it was just because you might’ve been a massive prude, but there was the fact that if you were a massive prude, you would’ve waited until a wedding celebration to kiss him. So maybe you were just an avid rule follower. Either way, this time it felt right to touch him, so you did just that.

It was the first time you spent the night with him, both of you asleep in his bed.

Surprisingly, not much changed. Per your request his parents had not told anyone, so no one treated you differently than they had before. A small part of you appreciated that, and the other parts didn’t especially care. Planning for the young prince’s birthday celebrations continued, with you sometimes included in such planning.

Despite recent events you were still nervous about being his ‘plus one.’ It would be making a statement, something you never liked to do, though the statement was more on his behalf, not yours. Nighttime was often the only peace you got, what with daytime being hectic and stressful. Most evenings you played for the prince, whom you still referred to as the prince in your head. Usually out loud, as much as it bothered him. You’d get there eventually, you told yourself.

Sometimes he’d sit behind you, playing with your hair, landing soft pecks on the back of your neck. It was incredibly distracting for your playing and incredibly welcome by your heart.

“I love you,” he said, a thing he often said simply to remind you. When you were feeling especially shy, you’d reply, “I know.” However, during your more normal or confident days, you’d respond, “I love you too.” You had a feeling he preferred the latter.

“How are you feeling? I know there’s been a lot going on,” he asked quietly, threading your hair between his fingers. He tugged at it every now and then, and you wondered if he was trying to braid it.

“I’ve been alright. I got measured today for my clothes, for your party,” you told him in a calm murmur. The quiet moments you shared seemed to be the only time there weren’t voices yelling in your ear.

“Do you like the design?” He asked, tugging at your hair before releasing it.

“I didn’t see it,” you said with a soft laugh, stopping your music for just a second before resuming. He kissed just below the ear as you began, causing you to miss the chord entirely.

“Your affections ruin my playing.”

“Isn’t that the best way to ruin it?”

“There’s better ways.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your stomach. He pulled you away from your harp, dragging you into his embrace. You smiled, relaxing into his arms. Your harp, luckily, landed on a bed of pillows.

“I love you,” he murmured against your hair, kissing your head.

“I love you too,” you said, turning up so he could kiss you properly.

+

The celebration was, in your opinion, loud. In your sort-of husband’s opinion, it was joyous. The food was wonderful, you did admit, a good chunk of dessert being made out of sweet honey. Too many people for your taste, just the right amount for his taste, and too little for his parents’ taste. The entire time you sat by his side, people gave you odd stares, but said nothing. His parents didn’t say a word, but greeted you with a curt nod, which was a lot more than you were expecting.

“To the eighteenth birthday of the new Pharaoh, Ahkmenrah!”

The entirety of the table that stretched from one end of a very long hall to the other end of the very long hall raised their glasses. Wine sloshed within the cups, sometimes pouring onto the table. You raised yours careful not to spill. You hadn’t drank that much anyway.

As the hands lowered all took a sip or gulp from their drinks, and promptly after that, the Prince turned Pharaoh collapsed onto the ground. The chalice in your hand crashed onto the table as you knelt hastily by his side, turning him over and shaking him, desperately trying to get him to wake up. Your fingers tingled with pin pricks, all the blood rushing to your head and thumping loudly like the drumbeats of the reaper.

He was carried away from you, and in your own misery you missed the calamity. When you returned to yourself, aware of your own body, you found yourself still kneeling on the floor of the dining hall. It was empty save for a few servants cleaning up the table, and Ahkmenrah’s parents. You felt an empty hole in your torso, as if someone had plowed a log straight through your body.

His father set a hand on your shoulder, telling you to get up and stay by his side. You obeyed without question.

You sat by his bed, grasping his hand. Healers stood on the other side of the bed, putting some sort of ointment into his mouth.

With sluggish movements his head turned to you, lips purple and cracked. His eyes seemed to sink into his skull, eyelids blinking slow and red.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and cracking under the light pressure. You kissed his knuckles, holding them tighter.

“You’ll be alright, my prince,” you assured him, glancing up at the healer as you said this. He made a small shrug motion, giving you a worried look.

“No I won’t. Don’t… worry, about me? Don’t worry,” he said to you, trying to raise his arm to your cheek. He couldn’t bear the strain, so you leaned down, pressing your cheek to his open palm. The edges of his lips turned up slightly, smiling as much as you assumed he could physically stand.

The healer left the room, coming back a few minutes later with his parents.

“It’s poison,” he informed them quietly in the corner of the room. His mother gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth. Your mouth automatically fell open, eyes widening in worry as you looked back down at the prince.

“Your brother,” you said, knowing it must’ve been him. No one else hated him, at least not as much as his brother did.

“I know,” he murmured, trying to swallow. It hurt him, you could tell by the way his eyes closed and his brows knitted tightly together as he winced.

“I will -“

“Don’t. It’s not your job. He will be brought to justice, not by you.”

You nodded, gripping his hand tighter.

“My love,” he rasped out, “be at peace, for I am at peace.” His lips barely moved before he lay still. His eyes remained open, and his head relaxed towards the ceiling.

You numbed entirely. Your hands went cold, and his hand dropped from your cheek with a graceless thump.

