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dreamdropxoxo · 3 years

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Sleigh

Laurent decided to keep the bow tied to his thigh. Just for researching purposes. He was really curious how long it would take for Damen to unravel and detach the bow himself, preferably with his teeth.

He never pretend to be an innocent and Damen knew it only too well. “Give me a minute,“ he pleaded when they parked at the company lot and Laurent was about to get out of the car.

“Of course. I‘m at you disposal, Santa,“ Laurent practically purred. Damen groaned and closed his eyes.

“Why? Why does it have to be a theme party?“

“Because it‘s fun, obviously. I like your brother already. Especially because he was the one to pick your costume. He made a very good first impression.“ Laurent trailed his fingers up over Damen’s arm. “You look exceptionally handsome tonight, Damianos. Almost as much so as when you wore that read jumper to our café date two weeks ago.“

He knew Damen hung on by a thread but he had no intention of pulling punches because of that. They had danced around each other for weeks now and Damen had kissed him. And instead of quenching the need inside of him it had only increased in urgency. Laurent had wanted this man for years now. He thought he deserves some sweet revenge.

Damen stared at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes, he looked ready to pounce and Laurent knew that if they didn‘t get out of the car in the next ten seconds chances were high they wouldn‘t get out at all.

He pushed the door open and climbed out and if his tunic rode up the slightest bit, well, accidents like that happen to the best. He knew he didn‘t imagine the whimper coming from inside the car.

The location was wonderfully decorated and Laurent forgot for a moment that he actually didn‘t like Christmas. It just looked so pretty and glittering. Damen led him towards the bar with a warm hand on the small of his back. “You look really stunning, sweetheart.“

Laurent felt his heart skip a beat at the endearment. “My, thank you, charming fellow.“ The other guests were dressed as snowmen and -women, elves, reindeers, snow fairies, even Jack Frost seemed to be there.

“Damen! I knew this would suit you.“ They both turned around at the unfamiliar voice. Laurent saw another Santa Junior join them. This one however had a dark beard and looked older than Damen. Yet, the similarities were so striking that he knew immediately that this had to be Kastor.

“Kastor, thank you for organizing the whole event. It‘s perfect.“ Damen grinned brightly and drew his brother into a bear hug.

“Thank you. But who‘s your lovely companion?“ Kastor seized Laurent up. His eyes catching on the bow but otherwise being very respectful.

“Kastor, that‘s Laurent deVere. Laurent, that’s my brother Kastor.“

Kastor shook his hand with a broad smile. “You’re Auguste’s little brother, aren’t you? Not so little anymore if you allow me the remark. Damen is completely besotted. On Tuesday during dinner he couldn‘t stop talking about you. For the last three weeks at least.“ The words were out with a teasing lilt to them and Damen actually flushed. It looked adorable in Laurent‘s opinion.

“I‘m not surprised. I‘m a very enthralling topic.“ His smirk had to tell a story of its own because Kastor laughed and clapped a hand on Damen’s shoulder. “I like him. You should bring him to dinner next time. I have to excuse myself, I think Torveld just made an entrance and you know how he is.“ Damen’s face told Laurent that he knew exactly how Torveld was and that he was glad his brother was taking care of the man.

Kastor shook Laurent‘s hand again, wished them a lovely evening and disappeared.

“I like him. You really should bring me over to dinner sometime. I might be an enthralling topic for conversation but I’m even more intriguing when I’m present.“

Damen’s face was so red, Laurent almost laughed. It took an immense effort on his part that he kept a straight face and looked around to give Damen some moments to get over his shock and embarrassment due to his brother’s words.

However, it didn‘t take long for Laurent to catch the next thing to tease Damen with.

“Well, now tell me, Damianos, how vast are your responsibilities as Santa Junior?“

“I think I do about the same things as Santa Senior, just with less beard and more chest on display.“ He sounded cautious, as if he knew that Laurent wanted to torture him.

Laurent looked at the immense sleight again. “So, that would also include you sitting in your sleigh and letting people sit on your knees to tell you their wishes? What if my wish was very naughty? Would you have to punish me?“

Damen‘s eyes darkened again. He looked over to the sleigh and then back to Laurent, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh, that depends. You’re an elf in my workshop after all. I can’t tolerate insubordination.“ His voice was almost hypnotic. Laurent couldn’t look away.

“That‘s very true. What is an adequate punishment for disrespect?“ He stepped closer, one hand finding the open collar of Damen’s jacket. His fingers brushing over the naked skin visible between the V of the neckline.

Damen bowed his head down to whisper into his ear, it made Laurent shudder against him. “As you‘re already sitting on my knees in this scenario, I‘d just bend you over and spank you until you wouldn‘t even think about disrespecting me in my own workshop anymore. Or maybe I could bend you over the front of the sleigh and fuck you until you cried for mercy. What a pretty sight that would make. Or, even better, first one and then the other.“

Laurent bit his lip. Damn him, but Damianos really knew how to get him hot and bothered. And yet, they still had to have their second kiss. It was torture. Sweet, agonizing torture.

The complete calendar.

#captive prince #laurent #damen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #damianos of akielos #laurent x damen #damen x laurent #lamen #kastor #advent calendar #sleigh

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seas-of-ios · 4 years

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slut!damen crack ficlet

"Nervous?" Laurent asked as they turned the corner onto the street he grew up on.

"Not really," Damen said. "Your parents sound great. And they raised you." He smiled at Laurent. "There can't be anything that wrong with them."

They pulled up in front of a tidy, suburban house and Laurent turned off the engine. Damen frowned at the neat garden, the blue painted trim and matching curtains in the windows. "What's wrong?" Laurent asked.

Damen shook his head. The house felt familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on why. He and Laurent had both grown up in Melbourne but it was a huge city, and Damen didn't think he had ever been in the neighborhood before. "Nothing. Deja vu I guess."

Laurent reached across and squeezed his hand. Damen could tell Laurent didn't really believe him about not being nervous, but Damen wasn't. He was good at meet-the-parents.

Laurent had a key, so he let them both in. "It's me," he called. The front hall increased the sense of familiarity, and Damen shook his head in confusion. There were flowers on the end table, and pictures on the wall.

"Laurent!" It was a woman's voice, and there were footsteps on the stairs. Damen looked up at a blonde woman in a sundress. He was sure he had seen her before.

"This must be Damen," she said, coming forward to shake his hand. She was even shorter than Laurent, and there were freckles on her bare shoulders. A slight frown furrowed her brow. "Have we met?"

Damen opened his mouth to agree, when Laurent's father came around the corner from the living room.

He was a tall man with a neat beard, a dark honey color than his hair, with Laurent's sharp features and blue eyes, handsome and familiar. Damen's stomach flipped. Suddenly, he remembered why he knew the house and Laurent's parents.

He swallowed hard.

Laurent's dad's eyes also widened, clearly having the same memory.

"This is Damen," Laurent said, oblivious. "Damen, this is my mom Hennike, and my dad Aleron." Damen breathed out slowly. He had never exchanged names, or if they had, he had been too drunk to remember.

Aleron coughed awkwardly. Hennike glanced between him and Damen, and then her cheeks flushed suddenly read and she took a half-step back, covering her mouth with one hand.

Damen could feel his shoulders hunching.

"Nice to meet you?" he tried.

"What's wrong?" Laurent asked sharply.

"Um."

"Damen," Laurent said, gripping his arm. "Mom? Dad?"

