#but sometimes. Sometimes. he will smell like damen

[hennike]

cursed forever by the knowledge that there are mornings when laurent smells like damen

#DOOMED for ETERNITY #do u understand. Do u understand. He smells otherwise clean or like horse and leather after riding #but sometimes. Sometimes. he will smell like damen #(takes damage) (takes damage) (takes damage) (ta #something about this. Somethingn about this just…. ouvgghhh…. #i think i need to go lie down

[pijulle]

Tipping Point

@seasonsofcapri

The last few prompt didn’t fit the story well, but this one do! For context: I’m trying to do a canon rewrite with a mythology and all the royals being demigod.

 In this extract, that I don’t know where it’ll fit in the story yet, Damen, son of one of the godesses of creation and himslef god of the sun, remembers the Battle of Marlas and how he has get rid of Prince Auguste.

Side note: The concept of ‘being a demigod’ is materialised and the characters names it their ‘divinity’.

This day at Marlas the sun had been playing hide and seek with the clouds, limiting Damen’s power. He hadn’t thought it would matter, for the day was supposed to be dedicated to the negotiations. But as Father had gone speaking with the King of Vere, a distant glimmer had been seen from across the field. Near the fort, Veretian forces  gathered, at their head the most beautiful man Damen had ever seen. From afar, Damen could only notice his golden hair glittering when the sun was out, but he would see him from close soon enough. 

Damen’s Father had come back quickly.

“They’re attacking,” he had said, furious. “During negotiation! I wasn’t expecting much from those sneaky assholes, but this is beyond trickery. This is treason!”

Kastor had been the one leading the troops to the battle. Damen’s brother had expected a bloodbath from both sides, a battle of iron against iron, but once again, the Veretian surprised them. Kastor was arraying the battalions, as fast as he could  to defend their positions. But it happened too suddenly. Before Kastor could even order the charge.

The Prince Auguste, on the top of his white horse, had pulled out his alto. Kastor, seeing that,  had yelled the retreat but it was too late. The Veretian Crown Prince had played a low and melancholic note and gigantic branches and roots had shot out of the ground. They had pierced the unprepared lines, speared through the flesh, strangled the men, destroyed the equipment. A bloodbath there had been, but one-sided. Damen remembered with an ounce of bewilderment that the horses had been spared. Even the most disciplined men could not hold the line. It was a debacle. And Kastor was not coming back.

“Father, I can kill him,” Damen had said, noticing the sky was temporarily clear.

“No,” Father had said, eyes widened. “Do not kill him. He is a Volva, a kind of northern minor god of death. If you kill him, he will exalt, and with his new powers, he’ll definitely annihilate us.”

Damen couldn’t stay there and watch his men being mercilessly killed, while Kastor was nowhere to be seen. He had glanced up, praying for the sky to remain clear, praying his mother to tell him what to do. 

And she had answered. Damen recalled the relief when he had seen an owl landing on his shield. Inside her beak, a golden harpoon. The same expression of gratefulness as Damen’s had drawn on his Father’s features. The owl had flown away, and Father had approved of Damen going to fight. With one hand, Damen had shaped a sword with the sunlight, while the other he squeezed the harpoon. 

Damen didn’t remember how long it had taken him to get close to Auguste, only that he had spent his time cutting his way through thick pine branches, with needles jabbing his skin and smelling strongly enough to dizzy him. At some point he had jumped from a particularly big root, inside a little clearing where the Prince was standing with his guards. Damen recalled their shocked faces as he cut the storm of pine Auguste was throwing at him. Damen still heard the raging melody  in his dreams sometimes. When the Veretians had realized it wouldn’t be enough to stop him, the guards had soared into the battle, only to be killed one after the other by Damen’s relentless assault.

Only Auguste was left, glowing like the demigod he was and proudly sitting on his horse. He had eyed at the harpoon, before putting down the alto. Swiftly he had dismounted, and bared his sword. Damen remembered he had thought the Prince was so arrogant, he didn’t even wear an armor. Only a long coat  embroidered with strings as golden as his long hair over his shirt and pants. Damen and him had fought for what had seemed hours. Around them, nothing but circles of roots and needles. It muffled the sounds around, but not enough for Damen to not hear that the battle had started again. This time at least his men had a chance. 

Auguste fought skillfully with strength and speed, and Damen had difficulty keeping up. Damen recalled the grace of Auguste’s gestures, the fall of his long hair and his coat accompanying his fluid movements, his eyes bluer than the sky, and very human. They circled around each other as if caught in a lethal dance, in a ballroom made of tangled woods and bloody mud. Damen’s brutal strength had no chance against the Prince’s poise, and soon enough, his sword was on the dirt. Auguste had impaled Damen in the shoulder, and the sudden pain had loosened the grip Damen had on his sword. Damen expected to be killed then. Or at least taken prisoner. It was the consequences of his own hubris, thinking he could slay a magnificent creature like Auguste. Maybe the gods were on Damen’s side. Maybe Auguste was more honorable than his peers. Damen still wondered to this day why the Prince had  looked at him and said “Take it back,” gesturing at Damen’s sword. 

Damen had taken it back. He did not climb back the nestle of pine, fearing Auguste would use his absence to attack his people with magic again. Instead, Damen captured a ray of sunlight just before it disappeared behind a cloud, bandaged his wound with it, and resumed fighting. 

The fight went on for a long time. Damen’s shoulder throbbed with pain. Auguste began to show signs of exhaustion. Damen still held the harpoon, and when Auguste made a mistake, cutting too far on the left, Damen sank it into the Prince’s flesh. Damen remembered Auguste’s shocked expression when the harpoon had caught something inside. With his wide eyes and open mouth, the Prince had looked like a fish just captured. Damen had pulled off the harpoon, and a shining ball of light had come with it. Auguste had watched with horror Damen throw the harpoon away as his golden hair had become a mere yellow, and his godly glow had fainted.

“No,” the Prince had whispered, but Damen didn’t let him time to beg. Using Auguste’s shock, he dove his sword inside Auguste’s now mortal torso, aiming for his heart. The Veretian Prince had died quickly. 

After pulling his sword out, Damen had collected the discarded harpoon. Caught at its end, a polished river rock, with a golden starburst carved in it. Damen took it delicately and squeezed it in his palm. It was hot and  furiously buzzing. 

The Prince’s death had been a tipping point in the battle and when Damen had climbed back the nestle of roots, which had shriveled and  died, he had witnessed the Veretian troops surrender, the soldiers dropping their sword, some falling on their knees, some crying. Damen thought their Prince and them had some magical connection and they had felt him dying. It was true for some of them, but he learned later that the despair of the Veretian came from the death of the King, struck by an arrow a few minutes after he understood the fate of his son.

 For some reason, Damen had also felt incredibly sad. He told himself it was Auguste's feeling of being stripped out of his divinity, that Damen should rejoice to have killed his enemy. 

Yet when the night had fallen and the victory celebrated, Damen could not help but feel melancholic.

#capriprompt #capriprompt: tipping point #damen of akielos #auguste of vere #Captive Prince #battle of marlas

[nayona96]

"What would a good big brother do?" PART 2

Part 1

He should’ve known Auguste got the easier task.

The man texted him the next morning to say Laurent already agreed to attend their next party. Reluctantly and it required Gus to use 110% of his puppy eyes power.

Auguste’s part was done, Laurent was going to come to the party, so it was now Kastor’s turn to act.

And act he did.

After taking necessary hangover medication and a thorough shower, obviously. Going to his brother’s place with a stinking green cloud following him around would ruin everything.

So, when he finally knocked on Damen’s door, Kastor was shaved and with cheeks shining and smooth like a bare sheep’s butt, his hair was clean and shiny and he smelled like flowers (sometimes a man runs out of his own body wash so there’s no other option but to use his girlfriend’s, don’t judge).

The door was opened by a very irritated looking Nikandros, though, if he had to be honest, Nik constantly had the expression of being half done with life. And constipated.

The man leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms against the chest.

“If you turn around now, I’m going to pretend it was a cult member knocking on our door to convert us.”

Kastor frowned. “Why would you lie?”

“...Are you fucing serious?”

“Are YOU serious?”

Nikandros scanned his face before responding, “Why are you here? You’re not welcome.”

“I wanted to talk to my brother.”

The other man was seething. “The audacity to call yourself his brother after what you’ve done, you piece of cow shi--”

“Who is it, Nik?”

Something dropped in Kastor’s stomach. The sound of his little brother’s voice inevitably brought back the look on Damen’s face from their last encounter.

The look which was now back, as soon as Damen realized who it was at his doorstep.

“What do you want, Kastor?” It sounded so different from when it was Nikandros who asked this question.

He swallowed. “Can I come in?”

“Absolutely not.” Nikandros snarled, at the same time when Damen asked, “What for?”

“Just to talk. Please.”

The hostility in the younger Vallis lessened visibly and Nikandros must have noticed it even sooner than Kastor did. Nik turned around, placed a firm hand on his best friend’s shoulder and said sternly, “He doesn’t deserve to say a single word. Do not talk to him, Damen.”

After a lifetime of friendship, Nik should have realized his mistake right away. Hell, he’d get better results by keeping his mouth shut.

Because the second Nikandros Karas told Damen NOT to do something, one could be certain Damen was about to do the exact opposite.

Damianos smiled at his friend and asked him to get back inside. Nik’s face twisted in an odd mix of disappointment and annoyance. They quarreled for a while, completely ignoring the third man still waiting at the entrance.

Eventually Nik backed off, not without a heavy, theatrical sigh. Damn, this guy could be such a drama queen sometimes.

“So,” Damen said, after Nikandros slammed the door to what Kastor presumed was his room, “what did you want to talk about?”

Kastor had spent the entire morning and early afternoon trying to workshop a speech for this occasion. Not the easiest thing to do with a bitch of a hangover, mind you. But he got on the bus with a solid plan to convince Damen to come to the party and meet Laurent, his soon-to-be soulmate and love of his life. Yes, he still believed Auguste’s baby brother was his own brother’s destined partner.

The young twink was just too pretty and blond and wicked smart (emphasis on the wicked part) to not be perfect for Damen.

Damen, whose expectant eyes turned out to be worse than his old Akielon teacher in middle school whenever she had him recite a poem and caused Kas to forget most of what he had prepared.

What left Kastor’s mouth was, “Wanna go to a party?”

The younger man’s eyebrows shot up. “A party.”

“Yes.”

“With you.”

“Yeah.”

“And why in the ever loving fuck would I want to go anywhere with you?” Kastor’s smile fell, seeing the displeased expression come back on Damen’s face. “I don’t think I want to show my face publicly with you.”

No, it was all going wrong! How did Auguste do it? How did he convince his younger brother so effortlessly?

Probably by not fucking Laurent’s girlfriend behind his back, a judgmental voice at the back of his head proposed.

Has Laurent ever had a girlfriend? Probably not, as Gus always mentioned men whenever he talked about Laurent in this context. But one could never be certain.

What Kastor could be certain though was that his next words were crucial and the fate of his plan depended on his wit.

He could take the more ambitious route and think of some excuse but both he and Damen were simple men who preferred simple truths.

“I miss you.” Kastor said. “I feel bad about everything and I… I don’t want to not talk anymore.”

Damen was silent for a long while. Kastor let his brother search his face for any sign of dishonesty - something Damen would never do before the fuck up of the century with Jokaste - and he observed as his shoulders gradually lost tension when he found no lies.

There was, however, a lot of doubt in his eyes and Kastor would be worried about it, if Nikandros didn’t choose that moment to yell, “DON’T YOU DARE, DAMIANOS, DON’T YOU GO ANYWHERE WITH HIM!”.

Damen asked him for time and place and if there was any dress code.

Kastor did a victory dance. At home, of course, he wouldn’t deprive Jokaste of any opportunity to make fun of him.

Two days later he met his brother (and Nik the guard dog) at a friend’s house. It was more of a villa to be honest, as Pallas got lucky and married a rich guy with an affinity to marble dicks, if the amount of ancient Akielon style statues placed all around the premises were any indication.

The three men entered the villa. Damen and Nik looked around curiously, and so did Kastor, although he tried to spot two blond heads instead of simply checking things out.

He was beginning to sweat, not being able to find neither his friend nor Damen’s future perfect half, but as it turned out he needn’t to worry.

Damen had a fucking radar tuned to attractive blonds. “Who’s that? I don’t think I know him.”

Kastor’s heart did a happy flip when he heard Nik’s terrified groan. “Dude…”

And there he was, in all his glory.

Laurent Revere stood by the chocolate fountain. He wore black slacks and an equally black silk dress shirt, cuffed slightly above his elbows. The blond hair was gathered back and tied in a low ponytail over his neck. A lone strand fell out of the ponytail and rested against the sharp, pale cheek. Laurent’s skin was milky white and seemed almost otherworldly pale in contrast with his outfit. Slender fingers held a champagne flute gracefully to his rosy lips, in a gesture Kastor guessed was supposed to buy him time before he had to speak to the boring older guy who seemed resistant to the ice in the blond’s eyes.

Kastor glanced to the side. Damen looked as if he was struck with lightning. Nikandros looked scared shitless.

“Oh, him?” Kastor played dumb. “That’s Laurent.”

For the first time in six months Damen looked at his older brother with something that wasn’t hatred in his eyes. “Laurent?”

“Yup. Auguste’s younger brother. I’ve heard he just moved back to Marlas after finishing uni somewhere else.”

Damen nodded, gazing back at Laurent thoughtfully. The blond sneered at the older guy, said one sentence which had the creep blanche and run with his tail between his legs.

“Dude, think with your brain, please.” Nik begged. “Don’t be stupid and run after another mysterious blond. Just ignore him.”

Nikandros really was stupid sometimes, wasn’t he?

Kastor’s hyena mode kicked in and he jumped on the opportunity. “Want me to introduce you? I think I see Gus next to him now, we could go and say hi.”

“Damen, don’t.” Nik proved once again that whenever there was an attractive blonde involved, Damen would do the exact opposite of what Nikandros asked him to do.

“Sure. Lead the way, Kastor.”

Kastor was so damn excited he could swing Lazar’s expensive chandeliers while belting Sia.

