#washed-up-warlock

[miupow]

Just Like Magic! | K. TH

“𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩.” -Blaise Pascal

❝You're a novice witch in love with her mentor, something frowned upon and taboo, especially when it comes to magick; but you just can't help it, Taehyun is simply too talented and handsome! you're content with admiring from afar... but when you get ahold of an ancient spellbook with a recipe for a curious potion, your curiosity takes over.❞

✦ PAIRING: warlock!kang taehyun x witch!fem!reader ✦ RATING: NSFW, MDNI! ✦ WORDS: 6.8k ✦ WARNINGS: smut, dom!taehyun, sub!reader, fantasy au, dubcon elements, aphrodisiacs, oral sex (f. and m. rec), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, wet dreams, f2?, power imbalance, powerplay, name calling, degradation kink, rough sex ✦ A/N: this is not proofread! inspired by an ask from @napofamoon~~ your brain is so huge and i love it so much, so happy to be mooties w you :3

taglist: @wintertxt , @boba-beom , @wolfytae-exe , @takemehye , @naomiarai , @mapofthemazeinthemirror , @bunnie-hq , @doumachi , @numxra , @soobinsbuns , @taegimood , @jeniihss , @soobabby , @hhoneylix , @beargyuuzz , @fullbodyblankets , @xenkimmie, @ttaesoob , @shinyngirl , @lxnoluvr , @blxxsss , @ode2soob, @beom-gyubears, @ashiixari, @lurking-coconut , @horanghaelovr , @yyeonzi , @paegesoobin , @nightlyhyuka, @i814hue, @f4iryfever

Taehyun had warned you that this witch was a bit of a hoarder, but nothing could have prepared you for the marvel that was her cottage; from the floor to the ceiling old and rickety bookcases flanked every possible open space, packed to the brim with every book you could have possibly thought of, accompanied by all sorts of trinkets, herbs and crystals-- your eyes scanned over the washed-out spines, fading ink hardly legible on most of them; A Hundred and One Ways To Use Fairy Dust. Potionmaking for the Hearth and Home. The Greater Area Magickal Beast Encyclopedia. Simple Charms For Everyday Life. "Hey, Taehyun, look at this!" you called over your shoulder, already anticipating your mentor's irritated sigh. "There's a book all about magical mushrooms, wouldn't that help us with this stupid assignment we're on--?"

You reach out for the battered green textbook but Taehyun's quick to slap your hand away, brow furrowed over his big brown eyes-- he was cute when he was angry, and you delighted in annoying him to his wit's end. "I said don’t touch anything; Don’t make me look like a fool when we're only here for ingredients. And we're here on the behalf of the Crown, thank you, nothing about this is stupid. You're being childish."

"He's made us travel half across the kingdom for a fancy cologne, essentially. I think it's a little silly." you retort under your breath. Taehyun turns away from you sharply with an angry huff, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from grinning.

"It's a luck spell, not a cologne. Don't you want our Prince to succeed at his first banquet?"

"He just wants it for all of the girls that will be there," you laugh. "You and I both know this has nothing to do with his royal duties and everything to do with his flirting skills."

"And that's none of our business." Taehyun answers curtly, though the tick in his jaw shows you that you've struck a nerve-- your mentor had known the crown prince his entire life, grown up with him, and while he cared about him like a brother the Prince also never failed to irk him (and you) with the most outlandish requests. "We're just doing our jobs. Now stay here and keep your hands to yourself, understand? Don't go anywhere, don't touch anything, and I'll be back shortly. I just need to get these mushrooms from the herbalist."

“Why can’t I go with you?” You pout. “You always make me stay behind.”

“Just do as I say.” Taehyun snips, jaw clenching as he begins to walk away.

"Yes, sir." You reply, rolling your eyes at Taehyun's retreating head.

"Good girl," He replies over his shoulder, curt and clipped. An all-too-familiar heat rushes to your cheeks at his words. You used to hate it when he addressed you like that.

You hardly ever listened to what Taehyun told you anyway, so you were quick to continue browsing through the countless shelves once your mentor was out of sight-- you couldn't pass up an opportunity to surround yourselves with the things you loved most; spellbooks. After spending a childhood surrounded by those who hated the craft, your fearful family forbidding you from ever practicing the natural talents you had been born with… you couldn't get enough of reading anything you possibly could. Besides, Taehyun just adored leaving you behind like some squire, never including you in any of his duties– you had to learn for yourself one way or another.

You tip-toed your way through the winding labyrinth of bookshelves, eager fingers and eager eyes analyzing every tome, scanning any title that piqued your interest. It all seemed to be standard fare, however, things that you had read and studied before, so you left them unbothered on the shelves… except…

You had glanced right over it initially, gold title too weathered and faded to read, but its cracked leather cover kept calling to you as you continued down the shelves, making you turn around and walk back to its spot nestled in-between two much larger tomes. Dust stuck to the pad of your finger when you ran it down the book's spine, marveled at the purple cover-- most of the cottage's windows were covered up by all of the piled-on clutter inside, keeping everything veiled in comfortable shade, but cracks and beams of the bright, warm sunshine seeped through and caught the little book in the most mystifying shimmer. You'd never known leather to shine like that, like little crystals embedded into the fabric. Your curiosity gets the better of you; without much self restraint, you pull the small book down in a cloud of dust, tickling your lungs-- you resist the urge to cough the best you possibly could, lest you alert Taehyun or, Gods forbid, the owner of this cottage. You managed a strangled little wheeze instead.

You turn the book around in your hands, inspecting it's cover from all angles; there's nothing on the back, just smooth, purple-ish leather, and the writing on the spine is illegible, but the title is still bold and striking on the front. In careful, hand-written penmanship the words "Love Magick" were written, nothing else. No author's name, no description-- you should just put the book back and carry on, keep yourself out of trouble, but you just couldn’t help from cracking open the pages.

"What an interesting little spellbook you picked, that one." a withered old voice creeps from over your shoulder. "Wouldn't have been my first choice."

You yelp, fumbling, rushing to shove the book back on the shelf-- the old woman behind you laughs, bright and cheerful, and a spindly wrinkled hand comes to pat you on the shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't-- I mean, I wasn't--!"

"Oh, don't apologize now, dearie. Books were made to be read, after all." She snatches the little spellbook out of your hands, catching you off guard, and takes a hold of the small crystal bifocals that hang around her thin swan neck on a beaded chain. You gaze at her quizzically, taking in her odd appearance; several large gold rings adorn her crooked fingers, matching the gaudy bauble earrings hanging from her ears, so large they made her short, thin frame even frailer-- swathed in a shapeless, faded periwinkle dress that had leaves caught in the hem, grey hair frazzled and reaching up towards the sky, she glittered just as brightly as the spellbook did. She moves the little glasses up to perch on her hooked nose, squinting deeply at the cover of the book, and it took a few moments of perplexed investigation before her wrinkled and sun-spotted face lit up in recognition. "Ah, I remember this one! I haven't looked at these pages in quite some time."

You supposed this must be the herbalist, but you distinctly remember Taehyun describing her as much younger than the woman standing before you. "I'm sorry, madam," You apologize again, twisting your hands together nervously. "I wasn't snooping around, I promise--!"

"Don't lie, now." The old woman chuckles, tracing one long and painted red fingernail over the book's cover. "You were snooping. But that's quite alright, a little curiosity is good for the soul."

You blink owlishly.

"You know, this is one of the rarest books on these shelves," she continues, beady eyes looking upwards to regard her enormous collection. "I've been here for a very long time, and I have many, many books, but there is only one of these little books right here."

"Only one?" You ask quietly, giving the spellbook a wide-eyed stare. It twinkled back at you like it was winking. "Why is that?"

"Why, because I wrote it, of course!" She smiles, flipping quickly through the yellowed pages, regarding them like old friends-- you supposed that they were, in a way. "Many, many years ago. It's nothing fancy, darling, just some home recipes. You can take it if you'd like, I'm far too old for this kind of spellwork now. I think you'd have much more use for it anyway.”

"What, really?" Trying not to seem too eager, you take the book back when she hands it to you, run your fingertips across the title. "What do you mean? I couldn't possibly take this, ma'am--"

"I saw the way you were looking at that handsome wizard you came with, you know. You're ever so obvious." the old woman giggles, her deep set eyes twinkling with mirth. "I remember being young and in love… magick could always help with that, you know."

You squeak and flush hot, head whipping around to make sure no one else was near-- if Taehyun heard any part of this conversation, you'd never be able to look him in the eyes again. "No, it isn't like that! He's my mentor, that's all!" And that's all it will ever be, you thought sadly. Nothing more, nothing less.

"If that's what you would like to believe…" The old woman shrugs, a smile still gracing her wrinkled face. "But I insist, take it. It was calling for you, dearie… it told me itself! Now hurry along before we both get in trouble--"

"Grandma!" another unfamiliar voice calls, a pretty young witch twisting her way through the bookcases to approach you and the old woman. Taehyun followed her with a covered basket nestled in his arms; the ingredients that you had come here for, you presumed. You shove the book haphazardly into your satchel, praying neither of them had noticed anything amiss. Taehyun had irritatingly sharp eyes. "Grandma, I thought I told you to stay in the garden!"

"I was just talking to this lovely young lady here," The old woman-- the Madam's grandmother-- replied brightly, briskly hobbling over to the young witch's side. "You know old hags like me never listen."

"You're not a hag, Grandma, don't say that… I'm sorry about her, she's gotten a little wild in her old age." The Madam sighs, intertwining her arm with her grandmother's. The old woman seemed to find this entire ordeal incredibly amusing. "You're both free to leave now, thank you for your patience. I hope those mushrooms serve the Prince well."

"Thank you, Madam," Taehyun bows, always so polite. He turns and begins to walk to the cottage door, motioning with his fingers for you to follow-- you scramble after him like a lost puppy.

"I like him," You hear the old woman say as the two of you depart.

You had walked to the cottage and therefore had to walk back to your shared hut on castle grounds; you had spent the entire time getting there complaining, but now you followed Taehyun quietly and with your head down as you both trekked through the trees. "You're awfully quiet." Taehyun remarks casually, turning his head to regard you with an unreadable expression. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing." You reply, maybe a little too quickly. Taehyun raises an eyebrow. "Just thinking is all."

It felt as though there was a hole burning through your satchel.

You waited until late that night to finally take a proper look at your new spellbook, having shoved it haphazardly under your pillow when you and Taehyun had finally returned home-- only after you had triple-checked that your mentor was sound asleep did you feel comfortable enough to pull it out and read it. Certainly you were making it a much bigger deal than it needed to be, it was just a book after all… but something about it and what lied in it's pages felt forbidden and sacred to you, something that you should keep hidden from Taehyun, his condescending smirk, and his prying eyes.

Maybe he would get the wrong idea, quite like the old woman. You had no intention of using any of these spells on him.

Holding the candle you kept by your bedside for light, you took in the spellbook's cover once again. Its deep purple color was faded and washed out, dusty and dirty and ages old, yet it was even more beautiful in the moonlight. The night sky shone through an open window near your bed, catching the cover like little stars captured and woven into the leather… You could never place it inconspicuously on Taehyun's bookshelf, amongst his boring canvas-wrapped manuals and journals. You could never place it anywhere where he could possibly find it at all; it was far too brilliant, too eye-catching. You would simply have to keep it tucked away in the safety of your bedroom.

You crack open the book, it's spine cracking from disuse. Instead of a proper book, like you had expected, your eyes met the pages of what seemed to be a journal; pages and pages of messy scribbles and notes, crammed on small pieces of twine-bound parchment, recipes and spell incantations and notes about any spellcasting ingredient you could possibly think of. There were even diary entries among the notes, meandering paragraphs about that old woman's personal life many years ago… No organization, no cohesiveness, just pretty cursive words muddled together and jumbled on top of each other in a confusing mess… It was endearing, an insight into her youth, and you adored every page.

And then you saw it. Halfway through the journal, tucked away between two uninteresting diary entries, you discovered a folded up and torn out page. With careful fingers you picked it up and peeled it open, casting the spellbook aside for now-- and to your surprise you were confronted with the recipe for a love potion.

Simple but Powerful Love Potion

Ingredients:

-2 quarts of standard potion base; fresh moonwater charged under the full moon

-a large handful of dried rose petals and a single thorn, ground in a mortar and pestal to the consistency of a fine powder.

-a small spoonful of crushed siren scales

-one large mother of pearl

-2 small sticks of Licorice root

-a few strands of unicorn mane hair

-a single droplet of pure love

Directions:

Over a burner, prepare the moonwater in a small pewter cauldron, keeping it away from sunlight. Bring the base to a boil before adding the licorice root and mother of pearl, and then lower the heat and leave the potion to simmer overnight. The next day, add the crushed rose petals and thorn, unicorn hair, and siren scales. Stir clockwise until the potion turns a bright pink, and then leave to sit for another night. Last, add the droplet of love, give one clockwise stir, and your potion is complete.

P.S. Please use sparingly, a little goes a long way! Perfect for stupid men who won't take a hint.

You stare at the paper in disbelief. Is this what the old woman meant by you making "good use" of her spellbook? Surely not! She was a woman of the craft, she knew as well as you did that any romance between apprentice and mentor was looked down upon, not to mention when it was aided by magickal intervention… The herbalist must have truly been telling the truth when she said her grandmother had started to go mad! You couldn't even fathom the consequences if you were caught doing anything of this sort-- you'd be stripped of your titles, expelled from your studies, exiled even… and Taehyun…

Taehyun would never forgive you. He'd be disgusted by you.

You shove the recipe back into the book and shut it with a dull snap, toss it away from you like it was poised to attack; you hated yourself for entertaining the thought for even a second. Taehyun wasn't just your mentor and your crush, but your friend, and you couldn't possibly do that to him! He trusted you, with his pretty dark eyes and his cocky smirk, and his big, warm, veiny hands with thick calloused fingers that rested on your lower back when you were nervous in public and needed comfort. His thick arms with muscles that bulged out of his tunic sleeves when he rolled them up, his sharp teeth that he liked to bare when he sneered. His gentle, soothing voice and his never ending generosity and politeness that were a pinnacle of him even when he was one of the most stuck up people you could think of. You couldn't ever do anything like that to him, even if you died a little bit inside every day that he never seemed to glance your way.

But… you thought, reaching back over to the discarded spellbook with a shaking hand, it wouldn't hurt to re-read the recipe, just in case.

"Taehyunnie?" You ask sweetly, peeking your head into his study. "Can I ask you something real quick?"

Gathering most of the ingredients had been relatively easy. If anything, you were caught off guard by the ease in which you put together your secret potion, hidden and bubbling away in the safety of your bedroom, a place Taehyun never dared to enter. You snuck to and from Taehyun's packed pantries whenever he was sleeping, prepared everything exactly as the recipe had stated-- you had never made a potion before, but you had a fairly good feeling that you were doing a fine job. Most of the ingredients were common potionmaking faire anyway, things you had observed Taehyun fiddling around with in the past, things you had on hand and the basic knowledge needed to prepare… except for one small detail.

Your potion sat simmering a pretty opaque pink, which meant it was ready for that little "drop of love" the recipe called for, and then it would finally be done… but you could not for the life of you understand what that could even mean. How in the world could you possibly get your hands on a droplet of materialized love? Was that even possible?

Taehyun looked up from the book he was reading with an annoyed sigh, hooded eyes searching the room before landing onto yours with a quirked brow. You never bothered him when he was studying, and you most certainly never called him 'Taehyunnie'. Not unless you were trying to weasel something out of him, at least. "Yes?" He drawled, returning back to his reading as you tiptoed closer, took a curious look over his shoulder; you caught snippets of something about astronomy and equations, the pages mostly filled with numbers and symbols you couldn't even pretend to understand. You wondered if it had anything to do with the Prince again.

"I was doing some reading…" you begin slowly, scattered mind racing to come up with a proper preface for your question. You had practiced what you were going to say at least a dozen times, you were sure of it, but every line had fled your head the moment you called Taehyun's name.

"'Reading?' That's not like you." Taehyun retorted with a snort, turning the page. He didn’t even bother to look up when you huffed in response, but you could see his grin hidden behind the hand he rested on his cheek.

"I read plenty!" you bark, taking the bait, but regain your composure when you catch a glimpse of Taehyun's smirk widening. "It’s for my studies-- I'm to be tested by the Magickal High Court soon, you know."

"I'm well aware. I’m sure you’ll do just fine." Taehyun responds tersely, picking up his quill and scribbling a note down into his journal. He must have felt your eyes glaring daggers at the back of his head, because he waved a dismissive hand at you. "But go on."

"Well… I was reading up on potions and I came across an ingredient I haven't heard about before. I was wondering if… if you knew anything about it."

Taehyun's quill stopped moving. "I see." he says, far too cryptically for your liking. "Well, what is it? It’s getting dark— it’s about time you go to bed.”

“The recipe– I mean, the spellbook I was reading mentioned something about a ‘droplet of love.’” You stumble, fidgeting nervously. “ Do you know what that is?”

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a moment,stares down at his spellbook long enough to make you sweat, before turning to re-dip his quill in his inkpot. “Well, that could mean many things.” he says, uninterested, continuing his notes. You let out a relieved sigh you weren’t aware you were holding.

“What do you mean?” you prod gently.

Taehyun lets out an irritated sigh. “Some spellwork can be left up to interpretation, made unique and personalized for the spellcaster. Often when instructions are not clear, it's because you're supposed to figure it out yourself.”

“Figure it out myself?” You echo, a little outraged. This explanation wasn’t helping you at all.

“When practicing magick that involves complex ideas like emotions and memories, things begin to blur between the literal and the figurative.” Taehyun elaborates. The way he was hunched over his desk made his shoulders look much broader than they were, and it was getting increasingly harder to focus on what he was saying. “More advanced spellwork sometimes requires the spellcaster to work with physical manifestations of these ideas.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” You retort combatively, crossing your arms over your chest. Taehyun’s non-answers were only serving to piss you off. “I can’t manifest love.”

“Sure you can.” Taehyun answers vaguely, shaking his head. You wished you could see the look on his face. “A ‘droplet of love" may just refer to some sort of representation, whatever that may mean to you specifically. Though "droplet" tends to refer to some kind of liquid, so you can start there.”

“Liquified love? What would that be, though?”

"Honestly, I'm not exactly sure either. But you're a smart girl, I'm sure you can figure it out." Taehyun once again raises his hand to wave you away. “Go off to bed now, you can spend all of tomorrow thinking about it if you have to; I need to finish this before I go to bed, and you’re keeping me up.”

“But–”

“Go to bed. Don’t misbehave now.” Taehyun looks up from his notes and meets your gaze– the look on his face is as unreadable and stoic as usual, plush lips stretched into a thin line, but the swirling darkness in his eyes makes your head spin; he knows something, you can feel it. A strange familiarity that panics you deeply, pisses you off; why does he love so much to keep you in the dark? Is it because he enjoys leaving you confused and ignorant? Or is it because there’s knowledge he genuinely doesn’t want you to know?

You trudge back to your room dejectedly, peel off your robes and climb into your bed like a defeated soldier– you might have just tipped off to Taehyun that you were up to something, and what did you get out of it? Absolutely nothing. Just some cryptic words.

Going to Taehyun was a bad idea; you wallowed now in your own stupidity.

Droplet of love, you repeat to yourself as you drift off to sleep. Droplet of love…

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Taehyun hisses venomously, eyes narrowed and wild. You’ve never seen him this angry.

“It isn’t what it looks like, I swear!” you cry desperately, try to cover your still brewing potion with your body– Taehyun is too quick, grabs you rough by your nightgown and pulls you up against him. His face is so close to your own you can feel his hot, panting breath fan across your cheeks.

“Isn’t what it looks like?” Taehyun spits. “My stupid little assistant being a little whore, making a love potion behind my back? How stupid do you think I am?!”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Taehyun doesn’t let you utter a single word. “Were you gonna use it on me, huh? Gonna get me to fuck you? Needed some cock so badly that you were willing to throw everything away for it? Stupid fucking whore. You could have just asked.”

Taehyun lets go of your nightgown and you crumple at his feet on the floor, groveling and sobbing for his mercy. “Please don’t tell anyone, I’m sorry!” you beg, too distraught to catch the last part of Taehyun’s rant. “I won’t ever do it again, I won’t ever go behind you back agan, please!” Big fat tears stream heavy down your hot face, chest caving as you beg for your mentor's forgiveness... yet still your thighs squeeze together at his venomous words and his nasty tone, poor pussy throbbing for attention– Taehyun notices your quivering thighs with a sneer, eyes dark and cold.

“Such a fucking slut… you like this, huh? Me yelling at you?” with his big rough hand he tugs you up to your knees, holds your chin in place as he unbuckles his belt and undoes his trousers. “Want me to put you in your place? Trying to sneak around behind my back, bad little girl… need to remind you of who’s in charge. Let me use that pretty throat and I’ll forgive you.”

Taehyun pulls his cock out, flushed and leaking, flared tip shiny and begging for your tongue— in one violent thrust he sheaths himself in your throat all the way to the hilt. You gag and splutter, tears still streaming down your face, but even with your blurry vision you can see Taehyun’s sick smile as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he hisses, “Take it like the whore you are.”

