#he can't survive without Merlin

[monoshinno-1shipper]

Merlin: *sacrifices his life and does anything he can to protect Arthur.*

Arthur: i can protect myself and I'm very good on my own.

Merlin: *leaves for one day.*

Arthur: *gets stabbed.*

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that’s been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[theodorenmyth]

hiya, sneaking into your inbox to ask for a fluffy piece about mattheo sneaking out of his dorm at night to go cuddle with his snarky, prefect bf (also a slytherin) or them generally just sneaking around bc the relationship is relatively new and matty is super needy

Sleepy Cuddles

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; In the early stages of a secret relationship, Mattheo Riddle can't help but sneak into his snarky Slytherin prefect boyfriend’s bed for late-night cuddles. Needy, clingy, and absolutely obsessed, Mattheo refuses to let go—even when duty calls. What starts as a sleepy cuddle session turns into a battle of affection, stubbornness, and sleepy kisses, with Mattheo pressing soft kisses to your neck and jawline while you halfheartedly try to escape. Despite your protests, it’s obvious: you’re already wrapped around his finger… literally.

A/N ; hi I came back from the dead.. I missed u guys :3

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 2.2k+

The first time Mattheo snuck into your dorm, it was at least a little justified.

Midnight.

Cold.

Thunder rumbling low outside the castle walls. He’d claimed he "couldn’t possibly survive alone with all that weather threatening to murder him in his sleep."

You, being the soft idiot you were when it came to him, had let him crawl into your bed without a word.

But now?

Now it’s a perfectly clear night, barely a breeze outside, and the bloody idiot is shimmying through your door again like some overgrown, desperate cat.

You sit up in bed, squinting at the figure tripping over a chair and nearly flattening himself against your dresser.

"Mattheo," you hiss, dragging a hand down your face, "what the fuck are you doing?"

He straightens up, hair a mess, wand clenched between his teeth for Merlin-knows-what reason. He pulls it free with a sheepish grin.

"Needed to see you," he says simply, shameless as ever, like that explains everything.

You glare. "It’s one in the bloody morning. Tomorrow is patrol night, and if you get caught here, I lose my prefect badge."

Mattheo shrugs, moving toward you anyway. "Worth it."

"Mattheo—"

He flops onto your bed beside you with a dramatic groan, burrowing under your green Slytherin blankets like he owns the place. His hand immediately finds your waist under the covers, clinging to you like you're some sort of anchor keeping him tethered to this world.

"You’re so warm," he mumbles, already curling into your side, as if he hadn’t just committed a thousand violations of school rules and common sense. "You smell good too."

You thump him lightly on the head. "You’re impossible."

"Mm." He grins against your shoulder. "You love it."

Unfortunately, he’s right.

With a long-suffering sigh, you shift so he can tuck himself more comfortably against you. His hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles closer, his fingers lightly stroking up and down your side, slow and almost absent-minded.

"You’re needy as hell, you know that?" you mutter.

Mattheo snickers. "You're lucky I'm only this clingy with you."

"That’s not reassuring."

"Should be." His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt now, tracing lazy circles against your skin. "Means you’re special."

You try (and fail) to suppress the heat creeping up your neck. "Says the guy who nearly broke my door sneaking in like a damn burglar."

"It’s not breaking if it’s romantic," he says smugly.

"You are a menace."

"I’m your menace."

You finally laugh, low and reluctant. "Unfortunately."

For a few minutes, it’s quiet. The castle seems to exhale around you, torches flickering in the corridors beyond your room. Mattheo’s breathing slows, matching yours, a steady rhythm that tugs at something deep in your chest.

And then, because he’s Mattheo Riddle and incapable of letting a peaceful moment stay peaceful, he mumbles, "You should let me move in."

You snort. "Move in? You have your own bed!"

"Your bed’s better. Smells better too." He inhales dramatically. "Like books and peppermint."

"You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious," he insists, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair falls into his eyes, soft and messy, and you hate how stupidly fond you feel.

"Mattheo—"

"Please?" His voice drops to a near-whine, shameless. "I’ll be quiet. I’ll even make the bed in the morning. I’ll..." he trails off, smirking wickedly, "repay you with affection."

You raise an eyebrow. "Affection, huh?"

"Endless affection," he promises solemnly. "Cuddles. Kisses. The works."

You roll your eyes, but before you can reply, Mattheo shifts closer, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your jawline. The touch is soft, feather-light, and it makes your whole body tense.

Then he presses another kiss a little lower, right where your jaw meets your neck.

And another.

And another, softer still.

You feel your heart stutter like a traitor.

"You’re unbelievable," you murmur, voice embarrassingly breathless.

"You’re in love with me," he whispers, lips brushing your skin between every word. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

"Debatable," you manage, even as your hand slips into his messy curls without thinking.

He leans in again, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "Very debatable," he murmurs. His breath sends shivers down your spine.

You shove his face away with a hand, earning a huff of laughter.

"Alright, shut up," you say, trying not to grin. "You can stay for a bit."

Mattheo beams, victorious. "You love me."

"You’re on probation," you correct, lying back and letting him tuck himself under your arm again. "One wrong move and you're back to your own bed."

"Sure, sure." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I’ll be on my best behavior."

A moment later, he adds, "Mostly."

You sigh. "You’re going to get us both expelled."

"You’d miss me," he says smugly.

"You have too much faith in your own charm."

"And you have no poker face," he shoots back, laughing softly when you flick his ear.

After a beat, he quiets. His fingers absently trace the stitching on your pajama shirt, slow and aimless, like he’s memorizing every thread. His hand feels almost reverent against your chest, grounding you, soothing you.

"You know," he says, voice low and strangely tentative, "I like this."

You glance down at him, hand still resting lightly on his head. "Cuddling?"

"Yeah. And you."

His fingers tighten slightly against your side. "Feels...good. Safe."

You soften immediately, cursing him and yourself in the same breath. You lift your hand, threading it deeper through his hair, feeling him melt under the touch like wax.

"I like it too," you admit quietly, your chest tightening with the honesty of it.

He tilts his head up, grinning that boyish, almost shy grin he saves only for you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." He smirks, cocky again, but there’s a gentleness behind it now. "Means I can keep sneaking in then."

You groan. "I’m creating a monster."

"You’re just mad you love the monster."

"Go to sleep, Mattheo."

"Yes, Prefect."

He snickers against your skin, obnoxiously pleased with himself. But his breathing evens out soon enough, his weight warm and solid beside you, one leg tangled lazily with yours like he never plans to let you go.

You lie awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other wrapped around his waist.

You know you’re doomed.

Utterly, irreversibly doomed.

But somehow, with Mattheo curled against you like this—needy, reckless, yours—you don’t really mind.

In fact, you think you might love it.

The first thing you become aware of when you wake up is the distinct sensation of being completely, utterly trapped.

And no, it's not a nightmare. It's Mattheo.

His body is draped over you like a human blanket, arms wrapped around your torso in a way that suggests he never plans on letting go, and one of his legs is tangled in yours, pinning you to the bed.

You blink, squinting at the light creeping through your curtains. It's still early, and you can hear the faint echoes of other students beginning their own early mornings.

But here you are.

Mattheo Riddle has infiltrated your bed again. And there’s no way to escape.

"Mattheo," you croak, voice a little too rough from sleep. "You’re crushing me."

He makes an unintelligible noise against your neck, burrowing deeper into the crook of it like you’re the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying your best to shove him off, but he’s clingy as hell and stronger than you remember.

"Mm?" he hums, still not bothering to lift his head. "You smell good."

"What?" You sputter, utterly flustered despite the situation. "That’s it? That’s your response?"

He just sighs contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck like he’s done this a thousand times before. "Mm. You smell like peppermint and... books. My favorite."

You fight the stupid smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You’re unbelievable."

"I know." He nuzzles even closer, pulling your arm tighter around him like he’s some kind of needy puppy. "Now stay. You’re warm. I’m tired."

You groan, pulling your other arm out from under his grasp to check the time. "Mattheo, please. I have rounds in less than fifteen minutes, and if I’m late—"

"I don’t care," he interrupts, voice muffled as he drapes himself more heavily on top of you. "You’re not leaving me."

You try to sit up again, but his body is like dead weight on top of yours. You give a half-hearted tug on his arm, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he lets out an exaggerated whine, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into your chest.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying to wiggle your way out from under him, "I have responsibilities!"

"You’re not getting out of this bed." He lifts his head just enough to glance at you, his eyes heavy with sleep but mischievous all the same. "I’ll do anything. Just don’t go."

"Anything?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "I could be late, you know. You’ll be late for classes."

He shrugs, unbothered, and his lips curl into a small, smug smile. "Nah. Who needs classes when I’ve got you?"

"Mattheo..." You huff, trying to pull yourself out from under him, but he's like a sticky spider, wrapping his arms tighter and tighter, refusing to let you escape.

"You're so warm," he mumbles, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who’s definitely in the wrong.

You’re about to protest again when you feel him press a soft kiss to your neck, lingering a moment before nuzzling against your skin.

"What are you doing?" you ask, half-indignant, half-amused.

"I’m trying to convince you to stay," he mumbles, voice drowsy but still so damn smug. "It’s working, isn’t it?"

Your mind goes blank for a second as his lips leave another soft kiss on your throat. And then, another one just under your jaw. His lips are warm, soft, and... distracting.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, but you can’t stop yourself from shifting slightly, making more space for him, despite your best efforts.

"You love it," Mattheo says matter-of-factly. His hands sneak up to your back, pulling you closer until you’re practically sandwiched between him and the mattress.

"I’m serious, Mattheo," you say, your voice losing its sternness in favor of frustration and something else that feels suspiciously like affection. "I have to get up."

Mattheo glances up at you, looking far too content with his position. "You’re always so serious. Just relax. Let’s just... stay here a little longer." He presses his lips to your jawline, soft and slow. "I promise I’ll let you go soon."

"Yeah, right," you mutter, but you don’t move.

You can feel Mattheo smile against your skin, and it’s a feeling you know all too well—the warm, self-satisfied grin he wears when he knows he’s won.

And he has.

Again.

You sigh, finally giving in to the inevitable. "You're fucking impossible," you grumble, sinking deeper into the sheets, despite the nagging voice in your head that keeps reminding you of your prefect duties.

Mattheo hums happily, nuzzling into your neck again, completely satisfied. "I love you."

"I love you more." You shift, letting him pull you into a more comfortable position. "But I’m still going to be late if you don’t let me up soon."

"Then be late," he whispers, his voice full of drowsy amusement. "You can’t possibly want to leave me now."

The next thing you know, his lips are brushing against the side of your neck again, his kisses slow, deliberate, and so soft they make your heart race. One kiss lands just below your ear, and another trails along the side of your jaw.

