Merthur One-shots

Mine, All Mine

Big smut, big BIG smut

Summary: Prince Arthur stumbles upon Merlin in the deepest throes of heat and decides to take him as soon as possible, everything else be damned.

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“Look at you, slut, begging for it.”

“A-a-alpha!”

He breathes a laugh. “Can’t even remember my name, can you?” He slams back in, hearing the omega scream in pleasure. “Too stupid to think of anything else other than getting fucked, aren’t you?”

“Mah, ah, alpha!” is all he can manage to say. “Fuck me, please!”

Arthur shakes his head. “Exactly.”

It was almost cathartic to see the smartass mage reduced to a whimpering mess beneath him. On all fours, barely able to support himself for how hard he’s getting fucked, but, of course, automatically an expert at meeting Arthur’s thrusts with his ass, back curled in such a tantalizing way that pleases Arthur’s alpha instincts, fleshy thighs dripping with his own slick spread wide to allow his cock to penetrate as deep as possible.

“You’re such a hussy, Merlin,” Arthur bites, leaning down as he slams his hips to his ass brutally. He drags his nails down Merlin’s sides, leaving trails of white, marked flesh behind. “This is the only thing that you’re good for, huh? What you’re fucking made to do, right, omega whore?”

“Ah, yes!” Merlin cries, the pain made to pleasure in his heat-riddled mind, his small cocklet leaking a fresh stream of watery cum into the sheets below.

Arthur growls behind him, pushing him down so his chest and face press into the covers, biting into the area between his neck and shoulders as he continues to pound into him.

He brings his fingers down to Merlin’s tits, massing the small amount of perky flesh there before pulling on his hard nipples. “God, soon you’ll leak milk from these, Merlin, when you’re carrying my children.”

“Mn, please!” he moans, trying to arch his breasts further into Arthur’s hands.

“Want me to fuck you full of pups? Fill you with cum until you’re ready to fucking pop?”

“Yes yes yes! Please please, please alpha!” Merlin chants mindlessly.

Arthur laughs darkly as he runs his sharp teeth along Merlin’s throat, testing a claim, recalling the past.

Arthur had found him in a supply closet. At first, he was enraged, for he thought the servant shirking his duties, his responsibilities. He was supposed to have prepared Arthur’s armour and weapons for that day’s trip to a neighbouring kingdom, and when the prince found his desk barren instead, he knew something was up.

So instead of getting the shit himself, he went on a castle-wide hunt for Merlin, asking but receiving no helpful hints as to his whereabouts other than some saying he was acting strange, sick perhaps. Arthur had scoffed. As if he would let his manservant take a sick day, ever.

He heard laboured breathing and that’s when he found him in the closet, amidst brooms and buckets and soaps. He seemed rather out of it, begging Arthur to just leave him alone.