Aleron coughed again. Hennike was still blushing but she recovered with startling grace. "Why don't we all sit down." Damen vaguely remembered finding her poise and confidence extremely attractive. His face felt hot.

Hennike led them all into the living room and went to make coffee. Damen sat awkwardly on the couch beside Laurent. He had a sudden, visceral memory of kissing Laurent's mother on that couch, with his father pressed up behind him, hands on Damen's ass.

Damen squirmed.

Aleron looked equally uncomfortable, rubbing his hands nervously, playing with his wedding band.

Hennike came back with a coffee tray.

"What's going on?" Laurent said, narrow eyed.

Nobody poured coffee.

Sitting down opposite them, Hennike pulled her husband down beside her and wrapped his hand in hers.

"We've heard so much about you from Laurent," Hennike said, smile weakly. "We didn't realize..."

"Neither did I," Damen said.

"Realize what?" Laurent snapped. His fingers were digging into Damen's forearm.

"We've met," Hennike said, at the same moment as Damen said, "We've hooked up."

"What?" Laurent sat bolt upright. "You've fucked my mother?"

"Uh." Damen bit his lip, and Aleron shifted.

Laurent looked wildly between the three of them. "You cheated on Dad?" he said, staring at his mother. He wasn't touching Damen anymore, perched on the edge of the couch cushion, coiled with tension.

Hennike coughed. "No. No, of course not. Your dad..." she glanced at her husband.

He cleared his throat, spots of bright color on his cheeks. "I was there," he said gruffly.

"What the fuck," Laurent whispered. "When - how? What?"

"It was years ago!" Damen said hastily. "It was my first year at uni, I spent a lot of time in bars, went home with people."

"With my parents?" Laurent flicked an icy glance between them again.

Damen shrugged helplessly.

"And what about you?" Laurent said, turning to his parents. "I don't know if it's worse that my boyfriend has slept with both my parents or that my parents are hooking up with barely legal boys. What did you do, send me to a baby sitter so you could go cruising?”

Aleron and Hennike exchanged a glance. "Laurent..." Hennike began, placating.

Laurent stood abruptly. "I need a minute," he said, and stalked out of the room.

Damen, Hennike and Aleron stared at one another in silence.

"Um," Damen said, breaking the silence. "I promise I don't do stuff like that anymore. I love Laurent." He trailed off awkwardly.

Hennike sighed. "Coffee?"

She poured coffee for all three of them, and Damen cradled the cup in both hands, blowing on it. He took a sip too fast and burned his tongue, swallowed anyway.

Damen couldn't help remembering the night he had gone home with the two of them. He had been pretty drunk that night, which is why the house and Hennike's face hadn't immediately triggered his recall. He mostly remembered the elation of kissing them both, the rough burn of Aleron's beard against his face, Hennike's silky hair between his fingers. How he'd felt both proudly grown up and very young going home with them. He'd shown off his already-developed talent for eating pussy with Aleron's hand gentle on his head, and then gotten a chance to practice the relatively new skill of sucking cock. He'd fucked Hennike and come too quickly, and then watched Aleron make her scream. They'd put him in a cab in the dark, both kissed him goodbye, laughing.

"Laurent speaks very highly of you," Hennike said, a little hesitantly.

Damen rubbed the back of his neck. "He's amazing."

“I'm sure you take good care of him,” Aleron said and then looked like he regretted the choice of words.

“I try.” The heavy silence rushed back in. Damen thought he would trade at least a third of all the best sex he’d ever had in his life for this moment to not be happening. Well, at least a quarter.

Laurent came storming back into the room. “Damen and I are leaving. We’ll come back next weekend and we are all going to pretend that none of this ever happened. Right?”

Epilogue:

Laurent had been fizzing with excitement all week and it was at least as much about his brother arriving for their wedding as it was about the wedding itself. Auguste worked with Medicins Sans Frontieres and had been abroad for the entire time Damen and Laurent had been dating. Although Damen had heard dozens of stories, they had never met.

They pulled up to the curb at the airport and Laurent bounced out of the car almost before it had stopped, bounding into the arms of a tall blond man who lifted him almost off his feet in a hug. Grinning, Damen got out of the car, leaning against the door as he waited for the brothers to break apart. When they did, he stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Hey. I’m Damen. Good to meet you.”

“You as well,” Auguste said, flicking his hair out of his eyes and taking Damen’s hand. Their eyes met, and Damen felt a shock of recognition like missing a step on a flight of stairs. Auguste frowned a little, and then his eyes widened. “Er. We - uh. Have we…met?”

“Um,” Damen said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Laurent blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

#Captive Prince #Damen #laurent #damen/laurent #damen/others #ficlet #fanfic

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laurent-ofvere · 3 years

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Extremely random, but sometimes I wonder whether Damen would want to grow a beard and if so, how would Laurent react to that? Would he like it? Would it bring up bad memories? Or would Damen consciously make the decision to not grow a beard because of Laurent? So many possibilities for angst

im honestly pretty tom this. I understand why a lot of people think it could trigger laurent but for some reason im not sold on it. I definitely think damen would eventually wanna grow one, at least just facial hair and it might be an amusement but I personally dont see it as this massive thing for laurent to overcome.

also everything aside, I think laurent would find it Very Sexy

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blushers · 4 years

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Please listen!! I need more content of damen meeting auguste for the first time. also auguste with a beard!! is a real thing people!! thank you.

#captive prince #auguste of vere

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thelioncourts · 4 years

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title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 4793 for chapter three (3/?); 14856 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their “T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

It was crazy to think all that could happen in a twenty-four-hour time period.

One minute, Damen and Nik were unpacking their belongings in a paid-for-by-Etoile hotel room, one minute later they were both delving into their own very important research, and one minute after that they were on a photoshoot set, their first photoshoot set ever.

Nik, upon arrival, was certain he was in over his head. Damen didn’t want to say it out loud, but he thought Nik was in over his head too.

In typical Nik fashion, his own researching had been spent going over each paper in the folder he had been given in the meeting. By the end of the day, there had been scribbles in all different colors of ink spattered across the surfaces of the pages, the meanings useless to Damen who had spent the same amount of time Nik had spent going over the folder figuring out how he could tag along to the photoshoot.

During his own research, Damen had discovered that most photographers do, in fact, have an agent that handles their business and, when available, attends photography events with them. Naturally, Damen had concluded, there was no one better suited for that role than he himself and he had told Nik as much in his fifth interruption of Nik’s studies that day. Nik had waved him off and Damen had taken that as a go-ahead to do as he pleased.

It’s how he found himself here, looking around in awe at the everything going on. He briefly wondered if all sets were this busy or if it was more an Etoile thing. Everything about Etoile seemed busy.

The shoot wasn’t scheduled to actually start until ten in the morning and the photographer’s call time had been for seven. Damen thought that seemed really early, but upon getting there and seeing the organized chaos of what was going on, he started to think seven wasn’t early enough.

He whistled under his breath and said so.

“It’ll be fine,” Nik said. He wasn’t looking at Damen, not looking at him at all. His eyes were assessing the room, the people, the lights. “All the photographers are meeting with the designer of this shoot, then the models are going to finish getting ready while we set up, then we’re going to set them up, and then the shoot begins. At least I think that’s how it’s going to happen. That’s what the papers said.”