Using the hand he has tangled in your hair as leverage, Taehyun begins thrusting his hips in earnest, heavy balls slapping against your chin— your whines come out like garbled chokes, pathetic and dizzy on your knees while your mentor uses your throat like nothing more than a toy for his own pleasure. “so fucking good at this, aren’t you?” He sneers, “Such a good little assistant you are.”

You keen around his cock, pussy fluttering around nothing and dripping slick, your poor panties soaked through and ruined completely. You feel so empty it almost hurts, gummy walls aching for the cock fucking your throat open, but you can hardly find it in you to care— you’re distracted by the warlock’s taste, the nasty wet sounds, the way your scalp burns from his grip on your hair. Your hands, previously laying limp at your sides, reach up to claw uselessly at his thighs, which only seems to spur him on, hips slamming hard against your face as he moans deep in his chest.

“No one else fucks this throat like me, huh? Think anyone else can use you like this?” His chest is heaving, cock twitching violently in your mouth— he’s about to cum, and your cunt clenches with excitement. “Should just slut you out right in front of the entire kingdom, even the Prince— fuck! show everyone who you belong to, who your master is!”

You whimper pathetically, one of your hands leaving his thigh to play with your neglected covered clit— Taehyun growls, pulls hard at your hair, snickers darkly when you rush to place your hand back on his thigh. “Don’t you dare touch that cunt, that’s my cunt, you think you deserve it?”

Your pussy is throbbing, hot tears streaming down your cheeks as Taehyun continues fucking your face, “I said, do you think you deserve it? Answer your master.”

You shake your head no, as best you can speared on his dick, sobbing snotty and broken and so desperate for his cum. “That’s what I thought.” Taehyun laughs humorlessly. “Good little witch.”

You can’t focus on anything other than making sure to breathe and hollow your cheeks and stay perfectly still so Taehyun can have his way with you– your jaw aches, but you swirl your tongue around Taehyun‘s shaft the best you could anyway. “Fuck, gonna cum!” He whimpers after a particularly harsh suck, hips stuttering, his big hands moving to cup both of your cheeks. It would be sweet in any other situation, so gentle and loving if he wasn’t bruising your throat with the force of his thrusts. “G-gonna— pretty little throat gonna make me cum, shit! ‘m cumming–!”

You wake up with a gasp, heart pounding in your chest so violently it was painful– it takes you a few moments for you to recognize your own surroundings, realize that you’re tucked safely in your bed and not caught red handed by your mentor; you can hear the soft bubbling of your potion at the foot of your bed, undisturbed and simmering away…

And between your legs was a sticky wet mess, your thin panties soaked through, arousal dribbling down the insides of your thighs— you’re humiliated but so turned on from your dream you could hardly think, fingers trailing down to dip into your panties and run along your slit… and you marvel, intoxicated, at the way thick droplets trickle down your fingertips when you pull them back.

Droplet of love…

Taehyun had fallen asleep at his desk that night, slumped over his scrolls and spellbooks, so you felt it was only right to wake him up with a treat— a steaming hot cup of perfectly brewed tea, complete with a little wooden teaspoon and a saucer full of freshly-baked cookies. Taehyun stared it down like it was staring back at him.

“You never make me tea.” he says flatly, brown eyes flickering between the cup and your face, making no moves to take the teacup from your outstretched hand. His sleepy, raspy voice and disheveled appearance would have made you swoon if you weren’t going half-mad with anxiety.

“Well, you’ve been working so hard! You know, for the Prince and all.” you chirp cheerily, voice only trembling slighrly. “I just wanted to show my appreciation!”

“Right.” he gives you an odd, side-eyed look but does eventually take the cup, takes a good long look into the amber liquid before stirring it slowly with the spoon. You were starting to sweat. “You’ve been acting odd lately. I’m a little concerned.” he says after a few moments of painful silence, making your sweating turn into full on chills. “Is there anything you aren’t telling me, ___?”

“No!” you bleat out immediately and far too quickly, making Taehyun turn his head to regard you quizzically. You didn’t have any time to process the fact that he cared for you at all. “No, nothing at all! Everything’s totally normal!”

Taehyun blinks. You give him a smile, but you’re fairly sure it turned out more like a grimace.

“If you say so…” Taehyun concedes, placing the saucer on his desk. “If you’re certain everything’s in order, would you mind running a little errand for me?”

“Of course!” you agree quickly, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. You thank the Gods above that Taehyun actually took the tea, now all that was left was to wait… and you supposed that playing errand girl was the perfect task for the meantime.

Taehyun picks up a small, parchment-wrapped parcel from among the clutter of his desk and hands it to you. “Would you be a doll and hand this to the Prince for me? And tell him to be sparing with it, for goodness’ sake, it’s not one of his perfumes.”

You take it gently, blushing— the package was much lighter than you expected it to be, and it gives a light rattle when you turn it over in your hands. “What is it?” you ask; you can never stop yourself from being nosy. Taehyun sighs, but there’s a mirthful glimmer in his eye that makes you giggle.

“The luck spell, remember? Now go on, he needs it to take effect by the evening.”

You waltz back into the cottage as the sun was just beginning to creep behind the treetops, having made sure to take your sweet, sweet time delivering the Prince’s package– you even stayed for tea and a chat, just in case; it wasn’t really your fault that the crown royal never knew when to shut up, was it?

“Taehyun?” you call out as you step inside— everything seemed perfectly normal and nothing was out of place, and perfectly still silence met you as you continued through the front room and into your winding, rickety hallway, at the end of which was your mentor’s study. The door was left slightly ajar.

You peeked inside, tentative; back facing you, you could see Taehyun hunched over his work desk, head hung low as he gripped onto the wood with white knuckles. He was panting, shoulders heaving with the force of his breaths, his arms shaking— your heart soared with euphoria. The potion must be working, you thought with zeal.

“Taehyun?” you call again, voice barely above a whisper dripping with faux concern, trembling with excitement, and you gently push the heavy oak door farther open with an ear-ringing creek. Taehyun’s head snaps up at the noise, startling you with his expression— his eyes were wide and wild, face flaming red, and he stares at you in shock and in rapture for a deafening few moments before averting his gaze and tugging hard at the collar of his tunic. He turns back to look at the scrolls on his desk with a cough. You could still see the blush coloring the tips of his ears.

“Taehyun, are you okay?” you ask, this time not having to fake the worry. You take a few tentative steps towards the warlock— he looked almost as if he was in pain, and you anxiously wonder if maybe you should have been more faithful to ‘a little goes a long way.’

“I’m fine.” Taehyun grunts, his usually light voice gruff and strained. The sound of it hit you deep in your tummy. “Just feel a little hot, that's all.”

You take a few steps closer, slowly and cautiously, and reach out your hand to touch his shoulder. “A-are you sure?”

“Don’t come any closer.” Taehyun warns, voice flat but dark, dripping something that makes your thighs clench together.

Your fingertips just barely brushed the top of his shoulder.

As if possessed, Taehyun spins around within an instant and grabs your wrist tightly, staring you down for a long, intense moment with a primal, dangerously dark look— it frightens and excites you, leaving your head spinning.

He uses your wrist to pull you roughly to his chest, faces centimeters apart and bodies flush; within the same breath he cages you against his desk, traps you tight between his muscular arms.

You can feel his breath fan your face as he pants like a dog, lowers his head closer and closer to yours. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me; I just need you…”

His pillowy lips crash onto yours mid-gasp, passionate and dominating— you lean into the kiss immediately, moaning high in your throat when he deepens it, tilting your head back to stake a possessive claim that leaves you dizzy and gasping for air. He moves to run his hand up your thigh and grind his hips against yours, pushing your skirt up your hips. His thick hard cock presses hard up against your dripping slit, soaking your thin cotton panties. When he pulls away, hissing, you can see a damp spot on the crotch of his pants, outlining his straining bulge obscenely.

“Tyun—“ you whimper, but he’s quick to cut you off. He lowers himself down and takes a hold of your thighs, tugs them over his shoulders and dangling in the air; he chuckles out a breath that blows icy cold against your sopping panties.

“Just need a taste of you…”

His nose bumps gently against your throbbing clit and he mouths hot and heavy against your folds through the covering fabric. You keen desperately, nearly shriek when he begins to run the flat of his tongue up your slit and towards your clit. “Lemme taste you…” Taehyun breathes against your cunt, his long finger coming to tug at the hem of your panties.

“Anything you want!” you whine, twisting your own fingers into his thick hair. Taehyun grins wickedly.

“Anything I want?” he coos, poisonously sweet. “What a good little assistant I have.”

With a rough tug he pulls your panties to your knees, leaves your legs tangled in the wet fabric and up in the air. Taehyun devours your cunt like a starved man, his thick lips sucking tight on your clit and his tongue slow and nasty around your entrance. He drinks up your arousal as if it were some type of ambrosia, only going faster and faster with his motions until you cum all over his face with a cry, until you’re tugging hard at his hair and whining for him to stop.

He pulls away from your pussy with a longing glance, his lips and chin dripping your slick, the tip of his nose shiny. “You said whatever I want,” he pants, standing up to begin unbuckling his belt. “Gotta fuck you now, gotta fuck this pretty little pussy…”

Taehyun’s cock springs out of his trousers, slaps against his belly before standing to attention, veins throbbing— he fists his shaft loosely, enough for you to catch a glimpse of pearly white pre-cum leak out the slit of his thick pink head. Your tongue ached for the taste.

“Yes, yes, please,” you beg, pulling him closer so he can grind his cock between your weeping folds, getting his shaft nice and wet with a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal. His cockhead pushes at your hole teasingly, and Taehyun lets it slip against your rim and slides up your folds to bump your clit. You whimper and attempt to spread your legs any bit farther, restricted by your panties— Taehyun chuckles before readjusting his cock and sheathing himself entirely in your cunt in one deep stroke. His cockhead kisses your cervix, your walls stretched so suddenly and so painfully good that you cry out in surprise and ecstasy. “You’re so deep!” you gasp, your eyes rolling back into your head when Taehyun starts rolling his hips in a ruthless rhythm.

“Take it like a good girl,” he laughs, repositioning his hands to grab tight at your hips so he could thrust into you in earnest, hips slapping together loud and wet, impossibly fast. “So tight, shit! Feel so fucking good, you’re so wet— perfect cocksleeve, perfect pussy.”

He splits you in two, your gummy walls stretched past your limits, hugging tight on his throbbing cock. Your cervix gets pounded with every hard thrust, his cock so deep you could feel him in your lower belly. “I’ve wanted to fuck you so bad,” Taehyun confesses, pussy drunk. “Wanted you since I first met you— You’re mine now, pretty thing, you hear me? Perfect pussy for me, never letting you go.”

“Yes!” you wail, too fucked out to process any of what he had just said. All you could think about or focus on was how good Taehyun was fucking you, how his heavy tightening balls were slapping against your ass, how that fiery hot knot in your belly grew tighter and tighter. “I’m yours, I’m yours!”

“Fuck yeah, that’s right. All mine, baby.” Taehyun groans deeply, hips stuttering. His hand lets go of your waist to circle your clit with rough, calloused fingertips.

You’re sent barreling towards your climax, that fire in your belly all-consuming as your pussy flutters around Taehyun’s cock. “Feels so good!” you sob, gripping his thick bicep for support. “I’m gonna cum, Taehyunnie, ‘m gonna cum—!”

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Beg for my cum, baby; I’m gonna cum inside you, fill you up!” Taehyun’s cock twitched and throbbed inside your cunt, his thrusts wild and desperate. “All mine…”

“Cum inside, please! I need it, I need your cum so bad!” you hiccup, big fat tears rolling down your puffy hot cheeks from overstimulation. “Want your cum in my pussy!”

Taehyun does so with a broken moan, shoving his cock as deep inside of you as he could go, up against your cervix. He paints your walls white, floods your womb with his thick hot seed. You can feel his cock twitch with every spurt— you cum yourself a second time from the sensation, pussy clenching hard around Taehyun's slowly softening cock. He grunts, winces and grits his teeth.

Your chest is heaving as you pant for air and so is Taehyun’s, both of you sweaty and spent and trying to catch your breath. He dips his head to rest his forehead against your own, something so touchingly intimate it makes your heart clench, and you’re just about to close your eyes and bask in your euphoria, you catch Taehyun’s evil sneer.

“Silly girl thought I didn’t know? how stupid do you think I am?”

#txt x reader #taehyun x reader #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun hard hours #taehyun smut #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #nightly.nsfw #nightly.tyunnie

[probablybadrpgideas]

Major scandals By D&D Class

Artificer: Just came up with the idea of NFTs and Algorithmically Generated Content. They're going to introduce it to your fantasy world tomorrow.

Barbarian: Turns out to actually enjoy Sartre, have a PhD in Early Modern Art and spend their time going to poetry nights in disguise

Bard: Got turned down by the dragon this time. There's no magical song to cure heartbreak :(

Cleric: Got drunk and used Contact Diety to call their god an asslicking potato. Now they're too worried to pray for their spells today.

Druid: Sure, they love all creations of nature without judgement, but honestly? They kind of have to agree that wasps were a mistake.

Fighter: Finally admits they don't actually know what a sword is. No-one told them at fighter school because everyone assumed they already knew, and at this point they can't ask, you know?

Monk: Ate a single Pringle and are now reconsidering their entire way of life

Paladin: Ok, you got them. Their oath doesn't actually forbid them from doing the washing up or cleaning up the party tent.

Ranger: Their animal companion has actually been five different wolves and counting. They can't tell them apart so if they lose sight of it, they just grab the nearest wolf and claim its the same one.

Rogue: Shocking paper trail leak reveals that everything the rogue did this year was law-abiding and fully above board!

Sorcerer: They just say they have Dragon Blood because it sounds cooler. Actually, their magic comes from their Dragon Piss.

Warlock: No scandals because warlocks have no shame. Yeah, they're banging their patron. Yeah, their "Oath of the Tome" is just the Wizard's book they've scribbled over with crayon. Yeah, they eldritch blast servers when they ask for tips. What you gonna do about it, fucker?

WIzard: Could never quite get the hang of "Magic Missile" so instead they just keep a gun hidden up their sleeve.

Commoner: Actually the master of all forms of magic, stronger then the barbarian and blessed by all the gods. They just acted scared of the dragon because you guys looked so proud when you thought you's saved them :)

#D&D #rpg #roleplaying game

[sky-kiss]

Hi love!

Okay so we all know I love your writing, especially for Raphael.

How about a scenario where Tav is in mortal peril and Korilla is NOT around/able to bail them out. Raphael has to do it himself. Well, he doesn't "have" to, but he will.

_________

A/N: MY QUEEN. I will do my best. Think this is the first time I've done a Tav who is DOWN BAD (in more ways than one).

_________

Korilla never failed him. 

It made it all the more shocking when the dwarf appeared at his side, stinking of sweat and brimstone. Her robe, ever flattering, was torn at the shoulder, and the slightly sweet, slightly sick, stink of burnt flesh filled the Devil’s Den. He reached out a hand on instinct, stabilizing her swaying form. The deal he’d been brokering fell by the wayside. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, all too familiar. His carefully laid plans might come apart at the seams. He felt invisible hands pulling at his stitches. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Korilla shook her head. “Your project…your mouse.” She winced. “Got in over her pretty head.” His warlock squeezed his wrist, “Raphael, I couldn’t…” She’d failed to protect his asset. “I kept them off her, but…”

The weight, curling, twisting; fate was determined to spite him again. And beneath that, more insidious, a second thought. Rage. Something had dared to touch her; something had maimed his pet. 

The cambion bowed to his guests, lips pursed. “My associate here, lovely as she is, shall have to entertain you for a moment. Beg pardon, my dears.” 

Raphael snapped his fingers. 

_________

Pain blossomed through her side. Tav staggered back a step, bringing her weapon up to intercept the blow. The blade doesn’t break the skin; she managed to stop that much. The impact…she’s less fortunate. Her muscles screamed, something tearing in her shoulder. 

She’d been stupid. Stupid and shortsighted…

All she’d wanted was a moment's peace. Tav had slipped from the party’s shared room at the Elfsong, determined to watch the sunset in silence. As dearly as she loved her friends, they could be loud and opinionated. After months on the road, with no privacy or distance, she figured she’d earned that much. 

Bhaal’s cultists were waiting. If it’d only been a handful, she could have handled herself. It’d been more, so many more. An inane thought chased through her head as she danced out of the way of another strike: how many changelings were left in Baldur’s Gate? How many Bhaal cultists did Orin have? It seemed excessive. 

Dozens. There were dozens of the damned creatures. For every cultist she killed, another three seemed to arise, like some hellish parody of the hydra. Tav was tired. One of them moved behind her, knife flashing in the dying light. Fresh pain as the blade tore through the muscles in her calf. She screamed. No, no, no, she had to keep moving. They couldn’t hobble her; she couldn’t…

“How dare you.” 

She barely recognized the voice. She was aware of his heat before anything else; the cambion appeared beside her in a wash of flame, catching her attacker by the throat. Panic flashed across the changeling’s face, the briefest hint of emotion before Raphael’s claws tightened their hold. A warm spray of blood coated her face as he tore its throat free, leaving it choking through the ruin of flesh. 

“Insolent creatures! You would touch what is mine?”

They tripped back, almost as one. Tav stared up at her savior, confused, vision swimming. The cambion, red, so red, fire and blood, his right-wing curled around her shoulders. Cherries and sulfur fill her nostrils, too sweet for the night air. Too soft in the face of his fury. Raphael snapped his fingers, and the air around them seemingly combusted. Hellfire consumed her would-be killers. Tendrils of shadow and flame consumed every ounce of flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a black mark on the streets. 

She blinked, staring up at him. Raphael’s eyes continued to blaze, his jaw set. He dusted a nonexistent speck of dust from his sleeve, lips curling in a sneer. “Strange, I expected the god of murder to employ hardier thralls.” 

Tav swallowed. Her throat burned. “Stealthy.” 

“Hmm?” 

She tried again, struggling to her feet. Raphael caught her elbow. Tav tried to ignore the press of his claws, itching, so full of potential, and the heat of his skin. It had to be the blood loss. His eyes glowed in the half-light. “Orin isn’t looking for hardy. They just need to be quick enough, quiet enough, to catch their victims off guard.” She frowned. “Tonight, they were.” 

“Yes.” The lowness of his voice chased along her nerves like a caress. “Are you bold or stupid, pet? The city wants you dead, and here you are.” He motioned to the darkness surrounding them, the alley nearly bereft of light. "A little mouse, alone in the dark."

She scoffed. “I needed…I wanted a moment to myself. Is that too much to ask?” His gaze flicked to the scorched flagstones, brow arched. Tav shook her head. “Regardless, thank you. It…” she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Thank you. For saving me.” 

“I sold myself as such, did I not? A friend and savior?” 

Tav smiled. “Truth be told, I didn’t believe you.” 

“And you’re more clever for it, sweetling.” 

Color flared in her cheeks. He was too close for this. Too close, too sweet-smelling, too handsome, and too much. The air in her lungs felt overheated and stagnant by comparison. The blood loss, undoubtedly. Tav chewed her lower lip. “Did you…Raphael, before the…did you call me yours?”  

His eyes narrowed. “Careful, pet.” It’s an answer in itself. Raphael extended his free hand to her. “Come. The devil shall return his erstwhile heroine to her companions.”

“I can make it back on my own.”

The severity of his expression left no room for argument. “No, you’ve lost the benefit of the doubt. I shall leave you safely in your bed. Not before.” 

She hated the flare of heat in her belly. Raphael's hand settled at the small of her back, wings curling more closely as he whispered the incantation to return them to her room. Weak as it may be, she wrapped her arms around him. 

The devil said nothing. But he bent, pressed nearer. Solid and strong, smelling of cherries and fire. Some part of her wondered what he would do if she kissed him.

Tav was saved from any potential embarrassment. Raphael left her at her bedside, bowing, smirking as if he’d followed the line of her thoughts. The damned creature took her left hand and kissed her knuckles. 

And then he was gone in a swirl of fire and ash. 

#raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #asks #my writing #love you friend #hope you like this #raph: i'm protecting my assets #Tav: I want to kiss him on his stupid sexy mouth

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞. | TEASER

There's magic in everything.

Tags/Warnings: Royal Warlock!Jungkook, Maid!Cat Hybrid!Reader, Magic!AU, realistic Fantasy, sci-fi, Strangers to lovers, Fluff, Romance, Angst, mentions of war, Injury, Violence and blood, Smut

Length: ???

There is no taglist for this fic. This is a Patreon-Exclusive.

A/N: due to fantasy stories never doing very well here on tumblr, Exhale will be posted on Patreon only. I've also lost my job, so currently, Patreon is one of the only ways to make money right now. Please understand that I'm gonna advertise it more often due to that. Thank you for your understanding.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"You'll feel at home soon, Sir Jungkook." You say as you place the plate of his food in front of him, his dark eyes looking up at you.

They don't scare you. Neither does the fact that he draws his powers from.. well, not the light. He's shown by now that he still has a kind heart, even if it's a bit hidden and cluttered with other things he deems more important. "I do not need to feel welcome here." He denies, starts to eat quietly, averting his gaze from you.