Damen was about to introduce himself to Laurent.

The rest would go smoothly, they would go on dates, fall in love, get married and adopt a bunch of dogs.

Nothing could possibly go wrong, couldn’t it?

#kastor of akielos #damianos of akielos #damen #Kastor wants to be a good big bro #laurent of vere #lamen #Nikandros is already done #captive prince fanfiction #my writing #modern au

[arsaces-undone]

rec list of 2021 capri fics

but there are no modern lamen aus in it

AS U CAN SEE, I LIED.

Concordia

He’d had hope, after those talks, that when the sting of Olympic loss had faded he and Auguste would be able to salvage something of their old friendship. This doesn’t seem likely now. Sorry I gave you a concussion when I checked you is one thing; sorry I beat you out for the gold medal and then had your little brother wear it while I fucked him is another.

you’ve heard all about this one, and it is all true: best damen, best laurent, best auguste, best erasmus, best hypermenestra. it is all true, and you know this and you’ve read it, so you agree that it would be insane for me not to include it even though we all love it and know about it. so here it is.

above masters

Waiting spilled out and followed Erasmus throughout the day, smooth and viscous like oil, snaking about his arms and entwining with Torveld’s hair as he washed it, staining Torveld’s robes as he folded them. At his leisure hours, Torveld brought it to his lips together with the slices of fruit Erasmus gave him.

literally the best erasmus/torveld fic out there, the best one; it has a wonderful worldbuilding and historic backdrop, it immerses you in the pacat’s slave system so deeply, and so easily too; it completes it so perfectly, i cannot recommend this enough times, it really is a beautiful one.

It Means Everything

"I wish you could be my first."

A shameless reimagining of what would have happened if Erasmus and Kallias had a first night with each other.

shaking and crying and throwing up. this is so hot but also so tender and the summary is too short (but still perfect for it, like yes, that’s it) so i am including another quote from it: 

Erasmus thought of the heroes of great epics he’d memorized. He wondered if their chests hurt too when they did daring things.

“It is forbidden,” they were so close Erasmus felt his own breath puff against Kallias’ skin. He didn’t know why he said it, it was the most forbidden thing. Kallias would not have forgotten.

The Devil’s Got Nothing On Me

Snippets from Aimeric's childhood, growing up in Fortaine.

every time i think about this one i light up a cigarette, i take one single drag from it and then i stick it up my asshole.

[this is me trying]

Aimeric would like to say it wasn’t his fault. What happened. He’d like to, but he’s never been much of a liar. Not unless he’s already spitting mad. Lies don’t formulate themselves like prophecies demanding to be spoken, not like they seem to for the others. He blames the fact that he’s never had to lie. He’s only ever had to hide and hope his parents don’t find him when he fucks up. With five older siblings, it had never been particularly hard.

sometimes when i am in a museum for homework or pleasure or whatever i remember this fic and i have to stop myself from making eyes at the security guards so we can go through whatever (affectionate) this fic is.

Breaking News

“You smell like alcohol,” Kashel says bluntly. Auguste rears back, surprised. “And tobacco, and it’s nine thirty in the morning. You look like you haven’t slept, you didn’t answer any of our insistent calls for two hours, and, if I’m not wrong, you’re a university student. You’re not exactly in peak condition to take care of another human being.”

Auguste can’t find anything to say.

very good! very sad! very funny! very heartbreaking!

On one’s knees

To stop the war between their countries, King Theomedes and King Auguste reach an agreement. After all, they both have a prince in their households to spare.

the best example of a maca fic, in my opinion. have wanked to this before and now i am telling. like, i think about this fic once a day, every day. insane genius. a fandom classic.

The Stars Go Waltzing Out In Blue And Red

Ordinary men didn’t last long when they were wading through the rivers of blood that surrounded Kings and Crowns. And if they didn’t drown, then the gallows in whose shadow the throne stood usually had a few ordinary bodies swinging from it.

Lazar was in it now and he knew his choices were swim or swing. Thank the gods for pretty Akielon’s or Lazar just might have to take this whole thing as seriously as Jord was.

the most fun read of the year, beautiful character and setting exploration, i really laughed a lot reading this one.

King of the Woodlands

Damen knew Laurent was good with animals. He was the only one who always managed to calm spooked horses down, and he was the first person the palace hounds would run to whenever they wanted to be pet. Damen didn’t think too much about it at first, but after a while, he started to suspect that Laurent had the ability to talk to animals.

Or Laurent is a Disney Princess with a habit of collecting strays.

beautiful. the sweetest. the adorablest.

no net ensnares me

Father had proposed it - the match - and Auguste had gone along with it with Laurent’s own blessing. It would keep him off their backs, it would be fine, they could handle it.

this one has a very sweet, intimate style.

#YES. THERE IS LAMEN IN THIS. THERE IS. IT'S ME BEING FUNNY. CLICK ON IT. #i wasn't gonna post this but i still think these fics deserve love and attention i adore them #and hiuh isn't here because maca would get mad at me or something 🙄

[goldencuffs]

familial

@lamenweek day four: family

Like clockwork, Laurent arrives at eight in the evening on Friday, and the entire Vallis household bursts to life.

Sitting in the poorly lit alfresco, Damianos listens as Laurent makes his way down the hallway, room by room. In the living room, Theomedes’ laugh is loud and booming; it’s the first happy noise he’s made all week. In the kitchen, Egeria’s voice is sweet as she offers Laurent thirteen different dishes because he’s too thin.

Kastor is in the shower, but Damen swears the sound of running water amplifies under Laurent’s presence.

The night is warm and sticky, alive with the start of summer. Damen’s t-shirt is clinging to him, damp at the nape. It hadn’t bothered him through dinner, but now he becomes wholly conscious of it as he hears Laurent’s approaching footsteps.

The door slides open. “Hello, you,” Laurent’s voice is a gentle lull amongst the stars.

Damen turns, terrified and excited. His lungs seize up, because Laurent is the most beautiful, warm person he’s ever known.

He’s dressed magnificently tonight, like always. The material of his shirt is light, expensive. There’s a silk ribbon cinched around his waist, and his leather boots cost more than Damen’s monthly salary.

He hasn’t done his hair; it falls into his eyes, and when he pushes it back behind his ear, Damen falls in love all over again.

“Hey,” Damen smiles, so wide it splits his face. “You’re stunning.”

Laurent flushes. Damen can’t see it, but he knows Laurent like himself.

Laurent peers over at the garden. “Did Theomedes plant more tulips?”

“Yeah,” Damen says, still grinning, pleased that Laurent notices these things about his family home. “He spent four whole days trying to rearrange them into the colours of the rainbow.”

Laurent smiles, looking charmed. He comes and sits next to Damen on the sagging couch, close. Damen can smell his cologne, Voyage d’Hermes. Laurent sprays it on everything: his pillow, his bedsheets, his bag, the pinked skin behind his ear.

Their knees touch. Laurent reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the lighter Damen gifted him for his twenty-first and a pack of cigarettes.

The flame dances across Laurent’s face as he lights his cigarette. There’s something pale and shimmery applied to his eyelids, and it keeps changing colour.

Damen is obsessed with it—especially when he catches it flickering against Laurent’s collarbones.

Damen knows his smile is goofy, smitten. Alone like this, he doesn’t care.

When he touches Laurent’s knee, Laurent shifts a little closer, and then passes over his cigarette.

Damen doesn’t smoke, but he always does with Laurent, because the intimacy of it drives him wild. There’s something illicit about putting his mouth at the dampened end, which has been marked by Laurent’s tongue and spit.

The smoke is pungent. It fills the air around them, like a comforting hug.

In the quiet, Damen can feel grateful for his life. He’s young, in love, and has the attention of the world’s most gorgeous man.

Laurent says, “Work alright?”

“Yeah,” Damen says. “Finally figured out which kid has been writing ‘fuck’ for spelling homework.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow. “Nicaise?”

“Fucking Nicaise,” Damen says, laughing. “I don’t think I even knew that word at six, fucking hell.”

“I did,” Laurent smirks, mischievous, his eyes sparkling. It dulls the glitter.

Damen’s breath catches, and he coughs on the next exhale.

Laurent pats his back, laughing, and the sound is magical.

Damen could look at him forever.

Laurent’s smile slowly falls off his face, and he gives Damen a small, quizzical look.

The sliding door opens, and Kastor’s hulking figure comes out onto the alfresco. His hair is still a little damp, curling over his ears. His three piece suit is freshly pressed, stretching over his broad chest.

He looks over at Damen with steel in his eyes. “Cuddling without me?”

Shoving the last half of the cigarette into Damen’s fumbling fingers, Laurent springs to his feet, his smile like sunshine. He makes a graceful leap over Damen’s outstretched legs to Kastor, flinging his arms around him.

“You shaved!” Laurent sounds young, delighted, completely enamoured. “This must be a very fancy dinner.”

The ice in Kastor melts away. He gazes at Laurent with hunger, with wonder. “I told you it was.” He pushes the hair away from Laurent’s forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The response is painfully shy. Laurent presses his painted fingertips to the tiny mole on the underside of Kastor’s chin and then his dimple. “I’ve missed these.”

Kastor kisses Laurent then, and Laurent falls into it sweetly, his moans soft and reverent in the night.

Damen turns away, dragging on the cigarette, the smoke now acrid, clinging to the inside of the lungs like tar.

Laurent murmurs something softly in Veretian when he pulls away. Damen hears the word love, and he hates it.

“Give me a sec, yeah?” Kastor says into Laurent’s ear, and Laurent goes, always willing to listen.

He kisses Kastor again before walking back inside, biting his lip on a smile when Kastor swats his ass.

Two seconds after Laurent has gone back inside, he quickly reappears in the doorway. “Shit, sorry, Damen! See you!”

Damen waves at him, stomach curling with a familiar bitterness. Laurent always seems to forget about him the moment Kastor walks into a room.

When he leaves again, Kastor assesses Damen with an equally familiar coolness.

“What?” Damen finally snaps, stubbing out the cigarette.

To his surprise, Kastor comes over to sit next to him, unbuttoning his suit jacket around the middle.

This close, Damen can feel their thighs touching, and he jerks in surprise, staring at Kastor with wide eyes.

Kastor’s expression is more open, boyish than Damen remembers. Without his beard, he looks younger, the cut of his eyebrows less severe, his mouth more pronounced.

Kastor presses his forehead to Damen’s shoulder. Damen stills in shock.

“Please,” Kastor says in a quiet voice. “Please just let me have this.”

Damen moves away, face hot. “I haven’t fucking done anything!” he snaps, his defensiveness heating his words.

Kastor closes his eyes. “I see how you look at him, Damen. Please, please don’t. Don’t pull your usual shit. I love him. Don’t take him away from me.”

Damen’s armpits are damp now. “My usual shit,” he repeats flatly.

But Kastor doesn’t rise to the bait. He looks miserable. “Yeah,” he says. “Your usual shit.”

And Damen knows. He thinks of Jokaste, Kyra, Lykaois, Erasmus, Kallias, and something unravels in him.

He swallows, turns away.

“Please,” Kastor says again. “I’m asking as your brother.”

Egeria used to call Kastor and Damen two halves of one soul. They’d been close, had remained close, despite everything. They’d seen the worst of each other, and the best like any other family would. Egeria had even joked that sometimes, it seemed like they had been split in half, because Damen’s dimple was on the left, and Kastor’s on the right.

It’s the guilt that chokes Damen—because he’s thought time and time again in these last two years how easy it would be to have Laurent, if he really tried. If he caught Laurent in a moment of weakness.

Now, he says, “Whatever,” and makes sure his tone suggests the end of the conversation.

Kastor is silent for a while. Then he stands up with a sigh.

Damen doesn’t plan on saying it, but when Kastor is crossing the doorway, he says, “He’s going to say yes. You don’t have to be worried.”

For a second, Kastor looks confused. Then his fingers press against his thigh, the place where Damen had felt the tiny box.

“Yeah, I know,” Kastor says, finally. “Don’t let it kill you, alright?”

It’s said firmly, softly: a big brother bestowing advice to his younger brother.

Damen doesn’t answer, and Kastor leaves, eager to get back to his lover.

#lamen week #lamen week 2021 #this technically is breaking a few rules #but the idea wouldnt leave my head 😭 #captive prince #my writing #my fic

[dreamdropxoxo]

Laurent sitting in Damen's lap but ✨ romantically ✨ hahaha any hc for this? I cant totally see Laurent doing it only to annoy Nikandros (also because damen is super soft and warm but that he will never admit it) ps: lovveeeee your writing 💖

Hi dear anon and thank you so much for your ask! 🥰

Oh you’re right! Laurent sitting in Damen’s lap romantically is perfect and I feel wrapped in a warm, soft feeling whenever I think about it 😍 Also, I think about it more often than you can imagine 😂

Laurent loves to snuggle up to Damen’s chest while sitting in his lap because Damen starts to caress his back unconsciously whenever they sit like that.

Damen drags him into his lap from time to time to kiss him soft and slow and reassure himself that Laurent’s really there, with him, kissing him.

When Laurent’s really sick he just wishes for comfort and the knowledge that someone cares about him and his well-being. Damen’s the only person he trusts enough to be so vulnerable with. He climbs in his lap, sniffling pitifully and mumbles about how his head hurts and he can’t think!

Damen loves the way Laurent buries his face against his neck when he’s slowly drifting to sleep in his lap. It takes all his self-control to keep silent.

Laurent sits in Damen’s lap to tease him. Because Damen’s super easy (at least when Laurent’s involved) and he enjoys making him loose his mind. Added bonus, when he does it during social gatherings, Nikandros looks as if he’d explode any moment.

Damen bundles Laurent up after a long day of work and holds him in his lap until he stops struggling and trying to get back to even more work. He holds him tight and whispers in his ear that it’s important to take breaks and look after your own health.

Laurent likes Damen’s scent and sometimes he scoots closer and closer to Damen until he sits in his lap just to smell him.

Damen’s absolutely helpless whenever Laurent sits in his lap, he’d agree to everything without a second thought and they both know it.