A woman pushing a wardrobe cart walked by them, the black coverings for the clothing items hanging on it swishing against one another in an uneven fashion, all in contradiction with the one slightly squeaky wheel.

“So, who do you go to first?”

“Photographers are meeting over there,” a voice said from behind them. They both turned to see a woman with a severely cropped dark bob standing by a beverage table. She was watching them with blatant curiosity burning in her eyes. With a jut of her sharp chin, she was motioning over at where a large white covering was hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the gallery.

“Thanks,” Damen said after a moment.

[Continue on AO3]

“You both looked lost. Here, that kind of expression puts you behind the rest.” She walked toward them, a dark red mug steaming with caffeine in hand, and gave them her free hand for a handshake. “I’m Vannes. One of the designers. And you,” she said, pausing as she shook Nik’s hand, “must be one of our dear boss’ lovely photographer experimentees.”

“If that’s how we’re defining it,” Nik said with a purse to his lips.

“And that makes you,” she trailed, eyes moving over Damen.

“I’m his agent,” Damen said. Vannes laughed, the sound bright and loud. No one paid them any mind.

“You said that so confidently, I almost believed you.”

Her eyes kept that blatant curiosity in them as she walked back over to the beverage table. There was something there Damen didn’t necessarily dislike, but he did find unsettling. He and Nik looked at one another, each with one raised eyebrow.

“Shall we?” Damen asked after a minute with a smile on his mouth.

“Yeah,” Nik said. He was biting off a laugh.

It was an adventurous little walk over to where the curtain was. There was a handful of more carts with clothes that rushed by, each pushed by a harried looking assistant of some kind, and what was definitely one of the models, a tall thing with flaming red hair who didn’t see them as anything more than an obstacle needing stepped over in his path all on their journey over. But once there, they were face to face with Nik’s competition.

“We’ll get introductions out of the way so we’re all familiar with one another,” an older and stout man said in heavily accented French. “My name is Audin. I, as well as Ms. Vannes, am one of the assistant designers of Etoile’s gold label line. Charls, Etoile’s head designer, will be in and out as this photoshoot is taking place, but he is also checking in upon the final designs for the Paris Fashion Week clothing so he will be busy.” Audin began to walk, handing out papers to the five photographers. “I am aware that you received paperwork from our very own courageous leader, but you may find some of the information on this sheet extremely useful. Remember for those of you who may not have experience in a photoshoot of this scale, these days can go for well over twelve hours.” Damen and Nik shared another look after Audin most definitely looked at Nik as he said, ‘for those you who may not have experience.’

“Without further ado, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Jeurre from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Jeurre was by far the oldest of the photographers, with short cropped hair and a horribly serious expression that downturned his thin lips. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Guilliame, also from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Guilliame was a timid looking young man with fidgety fingers and eyebrows that looked permanently high on his forehead. “I would like to welcome you, Ms. Talik, from Turkey, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Talik was a tall and muscled woman, nearly at eye-level with both Damen and Nik, and eyes so dark they could have been black. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Hendric, from Denmark, and congratulate you on your opportunity.” Hendric was large, broad across the shoulders, and had a mop of red hair and a matching beard that was more orange than red. “And lastly, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Nik, from Greece, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.”

Today is going to be quite busy, but hopefully quite rewarding as well. I am looking forward to seeing each of you work.”

Audin didn’t stay to talk or mosey around. He left, finding his way back to a table where Vannes stood with her severely cropped dark bob, and Damen huffed out a laugh.

“I can’t help but feel like that welcoming was nothing but a show.”

“Yeah, my gut is telling me he just did that so we wouldn’t run out the door before they could effectively suck us in for the day,” Nik agreed. He huffed out the same kind of laugh, looked down at the paper in his hand, then looked up at Damen. Overwhelmed was an understatement. “I should –” he started, a hand motioning vaguely at nothing.

“Right. Yeah, of course, Nik. Go do your thing. I’m going to wander, see what trouble I can get into,” Damen said. “Maybe after I get a coffee.”

“I was going to tell you that you looked like a zombie from that shitty movie we watched last month, but I didn’t want to insult you.”

Damen laughed as he walked away, fighting down the instinct to flip Nik off, and then watched until Nik disappeared back behind the curtain. Then, just as he said, Damen started to take the time to wander.

The photoshoot was in a gallery, one located in the southern part of the city, and its grandeur nearly outmatched that of Etoile’s headquarters. It was an all-white gallery, nothing but perfectly glossy marble and empty white walls. There were statues here that reminded Damen of the ones back home, all white, even their eyes, but they didn’t invoke the same kinds of feelings as the ones home; they felt foreign and cold and yet Damen couldn’t not look at them.

“Big boy.” The pet name was said from somewhere behind him and, once again, he turned to find Vannes looking at him with that same expression she had worn minutes ago. “Need help working the coffee machine?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

“So, if you’re not a photographer, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked, handing him an empty red mug identical to her own.

“I told you, I’m here with one of the photographers, Nik. I’m his agent,” Damen said. The coffee maker hissed, steam rising from where it was pulling a double-shot before filling up with ninety-degree’s hot water.

Vannes leaned an elbow against the table, lowered her head just a smidge, and said in a quiet voice, “You’re not really his agent, are you? Brother perhaps?”

Damen felt his cheek dimple. “Close enough. Best friends since we were in diapers.”

“You two must be the influencers then,” Vannes said, laughing like she had earlier.

“Influencers?”

“You know, those people on Instagram or whatever that have millions of followers and pretty bodies to keep those followers interested.”

“No,” said Damen. “We’re not like that. We don’t sell anything or –”

“You sell yourselves,” she said, the words accompanied by an eye roll. “You’re not so different from our boys. The main difference, however, is that our boys will eat you alive.” Vannes snatched a sleek black stir stick that sat available in a holder before turning and walking back to where the photographers had disappeared off to, her heels clicking. “Take a croissant, you’ll never have one this good anywhere else.”

Damen understood the overwhelmed look he had seen in Nik’s eyes earlier only, for Damen, he wasn’t sure if it was just being here, if it was the strong smell of the espresso in his nose, if it was the dizzying effect the lights that were getting set up over where the main photos would be taken, if it was the shimmering gold of the clothes and makeup and jewelry, or if it was the thrumming feeling that everyone’s smiles were fake and not telling Damen all he should know.

He shook off the feeling by walking again, this time with a steaming cup in his hands. He walked by the table of jewelry, glittering watches, rings, necklaces, earrings, and a few other items he wasn’t quite sure what to make of, and he didn’t dare touch them. He then walked by the clothing. Unfamiliar as he was with fabrics, he recognized the gauzy look of some shirts and he took in its appearance next to the embroidered sleeves, lace trim, and sleek looking fabric of some of the other pieces.

More people were arriving every second. Damen had noticed it as soon as Vannes had left, the constant opening and closing of the gallery doors, the parade of faces, some smiling and some not. In the corner he saw a familiar face. Jord was there, looking serious as always, and his sunglasses from the day before yesterday were firmly in place despite them being indoors. Damen thought about approaching him and then thought better of it. Instead he opted to wander more, letting his feet guide him where they pleased.

Across the gallery, he spotted Nik for the first time since they had separated. He watched as Nik took a few pictures of one of the statues, looked at the LCD screen, adjusted a few buttons that Damen was certain could change everything about a photo, then took another picture. He watched Nik repeat the process and when it became clear that Nik was going to do that for a while, Damen continued on.