"Mattheo..." you start, but your voice cracks. You have to swallow hard to keep it from betraying you, your stomach flipping.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, but the look on his face is soft and entirely too affectionate for your own good. "I’m not letting go," he says, voice hushed and serious now.

You know he’s joking.

Mostly.

But damn it, there’s something in his gaze, something warm and tender that leaves you speechless.

"I’m going to get in so much trouble," you mutter, knowing full well that you don’t really care.

"Good," Mattheo says with a sleepy grin. "You’ll be in trouble with me, and I can make it worth your while."

You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’ve already given up.

Mattheo presses a sleepy kiss to the side of your throat, so soft and slow you almost melt right then and there.

Then another, a little higher.

And another, just under your jaw.

"You're evil," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Mm," he hums, sounding very pleased with himself. "Your evil."

You thump your head back against the pillow, officially resigned to your fate.

There’s no way you’re getting out of this bed without a serious fight—and honestly, you’re not sure you even want to.

Instead, you sigh, reaching down to pull the blankets higher around both of you.

"Five more minutes," you mumble.

Mattheo grins against your skin, victorious.

"Knew you'd cave."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy curls. "Shut up and go back to sleep, menace."

As Mattheo settles against you again, breathing deeply in contentment, you try once more to fight the pull of his affection, the warmth of his body.

But in the end, it’s no use.

You're already lost.

[agreeewrites]

A Madness Most Discreet p.3 | G.W.

feat George Weasley x Malfoy!reader

summary: after a brawl at the Three Broomsticks, you and George steal away for a night of romance without the specter of being caught looming over you. however, when you return to Hogwarts in the morning, you find that things have taken a turn for the worse.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, protective!George, fighting, drinking, Draco is an asshole, blood prejudice and classism, internal angst, some fluff, Umbridge joins the chat

series navigation | part one | part two | part four | masterlist | divider by @roseraris

Reader's POV

The Three Broomsticks was slammed, damn near packed to rafters with students. Endless trays of butterbeer and whiskey flew over your head to sate the crowds debauched appetites, the glasses rattling with every thump of the shitty punk bands drummer.

You were crammed into a corner booth, sipping on a cocktail you had to teach the bartender how to make, with three of your friends, pretending to care about their relationship drama and the latest Slytherin gossip.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Talia asked, placing a hand over yours to get your attention.

“Not at the moment,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “I'm finding most Slytherin boys are rather…dull.”

They all nodded sympathetically.

“Well, what about non-Slytherin’s?” Devi asked, leaning in conspiratorially. Everyone was well aware of the fact that dating a non-Slytherin was off the table, as far as your family was concerned.

Little did they know you were sporting a bite mark from a certain red-headed Gryffindor just below the waistline of your skirt.

You rolled your eyes. “Not even worth talking about, let alone dating” you drawled. “Soph, how are things with that Ravenclaw?” You asked, turning the conversation away from you.

“Ugh, I ended that. They were way too chatty,” Sophie laughed, before rambling for about fifteen minutes about why she thought they were too chatty.

You finished your drink and flagged down the waitress for another. “Make it a double,” you said, sliding her an extra galleon. You'd need all the help you could get to survive this evening.

“Who do you think is the hottest Slytherin?” Devi asked.

“If one of you says my brother, I swear to Salazar—” You and Draco hadn't spoken in days, not since the Howler incident, and the last thing you wanted to do was listen to your friends drool over how hot he was.

“No, no!” Devi giggled. “What about Blaise, though?”

“Oh, or Theo!”

“Dull,” you reiterated, laughing along with them. “Theo’s about as toxic as he is tall, and Blaise is so far up his own ass, he can't see the sun.”

“But they are pretty,” Talia argued. “And that's all they really need to be, anyways.”

You chuckled. “Very true.”

“What about Gryffindor?” Sophia asked.

Devi chewed her lip, then—”Okay, okay, don't laugh, but I think the Weasley twins are gorgeous.”

You about choked on your fresh drink. “The Weasley's?” You asked, putting as much incredulity into your voice as you could.

“I know, I know. But George is like—” Devi fanned herself.

“They are unreasonably tall,” Sophia added. “And that will always make a guy hotter.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, look!” Talia squeaked, pointing at the door.

As if Devi manifested them, Fred and George sauntered into the Three Broomsticks, with Lee, Ron, Harry and Seamus on their heels. And of course, George looked damn near sinful in his light wash jeans and rugby jersey, his hair tousled in that devil-may-care, thoroughly kissed way he looked after you got your fangs into him.

Merlin, you saw him yesterday, you needed to get a grip.

His eyes snagged on yours across the room, a spark igniting that you could see even in the dim and dusty tavern. But then, Angelina Johnson swept in, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him over to the couches where her and her friends were.

You didn't have a problem with Angelina, you shared Magical Runes together, and she always struck you as plucky and clever, two traits you liked very much in a woman. But disquiet pooled in your stomach when George smiled down her, saying something you couldn't make out while he graciously greeted her friends.

It was ridiculous, though, because you and George weren't official. You couldn't be official—no, wait, you didn't want to be official. Right? You didn't want a relationship, you wanted to have fun. And you were.

Things with George had been lots of fun. And that was all it needed to be. Fun.

“Ugh, that Johnson girl is going to get him,” Devi scoffed, offended by the very insinuation, as if she’d have a chance either way.

“Angelina’s not so bad,” you said without thinking.

Your friends all stared at you.

“Rubbish Quidditch player though,” you added quickly, and they seemed to relax, sliding into gossip about the Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin this weekend.

Angelina was far from a rubbish Quidditch player, but you felt compelled to divert the situation, even if the comment sat like a rock in your stomach.

Your focus turned back to George while your friends dithered, and you noticed he was moving away from Angelina, rather than sitting down like you'd expected. He was shaking his head, mouth turned down apologetically, and your heart gave a little flip.

Was he rejecting her?

His dark eyes flicked to you again, skating over your body, the bare skin of your legs, and a now familiar warmth kicked up in the belly. Even without words or touches, George always managed to make you melt.

You knew he only had eyes for you, and it settled the passing quake in your soul.

He returned to his friends, having to shout over the crowd to order a beer. You smiled to yourself, unable to stop the bloom of affection his voice conjured.

Another hour passed, the two of you on separate sides of the stuffy tavern, periodically catching each other's eye through the haze of pipe smoke. You wanted desperately to ditch your friends and curl up in a booth with him, maybe rent one of the private lounges for a bit…

The tavern doors swung open, and your improved mood immediately soured once more.

Draco came traipsing in with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy, smug as a peacock. You sunk further down into your booth, trying to hide behind Sophia, but of course, Draco spotted you.

He made a beeline straight towards you, pushing through the crowd without care.

“We'll be over there, y/n,” Talia said, pointing at a table across the room while ushering Devi out of the booth, Sophia following them.

“No, wait—shit.” So much for friends.

“I thought you were at the castle?” Draco asked, bracing his hands on the table and the back of the booth. Caging you in.

“I am, obviously,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. It tasted bitter, watery, but the booze still burned enough to work.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He pressed, sliding your drink away from you.

You scoffed. “Maybe because you're a controlling arse?” You yanked your drink back, liquor sloshing over the rim.

“I'm not—” he sighed. “Okay, I am. But I had nothing to do with that Howler.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don't you have bullshit to peddle elsewhere?”

He slid into the booth and you scooched away, refusing to look him in the eye, lest you cave to his guilty expression. “I'm not bullshitting you. I would never go to father behind your back, I swear.”

Draco had always been a shit liar, especially when it came to you. Sincerity shone through his pale eyes. You hated it, but only because it meant you had been wrong.

“You know he'd blame me for your discretion, so why would I rat?” Draco added, and you knew he was right. Draco always took the fall for your missteps, no matter how you pleaded with your father.

It was Draco's job to protect you, so any failing on your part was ultimately his.

“I know,” you murmured, placing a hand over his. An unspoken apology. Malfoy's didn't apologize.

“You know why I didn't get a Howler too?” He asked.

You shook your head.

He leaned forward, ensuring he wasn't overheard. “I went home with the Vanishing Cabinet, got the flogging in person the day before.”

You gasped, releasing his hand to cover your mouth. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I thought he'd leave it at that. Didn't want you to worry. But then he sent the Howler…” he mumbled, stealing a swallow of your drink, then screwed up his face in disgust. “That's bloody awful.”

“So, who snitched?” You asked, glancing sidelong at his friends and a few Slytherin’s clustered by the bar they were too young to drink at.

Draco shrugged. “Snape, I reckon. Maybe another student.”

Snape. That's who George accused as well.

“Why would Snape do that?”

“Because he's a miserable fuck trying to get father to trust him,” Draco replied. “Same reason anyone does anything to us.” A bitterness edged his tone, and a frown tugged at the corners of your lips.

When did he start looking so…weary?

“Are you alright?” You asked.

He nodded. “Just couldn't stand having you hate me too.”

“Oi, fucking watch it, Weasley!” Theo barked, wrenching you and Draco from your conversation. “They don't teach respect in the gutter?”

Ron was standing a few feet from Draco's friends, cheeks red with fury. “Fucking lightweight, gets knocked by sodding spring breeze—”

“More like a fucking golem, bloody stupid oaf—”

Ron swung, fist coming hard and fast, but Theo managed to duck under it, driving his shoulder into Ron's guts.

Draco was up in a flash, catching Lee before he could intervene and shoving him back. “How about you mind your fucking business, Jordan? Wouldn't want your jaw too mangled to announce my fucking victory this weekend—”

You jumped up, rushing to try and separate Theo and Ron, who were trading punches like playing cards, but someone caught you around the middle, hauling you back a split second before you got caught with a wayward swipe. So close you felt the air bending around Theo's fist caress your face.

“Enough!” George snapped, directly behind you, his brawny arm solid and comforting around your waist. He released you the next second, though, taking a half-step away. Fred was there the next second, prying Ron out of the Theo's grip while Harry got between Draco and Lee.

You grabbed Draco as soon as Lee had his hands off of him, wrapping your arm around his to keep him from lunging again. “Stop it, D,” you hissed in his ear. “The last thing we need is the Aurors telling father—”

Draco was huffing, anger rolling off him in pungent waves. “Wouldn't be a fucking problem if the boors would just stay in their place,” he spit, pointing a finger in Ron’s face, his Malfoy signet ring flashing in the candlelight.

You gasped. “Draco!—”

Ron lunged towards the two of you, fist cocked back to hit Draco, but George jumped in the middle, catching Ron's fist and shoving him back a step.

“I said enough,” he growled, throwing a glare back at Draco. You'd never seen George so serious, something militant and snarling possessing your sweet Georgie.