And he lay still.

And he did not move, not for hours, not until people moved his body for him, moving him away from both his parents and your eyes. You stayed, kneeled next to his bed for longer than you knew.

Publicly you weren’t married to him. Publicly you were his servant, and that meant you could be buried with him, whether you wanted to or not. You weren’t sure what you preferred.

You didn’t get the time to think it through. He was buried, and his brother became King in his stead. True to his promise, he kept you as his servant. You weren’t allowed to be buried with the prince, and for a while, you served the Pharaoh well. For a long while, and many moons passed before you couldn’t bear more.

It wasn’t until grief consumed you that you changed your situation. His parents had died months back, and whether they were murdered or not you didn’t know. They got proper burials, alongside their son. The world had nothing left to give you, and the Pharaoh was cruel and unjust. You saw clearly now why his mother seemed so worried. You had originally thought that no one could be as inhuman as he was, and now you were wrong. And now you had to end it.

+

It wasn’t until you died that you awoke again. You’d killed yourself in Egypt, and found yourself awake years into the future, locked inside a half rotted wooden sarcophagus. Besides the tight encasing, the worst part was the dank smell. That had to be expected, after you realized that you had definitely been in that sarcophagus for well over a thousand years, and your wrappings were covered in dust and rot.

To your immense luck it wasn’t pitch black. The wood had rotted through enough to shine small specks of light into your coffin, and due to this whenever you awoke, you could see through to the other world.

You awoke and fell straight asleep and the same time every day. When you awoke, you shifted to a hole, and with your wrappings coming off just slightly below your eye, you saw people. All kinds of people - locked up in glass containers and wearing silly looking clothes. If they weren’t in their own casings they moved around, banging on the glass to be let out. None of them could fully speak, but the throat bleeding screams behind their wrappings was enough to make your blood run cold.

Sometimes, you’d see people not in wrappings, and not encased in glass. They wore dark blue clothing, and they looked old, with pale, white skin.

It made you wonder, very often (when you weren’t panicked about never getting out, and suffering eternity locked away), where you were. You had realized you were in the future, but how? How were you alive? Why were you still in your coffin, and why were you surrounded with glass? Most importantly, how did you wake up?

Ages later you were still in the same place. You lost count how many times you woke up, just to never be released, and fall back asleep. The funniest thing was, you were never tired when you fell asleep. You just did, as though it were instinct.

It was that evening that absolute chaos ensued. Something had happened - there was only one man in dark blue clothing, and he looked frightened. The screams of those around you grew louder, and soon the man was gone with a start.

This pattern of the man running through the room continued for a few more nights before peace came about once more.

A few more nights later, the screaming stopped. Two men spoke together outside in a language you couldn’t understand, but it seemed to be civil, if not worried. One of them got passionate, but was eventually calmed down.

Then a lock clicked.

Fresh air seeped in through the holes of your own prison.

And your lid opened.

You still wore your wrappings, so it was a little hard to see anything. Cloth kept your hands tightly bound to your chest, and when the two men you could barely see noticed that, they helped. Eventually your arms were torn free, quickly followed by the wrappings around your mouth.

You breathed truly, fresh air for the first time in longer than a century. Unfortunately, your eyes were still covered, so it was a bit musty.

“Um,” one man said, mumbling something garbled that you didn’t understand. Hands came behind your head, and for a moment you flinched back, but he slowed. With more care he came up from behind, slowly unwrapping your age old prison.

You blinked as harsh light filled your eyes, cringing away. Before you could fully see arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you out of your casket and holding you tight to a body, clothing and jewelry pressing tight into your skin.

“I - I’m sorry?” Was all you could think to say, eyes finally being able to see. The glass around you was gone, and you saw in full vision the others who were encased. They too were out, some more violent and confused than others, who seemed to also be from Egypt.

“Nour,” he mumbled, a cold sort of crown chilling your cheek. The voice, knowing your name, speaking it with such blessing, sounded too familiar. You tried to form words, but found yourself at a loss for them, resorting to confused mumbles and noises.

Over the mans’ (who was still hugging you) shoulder you saw another man, white skin, younger. Dark hair, strong brow, and looking incredibly awkward. Upon seeing that you noticed him, he waved awkwardly, saying something in another language.

“What’s happening?” You asked weakly, hoping the man who was hugging you understood your language.

“Oh, my love,” he murmured, lips brushing against your neck as he pulled back.

“My prince?”

[sunsetika]

brainfart 1 - oisuga

oikawa meets suga after he comes home from japan. despite the uncertainty of their relationship, they could not help but fall deeper and deeper into each other.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to a multi-chaptered fic just yet. The last time I wrote one was 2011 LMAO.

Hence, I’ll just type out an outline I’ve been wanting to work on for a while, now. Will I get to it? Maybe, maybe not. But dang, I want this to come to life so bad.

I kind of have the start down, but the in-betweens: not so much.

Sooooo if ya wanna see the outline, read away!

Setting: Winter 2022 (starts December), Tokyo + Miyagi

Oikawa: 28, still part of the Argentinian National Team

Sugawara: 28, teaches elementary students at a school in Sendai

[1]

Nearing Christmas, Oikawa was sent on a forced break after injuring his knee in a game. 

