#as opposed to like. merlin. if I watched merlin I would be saying something every day on here

[rotisseries]

rori what do you think of bsd???

it's insane I'm having so much fun things are getting like. serious now though so I'm scared. yosano's backstory is CRAZY that's a fucking horror show. I LOVEEEEE akutagawa and atsushi they're my faves they're my sillies. also hashtag dog motif is everywhere I'm pacing back and forth

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Something in the woods is stealing peoples’ Souls;

Merlin learns the hard way that he's a little more... fragmented, than normal people when he tries to solve the issue himself.

Part 2 (final part)

All of the Physicians in the town are being overrun.

Bodies keep showing up, still breathing, still perfectly functional, all seemingly unharmed... but they won’t wake up.

None of them will even twitch, as if, whilst the physical bodies were in perfect condition, there was something lacking somewhere, stopping any sort of higher brain function.

The King, his Knights, and even the Court Physician and his (newly titled) Co-Worker (as opposed to Apprentice), were baffled.

Medically, they had nothing to go on, all they could do was keep the bodies alive as best they could, and hope that some sort of solution could come about after some good old fashioned detective work.

Thankfully, it only took five days, and twelve comatose patients, for The King’s best Knights to realise that all of the... victims(?) had been found in a specific area of the woods just outside the city limits.

With such a distinct, and unexplainable issue, it was assumed (rightfully) that magic was involved somehow; whether it be some sort of creature, or yet another evil sorcerer hell-bent on revenge.

Which of course led to Merlin, one of the Court Physicians, and also (Secretly)TheMostPowerfulWarlockEver™, putting on his warmest clothes and sneaking out in the dead of night under the worried gaze of Gaius.

He did not come back.

Not that anyone but Gaius knew.

~

Early the next morning, King Arthur gathered his best Knights, Sirs Leon, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, to go and hunt down whatever it was that was rendering his people permanently unconscious.

Gaius and Merlin had explained the previous day, when these plans were conceived, that Merlin would have to stay behind; Camelot’s Physicians were so overwhelmed with not only normal patients, but now twelve comatose bodies as well; they needed every pair of hands they could get. For once, Arthur was happy to leave his manservant behind. 

The man cared greatly for his people, and whilst he would love nothing more than to have Merlin at his side all day, every day, he knew that he was safer, and more needed, in the city.

It was meant to just be in case Merlin got injured and had to hide it, but Gaius did well to hide his worry when he waved them off, and didn’t mention that Merlin wasn’t even in the city, that they could be finding Merlin’s comatose body next.

It took the Gang barely half a day to get there, and they had supplies to last them a few days in the woods, if that’s what it came to, but they were all still tense.

They hadn't seen anything like this before. They had no idea what they were up against; there were no physical injuries to assess, no eye-witness accounts, nothing found in their blood or on their person. Just unconscious bodies that showed no sign of waking.

Thankfully, they found no more bodies as they methodically searched the forest, but they also found no sign of what was wrong.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: nothing attacked them, there was no blood, no destroyed areas, not even a scrap of evidence that something had even happened.

They finally stopped to make camp at sundown, dejected. Their mood definitely worsening with Elyan’s terrible cooking.

Gwaine was, of course, the most talkative:

“I know he’s needed or whatever, but are we sure we can’t go back and get Merlin? I’ve eaten a lot of gross shit over the years, but I’m not sure if I can take this for four more days.”

Elyan grumbles in embarrassment as the others snort, amused, and he throws a twig at Gwaine. It snaps in two across the knight’s face with a satisfying crack.

Arthur ignores the childish behaviour (something he can’t believe he has to do in the first place), shaking his head as he replies:

“No. The health of the people comes before your stomach. If Gaius says he’s needed in the city, then he stays in the city. Though I was surprised that he wasn’t there to wave us off.”

Gwaine smirks knowingly, and Percival puts a warning hand on his shoulder, but it does nothing to deter the knight as he waggles his eyebrows at The King.

Arthur flushes slightly, but he covers it quickly, not having time to retort before Gwaine opens his mouth again:

“Missing him, are you? Perhaps next time you should request that he stand on the battlements in a dress, and wave a handkerchief at us as we heroically ride out?”

Arthur throws a much larger twig (it’s more of a branch, really) in Gwaine’s direction, and this one knocks him off his seat, but before anyone can even snigger at him, Arthur loudly announces the watches and tells everyone to get some sleep.

~

The next day went much the same. 

That is, until late-afternoon.

The Knights were continuing their methodical search of the woods, once again finding themselves somehow tense and bored, when they came across a clearing that had clearly seen a gruesome battle.

Trees were uprooted, the ground was covered in deep holes and scorches, and there were even the occasional splashes of blood.

Which honestly raised more questions that it answered.

After thorough searching, they were hopeful. It looked like it had been some sort of fight between a sorcerer, and something... not human, some sort of creature. BUT, going by the tracks, the sorcerer had survived, and wandered off.

Was the sorcerer injured, or was the creature injured? If the sorcerer had walked off, injured or otherwise, where was the creature? Surely they should find the body of one or the other?

Another question that no one really wanted to ask: was this even related to the bodies?? Or had the Knights just stumbled onto something completely unrelated that they would inevitably get dragged into dealing with anyway?

Either way, they couldn’t ignore it, and with new-found motivation, they followed the tracks deeper into the woods, instead of setting up camp, like they had intended.

Whoever it was seemed to be wandering aimlessly. The blood trail slowly came to a stop, and it seemed that every step was stronger; as if whoever it were was gaining more energy from walking, as opposed to becoming more tired.

Still, whoever they found at the end of the tracks would be able to provide some sort of answer.

Eventually, after around two hours of diligently following the footsteps through the woods, Arthur signalled everyone to stop.

He wordlessly dismounts his horse, and gestures everyone to quietly do the same, before silently pointing ahead.

The knights look carefully to where he gestures, to see a man stood in the centre of a clearing, facing away from them.

They, still silent, draw their swords and sneak closer, but the man doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was stood upright, they would think him dead.

Arthur steps into the clearing, about twenty feet from the man, and furrows his brow. That looks like.... no... it can’t be, can it? He shakes the thoughts from his head, convinced that he’s just imagining things, but before he can make his presence known, the man turns around, as if he sensed them stood there.

All of them gasp and take a step back, immediately recognising Merlin.

But he’s... different.

He stands scarily still, unusual for a man who was constantly fidgeting or on the move.

His face is blank, and if he hadn’t been staring straight at them they would think he hadn’t noticed them at all, and whilst he stood as if uninjured, his tunic is ripped and blood-soaked.

But what draws everyone’s attention, was the bright golden glow of his eyes, highlighted especially by the quickly descending darkness of the evening.

Arthur brings his sword up slowly, taking a cautious step forward as he calls Merlin’s name.

Merlin simply tilts his head slightly, otherwise staying still, before stutteringly beginning to speak:

“Mer... lin... Merlin....... Merlin is... Merlin is...... Merlin is gone.”

It’s clear that something is deeply wrong with the manservant, but the way he spoke, as if he knew how but had never actually done it before, like he was still figuring it out, creeped the hell out of everyone.

His words as well, “Merlin is gone” do nothing but fill them with dread.

Lancelot steps forward quickly, moving to stand in front of Arthur, sword unsheathed but pointing at the ground. He was unsurprisingly less fearful of the golden irises, and recovered the quickest:

“What do you mean, “Merlin is gone”, gone where? Who are you?”

Merlin... or... not!Merlin, tilts his head further:

“Merlin is... gone. I... I... I want him... back.”

Lancelot gulps but before he can reply, Arthur breaks out of his stupor, and growls:

“What have you done with him?! Whatever you are, give him back!”

Merlin moves his gaze from Lancelot to Arthur, and takes a step forward, before bowing his head slightly, as if out of respect:

“You are... The Once and Future King... I want him back... you... you... you need him... back.”

The rest of the knights are fully freaked out now, but they hide it well, and gather slowly around Arthur. Lancelot scowls at them, holding a placating hand out. He really doesn’t want any of them to get jumpy and skewer Merlin. He takes another step towards the golden-eyed man:

“We all want Merlin back. The bodies, the same thing happened to you? Happened to Merlin?”

Not!Merlin nods slowly once again, looking back to Lancelot:

“It... took him... from me. I... I... I want him back.”

Lancelot returns his nod, letting out a deep breath:

“And who are you? What are you doing in Merlin’s body?”

Not!Merlin frowns slightly, as if confused, the first actual expression he’s pulled this whole time. It takes him a few moments to respond, and Lancelot is getting desperate; he can feel the knights behind him getting more and more jumpy, especially Arthur:

“I am... I... I have always been here... I am... I am... I am me. I am Merlin’s... and he is... mine... I want him... back. He is... mine.”

Lancelot tenses slightly. He has a feeling he knows what’s going on. Merlin talks about his magic sometimes, talks about it as if it’s... sentient. Described the way it’s always desperate to reach out to Arthur and the Knights and Gaius and Gwen, how it sometimes does things without his permission.

Lancelot gulps. This is bad. Merlin’s magic is walking around in his body without him there to control it. They were going to struggle to explain this away, as much as Merlin claimed Arthur was an idiot, it wasn’t completely true. Lancelot bit his lip, glancing back at the others as he re-sheaths his sword.

He knows there’s no way to get them to relax... unless... this might backfire terribly, but it also might be the only way to get them to calm down a little.

Lancelot frowns thoughtfully, and just before Arthur works up the nerve to say something else, he turns back to Not!Merlin:

“Do you mean us any harm?”

Not!Merlin once again tilts his head and frowns as if in confusion:

“No... Merlin is... Merlin is fond of... you. I.. I was made for... for The Once and Future King. I am... unable to hurt him.”

Lancelot nods, before saying slowly:

“Do you have any reason to lie to us?

The golden-eyed man shakes his head slowly, the glow seeming brighter as he replies:

“Why would I... I... lie? I could kill... you without a... second... second thought. I want Merlin... back.”

The knight nods one final time, looking back to the others to gauge their reactions. Their swords are still unsheathed, but lowered, their faces tense and concerned, but not angry. Lancelot supposes that’s the best he’s going to get at this point.

He lets out a rough sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looks back at the Warlock:

“You’re not Merlin. What do we call you, until we can get him back?”

Not!Merlin lets his gaze wonder to the knights, before finally landing on Arthur. His speech had been getting better with use, but he speaks slowly and keeps his stare on The King, as if curious to his reaction:

“I am... I am... I am part of him. I don’t... have a name. Call me... me... Emrys.”

Lancelot grits his teeth, and his eyes whip to Arthur, to see if he recognises the name.

With The King’s gasp, and widening eyes, Lancelot knows that he does recognise the name.

“You... you’re Emrys?? I thought Emrys was some all-powerful sorcerer, what are you doing in Merlin?”

Arthur is too distracted to notice Lancelot’s panic, but Leon, ever the observant one, is not, and frowns at the sudden fear on his fellow knight’s face.

Mer-... Emrys had already admitted that he wouldn’t lie, if Arthur keeps asking questions, he’ll figure it out. But before Lancelot can think of a solution, Emrys replies:

“Emrys is... is... our other... name. But I am not... Merlin. Not on my own. I want... want him back.”

Arthur looks taken aback, but before he can ask another question, Gwaine steps forward, giving Lancelot an unreadable look before:

“Right, well that’s all fine and dandy, but we need to set camp up and figure out what we’re going to do about... this.”

He gestures vaguely to Merlin’s body after sheathing his sword.

Arthur looks about ready to argue, but with another pointed look from Gwaine, Lancelot jumps into action:

“Gwaine’s right, we need to gather the horses and set up for the night. Here is probably alright, then we can come up with a plan to get Merlin back, and presumably, all of those other people.-”

He turns to Arthur, a sufficiently subservient expression on his face:

“-If you think that’s best, Sire?”

Gwaine rolls his eyes and scoffs at that, heading back to gather the horses from where they’d been left without further prompting. Arthur’s argumentative expression drops after a moment, and with one more mistrustful glance to Emrys, he nods, instructing the others to gather wood and get started on dinner.

Lancelot lets out a breath, but flushes slightly and tenses his jaw when he sees Leon giving him an inscrutable look. He turns away after a moment, under the pretence of helping Gwaine.

The moment Lancelot reaches Gwaine, a few metres into the treeline, the other knight quickly turns around and grabs his shoulders. He glances desperately back towards the clearing, and when he establishes that they’re the only two within earshot, roughly whispers:

“Please tell me you figured it out?? Because I’m not sure how the hell I’m going to keep Arthur from finding out on my own.”

Lancelot’s eyes widen, but his shock keeps him silent for only a few moments before Gwaine shakes his shoulders. He blinks away his surprise, whispering his response:

“You know?? Does Merlin know that you know?”

Gwaine shakes his head, finally letting go of Lance’s shoulders:

“No. I worked it out like twenty seconds ago, I’m sort of hoping that Arthur isn’t as quick as me. How long have you known?”

The other knight nods his head understandingly:

“About as long as I’ve known him, but I’ll explain later. This whole thing is... terrible. I don’t think our odds are good. Mer- Emrys won’t lie, and we won’t be able to stop Arthur from asking questions. He’s probably asking them now. We need to get the horses and get back.”

Gwaine nods roughly, and without another word, the two of them gather the reins of their six horses, and quickly make their way back to the clearing.

They had only been gone a few minutes, and in that time, firewood had been gathered and arranged. Elyan pulls a flint out of his pocket, and Lancelot widens his eyes as he sees Emrys tilt his head (still stood in the same place), moments before waving his hand casually.

The wood bursts into a roaring flame, and Emrys suddenly has four swords on him. Lancelot and Gwaine rush forward, standing in between Emrys and the other knights, holding their hands out as if in surrender. Gwaine speaks first:

“Hey! You might be freaked out by all of this, but that’s still Merlin’s body, and he needs it, so lets not poke holes in him, alright??”

Everyone bar Arthur lowers their swords, but before Gwaine can growl something out, Lancelot turns back to Emrys:

“Look, they’re all a little... unnerved, by magic, so maybe stop using it for now, yeah?”

Emrys tilts his head and furrows his brows again, and everyone stares at him in shock as he replies, not quite knowing what to make of his response:

“But I am magic. I am magic... incarnate. If I stop... I... I cease to exist. And Merlin... Merlin needs me. He needs me like... like... like humans need to breath. I can not just... stop. He would... would... we would die.”

Lancelot tightly shuts his eyes. There is officially NO way to explain this one away. Gods, Merlin is going to be so scared when he finds out.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Arthur finally squeaks out a:

“What??”

Gwaine quickly responds, before Emrys can reveal anymore:

“No. It's cruel to take Merlin’s secrets from him when he isn’t even here. We find Merlin, then you can ask your questions.-”

Arthur looks angry, like he wants to argue, but Gwaine takes a threatening step towards him, resting his hand on his sword at his hip as Lancelot and the other knights look on the scene with panic in their eyes. Gwaine growls out:

“-I said no, Princess. Everyone here knows I’m more loyal to Merlin than you, and that doesn’t stop just because he’s not here and you’re about to throw a temper tantrum.”

Arthur huffs, but lowers his sword as Gwaine glares at him, and Lancelot lets out a breath. The other knights follows The King’s lead, sheathing their swords and settling tensely around the fire.

Lancelot goes back to the horses, tying them down and removing saddlebags, with Leon’s help (and constant stare, which was an odd mix of concern and suspicion).

Gwaine points Emrys to a spot on the floor, and tells him to sit. The knight settles next to him protectively, his sword across his lap as he glares at Arthur on the other side of the fire.

The evening passes awkwardly, food being cooked and eaten in silence, no one quite sure what to say.

Arthur spends the whole time with a pinched look of frustration on his face, but the knights look to him as he takes a deep breath, his expression morphing into an odd mix of concern and accusation in the blink of an eye:

“How do we even know that the... Merlin, part of... part of you is alive? What happened to hi- to you? How do we get him back?”

Lancelot wants to be annoyed at his tone, but he poses valid questions. They still had no idea what actually happened or why or how they fixed it.

Emrys tilts his head, aiming his golden stare at Arthur:

“It is one of... of the Manducan, or The Eating Ones. They... are very rare, they steal... steal souls. Bodies can survive a short while.... a short while without them. Hence your... comatose patients. I am... we are, a little more... fragmented... than most. I contain too... too much power, so The Manducan took... only the human... human part.”

Everyone looks extremely worried at that, but Arthur’s face turns desperate as he rushes out:

“What do you mean, human?? What are you??”

They all stare at the raven-haired man as he speaks, his eyes focused on the King:

“We do not... know. Some call us a Lord, or a King. Others call us... call us... a God. In moments... of power, we... we hear prayers. It can be... disconcerting.”

The camp is silent for a while after that, everyone processing what had been said. Merlin heard people praying to him... not even Lancelot knew that, Merlin had never told him.

After around half a candle-mark, Leon breaks the silence to ask the questions that had been pushed to that back of their minds:

“How do we kill this creature, and what happens if we do? Can we get the souls back, undamaged?”

Emrys turns his golden gaze to the curly-haired knight as he replies:

“It is already... weakened. The Forever King needs to... strike... strike it with Excalibur. They hibernate for.... for centuries... and only return to this plane of existence to... collect food. If you... if you... if you kill it before it leaves, the souls will... will return...naturally.”

The knights all let out breaths of relief, but Arthur looks at his sword oddly, before muttering:

“What’s so special about my sword? And why do you keep calling me strange titles?”

Lancelot gulps, and Emrys tilts his head:

“You know of Emrys, but not of the... the prophecies?”

Arthur nods his head slowly, but Lancelot interrupts before Emrys can start the complicated process of explaining his and Arthur’s destinies:

“Perhaps that’s a... story, for when we have Merlin back in one piece. How do we track the creature?”

Arthur gives him a glare, before lowly saying:

“Do not think I do not notice you avoiding the subject, Sir Lancelot. You know of these prophecies?”

Lancelot grits his teeth, but gives a slow nod:

“Bits and pieces. Merlin isn’t fond of talking about it.-”

He raises a challenging eyebrow, still staring Arthur in the face, and everyone is take aback. Lancelot was never anything but respectful and polite to his King; this defiant look shocked them all:

“-You see, he’s spent his entire life in Camelot absolutely terrified that someone will overhear him, and have him burnt.”

Arthur took in a deep breath, hiding his guilt behind a blank façade, but before anyone can say anything, their gazes are drawn back to Emrys, who looks almost... mournful?

He nods his head slightly, and the sad look on his... on Merlin’s face, looks so out of place for someone so normally upbeat:

“He is... we, are constantly frightened. It is exhausting. I try to... to reassure us but... Merlin is... is... is always so scared, despite our power. We used to... to love flames, fire. Now it is... terrifying to us.”

Lancelot had kept his gaze on Arthur, and when The King looks back at him, his despair badly hidden, the knight simply shrugs one shoulder and nods slightly.

Arthur lets out a breath, and looks to his lap, whispering so quietly that the group barely hears him:

“He’s scared of... of me.”

Gwaine growls out an “Of course he is, you’re a Pen-.”, but he’s interrupted by Emrys:

“No. He would allow you to... to kill us. But we couldn’t bear to... to lose you.-”

He finishes his statement quietly, and Arthur looks up at him, tears in his eyes:

“-We don’t want to be sent away. Camelot is... is... is frightening. But it is also our... home.”

“I would never send you away. When we get Merlin back, you... you tell him that. Tell him he’s safe with me, with us, and always will be.”

Emrys tilts his head yet again:

“And my people? Will we be an... exception? Will you make us watch you... continue to persecute our people, whom we... we... we should be protecting? Merlin does... does not want to make a... hypocrite out of you.”

The knights look at him expectantly, and he blanches slightly as he looks away. The King gulps, before taking a deep breath and looking back, straightening his spine and looking confident:

“The laws will change. Crimes committed with magic will be judged the same as crimes committed without; it’s about time I faced the cruelties of my father.”

The corner of Emrys’ mouth tilts up briefly as he nods, but says nothing. Gwaine smirks, Leon and Lancelot give The King proud smiles, and Percival and Elyan look taken aback, before they relax into fond smiles of their own.

The evening had passed quickly, and with all of them exhausted, it’s decided that any further discussion on how to track this... Manducan, would happen in the morning.

All of the knights fall asleep quickly, finding the protective golden glow of Emrys’ unsleeping eyes both comforting and unsettling.

~

They all woke the next morning oddly refreshed, but the relaxed atmosphere didn’t last long when, one by one, the knights noticed Emrys sat unnervingly still, in the exact same spot as last night.

Only the occasional blink and shallow breathing proved that he was in fact alive, and not some sort of incredibly life-like statue.

Food was eaten, and camp broken quickly; the golden eyed not-quite-a-servant staying in his spot the whole time. 

Despite Emrys saying that the souls would be fine as long as they got there in time, they were still full of nervous energy, and wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Not least of all because they had a lot, and I mean a LOT, of questions for Merlin... or... all of Merlin.

Emrys was pointed to Lancelot’s horse, and once he mounted in front of the knight, everyone looked at him expectantly. He simply tilted his head, and Arthur huffed:

“Well? How do we find this... creature? Can’t you-”

He waves his hand vaguely, and Leon is the only knight able to hide his snort at The King’s impression of magic.

Emrys nods in understanding, and extends his hand in front of him. A thin stream of light, like a glowing string floating in the air, extends from his palm, snaking through the trees.

He nods, this time in the direction of the light, and the knights urge their horses to begin a quick paced journey.

Conversation is sparse, but eventually the question on all of their minds is asked by Percival:

“If you could do that the whole time, track the Manducan I mean, why didn’t you?”

Emrys doesn’t look towards him, but the horses noticeably slow as everyone bunches together, curious about his answer:

“They are of a different... different plane. Magic can harm them but... but... but not kill. I was waiting for The Once and Future King to bring... bring Excalibur.”

