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softluci · 4 years

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aggressive affection (round two!)

[ part two of this, with the now dateables. guess which one(s) i have a crush on—i am actually so embarrassed because i'm getting shy trying to write this, but it's a must that i put this into the universe. if you want to read this first, rather than the one with the brothers, here is the preface: ]

i’m not sure if this is something unique to younger people, but i am one hundred percent sure that younger people do it a lot, just going off of the behavior of my friends and i. (i’m gonna tell you now that this isn’t entirely sfw, so minors dni please and thank u)

but i’ve found that it’s pretty common for friends to be, like, aggressively affectionate with one another, for lack of a better phrase. if not aggressively affectionate, then just really flirtatious, often for no reason, and it is still meant entirely in a platonic sense. some examples of this that i have experienced include, but are not limited to:

“i’m gonna eat you,” “do u wanna make out,” “just remember, no matter WHAT happens, i will ALWAYS wanna make out with you,” “i have literally wanted to fuck all of you at some point,” “let’s have sex,” “stfu before i kiss you,” [points to lap] “is this seat taken?” “every day i’m like, ‘wow, [name] is so cool, we should make out,’” and so on and so forth.

so you can imagine the fun i’m about to have.

dia

you—why did you—look.

dia is a very nice, social guy; very smiley, you guys get along great, that's great!

he is still very much a demon (the prince of them, in fact) and very much not one of your friends from the human world, no matter how much he wants you to treat him as such.

you should've known better.

he'd invited you to the castle for tea and a nice chat—a regular occurrence between the two of you so that he could see how you were doing, how the program was going, talk about lucifer, play catch up; nothing out of the ordinary.

he complimented you on your performance thus far, telling you about how well you've done—which was just standard kindness—so would you like to explain to the class why your immediate response was, “so kiss me then,” ?

he was totally fine with it, but he was also very confused, so it was only fair that he pulled you into his lap to get a better understanding of what you meant. if you do the math, it adds up, i swear.

luckily, you don’t even have to explain yourself with this one because it seems like he already knows. this is good because, given his proximity to you at that moment, you wouldn’t have done a good job explaining yourself anyway.

“is this how you talk to your human friends?”

it was a simple question, with a simple answer, it’s just that you were nose-to-nose, and his eyes were hooded all of a sudden and his hand was cupping the side of your face so, naturally, you had some difficulty forming words—fortunately, you managed to nod instead of embarrassing yourself by trying to talk.

“and do they ever do what you ask?”

again, it would’ve been foolish of you to try and speak, so you just shook your head. you were doing a surprisingly nice job of maintaining your dignity, well done! this is nice compensation for the fact that you seemed to forget you were dealing with the demon of demons, but he was kind enough to remind you—

“well, i’m not one of them, so i’ll do as you say. you don’t mind, right?”

do you have a saving grace with this man? meh. he doesn’t want to do anything in front of the others, but he can literally go somewhere private with you under the guise of wanting to talk. it’s not like anyone is gonna tell him he can’t.

barbatos

you don’t make any sense. you watched black butler know that he’s the scariest person in the devildom, why did you think you could do this? he might be a menace not too far underneath that professional exterior, but that doesn’t mean you have to fuck around and find out. or maybe that’s exactly what that means.

all he did was bring you tea. he saw you sitting in the castle’s library doing schoolwork—dia offered to let you study there to enjoy some quiet that you wouldn’t have gotten at the house, and because you aren’t one to forgo such a kind gesture, you accepted.

he set it down on the table in front of you, much to your surprise.

“oh, thank you! you really didn’t have to,” you said, looking up at him from your seat.

“nonsense,” he started, smiling softly, “you’ve been working hard.”

you, for whatever reason, took this as an opportunity to pretend barbatos was one of your human friends.

“you shouldn’t say that unless—”

that’s all he let you say. what you were going to say was, “you shouldn’t say that unless you plan on making out with me.” trouble was, he already knew that. you must have forgotten who you were talking to.

before you could finish, his hand was under your chin, and his other hand was resting on the arm of your chair, effectively caging you in, and effectively keeping you from looking away.

his smile went from benevolent to teasing meaning you got the menace you wanted, as he asked,“unless what?”

he took more joy in your flustered state than he would care to admit, but he’d recently learned that you had an affinity for trying to catch people off guard, so he thought it was more than fair to do the same to you—as a treat, for him.

that said, it’s no surprise that you had to endure relentless teasing, him asking you what you wanted from him, why you were so shy all of a sudden, telling you not to be shy and that he wouldn’t bite, unless you asked nicely. what? he liked how warm your face made his hand.

“what’s wrong? don’t you want to kiss me?”

okay. that was the last straw. you never even hinted that you didn’t wanna kiss this man, and here he was, making assumptions about you as a person.

you, in your infinite confidence and assertive nature, said, “i—i never said i didn’t want to.”

and you know what, you really showed him because even though he laughed at you, even though he made a show of taking off his gloves, even though his hand moved from the arm of the chair to your thigh—even though he took every necessary step to remind you that he was in control, you still got what you wanted. and then some.

your only saving grace with him is the fact that he breathes professionalism and he’s always busy. when he isn’t busy, however. well.

simeon

you goddamn heathen. oh, you fucking freak. simeon has a reputation to uphold, you can’t treat him like one of your heathen little human friends, which means you can’t just say whatever pops into your head when you’re talking to him, which means—you should really learn to take compliments normally.

simeon is a nice guy, and he likes you a lot, so it only makes sense that he compliments you whenever he can. in other words, he dishes out anywhere from one to four compliments whenever the two of you are together. he can’t help it, he just thinks you’re neat!

the fact remains that you chose to be a menace to the angelic persona he is supposed to project at all times.

it was a simple compliment. he enjoyed spending time with you, and he told you so, just telling you that your presence was a pleasant one.

your response was actually normal—it was a simple, “i like being around you too!”

in a way, this is simeon’s fault, if you think about it. he could’ve just said, “thank you,” and kept it pushing, but instead, he said, “really?”

why would he think you didn’t like being around him? that was unacceptable, so, really, what choice did you have but to give him the most solid affirmation he would ever hear?

“of course! every day, i’m like, ‘wow, simeon is so cool, we should make out,’ you know?”

what you were expecting was for him to blush and laugh it off, call you silly, and maybe pat your head for good measure. that was a reasonable thing to expect, albeit that is not even close to what you got.

since you were being so casual, simeon figured that he could—that he should—do the same. it was only natural that he stop being a model angel for a little while, right?

oh, don’t look so flustered, it’s not like you’ve never been backed against a wall before. how many times has a demon done this to you? it’s only fair that an angel gets a turn.

“actually,” he started, lips already brushing against yours as he spoke. “i don’t know. would you mind showing me?”

if you are, understandably, too flustered to function, he will gladly make the first move, don’t worry, but if his first move happens to be taking your bottom lip between his teeth instead of kissing you, well… there’s not much you’re going to be able to do about it, so you may as well just enjoy.

i mean, you tempt an angel, and you get what’s coming to you—that’s all there is to it.

similar to barbatos, you will only be safe from this man when he’s in public or around a few of the others. if you’re alone with him and in private, he’s already under the impression that he doesn’t have to be an angel with you, so find joy in the side of him you’ve uncovered.

solomon (derogatory)

you two deserve each other, really. both of you are public enemies. he was just as terrible as your friends from back home, except he was always walking the line like a tightrope. he was always on the verge of making his teasing into a reality, and to be quite frank, you were starting to get fed up—and you were right to be. but this is what you get for being a dirty solomon enjoyer.

all of his empty threats and demands about kissing you, his lingering touches on your lower back or waist or thighs, his dumb little smirks on his dumb little face, his occasional bites wherever you were vulnerable, his habit of putting his hand around your throat for fun (or so he says)—those all came with the territory. he hasn’t had a friend to tease in ages (he can’t do it to asmo without it immediately turning into an hour long event), so you get it all at once, congratulations!

don’t look so upset, he’s an attractive guy, so this is still a win.

now, all of that said, you were hard pressed to find an opportunity to catch this man off guard, but once you got your chance, you latched onto it exactly as you should’ve.

the two of you were in his room, studying (“studying”) for an upcoming exam. he was sitting in a chair, and you were on his bed a few feet away. you needed something from your bag, which was on the side of his chair farthest from you, so you decided to walk by him to get it, like a normal person. look at you, acting regular for once.

evidently, that was a mistake. as soon as you were in front of him, his hand was on your waist, and you were pulled into his lap.

you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised and everything, and he seemed to have an explanation ready to go, paired with one of his signature smiles.

“i was wondering when i’d get to bother you again.”

this was your chance—probably the only chance you’d get in a while, so it made sense that you took this opportunity to be heinous, even though you were in a rather compromising position.

“either sleep with me or leave me alone.”

you did it. for a moment, you had him. the surprise plastered on his face was enough gratification to last you a lifetime, however fleeting it may have been. unfortunately for you, he had a wonderful recovery time.

before you could fully enjoy the look on his face, it was gone, replaced by a more sinister expression that almost made you regret your decision.

for what it’s worth, you didn’t have to see that menacing look of his for long because he turned you away from him to press your back into his chest. if that makes you feel any better.

“i’ll never leave you alone,” he hummed, teeth already grazing your neck. his hand moved from your waist to your inner thigh, slowly separating one leg from the other. “but you already knew that.”

you didn’t have a saving grace with this man before, and now you never will.

#COME GET YALL JUICE!#i acc considered doing an sfw platonic ver with luke as a bonus but then i got tired #also didn't want anyone to see his name and freak #anyway #it's acc not funny how shy i got writing this BYE #how do people write smut omg #literal gods good lord #obey me #obey me!#obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me dia #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me undateables

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thesleepy1 · 3 years

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My King Shall Have Everything

A/N: A fuck load of people seemed to like my last Merthur fic. I even got a request for a sequel from @antobcq who wanted a 5+1 fic where Arthur couldn’t get anything done without Merlin on his lap. I haven’t done one of these fics in ages but I’m down with this prompt. I also love the headcanon where Merlin is a better court member and adviser than Arthur and completely leaves Arthur in the dust during diplomatic meetings. Unbeta’d as always, we die like Arthur.

Extra note, this turned out much longer than I expected it to. This might be my longest fic yet. I didn’t mean for it to be like this but I spent too much time on it to just leave it alone. And much to my surprise, it’s a linear storyline as well. I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to give me some feedback. Do you prefer the linear storylines or short snippets of scenes? Also, kind of sorry for the slight angst. My bad. It got worse towards the end, I was getting really tired and wasn’t completely sure how to end it. It’s not on the highest note is all I’ll say.

Pairings: Merlin x Arthur, slight Gwen x Morgana

Summary: Five times Arthur couldn’t get anything done without Merlin on his lap and one time where Merlin couldn’t get anything done without Arthur on his lap.

Word count: 10,485

Warnings: Lap sitting, fluff, physical touch, sexual content, grinding, angst, wounds, violence, character death, more warnings to be added, more tags to be added, proceed with caution, breeding kink, impregnation kink, mentions of dub/con, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, eugenics, blood, gore, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, whump, injuries, begging, character death, mentions of public executions, long fic, foul language, asphyxiation, strangulation, choking,

Arthur was good at many things, but being on time was not one of them. Especially, when at the end of the hall he had to attend a council meeting with some of the most stuck up people he had ever met, and that was saying something considering he had to spend the last winter with his extended family. His advisers had been up his ass all week about the new rising kingdom beyond the continent. A kingdom so far away, he had just heard of it several months prior. It was like the kingdom had appeared overnight, suddenly a new ink blotch taking over the lower side of the map.

Personally, he didn’t believe it was real in the first place, having a squadron of knights and hired mercenaries sail over to investigate this so-called Kingdom of Le Lubrique. Much to his disbelief, they didn’t come back empty handed and instead returned with a message. A greeting, as his advisers and Merlin had called it.

To Arthur, it was merely stiff aristocrats getting together in too large a room to talk about dull nonsense. Something he had enough of in his own kingdom. Every other month he was already forced to put on a brave face and converse with the other ruling kings and queens of the continent; he didn’t need another to add on to the mix. He already loathed the balls he was required to host.

“You’re late,” Merlin hissed at him as he entered through a side door so as to not alert the others of his presence.

“That’s kind of the point of me coming here long after the time I was supposed to, Merlin,” Arthur rolled his eyes, sneaking behind the other advisers present to his seat. Merlin begrudgingly followed right on his tail.

“This is serious Arthur, you should have been here ten minutes ago!” Merlin nagged a tad too loudly.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great king of Camelot himself. I’m delighted to see you have graced us with the honor of your belated attendance,” said an adviser from the guest kingdom with a tone that made Arthur want to stab him, wars be damned.

“I hope you could excuse my tardiness just this once,” Arthur began, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. He looked over to Merlin for help, but the warlock looked clueless as usual. “It...was just that I was caught up with...making sure my...uh...husband’s family were making themselves at home. The in-laws are visiting, you see. You know how hard it can be to keep them happy.”

Merlin looked like he wanted to hang Arthur with his own entrails at the king’s quick thinking. Camelot’s advisers seemed to be considering throwing themselves from the window. And the guest advisers seemed content with Arthur’s answer; though not pleased.

“Oh, believe me,” one of them began, a tall woman with high cheekbones and piercing brown eyes, “I know exactly how tiring in-laws can be.” She let out a high pitched laugh like the sound of dying blue jays; the sound made Arthur want to join his advisers as they inched towards the open windows.

“Well, yes, hahaha, they can be quite a hassle. Especially people that are related to my husband here,” Arthur clapped his hands, smiling at Merlin as he took his seat at the head of the table, “Shall we properly begin then?”

Arthur truly and wholeheartedly regretted agreeing to the whole thing. It was hour after hour of mindless words with little to no meaning. They just went on and on about things that meant little to nothing. He tried to tune out their voices but the tall woman’s laugh was like the crack of a whip, bringing him back to reality each time someone made a vaguely funny comment.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Merlin said in a hushed tone next to his side. Concern had brought his dark eyebrows together. Arthur was tempted to take his fingers and smooth out Merlin’s worry, but perhaps that was too intimate an act for a meeting. Then again, when did Arthur care about what other people thought of him and his husband.

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “Just so bored with all of this.”

“How could you be bored? Have you been listening to half of what they’ve been saying? For a kingdom so small they have so much potential. Their farmlands double ours, as well as their ores, and their medicine is even on par to Gaius’s.” Merlin continued on with such a light in his eyes that Arthur was distracted like a moth to a glowing flame.

“Arthur, have you been listening to what I’ve been saying?”

The king shook his head softly, slightly ashamed for not paying attention to his husband. “I’m sorry. I’m just so distracted. I need something to ground me if I’m going to survive another dreadful hour of this,” he groaned, thinking over if the fall from the window would kill him or lethally wound him. Either way, he’d be away from this horror with Merlin at his bedside playing nurse. At the private thought, an idea crossed his mind that had him delighted.

“You know what would help me?” Arthur began, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?” Merlin gave him a suspicious look, having seen the grin on the king many times before.

“It’ll really help if you were on my lap.” Merlin gave him an incredulous glare, ready to smack him across the back of the head for such a suggestion during such a crucial conference. “Please, Merlin? You really do help me focus.”

The warlock seemed to be thinking over Arthur’s request, a frown twisting his face. He looked like he was going to say no, but the pleading look on Arthur’s face made him change his mind. “Just this once. I don’t want to make a habit of this, Arthur,” Merlin warned in a hurried voice.

“Just this once,” Arthur lied through his teeth.

The second king of Camelot sat himself on the first, his side pressed against Arthur’s chest. Arthur wound his arm around Merlin and held him tightly. The action seemed to have garnered the attention of the visitors who looked at the pair strangely. And for some odd reason, the visiting ladies of the guest kingdom seemed to be glaring intently at Merlin.

“We are ever so sorry to be boring you, your majesty, but there is still much to discuss,” a visiting high lord coughed, glaring at the pair. “I apologize that our talk of declining population, racial biases against commoners and sorcerers, and ever so low birth rates have made you tired, but considering it may be the undoing of Le Lubrique, I deem it vital,” he practically snarled.

Arthur’s grip on Merlin tightened, his other hand palming Merlin’s thighs. The warlock couldn’t hide the grin that was stretched across his beautiful face at the touch. The king absolutely loved that grin. Arthur glared right back at those who dared question his behavior, for him showing his love for his king. He sounded in a stern voice that left no room for argument, “No apologies needed. Please, continue.”

“Don’t let us disturb you,” Merlin added with a more snarky tone, commanding the same amount of respect. “You have our full attention.”

-----

“Must I attend? You’ll be there, is that not enough?” Arthur whined as Merlin buttoned up his shirt.

“We are hosting a party in the Kingdom of Le Lubrique’s honor. Their queen has traveled all the way here to properly meet us,” Merlin pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek for the effort. “Must I continue?”

“Only if you wish, my dear,” Arthur pointed to his other cheek, waiting for the same treatment as the other.

Merlin rolled his eyes, pressing another kiss to Arthur. “I’m serious, Arthur, this could mean an all out war or the strongest of ally ship. I mean, have you read the reports of what their kingdom is like? It sounds, and excuse for my word choice but there really is no other way to describe it; magical. I would love to visit the country myself. If we make a good impression they might invite us for a stay,” he continued, tying a red handkerchief with Camelot’s crest around his own neck.

“And that’s why the second king of Camelot would be in attendance.”

Merlin left Arthur in their room after that, knowing that Arthur would follow him. “Are you really going to make me sit there and listen to them go on and on about their plan to repopulate their country, or over tax their people for the food that’s in abundance? Come on, Merlin, we could have our council handle it.” Arthur stepped in front of Merlin to block his way. “Why don’t we head back to our room and make this a more entertaining night?” he wiggled his eyebrows to make sure Merlin got his point.

Merlin heard him loud and clear and rightfully ignored Arthur’s attempt to get into his pants. He sidestepped the man to continue on his path, turning a corner to the ballroom. “Do you hear yourself? What kind of impression would that give Le Lubrique if you just suddenly disappeared?!” Arthur turned to run back to their room just to prove Merlin’s point, but the warlock quickly magicked him back to his side. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”

And that was how Arthur ended up sitting on his throne, bored out of his mind and unwilling to be civil or sociable when he could have spent the entire evening snuggled inside Merlin. He could have been in bed by now, having Merlin moaning his name underneath him, but instead Arthur watched as the guest and court mingled and danced. The instrumentalists bobbed their heads in tune to their upbeat song.