So, that are my headcanons for Laurent sitting in Damen’s lap romantically. (I went a bit overboard didn’t I? 😂 BUT they are soooo adorable. I just can’t stop) 

Thanks again for giving me the opportunity to wax poetics about my OTP ❤️

#captive prince #laurent #damen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #damianos of akielos #laurent x damen #damen x laurent #lamen #Laurent sitting in Damen's lap #romantically #headcanons #being in love #snuggling #capri

[noire-queen]

Hi! I would like to request Lamen and wedding night sex. As nsfw as you like.

Hi there! Sorry it took so long, but life has been kind of crazy lately. I am not complaining, just stating facts. I didn’t know how NSFW you wanted it, and since it got very NSFW I’ll post this with the promise that I’ll post the second part on the 2nd of July in case you are okay with more NSFW. Although this IS NSFW to start with, so please keep that in mind. I loved writing this. So, the wedding night it is. I hope you enjoy,

Zagara

 Theirs had been a summer wedding. Despite it being late June, the air had been sweet with peach flowers and orange blossoms. Before the ceremony, Laurent himself had soaked in warm water and orange-seed oil.  He’d gotten it on his eyelids, in his hair, on his lips. It had found its way through the crease of his mouth and onto his tongue. And when the bitter taste had faded, leaving his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows knitted, he’d dropped his hand with a splash and watched the distorted refraction of his arm as he’d cupped his hands, rubbed handfuls of water into his skin. There had been petals floating around the marble tub: white and oval like transparent nails, like see-through almond-slivers. They’d gotten caught in his locks, so Laurent had gotten married with orange on his skin and petals in his hair. At the altar, when Damen had leaned down to kiss him, their crowns burning red and orange in the sunset, he’d said “You smell like oranges.” And Laurent had smiled.  

Later, after the ceremony, after the banquet and the dinner and the gifts and the congratulations and the politics, they’d made their escape to the bedroom. Among golden and white sheets, Damen had undone the laces of his jacket, exposing the skin of his neck. He’d kissed it and wrinkled his nose. Laurent had smirked. “You taste bitter.” “I bathed in orange-seed oil.” Then he’d wrapped his legs — bootless, but not stocking-less —  around Damen’s middle, pushing with his heels against his spine, pulling him closer: Their hips flush against each other, their lips a whisper away from each other. “A reminder of what you’ve gotten yourself into.” And Damen had leaned his elbows above Laurent’s shoulders, boxing him in against the mattress. “What makes you think I don’t know?” Then, slightly biting Laurent’s lips, “What makes you think I don’t like it?” Then Damen’s lips were back on Laurent’s neck, first kissing down to the dip between his collarbones and then trailing back up to his jaw. Laurent groaned, tightening his legs around Damen’s waist, tangling his hands in Damen’s hair and dragging him up until their mouths met again. At first, it was only parted lips and heavy breaths, then he was grabbing onto Damen’s back, the kiss deeper, Laurent teasingly rocking his hips against Damen’s.

They had gotten married in their respective countries’ traditional wear: Laurent in ivory and cream and white and golden. In jacket and pants and boots, the tips of his nails dipped in golden paint. Damen had worn a chiton of cotton so fine, ten weavers had had to work on it in the months leading to the wedding.  

So now, all that stood between Laurent and Damen’s skin was the golden lion pin on his shoulder. It took quick pressure, his thumb unhooking the needle. Then the pin hit the pavement with an almost tinkling sound and the cotton was spilling down Damen’s back, pooling in part around them, in part between them. When Laurent reached forward, his arms tangled in the sheet. He ran his palms along his husband’s back, his fingers catching on the raised scar-tissue, still fresh enough to feel tight and smooth. “Better now” Laurent murmured. Damen’s skin smelled like fire smoke and sandalwood and was covered by a sheen of golden dust. Laurent leaned forward, Damen lowered his head, and they met in the middle. Their lips barely brushing at first as Damen kept unmaking the threads that closed Laurent’s jacket.   “I’m glad I meet your approval,” Damen said. Then, “We wouldn’t want you unhappy on your wedding night.” “That” Laurent nodded, “would be outrageous.” “High treason” he went on, watching Damen watch him. “But I would make a radiant widower.”

Then he was being pulled up and there were lips and teeth on his skin, nibbling and sucking from his jaw to his collarbones, leaving pink marks on newly exposed skin. Leaving wet trails that met air and made him shiver, made him tighten his abdomen and his legs. Made him open his mouth in shallow exhales and sink his nails into Damen’s dark skin. “You can do better” he whispered. And Damen shot him a look from under his lashes, his skin and muscles and hair shining bronze and red in the firelight. Laurent keened, spreading his legs and tightening his hands into Damen’s curls, pressing Damen’s head against his chest as Damen flicked his nipple with his tongue. There was the hissing of tearing fabric. Damen jerked forward and Laurent felt his hardness rubbing against his own. Damen pawed at his pants. Laurent lifted his hips and watched as Damen slid his trousers down his thighs, baring him to the cold air. Laurent hissed. He hissed a second time when Damen’s hand closed around his cock, his thumb pressing ever so lightly against his slit. “You’re beautiful” Damen murmured. He’d moved his mouth to Laurent’s shoulder. Damen’s beauty was called forward by clean sheets and perspiration on his skin: all that power kept under control like an open flame with a bit between its teeth. All he had to do was unclench his jaw for the world around him to burn.

Sometimes, Laurent wished he just would.

His pants, as well as his underwear, were now pulled tight between his knees. Damen was still nipping at his chest, sending waves of heat down his spine to his groin. Light flickered behind his closed lids. When he opened them, it was to steel himself, lean his forehead against his lover’s, and flip them over.

Damen landed on his back, his hands warm against Laurent’s waist, loose enough that when Laurent moved down his chest and between his legs, Damen’s palms dragged along his back and his neck and ended up one of the back of his head, the other carding his hair back.

“I don’t taste like orange seeds,” Damen said. “No,” Laurent leaned down, slowly dragging his tongue across the tip of Damen’s cock. “You don’t.” Then he leaned down a second time. Damen grunted, the hand in Laurent’s hair tightening as Laurent’s barely parted his lips, taking care to let his lips graze Damen’s cock. “I’ll have to lick it off of you” Damen managed in a hiss. “That oil. All of it.” Then “I miss the taste of your skin.” Laurent lowered himself. With his right hand, he gripped the base of Damen’s cock, with his left he held Damen’s hips flat against the mattress. He kept lowering himself until the head of Damen’s cock hit the back of his throat. They both moaned. And while Laurent dragged his head back up, gauging the speed by the pressure against his scalp, a petal fell from his hair. It landed on a brown hip coated in golden dust. Later, it fell to the floor. Later, when there was nothing more than coal, it sparkled in the dull light of embers: white and gold and smelling of orange-seeds.

You can find me on AO3, and in case you want to buy me a Ko-Fi, I do live an over-caffeinated lifestyle, so that would be greatly appreciated.

#Captive Prince #captive prince fanfiction #captive prince prompt #lamen #laurent x damen #damen x laurent #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #my writing #wedding night

[lamen-trash]

Pregnant Omega Laurent AU

When Laurent’s mind drifted into consciousness, reality came to him in waves – first, the warmth of sunlight on his face, then the heavy weight of an arm draped across his midsection, and then the slight tickle of breath across the back of his nape. Like he did every other morning upon waking up in Damen’s arms, Laurent smiled to himself. It was a private smile, filled with an unrestrained hope that Laurent was finally allowing himself to feel after so long. 

Damen’s hand rested on the center of Laurent’s round stomach, his thick fingers curled into the loose white fabric there in an undeniably protective gesture. Reaching down, Laurent went to cover Damen’s hand with his own, and he weaved his fingers in between his lover’s in silent reassurance. The quality of Damen’s breathing changed, and he stirred into consciousness from the light touch. Laurent shivered when Damen let out a content sleepy noise and began to drop light kisses across his sensitive neck. 

“Mm,” Damen hummed as he pulled Laurent’s sleeve further down to get access to the dip of his shoulder. Laurent couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle and nuzzle further down into his pillow as Damen lavished his skin with attention. 

“Good morning,” Laurent whispered. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Damen rasped out. Laurent shivered; he loved Damen’s early morning voice, when Damen was still half-asleep and mumbling nonsense into Laurent’s ear. The gentle rumble of his intonation spoke to Laurent’s inner omega, which had been going haywire more often than not since the pregnancy began three months ago. No matter what happened, his alpha was always there to soothe his anxious instincts that sometimes flared up for no reason. 

Damen never let Laurent feel ridiculous about it, especially since his instincts had been going even crazier. Damen was naturally protective, but the introduction of a baby into their lives had amplified his tendencies to the point where any other alpha that walked within a five foot radius of Laurent and their unborn child received a death glare. Laurent rolled his eyes, but Damen knew he secretly loved when Damen got possessive. The alpha’s scent took on a richer, darker quality, and it often made Laurent want to pull Damen into bed and refuse to let him leave for a whole week. 

When Damen found out that Laurent was pregnant, his demeanor toward Laurent changed. One day, he brought Laurent all the extra pillows and blankets that were in storage in their wing of the palace to make sure he was comfortable enough. Laurent, who had huffed from where he was sitting in bed with a book, had pulled Damen in for a firm kiss and scolded the man for his ridiculousness in the fond tone of voice he reserved for his lover. Laurent did not, however, appreciate Damen’s attempts to get him to rest more, and reacted like a cat being forced to take a bath when Damen tried to keep him in bed for longer. Damen also took up the habit of giving Laurent regular back and feet massages. He put his large hands to use as he worked out the knots in Laurent’s sore muscles until his husband was relaxed and leaning all his weight against him. Sometimes they combined massages with baths, when Laurent would sit in between Damen’s legs with his back to Damen’s chest while the alpha washed his hair and hummed to him. Laurent complained of never getting a moment to himself, but the Akielon couldn’t help it – his gut told him to look after his omega and their baby as much as he could, and it was his duty as an alpha to make sure his partner was as happy as possible.

“What time is it?” Damen asked with his lips against Laurent’s skin, and Laurent shrugged. He only knew it was early morning. Damen’s hand slipped up Laurent’s bed shirt so he could feel Laurent’s stomach skin-to-skin, and his hand began moving up and down Laurent’s small but evident baby bump in a slow, practiced rhythm. Laurent hummed, and his eyes fluttered shut; Damen knew how to make Laurent’s omega come out and start purring.

At that moment, their baby decided to give Damen’s hand a kick. Both men gasped at once, and Laurent shifted so that he could look over his shoulder and make eye contact with Damen. “Did you feel that?” Damen asked, wonder sparkling in his brown eyes. 

Laurent scoffed and rolled onto his back so he could look up at Damen, who pushed himself onto his elbow. “Of course I did. The baby is in me.” 

Damen smiled while reaching out and cupping Laurent’s rounded cheek. Laurent knew Damen loved his glowing, rosy cheeks. At first, Laurent had been a little self-conscious of his natural pregnancy weight gain, but Damen never let him feel undesirable for one moment. If anything, the alpha enjoyed having more flesh to grab onto, more of Laurent to caress. 

Reaching up to thread his fingers through Damen’s curls, Laurent dragged him down for a honeyed, languorous kiss. Damen tasted distinctly of himself, and Laurent breathed in Damen’s essence like it was pure oxygen. Their lips moved together in a rhythm they knew well together, formed over the many years of their relationship. Laurent sighed into the embrace, because he couldn’t help it – after all this time, Damen still had the same effect on him he had from the very start. Laurent still melted into his arms like nobody else in the world mattered. 

Murmuring Laurent’s name, Damen began kissing down his omega’s neck, nipping at his collarbone before brushing his nose against the skin behind Laurent’s ear and breathing in deeply. 

“I swear, these pregnancy hormones make you smell so sweet, baby. They make me wanna devour you,” Damen said before biting down softly on Laurent’s earlobe. Laurent gasped and his back arched a little, and his mouth turned up into a smile. 

“No one’s stopping you,” Laurent responded breathily. 

Damen looked up from Laurent’s neck to grin at him, and it was heartbreakingly tender.

“I’ll take that as an invitation,” Damen said, his hands reaching for the laces of Laurent’s sleep shirt to undo them. 

Laurent sighed and closed his eyes, basking in the feeling of Damen’s hands on his skin, his lips on his stomach as his sleep shirt was parted. 

Laurent had lived a lifetime of suffering and tragedy. He could indulge in this one bright, precious thing now – the life Damen had given to him, and the new life that was about to change both of theirs. 

________________

Link to fic on AO3

#captive prince #lamen #my writing #drabble/ficlet #it's only around 1000 words

[mfingenius]

@ilovechristopheralexandershaw​ I know it took a bit, but it’s finally here :0

[Part 1]

Laurent is not used to sharing Auguste, and he doesn’t appreciate that Damianos will be taking part of the attention his brother usually grants him; still, Laurent tells himself he must weather it - he is, after all, grown now - and grits his teeth to not complain to Auguste about it.

When Damianos arrives, however, Auguste is possibly the furthest thing from Laurent’s mind; Damianos is tall - much, much taller than Laurent - and muscled, his black stallion just as powerful as him, and Laurent doesn’t know who he wants to spend more time with; usually, the answer is always horses, but, for some reason, Laurent cannot quite bring himself to look away from the Akielon Crown Prince.

His cheeks begin to turn red. 

“Your Majesty,” Damianos’s voice is deep, and it makes Laurent’s kneess weak. He inclines his head at Auguste, and then turns to Laurent. “Your Highness.”

Laurent makes a choked noise. He thinks he might be drooling. He really hopes he’s not.

“Call me Auguste, Prince Damianos,” Auguste inclines his head in return, seemingly blind to Laurent’s internal conflict. 

Damianos smiles; he has a dimple.

Laurent might faint. 

“Then I must insist you call me Damen,” he says, with an easy smile, and just like that, Auguste and him seem to have known each other their entire lives. The walk away with easy slaps on each other’s shoulders, talking loudly in Veretian and laughing often. 

“Interested?” Lazar, Laurent’s favorite guard, is grinning knowingly at him, and Laurent’s face is immediately flaming.