Percival nods in understanding, but Leon frowns:

“Well... what about us? Will we not be able to harm it with our swords?”

Everyone copies his frown at that. They’re valid questions, and Arthur is silently grateful that Leon had the tactical mind to think of them:

“No. It will be safer for... for... for you to... wait. I can distract and injure it further until... The Once and Future King can... kill it.”

The knights looks worried at that, but Elyan is the first one to pipe up:

“We’re meant to just stand back and watch? Can’t we set a trap, or help distract it?”

Emrys shakes his head:

“It can not be trapped. Being too close would... would have adverse effects on... on... on your souls.”

Arthur looks back from his position at the head of the group with a frown on his face:

“Well what about my soul? I’m presumably going to have to get close to it in order to stab it?”

Emrys fixes his golden stare on The King, and tilts his head slightly in confusion:

“Your soul was forged through magic, it is marginally... immune. It will take a little... longer for... for... for your soul to react badly.”

Arthur nods, looking back to the front, muttering something about “having a time limit before my soul implodes or whatever. Great.”

Once the knights finish snickering at Arthur, Gwaine asks:

“Wait wait, if Excalibur is the only thing able to kill it, what are you doing out here?”

Emrys tilts his head, looking back to the knights:

“We were... unaware of that at the... the time. We only figured out what... it was, when we fought it.”

Everyone nods, all of them wondering just how many times Merlin had snuck out to take care of something, with none of them knowing about it. The list of questions they had for when Merlin was back in one piece was getting longer and longer, and no part of this conversation was helping the anxiety swirling in Lancelot’s stomach.

After another hour or so of silence, Elyan pipes up:

“I’m surprised no one has asked yet but... what does this thing look like? I know we’re following a trail or whatever, but what are we actually going to find at the end of it?”

“They shift sizes, though they always take... the form of a thick-”

Emrys is interrupted by Arthur pulling his horse to a sudden stop, and pointing through the trees ahead of his, harshly whispering:

“Black shadow??”

Everyone stops behind him and their gazes dart quickly to where Arthur gestures. Through the trees they see a large mass of deep black smoke.

The black tendrils seem to writhe in the air, and the knights can see vague impressions of limbs tipped with impossibly sharp claws darting out occasionally before retreating back into the fog.

The creature looks like evil in semi-corporeal form, and the usually strong-willed warriors take in stuttering breaths at the overwhelming instincts of “Unnatural, run run RUN!” screaming at them with every passing second.

The shadow doesn’t seem to have any front or back; being in a constantly shifting state, sometimes seeming to freeze, sometimes darting through the trees in a blur.

The knights have lost all colour in their faces, and their breath comes shallowly and quickly. Arthur gulps, tightening his grip on his sword as he whispers:

“Horse, or on foot?”

The sound of Emrys’ feet softly thudding on the undergrowth gives The King his answer, and he dismounts his horse slowly, trying to stop the shaking in his hands and legs.

He takes a deep breath as Emrys moves to stand behind him. His voice is shaking and desperate, as if he were a child reaching for help after a nightmare:

“How do I... what do I do, Merlin?”

Emrys tilts his head, but doesn’t say anything of the The King’s mistake:

“You need only get close enough to... deeply slice it. It is fragile in this... this realm. Cover your eyes when you... you do so, the light will be blinding. Do not let it... touch you. I am reluctant to admit that, after what it did to... to... to our soul, I do not know what it will... do to yours.”

Arthur takes another deep breath, and clears his throat slightly as he gives a firm nod. Time to be brave now, for his people, for Merlin.

The King can hear his knights dismount behind him and tie up the horses, ready to jump in and help at a moment’s notice, in spite of... whatever will happen to their souls. None of them are really sure they want to know, so none of them ask for details, and Arthur is unendingly grateful for their silent loyalty and bravery.

Emrys walks forward, past Arthur, and towards the creature. The King gulps before silently slipping off to the side; he doesn’t know how the creature sees (not having a head, or even eyes, as far as he can tell), but Emrys said he would distract it so... splitting up makes the most sense? 

The knights can tell the exact moment the creature notices Emrys walking towards it.

The tendrils of shadow seem to writhe even more frantically, and the fog bulges and retreats again, somehow giving the impression of anger, fear.

Emrys plants his feet strongly and raises a hand, summoning vines and roots from the ground with nought but a gesture; Arthur only gives himself a second to be distracted by the sight of Merlin so effortlessly doing magic before focussing back on the creature.

Everyone bar Emrys winces, and covers their ears as the beast lets out an ear piercing screech, moving judderingly towards the Warlock. The trees shake with the noise, and a few of Emrys’ magical attacks disintegrate into the air. He summons more, and snarls in concentration as the beast whips towards him.

Emrys rushes forward to meet the beast, and they clash in a burst of golden light and black shadow, each trying to take over the other. The shadows try to sneak around the Warlock, reaching towards the knights behind him, but they’re quickly halted in their tracks as cracks open in the ground, swallowing the fog before it can do any damage.

The golden light emanating from Emrys pulses brightly, and the creature is pushed back, the edges of its smoke disintegrating slowly into the air. It lets out another high pitched screech, and Arthur takes that as his cue; rushing silently forward, on the opposite side of the creature to Emrys, and swiping down precisely with Excalibur.

The knights see his attack coming, and step even further back, heeding Emrys’ warning and covering their eyes, Arthur doing so with his free hand as he brings the sword down. 

Excalibur cuts through the shadow with no resistance; the screech getting impossibly louder as the blade leaves a blindingly golden trail in it’s wake.

Emrys simply stands back to watch, but the pitch of the beast’s screech forces the knights to the floor, eyes tightly shut, and hands clamped over their ears.

Suddenly, the noise stops, and the shadows of the creature seem to disintegrate into nothing as the golden light of the wound takes over. The light recedes in on itself, before exploding outwards and fragmenting into pieces. The bulk of the fragments fly in the direction of Camelot, golden blurs through the trees, but one, the smallest and dullest (due to being only part of a soul, they assume) flies with speed straight towards Emrys.

The knights and their King finally look up, feeling oddly exhausted, to see Emrys take a staggered step back and grimace in pain as the light forces it’s way down his throat.

He falls to the floor, and the knights rush towards him as his muscles spasm and he begins to scream. His eyes are shut tightly and Lancelot quickly lunges forward to grab his wrists as his hands go to yank at his hair.

Everyone gathers around him, Lancelot yelling for them to hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself. They can only hope that Merlin is an exception, and this isn’t happening to the other victims back in Camelot. Lancelot keeps a hold of his wrists, and Arthur discards Excalibur in favour of holding down Merlin’s shoulders, whilst Elyan, Leon, and Gwaine hold down his hips and legs, and Percival wordlessly stands guard.

Merlin’s screaming dies down, and he stops thrashing so much (but stays tense), but the knights don’t let go just yet. He opens his bleary eyes, and whispers, so faintly they barely hear it:

“... Lance?”

The knight lets go of Merlin’s now limp wrists gently, and strokes a hand through the man’s raven hair:

“Yeah, I’m here Merlin. All back in once piece?

Merlin closes his eyes again, and goes fully slack as the others let go of him fully, nodding slowly as he gulps before groaning:

“Yeah, that fucking... hurt.”

Lancelot huffs out a gentle laugh, but before he can reply, Merlin gasps and quickly sits up. When his wide, panicked eyes land on the rest of the knights huddled around him, his breath deepens and he scrambles back frantically, only to run into Arthur, who grabs his shoulders.

Merlin whips his head around and rips himself from The King’s grip, stumbling to his feet and rushing back, away from the knights and into a tree.

His ears are deaf to everyone’s gentle reassurances that he was safe, and his eyes are blind to the hands held up in soft surrender. He sinks to the floor as his breathing gets even more frenzied and tears gather in his eyes, but before he can process that he was safe, the mix of memories triggers a blinding pain behind his eyes.

He gives a pained yelp and shuts his eyes tightly, bringing his hands to grip the sides of his head as he curls up on the floor. Merlin begins to groan again, and Lancelot desperately gestures for everyone to stay back as he kneels by Merlin’s side, pulling his hands away from his head again:

“You’re safe Merlin, no one’s going to hurt you, do you remember? We said that to the bit of you that was left.-”

Merlin doesn’t seem to hear him, but squeezes Lancelot’s hands painfully tight as he continues to groan, arching his spine:

“-Ok, ok, what’s wrong Merlin? Your head? We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong. Is it your... your soul?”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, groaning dying down, but still struggling to draw breath, still gripping Lance’s hands:

“Your magic?”

Another shake of the head has Lancelot beginning to panic a little; none of them have dealt with anything like this before, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with his friend. He continues to try and comfort Merlin as he struggles to think of what else it could be, when Merlin begins forcing himself to take deep breaths, and stuttering out:

“Mem... memories.”

Lancelot takes a fortifying breath, and the others crowd a little closer, panicking for their friend:

“Memories? Ok, which ones? Memories from the bit of you that was wandering around, or memories from the bit of you that was in the creature?”

Thankfully, Merlin’s pain seems to be dying down slightly. His breath comes easier, but his eyes stay tightly shut and his muscles still spasm periodically as he grinds out:

“Both. Two sets of memories from... from the same time. Hurts. My. Brain.”

Lancelot huffs out another gentle laugh, rubbing his thumbs softly over the back of Merlin’s hands, and the others relax at the sight of Merlin’s pain lessening. Gwaine kneels down next to Lancelot, and quietly announces himself before beginning to run a gentle hand through Merlin’s hair.

This goes on for a few more minutes; the servant’s pain dwindling and his breathing evening out as his mind sorts the two sets of clashing memories and stitches the two pieces of his soul back together, Lancelot and Gwaine not stopping their soft ministrations for even a moment.

He finally relaxes fully, opening his eyes but not moving from his position on the floor as he gazes tiredly up at Arthur’s worried face, over Lancelot’s shoulder. His words comes out timidly, and Arthur has to stop himself flinching at the hint of fear in his voice:

“Did you mean it? Am I... safe?”

Arthur forces a soft smile on his face, hiding his worry, and gives Merlin a firm nod:

“I promise Merlin, you’re safe. None of us will hurt you.-”

Merlin smiles back at him, before nodding, and closing his eyes, drained from the ordeals of the last few days:

“-though you need to make sure your head is on straight at your earliest convenience, I’ll need your help to write that repeal.”

Arthur says it with a weak, teary grin, and Merlin chuckles slightly, nodding softly once more before drifting into a deep sleep, exhausted.

Lancelot mutters that he’s asleep, and the smile drops from Arthur’s face, his brow furrowing in worry as he crouches between his two knights, putting a hand to Merlin’s forehead:

“Will he be alright?”

Lancelot shrugs, biting his lip, and sporting a similar expression to The King as he replies:

“I’ve no clue. His soul was split in two, his magic was pushed to the limit in that fight, and his body didn’t rest at all or eat much for at least a day; he’s probably just exhausted, but we should get him back to Gaius.”

Elyan, Leon, and Percival move back to gather the horses without prompting, and within minutes the gang is racing back towards the city, Merlin’s unconscious form being held protectively in front of Arthur (his excuse being that Lancelot’s horse had already held the extra weight for half a day, and he’s The King, so he can do what he wants).

~

Thankfully, the creature had been between their camp and the city, so it only takes them around a day to get back. They took few breaks, and ate whilst they rode to save time. Despite not waking up the entire journey, Merlin’s breathing stayed alright, and he occasionally mumbled nonsense to himself, so the knights weren’t panicking too much.

They didn’t stop when night fell, and so finally pulled into the castle courtyard at around midnight. A guard was immediately sent to wake Gaius, and Percival wordlessly took Merlin from Arthur’s horse, only after The King had given him a short nod of approvable.

They got to the Physician’s chambers to see Gaius wide awake and bustling around the room, clearing a cot and gathering various potions and ingredients.

Percival gently set the manservant on the cot, and Gaius firmly demands that they all leave the room to give him space to work, choosing to ignore the fact that he had told them that Merlin was in the city, and that they definitely shouldn’t have come back with his exhausted, unconscious body.

Arthur notes that Gaius doesn’t react at all when Lancelot stays behind, but has to temper his frustration (and jealousy) when the Physician shoots the knight a concerned look when Arthur himself also refuses to leave.

Lancelot sighs, but gives Gaius a reassuring smile:

“It’s fine, Gaius, they all know about Merlin’s magic, he’s safe. We said we’d explain when we got Merlin back in one piece.”

Gaius sends The King a curious look, hiding his concern well before he seems to catch up on what Lancelot said:

“Back in one piece?”

Arthur moves closer as Lancelot nods and begins to speak, content to let the knight explain as long as he got to stand near Merlin:

“He said it was Manducan?-”

Gaius widens his eyes in surprise, but nods, continuing to mix together various herbs as he listens:

“-Apparently, Merlin’s power was too much for it to handle, so it took the non-magical part of his soul. We found Merlin’s body being controlled by his magic. It was... odd. He was still Merlin, you could hear it in the way he spoke, or the words he chose, but it wasn’t... all of him. Just the magic part. He wouldn’t lie to us, and was desperate to get the “Merlin” part of his soul back. Unless we spoke to him he just... sat there, blankly.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully, and he and Lancelot politely pretend not to notice Arthur reaching out to gently grab Merlin’s hand.

Finally, the physician finishes mixing his potion, and gently pours it into Merlin’s mouth, holding his nose shut and massaging his throat so it goes down properly. He sits back on his chair, glancing at Arthur quickly, before looking back to Lancelot:

“The other victims began to wake just under a day ago, so I’m assuming that the creature was... dealt with?-”

At Lancelot’s nod, he continues:

“-Did Merlin wake at all when his soul came together?”

Lancelot nods again, speaking quietly, feeling oddly like he doesn’t want to disturb Arthur softly rubbing his thumb over Merlin’s hand:

“Hmm. Briefly. He screamed for a while, whilst his soul... I don’t know, stitched itself back together? Then he panicked, because he knew his magic had been outed, then he was in pain again. He said having two sets of memories from the same time hurt. Then he was just exhausted, he passed out a few moments after the pain stopped.”

Gaius nods, and Arthur finally looks up, knowing that the explanation was over, and a conversation was about to happen. The Physician speaks:

“Humans are not made for that, it would have been painful for his mind to try to comprehend and organise two separate sets of simultaneous memories.”

Arthur speaks, his voice quiet, but obviously worried:

“Will he be alright? How long until he wakes?”

Gaius looks to him once more, giving The King an assessing gaze. When he spies no anger or deception in Arthur’s face, he relaxes his shoulders slightly, and sighs:

“He will be alright, he just needs rest. Both his body and his soul have been through a great deal, it will take a few days to a week for him to fully recover physically, though I can’t speak for his mental state.”

Arthur looks panicked, and Lancelot worries his lip between his teeth as Arthur asks:

“His mental state??”

Gaius finds himself sighing yet again as he asks:

“How lucid was he, between the bouts of pain?”

Lancelot rushes to answer:

“Very. He understood what I was saying, I think, he asked a question and understood our answer. He just seemed tired.”

Gaius gives the two men an exhausted smile, before softly saying:

“Then I imagine he will be fine. Go and get some rest, I will send for you if anything changes, though it’s unlikely that he’ll wake up at any point in the next two days or so.”

Lancelot nods, and moves towards the door, but Arthur stays put. Gaius raises an eyebrow, but moves forward and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder:

“He will be fine, Sire. And... everything he has done, every lie he has told, has been to keep you safe. He couldn’t bare to lose you.”

Arthur nods absentmindedly, before looking up to the Physician, and whispering:

“I couldn’t bare to lose him either. You... you promise he’ll be alright?”

Gaius nods and smiles, noting with relief the tearful desperation on The King’s face:

“I promise.”

Lancelot smiles fondly from his place stood at the door, but wipes it from his face as Arthur turns towards him. The two men leave out of the room, Gaius’ assessing eyes following them all the way.

The door shuts behind them softly, and Gaius lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he had been holding, before running a hand gently through Merlin’s hair, and moving to settle in his own cot.

Of all the ways Arthur could find out about Merlin’s magic, out of Merlin’s control, Gaius never saw this coming, and though the pain Merlin felt was regretful, The Physician is grateful, that it went so well.

~

End of Part 1!!

Part two is already almost finished. It’s much shorter than this, and will be out at some point in the next few days!! Sorry this took so long lads, I’ve been really busy atm.

EDIT: I’ve actually just finished writing part 2!! It’s queued to be published at 12:30PM GMT tomorrow (09/05/21)

EDIT 2.0: PART 2 IS UP!!

Also I couldn’t find any mythical creatures that fit what I wanted, so I straight up just made one up ✌️

Head over to This List to let me know what you want me to work on next! :)

[seriouslysnape]

Pleasurable Silence

__

Remus Lupin x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 2,123

A/N: This was originally a request, but I just realized after I wrote this that this wasn’t what the requester asked for. So this is just a repost.

“Did I stutter? Get on your knees.”

__

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” Remus snarled, his arms crossed angrily over his chest.

“Remus, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. Sirius is your friend, he has never looked at me that way,” You huffed; “You’re making this up in your head.”

This argument had been going on for far too long now. You had been at each other’s throats for almost an hour. You were tired of fighting, and tired of trying to make Remus see that he was being immature. You and Remus had been at a dinner party of sorts. It was Remus and some of his old friends from his days at Hogwarts. Of course, Sirius Black was included in this group.

“I’ve known Sirius for a long time. I know how he is. I know exactly what he was thinking by the way he was looking at you.” Remus growled, angrily loosening his tie.

Remus had been having a great time, until about halfway through the dinner when he grew quiet. You had noticed that his jaw was clenched the way it did when he was aggravated, and his pupils were dilated about 2x their normal size. You knew something was bugging him, but you decided to leave it be until you were back in private.

That’s when Remus let it all out.

He was pissed about how Sirius had apparently been boggling over you all night. You were sure that Remus was being paranoid, because Sirius had never said or done anything out of pocket in the few years you had known him through Remus. Remus had always been a little insecure, but never like this.

“What’s the matter with you, Remus? You weren’t so nervous before.” You pointed out, removing the pins from your hair.

His tie had been discarded and he ruffled his fingers through his hair to unstyle it. He was fuming.

“I’m not nervous. I just don’t like seeing my best friend eye-fuck my wife.” He hissed.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This was beyond insane. You were annoyed that, after all these years, Remus still got uptight about stuff like this. You supposed that it was better that he was upset opposed to not caring, but it made you feel like he didn’t trust you.

“You’re out of your mind,” You sneered; “Sirius is your best friend. He would never do that.”

Remus rolled his eyes. His cheeks were burning red and the tips of his ears matched his face. He was almost ready to explode.

“For the love of- stop. Just stop talking.” He said turning on his heel to enter the bathroom.

You felt a rush of anger. There was no way you were going to let him talk to you like that. You caught the bathroom door right before it completely closed, Remus looking to you with an agitated expression. You basically marched up to him, just centimeters away from him.

“If you want me to stop talking,” You began, not at all anticipating what this would lead to; “then make me.”

Remus froze for a moment. He quirked a stoic brow and ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He gave a cocky chuckle.

Challenge accepted.

He stared at you for another moment before crashing his lips roughly to yours. He brought his hand up and grabbed a fistful of your hair. He backed you into the bedroom once more, pushing you up against the nearest wall. His hand was still in your hair, yanking your head back and sucking hard on your neck. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but enough to surely get your attention and send waves of pleasure through you. He growled low in his throat and continued to nip at your neck.

“I can make you stop talking,” He announced, his voice muffled in the skin of your neck; “I can make a hell of a lot prettier noises come out of you too.”

“I’d love to see you try.” You tried to say confidently, but it came out more of a desperate whine.

You let out a surprised gasp when he suddenly kissed you again, nothing short of rough and hot. You let out a hum, and he pulled back and looked at you with so much lust that you felt a shiver travel down your spine. His hands were tight and firm on your waist, keeping you completely pressed against him. His pupils were blown twice their usual size.

“Get on your knees.” He instructed seriously.

You didn’t immediately respond, a little jarred and very aroused at his sudden assertiveness. This had really riled him up. When you didn’t move, his grip loosened on your waist but his eyes narrowed a touch.

“Did I stutter? Get on your knees.” He ordered again, much more sternly.

You slowly sank to the floor, your knees hitting the carpet. You looked away for a split second to get situated, but his hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Eyes on me.” He said, looking down at you.

You looked up at him, eyes shining with desire and expectation. His gaze studied your every move and expression. You went to quickly put your hair up, but he stopped you.

“Don’t touch your hair.” He said, holding it up himself.

You ran your hands over his hips, trailing to his pants. You unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He sprung forth in front of you, and he moved one hand to the top of your head. You eyed his tip for a millisecond, so quickly that he didn’t even notice your break of eye contact.

“Can I...?” You said, opening your mouth just ever so.

He smirked down at you.

“Be my guest.” He replied.

You put your mouth over his length, suddenly gagging when he shoved your head further into his crotch. He pulled out.

“You better take it like I know you know how to.” He said, shoving back into your mouth again.

You were prepared this time, swallowing around him and working through the reflex. You sucked and kissed, a moan escaping from the man above you. His grip was unchanged on your head, but his fingers were stroking gently. His words came out a bit mumbled as he continued to slam back into your mouth.

“Such a good girl...” He muttered.

His hand in your hair pulled your head back and he rocked his hips roughly into your mouth. Then pulled back and rocked into you over and over.

“Every time you’re such a pretty girl on your knees for me...taking me so well.” He groaned, tossing his head back.

You hummed in affirmation, almost giggling at the way his eyes rolled back into his head. He thrusted a few more times before removing himself from your mouth, watching you swallow his pre-ejaculation. You noticed the fire in his eyes had returned.

