#tik tok fanfiction

[heartshapedbabydolls]

On a sheep farm with Joel 💌🌾

[larluce]

Definitely my Arthur of my Time travel AU XD

Credits for the video and the drawings to @star-rie

[getfuckedblr]

latest bind!! if we were lovers by @reggieblk

i read this over christmas and was OBSESSED like was sneaking off to read it during family time obsessed. she came in at like 700 pages and i had to physically wedge her into my guillotine for trimming, but i’m so proud of her!! the covers didn’t come out perfect (but then they never do LMAO) but i’m pretty satisfied!!

bound in peel and stick green flocking, gilded with bronze toner foil and gold htv for the cover!

i did indeed mess up the title, cut it out, and then iron it on all without realizing. but let’s not talk about that LMAO. i swear to god i didn’t just decide to rename the fic i had one of the biggest brain farts ever known to man.

[voidvannie]

𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐔

Gracelyn Zegras x Luke Hughes🪐🐻

∘ ∘ ∘ ∘ ∘🪐🐻 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬!

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ∘ ∘ ∘ ∘ gracie and luke have been best friends since their brother’s introduced them even though they wanted them to date.

meet gracie zegras — soon to be hughes

╰► BLURBS !

🪐 her relationship w/ trevor

🪐 her relationship w/ luke

🪐 her relationship w/ Jamie

🪐 her relationship w/ jack & quinn

╰► IMAGINES !

🧸 luke meet gracie, gracie meet luke trevor and Jack introduce their youngest siblings to each other with the hope that they start dating soon

🧸 disappearing act during a summer at the hughes lake house, gracie and either are missing, leaving everyone else worried... until they show back up.

🧸 out in the open luke and gracie decide they've had enough fun and decide to bring their relationship out in the open after 2 months to get a reaction out of their brothers.

╰► INSTA !

🕯soft launch 🕯hard launch gracie and luke hard launch their relationship and the fans, and their friends, go crazy

╰►TIKTOK TRENDS !

[loonylupinblack3]

Wretched

Paring: Barty Crouch Jr x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: barty crouch jr is wretched

Word count: 0.6k

“Looking for this?”

I turned around reluctantly, none too thrilled to find Barty Crouch Jr staring at me with that wicked amusement in his eyes, a book in hand. Not just any book. My book. The one I needed to complete my Charms essay, and the one Barty knew I needed.

I held my hand out, not in the mood for his shenanigans. “Give it here.”

Barty raised his eyebrows at my tone, a wretched grin making its way onto his face. “You sound grumpy.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m not grumpy.”

Barty hummed. “I think you are.”

I scowled, lunging forwards in the hopes to catch the Slytherin by surprise. Barty was too quick though, or maybe he was just suspecting the attack, because he moved smoothly out of my way, holding the book at a distance. My scowl deepened and I crossed my arms.

“What do you want then?”

Barty feigned confusion, going so far as to scratch the side of his head in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, glancing around the quiet library. There were only a few students in there; the sound of turning pages and the scratching of quills on parchment the only noise in the place. Aside from Barty and I, in a little nook in the back of the library. It was a sunny day, unusual for November, which was why the library was so empty; most wanted to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted.

Noticing my surroundings was a tactic I used to calm down, one I’d found myself using a lot more once Barty Crouch noticed my existence. He went from not even knowing my name last year to constantly badgering me every chance he could. It was infuriating.

“Why don’t you go outside like everyone else and just give me my book?” I demanded.

Barty tilted his head, looking at me like I was something he couldn’t quite figure out. A puzzle he couldn’t solve. I glowered at the thought, surging forward to try once again to get my hands on the book.

The wretched boy was too fast again, this time grabbing both my wrists with one hand and pining them above my head against the bookshelf he pressed me against. Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I refused to look away as the Slytherin leaned in closer, his eyes boring into mine.

He tilted his head, moving forward until I could feel his breath against my ear, sending tingles down my spine.

“Why don’t you say please?” he rasped, voice so quiet I nearly didn’t hear it.

I swallowed thickly, finding myself at a loss for words as I stared at the wretched boy in front of me. He was that; wretched. He was the most wretched person I had ever met, with his wretched smirk and wretched hair and wretched confidence as he talked to me, like he didn’t care that I hated him. Like he knew I didn’t really hate him at all.

“Well?” he prodded.

I stared at him, my eyes straying to his lips. They were parted, small pants coming out of them like Barty was feeling just as flustered as I was. I looked back into his eyes, and I think we both knew I wasn’t asking for the book when I breathed, “please.”

Barty’s lips crashed against mine as he got a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back to give himself better access to my mouth. I melted into the kiss, feeling my knees go weak as I returned the pressure, moving my mouth against his like it was the only thing I knew how to do.

My tongue swiped across his upper lip and Barty let out an appraising groan, his hold on me tightening as he tugged me even closer. There were fireworks everywhere as the kiss continued, my mind hazy.

When we finally pulled back, we were both panting, staring at each other with undisguised hunger.

Barty flashed that smug smirk and handed me the book, our fingers brushing. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“You, Barty Crouch Jr, are wretched.”