“What's the matter Weasley? Can't stand to see your little brother get his ass handed to him?” Theo taunted.

“Ron could snap your scrawny ass like a twig,” you shot back.

“Oi, fuck you. Birds stay out of it—”

George snatched Theo up by the collar, dragging him up onto his tiptoes and shaking him. “Not another word, Nott,” he warned.

Merlin, you knew George was protective, but this…he looked prepared to rip Theo’s throat out with his teeth.

“Okay, okay, let's just calm down. We're not fucking children,” you said, moving away from Draco to get between George and Theo. You placed a hand on George's chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath his ribs, and nudged him back.

Reluctantly, he released Theo, stepping back to stand beside his twin, hackles still raised, chest rising and falling quickly.

Theo opened his mouth to say something else, but your warning glare had him cracking his jaw shut.

“It's over. Draco, take your friends home,” you said, channeling every bit of your mother's authority.

Draco scowled. “You can't—”

“Go. Potter, take Ron back,” you ordered. “You bairns are to young to drink anyways.”

They all scoffed, grumbling about how you weren't the boss of them while still gathering their things. You risked a glance at George, and the proud gleam in his eye made your knees weaken.

“Go on, then. The princess has spoken,” Fred teased, waving them away, grinning when Draco flashed him a vicious glare.

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on them, bracing your elbows on the bar to hide your trembling. The lingering adrenaline from the fight and the thrill of George's protectiveness made you feel a little lightheaded.

“C’mon, let's get out of here,” Fred said, moving towards the door. Lee and George followed, and your heart sank a bit watching George walk away without a backwards glance.

Then—“Actually, I’m gonna hang back for another drink, but I'll meet up with you later?” You overheard George say, and it took everything in you to not perk up like a dog.

“Saw something you liked?” Fred asked, and you could practically hear the waggle in his eyebrows.

“Something like that,” George chuckled.

You risked a glance up in time to see Fred and Lee walk out of the pub, leaving George by the door, waving them off.

“What'll it be, love?” The bartender asked.

“Just a water and a room, please,” you asked, sliding some coins across the table.

George leaned against the other side of the bar, watching you over the rim of his beer. An impish smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.

“Sure, hun.” They took your coins and grabbed a key from under the bar, passing it to you before fetching you water.

You accepted your water with a smile and headed to the stairs, having to stop yourself from taking them two at a time out of excitement. Butterflies rioted in your stomach, your skin tingling in anticipation.

With shaking hands, you unlocked the door, draping your Slytherin scarf over the handle so he'd know which was yours.

Five minutes later, knuckles rapped softly on the door.

“Come in,” you called, turning back to the mirror while your removed your earrings.

A moment later, George appeared in the mirror behind you, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you back into his chest.

“Must you dress so bloody gorgeous all the time?” He asked, openly ogling you in the mirror, hands smoothing over your curves.

You smirked, setting your earring on the vanity. “Never know who I might need to impress—”

George spun you around, pining your hips to the counter as he leaned over you. Your lower belly liquified at the ferine look in his eye. It seemed his blood was still running hot after the fight.

“Find anyone?” He asked, carding his fingers through your hair to tilt your head back a little further, exposing the tender sweep of your neck.

Something reckless in you wanted to test the waters, draw out this newfound, bestial side of him. “There was this one Gryffindor, handsome, charming, dark curly hair—”

George’s fist tightened against your scalp, the prickle of pain making you gasp as he leaned in closer. “I'll call Lee back here then, see if he can wrangle you half as well as I do,” he purred, his hand on your waist sliding down between your legs, rucking up the little dress you wore. His fingers grazed the swell of your aching cunt, discovering the honey soaking through your underwear, and loosed a low chuckle. “Someone else get you this wet, love?” he cooed, kissing along your jaw while you melted like putty.

“Just a coincidence,” you whispered, breathless when his middle finger passed over your vexed clit, still a bit sore from the day prior.

He hummed, withdrawing his hand and resting it on your thigh, letting you feel the wetness clinging to his fingers. “Just a coincidence, huh?”

You whined, folding immediately at the loss of contact. “You'll think I'm insane,” you admitted, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“Will I, now? Why's that?” He tugged your head back up by the roots of your hair.

“I liked…seeing you…get protective…” you mumbled, averting your eyes.

He tilted his head a bit, looking infuriatingly chuffed with the revelation. “Oh, sweet girl. That fight turn you on?”

“Not the fight, just…you.”

“I see.” He nodded sagely. “Here I thought you'd think I was out of line.”

You shook your head, working your lower lip between your teeth. “What would you have done if Theo’s rogue punch connected?”

George's eyes darkened. “Something that would send me to Azkaban for life, probably,” he said, voice pitching lower, the roughness of it making you shiver. “I'm not usually quick to anger, but with you…” He sighed, resting his forehead against yours.

Your heart surged, pounding frantically in your chest. The world felt silty beneath you, shifting, spreading, on the precipice of being swallowed whole. On the verge of falling.

Careless, you plunged forward, crashing your lips into his. He collapsed into you, his tongue diving between your teeth to devour you. You could taste the beer on his lips, something hoppy and dark, intoxicating, and you pulled him closer, needing more, needing to breath him like air.

“Need you,” you panted, gulps of air sawing through your burning lungs.

He tossed you up onto the counter, belt clinking against the ceramic as he undid it. “M’sorry, baby. Can't wait,” he muttered into your hair, spreading your knees apart with his hips.

Panties tugged to the side, the cold bite of the tile against your fevered skin, the steely hardness of his cock breaching your heat, fullness, fuck, so full.

“George,” you keened, nails scrabbling for purchase on the vanity as he fucked up into you, splitting you down the middle. But the clenched fist of your cunt hampered his progress.

“S’fucking tight, rattlesnake. Seven hells,” he growled, spreading your thighs wider, pressing deeper.

“I can't—shit,” you whimpered, tears collecting on your lower lashes at the brutal stretch.

“You can, pretty. I know you can,” he soothed, palming the side of your face and kissing away an errant tear. “Just need to relax f’me.” His other hand left your thigh, dipping between your bodies. Middle finger brushed your clit, tracing gentle circles around it, and you felt your muscles start to unwind, the stitches of pain dissolving into pleasure.

“Fuck, George,” you moaned, his cock sliding a bit deeper as your walls loosened.

“There you go, thaaat's a good girl. Nice n’ easy,” he hummed, withdrawing his hips before sinking forward again, finding a steady, languid rhythm as he fucked you open. “You feel so good, baby. Perfect little pussy takin’ me so well,” he praised, lips feathering over your pulse.

Pleasure mounted, evident by the puddle collecting beneath you, slick soaking into his jeans. Your body was starting to ignite, a delicious, consuming warmth spreading under your skin that had you singing his praises. Enraptured.

Lips found yours again, parting, taking, the sloppiness of it dragging you closer and closer to oblivion. Quick fingers and deep, deliberate thrusts hitting every mark, every nerve. It was inevitable, hunting you, chasing you down like prey.

No one could fuck you like George could, and you told him so between broken cries.

“Yeah, baby? No one can fuck you like me—fuckin’ made for me,” he groaned, thrusts getting rougher, punishing as the coil in your belly tightened, baring down on him. “Go on, love. Show me how good I make you feel. Come for me—”

You shattered, a dying star, eclipsed entirely by bliss.

“Shit, gonna take me with you—fuck!” A snap of his hips, the slap barely audible over your mewling, and you snatched his soul, greedy cunt milking him for everything he had.

He braced his hands on the counter, trembling with effort of not crushing you while you twitched and spasmed, locked up so tight he could barely withdraw.

“Shh, love—did so good,” he murmured, kissing every bit of skin he could reach while your mind pieces itself back together, bits of soul adrift in a sea of dopamine. “M’sorry—I didn’t—did I hurt you?”

You shook your head as you came back into your body, feeling his cock slide out you with a surge of release. “Didn't hurt me,” you panted, catching his chin and drawing him into an airy kiss, too out of breath for a proper one, but feeling compelled to do it anyways.

“Good,” he exhaled with a relieved smile, pecking your lips again. “How long do we have the room for?” He straightened to grab his wand and clean you both up.

“Tomorrow morning,” you replied, folding your lips to suppress a smile.

His eyes widened, copper brows shooting up. “Sleepover?”

You nodded, chest swelling with giddy elation. “Sleepover.”

George's POV

George managed to coax you into a shower, insisting on washing your body himself with the cheap inn soap just to hear you purr in pleasure, relaxing completely into him. He didn’t know what it was about you, but he wanted to brush your hair, feed you grapes, fan you with one of those big leaves like Cleopatra.

He was down bad.

“I saw you talking with Draco earlier,” he said, massaging away the tension in your shoulders. “Are you guys okay now?” It was clear how much fighting with Draco weighed on you, and George cared more about your happiness than his own distaste for your younger sibling.

You shrugged. “He's says he didn't snitch—” a soft moan slipped past your lips when he dug into a particularly tight knot. “He actually mentioned Snape as a possibility, like you.”

George was glad you couldn't see the face he made. If Draco accused Snape, it was extremely likely that it was actually the Potions Professor.

How much attention has Snape actually been paying to you?

His hands stilled on your shoulders as anxiety slithered under his skin, coiling around his throat. Could Snape know?

You turned to face him, eyes round and tender. “You worry too much,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his neck, dripping wet skin pressing against his. His anxiety unraveled, bones softening, and bent down towards you like the branches of a willow. Molded his lips to yours.

It wasn't hurried, stolen seconds like the majority of the kisses you shared. Rather, it was languid, loose and messy and indulgent. Lips gliding through warm water, tongues sweeping, tasting, savoring.

He was lightheaded with it, bracing one of his hands on the stone wall behind you, afraid he'd dissolve entirely and wash down the drain. Away from you.

Merlin, how could he ever be away from you?

Then, it dawned on his that this may be the only chance he'll have to do this with you-- spend a quiet night somewhere safe, where he could love you however he wanted without fear of being caught. He could shower with you, sleep in the same bed with you. Such simple mundanities that felt more precious than gold with you.

This thing with you was fleeting—a strike of lightning. A shooting star. And soon, it would have to end. He couldn't bring you home, couldn't get a flat with you—

The thought stole his breath, a pained sound escaping from his throat, and you broke the kiss, pulling back to look at him.

“George?” You caressed his cheek, pushing his soaked hair from his forehead. The sweetest thing. “Love, are you alright?”

He nodded, turning his head into your palm and brushing the delicate skin of your inner wrist, the heel of your palm, with his lips. He didn't trust himself to speak.

“Let's just focus on being here, yeah?” You murmured, able to discern where his mind had taken him. “Just us, just tonight.”