“Shut up,” he says weakly, staring after Damianos and his brother helplessly. 

“Laurent,” Auguste notices his absence, turning back to him questioningly. “Are you coming?”

“Err, yes.” Laurent, who has always had a way with words, seems to be struggling for even a simple agreement, and Lazar laughs quietly behind him. “I’ll have you thrown out.”

They both know he won’t, but Lazar gives him an indulgent smile. “Of course, your Highness. Shall we go, then?”

Laurent nods, and steels himself to spending the evening with Auguste and Damianos.

*

Laurent, though sometimes naive, is not dumb; he knows how many courtiers and guards talk about him behind his back, and the time spent with Damianos and Auguste is a much needed break from that; they spend their entire time surrounded by Laurent’s and Auguste’s guards, and Damianos’s guards. The Akielon guards only speak Akielon, which Laurent doesn’t understand enough of yet, so even though they could be saying things about him, he won’t know, which makes him guiltily relieved.

Auguste, who does understand Akielon, hasn’t dueled anyone yet, so Laurent assumes they don’t speak of him. He knows his brother protects him - probably much more than Laurent is aware of - and he’s not unaware to the reasons why some of the guards have been thrown out.

Laurent’s and Auguste’s guards would never speak of Laurent - likely because Auguste fired the ones who did - which means that, for the most part of the day, Laurent does not feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, just as he does when he spends time in the library - which is why he’s been there more and more often lately.

Of course, Laurent thinks, some Veretian God must’ve thought that Laurent feeling safe was too much of a blessing, and decided to make dinner worse than usual.

It is a large feast, because of the Akielon’s arrival, and the feasts are always worse because the courtiers drink too much and, more often than not, stand close enough that Laurent is able to smell it on their breath. That’s only as far as it gets, of course, because though Auguste is often occupied with other courtiers, not one of them is dumb enough to try anything with him in the room, and, the ones who seem like they might, Lazar subtly sneaks Laurent away from.

It is rare that Laurent finds himself alone, truly alone, but on this night, he does; Jord comes to tell Auguste of an ‘urgent matter’ - an apparent break in attempt in the palace - and him and a dozen other guards - including Lazar - go with him, and Laurent knows how that leaves him, so, to avoid any situation Auguste will have to save him from, he decides to retire to his rooms.

The hall is large, and empty, and Laurent hadn’t truly realized what a terrible idea this had been until he begins seeing passed out courtiers; they’re drunk and mumbling, and no threat to Laurent, but if he were to come across someone - well, he’s more alone than ever.

He quickens his pace, and then considers turning back when he comes across one of the Akielon guards; though not as big as Damianos, he is still evidently bigger and stronger than Laurent is, and Laurent knows that, if he needed to fight, he could not win.

“All alone?” the guard is drunk, evidently, and he’s grinning. He speaks in poor Veretian, heavily slurred and stuttered, but well enough that Laurent understands. “Pretty and alone?”

Laurent turns back resolutely, heart pounding in his chest. He is now heading in the opposite direction of his rooms, but it’s alright. He can just wait until Lazar returns and walk with him. 

The soldier is following him, as is evident by the sound of his steps. 

“Come, pretty. Want to - want to-” a phrase in Akielon, that Laurent doesn’t understand, but is not hard to imagine the meaning of. “You’ll look so good, you’ll love it.”

It seems the soldier is too drunk to continue in Veretian, because he switches to fluid Akielon, speaking in words Laurent doesn’t understand but doesn’t like anyway.

In his anxiousness, Laurent realizes, he has taken a wrong turn, and is now not heading towards the throne room, but towards the gardens, which are likely to be deserted at this time of night.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

His hands are trembling, and he’s considering running - though he has no doubt the other man is faster than him, he is desperate - but, a second later, there’s a loud, booming voice.

“Hey!” and Laurent has never been more relieved to see another person in his life, even if it is Prince Damianos, walking towards them with what is possibly the scariest look Laurent has ever seen on his face.

He begins speaking rapidly in Akielon, and though Laurent doesn’t understand many words, he understands enough that it is evident Damianos has heard the guard, and is furious.

The guard is stuttering out apologies, but Damianos doesn’t seem to care; he grabs Laurent’s arm and pulls him close, behind him, bodily shielding him from the guard, and sharply snaps what seems to be a dismissal. The second the guard is gone, Damianos turns to Laurent.

“I am sorry.” Damianos says, and there is such grief on his voice Laurent is surprised; the only person he has heard sound so worried about him is Auguste. “He will return with us to Akielos and then relieved of his duties.”

Laurent sounds surprised, even to himself. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

Damianos looks at him incredulously. “You are a child, Prince Laurent. Anyone who speaks that way of a child has no place in my Palace, let alone my army.”

Laurent nods, a little dumb founded, and Laurent decides, then and there, that he likes Prince Damianos. 

A lot.

“Thank you,” he says.

Damianos nods. “Were you going to sleep?”

Laurent nods, and Damianos gives him a kind smile. 

“I’ll walk you.” He offers. “Lead the way.”

Laurent really, really likes Prince Damianos.

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

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#lamen #captive prince #fanfic #mine

[laurent-ofvere]

You won't believe it but I was debating on sending you a prompt the last few days just cause this quarantine has got me so depressed. So, the prompt is D/L from the infidelity au where Damen is married to Jokaste but is in love with Laurent who babysits for them. D and J are having a huge party in their house (could be a birthday/anniversary anything really) and J is all over D, hanging off his arm, socialising while L is jealous and sad. And then they sneak off to have hot, secret, aching sex.

all credits to ruby @goldencuffs who wrote the infidelity au that this prompt is based off of ❤️

Up here, the party was muffled.

There was one floor and two closed doors separating them. From the loud music and hazy conversation, couples hanging off each other’s arms and photographs being taken. It was a distant place, one Laurent wanted to block out from his mind and forget he’d been a part of.

All he cared about were the private moments. The veiled conversations and the lingering glances. All of the little moments that led to the discreet fingers on his wrist, the walk up the winding stairs, the bedroom he was pulled through until he was pushed into a private bathroom, pushed against a mirrored wall.

“Harder,” Laurent said, now.

It was muffled by the press of Damen’s hand, clamping his lips shut and holding back any sounds he might make. He was right to. The bathroom smelled like perfume and was scattered in lace and silk. Laurent hated the sight of it, the way the scent coiled around them and made everything sweet. He wanted to be loud, to throw his head back and moan Damen’s name. He wanted everyone who passed by the bathroom to hear who Damen was fucking while his wife hosted downstairs.

“Stop,” Damen said, spoken into his ear as he removed his hand. He used it to smooth Laurent’s hair back, to gather it off his face and press his lips to his temple. “Be good.” Then he splayed his hands on Laurent’s shoulders, easing him back down on the countertop, before continuing to move inside him.

Laurent closed his eyes, turning his cheek into the marble. He could hear Damen’s dress pants sliding down his thighs as he thrust into Laurent, fast enough that it jostled his body and pressed him into counter again, and again. It felt so good; he hid his face in his arm and whimpered into his wrist. Damen pulled his hips back and he groaned again, biting down on skin.

“You look -“ Damen’s voice was labored, it was always deeper when he was inside Laurent, when Laurent had his mouth around his cock. “Beautiful. Perfect. You –“

Laurent nodded, not trusting himself to speak without letting everything else out. He was grateful that Damen had turned him around and taken him like this, there was a smudge of red on Damen’s neck that Laurent couldn’t bare to look at anymore.

“I love – “ Damen was leaned over Laurent, an arm wrapped around him, and Laurent’s heart lurched as he spread his legs wider, bracing himself against the weight. “How you feel. You’re so good. You’re perfect.” He buried his face in Laurent’s hair, fucking him hard.

Laurent wasn’t sure when he ended up on the counter top, when Damen’s shirt had come undone between his hands. Sometime after Damen had finished, deep inside Laurent with his fingers tight on his hips. His legs were spread, lossley wrapped around Damen’s waist as he panted into his mouth.

He kissed Damen sloppy and open, half pushed back against the cabinets as Damen followed him down. The arm he had braced against the wall slipped, Laurent clutched at his neck and felt his legs fall open.

He could hear how desperate he sounded, whimpering as Damen fisted his cock. He did it slowly, lazily, wildly different to how he’d just been pounding into him from behind with a hand curled in his hair. It made Laurent’s head spin; he wanted release and knew that it would mean an end to this.

“Come,” Damen said, like he knew Laurent’s thoughts, like he always knew. “Come for me sweetheart. I want to see.”

It happened with his head tipped back, toes curling in his loafers. It happened with over fifty people just beneath them, mingling in polite circles as Laurent let himself fall, forgetting every one of them. It was with half closed eyes, and a pain in his chest so large he was sure they could all feel it.

Damen was kissing his neck, coaxing him out of it with whispers of his name. Laurent stroked the hair off Damen’s forehead so that he felt him sigh, calm and sated against Laurent’s folded body. His gaze wandered the room, the rumpled lingerie, and he willed his touch to remain gentle.

Laurent would shower here, he decided. He would use Damen’s body soap and carry his scent with him, back downstairs and into the party. He would find Jokaste first, see if she recognize the sated look in Laurent’s own eyes.

#asks #captive prince #my fic #writing #infidelity tw #this is so unedited #like i cant even stress #if i look it over once ill cringe #i just had a million things pop up so i dont ave time and i wanted to get at least one prompt out #il get to more soon ily all #also sorry ruby as always for copping your ideas lmao #prompts

[thelioncourts]

How many started fics do you have?

so. many.

a lot of them are intended to be short and, in turn, i lose sight of them. others i  need more concrete direction before i brave them. here’s a snippet of one pointless one:

There were a few things Damen expected on a Thursday night.  Those things included, but were not limited to, a long session at the gym to work off his weekly stressers, a delivery dinner from his and Laurent’s favorite Thai place on Barbin Avenue, the smell of freshly brewed coffee at seven in the evening, and, most charmingly, Laurent tucked into his favorite corner of the sofa with a blanket around his hips and a book in his lap.  Sometimes, when Laurent wasn’t luxiurating in his limited time of quiet, Damen even came home to the soft music of Carla Bruni from the Victrola in the living room. 

This Thursday had been different from the moment Damen awoke in their cold bed.  Laurent hadn’t been beside him.  Instead he had been replaced by a note stating that he had left early to avoid a line at Chastillon, their favorite coffee shop, in order to have the caffeinated energy necessary to finish his comparative paper on Formalism and Structuralism.  Damen’s exam in his military strategies of Ancient Rome that afternoon didn’t go as he had hoped and he had left there silently praying that he did better than he had felt he did on it.  Right after, when he was heading to lunch, Nik texted him to cancel on going to the gym because he had the flu which meant shoulder-day was extremely limited without his spotter.  

All in all, Damen couldn’t wait to get home.  He was more than ready to mark this Thursday as being over.  But it took him walking in the door, tossing his keys on the entryway table, and stepping into the kitchen to pick up on how off everything was inside the house.  After six in the evening, Damen had the expectation of dim.  Laurent normally only had a few lamps and a candle or two lit, but tonight the house was blinding.  It was so disorienting that Damen almost missed the open bottle of red wine on the countertop.  

“Laurent?” Damen called out hesitantly, shouldering his way out of his jacket.  

“In here,” Laurent called back.  Damen followed the sound of his voice to the living room.  

Laurent’s normal corner of the sofa was empty.  He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table.  A glass of wine was next to him, precariously placed on the edge of their white rug, and there had to be at least a hundred loose sheets of paper scattered around in a semicircle, all marked up to hell and back with red pen, yellow highlight, and smudged graphite.  Laurent only had one sock on.  

“What’s going on?” Damen asked.  He leaned against the threshold to the room and crossed his arms over his chest.  If Laurent heard him, he made no acknowledgement.  He was shuffling through a stack of papers, all crinkled at the upper left corner, and his eyes were scanning a million miles a minute to find something.  When he finally looked up and locked eyes with Damen, the signs were evident.  

To anyone else, Laurent would look no different than normal.  Well, except for the missing sock.  But Damen knew better.  The wine had Laurent tense at his shoulders and loose in his expressions.  His eyes had a frazzled daze about them that matched the windswept appearance of his blond hair.  The grasp he had on his control was slipping the last of the way out of his fingertips and Damen couldn’t watch it fall the rest of the way.  

“Love, what’s going on?” he asked again.  The softness of his voice betrayed everything else about their day, their home, them in this moment.  

“This paper is due at midnight and I have nothing,” Laurent said, tossing the stack of papers in his hands over his head.  They fell loudly, like rain on a metal roof.  “I’ve had it outlined for weeks and yet the moment I try to put words on paper they come out as a jumbled mess.  It’s a comparative literature paper, for crying out loud.  But nothing I say makes any sense and --” he trailed off and heaved a sigh.  “I can’t think.”

The admission was quiet in its vulnerability.  Damen cherished the fact that he was allowed behind these walls.  

“Maybe you can’t get the words out because your head is somewhere else,” Damen suggested.  “Perhaps with Nicaise?”  

There was no ‘perhaps’ about it.  Laurent had been subpoenaed to testify on his uncle’s behalf in court.  Should the court rule in his uncle’s favor, Nicaise would be living with him until the age of eighteen.  If the court ruled against his uncle, Nicaise would be put in a group home.  Either one was a loss.  

“I’m going to go shower.  You have,” Damen glanced at the clock on the wall, “ten more minutes to keep doing whatever you’re doing.”  He gestured to the mess on the floor.  

“You can’t put a timeframe on the things I stress about,” Laurent told him.  

Damen didn’t respond.  Instead he smiled and winked as he stepped over Laurent’s 18th century literary anthology textbook and headed to the bedroom.  He shed his gym clothes methodically until he was standing in front of the bathtub wearing nothing.  Laurent must have had a similar idea earlier, only his clothes were on the bathroom floor in a haphazardly strewn pile.  Damen nudged them to the side then started the water.  

The shower was just warm enough to loosen his muscles, but not so warm as to throw him into that sleepy state hot water tended to douse him in....

i’m pretty sure i started writing this during finals a year ago? i think that was the inspo, having someone to calm me down when i’m panicking about things unnecessarily so. hell if i know.

