you know what really gets me is that merlin holds out his hand for arthur to shake

Write me another story

Write me a world where Love is to Love, not blood and quarreling and bitterness

Write me a world where a Godfather is worth more than an aunt who neither cares nor loves

Write a world with justice

Write me a world where someone stopped to listen to Sirius Black.

Write us a world where Mad-eye stood up for Sirius’ chance to defend himself because “it doesn’t matter how it looks, dammit, vigilance goes both ways, you watch your back against the people you fight with but you watch their backs too” where Minerva trusted her gut “I don’t know, Albus, remember those boys…” where Dumbledore used his political clout and paid attention and made a difference

Write me a world where there was time in the rejoicing of the aftermath of Voldemort’s defeat to stop and, not recoiling in horror from betrayal and murder and a decimated corpse, locking it up and throwing away the key, to take it and examine it and think for a second before destroying another life

Write me a world where a young man, terrified and heartbroken and completely lost, is handed a new world and a tiny human life as he walks out of Ministry security

Write me a world where a one-year-old laughs for the first time in a week when he sees his godfather, who comes for dinner every thursday night and throws him highest in the air - even higher than daddy - where is daddy - begins to whimper then laughs again when Sirius picks him out of Minerva’s arms

Write me a Deep Magic written into a stronger, stranger, older bond than DNA, a Dumbledore who sits his old pupil down in his office (with Snape - eyes red and face haggard - and Minerva and Flitwick standing behind) and sits down between them on the desk this child who wraps one tiny chubby hand around one of each of their fingers and grips tight; A Dumbledore who explains as best he can to an exhausted starving 21-year-old “Sirius, Harry’s mother gave her life for son… you are his Godfather and the one they both loved the most, will you love Harry like they did, will you protect him? Because I believe -” And a Sirius Black who cannot shut up (Sirius Black never could shut up), who blurts “YES yes of course please Dumbledore let me look after him, he’s mine now, its my job - I’m sorry I should have - my fault, it’s my (Minerva steps forward and lifts a hand towards his shoulder - he cannot stop saying my fault since it happened) - and, when Harry starts to whine again at the distress in his voice - “dear Merlin he’s soaking why has no-one changed him yet, I’m sorry, lil’ man -” (and Minerva lets the hand fall).

Write me a new visitor at the Weasleys’ that night, because “really, Sirius, you can’t keep him there now the place is freezing and trust me dearie I’ve got seven already one more bottle won’t make a difference now go and have a shower and NO I won’t hear of it you are STAYING THE NIGHT now look Bill dear, yes, he’s Harry, you’re right, no, a bit younger than Ron, I think, that’s right Sirius dear isn’t it, he’s…” but Sirius has already gone for a shower and the hot water rushes down his back like pure relief that finally, finally, here’s something like normality and finally, finally, he lets himself cry for his best friends, for his brother, for one more orphan in the world.

Write me a broken man with red eyes and a child who is only happy because he doesn’t understand, but a boiled egg is the best thing either of them could have possibly seen on that night.

Write me a Remus who appears in the middle of the chaos which is egg-and-soldiers-night at the Weasleys’ with a bang that sends the children shrieking and grabs his friend and hugs him tight “damn you damnyoudamnyoutohell Black don’t you ever ever do that to me again where’s Harry” and they both break down again and Molly scolds him for swearing and makes them a cup of tea and Arthur chases the children up to bed and they all sit down in the living room and take stock of this new world and try to tell themselves that now the children will grow up safe, that this is what Prongs and Lily were fighting for.

Write me a Minerva who goes to the Potters’ - and a Hagrid who absolutely insists on ‘helping her’ - and extracts what she can from the rubble and grim-facedly leaved the rest with the wizards who’ve come to begin the clearout and they bring Harry’s cot and blanket (miraculously, somehow, only just a little singed) to the Weasleys’ that very night. Write me a Sirius Black who holds a cup of tea (he never somehow found it in himself to tell Molly he really doesn’t care for tea) tight between his hands and begins to realise slowly (and it will be a slow, slow realisation, but eventually he will get there) that he’s not alone. Write me a Sirius who is exhausted and lost and angry and scared and sad and a room a little too full up of friends and family, and write me hope.

Write me a Harry who smiles a big grin full of exactly three teeth at Kreacher and a Sirius who swallows hard and resolves that this joyful little person won’t grow up in a house full of hate like he did. Write me a master and house-elf who gradually gradually learn to tolerate each other, over many years and with many a bitten-back word.

Write me a Remus who comes over most nights and spends periods living with his friend and their boy, who helps, with Kreacher a bit (he knows what it’s like to be ignored and marginalized and shunned and if Kreacher knew what Remus really was who knows what he’d say, but there’s something between them nonetheless), with Harry more (here, Padfoot, let me read to him - oh Moony thank Merlin I swear one more time through ‘Percy and his bloody purple wand’ and I’ll” - “ok, shh, give him here, come on Harry-my-lad…” ) and with Sirius a lot. Write me friends who help each other heal, and get used to Muggles confusing them for a couple with a son, and the varied reactions and bizarre questions that entails, and when Remus’ mother finally quietly passes away, he moves in for real. Write me a Remus who insists that he cannot take his friend’s charity, and even with all James’ money in trust for Harry and for Sirius as his guardian and all the Black family fortune going to waste will not be convinced until Sirius reaches out and takes his friend’s hand in both of his and says Remus I need you here - and Remus scoffed because Sirius was always such a drama queen and it’s been long enough now that they can joke about this - but at the same time, it’s not quite a joke, and Remus doesn’t suggest leaving after that.

Write me every Sunday lunch at the Weasleys and Harry round to be babysat whenever Sirius has something to take care of or needs time to himself, and Molly trying to teach Sirius how to change a nappy and realising it’s completely unnecessary because who really thinks Lily Potter would have had Sirius hanging about in her house twice a week hyping up her boy and not making himself useful in the slightest, of course he’d have learnt how to change a nappy.

Write me a Minerva who comes by frequently and has Harry to tea at Hogwarts every so often when he gets a bit older, for James and Lily’s sake and to check that young Black isn’t raising too much of a ragamuffin - and for the most part, she and Molly and Remus between them manage a healthy level of manners in a fairly ordinary 6,8,11-year-old boy.

Write me a Harry and Ron who grow up together, an extra slim (but never skinny) dark-haired, pale (but never unhealthily so) brother to an unruly pack of seven, an overgrown garden to race toy brooms in, gnomes to be bitten by and a mother to scold all her children indiscriminately.

Write me a Sirius who comes to collect his godson in time to stay for tea and Molly who says “look there now Sirius!” and Sirius looks out and sees his boy - easy to spot out of among the five gingers fighting over a broom - break away from the group and jump and swing the old cleansweep under him before he hits the ground and zoom away around the treetops laughing “no hands Fred you gnome-end-sucker!” and Sirius feels something sharp clench in his heart because he looks so like James (and James is never ever going to do that stupid move ever again) so it’s grief, fresh as the first month, but also he is six, how can he already do that jump thing? so it’s also pride and, scariest of all he is six, that language - and he finds there are tears streaming down his cheeks and he can’t speak too well and Molly just sits him down and gives another of her interminable cups of tea (he doesn’t mind them so much now) and pats him on the shoulder, and he glances up and sees that there are tears in the corners of her eyes, too. But he drinks the tea and it passes and by the time the children come in complaining about something and clamouring for cake there’s no sign of anything amiss.

Write me a Harry who grows up with a godfather who makes mistakes, who cries and shakes some nights with flashbacks that overtake him, who never had good parents of his own and isn’t too sure what they look like exactly, but damned if he won’t do all that he can for his friend’s boy - and not even his friends’ boy, either, his boy, his Harry, because really, in the end, what is a godson but a son by another name, and what is blood but love? Write me a Harry who grew up with stories of his parents from anyone who would tell them, pictures around the house (Sirius wonders whether to black Peter out of them, but this house has had enough blacked-out faces, and that was the best part of his life, after all) and no real family, but plenty enough friends to be getting on with.

Write me parties at Christmas with the old Order and their children because if there’s one season Sirius will make an effort for its Christmas and Grimmuld Place is the best venue for things like this. Write me a house too big for just two lads, but more often than not it’s three, (eventually permanently three) and sometimes more, (Hagrid fills up a room himself, every so often in the holidays) and Sirius is never ever used to how much noise and life one 9-year-old boy can instill in the gloomiest of houses, and surely he never had this much energy? (On reflection, yes, he did, definitely, probably more).