Barty grinned. “I know.”

[camp-vamps-radio-b1tch]

SONADOW FANFIC WRITERS ‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️

MAKE A FIC BASED OFF SARAH BY ALEX G

AND MY LIFE IS YOURSS ‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

[artzyleen]

Owen Teague at "Gone in the night" (The Cow) premiere 2022, SXSW Conference and Festivals

[sundaynightlive]

Paramour (Merthur)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sire?”

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

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

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

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

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

Christ—focus, Arthur. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh no.

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

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

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

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

“Can you smite people?!”

“No, but I could try.” 

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

“What?”

“I have… quite the solution.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, how has this happened to him?

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

“He’s laid hands on you?”

Merlin quiets abruptly, his passionate distaste dying in his throat and on his face, and Arthur is certainly to blame. He couldn’t help himself—his tone had gone from disbelief and general annoyance to something much colder, much more serious. Unwelcome flirtation is one thing, but touching Merlin when Arthur himself hasn’t even been afforded the chance is absolutely unacceptable, and especially when the contact is uninvited and uncomfortable for the receiving party.

And that receiving party is Merlin.

Arthur feels murder sitting heavy on his chest.

“Arthur—”

“Here’s what’s going to happen, now,” Arthur interrupts, tone like ice. Merlin looks like he wants to argue, probably to reassure Arthur he’s fine and he doesn’t need to intervene, but he doesn’t try. He’s quite adept at figuring out now when his snide remarks are appropriate and when they are incredibly not. “Tomorrow night, when he begins to bother you, you’ll do that brain talking thing—”

“Gaius calls it Sending.”

“Right, Sending, and alert me. Then I will take care of the situation how I see fit.”

“But Gwaine and Percival already—”

“I am the crown prince of Camelot and if he’d like to maintain his title, he will listen to me. Should he disobey, I will fucking gut him.” Right, so, that second part wasn’t supposed to come out, but the already defeated look on Merlin’s face had pulled it forcibly from his tongue. Merlin does not look like he believes him in any way, shape, or form, but Arthur hardly cares. He’s too angry, murder on his mind, and Merlin will know this tomorrow night.

“It’s really—I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Merlin says with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting from foot to foot like he’s suddenly very uncomfortable. Arthur doesn’t like that. Did he do that? “It’s not a big deal—”

“Merlin,” Arthur says firmly, “I should be the first to know when someone abuses their title to try and get away with matters such as this. Especially when it’s happening to you.”

Arthur thinks he must imagine the pink flooding Merlin’s cheeks, or maybe his anger is coming back. Merlin shifts awkwardly some more, and looks down at his shoes, shuffling them a little against the floor.

“Sire…”

“Yes?”

“I would… prefer you enjoy your holiday. Worrying for me is—”

“Merlin, go to bed,” Arthur says, “Because you are sounding more and more like I should beat you over the head with a club.” 

The grin on Merlin’s face seems to brighten the room, and the eyeroll is like a hundred worms wriggling around in Arthur’s stomach. Merlin turns and picks up the wash-bin with what sounds to be a scoff, but Arthur is almost certain is some sort of breathy giggle—

“Do not do that tonight. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

“That is quite literally the entire point of your job!”

“Huh? What was that? I’m sorry, I don’t speak insufferable prat.”

“Merlin—!”

“Goodnight, Arthur!”

—

Arthur takes it lightly on the wine, and stays what he believes to be a safe distance away from Merlin at all times. He has a sort-of picture of Lord Edmond in his mind, but as he surveys the crowd, no-one seems to fit the image just right. It seems Arthur remembers him but not altogether too clearly, and the anticipation is starting to get to him.

Nobles keep trying to strike up conversations with him, but he can hardly pay attention. Morgana approaches him to see if he’s alright, but he’s lost sight of Merlin and he can’t answer her because he’s too busy scanning the room, so she gives up. Then, Gwen approaches to tell him of some business with one guest or another, but half way through, Merlin’s voice whispers through his mind, sending a shudder down his spine he can’t ignore.

It’s happening. I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from killing him. I’m not fond of washing blood off your clothes. 

Arthur stands.

“---and then she—Arthur?”

“Excuse me a moment,” he says to her, and perhaps someone else near him, but he’s not entirely sure. The lady to his left looks particularly disappointed, but swiftly turns to Gwen to try and trick her into divulging the latest gossip from the kitchens. 

Gwen seems less than enthused.

Lord Edmund is not particularly tall, but not particularly short. Merlin stands a few inches over him but he and Arthur are both considerably tall. He looks to be older, as Arthur had thought, probably early-fifties at the youngest, and despite how it hurts Arthur’s very soul to admit it, not terribly hard on the eyes. However, what is extremely off-putting (and particularly rage-inducing) is the way he has Merlin trapped between a table and a group of snickering lackeys, who occasionally glance over at the situation, amused.

A posse. This insolent Lord brought an entourage and is using it to try and scare Merlin into sleeping with him.