Tears burned behind his eyes, but he pushed through them in favor of kissing you again, crowding you back against the shower wall. Focused on the heat of your skin, the slide of your limbs around his, your tongue on his throat, and let worries of tomorrow wash away.

After a second, equally as intense round, he dried you both off and carried you to bed, your wobbly legs that of a newborn fawn. The bookshelves beside the bed caught his eye, and he wandered over after tucking you in and lighting some candles.

He slid something off the shelf, garnet leather, tattered at the corners, with silver embossing on the cover and spine: Romeo and Juliet.

Normally, he wouldn't reach for Shakespeare, but you made him want to weave sonnets, monologue verbosely on balconies edge—

“How's this?” He asked, turning to show you, and your kiss-bitten lips curled into a sleepy smile.

“Perfect,” you hummed.

He climbed back into the downy bed beside you, your naked body curling against his side, natural as the moonlight caresses the wall. The steady thrum of your heartbeat synchronized with his as you got comfortable, nuzzling into his shoulder.

The book opened with an antiquated crack, pages thin and yellowed with time. He leafed through it until he reached the Prologue, and started to read aloud.

“Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean,

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life…”

Reader’s POV

When you and George return to the castle the following morning, you part as if complete strangers. Without a backwards glance, without the preamble of a goodbye. George turned towards the Great Hall, you, towards the library. But the loss was an anchor on your heart, raw and sulfuric as freshly carved grief.

Going back to acting like strangers, propping up the charade after the bliss of tearing it down, felt impossible. Insurmountable. Agonizing.

You'd never been more sure that George Weasley was yours and you were his. And what a cruel trick of fate that you could never be together, not without sacrificing everything else.

And even if you were willing to, you knew George wasn't. He would never give up his family, would never disappoint them in that way. And you could never ask him too, not matter how badly you wanted him.

But you couldn't let him go either, too selfish, too desperate, too possessive. A dog with a bone. How could you go back to that world of callousness, of treachery and darkness after being bathed in his light?

You made it nearly halfway to the library when a commotion rang out, students running down the hall back towards the courtyard at the center of the castle. Like the rush of a river, you were quickly caught up it in, bobbing along until you were spit out at the back of a massive crowd of students and faculty.

Draco's platinum hair caught your attention towards the front, and you forced your way towards him.

“What's going on?” You hissed, tugging at his robes.

He turned, a cruel retort on his tongue until he realized it was you. “Trelawney’s getting canned,” he snickered, ushering you in front of him, his body shielding your from the push of the crowd.

That explained the wailing.

“Why on earth would Dumbledore do that—” but then you noticed the pink-clad Umbridge standing beside the bawling Divination professor and all of her belongings. You had always disliked the puggish woman, with her upturned nose and pressed lips, expensive tweed dyed that horrible, intestinal pink.

In her hand, she held a dismissal order on the Ministry letterhead.

Something was deeply wrong.

You spotted George across the way, standing with his siblings, Harry and Hermione. He edged in front of Ginny, pulling her just slightly behind him as he watched Umbridge chastise poor Trelawney with narrowed eyes. He had Harry by the shoulder, preventing the impulsive boy from running out the professors defense.

He looked…afraid. Fred did too.

George's eyes met yours, softening a bit before they flicked up to Draco, and immediately turned glacial. Hostile. You glanced up and found Draco smiling, and your stomach turned.

McGonagall rushed out, gathering Trelawney in her arms and shushing her.

“Is there something you'd like to say, dear?” Umbridge asked.

“Oh, there are several things I'd like to say,” McGonagall bit.

Draco snickered, and you elbowed him.

Then, the doors burst open behind you, revealing Albus Dumbledore. He strode forward, anger practically radiating off of him.

“Professor McGonagall, might I ask you to escort Sybil back inside?”

The way Umbridge was looking at him, all arrogance and snobbery. Like she knew something he didn't…

Understanding settled heavy on your bones. This was no ordinary sacking—this was an act of war. The war George tried to explain. The war that your family tried to hide from you. The war that the Ministry was in denial of, that you were in denial of.

George had tried to warn you, but it was too late.

The war had officially come to Hogwarts, and you were standing on the wrong side of it.

Thank you for reading!

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[thenerdyalien]

My headcanon about Arthur's mortality (or how I think he was able to survive before Merlin came to Camelot)

"(The griffin is a creature of magic.) It is born of magic, sire, and it can only be killed by magic." - Gaius, S1E5

Alright, since Merlin is trending again for no reason I'll share one of my lastest headcanons I came up with during my last Merlin rewatch.

There was something about this line from Gaius and the way the camera then directly pans out to Arthur that made me think of an interesting headcanon that would explain how Arthur managed to survive so long without Merlin.

You see, according to this logic, because he was born of magic, Arthur can only be killed by magic (or weapons forged by magic *winkwink*). So he could never really die from simple illnesses or battle wounds unless those were directly inflicted by magic. And, since Uther started the purge against magic right after Arthur was born, he probably wouldn't have had much contact with it in his early years (at least until he became a knight and started going out on quests, raids, etc).

That would explain why (much like Merlin) he seems able to endure so many injuries (broken ribs, poisoned arrows, etc) that other knights can't. (I mean, just the fact that this man didn't sustain some severe brain damage from all the times he's been knocked out is impressive lol)

What I'm saying is that being born of magic must have given him some sort of endurance that other mortals don't have, because by Gaius' logic the circumstances of his birth in itself made him a sort of creature of magic (just like Merlin).

It would also make for a good Canon divergence fic in which this was the reason that made Uther start the purge in the first place (to protect his son from the only thing that could kill him)...and it can get even more angsty if you add in the fact that Merlin is literally magic itself, but I digress.

Anyway, I'm probably reading way too much into this. I doubt the writers would've thought so far ahead as to put foreshadowing so early on in the series. But I just thought it was an interesting headcanon and just another fun parallel between Merlin and Arthur.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys I already had this part made, I may as well publish it ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 (You're here) , PART 14

Arthur and Merlin first fight and a bit more of jealous Arthur

In Arthur's chambers.

Merlin: I'm telling you! He had nothing to do with Nimueh. He's innocent! It was all just a big misunderstanding!

Arthur: (not looking up from his papers) I heard you.

Merlin: Then why is Lancelot still in the dungeons?

Arthur: He could be dangerous.

Merlin: What are you talking about? He tried to help me! He saved my life!

Arthur: (finally looking up from his papers and standing up in anger) No, you put yourself in unnecessary danger again! After I told you not go alone, you did! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What's your obssession with confronting monsters and evil sorcerers all on your own?! You're no knight, no soldier. How can you be so ridiculously reckless?!

Merlin: (in realisation, indredulous) You're keeping Lancelot in the dungeons just because you're mad at me?

Arthur: (shouts) Yes! (thinking) Among other things (says) Maybe that way you'll learn your acts have consecuences.

Merlin: You can't do that!

Arthur: I'm the prince, so yes I can!

Merlin: (shouts, mad) You childish, spoiled, arrogant brat!

Arthur: Insult all you want. Lancelot is staying there. End of discussion.

Merlin: (pauses, disappointed) Then you're not the prince I thought you were (leaves).

Arthur: (affected by his words, makes a move to go to him, but stops himself, remaining furious) Childish he says. I'm mentally forty years old! I'm not childish! (sees a chair nearby and kicks it)

Time skip. Merlin venting to Gwen.

Merlin: That's what he told me! He's taking it out on Lancelot just to get to me! Can you believe it?!

Gwen: (sarcastic) On the man he found you with in his arms and alone in the woods? What a surprise.

Merlin: (doesn't notice the sarcasm and keeps on his rant) Oh, but let's see what he thinks when all his clothes are ripped and all his food ends up smashed on his face!

Gwen: Now you're being childish.

Merlin: Then what am I supposed to do? He's refusing to let Lancelot free no matter what I say!

Gwen: That's because you haven't tried everything.

Merlin: I did try everything!

Gwen: Really? Have you tried 'sweet persuasion'?

Merlin: ... What? 🤨

Gwen: Sweet persuasion 💁‍♀️. Is what we women do to get what we want and survive in a world ruled by men.

Merlin: But I'm a man.

Gwen: Doesn't mean you can't sweet persuade Arthur to get him to do what you want. 😏

Merlin: (unsure, but curious) What does it consist about?

Gwen: Well, first, you'd have to apologise and tell him that he's right for doing what he did.

Merlin: But he's not!

Gwen: You know that, I know that, but if we wait for him to realise that, Lancelot is going to stay in the dungeons till next solstice.

Merlin: (sighs) Okay, then what?

Gwen: Man love to be the center of attention, above all, they love to be their lov-people's hereos. Just play the defensless victim and act as he was your saviour. Praise him. And you'll have him at your feet.

Merlin: And then I'd ask him to free Lancelot?

Gwen: No, no, no. You shouldn't mention Lancelot all. You'd have to make this about Arthur and you alone.

Merlin: I don't know. That's sounds kind of humiliating.

Gwen: See? That's the problem with you men. You're too prideful to give in or recognise you're wrong, when actually success lies in knowing when to give in or better, letting the other believe he won.

Merlin: (still doubtful)...

Gwen: Just think about it (leaves).

Time skip. In the training grounds. Merlin goes to Arthur.

Arthur: (avoiding his eyes, still mad) Finally coming to do your chores?

Merlin: I wanted to speak with you.

Arthur: I'm not setting Lancelot free.

Merlin: It's not about that. I just wanted to say... that I'm sorry.

Arthur: (turns to him, surprised)... what?

Merlin: You're right. It was reckless and stupid of me to follow Nimueh by myself. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I just wanted to be more brave and strong... like you.

Arthur: (smiles smugly, flattered) You think I'm brave and strong?

Merlin: I've seen you fight (pats his arm). And you didn't hesitate to come after me, a servant. Nobody else would have cared. I'm so glad you did, Arthur. Fortunately, everything turned out alright, but what if it hadn't? If Nimueh had managed to kill me or do something worse to me? Or if nobody else had found me? (hugs himself, looking vulnerable) I was so scared.

Arthur: (puts a hand on Merlin's arm and begins to caress it with his thumb lovinly) Oh, Merlin. You don't have to be scared. I will always come for you. Always.

Merlin: (blushes a little, but keeps on his act) So you're not mad at me anymore? Will you forgive me? 🥺(puppy eyes)

Arthur: (smiles, touched) Only if you promise not to do it again.

Merlin: (celebrating inside, but disimulates) Of course! Thank you, Arthur. I know you'll always do what's right.

And shortly after Lancelot is set free.

Merlin: (in disbelief) I can't believe it worked.

Gwen: I told you. 😏

Merlin: Gwen, you're a genius! Where were this advice in my other life?