Write me a Dumbledore who watches and waits and prays - very un-wizardly habit, that, but he always had his eccentricities - and hopes. He hopes he is right and he hopes against hope that it will never be necessary to test his theories and Voldemort will never return and he hopes that nothing will change. He hopes that he was right to make the choices he did. But when Harry arrives at Hogwarts at the age of 11, healthy and happy and loved, with someone to hug him goodbye at the station and a friend to sit with on the carriage already and a “yes!” fistpump when the hat shouts “GRYFFINDOR!” which - though he will never ever know it, who is to tell him? - is exactly the same gesture his father made when he received the same sorting twenty years ago - when he sits down with a little bit of overawed wonder in the green eyes, which is exactly how his mother looked, and waves to Hagrid, and turns to speak to the bushy-brown-haired girl next to him because she looks even more scared than he feels and Remus told him he should look for someone who looks like that and say hello, and starts to tell her what he plans to write home to his godfather about, and what will she write to her parents, he knows they’ll be so excited to hear about all of this I mean LOOK at it, look at Hogwarts, isn’t this GREAT? (and the very tense Muggle-born girl is relaxed enough to listen to someone else for the first time since Neville introduced himself on the train) - Dumbledore smiles. He won’t know how his choices pan out, and he won’t know what the future holds - but right now (and Minerva, watching the Sorting but with a smile to spare for her young Harry James, so grown up, agrees) it seems like the best that could have been.

anonymous asked:

Hi sweetie! Could you please do an Arthur/reader fic where the reader has always been in love with Arthur but he has always just seen her as a friend at the most but when Gwen gets banished from Camelot they get closer to each other and she starts hoping. So when Gwen comes back she thinks all is lost again, but then overhears Arthur tell Gwen that it's over between them, and he wants to marry someone else. And then romantic fluffy, kissing end?

Hey sunshine,

Here is your request. I hope it’s good enough. And it ended up being REALLY long.

Name: She is not ‘the one’

“How are you doing, your Highness?” you ask Arthur, entering his chambers and closing the door behind you.

“M?” Arthur turns to you, his eyes totally absent.

“How are you, Arthur?” you ask more sincerely, sitting down by his side and looking him in the eye.

“Father banished Gwen from Camelot,” slowly repeats Arthur, and you take his hand, trying to show your support. “Because of me.”

“I am so sorry,” you whisper, as he squeezes your palm in his, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “Can I help you somehow?” he shakes his head, so you just pull him up, taking the matters in your hands. “Come on, your Highness. We are going horse riding!” Arthur sighs and obediently follows you downstairs. You get on the two prepared horses (you will definitely have to apologize for using Lancelot’s horse, because you are pretty sure this beauty if his). You hurry out of the castle, knowing that the longer Arthur remains in the place that reminds him of Gwen, the longer he will suffer.

The moment you enter the forest, Arthur gets at least a little bit alive, as he speeds up and gets closer to you, breathing calmly and deeply.

“Where are we going?” he asks finally, when you notice that he stopped frowning.

“Just to a field,” you avoid the direct answer, hoping that he will like your little field that you found at some point and have been hiding it from everyone. “We are almost there.”

“If you want to kill the Prince of Camelot, I would think twice if I were you,” Arthur notices, as you lead him through possibly the darkest part of the forest, not paying attention to sharp branches and half-dead trees.

“Are you afraid, your Highness?” you ask him, trying to hide a smile, but he gets it and tries to reach out for you and grab your hand, but simply falls of his horse. “Wow. And that is our future and only King,” you sigh, shaking your head. “We are so doomed.”

“That never happened,” Arthur mumbles, as he jumps back on the back of his horse and silently follows you, hating you every time you giggle, recalling his face at the moment of the fall. “Stop giggling.”

“Stop giving me the reasons to,” he would have answered, but you finally get to your field, so you jump off the horse and look at Arthur. “Come on, it’s totally safe here.”

“It’s… It’s so beautiful,” you are pretty sure that now he should say that Gwen would like to visit this place, but he doesn’t mention her. “How did you find it?”

“Just wandering around a forest… I got lost,” you give up your secret, and Arthur grins. “Yeah, and you fell off a horse.”

“Touché,” Arthur smiles and looks around, then looks you in the eye, as you are standing in front of him, waiting for the decision that he is about to make. “Thank you. I think this place must be important for you… I guess…”

“Well, you need some happiness, don’t you?” you smile, and he leans forward, talking with the loud whisper.

“I got you for that, Y/N,” you blush so much, you think your cheeks will actually burn, but, thank Lord, Arthur is not looking at you, but simply enjoys the nature around him. He lays down and stares at the blue sky, looking like he wants to discuss something. “Y/N?”

“Yes, your Highness?” he grins and pats the grass next to him, asking you sit down next to him.

“Y/N, have you ever been in love?” you choke on the air, then pull yourself together and nod. “Oh… I didn’t know… I mean… Are you together with the person?”

“No, sire. His heart is definitely not turned towards me,” he nods sadly.

“How do you feel about it?”

“Sad,” you answer quickly. “But we are friends, so I get… I get some of the communication, Sire.”

“Should I also feel sad about Gwen not being here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel guilty. Guilty, not sad. I want to bring her back, but only because I feel like I owe her that,” Arthur sighs. “Is that how I should feel?”

“Sire, you know that I am not the best advisor on the love life,” you smile. “But… I guess no.”

“So do I, Y/N, so do I,” Arthur closes his eyes and slowly breathes. “May I come here again?”

“Of course, your Highness! How could I stop you?”

“It’s still your place. And I may need you to show it to me again,” you smile and nod. “You are a great person, Y/N. I hope this person you love will understand that.”

“How ironic,” you mumble, but nod again, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to slip in a quiet nap, just to wake up under the calm glaze of Arthur, as he keeps staring at you, thinking about something else. He bites on a small branch, smiling at his thoughts, not taking his eyes off you. “Your Highness?”

“Yes, Y/N? Right… We have to get back to the castle,” he helps you up, not talking much before you approach the castle and slow down. “Thank you, Y/N…”

“You are welcome, your Highness,” you really want to ask why he is acting so weird, but Arthur does not act like himself, staring in front of himself and not really paying attention to the surroundings. As soon as you reach the castle, he almost runs away, yelling at Merlin for something totally not important. However, you both get new habit of going to your field at least one in two days. Always together, even though he knows the route perfectly well. Always alone, even though Merlin really wants to tag along.


“Y/N!” you run into Arthur in the middle of the castle, literally walking into each other, so you almost fall down, as you both were moving quite quickly.

“Your Highness!” he catches you, holding you close and definitely not understanding how you look - Prince holding you close and not willing to let go. “Your Highness?”

“Right. Apologies,” he takes a step back and smiles at you. “Are you free now?”

“Uhm… I guess…”

“Would you accompany me to the forest?” he asks, bowing, as if acting.

“Why wouldn’t I, Sire?” you smile back and make a curtsy, and you both grin like idiots.

“Arthur?” you slowly turn around and face Gwen, standing in the middle of the hall.

“Gwen?” you take a step back, thinking that Arthur may want to run towards her and hug the brains out of her, but Arthur freezes, still bowing.

“Gwen… Uhm… Hello.”

“How are you?” you ask her, giving Arthur time to get used to her presence.

“His Majesty let me return to the castle,” she shines a smile at you, then looks at Arthur.

“Gwen. We have to talk,” abruptly states Arthur, pulling her out of the hall and totally ignoring you. You sigh and turn around to head back to your room, expecting those two to start spending every hour together from now on. However, instead of leaving, you sit down by the door, honestly doing your best not to cry or show how hurt you are. At the end, they are not supposed to be talking right now, are they? Yet they do. “Gwen, I am so sorry… We can’t do that.”

“Why not? The king let me back.”

“That’s… That is because he learned that I intend to marry someone else. Someone he approves of.”

“But you do not love her, do you?” Gwen sounds like she is smiling at him.

“I do,” Arthur whispers. “She is… I just hope she will learn to love me.”

“You hope? Arthur, I went through so much because of your… your affair with me?” you frown - Gwen sounds really upset and full of rage.

“I am sorry, Gwen.”

“And you throw me away because of the girl you are not even sure is she loves you back?”