Arthur sees red.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Merlin starts, and Edmond jumps, stumbling backwards and away from Merlin just a bit, looking surprised, but not like he thinks he’s done anything wrong. Arthur is brimming, perhaps spilling, with rage, Edmond fixed in his stare like an enemy’s chest which his blade is sure to rupture. If Arthur had his sword, it would be lying against Edmond’s throat.

“Your highness—”

Arthur remembers himself. He had had a plan, hadn’t he? 

If Arthur were to tell this man off, it might work to dissuade him, sure, but it would teach him nothing. The festival was to last nearly the entire month, and a simple reprimand from a man so much younger than him—prince or not—would not hold to that length in time, Arthur was sure of it. Edmond would figure out a way to get around Arthur’s consequences or out of his sight, and then Merlin would be back at square one, and based on how Arthur had had to be the one to ask, he’s sure Merlin would not bring it up a second time.

Therefore, it would take more than harsh words to keep Edmond in line.

He turns, grabs Merlin by the side of his tunic, and yanks him forward into his embrace. He can only imagine the look of shock, but if this is to work, he cannot make his own nervousness known. He tilts his head and blows breath against Merlin’s ear as he speaks—

“It is my last intention to embarrass you, but there are few ways to make a man like this listen, and I am not interested in anyone’s hands on you but mine. I’ll meet you in my chambers when I have finished here.”

Once again, Arthur has said something he hadn’t meant to say, but now is not exactly the time to try and cover up for himself. He said what he said, and Merlin is ducking into the crowd, and there is a much more important matter at hand. He turns to Edmond.

“You would dare insult the crown prince in such a way?” 

This gets the attention of the lackeys, and many party-goers nearby. Arthur steels himself for the show he is about to perform, the backlash he will undoubtedly receive from his father, and Morgana’s incessant teasing until the end of time. This, and the rumors that will spread once these nobles are made aware—

“I’m sure I know what you mean,” Edmond answers, genuinely sounding clueless, but also completely calm, unphased by Arthur’s anger. Does this sort of stupidity come with age? Arthur must start reading more, if this is the case.

“You would shamelessly attempt to bed my paramour?” 

Arthur watches all the color drain from Edmond’s face, and feels a swelling of pride in his chest at the sight. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it, and repeats the motion, clearly at a loss. The lackeys scatter comically, and those in attendance of the show begin to mutter. He’s grateful he’s only captivated a small portion of the great hall, and not the entire thing, and his father is many, many crowds away.

“I—he—”

“I would throw my glove at your feet if I had a glove to throw,” Arthur spits, “And should you bother him again, or god forbid, lay a filthy hand on him, I will gut you without honor.” And so with that, Arthur turns on his heel and storms away, followed by murmurs and whispers, feeling somewhat relieved and incredibly satisfied, despite now having to explain himself to Merlin.

Right. Merlin.

—

“What did you do?” Merlin asks, all to accusing. 

“Promise not to smite me.”

“No.”

“I told them—“ 

“Ah,” Merlin interrupts, raising a hand. He stands up and off Arthur’s bed, and moves closer, much to Arthur’s dismay. “Actually, I don’t care.” 

Arthur blinks.

“But—“

“Did you mean it?” 

Arthur’s brain short circuits as he finds himself gazing into storms of gray, Merlin coming much closer than he’d expected. He mimicked Edmond, opening his mouth and then closing it again, swallowing hard. Merlin is watching him expectantly and Arthur is using all the strength he has not to glance down at Merlin’s lips and give himself away completely.

“Did you mean it?” Merlin asks again.

Did he—oh.

I am not interested in anyone’s hands on you but mine.

In all the chaos, he had half-forgotten. He had meant to turn and tell Merlin to go, to apologize for what he had decided to say next, but he had lost himself in the moment of being so close. He had invested himself too much in the “performance,” even in those few, short moments, and revealed himself. 

And now he would face Merlin’s reaction, whatever it may be.

“Yes,” he says, though it doesn’t come out as confident as he would have liked. Merlin searches his eyes for the lie—he dreads what could happen when the warlock finds none.

Merlin’s eyes flick downwards. Arthur’s stomach drops as he realizes Merlin’s eyeing his lips, the very same impulse he’d been begging himself not to give in to, and Merlin’s done it so close to him, so outright—

“You were jealous,” Merlin continues, and at this, Arthur scoffs. No, he was not jealous in the slightest of Lord Edmond because Edmond was a sad, elderly husk of a man who thought he could take what he wanted whenever he wanted, and Arthur is a young, handsome crown-prince who has waited over a year for any indication Merlin might feel the same as him. 

He would not dare use his position of power to press Merlin to him, not when Arthur loved him, and not when Merlin had spent his time here unknowingly teaching Arthur what that really meant. His parents had not done it, fleeting teenage flings had not done it—Merlin had. Undoubtedly.

“I would not be jealous of a man you didn’t actually want,” Arthur says, which he realizes then is insinuating he would be jealous of a man Merlin did want, so he tries to back track, “And regardless—!” He exclaims quickly, and Merlin’s responding smile digs up those worms.