In the far back corner was where the magic must be taking place. Magic, in this case, meant changing the models from every day-beautiful to Etoile photoshoot worthy-beautiful. There were more carts of clothes, more jewelry, a changing curtain, and a line of vanity mirrors that were lit up like the Eiffel tower at night. Damen found himself walking there, preparing to perhaps introduce himself to the makeup artists that might already be there, when he suddenly saw a swish of gold; and then Damen saw him.

Damen hadn’t expected the models to have been ready so early. Then again, Damen didn’t really know a lot about fashion so, looking at it now, his expectations were probably way off the mark anyway. Still, whatever expectations he had had going into this hadn’t prepared him for this.

Everything about him was gold.

He had legs a mile long, legs dressed in a loose and transparent gold material that brushed the tops of his bare feet. Across his shoulders was a drape of gold silk that clung to the skin right below his collarbones and then flowed, the holes of the sleeves so low the top three ribs on both sides of his chest showed. On one of his hands, one of his elegant hands, were four rings, three of them simplistic bands with the smallest of gems embedded in the metal whilst the last one held in its center a large citrine stone. On the other hand were three rings, each with equally sized jewels, ones that matched the jewels dangling from his ears. It was only when he turned, assumingly to talk to one of the makeup artists, that Damen got a look at his face and was able to take in the delicately placed gold leaf on his temples, that dusted the tops of his shoulders and the even more beautiful gold of his hair that had gold interwoven through the strands. Then the light hit him, and Damen saw the one piece of him that didn’t match, that wasn’t gold at all. Beyond the gold shadow dusting the inner corners of his eyes was the most startling blue color, brighter and clearer than the color of the water back home.

Even if he had been in a room full of nothing but the most beautiful of things, Damen knew then and there he would have never been able to look anywhere else.

Whatever snippet of conversation the model and the makeup artist had been having must have ended because suddenly he was walking toward Damen. Somehow there was both a determination and a carelessness to the way he walked, as though he was very ready for whatever was to come and felt very above it all too.

“À moins que cette tasse de café ne soit pour moi, il n'y a aucune raison pour que vous vous teniez ici.”

Damen had a lot of reactions to that. The main part of him wanted to laugh, that kind of laugh that comes out as a huff of air from his nose, and say something, something like, ‘This coffee isn’t for you, but my room has a coffee machine that’ll do a great job if you want to check it out.’ The other part of Damen wanted to say something of the same tone as his, something in French just to cause a reaction, something like, ‘Surpris, vous pouvez même me voir ici depuis ce grand cheval sur lequel vous êtes,’ or ask ‘Portez-vous de l'or pour montrer votre personnalité scintillante ou pour cacher votre merde?’ But instead of doing any of that, saying any of that, Damen just stared, taking in the way he walked as though he was gliding, taking in the hard pull of his otherwise full mouth, taking in the single strand of blond hair that had fallen out of his artfully done do and instead was swinging in front of those blue eyes.

It was only when he was standing by Audin, speaking, that Damen noticed Nik, still across the room, staring pointedly right at Damen whilst making the universal ‘Cut it out!’ motion across his neck.

It brought Damen back to himself and he laughed, laughing harder when Nik mouthed, ‘You’re dead to me.’ Damen walked over to Nik, mouthing back as he walked, ‘I’m the only thing keeping you from hanging yourself right now,’ with a noose motion and everything.

“How’s it going?” he asked, taking in the open camera bag and all the lenses scattered. The death stare he got from Nik said it all.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” He lifted up one lens that was wider than the one already in his hands before setting it back down. “I knew that coming into this. I knew that when they handed me that folder and I most definitely knew it walking in here. But after that?” he said, jutting a thumb where Charls had joined Audin and the model, “I’m going to be lucky to get out of here alive.”

“Hey,” Damen started. “You’re going to be fine. They’re not even going to know what to do when they see what you create.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard what they’re saying about me. About us,” Nik said.

Damen leaned a shoulder against one of the many white pillars. “No?”

“Well half of them speak only French, so I’m sure my translation is off, but Mr. Denmark over there was talking to Jeurre, the old man, about how we’re influencers,” he said, making a face at the word.

“Oh,” Damen with the exact same face, “yeah. Vannes, our lovely friend we met when we first got here, told me that.” He took in Nik’s furrowed brow, took in the muscle clenching in his jaw. “Look, they might think of us, of you, like that right now, but I meant what I said, Nik. They’re going to see what you create and they’re going to realize how below you they all are. I –”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charls announced loudly, his voice carrying far with the high ceilings. He sounded joyous and genuine, far different than anyone else here had sounded as they spoke. “Many of our models are in the final stages of dress. That means it will be time to begin in the next few minutes. Photographers, please begin setting up over here, to the left. I can’t wait to see what art you envision!”

“See?” Damen muttered. “That guy believes in you.”

Nik rolled his eyes and went to comment when the blond walked by again. He was going back toward the vanities where one of the stylists was beckoning him. Damen watched with rapt attention as the stylist fixed that loose strand of hair that had been one of the many objects of Damen’s focus earlier.

“His name is Laurent.”

“Hm?”

Nik was squatted down, rearranging lenses, but now he was looking at Damen. The look in his eyes was too familiar, a resigned kind of look that Damen hadn’t seen on Nik’s face since Jokaste, and yet he was smiling. The upturn to his mouth made him look more exasperatedly fond.

“The blond. His name is Laurent.” Nik fiddled with two of the buttons on the camera, turning one to the left three times, turning the other to the right once. “He’s Etoile’s top earner and also the nephew of the owner. I would say he only got the job because of his connections, but clearly,” Nik said with a careless motion to where Laurent stood, “that’s not the reason. Or, well, not the only reason anyway.”

“Laurent.” Damen tested out the name. “He’s, uh, something.”

“He’s blond, blue-eyed, beautiful, and, if what I’ve heard is true, a raging bitch so yeah, he really is something. He’s all of your weaknesses wrapped into one.”

Damen ignored the last part. “Who said he’s a bitch?”

“Anyone and everyone that’s ever been in a room with him for longer than two minutes.”

“He can’t be that bad,” said Damen.

Nik shot him another look. “Jeurre over there has worked with him before. Jeurre says that at a photoshoot two years ago, Laurent made one of the newer designers cry so hard that he quit on the spot. I’ve heard one of the current designers talking about how Laurent refused to let one of the newest models, one of the newest signees, be part of this show at all and put down his foot until his uncle gave him his way. I also heard another one of the models say that Laurent gets to lead all the shoots because of his name.”

“Well, I think his face probably has a big thing to do with the last part,” Damen said.

“That’s not the point, Damen. He’s a spoiled, entitled, and, again, raging bitch. If he doesn’t like someone, he can and will make their life a living hell. And in this case, that means that if he doesn’t like me, it’s me whose life will be made a living hell and who won’t get a shot at making it beyond these next three days. But, if what I have also heard is true, he doesn’t like anybody so…” Nik trailed. “Who knows what that means.”

“Come on, who doesn’t like your smiling face?”

“Alright everyone,” Charls said over the noise of the room once again. “We are now ready to do our preliminary shots. Photographers, you will each do some photographs of our entire beautiful group before we start rotating each model with you all individually and in smaller groups, most likely duos.”

“Time to start,” Nik said with a huff.

“You’re going to kill it,” Damen said.

“Or get killed.”