"Sure, you do not." You respond, turning around to wash the other's dishes in the sink. Jungkook's eyes raise at that, focusing on the way your tail sways from side to side softly.

Your dress looks a lot more.. tailored to you, than he's used to see on maids. In fact, everyone appears to be dressed in clean, and well made clothes that still fit their status and job- but don't appear to be simply given from one to the next. Kim Seokjin knows every staff's name in fact, and does not seem to really draw a line in who he speaks to and who he does not.

Odd.

"But doesn't it feel better?" You ask, singing to yourself as you wash the plates.

Jungkook doesn't respond, simply thinks. He doesn't have to feel at home here. Once King Seokjin doesn't have any use for him any longer, he will be sent out once more. The less connections he makes here, the less he will be driven away from his path. He doesn't need friends, or a home.

He's learned that many times in his life. It'll only hurt.

"How long have you been working here?" Jungkook asks as he rips off a piece of bread to eat. You dry your hands, and sit at the table with him, stretching out your legs beneath if for a moment.

"Hm.. I was living here since Jin-.. King Seokjin was still a prince, Sir." You answer. "I was born in the nearby forest village. My mother became a maid when I was old enough to attend school." You remember.

"Explains your lack of respect for him in your tone." Jungkook says, not looking at you. You stiffen, ears pinning backwards.

"Ah- but I do have respect!" You almost whine. "It's just.. his crowning was years ago, I know. But.. on occasion, I forget the boundaries set by society." You sigh, leaning your chin on your hand. "Any other kingdom would've already had me beheaded." You giggle to yourself.

"Or at least exiled." He mumbles, biting another piece of bread.

It's good that you seem to be aware of the luxury you're experiencing inside this castle. As a mere hybrid maid, you're not much more in status than a dog- and yet, for some odd reasoning, the King himself treats you as much more, just like the other staff. The way he'd spoken to Jungkook, with such familiarity almost, had shown just how soft the King really is. He truly is in need of protection. God knows he probably has not fought a single time in his life.

Just as his food is finished, Jungkook notices your other hand that's not supporting your head. There's something on your palm he's not sure of, but the skin is clearly irritated. He motions for you to turn it over, and you do- scratches having reopened from washing the dishes earlier.

Either you're very dumb, or just very devoted to your purpose in this castle.

He's slow with his movements to give you a way to deny him- but you do not, instead even leaning forward a bit in curiosity to see what he's going to do, as he covers your hand in his own, silver rings bulky on his fingers. There's no glow, or anything really- not much is happening at all, apart from the tingling feeling underneath your skin, stinging from the cuts slowly ebbing away like it's dipped in cold water.

And when he removes his hands, your palm is covered in what looks like black soot almost.. but once you brush that off, the skin is healed- no scars remaining.

"Oh! There you guys are." Yoongi offers, walking closer into the kitchen, a hand on your shoulder as he stands behind you. "The king requests you, Jungkook. " He tells the warlock, who still feels oddly irritated by the man's lack of proper wording regarding him. "And you should clean up. It's late." He says much softer to you, and you nod.

"Look! sir Jungkook healed me!" You hold out your hand, and Yoongi clearly grows irritated, frustration clear on his face.

This is what Jungkook is used to. The anger, distaste, disgust even regarding his practices- this is what's comforting to him. He can work with that, knows that people like this man will not get unnecessarily attached to him and cause problems. He likes that-

"Yah, where'd you even get hurt again?!" Yoongi scolds you instead, however. "Be glad Jin didn't see, or he'd make you report to him daily again.. show me. Is it really healed.?" He mumbles, inspecting your hand, before he shakes his head at you, ears pinned back. "Thank you. She sometimes has the coordination of a dragon hatchling." He says towards Jungkook, and he's caught entirely off guard, eyes wide open and face clearly showing his surprise.

And you just laugh at that, happily so, before you tell him goodnight with a playful bow, running off after teasingly thanking Yoongi for washing Jungkook's dishes.

Which, yet again irritatingly enough, Yoongi indeed does do for you.

This castle is weird.

But fitting for its king, he thinks.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fanfic

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

Prompt - Alec being mad at Magnus (something minor, some domestic dispute like not washing the dishes or eating the dessert he'd kept for later in the fridge) and being petty about it ;P

“Will you come to bed?”

He doesn’t get a response. Only a slight huff in return.

Magnus rolls his eyes and pursues his lips, “Alexander. It’s 1 at night. You had a long shift.”

His husband turns over his shoulder and replies in a petulant tone, “Oh, now you remember I had a long shift?”

“You are such a child,” he replies.

If Magnus were to tell the world about the kind of man he is married to, no one would believe him. If were to really tell the world the kind of man, Alexander Gideon Lightwood really is—they would scoff and their eyes would widen with shock and with disdain at Magnus for fueling baseless rumours about their consul.

Because the world knows Alec Lightwood as the stoic but just and fair Consul. Or the abomination.

They don’t know the man behind the doors. Inside their loft.

The shadow world knows Alec, the consul. They don’t know Alec, the husband or the father or the brother.

He thinks that the world is poorer for it.

For Alec like this, with his nose scrunched up and a huge pout on his face is a delight to be with.

“Wow,” Alec says in mock offence. “First you hide something so huge from me, and now you’re calling me a child.”

“Being a child is a wondrous thing, darling,” he teases, just to annoy Alec some more.

“I hate you.”

“For what?” He asks, voice laced with amusement.

“For being a deceitful person.”

“For lying about using magic?”

Alec stands up from the couch, pointing a finger across at Magnus. “No. No. Do not phrase it like I have an issue with magic.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“I asked you to wash the dishes with hand so that the boys could learn. And you’ve been lying to me about this for the entire week.”

Magnus tries to contain the grin from his face but he fails.

“Max is a warlock and he deserves to learn magic.”

“He does. He also needs to learn how to move from one room to another without magic,” Alec huffs.

“It’s just dishes Alexander.”

“Deceit,” Alec says, exaggeratedly.

Magnus crosses the distance and winds his arms around Alec’s waist. “Come on, come to bed.”

“No. No, absolutely not,” Alec breathes, and releases himself from Magnus’s hold; albeit with great difficulty.

“Are you really going to sleep alone?”

“I love sleeping alone.”

“Without me holding you?” Magnus grins.

“Yes. You’re all over me and suffocate me. I barely survive the nights,” Alec points out, but Magnus can see the crack through his facade.

“Really now?” Magnus raises an eyebrow.

“Hmmm. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings so kept it to myself all these years,” Alec says, a serious pout on his face. “But now that I have found out that I married a liar, I have no reason to keep it a secret.”

“You lie to me plenty, sweetheart.”

“Name one lie,” Alec challenges.

“Yesterday when you said you were ready for round two because you’re so young and have a great body. But I clearly saw you use the stamina runs.”

Alec scoffs indignantly. “I did not.”

Magnus married the pettiest of humans and he loves that.

“Or that time when you told me you were perfectly okay after the hunt but I clearly saw the bruises on your back.”

Alec opens his mouth and then shuts up.

“Or that time when you accidentally said ‘fuck’ in front of Rafael and lied to me about it when he—“

“Okay. Okay,” Alec raises his hand. “Fine.”

“Can we go to bed now?” Magnus laughs.

Alec thinks for a moment before replying. “Fine. But you’re not touching me.”

“Just to be clear, you are allowed to touch me as much as you want, love,” he smirks suggestively.

Magnus drags him to their room because as much as he loves the bantering, he knows Alec is tired and needs to sleep.

His husband creates a wall between them with pillows, separating the two.

He snorts at the pettiness. “You are something else.”

“I just prefer not to bed with liars.”

Alec is relentless if not anything so Magnus gives up, fully knowing it’s going to barely take a few minutes before Alec drags his Magnus’s body behind his.

He lies on his side but immediately shifts closer to Alec, poking his fingers over Alec’s ears.

“Stop.”

“Stop, what?”

He pushes a pillow from between and starts running his dingers through Alec’s hair, pulling a soft hum out of the shadowhunter.

“No touching.”

Magnus smirks because Alec’s body, like it always has, instinctively reacts to his touch and he shifts slightly closer to him.

“You need to sleep.”

“I’m trying. But you’re being annoying.”

He plants a loud kiss on the space right next to Alec’s mouth. “Come on.”

“No.”

“I promise that I will reach the kids to wash the dishes with their hands. Even though, I still do not understand the need for it.”

“Are you lying again?” Alec huffs. “Once a liar. Always a liar.”

“Stop being a baby,” Magnus snorts.

“You’re baby.”

“I know,” he replies. “And you haven’t call me one in two hours and I’m feeling sad now.”

“Lies.”

Magnus groans this time. “Alexanderrrrrrrr.”

“What?”

“Please forgive me,” Magnus accepts defeat, content with the realisation that he’s okay being defeated if it’s Alec on the other side. “I promise to teach our kids good habits.”

Alec turns on his side and looks at Magnus. He raises his finger in his direction, “Pinky Promise?”

He chuckles softly. It’s a thing he started as a joke years ago but has fully become a part of their household now.

You do not break a pinky promise in the Lightwood-Bane household.

“Pinky-promise,” he entwines their fingers, brings their joined fingers to his mouth and places a soft kiss on them.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Alec nods. “I forgive you. You are allowed to cuddle me,” he replies, a grin turning on his face.

Magnus jumps on Alec, enveloping the shadowhunter’s body with his and peppers soft, warm, featherlight kisses al over his face. “Alexander, you are such a bitch sometimes.”

Alec breaks into laughter, squealing in between as Magnus keeps on attacking him with kisses.

“You love me.”

Magnus thinks for the nth time that if were to tell the world about this version of his husband, no one would believe him.

But that’s the thing. Magnus doesn’t want to tell the world, or anyone for that matters about this version of him. About the man inside their loft.

He wants to keep this all for himself.

This version of Alec Lightwood— the one who laughs, and cries and acts bitchy, the one Magnus is besottedly in love with, this, belongs to him and only him.

#okay I love them very much and I love a petty Alec more #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood

[lesbianralzarek]

prestidigitation isn't in bg3, so we can just say that everyone who could have it, does have it. its available to wizards and warlocks and the arcane trickster subclass (among others), so the men have it and only the men have it. heres what they would use it for:

wyll: subtle twinkling lights when he enters the room and making his hair smell good after 2 weeks on the road

gale: washing vegetables and making his hair smell musky again after bathing

astarion: pissing someone else's pants. he would do something visually to himself if he could tell when his hair is fucked up, but he cant, so its mostly just fucking with people in classic rogue style

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin

[esotheria-sims]

The bad weather followed Annika to the next location. Maybe it wasn't the evil warlock's fault at all and the weather was just shitty? Not that a little rain would stop her from doing what she set her mind to do!

Growing up, fishing used to be a Big Deal to Annika. It was one of the first activities she picked up when her family washed ashore the Bay, and although it was out of bare necessity at first, she's grown to genuinely enjoy it as an activity over the years. Her family didn't need to forage or hunt for food anymore (the Bay's markets were well-stocked and anything they couldn't find there, Gabriel would bring from the city), but there were days when Annika couldn't resist the nostalgic call of the waves.

Nor did she need to! The old temple ruins proved to be a great fishing spot, and they were just down the street from the Blackbirds' place.

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims #gameplay #bacc #wyverns bay #wb gameplay #sim scenery #wb scenery #forgotten ruins #blackbird #blackbird week 4 #annika blackbird #mine

[1800jjbarnes]

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐢𝐫 | 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

【Synopsis】 : You missed your boyfriends dearly. But they were currently on a mission. Little did they know you had a few spell up your sleeves, so you could have them, even if it was only for a moment.

『Word count』 :  1.08k

Paring : Incubus!Steve x Incubus!Bucky x Human!Reader

[Warnings] : Demons. Mentions of ritualistic summonings. Incubus (Sex Demons) Warlock Wanda. Old Ruins/Symbols for Spell Casting. Threesome. Making out, marking, hints of double penetration. Unprotected sex. Anal. Demon Steve and Bucky. Dirty Talk. Pet names.

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You had written the symbols on the floorboards with a small piece of chalk. Just like your friend said. Desperation had consumed your being. Worry filling your soul. It had been days since you'd seen your lovers. You became scared they were lost in the under realms. So you went to someone who knew a summoning spell. Wanda, a powerful witch, and also a close friend of your boyfriends. He had gifted it to you. So you sat on the floor, rings and ruins around you. You started the chant, slowly and clearly. The floor started to rumble, while the chalk lines started to light up.

Once the last word is said, the glowing and the energy ebbs away. Did it work? You look around and see nothing different. Frustration grows in your chest as you look over the runes again on the ground. Then, a rough hand catches you off guard, caressing your face. Lifting it up to have a look at you, a sigh of relief washes over you.

A tall, broad incubus stands in front of you, his eyes, purple and skin that shimmers like a pearl. His hair is a dusty blonde , and it falls over his face, but you can see the grin wide across it. A light chuckles comes from across the room, and you whip your head to see another, laying around on your bed rubbing his neck like he just experienced whiplash. His shorter and more human figure made your heart jump. But his eyes still glisten that demon purple that made you fall in love all over again each time you see them.

"I was getting worried." You finally spoke, choking slightly as tears began to overwhelm you. Steve's hand, what is still held under your chin, rubs over your cheek slightly, making you feel a familiar calmness. You missed them so much, more than you thought you did.

"We were okay. We had to stay down there longer than we thought." Bucky's voice whispered behind you, his hot breath pooling against your ear, making you jump slightly. Steve then dropped his fingers from your chin, walking over aimlessly to the table with the old witchy books and candles on it.

"Besides, it's not really like there is phone reception in hell." He was cheeky, so you knew he meant nothing by the sly comment. Bucky turned your body slowly, his hands raking over your hips. He didn't waste time kissing you passionately. Something you had been missing since they left. Steve just watched silently, enjoying the view of his two lovers making out feverishly.

"A little desperate, are we?" Bucky mumbles into the kiss, feeling you bite his bottom lip while chasing him as he tries to pull away. You huff out a breath through your nose in response, continuing your assault on him. It's been far too long without them, and you weren't about to waste any time. Steve moved quickly, pulling you by your hips to spin you around away from Bucky. You let out a groan from his actions but quickly swallowed any whiny remarks when his lips latched onto your neck, sucking a harsh mark onto the skin. Bucky towers over your body, pushing himself flush against you so you could feel his bulge against your ass. His teeth pull against the lobe of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. All the while, Steve litters your neck in bright hickeys.

"And here I thought Stevie and I were supposed to be the sex demons." Bucky's low voice growled in your ear. Steve made quick with his hands as he stripped your lower half of your pants and underwear.

"Maybe you two have just rubbed off on me." You choke suddenly, feeling Steve's cold fingers slide up your wet folds. Strange how, for a demon, he always seems to have cold hands. Bucky pushed you slightly into Steve's grasp, your head now leaning against the blonde's shoulder. He used his free hand to wrap around your waist, holding you steady while he pumped his fingers deep inside you.

"S-Stevie…" You became so focused on Steve that you hadn't noticed Bucky stripping behind you. Giving Steve a little show first, He spat on his hand so he could lube his cock up, pumping it a few times. Steve groans watching this unfold in front of him.

"Here. Give her to me." Buck gripped both your shoulders, pulling your body fully away from Steve, making his fingers fall out of your greedy hole. You cried at the loss of contact but Bucky was quick to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his hips so his cock could sink into you in one go.

"Fuck I missed your pussy so much, baby. You know how hard it is being away from our little sex toy?" Bucky groans in your ear, walking over to the wall so he could start fucking you against it. "Our kind needs sex like oxygen. We need it every day. And going a day without you is like being left for dead under the ocean." His thrusts were erratic making you moan loudly. Your fingers find the ends of his pitch hair, tugging harshly on the strands making him groan in response.

"Stevie and I can only fuck so much before we are left craving you." Hearing your lover confess about fucking one another while being away from you sparks fantasies in your mind. Bucky on top of Steve, gifting him all the pleasure he could desire. But yet it wouldn't be the same without you in the middle of it.

"Let's just say we also missed you a lot." Steve's voice made you open your eyes that you didn't realize were shut. His large hands grip your ass, turning you so instead of Bucky pounding into you while using the wall as a stabilizer, it was now Steve's body keeping you in place. "Take a deep breath." His words made you gulp, shakily taking the breath like he ordered while he sinks his cock in your tight ass. You felt so full, pain and pleasure mixing together. You couldn't help but question if you liked the pain or the pleasure more, but at this point, you couldn't care less. You were just happy to have your boys back. And also very happy to have them deep inside you.

#marvel #1-800-jjbarnes #jjbarnes #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rodgers x reader #steve rodgers imagine #steve rogers #stucky x reader #stucky x plus size reader #stucky x y/n #stucky x you #stucky #stuck x reader #steve x bucky x reader #steve rodgers #james bucky barnes x reader #steve rodgers smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rodgers x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #steve rodgers x you #bucky barnes x you

[lugwen]

my sibling assigned every life series member a dnd class

grian: bard, college of lore definitely a talker, will create lore in any case.

mumbo: artificer subclass artillerist bc redstoner and building machinery, first to build a tnt cannon

tango: artificer bc redstoner ofc

etho: alsl redstoner, but washed up… but i guess still artillerist artificer

cleo: barbarian subclass berserker or ancestral guardian. i feel like they are a grudge holder of past life series' aka their "ancestors"

jimmy: cleric, grave domain "serve the idea of life and death, the balance must be maintained" well in my eyes, the balance is his curse of always first out lmao also, useless in non-magical combat.

pearl: barbarian subclass berserker (anger fueled) or totem warrior (wolves as "animal spirits" joining her) shes definitely the axe swinger kinda person. i mean double life pearl??? need i say more?

martyn: rogue subclass: inquisitive (literally like a detective) always listens in on conversations, spying on ppl even tho its useless mostly

skizz: bard but college of therapy (self explainatory) always gives free therapy and a pep talk

bdubs: ranger subclass beastmaster (has a horse) i see him with a bow or crossbow while walking thru da woods. also has limited magic

Joel: the real rogue. subclass assassin sneaky and chaotic and not afraid to cause damage. actually happy to do so. always quick to red life (evil) will use every opportunity to shoot an arrow at u when ur close to an edge

lizzie: sorcerer she's a magic user for sure. but like natural magic in her bones, in her blood.

bigb: rn hes a warlock, patron: the hole lmao definitely signed his soul away to the hole man

scott: paladin, oath of devotion NEVER betrays his allies. always sees his friendships through to the end. somehlw a tank? rarely takes huge chunks of dmg, even when ppl aim for a crit. shield guy.

impulse: wizard i feel like he'd be a magic user but not naturally, instead someone who studies it by the book (nerd)

gem: druid gives animal lover vibe combined with being a force of nature (pvp goddess)

scar: bard college of eloquence THE talker. not very good at fighting but hes using magic and words to screw u into a useless deal

#got their permission to share it here #sadly they dont use tumblr #they'd have a blast here #notes are appreciated; my sibling did amazing work here and im sure they'd love to see others opinions #bigb got me crackling #life series #traffic life smp #trafficblr #secret life smp #secret life #grian #mumbo jumbo #tangotek #ethoslab #zombiecleo #jimmy solidarity #pearlescentmoon #martyn inthelittlewood #skizzleman #bdoubleo100 #smallishbeans #ldshadowlady #bigb #scott smajor #impulsesv #geminitay #goodtimeswithscar

[ja3hwa]

Day 27 : Hybrid - Yeosang

「Title」 : My Heart Is With The Sea

「Word count」 : 2.76k

-> Genre: Fantasy Au. Smut. Fluff. Angst. Comedy.

Paring: Pirate!Yeosang x Hybrid!Reader

[Warnings] : Warlock Hybrid Yeosang. Swearing. Gross drunk men. Mention of harassment. Hero Yeosang. Powers. Fire blades. Mention of a saloon. Old-timey words. Pet names. Saliva kink. Big dick Yeo. Sub reader. Dom Yeosang. Dirty talk. Details of the reader's body fitting into a curvy plus stature. Begging. Unprotected sex. Cumming inside. Slight breeding kink. Fingering. Yeosang is a cocky bitch. Mention of a Woosan relationship. Poly relationship mentioned. Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: I made the reader Plus size since I've been feeling really shit about my body image so yee. Also, I wanted to write more but I've run out of time so if this gets good attention and people want more. I'll be more than happy to turn this into a min series. And I was making this a JongSan fic but again since I ran out of time I could do Jongho's scenes.

February Filth Fest Event Day Calendar.

It was like any other day. The air was riddled with the smell of the salty sea that was just over the bend of the hill. Loud men filled your ears with drunken nonsense in between slurps of their ale. It wasn't even midday, but yet, at least twenty men were already on the floor. But you guess it's happy hour somewhere beyond the big blue.

You sigh, picking up three glasses before putting them on your tray and moving towards the bar in a swift motion in order to avoid creepy men's hands. Most didn't mean to play rough, but most men just have sticky fingers. You knew you'd get harassed because this is the type of job you got. And most of the time, it didn't phase you, but you knew it annoyed others more than you.