#thickenmyblood #since i send you everything lmao #captive prince #unfinished snippet #Anonymous

[damianosismyking]

Part IX

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII

CW: Mentions of Grief and Mourning. 

In the days that followed, Laurent often found himself in a state of confusion and uncertainty he could not shake. A general and constant feeling of being utterly at loss. 

It came from being around Damen, at the main house, where he was now installed. ‘It is the least I can do’ Damen justified Laurent and Auguste having to stay there and not at Laurent’s real room, down at the stables – that wasn’t his room anymore, he had to remind himself. 

It came from not knowing how to properly behave around him because of the feelings he couldn’t name, and the way Damen was polite but distant and looked at Laurent a certain way. 

It came from spotting Damen around the ranch and watching him spin on his heels to walk in the opposite direction whenever he saw Laurent approaching – and doing it himself when Damen didn’t.

From sitting in that office in the second floor to listen to Damen talk and talk about the case and their uncle and what they’d do next, if they’d settle or go to court, if there was a chance Laurent would have to testify in front of a grand jury and whatnots, all the while Damen would meet Auguste’s eyes but never his. And when he did, when Laurent managed to capture his attention, it was for only the breath of a moment.

It came from not being sure either Damen hated him so much he could not stand a glimpse of Laurent or if it was something else that pushed him away.

Most of the loss and confusion came from being around Auguste, though.

And the more he was around Auguste, the stronger it got because once the initial shock was over, Auguste was less and less what Laurent remembered him to be.

Every attempt of apologizing Laurent made was met with a consistent sneak away from the subject to question, instead, if the sun was always this hot around here or if the sky was always this blue.

Any mention of their old lives, their parents, the last time they saw each other, or the day Laurent disappeared caused Auguste to tense and bring up the lawsuit. Whenever Laurent asked about the wife or the child Auguste left in the city to come to the countryside – still in Dice, to where they moved since Laurent saw them last – earned a quick ‘they’re great’ before Auguste was talking, for the tenth time that day, about a funny-shaped tree or a bush.

“How was it,” Laurent inquired at their third day together. “When I left?”

“I managed,” Auguste gritted out. “Let's not talk about this.”

He said that a lot. ‘Let's not talk about this’. ‘Let's not get into that’. ‘Let the past stay in the past’. ‘I managed’. ‘It doesn’t matter’.

It did matter.

Laurent couldn’t tell if Auguste resent him or if he meant it and there was nothing he was holding against him. He couldn’t tell if Auguste was as pleased to see him as he claimed to be. At times, Laurent caught Auguste watching him speak of horses and grapes and wines like he’s been narrating the most compelling story. Other times, Laurent told him about the school he attended and his job with the horses and Auguste would darken, his eyes would pierce through him and there wasn’t a single expression on his face Laurent could make out.

He tried to get into that once.

“Are you mad at me?” he questioned while guiding Auguste through a path in the woods that led to a river with water so clear you could see every fish and rock underneath. He went there with Damen sometimes.

“Never,” Auguste had reassured, so cutting and exasperated Laurent didn’t have the guts to ask again.

For days, Laurent tried not to converge too much on that.

It was thrilling and terrifying to show Auguste the place he’s been living in for the past five and a half years. The view, no matter where they looked, was dizzying, beautiful and wide. Laurent was so excited to point, at distance, the places he cherished the most; to take Auguste to the white fence where they later sat for hours talking about nothing, bantering and teasing back and forth; to show Auguste to the trees he climbs proficiently and to challenge Auguste to do the same. Ride with him through the Vineyard. Laurent didn’t find it in him to care that he sounded childish pointing and rambling because Auguste looked at him and laughed at his little anecdotes and detailed stories of the ranch.

At the stables, Laurent introduced Auguste to each horse by name, glad Auguste took him seriously as he did so. Laurent introduced Auguste to his own horse last. “Remember when I told you about my brother?” Laurent whispered, “This is him. Why don’t you say hello?”

Laurent turned to find Auguste smiling at him. Fond. Sad. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hear that you kept my brother company when I couldn’t. Thank you so much for that.” He scratched behind its ear. Laurent knew what Auguste meant to say.

However much Auguste tried to hide, he was unhappy. Like an underlying of helplessness just underneath the surface that he failed to fully conceal. It was there when Laurent described to Auguste about how he escaped and how he ended up with the deAkielos. It was there when Auguste stopped laughing at a joke Laurent told and immediately closed himself off, almost as if reminded of something inexcusable.

So, in all, Laurent was confused a lot of the time.

A week later, worried by Theomedes’ constant dissatisfied glares in his directions, the muttering under his breath that followed, and the wearyness that came from seeing Damen and never talking to him (unless it was about legal matters), Laurent convinced Auguste to sneak out to spend the night at his old room. It didn’t take much persuading before Auguste was following him down the stone path and humming along as Laurent pointed him the constellations he invented throughout his adolescence.

They sat for a picnic inside the mostly empty space.

Although Laurent packed most of everything after the break up, Auguste took his time to study the place, poking at shelves and opening boxes. Strangely apprehensive, as if expecting Auguste to give his approval, Laurent watched from the floor, leaning his weight on his arms stretched behind him.

“It’s great in here,” Auguste said at last. “The smell though?”

“You get used to it.”

They said nothing for a while, having run out of shallow topics days ago. Auguste, at some point, made a joke about them being too old and too big to share the only bed in the room and Laurent bit his tongue not to say that he knew for a fact someone much bigger than Auguste fit there with him just fine. “Maybe we should go back and spend the night at the house?”

“No,” Laurent said, “I want to stay here. If it makes you feel better, I have an air mattress somewhere, we’ll just have to find it.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He kept peaking around until, from the box of books, Auguste pulled the photo album.

Careful to contain his tremble, he opened it slowly. Then, one page at a time, breathing loud and heavy, he went through it. Part of Laurent expected Auguste to smile at the memories, point at funny baby pictures and laugh. Maybe provide context to some of the photos Laurent came up with himself, not knowing anything about the real memory behind. Instead, Auguste’s face twisted into something resembling pain. Even when all Laurent could see was Auguste’s profile, he spotted the downwards twist of his lips.

Auguste excused himself. He had to take a call, he said, although his cellphone was not buzzing. Laurent knew it was best not to follow him, but he did it anyway.

Auguste was far away, beside the fence that encircled the stable area, his hand on the wood to support his weight. By the way his shoulders moved up then down, Laurent wondered whether he was crying or trying to grasp for air. 

He stood pressing a hand to his diaphragm, probably – Laurent was not sure being so far away and Auguste being on his back and it being night already. Auguste tilted his head up them raised his shoulders all the way up to his ears; when he dropped them, he was shaking his head.

“Auguste?”

He startled but did not turn. “I’m sorry,” clearing his throat. “You were an adorable baby. I’d forgotten about that.” Auguste sniffed. 

“Is everything –” Laurent stopped. “What is wrong?”

Auguste shook his head. “I’m fine. I needed – some air, it’s all.”

Laurent waited, for some time. Then some more. Auguste no longer shook his shoulders, taking up a motionless stance instead. His sniffing decreased to a stop and after that there were only the sounds of the night. Where they’d be relaxing any other day, now they only served to amplify how Auguste wasn’t saying anything or looking at Laurent.

Hesitant, Laurent said, “What was it like? When I ran away.” He thought it was the wrong thing to ask, but it was all that he had on his mind.

Auguste sighed. “Hard.” Laurent had no reason to hope Auguste would say anything to follow-up. “I can’t even put into words.”

It was better not to push. Auguste could not make it any clearer that he did not want to discuss this. Laurent bit on his lip and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry."

Auguste shook his head again. Laurent waited for it –  don’t apologize; it’s in the past; it was not your fault . “You could have called,” Auguste's voice was barely a breath. “One time. Only once to let me know –” his voice grew thicker. “You could’ve written to me. Anything. I would take anything .”

Laurent’s heart clenched. “I’m – sorry.”

“I mourned you,” Auguste said. “I am. I was. Mourning you. I buried your casket with our parents' because I couldn’t get your – ” A long pause followed that. “I thought he killed you. I thought he’s done something, killed you and hid your body somewhere. He was so  eager  to get your custody and I didn’t know why. I thought –”

“Auguste.”

“I looked everywhere, Laurent. I turned every last stone in that town. I... broke in into his house because I thought maybe he was keeping you from talking to me. I beat him up so he’d confess he did something and he wouldn’t. I ended up in prison for a minute for that and I didn’t care because I fucked up and he won and you were gone because of me. I finally stopped looking and someone told me - I should give you a proper burial. For closure. But I couldn’t even get your body back...”

Auguste stopped when his words became unintelligible. When Laurent reached for his shoulder, Auguste shuddered, and he let go. Apologies weren’t enough and Laurent knew it, so he just stood there and listened as Auguste gasped and mumbled with his face buried in his hand.

“I’m here,” Laurent said, mindlessly

Auguste nodded into his hand and after a moment he turned. “You are," he said after a sharp breath

This time when Laurent reached, Auguste let him. Auguste breathed unevenly. “I should’ve called,” Laurent admitted.

“You could have,” Auguste almost whimpered. Laurent never comforted anyone before. “Why didn’t you?”

“I –”  was scared ;  was being unreasonable ;  Was ashamed . “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” He looked resigned.

Laurent gave Auguste’s shoulders a little squeeze. Auguste placed his hand on top of Laurent’s.

On their way back inside there was nothing Laurent could say that felt right so he said nothing. Auguste went for the photo album the first thing after entering the room and he mentioned, hoarse and with the tease of a smile on his lips, that his son resembles Laurent when Laurent was a baby. He pulled a picture from his wallet for proof.

Laurent carefully inspected the image and the beaming faces of the woman and child that were Auguste’s family. The family Laurent wasn’t a part of. One that was there for Auguste when all Laurent did was hurt him.

“What’s his name?” he asked, quietly.

“Aleron Laurent,” Auguste said. “We call him Ally.”

Two dead people , Laurent didn’t say. “Tell me about them,” he handed the photo back.

Auguste deliberated about it while carefully folding and tucking the picture back in the wallet. “Ok,” he said, then went about telling the story of how he met his wife in a support group meeting.

Laurent made sure to stay quiet and listen, not wanting to miss anything.

__

NEXT > 

Read it on AO3

#i love how u went 'OH I KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT' #and then i.... didn't write shit? #but i was so desperately unhappy w the shit i wrote that i considered dropping this thing altogether #i didn't obviously #but i'm still not happy w this #it seems logical to me Auguste would've mourned Laurent??? he had no reasons to believe the kid was alive #AnYwAy #to the 4 people who like this #THIS IS FOR U #StableBoy!Laurent au #Laurent #Damen #BARELY DAMEN OMG WHY I DID THIS #Auguste #Captive Prince #My writing #fic #CW: grief #CW: mourning

[behind-the-hood]

Date

Damen and Jokaste have been dating for a few years now. Damen sees Jokaste getting all dolled up and wearing a sexy red dress, but he knows they have no plans tonight. He asks her about it.

"I've got a date tonight," she says as she puts in her earrings.

Damen...doesn't know how to react to that.

"A date." He reiterates. "You have...a date."

"Yes Damen, that's what I said."

Jokaste kisses his cheek as she walks out the bedroom. Damen chases after her and catches her at the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you mean a date?"

She smiles, amusement shining in her eyes. "I'm seeing a coworker's younger brother so he doesn't have to explain to his parents that he's gay. Nothing to worry about."

She slips from his arms.

-

Damen learns a lot about Laurent after that. Auguste's little brother. Auguste's gay brother. Auguste's hot brother.

Auguste never told Damen he had a brother.

Damen can understand why after meeting him.

Jokaste asked Damen to give her a ride to their meeting point since her car was in the shop. Damen obliged, more than a little suspicious of the "gay" guy using his girlfriend.

Seeing a carbon copy of Jokaste standing beside Auguste was not who he expected.

Seeing all three of those beautiful blonds beside each other was like a wet dream come true.

Damen did not hang around.

-

That was the start of the fighting between him and Jokaste.

It started off small, over who would wash the dishes that night or what movie they would see at the theater the next weekend, then it escalated to how much her shopping cost them or how much time he was spending with the guys.

Jokaste started sleeping at a friend's house, and Damen started going out drinking with Nik more.

-

The break up should have been vicious, considering what lead up to it.

It wasn't. They were both very mature about it, and Damen agreed to move out because it was her apartment first. She even helped him pack, though whether that was out of the kindness of her heart or to get him out of her apartment faster is anyone's guess.

Auguste let him move in until he could find his own place.

-

Laurent spent a lot of time at Auguste's apartment, whether Auguste was there or not. Sometimes Laurent would sit around and read while he and Auguste played videogames together. Other times Laurent would come over during the night and make some food in Auguste's kitchen.

Damen didn't know why he came to Auguste's in the middle of the night to cook, but when he got up for water during the night and found Laurent cooking, they would chat. Laurent occasionally even let Damen help if he was feeling amiable.

Jokaste was still seeing Laurent, but he's pretty sure she's seeing Auguste too. Either that or Auguste has grown incredibly uncomfortable around Damen and is around the house less often for some reason he won't tell Damen.

-

Auguste is definitely seeing Jokaste.

Laurent's drunk one night and laying on Auguste's couch, a movie playing but going unwatched.

Laurent would normally be cooking, maybe baking, if he were over at this time of night. But tonight, he stumbled in, loud enough to wake the dead, and crashed onto the couch and has yet to move.

Damen sat beside him, gave him a glass of water that he didnt touch, and has been rubbing Laurent's feet since.

Laurent reeks of griva. He looks like he's sleeping with his eyes open. Damen is admittedly a little worried. He'd get Auguste, but he hasn't returned home yet.

"How do you know if you're in love?"

Laurent, drunkly, rolls onto his back. He stares at the ceiling and folds his arms over his stomach. Damen wonders if he's going to throw up.

Damen doesn't get a chance to answer before Laurent continues on.

Eyes squeezing shut, he looks pained as he whispers, "My dad's gonna kill me."