While his knee managed to heal, he overworked himself to the bone-his knee injury being the breaking point, Coach Blanco insisted that he needed this in order to come back a stronger player.

Oikawa decided to fly home to Japan. He decided to stay in a hotel in Tokyo for a brief period, enjoying the city’s bustling yuletide season.

One Friday night, while walking down the streets, he bumps into Sugawara. Suga mentions that he was just about to buy a drink and invites Oikawa.

They catch up, flirt, drink glasses of beer as the night draws to a close.

They touch upon Daichi getting married soon, and Iwaizumi settling down with a girlfriend, and kind of relish in heartbreak.

Suga mentions he was in Tokyo since he headed straight here as soon as he was able to leave the school, since he was incredibly stressed.

Oikawa takes Suga back to his hotel and they spend the night there (yes, they do).

Suga rises up early to head back to Sendai, since he has to grade some papers back in the school, despite it being a Saturday.

When it was sundown, Suga was surprised to see Oikawa waiting for him by the school gate. He pulls Suga and manages to drag him into Seijoh, sneaking in. Oikawa admits the small crush he had on Suga, while Suga returns the confession.

[2]

Here’s the muddy in-between lol

Suga & Oikawa meet up time to time, whether it was for a date or for a hookup. They never put a label.

Though they don’t live together, Oikawa stays at Suga’s apartment for long periods of time.

Oikawa helps coach Lil Tykes Volleyball Classroom again.

Suga receives an invitation to Daichi and Michimiya’s wedding, sending him to tears once more. Thankfully, Oikawa is there to help him through. Oikawa says ‘I love you,’ but Sugawara doesn’t say it back.

They grow more and more attached to each other, scaring Suga - he can’t go back to Argentina with Tooru (yes, first name basis now!!), and he doesn’t want to make him stay in Japan for him.

Oikawa knows this is a dead end, since he can’t make Koushi (!!!!!) stop teaching, since it’s his passion.

Long distance relationship is out of the question, since they’re not even in a relationship in the first place!!

One morning: “I want to be selfish, Tooru. I want to want you to stay.” Suga cries. “But I can’t bring myself to. Ever.”

Daichi sends the invitation to the wedding. Suga informs him to reserve a seat for 1.

Suga arrives alone at the wedding. He was happy for Daichi, but he was torn: he misses Oikawa, but is also glad that he decided not to bring him along, since bringing a plus 1 to a wedding means serious things.

To his surprise, Oikawa shows up (he contacted Daichi secretly). Suga is happy, and they dance together.

They continue to go out, being more and more attached to each other as the months pass by, but they don’t put a label on anything.

Oikawa and Suga finally tries to define “the relationship” - there is none. There doesn’t have to be any, since they know it won’t work out. Oikawa gets ready to go back to playing volleyball. They promise not to wait for each other, to move on. They’ll try to keep in touch.

The two agree to not see each other off when Oikawa leaves. They say their final goodbyes at Koushi’s doorstep.

Oikawa takes one last look before entering the departure area, hoping to find Suga, feeling a pain in his chest when he doesn’t.

Oikawa enters the departure area, just as Suga arrives outside, panting, but Oikawa was no where to be seen. He was too late.

[3]

Lots of time skips.

Suga and Oikawa try to keep in touch with their social media, but this dwindles as their schedules get busier.

Oikawa never settles down, but continues to hook up with different people. While he wasn’t trying to fill a void and simply enjoys the company, he keeps going back to Suga, wanting to see him, to feel him once again, and again, and again.

Though they don’t talk anymore, Oikawa constantly checks Suga’s Facebook, even liking some photos as he passes by them.

Suga tries to settle down. He eventually finds himself a girlfriend, whom he loves very much. They decided to marry, and they do. He looks at their wedding photo on his social media, staring long and hard at the notification: Liked By Tooru Oikawa

After three years of marriage, Suga’s wife files a divorce. Although Suga tried to fight for their marriage, his wife points out that she knows: she knows there’s someone else in his heart. She knows he’s never gotten over him. She knows. 

“And it’s okay.” She says. “I know you still love him.”

Suga’s (now ex-) wife tells him she understands admits that she still loves her best friend and wants to be with her.

His wife argues that they only married for the sake of tradition which hurts Suga, since he does still love his wife, but comes to terms with what was really missing - Oikawa. He eventually signs the papers, and divorce peacefully.

“I hope you’ll be happy someday, Koushi.” She says before bidding goodbye. “With Tooru.”

Oikawa notices the lack of updates from Suga - he probably lives a quiet life, now. Is his wife beautiful? I hope she’s kind to him. I wonder if they have kids. They’ll probably be as beautiful as Koushi.

It’s what he deserves.

[4]

Year 2037. Coach Jose Blanco passes away, and Oikawa is devastated and, for the first time in a while, unsure.Maybe he should coach. Maybe he should stop playing volleyball and live a normal life. Then, he decides that he needs another reset. Boarding the plane, he posts a photo on his social media: Going back home.