"You lay a hand on her again, and you will lose those fingers." Yeosang barked, picking up the drunk guy that was hunched on his chair by the shirt collar. Yeosang's free hand was held behind him but not out of the men's view. The whole table saw out a blade made of fire magically appeared in the shaggy-haired male. They were nothing but shitting their pants, feeling anxious about angering the warlock.

"We are sorry about our friend Sir Kang. Please forgive his foolish actions." One of the less drunken men at the table slurred. It was as if they all suddenly sobered up, feeling a tension simmer through the whole saloon.

"How about I punish you anyway. Just to prove a point." Yeo smirked, loving to see fear consume such pitiful excuses of humankind. They all jumped to their friends' defence, making the bar roar with loud shouting. You sighed, having lost the fun while watching the interaction. So you whistled loudly, getting everyone's attention, including your brooding Vaelock lover.

"Alright, ladies. You've had your fun. Now fuck off before I send word to the knights." And just like that, all the men from the table piled out through the front door in a hurry. They were like puppies running away with their tails between their legs. But you knew when the sun set by the next few hours, they'd be back. They always came back.

Yeosang dropped his power, fixing his jacket slightly before waltzing over to you with a sly smirk. It always made him feel power when he got to hurt or scare men, but it made him feel even more powerful when it was that he was protecting you. He leaned against the large dark oak bar while he watched you behind it, placing the empty and half-empty tall pint glasses into the wash-up tub. He just stood there for a moment, watching you with abortion in his eyes. He watched how your hair would fall in front of your face when you bent down for something. Or how you had tucked your shirt into your pants today. It sat nicely on your plump figure. And he can't let his eyes wander too much as they land on your lips. Your very kissable lips. The lips he loves so much, especially when they are wrapped around his co—

"You got such a staring problem." You mumbled with a small smile, making him suddenly look away with a blush painting his features.

"I do not." He feels slight embarrassment from his dirty thoughts only moments ago. At least you couldn't read minds. "I'll be off by the coming hour." He changed the subject.

"Off on another adventure." You sigh softly, feeling a little lump in your throat form. You knew his life was on the sea, but it always made you nervous when he left. The waves can be large and unforgiving. Just as the weather can be cruel. His life can easily be taken away, and it kept you up at night whenever he felt for the docks.

"Yes. Captain said he found some news on Atlantis city. If we find it, we will finally be able to be done with these wanted posters and outlaw crap." Yeosang spoke with only a small amount of distance in his tone. Like he was off in his own world. They had been looking for this cromer thing for months with the idea that they could get redemption from the kingdom of East Valley. And how did they disrespect the kingdom, you may ask...well, that was a very long story. But in the shortest way to put it, they angered the king.

And why might a king be mad at a group of immature pirates? Simple. They are pirates, and royalty just has something against the lower class, especially those who bend the rules and live out on the sea. And because San and Wooyoung slept with the Princess....at the same time...

They went to East Valley on a job. To find a cromer for this warlock, but in toe, figured out that the King was the one who had it stolen from the old wizard years and years ago. So they needed to get into the castle, grab it, and leave. Like they weren't ever there. But the Princess saw San and Wooyoung and when Seonghwa told them to keep her distracted, he didn't think they would fuck her...

"Wait... You are looking for Atlantis city?!" Your voice came out strained and uneasy. This caught Yeosangs attention, tilting his head in concern.

"Yes. I thought I told you months ago?"

"You said you were looking for a hidden kingdom. I couldn't have guessed Atlantis." You were worried. Anyone who goes looking for such a place nine out of ten turn up dead or go missing. Worry clouded your mind, feeling your breath quicken. Yeosang suddenly jumps the bar so he can stand next to you. His body heat melted your cold, anxious thoughts. He leant his head on top of yours, holding you tightly in his arms. He knew of your worry and how to beg for him to stay. And he felt guilty every time he left. But he loves the sea and wouldn't see a life without it. But he also couldn't see a life without you. He was stuck at a crossroads.

"I'll be safe. You know I will. Hwa is an excellent navigator. And the captain would never put us in danger for anything. We come first." His words made you feel better, slightly. He pulled away from you so he could look you in the eyes. They were filled with tears, just waiting to be let out. You didn't want to cry. But your emotions seemed to have other plans.

"Just promise me. Promise none of you will get hurt ..."

He had to chuckle at the fact you referenced everyone. You had grown close to his crew since the day you met. Yeosang obviously tried to keep you for himself for a while, but alas, the others also found interest in you. Little did they know you were actually bedded with Yeosang already.

"None of us will be in danger. I promise." He gave you a small kiss on your forehead. It was a moment of peace in his arms. Like the world had stopped. You were the first to pull away, putting down the bar rag and moving things around to keep your hands occupied. Yeosang chuckled at your flustered state, suddenly recalling the dirty thoughts he had prior. And then a new thought came to mind.

"You know..." He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of your pants before pulling your body back into his. Your back flushed against his chest he leaned down so his face could sit nicely in your neck. "I could go for a parting gift. Something for me to remember while out at sea."

Your face flushed red and you looked around the large opened room, thanking the gods that the only customers that were still in the bar were either passed out of too far to hear your lover's filth idea.

"I..." You were going to decline out of embarrassment, but then the idea simmered in your mind making your thigh clench at the thought. "My shift finishes in ten minutes."

He chuckled darkly at you, giving your neck a few kisses for saying. "You know where to find me." Leaving, you flustered while he walked out of the bar as if nothing just happened.

-

"Yeosang!!" You moaned feeling a slight burn at the twisted position you were in. Your legs were hung over his shoulders while he practically bent you in half as he pounded into you. His teeth grazed against your neck as his muscles tensed from the exertion. Your hands fly to find something to hold onto, gasping out moans as his hands find yours. His fingers lace with yours before pinning them to the mattress.

“I’ll make sure to fill your cup. So you are nice and full while I’m gone.” Yeosang grunted, feeling sweat beads form against his hairline.

You whine in response, his words weren't fully registering in your pleasured-filled mind. You were so lost in the grunts and pants he spilled into your ears as he pressed so deep, fucking into the perfect spot that had your thighs quivering on either side of his head. Your plump legs were dropped to a more comfortable position on his waist as he gripped your cheeks with his fingers. Your mouth opened instinctively as he pursed his lips, gathering saliva before spitting it in your mouth and smothering your lips with his in a sloppy kiss. Teeth clanking together from the punishing thrusts as his hips rutted yours.

“My pretty Darling. Mine… All of this is mine.” A sick smile curled his lips, goosebumps lining his skin when your shaky hands found their way up his chest and to his shaggy black hair. Fingers tangling in it as you blubbered incoherent words, a shift in his hips tensing your body and making your hands tug the sweat-dampened strands. He’s strained from the angle of his head being pulled back. The column of his neck looked as if it was begging to be marked up as you pulled him down to you, latching your lips to his pulse point and sucking harshly on the skin. His vulgar sounds vibrated against your mouth as his warm right hand slipped between your slick bodies to toy with your clit. Your back arches painfully at the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck Yeo... Please FUccckk.” You scream throwing your head back feeling Yeosang press sloppy circles to your sensitive bud while his thrusts suddenly lose their rhythm. He suddenly wanted to see your face, so, picking up his hand slightly he waved a finger in the air, making your hands tug off his hair within a second. You try to move your hands away from either side of your face but alas, his power that bands an invisible cuff around them made it impossible.

“Come on baby, whose cock is this, hmm?”

You mumble inaudibly over the wet sounds of skin slapping. His lips brushed over yours mixing his breath with yours. His hips snap forward, his thick cock ramming into a spot that got you seeing stars. His hand leaves leave your clit, one gripping your hip, bruising the soft curves while the other grabs a hand full of your large bust. “I asked you a question, Doll..”

 “Mine- mine, all mine-“ you finally cried out, words slurring together from the seemingly permanent fog that had settled over your mind. He finally let your hands free from his hold in a silent gesture for his next move.

“Prove it then.”

“I can’t- I- Yeo, please-“ you cry, tears pooling in your eyes while your fingers slip down to dig your nails into the skin of his shoulders. The stinging sensation only urged him to keep going while a shaky moan escapes his lips.

“You can do it, Darling. Take what’s yours.” He demanded, jaw clenched tight and pace faltering. Your ankles hooked together at the base of his back, heels digging into the spot to pull him impossibly deeper as you frantically rocked your hips against him along with his thrusts. Yeosang grunts in a pleased response, head dipping down to bite a mark to your shoulder as his cock twitched in your velvety walls. Your orgasm tore through you like a wildfire. Stealing the breath from your lungs and making your body convulse. His guttural moan was almost barely heard over the roaring in your ears as hot spurts of his cum filled you.

Your body was worn out when he slipped from between your shaking thighs. A soft whine pulled from your throat when you felt his middle and ring finger against your cunt, pressing the seed that had seeped from you back into your walls. Your overstimulated cunt already clenched around the digits and body fully reacting to the shocks of pleasure as he finger fucks you.

“Best parting gift ever,”

-

Yeosang ran over the dock as fast as his legs to take him. The ship was in sight, and his heartbeat finally could rest easy, knowing his captain wasn’t just going to up and leave him like he had been threatened in the past. His feet land on the familiar oak beauty. He spots his friends scattered around the deck, one in particular―a like blonde―shaking his head in annoyance.

“Next time we leave you.” The blonde shouts heading up to the stern deck where the wheel is. Yeosang just huffed out in response, turning his attention to the redhead and his feline-featured lover.

“So how was it?” Wooyoung giggled.

Yeosang choked looking dumbfounded. “What?!”

“You know. How was she? Or he. Or both. I don’t judge.”

“Shut up Wooyoung.” Jongho suddenly appeared from the captain's quarters fixing his overcoat slightly. “Don’t you have a kitchen to stock?”

Wooyoung went to reply with a snarky remark but San pulled him away with a small smile telling him to drop it. Yeosang shook his head slightly glancing over at the younger male. The ravened hair man waltzed over slowly, keeping his unreadable expression until he stood only centimetres away from him.

“She okay?” He spoke softly knowing exactly where he had been for the past couple of hours. Yeo had to chuckle at his words as sudden flashes of your fucked out expression and blissful moans echoed in his mind.

“Uh yeah. Last time I checked.” he couldn’t hide the smug smirk on his face.

“Last time you checked uh-huh.” Jongho smirked lightly hitting his shoulder while nodding.

Yeo just bit his lip, watching Jongho walk away.

-

“Cap, what's the plan?” Yunho tilted his head until he heard a crack. Seonghwa was pacing around the large map on the big oak table. “Do we travel west?”

“If he cut through this roar he can make it to the caving island before the storm hits,” Mingi spoke up an idea, making the captain nod slowly, leaning into his chair ever so slightly.

“Do it. Three days will be added to our trip, but we'll make it happen.” Hongjoong waved his hand, standing up before turning to look out the window, seeing the dark clouds approaching east. The rest of the crew gear up for the sudden travel. Heading west to a small island riddled with caves big enough to hold a ship until the storm blows over.

-

“This storm is getting bad out there. They should be okay right…” You stood by the water's edge as your friend Livera played with a stick in the sand making random scribbles.

“I’m sure they are fine. Besides the storm is probably not that bad.” The red hair knelt down finding a crab suddenly emerging from under the sand. She bit her lip in excitement, eyes widening with sparkle inside them.

“I just… What if―Bubs if you are so worried, why don’t you go find out?” Her big soft ears that were perched on the top of her head twitch while her tail bright red tail wags slowly.

You turn your attention away from the sweet fox, noticing how the waves crash against the bank as if the ocean calls for you to join it. “Maybe I will.”

And you run straight into the water before diving in deep.

- Part Two -

-

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© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reaction #ateez reactions #ateez fanfic #pirate!ateez #ateez pirate au #hybrid!ateez #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez scenario #ateez yeosang #ateez angst #poly ateez #ateez poly #atz reactions #atz smut #atz fluff #atz hard hours #ja3hwa posts #ja3hwa #february filth fest #kinkuary 2023 #yeosang x y/n #atz yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang #kpop smut

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 7

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 7/? 4.1k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Reality — something that Eddie is uncomfortably familiar with.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: weed, angst, sibling death mention

Eddie held a joint between his lips, the paper wetting in his mouth as he tapped out a melody on the fretboard of his warlock, fingers making contact with the strings at a feverish pace. He took a long drag, exhaling the smoke through his nose. The ash on the end of it was dangerously long, threatening to drop onto his bedsheets at any moment. 

He paused, reaching over toward his nightstand to tap off the excess into the crowded ashtray and instead knocked over two empty Mountain Dew cans. They sputtered drops of sticky liquid onto his magazines before clattering onto the floor. Eddie cursed. He sighed and reached down into the abyss between his nightstand and the bed to retrieve them, cringing at whatever else may have fallen down there that he had long forgotten about.

It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon and Eddie had been awake for all of two hours. There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling that he was all too familiar with on Sundays. He returned his hands to the fretboard and noodled around with the strings, tapping out the melody again as the tingle of the drug washed over him. 

He glanced over toward his backpack slumped in the corner by the desk. It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon and he had not even thought about his homework. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had thought about it. Quite a few times actually. 

Yesterday he thought about while he was hunkered over the monster manual that he had to reach into his backpack to retrieve. He thought about it while he was at band practice last night too. And again while he was at the gas station at one in the morning, loading up with cigarettes and twinkies. He even thought about it while he was devouring them in front of his television.

He didn’t think about it at all on Friday night though. Well he kind of did, but that’s because he was mostly thinking about you and it just sort of came with the territory. He was mostly thinking about the way his hands felt around your waist, the one he had been itching to touch for two months now. He thought about the way your body felt in his arms, so warm and soft and real.

He thought if he could play it over and over again in his mind that he could exist in the moment for longer than he was given. He wondered when he would be given another. If he would be given another.

He thought about you, out with your friends at a bar he wasn’t even old enough to drink at. He thought about how often you went out like that, and how many times it would be before someone else saw you the same way he did.

His finger slipped and he muttered a curse at the sour note. He adjusted his headphones and glanced around the room. 

There was a pile of clothes at the foot of his closet that had been there for almost a month now. A pile of records in front of the cabinet meant to contain them for even longer. The dust was starting to collect on the top of his amp beside it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he vacuumed.

He wondered what your home looked like. If you had a pile of records too or if yours all had homes like they were supposed to. He wondered what sort furniture you had, if you had any posters or paintings or empty Mountain Dew cans sitting around collecting dust.

Probably not. 

His stomach growled. He had barely left his bed let alone eaten anything yet today. He peeled off his headphones and set his guitar to the side as he climbed out of the warm comfort of his bed. He opened his bedroom door quietly and padded down the short hallway into the kitchen. The linoleum floor was cold against his bare feet. 

He opened the fridge door slowly, careful not to wake Wayne sleeping in the dark living room. He glanced over the milk, eggs, and sparse condiments, spying a plastic bag with leftover once-frozen pizza inside. There were two pieces left.

Eddie glanced over toward the living room, hearing Wayne softly snoring on the fold-away bed. He looked back at the bag of pizza and grabbed it before quietly shutting the fridge.

There was a pang of guilt that came over him as he crept back down the hall toward the lighted door of his bedroom. Guilt for taking the last of it. The pizza. The bedroom.

He shut the door softly and returned to the warmth of his bed, folding his legs under him as he peeled back the plastic baggie.

Cold pizza always tasted better when he was high. Everything did. The combination of the cheese and the cold red sauce, the chewiness of the crust as he bit into it. Even the little brown sausage nuggets had more flavor.

Eddie sighed as he felt the food travel down his throat and fill his empty stomach. 

He thought about you again, wondered what you were doing at that moment in time. He thought about you making lunch in your kitchen. Probably a sandwich, or a salad — something healthy. You probably ate it at a table, even wiped it down after you were done. He thought about you in your quiet apartment all by yourself and wondered if you thought about him too.

He wasn’t entirely sure you returned his feelings. Not like how he felt about you anyway. He swore he could feel it though, there was something. Something about the way you sighed when he held you, how easily your body pressed to his, like it wanted to be there. It was the way you never drew away when he drew closer. The way you looked at him. The way you laughed at his jokes and watched him as he left the parking lot. 

Eddie glanced at his backpack slumped over by his desk.

He picked a few crumbs off of his sweatpants and sprinkled them onto the floor, taking care that they didn’t end up in his bed.

He wondered what you would think if you walked in right now. 

What sort of interest could someone like you possibly have in someone like him?

If there was one thing he was really good at, it was wasting his time.

______

It was a Monday morning and Eddie Munson was tired. Tired of the looks people gave him as they passed him in the hallway. He was tired of waking up early to come to a place that he’d outgrown. Tired of not being good enough to leave it.

He felt his eyes lose focus as he twisted the dial on his locker. It took him three tries before it opened.

He had stayed up entirely too late again. For why, he wasn’t really sure. Maybe to punish himself. He supposed waking up at noon the day before didn’t exactly set himself up for success either.

In his defense he did finally crack open his chemistry textbook at 8 PM, but he might as well have been reading Greek. He stared at at the letters and numbers and formulas until he finally just gave up and tossed it back where it came from.

He did your homework though. He read the final chapters of the book and took notes on them as assigned. There would be a test on Friday and he didn’t want to disappoint you. 

He stared into the contents of his locker, at the crumpled papers already accumulating underneath the pile of textbooks that were strewn about without a home.

Suddenly there was a soft voice that came from the other side of the cold metal. “Hey Eddie.”

Eddie swung the locker door inward. Chrissy Cunningham leaned against the locker next to his, clutching textbooks against her soft white cardigan.

“Hey,” he said, giving her a hesitant look.

“So I hear you can, um,” Chrissy bit her lip in thought, glancing off to the side, “Hook people up with certain things. If you know what I mean.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows and grabbed his history textbook before shutting his locker. “Yeah, I know what you mean. What do you need?”

“Well, Tina’s having a Halloween party again this year on Saturday and I was wondering if you could, you know. Deal.”

Eddie thought for a moment. He thought about how much money he had, which was not a lot. Not enough to get the tattoo he’d been wanting for over a month now. He thought about how good it would feel to focus on the prickling sting of the needle driving into his skin for a few hours. It was hard to think about anything else when you were in the chair, and he liked that about it — like a strange meditation. He could use a break from his thoughts lately.

“Yeah, I can deal. What are we talking?”

“Just grass I guess, not trying to kill anybody,” she said with a little chuckle. “People always overdo it at these things.”

Eddie gave a single nod, “I’ve got that.”

Chrissy smiled, “Great, here’s the address,” she said, reaching on top of the books she was carrying to hand him an orange flyer.

He took the paper in his hands, looking at the little hand-drawn ghost with the date, time, and address on it. Come and get sheet faced. 

“I’ll see you there then, yeah?”

Eddie looked up from the paper, creasing it in the center with his thumb before shoving it into his pocket. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” she said. Her eyes glanced over him, scuffing the toe of her white shoe against the tile absentmindedly, “Looking forward to it.”

______

“Harpies don’t have ranged attacks, we’d be better off hitting them with spell damage while you tank them,” said Jeff, flicking his empty milk carton across the table at Mike.

“Their song is ranged, what are you talking about?” Mike retorted, flicking the milk carton back at him.

“That’s not an attack, dumbass,” said Jeff, chuckling.

Dustin glanced over at Mike and interjected. “The song lures you into close range so they can hit you with their talons. And they can do it from a distance, so…”

“But it’s not an attack,” said Gareth with a smirk.

Eddie sighed and swallowed his mouthful of tater tots. “It’s not an attack.”

Jeff laughed. “See?” 

Mike shot Jeff a look, “Well, the spell casters aren’t going to be safe hanging back either way.”

“Guess you’ll just have to hold agro then, Pally,” Jeff said, flicking the milk carton back across the table. The older guys chuckled as the carton tumbled into Mike’s lap.

“Hey uh, by the way, I think we’re gonna have to make band practice later on Saturday,” said Gareth, “My grandma’s in town and we’re doing like… wholesome family shit, you know how it is.”

Eddie wished he could say that he did. “I can’t do it later, I’m going to a Halloween party on Saturday.”

Dustin snorted, “What are you going as?”

“Nothing. It’s, um, a business arrangement,” said Eddie with a look, hoping he would take the hint.

“The one at Tina’s?” asked Gareth, his eyes lighting up.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Can I come?”

Eddie paused, giving him a puzzled look, “I mean, I guess. I could probably use some help.” And some company, but he would never admit that. “Why do you wanna come so bad?”

There was a gleam in Gareth’s eye, “Cindy’s gonna be there, I saw her with one of those orange flyers in science today.”

A low oooh emanated from the table followed by a nudge from Jeff.

Eddie shot Gareth a look, “Who?”

“Cindy. You know, Cindy Wallace, from the science project?”

Eddie looked unimpressed, “Oh, the one you bailed on us for? Yeah I remember.”

“Yeah well, she’s gonna be there, so,” said Gareth, sitting back in his chair.

Eddie sighed, “Fine, you can come, just don’t make an ass of yourself or I’m leaving you there,” he said decidedly, popping another tater tot into his mouth.