Gwen: What?

Merlin: Nothing. (cofs) Well, I'll see you later. I promised Lancelot I'll show him my room today.

Gwen: Why are you showing him your room?

Merlin: Oh, I invited him to sleep there since he doesn't have where to go.

Gwen: (scandalised) What?! 😨 Merlin, I don't think is a good idea to invite other man to sleep in your room.

Merlin: Why? He helped me and then spend days in the dungeons because of me. I think is the least I can do.

Gwen: I'm sure he's a nice person. (thinking) And a very handsome one. (says) I just don't think the prince is going to be okay with that.

Merlin: Why would he care who I bring to my room?

Gwen: Because he's...! very protective of you. And he is clearly not very fond of Lancelot.

Merlin: (skeptical) Right (rolls his eyes). I think I can handle one man and who I bring to my room is not his royal business (leaves).

Gwen: (puts a hand on her forehead, sighing) These two are going to be the death of me.

Time skip. In Merlin's room.

Merlin: (enters with Lancelot) Here. I know it's not much, but-

Lancelot: It's perfect (smiles, kindly) Thank you, Merlin. (looks at the lily near the bed) And that's a nice touch.

Merlin: Thank you! 😄 Arthur gave it to me 🥰

Lancelot: The prince?

Merlin: Yes.

Lancelot: Oh, you two are...

Merlin: (laughs) No, nothing like that. I told him there weren't many purple flowers and the prat just wanted to prove me wrong. It was a nice gesture though. (looks at the flower lovinly)

Lancelot: (thinking) Oh, gods, he doesn't know, does he? (says) Uh... Merlin? Does the prince know I'm staying here?

Merlin: Well, in fact-

Arthur: (suddenly enters) In fact, no. I didn't know. 😑

Merlin: (almost jumps out of his skin and smiles nervously) Arthur! What are you doing here? 😅

Arthur: You brought a stranger into your room?

Merlin: He's not a stranger, he's my friend.

Arthur: You just met him 3 days ago!

Merlin: (crosses his arms) Well, we got along quickly.

Arthur: I don't care if you're best friends now. He is not staying here.

Merlin: (raises his voice) You don't have a say in that! 😠

Arthur: (raises his voice too) I'm the prince!😠

Merlin: This is my room!😡

Arthur: This is my castle!😡

Lancelot: I'll just go. 😅

Arthur: Yeah, you better.😠

Merlin: No, you stay. 😠

Lancelot: (not knowing whether to stay or leave) Eh...

Merlin: See? Now you made him uncomfortable.

Arthur: Like he was going to be comfortable in this poky excuse of a room. There's barely space for one. Where was he going to sleep, uh? The floor?

Merlin: We were going to share the bed.

Arthur: WHAT?!!😨😤

Lancelot: (thinking) It's over. I'm dead. I need to prepare my will. "For the nice old man that show me the way to the citidel I want to...

Arthur: Over my dead body!😡

Merlin: Oh, come on. It's not so bad. If we snuggle together-

Arthur: NO!😡

Lancelot: (thinking) "...and for the lovily and kind maidservant, Guinevere, that brought me food while I was still in the dungeons, I know it's not much but I want her to have..."

Merlin: (remembering 'sweet persuasion') I get why you're worried, my lord. You only think in what's best for me and you don't know how much I appreciate it. But I also know you're a benevolent man who cares deeply for his people. You wouldn't leave a poor subject in need to fend for himself, would you? Please, let him stay.🥺(puppy eyes)

Arthur: (tries to resist the puppy eyes, but sighs) Fine. He can stay.

Merlin: Yay! Thank so much you, sire! 😊

Arthur: With one condition.

Merlin: Sure, anything!

Arthur: You'll move to the chambers next to mine.

Merlin: (in shock) ... what? 😧

Arthur: That way you can sleep more comfortably and Lancelot too. Problem solved.

Merlin: (Between happy, stunned and conflicted) It's really generous of you, sire. But... I like my room. And... I'm also Gaius apprentice. He needs me here. (thinking) And how am I suppossed to practice my magic If I sleep in the chambers right next to yours?

Arthur: The distance you walk to attend me and then help Gaius would be the same. As my personal manservant, you should have moved there from the start, anyways. So, what do you say?

Merlin: (trying to find a reason to deny but he's actually quite excited to have a new room) Does it have a bigger bed?

Arthur: (smirks) It has a bigger everything.

Merlin: (smiles brightly) I better start moving then, my lord. (Picks up the pot with the lily and leaves, happily).

Arthur: (looks where Merlin went with heart eyes and then turns to Lancelot with a serious face)

Lancelot: (awkward and nervous) Ahm... your generosity knows no boundaries, my lo-Ow! (exclaims when Arthur punches him in the face)

Arthur: I never said you'll stay here for free 😑. You can start by cleaning out the stables. (leaves)

Lancelot: (rubs his face and sighs) So much for being a knight.

[neptunesyellowsands]

I don't know if this has been done before, but I've got a Merthur alt ending/prompt boring holes into my brain and I can't let it go. So, in DotD:

Merlin, realizing they won't make it to the lake in time, decides to try one last thing to save the king: to trade his own life for Arthur's via the power of life and death, a la Nimueh. It's a bold move, and it's unpredictable, but Merlin is both desperate and slightly ruthless when it comes to Arthur. Because he loves him.

However, since he wants to sacrifice himself, he needs a third party to work the magic. So when Morgana finds them, Merlin doesn't kill her. She's a High Priestess, like Nimueh. She could wield the magic herself. She might be the only one who can, actually, because Merlin has killed the only other two High Priestesses we know of - Nimueh and Morgause.

So he asks her to do it. He makes a convincing argument. She could be rid of him, Emrys, the bane of her existence, and they both know that he's the only thing keeping her from defeating Arthur. Once her army is rebuilt, she could return and take the kingdom for good, if she wanted. If not, she could live the rest of her life in peace, knowing she has defeated the greatest sorcerer of all time.

But Morgana is a seer. She sees that Arthur now knows about Merlin's magic and is accepting him. That Arthur is accepting Merlin, magic and all, because he loves him. That Arthur would likely, if he survived, return to Camelot and legalize magic, now that he knows. For Merlin. Because he loves him. For the first time, she looks in Arthur's eyes and believes he actually might have turned a corner, and in a wild fit of nostalgia and hope, she agrees -

But it doesn't work. The gods won't kill Emrys. It goes against the prophecy. Arthur and Merlin are to build the Golden Age together. One cannot exist without the other. They won't make the trade.

Instead, she explains, they demand something else in exchange for Arthur's life. Something that will allow them to replenish the dwindled population of magic-users without draining the earth's coffers and throwing off the balance once more. They will restore Arthur's life, but in return they will accept only one thing:

Merlin's magic.

In the end, it's not a hard decision for Merlin to make. Of course, he agrees. Of course, he would die for Arthur. He would kill for Arthur. But when he sacrifices his magic, it's something different altogether. As Morgana performs the spell, as the gods take back what they gave, as the golden magic pours out of Merlin's hands and ears and skin and trickles back into the earth to be dispersed elsewhere, Merlin gives away a part of himself he never thought could be separated. A connectivity that tied him to the ground. It's like going blind. It's like coming apart, atom by atom, and then being put back together with only half the pieces.

And Arthur watches it. He’s glad, at first. This will be easier anyway. None of them have to die today, and Arthur can keep Merlin’s secret. They can forget about the magic. They can go back to the way things were before. It might be hard, but their friendship might survive. And Arthur won’t have to protect Merlin. He’ll be safer, really.

He’ll be normal.

But then the thing happens, and Arthur watches, and he’s horrified. He's seen death. He's seen injury. But he's never seen this rending of a person from their essence, never seen the torment and pain of someone's magic being ripped from their body. He's never seen Merlin looking so gray as he does now. The golden light that he was taught to despise flickers in Merlin's eyes, like it's alive and trying to hold on, like it wants to stay, and then it's gone, and Merlin's tears aren’t rivers of gold anymore. They run tired and clear, and Merlin is a shell on the ground, fragile and hollow.

As the pain in Arthur's side begins to fade, as he takes the fullest breath he has in days and feels the vitality come back to his body, Arthur feels like he’s the monster here. Not Merlin. Not even Morgana. Him. His father. Everything he was taught to believe in.

Because he’s seen now what his father’s Purge did to his land. He’s watched Uther’s great vision for Camelot come to pass in the body of his best friend. The stripping away of magic. The destruction of this special, beautiful part of a person. 

And he’s seen what’s left. The shell. The empty gray.

Morgana disappears into a cloud of smoke. There is no place in Camelot for her now, but she has at least accomplished her goals. She's safe. She's free.

Arthur rises from the ground and picks up his sword. Merlin lies unconscious, and Arthur does the obvious: he carries him home.

Once he's back home, and Merlin is asleep in bed, and Gaius is digging out spellbooks and potions and all manner of incriminating truths, Arthur learns a few things:

Merlin is still Merlin. The magic was a tool, not his personality.

For those who possess it, magic functions like a sixth sense. Everything is learned and experienced through it, like any other sense. Everything. Moving through the world, seeing it, understanding it. 

Merlin was never actually clumsy.

Merlin was only ‘accident-prone’ because he had to suppress his magic so often. Sometimes, he played it up for his own advantage, but sometimes he just tripped because it wasn’t natural to walk around without reaching out with magic to find the floor first.

Now he has no magic.

Merlin is crippled, physically, once he wakes. He can move his body, but he can’t figure out where to put it.

He has no magic, but he is still Merlin. He’s still prone to fibbing, overwork, and sitting up late into the night to read. Still holds onto hope when he shouldn’t. Still tries and tries. And when he gives up, Arthur tells him he needs him, and he tries some more.

Because Arthur does need him. He wants to heal the rift in his land. He wants to stitch the wounds of his people put there by Uther. He never wants to see what happened to Merlin happen to anyone else. And he wants Merlin to be there, because he trusts him. Relies on him. Loves him.

Merlin has no magic, but he used to. He knows what’s needed by the people, the Druids, the land. When he drafts the documents needed to legalize magic, Arthur asks for Merlin’s help. And Merlin gives it. Of course he does. He’s still Merlin. He’s still too ready to give himself away. Still cheeky, to Arthur’s delight. 

Still wise.

Over time, Merlin learns to use utensils again. Two crutches come next, then one. Over the years, he is able to reduce it down to a staff, which he uses to find the floor. He trains a bird to go longer distances for him, across town or even just down the many flights of stairs in the castle. His mind rewires itself, relearns, but he will never have the wrist strength to buff armor again. 

Arthur wouldn’t have had him as a servant anyway. He makes him an advisor to the king, and he sits at the round table, at Arthur’s right hand. 