Despite refusing to speak to anyone besides Morgana, and Merlin, and occasionally Gwen when she could spare a moment from dancing; he had learned quite a bit about their guests. The fact that although they had a vast amount of farmlands, they had little people to work in them. Which came as a shock to Arthur because he had learned earlier on that Le Lubrique consisted of mostly sorcerers.

Le Lubrique’s queen was the tall woman with a voice that made Arthur’s ears bleed. Her lady in waiting seemed to be a distant relative from their shared trait of high cheekbones, drowning brown eyes, and dark hair. The two were glued at the hip, her lady in waiting obsessively trailing behind her like a newborn duckling wherever they went. They were both strong magic users if Merlin’s gushing was anything to go by. And also very beautiful with fancy perfume that complimented each other so nicely that they smelt like heaven, from Merlin’s words of course, not his. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he would think Merlin fancied them; the queen and her lady in waiting.

Even when the queen was dancing with a number of council members, the servant would be right next to her. It was quite amusing to watch them struggle to sway in time with the music. Arthur had already made bets with Gwen on the number of times party guests would refuse dances with the pair because they refused to separate. So far Arthur was winning.

That was until the queen smugly asked Merlin for a dance. Her lady in waiting immediately stepped away like someone had called for her assistance, leaving the queen alone with Merlin. Much to Arthur’s disappointment, Merlin happily accepted the dance. He took the queen’s hand and off they went, twirling around as if they were the only ones in the room. His hands on her shoulder and waist, her hands virtually tearing his clothes from his chest.

The way the queen of Le Lubrique looked at Merlin made a sick feeling build up from the pit of Arthur’s stomach. She was undressing him with her eyes, the brown in her gaze turning an almost pitch black from lust. The woman said something that made Merlin taken aback, something about dragons and druids, but it was hard to hear from the chatter of the room. For all Arthur knew, it could have very well been a spell.

Merlin recovered quickly with a grin and laugh that had Arthur’s heart skipping a beat. Then the two of them had the audacity to continue dancing as if nothing had happened, the queen still shamelessly pulling at Merlin’s fine clothes that only Arthur was allowed to rip away.

Arthur didn’t know why Merlin didn’t stop the queen when she pulled his handkerchief from his neck. The king was almost killed for even playing with Merlin’s handkerchief and now this woman was doing the same without losing an arm and a leg? Completely unfair. That was proof in itself, she had casted a spell on Merlin.

“Merlin,” Arthur called out to his husband sternly only to be ignored once more. “Merlin,” Arthur stepped away from his throne, making his way towards his husband and the queen.

“I think you should go to bed before things get ugly,” Morgana gently warned Gwen, gesturing towards Arthur’s outburst. “It could either go well or we’ll die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Thank you for your concern, my love,” Gwen replied with a smirk, “But I want to see how this unfolds.”

Morgana laughed at that, glancing between Arthur and Merlin. “Suit yourself.”

The two high ladies watched as Arthur pulled Merlin away from the queen of Le Lubrique, dragging him away from the woman as she stared on in horror. To Gwen's and Morgana’s surprise, the queen tried to pull Merlin back into her arms. Merlin seemed to be in a daze throughout the whole skirmish. His eyes glazed over, even from afar.

“Should we step in?” Gwen asked with concern, ready to intervene.

“Arthur can handle it, probably.”

The queen called her lady in waiting to help her. Three heads tugged at poor Merlin like he was flax rope at a kingdom fair. The lady in waiting tried to block Arthur from getting a good grip on Merlin while the queen tried to take more of Merlin’s clothes off. A crowd was forming and Morgana distinctively noticed coins being passed around in bets.

“Are you sure, my love?”

“Oh, It's just getting good,” Morgana grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How much are you willing to bet, my beloved?”

Finally, as the crowd began cheering, Arthur twisted out of the lady in waiting’s grip and grabbed hold of Merlin’s waist. The king lifted the warlock up in a bridal carry and turned on his heel for his throne, the crowd parting in heckles and laughs. Arthur blatantly ignored them, sitting down on his throne with Merlin in his lap. Unfortunately, he was unable to retrieve Merlin’s handkerchief, a matter he will surely not hear the end of for quite some time. But between a measly piece of fabric and Merlin’s life, Arthur would choose Merlin time and time again, his own life be damned.

Taking a moment to throw a sneer at Gwen and Morgana who were snickering, Arthur tried to shake Merlin out of the haze. “Are you alright, Merlin?” He stroked Merlin’s arms gently, trying to bring him back to the present. His blue gray eyes were a stormy glaze, seemingly out of it. It made an ugly feeling swirl around in Arthur’s head, the fact that some queen had touched his Merlin in such a way made Arthur sick.

Merlin shuddered in Arthur’s hold, looking down at himself and then at the ballroom floor where others had returned to dancing. Confusion crossed his face, “Of course, I’m alright,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “How did I get here?” Merlin rubbed at his temple, trying to soothe the ache that had formed there.

“Arthur carried you like the jealous brute he is,” Morgana explained, passing Gwen a handful of coins.

“Jealous brute?” Merlin questioned, looking at the trio for a real explanation.

Arthur was about to defend himself when a member of Le Lubrique’s court approached them. “Haha, I couldn’t help but notice the spectacle that you put on there, sire,” the man addressed Merlin.

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.”

The man laughed again, mirth in his eyes. “I guess you wouldn’t,” he said vaguely, “The queen does have a way with words.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur butted in, holding Merlin a tad too tight. Merlin squirmed in Arthur’s lap but Arthur seemed to hardly notice.

“Well, you are a warlock, aren’t you, sire?” the man addressed Merlin once more. Merlin nodded despite himself. “A warlock as well as a dragonlord under the queen’s attention is bound to feel the efforts of her magic. And her special attention for that matter, hahaha.”

“Sorry,” Merlin began, more confused than before. “What do you mean by that expactly?”

“Our queen is a lovely dragon tamer. Her family is the last of their kind. Although taming a dragon is much easier when you have someone who can speak to the creatures,” the man laughed as if telling a joke only he knew the punchline to and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Least to say, the rest of the night Arthur didn’t let Merlin out of his sight. He had no idea what a dragon tamer was and Merlin seemed as lost as he was, but he wasn’t taking any chances. No one was going to “tame” his lover. Whatever that meant. Morgana and Gwen could laugh and call him jealous all they want, Arthur only had Merlin’s best interest at heart.

“I doubt having me be a lap warmer is in my best interest.”

-----

It had been weeks and Arthur naively thought they were done interacting with the kingdom of Le Lubrique. He had hoped to be finished with the rising kingdom, to leave them alone as long as they left him be.

He was rarely fortunate these days. Never even.

Apparently, Merlin was not deterred by almost being kidnapped by the queen and her lady in waiting. Merlin even said he enjoyed their company and their attention to his every breathing word. Arthur loved the man, but sometimes he could be quite an idiot.

Merlin, without Arthur’s knowledge, had invited a member of Le Lubrique’s court to stay at the castle. Who else to volunteer to come to Camelot but the queen’s lady in waiting. She was only supposed to be in the kingdom for a couple of weeks, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. That couple of weeks turned into a couple of months and eventually the woman practically lived there. She had made herself at home on day one, much to Arthur’s dismay. He couldn’t really kick her out without making a bad impression towards her kingdom, despite what her queen had already done.

He was a king. Much to his reluctance, he had to act like it. And that meant acting like you liked people that you hated to the core.

“And these are our forests,” Arthur gestured to the thick wall of trees that signified the beginning of the woods. “I typically take neighboring kings hunting here. If you’re interested, we can go if you’d like.”

Sylvy, the lady in waiting, sat on her horse with her head held high. For someone with a position like her’s, she acted like she was queen herself. Arthur had spent the whole day trying to show her around for the utmost time. She was never satisfied with what he showed her, as if she were looking for a break in the walls of the kingdom.

Every morning she demanded to be taken around on a tour and every afternoon she was left with a deep frown on her face. Nothing made her happy it seemed, and Arthur had truly tried to make her feel at the very least, welcomed. It was just so difficult to do so with the knowledge of what she had done to Merlin. Had enchanted him, put him in a daze of some sort.

If Camelot still had the ban on magic, she would’ve been dead the moment she laid a hand on Merlin. On the crown’s orders, she would have been hung or burned, some form of public execution. Her dark hair would go up in flames as the fire burned higher and higher, her head would hang low as the bucket was kicked out underneath her. Arthur was still considering having her prisoned for what she did and simply explained to her queen that there had been a freak accident. If he were a lesser man, a lesser king, he would’ve done so and let it be a warning.

“I despise hunting as a sport, it’s just mindlessly cruel,” she snarled, her lips curling as a show of disdain. She held the reins to her horse like a vice, afraid that she’d be ripped from the saddle and forced to participate in such barbaric practices. At least, that was what Arthur thought was swimming through her mind.

“Yes, yes, but some like the adrenaline rush of a good hunt,” Arthur explained without real passion, merely a form of continuing the dry conversation. Sylvy had woken him up so early that morning he barely had a chance to give Merlin a goodbye kiss. “Some have to do it to survive.”

“There are other ways to live,” Sylvy began, urging her horse to turn by towards the main part of the kingdom, seeing as they were on the outskirts. “Le Lubrique for one replies solely on farmlands. We have no need for meat or the slaughtering of innocent animals. Everyone can live without such a horrible act; people and sorcerers alike. Meat is simply murder.”

Arthur half heartedly nodded, trailing behind her while trying not to fall off his horse. “I can’t argue with you there.” He didn’t want to argue with about anything her to be truthful, he had had enough of that already.

They traveled at a moderate trot in silence before she spoke up again. “Why haven't you invited me to a council meeting? I’ve been here for ages. Surely you have these sorts of things at least once a month.” She tried to act nonchalantly, but Arthur could see right through her. “I mean, there must be all sorts of things to discuss. An heir to the throne for one, seeing as neither you nor king Merlin can bear children.”

“We just haven’t had any council meetings, nothing interesting to report that couldn’t be done with a quill and parchment is all,” Arthur lied with a fake smile she could not see. “And an heir doesn’t need to be of blood. They just need to be taught how to properly command a kingdom like a fair and just ruler. To know what’s best for a kingdom, who to trust and who to leave behind in the woods.”

A look of abhorrence lingered on Sylvy’s face at Arthur’s words, bothered that he would even say such a thing. But Arthur was right, it didn’t matter if his heir was not his child as long as they were just and fair to all that passed them. Arthur could only imagine what Le Lubrique was like if all their subjects thought the same way Sylvy did. It must be all out war for them if a bastard appeared in court one day; though in reality royal bastards were a dime a dozen.

Sylvy went quiet for a moment, calculating her words while mulling over what Arthur had said. “With a kingdom as large as yours, surely there’s action all around? Suitable women all around. Something worthwhile must have happened during my stay,” her voice took on a tone that Arthur didn’t like, a light flush painting her cheeks like some teenage girl with a crush, “What about king Merlin?”

“What about my husband?”

“What has he been up to?” Sylvy asked indifferently, trying to hide her curiosity from Arthur. If only she would try to hide that damn blush. Merlin was physically attractive, Arthur knew this as an undeniable fact, but to be so unabashed while in front of the man’s husband? What was he? The first king of Camelot reduced to chop liver. Unbelievable!

“Well, he’s the second king of Camelot. A king’s job is never done. There is always more work than one man can handle. I should know, I used to be the one doing all the work.”

They reached town just as Sylvy took on an accusatory tone, “Then what are you doing here?”

Arthur resisted the urge to strangle her in front of so many people. His fists clenched around his reins so hard his knuckles turned ivory. “I’m showing you around, just as you had requested,” Arthur gritted through his teeth, trying so very hard not to glare at her.

“And here I was, hoping to attend a meeting with the second king.”

“Really now?” Arthur could feel the mare under him shuffle on her hooves at his fury. “You know what? There might be one later today.” What he had planned was so unbelievably petty and a tad childish, but at this point, he didn’t give a damn. Sylvy was getting on his last nerve. “I’ll have a servant call you when it’s time. For now, why don’t you explore our lovely town by yourself? Walk around without a king hovering over you and all. That way, I could get back to doing my job.”

Sylvy brightened up in spite of Arthur’s words. A smile was forming on her face, her high cheekbones pushed up even farther. Her brown eyes crinkled at the notion that she’ll be able to see Merlin. “I can’t wait,” she said, unsaddling and handing the reins to her horse to Arthur. “I must get ready,” she said to herself loud enough for Arthur to hear.

“Take all the time you need.”

Arthur would regret those words later that night when he sat among his advisers. Sylvy, their honored guest was over half an hour late and the others were beginning to feel on edge. Many of them were not planned for a meeting so soon after the one they had earlier that week. It was an unprompted get together for the lady in waiting’s sake, Arthur had explained to them.

On days like these Arthur was glad he was king and that there’d be grave consequences if he were murdered by one of his advisers. They would be in the right to do so, kill him that is; but he was hoping to live long enough to raise a couple of children with Merlin.

“Why are we doing this, Arthur?” Merlin asked, hiding a yawn with his hand. While Arthur was riding around the kingdom with Le Lubrique’s queen’s lady in waiting, Merlin was left to run the kingdom by himself. The haunted task of commanding and keeping an eye on so many people was taking its toll on the sorcerer. Merlin hadn’t properly slept in days, too busy keeping the kingdom in one piece.

“Sylvy wanted to be present for a council meeting. As a member of Le Lubrique’s court, we have to answer to her call until her stay is up.” Merlin gave him a look that called Arthur out on his poorly constructed plan. “And I may or may not want her to know that you’re taken.”

Merlin rolled his eyes along with most of the present court. They should all be used to Arthur’s antics at this point. What were they expecting? An honest to god meeting to discuss important topics with their visitor from foreign lands? Never. A fake meeting just so Arthur could flaunt the fact that Merlin loved him and not some conceited queen and her lady in waiting? That was more like it.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I asked you to marry me,” Merlin yawned again, giving Arthur a tired look in more ways than one.

“Feels just like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“More like a nightmare.”

“You love me,” Arthur opened up his arms so Merlin could take his place on the king’s lap. Merlin shook his head at the gesture, so incredibly done with Arthur. “Come on, Merlin. You know you like it here.” He teasingly patted his lap. “You can rest until our guest arrives.”

“Fine,” Merlin said begrudgingly after a moment of hesitation, his mind clouded by the want for sleep. “But you better wake me up when she comes.”

“Of course,” Arthur assured, inviting Merlin over once more. This time Merlin made himself home on Arthur’s lap, his head going to rest on Arthur’s chest. He curled in Arthur’s lap like second nature, having done this so many times over the years. Arthur wrapped his arms around the younger man, making sure he was supported and comfortable. Merlin fit perfectly nonetheless. Within moments, a soft snoring sound could be heard from the man on Arthur’s lap, content in where he sat. The second king finally got the rest he deserved. “I wouldn’t wake you for the world,” Arthur whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Merlin’s arm and leg.

Another half an hour passed achingly slowly without the esteemed lady in waiting’s presence. Arthur was about to call off the whole thing and make his way to his bedchamber when at last, the doors to the room opened to reveal Sylvy. She was no longer dressed in her usual servant attire with its cream apron and blue gray dress. Instead she had ransacked the queen’s wardrobe, wearing something befitting a ball.

The dress was elegant and detailed with silk and satin; a deep shade of bourbon that brought out her brown eyes. Her hand was even done up in cascading dark curls that perfectly fell from the knot atop her head. A glittering wine hair piece sat nestled against her hair, matching perfectly with the studs in her ears. She was beautiful even without the time spent enhancing what was already there, but now she stood ready to rule a kingdom.

Sylvy took her seat across from where Merlin would have sat. “Where is king Merlin?” she asked, not noticing that the man in question was currently sleeping on Arthur’s lap.

“I’m sorry for how unprepared we were, but I can relate to your troubles of not having enough hands to run a kingdom. My husband had taken the task of ruling all alone while I tended to your needs.” Arthur pressed a kiss to Merlin’s hair when he stirred in his sleep, continuing on his over sweetened words. “He’s beyond exhausted, but still wanted to take part in our meeting. Please understand that he really did try his best to stay awake.”

The emotions that crossed Sylvy’s face came in a blur; she was unreadable. But one thing was for sure, Arthur had won this small battle. He had shoved Merlin’s unquestionable favor for him in the lady in waiting’s face. Merlin was his and his alone. For good measure Arthur pressed a deep kiss onto Merlin’s lips, the sorcerer smiling in his sleep.

His advisers on the other hand felt cheated. If the death glares shot his way were anything to go by. Though there was one from Sylvy as well. A lot of people wanted him dead at the moment. But he was perfectly happy. They could string him up after the meeting for all he cared, the unintelligible look on Sylvy’s face was worth it. She was utterly speechless.

“I’m ever so sorry we were late to start, but would you like to commence this meeting?” Arthur asked like a gentleman with a cocky grin, making sure to stare right at Le Lubrique’s envoy.

-----

When Sylvy left Arthur rejoiced. She was finally out of his hair. Things could go back to normal and he could go back to spending his free time with Merlin instead of on horseback through a bare orchard. No matter how many times Arthur explained to Sylvy that their crops were not aided by magic like Le Lubrique’s, Sylvy insisted on seeing their “mortal” development.

Everything was put back into its rightful place. He couldn’t wait to put everything about Le Lubrique behind him and move on.

He was back on the throne with Merlin, leading the kingdom just as they were before the whole ordeal with Le Lubrique. Their advisers especially liked the fact that Arthur was back with Merlin; it meant less work for them. The moment that Sylvy left their grounds, Camelot’s advisers piled parchment after novel after demands on his table.

Those selfish bastards.

The so-called requests were so thick that Merlin didn’t even make a sarcastic comment comparing it to Arthur’s ass, and, or his thick skull; the warlock simply went to work. If Arthur himself wasn’t already terrified of the workload, he would have shocked himself to the grave at Merlin’s willingness to submit to their advisers. The two kings of Camelot knew when they met their match.

What felt like weeks passed where Arthur and Merlin did nothing but what their advisers ordered. They were slaves to their own court. The two didn’t leave their room for anything, not food, not training, not even a breath of fresh air. Their knights would occasionally knock on their door to make sure they were both still alive, but once the knights of the round table had been turned down a couple dozen times, they stopped caring. Merlin and Arthur shut off the world. They were practically locked in there, all because of their own doing.

Well, mostly Merlin’s doing. He was the one who invited the envoy over and wanted to make peace with the new kingdom. Arthur had nothing to do with that prolonged visit from the devil, he was only paying the price. His hands ached like it had been shorn off at the wrists, his back screaming for him to rest. He didn’t remember the last time he touched his bed, the neatly tucked in linens calling him to slumber. But he couldn’t, neither of them could until their work was done. Their kingdom depended on it and their kingdom came first, Arthur and Merlin’s comfort second. They both knew what they had signed up for when they decided to wed.