“You’re obviously allowed to do whatever you want with whoever you want,” Arthur finishes, swallowing hard.

“Obviously,” Merlin repeats, lifting his hands to start undoing the clasps on Arthur’s robes. 

If Arthur wanted—no, not if wanted, because he does want, he’s just not sure what Merlin wants—he could tilt his head just so, lean in an inch, maybe two, and kiss him. They’re that close, and they’ve been this close before, sure, but Merlin’s acting different and his fingers work the clasps much slower and his face is absolutely unreadable to the point where Arthur is starting to panic. He prides himself on knowing Merlin very well, but right now—

“Even if it’s you?”

Merlin might as well have punched him in the throat. All the breath flees from his lungs as though it were never there in the first place, and his hands—he loses all command over them as he has his breath—reach up and grab Merlin by the waist of his tunic, the very same way he had done before, except this time when he pulls them together there is not crowd to convince or entertain.

He’s not sure how he manages to speak when he’s forgotten how to breathe, but—

“Especially if it’s me.”

When they kiss, finally, after the decade that seems to pass between their admissions and their lips meeting, Arthur loses his decorum entirely. Entirely. It’s like any restraint he’d had stored away left with his breath, and he is half-guiding, half-pushing Merlin, kissing him senseless until Merlin’s back hits Arthur’s bed and he’s wedged between Merlin’s thighs and it’s like this is where he’s meant to be, staring down at wet lips and heaving chest and—

“I heard what you said. About us,” Merlin manages between breaths, “I heard what you called me.”

Paramour. 

“I—“

“If you would have me, sire.”

If you would have me, sire.

The double meaning all but knocks him out.

“I will have you,” Arthur, “Over and over and over again until no one can distinguish one of us from the other.” You’re a piece of me, a second more brilliant half. I need you, I have needed you since I met you in the market that day, even when I treated you so harshly, and have been so—

Merlin tips his head back and laughs and Arthur’s maudlin inner-monologue fades away, mind wholly devoted to the sound and the man it’s coming from beneath him.

“Arthur—“ his name, god, his name, “—that is already impossible to do.”

—

Merlin turns out to be marvelous in bed, and not at all like Arthur had suspected he’d be (timid, hesitant). Instead, he’s incredibly, almost obnoxiously vocal, and not abashed in the slightest.

To be fair, though, Merlin never knew when to shut his goddamn mouth any other time, so perhaps Arthur had been foolish to think this sort of affair would be any different. 

When he wakes up to the knock on his door, it doesn’t occur to him to try and hide Merlin, or even wake him. He’d announced to a quarter of the party last night that they were sleeping together, and word-of-mouth in a castle filled with visiting nobles and their attendants is far worse than wild-fire. 

“Yes?” he calls, sitting up despite his nakedness, absently stroking Merlin’s dark hair. The messenger—a woman Arthur recognizes to usually be either in the kitchens or the wash rooms—shyly steps in, flushing deeply when she notices that Arthur is not alone.

“You’ve been summoned. By your father.”

Now this Arthur and not been expecting. To be reprimanded at brunch for making a scene, sure, but to be summoned is an entirely different issue. 

“Thank you,” Arthur says, tipping  his head, “You may go.”

She hurries out, and Arthur looks down, considering for a moment waking Merlin to dress him, and then upon seeing how peacefully his paramour—paramour, how lovely—is sleeping, opts against it. 

He can dress himself, surely.

—

“Brilliant,” Uther muses as Arthur enters, “We were starting to worry you had gotten lost.”

No, Arthur just couldn’t figure out which was the front and which was the back of his trousers for upwards of ten minutes.

“We” must refer to he and Edmond, Uther who is seated stiffly upon his throne, as usual, and Edmond who is standing quite relaxed beneath his gaze, which is Arthur’s first indication something here is clearly off.

“What do you want?” Arthur snaps. Uther does not falter, but Edmond looks over, clearly baffled by Arthur’s tone, and perhaps even the fact that Uther does not ask him to check it.

“Would you please explain to me,” Uther begins, “How you thought it appropriate not only to publicly humiliate a noble, threaten him, but also to treat your manservant as though he were property, and not a man of his own decisions.”

He cannot be serious. Arthur turns to Edmond, seething.

“You are far duller than you look.”

“Arthur!” Uther exclaims, sharp. Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, glowering at his father, terribly angry for what feels like the hundredth time in the past two days.

“I only acted in the interest of Merlin’s honor,” Arthur snaps, “He came to me accusing this feeble, brainless—”

“Are the insults truly necessary, your majesty?” Edmond asks his father, but Arthur continues, unperturbed.

“—wilddeoren of making unwanted advances.” 

Uther frowns, and Edmond shakes his head, a completely unwarranted smile gracing his features. Arthur is certain this man is in need of several kicks to the groin and then some. Uther sighs.

“I told you, your majesty, he would come bearing all sorts of lies.”

“Lies!?” Arthur exclaims incredulously.