He sleeps, of course, in the king’s bed.

They call it the Golden Age, because all the magic Merlin poured into the earth comes back to the kingdom in waves. You can almost see it sparkling in the air sometimes, when the light hits it just right. Harvests are full and free of blight. Orchards blossom and hang heavy with fruit. More babes are born with magic in three years than have been in the last thirty. It’s Merlin, woven into every inch of the kingdom. It’s his gift to Arthur. To Camelot. To himself.

Merlin becomes a legend in his own right, known for his far-seeing eyes, his trusty staff, his surprisingly robust beard (Arthur is astonished and openly jealous). The kingdom benefits from his kindness and his ability to judge risk vs. reward. And the dragon helps, too, occasionally. 

Above all, Merlin is known for his wisdom, his council, and his unwavering love for Arthur.

Is it sad that Merlin had to give up his magic? Yes. But he never actually wanted it to begin with. Not really. Not to the extent he had it. He never wanted the burden of the prophecy. Like Arthur and his dream of relinquishing his reign and running off with Merlin to live on a farm, Merlin wanted to set aside the burden of being Emrys and return to himself. He wanted a life surrounded by love and peace. That was why he came to Camelot in the first place. He never, not once in his life, actually wanted power. He wanted the Golden Age. He wanted Arthur.

And he gets him.

[kitsune024]

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He's always watched her. He can't help it. Merlin help him, he's been fucking trying though. She hates him. He's a vile, bigoted arsehole. Of all the people who have made her feel small, who have made her have to fight and scrape and claw for her place in this world ever since she was eleven, he's the worst of them all. But when things take a turn at the Yule Ball, Draco Malfoy decides he's done fighting himself, and Hermione Granger is left floored, struggling to understand this new, strange version of him.

Dramione with Fanart

Secrets and Masks by Emerald_Slytherin I Chapters: 75/75 | Completed READ THE TAGS High Death Eater Draco, Smut, Inspired by Manacled, Violence, War The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy by speechwriter | Chapters: 33/33 | Completed Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Redemption, Horcrux Hunting, Draco with the Golden Trio Timeless by alexandra_emerson I Chapters 50/50 I Completed Time travel, Time Loop, Drama and Romance, Married Couple, Redeemed Draco, Tearjerker, mystery Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by rizzlewrites. I Chapters 84/84 I Completed High Reeve Draco, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies, Slow Burn, scientist Draco, Horror, BAMF Draco, BAMF Hermione, BAMF Harry Things Without Remedy by onebedtorulethemall I Chapters 32/32 I Completed Time Travel, Auror Draco Malfoy, Time Turners, Draco Redemption Remain Nameless by HeyJude19 I Chapters 51/51 I Completed Slow Burn, Past Drug Addiction, Healing, Fluff and Angst, Romance, blueberry scones Regression by WritexAboutxMe I Chapters 32/32 I Completed Murder Mystery, Auror Draco, Slow Burn, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Draco loves muggle pens, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Let The Dark In by senlinyu I Chapters: 33/? I No Voldemort au, Durmstrang Student Draco, Dark Magic, Slow Burn, Triwizard Champion Hermione Granger, No Voldemort Does Not Mean No Bigotry, Morally Grey Hermione The Choices We Make by Stacygenesis I Chapters 49/49 I Completed Hogwarts Sixth Year, AU - Canon Divergence, Memory Loss, War, Slow Burn, Light Ron Bashing, Protectiveness, Pining, Eventual Smut

Bookmark Series

This World or Any Other by @olivieblake I Part 1-3 I Completed hermione is the one to find draco in the bathroom, Canon Divergence

[keitorin3]

Picture this~

The Marvel Multiverse thing about your dreams but with Merlin.

So I rewatched the "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness" and had this thought about what if Merlin had constant dreams of his alternate future-self before he came to Camelot.

And I don't mean his future-self in S5 but himself in the 21st century.

Like, this would confuse young Merlin who lives in medieval times and has these fantastical dreams where there are moving metal contraptions and steel birds and towering crystal-like buildings.

But most of all, I think that he'd dream of himself as an old professor or doctor. Like, we know Merlin knows how to read and write in S1 and that it was most definitely thanks to his mother, but what if he was more advanced then that?

What if seeing these dreams of another version of himself as a professor or doctor made Merlin truly want to be a physician with Gaius?

But what's more, he brings with him his 21st century mindset into his life like...

*Merlin hearing Kilgharrah*

Kilgharrah: Merlin~

Merlin: Yeah God? I'm kinda in the middle of a midlife crisis you know. Got tossed into prison by a gorgeous blond bimbo who will most likely be my crap boss in the future, so can't be insane right now sorry.

Kilgharrah: ...

Gaius comes in looking cross: Merlin you idiot!

Merlin: Nevermind, god take me now please.

*Merlin meeting Kilgharrah*

Kilgharrah: How small you are for such a great destiny.

Merlin: Holy shit, is this like Braveheart? Wait, no, sorry wrong movie I mean Dragonheart?

Kilgharrah: What?

Merlin: Are you gonna tell me we have to ban together to stop the King from doing something terrible because some dumbass stupidly gave him a gift or something to do with Life or Death and now the king is out of control and must be stopped?

Kilgharrah: ... *after a moment of self doubt and contemplation* Yes... After freeing me, yes. It is your destiny.

Merlin: Hmm, your kinda sus. How do I know you aren't lying to me? And if I have to kill some king can it be someone like Cenred? Total dick king, honestly.

Kilgharrah: *Ignores that for now and will debate destiny later* Your gift, Merlin, was given to you for a reason.

Merlin: So there is a reason for my dreams.

Kilgharrah: Yes-What? No, I meant your magic.

Merlin: But that's forbidden in Camelot, and besides, I need my head for when I become a physician!

Kilgharrah: You were made for a greater purpose Merlin. Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion. But he faces many threats from friend and foe alike. Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.

Merlin: Riiight... And then he and I marry, have brilliant blond children and live happily ever after, while working as a Physician.

Kilgharrah: ... No

Merlin: Then nah, blondy can fight his own battles. Been training to kill since birth I hear.

Kilgharrah: There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't.

Merlin: *mutters* What are you, a fortune cookie?

Kilgharrah: None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin, and none of us can escape it.

Merlin: OK, fine. I'll bite into the forbidden apple, but I'm most likely not bringing an Adam down with me. Arthur is a idiot but I don't see him changing within this century.

Kilgharrah: Perhaps it's your destiny to change that. *Then proceeds to fly off*

Merlin: Wait-! Ugh, thanks for nothing you useless reptile.

Lol, I can just image all the possibilities where Merlin makes a reference to something and everyone around him are just completely confused and just writes him off as a fool with a wide but intelligent imagination.

This was also greatly inspired by @theroundbartable post (here) of 21st century Arthur as King.

So much fun, like I think because of Merlin able to kinda see into his alternate self's life he has the modern perspective but still have the medieval stomach to survive. And, he goes about figuring out his magic using the scientific method of Question , Research, Hypothesis, Experiment, Data Analysis, Conclusion, and Communication. Like why does he not need to speak words? Is magic spells like coding? Or is it a force? Is he a Jedi or a Sith?

Considering flowers bloom when he's happy but rain and storms pour when sad or angry, he is likely neither a force of good or evil.

Merlin has all these internal thoughts and with Gaius, finally has someone to bounce theories off of (that's not Will of Hunith) and share knowledge with.

At some point Gaius would just suggest Merlin write them down (because Gaius is too old and can't keep up as fast). Taking his advise and spends his next pay check on a brand new journal.

And I can see Merlin and Arthur being the same old same old, but Merlin is more concerned for Arthur and Morgana's well being seeing as their only role model is emotionally abusing (and confusing) Uther.

So he'd team up with Gwen and set about trying to make both Pendragon Siblings happy.

And I better end here or else I'll go on and on.

Til next we meet fellow dreamers~! ✨

[loneamaryllis]

Snarriet rec list - Small fics (under 30k)

Where Do We Go (When It's All Over)

by orphan_account. Rated E. 4k. Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Pregnancy Kink.

Their bond is a complicated thing that knots up in a shared understanding of the two men that had influenced their lives.

One dead by his hands, the other by hers.

-

Or: Harry learns of Snape's survival, chases him down and twists them up into something else entirely even as Snape does his best to show her that there's nothing worth wanting.

Why I rec it: Hot smut, an annoyed Snape who can't fight his attraction to Harry, and great banter while they're fucking.

Sharing my heart, it's tearing me apart

by @pensieveprose. Rated E. 9K, WIP. (Underage) Creature Severus Snape, Soul Bond, Mind Link.

A mistake during a summoning ritual results in a soul bond between Harrie and Severus.

As Harrie and Severus tries to navigate being bonded and hiding it from everyone else, they realize the most crucial thing. They may be able to hide the bond from others, but hiding secrets from your bond mate is destined to end in disaster.

Why I rec it: The concept is great! Harrie binding Snape to her in a botched ritual... now they have to live with the consequences. Bonus points for the image of Snape with horns.

Untamed

by sheswayout. Not rated. 4k. Smut, Bearded!Snape.

In which Harrie attends the ministry gala and Snape is set to receive an Order of Merlin. Oh and Ginny made a bet or two.

Why I rec it: Nice little oneshot with some gala glitter and sex on a desk.

Mistletoe

by spicedlantern. Rated M. 8k. Mutual Pining, Stubborn Snape, Weaponized Mistletoe (sort of).

The seventh year Slytherins just want their Head of House to be happy. Severus must live with the consequences of their actions.

Why I rec it: It's such a fun fic! Snape growing increasingly frustrated with his problem while the solution is right there...

Stone Rolling

by spicedlantern. Rated M. 16k. Succubus, Jealousy, Pining.

Inevitably, the unstoppable force will meet the immovable object.

Or: Severus Snape is in some of the deepest denial possible, but a good succubus will expose the truth of any man, even those most stubborn and secretive.

Why I rec it: Severus being confronted with a succubus taking Harriet's form to seduce him and him going 'well there's been a mistake, I don't want Harriet Potter in any way, shape or form, no, never in a million years' is just. chef's kiss.

Fortunate Misfortune

by @hirukochan. Rated E. 6k. (Underage) Dubious Consent, Fuck or Die, Harrie touching things she shouldn't.

Harrie gets into contact with a nasty lust potion in Snape's potion lab while snooping. Because she is a virgin she would die without Snape's intervention.

Why I rec it: Fuck or die Snarriet! Bratty Harriet arguing with Snape's while he's fucking her :D

Snape's cat

by @loneamaryllis. Rated E. 29k. Cat Animagus Harrie, Fluff, Secrets.

Harrie's Animagus form is a cat. Snape happens to like cats.