“A-Arthur,” Merlin groaned late one night, the sun mere minutes from the horizon.

Arthur immediately looked up from his book, putting his full attention on Merlin who was on the other side of the room. Neither of them had talked in days besides the few grunts they exchanged while passing over important text. The fact that Merlin was straining his voice now meant something serious was going on.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur coughed, his throat parched and dry as a desert.

“I-I-” Merlin began, rubbing harshly at his hurt eyes, “I think that’s the last one.” The sorcerer signed one more parchment with a flick of his wrist, setting it aside to dry along with the rest.

And the thing was, Merlin was right. There was no more work to go through, to tirelessly read; everything was finally done. “I’m so tired I don’t think I can see straight, b-but that was it!”

“What?”

“We’re finished, you clophole," Merlin smiled, taking Arthur’s breath away.

Arthur leapt out of his seat, pure joy masking the aches and pains as he rushed over to Merlin’s side. The king pulled the sorcerer from his chair, lifting the man into the air, Arthur kissed Merlin like it was their wedding day. Deep and full of all the longing he had for the man, grasping at him as if he could protect Merlin from the world.

He only pulled back for air, inhaling lungfuls before pressing his lips back against Merlin’s. Arthur missed his husband so damn much despite having worked across the room for each other. He hadn’t touched the other man in ages, it was heaven to feel his heartbeat beneath his pained fingers. To kiss down Merlin’s pale neck and mark him until the whole castle knew exactly what they had been up to. To pull at Merlin’s clothes, ripping his tunic right off of his chest, the buttons flying across the room.

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, gently pushing Arthur back so he could speak. “I liked that shirt.”

Arthur thumbed at Merlin’s trousers, holding his hips tight enough to leave marks that Merlin would feel for days to come. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“But my mother made me that one,” Merlin complained, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. His strong hand went to cup Arthur’s cheek, making the king look at him. Forcing the king to calm down and evaluate things. “We have to get something to eat too, dear,” Merlin told Arthur in a loving tone. “We’re both too exhausted for this.”

“I’m never too tired for you,” Arthur bit back, leaning into Merlin’s hand. He may have been putting his weight on Merlin’s desk so as to not fall over, but Merlin didn’t need to know that. Arthur could most definitely ravage Merlin while on the brink of death.

Merlin pulled Arthur close to kiss him softly, “If we go to bed now, then we can spend all of next day together,” Merlin tried to bargain, eyes teary from lack of any sort of sleep. “You’re going to hurt yourself, you ass,” he chuckled with a small smile that made his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“I don’t want to,” Arthur whined, “I’ve worked for weeks on end. Now I want my reward for behaving.” Arthur sat back on Merlin’s desk, pulling the man on top of him. The desk groaned under their combined weight, but Arthur hardly cared when he had Merlin on his lap and straddling his thighs. “You’re all I want.” He embraced Merlin, the warlock half naked and moaning as Arthur kissed along his arm. His mouth sucked at Merlin’s skin, teeth leaving markings on pale skin claiming Merlin as his. Arthur worshiped Merlin until his stormy eyes were hazy with unabated lust.

“Just you….”

Arthur slumped forward, out like a dying candle before he even knew it. Merlin had to stifle a laugh, though he doubted anything would wake Arthur then. The king was out cold, snoring like there was no tomorrow. Too bad Merlin had to carry his fat ass over to their bed. The warlock was beginning to rethink their plans for tomorrow. Sometimes he wished Arthur wasn’t such a stubborn ass and listened to him. It would save them both the trouble, Merlin was right most of the time after all.

“Get some rest, you oaf,” Merlin said to the asleep man, tucking him into their bed. Arthur’s blonde hair was like a halo against their stark white pillow, the dark bags underneath his eyes a contrast with the paleness of his skin. His old tunic was a dull red from overuse, the buttons holding onto the fabric for dear life. Merlin stripped Arthur of his boats and stuffy tunic leaving both men in their trousers. A much better way to sleep if anyone asked.

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin whispered into Arthur’s ear, snuggling up against the king. He threw the blankets over himself and laid on Arthur’s chest. The pull of sleep had Merlin out just as quickly, the moment he allowed his breath to even out, there was nothing that would stop him from getting the well earned sleep that he so needed.

“Rest well, Merlin,” Arthur answered in a murmur, pulling Merlin in close. “Sweet dreams, you idiot.”

-----

“Arthur, calm down and try to see reason!” Merlin all but yelled at the king without his crown. The man in question was in his knight gear, armor and chainmail strapped tightly to his body for protection. His sword hung to his side, within reach at all times. Arthur could feel something ominous looming on the horizon, it was Merlin who was still seeing the world with rose colored glasses.

“I tried to see reason. I tried to play nice. And this is what I get in return,” Arthur gestured to the pile of charred wood on the round table. Wood that was once the homes of innocent farmers who played no part in the altercations of royals. People that Arthur was supposed to protect, their livelihoods and homes included. “We were nothing but good to them and this is what happened. Dozens of houses burned to nothing overnight!”

“We have to act now, Merlin.”

“Going in there with your swords raised in offence isn’t going to do anything but start an all out war,” Merlin insisted, urging Arthur to reel himself in, to not lash out at the closest thing. If it were anyone else Merlin would have already smacked them over the head for raising their voice at him. Unfortunately, Merlin was sleeping with the man and didn’t want to be smothered in his sleep. “That’s what Le Lubrique wants; a reason to fight. We can’t give them that.”

“Then what exactly do you expect us to do, Merlin?” Gwen piped in across the table from Merlin. Morgana stood to her side, eyes darting between all the speakers in a frenzy. “They attacked first. It’s only right that we return what they have given us.” Gwen picked up a piece of wood, charcoal rubbing off on her hands as she turned it over. “Arthur is right, we just can’t sit idle.”

Merlin stared at Gwen, hoping that she would be on his side on this. She solemnly shook her head, denying her friend’s offer. Gwen wanted to go on the offence just as much as Arthur, her friends were harmed when Le Lubrique’s soldiers set fire to a section of the kingdom. They burned down acres of farmland, dozens of homes with children and elderly. Luckily, nobody was killed in the process but many were harmed. Gwen wanted vengeance for them. She was a loyal ruler, loyal to her people.

“And we won’t,” Merlin bargained, “We won’t let them gain any more than they already have. No one here knows exactly what they want from us, but we do know that they’re willing to play dirty to get it,” he went on, talking with his hands to release some of the tension. “Let me be a spy and-”

“Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“No,” Arthur said firmly, daring Merlin to argue. “You stay right here with me. I will not have you risking your life for measly information.”

“It's not measly information, Arthur. It could be the difference between thousands dead and a simple treaty. We don’t know what Le Lubrique wants, but if we do, we could try to bargain with them. No blood needs to be shed,” Merlin tried, laying a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, forcing the man to look at him. “The queen wants me. She made that very clear. She won’t hurt me if she thinks I’m on her side.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, watching the sorcerer for any sign of hesitation. When he saw nothing of the sort Arthur sat down in his chair with a huff. Merlin really wanted to do this. Spy work is equal to a as rushing in with their flag flying and swords shining; both could end with Merlin buried six feet under. Even the implication had Arthur feeling like hell.

“How am I supposed to get anything done with you gone?” Arthur questioned genuinely, much to the snickers of the knights and ladies. “I can’t function without you,” this was whispered softly to Merlin, just for Merlin.

The anger and stress dissipated from Merlin’s eyes, his shoulders slacked in resignation. Realization slowly but surely dawned on the sorcerer. Arthur was simply afraid. The first king of Camelot was worried, on the brink of tears from it if anyone looked close enough. Merlin rolled his eyes, even after all these years Arthur was still undoubtedly the same.

Without a care for the other people in the room, Merlin sat down on Arthur’s lap, hands on the other’s chest to stabilize himself. Merlin leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s lips, cradling his jaw like it was something breakable. “Everything will be alright, Arthur. I can protect myself just fine,” Merlin reassured in a careful voice, stroking Arthur’s cheek. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always feel empty without you, Merlin." Arthur pulled Merlin in for another kiss, this one deeper than the last. The two only pulled away for air and even then they went back for more. They couldn’t have enough of the other, constantly needing to feel the other person. A give and take only the other could provide. “What am I supposed to do if you don’t return?” Arthur asked quietly, resting his forehead on Merlin’s. “How am I supposed to live?”

“I promise to you, you’ll never have to find out. You’re stuck with me," Merlin smirked, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. "Till death do us part, darling.”

Arthur wished he could believe Merlin’s promise. He swore on his mother’s grave that if Merlin fulfilled his promise that he’ll listen to everything Merlin has to say. He’ll never question Merlin again, never talk back to the warlock, shove his stubbornness down and never speak of it again. Arthur would have done anything for Merlin, only the man asked.

Not a month later Arthur received news in the form of a messenger. Le Lubrique had declared war on any who dared try to take the last living dragonlord from them. Merlin was theirs, they stated, the dragonlord belonged to dragon tamers. The two are vital for the continuation of dragons in the old religion. One to gain their trust, the other to keep the creatures in chains where they belong. Any and all who tried to take away their dragonlord would be faced with lethal consequences.

At that Arthur sent the messenger to be put into the stocks. Lethal consequences. Arthur will show them just how deadly he could be. Le Lubrique will pay, a month without Merlin was torture but if they dared to lay a hand on Merlin they would all burn. Gwen was absolutely right, Arthur required vengeance, he wanted them all to feel just what angering Camelot will do, what angering him will do.

And after making such a claim over Merlin’s life, Arthur will show them no mercy. Le Lubrique had declared war on Camelot and Arthur would answer tenfold.

------

It took around two weeks for Arthur to prepare for battle against a kingdom full of sorcerers. Another week was spent traveling with his soldiers over land and sea. Through it all he couldn’t help but be eaten alive by the nagging feeling that he was too late. That he would arrive only to find ash; bones if he was lucky. Day and night he was slowly being killed by the fact that he could very well be walking into his husband’s grave.

“He’s going to be okay,” Morgana reassured him one day as he leaned against the railing of their ship. They were perhaps an hour if not less from shore and Arthur hadn’t slept a wink. He could feel exhaustion mixing with the worry brewing in his mind, ready to overflow at a single inconvenience. His sword was once again at his side, the memory making everything so much worse. “Merlin will be teasing you for worrying so much if he were here.”

“But he isn’t, is he, Morgana?” Arthur said more harshly than he intended. “He could already be dead for all we know.” And it would be all Arthur’s fault, though he kept that notion to himself. By the look on Morgana’s face, she must have been thinking the same thing.

“It's not your fault, Arthur. Merlin chose to go on his own free will.”

“But I was the one who allowed it,” Arthur bit back, standing straight on his feet. “I sent him to his death.”

“You don’t know that,” Morgana crossed her arms. She should be used to Arthur’s self destructive behavior but even this was getting too much for her. “If what that messenger said was true, Merlin’s probably being pampered to death.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to have said because Arthur’s despair did not lighten. It seemed to have gotten worse. “What if he likes it better with Le Lubrique’s court? I’m no warlock, I can’t compete with their magic!”

“Arthur, you’re overthinking this,” Morgana was done with Arthur’s antics. She was ready to gag him and throw him in the ship’s makeshift prison cell until they had properly docked. “Merlin will run right into your arms the moment he sees you. I’m willing to bet on it, just you wait and see. Merlin loves-”

At Morgana’s silence, Arthur looked over to the direction of her gaze. Their ship was making speed but Arthur suddenly wished they had stopped right where they were and sink. The sight took Arthur’s breath away, making his blood go cold. Le Lubrique was burning and it looked like it had been burning for a very long time. There was no shoreside to speak of, just endless flickering flames. Where the castle should have been standing tall like a beacon was nothing but flames, ruble, and ash.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled even though his voice would not carry that far. “Merlin!” he called again, his heart sinking to his stomach. He wanted to drown at sea. He never wanted to reach the shore, to be lost in the ocean and never have to face what he already knew was there. The absence of what he knew should’ve been. “Merlin!” he shouted even though it was futile.

“Arthur, please!” Morgana struggled to pull him back from the side, afraid he’ll jump and swim the rest of the way himself. Or worse. “Just an hour, please. That’s all you have to wait for. You- you don’t know for sure.” Even Morgana was not so sure of her words, the picture in front of them was hard to paint as lies.

“I sent him to his death….” Arthur whimpered, “I killed him. I killed my husband.” The king sank to his knees, kneeling next to Morgana. The woman could barely hide the tears in her eyes at the sight. Everything she wanted to say, every reassurance died on her tongue. Whatever she said could very well be a lie and nothing more.

“We will make them pay, Arthur. We will make them pay for what they’ve done,” Morgana decided instead, pulling Arthur to his feet. “They won’t get away with this,” she stated sternly, much like their father when he had set his mind to something.

Less than an hour passed where the tension was so thick, one could slice through it with an unsharpened sword. All on board prepared for battle, despite the fact that the fires never stopped burning. Regardless of the fact that they might be too late to be of much good. The fighting had already begun long before they docked, a civil war where the same flag was flying on opposite sides.

“Go search for what is left, we’ll handle everything else,” Gwen informed Arthur when they stepped foot on the raging battlefield. She was dressed in chainmail armor just like everyone else, Camelot’s colors making her blend in with the searing fires. Her helmet was covering most of her face, giving her the appearance of a frightening soldier ready to take lives at a moment's notice. If Arthur was in a better mood, he would have been sorry for the folks who would come face to face with Gwen, the quick footed soldier instead of Gwen, the gentle, kind hearted high lady. At the moment he was on the verge of breaking and was ever so glad that Gwen was as cut throat as she was.

“Thank you,” Arthur told her from the bottom of his heart, “We should have listened to you from the start.”

“You followed your husband’s request, I can’t fault you for that.” She pulled Arthur in for a hug before sending him off. “Go find our king.”

Gwen didn’t have to tell Arthur twice, he was off before she finished speaking. The only thing is his mind was finding and holding Merlin. Nothing else mattered. Not the war thriving around him, swords clashing, arrows flying, Camelot’s red against the duality of Le Lubrique’s purples; nothing. The sorcerer was all that was worth living for and Arthur had a guess as to where Merlin would be.

The castle with Le Lubrique’s flag flapping against the blistering wind was as good as any place to start. Arthur climbed the hill that the palace stood on with lead in his stomach. It felt like every step he took he was merely walking into a trap. The castle should not still be in one piece, the battles around the structure should have made it no more than debris. However, it still stood on weak support.

Going against the nagging voice in the back of his head Arthur called out for his husband, “Merlin!” He walked closer to what would have been the courtyard. Around the perimeter were burning shrubbery that must have been a sight to behold at one point in time. Now there were nothing more than flares and the source of black smoke. The cobblestone center was stained with a drying red that Arthur did not want to face the source of. “Merlin!” Arthur sounded out in the courtyard.

“Arthur,” a hoarse voice groaned weakly. Arthur ran in the direction it came from, his sense of self preservation be damned. Merlin’s life could be on the line.

“Merlin, stay with me. Keep talking!”

“I-I’m over here,” Merlin hissed out helpfully, not informing Arthur where, “here” exactly was. Why did Arthur have to marry such a buffoon? Sure, no one could compare to Merlin, but at the very least he could have courted a smarter man.

“I’m coming, just stay where you are,” Arthur said hastily, rushing through the crumbling courtyard. “Don’t you dare die on me, I’ll kill you myself if you do!” he threatened, searching every nook and cranny for the warlock.

“That’s my line, you ass,” Merlin moaned in complaint, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Come up with your own catchphrases.”

Sometimes Arthur couldn’t believe his choice in a partner. Merlin was really making banter with him while possibly on the brink of death. He was definitely going to kill Merlin for this. “Make me, you bastard,” Arthur cursed, rounding a sharp corner that fell apart as he passed it. His breath was taken away for the second time that day when he saw Merlin on the ground.

They were in what must have been a parlor, the stained glass windows shattered on the ground as a number of the fine furniture burned to cinder. Arthur could imagine the room as something beautiful if he were to be invited over for tea. Now he just saw it as a smoking mess, something that he was glad was going up in flames. Though, without him or Merlin in it would be nice.

“There you are!” Arthur exclaimed, rushing over and kneeling on the floor next to Merlin’s frame. The sorcerer was half naked with sharp nail marks littered across his pale skin. Merlin’s neck was a raring red as if a hand had been wrapped around his throat which didn’t let up until he passed out from the lack of air. His form was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and tears, his rib cage stuck out in unpleasant angles. It looked like he hadn’t been fed in days. The sight made Arthur furious, but Le Lubrique’s court could wait. Arthur had to get Merlin to safety first.

“Took you long enough, you oaf,” Merlin hissed through his teeth, his lips chapped from dehydration. The corner of his mouth was bleeding as if he had been back handed across the face. Arthur reached out a hand to touch it, to make sure Merlin was real and not just some illusion made by a sick sorcerer. “Stop that, it already hurts to talk,” Merlin coughed, his eyes hazy.

“What happened?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, shrugging off his cape to throw over Merlin’s bare chest. It didn’t offer much coverage but it was protection against the flying embers. As a bonus it covered the markings that made Arthur’s skin crawl.

“I arrived under the guise of an envoy, just as we had planned. Everything seemed to be going fine, but they found out I was a spy early on. It was like they could read my mind, and I don’t doubt that they have the knowledge just for the spell,” Merlin explained, pulling Arthur’s cape close, the soft fabric offering a sense of shelter. “But they didn’t seem to care that I was there under ulterior motives. They were only glad to have me, mind and body,” Merlin shivered at the thought. “Le Lubrique’s queen wanted me to father her children.”

Merlin paused to let the thought sink in. He watched Arthur for his reaction. Arthur’s face twisted in a disgusted sneer, baring his teeth at the implication. The king clenched his fists until his nails dug deep enough into his palm to drag blood. Arthur wanted to feel the pain, something to ground him farther so he didn’t march off to kill someone who might already be dead.

“Le Lubrique wanted dragons as slaves, no king would be dumb enough to go to war with a kingdom with dragons on their side; no matter its size,” Merlin went on, his eyes glowing yellow at the notion. “They needed me as a stud.”

Arthur was repulsed at the notion that Le Lubrique would even conceive of such a thing. He must have looked ready to vomit because Merlin quickly added, “Le Lubrique’s queen even tried to make herself appealing to me when I denied her advances.” Arthur could only imagine what the woman did. Sylvy’s antics immediately came to mind. “She magicked her hair blonde and made her eyes your shade of blue.”