He pulled you from the floor forcefully, snatching the zipper on the back of your dress down and pushed it off of your body. He stopped cold when he realized you hadn’t been wearing anything underneath it the entire night. You fought the urge to grin at his face. His eyes raked over you, he was hungry for you.

“Seems I’ve forgotten your favorite thing to take off...must’ve slipped my mind.” You snickered.

His expression was dead serious, as he pulled you to his half-naked body. You began to unbutton his shirt, whipping it off of him in a flash.

“Get on the bed.” He demanded.

With the sound of his tone, you wasted no time getting on the bed, laying back on the pillows. He grazed over your body, taking it all in. A hot flush ran through your face, almost being tempted to look away. He dove down and buried his face into your neck, sucking just as hard as before. You arched your body upward to meet his, an appreciative praise coming from him.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” He said in an almost whisper.

Your hands gripped at his biceps as he left bruise after bruise along your neck, spending extra time on the spots that he knew were most sensitive. Your breathing was heavy, your body wriggling in impatience.

“Remus...” You whimpered.

He looked down at you, a few tufts of his supple hair had fallen onto his forehead.

“What, baby?” He purred, knowing he was driving you crazy.

He captured your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. You moaned out and arched against him. His teeth just barely biting down.

“Please...” You pleaded.

You threw your head back in frustration when he withdrew his mouth from your breast. He was going to drag this out as long as he possibly could.

“Please what?” He egged you on.

“Please fuck me.” You begged.

He gave a thoughtful hum. He looked over you once more.

“I don’t know...you’ve been awfully bad tonight,” He replied, a devious grin on his face; “Wearing absolutely nothing under your clothes, knowing that you had more attention than just mine.”

You rolled your eyes. If he wasn’t going to please you, then you’d do it yourself. You reached your hand down to your aching, heated sex. You went to rub your throbbing clit, but he grabbed your wrist so hard that you let out a little yelp.

“Don’t you dare.” He warned.

You gave an exasperated sigh, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Merlin- Remus, please.” You cried out again.

He pinned both of your hands above your head to keep you from trying anything. He let out a seductive chuckle.

“You are just so eager tonight, kitten.” He mumbled.

He shifted to where he was towering over you, you wiggled excitedly in preparation. You knew you were about to get your world rocked. He lined himself up and pressed into you finally. Your heart fluttered at the feeling you had been craving for so long now. He pulled out almost completely and slammed hard back into you.

“You feel so good.” You panted, trying to get your hands free of his hold.

He lifted your leg over his shoulder at that, giving him a better angle so he could go deeper. Remus then slid out and slammed in as far as he could, groaning at the feeling and the sounds you were making. Delicious noises were coming from both of you, pure feelings of ecstasy and desire. He began to fuck you hard and fast until the sounds of your cries and his moans were echoing off of the walls.

“Could Sirius ever make you feel this good?” He asked breathlessly; “Could he ever fuck you like this?”

You shook your head in response, but that wasn’t good enough.

“Answer me.” He ordered.

“No. He couldn’t. Only you.” You cried out.

In response, he rubbed hard circles on your clit. A new round of whimpers escaping your chest. The hot coil in your belly was growing quickly. He could feel it. He sped up his pace, feeling you tighten around him as you released.

He slammed into you again, his cock pulsing hard before filling you completely. He groaned into your shoulder as he came. He collapsed on top of you, your moans were replaced with erratic breathing. Remus looked at you as you regained control over your body again. He had let go of your hands, your fingers running lazily through his hair. He purred contently, a feeling of pure bliss and serendipity washing over him.

Your mind was reeling. You had never seen him like that. He had gotten worked up and angry before, but he had never put it into motion like that. You thought about your fight and how upset he was. Although, now he didn’t seem so agitated anymore. You continued to scratch lightly at his scalp, calling his name out softly.

“Remus?”

He looked to you again.

“Yes?”

You kissed his forehead, a warm glow appearing on his face.

“You know I’m all yours, right? I would never want to be with anyone else.” You assured him.

He knew that deep down. He knew you loved him the way he loved you. But sometimes he just became worried. What if he suddenly wouldn’t be enough? What if someone more charismatic or more...handsome came along? He tried not to think about it.

Based on the way you were looking at him now, though, and the way you were touching him, he knew it wasn’t something he had to think about. He peppered you with much softer kisses now. He felt an overwhelming amount of care and love. This is exactly where he wanted to be.

“I know.”

[fill-me-with-your-memes-daddy]

Watching the Rise of the Titans movie and I'll be documenting all of my thoughts/reactions here. [Spoiler Warning]

So instead of reblogging every new update, I'm just going to have this post up on my phone as I watch and type my reactions in a bullet list format.

Nari's human disguise is so cute. As someone who does have a cottagecore aesthetic, I want to cosplay her so bad

Are Skrael and/or Belroc non-binary coded? Regardless, I'm also obsessed and I want to fuck Skrael and be Belroc.

STEVE CARING ABOUT JIM BEING HURT YESSSS!!! My god his redemption has probably been one of the greatest there is because he doesn't just suddenly go from being a bully to a completely good person. You can see the gradual shift in learning better throughout the shows which is awesome.

IN NEW YOOOOOOORRRRRRRK!!!!!! CONCRETE JUNGLE WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!

The mugshot montage reminded me of season 1 of trollhunters when toby and Jim were arrested at the museum.

STRICKLER PUT A RING ON IT??? HE'S THE ONLY DILF IVE EVER ACTUALLY AGREED WAS HOT WYM I CAN'T HAVE HIM??? well I'm still really happy about his arc over the series probably one of my favorite character growths.

Eli my guy got his growth spurt!!! As an 18 year old who is still 5'0", I'm happy but envious for him

So I went into this movie without watching any trailers or promo, but I doubt anything could have prepared me for the existence of mpreg. In fact, I wasn't going to document my reactions until I saw that.

NAMURA!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!! I CAN STILL THIRST FOR YOU WITHOUT GUILT

The coach teacher just called the kids zoomers so I have to dock one point from my final rating just because of that. Unforgivable

Those husky animation models suck lmao

Oh fuck the titans got power ranger zords!!

God why did they include the mpreg??? This movie would have been perfect without it.... After that plot point being revisited only one time I'm already beyond done with it

Like it's bringing me back to the v*ltron days where they're was a suspiciously high amount of klance omegaverse and mpreg fics and art created and it physically hurts because Steve and Keith's voice actor is the same person meaning this is especially cursed to me since I was unfortunately in the v*ltron fandom and remember all of that

But like on another note, how old are these characters again??? I haven't checked any wikis because of spoilers but is Steve an adult??? I know aja might be technically a lot older than 18 because alien but is whatever age she is equivalent to an adult as far as emotionally and physically in Akaridion development??? IS THIS A TEEN (M)PREGNANCY IN A KIDS SHOW????

Like bruh I saw a singular post on here before going into the movie that was like "rott spoilers without context" and there was a pregnant belly but I was absolutely not expecting the actual context of it. I'll find the post after I finish and edit this post to tag the creator right here: @makoden

This entire post is just gonna be me ranting about mpreg huh

Anyway I love the whole roundtable allusion to the legends of king arthur (not the toa version but the one he's based off)

THERE'S 3 TO 5 BABIES????? I need to take a break bruh this is just too much

Alright I've taken a 30 minute break got some food and did some things i love (decompressed by tactile stimming with some owl plushies and watched some videos on my favorite owl, Garu. He lives in Japan with his owner and is a domesticated eagle owl who basically just acts like a sky cat. If anyone else needs some eye bleach, here is their YouTube channel)

Blinky and ARRRGHHH!!! saying their "if one of us doesn't make it" talk my god one of them is going to die I can see it and I will be utterly crushed. Jim can't lose another father figure and Toby can't lose his wingman again I will riot if this happens

On a similar but unrelated to the movie note, can we just talk about how toa started with Jim having 0 dads and (if strickler and blinky live to the end) will end with 2 dads? Like I just really feel happy for him that he has two dads who actually figured out how to put the past behind them to not have any infighting between them so that both of them are healthy father figures. Jim has already been through literal hell and back losing his actual humanity in the process so if he loses one of them, I'm going to be really pissed because at this point, this is just Jim torture porn. Y'all know how as SpongeBob SquarePants went on, the show just became Squidward torture porn? It's starting to feel that way for toa and I really hope they cut the shit by the ending

Jlaire is such a good ship but like I feel like it's too perfect they never disagree with each other

YESSSSSSS Someone finally doesn't treat toby like a fat waste of space who messes stuff up!!! I think out of all the characters that would have been most deserving of a rewrite, it's Toby. Sometimes I just feel he's only comic relief and any heartfelt moments he's had in the series was also born of stupidity (ie his flour baby project being unharmed was seen by him as divine intervention from his parents but was actually just Eli and Steve behind the scenes).

Ohhhhh yesssssss Archie's father!!! I was hoping I'd see him again because we got so little of him last

Ooooooooooh Asian trollmarket!!!!!

Oh never mind slavery trollmarket

Bruh titanic camelot

I feel like we're not seeing enough of the villains because I completely forgot about the power ranger zord things

NAMORA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MY LAST CRUSHHHH

STRICKLER NO NOT YOU TOO PLEASE

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ONLY TWO CHARACTERS I SIMP FOR ON THIS SHOW DIED WITHIN FIVE MINUTES OF EACH OTHER

THAT WHOLE ASS RANT I WROTE IS COMING TRUE FUCK THIS MOVIE THIS SERIES IS JUST JIM TORTURE PORN

WAIT JIM'S SPERM DONOR INFO?

Oh thank God I don't want to know anything about that person

For the record, I call that man Jim's sperm donor because he has no business being called a father to him. All he did was donate some swimmers to the creation of him and give him abandonment issues

Oh another blind troll elder???? This fucker is just if vendel was a bad guy

Bruh I was grieving

PACIFIC RIM WITH GUN ROBOT VEX AND THE BELROCZORD? I've never seen that movie but I know the reference

Bruh Blinky doesn't read horoscopes? Does he realize conspiracy theories are just the manly version of horoscopes?

NO DON'T KILL VEX STOP KO-ING FOUND FAMILY MEMBERS

Oh thank God he's okay

NO NOT ARCHIE AND CHARLEMAGNE OH MY GOD

oh never mind they're just gonna coup de tat I believe in them :))

But I want to see him again

But I'm glad to see vex

Yay they're in arcadia!

But yeah I wondered why the trolls and Merlin didn't keep the whole "daylight doesn't hurt trolls" feature from the eternal night but now Guillermo del Toro I see you were playing the long con in that just to kill my girl Namora :(((

Oooooh I love the animation of the Narizord over Chihuahua!! It looks very good and realistic (if only they could have put some of that into those huskies from before smh)

Bruh the character designs of the arcane order are so good I want to be them

Nari making sure the Skraelzord doesn't crush the bus

DAMN DOUBLE HOMICIDE

Bruh I'm just glad we finally have an answer on why arcadia had everything going on as opposed to literally anywhere else!! I always found that as a weird coincidence for plot convince.

BRUH WERE BACK TO THE MPREG IM SO JEALOUS I FORGOT ABOUT THAT EVEN THOUGH IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS GRIEVING THE LOSS OF MY LOVELIES.

Oh that's real convenient that the ninth configuration meant all of them. Way to not decide which character gets more attention. Though it probably was a smart way to not have any infighting in the fandom between each character's stan group.

Bruh I just realized where is Barbera did they just ditch her on the Camelot ship???

And where are the other trolls that migrated at the end of trollhunters s3? They said something about new jersey but obviously Jim and the other main characters got on Camelot instead.... This feels like a plot hole

And we never learned the process of how changelings are made and bonded to humans and stuff. We just know it's super painful but I'm curious ffs!!!!

THE DONT THINK BECOME HERO SPEECH ALL SAID TOGETHER!!!

BRUH THEY REALLY HAD TO SHOW HIM GIVING BIRTH??????? WAS THAT AN ABSOLUTE MUST??????

Plus the main audience for this series is little children (the rating for the movie is literally TV-Y7) so even though my adult ass is not in the target audience, I STILL DONT UNDERSTAND WHY WOULD MPREG AND ANAL BIRTH WOULD BE AN IMPORTANT THING TO 7 YEAR OLDS???? THIS IS A LITERAL FETISH HIDDEN IN KIDS CONTENT ITS ELSAGATE ALL OVER AGAIN Y'ALL 😭😭😭😭😭

Though it's probably hypocritical of me to think fetishes don't belong in kids tv when I've openly admitted to thirsting for strickler and namora

HUZZAH

NEW AMULET WAZ GOOD????

STAB THAT BITCH JIM

WAIT NO I SAID STAB NOT GET STABBED

Alright good job just missed the directions at first but you fixed it

SEVEN KIDS?????????

T O B Y ????????????

W A I T NO

N O

IS HE ACTUALLY

OH MY GOD THERE'S HOPE

NO THERE ISN'T

F U C K THIS SHIT THEY REALLY JUST HAD HIM TO BE BULLIED THEN KILLED

Y'ALL IM ACTUALLY CRYING THIS NEVER HAPPENS

I NEVER ACTUALLY GET SO EMOTIONAL OVER MEDIA THAT I CRY IT ONLY HAPPENED ONCE AT THE END OF VOLTRON BUT AHHHHHHHH

W A I T

HE'S GONNA BE BROUGHT BACK?????

HOLD UP THEY'RE JUST GONNA BRING ALL THOSE DEAD PEOPLE BACK??????

WAIT IS HE

BLINKY CALLED HIM A SON

HOLD ON IS THIS GOING TO BE A CLIFFHANGER???????????

BRUH THEY REALLY JUST CAN'T END THE SERIES WITHOUT CLIFFHANGERS like there's always an open ending

TROLLHUNTER TOBY????? You know what forget the whole rants I had on how toby was written they just redeemed it all

And that's all! I'd rate it a 6.5/10 because it's definitely the weakest of all the sequels but still had amazing animation and some good plot points. It's just really hard to look over the bad stuff enough to rate it any higher.

[comfortwriting]

A Missionary Mission - S.B

Masterlist, Writing Prompt Masterlist, Requesting Rules

Prompt 111: His hands clamped over your mouth, pressing against your sore lips, trying his best to silence your moans so no one else could hear.

About/Requested: Sirius and Y/N are friends with benefits, both in the first OOTP, they are called into a meeting in Moody’s office to discuss an upcoming mission. Unable to wait until they get home, and with arriving early, the two of them say fuck it and have some fun in his office.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), mention of death, mention of blood.

Knowing you were part of The Order brought you pride, joy, and confidence to push forward, to fight for your life against Voldemort and the many Death Eaters that took so many lives, leaving you and The Order largely outnumbered.

You swore to your mother and father, your siblings, and your best friend Sirius that you would do everything you could to ensure that Voldemort's campaign to take over would fail - even if it meant losing your life in the process.

Working alongside the Ministry to oppose Voldemort definitely helped you sleep a little better at night, but you still had the same deep pit in your stomach that would often swallow you whole - you could die at any moment, and you didn't want to live in regret - you wanted to make every single moment last; you wanted to create memories with those that mattered most to you. The Death Eaters weren't just attacking muggles, they started to attack Members of The Order too.

With these aimed attacks, Alastor Moody - who everyone called Mad-Eye, called for an urgent meeting to discuss and set in place a plan to better protect yourselves and one another, especially with James and Lily desperate to shield their baby, Harry from this chaos; the thought of Harry being parentless made your stomach turn, it couldn't happen, not now, not ever.

You'd be stupid not to take Mad-Eye seriously, he gaining a reputation as a skilful battler and sacrificing an eye, a leg, and part of his nose - you thought it was an honour to have the chance to learn from him and work alongside him.

Knocking at the door of Mad-Eyes office you waited for him to cautiously answer, or ask for you to prove yourself - but you got no answer.

"Nice to know I'm not the only one who decided to turn up early," Sirius spoke out from behind you, making you jump.

You slapped his chest playfully, his grey eyes and messy black hair that you loved to run your fingers through made you blush.

"I knocked but he hasn't answered," you sighed "not like him to be so silent."

Sirius laughed and knocked again "Moody, are you in there?!"

The two of you waited for him to hurry over and tell you off for being so loud and for letting your guard down, but again, nothing.

Sirius pulled out his wand, swishing it and pointing it at the door handle and keyhole, making it slowly creak open. Taking your hand, he walked you into Mad-Eyes office, once closing the door behind him the both of you looked around but no red flags or alarm bells came up.

"He must be busy with something," you sighed, sitting down on the table, you cheekily spread your legs and watched Sirius walk across the room, your skirt now riding up your upper thighs.

You and Sirius weren't in love, love at a time like this was out of the question - but that didn't mean you couldn't have any fun. The two of you drank a little bit too much after losing a member of The Order, you shared your messy thoughts and feelings and literally said 'fuck it'. That one night lead to many nights of sex, sex that you always enjoyed and never regretted.

"Naughty," The corner of his lips curled up at the sight of your inner thighs, he walked over to you "We agreed to wait until tonight."

You frowned and leaned back on the desk, "I know but that's hours away," you pouted "and I've waited for so long with my period finally going away."

Sirius stood in between your legs and cupped your face into his gentle, skillful hands.

"I know, I've been waiting too." His eyes were drinking you up.

"Well," you huffed "No one's here yet, and we could be in for a long night if the mission is serious." Your hand slowly went between your legs towards your crotch.

Sirius's eyes twitched as he pursed his lips, looking behind him at the door, he pulled out his wand - with a point and a swish he locked it.

"Let's make this quick then and make the most of it." He growled.

Pushing your back against the cold wooden desk, he pulled up your skirt and pulled your G-String down your soft legs. Spreading them even more, he looked into your eyes for approval - you nodded - Sirius quickly leaned down and teased your desperate sex with his hot breath and silky tongue.

You moaned out softly and your hand found its way onto his head, your fingers getting lost in his black messy hair that was always surprisingly soft. Sirius kitten-licked your clit, planting soft kisses here and there before he started to drag his tongue between your folds and suck gently on your sensitive clit.

You were truly touch-starved - you were more sensitive and each bit of pleasure you experienced sent shocks through your body - down your spine, legs, fingertips, and through your tummy.

"Oh Sirius," you moaned out quietly "I've missed this so much."

Sirius looked up at you between your legs, planting a teasingly long, wet kiss.

"Me too, Y/N."

Sirius stood up, his erection trying to break through his tight-fitting corduroy trousers, he unbuckled his belt, sitting it beside you on the desk, before undoing his button and pulling down his zipper. Kicking off his trousers, you reached out and pulled down his boxers, his length springing out and slapping against his lower stomach.

Holding the base of his cock you started to pump it, Sirius looked down at you and attacked your lips with his, you moaned against his lips, the taste of your own juices spreading across your lips and into your mouth as you and Sirius explored each other's tongues.

Sirius broke away from the kiss and took his cock in his hand "Legs up sweetheart."

Doing as you were told, you placed your legs up on his shoulders, he lined his erect cock against your entrance, staring into your hungry eyes.

"Oh shit," he huffed "I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I forgot the lube."

You rolled your eyes "typical," and pulled out your wand.

Now that his length and your entrance hole were coated in silky lube, he held onto your waist and slowly pushed himself deep inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up. You missed this feeling, you missed feeling full and hated feeling empty.

Sirius started to buck his hips, at a faster pace and got quite rough, but you liked this anyway. You didn't have much time and the two of you realised that waiting until tonight would have been a disaster.

Your eyes scrunched shut, your back rubbing up and down against the desk which started to warm up, you could feel Sirius deep inside of you, reaching your most sensitive spot that made you cry out for more each time he pulled away. His black hair got in his face, he had to keep pushing it back so he could see which made him look even sexier to you.

"Y-You're so beautiful," you moaned out.

Sirius grunted "Don't start getting attached Y/N, not now." he winked.

Hearing loud chatter, footsteps, and doors opening and closing beneath you made you realise now wasn't the time for little comments, little pecks, or anything nurturing of the sort.

"Hold on," Sirius grunted again, his hands holding you close to him as he lifted you up, you gripped onto him as he sat down on the desk, you on top of him with your legs still propped on his shoulders. "I won't drop you I promise, but we need to hurry up."

Nodding your head, Sirius pounded into you faster, this position making it easier for him to continuously hit your G-Spot over, and over, and over again, making you moan out so much you had to bite your lips to keep them in, making your lips go red, bloody and plump.

With each thrust, your walls tightened around Sirius even more, causing him to throb inside of you, your tummy started to harden and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer.

How could you contain your moans when he's making you feel this good? It was impossible.

His hands clamped over your mouth, pressing against your sore lips, trying his best to silence your moans so no one else could hear.

The footsteps and chatter grew closer and closer, whoever was here was mounting the stairs.

Feeling the pressure build up and suddenly burst, you opened your mouth wide, your eyes rolling back as Sirius silenced one of your moans that made him twitch. You rode your orgasm out, your cum flowing down his length, your legs shaking and the blood rush going to your head.

The feeling of you, the sight of you sent Sirius over the edge, he couldn't take it anymore and was about to cum until -

"Now, we need to be ready for the attack-"

Moody stopped in his tracks, the door now wide open, the sight of you and Sirius enraging him, Remus's eyes widened.

"Sirius! Y/N! What in Merlin's Beard do you think you're doing!"

You and Sirius went bright red and didn't waste a single second getting dressed and hurrying away in shame, hearing Moody scold you for being irresponsible and for being stupid enough to let your guards down even for one moment!

Sirius felt cheated, he was so close to release before it was taken from him, making him even more desperate than the week before.

But after all, What's life without a little risk?

taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley  @reeophidian @alwaysnforeverfangirl @sebby-staan @inglourious-imagines @livvysnaps 

[jjkpls]

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question. 