Or: the fic where an 'Accio cat' starts everything.

Why I rec it: It's a self-rec so I'm being a bit selfish here. I like the fluffy moments, the way Snape lowers his guard around Harrie when she's a cat, and Harrie as a cat in general.

Open Book

by spicedlantern. Rated M. 18k. Mind Reading, Humor, Sex in a closet.

On the Monday of the final week of the final term of her Hogwarts career, Harriet Potter is cursed in a corridor by Pansy Parkinson. The curse seemingly fails.

By Wednesday morning of that same week, Severus Snape is certain he's gone quite mad.

Why I rec it: Snape losing his mind because he can hear Harriet's thoughts while she's thirsting after him! It's hilarious, and the smut scene is sizzling hot.

Siren's Song

by @loneamaryllis. Rated E. 19k. Siren Harriet Potter, Stoic Snape, Bathtub Sex.

"Everyone loves you," Snape had once told her with a bitter sneer. What happens when it becomes true in a very literal sense?

Why I rec it: another self-rec. I loved the idea of Harriet making everyone fall in love with her unwittingly, except Snape who isn't affected by her siren power.

[frogish-person]

Merlin AU where Arthur and Merlin are both like, really fuckin old, except they've both just been reincarnated, and are now babies by their standards- that is, if they could remember it.

They both live their normal lives like in cannon, but when Merlin starts working for Arthur he begins to remember his past life(s). It starts as small things, little flashes here and there. Then, in the middle of a fight, he's whacked in the head and has the strongest deja Vu moment as Arthur yells his name.

When he wakes up less than a minute later he's super disoriented because while he knows that this is Arthur, it doesn't seem like him, not really. He continues on and the confusion fades, but he never forgets the way he remembered Arthur that day.

After like. 2.5-ish years Merlin can remember the better part of his previous lives and is mostly waiting for Arthur to start catching up.

But he doesn't. Merlin can even remember back to their first lives together, how they met the first time, eerily similar to how they met this time. He's thought that he was being cheeky or keeping it to himself at first, wanting to figure it out alone and would later surprise Merlin with an old joke and a knowing look on his face, but it never happens.

The night Merlin remembers their eternal promise, that they would unite the lands when they had their original names again, he cries himself to sleep.

Because Merlin has his original name. As does Arthur. But he doesn't remember anymore.

When Merlin remembers how they died in their previous lives, almost a full four years into his service of Arthur, he worries that Arthur may never remember. Maybe the hit was too strong. Maybe his magic screwed it up. Maybe the cycle was broken, and Merlin would be alone for thousands of years to come. Or worse, forget as well.

At the start of the fifth year, Merlin has begun to lose hope and slowly stops using magic. The light drains from him, and he seems like he's full of energy while simultaneously exhausted. Small things go wrong here and there, simple tasks that Merlin no longer uses magic to accomplish.

The only times his energy seems to rise to the surface is during simple moments with Arthur. Combing his hair in the morning as he ate breakfast. Riding next to each other on hunting trips. Standing at his side.

When they are attacked and overwhelmed, Merlin fights with everything he can before resorting to magic. He would have fought to the death without it, holding his stance at Arthur's side until his last breath as long as Arthur survived.

And yet, a blow slipped past. Then another, and another. Merlin is pulled away from his side and into the frays of battle. Arthur calls for him, losing focus on the fight and leaving himself vulnerable.

As he is attacked with magic, Merlin responds with magic. Like a dam breaking it flows and fights with him until he is almost almost at Arthur's side.

The fear in Arthur's eyes breaks his heart and his fight. He's not scared for Merlin. He's scared of Merlin. His shields fall just long enough for both of them to be seized, and Merlin can't keep fighting through the fits of Deja Vu that rip through his mind.

Caught in his own past memories, he frantically tries to protect Arthur the same way he did last time. The time that he ruined the cycle.

Everything burns a beautiful gold. Then it goes dark, and it just burns.

-

Uhhh y'all want a part 2?

[merlingenrecs]

Even in the brightness of a new era, the shadows of the past can linger. Whether it’s Arthur grappling with his father’s legacy or Merlin healing from years of secrecy, this category is for stories where the Golden Age shines, but not without moments of pain, growth, and recovery.

Today's gen fic rec theme: Golden Age With Scars

↓ Find the list of fanfic recs under the cut! ↓

⚬ The Faceless Curse by reelin_writer, 5k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/44164261 summary: Two years into the Golden Age, Camelot is a peaceful and prosperous kingdom. But safety is never a surety. When a cursed letter unleashes gruesome creatures intent on claiming Arthur’s soul, it’s clear the stakes may be higher than ever. Merlin can hold nothing back—not even his own life—if he wants Arthur to survive.

⚬  Dragonfire Wrapped in a Skin of Shadows by N16, 7k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/38817756 summary: Arthur's court sorcerer is very efficient at taking care of problems. Arthur just wishes he didn't have such a loose definition of "problems." And that his solutions weren't quite so extreme. And yet, how can Arthur bring himself to stop him? It is Arthur's fault, after all.

⚬ Inescapable by s0mmerspr0ssen, 8k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/49944964 summary: Arthur asks Merlin to enchant a dungeon cell so that no sorcerer may escape it. Merlin does – and soon finds himself plagued by guilt...

⚬ The Fragile Road by N16, 18k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/41859840 summary: Magic is legal, Merlin’s power is no longer a secret, and the Golden Age is in sight. Merlin should feel safe. But he knows his safety – and Arthur’s new attitude – are both still all-too-fragile. And even though he trusts Arthur with his life, some habits are hard to break. Because Merlin is Emrys, and he understands what Arthur doesn’t: if they’re to build the world they dream of, Emrys must not fail.

⚬ A Fierce and Finite Power by N16, 5k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/38486071 summary: In the golden age of Albion, Merlin's beloved dragons hatch and grow and thrive in Camelot. Right up until they don't. And now Merlin realizes that even with the full strength of his magic unhindered by secrets, there are some things even he can't control.

⚬ The Things I’ve Done by s0mmerspr0ssen, 12k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/48818632 summary: When Arthur learns more about the meaning behind Emrys, the past comes back to haunt him.

⚬ The One Rose (That’s Left in My Heart) by salted_popcorn, 4k, rated G https://archiveofourown.org/works/40305519 summary: When Arthur visited Merlin who had locked himself up in his Workshop for three days in a self imposed isolation, he did not expect to be greeted by a sea of crimson flowers. When he wandered in further, these flowers were intertwined with raspberries. Merlin on the other hand had conjured strawberries, and a bittersweet smile.

⚬ monstrum belli by s0mmerspr0ssen, 1k, rated T https://archiveofourown.org/works/43276908 summary: When the magic of Albion lashes out during battle to protect King Arthur, fearful eyes turn on Merlin.

[nerdinabook]

Marauders x muggleborn Reader (platonic)

- maybe slight nods to a Remus x Reader romance (I have a problem I know) but it doesn't have to be taken that way.

CW: panic attack, bad mental state, overwhelming feelings, death, grief.

I always make sure they boys are taken care of.

I make sure James remembers his schoolwork and his books before we go to class, he is very forgetful.

I know people from outside our circle often tease Peter about how he trails after the rest of the boys like a lost puppy, but I make sure he knows how loved and appreciated he is by both me and the rest of the boys.

I notice how Sirius draws away from the rest of the group before holidays and around his brothers birthday and I make sure I get him alone so he feels comfortable crying all he needs to without judgement or ridicule.

I know how Remus gets testy before the full moon so I know to try to tidy up the boys dorm, and restock his chocolate supply so he has less triggers because I know how guilty he feels after he snaps at the boys.

The point of all this being that I take care of them, watch them and make sure they take care of eachother when I'm not around so that for days like today when I simply can't bring myself to leave my dorm I know that they'll survive.

When Mary shook me awake this morning I had already decided to hibernate in my dorm all day. I brushed her off and made some excuse of it being that time of the month, which wasn't true as I finished my period last Monday, she gave me a look of disbelief but didn't push it and said she would check on me during lunch. I fell back asleep before I even heard the door close behind her.

Later I awoke to scratching on the outside of my door, confused I looked around and saw I was still alone in the dorm. I grab my wand and slowly move towards the door.

As I rip the door open with my wand out, the pit of fear in my stomach immediately leaves as I notice the familiar black dog named Padfoot outside my door.

"Merlin pads, give me a heartattack why don't ya" I keep the door open for him to enter while I return to my bed. I have known the boys we animagus since before they completed the task, them going on a month long 'silence strike' was as worrisome as a big indicator what they were doing. You see part of the procedure to become an animagus is to keep a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month.

"Sorry it's just the only way we can get up the girls stairs without it turning to a slide" Sirius returns to his boisterous self as he fully enters the dorm room.

"Wait we?" I sit up alarmed and looking towards the door ready for the horror about to flood into the room.

Right on cue I hear the stomping of hooves up the stairs paired with the sharp breaths of some anxious person come up the stairs rapidly.

I watch in awe and horror as a deer enters my dorm room with a horrified Remus Lupin sat atop him holding a tiny rat in one hand and gripping one of Prongs' antlers in a death grip with the other.

"See I told you it would work!" Sirius exclaims as Remus quickly and awkwardly gets off Prongs' back and sets Wormtail on the floor.

Immediately after turning back into James he starts doubling over in laughter.

" Oh Merlin! That was the best thing ever! We definitely have to do it again" James eventually straightens up and plops himself next to me on my bed.

"Yeah no not happening" Remus says as he brushes imaginary dirt off his clothes.

"But Moonyy, what about next time we need to check up on our better fifth." Sirius wines out dramatically.

"There won't be a next time, why are you guys here shouldn't you be in class?" I move over in my bed to try and give more room for them, but in reality it could probably only hold 1 more person comfortably.

I guess Remus decided to be that person as he comes and sits next to me and James on the bed. "We couldn't let our best girl be all by herself" Remus rubs my leg in a comforting motion.

"Guys I promise I'm fi-" Peter cuts me off.

"Come off it, you know we know you better then that" Peter exclaims "I can see the circles under your eyes showing that you haven't slept"

"And the slight redness of your nose" James taps my nose as he speaks "in addition to the pile of tissues on your nightstand" my eyes dart to my nightside instinctively and see the tissues that I put there after my mental breakdown last night. "And the fact that you aren't showing signs are being ill and there is none of that muggle meditation out, points to the fact that you've been crying"

"Medication" I correct under my breath

" When Mary told us you were holed up in your dorm with girl problems, that was a dead give away somethings up because we know you love to pressure Moony to give up some of his chocolate when your on your period, which you did last week" Sirius moves to sit on the floor besides the bed as he speaks. "I may not be an expert in female autonomy but I know your period doesn't last 2 weeks"

"Dove," Remus takes my hand " you haven't even changed from what you were wearing last night" I look down and see he is right I am still wearing the sweats and band tee I was wearing last night as we were playing exploding snaps in the boys dorm.