Arthur couldn’t help but darkly chuckle at that. Of all the ways to make Merlin fall for someone, blonde hair and blue eyes weren’t it. “Did she really think looking like me would get you to bed her?”

“No,” Merlin began again with a pained yelp that he tried to hide. “What she said was what made me comply.”

“What did she say?” Arthur growled, his earlier fury seeping back into his bloodstream. “What did that harlot say?”

“She threatened your life, Arthur. Your honor, your dignity, and reign as king. Everything,” Merlin got teary eyed at the memory. “The way she took her pleasure from me was painful, but it was nothing compared to the thought of what she said she would have done to you.”

Arthur was shaking with rage, his whole body trembled with the urge to tear Le Lubrique’s queen apart, limb by limb by his own bare hands. His hand hovered over his sword subconsciously. He wanted to kill her, needed to destroy her for what she’s done. For the fear she incited into Merlin. Arthur was bloodthirsty; he hoped that Gwen was just as demanding of blood.

“I wanted to kill her.” Merlin’s quivering voice brought Arthur back to the present. “Let me kill her, Arthur,” Merlin begged his husband, his lip beginning to bleed.

“Of course,” Arthur wiped Merlin’s tears away with his thumb, his hand caressing Merlin’s cheek gently. “Anything you want, I’ll give it to you in a heartbeat.”

“Now, Arthur. I want to kill her now.” Merlin tried to sit up but the cry of pain had him falling right back to where he was. “She deserves to suffer.” His eyes lit up in a gold light, trying to magic his way upright but failed and fell down once more. The warlock’s body was in a worse state than he appeared, he shook in a cold sweat like an infection induced fever.

When Merlin began coughing fistfuls of blood at the strain Arthur was forced to act quickly. The king straddled Merlin’s legs, sitting down on his lap to keep Merlin on the ground. “Shhh, I’m here, Merlin. I’m safe, I’m alive,” Arthur barricaded Merlin with his arms. “I’ll bring you her head, I swear.”

“Let me do it, Arthur. I can kill her myself,” Merlin barked, another fit of coughs had him squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’ll bring her to you, alive. You can do anything you want with her court,” Arthur tried a different approach, tears forming in his eyes at the sight of Merlin in this state. “You can make her pay for what she’s done, make her feel the same pain. But please, Merlin,” Arthur begged, stroking Merlin’s face as tears fell on the man’s face. “Stay with me. Keep talking.”

Merlin opened his eyes at Arthur’s request, pain painting them a disorientating blue. “It hurts, Arthur. She did so, so many horrible things,” Merlin admitted in the burning parlor room. He reached out angry scarred arms to wrap around Arthur, pulling the king flush against his chest. “Everything aches, it feels like I’m being burned alive.” Merlin had Arthur in a death grip, there was barely enough room for either of them to breathe. It felt like home.

“They will pay, this I swear,” Arthur made an oath, kissing Merlin to make it true. “By the end of this day their bodies will be put on display for all to see.” He kissed down Merlin’s neck, burying Le Lubrique’s queen’s markings with his own. “Do you want her kingdom as well, Merlin? Say the word and it's yours.”

“I want you. I want her gone. I want her kingdom. I want it all,” Merlin’s mind was spinning with searing fever, screaming pain, and the constant pleasure of Arthur licking at his throat. He squeezed Arthur’s neck with his shaking arms. “Give me everything.”

In a burning parlor of a dying country with a queen and court that abandoned it, the first king of Camelot made a vow to the second king; an apology and a promise. Everything the licking fire was eating, everything destroyed by its own queen; the country, and the sea that surrounded it. The never ending farmlands, the people that survived, and the bones that would be buried by ash of its own making. The entire kingdom; dead, dying, or thriving. All of it would be Merlin’s.

All of it is Merlin’s.

“My king shall have everything.”

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singtotheskiies · 4 years

Text

dream come true // five hargreeves x fem!reader (royal au)

masterlist

summary: prince five longs for a taste of the world outside the marble walls of the castle he’s always known—and when he meets you at the annual ball, he discovers that it’s even more beautiful than he could have imagined.

request (by my absolute favorite anon): I was wondering if you'd be up for writing an AU one shot? I can't get the idea of something similar to a Cinderella (or prince/princess royalty AU) out of my mind. At some point Reggie throws a Grand Ball for some reason and thats where Reader and Five meet and fall in love and well idk if there would be conflict regarding Reggie and his approval (not like Five would ask) but happy ending? Whether Reader is a princess or a commoner or something else I'll leave up to you.

words: 2000

warnings: none besides reggie’s shit parenting lolz

a/n: i,,,,,, am BLOWN AWAY by this request it is so cute!!! i feel like i really could have done more with this, but here’s a lil unedited smth for you all to enjoy!!! (i wouldn’t be 100% opposed to writing more for this au at some point either)

✖️✖️✖️

Five rolls his eyes to the back of his head for what seems like the thousandth time today. If he has to listen to Luther and Diego tear into each other for five more minutes, he thinks he’s actually going to go insane.

He can see Allison glare at him from the corner of his vision, and he raises his hand in a choice gesture without bothering to look at her directly. Reginald’s cane comes down hard on the floor, voice slicing through the room and silencing Luther and Diego’s bickering.

“Five, your behavior is absolutely un—“ “Spare me the lecture, father.” Five cracks a humorless smile. “I already know what you’re going to say—the future of the kingdom is in our hands, all of us must be prepared since we never know when our moment will come, and so on and so on. Well, I’m tired of this! So tired. All we ever do is sit here and listen to those two—“ he pins Luther and Diego with an angry stare— “argue on and on while you just sit there all self-righteous and above it all, never having the decency to tell us who’s going to inherit—“ “That is quite enough,” Reginald snaps, voice taut with rage. “Out.” Five’s eyes narrow. “Out!” And so he finds himself outside the throne room for the third time in as many weeks, head lolling back against the cool marble. I’m really not cut out for this, he thinks. If this is all royalty is—just endless arguing and politics day after day—then I don’t want it. The mid-morning sun breaks through the clouds, shining through the huge glass panes that line the hall. Gold trimmings catch the light, and a glimmer hits Five right in the eyes. He stands up with a sigh and makes his way to the window, looking out on the courtyard and the distant hills beyond. He’s spent hours looking outside at those hills, longing to run for them with all his might. Small homes dot the slopes like beads on a necklace, and Five wants to walk among them, feeling the ground against his feet and listening to all the villagers greet each other as they go about their days. He longs to be free of marble walls and false smiles and instead feel the freedom that he imagines comes from interacting with real people. An impossible dream, perhaps—but a lovely one all the same. And when Reginald calls Five back to the throne room for a talking-to, it certainly helps take his mind off things. Maybe someday, he thinks. ✖️✖️✖️ The sun beams down bright and warm, and you’re grateful for the shade of your stall in the market. It’s been a slow day for selling, and you can’t help but wish that the time would go faster so that you can be free to roam about as you wish. As much as you love selling your jewelry, there’s other prospects that spark more excitement in you—namely, the yearly Presentation Ball being held in just two days. A smile spreads across your face at the thought of it. It’s going to be beautiful, you imagine, full of normal people trying to be their best for one night. And, of course, the royals will be there. Now, you’re not one to gush over a family who’s never seen in public, but a tiny part of you has to admit that the allure of the elite is tempting. This is the first year you’ve ever been able to go, and you wonder if the stories you’ve heard of rulers more statue than person are true. You hope to get a glimpse of them—just to see if they are, in fact, human. The pads of your fingers brush over the necklace in your pocket you’re saving for the ball, and a smile stays on your face for the rest of the day. ✖️✖️✖️ “You had better redeem yourself tonight, boy!” Reginald says to Five, all rancid decorum and thinly-veiled contempt. “I think it unreasonable to expect that I will sit still like—like some puppet all night, Father,” Five shoots back. “Not when our people will be there—I fully expect to speak with some of them.” “What have I always told you and your siblings ever since you were young? Commoners—“ “—Are to be avoided at all costs. Yes, I know. And I am telling you that I believe we cannot be true rulers without knowing who we are reigning over,” Five speaks earnestly, face flushed. “You are a disgrace to this family,” Reginald shouts, all traces of civility gone. “Your siblings would never—“ “Well, I am not my siblings! And I am certainly not going to sit there next to them and feign pompousness,” Five spits. “I’ve had enough of doing things your way.” His turns his heel, moving to storm out of the room.

“Where are you going, boy? The opening introduction will start any minute!” Reginald shouts after him.

“Do it without me! I’m going to be where it really matters—with my people.” Five yells over his shoulder.

Defying Father feels better than he ever could have imagined—and so he takes a deep breath and enters the crowd with a growing smile.

✖️✖️✖️

It’s quite possibly the most exciting night of your life, and you’re completely, heartbreakingly late.

You curse under your breath as you run up the castle stairs, dress gathered up in your hands to keep from tripping. Guards stand on either side of the grand, gilded entrance, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you see a small knot of people entering just before you. You reach the doors and hold out your invitation, smiling at the guard as he nods in acceptance. “Enjoy,” he says, and you beam back.

“I will.”

The ballroom is just as stunningly beautiful as you’d imagined. Gold swirls along the white marble walls, accents of royal red adding to the decadence. The huge room is chock-full of people smiling and drinking and making eyes at each other. You breathe deeply in awe, eyes shining as your head moves side to side, hardly knowing where to look next.

After several moments of looking around, your eyes land on the grand throne at the very front of the room, furthest from you. King Reginald is seated in all his harsh glory on it, flanked on either side by two of the princes. They’re dressed in brilliant royal clothes, trying their best to look as commanding as their father. Four other beautiful royals sit next to them, but your eye is drawn most to the empty throne at the end of the row. If you remember correctly, there should be five princes and two princesses—but only four men are sitting with the king. You wonder where the other is—perhaps sick or off on royal business? The kingdom rarely sees the royals outside of the balls, so it’s impossible to tell which prince is missing.

You turn away from the thrones, curiosity overcome by your thirst. Maneuvering your way through the packs of people is a bit tricky, but you manage to reach the refreshments table without any major accidents. A servant pours you a drink, and you thank him with a smile. As you turn to leave, you nearly bump into a boy about your age.

“I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, before continuing on.

“Wait,” his voice comes after you. You stop and turn back around, pleasantly surprised. “I’m sorry too. What’s your name?”

You tell him, and he smiles.

“I’m F—“ he pauses. “Felix. It’s very nice to meet you.” He reaches for your hand and plants a soft kiss on your knuckles with surprising grace. He’s really quite handsome, you think—slender, searing green eyes, well-groomed, thick hair. Most endearing of all is a dimple in his cheek that deepens as he smiles at you.

“Very nice to meet you too, Felix,” you grin, still-tingling hand slowly coming back down to your side.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” he says with admiration. “Where is it from?”

“I actually made it myself! I sell my own jewelry at the market on weekdays,” you beam. “The wire is made from metal mined right here in the kingdom. It’s purer here than in any surrounding region.”

“That’s amazing,” Felix says with another soft smile. “You must know all sorts of things about jewelry.”

“I guess I’ve learned my fair share,” you laugh quietly. “Jewelry is how I make a living—and it’s one of my passions, so I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell me about how you make pieces,” he asks as the two of you find a relatively quiet place to sit, voice genuine and curious.

And so you do.

✖️✖️✖️

You’re the most beautiful thing Five has ever seen—high praise from a boy who’s lived in splendor all his life. As he watches you talk about your craft, he can’t tear his eyes away from your animated face and hands. How had he lived this long without realizing how beautiful people were? He’d never known something as small as a wisp of hair falling over an eye could make his heart swell nearly to bursting.

“Felix? Felix!” Your voice cuts through his daze, and his eyes snap to yours, embarrassed.

“Sorry, just got, um—distracted.” Was Felix really the best he could come up with?

“Am I boring you?” you ask teasingly, the corners of your mouth tipping up. He looks into your eyes, sparkling with amusement, and finds that nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, he’s so overtaken by his thoughts that he blurts them out loud.

“N-no. No! Absolutely not! I think you’re fascinating—and so beautiful.” He curses his voice for whispering those last words, and averts his eyes in shame.

“You’re too kind,” comes your voice, soft but somehow makes the pounding of his heart even louder. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re quite handsome yourself.”

Years of lessons in diplomacy and etiquette have done absolutely nothing to prepare Five for the feeling that washes over him when you say those last few words. He has absolutely no idea how to respond, and the best his mind can come up with is a “really?”

“Yes,” you giggle, and he’s suddenly aware of just how close you are to him. You smell so nice, and the skin of your wrist is brushing his forearm—and next thing he knows, his fingers are flickering over yours, filling up the spaces in your hand. The look you give him is so beautiful that he wishes he had met you years ago so that it would already be ingrained in his mind.

Your head is nearing his shoulder now, and he’s afraid to breathe in case he ruins your descent. The moment your hair brushes against his neck, he hears his name from behind him. He whirls around to see Klaus with an enormous grin on his face.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself, brother,” he quips. “Unfortunately, dear old father has just about reached his limit with you. If you’re not on your throne in the next few minutes, he’s going to send some guards to find you.”

Five’s eyes are wide as he meets yours. “I’m so sorry. I can explain—“

“No, I apologize, your highness,” you say. “I’ve no doubt broken some sort of royal rule tonight.”

“You were perfect—you are perfect,” he whispers, shaking his head vehemently. “I will find you later tonight—I promise.”

Your smile is more precious than any title he’s been given. “Then I will wait for you—Felix.”

He presses a lingering kiss to your soft hand, unwilling to tear his eyes away from you. And, when he still doesn’t feel satisfied, he moves his lips to the tips of your fingers, your palm, your wrist. He’s only drawn away by the sound of Klaus clearing his throat pointedly.

And for the rest of the night, Klaus’ endless teasing and Reginald’s equally endless scolding are mere echos in his ears—his head is filled with only you.

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vickchan2 · 4 years

Text

JESSE BLACKTHORN WAS MURDERED BY HIS OWN MOTHER [PART 2]

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, PLEASE FORGIVE MY GRAMMAR MISTAKES

lol I wonder if Cassie has daddy issues? She really knows how to portray parental psychological abuse..

Part 1: https://vickchan2.tumblr.com/post/643878993806884864/jesse-blackthorn-was-murdered-by-his-own-mother

WHY I DON’T THINK JESSE WAS TRULY SICK

Because Cassie made sure to let us know how Thomas had a frail health when he was kid (just like Jesse). Gideon worried about that so much he even tried to discuss that with Tatiana (who refused to help him) in A Lightwood Christmas Carol. Nonetheless Thomas got better over the years and grew up a healthy (and very tall!) young man... Still, many characters remember often how Thomas used to be a sickly, small child...

Why Cassie keeps reminding us about his past health problems? Because he has grown up so tall? No, because it shows Jesse might have recovered too.

(ON A SIDE NOTE: REMEMBER CECILY TELLING ANNA HOW SHE USED TO BE QUITE SICK DURING HER PREGNANCY?? HELLO, THAT REMINDS ME OF JESSE AND THOMAS SITUATION)

However, Jesse never realized his health had improved because his mother made him believe he still was a sick kid... (Yeah, Jesse did start training, but he still felt weak because of the poison and thus didnt realize he had recovered. That explains the talking about his weak state, fevers and stuff we heard about him)

(For better understanding of the issue, I recommend this buzzfeed article about Dee Dee Blanchard and Gypsy Rose: https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/michelledean/dee-dee-wanted-her-daughter-to-be-sick-gypsy-wanted-her-mom)

Dee Blanchard suffered from Munchausen syndrome by proxy, a mental disorder which causes a parent or other caretaker to exaggerate, fabricate, or induce illness in a person under their care. Dee Dee Blanchard family even confronted her once because they suspected she had poisoned her stepmother.

And for years Dee Dee made her daughter believe she was a very sick girl. )

In the CHAIN OF IRON case, I think it has to do with power struggles, but I feel Jesse situation resembles Gypsy Rose greatly, except he was the one who ended up dead instead of his mother.)

WHERE WAS I? OH, YES... WHY TATIANA WOULD DO THAT TO HER OWN CHILD?

Because she is Benedict daughter

Just kidding! I know Gideon and Gabriel are amazing fathers.

Well, we all know Tatiana slowly descended into madness over the years. She never got over her loss and started to hate and blame her brothers (and everyone else that helped to kill her Worm father). Anyway, it is quite obvious she developted a desire for vengeance ever since (Belial even says he killed Barbara because she requested it). But how did Tatiana met Belial in the first place?

Because Tatiana discovered her father notes and started to study dark magic to summon demons herself. (Benedict had known sexual desire for demonic women, so of course he would know how to summon one for himself). Seizing the oportunity, Belial showed himself to her and probably promised a very tempting reward: vengeance against everyone whom she despised and wished to destroy in exchange for help to make James Herondale his ''physical vessel''.

Belial clearly was the puppet master and probably instructed Tatiana to adopt a young girl who could be used to seduce James in the future and make him vulnerable to his attempt to take over his body (not because the poor Jesse needed company in that creepy house).

That probably explains why Grace received her type of power to make men do her biding but that bit was easy to guess in the previous book. ( it is important to know Grace most likely her powers at age of ten, right after Jesse death).

For his next step, Belial decided to involve Jesse. He needed a Anchor and Jesse was the perfect choice for the role, if only he were dead...

But first he had to convince Tatiana to kill him and he knew exactly how...

Like I said before, I believe Tatiana poisoned her son slowly over the years to make him think he still was unhealthy (maybe she even poisoned him under the guise it was a medicinal remedy for his illness). I think Tatiana did that to keep him under her thumb and prevent him from leaving the house to become a true Shadowhunter (at time of his death, I believe Jesse had a strong desire to leave his home but he stayed anyway to look after his little sister and Tatiana knew it was a matter of time before he left).

That being said, it wouln’t be too hard for Belial to make Tatiana murder her child if he told her about his plans of bringing Jesse back to life as soon he achieved his goals.

And that’s all, folks. I’m so sleep deprived these I can’t even think about anything else to say. You are welcome to tell me if this theory sucks.

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skrltwtch · 4 years

Text

Graveyard Shift

Prompt: I know the sign says, "No shoes, no shirt, no service", but I just had the WEIRDEST night and your shop is the only building with lights on this early, and I'm really, really hoping you have some spare clothes behind the counter. Help? (Source in master list)

Word count: 4,255 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, smut, supernatural

Warnings: Smut

References: 1 Inglourious Basterds

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Graveyard shift is the fucking best — and the fucking worst.