“Cindy can take him home then,” laughed Jeff, nudging Gareth again.

The table erupted in laughter. 

______

Eddie stared down at the chemistry homework that was now past-due as you went over the first equation for the third time. You had been at this for twenty minutes and he was comprehending absolutely none of it.

“It’s kind of like baking a cake, like all the ingredients come together to create this new thing. It’s different than math in that way,” you said gently, “Here, let’s use the equation for water as an example,” you said, scratching it out on the upper lefthand corner of the paper.

The fluorescent lights beat down on him, tiring his eyes even more than they already were. It made his skin feel hot. He hated the lighting in school. It was clinical, and oppressive, and made him want to take a nap. He blinked, watching your hand move across the paper, noting the soft dusting of chalk that still lingered on your knuckles.

“Ok, now let’s apply this same concept to the first equation here.” You scratched out the problem and walked him through solving it step by step.

He followed along, trying his best to pay attention. It was like you were saying words but his brain was not computing.

“Does that make sense?”

He sat back and looked at your handwriting, neat and pretty. None of it connected. “Um,” his eyes bored into the paper, unable to face yours. He was afraid he would look up and see frustration, or even worse — disappointment. 

His face felt hot, his chest like someone had placed a weight there. The numbers and letters blurred in front of him as his voice caught in his throat. 

He felt like an idiot.

He could feel your eyes glance over his face and he worked up the courage to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, digging his nail into the side of the pencil. He swallowed as he felt the heat rush to his face again, his pulse pounding in his ears. “I’m an idiot, I —” He stared down at the paper again.

He wanted to cry.

“No you’re not,” you said, your voice was warm and kind.

His nose burned as tears threatened behind his eyes and he hated himself for it. Hated himself for feeling like a child. For being unable to solve a basic problem even after all the extra help. Hated himself for still being here after six years. He didn’t know what he did to deserve your patience. He wondered when it would expire or if he was better off just dropping out. Maybe then he could ask you out like a real adult. He didn’t feel like one though. Not right now.

He felt a hand on his back. 

He turned to look at you. The softness in your eyes could have melted him. Your gentle hand moved back and forth between his shoulder blades soothingly and he sighed at the touch. 

“You’re really smart, Eddie. This just isn’t your thing, that’s all.”

You meant it, he could tell.

His eyes were large and wet but his tears obeyed and did not spill over his lashes. “Thanks,” he said softly. “For your patience, for your time, for … everything. I don’t know if I deserve it, but…”

Your hand stopped moving. His heart lurched. He watched as your expression changed, like you were pained all of a sudden. Your pretty mouth twitched, eyes lowering in thought. 

“Please don’t say that. It’s really no trouble, I…” Your eyes darted back and forth between his, laying down words like you were hopping across a stream on small rocks, careful where you landed. “I really like… spending time with you. I…” 

He leaned closer toward you, like a magnet was pulling him. “I like spending time with you too.” He could feel your breath against his cheek. His eyes lowered to your lips, so soft and so close. He wondered what it would feel like to close the gap and snatch them up in his.

Your eyes grew wider and Eddie swore he saw your face turn a deeper shade. He ached when you took your hand away.

“Let’s put this away and work on something else. I think you just need a little break.” You turned back toward your desk, bringing that same hand behind your neck as you cast your eyes downward. “Maybe we can come back to it later, or on Wednesday.” 

Eddie swallowed and glanced away, turning to put his homework back in the beat up folder it came from. His face felt hot all of a sudden.

“So, uh, how was your birthday?” he asked, searching for anything to distract from the nerves twisting in his gut.

“Oh, it was uh,” you tidied your desk, “Fine. It was nice. I listened to the tapes you gave me,” you said, meeting his eyes again.

“Oh yeah?” He perked up.

“Yeah, multiple times actually,” you said, a bashfulness creeping through your smile. “I really liked them.”

“Really?”

“Yes really. I love music that’s driving, you know? Like, it takes you somewhere. It’s got this energy about it that’s really addicting, like it makes you want to move. I can see why you love it so much,” you said. Your eyes were sparkling, the redness in your face fading.

“Which one was your favorite?”

“Favorite song or album?”

“Both. I’m curious.”

You put a curved finger to your lips in thought. He loved it when you did that. “I think I liked Paranoid the best out of the two. And then song, let’s see... I think… War Pigs.”

Eddie blinked, “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a protest song, which I love. It’s the one that really made me pause and think, you know? It’s really true, what they’re talking about. How war is a game played by people who have power and the pieces are the people who don’t, who have no other choice but to be played. It’s a really powerful song. Catchy as hell too.”

Eddie propped his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek against his hand. He was tempted to bring you his entire collection if it meant that he could listen to you talk about them all the way you talked about everything — with careful perception. 

You sighed softly, lowering your eyes before meeting his once more. “You know, I think more people would like it if they really listened.”

There was a tug at his heart. A loud and restless part of him stirred — awakened, acknowledged. “That’s what I’ve been saying,” he said breathlessly. “For years.”

You smiled at him in a way that made him feel something he felt so rarely. Seen.

He twisted at the rings on his fingers.

“Did um, did you do anything fun this weekend?” you asked, tidying a few papers on your desk.

“Nah, besides the usual stuff. Band practice, campaign planning,” he said, trailing off. “Homework,” he added quickly. “How was the rest of yours?”

“Oh, uneventful. Reading, errands… just boring stuff. I tried decorating for Halloween but…” you glanced off to the side and he noticed your brows furrow slightly. “I just haven’t been feeling all that festive this year. It’s weird living alone.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, shifting in his chair. “Yeah, I uh, got invited to a party this weekend but I can’t say I’m really feeling festive either.”

“Oh.” Your face dropped. It happened so quickly that he almost didn’t catch it before you corrected it. “Are you going as anything?” you asked innocently.

“Nah. I’m just… going.” 

He wondered what you’d think if you knew why. You — behind the desk with chalk on your hands and worry in your eyes. You — staying later than required, with no extra pay, for him — a drug dealer.

He cast his eyes downward and thought about his father. A criminal. Only he was in jail and Eddie was free. Free to sell drugs to teenagers. They had more than a few things in common — he couldn’t manage to graduate high school either. 

He kicked himself for even mentioning the party.

There was a deep worry in your eyes, deeper than you could hide. “Please be safe.” 

Eddie leaned closer, “Are you ok?” he asked softly, probing you with his dark eyes.

“Um,” you lowered your eyes again, thumbing at the eraser of the pencil in your hand. “This time of year is… complicated for me.” For once you looked at a loss for words.

“What happened?” his voice was gentle.

You sighed and met his eyes. “My brother,” you started, swallowing as if your voice was caught, “My older brother, he… drove home drunk from a Halloween party. He was 17 and new at driving, and the roads were wet, and — “ you swallowed again, blinking as you stared off into nothing, “He didn’t make it home.”

The waver in your voice made his heart clench. “I’m so sorry.” 

He looked at you. 

You — who he watched day after day from the back of the classroom. You — who had all of the answers. 

You looked so small from this side of the desk. 

Your hand trembled, hovering above the mess of eraser shavings that the two of you had made together. He wanted to touch you. His hands twitched in his lap. When you found the courage to meet his gaze again, he caught the barely-there shimmer of tears threatening your lower lashes, and he couldn’t help himself.

Pulse racing, he reached across the space between and took your hand in his.

Your eyes were wide with trepidation.

“It’s ok,” he said softly.

His touch was delicate at first, timid until you squeezed back. His eyes fluttered up to yours for just a second, searching for approval before returning to your hand. 

Your hand. The hand that writes back silly notes on his papers in green pen. The hand that opens his gifts wrapped in newspaper as if they were Tiffany’s boxes.

He rubbed his calloused thumb over your knuckles, wiping away the chalk. Your fingers were cold, fragile almost. Your palm so soft and warm against his. You had a paper cut on your index finger, he noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, swiping the knuckle from your other hand underneath your lashes quickly.

“Don’t be, it’s ok.”

He brought his other hand around yours, his grip solid and gentle all at once. He felt you relax and his curious fingers changed positions, as if he was trying to commit the touch to memory, to feel as much of your hand as possible. What surprised him was how eager yours was to do the same.

He felt your fingers move against the back of his hand, along his tendons, his knuckles, his rings, feeling the strong bones under the soft flesh. The pulse in your wrist hammered against his, your palm starting to sweat.

The echo of footsteps clicked up the hall, coming closer. Your eyes flashed up at his and you took your hand away.

You cleared your throat, sitting up straight again as the footsteps passed the door. “Um, thank you,” you said.

“Sure. Anytime,” he said softly, scratching his head.

The two of you sat there a moment in stillness. Nothing but the ticking of the clock and the clicking of heels moving away now.

“He was really something else,” you said softly, the light in your eyes returning. “From what I remember anyway. I was in eighth grade when it happened. You know, I can’t even say you would have liked him. I mean he was…” you trailed off, lost in thought, “He was in a different crowd. But he just had this energy about him that was so… magnetic. You have that in common at least.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Magnetic?” 

The look you gave him made his heart flutter. A glint he caught in your eyes, there for only a second. “Yeah.”

You thumbed at the pencil on your desk again, brows furrowed in thought. “I never really went to many parties. Not in high school, not in college either. There’s a part of me that feels like I really missed out.”

“If it’s any consolation you’re really not missing much,” he said with a little chuckle. 

“I know but it’s still… an experience.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Can’t argue with that.”

You sighed and looked at him again, the worry creeping back onto your features. “Please be careful, ok?” 

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

______

A/N: We thought Tina’s 1984 Halloween party was angsty, who’s ready for Angstfest 1985??

I also want to make a little note that I hope teacher!reader having this very specific backstory element doesn't deter anyone from the story! It was important for me as a writer to give her a reason for her behavior and relationships (specifically with her mom). It's all going to make sense, I promise! Just stick with me 💜

I want to give a special shoutout this week to the people who leave feedback (especially every single chapter!), and to the people who send me excited asks and messages. Your encouragement really keeps me going, you have no idea. (I do love all your hearts too, shy folks, please don’t get me wrong! They make me smile and I cherish you.) 

I’m a small blog. I have less than 1k followers (but I’m closing in!). When I posted chapter one I had 165. This is my first big series and I’m learning a lot in the process. So if you love this story and feel comfortable sharing it, please do! I love you.

***If you want to be tagged or asked to be and don't see your name here, it's because I couldn't. Update your settings like this!

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @msgexymunson @bebe0701 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @shotgunhallelujah @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @luna-munson83 @eddiemunsonsbitcch @tlclick73 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @ruby-dragon @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddiemunson011 @trashmouth-richie @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @quinnsfineline @chaoticgood-munson @beep-beep-sherlock @emily-roberts @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @newlips @munsins

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Tags continued in comments 💋

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #don't stand so close to me

[sanjoongie]

𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚏 & 𝙽𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚣

🐍Pairing: Snake Familiar! Seonghwa x Witch! Reader (f) x Cat Familiar! San

🐈‍⬛️Genre: Fluff, angst, adventure

💧Au: witch au, supernatural au, fantasy au, familiars au, shapeshifter au, magical au

🐍Trope: savior love

🐈‍⬛️Rating: PG-13, MDNI

💧Warnings: mentions of familiars bonded against their will, escaping from an oppressed warlock, magical abuse

🐍Word Count: 2,147

🐈‍⬛️Summary: when a seemingly random cat and snake show up at your front door, you're pulled into a whirlwind story that poses you as the hero for the two

💧A/N: to my dearest Haru @stardragongalaxy. I hope your birthday can be a good one. You are my strength when I am feeling down. That's apparent with this tiny plot bunny that's been alive between us for almost a year now. Floof and Noodz have always been there to comfort me and that's because of you. I'm finally breathing some life into that story so that we can both share in the comfort of them. Happy Birthday!

You stepped out of your humble cottage by the sea and breathed in deeply of the salty air. You stretched for a moment, enjoying the tranquil morning before heading towards your tide pool. Inside was coral, kelp and mini sea creatures. You frowned when you saw your seahorse in the top right quadrant. Why did your tidepool project that you were going on an adventure when the most you planned to do was shuck some mollusks?

Then you saw the most peculiar thing while peering over the stone wall of your land. A very black cat was making its way over the black sand dunes surrounding your home. You thought perhaps he was lost but his path appeared very determined. Must be someone’s familiar out and about. You confirmed such when you spotted a pink collar around its neck. 

Satisfied that there was nothing wrong with the world, you went to your shed to acquire your sturdy boots and some strips of cloth to tie back your sleeves and skirts, and grabbed a basket you had weaved of dry grass. 

You made your way to the cliffs that always had a good amount of mussels clinging to the rock, swinging your basket and humming a pirate’s ditty under your breath. Thinking of how you also needed to resupply your storage cupboard of the pretty black mussel shells, you aimed to pick big ones, hoping that the insides provided for a good supper later as well. 

Oddly enough, the black cat you had spotted early chose a spot high above you on the rocks, watching you with dark eyes. You tipped your floppy hat in greeting and went back to your work. You found an awful lot of mussels, huge ones, a better haul than you had ever acquired and started to get suspicious. 

You stared at the black cat, unblinking and licking its paw, a little too casually. Every witch knew black cats were bad luck. You froze in alarm when the pink collar around the cat’s neck began to move but that’s when you realized that it wasn’t a collar. In fact, it was a tiny pink snake that had wound itself safely and securely around the cat’s neck. It slithered until its small head was on top of the black cat’s, tongue slithering out, scenting the air around it.

Curious but well aware the pair were none of your business, you made your way back to your cottage. You worked on the outside water pump, luring fresh water to wash most of the salt water from the mussels you had gathered. You shrieked and fell on your ass when the same black cat from the rock’s was suddenly on top of your pump.

The black cat raised its hair and hissed back at you. “Well, that’s not a very nice hello,” You muttered under your breath. 

The snake and cat exchanged a look. Suddenly, with a poof of golden starred smoke, the black cat changed into a human. “You’re the one that screamed because of me,” the man pouted when he spoke.

The snake was still in snake form, around the black-cat-now-man’s neck still. He was dressed in a flowing white shirt and tight black pants but he didn’t like he was in the best of shape, the clothes quite shabby and bags under his eyes. His dark hair was long and he shook it out of his face. He sported a chain that connected from his ear to his lip, piercings in both parts there. He was quite handsome. You shook your head. That was besides the point. 

You brushed yourself off of sand as you stood up. “And you, sir, are on my land, without permission.”

The man stood a bit straighter at the formality. “Mistress Witch, with your permission, my companion and I are seeking refuge. Would you allow us a day and a night on your land and in your cottage? Allow us to break bread and drink merrily at your table?”

You sighed. It was a harmless but formal request. The fact that he had responded in kind to your language meant that he was definitely a familiar and knew of the laws that governed all the witches and warlocks. 

“A day and a night is granted,” You agreed. You sent a dirty look at your tide pool and you could have sworn your mini dolphin sassily flipped in the water in response. 

The black cat introduced himself as San and the snake was Seonghwa. San immediately hauled the collection of mussels inside, aiding in shucking them while you chattered about a few recipes you contemplated cooking them into. 

The silence lulled and your eyes were drawn to the sparkly eyes of the snake around San’s neck. “Will your companion be joining us?” You wondered.

San ran a fond finger over Seonghwa’s scales. “He’s…shy. He’ll probably stay in his snake form for our visit.”

Seonghwa raised his head off of San’s collarbone and flickered his tongue at you. Then he slithered down San’s shirt, into his sleeve, and stuck his head out from the cuff of San’s sleeve. His tongue flickered again and then he looked back at San.

“Seonghwa says you taste like good magic,” San supplied. 

You laughed abruptly. “Do I?”

San frowned, unsure if you were mocking him or not. “You could say we’re not used to that.”

You tilted your head. “Wait. You’re truly seeking safety? You weren’t just offering a formality?”

San scratched the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. “It’s just for a bit. We won’t inconvenience you longer than we agreed on.”

If San wasn’t going to supply the reason for needing safety, you weren’t going to pry. You’d had your fair share of people passing through. So you cooked up the mussels in a wonderful white wine and ate in companionable silence with San. You were about to wash up the dishes but San insisted on doing that too. He was quite polite for a guest. 

Then as day turned into evening, and there was only the snap and pop of the fire while you sat in front of it, you found yourself lulled into a sense of warmth by the fire and fell asleep. You woke up to shouting from San and it was not a nice way to wake up.

“Seonghwa! Stop eating that right now!” San protested.

You blinked your eyes clearly and found that Seonghwa was three quarters of the way through chomping down on your imbued narwhal horn that acted as your staff. You stood up quickly, magic sparkling from your fingertips. 

San stood in front of Seonghwa immediately to stop you. “Wait, I know how this looks!”

“Like I offered you safety stupidly and now you’re stealing my staff!” You growled.

At this point, there was simply the tip left to consume and you took a step forward. “Either he stops or I’m about to suck you both into such a strong, magical maelstrom you won’t know up from down.”

“He can’t stop once he’s started, I’m sorry,” San apologized, “We’ll help you replace your staff.”

You watched with a heavy heart as the pink snake finished consuming your staff and shrunk back to his teeny tiny size. Then he slithered up San’s leg and found his place back around San’s neck. You narrowed your eyes at the offending creature. 

“That staff has been passed down from generation to generation. I use it to push away big storms or to help wrecked ships! There’s no way--”

“There’s a warlock after us who is looking to suck away all our power for himself!” San shouted suddenly.

It took you a moment to process this information and still it didn’t quite hit home. “What?”

San sighed heavily and took a seat in one of your wonderfully constructed, ‘filled with sea-foam’ chairs. He wiggled until he was comfortable and then began. He spun a tale of how Seonghwa and he were powerful familiars. They had not bonded with any witch or warlock. Then one day they met a warlock with a charming grin. He introduced himself as Hongjoong. The warlock was indeed powerful, but with a familiar already. The hawk Hongjoong held on his arm was Yunho but he didn’t look good; his feathers weren’t healthy and Seonghwa sensed something wrong with the hawk. San and Seonghwa both declined to agree to a bond with Hongjoong but as it turned out, Hongjoong didn’t need them to agree. He was capable of twisting familiars to be his without an agreement. The two had been fleeing from Hongjoong since they fought with the warlock. 

“Is that why Seonghwa ate my staff?” You demanded tiredly.

San nodded. “I’m sorry. It was like an instinct for him. I had fallen asleep too after the yummy meal you made us.” He sent you an apologetic smile. 

You stood up, unable to sit down any longer with the energy inside of you. “I’ll have to cast a spell. Perhaps a magical fog to suppress your auras. That will keep you hidden for a bit, at least. But you’ll have to stay here.”

San frowned at you in confusion. “Why would you help us? Especially when Seonghwa just ate your staff?”

“I… I will not stand for anyone to be bullied,” You said adamantly, “This Hongjoong must be stopped.”

San raised his hand to run a reassuring finger down Seonghwa’s head but found that there was no snake around his neck. You both looked around in alarm but as it turned out, Seonghwa had slithered to your chair and was hovering on the arm of it. You inched your hand forward, pulling back when Seonghwa’s head reared back, but when you offered your hand palm up, Seonghwa slithered until he was coiled up in the palm of your hand. 

You brought him up to your face, still not pleased with your staff being eaten. “You, sir, are going to have to do a lot of apologizing.”

Seonghwa, whether in response or simply to taste if your magic was still good, flickered his tongue out at your nose, almost kissing it. “Seonghwa!” San scolded him.

You glanced towards San. “Did he… say anything?”

“He says the narwhal horn tasted yummy and he was wondering if you had more for him to eat,” San admitted.

You couldn't help but laugh despite the situation. You shook your finger at Seonghwa. “No more magical item consuming, please. If you want me to help you with Hongjoong, I’m going to need all the help I can get!”

You went outside, about to pass Seonghwa back to San but instead, the snake wound himself around your wrist instead. You lifted your eyebrows up at San but he shrugged, not sure what Seonghwa was intending. 

You raised your arms and called upon your powers to summon a fog that could cloak everything it touched. The fog appeared along your ankles and swirled around the sand until finally you couldn't see the sea or anything outside of the limits of your land. When you were done, you looked down to see Seonghwa was shining, iridescent and neon pink. You looked over to San, whose eyes were now shining a bright purple. You checked your inner well of magic and it was like you hadn't cast a very large spell at all.

“Did you help me?” You took a shot in the dark.

“It’s the least we could do,” San smiled, showing some dimpled cheeks. 

That night you slept in your hammock, hanging up a spare for San in the sunroom of your cottage. But when you woke up the next morning, from a tickle on your arm, you found that San had turned back into a cat and had curled up on your chest. You stretched for a yawn, holding San very carefully and depositing him into the hammock where he remained slumbering as a cat.

You moved into the kitchen and found a very tall, pink-haired man standing there. He turned around and shot a pink beam of magic at you, which you very quickly ducked out of the way. 

“Oh--no! I’m so sorry! That was instinct! I didn’t mean to harm you!” The large man’s eyes began to shake in worry. 

“At least I didn’t--” Your mouth shut when you saw the hole that was now in your fireplace. “Oh, Seonghwa.”