The photoshoot background was nothing but a white backdrop, one that might as well have been the white walls of the gallery. The models were all in place and they looked like the inside of a jewelry box, all glittering and golden and bright. It was evident who the stars of Etoile were; they were placed near the front, shining. The redhead Damen and Nik had seen earlier was there, dressed in an all-sheer gold piece, the only solid bit of gold being the piece around his hips and the line of paint from the center of his forehead all the way down the bridge of his nose and the middle of his lips. Then there was a brunette, curly haired and young with green eyes and a flowing golden top, ones with sleeves that almost touched the floor when his hands were by his sides and a shock of gold shadow on his lids that made his green eyes look full of fire. Toward the back was a slew of other models, all pretty, if generic, mostly with hair in shades of brown and a small handful of ones with brown eyes that reflected the gold and made the eyes look like honey. And there, at the front, was Laurent. That loose strand of hair had long been put in place but Damen couldn’t not remember where it had fallen, how its gold had matched the gold of everything else and how Laurent’s blue eyes were the most startling thing in this entire gallery.

Damen, seeing that it was his time to let Nik do his thing, took a step back.

All five of the photographers had a different set up, had a different way of standing, and all of the models, even in a group setting, radiated a different kind of energy. Damen watched as Nik took a picture, checked it on the screen, adjusted something on the camera settings, and took another. He watched as Nik lowered himself a little, instead of standing at his full height. Then it became clear Nik had found the right settings for himself and his camera. And then Nik became less interesting to watch from his stagnant pose and Damen’s gaze quickly drifted.

Despite what Nik had told him about Laurent, Damen found himself drawn to watching the blond. There was something about him and the way he moved that was so unlike any of the other models, so unique to him and so graceful and elegant. Damen watched as Laurent pressed a shoulder against the redhead’s shoulder, watched as he lifted a single finger, one heavy with a ring, and placed it underneath the redhead’s chin where the line of solid gold paint ended.

It seemed too soon that things changed; Charls, who had been watching it all with bright hopeful eyes, started separating the photographers to different sections. It became clear the sections were random, that some photographers had sections of the gallery with pillars, or another had a section with the chandelier light overtop. Nik was led over to the gallery windows, bright and surrounded by the statues that reminded Damen of home.

The models were sent in groups and duos as said, all except Laurent who was moving around alone. Nik’s first photos were with the curly haired brunette and three of the less prominent models. Damen watched with fascination as Nik rearranged each model a few times, made some changes after taking three photos, and then took more photos, immediately pleased just as he had been with the group photos earlier.

Each group and duo stayed with each photographer for ten minutes. Damen realized it as he found himself watching Laurent move from the photographer from Denmark to the photographer from Turkey. The photographer from Turkey was in the section under the chandelier and Damen couldn’t not see how she moved back and played with her angles so the light from the chandelier created a rainbow effect with the light and shine of Laurent’s gold. Damen would bet money that those would be Times Square billboard worthy.

Damen had just turned to watch Nik ask the redhead to face the window when Charls announced that it was time for them to move once more. The redhead, heels clicking, left with a flirtatious wave. Then Laurent was there.

Laurent didn’t so much as even wait for Nik to mutter a hello or give him any kind of instruction before he was posing himself, the poses mostly just him standing and yet they were captivating in how natural they came to him. Nik went with it, not bothering to speak up, not until they only had another five minutes.

“Could you,” Nik started, his voice quiet in his attempt to not disrupt anyone else, in his disuse of it, “could you maybe pose with the statue?”

Laurent said nothing, only looked at Nik with a cool blue stare before moving to the statue closest to the window. With a gentle touch, Laurent pressed his fingertips against the statue’s own outstretched ones. Nik snapped a photo. Laurent stayed there for another thirty seconds, his eyes staring straight into the statue’s, and then he stayed there, his eyes staring straight into the camera. After that he shifted, turning himself into the open embrace of the statue’s arms, pressing himself against it close, pressing his cheek against its own cold one, soft as a lover. This time he looked ahead, his eyes finding an empty spot across the room, looking at it under his lashes, the look seductive and untrying. Damen’s breath was lost somewhere.

Nik asked Laurent another question, asked him, “Could you move behind the statue?” and Laurent did. Without prompting, Laurent draped his arms over its shoulders, but not before unclasping his shirt and letting it slide off his body so he could place it on the statue. Nik stepped closer so he was a foot away from the statue, so he could get a closeup shot of Laurent’s eyes against the gold of his now-discarded shirt and the white of the statue’s body.

And then Charls was calling again for the rotation to continue. Laurent left without a spare word or glance for Nik. The gold of his shirt, held between two fingers like it was a dirty handkerchief, trailed behind him.

Nik huffed out an unamused laugh. “Still think he’s not a raging bitch?”

#captive prince #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen #captive prince fic #my writing #mannequin gallery 'verse #the mannequin gallery #the mannequin gallery chapter 3

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nikanndros · 4 years

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Your so right!!! Older sugar daddy Damen is such a seriously hot take. Damen the silver fox with his still super hot bod taking care of Laurent a decade or two younger (thinking 38/39 to 20) I know it’s bigger gap than the one you reblogged but it’s what I think/like 😅 Maybe at first Damen didn’t realise it was such a gap but nothing to do now that they are so taken with each other. Laurent of course didn’t do it for love but guess when Damen’s involved his plans don’t always go to plan 😆

look, that fic put me through some things and so I’m like sure!! Let’s make the age difference 20 years, why not! Damen would actually be super hot with a bit of grey in his beard, and he’s still hitting the gym so like 😍. And people are like skeptical of their relationship at first but they’re such an obvious power couple (and also Damen is old enough to have gone through character development so he’s ready to take Laurent on for life). And Damen is so rich and successful at this point that he can be 100% supportive of Laurent, like do whatever you want babe.

#Anonymous

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choicesmcxjake · 4 years

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Jake McKenzie Real Life Resemblance:

I know that most of the ES fans think Jake as Cole Monahan:

But honestly I don't see it. I see how people could see Jake in him, but not me.

I think Tim Damen looks far more like Jake.

I'm gonna list what I think is more fitting (plus explanation):

The head shape, the smal jaw, the beard, the pointy nose, the roundness of his eyes, the eyebrow thickness, the freckles (yes I imagined Jake has freckles (cause I read I one post that someone said the McKenzie family is scottish and I immediately saw that too, so since then for me Jake has scottish ancestors, which also gives Rebecca's red hair)) and the piercing (cause come on he was clearly a rebel).

•

Feel free to answer or give your own Real Life Resemblance of him! 🎩

#jake mckenzie #endless summer #playchoices #my au

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pourcap · 2 years

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thoughts: cp chapter 2

"What was the Prince’s mood?" "Delightful,’ said Damen." hhh he's so snarky

Damen remembered that he was not the only Akielon to have been gifted to Vere, and felt a groundswell of concern for the others. it took me less than one and a half chapter to fall in love with him :')

A great underground river that is hot. Damen said, ‘In Akielos, we use a system of aqueducts to achieve the same effect.’ Radel frowned. ‘I suppose you think that is very clever.' yes and he's right

Radel had thrown a substance onto the braziers as he left, so that they flared and then smoked. ummmm i do not have a good feeling about this

damen fought against auguste.....

wait, kastor ran damen through with a sword?? when damen was 13??? right after damen had scored a hit against him for the first time???