For one, the shop is able to achieve that fine balance between having enough customers to justify its opening hours and keep me on its payroll, and having enough customers to not make me regret my choice of employment while I attempt to sort out my life. The silence that falls over the shop at two o’clock — without fail every night, like the general public know they have better places to be at two o’clock than a corner shop — grants it the perfect atmosphere for self-introspection and self-improvement. Have I learnt anything useful? Let’s … not talk about that.

Now, what’s the downside to this job, you ask? The customers, of course. There are fewer of them in the dead of the night, but God, the ones that do come in … Being situated on one of London’s busiest corners means a colourful clientele at all times of the day. Drunkards and yobs make up a sizeable number of the demographic that contribute to the shop’s cash drawer while I’m on duty. It’s both sickening and fascinating to deal with them. In my nine months of working here, I’ve seen it all — or I thought I have, until my attention is drawn to the naked man at the door.

It’s less than half an hour after sunrise. He doesn’t look like he’s knocked back a drink too many. (Can coffee make me see things I’m not supposed to be seeing at this hour?) He looks to be of sound mind, his franticness to be let inside aside. He’s handsome: his brown waves, wiry physique, and elegant features lend him a startling resemblance to an ancient Greek sculpture. Strangely, there is an abundance of scars all over his body, and not in a manner that’d signal self-harm. They look more consistent with animal scratches. I’m speaking from experience here: I have a cat, though it’s nigh impossible a cat did this to him.

Nonetheless, this ranks in the lower half of the top ten weirdest shit I’ve seen while on the clock.

‘Hello? Hello!’ That ought to be what he’s saying; I don’t proclaim myself to be an expert at lip reading. It’s encouraging that he’s aware of the sign preventing his entry and doesn’t think he’s above it, at least.

I shake my head at him. Rules are rules, mate. They apply even to hot, naked men.

‘Come on! Please?’ — I think.

‘Sorry!’ I shout, and I point at the camera above me. Colin, my manager, is a cool bloke. It’s about as likely that I’d lose my job for letting Mr Naked and Afraid grace the inside of the shop with his presence and providing him with service as it is that Mr Naked and Afraid is on something that isn’t obvious to my innocent eyes. Why tempt fate? There are other corner shops with less draconian policies down the street. I turn away and continue looking at my phone to spare us both our blushes. It is nippy outside …

Fuck it.

I motion for him to come in. I can explain this to Colin, should he decide to review this morning’s security footage on a whim. He’s a Cool Bloke™.

‘Thank you,’ says Mr Naked and Afraid. Fuck, the shop lighting is doing him more favours than he needs. ‘You won’t get in any trouble for this?’

‘Nah. I might get chewed out1 for this, but that’ll be the worst of it.’

‘Sorry. But thank you. Thank you. I’m George.’

Good. Mr Naked and Afraid is becoming a mouthful.

‘I’m Eva. How can I help, George?’

‘Do you have any spare clothes?’

‘It’s just me here, mate.’

‘I know. Can’t hurt to ask.’

Can I say, ‘You have balls’? Is that appropriate at a time like this? I exhale audibly. ‘Give me a second.’ I retreat into the staffroom behind the counter. Colin deserves a better staffroom than a lad hangout. I’ll clean up when there isn’t a naked man waiting on me outside — or not. I’m not their helper. I sort through the coat rack for something suitable. Andrew is the closest to George in stature, I think. Operating on that approximation, I grab Andrew’s jacket and trousers. I don’t want to have to think too hard about what my co-workers look like underneath their clothes. Besides, Andrew’s clothes have been here for ages. He won’t miss them.

‘Try these,’ I say.

‘Thank you. I’ll clean and return them, I promise.’ He reaches over the counter for the clothes.

‘Not so fast. Give me the craziest reason you’re butt naked, and if I like it, you get the clothes.’

‘Really?’

‘I have to tell my manager something. Might as well be something weird so I don’t get chewed out too hard.’

‘Fine.’ He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the shop — in search of inspiration, perhaps. I’d love to hear what he comes up with. He looks like someone with a good sense of humour. If we’d met elsewhere, I’d have thought about asking for his number and then chickening out at the last minute, because women like me don’t get anywhere with men like him. I keep a lookout on the entrance for any customers or co-workers, mostly because I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.

‘Clock’s ticking, George.’

‘You didn’t say there’s a time limit.’

‘I’m not the one with my arse out in public.’

‘Alright. I’m a werewolf. I must’ve messed something up, because I got out of my flat last night and woke up in Trafalgar Square. I live in Hampstead. See these scars? It’s all me.’

I stare at him. He’s staring back at me, expecting a response. He looks serious. I — I can’t. I burst out laughing. Of all the things I thought I’d hear, that isn’t one of them.

‘That’s one I haven’t heard before. I love it.’

‘Yeah? Can I then —’

‘Not before you answer one more question, wolf boy.’ I mean that nickname with utmost sincerity.

‘Seriously …?’ Red blotches his cheeks. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Were you born a werewolf or were you bitten?’

‘How is that relevant?’

‘Humour me.’

He rakes his hair with his fingers, and holds his inhalation and blink long enough for it to mean ‘I should’ve gone to the next corner shop’. Little does he know that his exasperation is making him look more attractive. I’ll treasure this moment forever. ‘Born. You don’t see any bite marks, do you?’

‘Touché. Here.’ I pass him the clothes.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘No, thank you for the laugh,’ I say, looking away from him as he tries Andrew’s trousers on for size. Andrew’s fashion sense is being wasted on us corner shop plebeians. ‘I love horror and supernatural shit. That was perfect.’

‘Cool.’ For fuck’s sake, he can also pull off the loud, brash prints Andrew favours? This is unfair. ‘I’ll pop these in the washer when I get home, and I’ll return them to you …’

‘I’m working tonight. I’ll be here at ten.’ Technically, I start work at midnight. Andrew’s scheduled for the evening shift today, and I’d love to see his face when George returns with his clothes. I can’t remember how long these specific items have been in the staffroom. Plus, like, ten o’clock is an acceptable time to meet someone who lives in Hampstead and probably has standard working hours, isn’t it? ‘If that’s not too late for you.’

‘That’s fine. Thanks again, Eva.’ He’s said the T word so many times, it’s starting to sound weird to my ears. Semantic satiation — that’s what the phenomenon is called. I learnt this from the 3,722nd post I read on Reddit some nights ago.

‘You’re welcome, wolf boy. See you tonight.’

He grins. ‘See you.’

Just as he turns to leave, I swear, I swear on my copy of The Killing Joke with a frayed spine because I put it in the same bag as my water tumbler with a loose cap, I see a flash of fangs.

✦✧✦✧

‘You’re here early,’ says Andrew.

‘It’s midnight somewhere in the world.’ I don’t join him behind the counter. I’m scheduled to start work at midnight, and that is exactly what I’ll do. Overtime means nothing to me. (I say that like it’s applicable in this instance.) ‘Did a guy come in to look for me?’

‘Nope. Hey, do you know what happened to my trousers and jacket? First one’s floral; second one’s mustard.’ Doesn’t it just sound like a ghastly combination? Andrew can pull it off. So can George — both items at the same time. I’ve only seen Andrew in one or the other.

‘Funny story, that.’

‘Share.’

‘Okay, picture this: It’s fuck o’clock in the wee hours of the morning. Sun’s coming up. I’m on my second tumbler of coffee and running out of things to keep myself entertained. Suddenly, a naked bloke is asking to be let in; he’s begging. He doesn’t look drunk or high. I let him in because I’m a bleeding heart at heart. He asks me for spare clothes. Thank God you treat this place like your second closet. I ask him to hit me with the craziest reason he’s naked to help me decide if I should help him. He says he’s a werewolf.’ I am fighting to hold in my laughter. ‘And he says it with the straightest face you can imagine.’

‘Eva, this bloke was hot, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘You’d have given him the clothes no matter what he said.’

‘I didn’t tell you this story for you to call me out like that.’

‘You’re welcome. Does Colin know you breached one of the shop’s sacred creeds?’

‘Does he have to know?’

‘No comment. It’s not my arse on the line.’

‘Colin won’t do me dirty like that. I did a good deed.’

‘… No comment. Am I going to get my stuff back?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Bollocks, I thought it’s because you like my company.’

‘Why not both?’

The bell above the door jangles, cutting our conversation short. It’s none other than the man of the hour himself. Never have I been this ecstatic to see someone enter the shop. He has no business filling out his grey shirt as well as he is.

‘George! Hi!’ I drown out Andrew’s snicker. Can’t I be excited about speaking with an attractive, charming man who isn’t drunk or in need of goods and services a corner shop can provide in the shop at this time of night? I might also never see him again after this, so as far as I’m concerned, I deserve every second of this.

‘Hello, Eva,’ says George. ‘Got the clothes cleaned like I said I would.’ He shows me the paper bag in his hand. McDonald’s. I can hear Andrew’s heart giving out. ‘Thank you again.’

I take the bag from him and place it on the counter, the golden arches staring Andrew in the face. ‘You’re welcome. You should thank him, too.’ I jerk my thumb at my near-apoplectic co-worker. ‘This is Andrew. The clothes are his.’

‘Thank you,’ George says to the other man, who responds with a tight-lipped nod, still in the midst of computing what he did in a past life to deserve having his clothes returned to him in a McDonald’s paper bag. ‘I followed the instructions on the labels as best I could. If I ruined something, I’d be happy to pay you back for it.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Andrew takes the clothes out of the bag and gives them a quick once-over. ‘Looks good. You can have the bag back.’ He pushes it toward George with his finger.

‘Okay …’ George takes the bag, flattens and folds it into a neat square, and holds it under his arm. ‘Eva, I can’t — I can’t thank you enough for this morning. Last night was … weird.’ He swallowed.

‘Yeah, sure …’ I wink at him. ‘… wolf boy.’

‘Are you working now?’

‘No, but I will be in’ — I consult my watch — ‘an hour and a half’s time. I came in early because I know I don’t have the same concept of day and night as most people.’

‘Graveyard shift: fun as shit’ is Andrew’s sterling contribution to this part of the conversation. I like that, actually.

‘You didn’t have to — I’m more of a night owl,’ says George. Is that because he has a closer affinity to the night because of what he is? I convince myself it is. ‘Do you want to go get some coffee nearby? It’s the least I can do. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. I should talk to Colin about this soon. ‘Sure, I’d love some coffee. Be a dear and watch the shop for me, will you, Andrew?’

✦✧✦✧

George leads me into his flat. Our bellies are full from dinner. I love and hate eating with him sometimes. I love his company, obviously; I hate that he can put away so much without any of it showing on him. Earlier, he had pork chops, lamb meatball stew, and a fudge brownie with ice cream. I get that he needs all that protein to maintain his figure, and I’d love and support him all the same if he were, but he’s not an Olympics athlete like Michael Phelps. Nonetheless, all that food’s imbued him with oodles of energy, the kind that’s seen us seek to end the night on a more gratifying note at someone’s place. (Mine’s out of the question tonight because my flatmate’s working toward the same goal with her latest squeeze.)

The farthest we make it before the urge to eat each other’s faces overpowers us is the sofa. I’m on top of him, just showering him with gentle kisses on his lips, and sometimes his cheeks and nose. I’m content with savouring his taste for now. His breathing is heavy. He’s warm to the touch. His kisses are more insistent. I yield to his desperate, almost plaintive moans and allow our tongues the pleasure of getting to know each other better. His hand is feverishly fondling my thigh and hip; the latter has developed a mind of its own, grinding up against him. Deciding our mouths couldn’t have all the fun, I move on to his neck, which he kindly bares for me. His throat is thrumming with — growls?

I look up at him and say, ‘Do you hear that?’

‘Hm?’ His eyelids flutter open. I gasp.

Staring back at me are yellow eyes, brilliant and wild.

Oh, my God.

‘George — your —’

‘Why?’ He puts his hand to his mouth. ‘Shit.’ I get off him. I see the fangs I thought I saw the first time we met. ‘What’s today’s date?’

‘It’s the eighth.’

‘Fuck!’ The force with which he cursed propels him out of his seat. ‘You have to go. I’m sorry,’ he says, taking off his shirt. His chest sheens with sweat. ‘I forgot.’

I don’t need to ask him what it is he forgot: I know the answer on a primeval level. I know I should leave. I stand transfixed by what’s happening before me. His flesh twists and ripples. The growls get louder. The proportions of the hand on his chest — hairier than I’ve ever known it to be — are all wrong. Poking — pushing out from underneath his fingernails are claws. He turns away from me. The sight of protruding knobs of bone under the skin along his spine causes chills to run down mine. My poor George. My poor wolf boy.

‘I’ll go,’ I say, as much as I want to stay with him. ‘Will you be okay?’ I shake my head. Stupid question. He’s in agony.

‘I’ll be fine.’ There is greater conviction in the violent gurgle that follows than his words. ‘Now go. Please.’ His back arches and expands with muscle. He cries out in pain.

I do as he says. I hear the locks rattle and turn behind me. Though his strained growls and yips are horrible to hear, I stick around outside his door. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I don’t quite feel afraid either of what I saw in there or of what I now know. Instead, I feel … I press my legs together and bite my lip. Not the time. After what feels like an eternity of guttural noises that have no right coming from a human throat, a howl, long, almost melodious, pierces the air. It’s almost … reassuring. So much about him makes sense now.

I take my phone from my bag, and I send him the following: ’Text me when you see this. Love you.’

✦✧✦✧

I shift on my feet as I wait for George to answer the door. I’m worried about him. Does he not want to see me anymore after last night? No, it’s an insult to the both of us for me to think that he thinks I’d be narrow-minded enough to stop wanting to be with him because of what he is. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The food I brought for him is getting cold. Can he smell it from inside his flat? I press the doorbell again. I wish he had a neighbour to tell me what I can do in times like this.

The door opens. He looks a mess: he’s in boxers, and his hair is sticking out every which way. His eyes go wide. The memory of his yellow eyes resurfaces. I feel a little weak in my knees.

‘Good morning, love. I came to see if everything is okay,’ I say, ‘and I brought breakfast.’ I show him the paper bag. The food inside still smells good.

‘I thought —’ He doesn’t need to complete his sentence for me to know what he means. It’s written plainly in the furrow of his brow, the sadness in his eyes. Damn it. I didn’t want to be proven right about that.

‘Of course not. You didn’t see my message?’

‘I haven’t checked my messages. Sorry.’

‘Oh.’

‘Please, come in. Are you off work today?’

I nod.

His flat, too, is in disarray. It looks just as if an animal went wild in here. Pillows and books are all over the floor; some of the former have been ripped apart. Sunlight shines through the gaping holes in the curtains. Nothing’s broken, at least. George’s head hangs low. ‘I haven’t had the time to clean up … nor was I expecting visitors. I called in sick to work and went back to sleep. I forget what happens when I don’t take my meds before I transform.’

‘Let me guess — the last time that happened was a year ago?’

‘Yeah, probably. I don’t know. That was — that was different. I guess I was too excited about our date that I forgot what yesterday was.’

I walk him to the sofa, and we sit down. The food is left to sit out on the coffee table. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, stroking his arm lovingly. ‘I wasn’t … I’m not freaked out or anything. I love horror and supernatural shit after all.’ I chuckle nervously, more so because I hate my tendency to resort to awful humour in an attempt to defuse tense situations. ‘So, um … I owe you an apology for laughing at you when you first told me.’

‘Don’t. I could’ve said something else. I didn’t. I wanted the clothes fast, and after the night I’d had, that was the most out-there thing I could think of in a snap.’

‘Yeah, then I made it into a thing between us! I call you “wolf boy”! You never asked me to stop! And I told everyone how we met! Everyone knows you’re a werewolf!’ I gasp. So. Many. Exclamation. Marks.

‘This is our thing. Only you know for certain. I feel like I can breathe now.’

I lay my head on his chest. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to hide.’

‘That first sentence sounds like something I’m supposed to say.’

‘So, George … about last night … was that because you were about to — or …’

His words come out almost in a snarl: ‘I wanted you. I want you.’ His lips are centimetres away from my neck. His breath is hot on my skin.

‘Are we like … mates now, then?’ I giggle as I draw an indiscriminate shape on his chest with my finger. I may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time last night reading up on wolf behaviour. The thought of what lies in store for me is a little exhilarating, an observation I had a mild developmental crisis over when I felt that first pang of passion from applying what I read to our relationship.

‘Yes.’

He licks my neck. My core tingles with excitement at the ramifications of his declaration — for the record, I meant it as a light-hearted question — and at what’s about to come next, based on my research. Then he pushes me down onto my back, and I see his eyes, still blue, flicker with the same intensity as last night. He hikes up my dress and gets straight to nuzzling my mound. He laps his tongue over my underwear and inner thighs, the strokes long, soft. I hum impatiently. My underwear is getting soaked. He slides it off my pelvis, and he promptly buries his face in my folds. Fingers come into the picture soon after. I writhe in his grasp, desiring release.

And Lord, does it come.

I don’t get to wait for my legs to stop quivering, as he rises from between them and says, ‘On all fours, love’, his voice a lusty rasp. I scramble to my hands and knees. He’s never asked for this before. I’m liking this greater sense of freedom he now has around me. How much had he been holding back? I spread myself for him. He pushes his cock up against my slit. I let out a small, startled ‘Oh’ when he enters me. I feel pinpricks where his fingertips are. Each thrust is deep and brutal. It hurts a little, but it hurts so good. I press the side of my face into the couch and close my eyes. Stars crash into each other in the blackness behind my eyelids.

Though he’s the werewolf here, I’m the one whimpering and moaning like an animal, too, while he huffs and growls with each movement. The sounds encourage him. ‘Please, don’t stop, don’t stop …’ I breathe. My walls convulse around his girth and fill up with an unbearable heat and wetness. Come drips out of me and trickles down my thighs. Then his thrusts become shallower and rough, his fingertips threaten to leave bruises on my skin, and he empties himself inside me. He lets out a strangled howl; my lip almost bleeds from how hard I’m biting down.

I feel so empty, almost a little sad, when he pulls out. I settle into a lounging position on the sofa. He wedges himself behind me. I gently fondle his business, still hard. He resumes licking my neck, sometimes rubbing his face on my skin.

‘I’m sorry if that was … weird. It’s the first time I fucked like that — and the first time I fucked after the full moon.’

I turn around and kiss him. ‘You were amazing.’ His ears turn pink. ‘Am I your first girlfriend who knows?’

‘Yes. About being mates …’ He pulls me closer to him. ‘I can do something about that. If you want. No pressure. It’s a huge decision.’