“Gwen… I have to hope. Because she is… Part of me,” you sigh and stand up, leaving before you would hear the name of the lucky girl. As almost reach your room, Arthur catches up with you. “Y/N!”

“Your Highness?” you turn around and bow, remembering that you should act like you never heard what happened there.

“Y/N,” he look you in the eye, then takes a step closer and rests both hands on your shoulders. “I need your help.”

“Yes, your Highness?”

“I need to tell a girl that I love her, but she is in love with someone else.”

“Gwen is…”

“It’s not Gwen… Gwen is not the one,” he answers quietly. “Please, Y/N?”

“Just tell her what you fell,” you shrug your shoulders. “Any girl would die to get your attention, so you shouldn’t really worry.”

“Any, but the one I actually need,” he smiles sadly, then grins nervously. “I have another plan. Y/N,” you look at him. “I love you,” you choke on the air, but Arthur keeps looking you in the eye.

“She will definitely fall for that,” you nod, not ready to believe that he actually means it. Arthurs sighs, resting one hand on your waist and slowly pulling you closer, until you are too close to him.

“I hope,”he gently presses his lips against yours, raising one hand to hold your head. You freeze, staring at his face, then actually realize that you are not dreaming, so you slowly kiss him back, resting your hands on his shoulders, as Arthur pulls you even closer, trying to make sure that you are literally absorbed by him, but has to let go at some point.

“Uhm,” you blush, as he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“Yes?”

“That is…”

“If you say that it is wrong, I promise I will change laws of Camelot,” Arthur smiles, but you know that he actually may. Just to show that he can. So you just shake your head and lean forward to kiss him again. “What a brilliant choice.”

fanboyofallthingsfandom  asked:

"Hey, you slept with my roommate who's a notorious slut but you seem like a decent guy and here have some pancakes and we can chat and wow you're actually really sweet and genuine are you sure you wouldn't prefer this roommate to the other one?" Any ship you please.

Here you go, Hun! I went with Merthur because the story was practically written for them in my head before I finished reading the prompt haha :P

Send me a ship + AU and I’ll write a ficlet (preferably Merthur, Bagginshield, Wolfstar or Johnlock

Oh, no. Not again.

That’s Merlin’s first thought upon seeing the strange blond man in his kitchen. He’s wearing what are clearly last night’s clothes (dark wash jeans and a scarlet button-up) as well as that look of regret and embarrassment he’s seen on so many of the people who have been through Gwaine’s bed.

He knows Gwaine doesn’t mean to hurt anyone (the man is basically a human labrador puppy) but he’s impulsive and careless and no matter how many times Merlin has told him to be discerning about the men and women he sleeps with, he can’t seem to understand that not everyone is as good at one-night stands as he is.

Merlin, for instance, is still dealing with his string of ‘just-tonights’ with Gwaine five years later.

The current victim turns around sharply when he hears Merlin enter the kitchen, causing the water in the glass he’s holding to slosh violently and spill onto his hand. He looks like he’s been caught in the middle of a burglary and Merlin has to fight an amused smile at his look of terror.

Keep reading

Set Up - Arthur Pendragon

Requested by @panda-duuu

“Merlin, I’m glad you’re here,” Arthur said, getting straight to business as he walked into his room. 

“Yes, well you did ask for me,” Merlin said. Arthur sighed, not having any patience for Merlin’s sass right now.

“Right. Well, there was something I need to ask you. I understand that this may be uncomfortable, because I’m not entirely sure what your relationship with Y/N entails, but-”

“Wait? Y/N? You’re interested in Y/N?” Arthur felt his face heat up and put his hands on his hips, feeling flustered.

“What? That’s- I have no-” He stopped himself as Merlin was grinning at him confidently. “I just want to know what your relationship with her is. You two seem very close.”

“We are,” Merlin said. “Really, very close, I’d say.”

“Alright, Merlin, you don’t have to rub it in. I just want to know if you two are,” Arthur stopped, and made a face, hoping that that would somehow explain what he was trying to say.

“Y/N and I are just friends, Arthur.” The young king sighed and a small smile appeared on his face. “But I bet you don’t want to be.” Arthur groaned, realizing there was no way he could get out of this and nodded.

“Yes, but you are not to tell anyone,” he said, walking forward and getting an inch from Merlin’s face, threatening him with a finger in his face. Merlin laughed and pushed him back.

“Why would I tell anyone? Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know? Because she’s only a peasant?”

“What? No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Because I don’t like people knowing my business, that’s all. So, can you help me?”

“Do I have a choice?” Merlin asked. Arthur clapped his shoulder and laughed.

“No, not at all.” Merlin sighed and reluctantly nodded.

“Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“Set us up on a date?” Arthur suggested, hating that he looked very nervous.

“I’ll try.”

“Great. You’ll have my answer by tonight then?” Arthur asked, walking away before Merlin could say anything.


Your pink dress stood out to Merlin, which is how he found you quickly in the busy marketplace. You were smiling at a merchant as he handed you three green apples. You stuck them in your basket, and turned around, nearly running into Merlin.

“Oh, Merlin,” you said, holding your hand over your heart. “I didn’t see you there. 

“Sorry,” Merlin said. “What are you doing?” You scrunched up your eyebrows and looked down at your basket. 

“Um, shopping. What are you doing?”

“I - uh, came to see you,” he stammered.

“Well I’m glad you did,” you said with a kind smile. “I finished that book you lent me, and I wanted to return it. Come home with me.”

“Sure,” Merlin replied, smirking to himself at the reaction Arthur would have if he heard you say those words to him. Merlin left the marketplace at your side, and as you started walking down the rocky path towards the village, Merlin decided to bring up Arthur.

“So, Y/N, how are you?” he asked.

“I’m good. How are you?” you asked skeptically.

“Good. You know, you haven’t come up to the castle in a while, why don’t you go?”

“Right now?” you asked with a laugh. “We’re going to get your book.”

“Yeah, but if you go back to the castle with me, you can get more books.”

“Which you’ll never get back if you never come over,” you said with a laugh. “You’re acting very strange, is everything alright? Does Arthur have you on some crazy mission again?”

“No,” Merlin lied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, sort of. It’s funny that you should bring up Arthur.”

“Is it?” you asked as you opened the gate to your home. “It’s funny to bring up one’s king?”

“Well, it’s funny because Arthur talked about you this morning.” Although you tried to fight it, you felt color rise in your cheeks. Merlin took notice, too, and smiled.

“Oh really? What did he say?”

“That he hadn’t seen you at the castle in a while.”

“Is that why you’re down here? To bring me to the castle?”

“No,” Merlin said, following you into your house. You sat your basket down on your table and walked to your bed to grab the book that was rested on the dark brown blanket. “Would you like to come to the castle more often though?”

“I suppose,” you said, handing him the book.

“Great. Well, you should.”

“I will,” you said, looking at him awkwardly. Merlin was acting stranger than usual, and it was clear that he was hiding something. “As long as there’s someone there who wants to see me.”

“Oh there will be,” Merlin said, and then bit his tongue. You cocked an eyebrow at him and laughed.

“There’s something you’re not telling me. I really thought we were closer than that, Merlin.”

“We are. It’s just, I’m not suppose to tell anyone. Arthur made me-”

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Arthur asked me to keep a secret for him.” 

“What kind of secret?” you asked as you walked into your kitchen, grabbing two glasses of water. 

“I’m not allowed to say.” You watched him carefully, watching as he struggled to stay quiet. “But, if you want to know more, you could tell me how you feel about Arthur.”

“I think he’s a great king,” you said stiffly.

“Is that all?” Merlin asked, forcing you to look him in the eyes. Again, the color rose in your cheeks, no matter how hard you fought it. 

“He’s very kind. And-”

“And?”

“Wait a minute,” you said backing up from Merlin as you crossed your arms around your waist. “Why are you asking this?”

“Because I need to know! Geez, you’re just as stubborn as Arthur.” Merlin looked at you hopefully, like you would understand what he was trying to say without him having to actually say it.

“Fine,” he said, sitting down at your table. You sat across from him and smiled softly. “If I tell you, you have to promise that no one will find out. Especially Arthur.”

“I promise,” you said. “Tell me!”

“Okay, well the truth is, Arthur sent me down here to see how you felt about him, because he has a huge crush on you.”

“He does?” you asked with a grin.

“Yes. Do you like him?”

“Well, he’s the king. I guess I never really thought about- well, of course I thought about it, it’s just I never really thought- What did he say exactly?”