Suga's in the break room when he sees Oikawa’s post. He’s teaching high school now, and is the adviser and co-coach for the school’s volleyball club. He quickly scrambles, asking one of the teachers to substitute for him - it’s an emergency, he says. He hops onto a cab and heads to Sendai Airport, heart racing. I don’t even know what his exact arrival time is. What if it’s not in Sendai Airport? What if he comes home with a family? Would he even be glad to see me?

He gets off the cab and nervously waits on a bench across the entrance. Suga keeps checking Oikawa’s social media for updates, but there was none. Why can’t I message him?

Hours pass by and it’s already 10 in the evening when the next flock of people come out. Suga keeps his eyes peeled, and then - there he is.

Oikawa comes into the clearing, looking around. There’s no one with him, but Suga’s heart drops. He runs to Oikawa, tears threatening to spill.

“Koushi? What -”

Without shame, a crying Suga kisses Oikawa. After recovering from his shock, he returns the kiss, a sigh of relief leaving Suga’s lips.

After the kiss, they stand in each others arms, panting.

O: “What are you doing here?”  S: “Waiting for you you idiot - wait, you’re not married, are you? Oh my god, what have I done -” O: “I’m not, but you... You’re married, right?” S: [smiles and shows his bare left hand] “I’m not.”

Oikawa laughs, feeling all his emotions bubble out all at once. He spends the night at Suga’s once more, relishing in his lover’s arms, happy.

O: “I still don’t know what’ll happen from now on.” S: “We’ll make it work.” O: “I don’t know if I’m staying in Japan.” S: “We’ll make it work.” O: “Are you sure? I can’t take you away from what you love, Koushi. What if I decide to go back to Argentina -” S: “We’ll make it work.”

Suga holds Oikawa in a loving embrace, and Oikawa sighs at the warmth. Suga looks him in the eyes with reassurance and determination. “Besides...”

“It’s you, Tooru...” Suga plants a kiss on Oikawa’s forehead. “You’re the one I love.”

x

Sorry it’s so long & wordy HAHA.

Will edit this from time to time I guess??????????????? Or take this down when I decide to actually write a full fic??????????????????

[playitaagain]

pretend enough (and it may just become reality)

For: @lemon-patches

Prompt: #31 “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Warning: underage drinking, swearing, JJ kissing a lot of people that aren’t Pope, so some angst for sure, i’m a terrible editor, so probably some grammar/spelling errors

Author’s Note: Thanks so much for requesting! I really appreciate it. Kie is my go to matchmaker (literally wrote a fic about it called matchmaker) and here she is doing her thing and trying to help these idiot boys realize their feelings.

This takes place after the season final minus the whole Kie/Pope thing that happened. I’m pretty much ignoring that.

Feel free to request. Here is my post about it. 

If JJ squeeze his eyes closed tight enough, he can pretend there are a pair of dark eyes in front of him, chapped lips pressing against his. They’re the same dark eyes that he swears can look right into his soul, read him without a word. The same pair of lips that can build him up in moments, encouragement and warmth and home lingering in the air every time he talks, even if it’s an insult on his tongue. JJ never knew an insult could sound so good, but he also knows that Pope never means it harshly.

JJ’s hands slide down a smooth back and he pretends that they’re sliding down Pope’s muscles, the one he has the pleasure of seeing almost everyday on the boat. It’s near impossible to tear his eyes away from Pope. It doesn’t even matter what they’re doing. He could be making a sandwich. It didn’t matter because JJ always found his gaze drifting toward the other. 

The soft curves were hard to ignore though and it instantly brings JJ back, out of his fantasies. The girl sitting on his lap is easy, warm and inviting. She’s everything JJ used to want in a boneyard party, but he hasn’t in a long time. Actually, longer than he is ever willing to admit to himself. There was no way he would have passed this opportunity up before everything, before the gold. There was no way he would have let his mind wonder to Pope like he let it now, even thought he had known long before the gold he held some feelings for his best friend.

JJ pulls away when a soft moan leaves the girls lips, frown tugging down his lips as she latches herself onto his neck. He sighs, giving the girl a soft push away from him. She furrows her brows and he simply shake his head. The huff that leaves her lips just has JJ sitting back, allowing the girl to slip off his lap and go find another person to latch onto. 

“I’ve never seen you turn down a willing touron before,” Kie says, sitting next to him. She has two solo cups and she goes to hand him one. He downs the liquid in the cup as he shrugs his shoulders. 

“Didn’t feel like it,” he mumbles, digging around in his pocket for anything to get his mind off of Pope. He comes up empty handed though, supplies hidden away from the Heyward’s in the back of Pope’s closet. He forgot to grab it on their way out and he’s cursing himself now. 

Kie doesn’t seem to fall for his statement though, frown tugging down her lips as JJ pushes himself up. The keg is only a few feet away and he is quick to fill his cup, Kie’s voice loud over the sound of the music. “That’s not it. What’s wrong?” And JJ wants to tell her, wants to tell someone, but he glances over at Pope, sitting awkwardly on the other side of the fire. There is a girl next to him, but he doesn’t look too engaged in the conversation. He actually looks pretty annoyed, like he just wants to get away from her. 

“It’s nothing. I’m going to head out actually. It looks like Pope needs your help more than me.”