Now he remembered the black look in Kastor’s eyes and thought that he had been wrong about many things. imagine being 13 and proud that you can finally keep up with your cool older brother only for him to 'accidentally' wound you so badly you could die. (also, how embarrassing for an older brother to feel threatened and/or jealous enough to do something like that.)

"The Prince doesn’t like it. Jewellery—no. The gold is adequate. Yes, those garments. No, without the embroidery." that's the second emphasis on laurent disliking anything flashy and idk why but it seems important somehow. is it bc of auguste? like, does it remind laurent of him, and that's why he doesn't accessorize?

ok so damen is brought to an amphitheatre and everything is weird

vere sounds like hell ngl

the ONE THING i know about captive prince is that damen and laurent are going to be together but, frankly: how.

"Maybe,’ said Laurent, his eyes widening a little, ‘you strayed after he fucked you." he's so !!!!

"It’s perfect: a man who holds you down while he fucks you, with a cock like a bottle, and a beard like my uncle's." uhh that's a really fucking vile thought. also, it sounds like laurent hates his uncle?? i just thought he was pissed his uncle interrupted him when was talking to damen the night before

There was something obscene about someone with a face like that speaking those words in a conversational voice. just how beautiful is laurent?

"I, for one, am relieved to hear that all the slaves in Akielos are not like this one. They’re not, are they?’ This last a little nervously. :D

"Everyone knows how you feel about that country. Their barbaric practices—and of course what happened at Marlas—" i am CONFUSED.

okay, so, about that "performance" ... vere truly does sound like hell actually

There was something strange in the way that his limbs felt . . . sluggish... I KNEW IT. THE BATH. god. that's so fucked up.

"I fight in your service, Your Highness.’ He searched his memory for Radel’s words, and found them. ‘I exist only to please my Prince. May my victory reflect on your glory." i wanna be happy about this bc it's like big fat fuck you to laurent but at the same time laurent is the one with the upper hand here since he's the prince and i still do not want damen to get hurt :(

"Every dog can be brought to heel,’ said Laurent. i am so annoyed with him

The young boy was not the man’s son. (...) He was, at the oldest, fourteen. He looked more like twelve. honestly i have no words. this is so gross.

i love damen so much.

Laurent’s expression flickered. did he seriously expect damen to say yes? who would say yes to that !!

why is that child upset about damen saying no??

i'd like to stress just how much i love damen

i'd also like to stress that vere seems genuinely horrible :)

#captive prince #capri #damen #damen of akielos #damianos #damianos of akielos #laurent #laurent of vere

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pick-a-paint-brush · 5 years

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The response to my french revolution/ captive prince AU were so positive, thank you all! I give you the first chapter! this is my first experience in really writing a fanfic so wish me luck. But first a quick disclaimer- the story doesn’t 100% line up with an historic timeline, nor is it entirely historically accurate so keep that in mind.

Paris, 1823

Damen walked confidently, though he was still hesitant. The city was beautiful. Paris was at its best in early spring, the trees green and color blooming everywhere. He walked along the Seine, the afternoon light reflecting on its surface, the Ile de Cite and the great Notre Dame coming up on his left. He grappled with his decision. Throwing everything away on a day that the wind felt quite so good on his face, that the sky was that particular shade of blue felt wrong in a way. Ungrateful.

He stopped, will he ever see the sky again? With the Paris sky endless above him, he thought of home. Where the sky collided with the expanse of the ocean in a clash of blues. I might never see the ocean again, he thought.

But it did not matter, Jocelyn was right. The regent had to be stopped. How could he, Damen, call himself a protector of the people of this city and do nothing. The regent provided just enough food to keep the people from starvation, just enough services to keep them from the plague. And the people were thanking him! Thanking this monarch who kept them just alive enough so that they weren't dead. He coaxed them into forgetting their true goal- equality, freedom, fraternity.

Damen had once had the privilege of living life to its fullest, he knew that the people of France were simply surviving, not living. He wanted them to have more. And so, the regent had to be stopped. Jocelyn had formed the plan. “Challenge him to a duel, he won’t be able to refuse and keep a semblance of authority”. Damen liked the idea, it was honourable, sword against sword and a chance to free them of this burden. “But how can I get near him, he never even leaves Versailles”. But Jo always had an answer “He has left it this week, he's in the Palais de Luxembourg for a couple of nights, I heard it from a whore on St Germain de Pres ”.

So that was where Damen was heading, crossing the Seine towards the magnificent gardens, His sword strapped to his waist. He passed the watch a couple of times but kept his gaze straight, giving them no mind. He arrived at the gardens with the sun lowering on the horizon. He sat on a bench overlooking the side entrance to the Palais, where he guessed the regent would exit for a discreet walk in the gardens with his retinue.

He sat and waited as the sun disappeared and darkness came. He felt the righteousness in this choice. It did feel like the right thing to do. It was only natural that he was getting cold feet, there was no way to know what the consequences will be. But he could also feel his confidence, his bravery and strength, the morality in the path he chose. He was ready.

He felt the sensation of danger from behind before he heard a clear voice say “you are under arrest for high treason”. His sword was out of its sheath and in the guards throat before he even got up. But two more were already behind him and he turned to engage them. As he did so he felt a heavy blow on the top of his head.

Damen slowly opened his eyes to what he soon realized was utter darkness. He blinked several times, he saw nothing but a thin line of light on the floor in front of him. A door, probably. His right wrist was cuffed to a wall behind him, the metal tight on his skin. The air was heavy and smelled of mildew as if he was underground. A dungeon.

Damen tried to gather his brains and recall how he had gotten there, remembering a guard coming up behind him and then nothing. It was like they knew he was coming, the guard had mentioned treason. What was he talking about? He hadn't done anything yet. No one knew he meant to do something at all, expect for Jocelyn. Dread started to kick in, he's surely going to the rope. He’ll be dead by dawn, if dawn hadn't come already.

Time passed, for Damen it felt like hours upon hours. He started feeling the need for movement. More time passed, hunger came, an uncomfortable albeit familiar feeling. What was he doing there? What was the point of leaving him in a dark cell for what felt like a full day, with no explanation and no sentence.

And then, the sound of a key in a heavy lock woke Damen up from the stupor he had fallen into. He was alert at once. People and light flooded in from the open door. There were four of them, bringing bright torches with them. Damen blinked with his adjusting eyes. Three armed and in uniform, soldiers. One, holding his hands casually behind his back, his clothes gleaming with golden thread, a courtier. They stood in the opening to his cell, a short distance from him, far enough that with his chained arm he could not touch them. Damen was watching them with open fury.

“Hello” said a deep voice. “I’ve heard from a very lovely lady that I would be receiving a visit from you”. Damen squinted, trying to get a better look at the speaker and said nothing, not comprehending. “Light the lamps” ordered the voice, and a soldier moved to light the torches hanging from the wall. More light, enough that damen saw his visitor clearly. Red silk coat, dark hair and beard, gold in his clothes, gold around his neck, gold on five of his fingers. Gold on his chest, where an honorary badge rested over his heart. When damen recognized it he jerked and felt a sharp pain in his restrained wrist. Royalty was standing before him. The speaker was the regent of France.

The regent spoke again “This lady had a tale about a group of rebels who were still not pleased, despite everything I have given for the people of this city.” Damen couldn’t help but snort. The regent stopped talking and advanced on Damen who was taken aback by the regent's quick advance, but still looked defiantly into his eyes. The regent pulled his hand back and before Damen knew it he slapped a ringed finger across his jaw. It hurt. The regent was a strong man and he put effort into the blow. Damen spat blood on the floor, now he was really angry.