“He’s very withholding, but I’ve watched him the few times you’ve interacted, and he seems very infatuated with you. I know he thinks you’re very beautiful, and astonishingly smart.”

“Well,” you said, beaming. 

“You like him, too, don’t you?” You nodded and bit your lip to keep yourself from smiling more. “Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. So, I guess you’ll have dinner with him tonight, then.”

“What? Tonight?” you asked nervously, jumping up. 

“Yes, he sent me down here to set you up on a date.”

“A date with the king,” you said to yourself, holding onto your stomach. “What would I even wear?”

“What you’re wearing now looks nice,” he offered.

“Yeah?” 

“Yes. Don’t worry, Arthur is already so in love with you, he can barely speak. There’s nothing you have to do to make him like you any more.”

“Thanks, Merlin,” you said, touching his cheek.

“So, I’ll tell him you’ll see him tonight.” 

“Okay,” you said as he walked towards the door.

“Don’t look so nervous, it’ll be great.”


That night, as the sun set, and the sky turned a deep orange color, a knock came from your door. You fixed your hair in the tiny mirror in your room before walking to the door. Opening it, you found Arthur with a handful of daisies in his hand.

“My king,” you said, curtsying.

“Oh, please don’t do that,” he said. “Arthur is fine. May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” you said, stepping to the side so he could walk in. 

“You have a lovely home,” he said, looking around. You doubt he actually meant it, but still appreciated his politeness. “Oh, these are for you,” he said, holding out the flowers. You took them, and brushed your hand against Arthur’s.

“Thank you. I’ll just put these in some water. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for meeting with me tonight.”

“I’m happy to,” you said, walking to the kitchen. As you stuck them in a vase of water, you took a deep breath, hoping to calm yourself. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, thank you.” You poured two cups and brought him one, and he thanked you again. “Shall we sit?” he asked. You nodded and sat across from him at the table. 

“I’m really glad Merlin arranged this,” you said. Arthur smiled genuinely and looked at you. 

“So am I. Truth be told, I didn’t think this would happen.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because I didn’t think you even noticed me.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Arthur, you’re the king. Everyone in Camelot notices you.”

“Yes, but only as their king.” You sighed and the smile fell from your face. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I see you as more than a king. And I didn’t think you noticed me either.”

“Please, Y/N, you’re impossible to miss.” You blushed, and you were both grinning at each other so much that you had to take a drink of your wine to break this contact. 

“Oh!” Arthur said suddenly. He stood up and you tried not to jump as he did. He walked outside, and you watched him reach into the bag on his saddle. He came back in and handed you a book. “Merlin said you’ve been dying to read this book, so I asked for it specially.”

You looked down at the book with a smile. Indeed, you had been looking for this book for a while. However, Merlin could never see to get his hands on it.

“Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”

“It’s nothing really, I’d do anything to make you happy. But you’re welcome.”

“Well, you’re off to a good start, already.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Absolutely. I feel bad that I didn’t get you anything,” you said with a laugh. Arthur shook his head and smiled.

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Well, let me go get dinner, at least,” you said, standing up again. Arthur nodded, and you turned around, but spun back and kissed his lips. When you pulled away, Arthur was smiling wider than he had all night.

“That was the best gift you could have ever gotten me,” he said. You laughed and shook your head, not believe what was happening.

“I’m gonna go get dinner,” you said again, giggling. Arthur nodded and watched as you walked to the kitchen, both of you feeling less nervous than before.

Ignorance

Requested by @ deannanovakwinchester 

Warning: violence, kidnapping, torture etc

Summary: The reader is kidnapped and Merlin goes off to find her without Arthur knowing.

A/N: I really like this prompt. I’m trash, bye.

Keep reading

Stuff of Legends

I’m still not over the ending to BBC’s Merlin, so here ya go.

I made it so that Arthur lives, surprise. Yup. Merlin feels.

Arthur stared at him from across the campfire. A day earlier, Arthur was unable to feed himself, take off his own boots, walk on his own for God’s sake, and now here he was, alive, healthy, feeling better than he had in… forever, actually, all because of the man sitting across those crackling flames.

Strangely enough, even with the news that the man had told him several nights before, the first word that sprouted into his mind wasn’t warlock.

It was friend.

Best friend, in fact. Merlin might be a sorcerer, yes, but that made him no less everything Arthur already thought he was before. As much as he wanted to be angry, peeved, to hit Merlin over the head and growl why didn’t you trust me, he couldn’t. Not with Merlin.

Not his Merlin.

“You look a million miles away.” His voice was cheerful. “What’s on your mind?”

Arthur finally focused on Merlin’s blue, blue eyes. Every so often, he had noticed, they would flash golden, and the fire would grow a bit stronger. It was a small gesture, the young king knew, to show how much his friend trusted him.

“You.” Arthur frowned.

The dark haired man chuckled, shoulders shaking, and the sight caused the king’s lips to edge upwards. “Watch out, Sire. You’re a married man.”

He decided to ignore that statement, but couldn’t contain his smile. “Speaking of Guinevere, I’m sure you’ll have to tell her when we return. I don’t think she’ll believe that you simply found a way to save my life with normal healing when Gaius couldn’t.”

Merlin looked away in calm thought. “I’m sure she already knows.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “You think so?”

“Oh, surely.” His servant nodded, expression anything but concerned. “Gaius would have told her, no doubt.”

“What on earth for?” the king sat up straighter, eyes narrowed. “He would have kept your secret until his dying day, no doubt, even from me! Why on earth would he tell Gwen?”

Merlin shrugged as though the words he said next would not rattle Arthur’s soul. “Well, he didn’t expect to see me return, of course.”

Arthur stopped, eyes shooting wide, and he stared, but the magician chuckled and continued. “At least, that is what I’m assuming. Gaius wouldn’t tell anyone unless he could trust them. Or he didn’t think I was coming back.”

“Gaius-Gaius didn’t think you would return to Camelot?”

“Not alive, no.” Merlin’s eyes finally glanced back to catch his in curiosity of the king’s change of tone.

Arthur’s voice was edged with anger. “And why wouldn’t you be returning to Camelot?”

With me, was left unspoken.

His friend rolled his eyes. “I was taking you to the Isle of the Blessed, Arthur. For a life to be saved, one must be taken. It’s the rules, so to speak. It was you or I, and honestly, we both already know the answer to that choice.”

Arthur’s eyes unwillingly pricked with tears. Merlin, again, without a second’s hesitation, was ready to lay down his life for Arthur’s. And he was almost happy with it, as if his life wasn’t worth as much, as if he didn’t matter. As if life would even mean anything if he was gone, as if Arthur could continue living without him.

“You-you were willing to die?”

Merlin glanced up again, brows furrowed, and he must have seen how misty his friend’s eyes had become. “Arthur, it’s not like I haven’t done it before. I told you, I was mean to serve you, and I’m proud of that-,”

“I heard what you said.” He rasped, his throat suddenly very, very tight. “But-but you can’t possibly think I’d let you-let you go and get yourself killed because of me!”

“It never stopped me before.” His blue eyes were sincere, honest, and filled with a loyalty that drove a sword into Arthur’s heart. Because he didn’t deserve that loyalty, that faith. The belief that Merlin always seemed to have. All the times that Arthur had blamed him, mistreated him, called him names, hit him, degraded him in every way imaginable, and he continued to remain faithful, true, and even now, he had been willing, completely ready, to give up his life to save Arthur.

“So-so when did you try before-,”

“The Questing Beast.” Merlin replied easily, frown deepening at the weakness of Arthur’s voice.

“And-and that was the only time.” Arthur stated more than asked. That had to be. He wouldn’t stand for Merlin being so reckless that he would risk his life more than once just to save Arthur of all people-

“No.” the black hair trembled as he shook his head slightly. “No, that wasn’t the only time.”

“How-how many times?” his voice was shaking now, but he didn’t have the care to be ashamed. Not when he had to know, almost felt as if he might die if he didn’t.

No doubt Merlin would be ready to save him if he did, though, no matter what it cost him.

The idiot.

“I don’t exactly know.” Merlin muttered, looking away, his voice suddenly quiet. “It gets blurred over the years.”

“That many?”

The servant chuckled. “Yes, I suppose. That many.”

Arthur’s mouth hung open in shock. Suddenly, all the branches falling, the walls crumbling, the fires that appeared out of nowhere to save the day made sense. The mysterious getaways, the way Merlin had his strange feelings, how they always escaped, were explainable.