He leaves without another word.

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

The hand on JJ’s shoulder catches his attention and he frowns, turning to find a beautiful touron smiling at him. She’s everything he used to go for, but he isn’t really in the mood right now. The fire is starting to go out, the party fading in the background as he talks to Kie. They had recently gotten an update from John B in the Bahamas and the two of them where in a pretty deep conversation about it. 

“Do you want to dance?” JJ can hear the innuendo in her voice, because he knows she doesn’t just want to dance. She’s here to have a good time and she wants JJ to give it to her. 

He can’t help but glance over though, Pope on Kie’s other side. He’s been worried about his summer reading the last few days and is sitting with a notebook in his lap as he scribbles down words for a report on one of the books. It was the only way JJ could convince him to go, but it also met that Pope was occupied most of the night. He had barely even spared JJ a glance when JJ asked if he wanted to smoke. 

JJ glances at Kie next and she looks a bit confused, eyebrows raised as she glances over at Pope and back to JJ. JJ has always hated how perceptive Kie was, always able to read the three of them. He can see it in her eyes, the questioning look, the way she just knows something is up. JJ has been kind of shit at hiding his feelings lately, because Pope was Pope and JJ couldn’t help but find himself watching the other closely, listening to the other ramble on about school and college and work. 

He doesn’t linger on it though, simply glances back to the girl as he nods, letting her lead him out to dance. If he tries hard enough he can pretend Pope is in front of him, body presses close and lips on his neck. 

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

Kie watches JJ walk away, frown pulling down her lips. JJ has been acting weird the last few parties they’ve attended. Kie has never supported his sleeping around, but it’s unusual for JJ not to. The other was known around the cut for sleeping with anything that walked. 

It’s one glance over at Pope that seems to solidify her suspicions. The other has finally looked up from his notebook, pen in hand and knees draw up as he looks over the top. He looks dejected, sad and Kie is pretty sure she has seen that same look on JJ’s face the last few weeks directed at Pope. 

Shit. She can’t believe she didn’t realize this sooner. The two boys had only grown closer since they moved in together. Kie had started to notices there were some lingering glances and more touching on JJ’s end, but she hadn’t realized how much it was affecting the boy.

She was going to have to help these two idiots get together.

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

JJ is pressing the touron into the nearby tree, lips dragging down her neck, eyes closed as he pretends to drag his tongue over dark skin. He lets his finger wonder down her side, rest along the strip of bare skin between her short ass shorts and her top. It’s always the noise though, high and annoying that seem to get to him, causing him to pull away. It’s hard to pretend it’s Pope when they start to make noise, not that he would even know what Pope sounds like in a situation like this. 

He doesn’t even have to tell the girl to go away, because Kie is tapping on his shoulder, giving the girl a death glare until she tugs down her shirt and walks away from them. He wants to turn and tell Kie to fuck off, like he would have before the gold hunt, like he should be doing now to cover his tracks, but he doesn’t have it in him today. 

“You’re being a fucking idiot.” And ok. JJ probably deserves that, but he isn’t exactly sure what she is referring too. 

“What did I do this time?” Because he just wants to go home now and curl up in bed. He would prefer to curl up in Pope’s bed, has after a nightmare, but he knows he can’t so he’ll settle for the makeshift bed on the floor, because being close to Pope is better than nothing. 

“Stop hurting Pope you dumbass.” And that confuses JJ even more. His face must show it too because Kie is smacking his arm, turning to point to the boy in question. JJ doesn’t think he looks much different than usual, a bit awkward and out of place. At least he didn’t bring his notebook this time around to do his school work. 

“How am I hurting him?” 

“You’re an idiot,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t explain further as she walks away from him, plopping herself down next to Pope. She takes the beer out of his hand and takes a long sip before handing it back. 

JJ doesn’t dwell on it as he makes his way over to the two of them. Pope looks up at him and he swear he can see the hurt in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a small smile as the beer seems to settle in. 

JJ doesn’t go home with a touron that night

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

The hand on his shoulder startles him, lost in thought as he absentmindedly makes shapes in the sand. Pope takes the seat next to him, glancing back at the party. JJ would usually be in the middle of all those people, flirting with anything that walked, but all he wanted to do was go home and hang out with Pope. The parties and drugs used to help turn his brain off, forget about his hard life, but after a while, Pope started to do the same thing. He was able to make him forget about his shitty life. 

“That touron was cute,” Pope says, awkward and a little uncomfortable. JJ had recently brushed off a touron, annoyed and simply done with her persistent cries for help. 

The way Pope is looking at him though, a little hurt and awkward. He looks like he didn’t actually want to ask him, was simply asking him to make conversation, what used to be normal conversation between the two of them. It didn’t seem so normal now though. 

JJ thinks back to Kie’s words the other night and searches Pope’s face. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like now is the time. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you,” JJ says, not taking his eyes off Pope. 

He watches the shock play over Pope’s face, multiple emotions flickering as he searches JJ’s. JJ lets him process the words, knowing Pope will need a moment to formulate his own. The other has never had much of a talent with words and JJ knows he just dropped a bomb. 