“Did you have something to say?” asked the regent, he kept his hands a hair’s breadth from Damen’s face as if the proximity will keep the pain fresh. In a way it did, Damen could feel the ghost of a touch on his tingling jaw. But he wasn’t afraid, and he was angry. He swallowed more blood and said “The people of france have tasted freedom, and they will have it once more”. The regent buried a finger into Damen’s bruised cheek, making him wince.

“What an interesting thought” continued the regent, “any way, you might want to listen to my story I believe you’ll find it interesting. As I was saying this lady- beautiful golden curls, says she knows you quite well”. All at once Damen stopped breathing. His heart, already beating fast from the moment the regent entered the cell, started pounding against his chest. Blood rushed to his ears, it was hard to hear what the regent said next. “She gave me some useful information about a certain group of rebels. Told me this group was gaining followers, that the people of Paris looked up to these usurpers. she also told me-” the regent paused. He had damen’s full attention, the ache in his jaw now accompanied by a pressure in his chest that was making its way up his throat. “That this group will be meeting in a certain tavern tonight at sundown”.

“No!” damen exclaimed, lurching forward. The chain on his wrist clanged loudly. “I’m not finished” continued the regent calmly, as if he was disturbed in the retelling of his day in the gardens. “Lastly, she told me a special friend of hers that could help me a great deal was coming straight to me, thanks to her persuasion. And to challenge me to a duel of all things. I refuse by the way.”

Damen was seething. he could feel hatred like a weight on his chest, towards this man, but also towards...

“I’ve decided we’re not going to deul, instead we’re going to have a mutually benefiting relationship”. Damen understood, he didn’t even have to hear the regent say it. “You’re going to help me, tell me everything you know, do anything I say”. Hopelessness settled on Damen, he felt close to tears from the injustice of it all. “because if you don’t, all your friends will die in front of your eyes”.

Damen breathed once, twice, a third time, swallowed against the feeling in his throat and forced his gaze upwards. “You will kill us all, no matter what I do”. The regent looked down inquisitively. “I won't” he answered “I think you will learn that I am a reasonable man. Your men will be imprisoned, they will serve their sentence, then they will be released”. Damen had no choice, it didn’t even matter if he trusted this wretched man’s word and the regent knew it. If there was a chance, slight as it may be, to save his men, Damen will do it. “Okay” it came out strangled, forced out of his throat like bile.

“Marvelous” said the regent as if a business deal had been struck “you will bathe, you will eat and rest and then you'll talk”. Confusion must have showed on Damen’s face because the regent added “You see, I am a reasonable man to those who obey” he turned to leave. Turning his head around as he stepped outside, he said “If we’re going to help each other, I would like to know you name”. That confused Damen, did she not tell them his name? Why? what else did she keep to herself?

“Jacques” Damen replied with all the contempt he could muster.

“Funny” said the regent, and left the cell.

A bucket was brought down for him to bathe, then a meal of simple bread and clean soup, which he finished in one gulp, then a pallet that would make him more comfortable. Through it, Damen felt numb. His mind was in loops. Jo, his group, escape, Jo, his group, escape.

Jo, Jocelyn. He couldn’t believe it. Damen trusted blindly, he knew this, Nic had told him so countless times. And yet, he was so sure with Jocelyn. He knew her to be cold, detached, he just hadn't thought her heartless. The feeling in his chest was familiar. This betrayal bearing the shadow of that of his brother’s, in his teen years. Rendering him without a title and without a home. And yet, she could have utterly ruined him. She had information that would send him directly to the gallows, faster than he could utter a word of dissent, but she did not tell it.

Then there was his group. “Les Corbeaux”- the crows. Scavengers, street rats. Damen had befriended each of them, then he had rallied them. The thought of one of them being hurt - it turned his stomach. Lastly, the thoughts of escape. he knew his hands were tied, literally and figuratively, with his friends imprisoned. But he couldn’t help it. The concept of cooperating with the regent, although forced to do it, shook him to his core. His mind supplied him with an unhelpful list of possible escape plans. he called on his restraint, not to act on any of it. He would first have to find out where he was, and where his men were. Then maybe escape would be possible.

The next time the door opened it again woke Damen up from a doze. And again a couple of soldiers and a courier entered. The latter was speaking as he entered “My uncle must be confused, why else well he let a Corbeau live inside these walls”, the torches were lit and a heavy silence fell.

The courtier's bright hair shon gold in the torchlight. He wore harsh blue clothing and a silver circlet on his fair hair. When Damen caught his eye a peculiar look flashed on his face, which was fine boned and pale. For a mere second Damen could have sworn he saw surprise and something akin to terror on that face. But in the blink of an eye the features transformed into a look of deep disgust.

For Damen it felt as if he were facing a ghost. It was like he was back in the chateau he had broken into six years prior. Bright summer sun shining on expensive wooden floors, dust billowing in the sunlight, mirrors gleaming around him, the sound of birds and the smell of summer bursting in from an open window. Damen thought then that the place wasn’t suited for the violence that occurred that day. He remembered blood dripping out of his shoulder, he remembered staring at it in shock, he remembered the weight he put on his sword when he drove it into his opponent's chest.

The courtier, who was of course the new Dauphin- prince Laurent, spoke. “Hello, peasant. I have come to inquire as to the reason my uncle visited a lowlife such as yourself, and in the dungeon no less”. Damen noted that the prince's face was flushed, his speech muddled by drink. He also noted that his eyes were bright even in the dark cell, but above all he noticed the arrogance in his voice and manner. Every bit the spoiled aristocrat that Damen imagined him to be. “I could inquire the same about you, mon cher” replied Damen, he might deal with the regent. He wasn't going to indulge his spoiled nephew. The prince raised a slender eyebrow “oh I see, breaking you will be so much fun”.

Damen took a beating, his torso was now full of dark bruises to join the one on his jaw. His body felt tender, but he had lived through worse. The encounter with the crown prince made his heart boil. He was everything Damen hated about the aristocracy in the form of a young man. Arrogant, cruel and cold. And he had promised Damen in a sweet voice that he will be visiting again in the morning. Which Damen supposed was near, though keeping time was difficult.

In the time he had to think Damen decided on a plan, or an idea that might lead to a plan. He will call on all of his self restraint, he will play nice with this ice prince and then he will weedle what he could about the location of the other prisoners. He didn’t know then, didn't count on the prince being quite so infuriating.

He entered Damen's cell looking alert, showing no sign of waking up after a night spent drinking. The guards entered next to him, looking at Damen as if daring him to make a move. The threat of a beating still fresh on his body. “Are you ready to cooperate?”.

Damen calmed his breathing and looked into those blue eyes. “Yes” he breathed out.

“Good” said the prince, “but first, I ask that you leave us alone” this to the guards. They looked taken aback but left the cell and closed the door behind them.

For some reason, Damen's sense of danger only intensified the moment he was left alone with the Dauphin. His heart started beating rapidly as Laurent took a seat on the ground in front him. A prince in full splendor, crouching on a dirty floor with a commoner, it put Damen on edge. He sat just close enough that Damen thought if he reached out he could touch him. He lowered his eyes and stared at the filthy floor between them.