“So, when- when Gwen was accused of sorcery, you-,”

“Yes.” Merlin nodded.

“And-and when Morgana came back with the Cup of Life and tried to take over-,”

“Yes.” Another nod.

“And the sword? In the stone?”

“Also me, yes.”

His heart growing heavier with each confirmation, Arthur stuttered, “When I accidently summoned my father’s ghost-,”

“Yeah…” Merlin scratched the back of his head. “He found me out a split second before you blew that horn.”

Arthur could hardly breathe. “And when Gwen was under Morgana’s spell-,”

“I was the old witch, yes.” He chuckled, cheeks dusting pink at the memory. “That was not one of my favorite ideas Gaius came up with, but it worked.”

“The dragon!” his voice grew louder. “The perilous lands! That dwarf said courage, strength, and magic! The troll! Princess Elena!”

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes.” Merlin nodded. “All of that and more. It’s quite funny, really.”

“What?” Arthur’s eyes began to spark. “What on earth is funny about this situation, because I can’t find a single thing!”

“Arthur, I was only saying that-,”

“Saying what, Merlin?” Suddenly he was on his feet, arms waving like a mad man. “That you risking your life over and over and over again to save my sorry arse is hilarious? That it’s something we should both just kick back and laugh about? That the fact that you are so stupid to trade your life for mine on a weekly basis is a joke to tell your children? You could have died!”

He stopped, shoulders falling. “Why would you do that? What reason, on this earth or other, would you do that to yourself?”

Merlin’s eyes turned gentle. Warm. “Because you’re the closest friend I have and I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Arthur froze, and suddenly Merlin’s voice was filling his head.

What is the life of a servant compared to that of a prince?

I’m happy to be your servant, till the day I die.

I’m not going back, not without you!

And I use it for you, Arthur.

Arthur’s vision was blurring.

Only for you.

And suddenly Arthur could take it no longer. He could not bare this, this unnamable emotion building up in his chest. He could not think that Merlin, sweet, dear, precious Merlin had risked his life over and over again. That he had blatantly disregarded his own worth and future to secure the success of Arthur’s. He could not even understand how he could be so devoted, so loyal to the point that he would die for him.

Some men are born to plow fields. Some live to be great physicians others, to be great kings. Me? I was born to serve you Arthur. And I’m proud of that. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Arthur nearly attacked him then, as Merlin’s confession whirled in his mind. It could be called an attack, surely, for his arms might have crushed his spine with how tightly he was holding him. But Arthur wouldn’t stop, not yet, not as he buried his head into the crook of his shoulder, as he let the pent up tears roll down his cheeks, as he muttered a million thank you’s into the fabric of his scarf, as he let out all the emotions that had been crawling around inside him since Merlin told him he had magic.

He closes his eyes and thanks God for Merlin. How compassionate, how selfless. That Merlin isn’t bitter about being in the background, not gaining any glory for his amazing acts. For his bravery. That Merlin, sweet Merlin, lived not for himself, but for Arthur. Thanked him that Merlin’s love was so great that even if no destiny decreed he be Arthur’s servant, he would be proud all the same, for all he’d done.

And heavens know he thanked God for granting him Merlin as a friend. A best friend.

And more. For friend was not big enough to describe all that Merlin was to Arthur. He might never find a word big enough.

He became aware of his friend’s choked breathing, and pushed away before he was a direct cause of Merlin’s death, staring into those blue eyes. He held his shoulders tightly, not wanting to let go, because Merlin might be an idiot and run off to save his life again.

“You really are a complete clotpole, you know that?” Arthur smiled, tears skewing his sight.

But when Merlin smiled, there were tears in his eyes too. “That’s my word.”

Arthur pulled the man back into his embrace, “Risking your life for me was stupid.”

“I’ve actually gotten quite good at it.” He chuckled, and Arthur became aware of his hands tightening against the chainmail the blonde was wearing. “I think it should be a job, but I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else. Beware extreme pain, emotional and physical. Death may occur.”

They both laughed, and Arthur pulled back again, this time with a full grin. “I wouldn’t want any other person doing that job, you know.”

“Well, no one else would be able to put up with you.” Merlin replied easily.

Another laugh from them both, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence that spoke more words than either could say.

“Thank you.” Arthur finally breathed, and those blue eyes were on him once more.

“For what?” his friend asked, brows raised.

“Everything.”

Merlin smiled softly. “Thanks for the same.”

The king returned the smile and rested his shoulder against Merlin’s. Many things might happen in the future, so much adventure that destiny might have in store for them, but none of it mattered as long as Merlin was there to protect Arthur, and Arthur was there to protect Merlin.

He knew, one day, people would tell tales about them. Wonderful fantasies about their quests and great deeds. Songs would be sung, wine raised to their name. They would be known as heroes, conquerors, brave warriors and saviors.

But for now, Arthur thought as he sighed and turned to watch the setting sun, it was just Arthur and Merlin, two idiots who cared for one another more than the world could manage.

They were the stuff of legends.

His eyes glanced up as Merlin muttered something he didn’t understand, and the flames danced before his eyes, turning into a familiar dragon. The fiery creature opened its mouth in a roar, and the flames crackled louder. It flapped its wings once, twice, before flying upwards and disappearing into the stars above.

Arthur’s grin was uncontrollable.

Yes. The stuff of legends.

Arthur x Reader: Alone Together Part 2

I don’t own the GIF, and I don’t own BBC’s Merlin.  Other than that, enjoy!

No one moved.

No one breathed.

They all stared in silence at where you had just been standing.  Arthur was like a statue.  Eventually Lancelot spoke up.  “Arthur, I’m so—”  He didn’t get a chance to finish.  Arthur lunged forward and grabbed the front of Lancelot’s tunic, shoving him up against a broken pillar.

“You’re what?  You’re sorry?” He hissed.  “I don’t care if you’re sorry.  I finally had her back.  And now she’s gone.  Again!” He drew his fist back and Lancelot prepared for the blow.  Merlin however, had faster reflexes.  He grabbed Arthur’s fist.  Arthur tried to shake him off, but Merlin held on tight.  “What are you doing?” He shouted.

“Arthur, calm down!”  Arthur whirled on his manservant.  

“Calm down?  Calm down?!”  He screamed, absolutely livid.  “Y/N was missing for months and I just watched her be taken away from me again.  I have no idea where she is, who she’s with, or if she’s even alive!” Arthur’s voice cracked.  Merlin watched him sympathetically.  Arthur didn’t speak.  He just stared at his

feet.

“We’ll find her, Arthur.”

“How do you know?” He snapped.

“She came back once; that means she can come back again.” Merlin reasoned.  

“How?” He said bitterly.   “She was taken by magic.  You all saw it.” He pointed to where the rift was.  “There’s no way to get her back.”  The answer hung unsaid in the air, until Merlin finally spoke up.

“…But there is a way.” He said softly.  Arthur stared at him as though he’d grown another head.

“You know that’s not an option.”

“So what’s your plan?” Arthur didn’t answer.  “Are you really willing to turn away the one solution we may ever find?”

On the one hand, magic was outlawed in Camelot.  What sort of example would he be setting as King?

But on the other hand… Y/N.  This might be the only chance he’d get to see her again.  He’d give anything to get her back.

The choice was easy.

“What do you propose?”


“So tell me what happened again?” Arthur groaned from his seat at the weathered wooden table.  

“I told you.  She got—”

“Sucked into a rift in space and sent to a world far away from here.  I know.”

“Then why did you ask?” The old wizard turned and grinned at him.

“Just to see if you’d listen.” He poured what he had been mixing into a small flask.  He shoved a cork in the top and handed it to the King.

“And what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Drink one third of it and think about where you want to go.”

“Why a third? Am I going to die if I drink more?” His sarcastic response was answered with a smart rap to his head.  “Hey!”

“One third to get there.  One third to get back.  And the last is for her.”  Arthur nodded in understanding and turned to leave.  The door slammed and Arthur whirled around, drawing his sword.  The old wizard waggled a finger at him.

 “Didn’t your parents ever teach you manners?  You know, just because you’re a King doesn’t mean you can’t learn some manners!”  Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” He said at last.  “Truly.”  He turned to open the door, but stopped at the last second.  “You know,” He said, turning around.  “You remind me of a friend of mine.” He was going to say more, but was interrupted by a book flying at his head.