The black cat bound into the kitchen, meowing loudly and entwining around your ankles in comfort. Seonghwa smiled painfully, “We’ll help you with that too.”

You rubbed your temples in worry and tried to smile back. It was going to be a bit before the two of them trusted you but perhaps a few fumbles on the way would build a rapport between the three of you. Only time would tell and you hoped you had plenty of that before Hongjoong descended on you all.

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez fluff #topaz's work #ღatz #recent #park seonghwa fluff #choi san fluff #atz fluff #san fluff #seonghwa fluff #sanhwa fluff #haru 🌌

[avocado-writing]

notes: i did this instead of anything in my inbox. sorry but it overtook me and became much longer than I thought. also I wrote raphael as the little sub he is teehee.

relationships: raphael x reader; enver gortash & reader (platonic, parent & child); eventual enver gortash x tav

words: 4k

rating: E

summary: a warlock of Raphael's, you visit the House of Hope one day and find a child. he cannot remain there.

Your life, really, is fine. Maybe a bit empty. But fine.

You’ve had Raphael as your Warlock patron for a while now. It’s fine too, he’s fine, there are definitely worse devils to be indebted to - the fact he’s attractive isn’t so bad either. You started fucking a few years ago and he’s basically wrapped around your little finger at this point. He’s still annoying as all hells but he bottoms well enough and the two of you enjoy being on each other’s good side, so it works out. Mostly what he has you do is track down and kill people who’ve pissed him off - and a lot of people have pissed him off, he’s very piss off-able to be fair, so there’s always plenty of jobs and you come to the House of Hope often, in between the mercenary work you do to survive.

This time you just finished hunting down someone who tried to weasel out of their contract. Raphael had you bring him the man’s head as proof of your work, and then you made him give you head after. Par for the course nowadays.

You peel yourself out of Raphael’s embrace as he bathes in the afterglow of getting spoiled in bed by you. You throw on your pants, and go to grab a bite to eat. Your patron always has a feast ready. It’s something to keep his servants distracted with, the constant cooking and replacing of dishes, and it’s nice to never be hungry when you’re here. You saunter into the banquet room and go to pick up a fistful of grapes…

… pausing when you see something utterly fucking shocking.

A little boy. Making himself as small as possible, dark messy hair and darker sunken eyes, all curled up by the fire. He looks at you with terror and you yelp in surprise, grabbing a spare tablecloth to quickly cover yourself with.

“What the fuck?!” you manage, looking around for answers to the unasked question. Nobody is here to give you any. Fucking lost souls, never here when you need them. You turn back to the boy who looks utterly terrified. “Are you meant to be here?”

He visibly swallows, nervous, and nods. Okay, right, great. Kid in the middle of hell. Of course. You're about to find Raphael and give him a grilling, when you hear a little stomach rumble.

You freeze, raise an eyebrow. Almost impossibly he shrinks further into himself.

“Have you eaten, kiddo?”

He shakes his head, unable to meet your eyes. Oh, well, that won’t do.

You grab a plate and begin to load it up with food for him. He looks hopeful though he tries not to show it too much, as if you’ll punish him for the very idea of it. Gods it must have been torture for the child, sitting in front of a banquet with no invitation to gorge. 

When the plate is so full that it threatens to spill over, you squat down and put it in front of him. The boy stares at it for a long moment before looking up at you.

“Go on. Dig in.”

It’s all the permission he needs. He tears into the food you’ve presented as if he’s never eaten before. As if it is ambrosia. You watch him wolf down chicken thighs so fast that he threatens to choke on them, and you feel your heart ache at the wretched sight.

“This really isn’t a place for kids. What’s your name, lad?” you ask, absent-mindedly swiping some greasy hair out of his eyes. You wonder when was the last time he washed, poor kid. He flinches at your touch a little but doesn’t stop eating, somewhat aware you’re probably the first person he’s met here who doesn’t mean him harm. 

“Enver,” he says through mouthfuls of bread. You tell him your name in return, though you aren’t sure if he really listens.

“I didn’t say he could eat.”

Raphael’s voice cuts through the moment, severe, and the boy freezes mid-bite. Terror floods him. He begins to visibly shake.

Oh, no. No. You won’t be having that.

You speak aloud, voice firm.

“Well, I said he could. Ignore him, kiddo.” 

You stand and put yourself between your patron and the child. This little boy has no idea who you are, but he can sense that you have some sort of power over the demon who’s walked into the room. Timidly he continues his meal. When you’re satisfied you turn to your devil, thunderous.

“Raphael? A word.”

Your tone leaves no wiggle room. He harrumphs and follows you far out of the boy’s earshot, where you unleash your fury. 

“Why is there a fucking child here, Raphael?!” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, his parents sold him to me. Well, to one of my other warlocks, actually, so through the upline he’s mine.”

He speaks as if reading from the paper, not discussing a child’s life. Your blood boils. You want to slap him, but he’d just enjoy it.

“This is no place for… well, fucking anyone, let alone a literal kid. What were you thinking?!”

He shrugs. For a devil meant to be full of cunning, Raphael rarely actually thinks through his short-term impulses into long-term plans. 

“Torture him, I suppose.”

“Don’t you fucking think about it,” you say, hand instinctively summoning your blade. Raphael narrows his eyes. 

“Be careful when you reach for your sword, warlock, lest you forget the person who gifted it to you.”

Fuck. Shit. What an arseache. Okay, you can’t go about this by violence, he’s right. You need to be cunning. You let yourself soften and approach him, laying your hands on his chest. He raises an eyebrow but allows you to caress him. 

“Raphael, come on. You really want a child hanging around here? He’s going to ruin all our fun. I was going to have you on the banquet table later. You don’t want me to ride you while feeding you slices of apple? You enjoyed it last time…”

Your devil huffs but softens under your touch. Gods he really is easy to manipulate when you know which buttons to press. 

“You’re really up in arms about him, aren’t you? Look, they gave him away for a reason. He’s not some sweet innocent. He’s a little bastard, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Please don’t do anything too harsh to him? For me? For your favourite warlock?” you ask, pouting, sliding down Raphael’s body to your knees, ready to nuzzle into his cock in exchange for his agreement. 

He sags, weak for you. Got him.

“Ugh. Fine, you win, kitten. Spoilsport,” he mutters, and you slip him out of his underwear.

The next time you see Enver, it’s been a couple of weeks. You’ve just finished up a hunt and are reporting in - but he’s the first thing you check on. You find him sweeping one of the hallways, eyeing a wailing lost soul warily. 

“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

He jumps a little, however he looks genuinely pleased to see you. Not enough for him to smile but at least some of the tension leaves him. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. He still looks sort of greasy. You’ll have to tell Raphael to let him bathe. 

“The boss been treating you okay?”

Enver nods. 

“Doesn’t really talk to me. Just tells me to do chores.”

Well that’s better than torture, you think. You reach into your pocket, root around for a bit, and hand something to him. His eyes go wide and then narrow in suspicion, and you have to reassure him that it’s not some sort of trick.

“Do you know what that is?”

“A sending stone,” he says, confidently, weighing the blue rock in his hand. You grin.

“Look at you! Clever kid. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. So I take it you know how they work?”

“Each holder can send a message of twenty-five words a day, and the other can reply with twenty-five. Total of fifty each.”

“Precisely! I’m giving this to you for if there’s an emergency, okay? If you’re in trouble, I want you to give me a message and I’ll get here as quickly as I can.”

He eyes the stone. It’s as if he can’t quite bring himself to believe that someone genuinely cares about his wellbeing.

“Why?” he asks, after a while. 

“Because you shouldn’t be down here, and Raphael can be an arsehole. But don’t worry, I can sort him out,” you say with a grin, and for the first time, Enver chuckles. You hear the sound of Raphael calling your name from down the corridor and you roll your eyes.

“Speak of the devil. Take care, Enver, alright? And remember, let me know if there’s a problem.”

He nods, tucking the stone into his pocket before you head off to tie your patron up.

You don’t hear from Enver for a week or so, but one day, when you’re on the road, you get a message coming through.

“Hello. It’s Enver. Are you having a good day?”

You look confused and reply, “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. Is there something the matter? Nobody’s hurting you, are they?”

Then, because it is the nature of the stone, you add: “If they are then you just say, I’ll come and set them straight.”

There’s a beat. You can imagine Enver considering his response.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to say hello.”

That’s as much communication as the day will allow but it hits you hard. Oh. He’s lonely.

And from that day on, you have a sort of penpal.

Enver messages you everyday without fail, always excited to see how you’ve been doing. He has very little to report, which you’re thankful for, because you live in fear that he will need to use the stone for its intended purpose. Occasionally he lets you know that Raphael has said something cruel or Haarlep is teasing him, and then it’s just a matter of heading to the hells and setting them straight. Haarlep is like a cat, difficult to make to do anything, but to be honest he’s your friend and will usually acquiesce after some teasing. Raphael is always a bit more difficult to persuade. He still sees the boy as his property, his thing to treat as he’d like, so you have to pull out all of your best tricks in order to convince him.

You always end up coming out on top, though. Funny that.

Your visits to the House of Hope get more regular. Enver greets you with smiles and then with laughs and then with hugs, and you find you’re growing fond of the kid. Every now and then you see a bit of the little bastard Raphael warned you of - you’ll catch him tormenting one of the damned souls down here, or attempting to trap and harass some sort of insect who accidentally crawled through one of the portals. But a soft but firm hand to turn him in the right direction is enough. He’s a boy with a bright future… if he’s nurtured.

And this place has no time for that.

You make the pitch to Raphael one night at the end of a long weekend in hell. You’ve been doing everything he’s asked of you, indulging his every whim, being ever so sweet and obedient for your master - and fucking him within an inch of his life. You relax in his bed, cuddled up to his chest, walking your fingers along the expanse of his pectorals.

“Raphael…” you say, dreamily, and he hums.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to push your luck?” he chuckles. You rearrange yourself to look up at him, eyes wide and wanting.

“Me? Push my luck? Never…” you run your tongue over his nipple and he groans.

“Spit it out then, kitten.”

“It’s the boy, Raphael. Can I have him? Please?”

He huffs.

“Why?”

“Why not? What does he do around here apart from take up space and eat your food? Surely you don’t really want him hanging around, do you? I’d like to be able to ride you and scream your name without the fear we’ll be overheard.”

Raphael considers this for a long time, and for a moment, you think he won’t take the bait.

“You’ll extend your pact with me. I want your soul. Forever,” he decides. 

Ah. That’s quite the price. You consider it for a moment.

“...You never get to interfere with Enver’s life again,” you reply, because this is how you deal with devils. Your bargain to gain their respect. He laughs.

“Fine. The boy is off the hook.”

“Done. And I get to take him out of here and do what I want with him, no questions asked. He’s free. And I’ll do that thing you like, right now.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Deal.”

The next morning, body aching, you read through your new contract. You make some amendments in blood but sign it. The rest of your existence signed over to this damned devil. Raphael kisses you on the lips, long and languid - and when you walk out of the House of Hope it’s with Enver’s hand in yours.

“Where are we going?” he asks, quietly. He’s scared. You squeeze his fingers in reassurance.

“Well, I’m on the road a lot. We’ll be travelling. Is that okay with you, kiddo?”

He nods, excited, and you can’t help but notice how much he’s grown since you first met. He’s more than a head taller - gods, how long has he been down here? It’s not worth thinking about. He’s still pretty skinny, but you’ll fix that. Now you’re in charge of feeding him, you'll make sure he gets a good meal every night. Make sure he walks with his back straight and chin up.

Make sure he never has to feel small again.

It isn’t a perfect life, but it’s a damn sight better than what he had to put up with in the Hells. He smiles now, every day. Isn’t scared of people. Slowly grows confidence in himself because he knows that you’re in his corner, come hell or high water (literally). One day you see him drawing in a little notebook you got him, some sort of diagram far more complicated than you can understand - he explains the intricacies of the machine, so you get him some spare parts to start tinkering with. Gods the kid is a natural. So intelligent. Far smarter than you, and you’re worried you’re letting him down because you can’t keep up - but every time he shows you a new invention he seems so pleased when you compliment him.

“Look at you, kiddo! You’re amazing! I bet there’s nothing that you can’t do.”

And he looks like for the first time in his life that he believes what you’re saying.

Life isn’t easy, but it is worth living. You’re on the road more often than not. You don’t have a home to call your own, but you make sure your mercenary work is well-paid enough that you can put the two of you up in inns overnight, keep you both fed and entertained. Enver seems happy and that’s what matters.

You go back to the House of Hope as little as you can, now, reporting in when you do a job and fucking Raphael into submission. He asks you about the boy every once in a while and you palm him off with a laugh, acting as if you barely care about Enver rather than the truth: you’ve been actively putting money away towards a fund for his future.

You come back from one of your meetings late one night. You’re exhausted from what your patron has put you through and are looking forward to sleep. The portal opens into the inn you’ve booked for the night. You expect Enver to be dead to the world, but instead he’s wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing up so late? Is everything okay?” you ask, surprised. Enver fidgets with his fingers.

“Does Raphael hurt you?” he blurts out. You’re shocked.

“What?”

“Do you want to be in a contract with him? Because if you don’t, I promise I’ll find a way to free you, like you freed me! I’ll get strong, really strong, and I’ll kill him for you.” His hands are balled into fists, jaw gritted. His eyes are dark in a way that’s troubling and he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s all this coming from? Kiddo, nothing is wrong. Everything between me and Raphael is fine. I’m not unhappy or being forced into anything, I promise. What’s the matter, Enver, eh?”

When he looks up at you, there are tears pooling. He launches himself into your arms, holding you so tightly it’s as if you’re his anchor to this plane.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I love you…” and then there it is. He calls you ‘mum’, or ‘dad’, or some other word that settles what you already knew: he’s come to think of you as his parent now. He freezes when he hears himself say it and you think back to when he was that scared little boy, longing for a bit of food by the fireplace.

You hold him back.

“I love you too, son,” you tell him, and the two of you stay like that for a long while.

He asks if his last name can become yours. You introduce him as your child. You are a family. 

You’re right. He’s far smarter than you are, and you can’t keep up with him. It becomes more and more obvious as he gets older. He goes from brilliant teenager to incredible young man, and you’re glad that you have the funds to be able to send him to a good college and nurture his spark. You’re aware that you’re beginning to slow down a bit now. Your joints aren’t quite what they used to be, and though Raphael still covets you, he’s not oblivious to the fact that you’re getting on. His contracts for you become less vigorous. He likes to have you in his bed more than on the field. You don’t mind it, being pampered by your patron. It isn’t a bad life.

Enver doesn’t need to become Gortash. And what use has Bane for this man, this good man, this man who has made something of himself despite all of the odds stacked against him? None whatsoever. He never becomes the chosen of Tyranny. He is safe from the person he might have been.

The day he graduates at the top of his class is the proudest day of your life. You clap and cheer for him until you are hoarse, and he pretends to be embarrassed as you give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek in front of all of his friends, every inch the glowing parent.

He becomes chancellor because of his own merits, not due to any underhanded trickery. He is a master when it comes to machines. He never invents the Steel Watch because he does not have the warped mind to create them. Instead he focuses on technology to help the city of Baldur’s Gate: cleaning machines, security automatons, things which help with the admin of running to place so those in government can focus on supporting Baldurites. 

He buys you a house in the upper city. You settle down there as you grow older, make friends, get plenty of visits from your son. Everyone knows how loved you are. He eventually hires a young woman named Karlach as a bodyguard who you grow fond of: she makes up in brawn what he lacks, and she always puts a smile on your face when you have the two of them around for tea.

The Absolute comes. Raphael is poking around because of course he is. He’s got some new toys by now but you’re still one of his old favourites, and a couple of his most loved tricks with your tongue mostly keep him out of the way. Plus he promised not to interfere in Enver’s life, and he’s bound by that, the tricky bastard.

Some other person is Bane’s chosen, but it is not your Enver. Instead he fights for the side of good against the Dead Three and the mindflayer invasion, an ally to this Tav, the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Through their trials the two of them end up falling in love and it’s all you could ever want for your son. When the city fights against the Elder Brain you pick up your pact weapon for the last time despite his pleas not to: you’re a Warlock, damn it, and you’re going to defend your home until your last breath.

You don’t die, which is a nice bonus.

Enver and Tav help rebuild the city once the invasion has been stopped. Not too long in the future you have grandchildren, and they are the light of your life, always silly and giggling and joyous to hear the remarkable stories from your mercenary years.

You help out where you can but your age is weighing on you. One day, you take a tumble, and suddenly you’re bedbound; Enver and your family are visiting you every day as you get weaker, and you know that your final days can’t be far off.

He sits at your bedside, your hand clamped in his. Ah, a workman’s hand. The hand of a man who is constantly inventing and working and making himself useful. The hand of a good and decent man.

“The little ones go back to school tomorrow,” he says, fondly, “Tav is relieved. They’ve been rushed off their feet during the holidays– so many years since that Absolute business, yet the legislation is still going. They need a break, really.”

“It’s exhausting being a parent, isn’t it?” you ask with a grin, before being interrupted by a rattling cough which you can’t seem to shake. Enver lifts a glass of water to your lips and you drink, thankful. “Eurgh. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’ll call the doctor again in the morning, see if she can get you any more of that tincture. Or maybe Halsin might have some ideas…”

“Oh, Enver, don’t go through all that fuss for me. Just sit here with me, kiddo.”

When you call him that, he knows he has no choice. You are still his parent, after all. He shifts to make himself more comfortable in his bedside chair, never letting go of your hand.

“I want you to know,” you say, voice soft, “everything has been worth it, Enver. My whole life was made better because you were my son. You’re the thing that I’m most proud of.”

His eyes go wide and glass over with tears, jaw grits.

“I… don’t say things like that, please,” he says, because he’s scared of what will come after.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, kiddo. I’m right here.”

He rests his head on the side of the bed, and you can see his shoulder heave as he cries. You bury your hand in his hair, smiling when it’s still a little greasy, and then you close your eyes.

When you open them again you’re in the House of Hope.

Your body feels lighter than it has in decades. You look down to see the wrinkles and liver spots in your hands are gone. You’re wearing what can generously be called an outfit, though it’s more straps of leather criss-crossed over your body.

“Well, did you have fun? Was your deal worth it in the end?” Raphael asks. He’s leaning against the doorframe, swirling wine around in a glass in his hand, another held out to you. You take it and frown.

“Were you… were you just standing here, waiting for me to bloody die?” you ask. He harrumphs.

“You didn’t answer my question, kitten.”

You take the wine, quaff it, then pull him into a kiss. He moans into your mouth in surprise and rapture.

“Yes,” you answer, honestly, because it was worth it. You’d never have made a different choice, “now, are we going to bed, or are you just going to stand here being smug for the rest of eternity?”

Raphael grins and pulls you to the bedroom.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

#raphael x reader #enver gortash x tav #gortash x tav #gortash & reader #my writing #raphael bg3 #enver gortash #bg3 fic #fic #raphael bg3 x reader

[yokowan]

It was early in the autumn last year, just as the leaves were beginning to turn, that I found myself in the company of the most peculiar maid. Or, so I call it, for want of a better word. You see, by my very nature I am extremely disorganised. My clothes cycle between the floor and my person, maybe finding themselves in the wash from time to time if I feel so daring. Papers and writing implements are strewn about every level surface of my residence. Soiled dishes pile high and are not cleaned until I entirely run out or the smell becomes intolerable. My absent and aimless mind has led me to live in a kind of squalor that the most rancid maggots might turn up their noses at.

One weary late night, I readied myself to sleep. As I always do, I picked up the pile of clothes off of my bed and tossed them approximately in the direction of a chair. Imagine my surprise, then, when I looked over and saw the clothes had somehow perfectly folded themselves as they flew through the air and landed in a neatly squared stack. If not for the dreadful hour of night I probably would have stepped in to investigate, perhaps attempting the same a few more times. Instead I laughed at the bizarre coincidence, and collapsed in my bed.

That following mid-afternoon, after I had awoken and persuaded myself out of bed, I lumbered into the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee. As I approached the counter I stopped and rubbed my eyes. There was already a cup of coffee there, piping hot. Perhaps I sleepwalked? I've always known myself to be a restless sleeper, tossing and muttering through the night, but never have I seen evidence of myself walking about, let alone brewing an entire cup of coffee. Well, I've never been one to refuse a spontaneous gift, even one from an unconscious version of myself, so I picked up the beverage and took a sip.

It's sweet.

Perfectly brewed, just as I like it, but I always take my coffee black. In my waking state I don't even know where my sugar dish is!

I brushed the miscellaneous on papers on my couch to one side and sat down to ponder the event as I drank. Had I, in some trance, managed to go through my entire morning routine and then return to bed with absolutely no recollection of these events, I surely would have at least made my coffee by muscle memory. Somehow not only had I made the drink, but I'd also found the sugar which I most certainly purchased at one point but has never been used since. And all this done without disturbing a single thing in my kitchen! It's so unlike me!