Then the Prince spoke. “I know who you are Damianos”.

#I called Jokaste Jocelyn cause I needed her to be french #also Nikandros is Nic for Nicholas although I'm not sure about that one yet #laurent #Lamen #damen #captive prince #the captive prince trilogy #captive prince fanfic #captive prince fanfiction #lamen fanfic #lamen fanfiction #my art #cs pacat #kings rising #prince's gambit

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king-smaurent · 5 years

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Captive Prince—Ch. 1

Chapter one gives us our introduction of Vere, Damens surroundings and situation, and most importantly Laurent.

And we are given some choice thoughts by Damen on the future love of his life:

And then we also get Damen figuring out what he needs to do to eradicate himself from his current situation by escaping, but then see him battle with his own princely arrogance, of which he accused Laurent of just moments before. From the “I must remain inconspicuous” to “I speak your langauags better than you speak mine” to these instances which are literally a handful of lines apart get it together Damen

We meet the regent for the first time and I had honestly forgotten how he had been described other than he had a dark beard. But he’s apparently forty and bulky as well. And something about knowing now that Laurent knows, and the regent knows, makes this exchange feel....idk. Weird.

BUT ALSO ALSO MOST IMPORTANT OF THIS CHAPTER WE MEET THE MOST IMPORTANT CHARACTERS: Orlant and Jord. After they had their one shot to beat Damens ass.

:^)))))

#capri reread #damen is struggling so much and then some #ok im going to bed more to come tomorrow #ill give yall a break lmao

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i-am-naminette · 5 years

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So we agreed Dimitri from Fire Emblem looks like Japanese Laurent.

Then can we agree it mean that older Laurent could look like his older self, if let’s say something went wrong with Damen ?

Also I already wrote a thing about that : You can read on AO3

It's been years. So many tallies engraved in the wall that he stopped counting them after five years. Yet, he still scratches the wall with a chip of stone, his blunt nails, the edge of his iron cuff… anything to mark the passage of time, anything not to go insane.

He stares at his wrist. The bastards took the golden one away from him. They took Laurent away from him. So he marks the wall, the guard movements outside his door the sole indication he had to tell him another day passed.

His arm shakes with the effort of lifting it, barely fed as he was, they couldn't find a better way to stop him from trying to escape, and he had killed enough of his guards as it was. So when a commotion starts outside, Damen don't have the will to lift his head away from the wall he was chained to.

He doesn't care anyway. It won't be the first time his mind had played tricks on him and he had dreamed of Akielon and Veretian soldiers barging in through the door. They would side the most beautiful blond man Damen ever saw, the light from the corridor surrounding him like a halo. He would be blinding and then he would run into Damen's outstretched arms.

But when the door burst open, Damen is left blind by the light, eyes watering and closing against his own will, too painful to be a dream. Had they finally came to execute him? A smirk stretches on his lips as he looks at the man entering his cell. He would not give them the pleasure of seeing him broken, they never broke his mind.

The man is backlit so it's hard to properly see him but his figure is unmistakably board and muscular. Damen almost laugh when he hear the man shout.

"Exalted!"

It's been so long since the last time he heard his title, he must be dreaming after all.

Two other men enter one blinding Damen again with the torch he is carrying. A groan and then a whimper, a sound so alike one made by a wounded animal, yet Damen is certain it didn't come from him.

And then there is hands touching his face, holding his head, rough and calloused but so very soft, so gentle, loving. Not the hand of a torturer or it is some kind of new torture that would be the end of Damen. The hands are in his unshaven beard, run into his greasy hair and he want to be ashamed, to tell the man not to touch him because he his filthy, but he can't. He leans into the touch like a starved man.

"Damen."

The voice is broken, barely a whisper yet Damen heart nearly burst in his chest at hearing it, he thought he would never hear it again outside of dream. His eyes open, his vision bleary.

There is blond hair, long and unkempt like he hadn't bothered to take care of them. The beautiful face with sharp cheekbones and ice blue eyes. Damen what to, need to lift his hand and touch it, because it can't be real. This doesn't look like any other of his hallucination, this beautiful blond looks older and there is a black eye-patch covering one of his incredibly blue eye. A jewel lost to the war.

"Lau-" he try but his throat is raw from misuse and he cough.

The cough raking his body made him slide away from the wall he was leaning on, a shame with the hard time he had to prop himself against it, but there is relief when he fell against a warm and hard chest instead, arms encircling him.

"Pallas! Water!"

There is few seconds after Pallas leave the cell in haste to go fetch water before Damen let himself go against the man holding him, when he thought he would wake up against the cold, unforgiving ground but then he feel gloved fingers stroking his back, leather and feather against his cheek. This was real.

"I'm here. I've got you." the blond man kept whispering little reassurances, little nothing. And it's music to Damen's hears.

A water skin is put against his dry lips, the sensation of water entering his parched mouth burning him, branding him, he wants so much and take too much and then he cough again spurting water against the dark cloth against his cheek.

"Careful. Take smalls sip."

He is guided through it, gentle move against his back, a thumb coaxing his mouth open and Damen drinks his fill, slowly, carefully.

"Laurent."

He finally said, voice raspy but so full of hope. It feels so good to say his name, to see the light in the other's eyes at hearing his voice.

"I'm here Damen. I found you. Can you walk?"

Laurent his caressing his face, his now lone eye looking deep into Damen's. There is so much love, so much longing than Damen thought his own heart was about to explode from it. Then he register Laurent's question. His gaze involuntarily drifts toward his chained foot. Those holding him captive never bothered to cuff both his feet after…

Laurent gesture quickly, mistaking Damen look for something else. The sound of the sword falling against his chains, metal clanking against metal reverberate through Damen's skull, it hurt. He is freed. The sharp intakes of breath he hear next come from Laurent, Damen knew he would see but he said nothing. Laurent breathe hard, hand trembling as his fingers brushes over the scars were one of his ankles was uncuffed. A single white jagged line were his tendon was cut, making his foot a worthless weight

"I tried to escape too many time. That the one of the thing they tried to hinder me." Damen say.

There was no sign that Laurent heard him. His gaze lost, pupils blow and dark. The ice blue of his single eye had turned stormy, his jaw clenched and his shoulder trembling slightly in his restrained rage. This wasn't how Damen remembered Laurent anger. This wasn't the bitter cold lashing of his lover. This was a volcano ready to erupt, ready to make a rain of ice shards and ice pikes to fall on his enemies. Damen makes a sound, a moan that cames from the very depth of his chest because he couldn't bear to start imagining what Laurent went through, what he had endured in his absence. Yet the evidences are spread in front of him like a crude painting of violence.

"I'll kill every last one of them… "The words are hissed through clenched teeth, "Women… children…I'll annihilate this kingdom. They'll pay-"

"Laurent."

The flows of hate stop. Damen had managed to lift his hand and this time he is the one stroking his beloved face. He seems he can't get enough of this touch, the way Laurent's drawn features ease, his gaze focusing solely on Damen again.

"I'm here now. Just… I want to go home. Let's go home." He smiles. This is not a dream. This is reality.

A painful sob rack Laurent body and his squeeze Damen tighter, careful not to hurt him anymore. Laurent soften and Damen is relieved. There is some of his Laurent left.

"Yes."

#Captive Prince #fanfic #my writtings #Laurent #Damen #Damianos #Lamen #DamenXLaurent #pain #captive prince #capri

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