“Go!”  Arthur glared at the wizard and left.  When he was gone, Merlin shed his disguise and watched Arthur’s retreating form.  He had no idea how you managed to fall in love with such a clot pole.


Arthur locked the door to his chambers, and relieved his guards for the night.

 He turned the flask over in his hands, studying it.  He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid.  He had no idea if the wizard was telling the truth, or even what he was about to drink.

But it was for you.

And he’d go to the ends of the earth for you.

Without another thought, he opened the flask and tipped it back.


You wiped your eyes as you dropped your bag on the foot of your bed.  You didn’t bother changing; you just pulled the covers back and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up and over.  You lay there in the dark.  Just thinking.  
You knew it wasn’t a dream.  As soon as you were back, you opened your computer and googled Merlin.  You checked the episodes, and sure enough, Lancelot was there right up until the end of season 5.

You weren’t sure if it made you feel better or worse.

You went back to your normal life, but now that you knew what was missing, it wasn’t the same.  You were going through the motions.  By the time you got home, all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and go to sleep.
Which found you in bed at 5:30.  You were seconds away from falling asleep when you  heard something that made your heart stop.

“Now, I wonder where Y/N could be?” You didn’t move, convinced you had finally lost your mind.  

Then a hand tugged the covers off you.  You blinked in the light, and when your eyes focused, your hands flew to your mouth as you let out a gasp.  Arthur was kneeling next to your bed, smiling softly at you.  His face was filled with so much love, and before you could stop yourself, you had shot towards him and wrapped your arms around his neck, throwing him off balance.  He instinctively wrapped his arms around you as he fell back.  You were laughing and sobbing and Arthur was holding you as tightly as possible, nuzzling his face into your neck.  He carefully sat up, still holding onto you as you settled in his lap. You looked up at him and smiled shakily.  He wiped the tears from your cheeks.  “You don’t have to cry anymore,” He told you.  You smiled a little more surely, and pulled his face down to yours.  Your lips moved together gently, and he held you like you were made of china.  When you pulled apart he stood up, cradling you in his arms.

“Are you ready to go home?”  You nodded.  He smiled, and carefully raised a flask, still holding onto you.  He tipped the contents into his mouth and pressed his lips to yours, passing some of the mixture to you.  You felt wind blow around you, and when you pulled apart and opened your eyes, you were home.

Thanks to Alexandrin for requesting this one!

First Meeting (An Eggsy Unwin imagine)

“I’m fine!” the agent insists. “I don’t need looking after, I swear!”

You give his shoulders a firm push, planting him on the edge of the bed. “Galahad,” you say firmly, “you look like you’ve just gone ten rounds with a block of cement. Let me have a look.”

You watch his mouth move as he thinks of something to say in return. With a huff, he gives up and extends his neck forward so you can look at his face properly. Holding your washcloth tightly, you begin to wipe away the dirt and blood on his skin, revealing the cuts and bruises underneath. “Christ, Galahad, what did you get up to?”

“That’s classified,” he replies, with a small smirk.

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” you ask, shaking your head lightly.

“A while. We all done?”

He goes to stand, but you push him back down. “No. That cut on your head needs a couple of stitches. Stay there.” You cross the room to grab what you need.

“So how long have you been doing this?” he calls. “You look a bit young to be a nurse.”

You shrug. “I was interning for a year, it was meant to be three years, but then V-Day happened and it all went tits up.”

“How?”

“V-Day was my mentor’s day off. I’m sure you can imagine how it turned out.”

He looks down at his feet awkwardly, replying, “Shit. I’m sorry.”

You walk back over to him. “Don’t be. I didn’t really know her that well, and she was a bit of a bitch to me anyway. She didn’t approve of how I was raised compared to her. Didn’t think I should be here. Neither did a lot of people.”

“I know that feeling. So how did you end up in here in the first place? I mean, they couldn’t exactly advertise this on Jobsite. Did you go through a whole recruitment thing too?” he asks.

“Nah. I got in through nepotism.”

“So, who got you the job?”

“You’re just full of curiosity, aren’t you?” You flash him a grin and answer, “The old Arthur did … he was my granddad.”

Guilt fills his eyes. You know why he feels that way – he was the one to kill your grandfather after all. You purse your lips as you rub numbing cream onto his forehead, getting ready to do the stitches. His hand flies up and grabs your wrist, causing you to look him in the eye. “I am so sorry. I had to do it, he was working with Valentine.”

You place your hand over his. “I know. I understand. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” He releases his grip and you make the first stitch. “To be honest, he wasn’t really around much until a couple of years ago. His son – my dad – he died when I was young. My parents had me at a young age, and my dad wasn’t the nicest person. He got into drugs as a teenager and that was what killed him in the end. Chester didn’t approve of the way my mum raised me, but he had no say in it. When I turned eighteen, he offered me the internship here.”

“And you’ve been here ever since.”

“Yup.” You smooth a couple of butterfly stitches over his cut and smile. “All done.” As you go to step back, his hands find your waist and he pulls you closer to him.

“I might seem a little forward here,” he murmurs, “but I would really appreciate it if you would go out for a drink with me …” His eyes flick to the badge on your top, “… Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm and begin to stutter, trying to get the words out. “I – I, um, that is to say – I –”

“She would love to.” You look over your shoulder to find Merlin watching you from the doorway. “Wouldn’t you?”

You give a nod and a grateful smile. Galahad grins and lets go of you, allowing you to stumble out of his way as he stands up. “Saturday? I’ll meet you here at eight?”

“O-okay,” you stammer.

With a wink, he says, “Perfect. See you then.” And with that, he and Merlin exit the room, leaving you blushing and looking forward to the weekend.

anonymous asked:

Yaaaaay you're back!! Missed you! Could you please updated the stiles kicked out of the pack tag or just general badass-ery for stiles. (Sterek please!). Thank you, hope you had a good hoilday break!! :)

Here you go. An update on Stiles Kicked Out of the Pack and here’s our BAMF!Stiles tag which is pretty regularly updated. (Since it’s an update not all of them are Sterek but 99% are~) - Anastasia

Originally posted by freemusic979

Big Bad World by PrincessaBitchessa

(1/? I 610 I Not Rated I No Pairing)

The fic where the Sheriff is a bad parent, everyone sucks ass, and Stiles is broken.

King’s Ballad by Bloody_Princess

(1/? I 717 I Explicit I Nogitsune/Stiles I MCD)

Everything is one and the same.

Everything is neither love nor hate.

Everything is Chaos.

Stiles couldn’t escape the consequences of being possessed losing not only the trust of his friends and family but the very threads of his sanity. Struggling to survive in Echo House he starts to unravel not only why the Nogitsune chose him instead of Allison and Scott but also who his truly is and the sins that his soul has committed.

Stiles’ Angels by CurlyLahey

(2/? I 1,563 I Mature I Sterek)

Four glowing blue eyes and one pair of ominous red ones have plagued his dreams for months on end. Five faces ingrained into his mind. Five faces of five complete strangers, he’s never met them but they’re there right when he closes his eyes.

Their names are Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel and Nyla. They have large, obsidian wings that fan out across their backs. In his dreams, they’re ethereal, they radiate power, wisdom and beauty.

One day, they weren’t just a dream anymore.

OR…

The one where Stiles gets kicked out of the pack and then realises that Archangels, the object of his dreams, the most powerful beings in all of creation are just like a bunch of kids. They need hugs, they need guidance and love and they need someone to show them the world in a way that billions of years of life experience could never teach.

His name is Stiles Stilinski and Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel and Nyla are his angels.

Could It Be Worse? by BeautifulSilence21

(4/20 I 2,552 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles Stilinski is ignored by his pack, deemed as an innocent little human, a liability. Alone, Stiles has noone, or so he thought. What is it with the new woman Stiles hangs out with? And why does Stiles keeps calling her Theia when she clearly stated her name was Ann? Why does she give such a powerful vibe? And the werewolves, why do they feel so submissive when she is around?

Fallen Heroes by captivated

(2/? I 2,579 I General I Sterek I MCD)

Stiles time travels unexpectedly to the Medieval Times, at least a thousand years before he was born. He ends up in Camelot — also known as Albion — and starts to fall in with the crowd. He starts to lose his memories of his family and former friends in Beacon Hills, believing that he himself was all alone in Camelot.