He doesn’t expect Pope to lean forward, to finally feel those chapped lips press against his, soft and tentative. He can tell Pope’s nervous, knows the other hasn’t kissed many people and JJ takes the lead, head tipping slightly for a better angle, finger moving to brush the other’s cheek.

For the first time, JJ doesn’t have to pretend. He doesn’t have to guess what it would be like to have Pope kissing him. He doesn’t have to pull away because the wrong sounds are leaving the wrong pair of lips. He doesn’t have to because Pope is actually kissing him, nervous and warm and JJ suddenly regrets not doing this earlier. Kissing Pope felt like home, like this was where he was met to be. This was everything he wanted. 

The low groan that leaves Pope’s lips has JJ shifting closer, handing dragging up Pope’s back and suddenly he gets to touch those muscles that he has spent weeks admiring. It’s nothing like kissing a random touron, pretending to know what the other felt like under his finger tips. 

Pope is the first to pull away, breath heavy and forehead pressed to JJ’s. “Shit,” he mumbles and JJ can’t help but agree. 

JJ lets his eyes flutter open, blue meeting the dark brown in front of him. This is everything he could have imagined and so much more. “Wanna head home?” Pope nods, letting JJ take his hand as they walk along the beach. They text Kie when they get back, telling her not to wait up. She texts back a few seconds later. It reads ‘FINALLY.’ They simply chuckle as they fall into bed together. JJ finally gets to sleep next to Pope without the excuse of a nightmare with the added benefits of lips pressed against his as they drift off. 

[daminettes]

Coming Home (1) - Hunger Games AU

hey guys! francine and i (aka @fsketchart) decided to collab for @april-angst-apocalypse!!! we kinda snapped doe

she wrote marinette’s pov while i wrote adrien’s pov, and we both wrote damians. i hope you guys like it!

It's the annual 100th Hunger Games.  As per every twenty-five years, they will be doing a special reaping.  This year, two families per District are chosen to sacrifice a child from each family to fight to the death in the arena.  After training for years, Damian is prepared to fight.  But is Marinette prepared?  Will Damian choose to save himself?  Will either of them come home to their families?  Afterall, there can only be one winner in the death match.

WARNING : Hunger games includes murder, we don't condone it & we don't write it in detail. However, if it can still be triggering for you this is not the best fic for you.  No shame if you're uncomfortable with it!  You take care of you and your needs first!  The hunger games has 24 children from ages 12-18 tossed into an arena, and are forced to battle with only one tribute allowed to keep their life.  If you're not comfortable, we hope you find an AU that better suites your tastes! 

 WARNING 2 : If a character is killed off, it's to highlight that everyone that was killed in the hunger games (as there can only be one winner) was killed off NOT because we "hate" the character, but because we felt like it would be more important to remember that the people killed were not faceless characters.  There were good people killed off, the hunger games doesn't ever really have a true victor.  Everyone loses someone or something in the end.  So if a character you like is killed off by someone else it's because we didn't want characters to kill off faceless people.  We don't want anyone to forget that the people who are killed were real people with families.

Marinette stepped down the wooden steps, slowly as they creaked.  Her mother and father were there, gathering their belongings.

“Come on, grab your things, we need to leave within the hour,” her father spoke.  Sabine blew out the candles, leaving only the natural light through the windows as their source of light.  Tom flipped the sign outside to closed, as he put on his worn jacket.  Marinette adjusted her braid, jumping when Sabine walked behind her and adjusted the ribbons.  Sabine tied a red ribbon in her hair with tears threatening to spill.  Sabine, silently held her daughter’s face in her hands, staring into her eyes, as she kissed her nose and walked away to the door.  Marinette followed her mother and father to the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

As they walked in the streets, no child raced ahead of their parents.  No child was jumping with joy.  They gripped their parent’s hands tightly, as they all stepped into the streets, making their way step by step to the center of the city.  Everyone was silent in the entire town, everyone scared.  The only sound heard was the tip taps of the shoes in the streets.  Everyone was heading in one single direction.

Many wore designer clothing, perfect colors, perfect hair, perfect shapes.  They were expected to be above perfection, nothing else was allowed.  Most people in their town were clothing makers.

This was, of course, was expected of District 8.  District 8, the textiles and fashion district.  Marinette’s family was one of the few who did a different profession, baking.  The Capitol expected nearly every family to deliver the finest quality of luxury clothing for them to wear.  No one dared rebel against the Capitol’s orders, not after the previous rebellion, where the Capitol wiped out the 13th District, who created nuclear weapons.  Each district was assigned a different task, each one was a slave to the Capitol’s wishes.  Marinette shudders at the thought.  So many were left dead from that fight, no children were spared.

Marinette gripped her father’s hand.  This year was the 100th annual hunger games.  Normally, each year they held the hunger games, where ages 12-18 would compete in the hunger games in bloodshed.  Two tributes, one male and female, of each District, would have their name reaped from a bowl and forced to compete in a death battle for the Capitol’s entertainment.  Another reminder that the Capitol controlled every aspect of their lives.  The Hunger Games only ended when one tribute was chosen.  Some people put their names’ in multiple times in exchange for food.  Other Districts like District One or Two, the wealthiest Districts, would volunteer to be part of the Hunger Games, believing that joining in the blood battle would be a high honor.  Marinette shook her head at the thought, before facing forwards once more.