I won’t lie and say I didn’t consider the idea at least once last night. The dream I had about transforming and running alongside him on all fours can attest to that. But I tell him, ‘I need to think about it first.’ I don’t want him to think I’m rushing headlong into something I have little to no knowledge about. (Tabbing back and forth between pages about wolf behaviour for at least two hours doesn’t make me an expert. I’m not even sure if it’s relevant.) I also wasn’t expecting this question to come up so soon, considering he thought I’d leave him. I sweep my thumb across his lips, then his nose. ‘Maybe if I see you in your wolf form first …’

‘Fair enough. Promise me you’ll still love me the same after you’ve seen him. He’s more fun than I am, even when hopped up on industrial-strength bear tranquiliser.’

‘It’s going to take a lot to top what I’ve seen in the last year — and the last hour.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m in trouble.’

I spend the day at his place. (What? I’m taking a mental health day, and being with my boyfriend does wonders for my mood.) We fuck several more times, unable to get enough of each other; we’re like lovesick puppies. He lets shades of his true self slip through on occasion. He assures me it’s not because of the full moon. I assure him I know. Until today, I didn’t think it’d been possible for him to become more alluring. I give him my answer to his offer before sunset, which he happily accepts. At the end of the day, I lie in my wolf boy’s arms, waxing gratitude for the graveyard shift at the corner shop a year ago.

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine

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arminhug · 3 years

Text

hello, pumpkin || annie leonhardt x reader: chapter two

series masterlist

。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

BIRTHDAY GIRL

Annie and I never established that we were friends until her eighth birthday.

In the blossoming spring warmth, I nestled myself in the corner of the bench in the playground’s garden. It was an unspoken fact that nobody really played in the garden; it was a quiet haven for a few of us to read or enjoy solitude, yet it had also become a spot where I waited for Annie every day, and almost every day, had she not been sent home or busy with other obligations, Annie joined me, sometimes speaking, sometimes not. I didn’t mind; I just loved to be in her company.

On this particular day, Annie stood before me, and despite her being the same height as me, her air always made her seem much bigger and powerful.

“My dad says this is for you.”

She handed me a white envelope into which I fervently tore, revealing a gaudy invitation card.

“It’s your birthday on Saturday?” I quizzed.

“No, my birthday is today. But my dad said it was too short notice to invite you to my house today, so you can come on Saturday.”

At this news of Annie’s birthday, I immediately leapt to my feet and braced her in a hug. “Happy birthday! What cake are you having? Are you going to hand out sweets to your class?”

Annie did not hug me back but did not resist. “I don’t like cake, and I don’t like anyone in my class.”

I gasped. “How can you not like cake? Also, who’s going to be at your party if you don’t like anyone in your class?”

“Cake is too heavy and sweet.” She responded monotonously. “Also, you’re the only one coming; it’s not a party, my dad just knows I have a friend now and wanted you to come. You don’t have to.”

Unlike Annie, I didn’t actively avoid the other children in my school. I was still invited to many class birthday parties, I spoke amiably to my peers and I could name a few schoolchildren whom I could consider a friend— yet Annie, the stoic, ash-blonde girl confessing she saw me as a friend elicit such joy within me, I can still remember the feeling to this day if I think about her enough.

“So if I’m your friend, I have to get you a present, right?” I had reminded her of the title that she gave me moments ago.

“No. I don’t want a present.”

“Yes you do, everyone wants presents!” I retorted. “What do you like best in the world?”

“Cats.”

I sat down, sulking. “I can’t get you a cat, Annie. What else do you like?”

Silence.

“Mummy and I can make you something.” I continued, desperate to find something that I could give to my friend. “She’s really good at baking. Do you like cookies?”

“No.”

“Cupcakes?” I refused to give up.

“No! Cupcakes are tiny cakes, you know I hate cakes.”

“Brownies?”

“No.”

“Doughnuts?”

This time, Annie turned away, not meeting the question with a monosyllabic “no”.

“Doughnuts! Annie, I’ll make you lots of doughnuts, okay?”

Annie still refused to look me in the eye. It never bothered me, but I had gathered that she was more inclined to refuse eye contact when she was upset or shy. Before I had the chance to attempt to pry into which flavour of doughnut she would have liked, the bell signalling the end of recess rang. I leapt to my feet and pressed a chaste kiss to Annie's cheek.

“See you later, you doughnut!”

She shoved me towards my line with no malice in the action. “Whatever you say, pumpkin girl.”

“Earth to (y/n)? You’ve been glazed over for the past five minutes. What’s so exciting about the window?”

I blink, snapping out of the saccharine memory of Annie’s birthday. Four pairs of eyes are fixed on me, and I animate myself, taking the doughnut from my plate and shrugging. “I was just thinking,” I respond.

“You sure? Not looking at any hot dudes?” the only other female at the table, Sasha, suggests. Her hazel eyes flicker suggestively over to the group of men kicking a ball about in the park over the road from our favourite local café, which has baked goods to die for (or so Sasha and Connie, the food fanatics of my friendship group claim. I won’t argue—the doughnuts are heavenly.)

“Yeah, c’mon, (y/n)! There are three dashing fellows right here, why do you need to stare at those losers?” Connie chimes in, gesturing to himself and my other two male friends, Jean and Marco.

“Yeah, you wish. My type isn’t idiots,” I playfully smack Connie’s head, the growing stubble brushing my fingertips as I find any way to bring the subjects away from men that I would apparently find attractive.

“On all seriousness, what is your type? We’ve never seen you have anyone about.” Jean interrogates. Great.

It took me a while to figure out that I’m likely not into men. I never quite knew why I got so uncomfortable when middle school brought an array of boy bands that prepubescent teenage girls loved to swoon over, and why I could never answer when somebody asked me who was the hottest, but at the age of sixteen, when I realised my heart was racing upon seeing two women kiss in a film my friends and I had watched, it hit me like a freight train that I was definitely attracted to women.

I chose not to indulge anyone in this knowledge; realistically, I know I don’t have too much to worry about. Sure, my parents aren’t screaming about supporting gay rights from the rooftops, but I know that they have no prejudice towards the community, and my four closest friends would accept me no matter what — hell, Marco told us he was gay when we were fifteen and sixteen years old over a game of Mario Kart and we embraced his queerness with open arms.

So what’s the big deal? I think to myself.

“Does it matter? I’m too busy to date. These university decisions are killing me!”

“Simple,” Jean interrupts, pointing the straw of his ridiculously large iced coffee in my direction. “You come to Marley with Marco and me. Good university, far enough away from your parents, and you get your favourite friends with you for the ride!”

Jean and Marco are one class above Sasha, Connie and I, and decided that Marley University, a small, public school that gained a decent reputation despite it being so new, was the place for them. It was hard to say goodbye once they left school, but the holiday breaks came frequently, and soon enough, they were back for Easter, helping their three younger friends decide on which school to go to.

“Tempting, but probably not. I can’t get over the English department in Sina,” I responded dreamily.

“Yeah, and the crazy entry requirements. You’d have to be a robot to get those grades! Just come to Marley with us, I’m sure the English stuff is fine there, too!” Sasha whined, poking at my hand. I take another bite of my nostalgic treat, shaking my head.

“Guys, I love you all, but I can’t make such an important decision based on my friends. You understand, right?”

“It’s fine, (y/n),” Marco interrupts, his familiar comforting smile gracing his freckled face. “We’ll come to visit you up there, right?”

“Nope. Four of us, one of you. She is coming to Marley.” Jean retorts.

“Jesus, fair enough. I’ll book the plane tickets now!” I tell him sardonically. He elbows me jovially in response and stands, coffee in hand. “Right, we can finish our drinks and snacks on the way outside. It's too nice to be spending it indoors.”

Ignoring the protests from Sasha and Connie, who forlornly protest that they haven't had the chance to order a baked good after their main courses, the majority of the group tail towards the double doors, leaving the duo no choice but to begrudgingly follow suit. The late March sunshine is glorious, beaming down on my face, much like the day twelve years ago I was daydreaming about. It suddenly hit me that today, March 22nd, Annie would be turning twenty years old. This newfound knowledge makes my stomach drop and I cannot control the grief coursing through my being.

It's ever so odd how I can remember every detail about my childhood friend; every memory we shared together, her favourite colour, (black, which I insisted was rather morbid for an eight-year-old, so I coaxed her into putting blue as a second favourite) how on Sunday mornings her father would always pick her up from my house after a sleepover at 10 am sharp to take her to karate, even though she had told me in confidence that she much preferred kickboxing. I couldn't tell you many facts about any other childhood friend who I lost to time; it's only Annie. Every detail of the girl who made my infancy etched into my heart, refusing to leave.

As I force myself back into the present moment, I am aware that maybe Annie was more than just my best friend.

But I was so young. How could I have truly differentiated between innocuous childhood affection and romantic yearning?

“Marco?” I punctuate the spring silence before I can even stop myself. “How did you realise your first crush?”

Marco raises his eyebrows. “Jeez, it was so long ago. I was eleven and I was having a sleepover with my friend. We were on his bed playing Minecraft on his laptop, but I wasn’t even paying attention; I was just admiring his face, how he was so engrossed in the game. My heart was racing because I realised I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t even think it was biologically possible to like the same sex, so I brushed it off. Now I look back…” he laughs awkwardly, before looking me in the eye, his tone suddenly earnest. “Why, what’s up? Anything you want to talk to me about?”

I stop in the street, completely oblivious to the speed of modern day life around me. Suddenly all I care about is how my stomach leapt when I saw her pallid figure walk through the double doors, into the garden, how I found any excuse to hold her hand, how obsessed I was with the topography of her curved nose, icy eyes, lips stark against her pale skin.

“How do you know for sure you’re gay if you’ve only ever had a crush on one person in your life? Somebody who you haven’t spoken to in eight years?”

。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

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millllenniawrites · 4 years

Text

sparks fly (Poe Dameron x Reader)

part three of dear love of mine

words: 1.6k

warnings: very very slight dom!reader vibes; tension; second hand embarrassment; reader has a last name; regency au for the aesthetic but it’s historically inaccurate for the *vibes*; afab!reader; slow burn; sexual themes throughout; eventual smut; pining; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be longer but I decided to split up some scenes so I could get it to you sooner!! I hope you guys like it!

Poe did not attend breakfast the next morning.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. It’s not like you could very well ask him why he decided sneaking into your room in the dead of night was appropriate in front of your mother and your staff, even if he had come.

But your questions nagged at you. Had he known that you were out in another part of the house? Had he expected to find you in bed? What would he have done? He couldn’t very well have come into your room. That wouldn’t be proper.

Not that you were worrying about your prospects. It wouldn’t matter if you were untouched if you were never going to marry.

Not that he’d ever—

As you jolted yourself out of your thoughts, you kicked up, sending Ana’s cup careening off the table. Finn managed to catch it before it hit the ground, which your mother applauded. As if that was some trick of magic and not pure luck.

Ana batting her eyes at him and the way he softly smiled was enough for you to keep your mouth shut, if only barely. The men in your home were here to ensure Ana and Finn were married. And quickly.

You’d returned to your room after breakfast, claiming an entirely false headache before shutting yourself in for the day. Retrieving the note from under your pillow, you read over his words again.

Your humble servant.

Humble, indeed. So humble he dared to insult your mother and your household by not showing up to his first breakfast in your home.

You traced over the curl of his name. Poe. It was strange, how fitting it was. Gentle. Like the slope of his neck…

Crumpling the letter in your hand, you stuffed it back beneath your pillow and lay atop it. It seemed the General did not need to be in your presence to be needling away at your patience.

You retrieved an old copy of one of your father’s favourite novels, intending to distract yourself from the handsome stranger and dive into a well-loved tale. Running your fingertips along the edge of the cover, you squinted your eyes in an attempt to focus.

You read the same sentence over and over. It was as if your mind had refused to cooperate.

A change of scenery. That should do the trick.

With your book tucked under your arm, you snuck out of your room and made for the drawing room on the first floor. The couch in the corner had a beautiful view of the mountains…

A view that had been thoroughly obstructed by one General’s large, curly, unkept head.

Ana sat across from him, and Finn beside them both at one of the smaller card tables in the centre of the room. Lord Barnes spread out a group of playing cards in one hand and leaned over to fan Ana with them, making her giggle.

Slowly, you began to back out of the room, but your sister caught your eye before you could escape.

“Sister! Come sit!” Ana patted the stool beside her. “We can play as teams! That would be much more fun.”

Lord Barnes stood and gestured across the table to the empty seat. “Miss Dean. If you would be so kind as to join us.”

You approached the table as you would a rabid animal. The General stood slowly, as if in pain, though he straighten the moment his eyes found you.

“Miss Dean,” He sounded surprised. Did he find it odd that you would frequent your own drawing room?

Perhaps he was not as educated as he claimed.

At least he was now dressed. His dark coat was fully buttoned, his teasing sliver of chest from the night before thoroughly covered.

“General Dameron,” You bowed your head slightly, only enough to be polite. “I trust you slept well?”

He had the decency to look embarrassed, though he recovered much too quickly for your liking. “I must apologize for my absence this morning. It was a late night.”

Something glittered in his eyes that had you casting your gaze to the ground. There was a darkness to him that you refused to allow yourself to examine, no matter how much it may intrigue you.

You allowed him to push in your chair, though you did not take the hand offered to help you sit, however tempting the warmth of his skin may be.

“Well, what are we playing?”

Finn quickly dealt out playing cards. The game was a simple race to 23 points. Ana and the General played on one team, with you and Finn on the other. You angled yourself as to not brush elbows with the General, though it seemed you could not avoid his gaze, which brushed it’s way over your form as one would brush away fallen leaves. A nuisance, but somehow necessary.

“Where is your other sister? Siena, is it?” The General asked in a lull of conversation.

“With her governess, mostly likely.” Ana answered simply.

The General’s eyebrows shot up his face and you muffled a snort.

“I had not realized she was so young.”

You had more than a handful of things to say if the General had the intention of courting your sister, but Ana beat you to it.

“She is a sweet girl.”

“As most children are.” You followed up, not needing to meet your sister’s gaze to know her intentions.

As much as you differed on your expectations for your futures and the way you saw the world, you and Ana had never once disagreed about Siena. She insisted on growing up too quickly and your mother, in her age and grief, did not have the keen eye she once kept on her two eldest daughters. Even for her clear favourite.

So it was up to you and Ana to look after her, down to ensuring her hems were taken down and her governess reported to you both in secret.

You paid her handsomely to do so and her bore concerns of her own. It wasn’t as if she was going to refuse.

You caught on to the game quickly. Finn was a good partner, keeping up with your quick changes in strategy with such a keen eye that you could have sworn he was reading your mind.

He made you laugh a few times, breaking you out of the overcast mood that the General’s presence put you in.

He’d be a good match for Ana. You were certain of that.

Eventually, his good-naturedness and Ana’s swooning over him relaxed you enough to engage the General in polite conversation.

He asked after your favourite novels and you listed a few obscure titles that he certainly could not have studied. When he admitted as much, you gave him some grace and engaged him on his knowledge of Shakespeare.

“Well, Romeo and Juliet is of course the greatest love story ever told, so I have studied it at length.”

Finn clapped him on the back and leaned across the table as if to tell you a secret. “This one is quite the romantic.”

You rolled your eyes and Finn guffawed, leaning back so far in his chair that you were afraid it might break. He laughed with his whole body, oozing a confidence and joy into the room that you hoped he might bring to his relationship with your sister.

The General cleared his throat. Embarrassment looked good on him. He was a much smaller man without his bravado lifting his chin so high. There was something… sweet, almost, about him.

As he ducked his head, you noticed what appeared to be a bit of a feather stuck in his hair.

You set your cards on the table and started to reach out, but hesitated at the last moment. Hands clutched to your chest, you giggled, “General, you have a bit of…”

The small bit of fluff bounced as he shook his head in an attempt to free it. His curls flew out like wings, but it didn’t release itself.

“Let me.” You reached forward, tipping Poe’s face up with two gentle fingers beneath his chin. At your touch, his lips parted in a small breath that had heat rising to your face faster than you could combat it. You plucked the white fibre from his curls and carefully swept them back into place before leaning away and letting him go.

The way his throat bobbed with shallow breaths did not evade you.

“There,” you whispered, returning to your cards. Your face burned, but you did not meet his eyes. “Fixed.”

Ana loudly cleared her throat. “Lord Barnes, I believe it is your turn.”

You glanced up at Finn. He had hidden his mouth behind his cards, though it did little to hide the amusement shining in his eyes.

This was a plan, a scheme of theirs. Boys. Children.

A plan to embarrass you.

Surely.

It had to be.

Ana gripped your thigh, as if anticipating you would stand and excuse yourself. “Lord Barnes—” she paused and corrected herself, “Finn, if you would be so kind as to make your next move.”

The game continued on for some time, but the tension didn’t lessen. Ana and Finn flirted in your peripheral vision but you couldn’t concentrate on anything but Poe. Ana had to remind you to take your turns and Finn groaned about some of your choices, but you weren’t really paying enough attention to even try to defend yourself. Every slight movement of Poe’s, a swallow or slight widening of his knees, had you flushed and near-panting.

The game couldn’t end quick enough. You did not meet Poe’s gaze again, even as he helped you out of your chair.

You made the mistake of taking his hand. His palm was soft, his fingers rough against yours. Though the touch was brief, it made you shiver when he let you go and took a respectful step back.

“Thank you,” you breathed before sweeping from the room.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #regency au #dear love of mine

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ddagent · 4 years

Note

ok jb having only daughters for canon timeline

Thank you so much for the prompt! This will have officially covered all three of the Jaime-has-all-daughters ideas – but I am open to follow-ups!

Lady Brienne Lannister cared little for King’s Landing.

It was overbearing, loud, and the smell of the Blackwater permeated the air. The King’s Court was rude; the King himself a monster. Brienne supposed she should show some affection for her nephew – if he hadn’t gone to war against half the Kingdom. Brienne had longed to fight: for Renly, for Catelyn, for something. But her husband had given a rare order for her to remain on Tarth. I don’t like this any more than you do, but when it comes to this war, our family comes first.

He did not mean House Lannister.

But now they had left Tarth after all; a raven sent bearing the words of Tywin Lannister summoning his son and heir to King’s Landing. Brienne and their girls had joined him; none of them sure what they would find in the capital. It had been three days since their arrival, and so far, her good-sister had been cruel, the Court had been unkind, and the King had displayed more madness at his age than even the Mad King had shown.

“Gods only know what he’ll be like when he’s older,” Jaime spat as they traversed the corridors of King’s Landing. Brienne clung tighter to his arm. “If I was his Kingsguard—”

“—you’re not, Jaime. And if your sister is half as smart as she thinks she is, she’ll have stacked the Kingsguard with men loyal to his ideals. Brutes and monsters; every one.”