Perhaps it wasn't me. Perhaps some strange and bizarrely covert infiltrator entered my house and helped themselves to my kitchen before being turned away by guilt. Or, perhaps I could have been under the spell of some benevolent coffee-making warlock, or possessed by a spirit, or somehow otherwise under the influence of some magicks beyond my comprehension. Or perhaps, and oh how I laughed when the thought crossed my mind, the coffee just did that on its own! Remembering the spontaneously folded pile of clothes from the preceding night, I considered that maybe the clockwork of the universe aligned just so that the moisture in the air would come to rest in my cup and powdered coffee would fall from my shelf in just the right measure and sugar would appear from God-knows-where and…

What a preposterous idea.

I arose to investigate around the kitchen some more. The dishes on the counter and items in the cabinets were all in precisely the same order, or rather disorder, which they were in the night before. Odd. Absentmindedly, my fingers find themselves brushing against the kettle. It's stone cold. Even more odd. The coffee was hot as if just brewed when I found it, surely the kettle wouldn't have had time to cool down by now. I checked the stove, too, for good measure. Cold as well.

I sighed and stared vacantly as I took the last sips of my coffee. What a perplexing mystery indeed. I set my cup down on the counter. I nearly failed to notice before walking away, but it had just barely caught my attention that the bottom of the cup was entirely clean. I picked it back up and scrutinized it further. Not only was it clean but it was completely dry. As if there had never been any coffee in it at all! Perhaps I had hallucinated the whole ordeal, maybe the beverage in its entirety was illusory? But I could still taste the coffee on my breath! I ran to the closest mirror to look my teeth and indeed the residue of coffee still stained them slightly. No, the coffee could not have been an illusion.

I sat down on the couch with a frustrated "harumph!" What sort of silly games is the universe playing on me. Perhaps this is all a dream? Maybe, but it feels much too real. And besides, it would be a completely useless wager to make; if I'm wrong I'll wake up anyways.

My eyes wandered to the other end of the couch, where I noticed the pile of papers that I'd shoved off to the side. They were organized. Neatly in a stack. The unpaid bills that I'd intentionally shoved to the bottom of the pile some days ago had all found themselves on top, as well.

What sort of treacherous divine mockery is being made of me! Is some bored ancient deity teasing me for my carelessness? Or has the machinery of creation at last taken pity on this dreadful sloven? "What is happening to me!" I cried out in desperation.

As if in response, a stiff draft blew through an open window, lifting an empty bread bag into the air, from where it drifted ever so gently into my wastebasket. I slumped back in my seat. It seems lady luck has made herself a maid.

#marissa goaded me into making a maid character #i will write more of this #dont you worry

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOUR (see full series list here)

1992

You awake on a regular Wednesday morning a few days before the return to school, groaning and stretching as you sit up in your queen-sized bed. The sun is streaming in through your windows, and you can hear birds singing their first few melodies of the morning.

You hear a very croaky meow from beside you and you look over to spot Dubh awakening from her slumber, seeming very angry about it being awoken. Dubh's actual bed is resting in the corner of the room, but it has long since been forgotten and she much prefers to sneak up onto your bed covers during the night. This little habit of hers means you've had to deliver a quick cleaning spell to her every night before bed, but you enjoy her company anyways. You reach out and pet her lovingly, scratching under her fluffy chin.

"Yes, yes, good morning, Dubh," you say. You yawn, trying to muster up the will to properly get out of bed, before eventually you manage to swing your legs over the edge of your bed and step onto the soft rug beneath you.

You throw on your favourite pair of jeans and a sweater to accompany it, taking a quick minute to wash your face before heading downstairs and into the kitchen. Dubh follows you the whole time, complaining as she waits for you to get her breakfast.

This is the home you've lived in for the past 13 years. The home yourself and Sirius had bought after you got married. It's small and cosy: exactly how you had wanted. The walls are covered with photo frames and beautiful oil paintings that look straight out of a dream.

The kitchen is charming, especially as it's lit up by the August sun. You push open a window to let some air in, waving your wand to pour out some cat food for Dubh. You click the kettle on and drum your fingers on the countertop as you wait.

At that moment you hear a small hoot and a light thud outside your back door. You leave the kitchen, unlocking the door to open it and spot a small folded package on the front step. It's the newspaper, the Daily Prophet.

You toss the paper on the kitchen table, humming as you prepare breakfast for yourself. Finally, when you've finished, you take your plate in one hand and your ready cup of tea in the other, sitting down at the kitchen table. You pull open the twine wrapped around the paper, unfolding it out.

You nearly spit out your tea when you read the headline of the front page and spot a familiar face.

Sirius.

Sirius Black.

Sirius Black has escaped.

Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

What the fuck?

You swallow hard, looking at the article again. Your heart is thumping. Your hands are trembling. You feel like you're about to be sick.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

'We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'

You scoff. Fat fucking chance!

Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

'Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?'

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

You feel like you're dreaming. How the hell did he break out?

This article makes you feel so sick. The things they're saying — the things they've always said about him — they're not true. They can't possibly be true.

Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius who kissed you on the Astronomy Tower.

Your Sirius who proposed to you in your first tiny London flat, lit only by candlelight.

Your Sirius who waited patiently for you at the altar.

Your Sirius who spoke in detail of his undying love for you during his vows.

Your Sirius who gave you the most perfect first dance you could ever ask for.

Your Sirius who spent your wedding night reminding you how much he loved you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, making sure there wasn't a single patch of skin on your body that went unkissed.

Your Sirius who bought you flowers every week, so the ones on your dining table were always fresh.

Your Sirius.

For twelve years you've maintained the belief that Sirius is innocent. There has got to be another explanation because the Sirius you know would never sell out his friends like that. He would never support Voldemort like that. He would never murder thirteen people like that! It's bullshit.

The Sirius you know would sooner die than rat James and Lily out like that.

Sirius isn't mad, like the way they say in that article.

Or maybe he is.

You wouldn't be surprised if 12 whole years in fucking Azkaban turned him loony.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock at your front door and you startle, dropping the paper.

What if that's him?

You slowly, apprehensively get up out of your chair, carefully walking to the door. You take a deep breath, and place your hand on the handle.

You turn it agonisingly slow and open the door a crack, peering out.

It's not him.

You don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Well, you're definitely not happy anyway, as you're met with Cornelius Fudge and three other Ministry officials.

You gulp.

"Good morning, ma'am," Fudge says. "Can we come in?"

You sigh, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

You open the door wide to let them in, wrapping your arms around your torso nervously. They walk into your kitchen, looking around and you gesture to the kitchen table with a nervous smile. "You can sit down there..."

The four of them sit. You notice how Fudge's eyes immediately land on the paper, and he looks quickly back up at you as you lean against the counter, anxiously fiddling with your fingers. Dubh's head lifts from her food bowl, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

"Tea, coffee?" You ask, forcing a smile.

The officials glance at each other, as if deciding whether or not it's safe to accept a drink from you.

"Um...no thanks," one squeaks, looking up at you fearfully.

You sigh.

"Ah, so you've evidently heard the news..." Fudge starts, tapping the paper with one of his large, pudgy fingers.

You nod wordlessly.

"Is it a...surprise?" he asks.

You blink at him. "Yes, Minister, of course it's a surprise. I hardly expected him to break out of bloody Azkaban."

"Yes, yes, it is a shock to all of us," Fudge replies, eyes glancing over at the wedding photo on your countertop. "Have you...heard from him? At all?"

"No."

"It's just that you are his wife, you would be the first person he'd run to."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Oh? I would've thought you'd expect him to run to Voldemort?"

They all wince at the name.

Fudge sighs, trying to keep his composure. "Look, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, Black is a criminal and — "

"You have no proof — "

"He is a convict!" Fudge snaps. "Regardless of whether you believe it to be wrongful or not, he is a convict! If you see him, you must contact the Ministry. The magical community is in shambles with him on the loose. People are afraid."

You scoff. "The magical community has been in shambles for centuries."

Fudge ignores your statement, standing up from his chair unsteadily. "We will have to monitor your home, in case he decides to...visit."

"Shocker."

"We — uh, we'll be going now," Fudge says semi-certainly, motioning for the others to follow. They all stand, narrowly avoiding you as they exit the kitchen. You see one woman flinch when you move. You feel a hand on your shoulder, looking up to see Fudge's red, fudgy face looking at you pitifully. "I am truly sorry, dear. Remember what I said."

You watch as the party leaves and you shut the door behind them. You groan, running your hand through your hair as you slide down the door and sink to the ground.

Dubh appears around the corner, plodding over to you. You smile weakly at her, petting her softly. You feel your eyes starting to water and you sniffle, lip trembling.

You shake your head in disbelief.

"What am I gonna do?"

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wave your wand, levitating your heavy trunk up onto the overhead carriage of your train compartment. Most teachers don't take the Hogwarts Express — they just apparate to Hogsmeade instead — but you find that apparition tends to distress Dubh immensely and don't do it. You don't mind it really, the train ride gives you that little bit of extra time to look over lesson material.

Lucky for you, you have the compartment to yourself and freely let Dubh out of her carrier. She stretches with a long meowl, moving to settle on your lap, and you spend the ride reading a book and looking over lesson material, though your mind keeps drifting from what you're doing, choosing instead to fixate on Sirius.

You have a sickening seed of guilt and worry circling your gut ever since you heard of his escape, an overwhelming sense of dread looming over everything you do.

Heavy rain pelts the window harshly, wind battering the sides of the train, rattling it loudly.

You glance out the window pensively, wondering what he must be doing right now. Maybe he's been recaptured and you just haven't found out yet. You hope he's not out in this weather.

If sixteen-year-old Sirius had been caught out in torrential rain, he'd be busy complaining to you about how it completely ruined his hair and you'd just have to listen on and on because truthfully, you liked his hair after the rain.

The train starts to slow and you sigh, starting to pack up your things. Then, your eye catches the window and you squint out into the dark surroundings. You're not in Hogsmeade — you're not even close to it. You've been on this train enough times to know that you have a solid 20 minutes or so left in the journey.

Maybe there's something blocking the track and you'll all just have to continue on foot?

Hardly.

You stand up, gently plucking Dubh from your lap and placing her onto the seat beside you. You slide open the compartment door and stick your head out, looking up and down the hallway. You know well that Professor Flitwick is inside along with some of the Prefects so you step out, closing the door behind you and moving to their compartment.

You open the door and look in at Flitwick and three students, shiny silver badges on their chests. "Hey, Filius. What's going on?"

Flitwick shrugs, straining his neck to see up out the window. "I don't know."

You bite your lip, turning around uncertainly. "I'll ask the driver."

Suddenly, the train stops with a jolt and you stumble into the wall beside you, knocking your head against one of the flickering lanterns. You groan, bringing a hand to rub at the sharp stinging in your temple.

You try to make your way up the carriage but before you can the lights extinguish with a small puff and you're plunged into darkness. Rooting around in your pocket, you fish out your wand and mutter, "Lumos." A small bead of white light appears at the tip, illuminating a short distance in front of you.

To your horror, you look up and are met with a dark cloaked figure that towers to the ceiling. Its face is completely hidden beneath its hood. You feel your breath hitch in your throat as the room grows cold, freezing cold, making the hairs on your arms stand up.

A Dementor.

"He's not here," you choke, but it doesn't seem to matter as the dementor draws a long, slow, rattling breath. "He — he's not — "

You feel an immediate sadness overwhelm you. You feel every stitch of joy being sucked from you, your body desperately trying to cling on to whatever it can. You hear Sirius' voice, screaming raw and pleading, and it feels like the pain in your head is magnified a billion times.

Before your last stretch of consciousness can escape from you, you grip your wand tighter and, summoning all your will and happiest memories, you yell, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A bright, blue light bursts forth from your wand, taking on the form of large, scruffy dog and chasing the Dementor as it glides away from you. You stumble back, chest heaving, placing a hand on the wall for support, before remembering about the rest of the students and you turn, sprinting back down the corridor to the other carriages.

You throw open the door, moving quickly as you throw glances in each compartment window, checking that everyone was alright. Was there only one?

As you continue down the corridor, you look in one compartment and see the back of a tall figure blocking your view. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see it's not a Dementor, and slowly slide open the door to poke your head in, trying to carefully look past the figure in front of you.

"Hey guys, everyone okay? I think — Remus?" You stare in shock at the tired face of Remus Lupin, currently holding a gigantic slab of chocolate in his hands, loudly snapping it into pieces. "What are you doing here?"

Beside him is Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking between the two of you in surprise. Harry is as pale as a ghost, his hair messy and untidy.

"Guess I took your advice," Remus shrugs, handing everyone pieces of chocolate. He hands one to you and you accept it gratefully, biting off a piece with a loud crack. "Taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

You grin. "Remus, that's brilliant!" You throw your arms around him and he chuckles, tapping your back softly.

You pull back, noticing Harry's shell-shocked face and turn to him in concern. "Harry, are you alright? You don't look too good."

"Dementor," Remus explains and you nod in understanding.

"There was one in my carriage too!" You say. "Bastards."

"Language."

"What? It's true!" You say in defense, looking back at Remus' unapproving face. You glance at the three thirteen-year-olds also present in the compartment with you. "Er — sorry, guys."

"I'm going to go talk to the driver," Remus announces, tossing a small bite of chocolate into his mouth.

You nod. "Alright, I'll go check on everyone else." Remus moves past you, but before he can go in the opposite direction to you up the train, you grab onto his arm. "Next time, tell me if you're coming. Could've saved me a very boring train ride."

Remus chuckles. "I was asleep the whole time, not sure if I'd be great company."

You just give him a knowing smile, heading down to the carriage to check on the other students.

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter five here!

p.s. it's easy to miss grammar/spelling mistakes when im editing it myself, so if you find any please let me know!! 💌

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #the marauders #marauders #angst #angst with a happy ending

[sundaynightlive]

Paramour (Merthur)

In which Merlin's having issues with an entitled noble and Arthur comes up with a... creative way of fixing it.

(TW: Unconsensual sexual advances, mentions of murder and violence, and some sexual content, although explicit body parts are not mentioned and it's kind of like a TV cut-away, the scenes are not prolonged.)

Protective!Arthur, 5.4k words, Uther being dumb, per usual, and Arthur knows Merlin is a magic user! Please enjoy!

Merlin is seething and Arthur can see it. He may play dumb when it comes to many of Merlin’s emotions, refusing to be caught caring unless in the most dire of circumstances, but this is a new kind of anger entirely. Merlin’s prone to annoyance (both attracting it and being it), but this is far from something like that—this is genuine rage. Arthur’s not sure he’s ever seen him like this, flushed and eerily quiet, his fingers undoing Arthur’s cloak rather harshly, which he would comment about if he were not so concerned.

In Merlin’s defense, he seems to be making an attempt at feigning calm, but it does not fool Arthur in the slightest. He knows everything about Merlin, from his favorite meal to the boundless power that rests in his hands—Merlin’s a weapon, truly. A weapon who’s fingertips brush idly over his skin as he lifts the tunic over Arthur’s head, throwing that over his arm with the festival attire.

“What is it?” Merlin had turned, presumably to toss the clothes in the wash-bin that Merlin would undoubtedly take back to his chambers tonight, despite Arthur’s insistence that he needn’t complete tasks like that this late. The manservant stops, though, cold.

“Sire?”

Usually dripping in sarcasm, Arthur swallows hard at the unfamiliar, honest use of his title. 

“You are clearly furious. Have I done something?” 

Merlin is quiet for a moment, which leaves Arthur in embarrassingly tense anticipation. His last wish—and oh, if Merlin ever found out about this, he’d simply die—is to ever anger, disappoint, or even go so far as to irk his warlock companion. He may not act it, but having Merlin upset with him is truly disturbing. Sure, they bicker, and they pick meaningless fights, but that’s more just them than an actual distaste for each other’s company. 

It’s partially what makes each other’s company so tasteful, at least, as far as Arthur is concerned.

“No,” comes the reply, which is a relief, but also further troubling—if Arthur had not bothered Merlin, then what had? The night had been wonderful, golden fire-light licking through the hall as lords and ladies and rich-folk from kingdoms both near and far socialized, drank, and celebrated the sweet ending of a particularly harsh winter. Every time Arthur had caught Merlin in his gaze, he had been mingling with the knights, brilliant smile, unearthly gorgeous, gold glinting in his eyes, the laces of his tunic undone and revealing strong, pale chest, dark hair just a tad too long, dripping over his brow—

Christ—focus, Arthur. 

“Then what?” Arthur pries when no explanation comes. Merlin’s head tips back, and part of Arthur is disappointed, the other part grateful he does not see the delicious expanse of skin that motion exposes. Merlin heaves a deep sigh, and turns.

“Lord Edmond,” he says, fingers curling into expensive fabrics, cheeks flushed, “Refuses to leave me alone.” 

Edmond—some noble from the north Arthur was not particularly fond of, but had never caused much of an issue as far as Arthur had been aware. Kind of an inconsequential, irrelevant man. Handsome, sure, but old now—maybe fourty? Fifty? Ten years older than Arthur at least, and complacent. Not a hunter, not a soldier—

“I don’t remember him being too insufferably-friendly,” Arthur muses.

“This,” Merlin snaps, “Is beyond friendly.”

Oh. Oh no.

Fury sears through him like a fire-poker to the ribs, and he sets his jaw, unable to speak for a full, agonizing moment as he struggles not to fly out of his chambers to slaughter the man himself. He clears his throat, tearing his gaze from Merlin’s.

“Were these… welcome advances?” His heart leaps into his throat—

“Absolutely not,” Merlin says, “And if he continues, I’ll have to smite him where he stands, your father’s ridiculous laws be damned.” 

Arthur’s eyes widen. He looks back at Merlin.

“Can you smite people?!”

“No, but I could try.” 

Arthur wants nothing more than to reach out and soothe Merlin’s anger, and that ache is embarrassing, but not near as embarrassing as the idea tickling the back of his skull, quietly petitioning to be shared. Merlin narrows his eyes in Arthur’s direction—

“What?”

“I have… quite the solution.” 

Merlin scoffs, and turns back around to finally toss Arthur’s clothes. Arthur stretches his limbs a little bit, moving to sit down on the end of his bed and feeling his exhaustion wash over him. A few nights of this festival shit has him poorly-rested and sore in places he’s not used to being sore—he misses sparring, training, riding. If it were not already the early hours of the morning, he’d consider getting up at a decent hour to accomplish one of these.

He’ll be lucky to be up any time before noon.

“You couldn’t,” Merlin says, folding the clothes instead of tossing them—quite responsible of him, though Arthur’s sure the sheer cost of the clothing has Merlin a little more careful.

Or his rage is making him forget he’s usually negligent, as backwards as that seems.

“Gwaine and Percival have already warned him, and he does not seem to care one way or another,” Merlin rants, throwing the folded tunic down into the wash bin (there’s the Merlin he knows well) and whipping around, “And for the last three nights, it’s one uncomfortable, disgusting, completely inappropriate—”

“This has been going on for three nights?!” Arthur asks, incredulous and a little hurt. If Merlin was being made uncomfortable by a noble, Arthur should have been the first one to hear of it, and Merlin should know that by now. Additionally, Arthur knows Merlin quite enjoys this festival each year, and he’s decently agitated at the notion that some horny prick is ruining his manservant’s time.

The agitation is certainly not because Arthur would give any amount of money or body parts or perhaps his entire station if it meant he could be closer to Merlin than he already is—much closer. Infinitely closer.

God, how has this happened to him?

“He is absolutely unavoidable. He gets one chalice of wine in him and he’s touching me and saying insufferable things and—”

“He’s laid hands on you?”

Merlin quiets abruptly, his passionate distaste dying in his throat and on his face, and Arthur is certainly to blame. He couldn’t help himself—his tone had gone from disbelief and general annoyance to something much colder, much more serious. Unwelcome flirtation is one thing, but touching Merlin when Arthur himself hasn’t even been afforded the chance is absolutely unacceptable, and especially when the contact is uninvited and uncomfortable for the receiving party.

And that receiving party is Merlin.

Arthur feels murder sitting heavy on his chest.

“Arthur—”

“Here’s what’s going to happen, now,” Arthur interrupts, tone like ice. Merlin looks like he wants to argue, probably to reassure Arthur he’s fine and he doesn’t need to intervene, but he doesn’t try. He’s quite adept at figuring out now when his snide remarks are appropriate and when they are incredibly not. “Tomorrow night, when he begins to bother you, you’ll do that brain talking thing—”

“Gaius calls it Sending.”

“Right, Sending, and alert me. Then I will take care of the situation how I see fit.”

“But Gwaine and Percival already—”

“I am the crown prince of Camelot and if he’d like to maintain his title, he will listen to me. Should he disobey, I will fucking gut him.” Right, so, that second part wasn’t supposed to come out, but the already defeated look on Merlin’s face had pulled it forcibly from his tongue. Merlin does not look like he believes him in any way, shape, or form, but Arthur hardly cares. He’s too angry, murder on his mind, and Merlin will know this tomorrow night.

“It’s really—I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Merlin says with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting from foot to foot like he’s suddenly very uncomfortable. Arthur doesn’t like that. Did he do that? “It’s not a big deal—”

“Merlin,” Arthur says firmly, “I should be the first to know when someone abuses their title to try and get away with matters such as this. Especially when it’s happening to you.”