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t. 

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders. 

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point. 

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure. 

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia. 

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would. 

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience. 

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too. 

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors. 

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson. 

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away. 

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies. 

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body. 

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows. 

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?” 

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.” 

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head. 

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting. 

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees. 

A real joy. 

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger. 

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush. 

It’s ridiculous. 

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his. 

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom. 

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning. 

An easy escape you’ve come up with. 

Everyone needs those. 

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is. 

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time. 

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could. 

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit. 

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”. 

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.” 

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not. 

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out. 

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head. 

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!” 

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now. 

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere. 

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim. 

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected. 

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm. 

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting. 

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him. 

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional. 

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top. 

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's. 

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks. 

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it. 

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp. 

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you. 

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you. 

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered. 

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here. 

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side. 

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them. 

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you. 

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add. 

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses. 

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them. 

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs. 

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see. 

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot. 

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended. 

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused. 

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you. 

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath. 

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!" 

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him. 

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are. 

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond. 

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore. 

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell. 

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come. 

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms. 

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind. 

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed. 

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal. 

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming. 

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck. 

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin. 

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her. 

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade. 

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck. 

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all. 

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip. 

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission. 

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“ 

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets. 

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy. 

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious. 

Therefore you grant him a glance. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin. 

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.” 

“How uncomfortable?” 

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it. 

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely. 

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine. 

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple.  You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach. 

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants. 

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did. 

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about. 

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough. 

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you. 

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again. 

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue. 

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again. 

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too. 

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs. 

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow. 

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.” 

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely. 

Way to ruin the mood. 

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied. 

Obviously. 

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places. 

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart. 

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry. 

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?” 

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets. 

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours. 

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you. 

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time. 

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment. 

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you. 

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

[oswinsdolma]

Yes, it's 2021, but I'm still not over the dark irony of Kilgharrah's final words, so I am going to analyse it, even though precisely nobody asked.

Firstly, Kilgharrah tells Merlin after his admission of failure that "all that [he has] dreamt of has come to pass". Now, obviously there is the irony of the fact that Arthur is dead, something that Merlin has been trying to prevent for the whole five seasons, yet the battle was victorious, people have seen magic as a force for good and Merlin can now be open about his gifts with his friends. However, there is an even deeper irony here that is rarely addressed, and this lies in the word "all". The problem is, that while Emrys is the entity that strives for magical inclusion and the one that fufils the prophecy. Destiny is not conscious: it doesn't understand life or death beyond the shallow ties of balance and mathematics. Yet Emrys may be a concept, and concepts need someone- or something- to take root in, and that someone happened to be Merlin.

Fundamentally, Merlin is not a bad person, but regardless of his power, his empathy, his loyalty, he is still unequivocally human. He has flaws, he has guilt, and no matter how dedicated he is to his destiny, there will always be other variables that come into play, and there is therefore no doubt that Merlin would have had other thoughts, no matter how insignificant, that lay opposed to his destiny.

Take when Freya died: Merlin was heartbroken, and in those seconds of emotion before reason took a hold once again, he may have wished, just for a moment, that Arthur and Freya's fates were reversed. And even after that, he would have hoped that one day, Arthur and Freya could live in a world where the other's existence is not a violation onto the other. And what place exists where harmony must ensue outside of the dead?

Then moving on to Balinor's death and Merlin's anguish in its aftermath: yes, he gained his powers as a dragonlord, but at the expense of a father he should have had a right to know. In that light, there is the inevitability of resentment for his gifts. Merlin would never have wanted the powers he attained had he known the price for them. And yet again, those tiny thoughts would have crept in: the wish that things could go differently, the wish that the business of dragons was not his to oversee, even at the time when his gifts were needed most. So the sick twist there is that when Merlin needed Kilgharrah, the only person who ever truly understood him despite their differences, left him alone, that wish came true.

There are hundreds of instances where Merlin's humanity prevented the prophecy from taking a favourable turn, and that, I think is what makes Merlin less a drama than a tragedy: there's the hope for a better ending combined with the constant prescence of an ending you don't want to believe. There's the fall at the ending and the warped sense of catharsis that comes with knowing that the end did come, even if it wasn't what you expected.

Following that, there is a pause in the conversation, as both characters take a second to mourn in silence, the absence of what united them showing them no longer as allies, but as friends.

Then: "no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny." This isn't so much something for Merlin to understand, but more something for the audience to hear: it's an echo of the first words we hear, and therefore a reminder that it is Kilgharrah who tells the story. Now this is an interesting narrative device in itself: why have him narrate rather than Arthur? Why Kilgharrah over Merlin or Gwen or Morgana? Take a second to imagine what it would have been like for the story to start with their voices, even if the words were the same. Especially when we know their endings, it gives the story a different tone and alludes to each of their fates in a different way. Though here is that terrible truth that the narrative comes back to every time if you analyse it far enough: each of the core four has a story, yet because of the way they were used, it will never be their story to tell. But Kilgharrah... He was just as important as the rest of them, but while the others were pawns, he was sat watching the game with a reluctant but omniescent eye, and that's what make that line hit so hard for us (aside from the fact that it is a taunting echo of the hope we had at the start). The story, while timeless, is dead, and we are all helpless spectators, hoping against hope that we are wrong about how it ends.

Furthermore, there is the fact that it is a repeat of the first words we hear when we still hold a little hope. It is that reiteration of the fact that the story will be told and retold, rewritten and loved but doomed to end in tragedy. It's an indication of the timelessness of certain tales and the permenence of endings no matter how much we want them to change, and it hits the mark every time.

Then, if it wasn't sad enough already, there is the final utterence of the phrase "once and future king". Kilgharrah says these words in hope, trusting Merlin to take it as a promise, but retrospectively there is the darkness of that line that Merlin probably knew all along, even if he didn't let himself believe it. In saying "once" rather than "now" right from the get-go, there was that quiet acknowledgement of an ending, even if it was followed by a beginning: it is yet another reminder to Merlin that he should have known, and that bittersweet reassurance that wherever he may have done, it would always have ended in disaster. Even if they both made all the right choices, the gods would have found another way to turn it down.

Okay, next let's look at "when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again". This, in all.effect, is a reiteration of the last phrase, made clearer for an audience who may need or desire reinforcement here so I'm not going to go too deep. But the thing is, Merlin already knows, at least in his heart, that it is Arthur's destiny to rise again and be the greatest king Albion has ever known. So when Kilgharrah says this, it is not a warning or a piece of advice, for perhaps the first time, it is a kindness. Merlin has been wrecked by his actions and those of all the others caught in the imperfect web spun and left to decay by the idea of Albion. It is a gentle reminder not to forget the reason for all that they have lost, and an olive branch of freedom for one who was so long enslaved.

And there again is that irony and cruel truth that while Merlin is the crucible in which that dream will be forged and has a certain autonomy over its nature, he is not a part of that dream himself, and maybe he never will be. Not unless someone lets him in, and all the people who would ever have done so are a breath too close to death for it to really count.

(I said I wasn't going to go too deep but I got carried away)(this is why my lit teacher is fed up with me)

And finally, the last line Kilgharrah says to us, perhaps the most powerful of them all: "the story that we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men". To analyse the words in this individually would be a rare insult to its complexity, but as a phrase, it evokes such an emotive response that it alone finally cements that finality in our minds. It's the cyclical acknowledgement of the audience's role in the narrative, simultaneously retracting and strengthening our suspension of belief. The one word I have used more than any other in this essay is "story" and this is why: the people who hear a tale such as this become just as important as the characters, because we are united by hope for the final chord but dreading it, because that means that the song will finally be over. Is it better for the embers to glow with tragedy or be extinguished by a deeper catharsis?

In summary, it is obvious to the naked eye that the Great Dragon's last words are loaded with meaning far beyond their initial appearance, and when you dive deeper, the web of connotations is so vast that this essay has barely scratched the surface. But the informal and perhaps most accurate theme that wa can draw from this is that none of us are over this show, no matter what we claim, because that ending really flippin' hurt, okay!?

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

End of His Rope

Prompts: Don't know if you're in the mood to write some Merthur but if you are, being the hurt/comfort royalty that you are, may I humbly request a little "shatter my soul" misunderstanding? If not that's fine too. - alittletoo-obsessed

So, I've been rereading some of your Merlin fics, and I was wondering if you could maybe write something where Merlin's experienced some sort of trauma before he came to Camelot, and so he's always avoiding things or reacting strangely, but Arthur assumes that's just his personality, but then something seemingly innocuous happens and he just breaks down completely in front of Arthur, & Arthur can't understand why. Cue Arthur trying to help him and Merlin eventually having to explain everything. - anon

Our BOYS i did miss them

Read on Ao3

Warnings: childhood trauma, flashbacks, drowning

Pairings: merthur, platonic or romantic don't care

Word Count: 3682

It’s always the water in his dreams.

Dark. Lapping at the stone walls. Bottomless.

The chain clanks heavily against the sides.

It’s so deep.

The rope is never long enough.

—————

Arthur has no idea why he had to get assigned the weirdest servant in Camelot.

Sure, it’s not like he asked for Merlin to be his servant—and he’ll kill you if you tell him this, but he’s not changing Merlin for the world—but come on, he could’ve at least gotten someone normal.

But no, he has to get this clumsy fool of a bumpkin that insists on tripping over his own feet, stumbling into walls, spending days at a time who knows where—he’s good friends with the tavern owner so he knows Merlin’s not there—and occasionally spouting great wisdom seemingly off the top of his head. And to top it all off, he’s endearing enough that Arthur panics whenever Merlin’s not right next to him.

It’s terribly annoying.

But that—well, most of that—he can forgive. Merlin’s a clumsy fool but he’s a good distraction. He’s a forgetful sod but he’s witty enough to make up for whatever time he’s lost with some sort of solution. He’s a disrespectful clot pole but it’s a welcome relief from all this ‘yes, sire,’ ‘no, sire,’ ‘would you prefer pork or poultry, sire?’ It gets a bit grating every now and then.

And alright, maybe Merlin’s not entirely to blame for how endearing Arthur finds him. Maybe.

But the whole thing about water Arthur will never understand.

The first time he asked Merlin to draw him a bath he thought the man was about to fall over. Merlin had gone pale and stammered out that yes, he would do that, how does he do that? He’d assumed it was because Merlin was shirking from his duties or whatnot but he hadn’t asked any of the other servants to help him, instead drawing the water for Arthur all by himself. Bemused, Arthur had told him he’s allowed to get help, only for Merlin to go on one of those impressive rants about how servants were people too, and interrupting their jobs seemed rude. Which, alright fair enough but it didn’t erase the pale and shaken expression from his face.

The first time he walked in on Merlin trying to clean the floor, he stopped and stared at the bucket sitting in the farthest corner of the room.

“You know it’s more efficient to keep the bucket with you, right?”

Merlin shrugs. “You have an issue with how I clean the floor, you are more than welcome to do it yourself.”

Arthur had scoffed and turned to leave but the tension in Merlin’s shoulders had stayed.

The first time he met Merlin in the courtyard and tries to walk past the well was the first time Merlin had strayed from his side.

“And of course, you’ll need to make sure all of my armor is…” Arthur trails off, looking around for Merlin, only to notice him a few paces away. “What the hell are you doing over there?”

“Walking.”

“Get back here,” Arthur barks, “I’m not done.”

“I can hear you perfectly fine over here.”

“Merlin—hey!”

“Sorry, sire!” A carriage blows right by them, Merlin reaching out to yank Arthur closer by his sleeve as it goes by. “Didn’t see you there!”

Arthur mutters a curse and brushes himself off.

“That’s why,” Merlin says, helping him dust himself off, “don’t want you to get run over by a wagon, now.”

Arthur cuffs him half-heartedly over the head and keeps walking.

He tries again a few times but Merlin studiously avoids the well with a grace that he scarcely applies to anything else.

It hits him when they’re out hunting once that Merlin might just hate getting wet.

So he pushes him into a pond.

Merlin splutters and curses at him and purposefully dumps all the arrows into the pond with him so they’re useless for hunting but he knows how to swim and if the way he slings his sodden neckerchief at Arthur is any indication, he’s not entirely opposed to the water.

And yes, the day was hot and maybe a water fight was the best way to cool off.

It only ever happens when they’re in Camelot. Sometimes Merlin will accidentally kick one of the buckets and it looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Arthur chuckles at him and calls him a delicate pansy but it’s only ever that loud noise. Not when the bells are going off—they really need to get better security for the dungeons—not when Merlin drops another tray, only the bucket.

And he still won’t go near the well.

Merlin must just not like it. That’s fine.

Doesn’t mean he’s going to get out of his chores, though.

He watches Merlin go about his day, watches him change the sheets, do up the rest of the room, get the laundry, but he never goes into the courtyard. He frowns when Merlin does ask someone else—Lilian, he thinks her name is—to go get a bucket of water for him, but there’s nothing quite like the way that Merlin lingers at the very edge of the courtyard, his gaze on a constant swivel, trying to see something that isn’t there.

It’s unnerving.

But it’s Merlin, and Merlin is strange, so Arthur just shrugs and moves on.

—————

Merlin wakes up in a cold sweat.

He wraps his arms around himself and scrambles to the floor. Dust cakes itself over his shins and forearms and he heaves a sob.

The hand on his shoulder that branded him so many years ago hums with the feeling of Arthur’s glove.

—————

“Leave it,” Arthur says, patting Merlin’s shoulder as he walks by, “we’ll get the next one.”

He steers Merlin away from the well toward the castle door, the dropped bucket rolling across the stones. Behind them, Lilian lowers another bucket into the well, the soft splash-thunk of the water and the creak of the handle. Arthur shakes his head.

“Why does it have to be so bloody hot?”

“It’s summer,” Merlin mumbles, clearly feeling the heat too by the sweat beaded on his brow, “it’s supposed to be hot.”

“Not this hot.” Arthur shakes his head, dismayed when his hair sticks to his forehead. “We should be inside.”

“You’re the one that dragged us out here, sire.”

“Enough. Come on. I’m sure there’s somewhere cooler we could be sitting.”

They make their way back into the castle, Merlin immediately going to draw the curtains to block out the hideous light of the sun as Arthur flops down onto his bed and scrubs his hands over his face.

“You’ll get your sheets all sweaty.”

“Everything in this castle is already sweaty,” Arthur mumbles, “what’s a few sheets?”

“Well, when you have to sleep on them tonight, that will be your problem.”

“Please. I’ve slept in worse.”

“Mm.” Merlin swats him with a pillow. “You’ve also complained about your room being too hot more times than I can count. Move.”

“You move,” he manages as he peels himself off the bed and onto the floor. “Why is it so hot, Merlin?”

“I told you, it’s summer.”

Arthur squints. “You’re wearing so many clothes.”

“It is polite to wear clothes, Arthur.”

“But you’re wearing a jacket and long sleeves and a scarf and long trousers! How are you not hot?”

Merlin shrugs. “I run cold.”

“C’mere then.” Arthur holds out his hand. “I’m too hot. Cool me off.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’d have better luck sticking your head in a casket of mead.”

“Merlin.”

“You would,” Merlin sings, “but then you’d be even stickier than you are now.”

“Fine.” His head falls back against the bed with a thud. “Maybe I’ll just jump in water next time.”

He’s too hot to notice the way that Merlin stiffens.

—————

Merlin pants and heaves and scrabbles at the floor. It’s real, he’s really dry, it’s safe, there’s nowhere to go down.

He shivers on the cold floor and reaches for a blanket, wrapping himself in it tightly and clutching the fabric to his face. It scratches horribly and he rubs his cheek into it.

Rough is safe. Dust is safe. Warm is safe.

There’s nowhere to go.

High above Camelot, dark clouds begin to swirl in the sky, carrying with them the promise of rain.

—————

Arthur sighs as he slumps under the edge of the stable. Really, a rainstorm? Right now? The air had a weight to it, hanging over the courtyard like a dirty rag, right up until the heavens burst open and decided to pour over the city. They’d barely made it to the safety of the stable in time before it looked like the storm was doing its best to wash the courtyard clean.

“Well, there goes the plan for the rest of the day.”

Merlin huddles against the stable, shying away from the gutter. “Are we going to try and make it back inside?”

“Unless you fancy a mad dash through the storm, I’d say we’re better off waiting it out.”

Merlin glares at the water like it’s personally insulted Gaius in front of him. Arthur follows his gaze to watch one of the horses finally drag its cart under an overhanging section of roof.

“Seems everyone wants to get out of this rain.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Arthur sighs before something hits him in the forehead. He glances up.

A raindrop hits him square in the eye.

Biting back a curse, he glances around and spies a bucket.

“Aha!”

“What’re you—Arthur?”

“This should show you,” he mutters, shoving the bucket under the leak, “there. Now try it.”

He looks up to reassure Merlin that he’s fine, he just got hit in the eye with a raindrop, only to see Merlin’s face.

“…Merlin?”

Merlin’s face is ash. His mouth hangs open, his lips dry despite the rain and his lower lip starts to wobble.

“Merlin!”

And Merlin is gone, tearing through the rain like a bat out of hell. Arthur mutters another curse and races after him, barely flinching at the deluge as he tries to keep his eyes on Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, as they dart into the castle and up the stairs.

“Merlin, where are you—slow down, you’re going to—Merlin!”

Merlin trips. He falls.

Arthur reaches out and wraps an arm around Merlin’s waist, just saving him from careening down a staircase.

“Merlin, shh,” he tries, only to have to grunt and struggle to keep a hold of the man as he claws at the air in front of him, “come on—Merlin!”

His room. They need to get to his room.

“Sorry, Merlin,” he mumbles, before swinging the man up—why is he so light?—and making a break for his chambers.

The door slams shut behind him and he lets Merlin go, his chest aching as he watches him fall to the floor, scrabbling madly at the stone until his fingers start to bleed.

“Merlin,” he cries again, dropping to his knees and taking Merlin’s hands in his, “Merlin, look at me!”

His…his eyes…

Arthur has never seen Merlin look like this. He’s never seen him in so much pain.

“Merlin,” he tries, softer this time, “Merlin, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m right here.”

Finally, finally, Merlin stills. Though still is almost worse, he looks frozen. He swallows.

“…’rthur?”

“Yes, Merlin, it’s me, I’m right here, it’s alright.” He gives Merlin’s hands a gentle squeeze. “What’s—oh!”

Merlin throws himself at him, all but knocking him over as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist. Arthur catches him with a huff, letting him bury his soaking wet face in his jerkin.

“Easy, Merlin, it’s alright,” he laughs nervously, “you’re—well, alright, you idiot, if you…if you need to…”

He says as if he’s not cuddling Merlin already.

Arthur sighs, the dampness of their clothes making it more than a little uncomfortable but not caring in the slightest when Merlin starts to sob into his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, Merlin, it’s alright, I’m right here. You’ve got me, I’ve got you, we’re not going anywhere.” He rubs Merlin’s back firmly and presses his cheek to his wet hair. “I’ve got you.”

Poor Merlin is still shaking like a leaf. Arthur frowns, glaring at the storm with the intent to stare it down until it tells him why the hell it thinks it can hurt his Merlin like this.

“The rain can’t hurt you anymore,” he growls, “we’re inside. You’re safe. Everything’s alright.”

Merlin hiccups. “We’re—it’s—over?”

“The storm isn’t quite through yet, but we’re out of the rain, yes, Merlin, you’re safe.”

“Don’t—want—fall—“

“You can’t fall here, I’ve got you, we’re on the floor.”

“Rope—too short—won’t reach all the way—hurts—“

The roaring protectiveness in his gut starts to give way to confusion, what rope? Where is Merlin trying to go?

“Calm down, Merlin,” he says instead, rubbing his back, “it’s alright, there’s no rope—“

Merlin lets out a howl.

“No, no, no! That’s not—there is a rope,” Arthur tries desperately, “and it’s long enough, we can reach, it’s alright, everyone’s safe, you’re safe, shh, shh…”

The howl buries itself in some soft part of Arthur’s chest. His hands are itching for his sword, something, anything to fight what’s causing Merlin this much pain but he can’t, there’s nothing, so he wraps his arms tighter around Merlin and glares at the storm.

After a long, long time, when their tunics have done their best to meld with their skin, Merlin stills. There’s one more soft hiccup before a cold nose presses itself to Arthur’s neck.

“…Merlin?”

“‘Rthur? Arthur?”

“It’s me, Merlin, I’m right here.”

“Arthur…” Merlin tenses and before Arthur can protest, pulls away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Arthur says sharply, only for Merlin to flinch. He softens his voice and reaches for him. “Don’t pull away, don’t apologize. Are you hurt?”

Merlin lets him wrap an arm around him, thank god. “No. Not hurt.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. “Come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes. Get dry. Yeah?”

The word ‘dry’ seems to unlock something, Merlin’s limbs flowing looser around his body. “Yeah…”

“Dry it is then,” Arthur says quietly, “come on, there are towels for us to dry off, we can get dry, we’ve got dry clothes here.”

Concern chases its tail around Arthur’s chest as he carefully tousles Merlin’s hair dry as Merlin peels himself out of his soaked clothes. They end up in a sodden heap in the corner, ready to be taken to the laundress’s as Arthur offers Merlin one of his nightshirts.

Merlin looks like a drowned puppy, blinking warily at the proffered shirt.

“Just put it on, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “it’s dry and warm.”

There’s the magic word again. Merlin tugs on the shirt and wraps his arms around himself. Arthur glances behind him at the bed and prods Merlin’s shoulder.

