THIS IS TOO MUCH - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
Ever since Merlin was a small child, Hunith had always bombarded him with loving touches. She carried him whenever she could, and when he grew too big to be carried, she left him with warm hugs and soft touches on his cheeks. She wiped his tears when he cried, and intertwined their fingers on cold nights as they slept.
Arthur, on the other hand, could not remember the last time he was touched by his father in any way other than a firm clasp on the shoulder. All his life, he's known nothing but side glances and firm remarks. No one was there to wipe his tears away when he cried, and certainly no one was there to hold him on cold nights as he slept.
He was the prince of Camelot, after all, and everyone knew that princes cannot be soft.
Which was why, the first time that Merlin went in for a hug, Arthur immediately flinched back.
They stood in silence for a few moments before Arthur left, unable to stand the tension in the air. Not thinking much about it, he had rendered it just another one of those awkward little moments with Merlin that would soon dissipate from his memory.
Oh, how wrong he was.
Arthur found himself unable to move on from it. He spent that night turning in his bed, wondering what it would've been like if he accepted Merlin's hug - The warmth and comfort that he had only ever seen given to others. He fell asleep wondering what it would feel like to be embraced by another.
Merlin doesn't do it again, at least not for a while. It was understandable, especially after Arthur reacted so drastically at his first attempt at closeness, but Arthur still couldn't help but spend another few sleepless nights regretting his reaction.
Because he was the prince of Camelot, and if Merlin - irresponsible, reckless, sarcastic Merlin - wasn't willing to touch him, then no one was.
So when the second time came - when Merlin, most likely without thinking ("when does he ever think?"), went in for a hug, Arthur hugged back.
He wrapped Merlin in his arms, and oh, it was bliss. The warmth and the comfort and the closeness that he had heard so much about were all real. He couldn't help but tighten his arms around the other boy's thin body and lean in, rendered helpless by a sense of aching intimacy.
Questions immediately appeared in Arthur's mind: How had he survived up until then without touches like these? If Merlin had never been assigned as his manservant, would he have gone his whole life without experiencing this? And now that he's finally experienced this, how could he go without it for the rest of his life?
The thought pained Arthur, so he squeezed even harder.
They didn't talk about it afterwards, but Arthur knew that Merlin knew. Arthur had exposed the softness underneath his hard exterior, and now Merlin knew.
And lord, was it great.
Their previously rare touches turned more and more common. Soon, putting on Armour turned into lingering touches on Arthur's body, and training sessions turned into Merlin haphazardly wiping the sweat from Arthur's forehead as he leaned into the cooling touch on his skin.
Sometimes, if Arthur was feeling brave, he’d even initiate some of these touches.
He’d hook his finger with Merlin’s as they walked to the stables, running his thumb against whatever skin he could reach. He’d warm Merlin’s seemingly forever cold hands by gently pulling them into his own bigger ones. He’d walk up silently behind Merlin as he’s softly humming a song while polishing Arthur’s armour, and wrap his arms around his waist, burying his head into the crook of Merlin’s shoulder.
It was like Arthur's mind was trying to reclaim all touches lost to the years. He craved skin - Merlin's skin - on his. He craved the way Merlin's fingers ran over his muscles. He craved these moments of intimacy where he wasn't Arthur Pendragon, the prince of Camelot, and he was just Arthur.
And somehow Merlin knew of this insatiable craving of his, because he was always giving and giving and giving. Arthur never openly asked for the tender touches and the soft trails of fingertips against his stomach, but Merlin - lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Merlin - was always there to give.
The love in Merlin was overflowing, and Arthur was there to catch every last drop of it.
And as Arthur was still human (despite how hard he tried), there were times when he wept.
Arthur cried the same way he cried when he was a child - with his shoulder shaking, his eyes shut, and his hands trembling. He also used to sob with his mouth open and with his grief audible like any other child, but that had long been scolded and beaten out of him.
However, despite the habits that he brought into adulthood, the nights when he cried were no longer like the lonely nights that he suffered through as a child - There was no ache in his chest as tears ran down his cheeks. No biting the collar of his shirt as he attempted to stay quiet. No harsh words to keep him silent.
There were, in their place, gentle caresses to his forehead as Merlin smoothed back his hair, murmuring words of comfort under his breath. A warm shoulder to lean on as he cried quietly. Thumbs that wiped under his lashes and nimble fingers that caressed his cheeks.
A voice that cooed and replied, “I'm here, darling” when Arthur whispered, “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin” through his tears. Lips that pressed against his as another sob seeped out. Arms that wrapped around Arthur, and gentle hands that ran themselves comfortingly over the expanse of his back until they both fell asleep.
And what a joy it was, to have someone who wiped his tears away when he cried, and someone to hold him on cold nights as he slept. To be touched and held and loved.
What a joy Merlin was.
Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh
𝙭𝙞. 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚
! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !
「Contents List」 「Act 1」 「© Oct 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」
The man assesses you coolly from top to toe; every inch of you itches under his gaze.
He burns the cigarette down and tosses it, crushing it underfoot. He speaks on the exhale, his voice thick: “We’ve got a word for people like you.”