“You very publicly referred to Merlin as your paramour instead of your manservant,” Uther says, “In order to embarrass Lord Edmond into obeying your will.” Arthur’s jaw drops. Edmond does nothing to hide the triumph he is feeling, and all of this is making Arthur’s blood boil hotter and hotter. 

That’s… technically true, but as far as last night is concerned—

“Merlin is my paramour,” Arthur argues, causing a raise of his father’s brow, and the shake of Edmond’s head, “And if you do not believe me, summon Merlin, then. Although, that seems a spectacular waste of our time, because he should have been here to explain his side of the story in the first place, and if I would have known this insolent pig—”

“Arthur,” Uther chides.

“—was going to spin such an elaborate fairy-tale, I would have roused him and brought him myself, as he happened to be, conveniently, very close by, namely, right god-damned next to me.”

Uther heaves a sigh. Edmond doesn’t look convinced.

“Arthur—”

“Father,” Arthur says, very seriously, sensing the king’s exasperation and unwillingness to argue or reprimand a noble of his own age, and such a nonchalant demeanor, begging no guilt. What his father fails to see is that this is not because Edmond is not guilty, but because he’s certain there will be no consequences for his actions—and really, unless Arthur kills him in his sleep, or challenges him to a duel, there won’t be. Nothing but a childish slap on the wrist.

“Arthur,” Uther says again, firmly, “I would like you, before dinner tonight, to apologize to Lord Edmond—”

“Absolutely not!” Arthur cries.

“You will,” Uther says, firmness growing into a slight aggression Uther believes he will listen to, “Or you will not attend.”

“Then consider this the last time you see me today, your majesty,” Arthur snaps, turning to leave, “And if you are so opposed to taking the word of your own son over some half-wit jester, ask the servant who summoned me how she found me this morning, and who she found me with.”

He turns, just before the door, glaring back at both men—his father who looks vaguely disappointed, and Edmond who’s now red in the face, seemingly having realized what an impartial third-party’s account may do to his story.

“Or better yet,” Arthur muses, “Ask the knights who attempted to deter Lord Testicle—“

“Arthur!”

“—before I was forced to step in. And please,” Arthur says, finally wrapping this up into a neat little bow, “Do not send for me again. I have a long day and night planned bending my manservant over every flat surface in my chambers.”

“Christ, Arthur—“

“Good. Fucking. Day.”

And if the doors were small enough to be slammed, Arthur would have done exactly that.

—

“What is your name?”

“Oh—er, Katherine, your majesty. I work in the—“

“I know. I just have a question regarding the manner in which you found my son this morning.”

“Ah! Oh—umm… well… I’m not entirely comfortable… saying, my king.”

Uther sighs deeply, and waves his hand to dismiss her.

“That will be all.”

—

“You shouldn’t fight with your father on my behalf,” Merlin soothes, and Arthur would attest to enjoying baths much more when Merlin’s in the water with him. “It’s not worth the drama. And you should be enjoying the—“

“As you should have been, and as we should be, if it weren’t for Lord shit-pants—“

“Your insults are getting less and less clever,” Merlin teases, moving forward through the water to press his lips to Arthur’s throat, as if that’s supposed to make it better. Is this them now? Bickering like usual and then kissing it away? 

He could get used to that, yeah.

Arthur pinches Merlin’s thigh beneath the water in retaliation, so Merlin pokes him hard in the ribs.

“Ow!” Arthur exclaims, seizing Merlin’s wrist and yanking him forward, sending the boy effectively into his embrace, although Arthur is framing it as a restraint, tugging Merlin’s wrists behind his back and pressing his own teasing kiss to the man’s shoulder.

“Gotcha.” 

Merlin laughs.

“What I lack in glorious, sexy, beefy—“ he’s still teasing Arthur, that bastard, “—muscle, I make up for in wit.”

“And how is wit going to—?”

Arthur learns when Merlin uses the height at which his wrists are currently held much to his advantage, and grunts.

“Yes, I suppose that’ll do it.”

—

The next morning they are both summoned, Merlin teaches Arthur about his pants, and they make their way to Uther, chatting aimlessly, bickering uselessly. 

Arthur feels incredible. Wonderful, even. To be with Merlin and to not ache to be nearer, because he has been near and can be near, is like a breath of fresh air. His best friend is now his lover, and he could not have asked fate for anything more.

“Father,” Arthur greets.

“Your majesty,” Merlin says, but does not bow, because Merlin thinks bowing is ridiculous and now that he thinks about it, Arthur kind of agrees.

“I have,” Uther says, sounding wildly uncomfortable, which is the consequence of his own inability to take anything Arthur says seriously, “Confirmed with Katherine, the chambermaid, that you two are, in fact…” 

Arthur grins.

“Copulating?” He suggests.

“Fucking?” Merlin adds plainly.

“Fraternizing?”

“Fucking,” Merlin repeats.

“Lovers,” Arthur suggests, taking Merlin’s hand. They haven’t talked about that part of it yet, although he’s certain it had been implied. Merlin’s grasp tightens around his own, and their shoulders bump together softly.

“Yeah, probably that one,” he agrees. 

