A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m really loving these character and this series. Thank you for your wonderful responses. A special thank you to the people who looked this over for me.
This is unbetaed, all mistakes are my own
***THE TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED**
“Your turn,” Dean hands you the shovel, “I dug the last one.”
“Oh come on Dean,” Sam protests, “she’s had more than a month off, she-”
“She’s standing right here,” you look pointedly at Sam, taking the shovel from Dean, “I got this, you boys just stand there and look pretty.”
Sam rolls his eyes, Dean chuckles, “Do you remember how to do this sweetheart, it’s been awhile.”
“Shut up, even rusty I can dig a grave twice as fast as you,” you can’t help but smile, pushing the point into the ground, taking out the first shovel full of dirt.
“Do you want me to time you?”
You flip him off, continuing to dig as they talk for a bit, discussing the corpse that in a matter of time you will be salting and burning. After about ten inches, another shovel hits the hard ground a few feet from yours and you look up to see Dean there, “You were moving too slow.”
john woke up this morning to sherlock snoring softly in the pillows next to him, face smushed, hair wild, limbs akimbo, taking up too much space in the bed, and on the whole it all seemed so unlikely and so silly that john giggled a little with affection, and sherlock snorted and woke up and lifted his head in confused curiosity to see what john was giggling about at this hour, revealing a pillow line imprinted on his cheek, which made john giggle again, and sherlock realised john was laughing at him but in the i love you so much it feels like laughter just to look at you way and not the bad way, so sherlock slumped across the bed and huffed and grunted and collapsed on john’s chest where he could feel the laughter moving in him, and sherlock muttered, having a hard time sounding disapproving around the smile on his face, you’re ridiculous, and john pet his hair and hauled him closer and said, we make a good match then, and sherlock hummed and said, you know, i think we do
Summary: With a righteous blow, Arthur defeated Vortigern, destroyed the looming tower, and had taken his rightful place on the throne, vowing to do whatever was necessary to defend the kingdom, and her people. He was a King of the people; honest, compassionate, hard working. Everything that Vortigern was not. There was just one thing missing; the woman he was betrothed to as a child. There is a saying, after all; every king needs a queen. Characters in this chapter: Arthur Pendragon, female reader, Vortigern Pendragon, Hannah [minor ofc], unnamed doctor Characters mentioned: Uther and Igraine Pendragon Pairing: Arthur Pendragon x female reader Word Count: 1,057 Warnings: Canon violence mentioned, mistreatment of a woman, betrothal Author’s Note: This is @winchester-writes baby. I am so thankful she thought to include me in it.
Our work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
There wasn’t much before the fire that you remembered. It was as if you were born of flames and screams, thrust into a life of filth and servitude. Your master, Vortigern, treated you like a lame dog, kicking you about, giving you barely enough scraps to survive. You slept in the dungeons where it was damp and cold year round. Snow would drift in, settling on the bars that you had come to call home. Sometimes, in the early spring, a small bird would come and visit, chirping happily at your feet. Closing your eyes, you liked to imagine it was telling you about life outside the walls that held you captive, when in reality, the small bird was begging for food and water. Everyone - save for the king and his family - in the kingdom was starving, even the wildlife.
Growing bold, you had asked Vortigern many times, “If I do not please you, why do you not kill me?”
Vortigern struck you, splitting your lip with the large rings that adorned his knuckles. “When will you stop asking me that infernal question?” he seethed, chest heaving, power thrumming thick in the air.
Gathering yourself, you spat blood on the floor. “Only when you answer.”
“I keep you alive as bait,” Vortigan snarled. Grabbing you by the hair, he hauled you through the castle, and down to your cell. “One day, Arthur will come for you, his betrothed, and on that day, I will strike him down.”
You weren’t allowed to leave the dungeon after that.
Sam hasn’t been blackout drunk for a couple of years, not since the night that he got Dean back from demonhood and put away nearly an entire bottle of Jack. That time he woke up face down in his pillows, fully clothed with his dislocated shoulder shooting violent bolts of pain down his spine. This time, he comes to with the sky wheeling white above him, his clothes damp and his knees muddy and twigs and leaves in his hair. He sits up, hauls himself to his feet and staggers forward a dozen yards or so to emerge onto a jogging track, a woman in bright lycra thudding past with headphones in her ears. His legs are bruised and aching and his mind is… fuck, so foggy, a great roiling cloud of nothingness, and he has to stop thinking about that right fucking now if he wants to stay calm. He runs his hands through his hair, dislodging a beetle and a shower of debris, tries to straighten up his clothes. He finds his phone in his pocket, the screen shattered and dead. Great. But the next woman down the track has a guy alongside her, a personal trainer maybe, so Sam steps forward hoping that he won’t intimidate them both away.