“Oh yeah?”
He runs his tongue over his teeth and smirks. “You should go back inside.”
When he shoves past, you grab his blazer sleeve. His eyes flash muted rage when he turns back; butterflies muddle with the fear, so addictive. Too much cortisol shortens your life. Too much of Chan might do the same. Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you don’t think.
“Get your damn hand off me.”
“What’s the word?”
He scoffs. “Let me go.”
“Not until you—”
“Why do you think you were invited tonight?”
Why?
“Jisung said we should come,” you reply indignantly.
Chan looms; you let go of him when he steps near. “And why would he do that?” he asks.
“They’re friends? You all are.”
He’s close enough to smell the ash on his blazer. “We met two days ago. Minho’s not a friend. He’s a booty call.” He cocks his head. “So are you.”
His tone is condescension; he means to insult you. Little does he know; you’re not like other girls. Not like anyone. You’d offer your wrist to that sharp jaw given half a chance.
“Why would you want booty calls when you have each other?”
Chan startles momentarily, then glares. “You know about us?”
You nod. He stares at your lips, your eyes, the fiery red of his hair ablaze under the orange lamps. Feels like he wants to see inside your head. “Want and need are two different things,” he says quietly. “And I’d do anything for them. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
“What does that even mean—”
He steps abruptly away. “Go back inside,” he repeats. “If I know Jisung he’ll be dragging your boyfriend into trouble by now. And by that, I mean he’s probably blowing him in the bathroom.”
“Minho’s not my— Wait, what?”
Chan huffs an unamused laugh. He lights another cigarette, head hung low as the smoke envelops him. “Go ahead,” he says. “Get yourself a front row seat.”
As before, he means to wound you. Presumes that feelings live between you and Minho and implies that his infidelity should hurt you— he wants to hurt you. You see it in him; the ability and the wish. So, so little does the man know.
You rush back into the club, aching with imaginings of what you might find. A beautiful boy on his knees pleading for his mouth to be filled by the man you’ve craved for long years. You’re glad of the sensory overload when you get back inside; the dancefloor is so tightly packed you can’t discern one body from another. Looking for Minho’s head of ashy blonde is pointless.
It’s a familiar span of broad shoulders that you recognise; when you reach him, Changbin’s face lights up.
“You feeling better?” he shouts.
“Where’s Minho?”
He grins wolfishly. “He went off with Jisung.”
A swift blast of machine smoke engulfs the crowd. There are screams. People jumping, flailing.
“Went off?” you shout.
“Bathroom.”
He’s probably blowing him in the bathroom.
Changbin is hot on your heels when you start off again; when you find the bathroom, the line is insane. Cutting to the front earns you insults that’d make a sailor blush, but all go ignored as you peer around open cubicle doors and down the row of urinals manned by strangers.
“Minho!?”
Changbin catches up; he grabs your wrist. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Finding my roommate.”
“Minho! You in here!?”
A familiar cackle floats from the rearmost cubicle. Surging towards it, there’s more laughter, then a groan, a gentle hushing.
Fuck.
At the door, you call again, “Min?”
There’s panicked movement, and the stall door creaks open to reveal your roommate in such state of dishevelment as can only be induced by one thing. His cheeks flush and lips swollen. His trousers undone. Glitter all over his face; like the fairy took up bukkake. Clarity returns to his eyes when he sees you.
“Is... Jisung?” you stammer, breathless.
The door opens fully; Jisung is a mess equal to Minho, shaggy locks unkempt and tan skin exposed under red flannel that’s newly torn at the collar. He drops a palm to the thick swell of his crotch. Not so much covering as cupping. Squeezing. So fucking big.
He grins lazily.
“What’s up, cutie?”
𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ♡ 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡
< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >
NINJAGQ
'Ninjagq, Spinja Masters' is a completely original story about me, Jerald, and my friends Kyle, Zachary, and Calcium. Enjoy my first comic. I know, it's incredible.
me: this is too much
someone: what is?
me: *gestures vaguely*
With a Little Help—Chapter Six
John Deacon x Reader
Summary: A soulmate AU in which you don’t know who your soulmate is until after you both have fallen in love. While you’re searching everywhere for your soulmate you fail to see that he could very well be right in front of you.
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: hello all!! so sorry this took me so long but it’s finally here!! hope y’all enjoy and lemme know if you wanna be added to the tag list!!
chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five
“What the fuck was that?” Anita asked as soon as the door had shut behind John, her eyebrows nearly in her hairline. She had witnessed what was one of the most intimate moments she had ever seen, let alone between two people who weren’t dating. “And don’t you even dare tell me nothing because that was not nothing. That was as far from nothing as I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t know, I don’t fucking know anymore,” you let out through a groan, feeling the beginnings of tears form behind your eyes. “God, this can’t be happening to me. This is not happening to me. It’s not. I am not going to become a bloody cliche, it’s not happening.”
You went to your bedroom to change into sweats and she followed, standing outside your door while you did so. “You need to give me something to go off of, Y/N. That was…”
“Insane? Ridiculous? Absolutely absurd?” You said, opening your door harshly. “Fuck! This isn’t happening!”
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