Damen doesn't know how to help. His parents had been perfectly accepting of his coming out. Damen hasn't met Auguste's parents, but Auguste didn't have positive things to say about his father.

Laurent groans.

-

Laurent did throw up, luckily only on the floor and he just missed Auguste's white rug. Damen carried Laurent to his bed, laid him on his side, and placed a bowl on the bedside table before he went to clean up the barf.

-

When Laurent finally gets out of bed that morning, Damen has breakfast cooking and some pain pills and a glass of water on the table waiting for him.

Laurent drinks his water and takes his pills and stares unblinking at the wall across from him.

Damen places a plate of french toast in front of Laurent and offers him a smile.

Laurent goes pink cheeked and stares down at his plate.

That's when Auguste decides to return home.

Damen says nothing about him smelling like Jokaste's perfume and simply directs him to Laurent, moping and nursing a hangover.

-

It becomes more and more evident that, while he's trying to be polite, Auguste is pushing for Damen to make a move on Laurent.

Damen is baffled by it. Auguste was so protective of Laurent that he didn't even mention Laurent's existence in the five years they'd known each other, and now he's trying to set them up?

Damen decides to sit Auguste down after he tries to convince Damen to go to the movies with Laurent. Laurent, who has made himself scarce since the night he showed up drunk.

"Auguste," he starts, letting out a sigh. Auguste is tense beside him. "I don't know if this is out of some misplaced guilt for seeing Jokaste--"

"You know about that?" Auguste's eyes are wide.

Damen offers a rueful smile. "Yes. And it's okay."

Auguste blinks at him, his eyes darting away. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I meant to, I just didn't know how."

Damen places a hand on Auguste's shoulder. "Look Auguste, it's okay. I just want you to be happy. And if she makes you happy, then I'm with you one hundred percent."

Auguste meets his eyes again, a smile creeping back onto his face.

Damen continues. "But you don't have to set me up with your brother just because you feel bad about--"

"No, no, no! That's not what I was doing!"

Damen raises a brow at the exclaimation. Auguste comes back to himself, and then he turns red.

"You can't tell Laurent I said anything," Auguste tells him, voice barely a whisper. "But he--"

The door to the apartment opens then, revealing Laurent. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Auguste?" Laurent isn't looking at them and he scuffs his foot against the floor. "Can I talk to you?"

Auguste shoots a look to Damen before he stands with a smile. "Of course! Anything for my baby brother!"

He wraps Laurent into his arms and smothers his head with kisses, despite Laurent's shoving and protests.

Damen has a feeling he knows what Auguste was going to say.

-

Damen ended up inviting Laurent to the movies with him.

Laurent had gone beet red, said no, and run out the apartment door.

Damen had to finish cooking the food Laurent left behind.

-

Laurent didn't come back over for a whole two weeks, but Auguste has been in a much better mood since the Jokaste reveal.

Damen is happy for them, really.

-

When Laurent finally shows back up, he's drunk on griva again. He slams straight into Damen when he makes for his bedroom.

Laurent groans into Damen's chest. Then he mumbles words that are lost into the fabric of Damen's night shirt. Normally he'd sleep nude, but Auguste kept the house far too chilly for that.

"Laurent, I can't hear you with my shirt in your mouth."

Laurent goes boneless against him, so Damen takes pity and helps Laurent onto his bed. Damen will evidently be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Laurent looks up at him, blue eyes bleary, and says, "You're really hot."

Damen chuckles. "Yeah, I've always put out a lot of body heat, sorry."

Laurent frowns. "No, that's not what I meant," he whines. "You're so oblivious Damianos!"

Laurent throws himself onto the bed and curls into the covers.

Damen can only smile at the display and head for the couch.

-

"Auguste?"

Laurent is at the door, tears rolling down his face and a red mark on his cheek.

Damen and Auguste are on high alert the moment they see him.

Laurent falls into Auguste's open arms the moment he's there and starts to cry. Damen frets from the sidelines.

"Laurent, what happened?" Damen asks, rubbing Laurent's back.

"I told Dad, that-that I'm gay...and he hit me!"

Auguste goes from worry to shock to rage frighteningly fast.

He passes Laurent to Damen, departing with a pet to Laurent's head and a threat to maim their father.

Laurent continues to cry, though quieter now, little hiccups jostling them both from time to time.

Damen walks them over to the couch and sits Laurent down.

"I'm going to get you an ice pack for your cheek."

Laurent nods and stares at his feet. He sniffles.

When Damen comes back, Laurent has stopped crying, but his face is void of emotion. Damen squats in front of Laurent and holds the pack to his cheek, gentle for the bruise and wrapped in a cloth so the ice doesn't hurt his skin.

"For what it's worth," Damen tells him, his voice low between them. "I'm really proud of you."

Laurent meets his eyes. Damen gives him a small smile, hoping to cheer Laurent up even a little. All he gets is Laurent's eyes watering up again.

Damen feels panic crawl up his spine. He didn't mean to make it worse.

He's about to start spilling out apologies, when Laurent's arms come around his neck and pull him close.

"Thank you Damianos."

Damen wraps his arms around Laurent's waist.

-

By the time Auguste gets back, it's late and Laurent has fallen asleep in Damen's bed, where he's taken to sleeping when he's over here.

Auguste drops heavily onto the couch beside Damen.

"How is he?"

Damen passes Auguste his beer, "Sleeping. Better, I guess. He said your mom took it better than your dad. She was mostly upset about losing Jokaste?"

Auguste takes a swig, passes back the beer, and nods. "She'll be pleased Jokaste is still around I suppose."

They pass the beer back and forth between them until it's empty, and stare at the tv for a while.

"I punched my dad."

Damen looks over at Auguste, but he's as blank faced as Laurent was.

"What did he do?"

Auguste shrugged. "Pretty sure he's disowning me and Laurent. But our mom still loves us."

Damen gets up and grabs two more beers from the fridge. "I'm sorry man."

"Don't be. I make plenty of money, and Laurent doesn't need someone like that in his life. I can take care of us just fine."

Damen nods and they sip their beers.

Damen crashes on the couch that night and Auguste leaves to see Jokaste.

-

Laurent spent a very long time talking to his mom on the phone the next morning, mostly about Jokaste.

Being assured that Auguste was dating her cheered Hennike up a little. Asking if he was seeing anyone cheered Laurent up a little.

Laurent had cast a glance Damen's way, a flush to his cheeks, and said it was complicated.

Damen continued with breakfast, a smirk on his face. Complicated. Okay.

-

Damen convinced Laurent to go to the movies with him that night. Laurent rejected just as quickly as he had before, but he didn't run out of the apartment. Damen managed to get him to go anyway.

It wasn't much, just a start, but Laurent smiled the whole time.

#this is a snippet that started as an idea i had and spiralled out of control #sorry for typos #part one of one #lol #hope you guys like this #damen/jokaste #auguste/jokaste #damen/laurent #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic #captive prince #capri #cp #damen x laurent #laurianos #lamen #tw: parental abuse #tw: bad coming out #is that a trigger? #im tagging it just in case #nothing graphic #but its there #bhndthhd

[nayona96]

"What would a good big brother do?" Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Things were going wrong. Very wrong.

Not for an eye untrained in the ways of Damianos Vallis, that is. But for Kastor it was obvious how WRONG it was.

It started off good enough. The three of them walked up to the De Vere brothers and said brief hellos to Auguste before turning to Laurent.

The younger blond had a carefully neutral expression since their group approached them. Kastor, although having known Jokaste for a long time and dating her for six months, still had issues with reading her face sometimes. And they were close, they talked about stuff and did things together and overall knew one another quite well. Kastor felt blessed to be trusted with Jokaste’s deepest dreams and desires. Not many could say that about themselves.

Despite all of that, he still found himself puzzled whenever Jo put on her poker face like a proper Lady Gaga fan. He couldn’t see through it as well as he would like.

So it wasn’t a surprise Kastor had a hard time reading Laurent, who he had just met, at this very moment.

“Laurent, these are my friends, Kastor and Damianos Vallis.” Auguste introduced them.

Kastor waved to Laurent while Damen laughed. “Do you always introduce people by their full name? Hi.” He offered his hand to Laurent. “I’m Damen. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Laurent’s voice was smooth like silk and pleasant to listen to, like one of those voice actors who do voiceovers for nature shows. Kastor realized he never asked Auguste about Laurent’s occupation. If the young man was unemployed, he’d absolutely recommend this career to him.

“This unpleasant guy here is Nikandros.” Auguste joked, earning a glare from Nik.

The younger blond exchanged more pleasantries with all of them. Kastor asked about his degree - it was in biology, Laurent wanted to go to vet school which was so damn cool, did you hear that, Damen? - and that started a conversation about everyone’s occupations. Nice, pleasant and proper.

Aka the exact opposite of what Kastor wanted to witness.

After some time Laurent excused himself to the bathroom, Damen and Nik offered to get everyone a drink, and Kastor took the opportunity to consult with Gus.

“What in the actual ever loving fuck, Auguste?!” He hissed.

“You’re getting less and less creative with your insults, dude.” Auguste deadpanned.

“My creativity isn’t an issue here, it’s your brother!”

Gus narrowed his eyes. “How is my brother an issue?”

“He’s nice!”

“Laurent’s not a dick, you know. He can be nice when he wants to.”

“Yeah but he was supposed to not want to be nice! Like, I thought he’d be this sassy ice queen you talked to me about. It all goes wrong,” Kastor nearly ripped hair out of his head, that’s how frustrated he was, “Damen will never fall for a nice person.”

Auguste sighed. “I think you’re overthinking it. And he dated Lykaios, remember her? She was the sweetest person on this planet.”

“He did date Lykaios but I also remember they broke it off after two months because the spark wasn’t there.” He pointed out. “My brother needs spice in the ass he’s eating!”

How Kastor found out Damen likes to eat ass is a story for another time.

Damen and Nik chose that very moment to return with beer for everyone. Passing a bottle to Gus, Damen said, “Your brother seems nice.”

There wasn’t anything indicating romantic interest in his tone and Nik released a relieved sigh, while Kastor wanted to smash something out of frustration.

He had to find a way to make Laurent stop being nice. Maybe not to the point of offending someone, despite the fact it would make Damen hot and bothered the fastest, but if the guy could throw in a sassy remark here and there, it should do the trick.

It was as if The Gay Gods have listened and answered to Kastor’s prayers, have smelled his desperation over all this Axe body spray he had used and decided to act accordingly.

Laurent strolled up to them, his expression closed off, body tightly locked and overall radiating a I’m Pissed Off Don’t Approach Or I Will Bite Your Head Off energy. Auguste was immediately on high alert, which further encouraged Kastor to be hopeful.

“What is it?” Auguste asked, eyes scanning his brother closely in search of some reason for his distress. “Did anything happen?”

“I bumped into the biggest asshole on earth, that’s what happened! Thank you.” The younger blond nodded at Damen who offered him a drink.

“I hope mojito is alright.” Damen smiled.

“It is.”

“What did the asshole do?” Auguste wouldn’t let it go.

Tenseness immediately returned to Laurent’s face. “Some idiot saw a WWF poster about saving the turtles on the wall and he tried to hit on me with a ‘I wonder if a turtle would make tasty skewers’ line.”

Even Kastor thought that was fucked up and he knew he wasn’t the brightest.

Damen looked positively scandalized. “What a dick! It’s not funny. What did you tell him?”

The words had the corner of Laurent’s lip jerk in a smirk. “I may have suggested he should end up being skewered, although the quality of his meat seems low enough even starving dogs wouldn’t touch it.”

“Where’s he now?”

Laurent took a sip of his mojito and deadpanned, “On his way to ER, I believe. He tried to grope me while sputtering nonsense so I may have sprained his wrist. At least. I think I heard something snap.”

It was as if the sun peaked from between the clouds, bathing them in its warmth and light. Nikandros looked like he was about to faint or vomit, Auguste still seemed concerned and Damen’s expression was of someone who just saw an angel descend from the heavens.

Kastor wanted to do a victory dance. His bro was half in love already.

“Nice.” Damen then mentioned, “You know, I could show you how to throw someone over your shoulder, if you felt like broadening your repertoire. Works on people bigger than you as well.”

“You would teach me?” Laurent looked hesitant but intrigued.

Damen flexed his biceps. “I own a few gyms and worked as a personal trainer for years.”

Pale blue eyes scanned Damen’s body closely and very slowly, as if trying to engrave the image into his memory. “I see.” He said, voice turning low and smooth. “I might take you up on this offer.”

Nik downed his drink. Auguste and Kastor exchanged a knowing look, the former now clearly convinced there was a spark between their younger brothers.

#kastor of akielos #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen #damen #Kastor wants to be a good big bro #auguste of vere #my writing #captive prince fanfiction #modern au

[winmance]

New work ! A big thank you to my beta @servilesammy 

The cry of the living 

If Damen had to be honest, he would say that he hadn’t thought a lot about it, at first.  

They were getting used to their new lives, their new love and their new title. It was risky thing, to decide to marry someone you hated for so long, to acknowledge that the ghosts will always be here, between you two, like shadows that never left. Some days were harder than the others, somedays, Damen would look at Laurent and think about all the pain he went through because of him. All the things he took away from him, his brother, his father, his childhood, his innocence. Somedays, he would catch Laurent staring at his back, the guilt of having caused the scars readable on his face.  

But the rest of the time – The rest of the time was pure happiness, pure love. They would kiss, hold hands, talk for hours, work together, make love together, and somehow, it was never enough.  

They mated on their wedding night, like the tradition wants it to happen. Until the very last moment, he was afraid Laurent would tell him to back off, that he changed his mind and didn’t wanted to do it anymore. He would have understood it, respected it even. Being an omega is one thing, having an alpha is another. Through Damen swore him that they would always be equal, even going as far as signing papers that would make sure that Laurent wasn’t to be left behind, it was still a life changing decision. Once the mating is done, it cannot be undone.  

But Laurent didn’t back off. Instead, he asks for Damen to put his teeth on his throat, to mark him where everyone could see, before doing him the same to him, a proof of their devotion to one another. That night, they both gave themselves to one another, promising to be on the othesr side no matter what, to share a lifetime together and to support each other when needed.  