Ahead of her, she saw Adrien.  He was walking with his father, with bags under his eyes.  Marinette couldn’t blame him, he lost many important family in the Hunger Games.  Marinette has lost many people close to her in the Hunger Games as well.  She walked over to him and took his hand, nodding assuringly.  Adrien refused to make eye contact, as his father pulled him closer to him.

Marinette remembered when they first met.  Marinette was doodling the people passing by the bakery.  She saw a beautiful boy with bright green eyes.  She immediately began drawing him, paying close attention to his eyes.  She could remember those eyes so clearly, and furiously drew on the paper, no longer bothering to look up at her reference.  She was so caught up in her sketching she didn’t even notice when said boy walked inside the bakery.  She finally noticed when he appeared over her shoulder, absolutely flattered by her work.  His green eyes lit up as he started posing, asking her to draw more.  He spent the entire afternoon at the bakery that day.

When they finally turned seven, her parents let them play in her backyard without supervision, as long as they remained there.  They would lie on their backs, with the grass tickling their toes.  They could smell the fresh air outside, the sounds of birds chirping and the grass blowing from the wind.  The sun hit their faces so brightly, as they stared at the skies.  They would spend hours, cloud watching.  Marinette adored the boy with green eyes and vowed to remain by his side.

Marinette and Adrien were cloud watching once more when they were ten, when Marinette noticed a small, tiny cloud out of the corner of her eye.  She smiled at the little heart-shaped cloud and tugged on Adrien’s jacket to show him.  When she looked at him though, his eyes were elsewhere.  She followed his line of sight, to see a beautiful girl standing near the fence of the backyard.  She was drying clothing outside, the breeze carrying her midnight hair behind her.  Each of her steps were elegant and graceful.  Each step was with purpose.  Never once did she trip or fall.  With perfect posture, she carried on her day.  When she looked over and noticed Adrien staring at her, she smiled softly and shook her head while chuckling.

Adrien quickly became fascinated with the girl with green eyes that could rival his own.  He tried to get to know her, and each day, he would come over to Marinette’s house, talking all about the girl with green eyes.  Marinette would just smile, and listen, chiming in here and there.

She never held it against him and moved on after a long time.  She tried her best to support him as his sister and began distancing herself from him.  But she always made sure to be there for him when he needed her.

As they neared the center of the city, Marinette braced herself.  Up ahead, she could already see the Peace Keepers up ahead.  The Capitol Peace Keepers were threatening District Citizens, ordering them to file in place, as the escort and advisor for District 8 stood at the podium.  They fired off warning shots at their feet as the children screamed.  Ivy who was selected as the coach for District 8, adjusted her hair as she stared at District 8’s citizens with disgust.  She ruffled her hair and touched up her makeup, with bright colors in her outfit.  It highly contrasted the outfits of District 8, who were all cloaked in dark colors, in hopes of blending in with the crowd.

Marinette followed her parents in line, blending in with the other terrified children, as the reaping began.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Adrien, wake up.”  A voice came that followed with a knock from behind his door. “We are leaving in an hour, get ready and go down to eat breakfast.”

“M-Coming Father,” Adrien muttered while struggling to get himself to wake up.

It's The Reaping Adrien thought to himself.  He dreaded this day.  Of course, his father refused to let him volunteer for the Hunger Games, not after what happened to his mother, but still, there was something that scared Adrien today.  It was his first time being eligible for the Hunger Games.  Just a short few months ago, he turned 12.  Now he could very well be walking to his death.  The chances of being picked were slim, but there was still a chance.

Adrien sighed and pushed the dark thoughts that came to his mind away and got out of his warm soft bed.  Light shined through his large window as he walked across his large empty room.  He slowly walked towards the closet and picked out his outfit for the day.  He reached into his closet and grabbed out the suit Natalie had left for him.  His father would never let him leave the house without looking up to standard.  He carried them with him as he made his way into the shower, and let the warm water try to calm his thoughts.

Adrien stood in the shower for about ten minutes before actually washing himself off. He just stood there and thought about how much his day could change him.  His tears blended in with the water, as he pleaded to whatever god that may be out there.  Please don’t let him end as his mother did.  He was still young when she died, but he could still remember fragments of that day.  His mother was pregnant at a young age with his father, and they were planning a beautiful wedding.  Everyone was supposed to be there, his friends, his neighbors, even the Dupain-Chengs.  But then came the reaping.  Almost no one thought Emilie would get picked.  Almost every year the lower class was selected, the rich seemed untouchable.  No one could fathom the idea of Emilie being chosen.  And yet she was.  And not a single person volunteered to take her place.  And so Emilie fought, and died in the Arena, after having just given birth to Adrien in the arena.  Gabriel was sobbing as he locked himself in his home, a home that was meant for a family.  Adrien, although young, remembered rewatching the hunger games on his father’s computer, and standing horror.  Watching that old video was one of Adrien’’s greatest regrets.  He knew some of the people in that arena from business deals, and he saw how they quickly turned into murdering monsters.  He turned off the warm water and was hit with a cold breeze, he quickly shivered and threw on his towel as quickly as he could. He made his way to his room, got changed, and headed downstairs.