“Hey,” he says, hoarse. “Can I – I’m sorry. Can I borrow your phone?”
Halloween wasn’t for everybody, but its main perk was obvious: the excuse to dress up as a colourful character with minimal judgement from the public. And anybody could appreciate a good costume, whether one dressed up or not. You couldn’t help but admire some particularly intricate outfits as you walked to your favourite coffeehouse: Rika’s Coffee Shoppe.
It was a crisp day; just warm enough that trick-or-treaters could openly wear their more practical costumes. The sun was close to setting, so there were a few witches sporting warm scarves, and you spotted one or two ninjas wearing a fluffy hat. You had to smile at that; practicality and panache collided.
As you swung the cafe door open, the usual bell that you were familiar with hearing was replaced with a witch’s laughter.
That’s different, you thought, looking up in surprise and seeing a tiny plush pumpkin swinging where the bell used to be.
“HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” Someone screamed from the counter, then laughed when you flinched.
“Seven!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp, but an involuntary smile starting across your face.
There were three of the usual baristas at the counter: Seven was leaning casually near the register, doing nothing useful, Saeran had his head down as he wiped the counter down, and Yoosung was finishing off the drinks for a small group of girls at the end. The twin redheads were wearing coordinated costumes; Seven was dressed as a pharaoh, complete with ornate headdress and jewelry, and Saeran had a mummy costume on. However, on closer inspection as you came close, you realized Saeran was wearing his favourite sweater and jeans underneath costume bandages. He didn’t look like he had planned his costume.
“…Did you get ambushed by Seven this morning?” you asked the quiet barista.
“How could you tell?” he deadpanned, giving you a bland look.
You both shared apologetic smiles, yours warm and bright, his cool but not unfriendly. Saeran often got caught in the wake of his brother’s shenanigans. It was all too easy for you to imagine Saeran coming down to breakfast, half awake, only to be attacked by Seven with a giant roll of mummy bandages. Thankfully, this was one of Seven’s more harmless pranks.
“Your usual?” Seven called to you from the register, his heavy jewellery tinkling as he waved enthusiastically at you.
“Yes, please!” you answered, heading over to him, already pulling your wallet out.
“Aw, but you didn’t even look at my special menu~!” Seven pouted, motioning to the chalkboard behind him, “Look! I worked so hard on it!”
You raised your eyebrows, then looked up to the menu board. There were fancy mixed drinks designed especially for the holiday. Some were cold, most were hot, and they all had names that had something to do with Halloween, like “Boo-berry Tea” and “Vampire Elixir.” And somebody had doodled decorations representing each drink beside their description.
“Oh, those are cool!” you complimented, seeing how detailed the new drinks were, “Did you make the recipes up yourself?”
With a glint in his eye, Seven started to answer, but Yoosung quickly interrupted, stuffing a napkin into the red-head’s mouth. You saw that the blond was wearing a black cat costume, with a leather belt for a tail and black mask over his face. He looked oddly familiar…
“Saeran and I did,” Yoosung interjected, giving Seven a dirty look, “We stayed up late for the past three nights, taste testing and experimenting. Seven was supposed to help, but he ended up just sucking down whipped cream the whole evening. If he even showed up.”
“What…well…I named the drinks!” Seven protested, his eyes filling with alligator tears.
You smiled at their antics, knowing this was a typical day for all of them. You half-listened as you continued looking at the new menu.
“Nope, still Saeran and me,” Yoosung insisted, crossing his arms and ignoring his friend’s tears.
“I…wrote the board?”
“That was Saeran! You were supposed to help, and you didn’t show up at work until we were already almost done decorating the board. And then you said, ‘Eh, you’re almost done, anyway!’ then you ate a whole cup of whipped cream.”
“…I drew the kitty pawprint in the corner there,” Seven said meekly.
Yoosung fell silent. You saw him glance at Saeran, who was now polishing the coffee mugs. He made a tiny nod, and Yoosung’s expression softened.