I take the hand Remus is not holding and hold it up to cover my face as the emotions that were flooding through my body as the boys were talking all come to surface and a sob escapes my mouth.

"I-I jus-s-st" I stutter out through my sobs

"Hey hey, breathe, that's all you need to do right now, just breathe" James says as he pulls my arm from my face so I can match my breaths with his.

"That's right, just focus on your breaths don't want you hyperventilating" at some point through this Sirius must have gotten up from his place on the floor and took to rubbing my back.

Remus keeps a hold on my hand and when I started bringing my other hand up to scratch at my throat he grabbed it as well to stop me from inflicting red scratch marks on my neck.

The room seems to be moving in slow motion as all the boys are doing something to help me calm down my eyes locked with James as a grounding point as Remus holds my hands, Sirius rubs my back and shoulders, and Peter runs his hands through my probably very unruly hair.

The boys my boys unfortunately have experience helping eachother down from their own respective panic attacks so they know just what I need to calm down.

When it seems like I'm starting to calm down I lock eyes with Remus and break down again, and again when I see my pile of school work out of my peripheral, or feel Sirius' hands run over the back of my necklace. I'm just constantly going up and down, doing better then doing worse, it feels like a never ending cycle.

After a while I eventually just close my eyes and that helps things not be so triggering for me and I'm finally able to calm down.

Once I open them I see Peter standing besides me with a glass of water-I didn't even notice his hands leave the top of my head that's how out of it I was- I take it and drink it all down slowly as to not choke myself.

"There's our girl" Sirius says with his award winning grin, that does bring the tiniest upturn of my lips.

"Sorry you-" I start to apologize but Remus cuts me off.

"Nope no apologies, you've been there for us more then we count so its about time you let us be there for you" Remus smiles at me and hands me a tissue.

"What do you need?" Peter kneels down to be eye level with the rest of us " do you want to talk or just exist for a bit, maybe sleep some more?" He says with a gentle rub of my hand.

" I haven't heard from my parents in 2 months" I say while I rub my eyes clear of the liquid once enclosed in them. " 2 months with no letters, it's so unlike them, I'm so scared something- I inhale- with all the news I'm hearing of muggle families going missing in the prophet... and I can't even do anything, I'm just supposed to sit here and wait till I either hear something or go home for the holidays next week and find their bodies in my living room" I take more deep breaths as I feel my heart rate spiking again.

"Oh dove" Remus cradles his arms around my head and pulls me into a hug.

"I'm just so tired, and done" I sigh into his arms.

"We're here for you, you know that right" Peter says.

"Just like you've been there for us through our baggage, let us be there for you" Sirius says as he kneels down and outs his hand on my folded up knee.

I pull out from the hug with Remus and wipe the stray tear from the corner of my eye.

"Thanks guys" I give a half-hearted smile hoping they can in-fact tell how much it means to me.

[ithiliensmenagerie]

I'm currently on Merlin season 2, impatiently waiting for Gwaine, Elyan and Percival to show up and Lancelot to return, and in the mean time thinking about my (fanfiction-informed) dream ending:

Uther dies. Shortly afterwards, during one of his trips through the forest, Arthur and his knights find some bandits attacking a young couple. They manage to kill the bandits, but the couple is already dead. They do find a very young baby hidden in the bushes though. Arthur takes the baby and sends Sir Leon to find the baby's next of kin.

In the meantime he declares himself responsible for the baby's survival. He finds a wetnurse, makes Merlin responsible for changing the diapers and taking care of her when she screams, and in the meantime carries her with him absolutely everywhere. She even sleeps in his bed, and to make sure someone else is there in case something happens during the night, Merlin has to sleep in their bed, too. It's fine, it's big enough.

A week later, Sir Leon returns. He found the village the couple came from, but nobody wants the baby. Turns out, the couple was driven out after being accused of magic and now noone wants anything to do with it.

Arthur is remarkably fine with that and immediately declares that he's adopting the baby, naming her Ygraine and making her his heir. The council is shook, what if it's a witch? Arthur is confused, magic is a choice, after all. You can't be born with magic, then it would be something natural. If people did magic not hurting anyone without choosing it, then it can't be inherently evil, can it?

The council admits that people can be born with it, but magic is power, and power corrupts, so killing everyone with magic, even if they aren't evil yet, will in the long term defeat evil. So it's for the greater good. Arthur absolutely disagrees. He immediately declares that in that case he is legalising magic, tasks everyone with developing suggestions for how to police it until the next day, and sweeps out, baby Ygraine in his arms.

In his rooms he finds Merlin and asks him without any introduction "Did you know people could be born with magic?". To which Merlin blurts out: "I did magic since I was two months old!"

The resulting argument is thankfully interrupted by Ygraine starting to scream before Arthur can find his voice again.

In the coming years, Arthur has to juggle raising a child with his magic manservant who kept his magic secret for so long, legalising magic, withstanding the council members who really don't want him to legalise magic, and, to top it of, the neighbouring countries have decided that there's no better time to attack Camelot than now, with a new, inexperienced king and all the chaos brought by reintroducing magic.

Luckily, he now knows about Merlin's magic and they can work together.

Also, of course Merlin has to keep sleeping in his bed.

[strangegardendelusion]

Merthur au/fic idea! So when gewn is crowned queen regnant. Merlin realized he wasn't exactly needed anymore. So he decided to just travel for a bit and then settle down. But in doing this, merlin lost some contact with his surviving friends. The only one he truly stayed in contact with was gewn.

In this au, gewn died without an heir, so on her deathbed, she declared that merlin would take the throne if he chooses to do so.

Merlin, despite not wanting the throne, decides to take it as a way to honor his last friend wishes.

Now, more time has passed, the kingdom is thriving, people are united, and they are happy. While Merlin is just colder.....each day, he becomes more cold, distant, and discomfort as he face with wearing the crown.

Merlin hates being king, but he knows that he is technically the only one left. And he hates that, he hates the reminders. He just wants to move on with life. But being king is tied to the place full of memories, and merlin doesn't want to be a reminded of those memories.

Soon, merlin came up with a plan. He will find a successor to teach. Then, after the successor is older and ready, he gives up his crown and finally can move on with his life.

The problem is that the choices of successors to take in and teach are either childish or immature, or they are only doing it for selfish reasons.

But then a magical twins orpans get his attention by doing some powerful magic while being so young. But the consequence of that's is they have magical outbreaks. When their powers start to break out, they can't stop themselves

The only person who can help them, though, is merlin. He is able to calm them down, but lately, it has become too much to keep up. So merlin has been trying everything to help them out with her powers, but it seems like nothing has work. Merlin has been losing more sleep and becoming more cold trying to find the answer.

Then, Merlin held a party to all kingdom and magical beings on the anniversary of the kingdom. But then, merlin is stabbed by someone. As he is slowly dying, the twins can't watch the man they thinks of as a father slowly died. Especially knowing they can do something.

So they decided to do something to help merlin. They found a spell to try to send them back in the past to a couple of days before the accident to try and stop it.

But the start of the spell gets out of control. Causing them and Merlin back to the start of season 1.

[brctherscnce]

despite how Nemesis is a result of Quintessa's brainwashing, something that should be noted (at least for my interpretation) is that Nemesis is still indeed Optimus.

originally, Optimus had first gotten the moniker of Nemesis Prime during the midway point of the Autobot/Decepticon war on Cybertron. he had only recently become Prime as the mantle was passed down to him from Sentinel Prime, and was quickly expected to continue the war. for this, as Orion (now known as Optimus) had to deal with learning fast that not everyone wanted to partake in a war, and at first, all he knew of the Decepticons (besides the fact that his friend-turned-enemy Megatron led them) was that they were brutal. so, at first, Optimus believed that if THEY would be brutal-- then he must be, as well.

the war took an intense toll on him and his mental state-- having to witness the horrors of war from both sides had left Optimus often struggling to stay focused... as a result, memories of the specifics in battles where he was involved are blurry for him, as he's blocked them out as much as possible. the Autobots and people of Iacon undoubtedly see Optimus as something of a powerful leader, something to be idolized as he's been making the "tough choices" to help get an upperhand in the war. however, the Decepticons viewed him as a monster. Optimus was the new figurehead of everything they despised about Cybertronian society-- and thus, they refused to call him by his name of Optimus and instead called him Nemesis Prime.

so... Quintessa using this name is far more than just some little moniker to steer Optimus's mind away from remembering who he actually is in the brainwashing, this is far more than that. she is forcing down Optimus Prime and bringing out a part of himself he's never wanted to bring back-- the Prime from the war. the Prime that truly never recovered, the Prime that only knew hatred and violence from the war. Nemesis Prime. Quintessa has tortured him so much to the point that Optimus cannot function with the memories still at the forefront of his mind-- he does not feel a point in being kind to a world that despises him so much and has killed his family, his friends, and his fellow bots and abused him. if Optimus must survive in this world, then he will finally start striking back.

Nemesis Prime is brutal. he is cold, calculating, efficient and manipulative. however... it's... not really done out of some gain for himself. Nemesis is still Optimus, after all-- what Nemesis wants is what's best for Cybertron and his people. the issue is just that Nemesis does not have as much of a strong moral code as Optimus does. he is not afraid of killing to get to his goal (in this case, the staff of merlin), nor is he above threatening others. if you are not going to restore Cybertron, your home? then you shall be a stepping stone under his pedes. despite this, though, he will not instantly attack Cybertronians-- to him, they are simply misguided. they have been in the war for so long, so it's no wonder they'd be combative at first!

he won't go instantly attacking humans, either. however... that doesn't mean he's nice to them. he will threaten if he has to, and if they do not listen to his warnings, he will throw them aside if it means getting what he wants. Quintessa has done one thing: and that's remind Nemesis of just what the humans have done to the Autobots-- their crimes against HIS people, HIS friends, HIS family. Nemesis Prime only shows mercy from how pathetic humans seem to be-- he could crush them without issue... which is pitiful. he expects more from the cowardly organics that dared to melt down his kind and treat them as machines. on Cybertron, they were gods. he will show them that.

you can indeed have a normal conversation with him, though Nemesis may not be the friendliest in comparison to Optimus.

... deep down, though, Nemesis can't help but wonder why he feels pangs of sadness in his sparkcore. it doesn't feel right following his 'Creator' despite how many times he's told that what he does is to save Cybertron. why does it constantly feel like his own processor screams at him? haunts him? begs him to not hurt others?

he just wants to go home.