Adrien quickly made his way down to the dining room and quietly sat himself down into his seat.

“Good morning, father,” Adrien spoke quietly, while shoving a piece of toast into his mouth and taking a sip of his tea.

“Good morning, Adrien.  Slow down we don’t want you choking.  Agrestes are not slobs.”

“Apologies, father...”

After the short conversation, they both settled in awkward silence, Adrien slowly eating his toast while Gabriel read a book that Emilie used to enjoy.  After finishing his toast and tea he beckoned Natalie forth to bring his dirty dishes to the washing machine.  Adrien cleared his throat, before looking at his father.  Gabriel turned to him with tired eyes.

“Father...if you don't mind...before we leave may I take a few minutes to visit mother's statue in the garden?”

Gabriel paused for a long time, as he stared at the table.  Natalie put a hand on his shoulder, and Gabriel looked up at Adrien.

“Alright, but make it quick.  We need to make it to the center in time for your reaping.”

“Thank you, father!” Adrien said while running towards the gardens.

As he made his way towards the garden he was hit with the pleasant smell of roses and daisies. His mother's favorite.

He slowly made his way towards the statue and plopped himself down.

“Hello, mother.  I miss you, like a lot…  Please give me your strength to get through this.  I hope you miss us too.  I love you,”  Adrien heard Natalie call his name.  “I'll see you soon, mother,” Adrien spoke while standing up and brushing away any leftover dirt from his pants.

Adrien and his father made their way to the center, with Natalie and the Gorilla following close behind them.

They walked in silence with the other hundreds of families.  Suddenly, Adrien felt something grip his hand.  It was soft and warm, as he looked down to see Marinette.  Adrien felt his father pull him closer to him.  Marinette dropped his hand and gave him a small, forced smile.  Adrien returned the smile before she walked off.

Gabriel turned to Adrien, softly speaking.  “Adrien, no matter what happens today.  I will always love you.”

Adrien was surprised, before hugging his father.  “I love you too, father.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian sighed while looking up at the ceiling in his room. It was 6:30 in the morning and he had no idea how this day would go. Just a measly two years ago he would’ve been excited, almost grateful for this day to come.  Yet now, after meeting his father, he dreaded this day.  He let another sigh escape him while he pushed himself away from his bed.

Training with Talia was hard. Extremely hard. Damian would spend multiple days with non-stop training for these games.  Talia told him that to compete in the games?  It would be an honor.  Many people in his District, District 1 of luxury goods, would pray to get chosen.  He should be prepared. He is prepared. But he doesn't want to be prepared.  Because after meeting his father, he realized how bitter it would be to die in those games, to turn into a monster in those games.  He’s seen what the arena has done to Talia and his grandfather.  He never wishes to become them.  Two years ago, Damian would’ve volunteered for the hunger games.  But now?  He will do anything to avoid them.  He is the last child in the Wayne family to be eligible for the games, with Tim turning 18 just a few months ago.  Damian was determined to stay with his new family, but that doesn’t mean the fear doesn’t go away.

Bruce knocked on the door to his room.  Damian called for him to enter.  Sitting down, Bruce sighed.  They sat in silence, neither sure what to say.  Bruce starts.

“Damian, I want you to know, this has never been easy for me.  It’s never easy for anyone.  And I know that this will be your first year entering into the Hunger Games.  It’s been hard, with several children.  It hurt me, even more, when Jason was chosen one year, and when no one volunteered to take his place.  But I promise you this, should you ever get chosen, I will make every deal, pay off any price, do anything it takes to make sure you don’t go in those arenas.  I will do anything to make sure you come home safely.”  Damian stared at Bruce, with nothing to say.  “I promise,” Bruce spoke, holding out his pinky.

“Father, what are you doing?”

“Your grandmother used to make pinky promises with me when I was much younger.  A pinky promise is never broken, Damian.  I promise you, you will come home safely to us.”  Damian nodded, and looped his finger with his fathers’.

Soon, Alfred called to them to begin the journey to the center of the city.  Everyone began dressing in their finest jackets, as they made their way to the door.

Damian sighed, leaving the entrance of his house. His brain was telling him not to move. To stay there. But his feet moved on his own, following his family .

“Hey, it’s okay, baby bird.  Don’t worry about it. You won't get picked.” Jason said ruffling his hair.

“He's right, Damian,” Tim chimed in.

“Hey, and even if you were picked, there’s a lot of children who want to fight in the Hunger Games, someone is bound to volunteer!” Dick included.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” he spoke while lowering his head to try to prevent the tears from shedding.

“Don't worry Damian. We’ll protect you,” Bruce said while kneeling down to his level. “Don't worry. We promised to, remember?” He said while showing him his pinkie. “And we don’t break promises.”

Damian nodded.  Instead, he avoided eye contact.  “I understand, father.”

“Now let's go!” Jason cheered.

They all started to walk ahead leaving Damian behind.  Damian took a deep breath, as he quickly sped up his pace to catch up with them.

Soon enough, they were reaching the center.  They could hear the warning shots ringing out from the center of the District.  It was time to start The Reaping.