“Fine. You drew…” the black cat turned his gaze to the board, searching for Seven’s handiwork, then he frowned again when he found it, “…that dinky thing right there? That’s it?!”
“Have you chosen your drink yet, valued customer?” Seven jumped in, hurrying to lean over the counter towards you with begging in his eyes, “Please?”
“Um…I would like to try…could I get a Dirty Werewolf?” you requested, looking at a Chai-based drink. It looked hot, spiced, and tasty.
“Comin’ right up!” Seven said eagerly, and with that, he ran off to the back room, out of sight.
He ran so fast that your hair shifted in the direction he had disappeared to. Even Saeran and Yoosung looked stunned.
“Do…” Yoosung paused, then looked to the back room door, “Why…?”
Saeran openly sighed and continued with polishing mugs. Seven didn’t take long; soon, you all could hear his footsteps reapproaching…as well as someone protesting?
“…-et me go! My shift doesn’t start for another half hour! What’re you doing, Seven?!”
Crashing through the door, the red-haired prankster hauled another of the cafe’s baristas behind the counter. There was a blur of red mixed with silver hair, and suddenly, a tall, beautiful man in costume tail and ears stood before you.
“Your Dirty Werewolf, just like you ordered!” Seven grinned, motioning to his coworker.
“I’m not dirty, you-…oh. Oh!” Zen started to growl at Seven, but he stopped and softened as soon as he realized that it was you at the counter, “Uh…h-hey! Hey, how are you!”
You smiled and greeted him back, slight embarrassment colouring both your faces. Zen had been your secret crush since you started visiting this cafe. He was handsome and sweet and courtly, with just the right amount of romantic cheesiness to make you weak at the knees without feeling too guilty about it. Being who he was, he was always popular with the other ladies who visited the coffeehouse, but he always drew a rose on your coffee cups when he served you. You didn’t know if it was special, or not, but the gesture still warmed your heart.
“You’re a werewolf!” you said, gesturing at his ears and tail.
“Yeah! Not a dirty one. Not really. Just a werewolf,” Zen said quickly, the points of fangs barely visible as he spoke, “Uh…what’re you dressed as?”
“Hm? Oh…” you looked down at what you were wearing, then chuckled, “Uh…the heroine from one of my favourite games. She wears a beige sweater-dress like this one.”
“I like it! You’re really cute!” Zen blurted, then clapped a hand over his mouth.
Seven started to laugh, but Saeran slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, stifling his own laughter with his other hand. Yoosung, you could see in the corner of your eye, had slapped his forehead before continuing to pour a drink.
“Really?” you asked without thinking, the notes of hope in your voice completely silencing the twins, “Th…thank you! I like your costume, too…it suits you.”
Zen chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders, and he leaned more casually against the counter. “I’m glad you like it.”
“He wasn’t even gonna dress up until V said it was mandatory,” you thought you heard Yoosung mutter to Saeran.
“I, um…I ordered a Dirty Werewolf,” you said shyly, “But I was kind of expecting the one with cinnamon…”
“Oh, wel-“ Zen started, but mid-word, Seven shoved a stick of cinnamon into his mouth, effectively silencing him.
“As ordered,” Seven grinned, ignoring the glare Zen was sending him.
“Please take the Zen to go,” Yoosung sighed, handing a completed handcrafted beverage in a travel cup to Zen, “He’s been making your drinks with ‘extra TLC,’ as he calls it, since you first started visiting, and frankly, it’s getting exhausting.”
“Really?” you asked again, constantly being surprised that evening. You turned your gaze to a now openly blushing Zen, “You…you have?”
“…guys, I really don’t need the interference,” Zen grumbled, “Do you have any idea how emasculating-“
“Is that a flower that you’re drawing on that cup, there?” Yoosung asked, looking pointedly at your Dirty Werewolf.
All of you could see that Zen was drawing a rose onto your cup with a special red marker he had in his apron pocket.
“…your drink, princess,” Zen mumbled, holding the drink out to you.
“Thank you,” you smiled, taking the cup and subconsciously cradling it over your heart, “…I’m sure you draw flowers for all the girls.”
“…Just my favourites,” Zen said reluctantly, then coyly added, “And I only ever have one favourite.”
He gave you a smouldering, suggestive gaze, and you felt your face heat up in response.