“Under the covers now,” he murmurs, smiling a little at Merlin’s confusion, “come on, I want to be warm too. And if you still run cold you’re going to need more than that to warm you up.”

Merlin lets him tug them both up to the other end of the bed, under the covers, pulling the sheets up to their chins. Arthur reaches out to take Merlin’s hands and examine them.

“You’re hurt,” he murmurs, “but it shouldn’t last very long. We can go to Gaius if you really need it.”

He glances up to see Merlin’s exhausted little face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tugging Merlin a little closer, “are you alright?”

“Tired, now,” Merlin mumbles, “and embarrassed.”

“It’s okay.” Arthur pulls him closer. “C’mere.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Warming you up.” And hugging you because you’re still looking like a drowned puppy.

“Oh.” Merlin is all elbows and knees and wet hair, scrunched up under Arthur’s chin, but he relaxes a little. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Arthur runs a hand over his back. “Want to talk about it?”

Merlin hums. “Not really.”

Arthur bites back a curse and takes his lip between his teeth. “Can I ask what it was that set it off? So it…doesn’t happen again?”

Something warm flares against his neck. “It’s stupid.”

“You just had a breakdown in my arms, Merlin, it’s not stupid.”

“They can both be stupid.”

“Well, they aren’t.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“It makes you upset,” Arthur says firmly, “it’s not stupid.”

Merlin is quiet for a few moments. Then: “you can ask.”

Good. “Was it the storm?”

“Not really.”

“Was it the rain?”

“Not really.”

Arthur frowns. Then what could it have been? Merlin had been glaring at the storm like he wanted it to go away.

But he was the one to suggest they make a run for it.

As a matter of fact, he’d been fine up until…

Up until Arthur had moved the bucket.

“…Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Was it the bucket?”

Merlin stiffens. Then he lets out a long sigh and tucks his face deeper into Arthur’s chest. “Yes.”

“…can I ask why?”

“Do you have to?”

Yes. “No, I don’t, I just…” Arthur takes a deep breath. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Merlin, it…you’re upset and I can’t help and I can’t do anything. It hurts.”

He holds Merlin a little tighter.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he confesses in a whisper, “I want to help.”

Merlin shudders in his arms. “Well that’s not fair,” he says hoarsely, “but…thanks.”

And the story comes spilling out of him.

There is a well on the outskirts of Ealdor. It is old, built before Merlin’s mother can remember, and it has one metal bucket on the end of a long, fraying rope. When there is a drought, the bucket has to be lowered further in order to reach the water.

One year, there was a very bad drought. The well was running dry. So the people of the village decided to build a new well closer to the river with a much longer rope. The old well was not used.

Merlin’s job used to be to fetch the water for the animals at the end of the day. So he would walk to the well. One night, he forgot that the old well wasn’t being used.

He found a pack of the village boys around the old well.

They were laughing and pointing at something inside.

Merlin wandered closer to figure out what was going on.

The bucket sat useless outside the well.

There was a boy inside the well.

Merlin couldn’t see him, it was too dark.

The splashing sounds were getting weaker.

The cries were getting quieter.

The other boys laughed at him when he threw his own bucket down and raced for the other one.

One of them grabbed his arm.

“Don’t, or we’ll throw you in too.”

Merlin had to watch.

The boys left when they couldn’t hear the cries anymore.

Merlin threw down the bucket.

The rope wasn’t long enough.

His mother found him the next morning, the metal bucket by his side long forgotten, his hands all but frozen to the old crank, still peering down into the water.

Arthur’s mouth runs dry as Merlin keeps talking. Unbidden, his arms tighten around the man mumbling into his chest.

He couldn’t have known.

He couldn’t have known.

How cruel those boys must have been, how awful it must be for Merlin to keep seeing that, over and over and over…

“I’m sorry,” he says in a strangled whisper when Merlin’s finished. “I’m so sorry.”

Merlin is quiet.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he continues, “it wasn’t, Merlin, it’s—it’s not your fault.”

“The rope wasn’t long enough,” comes the mumble, “I couldn’t save him.”

“Shh, shh, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself for the cruelty of others.” Arthur holds him tighter. “I’m sorry, Merlin, you don’t have to go near the well ever again, I promise, we can get someone else to do it.”

Merlin just curls further into his chest.

“You’re safe, you’re dry, everything’s alright, you’ll be fine—“ Arthur can’t stop blabbering on, trying to reassure the poor man in his arms— “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur too and holds tight. “Don’t have to go near the well?”

“No, no, Merlin, never.”

“Don’t have to use the buckets?”

“No. Only wooden buckets and only when you need to.”

“Don’t have to be wet?”

“You’re dry, I’ll keep you dry.”

“Is there still rope?”

“The ropes are long enough, they’re always long enough.”

“Good,” Merlin mumbles, the exhaustion finally bleeding into his voice, “good…good…”

When they wake up, they’ll have to talk about what else Merlin needs, how to deal with this. Arthur will have to grit his teeth and resist the urge to storm back to Ealdor and teach those boys a lesson. Merlin will curl his fingers into Arthur’s jacket every time they walk past the well.

But for now, Merlin will drift off to sleep in Arthur’s arms, Arthur will hold him, and they’ll stay safe and dry out of the rain where they don’t need a bucket to stop any leaks.

[george-fabian-weasley]

Oliver Wood - Shoot My Shot

Summary: You and Oliver Wood have been enemies since your first Quidditch game during your second year. You, being a Slytherin makes it far harder to find a liking to the Gryffindor boy, yet somehow you managed to do so. While playing a Quidditch match of Slytherin against Gryffindor, you decided to shoot your shot, literally and figuratively.

Words: 2,522 words

Warning ⚠ : Cheesy, Fluff, Only the Good Stuff, The Sexual Tension Is Real™

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"Oi, Wood!" You shouted as you looked up. The Slytherin Quidditch Team had just arrived to the field to have a few hours of practice for an upcoming match against Gryffindor. As if they have been summoned, the Gryffindor Team had just finished their practice. Oliver Wood, the captain slash Keeper for the team looked down to see you, and snickered, “Y/L/N!”

As he flew down, he smirked at you and your team, “What’s the occasion here, lads?” You scoffed, glaring at him, “What do you think, Wood? Doing a theater play?”  

He laughed, “Now, why so tense, Y/L/N? Did someone put Puking Pastilles inside your drink?” You rolled your eyes as you folded your arms, “No, but I do remember a pair of redheads sneaking Dungbombs under my bed a couple of days ago. Any idea who they are, Wood?”

As if on cue, the Weasley twins came swooping down laughing hysterically, Oliver was obviously trying to hide a laugh by hiding his lips, “N-nope, no idea, sorry.” 

Oh, he definitely knew.

“Funny.” You sneered, when suddenly a certain small body flying around caught your attention. “Is that...?” You trailed off, squinting to look better. Oliver followed your eyes and shrugged, “Harry Potter? Yeah.” 

You gave him a look, and he understood it completely, sighing, “I know the chiseler’s a first year but McGonagall wanted him to be a Seeker. Can’t say no now, can I?” 

You shrugged back, “No matter, we’ll simply beat your arses this time at the match.” You smirked, and Oliver mirrored your expression with a scoff. “Oh yeah?” He walked closer, almost looked like he was about to kiss you.

You had a silent staring match, his eyes on you and vice versa. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d say you two were lovebirds. With a soft smirk on his lips, he inched closer to you, his nose slightly grazing your cheek.

“We’ll see about that, Y/L/N.” He whispered closely to your ear, the breeze of his breath hit your ear softly. He inched away and gave you a wink, a playful one as he walked away with the rest of his team.

You huffed in annoyance, seeing his obnoxiously fit body slowly disappearing into the ring. You won’t ever admit to anyone, not even a single soul, at how he had you so bothered.

In a good way.

You turned around to your team who witnessed the whole thing, some of them playfully smirking at you. You sneered in disgust, “What are you idiots looking at? And what the bloody hell are you waiting for? Practice!” At your command, your teammates fleeted away on their brooms to their designated places, leaving you alone on the ground.

You took a few deep breaths trying to calm your heart down, but with bloody Oliver Wood out there simply existing, you found your heart picking up its pace. You groaned in annoyance at the flustered heartbeat, yet you couldn’t sneak away the small shy smile your lips had etched on.

After practice, you returned to the Slytherin common room. You were exhausted, everything was a mess. As a beater, you used the nerve-wrecking excitement Oliver Wood caused you to have earlier for the better, by beating the Bludger as hard as you can.

One of the reasons you love Quidditch, it allows you to express your anger and frustrations, and sometimes excitement, through something else without hurting anyone else, well, involuntarily.

UGH.

The Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor will be held in two days, you have no time to fawn over Oliver Wood, no matter how handsome, or witty, or funny, or-

You slapped yourself with a nearby pillow, physically shooing away those unholy thoughts. ‘You’re the bloody captain, for Merlin’s sake! You can’t be thirsting over the captain of the opposing team!’ Your mind shouted.

Yeah, as if you didn’t know that already.

Suddenly, someone tapped you on the shoulder. You looked up from the dark green pillow to see a little boy with metallic blonde slicked back hair. 

You sighed, “If you’re here to be a part of the Quidditch team, then you know my answer-” “But if Potter can join in first-year, then I can too!” Draco Malfoy retaliated.

“Yeah, but Potter is a Gryffindor whose teacher is Minerva McGonagall, Draco. You really think Mr. Severus Snape would allow a first year to join Quidditch?” You asked him back in a tired tone. This wasn't the first time Draco had asked you to join the Quidditch team as soon as he found out Harry joined. And seems like it’s not going to be the last either. You saw his eyes darted away for a few moment to think, then he reverted them back to you sadly, “But Y/N...”

You felt pity for the boy, sometimes you felt like he feels inclined to beat Potter in everything he does. And being his older cousin doesn’t help, because you knew how severe Uncle Lucius can get around the little boy. If it weren’t for your parents, you would’ve taken Draco under your wings as your little brother already. 

“Look, Draco...” You sighed, trying your best to be understanding towards the boy, even if he gets on your nerve sometimes. “My answer is still no, but you can join in next year if you want it that terribly. Terrence Higgs is graduating and won’t be here next year, so there would be an empty spot for a Seeker. The best I can do is save you a spot.” You offered. He sighed, and grumbled a ‘fine’. 

“But if I don’t get it next year, my father will hear about this!” “Your father is my uncle, Draco. The one telling him first would be me, do you understand?” You voiced out sternly, Draco cowered immediately at your dominance. “Yes, Y/N.” He said quietly.

“Now run along, Draco. Your friends are waiting.” you softened your voice to him. He left, and you sighed. Sometimes, you needed to be stern to that boy, or else he’s going to treat everyone like his minions. 11 years old and already sound as snobbish as his father, sigh.

The next day, Slytherin and Gryffindor shared a classroom for Transfiguration class by Professor McGonagall. Unfortunately, she made everyone sit with the opposite house. And guess where she placed you?

“What’s with the long face, Y/L/N?” Oliver snickered as you moved to sit beside him. You gave him a sickly sweet smile, before frowning again, “Neither of us want to be here, so shut it.” You muttered.

“Oh no, darling, I want to be here. The one who doesn’t is you.” He chuckled as he supported his head with his arm, turning himself completely towards you. You grimaced, in spite of the increased heartbeat over the nickname, “Is this how you flirt, Wood? It’s so pathetic.”

Oliver smirked and leaned to you ridiculously close, “Oh yeah? Then why are you blushing?”

?????!!!!!!!!

You scoffed in surprise, the audacity of this lad made you speechless. And then you felt it. The heat rushing up your cheeks, making it glow red. The blush in your cheeks just widened his smirk, “If I’m being correct here, Y/N Y/L/N, you look like you like me.” He whispered and bit his bottom lip.

You rolled your eyes at his attempt of embarrassing you more. Despite your heartbeat going crazy, you won’t let him cod you. So you leaned closer, Oliver was obviously surprised and stunned, your noses were almost rather touching each other, as you whispered, “And so, what if I do? What do you do then, Oliver?”

You had never called him Oliver. You both knew that.

“Mr Wood and Ms Y/L/N,” McGonagall’s voice made you both flinch away rather quickly. “I would really appreciate if you could continue your love drama somewhere else and focus on my class, thank you.” 

“Sorry, Ma’am.” You heard Oliver mutter, as he glanced at you with rosy cheeks. You couldn’t dare to spare him another glance throughout the whole class. 

What the bloody hell was that?

Next day came like a pop, and you were getting ready to throw everything in to the match. The last Gryffindor vs Slytherin match, you had won. And you were definitely certain to repeat that once again. After putting on your uniforms and safety gear, you went outside to the pitch. The whole school was there cheering you on. The jitters from before had flown out of the window, the adrenaline was now kicking in. You flew on your broomstick to the air, all of your other teammates were already there, the other Beater in your team nodded at you, and you nod back. 

Looking to your front, Fred and George Weasley smirking nastily at you.Those two were as violent as a bloody honey badger when it comes to Quidditch, you groaned as you imagined the pain those rascals will be giving you soon. At the far back of the Gryffindor Team, was Oliver Wood, already at his post, the middle goal. As he caught your eyesight, he winked and mouthed, "Good luck." You smirked at him and just motioned your thumb across your neck, causing him to scoff.  

The whistle started, the Bludger was released, the cheers erupted, and the game has begun. 

You flew everywhere to keep the Bludger off of your teammates as your Chasers tried to goal some scores. A Gryffindor, Lee Jordan was the commentator of the day, and you could hear his shouts and comments on your every move. Knowing how distracting that could be, you tried your best to block his voice and focus on the game. With the bat in your hand, you swung the Bludger with it with full force to one of the Gryffindor Chasers, but they were saved by the twins. 

Once in a while, you would glance at Oliver, watching him catching every single quaffle and toss it back out to the field, successfully protecting his goal. You always knew Oliver Wood is a great Keeper, but Merlin, he sure did shine that day.

The game continued until the second half, time out. You flew down and drank a hella lot of water and cast a pain relief charm on your left arm. One of the Weasleys had Bludgered your arm pretty nastily, and you weren't too keen to find out whether it's broken or not. After muttering "Lenio," to the rest of your body, you flew back out. The score currently was 20 to 30, Gryffindor was leading.

Either your Seeker gets the Snitch, or your Chasers score another 2 goals to win this match.

Suddenly, you got an idea. It's a pretty terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless. What if you distract Oliver Wood so your team can shoot goals? 'That's a stupid idea, Y/N.' Your heart voiced out, but hey, either go big or go home.

So you went on with your plan once the whistle started. As you Bludgered one of the twins (consider it karma), you flew close to Oliver, who eyed you curiously. "Decided to visit me in the middle of the game, Y/L/N?" He said loudly, the cheering made it harder to converse.

"If I win this match,"  you said loudly, sort of multi-tasking as one of the Weasleys tried to Bludger you again as you beat the Bludger off with your bat. Oliver faced you, waiting for you to go on.

"If you win this match...?" "If I win this match, you owe me a date to Hogsmeade!" 

Oliver had his eyes widened, "A what?" He managed to say before swerving another quaffle out of his goalpost. Your teammates were now eye-ing you in confusion, what the bloody hell are you doing there at Gryffindor's goalpost rather than protecting your teammates?!

"A date!" You shouted. For a second, Oliver was in a blur and then cracked up a big smile, "And if you lose?" he remarked. You rolled your eyes, the small grin your lips widened significantly, "If I lose, then it's your choice!"

After that you went back to your original position, ignoring the glares of your teammates. The game went on until Harry Potter had caught the Snitch, spitting it out from his mouth.

Gryffindor won. 

As disappointed as you were that you lost, you were more disappointed over the fact that Oliver now owes you nothing. 

... Maybe your plan wasn't to distract him all along.

After the match had finished, you found yourself at the hospital wing, tending to your broken arm. Madam Pomfrey had said if it weren't for the pain relief charm, you wouldn't even be able to hold a broomstick mid-air without immense pain. The Weasleys were beside you seemingly injured as well, and you shook their hands professionally before they left. 

It's just a game. Good sportsmanship is far better than continuous winning streaks.

"Y/N." You looked up to see Oliver, standing near your hospital bed. You groaned in embarrassment, "You owe me nothing, Wood. Now go away." "Yeah, about that," Oliver was fiddling with his sleeves, his broomstick was placed between his armpit and arm. Oliver Wood looked... Nervous?

 "You said before that if you lose, then I get to decide, right?" He said, furrowing his eyebrows at you, licking his lips. You slowly nodded, already thinking of possible things he'd want you to do.

Oh no, does he want you to run around the hallway naked? Or does he want you to cast 'Riddikulus' to Snape? Or does he want you to be the Bludger puppet for the twins for a week? Or-

"You owe me a date to Hogsmeade."

W...what? 

You were now a blushing mess. Both of you.  "B-but I thought you hated me?" you asked, the heartbeat of yours was really close to a rhythm of a heavy rain. Oliver widened his eyes in shock, denying that thoroughly, "No, I don't! I actually... like you since the second year. You know, after the match?"

You remembered your first Quidditch match in your second year, that was the first time you ever laid eyes on Oliver. Both of you had broken an arm and a leg, and your beds were side by side. For 2 days, you had talked to each other like friends, but as soon as your senior came by and visited you, he prohibited you to talk to a filthy Gryffindor. Being brainwashed since young, both of you hated each other.

Well, at least you thought so.

"So... What do you say?" He asked, looking rather nervous again. You were speechless, your lips were suddenly dry, you were suddenly conscious of how you looked like at the moment. "Wait, so all those times, like at McGonagall's class and at the field, you really were flirting?" 

He grimaced in cringe, rubbing his neck and looking away, "I guess you were right about my flirting being pathetic." He laughed shyly. That made you laugh, it made you break out from that awkward phase you had just now. "But you were right, though?" You teased, tilting your head to him playfully, smiling genuinely to the boy.

"I do like you."

COMPLETE!

[luxekook]

ego | jjk | harry potter au

⇥ pairing: gryffindor jeongukk x hufflepuff reader

⇥ genre: harry potter AU, smut, fluff, angst

⇥ summary: in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs 

⇥ warnings: 18+, dirty talk, light smut, cursing

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

The wind whirled around me as I careened towards the glistening goal posts, imagining the opposing team’s Keeper darting back and forth in hopes of blocking the Quaffle that was currently tucked under my arm. I feigned left and the imaginary keeper followed suit. I threw right – Quaffle sailing through the rightmost gold hoop.

I smiled and dove down past the posts to catch up with my own throw. Even though it was still the first week of the new term, I was determined to prove my newly acquired captain-status. Hufflepuff hadn’t had a female captain in ages; and, paired with that, I was only a 6th year.

Luckily, I had a strong team behind me with mostly returning players who I knew would fiercely support me. Us Puffs stuck together. It was inherently in our blood to be loyal as hell to our own, and I thanked Merlin for that every day since receiving the captain’s badge.

As soon as I had hopped on the Hogwarts’ Express a few days prior, I had immediately been swept up in a giant bear hug by Jeong Yunho, one of the Hufflepuff beaters.

“Oh, captain! My captain!” he had dramatically cried, spinning me around. His Dead Poet’s Society reference was not lost on me since I had a muggle parent with excellent taste in movies. Similar reactions from the rest of the team followed suit over the course of the train ride and the Welcoming Feast.

Trials for our only open position of Seeker would take place this weekend with practices immediately starting Monday. We had high hopes for redemption this season after being crushed by Slytherin’s team of goons early on in the Cup tournament.

The Slytherin team’s head hooligan Kang Dokyun led his team with a nasty blend of intimidation and violent tactics. I was convinced that Slytherin didn’t even hold trials and that they just lined up the Slytherin boys, picking out the biggest of the lot. Basically, Slytherin was strong, but slow and slightly uncoordinated. We could beat them by exploiting their weaknesses – of that I was certain.

Ravenclaw would be a bit harder to conquer. Their team played with a level of elegance and intelligence that was so utterly Ravenclaw that even us Puffs got annoyed. Ravenclaw’s captain Yoon Jisoo constructed tactical plays so tricky that she was already recruited to play for Puddlemore next year. Their team was smart, but not completely unbeatable. The Ravenclaws sometimes got so ingrained in their methodical maneuvers that they failed to notice some of their opponents’ counterattacks. That was how they lost the Cup last term to Gryffindor.

Gryffindor was our toughest competition. Winning the Cup last term, the Gryffindor team was a nauseatingly perfect balance between brains and brawn. Their captain Jeon Jeongguk, now a 7th year, was renowned for his tyrannical practice regime that he put his team through. We’d only played Gryffindor once in the regular season last year, and we had held our own for a while until we started getting tired and they didn’t. Seems like Jeongguk knew his shit when it came to conditioning. Something that I was determined to emulate with my own team.

Jeongguk was also the best damn Keeper that Hogwarts had seen in a long time, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the looks of the professional Quidditch scouts that avidly attended his matches. He was way bigger than a typical Keeper – extremely tall with broad shoulders and giant paws for hands. However, the only thing bigger than his stature and talent was his fucking ego.

He carried himself like he was the king of the school, and, unfortunately, most people treated him like it. Girls especially flocked to him – mainly for two reasons: 1) Jeongguk was undoubtedly hot, and 2) he held the promise of a rich future. Personally, I cared for neither of those traits considering his appalling personality and pride.

That damned ego would be his downfall this season. I would make sure of it, I thought as I circled around the stadium and then landed to get a drink.

I was definitely above average on the Quidditch talent scale. Holding the current school record for most assists in a season, I considered myself the glue of the Hufflepuff team – a fact that our Head of House obviously agreed with. However, no one really talked about the glue of a team, they talked about the flashy glitter and the gold stars. I was fine with that. Being the underdog was nothing new to a Hufflepuff, and I planned on using that to our advantage this season. Who said Puffs couldn’t be a little devious?