Uther is so red in the face he’d make a stunning rendition of Camelot’s flag had he painted a giant gold dragon over his features.

“Right, well,” Uther says, clearing his throat, “I assume you are both aware though… fraternization is certainly allowed, I cannot in good faith—“

“Paramour, father,” Arthur interrupts, because he doesn’t need to hear another word of “produce an heir” or “take a wife.” He’s highly aware of his duty, and if he weren’t, he would’ve dragged Merlin down to Gaius hours ago and demanded to be wed (or whatever version of wed can be done without the church). This way, the next time Lord Edmond or any other ridiculous noble tried to lay hands on his manservant, Arthur would have probably cause to shove his spear through their throat. “I know what can be done and what cannot.”

Uther nods, as if he had suspected this.

“Good. Then all we have to the discuss is the matter of Merlin’s new title—“

“Having sex with your son gives me a title?!” Merlin interrupts incredulously, and Uther goes red again, much to Arthur’s delight. He tips his head back and laughs because oh, how he loves this man.

Uther clears his throat, “Paramour is the title, and while not all of the Five Kingdoms make space for such a thing, I and the court of Camelot do entertain the notion that political marriages should not fall in the way of an actual connection. Therefore, you will be alleviated of your position as Arthur’s manservant—“

“I’d actually like to keep that, if I may,” Merlin interrupts again, and really, where does Merlin get off having the gall to keep cutting off the king. 

Probably somewhere in all those titles Uther doesn’t know Merlin already has—The Last Dragonlord, The Most Powerful Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth, Emrys, etc. Really, now that Arthur thinks about it, Merlin could cast his father out of the throne with the flick of his wrist, and assume Camelot under his rule, destroying those who dare defy him with little more than a thought and a spoken word.

But he doesn’t. Because of Arthur.

It is beginning to feel incredibly stupid that Arthur couldn’t tell if Merlin loved him back. Perhaps he really will have to start reading more.

“You would continue to work?” Uther asks, eyebrows raised.

“I would feel useless if I were not serving Camelot, and my prince,” Merlin says, “It’s kind of what I’m meant to do, regardless of what “title” I hold here.”

Uther nods as if he understands, which he couldn’t possibly, because where he technically assumes a mantle of service to Camelot, he was birthed to it. Merlin chooses his place here.

Merlin chooses Arthur.

He swears, every minute he spends with the man just sinks him further and further, lost to the warlock entirely, even though Arthur had been certain he was at the bottom before any of this even occurred.

“I will be honest,” Uther muses, “I am starting to see why my son likes you.”

Merlin, to Arthur’s surprise, bows his head to hide his pink cheeks, playing it off like a polite and silent “thank you.” Arthur removes his hand from Merlin’s and slips an arm around his waist. Leave it to Merlin to stand firm in the line of a King’s judgment, and buckle under half-baked praise.

Duly noted.

“Is that all?”

“Actually,” Uther says, “I’m sure you’ll pleased to hear I’ve tossed Edmond in a cell until tomorrow morning, because you and I both know—“

“There are few ways to make a man like that listen,” they chorus, and Arthur smiles, incredibly pleased at the idea of Edmond all wrapped up in silk and fine fabrics, cold and damp in a dirty old cell.  “Thank you, father.”

Uther waves his hand dismissively, but cannot help a slight smile at his son’s glowing approval.

“Away with you both. I will see you tonight.”

And Uther does, sitting with their chairs and knees touching, speaking in soft voices and drinking far too much wine, pink cheeks and bright smiles and a love like he remembers. Uther does not wholly understand his son’s affinity for his manservant, but he can understand being young, reckless, and excited to share breath with someone excited to share breath with you.

Yes, Uther, like Arthur, is quite pleased with this paramour. Quite pleased.

[Bonus Content]

Same Universe, Sillier Plot!

[goremommyrecs]

Idk why this edit is 50 hours long….

[realbeefman]

some of y’all clearly don't understand what it's like to avert your eyes when your friend starts changing in front of you and your heart starts pounding in your chest and you could say something, SHOULD say something, tell her to change her clothes in a different room and admit to this freakish attraction that you know she doesn't feel, ruin the friendship by coloring every moment of casual intimacy with the knowledge that you are a pervert who wants more, that you are a threat. you don’t say anything. and you look up and watch the pale expanse of her lower back from the corner of your eye as she pulls on a white blouse, and something lurches in your stomach and you laugh at the joke she just told even though you weren’t really listening to the set-up. later on you will feel sick and guilty and cry alone in a bed that feels empty, but for just a moment, you are laughing with a beautiful girl who loves you, and it doesn’t matter if it’s wrong

[heartshapedbabydolls]

Charlie’s dirty little secret💋

[larluce]

The amount of fics I've seen with this prompt, I swear! XD

My tik tok account -> HERE

[talaok]

HII can you make a part 2 to this where BAU reacts to the tiktok!

you dont have to but i thought it would be really cool <333

p.s I love your work

xoxo-Mony

Really glad you liked that fic, hope you'll like this one too (also, yes i did forget about Rossi, don't mind that)

"good morning" you greeted, entering the conference room.