Years and years of being involved with Arthur Pendragon and Merlin, he becomes the Protector of Camelot (honored by King Arthur) and serves as one of the Knights proudly until the battle with Morgana that resulted in losing, Sir Gwaine and Arthur Pendragon in the process.

Shortly after, Stiles is killed and he’s sent back to the modern times. The only thing is… he has no memory of living in Beacon Hills or any of his friends. The Pack seems to keep it that way until the fallen heroes of Camelot and the once and future king are resurrected again when Albion is in need once again.

As the fallen heroes reunite, a powerful force will wake up and soon destroy everything in his path to get rid of the heroes of destiny.

wake by sinequanon

(1/1 I 2,856 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles returns home after completing his magical studies to find that he is slowly being replaced in the pack, and decides that he’s not going to stay where he isn’t wanted.

Then, the world ends.

Pack Your Bags, You’re Coming Home With Me by CaptEdKenway

(1/1 I 3,433 I Mature I Sterek)

Derek looked at him, his heart breaking for the boy. He stood tall, his wolf pacing with the need to protect and comfort. He strode up to him just as Stiles moved forward, towards Derek. Derek enveloped him in a hug while Stiles gripped his shirt tightly, holding on for dear life. Derek cupped the back of Stiles’ head and rocked him, trying to communicate everything he needed to say in that hug. He could hear Stiles mumbling into his neck that he ‘couldn’t do it’, and that was when he noticed the nine millimeter Glock laying on the table.

Somewhere in the Forest, This Dark Heart Beats by IMANTSINMYEYESJOHNSON

(1/? I 5,665 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles has a lot of problems, but who can blame him? He’s witnessed a lot. In retrospect, he’s surprised he hasn’t gone completely insane. Or maybe he has? Who knows anymore.
He just knows that with the pack having excluded him, there’s only so much he can take. Another demonic possession is no exception.

“So you don’t have a pack? You don’t have anyone?” Derek’s jaw flexes as he shakes his head. “Neither do I.”

Way Down We Go by Formaldehyde_Eyes

(3/? I 12,450 I Explicit)

““Stiles, they need – I need your help, please,” the Sheriff pleaded. When his son didn’t say anything he continued. “It’s Derek. He’s gone.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles sassed, “Yeah, he does that sometimes.”

“No. Stiles, he was out helping me look for the children who’ve disappeared and now we can’t find him. It’s been four days and we haven’t found anything. The pack says you can help find him, with some sparks or something.”

Stiles couldn’t help but snort at that, even with the dread sinking into his bones. “My spark,” he corrected quietly, knowing that’s all they ever wanted him for.”


As Stiles reluctantly helps the pack that pushed him away, dark monsters and surprising truths find their way to the surface.

Legion by CurlyLahey

(14/? I 20,450 I Mature I Stiles/OC)

When Stiles is pushed out of the pack he’s miserable, angry, hurt, confused and upset. They couldn’t even look him in the eye when they did it. They didn’t even care that he was falling apart right in front of them. When Stiles begins to feel like he really is useless; he meets Cataleya Mikaelson.

Cataleya and her siblings are The Originals, the first vampires ever created. Cataleya lives in Beacon Hills and she meets Stiles one night and just thought he was too pale for her to drink from. The two form an unlikely bond and it becomes a friendship filled to the brim with sarcasm, supernatural and wit. The Mikaelson siblings show Stiles how much he’s worth and actually treat him as an equal.

The McCall pack wants Stiles back but they came to that conclusion just a tad too late. The Mikaelsons aren’t letting Stiles go so easily and Stiles isn’t sure he wants to.

Tales of Sparks and Lightning by graveltotempo

(3/? I 37,205 I Teen I Sterek)

Life had not been very kind to Stiles Stilinski.
He lost his mother at an early age, and watched many of his friends die while he was still in high school. He had looked at death in the eye more than once in that year alone.
He had thought about dying. More than once. He had always expected to die mauled by a supernatural creature that wasn’t supposed to exist, or piss off the wrong werewolf, or try Derek one too many times: all of his deaths included a ferocious battle for survival.
But this? This wasn’t him being incredibly stupid. He had lived in Beacon Hills dodging supernatural mauling and killer trees just to die in a stupid airplane crash.
After all that had happened, he was going to die by human hands.

Let me run away by Littleredridinghunter

(1/1 I 45,339 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles overhears the pack talking about kicking him out. He leaves town and stumbles onto a television set and his whole life changes abruptly. Monsters hide around every corner and not just the supernatural kind.

It’s all part of the master plan by Littleredridinghunter

(1/1 I 57,188 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When Gerard kidnaps Stiles at the lacrosse game, nobody knows he was taken, nodoby knows how bad it was. Stiles swears Erica and Boyd to secrecy.

When the pack finally find out about it they do everything they can to help him heal and protect him from future threats.

Too bad that they don’t manage to do that.

KINGSMAN PROMPT/Father!Harry, Son!Eggsy- Repost

(Some people said they were having trouble reading after the line break, so I’m reposting w/o it. Sorry for the long post!)

               Harry wanted to do more after Lee Unwin’s death. A medallion and the promise for one favor didn’t seem like enough compensation for a life, three lives if you counted the fact that both Michelle’s and little Gary’s lives would forever be altered. But his hands were tied, so he delivered the medallion, took the verbal thrashing, and walked out of the Unwin household with no intentions of further dampening their doorway—at least that was what Arthur believed. Chester King had made it very clear that Harry was to take no part in the Unwins’ lives, but Harry couldn’t turn away, not when Lee’s death had been his responsibility.

           “It’s the risk of the job,” Merlin told him over a pint a week after Harry had delivered the medallion.  “It isn’t all jokes when we ask for each trainee’s basics.”

           Perhaps not, but Lee’s demise should have never happened. Unable to shake his guilt, Harry took to monitoring from afar, watching over the Unwins. Things were rocky for them, and Harry tried to alleviate some of the burden without being too obvious, but it was evident the strain of losing her husband and raising a child on her own was getting to Michelle. Grocery bills lengthened with lists of alcohol. Michelle began a prescription of anti-depressants. It was clear to Harry that she wasn’t coping well, but when the report came in about her suicide, Harry had been taken back.

           He never thought she’d go so far as to take her own life, to leave her only child alone in the world. Harry spent the night in his office, a bottle of scotch in one hand and a picture of Lee and himself in the other.

           “What have I done, old friend?” Harry asked the worn photograph, which was creased down the center and faded. He’d doomed Lee’s only child, the last of his legacy, to be an orphan. What the boy must be going through, to lose both his mother and father in the same year. Did he have family who would take him? Love him?

           The thought choked Harry. There had been solace in watching over Gary and Michelle, to watch over the last remaining traces of Lee. It had been as if Harry hadn’t had to say goodbye.

           Harry sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, a gesture he’d never do in front of anyone else, and then set both the bottle and photo down. He turned to his computer and did a search of Gary’s remaining family, to see who would take custody of the boy—of Lee’s son.

           It wasn’t good, to say the least; Michelle’s only living relatives was a ninety year-old aunt from Bath. Lee had a sister in the area, but some digging around showed that she lived in the same squalor as Michelle, and if the number of police reports filed were anything to go off of, it was clear her relationship with her husband wasn’t exactly loving. No, neither prospects would do.

           Harry picked up his phone and called Merlin. “I need a favor,” Harry said as soon as Merlin answered.

           “Not even a hello?” He didn’t wait for Harry’s cheeky response. “I suspected you’d be calling. I got the flag for Mrs. Unwin’s death. You’re not going to ask what I think you are, are you Harry?”

           “You know I am,” Harry said with a slight sniff.

           “Arthur won’t like this,” Merlin pointed out, not that he sounded like he cared. As far as Merlin was concerned, Arthur could take a stroll off a pier.

           “He’ll never have to know,” Harry replied, already formulating a plan in his head.

           Merlin sighed, but Harry could hear the familiar tapping of keys. “You owe me,” Merlin stated five minutes later.

           “I know.” And he really did.

* * * *

           As far as anyone was concerned, Eggsy was his nephew, who’d been sent to live with him while his sister was recuperating in the country. If anyone checked to corroborate the story, they’d find reports of Harry’s sickly younger sibling, Victoria, on record. She was ten years his younger, a widow of three years, and had only one child, a Gary ‘Eggsy’ Collins, who was three months shy of turning eight. And if anyone asked about Gary Unwin, well, they were given a sad smile and shake of the head, the universal sign of the untimely end to life in its prime.