I smirked to myself as I grabbed my broom, ready to get back to practicing. This would be our fucking year.

“Hey,” a deceptively sweet voice rang out from above me, “You mind sharing the pitch? I need to practice.”

My mood soured. I knew who that was. Kicking off the ground, I flew to face him, “Sure thing, Jeon, just stay out of my way.”

It was almost as if I’d slapped him across the face, “Excuse me?” he choked out, “Do I know you?”

Unbelievable. Jeongguk’s head was evidently so far up his own ass he couldn’t recognize opponents he’d been playing for years. “I guess not,” I countered. And with a flick of my ponytail, I took off towards the opposite end of the pitch.

Unfortunately, he followed, “Are you a Gryffindor? If so, you should come to tryouts tomorrow. You’re pretty fast and we need a new Chaser.”

“Not a Gryffindor,” I called out, dipping low to the ground to scoop up my old practice Quaffle, “But I am a Chaser.”

Jeongguk was still tailing me, and I pulled to a stop to face him, “I thought you had to practice?”

He mirrored my position and crossed his arms. I tried (and failed) to stop myself from noticing how his biceps flexed and how a hint of his famed phoenix tattoo curled up his neck. Merlin, even I couldn’t deny he was hot as fuck. The recent summer months seemed to have blessed his skin with a glowing tan that accentuated the warmth of his dark eyes. It also seemed like he forgot what a haircut was as I watched the wind tousle his slightly curling hair.

“I do,” his eyes were narrowed as he cleared his throat, “I just have to make sure you’re not spying for another team.”

All thoughts of him being fine flew out the Owlery as I scowled. I refused to be intimidated by some arrogant asshole, “Did you not hear me when I said to stay on the opposite end of the pitch, Jeon? What kind of self-respecting spy would ask that?”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Jeongguk declared, his tone too sure for my liking.

He was really aggravating me now, and it took a lot for a Puff to get pissed off, “So, just because I have a semblance of a backbone, I’m a Slytherin? You need to brush up on your House knowledge.”

He was quiet, his expression contemplative, his jaw clenched. His eyes were scanning me with an intensity I was not sure I liked. And then he did something I liked even less: “I propose a game,” his mouth twisted upwards in a smirk, “You say you’re a Chaser?”

I gave a slight tilt of my chin in affirmation. He resumed, “Well, then you must know I’m a Keeper.” He paused, grinning wickedly, waiting for me to react to the double entendre. Eyebrows raised at my pointed silence, he continued, “And we both need to practice… So how ‘bout you try to score on me and for every shot I block you have to answer one of my questions.”

This motherfucker right here. I summoned my inner Helga to give me the strength to deal with this Gryffindor prick, “Say I was to agree to this, what would I get if I score on you?”

The laugh I got in response made all thoughts of remaining a kind and patient Puff evaporate faster than a weak Patronus.

He was still laughing when he noticed I looked ready to Avada him wandless, “Okay, okay. What do you want if you score?” He barely got the words out in between chuckles.

“To come to a Gryffindor practice.”

That shut him up real fast, “No fucking way. I don’t need you distracting my players.”

My nose crinkled, “Distracting? I would just be sitting in the stands, you prick.”

His jaw ticked as he rolled his eyes, “You could be on the furthest corner of the pitch and you’d still distract them, jagi.”

“Don’t call me that. And, pray tell, why I would distract them?” Our brooms were now practically touching as we had instinctively moved closer to one another. I could see the sweat glistening on his brow and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Merlin, he was potent.

“Because,” Jeongguk paused, acting like this was the most obvious answer in the world, “You’re hot.”

I blinked. And blinked again, “Are you serious?” He opened his mouth to respond. “Nope, don’t answer that, Jeon,” I brushed right over his attempt to answer my rhetorical question, “So, do we have a deal or not? If you’re the esteemed Keeper that you clearly think you are, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to block all my shots, should it?”

My words echoed around us. He looked conflicted, but I knew his ego would not let my challenge go, “Deal. Five shots from the penalty mark.”

He flew towards the goal posts, “Looking forward to getting my questions answered, love,” he bellowed back at me.

I mentally flipped him off as I took off after him, clutching my Quaffle.

Sending out a plea to Merlin, Helga and everyone in between, I pulled to a stop at the penalty mark and pondered how I wanted to play this. He obviously thought he would save all five attempts. I spared him a glance and glower as I notice he was slouching on his broom with a lazy smirk, clearly not taking me as a serious threat.

Fine, I would just have to hustle him. He was asking for it at this point.

I got into formation. As much as it would pain me to mess up this shot on purpose, I knew that I had to in order to make my plan work.

Taking off towards the posts, my movement caused Jeongguk to finally move into a somewhat defensive position. I feigned right, doing so in a way too obvious manner. Hurling the Quaffle towards the top hoop, I watched expectantly as he deflected it with just a slight flick of his hand.

“Come on,” Jeongguk laughed, “You can do better than that, jagi.” He flew over to me and when I stretched to take back the Quaffle he now held in his hand, he shifted it out of reach, “Uh-uh, nope. It’s question time. What’s your name?”

How predictable. “It’s (y/n). Now give me the Quaffle.”

“Last name?” Jeongguk kept the Quaffle out of my hands.

“That’s a separate question, Jeon. You never specified that I give you my full name.” It was my turn to smirk as he threw the Quaffle back at me and headed back to the posts mumbling about loopholes and how I must’ve been a Ravenclaw.

I lined back up for the second shot. I had to make this one a little bit better than the last to show that I was trying, but not too much better that he’d be prepared for my final shots.

I ducked down, twisting around to head towards the right post with my full focus on the hoop. I launched the Quaffle. Jeongguk swooped up to catch it in a way that was entirely too elaborate for such a lame throw. He was clearly showing off – an action that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the meaning behind.

Jeongguk made his way over to me, grinning, “Second question, jagi. Full name, please.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n),” I muttered, eyes scanning his face for signs of recognition and hands grabbing the Quaffle away from him.

He looked puzzled, “(y/l/n)? Why does that sound so familiar?”

Before he could think on it further, I pushed his shoulder, “Back to the posts. You got your answer.”

Well, I had attempted to push his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch at my shove. His eyes darted to where my hand now laid on his chest. I removed it faster than a Wronski Feint, trying to ignore the tingles that shot up my arm.

Our eyes connected and his were blazing as his mouth crept into a slow smile, “Like your hands on me.” Before I could formulate a reply, he flew off and I resolved that I would make this next shot as if my life depended on it.

We faced each other. I shifted the Quaffle from hand to hand and took off towards him. I gave him no tells, no feints, nothing. This seemed to throw him off for a split second, but that second was all I needed to send the Quaffle sailing through the bottom hoop.

“What the fuck was that?” Jeongguk yelled as he got all up in my face.

I bit back a smile. “Beginner’s luck?” I quipped, loving how his face had darkened perceptibly, “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can pick up some more tips at your practice.”

Unable to keep my grin in check any longer, I smile widely as he lets out a stream of curses that would make even my old crotchety aunt blush.

We resumed our positions. This time he seemed more alert and watchful. He was getting wary of me, despite my claim that it was just luck. Maybe he knew better after all…

“That won’t happen again, (y/n). Don’t get used to it!” he shouted from the posts.

…Or not.

I took off. Luck be damned. I zigzagged back and forth towards him. Throwing the Quaffle up in the air, I quickly rolled off my broom, sharply grabbing its end and swinging it up to hit the Quaffle mid-air through the center goalpost. A perfectly executed Finbourgh Flick. Regaining my seat on my broom I sailed back to the penalty line and turned back to face Jeongguk.

He looked utterly gobsmacked, “Beginner’s luck? Beginner’s fucking luck? Who the fuck are you?”

I grinned victoriously at his wounded ego, “You know my name, Jeon. Now you can use it at two practices.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n), (y/f/n) (y/l/n)… fucking hell,  you’re the new Hufflepuff captain,” he gawked at me.

“Bingo, Gryff,” I laughed, “Took you long enough.”

“Why did I think you were a bloke? I would have remembered such a—” he cut himself off, “You hustled me! There is no way I’m letting you into my practices now.”

We were nose to nose now as I responded, “A deal’s a deal. I thought you Gryffindors were all about honor.”

His face was thunderous, “And I thought you Hufflepuffs were all about fairness.”

“We are,” I said plainly, “We just don’t take lightly to intimidation. Now come on, we’ve got one round left.”

A range of emotions moved across his face to settle in a heated look that I couldn’t quite decipher, “Fine, jagi,” his molten gaze darted to my mouth, “Give it your best shot.”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of entirely too inappropriate thoughts of me and Jeongguk. As much as I attempted to refocus on making my final shot, my attention wasn’t fully there.

And I fucked it up. Jeongguk dove to catch my throw mid-air, and he sped towards me triumphantly, “Slipping already? What was that?”

I blushed. He noticed.

“Come on,” he said, “I need a drink and then you need to answer my last question.”

I followed him to the ground, cursing my treacherous body for reacting so obviously. My subconscious battled:

‘He’s a player!’ the imaginary Dumbledore on my right shoulder boomed.

‘Kiss him. Now!’ hissed the fictitious Voldemort from the other side.

However, all thoughts evacuated my brain at the sight of Jeongguk peeling off his shirt and taking a long sip from his water bottle. My traitorous eyes flew over his torso. I took in his defined abs, his chiseled arms and his fucking beautiful phoenix tattoo that spanned the entirety of his left shoulder, left upper back, and a portion of his neck.

Then I noticed his eyes were watching me right back. And they were all to amused to be innocent… “Are you seducing me?”

He spit out his mouthful of water, laughing, “Why? Is this working for you?”

My eyes now resembled slits as I glared at him, “Is that your last question?”

“No!” His response came so fast I jolted back on impulse, “No, it’s not…”

He trailed off as he prowled towards me. I stepped back. He kept coming. I stepped back further.

“Why are you running, jagi?” his words were too soft and too intense for my liking. I took another step back and bumped up against the stands. His grin in response was predatory as he caged me in between the stands and his body, his arms on either side of my head.

“Nowhere to run now, little Hufflepuff…” he dragged a finger along the hollows of my throat. He definitely felt the rapid pounding of my pulse, his eyes darkening to the point that they almost seemed black.

I glared defiantly at him, refusing to be daunted by his size or his words. He smirked, “Your last question: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

I stopped breathing. He waited, a look of uncertainty flickered on his face so briefly I almost thought I’d imagined it.

That little flare of vulnerability – that should not have been as appealing to me as it was – helped me to regain some of my bearings, “And how much do you want to kiss me? I need a scale of reference.”

He smiled crookedly as he leaned in even further, lips brushing against me as he whispered into my neck, “So fucking bad.”

His tongue darted across my skin as he dragged it up towards my ear. Biting it softly, he murmured, “Well?”

Fuck it all.

My hands latched onto his shoulders and his head snapped up. Raising to my tiptoes, I kissed him. He let out a rough groan, sounding like I was killing him. His hands slid down my body to squeeze my ass before hoisting me up. My legs circled his lean hips as his teeth caught my bottom lip in a faint bite. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling slightly. His hips pressed into mine, drawing a moan from my lips. He smiled against my mouth.

I nipped his lip now in retribution, but it seemed to only urge him on. One hand came up to remove my hair-tie, flinging it over his shoulder. I made a noise of protest, but he just kissed me harder.

How the fuck was he holding me up with one hand?

I prided myself on being a pretty thick bitch, and he was over here acting like I weighed nothing. My fingernails slid down his back, raking over the hard muscles and feeling how they flexed and shifted under my touch.

I don’t know how long we spent making out against the stands, but soon enough we heard voices coming from around the corner. Ripping my mouth away from his, I jumped out of his embrace, landing on shaky legs.

His arm wrapped around my waist as he steadies me. He was breathing just as hard as me and I could feel his heartbeat racing. I tugged away from him to retrieve my hair-tie from the ground and put my now wild hair back into its ponytail.

I could feel Jeongguk’s eyes on me all the while. I looked at him. His lips were swollen, his hair was a disheveled mess, his neck was displaying a rather nice hickey that I was sure was mirrored several times over on my own neck. A rare feeling of pride shot through me, and as he opened his mouth to say something, I shook my head and placed a finger over his lips.

“I’ll see you at your practice, Jeon.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, grabbed my broom and walked off.

As I strode away, I heard him grumbling under his breath: “Everybody warns you about the Slytherins. Nobody fucking warns you about the Hufflepuffs. Fucking hell…”

I smiled all the way back to the Common Room.

[mariamermaid]

Darkest Nights

Regulus Black x fem Reader

Summary: It was blatant, that the day of your wedding would come. Yet, you feared it as much as he did.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage

A/N: I don´t know too much about Regulus, which is why I decided to interpret this oneshot in my own way. (Also, Timothee Chalamet as Regulus= chefs kiss)

 Denial was the first stage you encountered. Blatantly you had been prepared for it your entire life, but when the message reached you, it was still denial. It couldn´t be true, you were promised more time. Time to live.

Any excuse sounded better than the one thrown into your face: There was no other option.

You recalled word for word in your head as you starred at yourself in the large mirror. It should be an honor, you´ll be a good wife, you´ll have a big house. But none of it mattered to you, your priorities laid differently in society. Will I be happy?

The mirror, the room and the entire house was furnished with golden details; flowers, flourishes and patterns. It reminded you of the palaces in the renaissance period. You had loved the paintings from the time, but finding yourself in a similar ensemble on your wedding day felt all too wrong.

A knock appeared on the door and your mother entered, stunned with her hand over her heart as she admired you. The two servants, who had helped you to get ready, carefully stepped back. Their work was done. If it weren´t for your mother´s sake, you´d thank them from the bottom of your heart.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, he´ll be very pleased to see you.”

Yeah, because that´s all that mattered. Your eyes wandered back to your silhouette in the mirror; long, delicate arms of lace traveled down your skin, the train measured at least ten feet and the veil, which was still placed to show your face, followed the train. Your mother handed you the flower bouquet, white, blue and lavender. Then she pulled the veil over your face and nodded a last time. “Your father will be waiting for you downstairs. They´re all ready.”

 Heavy chains were attached to your feet and each step you took, was harder.

Outside the hall, where the ceremony would take place, your father waited for you. He matched your mother´s dark attire, but as so often, he loved the embellishments on his suit. In your opinion, they always looked disgustingly conceiting and plump on him. Every cell in your body screamed for you to run and as you stepped inside the large hall, you wondered why you didn´t listen to your heart. Like the rest of the villa, it was stunning and a true architectural treasure. Dark, even wood was spread on the floor and the walls were delicately painted in cool grey tones. Against the gold details, the walls looked like painted clouds, dreamy and far away.

Within the dark ensemble the white spot like a ray of sunshine; you.

Why didn´t you run?

Would it be so bad to never see your family again? A family that had no emotional connection to you, you were never told, how much they loved you or even appreciated you.

You could live a free life, away from all pressure and deciding how you wanted to live. If you wanted to get marry, or not and even more importantly, who.

The painful truth was, that running even as far as you could, only brought you time. You were their only child, their only way to safely secure, pleasant and reputable future. They would find you eventually and by the mark on their forearms, it wouldn´t be a reencounter to spread joy.

Under the veil, none of them saw your shivering jaw and your blinking eyes in tears as you made your way to the altar.

Your father´s hand, softly put over the arm you had linked with this, grabbed you harsh enough to stop you from running. It might have looked like a lovingly scene, how he approached Regulus and placed your hand in his, but it wasn´t.

It felt like somebody threw away the keys from your chains.

Oh, right, Regulus was there as well.

You had barely acknowledged his presence, which was surprising due to the fact that he was your soon to be husband. You would never, not even on your deathbed, admit it, but he looked attractive. Plenty of times you had seen him wear a neat black suit, but today he didn´t look like Mommy´s boy put in attire. Somehow, he looked like a true man in front of the altar.

He seemed so steady and calm, was he even pressured into this?

You had spent almost your entire school career knowing him, he was a year older, but you couldn´t remember a singular conversation between the two of you. You started believing, you never had one.

Regulus wasn´t the scrawny kid anymore. He was tall and had a sleek figure, which he had proved many times as Slytherin´s seeker. His dark, rather short locks framed his angular face and his high cheekbones. He truly looked like a perfect descendant for a pure-blooded family.

His hand was warm, no hint of nervousness, while yours was as cold as ice. He barely glanced at you, both of you facing the altar and the wizard, who guided you through the ceremony.

He was a man of at least sixty years, grey hair and beard, but everything that left his lips, barely entered your conscience.

Finally, it felt like years, the peak of the ceremony had come.

You turned to Regulus, carefully and slowly, his long fingers grabbed the edge of your veil and pulled it back to reveal your face.

What did you expect to see in his expression? Excitement? Awe? Admiration?

For a split second, his jaw tensed, but he turned back to his neutral expression. You didn´t know how to pinpoint those bare split seconds, where his façade had vanished,  and you didn´t like, not knowing how he felt. Was he glad to marry you? Was he only looking forward to this, because you were pure-blooded? Did he find you pretty or at least attractive? Or did he find you so attractive, that he wouldn´t hold himself back? Would he follow his instincts and ignore your potential feelings?

You wanted to curse and scream, but your eyes were glued on his lips and you felt how the magical string wrapped around your hands.

“Today Y/N and Regulus join their lives in the union of marriage. Before I declare you to one another, I want to hear you confirm that it is indeed your intention to be married today.”

The lie couldn´t be bigger. A no was stuck in the back of your throat.

“Now I ask you; Do you, Regulus Arcturus Black, take the hereby Y/N Y/L/N as you wife? If so, repeat after me.”

You waited for a stutter, but Regulus repeated the words without hesitation.

“I, Regulus Arcturus Black, take you Y/N Y/L/N, to be my wedded wife. I give to you in the presence of these witnesses, my promise to stay by your side, In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. And cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

“Bride, please repeat after me.”

Oh, dear Merlin help me to not completely ruin this.

“I, Y/L Y/L/N, take you Regulus Arcturus Black, to be my wedded husband. I give to you in the presence of these witnesses, my promise to stay by your side, In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. And cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

The magical promise, which wrapped around your hands like a hot string, tightened as the words left your mouth.

“I now announce you, husband and wife!” You felt how the golden glistening oath disappeared, but you still felt the warmth pressing against your skin. It was done. All plans and hopes for this not to happen, were completely useless. You were now officially Y/N Black, wife to Regulus Black. Regulus eyes pierced into yours, somehow you took the last of your strength to keep up the eye contact. Then, to your biggest surprise, he offered you the smallest hint of a smile.

 “Even the most beautiful places turn dark during night.”

Regulus´s voice was steady, but quiet. For the first time this evening, he spoke to you in his own will. Without the pressure of a family member watching. You glanced at him, while his eyes were stuck on the ensemble. He was right, it was beautiful.

The light walls were barely enlightened anymore and the golden details, which glistened from time to time, seemed to float in the air. The delicate paint strokes had become invisible, vanishing into dark. Regulus fitted in, with his dark suit, green attire and jet-black locks and you contrasted him in a way, that couldn´t be more opposing. The white fabric attracted the last bit of light, like the rising moon beneath carpet of golden stars.

You had spent the early evening, which was turning into night already, with careless and empty conversation. Even though Regulus was at your side for most of it, you didn´t even perceive him. You were too focused on not crying, not running, not saying the wrong things, not falling over your dress, not eating too much food, not smiling too much, not fake smiling enough and not being you.

“I meant it, you do look stunning”, he added, tilting his head ever so slightly in your direction. Previously, the words had seemed nonchalantly thrown into a conversation. Now, it sounded honest and against his offish body language, Regulus was different beneath his façade.

“Thank you”, you replied with barely a whisper.

For once, he wished to be more like his brother Sirius, who swept of girls with no effort and compliments fell of his lips like the lies for his pranks. Of course, he wasn´t there.

Regulus never imagined that his bride would be you or even closely like you. He remembered you from school, something he never told anymore. Back then, you had barely exchanged words. You knew about each other´s existence, but a safe distance was kept. However, he remembered the evenings at the library. Where you had sat quite focused, tapping with your pen against the book. You had watched every single of his Quidditch games and you cheered.

You were cunning and smart, driven by your own ambition to surpass yourself, but unlike him, you were empathic. People approached you easily, feeling enchanted by your natural politeness. Regulus had become used to the shadow side; people evaded to not get in is way. They avoided him, not knowing what lied behind his dark exterior. Maybe they even feared him.

He knew it was wrong for him to feel relieved to find you in the spot of his bride, he was bereaving you of all prospective dreams and a chance for true love.

“I´m sorry.”

The apology took you by surprise and your head snapped towards him. “For what?”

He sighed, knowing he couldn´t dodge the eye contact anymore. “For having to marry me.”

The emphasis clearly laid on the word me, even though he tried to hide it.  

“Are you happy to have me as your-“, you paused. You had never said it out loud. “As your wife?”

He chuckled. Regulus Black chuckled. “I knew marrying out of love was never an option, but honestly, you´re the best bride I could´ve wished for.”

He quickly became serious again, too fast for your taste. “You´re not like them, not as posh or artificial.”

“Apparently, neither are you.” You added, feeling how your body leaned a little closer to his.

“I try my best.”

The dark had covered expectations and superficiality and what was left, was a man at your side, who was honest and real. Not perfect, but not cruel. You didn´t fear him anymore and more importantly, you didn´t fear potential actions. He wouldn´t lay a hand on you, unless you would allow to do so. There was only one apprehension left, the dark mark burning on his arm.

You didn´t know how or why, but that obligation was reserved from you. Slytherin or not, pureblood or not, you weren´t evil. You weren´t one his fealty and you swore on your life, that it wouldn´t change.