Everyone was there already, so a chorus of greetings made their way to you.

You took your seat next to Emily, leaving the empty one for Spencer.

"where's pretty boy?" Derek asked, immediately noticing how for once, you didn't enter together.

"bathroom" you explained, and everyone nodded before a silence fell.

"so what did everyone do over the weekend?" Emily asked

Penelope immidately took the lead, eager to respond "I went shopping yesterday and I bought the cutest dress you've ever seen" she said, patting her pockets "Shoot!" she exclaimed " I forgot the phone in my office, I'll show you later"

"I just chilled with my girl" Derek intervened "Nothing special"

"that's nice" JJ commented "Me and Will went to a spa,"

"oh that's good" Emily groaned

"yeah, we got massages and everything"

"I'm jealous," she said "I just saw some old friends"

"well that's nice" JJ nodded, "How about you y/n?"

"yeah, what did you and Reid get up to?" Derek taunted.

For some reason, you felt some heat rise to your cheeks.

"we didn't do anything special really" you shrugged "although I did convince him to do a very cute thing"

You could see everyone's interest being piqued as all faces turned towards you.

"what's that?" Emily asked

"We filmed a TikTok"

"A tiktok? with Spencer?" Penelope asked, incredulous.

"I know" you laughed "It took a bit of convincing"

"what was it about?" JJ asked, curious.

"I can show you" you suggested

"please" Emily grinned,

You took your phone out of your pocket as everyone gathered around you. Even Hotch that had hanged back silently until now, got closer.

You opened the app and clicked on the private video, placing it so that everyone could see.

everyone was silent as the video started again.

"it's cute right?" you beamed "It's a trend"

Emily and Derek glanced at each other and after a moment of hesitation, couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"What?" you asked,

"it's so cute!" Penelope squeaked "Let me see that again!"

"oh yeah it's cute alright" Derek smirked, still chuckling.

As much as they tried to hide it, JJ and Hotch also were stifling some smiles.

"I bet Reid was real happy about that huh?" Em joined the mockery and you scowled at them.

"you're mean, it's a nice idea" you protested, just as Spencer entered the room.

"what's a nice idea?"

It was as if you could physically feel the amusement emanating from each member of the team.

"oh you should know lover boy" Derek joked,

Your boyfriend frowned, clearly confused

"Yeah, I mean, you and your girlfriend seem to know for sure" Emily smiled.

"What are you talking about?"

You sighed, a tired smile tugging at your lips "I showed them the TikTok"

"oh no" he breathed

"I know"

"No, hey" Derek walked over to him and patted his shoulder "You two lovebirds keep doing your thing"

"yes, and don't worry, if you need more lipstick I have a few you can borrow" Emily joked.

[steddietogo]

Made With Love

Part 3 of Steddie Tik Tok au: The Halloween Vlog

Read part 2 <<here

———

Robin is in a pinstriped three-piece suit, her short brown hair dyed black and slicked back, with a badly drawn moustache on her face. “Unhapphy, darphling?” She speaks around a rose stem she’s holding between her teeth.

“Oh yes,” The camera pans to Eddie lounging on an armchair. He’s ditched his usual band tee and ripped jeans combo for a tight black dress with the deepest neckline known to man, the long black fabric pooling around his feet. He raises his arm, bell sleeve flaring, and flips his straightened hair behind his shoulders with red painted nails. “Yes completely,” deep red lips curve into smile and he bats his eyes, heavily lined and dusted in smokey grey eyeshadow.

———

“Originally, we were supposed to be the Sanderson sisters for Halloween but someone—” Robin looks at something pointedly off camera, “—decided to go off and commit to a group costume with his long-distance babysitting wards without consulting us,”

“This—” Eddie strikes a pose as Robin gestures to them, “—was supposed to be a revenge costume but now we feel kinda bad because—” the camera flips around to show a pile of blankets on the couch, “Dingus is now down with the flu,” A hand emerges from its depths and flips them off.

“I think he’s going as The Thing,” Eddie says and they both snicker.

———

Eddie is in the kitchen using Steve’s recording set up. “My darling Gomez has gone off to party, it’s just me and Steve at home now,” he sighs dramatically, “Alas, I knocked him out with cough syrup so he won’t be up for a couple hours,”

“And I found this recipe for chicken noodle soup and I, Eddie Munson who cannot cook to save my own life, am going to put it to test since Steve keeps saying ‘anyone can make it’. Were gonna find out today baby,”. Eddie’s reading off of a book as he lays out everything he would need on the counter, announcing each item as he takes them out. “I hope I’m using the right pot and Steve won’t kill me,”

———

Eddie is slow dancing to Lady Gaga with a plastic skeleton meant for decoration, his dress swishing around him as he twirls with his inanimate dance partner. During a particularly enthusiastic dip, the skeleton’s skull breaks off from the rest of the body and rolls away.

“Betty! Noooo!” Eddie cries, falling to his knees.