That gave her husband little comfort. She could see the worry etched into his features; the fear clouding his gaze. More than once he looked back at their girls: Catelyn almost as tall as Jaime; Elinor with her nose in a book; Joanna smiling at everyone who walked past. Jaime feared for them, as did Brienne. The capital chewed and spat out little girls. The fates of Sansa and Arya Stark plagued her constantly.

“Can’t we have dinner in our rooms?” Elinor piped up as they approached their destination. “I want to finish this chapter.”

“You’ll have to do it later, Elinor.” Jaime halted; allowing Brienne’s arm to fall from his own to take his daughter’s instead. “And don’t roll your eyes in front of your grandfather. He hates that.”

“He hates us,” Catelyn said, eyeing the Kingsguard on the door warily. “They all do.”

Brienne lifted her chin as they approached Ser Meryn on the door; only Lady Joanna shorter than he. He sneered as they approached. Brienne’s gaze turned to her husband as she watched him take in Ser Meryn’s golden armour and soiled cloak. He shook his head but did not say a word. Nor did any of their girls. Brienne, however, lingered. The last time they had visited King’s Landing, Brienne had taken part in King Robert’s nameday tourney. She had defeated Ser Meryn easily in the melee.

“Ser Meryn.” Judging from his scowl, he had not forgotten.

Inside was an assembly of Houses Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, and Tarth. At the head of the table was a seat for King Joffrey; by his side, a place for his mother and grandfather. Joining them for dinner was his intended, Margaery Tyrell, and her brother, Ser Loras. Tyrion was already into his cups and discussing Elinor’s new book with her. Joanna was talking to her cousin, Prince Tommen, and Jaime was staring defeatedly at the head of the table.

Suddenly, the doors at the opposite end opened and in swan the King, followed by his mother and grandfather. “Apologies, everyone; the Small Council meeting ran late. Lady Margaery, welcome. Uncles, Aunt, dearest cousins: thank you so much for joining me for dinner.”

“Like we had a choice,” Catelyn muttered as the assembled party sat down. Brienne threw her daughter a warning glare; thankfully, they were too far away from the head of the table for Joffrey to hear.

Cersei took charge of the conversation while Joffrey made eyes at his bride. “Brother, good-sister, it is wonderful to have you back in the capital. It’s been far too long. I had hoped you would return with another babe. I know how dearly my brother has longed for a son.”

Jaime adopted a curious look upon his face before turning to Brienne and scratching his head. “Have I? I don’t remember that.”

Brienne nudged his leg with her foot. “We cannot all be as blessed as you, Your Grace.”

“Of course. You know,” Cersei began as she took her goblet before the servant had even finished pouring, “It is times like these that I am reminded of Prince Rhaegar. Setting aside your wife to have more children – he set a dangerous precedent.”

“Kidnapping, rape, false imprisonment. A very dangerous precedent indeed, dear Aunt.” Cersei’s eyes swivelled towards her niece; Catelyn’s blue eyes shining in the candlelight. “Thank the Gods he was punished for his crimes.”

Elinor, as she often did, joined in her sister’s game. “By your father, of course, Your Grace. The great King Robert. You must be so proud to have him as your father.”

Joffrey paused, merely nodding; nothing but a little boy playing King while his cousins were ready to tear his mother apart. “I am.”

“You, of all people, would join your father in standing against men who would cast aside their wives—”

“—a wife who had, in fact, bore a son—”

“—and maintain the laws kept sacred by you and the Seven.” Elinor sagged against her chair. That the Citadel would never allow her entry was a crime in and of itself. “You are a great king, Your Grace.”

Joffrey, buoyed by his cousins’ compliments, puffed out his meagre chest and nodded. “I am. As was my father. There will be no more talk of setting aside wives. We are better than the Targaryens. Much better.”

After that, conversation fell away. They were quickly served their first course; Tyrell pears and apples roasted in honey. Ser Loras and Catelyn discussed the prospect of a tournament to celebrate his sister’s marriage; Elinor wanted to hear, in detail, of her Uncle’s trip to the Wall. Joanna and Jaime plotted a visit into town so she could see the stalls offering fabric for a new dress. Brienne sliced through her pear and ate thoughtfully, catching her good-father’s eye on more than one occasion.

As the dishes were cleared away, and the Queen Regent on her third cup of wine, the topic of Jaime’s heirs was once again raised. “I find it such a shame that, if something were to happen to you, dearest Brother, that Casterly Rock would go to one of Uncle Kevan’s sons.”

“Surely,” Lady Margaery began, “Casterly Rock could fall to Ser Jaime’s grandson.”

“My nieces are not yet wed. My brother has no children to speak of. Lancel will inherit the Rock.”

“Nonsense.”

It was the first time Lord Tywin had spoken all evening. His tone made the King flinch; the simple act drawing a smile from all three of Brienne’s daughters. She, herself, stiffened under Tywin’s stare. Fear clenched at her stomach. Despite Joffrey’s forced assertions otherwise, her girls – Brienne herself – could be set aside. It would not be the first time Lord Tywin had tried to tempt Jaime with a younger, prettier, shorter maiden.

“The King has recently signed into order an act that the eldest child, regardless of gender, will inherit. This will, of course, only apply to children who were born in the reign of King Robert and beyond.” Thus excluding Cersei and Tommen from the Rock. “Catelyn will inherit the Rock as Jaime’s firstborn.”

Cersei slammed down her goblet. Joffrey looked confused. Or constipated. It was hard to tell. “Grandfather, I don’t remember signing that.”

“Of course you do.”

And that was it. Catelyn – breeches wearing, sword-wielding, named after Lady Stark Catelyn – would inherit Casterly Rock. When dinner was concluded and their family had retreated to their chambers, Brienne slept easier for the first time since the war had begun.

#remuslovestonks #braime #jaime x brienne #ship: braime #mine: paragraph prompts

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beeexx · 4 years

Text

Fic: Winter

4 tattoos on TK’s body, 4 stories set over each of the 4 season. Carlos and TK grow closer.

Read part one and two or the whole thing on my ao3 .

---------- When Carlos was younger he used to love Christmas, loved the lights, the food, the music and spending time with his family. He still likes all that but ever since becoming a police officer and seeing how absolutely crackers everyone gets over Christmas he has reassessed that notion thoroughly and decided that he only enjoys Christmas when he can completely shut off the outside world and escape the insane nonsens, then, yes Christmas is lovely. Having been single for the majority of his time on the force always makes him the first pick for working on the 25th, and this year is no different. So, he sees TK on the 24th before Gwyenth flies in and it’s sweet and fun but he feels TK might want to spend it alone with him next year, the seriousness of their relationship starting to require that they create some traditions of their own, and the 25th on a full 24 hour shift and then the 26th he goes home to his parents.

New Years comes along, it’s calm for him, he’s working the next day and he drinks sparkling water and coke for the whole evening they spend at Grace and Judd with the 126, Carlos has become an unofficial member of. He’s grown close with them all since starting dating TK and it’s not unusual for him to get his own invitation to stuff, sometimes even without TK. Mateo sends him texts asking dating advice, Paul will ask questions about cooking and recipes and he and Marjan have taken up playing padel together. So he’s definitely part of the group for sure and it’s lovely being surrounded by people who know each other so well that there are almost more alcohol free options than there are actual alcohol, food from all sorts of different countries and traditions and a warm atmosphere around as they watch the fireworks together out on the deck, celebrating the coming of a new year.

He drives TK home to Owen pretty early and TK gives him sad puppy dog eyes before he drags him into the back of the car for some light fooling around and very heated kissing that would definitely not have been approved of at Judd and Grace’s party before he regretfully has to leave if he wants to be able to work at all come morning. The choice of staying over is so tempting but Carlos knows he would struggle too much the next day when he would be forced to leave a very hot and cute and snuggly boyfriend while he has to work. So he kisses the love of his life passionately on the street, so much so that he looks completely dazed and confused when Carlos pulls away and tells him he loves him and that he promises to make it up to him the next time they are off together and TK, with his stern face on, makes him promise that he will.

But Carlos has been working a lot this winter, he knows, it's a habit, leftover from a long time of being single that he’s had a hard time shaking. He doesn’t like winter, it’s the only time of the year he’s usually always felt lonely, with all the holidays coming up being forced into social gatherings where questions are always asked whether he’s single or not and it used to grate endlessly on his nerves. And if he’s sometimes taken shifts on the days after or on the actual days to avoid the questions, well no one has to know.

Only this year he’s been so distracted that he’s forgotten he’s already accepted all these shifts almost a year before, before he was officially together with TK the way they are now, and the unfortunate result of this is that they have have become completely unmatched in their schedules which makes TK look more and more sad every time he has to leave him to go to work. It’s making Carlos’ sad too but because he’s worked so much recently, he’s made sure to switch his shifts around with a colleague so he’ll get three days off in a row, matching them all up with TK’s, and that’s what he thinks about every time he feels guilty about it.

But growing close with TK’s friends also means that he gets 15 texts in a row from Mateo, and five calls that have him promising to come to his party the Friday after the new year, because that’s his life now. And of course he’s late, because nothing ever goes his way and he’s barely had the time to change and shower when at home, basically just throwing on black jeans and a white t-shirt hoping that it will do and that he won’t be completely underdressed for the occasion. It turns out that isn’t the actual issue.

The issue is that apparently TK has had the time to choose clothes that make him look absolutely sinfully hot in his ridiculously tight jeans and pink button down that has one too many buttons left undone, teasing skin, his chain as always around his neck, part of his flower tattoo on exhibition for too many to see. Not that Carlos is the jealous type, but his boyfriend is attractive as hell and he’s definitely not the only one who has noticed that.

Which introduces the other issue.

“Oh my god babe, I’m so relieved you are here. I feel old.” TK declares absolutely horrified by having spent the majority of the evening in company with people who are probably old enough to drink because Carlos is not looking forward to arresting anyone, but with the majority of them being under 25, maybe?

But he agrees, everyone is so millennial here, like too millennial even for his tastes that they are all feeling much more like zoomers than anything, yes Carlos spends time on the internet. And he does have a younger sister that age and has spent too much time on calls where he’s been forced to talk to people under 20 feeling very much like they are speaking a completely different language to him. But being here Carlos realises that Mateo is actually a few years younger than him which has never even crossed his mind before, but standing here in Mateo’s new apartment he just moved into it’s becoming clear that Carlos with his 27 years is actually old in comparison to this.

Marjan looks to be having the time of her life though, looking slick and cool in her completely black awesome outfit, having a group of people wrapped around her fingers as they seem to hang onto every word, oohing and aaahing at the right places while Paul is playing on the ps5, him, Marjan and TK got Mateo for Christmas slaying everyone who dares playing against him. TK looks absolutely appaled at having been forced into the company of these people for the past few hours that he’s already been here, and it’s hilarious because sometimes riling TK up and annoying him is a little fun, but Carlos is the best thank you very much and he asks if TK wants to go have sex on Mateo’s bed in retaliation and TK’s eyes grow mischevous by the very idea.

“Yes, I love that.” He’s much happier already and he’s positively glowing, his slight addiction to misbehaving becoming evidently clear. Marjan stops both of them, wrapping her arms around their shoulders harshly.

“No screwing in probie’s bed.” She chides and TK’s mood sours immediately.

“Marjan, come on, look at this. I’m too old to be here, I want to have some fun.”

“Perfect, we’re playing truth or dare, you’ll love it.”

TK groans.

But they are forced into the game nonetheless because Paul joins too and when Paul and Marjan’s plans align they are a goddamn unstoppable force and there really isn’t anything you can do to escape it.

So, forced into a game Carlos hasn't played since probably high school is either going to become absolutely disastrous or the most fun he’s had in ages, he hasn’t made up his mind yet. Mateo joins as well and a bunch of other people Carlos is never going to learn the names of join together in the kitchen, TK being well TK sitting on top of the kitchen island, cross legged and leaning against Carlos who is sitting on one of the bar stools, his arms securely around him, sipping a really shitty beer someone gave him before the game started.

When a girl called Emily gets dared to call an ex of hers to tell him the rules of Monopoly even TK can’t help but laugh because she absolutely kills it, finishing the call with all of them applauding her because that was some Boss as shit to do, even Carlos respects it.

Lots of the people around them keep shooting lingering glances at him and TK, not judgeful ones, Carlos would probably fake threaten to arrest them for prejudice and discrimination if he felt any hostility, no, they are curious, kind, a little intruding maybe, but it’s done out of an eagerness, maybe at seeing a gay couple so openly happy and relaxed together that they can’t help themselves. Or maybe they’re checking them out and Carlos will accept that as a compliment without it getting to his head. When he leans forward and kisses the back of TK’s head it's obvious it’s become too much for the people around them and a guy called Fred bursts at the seams.

“TK.” He says. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth I guess.” He says nonchalantly.

“Who tops and who bottoms in the relationship?”

There’s a collective groan in the room and Fred blushes, obviously unaware of his mistake but seems to have enough awareness at least to realise he’s done something stupid. Carlos is just waiting for TK to give the guy a totally inappropriate answer exposing their sex life to a bunch of people who can only dream of ever having as amazing sex as they are having, yeah it’s not nice bragging, but doing it inside of his head where no one can hear isn’t hurting anyone, but it’s not TK who answers, it’s Mateo, beating TK to it.

“That’s a stupid question Fred, rooted in outdated gender roles while it also reinforces false heteronormative ideas of feminintiy and masculinty onto sex. The idea that you have to be dominant or submissive just because you like to give or receive is just ridiculous, because even you should be aware that depending on the mood, the time or whatever you’re not going to just enjoy one single thing, and if you do, then you’ve clearly only had terrible sex.”

The room grows silent, Carlos' eyes widening as TK holds back his laughter.

“Yeah that, what Mateo said Fred.” TK forces out, coughs to hide how he’s close to absolutely losing it while the room erupts into loud cheering and whistling making both Mateo and Fred blush.

“Daaaamn probie, who would have thought you actually listen when we tell you stuff huh? Good job.” Marjan says while Paul looks like a proud father, absolutely beaming. TK takes pity on Fred who is looking a little dejected.

“Just find yourself a partner that you feel safe and loved by and do some experimenting to see what you like, but make sure to set boundaries too, and you’ll be good to go. Also if you’re straight, respect women, they are the best thing we have.” Fred looks a little relieved as someone beside him pulls him into a rough friendly hug and they move on.

The game continues and soon everyone has forgotten Fred’s little mistake and the game grows louder and rowdier, Paul drawing the short straw of getting dared to smell everyone’s feet in the room and rank them.

“Carlos, truth or dare.” These kids are too thrifty for Carlos, he aint getting dared into something stupid.

“Truth.” He settles for. Lily’s eyes land on TK and she smiles sweetly.

“Favourite and least favorite thing about TK.” TK turns his head and grins as Carlos sticks his tongue out.

“Least favorite thing is his messiness and proneness to forgetful spells, you see kids turning 27 can make you a bit forgetful, don't forget to be kind to him tonight.” It sets the whole room off into roaring laughter and Carlos chuckles a little pleased at his own joke as TK glares without any heat, huffs and rolls his eyes. He makes sure to wrap his arms tighter around him.

“My favourite thing about him is his unwavering strength, his big heart and even though he’s struggled and failed and failed again he never gives up on trying to do better. It’s simple, I love him, so it’s easy to love every part of him.”

Loud AAAWWWWs erupts all over the room and TK’s flush is high on his cheeks as he leans towards Carlos, gently kissing him. A girl sends Lily a look of fondness, both him and TK catching it before she averts her eyes.

“I love you.” TK whispers, only meant for Carlos, and his heart swells from hearing the words for the 100th time. It never seizes to stop taking the breath out of him.

The game continues, someone making the mistake of daring Marjan to eat a spoon of hot sauce, her face not moving an inch as she swallows it without trouble, Mateo to tell everyone who he’d like to make out with in the room then being dared to do it by Carlos because she looks to be a little interested in Mateo too, while Carlos gets dared to behave like the person to his right which has the whole room dying and the acting lessons he took in high school coming in handy. It doesn’t surprise Carlos that this happens because these people are relentless but then, TK gets dared to give him a goddamn lap dance, the attention bouncing off TK in waves, his elation and cheekiness making him look way too hot while Carlos tries very hard to think of the pile of dishes at home in his sink to distract from not making good on his earlier promises and dragging TK away to Mateo’s room and get laid immediately. He sends Paul a hateful glare who looks smug.

By the time someone asks the question about TK’s flower tattoo on his chest Carlos has actually gotten a little tipsy, and the youngsters, which most of them aren’t really, because some he’s realised are as old as he is, have grown a lot on him. He’s having a very good time.

“What’s the story behind the flower tattoo, if there is one?” TK leans forward, eyes mischievous.

“It’s funny you should ask.” He begins and Carlos silently groans.

“So, the story begins when I was in Thailand, gap year and all that, I am sure you’ve been at that point in your life?” Some nod, TK has the attention of the whole room and he grows more and more confident, comfortable with everyone’s attention on him.

God, this is going to be funny.

“We were partying at my hostel, we got real drunk and I went home with a dude that I had met who were staying at a different place than I was. We were both really drunk, we fooled around in his room, you know what happened next, no details for you dirty buggers. Anyway, in the middle of the night I want a snack so I leave him sleeping. Only that I am still so drunk that I forget that to be able to get back to his room you have to have a key card to get the elevator to take you to the floors. So, only in boxers I take the elevator to the ground floor and try to get the vending machine to give me some chocolate, without any money. I stand there clicking every button I can find, when there’s suddenly a cat on the lobby desk. So drunk as I am my attention is immediately on the cat who wasn’t as much in a cuddly mood as I was.”

Carlos is not drunk enough to buy a word coming out of TK’s mouth, but he’s telling it with such conviction, hands motioning around, having completely captivated the room’s attention that even Marjan looks unsure whether to believe this or not.

“The cat runs away, I forget my hunger and I start to make my way back up to, Simon, that was the guy’s name. I try to find my way back up there, only the elevator doesn’t work because I don’t have a keycard so I’m screwed but of course too drunk to realise this. The elevator keeps going up and down though as people come and go and I’m there just in my boxers like a total loser. Basically someone must have thought that I was a prostitute because someone called the police who came to get me. They were so friendly by the way and so sweet, and there I am in my boxers out on the street so drunk I can barely remember my own name trying to answer questions about what my phone number is and where I live.”

He pauses for dramatic effect and Carlo bites his lip, hard and discreetly so no one can see how deranged he thinks this story is. Everyone seems to want to know more so TK pushes on.