Regulus felt your apprehension, but for now he wasn´t ready to share the perilous information with you. The horcrux inside the cave was his secret, but if it meant keeping you safe and sound, he was ready to risk it. For now, it was his task to make you believe him. Regulus Black wasn´t evil and he didn´t share the Dark Lords radical views. The dark mark on his arm was just like the ring on his finger, an inescapable path.

Carefully, but with clear intention, he took your hand. “I will never hurt you; I promise.”

You saw something inside his eyes sparkling, but you couldn´t pinpoint it. Pressing your lips together, you starred at the rings on your fingers. “You shouldn´t make a promise you can´t keep.” He opened his mouth to disagree.

“But promise me to be honest; talk to me Regulus. I don´t want this to be a marriage of secrets and intrigues.” He nodded agreeing. “I promise it, do you?”

“Yes.”

Cautiously, as if you could break beneath his touch, he placed a strand of hair behind your ear and slowly, waiting if you would push away his action, he placed a kiss on your forehead. You didn´t push him away, catching yourself almost leaning into it.

Yes, even the most beautiful places turned dark during night, but tonight the darkness revealed true nature. And in this darkest hour, the two of you were shining together strong as the brightest light.

[elminx]

Energy Update: October 2021

October is a “6” Universal Month {10(October) + 5 (2021) = 15 = 1+5 = 6}. For most of us, the quiet introverted energy of the number 6 is going to be a deep breath of relief after September which with its 5 energy made us feel like we needed to scurry, hurry, and do away, even when there was nothing left to do.

6 Energy is in perfect alignment with the harvest season as it encourages home, support, empathy, and even stillness. 6 carries to pause of expectancy, much like you experience within the Inguz rune. Within the 6 energy, perhaps, we can find the balance we would otherwise be sorely lacking this Libra season.

The Setup

The Sun, Mercury, and Mars are all in Libra heading towards a stellium (conjunct of three or more planets) that will peek slightly after our Libra new moon. Venus is ahead of the gang in Scorpio. Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, and Chiron all begin this month in retrograde. This is the nadir of retrograde season. The air is hazy, perceptions may be a bit off. Sink into the 6 energy by spending time in your home – go deep with your space. That will be an antidote to this energy all month long. This is a great month to do a deep seasonal clean. Donate the things that no longer serve you. Hold a seed, plant, or clothing swap. Get together with your loved ones to have a good meal. Stay close to home. Mercury retrograde in Libra is going to bring a lot of the retrograde tension into our relationships to remember to make space for conflict and try to find a solution that fits all people involved. Watch out for stickler issues around people-pleasing and unhealthy compromises. You can refer to my post about Mercury in retrograde for those details.

There are big shifts happening this month, we will end the month with the Sun and Mars in Scorpio, Venus in Sagittarius, and with Pluto, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mercury stationed direct. When the planets stand still while they station, it can feel like life is also standing still. We will be going into and out of this retrograde fog until Mercury and Jupiter station direct on 10/18. I reiterate: you may feel helpless to affect anything outside of your immediate home right now, but you can always have an effect on your home. Tap into the 6 energy to make your home a perfect haven for you and your others.

As Saturn begins his ascent forward again, he will tighten the ongoing square with Uranus in Taurus – this is our force paradox beginning to re-exert the vice grip we’ve been stuck in all year long. If you feel like you can’t make any headway, know that you are right on time.

The Nitty Gritty

This month we are being asked to sink deep into the root of it. We are at the end of a cycle, during the new year our lunar nodes will transition from the Gemini-Sagittarius axis to that of Taurus-Scorpio. Something deep inside all of us needs to shift to accommodate these changes that are happening all around us. This is a time to go slow and really tune in to your own rhythm.

This month has a lot going on: we will experience two cardinal T-squares between Aries-Libra-Capricorn, 1 Air Grand Trine between Moon-Mars-Jupiter, 1 Air stellium of Sun-Moon-Mercury-Mars in Libra, three planetary ingresses, and four planets that station direct and out of retrograde. Every one of our planets are fully engaged in this transformative moment.

The MVP for the month is going to be Pluto in Capricorn. Here we see echoes of all of 2020 but most specifically last Autumn when Mars went retrograde in Aries and squared off with Pluto in Capricorn. Now, one year later, in the opposite sign, Mars will do so again alongside the Sun and Mercury. Pluto is also, ironically, the first of the planets to move out of retrograde. He also rules one of our two cardinal T-squares of the month. Some outdated form or structure needs to die. Agreements are being tested. Loyalties are being questioned.

Mercury and Pluto clash twice more this cycle: they square off while they are both retrograde on 10/1 and then later when they are both direct on 11/2. These are part of a series of ongoing cardinal squares we’ve been experiencing since the very beginning of 2020. The Sun squares Pluto on 10/17 and Mars squares Pluto on 10/23. Additionally, our full moon in Aries on 10/20 is overshadowed by an intense cardinal T-square as the moon in Aries squares off against Pluto in Capricorn and opposes retrograde Mercury in Libra. All of these dates should be approached with a reasonable amount of caution. Pack your patience and expect some explosions. Pay special attention to when Mars and Pluto square off in the sky – those are fighting words. It may be difficult to escape the adrenaline rush of quick reactions but it is wiser during this time to step back and sit with things before leaping.

Again, the 6 energy of October can really support Sun and Mars in Libra’s ideal of everybody getting an even slice of the pie. Dig into this. Where are you taking too much? Where are you not giving enough? Start small this month – look at your own body. Think about how you take care of yourself. Or, if you are more inclined, take a deep look at how you are taking care of your living space. Check on all of your plants. Do a roommate-style check-up with any humans that you live with. Spend some time with your pets. Come back to center by grounding yourself in your safe home, in your body, in this moment.

Mercury makes two additional trines to Jupiter in Aquarius during its retrograde cycle while both are retrograde on 10/3 and later when both are direct on 11/1. This is a fast-moving transit but can provide insight and luck when needed.

As the first full week of October progresses, the Sun, Mercury, and Mars fall into line for a stellium that lights up the sky when joined by the moon on 10/6. This is a big power day. If you have been looking for a day to find your new path, this one is it. Just remember, Mercury is still in retrograde so you may see your path only to have it obscured in the mists again. Look towards 11/6-11/7 when Mercury will again conjunct Mars (this time in Scorpio) for a day to put this new path into action.

On 10/7 Venus enters Sagittarius and the mood will get marginally lighter. Venus in Sagittarius is mutable fire energy – she wants you to let your heart roam. You might find yourself more interested in trying new things and going on adventures while Venus is in the sign of the archer. The excitement of Saggy bear energy will get tamped down quickly by the retrograde haze so don’t expect to follow through on those beautiful but whimsical plans anytime soon.

The weekend of 10/8-10/10 is a great time to take one big cosmic pause. Stay home. Say no. Take a bath instead. The Moon, Venus, and the South Node will make a brief conjunction at 02° Sagittarius just as Venus goes out of bounds. A planet is considered out of bounds when it goes above the tropic of Cancer, or, in this case, below the Tropic of Capricorn. These points reflect the plurality of the solstices and Summer-Winter connection. Planets that are out-of-bounds can be hard to reach – you may find it harder to access your feelings of empathy or may be down on yourself more about your physical appearance while Venus is out of bounds. This may be especially rough for our Venus-ruled Libras who are already undergoing an intense Mercury retrograde transit in their chart.

Be wary here. There’s a lot of prickle to the world these days and something about Venus going out of bounds right now reminds me a bit of checking out instead of dealing with what is going on in your own life. That won’t cut it through this year – through these hard aspects – you really need to settle in and do the work. There is so much to be gained right now by showing up and staying aware with yourself through these adjustments.

What is coming up during this time needs to be addressed. With so many personal planets involved, something close to home needs attending to. This weekend and really the whole month would be very counter-indicated for going away. Watch for who runs rather than showing up. On Sunday, Saturn stations direct at 06° Aquarius – this immediately reactivates our Saturn-Uranus square and tensions will begin to rise a bit. This is a long-term aspect that doesn’t resolve until the end of the year so there’s not much to do other than observe it now.

We experience our second cardinal T-square on 10/12 as Mercury retrograde in Libra squares off with the Moon in Capricorn and opposes Chiron retrograde in Aries. This is a major pain point, something that has been brought to light during this Mercury retrograde cycle.

This Mercury-Chiron oppositional peeks on 10/18 and will continue strong for another week or so. Mercury’s post-shadow stretched through the rest of October and into November, remember that we need to retrace our steps back through Libra before the lessons of this retrograde cycle will be fully revealed.

Mercury is joined by Jupiter going direct also on 10/18 – this is a go day. Do it. Make a difference. Make a plan. Make a list. You are supported.

The energy should shift drastically as the Sun enters Scorpio on 10/22 and Mars follows on 10/30. We might feel a bit like we’ve jumped from one deep pool to another as Scorpio season hints immediately at its own depths and the eclipse season that comes with it.

Our sweet Air Grand Trine happens on Monday 10/25 when the Moon in Gemini lines up briefly with Mars in Libra and Jupiter in Aquarius. This is another go day. Think big. We are starting to feel the pull of forward momentum now that some of the retrograde fog has lifted. The last week of October holds the lightest energy of the month – again, ironically.

As if we are walking this month backward, like Merlin. Spirit reminds me that he was another traveler who walked the low path.

All in all the energy of the month is going to be dense and prone to internalization. How you perceive that and how comfortable it makes you have a lot to do with your personal chart and comfort with self-reflection. Watch out for emotional regulation or disassociation especially around any of those harsh aspects between the moon, Mercury, Mars, and Pluto. Watch out for denial and rose-colored glasses – the world is trying to tell you something for a reason – it’s time to stop ignoring your gut instincts. It’s the time for you to show up every day, as often as you are able, for yourself.

Good Days: 10/2, 10/6, 10/8, 10/13, 10/16, 10/18, 10/25 Caution Days (Saturn square Uranus): 10/14, 10/21 Caution Days (Cardinal squares): 10/1, 10/3, 10/12, 10/17, 10/20, 10/22 Fuzzy Days: 10/6, 10/10, 10/18, 10/26

The Aspects

Please keep in mind that most aspects have an effect for a number of days before and after the day of exactitude, listed below. I have bolded aspects the require particular attention.

10/1 – Mercury Rx in Libra square Pluto Rx in Capricorn, Mars in Libra opposed Chiron in Aries 10/2 – Venus in Scorpio sextile Pluto Rx in Capricorn – sweet days 10/3 – Mercury Rx in Libra trine Jupiter Rx in Aquarius, Sun in Libra opposed Chiron in Aries 10/6 – Dark Moon at 13° Libra conjunct Mercury Rx and Mars, Pluto SD 10/7 – Venus enters Sagittarius 10/8 – Sun conjunct Mars 15° Libra – where do you need to move forward in your life? What motivates you? How can you be the best version of who you are right now? 10/9 – Sun conjunct Mercury retrograde, Mercury retrograde conjunct Mars, Moon square Jupiter Rx, Moon sextile Pluto Rx, Moon conjunct Venus and the South Node 2° Sagitarrius, Venus OOB – here you may really see where you are out of alignment with your path here. You may have to return to something you think that you’ve outgrown (Venus conjunct South Node). See warning above about Venus OOB 10/10 – Saturn SD 10/11 – Mercury opposed Chiron begins – this close aspect will last for the next 15 days, its a pain point that is being reactivated by this Mercury retrograde cycle – these to planets will stay within one degree of conjunction from 10/15-10/20 10/12 – Moon in Capricorn square Mercury Rx in Libra, Cardinal T Square – CAUTION – this is another one of these days that is going to light up that long-term fight. You know the one. 10/13 – Venus in Sagittarius sextile Saturn Rx in Aquarius 10/14 – Sun in Libra trine Jupiter Rx in Aquarius, Moon conjunct Saturn in Aquarius, Moon square Uranus – CAUTION – the Sun meets Jupiter while the sky is tense with our Saturn-Uranus square. Don’t pick that fight. 10/16 – Mercury Rx in Libra sextile Venus in Sagittarius – a way through, seek out freedom for everybody 10/17 – Sun in Libra square Pluto in Capricorn – CAUTION – go slow 10/18 – Jupiter SD, Mercury SD, Mars in Libra trine Jupiter in Aquarius, Mercury opposed Chiron – go days – get it. 10/20 – Full Moon at 27° Aries, T Square between moon in Aries, Pluto in Capricorn, and Mars in Libra – CAUTION. Take things slowly today. Watch your temper. Remember to pick your battles. 10/21 – Moon square Saturn, Moon conjunct Uranus – CAUTION, go slow 10/22 – Mars square Pluto – CAUTION, go slow. Take a break. Stay home. 10/23 – Sun enters Scorpio 10/25 – Air Grand Trine between Moon in Gemini, Mars in Libra, and Jupiter in Aquarius – go days, get it. think big. 10/26 – Venus in Sagittarius square Neptune Rx in Pisces – foggy 10/30 – Sun in Scorpio square Saturn in Aquarius

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[theonceandfutureking6481]

BBC's Merlin Season 1 Episode 1: The Dragon's Call Analysis

*SPOILERS- FOR THE WHOLE SHOW*

So I just re-watched episode 1 of Merlin, The Dragon's Call and I thought I'd post my thoughts here, since this is the kind of thing I always wanted after I watched Merlin for the first time. Sorry, it's quite long!!

This episode is great fun to watch but also really interesting from a thematic perspective, as it introduces all the key characters and many key themes that continue throughout the show.

Setting it up as subverting traditional telling's of the legend

The wonderful thing about Arthurian legend is how many ways you can tell it, there is very little canon, it's whole point is that it has been reinterpreted time and again to say different things, be that as it may there are traditional elements which tend to remain constant and Merlin keeps some of these but many it takes out and it sets that up here.

The introduction is like a fairytale, "the young warlock arriving at the gates of Camelot", feels very much like the introduction to a fairy tale. This is on one hand telling us that this is a story we know like any fairytale, but the very fact that Merlin is young shows us that it is going to be different.

On the side, I love the line "A boy that will in time father a legend", because there's just this wonderful gap between the audience and the characters (as there is throughout the whole story), we know that Merlin will do great things, we know that Arthur will too, they are stories we have heard (tying again into that fairytale esque introduction), and its wonderful to know that, to see Merlin and know that he is destined for greatness.

Introduction to characters:

I haven't got a specific section for Merlin here, but its sort of strewn throughout everyone elses.

Morgana:

If you know Arthurian legend you will know that in many (even most) versions of the story Morgana is a villain, so her introduction here is both scary and fascinating. She is so clearly not a villain, and you wonder (if Merlin stays true to this element) what is going to change and happen that she will become one. I knew from the start that Morgana would become a villain (I had heard a lot of spoilers), so it was especially tragic and interesting to watch her character arc because I always knew. Interestingly she is immediately set up in alliance with Merlin, even though they barely interact. We know that he is a sorcerer, and her first lines are oppositional to Uther's stance on magic, she out of everyone in Camelot seems the most likely ally. This is the start of what becomes parallel character arcs, Morgana and Merlin are both fighting for magic to become legal but they end up going about it in different ways, and one is the main villain, the other our hero. They are the same and yet opposites, and the setting up starts from here.

Arthur:

Arthur appears quite simply to be a spoiled bully, not exactly what we expect from the King Arthur we know and love. The position he starts in though is important for a key element of the story which is Merlin and Arthur creating a better world in many ways directly oppositional to Uther's teachings, based on love, kindness, willingness to put others first and respect for others. Uther's world is one where strength is rewarded and he is (in a more adult way than Arthur) a bully, as we learn later he is someone who takes his anger and fear out on others, who takes advantage of his position to hurt people even those he loves. Uther can be a good king, but not when it asks him to make sacrifices of his worldview or things that really matter to him. Uther teaches Arthur some important things but there are many things Arthur has to unlearn, and these bullish tendencies, and lack of respect for others inherent in them are one of them. We do however see Arthur's inherent nobility and goodness in this episode. When he lets Merlin go because even though he's an idiot "he's a brave one", it shows us how Arthur respects what people do rather than who they are. Uther wouldn't of let Merlin go (though to be fair Uther probably wouldn't of picked a fight with a peasant), he would have thought that the law had to be upheld no matter the individual circumstance. Merlin attacked the prince that is definitely illegal but Arthur respects his courage (even though it came at the cost of his humiliation), and there is something different to Uther in that, even good.

Merlin and Arthur:

This episode aside from setting the tone for the more hilarious aspects of Merlin and Arthur's relationship establishes some other interesting things about what they are going to be to each other in this version of the story. Traditionally Merlin is Arthur's teacher, often tutoring him as a child, obviously this doesn't happen here but they retain that element of teaching here. Kilgharrah literally says that maybe it is Merlin's job to change the fact that Arthur's an idiot. Merlin challenges Arthur from the start, willing to criticise him and treat him as an equal (which Arthur actually appears to love), and we see perhaps what Merlin is going to teach Arthur and the more noble elements of Arthur's character that Merlin's going to bring. It is also only within the context of his interactions with Merlin that we see Arthur's best side (at least in this episode). Merlin shows Arthur that he has to treat all people with respect, Arthur recognises that Merlin is brave and full of qualities that Arthur himself admires. When Merlin saves Arthur's life you can see Arthur re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about him, there is a respect there.

Arthur's Mum Igraine

She's not a big part of this episode but she was mentioned and I think its interesting how she's represented. In many ways her representation is highly simplistic, she falls to the fate of many fairy tale mothers in being dead before the story begins, she's a plot device. She is presented (not outright but implied) with all the stereotypical virtues mothers are ascribed with, the woman who's trying to kill Arthur this episode talks to Uther about how hard it must have been for Arthur to grow up without a mother. It's not a huge scene but its an insight into Arthur's character, he was brought up with all the hate and bullishness of Uther without a mother who could have taught him love and kindness. As we later learn Igraine's death triggered the great purge, her loss very much symbolises the loss of love within the kingdom, both in what Arthur's like at the beginning as well as what Camelot has become under Uther's leadership.

Gwen (and Merlin):

She is wonderful and sweet and interestingly (especially for an audience that knows Arthur is going to marry her one day) a servant. It is interesting that the two people who become in the show (and we know as an audience will one day be) closest to Arthur are servants.

The thing about Arthurian legend is that typically its very much set within a context of Medieval feudalism, which means stringent social barriers. The code of equality inherent in the idea of a Round Table is equality among nobles, the code of chivalry is a code of honour for knights not for ordinary people. It's a reflection of the social realities of the era that inspires much of the aesthetic of Arthurian legend as well as the era in which most key tenants of the legend were formed. In making Merlin (Arthur's teacher & (in this show) best friend/soulmate) and Guinevere (Arthur's wife) servants, this show is changing this idea for one more reflective of our own times. It is about absolute equality of all people, and as I've said already the inherent value that every single human being has and the individual capabilities for nobility and goodness and everything the Knights Code admires. It thus sets the tone for what Arthur is going to represent, not just the ideal of knighthood and courage but the ideal of kingship for all people and the ideal of the world that matters to every person.

The self reproducing nature of love and hate

This is an idea which I've always viewed as the main theme of Merlin, the idea that hate begets itself, as does love. This episode is a perfect encapsulation of that theme which recurs again and again. Uther kills a man who is innocent (in the sense that he didn't actually hurt anybody) and the man's mother seeks vengeance and in doing so kills more innocent people because she hates Uther enough that she doesn't care who else she hurts to get at him. This happens again and again in the show, but what this show does that I love is turn it into a main theme by depicting the reverse. Arthur and Merlin are great because they act against this world of Uther's creation, they act with love and compassion and respect for all people, the ends rarely justify the means and most importantly, especially when their actions seem morally grey, they are always motivated by their love for others (not fear or hate- unlike Uther and any number of villains). Uther is the main villain of the show precisely because it is his actions that create every other villain they encounter, Morgana sums it up nicely and somewhat ominously (given what side she ends up on)- "the more brutal you are the more enemies you'll create". Uther views that brutality as strength, but it is the weakness at the heart of his kingdom, it is what makes Camelot a worse place it is what puts everyone he cares about in danger. Essentially the plot of the first episode sets up the cycle of violence that Uther started, though it doesn't set up Merlin and Arthur as breaking it it does set up the idea of equality and respect for all people that Arthur will learn and is essentially opposed to the brutality and cruelty and hate represented by Uther.

Fun non-analysis things

It mightn't seem like it but I do actually watch Merlin for reasons other than copious analysis of themes. It is a highly enjoyable show with characters and relationships (Merthur but also just generally the wonderful representation of friendship and loyalty) I love, and its actually really funny.

Gwen saying "Who'd want to marry Arthur" is peak comedy because we all know, well you.

The weird set up in Gaius' first scene as him being bumbling and slightly insane (in the mad wise old man sort of way), there is literally no carry through, he's not even like this in the rest of the episode, but its hilarious so who cares.

Merlin and Arthur's whole exchange is the funniest thing and Arthur had every insult coming. Also this is exactly how you set up enemies to lovers.

All the writers names begin with J? It's just something I notice every time the intro credits roll and it's just funny (Julian Murphy, Johnny Capps, Jake Michie and Julian Jones)- also two Julian's, I mean what are the chances?

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Little steps (George Weasley x reader) | pt 5 - Affirmation

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

Word count: 1652

Summary: Y/N visits Grimmauld Place for the weekend and on her last evening she stays up late with George.

warnings: none, fluffy fluff

a/n: We’ve reached the finale, my loves. It’s been nice, I hope you liked it. As always, let me know what you thought I listened to Imagine Dragons - Only; or HUNGER - amused while writing the ending, if that interests anybody 😅

The second gif was made by yours truly

July, 1995

 From the very start, you knew these summer holidays were going to be unlike any other. You were still going out with your friends in London – Merlin, you even got back on speaking terms with Matt, after he pulled his head out of his ass. But the night after Voldemort came back Dumbledore assembled the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation that was going to oppose him.