———

“No one told me how sweaty cooking can make you,” Eddie’s twisting his hair up in a bun, “But I’m committed to it now, I will not be bested by soup,”

“Look at this, my make up isn’t the only thing melting in the heat,” He holds up a bent looking plastic spatula to the camera. “Its totally not because I put it too close to the stove but we’re going to hide the evidence so Steve doesn’t find out,”

———

“I accidentally added too much salt, went to the Internet for help and a lot of people say that adding a potato will help fix it,” Eddie explains as he is chopping one. “There are no potatoes in this recipe, so if Steve asks, I’m gonna tell him I have no idea how they got in there,”

“Here goes nothing,” Eddie shoves both sleeves all the way up his arms before dropping all of the potato pieces in at once, making a little bit of the boiling soup splash out of the pot missing him by inches. “Oh shit, that was close. Don’t try this at home kids,”

———

“Moment of truth people,” He’s ladling soup into a bowl. “Personally, I’m just surprised this came out edible, but let’s see what the chef has to say about it,”

The clip cuts to Eddie shuffling away from the camera that’s now facing the sofa where Steve is taking a nap. Eddie kneels before him, a gentle hand on Steve’s face as he nudges him wake. Cut to a bleary-eyed Steve sitting up and waving at the camera.

“Just know that if you give me food poisoning on top of the flu, I’ll never forgive you,” he says as Eddie is handing him the bowl. “Why’re there potatoes in here?”

“No reason,” Eddie smiles back innocently at the look Steve gives him before he takes a bite, and then another. Eddie watches, nibbling in his fingernails.

“Oh shit,”

“What?”

“The potato actually makes it better,” he looks like he’s trying to sound annoyed but the smile on his face gives him away. “I’m gonna have to add potatoes to the recipe,”

“Wait. Does that mean my soup is better than yours?”

“It’s still my recipe, Munson,”

“You’re avoiding the question, Harrington,”

“…Maybe?”

Eddie throws his hands up whopping and his sleeve smacks Steve in the face.

———

“I was standing there, Morticia-less,” Robin is back and the three of them huddle in the sofa in the darkness of the living room, the only source of light is the movie no one is actually watching.

“—and she’s was wearing that Kate Bush bat dress and we were like ‘that’s close enough’ and then we completely winged a little dance and I only tripped on my own shoe once, you should be proud of me,” Robin is wearing a sash that says ‘Hideout King’ and is going a mile a minute about the party she came back from.

“And then she kissed me when they announced us as the winners, she kissed me Steve!” Robin shakes Steve and then high-fives Eddie so hard he almost falls off the couch.

———

Robin is filming Steve launching candy corn from the couch and Eddie, now in his jammies, is on the other side of the coffee table trying to catch them in his mouth. Steve’s laughter is getting increasingly hysterical and his aim is getting poorer while Eddie practically dives left and right trying catch the candy. Steve looks like he’s going to fall off the couch in stitches. The video ends as three are celebrating a complicated twist dive Eddie executed and successfully caught the candy with in mouth.

———

Caption says:

@_eddie_munson who do you think edits all the footage?

———

Comments:

user80085: who else questioning their sexuality rn?

Dustin H: RIP Betty, you will be missed 😔

Reefing Rick: Why tf don’t I have an Eddie Munson in a Morticia Addams costume cooking in my kitchen? God really has favorites huh

spring roll: So no ones going to talk about how Robin basically came out?

Gayby replying to spring roll: good for her

———

Part 4

———

A/n: it’s so funny to imagine Steve sitting in his room alone and reviewing an hour-long footage of Eddie messing around in the kitchen. And it cracks him up that every time Eddie messes something up he walks up to the camera and whispers ‘don’t tell Steve’

Steddie tag list: @deehellcat @eddiemunsonswife @missarte-beltane @grtwdsmwhr @kit-means-death

[videovamp0808]

Real eyes, realize:

It was so evident when we found out there were less than 28 days left for Sarah’s dead body… (I’m talkin about the movie)

Jesse is the best villain in this universe but it doesn’t justify what he did to Sarah. It was selfish and mean.

Besides….

Discover very soon my fanfic The Shadow of the Simulacrum, on Wattpad! Dive into a world of dark romance and explore Jesse’s mysterious past. Discover the true conflict within Horace Black, learn how Sarah was bitten, and uncover how Jesse knows, Ethan’s great-great-grandfather. Find out how the 1809 fire started and how Sarah, Ethan, and Benny are bound by a striking fate to stop Reverend Horace Black. Experience the full story with a mature and detailed perspective.

Follow me on Wattpad for my dark romance: Miss_Mbav, and on TikTok: video_vamp0808 (I’m an editor of MBAV🥰)

The first part ONLY will be published this month, with the second part in production. There will be an English and a French version.

[watchyourbuck]

listen toME fic where: after the casino ep Eddie corners Buck while they’re still dressed up & just kinda “you were really good out there, y’know?” while holding him by the lapels and Buck’s like “haha y-you think??” and Eddie makes suggestive little noises and “you’ve been teasing me all night, Evan” and it’s like seconds before he has his knee in between Buck’s legs and Buck’s just moaning softly & writhing