“I get escorted out, given a jacket by someone to cover up and then they tell me that they will drive me home. While they are driving I see a tattoo shop that’s open 24/7 and I tell them to drop me there and say something like I live upstairs with the owner and show a photo of a friend who definitely isn't Australian or own any goddamn tattoo shop owner but they buy it. Or they were probably just tired of me, so they drop me off there and I insist I will be fine. Outside there’s a group of people, all of them clearly drunk. I join them, you know making friends while drunk it’s like the easiest thing in the world and then we go into the shop together, me in my boxers and Sydney PD jacket to go with and then have the massive flower tattoo made on my chest while my new friends cheer me on, pay for it too because I have no money or phone, drink some more beer inside of the shop and then we all share a cab back to the same hostel we were staying at and the morning after I woke up with the biggest hangover I have ever experienced, no phone, no clothes and a massive tattoo on my chest I barely remember getting.“ He finishes and the room has been rendered speechless.

TK is preening, loving what he’s just done. The whole room erupts into loud chatter soon enough and none of them can really make sense of the story and alternate between completely buying it and not buying it at all.

Carlos leans forward, nipping gently at TK’s ear before he whispers.

“Babe, I want the actual story for the tattoo.”

“What? You don’t believe what I just told you?” He asks, sweetly, innocently and Carlos snorts.

“Sure, and I am related to Lady Gaga.” TK laughs, turns his head and kisses him.

“I’ll tell you later.” He promises and Carlos pecks him gently on the lips. The room’s moved on and the game continues for a while longer before the crowd disrupts, Marjan and TK set on matchmaking Lily together with the same girl that looked at her earlier while Paul and Carlos get roped into an armwrestling contest that he’s going to feel in his muscles tomorrow for sure.

By the time someone decides they’re going out clubbing Carlos is fairly drunk, a comfortable buzzing just underneath his skin and he’s having a good time, he isn’t going to say no to dancing. TK finds him, sneaking an arm around him, refusing to let him go, which makes it much harder to get his jacket and shoes on and get downstairs and out to the uber that’s waiting. They must look slightly ridiculous like this but no one is paying attention to them and Carlos only has eyes for TK anyway, so nothing matters than him.

They share a cab with Paul and two other people Carlos cannot remember the names of but seems to be really engaged with Paul about some book they both love and Carlos tunes them out, nuzzling TK’s hair who is still wrapped around him. TK looks up to meet his eyes, smile soft and eyes alluring and lips plumb and extremely kissable. Carlos licks his lips.

“Can you two at least wait until we’re in the club so I don’t have to watch you suck each other’s faces off right here?” Carlos huffs and TK swats at Paul, not getting too far away from Carlos, his arms still wrapped around him.

What can he say? He’s drunk, in love and he has a stupidly hot boyfriend, he might be losing his grip on appropriate behaviour when TK is this near and this intoxicating. But maybe, just maybe he should stop drinking for the rest of the evening, especially if he wants to get laid when he gets home.

They get to the club and both TK and him lose the rest of their friends. Not that it matters much anyway, all he has eyes for is TK who doesn’t hesitate to take charge, pulling Carlos towards the dancefloor with such ease it’s hard not to be completely enticed by him. The music is loud vibrating through Carlos’ body and TK pulls him close, finally without having to care about other people, letting go of everything that was holding him back before, finally having TK all to himself.

TK looks to be in his right goddamn element, alive, happy, body moving with the freedom of being safe and in love and allowed to exist freely. Carlos barely even grapples with the urge to pull him close, he just does and kisses him, passionately, bruising, messing up his hair and pulling his hips close to his own. TK hisses against his mouth but he gives as good as he gets and he kisses back fervently, intensely with brutal vigor and Carlos loses his footing, it’s so good. They’re being so indecent right now, but there’s something positively addictive being with TK like this, grinding on each other, kissing without holding back, loving each other boldly and loudly.

It’s all Carlos has ever wanted.

TK pulls away, he honestly looks absolutely wrecked, way too good for Carlos to be sane about anything.

“Baby.” He rasps in Carlos’ ear, voice hoarse and broken and it goes straight to Carlos’ dick, he hisses in response. God he’s so gone. TK, the little devil kisses his neck, lips attached to the exposed skin of his t-shirt, licks his skin, pulls it into his mouth and Carlos bites at his lip, hard, pulling TK closer to him.

They are going to have to slow down otherwise they are going to get kicked out.

“Baby.” He says, sees a shiver go through TK as he clutches at Carlos’ hair, messing it up completely. “We’re going to have to slow down.”

“Why?” TK whines.

“Because we’re not having sex in the bathroom…” But even as he says it the image of TK on his knees in front of him is a little too much not to be very tempting. TK bites at his earlobe, the fucking tease and sucks it into his mouth.

“Fine, fine.” He agrees, pulls back and kisses Carlos, still sinfully hot, but a little more controlled and appropriate than before. He pulls back, smiles beautifully and Carlos knows he’s just never ever going to love someone the way he loves TK.

But they slow down a little, and somehow find Paul who points at Mateo making out with the girl from earlier, Marjan is at the bar looking mischievous and Carlos wonders what she has in mind. He finds that out when she walks towards them, glitter in her hands. She blows some onto Paul who swoops her up spinning her around as she laughs delightedly and then smears some onto Carlos’ face. He wipes parts of it off, but it sticks to his face like glue because of the sweat, and wipes it onto TK’s face, pulling him close to kiss him to stop his squeaking and swatting.

Mateo comes and joins them and they spend the rest of the night dancing and shouting and laughing and it’s liberating, a different kind of high to be out with friends who you love, who accept you and who you can be yourself with 100%. They are all going to spend weeks trying to get the glitter out of their hair though, Carlos knows as much.

At 5 in the morning he and TK stumble through his door, both of them unable to keep their hands off each other after behaving for hours. Finally they are completely alone.

…..

Carlos wakes up the next day when TK starts to move around in their bed. He hears him leave the room and Carlos groans, throws an arm across his face, hiding from the light streaming in through the opened curtains. He has a headache, not just due to being hungover, but more because of clubbing for hours with loud music, staying up for most of the night and probably because as much as he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s nearing 30. Being out clubbing all night takes much more of a toll on his body than it used to.

TK comes back, puts down what Carlos thinks is a glass of water on the nightstand before he crawls back into bed, Carlos pulling him close, snuggling up against him as soon as he’s back in bed. TK huffs but doesn’t object as Carlos noses at his neck, feeling TK run a hand through his hair.

He’s sore all over, from the arm wrestling, from the dancing and from the insane sex they had last night. And he’s probably wearing TK’s boxers by mistake, because they feel a little too tight on him so they are definitely not his. It’s not comfortable but he doesn’t have the energy to care.

“Morning.” TK croaks out, voice hoarse from all of the screaming. He hums, not really ready yet to be a human. He’s allowed to lie for a moment in bed, peaceful, but the thing with TK is that sometimes he’s inhumane in the mornings, taking after Owen undoubtedly, with his uncanny ability to just be awake. He can definitely be a sleepy little brat, but when he isn’t, once he’s up, he’s up.

“There’s glitter everywhere.” TK comments, smile evident in his voice. Carlos forces his eyes to open, blinks a few times and looks around the room, sees that there is indeed glitter on the bed, clothes lying all around the bedroom, pillows on the ground, the bottle of lube still open, leaking onto the hardwood floor and the mattress has been moved, lying halfway across the bed.

He groans, shifts onto his back pushing his unruly curls away from his face and rubs at his eyes, trying to feel a little bit more awake.

“Here.” TK says and hands him the glass of water. He thankfully takes a sip, moves the pillow more comfortably behind his head before he closes his eyes again, ready to sleep for a few more hours. TK huffs, shuffles around for a moment, unhappy, before he comes closer to Carlos, nudging his legs apart so he can settle between them. Carlos opens his eyes again and moves to make more room for him. TK immediately stops moving and settles, hands unconsciously stroking across Carlos’ chest.

TK has a pillow streak across his cheek, blue and pink glitter still on his face and his hair really is messy from Carlos pulling on it last night, and yet managing to look way too good for someone who has been up most of the night partying.

“Hi.” He says, voice hoarse too. He coughs to clear his throat a few times and TK’s mouth twitches.

“We broke the room last night.” He comments dryly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I’m sure it was mostly you.”

“The mattress was all you.” He smirks and Carlos snorts.

“Yeah I definitely feel that today, and a little like I’ve been hit by a brick…” TK laughs as Carlos struggles with words, not sure how to make his brain work.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I hate to say this but I am getting too old to party like this.” TK laughs, swats his chest.

“Don’t say that. You’re making me feel ancient.”

“You seem to be handling it a little better than I am.” He mutters and TK snorts.

“Well I didn’t engage in an arm wrestling contest that was just an excuse to flex.”

None of them mention the very obvious reason as to why TK’s is feeling better than Carlos is. Not that they don’t talk about TK’s addiction, they do, sometimes a lot, sometimes less and sometimes not at all. It’s definitely become a fixed point in their relationship, it’s impossible for it to not be one when you are as serious as they are. But they don’t have to tiptoe around the subject anymore either, it’s become as normalised as it can be between them, even getting to the point where TK will sometimes make a crude joke about it that should have Carlos chiding him, that more often than not makes him snort and pull him into a hug instead.

And TK’s whole life, the very core of who he is is not defined by his substance abuse and addiction or his anxiety and issues, so their relationship isn’t either. More often than not they have the exact same problems any couple their age has and it’s nice it has gotten to that point after having had a really rough start to everything.

“What can I say? I’m hot and muscly.” He jokes, flexes his bicep for show as TK snorts, swats him a little harder than before.

“Well you beat everyone in the room who dared to go up against you, that’s not bad.”

“Thank you.” TK rolls his eyes without heat and leans forward to gently peck his lips.

“You have really bad morning breath.” TK observes, pulls back, grimaces in disappointment and Carlos snorts.

“I’m not surprised.” He lifts his head, looks around the room and then changes his mind, lies back down again. TK lifts an eyebrow.

“Just thinking whether I have the energy to get up and clean, I don’t.”

“You’ve earnt a morning in.”

“I think so too.” He agrees and TK huffs.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying just being in each other’s company after being apart for a while with their mismatched schedules. It looks like it might be sunny today too and Carlos can probably agree to take a walk, he’s sure TK is going to suggest it.

They’re both extroverts, but only to an extent. TK is learning that he actually likes spending nights in instead of going out to dinner or clubbing while Carlos has learnt the enjoyment of downtime as he can struggle with not knowing when and how to take a break or relax, always feeling like he needs to to do something, to be on his feet, to move, always edging closer to a burnout with the rhythm he’s going in. In that regard they are quite similar and relaxing together, shutting their brains off in a coping mechanism that isn’t sex (yes that works too but it’s not exactly a sustainable option) has become both a challenge and easier with time.

So they have taken to walking on the weekends or the days where they have time off, to talk about the hard stuff, the big life changing stuff or the small and silly things. There’s something with walking in nature that makes all the hard things in life feel easier, easier to detangle the messes and feel like everything will be okay. His ten thousand daily steps shoot in record each weekend when they keep pushing themselves to find new paths, or walk on the old ones, stopping for coffee when the weather allows it, basking in the sun and each other. It’s very old retired couple of them, but even Paul and Mateo’s teasing had come to a stop when Carlos had smacked a massive list of benefits in the group chat to shut them up and asked them to come with them instead. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. But it’s definitely a habit that’s just his and TK’s, carved out from love and finding ways to grow together.

“Sooo…” Carlos says, teasing and TK lifts an eyebrow and leans forward, his elbows resting on Carlos’ chest.

“The tattoo story from yesterday, that was a load of horseshit.” TK grins.

“That was hilarious, I wish someone would have filmed it.”

“I’m sure you would, you sneaky little monster.”

“I think you mean genius.”

“Sure, sure.” TK laughs and there are fewer things Carlos delights in doing more than making him happy. Ever since they got official he’s decided that it’s a daily goal, a promise to keep being happy together, and so far he’s kept it up.

Carlos lifts an eyebrow.

“This tattoo thing is becoming a recurring thing I see?”

“Ah, you’ve seen through my genius plans.” TK snorts.

“This is the first one I ever did.” Carlow grows serious and unconsciously reaches a hand forward, stroking along the tattoo on display.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my dad wouldn’t let me until I turned 18 and I did some real begging and convincing to try and change his mind but he always said no. He settled for 18 because he has one himself which he did when he was 16 and was a lifeguard. It used to be a koi fish but he’s changed it a lot since then and it’s a bit of a mess. ‘A wonderful blob, just like his mind’ that’s his own words.” Carlos chuckles.

“Ah, so why a flower?”

“I don’t even know if it has a meaning or anything, I've just always associated flowers and plants with life and natural beauty and it gives me a sense of serenity, grounds me a bit more in reality when everything is uncertain. And you know me, a lot of things have been uncertain in my life.”

“Yeah, but considering what you’ve been through it’s amazing how far you’ve come, you know this right?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to learn that.” He smiles, a little shyly. “And life is finally starting to feel good again, like this is how it’s supposed to be and I feel safe with you.”

Carlos feels his eyes soften and his heart beat fiercely in his chest and he loves TK so much.

“I feel safe with you too.” He whispers and TK nods, like he understands, eyes soft and a sweet little smile at the edge of his lips as he melts in Carlos’ arms, like it’s finally clicked for him too that they really do belong together. Carlos isn’t very religious or superstitious but from the moment he met TK, when he was guarded and on edge and only wanted sex, knew that they would be good together, that there was something about TK that would manage to ground all of Carlos’ faults and flaws and that once they would be un equal ground, they would create something good and beautiful and stable out of something momentarily broken.

Because TK isn’t broken or damaged beyond repair, he never was and he isn’t now either.

He is the love of Carlo’s life.

He isn’t superstitious but he knows this.

“For someone claiming to be such a city boy you sure do have a lot of earthy and nature themed tattoos.” He comments, gently caressing TK’s cheek, hoping that all he feels for this man can be read in his face. When TK’s breath hitches he thinks he knows, or that he’s seen something he wasn’t expecting.

Carlos pulls him into a peck and TK whines.

“Don’t you have a breath mint or something so we can kiss properly?” He complains making Carlos chuckle.

He throws a look at the nightstand and TK grumberly climbs over him, poking Carlos hard on the nose which he expects is on purpose before he opens the drawer and pulls out a small box of tic taks. He pops it into his own mouth, climbs back on top of Carlos and reaches down, kissing him salaciously, loudly and gives the breath mint over to Carlos who honestly almost swallows it whole his whole body reacting so instantly to TK it short circuits his brain. TK grinds down and Carlos groans, pushing up for more friction and TK chuckles, pleased by the reaction, against his mouth before he throws the duvet to the side so he can get more access.

Suddenly Carlos doesn’t have a headache anymore.

…..

They do make it out of bed eventually and they clean the mess up together. Then Carlos takes a shower and when he comes back TK has made banana pancakes and Carlos realises just how hungry he is. He definitely does the majority of the cooking in the relationship but TK will surprise him from time to time by making something he knows really well, and he seems to have taken to breakfast wood with an almost natural ease, spending a long time of this relationship trying to perfect his banana pancakes.

And Carlos likes cooking so he really doesn’t mind that he does it a lot. He really was brought up with food being the ingredient that solved things within his family. It could be a forgiving gesture or a loving gesture and it was always a caring gesture, even when fights got big and words were said and Carlos was convinced the family was going to split into sides that would never heal, but food was the one constant. He’s taken that with him and it’s his way of showing TK how much he adores him, hearing him try something of Carlos’ and like it, face lighting up as the spices and flavours mix together perfectly is an incredible feeling.

So instead TK is observant, always makes him tea the way he likes it, comes by the station to give him coffee if he’s nearby, stacks up on the protein powder Carlos uses when he does go grocery shopping for them and buys him lunch when they are out in town, obsessed with trying new places. The best thing though is that Carlos’ kitchen has for months now been stacked up on things he would never buy himself, like the fancy hazelnut coffee syrup that’s now found a permanent place by his coffee maker, one of the empty shelves in his cupboard that he’s never found anything to keep there that TK fills up with sweets and snacks and chocolate. Or the vegan protein bars that are now a permanent fixture in a cupboard beside the oven.

TK hasn’t moved in officially but he barely goes home these days, once or twice every second week and only more often if TK and his schedules don’t align at all.

Carlos should probably ask him about moving in soon.

“Hi baby.” TK says and Carlos steps close, pecks him lovingly on the lips before he steals a piece of the pancake, TK swatting his hand away.

“Hey.” Carlos pecks him again before he goes to get some plates and set the table for them. TK comes carrying the plate with pancakes shortly after and Carlos makes himself a coffee because TK when he does drink it, it’s not usually in the mornings, and sighs happily as he swallows down the first sip and then they sit down and eat together.

Carlos is living on cloud 9 at the moment, he’s spent the majority of last night dancing with the love of his life, the morning was full of even more sex and now they’re having breakfast together, the thrill of it moves through him like a current, enfulging him into a warm blanket of happiness. And Carlos really truly is happy.

TK seems to sense it too, he keeps sending Carlos smiles over the table, hooking his ankle over his underneath it, rarely breaking eye contact. When they’re done TK comes forward, sitting down in Carlos’ lap, wrapping his arms around him.

“Hi you.” Carlos says, putting his arms around TK’s waist, pulling him closer to him.

“Hi.” TK whispers, pushes a hand through Carlos’ damp hair, messing up the curls even worse.

“I really like your hair like this.” TK muses, continues with the action, sending shivers down his spine.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Why don’t you keep your hair like this more often?”

“If you had curly hair you would know.” Carlos snorts. He cuts it regularly, hates it when it gets too long, it’s much harder to style and he wants his hair to be out of his way when he works so he tends to sleep with hair stuff in his hair when he goes to sleep, it takes him much shorter to get ready in the mornings that way.

“Maybe.” TK agrees, pulls at the strands a little, enjoying the sounds he’s bringing out of Carlos.

“This has been nice, I’ve missed you a lot recently.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you too.” He promises.

“Do you really have to work tonight?” TK sighs looking dejected.

“Actually no, not tonight, I switched my shifts around.”

“Really?” He looks so happy right now, eyes alive and sweet.

“Yeah.” He rubs his nose against TK’s who huffs but returns the movement before Carlos kisses his nose lovingly.

“So, what should we do with the rest of the day then?” He wonders. TK shrugs.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter what, I just want to spend it with you.”

Carlos smiles.

“Me too.”

And so they do, taking advantage of the day fully, Carlos loving every minute of it.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #9-1-1 lone star #tk x carlos #carlos x tk #tattoo fic #911 lone star fic #carlos reyes #tk strand

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