“Um…s…so when does a Dirty Werewolf get off work?” you said offhandedly, the slight quaver in your voice betraying how casual you wanted to sound.
Saeran had to stifle Seven’s giggles again.
“About 10:30, tonight,” Zen said sheepishly, “How about you come here, and I’ll treat you to dessert?”
“I’d like that! Um…I’ll see you then?”
“Yeah! ..and happy Halloween!”
iT’s sTiLL HaLLoWeEn sOmEwHeRe…!
So, @monkeyhazard on the Zine Team posted this:
So. That inspired this fic! And Halloween gave me the excuse to make Zen a werewolf. Otherwise, we’d have a crazy, supernatural coffee house AU, and that’s a bit of a hat on a hat…
Yoosung’s costume was a reference to Chat Noir (from Miraculous Ladybug)! Saeran, I wanted to tease with Seven, and I wanted them to have matching costumes. Jumin and Jaehee were supposed to make appearances, but they didn’t really fit into the story… Jumin was supposed to be a magician, but all he did was add a cape, and he happened to be pale from a cold, so he was accidentally dressed as a vampire. Jaehee, I wanted to wear a maid costume. V and Rika were supposed to be a Grim Reaper (black cloak, anyone?) and Neil Gaiman’s Death, but again, I didn’t have much of an excuse to add them.
alex + ‘why do you always have to be such an asshole’ + ‘if you’re going to keep running your mouth, i can think of a few ways to make you shut up’
You’re not sure why people like him so goddamn much. Maybe it’s his hair, that’s almost always perfectly messy. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, with a sense of confidence that’s larger than average. Or maybe it’s the way he seemingly has a permanent smirk on his face. Regardless of all of that, Alex Summers pretty much has the entire student body wrapped around his finger. Except for the staff - the teachers hate him, rightfully so. And how you found yourself in detention with him? That’s all his fault, thank you very much.
Alex used to be your friend. In fact, he used to be much more than just your friend. He used to sneak in through your windows on the weekends, and he used to buy you flowers. But all of that? You’re not sure what happened. Maybe it was the way his strict parents made him feel suffocated, or maybe it was just the people he started hanging out with. Regardless, you didn’t like who he had become.
But that was then, and this is now. And now? You’d rather be doing pretty much anything else than stacking books with him right now. It’s an hour into detention, and you’re ready to strangle the life out of him.
“I’m just saying, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here right now.” You spit at him, as quietly as you can.
“Me?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You were the one who decided to yell at me in the middle of lunch.”
“You were the one who decided to trip that kid on purpose!” You hiss through your teeth, gripping the spine of a book. “I was being a good person and sticking up for him. Why do you always have to be such an asshole?”
Alex stops and breathes out a mock laugh, shaking his head in annoyance. He sets the book in his hand on the shelf and steps towards you, sizing you up.
“If you’re going to keep running your mouth like that, I can think of a few ways to make you shut up,” Alex says, voice eerily even.
You swallow hard and feign offense, ignoring the way his voice seemingly got lower as he said those words. Alex takes another step towards you as you try and get your hormones under control, willing yourself not to do anything stupid just because he knows what gets you going. His eyes drop to your lips for a brief second, before darting up to look at you again.
“In fact, if I can recall correctly, you definitely liked the ways I used to make you shut up.”
He’s licking his lips now, and looking at you like he’s a predator, and you’re his prey.
Fuck it. You never had good impulse control anyways.
Your hand fists his shirt demandingly, and you’re yanking him down to your level faster than he can process. The kiss is messy and the power play is fucking insane as his tongue slides against yours, his large hands gripping your waist. The second his tongue gains control he’s pressing you against the bookshelf, the punishment of detention the last thing on his mind. Your hands are in his hair, and he’s practically hauling you off the ground by how hard he’s grabbing your hips. His mouth leaves yours with a smack as he presses open mouthed kisses to your jaw, one of his hands moving to cover your mouth before it gets the two of you in trouble.
The second his fingers nudge against the lace and cotton of your panties, you let out a hard breath against his hand, your fingers curling around his wrist. His hand leaves your mouth, as he moves to lean his forehead against yours. It’s quiet as he freezes his hand, his eyes two shades darker.
“My place,” You mutter after what feels like a million years. “My place tonight.”
He just gives you his signature smirk and pulls back a fraction of an inch to brush a loose piece of hair out of your face.