That’s why Damen is a little confused, when Laurent’s first heat hit him and he choose to lock himself in another room, refusing to see him.  

“Maybe you did something wrong.” Nikandros says, “Or maybe you don’t satisfice him.”

“Did he tell you that?” He asks, the thought of not being enough for Laurent sending shivers down his back. He didn’t do anything wrong, not that he can remember at least, and Laurent was doing fine before his heat.  

“Of course he didn’t, you stupid head!”  

“Then why would you say that?”  

“Because you’ve been crying like a baby for the past hour!”  

Damen rolls his eyes – an act he stole from Laurent – and poured himself another drink.  

“I should have you thrown in a dungeon for talking like that to your King.”  

“Yeah but who will listen to your moan if you do that?” Nikandros sighs before putting his hand on Damen’s arm, making sure to give his friend his whole attention. “Listen, maybe he’s just not ready to have a kid. I mean, if he let you in the room, there’s a good chance you will knock him up. The two of you are working hard to get the kingdoms unified; he still needs to prove himself to the people and  show them that he is neither a traitor nor a weak omega.”

“That… make sense.”  

“Of course it does. Now get your head out of your ass and stop whining. There’s four more days until you see him again.”  

He feels like an idiot, not to have think passed his own pride. Laurent is right (as always) and he probably would have told him his plan before if he had known he was close to his heat. It had taken them both by surprise and they didn’t have the time to discuss it ahead of time. Or maybe he wouldn’t have said anything, thinking that it was just common sense.  

Before going to bed that night, he made sure that the servant bought Laurent all of his favorite foods, as well as one of his book and one of Damen’s chiffon, just in case he missed his smell. Everyday, he made sure to make a summary of what happened during the day, and he was pleased to find notes and indications on what to do in his room every afternoon.  

He was also pleased to see that Laurent was once again right: people were already talking about him, about how, even in heat, he was taking care of the kingdom. In the span of one week, he had gained more respect than either of them could have expected.  

Four days later, Laurent was back in their bed like nothing happened, the smell on Damen’s chiffon the only proof that he even went into heat.  

“Here, love.” Laurent says, taking grapes from the stand in front of him and pushing it into Damen’s mouth, “Good, isn’t it?”  

“Delicious.” Damen replies, his cheeks turning a shy red as a result of Laurent’s action. They’re in the middle of the street among the people, and he can feel all  eyes on them. It was Laurent’s idea to come here, something about being see as accessible so everyone would know that they care deeply about their people. Through Damen couldn’t care less, never having needed a reason to take a walk in his city’s street.  

“Why don’t you make me taste it, then.”  

Damen frowns at first, not quite sure of what Laurent is expecting from him, before he sees him opening his mouth slightly.  

He smiles then, taking grapes to his mouth, Laurent’s wet lips brushing against his fingers and sending a shiver down his spine.  

“Delicious.” Laurent repeats with a wink.  

“Not as delicious as you are.”  

Laurent rolls his eyes in exasperation, but Damen can clearly see the beginning of a smile on his face. He’s about to lean for a kiss when he sees a woman approaching them, little kids running around her.  

“Pardon me, my Kings, but the children prepared a performance for you, if you would like to see it.”

The kids around her are sending them bright smiles, and even if he wanted, Damen wouldn’t have the heart to tell them no.  

They follow them to the village square, where more children are already waiting, and after making sure that their Kings are settled, they start performing their magic tricks.  

“We’ve heard you were quite fond of magic, my King.” The woman whispers to Laurent.  

Damen giggles next to him, which owns him a death stare from Laurent.  

Sometime during the show, the kids start coming to Laurent and asked him to be a part of it, which he indulges with a lot of kindness.  

It’s not the first time that he witnessed Laurent’s sweetness with children. He’s seen it multiple times now, the way he would act kinder than with anyone else, taking anything they would offer to him and giving them something in return.  

He watches as Laurent shows the children one of his own tricks, making them gasp in surprise, and flashes of what could be their lives soon start popping into his mind.  

“You’re good with children.” He says once they’re heading back to the castle.  

“I’m good with everything.”  

“Yeah, you are.” He laughs, “You know, seeing you with them today, it made me realize how eager I am for us to start our own family.”  

He expects Laurent to answer him, or at least smile, but instead, his face closed off completely, any emotions disappearing from it.  

Once the night as fallen, Damen’s approaches are welcomed by a frigid body, leaving him to sleep on his side of the bed, his mind trying to figure out what he did wrong.  

The next time it happens, they’re in the middle of a meeting with their advisor, the poor man screaming with all his lungs to make himself heard, only for each of his arguments to be crushed by Laurent’s answer.  

“Do as you wish.” The man says, collapsing back on his chair, knowing full well that he won’t be able to change Laurent’s mind any time soon. “But your children may suffer from this decision, once it’s their time to reign.”  

“We won’t have children.” Laurent replies calmly, as if he hadn’t spent the last two hours fighting with the man in front of him, “And I always do as I wish.”  

Damen’s blood runs cold at Laurent’s words, but he tries to keep a straight face, refusing to let it show. It’s like his whole world is crushing, the life he thought he would have disappearing in front of his eyes in a moment, the future he imagined so many times burning to ashes, and worst of all, the realization that their relationship isn’t as equal as he thought it was. He may be the alpha, but Laurent is the one making every decision, and there’s not a thing he can do about it.  

He doesn’t know why Laurent doesn’t want to have kids. He has a few theories, of course.  

The first one is that Laurent doesn’t want to be seen as inferior to him. It’s silly, of course, but even now people tend to see omegas as baby factories, and being pregnant would only confirm their doubts about his capacity to be a King.  

The second one is that he may be scared for their child’s life. After all they’ve been through, all the pain and treason they’ve suffered, it would make sense for him to be scared that the same thing will happen to their child. If they both were to die, there would be no one left to look out for their baby.  

The third one, and the one Damen tends to believe the most, is that Laurent doesn’t want to have a child with him. Perhaps a part of Laurent is still angry about Auguste’s death, about the pain he went through because of him, and even if he loves him, having a baby with him may be too much. Maybe he doesn’t want to violate what is left of Auguste memory, to have a child that would look both like his brother and the man who killed him.  

“Why are you staring so hard,” Laurent says, dropping the book he had been reading and walking toward Damen, sliding between his open legs, “when you could be kissing me instead?”  

“I’m admiring the view.” He replies, tucking Laurent’s hair behind his ear, “Do you know how much I love you?”  

“I do. You love me almost as much as I love you.”  

He honestly thought it was a good idea. Nikandros told him that it wasn’t, going as far as calling him an idiot, but he sticks with it. He doesn’t want  Laurent to be bereft of any sort of happiness because of him, not ever.  

So he waits until    the    right moment, which appears to be before bed,    with    Laurent’s head resting on his chest    like a pillow   , ready to fall asleep at any    moment.  

“You know, we could use a different alpha.” He proposes, “You could choose him, and he could come in here.”

“You want to invite a man    into    our bed?” Laurent frowns, straightening himself.  

“Well, I mean, there’s    not really another    way to do it.”  

“Doesn’t I    satisfy    you anymore?”  

“What? Of course you do!” He hurries to say, “But I know… I know you don’t want to carry my child, Laurent, and    I’ve thought about it   . A lot. I don’t care if the child is mine or if it isn’t. As long as it’s yours, I’ll love it with all my heart.”  

“You want…” Laurent stops, his jaw clenching furiously. “I won’t be some stranger cum dumpster just because you want a child, Damianos. If you want one so badly, I suggest you go to someone else. I’m sure plenty of people    would    be willing to give you a child.”  

He gets up from the bed, covers his naked body with the first piece of cloth that falls under his hand, and storms out of the room without any more words.  

Maybe he should have    listened    to Nikandros.  

He’s not sure why he    woke    up. The sun is still not up,    there’s    darkness surrounding the room, and not a sound can be heard, not even the discreet footstep of the servant preparing their breakfast, another sign that he should be sleeping. The spot next to him is still empty, Laurent having    not returned from wherever    he went off to. But he can feel a presence in the room, not far from the bed. Someone is here.  

“It’s just me.” Laurent says, breaking the silence.  

He breathes out, relief spreading through him only to be quickly replaced by guilt.  

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry we didn’t    understand    each other.”  

“I’m your husband and your omega. I should give you an heir.”  

“No, Laurent, it’s not that. I don’t want a child to have an heir, nor do I want a child just to…    have    it. I wanted… I don’t know. For you to be happy. For us to have a family.”  

“I told you before, my line ends with me.”  

“You said a lot of things, before. Some of them happened to change over time.”  

“Not this one.”  

Damen sighs, knowing that he is not to win this argument.    Truth    is, he would    rather have    Laurent hating him than hating himself.

“Come to bed, my love.”  

Only a few seconds    pass    before the sounds of Laurent can be heard, and as soon as he is reachable, Damen    puts    his arms around his waist and pulls him against his chest.  

“I simply wanted your happiness. Nothing more. I don’t care if we don’t have a child together, as long as it is what you want. We can always    name    someone as our heir when the time comes.”  

“But you want a child.”

“I want you to be happy more than I want anything.”  

When Laurent doesn’t say anything more, Damen concludes that the conversation is over, and he starts falling back asleep, his hand caressing Laurent’s shoulder gently.  

He knows Laurent is about to speak before he even    opens    his mouth. He knows it’s important when he feels him    shaking slightly    in his arms.  

“I was pregnant, once,” Laurent begins, “I was fourteen, and I couldn’t… I kept thinking this is my uncle’s child. This is him, inside of me, growing, spreading like a disease, I didn’t… I didn’t want it in me, I felt disgusting, dirty, even more than I used to, but I couldn’t go to Paschal. Or to anyone. He would have known, he always knows. So I…” He paused, refusing to let his voice break down more than it has already begun to.

Damen wants to tell him to stop. To tell him that he doesn’t need to say anything else, that he could have    stopped    right at the beginning, and he wouldn’t have    pushed    for more. But he doesn’t. Instead, he listens to Laurent, knowing that this is what is    expected    from him.  

“There’s only a few books talking about it and only one saying how to do it.” Laurent continues “There was so much blood, so much…    but    I kept telling myself that death was a better option than keeping it inside me. That at least I would see Auguste again, and my father and mother. I was alone in my room, on the floor, a piece of tissue in my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.  It hurt. More than I thought it would, more than what was    written    in the book. I should have taken something for the pain, but I wanted to have my mind clear. I passed out at some point    and then    I woke up and I just…    cleaned    everything.”  

“Laurent, I-”

“I went to Paschal a few years after, when I knew I could trust him.” He says, “I knew something was wrong but I wanted to be sure.    Truth    is, I didn’t even care at first. I never dreamt of children, not for a long time at least. Then I    fell    in love with you and everything    changed   . I went back to him, asked him if he could do something, but I was too damaged. Still am.” Slowly, Laurent turns    toward    him, and even through he can’t see him in the darkness of the room, he can almost hear the tears    falling from    his face. “I want to give you a child, Damianos. I want it, more than anything. But I can’t. I took that away from us. I took this happiness away.”  

“You didn’t.” He hurries to say, taking    Laurent’s    hands in his. His own tears are running freely    down    his face, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is the pain Laurent went through, the anger he had    towards    his uncle and the fact that even dead, he still has a way to hurt them both. “You didn’t    take    anything away from us, Laurent. You were brave and you did what you had to do.”  

“Don’t you understand, Damen? I can’t give you a child. I knew that, and I still    agreed    to be your husband, to be your mate. I should have    told you    before we    got    married. I should have    given    you a chance to be happy.”  

There’s anger raising through his voice, as if he was expecting Damen to hate him for it, to resent him, like he    hates    himself.  

“Don’t ever    say    that you took happiness away from me. You make me happy like no one else ever    has or ever will   . I would have    married    you in a heartbeat, even if I had    known   .”  

“You say that now, but maybe you would have changed your mind if you had been given a choice.”  

“No,    I    wouldn’t have. You can’t carry our child, I understand that. But I believe- I believe a child is more than blood. It is love, hard work, devotion, acceptance. I don’t care if our child doesn’t look like us, I    only want    us to raise him together, to share our love with him, I want us to make him happy and for him to make us happy back.”  

Laurent is quiet after that, and if Damen    hadn’t been    holding his hands, he would have thought    he left    the room.  

“People will talk.” He simply says.

“People always talk.”  

“We could…    we could    use another beta or omega, ask them to-”

“No.” He says immediately. “I won’t bed someone else. I won’t be able to love a child knowing that I cheated on you to conceive it.”

“It wouldn’t be cheating.”

“It would. For me.”  

“You wanted me to do it only a few hours ago.”  

“It’s different. I thought I was the reason you didn’t    want    to have a child.”  

“What? Why?”

“I- It doesn’t matter. What    matters    is that I know the truth now.” He frees one of his    hands    and    lifts    it to Laurent’s hair, caressing    him    gently. “I don’t care about having a child, Laurent   .    You’re the only thing I care about.”  

He expected Laurent to stay silent for a moment, or to simply drop the subject, but instead, he breaks down crying, his body collapsing in Damen’s arms and holding on    to    him as if he was the only thing    keeping    him alive.  

The    last time he saw Laurent crying was after    Nicaise’s    death, and it was not nearly as bad as this, only one tear running down his face. He wonders how long he had been turning this    over    in his head, thinking about the way Damen would react, about what he would say or do.  

So he    holds    him tight, all night long, until exhaustion    takes    both of them away   ;    when they wake up in the morning, they make slow love, reassuring each other through their    movements   , the weight of    secrets    not holding them back anymore.  

“I should    go into    heat in the next few days.” Laurent says, “Could you make sure to check on the new merchandise once it arrives? “  

“How do you do    that   ?”  

“You open the boxes and you make sure everything is inside?”  

“No, I mean. Your heat. How do you…    satisfy    yourself?”  

“Oh.” He replies, his cheeks turning a light red. They’ve been married for over a year now, but Laurent’s heats are still something forbidden for him. “I have… toys.”

“Toys?”  

“Yes.”