It didn’t mean much to you just yet – all the adults were keeping you and your friends in the dark. Your family, or rather its adult members, were a part of it. That meant they visited the Weasleys, who were now living at the headquarters in London, a few times since July started almost two weeks ago.

You went in and out of there quickly a couple of times – you even managed to convince Molly to let Ron go out with you and your friends. George saw you flash through the staircase opening, but you were gone before you could notice him.

He kept true to his word and wrote to you the day after you parted on King’s Cross. You exchanged owls often, sometimes they carried short and sweet letters, full of innocent pet names; sometimes long tirades – about how damp and dusty his room at Grimmauld Place was, how Ron annoyed him that day, how you were trying to redecorate your room and broke the wardrobe door; sometimes they contained discussions worthy of shower thoughts.

This weekend you were going to stay over, your older brother escorted you and Hermione, who planned to stay the whole summer. From the moment you stepped over the threshold you were a little tense with excitement, your subconscious expecting to see George around every corner.

You had dumped your bag in the room you were going to share with the girls and you were currently laying on the empty bed in Ron’s room, examining the ceiling.

“It’s a dump. A damp and dusty one. And not to mention the cobwebs – have you seen those? Bloody hell, I can’t imagine living in here until September. And mum’s gone crazy with the cleaning!” “Oh come on, Ronald, I’m sure it’s not that bad. The place’s not been lived in for long, it just needs a little work!” “And the house-elf, he’s horrid – he wanders around at night, mumbling about his masters…”

You got up to go use the bathroom. You went out of the room and stepped down the creaky stairs to the floor below. As you followed the narrow corridor, suddenly in front of you -CRACK!- “Bloody hell! Merlin’s beard, do you want to be responsible for my premature passing?!” you eyed the tall redhead standing in front of you as you clutched the bannister for dear life. His grin only widened, “Fancy seeing you here, princess, finally.” You straightened up and tried to fight back the smile at that nickname. He had his hair cut – he mentioned it in one of the first letters, but you didn’t expect it to look this good. He spread his arms and motioned for you to come closer, giving you puppy eyes and an innocent smile. You gave him a hug that lasted far too short. Pulling back, you said “the haircut” and reached for it with your hand. He helped you a little bit, bending down “I like it” you said with a smile, running your fingers through and ruffling it a bit. “Well in that case I might have to go to my mother and take back everything I may or may not have said about it previously.”

That little encounter left you hungry for more and all the small interactions with him you were already used to felt different than at Hogwarts. It wasn’t school anymore, it was a home – perhaps not the Burrow, but still.

You didn’t see him much the next day, busy with Molly, but in the evening you, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George attempted playing a muggle card game you and Hermione knew. The game was going really slow, but you were having fun. Fred accused you of helping George out, which you – of course – denied, even though it was Ginny who won in the end.

The Sunday evening was much slower, the whole house stayed in the kitchen long after dinner, chatting and exchanging stories over butterbeer. It was getting late now, you rested your cheek on your palm, elbow propped on the table. You got distracted from Arthur’s story by a light tap on your foot. You glanced at George, who was sitting opposite you and he looked up, then to both sides and avoided your gaze. A few seconds after you looked away, another tap. The same thing again, except a smirk was creeping up onto his face.  This time you prodded his foot and he finally looked at you, feigning shock. You had to bite your lip to fight a grin.

He picked up his napkin and started folding it up. You watched and figured he was trying to make a shape out of it. He kept glancing at you every once in a while and the napkin still wouldn’t look like anything recognisable.

You picked up your own one and made the one origami shape you knew how – a butterfly. You looked at him in triumph, saw his eyebrows scrunched up looking at your butterfly, then he pretended he was unimpressed.

Molly decided it was time to wrap up and people started heading out, but she must’ve been in a good mood and left without ushering you all to beds.

“D’you wanna hang out a bit longer?” George caught up to you as you were getting up from your seat. “Uh, sure..” you said, looking at Hermione, who tried not to smile when she saw you and then left with everyone else, leaving you two alone.

You swallowed and couldn’t look up at him just yet, feeling your heart start to hammer. You walked to the huge fireplace and George followed you, then sat down in front of it. “So, how are you doing?” he asked and leaned back on his arms. You did the same and answered, “I’m alright.” Both of you watched how the firewood was slowly cracking in front of you. “You’re going home tomorrow, aren’t you?” “Yup. Before lunch.” You said and he nodded slowly.

George’s heart sank a bit, thinking about waiting Merlin knows how long again, writing letters before he would get to barely spend any time with you when you visit again.

“That blows.” You chuckled, looking at him. “Why don’t you just move here? I think that would be the best for everyone” he said very seriously. “Move here?” you laughed, “and help Molly’s cleaning crew every day? I don’t think so. I mean, what would I get out of it?” “My attention?” You blushed a bit, “I got plenty of that the last few months, Georgie, I don’t think I could handle it.” You were silent for a bit, your heartbeat going crazy as he studied your face carefully. “..And how would you feel about getting my full attention?” Your lips parted slightly in shock, you watched him carefully but you didn’t even notice when he moved closer. You were looking for something in his eyes, something that would tell you he wasn’t serious about it, that it didn’t mean what you thought it did. But they were just as sincere as they always have been when he looked at you. Those warm, brown eyes that made you feel so much, that made you feel so welcome that you could look into them forever.  “…as my girlfriend..?” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. Looking at him with all the love you had in you, pushing all the weight off your shoulders, very slowly you leaned in and stopped just as you were about to meet his lips. You felt his breath on yours for just a second, and he closed the distance. Your lips fit perfectly in a soft kiss that felt like nothing before and even better than you could’ve imagined before. A tide of euphoria washed over you. One of his hands rested on your waist and you moved one of yours to the side of his face to deepen the kiss.

“Is that a yes?” George asked after pulling away.

You smiled and kissed him again, with more passion this time, at first slow and tender. He was intoxicating, his smell felt like you’ve always known it and so, so comforting. The warmth from the fire hugged you from the side and mixed with his body warmth. George pulled your body even closer and your hands travelled along his shoulders, the back of his neck and his hair as the kiss became more demanding. The silence of the night broken only by the gentle crackling of firewood and your rapid breathing. When the need for oxygen became too much, you placed last few, slow pecks onto his swollen lips and pulled away.

“Was that affirmative enough?” you asked breathily. “I’ll take it.” he chuckled and he gently pulled you to the floor to lay on top of him. He held you tight against him and you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, cherishing the closeness. You breathed in his smell with a wide smile on your face. His was just the same as he stroked your back up and down and placed a soft, loving kiss on your temple. It was just you and him that mattered, you relished in the feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath or his heartbeat next to yours.

You stayed up together until your eyes started closing on their own. You made your way upstairs and parted ways in front of the girls’ room, but not before one, last, goodnight kiss. Or a few.

[smilexdrarry]

If your parents were ✨Drarry✨ Part 2

- Going into your 6th year at Hogwarts Harry had bought a new house. You were so excited about this because the last one was a tad small but this one was huge and you where so excited. You most definitely excited when you found out you would be getting to paint your own room. You had started to paint with Harry's and Draco's help when you couldn't help yourself but flick paint at Draco because you were just in the mood to piss him off. Harry turned around at your giggling and found himself laughing too at Draco's face covered in paint. "It's not funny, Potter." Draco had growled. "Who do you mean? We're all Potters here." Harry had said smiling. "Both of you!" Draco had yelled. You then looked at Harry and just by the look on his face he knew exactly what you were thinking. "Don't you dare." Draco had said but too late Harry had already threw paint in his direction, you laughed and picked up a bucket of paint and threw it a Harry. It was full on war then. About 20 minutes later you all came out of the room dripping with paint. "We'll have to go buy some new paint I guess." You had said sheepishly. "Yes and your paying." Harry had said putting his painted hand onto of your hair getting it more gross. "Ugh stop dad!"

- You loved to cook like Harry, but you were always self-conscious about it, so Harry and Draco never ended up tasting any of your dishes. But one day you decided you wanted to cook with your dad so you asked Harry if he would help you prepare dinner that night. You thought his eyes couldn't go any wider, he hopped off from the couch and ran to the go his keys for the car. "Uh dad what are you doing?" You had asked. He responded: "well to get ingredients to cook, silly." He seemed to excited about this. When you guys got back home you told him you had a new idea about a new dish, he agreed and he helped but he wanted you to do most of the work, letting you do your own thing. That night at dinner Draco had said, "oh my Merlin, this is so good! One of your best dishes Harry!" Harry looked at you across the table and smiled at you, you smiled back then went back to watch Draco eating the food like he was starving.

- Draco and Harry loved you equally, but even tho Draco was more strict and would yell at you more, he loved you the most, and this was because he was the one who suggested to Harry they would adopt you and he always secretly wanted a kid. Harry of course wasn't opposed to the idea, but he never thought about it. And so Draco was more hard on you then Harry was because he wanted the best for your well being, and then lastly he always had this fear, his deepest darkest fear was that you would end of like him, the path that he had taken. That mark still burned into his skin haunted him. You had heard Draco talking to Harry in a room, crying silently, saying that fear. You came around the corner tears streaming down your face saying that you would never end up like him and told him not to worry. You ran to him and flung your arms around his neck, repeatedly saying you loved him.

- When you were little, and even now sometimes, you would always ask your parents for stories about when they were at Hogwarts together. They would tuck you into bed and sit on either side of you and tell you all these stories about how they would sneak around Hogwarts in the middle of the night with Harry cloak rapped around them and how they would prank Snape constantly, soon they would go on forever till you fell asleep. "And then your idiot father-" "Draco." Harry had said quietly, "what?" Harry pointed at you sleeping. "Oh." Draco had said. They both kissed your forehead and turned off the lights. You smiled after they left then actually fell asleep.

- One time when you were at Hogwarts you had to write a paper explaining about what your favorite part of Hogwarts history was, and since you love to be stubborn, you didn't do a actually history thing you learned about but instead you wrote a 10 page essay explaining Hogwarts best love story. You ended up getting the highest grade in the class. And Harry and Draco cried when they read it then hung it up on the wall.

- One day you were sitting with your parents at dinner when Draco had announced that he and Harry wanted to renew their wedding vows, he reached across the table and held Harry's hand, looking at him fondly. Your jaw had dropped and then you screeched getting up and running around the table to go hug them. Every time you would look at parents wedding photos you would always say you wished you were there. So therefore you were the most absolutely thrilled when they had said that. Harry had laughed, "we thought that we would do it again, since it's been years since our wedding, thought that it would be nice to say our vows again and specially now that we have you." You we're already crying, you hugged Harry again and then Draco, who kissed you on the cheek and had said: "we love you." Draco and Harry were crying too, just so happy that you were happy.

- The last day before you had to back to school from Christmas break you were all ready and packed and then you sneezed and coughed, Harry shot up from the couch and ran over to you feeling your head, "are you ok? Do you feel sick? Can you not go back tomorrow? Is your stomach hurting? Is-" Harry had said before you interrupted him, "dad dad dad! I'm fine, gosh!" "Harry, calm down." Draco had said from the kitchen. Harry then had turned his head so fast you sure it snapped, then glared deadly at Draco then Draco's eyes went wide and quickly said, "oh right...um are you ok honey? You look sick?" You looked between them and squinted your eyes, "ok what's going on here?" You had asked. Harry rolled his eyes and said to Draco, "you ruined it dumb ass." "Sorry." Draco mumbled. It turned out that Harry and Draco wanted to have a family road trip. You weren't opposed to it all, you had ran up stairs and packed your bags and was already getting in the car. You definitely living your best life.

- One day you were enjoying a walk with Draco when you had spotted a tiny white puppy on the side of the road. "Father, look! It's a dog! Do you think we could keep it?" "I'm not sure what Harry would think?" Draco had said bending down and petting the tiny dog, which barked cutely. "I think Dad would be fine with it." You said, picking up the dog in your arms, while Draco scratched behind it's ear. "Yeah I think he would too but I'm not letting him name it Severus or Albus or something." You laughed, "I'll think of a name don't worry." Later when you guys went back home you tried to hid the dog as long as you could until it barked and then Harry had walked in and saw the small puppy running around. "What- hold on can I name it?!" Harry had said, "NO!" Draco and you said at the same time.

- Draco had suggested to you that if you wanted to meet his mom you could. Draco was always touchy on the subject of his mother, she lived alone in the manor doing nothing all day. You always was quite curious to meet Draco's mother, so you agreed. He took you to Malfoy manor with Harry of course. Draco had written to his mother in advance before you guys would show up and Narcissa was more then pleased. When the door opened everyone stood there awkwardly not knowing what to say first, but then Narcissa said, “could I- could I hug you my dear?” You didn’t really know how to respond, Draco’s hand gave your shoulder a tight squeeze. You smiled at Narcissa and opened your arms. She hugged you, it was weird but at the same time you could feel and see how much it had meant to her, I mean it was her boy’s child. She hugged Draco and kissed him on the cheek the same with Harry. You guys all hung out that day, it was actually quite fun to here about all the stories Narcissa told about Draco when he was little. When you guys left, you looked forward to the next time you would see your grandmother.

- This time when you were at school, you had got into a fight with this girl because she was calling Draco a death eater and said that he deserved to be in Azkaban, (what a bitch) you had gotten your wand out and pointed it at her, and she mocked you saying you would get in trouble if you used your wand. You thought about it for a minute before putting it away, the girl smirked, but then you punched her in the face.

That’s all for now, hope you like 😭

[perksofbeingatallpotato]

Shag, Marry, Kill

Harry Hart x Reader Request Warnings: Drinking Word Count: 1,605 A/N: I’m back! Although I wasn’t really gone, I see all your likes and messages. Thank you! Also, I have no first-hand experience in going to parties and playing the games mentioned below except for beer pong, forgive me. To Anon, I hope I met your expectations, and again thank you for the request! Request: “Could you do a lovely thing? A harry hart x reader where eggsy threw a birthday party and harry got too drunk and they took advantage of his drunkenness and asked him a bunch of stuff. They played shag, marry, kill and he only wants to shag and marry the reader. Make it fluff or smut, totally up to you. Thanks.”

Kingsman's resident wizard deserves all the good things in this world for everything he's been doing for the agency. And for his birthday, Eggsy organized a party for him, and has asked you for help. You were tasked with the food since according to Eggsy, he's not posh and not a foodie unlike you, but for the drinks, Eggsy said he's got it all handled.

Everyone at Kingsman was of course invited. It felt kind of odd to see the staff and the agents in their casual attire.

It was a surprise party, Eggsy managed to persuade Merlin to "come over at his place for some drinks and board games" this weekend, and he also had to tell him that you guys would need “pairs of two to play, otherwise game night wouldn't happen.”

"SURPRISE!!!" Everyone shouted in sync when Merlin arrived.

"Oh my!" Merlin clutched his chest. "Happy birthday, Merlin!" You went in to give the man a hug, Harry and Eggsy followed and gave him a hug, too.

The party was pretty casual, everyone was just eating, drinking, and mingling around. People were complementing the food and were asking you about it.

Merlin declaring a toast and saying his gratitude wrapped the party, some of the guests started to bid their goodnights. But little did you know, Eggsy has more plans. According to him, it's now the beginning of the after party.

“It’s still a bit early to call it a night, how ‘bout we play some games?”

Eggsy started setting up the table for a game of flip the cup. He divided the remaining guests equally into two teams. It was intense. Everyone seems to manage to flip their cups after one try, only the ones who've already had too much to drink were the ones who struggled. An eruption of laughter and cheers filled the room.

Your team, with the guest of honor Merlin, won the first round. By the third and the last round, everyone's alcohol level had increased and seemed to be failing and laughing at their own failures, making the game harder than it really was. Your team managed to finish first, while the opposing team was left with two more cups. Apparently, some of your colleagues are not all stiff and posh, as was previously assumed. Well, the ones that stayed anyway. After the game, more people decided to head home.

"Now does anyone would like to play a round of beer pong?" Eggsy asked. "Eggsy why don't you play? I'll sit this one out." Eggsy has planned all of this and deserves to have fun as well. He took your suggestion and he paired off with Merlin. Merlin then encouraged his closest friend to play against them, to which Harry surprisingly agreed and chose Percival as his beer pong partner.

It was absolutely entertaining to watch these skilled marksmen play beer pong when they've already had a few drinks, though they're still somehow sharp with their aims. By the second round, they were getting really competitive and really drunk. You were secretly rooting for Harry and Percival to win against your best friend. And to your satisfaction, they did. It was refreshing to see your colleagues having this much fun. It was getting really late and more guests, including Percival, decided to call it a night. After a while, it was just you, Harry, Merlin, and of course, Eggsy who were left.

You were eating a slice of cake when Eggsy apparently has another game in mind. He asked, "Drunk Jenga?" to which you and Merlin replied "nah” at the same time. Looks like Eggsy really did his research in throwing a party. Although this was more of a young adult type of party rather than a posh formal party. Eggsy then suggested “Never Have I Ever.”

You started off with an easy one such as never have I ever got a tattoo. Eggsy and Merlin were also saying casual statements such as never have I ever given a fake name or never have I ever had a speeding ticket. Except for Harry, who were saying things like never have I ever peed in the pool, or never have I ever smoked weed. It was only after a few more series of never have I evers that the three of you started to realize just how drunk Harry Hart is.

The game slowly turned from finding out each other’s little secrets to finding out Harry’s secrets, or things he wouldn’t normally share when sober. Whether he drinks or he doesn't, one of you asks him further about it. Harry was very obliging and he answers each question to the best of his abilities. Fortunately, he’s still able to form coherent sentences. It went on and on, and Harry had no clue with what the three of you were up to. At some point you started to feel sleepy, and the four of you eventually ran out of things to say.

It was past midnight. You're sprawled on the sofa. Harry was sitting on your right, Merlin’s on the couch, and Eggsy was sitting on the floor. "Okay, okay, here’s the last thing we’ll play. We'll take turns, amongst the three of us, excluding yourself of course. Name who'd you shag, marry, and kill.” Eggsy looks around the group to see if you understood him. "I'll start," Eggsy said. "Bruv, I’d marry you, shag Harry, and kill Merlin. No hard feelings, Merlin."

“Aye, I’d also marry (Y/N). I’m afraid to say I’d rather kill my best friend than shag him, which leaves you Eggsy.” Merlin said. "You’d shag me, eh?” Eggsy playfully winked at Merlin and everyone laughed. "How ‘bout you, (Y/N)?”

“Sorry Eggs, I’m with Merlin on this one, I’d have to kill you. I’d shag Merlin, and I’ll marry Harry. Not just because it rhymes.” That earned a chuckle from the group.

“How about you Harry, who’d you shag, marry and kill?” Merlin asked him.

“Merlin, it’s mutual, I’d have to kill you too. Your genius can be a great threat to this world. And I'd shag (Y/N), and also marry (Y/N).” Harry said.

Hearing that seemed to snap you out of your sleepiness and drunkenness. Harry just drunkenly confirmed Merlin's suspicions. "Bruv, that's not how the game works, you —" Eggsy stopped when he realized what just happened.

When Harry drank to never have I ever fallen in love, you just chalked it up with him being drunk. Since Harry has once admitted that he has never experienced companionship, you simply assumed the man hadn't also experienced falling in love with someone.

And now you realize Harry's kind and subtle sweet gestures towards you wasn't a figment of your imagination just because you adore the man. 

The silence was interrupted by Merlin, "Eggsy, I think we should start cleaning-up." Leaving you with Harry to talk about what happened.

The two of you sat in silence. Unsure where to start.

"I like you, (Y/N), very much." Harry had too much liquid courage and he started to admit his feelings. "I know you might think I'm sad, and old, and that's gross. And I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it, being close to you, seeing you almost every day, I was feeling these inner stirrings whenever you're near, whenever you laugh, whenever you smile. You’re amazing, you’re smart. You’re someone I never thought I’d need... you’re all I want... and I, I... I just...” He trailed off.

"And you're a cute blabbering mess, Harry. I'd kiss you right now if you weren't so drunk." You replied

"You?... You would?" Harry wasn't sure if he heard you right. You took his hand and assured him, "yes, I would kiss you." Harry started leaning in to you slowly, you saw him close his eyes and then he fell asleep. You laughed a hearty laugh and it was heard all over Eggsy's flat.

"Well, someone's having fun." You heard Eggsy shout from across the hall. "Man down!" And you continued laughing. You let Harry sleep while you helped them clean up the place.

Once finished, you tried to wake Harry up. It took a few attempts before he started to stir. "Come on Harry, I'll take you home." He groggily responded with "really?" "Yes, you silly, you need to go home."

Merlin offered to help you, seeing as how Harry is taller than you, and drunk. It wouldn’t be easy to put him in a cab or take him upstairs to his room.

“Bruv, don’t take advantage of Harry while he’s drunk.” Eggsy jokingly told you before you left.

Once you and Merlin managed to put drunk Harry in bed, he said thank you and "(Y/N) please don't leave." You squeezed his hand and gave him a kiss on the forehead, "I won't."

"Thank you Merlin, guess I'll just crash on his couch." "Thanks to you too, (Y/N), the food was amazing. And don't tell Eggsy, I kinda knew. He wasn't very discreet with his plans." "Yeah, I had a feeling. Let's not break his heart." Merlin chuckled. "Thanks again, and good night."

You took the liberty of raiding Harry's closet for some pajamas and a blanket, and found a notepad by his desk.

"Harry,

As promised, I didn't leave. I'm downstairs if you need me. I also took the liberty of raiding your closet for something to wear. And I would also be raiding your pantry for breakfast, or I may have already done so by the time you're reading this.

P.S. I like you too, very much.

- (Y/N) "