Arthur thinks he must imagine the pink flooding Merlin’s cheeks, or maybe his anger is coming back. Merlin shifts awkwardly some more, and looks down at his shoes, shuffling them a little against the floor.

“Sire…”

“Yes?”

“I would… prefer you enjoy your holiday. Worrying for me is—”

“Merlin, go to bed,” Arthur says, “Because you are sounding more and more like I should beat you over the head with a club.” 

The grin on Merlin’s face seems to brighten the room, and the eyeroll is like a hundred worms wriggling around in Arthur’s stomach. Merlin turns and picks up the wash-bin with what sounds to be a scoff, but Arthur is almost certain is some sort of breathy giggle—

“Do not do that tonight. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

“That is quite literally the entire point of your job!”

“Huh? What was that? I’m sorry, I don’t speak insufferable prat.”

“Merlin—!”

“Goodnight, Arthur!”

—

Arthur takes it lightly on the wine, and stays what he believes to be a safe distance away from Merlin at all times. He has a sort-of picture of Lord Edmond in his mind, but as he surveys the crowd, no-one seems to fit the image just right. It seems Arthur remembers him but not altogether too clearly, and the anticipation is starting to get to him.

Nobles keep trying to strike up conversations with him, but he can hardly pay attention. Morgana approaches him to see if he’s alright, but he’s lost sight of Merlin and he can’t answer her because he’s too busy scanning the room, so she gives up. Then, Gwen approaches to tell him of some business with one guest or another, but half way through, Merlin’s voice whispers through his mind, sending a shudder down his spine he can’t ignore.

It’s happening. I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from killing him. I’m not fond of washing blood off your clothes. 

Arthur stands.

“---and then she—Arthur?”

“Excuse me a moment,” he says to her, and perhaps someone else near him, but he’s not entirely sure. The lady to his left looks particularly disappointed, but swiftly turns to Gwen to try and trick her into divulging the latest gossip from the kitchens. 

Gwen seems less than enthused.

Lord Edmund is not particularly tall, but not particularly short. Merlin stands a few inches over him but he and Arthur are both considerably tall. He looks to be older, as Arthur had thought, probably early-fifties at the youngest, and despite how it hurts Arthur’s very soul to admit it, not terribly hard on the eyes. However, what is extremely off-putting (and particularly rage-inducing) is the way he has Merlin trapped between a table and a group of snickering lackeys, who occasionally glance over at the situation, amused.

A posse. This insolent Lord brought an entourage and is using it to try and scare Merlin into sleeping with him.

Arthur sees red.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Merlin starts, and Edmond jumps, stumbling backwards and away from Merlin just a bit, looking surprised, but not like he thinks he’s done anything wrong. Arthur is brimming, perhaps spilling, with rage, Edmond fixed in his stare like an enemy’s chest which his blade is sure to rupture. If Arthur had his sword, it would be lying against Edmond’s throat.

“Your highness—”

Arthur remembers himself. He had had a plan, hadn’t he? 

If Arthur were to tell this man off, it might work to dissuade him, sure, but it would teach him nothing. The festival was to last nearly the entire month, and a simple reprimand from a man so much younger than him—prince or not—would not hold to that length in time, Arthur was sure of it. Edmond would figure out a way to get around Arthur’s consequences or out of his sight, and then Merlin would be back at square one, and based on how Arthur had had to be the one to ask, he’s sure Merlin would not bring it up a second time.

Therefore, it would take more than harsh words to keep Edmond in line.

He turns, grabs Merlin by the side of his tunic, and yanks him forward into his embrace. He can only imagine the look of shock, but if this is to work, he cannot make his own nervousness known. He tilts his head and blows breath against Merlin’s ear as he speaks—

“It is my last intention to embarrass you, but there are few ways to make a man like this listen, and I am not interested in anyone’s hands on you but mine. I’ll meet you in my chambers when I have finished here.”

Once again, Arthur has said something he hadn’t meant to say, but now is not exactly the time to try and cover up for himself. He said what he said, and Merlin is ducking into the crowd, and there is a much more important matter at hand. He turns to Edmond.

“You would dare insult the crown prince in such a way?” 

This gets the attention of the lackeys, and many party-goers nearby. Arthur steels himself for the show he is about to perform, the backlash he will undoubtedly receive from his father, and Morgana’s incessant teasing until the end of time. This, and the rumors that will spread once these nobles are made aware—

“I’m sure I know what you mean,” Edmond answers, genuinely sounding clueless, but also completely calm, unphased by Arthur’s anger. Does this sort of stupidity come with age? Arthur must start reading more, if this is the case.

“You would shamelessly attempt to bed my paramour?” 

Arthur watches all the color drain from Edmond’s face, and feels a swelling of pride in his chest at the sight. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it, and repeats the motion, clearly at a loss. The lackeys scatter comically, and those in attendance of the show begin to mutter. He’s grateful he’s only captivated a small portion of the great hall, and not the entire thing, and his father is many, many crowds away.

“I—he—”

“I would throw my glove at your feet if I had a glove to throw,” Arthur spits, “And should you bother him again, or god forbid, lay a filthy hand on him, I will gut you without honor.” And so with that, Arthur turns on his heel and storms away, followed by murmurs and whispers, feeling somewhat relieved and incredibly satisfied, despite now having to explain himself to Merlin.

Right. Merlin.

—

“What did you do?” Merlin asks, all to accusing. 

“Promise not to smite me.”

“No.”

“I told them—“ 

“Ah,” Merlin interrupts, raising a hand. He stands up and off Arthur’s bed, and moves closer, much to Arthur’s dismay. “Actually, I don’t care.” 

Arthur blinks.

“But—“

“Did you mean it?” 

Arthur’s brain short circuits as he finds himself gazing into storms of gray, Merlin coming much closer than he’d expected. He mimicked Edmond, opening his mouth and then closing it again, swallowing hard. Merlin is watching him expectantly and Arthur is using all the strength he has not to glance down at Merlin’s lips and give himself away completely.

“Did you mean it?” Merlin asks again.

Did he—oh.

I am not interested in anyone’s hands on you but mine.

In all the chaos, he had half-forgotten. He had meant to turn and tell Merlin to go, to apologize for what he had decided to say next, but he had lost himself in the moment of being so close. He had invested himself too much in the “performance,” even in those few, short moments, and revealed himself. 

And now he would face Merlin’s reaction, whatever it may be.

“Yes,” he says, though it doesn’t come out as confident as he would have liked. Merlin searches his eyes for the lie—he dreads what could happen when the warlock finds none.

Merlin’s eyes flick downwards. Arthur’s stomach drops as he realizes Merlin’s eyeing his lips, the very same impulse he’d been begging himself not to give in to, and Merlin’s done it so close to him, so outright—

“You were jealous,” Merlin continues, and at this, Arthur scoffs. No, he was not jealous in the slightest of Lord Edmond because Edmond was a sad, elderly husk of a man who thought he could take what he wanted whenever he wanted, and Arthur is a young, handsome crown-prince who has waited over a year for any indication Merlin might feel the same as him. 

He would not dare use his position of power to press Merlin to him, not when Arthur loved him, and not when Merlin had spent his time here unknowingly teaching Arthur what that really meant. His parents had not done it, fleeting teenage flings had not done it—Merlin had. Undoubtedly.

“I would not be jealous of a man you didn’t actually want,” Arthur says, which he realizes then is insinuating he would be jealous of a man Merlin did want, so he tries to back track, “And regardless—!” He exclaims quickly, and Merlin’s responding smile digs up those worms.

“You’re obviously allowed to do whatever you want with whoever you want,” Arthur finishes, swallowing hard.

“Obviously,” Merlin repeats, lifting his hands to start undoing the clasps on Arthur’s robes. 

If Arthur wanted—no, not if wanted, because he does want, he’s just not sure what Merlin wants—he could tilt his head just so, lean in an inch, maybe two, and kiss him. They’re that close, and they’ve been this close before, sure, but Merlin’s acting different and his fingers work the clasps much slower and his face is absolutely unreadable to the point where Arthur is starting to panic. He prides himself on knowing Merlin very well, but right now—

“Even if it’s you?”

Merlin might as well have punched him in the throat. All the breath flees from his lungs as though it were never there in the first place, and his hands—he loses all command over them as he has his breath—reach up and grab Merlin by the waist of his tunic, the very same way he had done before, except this time when he pulls them together there is not crowd to convince or entertain.

He’s not sure how he manages to speak when he’s forgotten how to breathe, but—

“Especially if it’s me.”

When they kiss, finally, after the decade that seems to pass between their admissions and their lips meeting, Arthur loses his decorum entirely. Entirely. It’s like any restraint he’d had stored away left with his breath, and he is half-guiding, half-pushing Merlin, kissing him senseless until Merlin’s back hits Arthur’s bed and he’s wedged between Merlin’s thighs and it’s like this is where he’s meant to be, staring down at wet lips and heaving chest and—

“I heard what you said. About us,” Merlin manages between breaths, “I heard what you called me.”

Paramour. 

“I—“

“If you would have me, sire.”

If you would have me, sire.

The double meaning all but knocks him out.

“I will have you,” Arthur, “Over and over and over again until no one can distinguish one of us from the other.” You’re a piece of me, a second more brilliant half. I need you, I have needed you since I met you in the market that day, even when I treated you so harshly, and have been so—

Merlin tips his head back and laughs and Arthur’s maudlin inner-monologue fades away, mind wholly devoted to the sound and the man it’s coming from beneath him.

“Arthur—“ his name, god, his name, “—that is already impossible to do.”

—

Merlin turns out to be marvelous in bed, and not at all like Arthur had suspected he’d be (timid, hesitant). Instead, he’s incredibly, almost obnoxiously vocal, and not abashed in the slightest.

To be fair, though, Merlin never knew when to shut his goddamn mouth any other time, so perhaps Arthur had been foolish to think this sort of affair would be any different. 

When he wakes up to the knock on his door, it doesn’t occur to him to try and hide Merlin, or even wake him. He’d announced to a quarter of the party last night that they were sleeping together, and word-of-mouth in a castle filled with visiting nobles and their attendants is far worse than wild-fire. 

“Yes?” he calls, sitting up despite his nakedness, absently stroking Merlin’s dark hair. The messenger—a woman Arthur recognizes to usually be either in the kitchens or the wash rooms—shyly steps in, flushing deeply when she notices that Arthur is not alone.

“You’ve been summoned. By your father.”

Now this Arthur and not been expecting. To be reprimanded at brunch for making a scene, sure, but to be summoned is an entirely different issue. 

“Thank you,” Arthur says, tipping  his head, “You may go.”

She hurries out, and Arthur looks down, considering for a moment waking Merlin to dress him, and then upon seeing how peacefully his paramour—paramour, how lovely—is sleeping, opts against it. 

He can dress himself, surely.

—

“Brilliant,” Uther muses as Arthur enters, “We were starting to worry you had gotten lost.”

No, Arthur just couldn’t figure out which was the front and which was the back of his trousers for upwards of ten minutes.

“We” must refer to he and Edmond, Uther who is seated stiffly upon his throne, as usual, and Edmond who is standing quite relaxed beneath his gaze, which is Arthur’s first indication something here is clearly off.

“What do you want?” Arthur snaps. Uther does not falter, but Edmond looks over, clearly baffled by Arthur’s tone, and perhaps even the fact that Uther does not ask him to check it.

“Would you please explain to me,” Uther begins, “How you thought it appropriate not only to publicly humiliate a noble, threaten him, but also to treat your manservant as though he were property, and not a man of his own decisions.”

He cannot be serious. Arthur turns to Edmond, seething.

“You are far duller than you look.”

“Arthur!” Uther exclaims, sharp. Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, glowering at his father, terribly angry for what feels like the hundredth time in the past two days.

“I only acted in the interest of Merlin’s honor,” Arthur snaps, “He came to me accusing this feeble, brainless—”

“Are the insults truly necessary, your majesty?” Edmond asks his father, but Arthur continues, unperturbed.

“—wilddeoren of making unwanted advances.” 

Uther frowns, and Edmond shakes his head, a completely unwarranted smile gracing his features. Arthur is certain this man is in need of several kicks to the groin and then some. Uther sighs.

“I told you, your majesty, he would come bearing all sorts of lies.”

“Lies!?” Arthur exclaims incredulously.

“You very publicly referred to Merlin as your paramour instead of your manservant,” Uther says, “In order to embarrass Lord Edmond into obeying your will.” Arthur’s jaw drops. Edmond does nothing to hide the triumph he is feeling, and all of this is making Arthur’s blood boil hotter and hotter. 

That’s… technically true, but as far as last night is concerned—

“Merlin is my paramour,” Arthur argues, causing a raise of his father’s brow, and the shake of Edmond’s head, “And if you do not believe me, summon Merlin, then. Although, that seems a spectacular waste of our time, because he should have been here to explain his side of the story in the first place, and if I would have known this insolent pig—”

“Arthur,” Uther chides.

“—was going to spin such an elaborate fairy-tale, I would have roused him and brought him myself, as he happened to be, conveniently, very close by, namely, right god-damned next to me.”

Uther heaves a sigh. Edmond doesn’t look convinced.

“Arthur—”

“Father,” Arthur says, very seriously, sensing the king’s exasperation and unwillingness to argue or reprimand a noble of his own age, and such a nonchalant demeanor, begging no guilt. What his father fails to see is that this is not because Edmond is not guilty, but because he’s certain there will be no consequences for his actions—and really, unless Arthur kills him in his sleep, or challenges him to a duel, there won’t be. Nothing but a childish slap on the wrist.

“Arthur,” Uther says again, firmly, “I would like you, before dinner tonight, to apologize to Lord Edmond—”

“Absolutely not!” Arthur cries.

“You will,” Uther says, firmness growing into a slight aggression Uther believes he will listen to, “Or you will not attend.”

“Then consider this the last time you see me today, your majesty,” Arthur snaps, turning to leave, “And if you are so opposed to taking the word of your own son over some half-wit jester, ask the servant who summoned me how she found me this morning, and who she found me with.”

He turns, just before the door, glaring back at both men—his father who looks vaguely disappointed, and Edmond who’s now red in the face, seemingly having realized what an impartial third-party’s account may do to his story.

“Or better yet,” Arthur muses, “Ask the knights who attempted to deter Lord Testicle—“

“Arthur!”

“—before I was forced to step in. And please,” Arthur says, finally wrapping this up into a neat little bow, “Do not send for me again. I have a long day and night planned bending my manservant over every flat surface in my chambers.”

“Christ, Arthur—“

“Good. Fucking. Day.”

And if the doors were small enough to be slammed, Arthur would have done exactly that.

—

“What is your name?”

“Oh—er, Katherine, your majesty. I work in the—“

“I know. I just have a question regarding the manner in which you found my son this morning.”

“Ah! Oh—umm… well… I’m not entirely comfortable… saying, my king.”

Uther sighs deeply, and waves his hand to dismiss her.

“That will be all.”

—

“You shouldn’t fight with your father on my behalf,” Merlin soothes, and Arthur would attest to enjoying baths much more when Merlin’s in the water with him. “It’s not worth the drama. And you should be enjoying the—“

“As you should have been, and as we should be, if it weren’t for Lord shit-pants—“

“Your insults are getting less and less clever,” Merlin teases, moving forward through the water to press his lips to Arthur’s throat, as if that’s supposed to make it better. Is this them now? Bickering like usual and then kissing it away? 

He could get used to that, yeah.

Arthur pinches Merlin’s thigh beneath the water in retaliation, so Merlin pokes him hard in the ribs.

“Ow!” Arthur exclaims, seizing Merlin’s wrist and yanking him forward, sending the boy effectively into his embrace, although Arthur is framing it as a restraint, tugging Merlin’s wrists behind his back and pressing his own teasing kiss to the man’s shoulder.

“Gotcha.” 

Merlin laughs.

“What I lack in glorious, sexy, beefy—“ he’s still teasing Arthur, that bastard, “—muscle, I make up for in wit.”

“And how is wit going to—?”

Arthur learns when Merlin uses the height at which his wrists are currently held much to his advantage, and grunts.

“Yes, I suppose that’ll do it.”

—

The next morning they are both summoned, Merlin teaches Arthur about his pants, and they make their way to Uther, chatting aimlessly, bickering uselessly. 

Arthur feels incredible. Wonderful, even. To be with Merlin and to not ache to be nearer, because he has been near and can be near, is like a breath of fresh air. His best friend is now his lover, and he could not have asked fate for anything more.

“Father,” Arthur greets.

“Your majesty,” Merlin says, but does not bow, because Merlin thinks bowing is ridiculous and now that he thinks about it, Arthur kind of agrees.

“I have,” Uther says, sounding wildly uncomfortable, which is the consequence of his own inability to take anything Arthur says seriously, “Confirmed with Katherine, the chambermaid, that you two are, in fact…” 

Arthur grins.

“Copulating?” He suggests.

“Fucking?” Merlin adds plainly.

“Fraternizing?”

“Fucking,” Merlin repeats.

“Lovers,” Arthur suggests, taking Merlin’s hand. They haven’t talked about that part of it yet, although he’s certain it had been implied. Merlin’s grasp tightens around his own, and their shoulders bump together softly.

“Yeah, probably that one,” he agrees. 

Uther is so red in the face he’d make a stunning rendition of Camelot’s flag had he painted a giant gold dragon over his features.

“Right, well,” Uther says, clearing his throat, “I assume you are both aware though… fraternization is certainly allowed, I cannot in good faith—“

“Paramour, father,” Arthur interrupts, because he doesn’t need to hear another word of “produce an heir” or “take a wife.” He’s highly aware of his duty, and if he weren’t, he would’ve dragged Merlin down to Gaius hours ago and demanded to be wed (or whatever version of wed can be done without the church). This way, the next time Lord Edmond or any other ridiculous noble tried to lay hands on his manservant, Arthur would have probably cause to shove his spear through their throat. “I know what can be done and what cannot.”

Uther nods, as if he had suspected this.

“Good. Then all we have to the discuss is the matter of Merlin’s new title—“

“Having sex with your son gives me a title?!” Merlin interrupts incredulously, and Uther goes red again, much to Arthur’s delight. He tips his head back and laughs because oh, how he loves this man.

Uther clears his throat, “Paramour is the title, and while not all of the Five Kingdoms make space for such a thing, I and the court of Camelot do entertain the notion that political marriages should not fall in the way of an actual connection. Therefore, you will be alleviated of your position as Arthur’s manservant—“

“I’d actually like to keep that, if I may,” Merlin interrupts again, and really, where does Merlin get off having the gall to keep cutting off the king. 

Probably somewhere in all those titles Uther doesn’t know Merlin already has—The Last Dragonlord, The Most Powerful Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth, Emrys, etc. Really, now that Arthur thinks about it, Merlin could cast his father out of the throne with the flick of his wrist, and assume Camelot under his rule, destroying those who dare defy him with little more than a thought and a spoken word.

But he doesn’t. Because of Arthur.

It is beginning to feel incredibly stupid that Arthur couldn’t tell if Merlin loved him back. Perhaps he really will have to start reading more.

“You would continue to work?” Uther asks, eyebrows raised.

“I would feel useless if I were not serving Camelot, and my prince,” Merlin says, “It’s kind of what I’m meant to do, regardless of what “title” I hold here.”

Uther nods as if he understands, which he couldn’t possibly, because where he technically assumes a mantle of service to Camelot, he was birthed to it. Merlin chooses his place here.

Merlin chooses Arthur.

He swears, every minute he spends with the man just sinks him further and further, lost to the warlock entirely, even though Arthur had been certain he was at the bottom before any of this even occurred.

“I will be honest,” Uther muses, “I am starting to see why my son likes you.”

Merlin, to Arthur’s surprise, bows his head to hide his pink cheeks, playing it off like a polite and silent “thank you.” Arthur removes his hand from Merlin’s and slips an arm around his waist. Leave it to Merlin to stand firm in the line of a King’s judgment, and buckle under half-baked praise.

Duly noted.

“Is that all?”

“Actually,” Uther says, “I’m sure you’ll pleased to hear I’ve tossed Edmond in a cell until tomorrow morning, because you and I both know—“

“There are few ways to make a man like that listen,” they chorus, and Arthur smiles, incredibly pleased at the idea of Edmond all wrapped up in silk and fine fabrics, cold and damp in a dirty old cell.  “Thank you, father.”

Uther waves his hand dismissively, but cannot help a slight smile at his son’s glowing approval.

“Away with you both. I will see you tonight.”

And Uther does, sitting with their chairs and knees touching, speaking in soft voices and drinking far too much wine, pink cheeks and bright smiles and a love like he remembers. Uther does not wholly understand his son’s affinity for his manservant, but he can understand being young, reckless, and excited to share breath with someone excited to share breath with you.

Yes, Uther, like Arthur, is quite pleased with this paramour. Quite pleased.

[Bonus Content]

Same Universe, Sillier Plot!

#fanfiction #lgbtq #writer #fanfic #merthur #merlinbbc #merlin bbc #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #i did all my gushing on the teaser post so #i've really got nothing to say #hopefully if ppl come here from tik tok they aren't disappointed #i would be so sad #(but if you are feel free to give me constructive criticism) #gay