“Maybe…    maybe    I could stay with you? I miss you when you’re not here and I read that    omegas    and    alphas    are supposed to get through the heat together.”  

“I miss you too.” He admits, “My body is calling for you, during    the    heat. It’s hard not to have you inside of me.”  

“My body is always calling for you.”

“   Heats    are quite intense, you know that?”  

“Is    that    a challenge?”  

“No, but maybe you would like to warm yourself? See if you can handle it?”  

He barely    finishes    his sentence before Damen is throwing him    onto    the bed, a deep laugh escaping Laurent’s lips as he does so. If they both arrived half an hour late to their meeting, the reason why is    no one’s business but their own   .  

Heats are intense. It’s sweaty, messy, wet and exhausting, but there’s    no place    Damen would rather be. He spends half the day making love to Laurent, fucking him in all    ways possible   , letting him take whatever he wants from him, and when they’re done, he takes care of him and    sleeps    with his cock still inside of him. They still use the toys, through he’s almost sure Laurent never thought    before about using them the way they do now.  

After that, they    spend    all of Laurent’s    heats    together, cherishing the moment and seeing it as an opportunity to be alone together for a whole week without having to care about anything else.  

Damen waits anxiously in front of their bedroom door, fighting against the urge to simply burst    in   . He doesn’t know why he    listened    to Laurent and left the room in the first place. He should have    stayed   . Who cares if he ends up being sick    too   ? He needs to be by Laurent’s side.  

They were travelling back to Vere when Laurent started to    get    sick. Of course, it may have    started    before and he simply kept quiet about it for all Damen knows. They were in the middle of their morning cuddle when Laurent complained about his stomach, only to turn around and throw up all over the floor. They didn’t    take    Paschal with them, choosing instead to take his new apprentice, but Laurent refused his services, claiming that Paschal is the only one that he trusts with his health.  

They had to wait three days before being able to see him, during which Laurent state    switched    from ok to awful in a matter of minutes.  

“Is he ok?” He hurries to ask as soon as he    sees    the door opening.  

“   He will    be.” Paschal says, a smile on his face. “I’ll leave you alone. He needs to rest.”  

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave the bed anytime soon.” He promises, sitting on the chair next to the bed. “What do you have? Is it bad?”  

“No, it’s not. Quite the opposite, to be    honest   .”  

“What? What do you mean?” He frowns, not following    Laurent’s    reasoning. How could being sick be a good thing?  

“I… It appears that I wasn’t –    that    I’m not as    damaged    as we thought I was.”  

“I don’t follow you.”  

“I’m pregnant.”  

“You’re…    what   ?” He asks again, his heart beating too    hard    for him to comprehend everything. “But Paschal said –    he    said you couldn’t.”  

“He said it was nearly impossible. I should have    known    better. Impossible is not a word that seems to be in your vocabulary.”  

“We’re having a baby.” He says, ignoring Laurent words.  

“There’s still a chance that I lose it, Damen. It’s a risk that we cannot ignore.”  

“No, you won’t. Because I’m gonna take care of you and forbid you    from     stressing.”  

“We have a kingdom to run. We can’t escape stress.”  

“Watch me.”  

Laurent smiles, finally, and Damen    leans in    to kiss him before    resting    his forehead against his.  

“We’re having a baby.” Laurent repeats. “I never thought… I buried that dream a long time ago. I    should have known by now    that you have a tendency of resurrecting them.”  

“Can we agree that it    means    I have a magic cock?”  

“Perhaps you don’t want this to be your reaction when    we tell    this story to our child.”  

They    laugh   , the euphoria of the moment taking over until    neither    of them is able to    breathe   . Damen can already picture their future, and it’s full of    moments    like this, the two of them laughing with their child next to them.  

As Paschal    predicted   ,    Laurent’s    pregnancy is far from easy. He gets pain, a lot of pain, that leaves him clenching    his    teeth and    crushing    Damen’s hands. He cannot sleep properly, cannot walk freely and has so    much    discomfort that Damen is getting more and more worried with    each day    that goes by. He doesn’t stop working, of course. Everyday, Damen has to bring him the news, uptdate him on what is going on, and Laurent    makes    the decision from the bed that he isn’t    allowed    to leave after he hits seven months. Damen wishes he would simply rest and stop working, but he quickly    understands    that it allows him to think of something    besides    the pain, so he makes sure to tell him everything, even going as far as planning a meeting in their room.  

When he    goes    into labor, Damen is right next to him, holding his hand and encouraging him as    best he    can. Not for the first time, he wishes their roles were    reversed    and he was the omega.  

Laurent doesn’t scream, refusing for the whole castle to hear him even after everyone    assures    him that he should let it go and no one could have    guessed    a baby was coming until they heard his first scream echoing through the room.  

“He’s perfect.” Damen whispers as soon as Paschal put their newborn son on Laurent’s chest, “Look at him. He’s so…    little   .”  

“Hello, my love.” Laurent says, holding the baby’s hand in his    own   , “I’ve dreamt of this moment for so, so long.”  

“Welcome to this world, Adeem.”

Maybe the ghosts will always be here with them but now, the living are lourder.  

#Captive Prince #damen/laurent #omega laurent #alpha damen #Laurent of Vere #damen of akielos #hurt/comfort

[goldencuffs]

aberrant affairs

Laurent Revere comes down the wide, glossy staircase wearing a sheer, silk shirt that matches the pink in his cheeks and lips, and jeans that are too tight to be appropriate. His golden hair is neat, styled with care, and it shines brighter than the chandelier he stands under. He’s still wearing his ring, a giant cut of diamond that is obnoxious, yet tasteful.

“Goddamn,” Lazar mutters under his breath. His mouth is open, and his gaze is glassy.

Jord agrees. Goddamn. No one should look this sinful two days after their husband’s death.

“Gentlemen,” Laurent greets politely. His voice is husky, a gentle purr that is seductive to its core. “I apologise if we’ve met before, but I can’t seem to place your faces.”

Jord shifts his jacket so it falls open at his hip. There, his badge gleams in the lighting of the foyer.

Laurent’s eyes fix on it for a few beats before he tilts his head. “Ah,” he says. “Please, follow me.”

Laurent leads them through his mansion with ease. The hallway itself is grand, high ceilinged and designed with white marble. The room they eventually end up in is ostentatious; it overlooks the sea, and the minimal furniture in it are gold trimmed vintage pieces.

“Coffee or tea?” Laurent asks, so sweetly it catches Jord off guard.

He clears his throat.“Coffee.” He adds: “For both of us,” when he notices how dazed Lazar still is.

Laurent busies himself making coffee for them in the corner, where an expensive, steel machine rests on top of a gold plated bench.

Jord’s gaze is helplessly drawn to the curve of Laurent’s backside, the tops of his thighs and the white of his feet, which are bare. It somehow makes Laurent look both boyish and expensive.

Lazar is staring too, but with less subtlety. They both catch themselves at the same time and turn away; guiltily, they turn their faces out towards the view of the sea.

Laurent comes back with three cups of rich coffee balanced on a silver tray. It smells divine, and Jord picks his up with too much eagerness.

They sit in silence for a while. Jord watches Laurent carefully. His skin, lily white, is unblemished: there are no dark circles or red rimmed eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s been mourning. He doesn’t even seem shocked. Nothing about Laurent suggests he’s just lost a husband. Instead, he looks regal, like a spoilt, bratty sugar baby that’s never had to work for anything in his life. Jord’s blood boils.

Lazar puts his cup down with a small clink and says, “I’m sure you must be wondering why we’re here, Mr Revere.”

“Please call me Laurent, detective,” Laurent says. He watches the both of them over the rim of his cup, his blue eyes steady. “And yes, I have been wondering.”

Jord says, “We have some questions about your husband’s death.”

Laurent wraps both palms around his cup and nestles it on his lap. His nails are clean and his fingertips are pinked. “Oh?” he says, and god — Jord finds himself genuinely impressed. The kid is good; he legitimately sounds confused.

“Where were you on Saturday evening?”

“Here,” Laurent blinks, his long lashes fluttering. “At home.”

“Was there anyone with you?” Beside him, Lazar is dutifully writing down Laurent’s responses.

“Just the usual staff.”

“And why weren’t you with your husband at the gala? It seemed like a pretty big event to miss.”

Laurent’s lips purse. “I had a terrible headache.” He pushes back his hair on his forehead with the delicateness of a virgin milkmaid from a period drama. “I’m prone to them quite often.”

Jord — barely — keeps from rolling his eyes. He asks, “What were you doing when you received the call that your husband died?”

“I was getting ready for bed. I was —” Laurent’s chin quivers enough for it to be noticeable, the first real signs of distress. “I was waiting for him to come back.” His voice wavers as he says it. With a polite cough, he excuses himself with a meek, “I’m terribly sorry.”

It’s so convincing. It’s confounding how effortless his acting is. It’s why Jord says, lightly, “Well, at this point, you must be used to those kinds of calls.”

Jord finds himself subjected to Laurent’s sapphire gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean,” Jord begins, “is that being married to you seems to suddenly drop a man’s life expectancy. Twenty six years old, and all three of your marriages have ended with your husband’s untimely deaths.”

Laurent’s face goes ashen.

Jord doesn’t fall for it. He’s not going to be swayed by such a pretty face — isn’t going to be another victim in Revere’s life.

He knows Laurent’s history by heart at this point; he and Lazar have been vigorously studying it for the last two days.

Laurent’s first husband, a refined gentleman from a small village in Kempt, had died just seven months into their marriage. The second, a professor at one of Akielos’ most renowned universities, had died in his sleep. He’d only been married to Laurent for six weeks. Laurent’s last husband, a famous socialite with ties to the Patran royal family, had dropped dead in the middle of his speech last Saturday at a private gala with over five thousand witnesses, just shy of their one year anniversary.

All three men had several unfortunate things in common: each had been extensively older than Laurent, wealthy, and had been so enamoured by Laurent, they had married him within months, sometimes weeks, after meeting him.

Jord has done this long enough to know that three of anything is never a coincidence.

Sitting in a multi million mansion, watching the sun catch the gold of Laurent’s hair, he can see exactly why a lonely, older man with a fortune to spare would be so eager to capture Laurent’s attention.

Laurent’s response is cold, composed, but underneath his thin shirt, his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood, detective, but are you — insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s death?”

Lazar leans forward. “You do have to admit, Laurent, that it is incredibly suspicious that every single husband you’ve had has died shortly after marrying you.”

It’s oddly gratifying to see how much colour drains from Laurent’s face. But the tears that suddenly well in his eyes makes Jord pause.

“Get out,” says Laurent, quietly. His words are so choked, at first, it’s hard to make them out. “You have no right — how dare you —” Laurent cuts himself off, frustrated, and still breathing heavily. “Just go. I don’t want either of you in my house.”

Jord almost declines; he wants to push more answers from Laurent, wants to let him know that a few tears won’t dissuade him from getting to know the truth. Then he thinks better of it; they have time. Jord isn’t going to rush this case.

So he stands. Lazar does too.

“We’ll be off then,” Jord says. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr Revere.”

Laurent mutters something too quiet for Jord to pick up on. From his tone, it isn’t hard to guess what, though.

Still, probably trained under his husband — husbands — to be as gracious as possible, Laurent stands too, intent on leading them to the doorway.

In the foyer, there’s a tall, well-dressed man standing near the staircase. His features suggest he is Akielon through and through: his nose is straight, eyes and hair both dark, and underneath his suit, it’s obvious he is nothing but muscle. He is stunningly attractive, although not exactly Jord’s type.

When he sees Laurent, the sheer joy on his face is blinding. It dampens considerably as his gaze shifts to Jord and Lazar.

“Hey,” the stranger says, in rough Akielon, addressing Laurent. “Erasmus just let me in, but he didn’t say you had company over.” Once again his eyes roam over Jord and Lazar, but almost against his will, his attention is quickly stolen by Laurent.

Laurent offers a small smile. “Damen,” he greets, and his voice is pleased, a little relieved. “These lovely gentlemen were just on their way. Detectives, this is Damen Vallis, my best friend.”

Jord watches Damen’s eyes narrow at the word detectives, but his smile is friendly as he shakes their hands.

And then Damen steps closer and finally takes a good look at Laurent’s face, his red eyes and pink nose. The anger that contorts his face is so sudden, it startles Jord. From the corner of his eye, he can see Lazar raise his eyebrows.

Still in Akielon, Damen says, “What the fuck did they say to you?” It comes out biting, harsh.

Laurent winces. In a placating gesture, he places his hand on Damen’s forearm. “Nothing, I swear. I’m alright.”

Damen shakes off his hand with a grimace, mouth pulled tight. The disgust on his face is evident.

Laurent looks hurt, but doesn’t outwardly react. He seems to realise that Jord and Lazar are still there because he says, “Just wait in the living room, okay? I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Damen nods, curt, and stomps off, his fists clenched. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone else.

“Sorry,” Laurent says, after a brief pause. “He isn’t normally so rude, but his clients have been giving him grief lately.”

“He’s a lawyer?” Lazar asks, and Laurent nods.

“Best in the state,” he says, genuine pride in his tone.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Since forever. Our families are very close.”

Jord nods, only half listening. While they walk through the same marbled hallways, he thinks of the look on Damen’s face when he had caught sight of Laurent: smitten, completely besotted. There was a strange violence thrumming under the surface of his anger when he had realised Laurent had been crying. But those things aren’t necessarily abnormal. It isn’t uncommon for best friends to be so loyal.

It’s the way Damen reacted when Laurent had touched him that keeps replaying in Jord’s mind. Something about it had seemed off.

It isn’t until they’re back in the car that he realises what had bothered him about it. Laurent had touched Damen with his left hand, the hand that still had his ring on it.

Damen had seemed… outraged over the fact that Laurent was still wearing it.

As they drive off, Jord watches Laurent step back inside his mansion and thinks he might have misjudged him, after all.

#captive prince #damen x laurent #this was inspired by susannas seven husbands #which my friend recommended to me #which i did not like lmao #but the idea was interesting so here it is in capri form #also inspired by one specific quote in capri #you know the one #my writing #my fic