           Harry didn’t really know what to do with Eggsy at first. Harry was an only child and the last time he dealt with someone so little had been on a rescue mission in Prague, which Harry really rather not think about—he still had a scar on his hand from where the kid had bit him.

           Eggsy didn’t seem to know what to do with Harry either. He stared at Harry the first night he arrived, confusion deepening his eyes to a shade of indigo. “Who are y’?” Eggsy asked, head craned back so he could look Harry in the eyes.

           “I’m your uncle, from your father’s side,” Harry explained patiently.

           “No y’ ain’t,” Eggsy stated matter-of-factly, bottom lip jutting out stubbornly. “Only got an aunt on da’s side, and y’ was around before. Few months back, around Christmas.”

           Harry’s mouth involuntarily twitched up into a smile. “Clever boy.” Eggsy’s shoulders straightened at the praise, but his determined look never deflated. Harry clamped a hand down on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m a friend of your fathers, and he asked me to look after you if anything should happen to him or your mother.”

           Eggsy scrunched up his nose. “How come I never saw y’ before that day?”

           “Your father liked to keep his private life separate from work,” Harry answered smoothly and dropped his hand.

           Eggsy’s lower lip wobbled and he dropped his gaze. “Y’ knew my dad?”

           “I did,” Harry said gently.

           Eggsy sniffed and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Harry could see him fighting to keep his expression hard, to hold back the fat tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes, but they rolled down his pudgy cheeks defiantly. Eggsy let out a shuddered sob and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, futilely staving off tears. “Why’d he leave? Why’d he have to go—why’d mom h-have to…to…”

           Harry dropped to his knees, taking Eggsy’s shoulders in both of his hands, and said, words tight in his throat, “I’m sorry Eggsy. I wish I could change what happened, but I can’t. Know, though, that you’ll never be alone again. I’m here Eggsy, and I’ll always be here for you.”

           Eggsy collapsed against his chest trembling, so small and delicate that Harry was afraid to hold him too tightly, terrified the boy would break beneath his hands. He laid his cheek against the top of Eggsy’s head and held him close, letting the boy cry himself to sleep.

* * * *

           Eggsy loved going to the Estate. It had become his favorite thing over the last three years since he started to live with Harry. He could still remember the first time Harry had brought him there, traveling from the little tailor shop on Savile Row to a giant mansion with an underground lair—because what else did you call it?—via a literal bullet train. How many seven year olds got to say they could do that?

           Even now that he was ten, the wonder of the ride hadn’t faded—in fact, it was greater, because now Harry trusted Eggsy to make the journey himself. Eggsy would travel every day after school from his academy to the Kingsman Tailor Shop, bid Andrew good afternoon, and take the train to the Estate where Harry would be working. He wouldn’t always go straight to Harry, especially since Harry was usually in the middle of something.

           No, instead Eggsy would make his rounds. He’d go and visit the other agents, makings sure to stop by Gawain, who’d have a toffee waiting, and then Lancelot and Percival, who always stopped bickering when he was around. Percival helped Eggsy with his history and Lancelot taught Eggsy how to hold a gun—much to Harry’s displeasure. Eggsy took great pains in avoiding Arthur, who he had decided on his first day of visiting Kingsman Estate, that he didn’t like the older man.

           Eggsy’s last stop before he went off to find Harry—if he wasn’t there already—was Merlin’s office. He loved sitting and watching the tech wizard work on his latest invention. Sometimes he’d even let Eggsy sit and listen in as he instructed one of the agents—other times he’d send Eggsy away, ruffling his hair and promising next time. Eggsy would work on his homework, asking for help even when he didn’t’ need it, just because he liked the attention Merlin gave him.

           Eggsy became a fixed presence at the estate. He stayed there as long as possible, until Harry would finally gather him up and cart him home. The only days he didn’t go to the estate were days he had gymnastics, and even then, Eggsy would usually go straight after practice unless Harry was waiting to pick him up from the gym.

* * * *

           “Pancakes or French toast?” Harry asked Eggsy as the boy slipped into the chair at the breakfast nook. It amazed Harry how quickly they grew. It felt like just yesterday Eggsy had first arrived at his doorstep, only seven years old. Now he was twelve and turning into a spry young man. Gymnastics had filled him out, thickening his awkward limbs with tightly corded muscle. His face was a bit blemished from hormones, and Eggsy voiced his complaint every day about it.

           “French toast,” Eggsy answered. “I’ve seen you fix pancakes. I’m not cleaning up that mess.”

           “Cheeky thing.” Harry chuckled as he grabbed his apron and slipped it on. He went about preparing the French toast, humming to himself as he fixed breakfast.

           “Did you love my dad?” Eggsy asked, after Harry had served the French toast and sat across from him.

           Harry paused, fork and knife poised to cut into the bread soaked with syrup, and gawked at Eggsy. “W-what?”

           “I saw the picture, the one of you and my dad,” Eggsy said, biting into a piece of toast. He chewed, and the seconds it took for him to swallow felt like eternity. Harry could hear his thundering heart between each smack of teeth. Eggsy swallowed and cut another bite. “You were looking at him like he was the world. Like how I see Uncle Percy look at Uncle Lancelot when he thinks no one is looking.”

           Harry set his fork and knife down, drawing in a deep bracing breath. Over the years he hadn’t thought much of Lee—hadn’t allowed himself to think of him—but that didn’t mean that his feelings hadn’t lessened. He still cared fondly for the man. “Yes, I did,” Harry said, carefully, as if he were picking his way across a landmine—and perhaps he was. He’d never addressed the subject of his sexuality with Eggsy, never really considered it. What would the boy say?

           “Did he love you?” Eggsy asked, continuing to eat his breakfast, carrying on the conversation as if they were discussing the weather.

           “I don’t know,” Harry admitted—and perhaps that had been the most tragic part of their relationship, the fact that he’d never know what had existed between himself and Lee.

           “I think he did,” Eggsy said after a moment of mulling over the food in his mouth. “He trusted you with me, didn’t he?”

           Harry smiled and nodded. Neither brought the subject up again, but the air somehow grew lighter, without Harry even realizing there had been a weight to it.

* * * *

           When Eggsy was thirteen he was sent home from school with a high fever. Harry had rushed home from Kingsman estate, transferring the mission he was prepping for to Percival. Eggsy rarely got sick, and over the last eight years, Harry really couldn’t think of a time that Eggsy had ever been this ill, and the thought filled him with a moment of panic, of sheer terror that he wouldn’t be able to take care of his boy.

           As soon as he looked at Eggsy though, lying in bed, bundled beneath a layer of blankets, his face flushed and coated in sweat, Harry’s instincts kicked in. He took Eggsy’s temperature, then placed a cool flannel over his forehead.

           “It’s okay, my dear boy,” Harry reassured Eggsy when he groaned in agony. Harry stroked damp bangs from Eggsy’s face. “I’m right here.”

           He didn’t leave Eggsy’s side the entire night, even when Eggsy puked up everything he’d eaten that day onto the bed. Harry moved Eggsy to his own bed, which only dwarfed the preteen further, and put the soiled sheets and comforter in the wash. Harry made a batch of his mother’s chicken noodle soup, which he coaxed into Eggsy later, after his stomach settled.

           It was a tiring night. Harry monitored Eggsy’s temperature throughout the evening ready to rush him to Kingsman estate for medical attention at any moment. It was close to midnight, and Eggsy had been dozing on and off for an hour, when Harry finally moved to leave the room. A small hand shot out and latched onto his.

           “Don’t go,” Eggsy croaked from beneath the pile of blankets.

           Harry’s smiled weakly. “Of course not.”

           Harry went around and settled onto the bed beside Eggsy. It had been a long time since they’d shared a bed, not since the first few months of Eggsy’s arrival, and Eggsy had woken up in the middle of the night crying. Harry smiled down at Eggsy, throat swollen with emotion, and he realized that soon Eggsy would be grown and no longer need him, and while he was proud of the man the boy was becoming, the thought left him a little heart sick.

* * * *

           Christmas was a quiet affair at the Hart house. Harry decorated modestly, enough to stir up some cheer, but nothing too garish. He always picked a lovely tree though, a beautiful fur that he decorated with glass baubles and ornaments that were family heirlooms. It was a grand time. Merlin would pop in for visits, and Lancelot and Percival, along with Percival’s niece Roxy, would join them for a big supper. It became a tradition for them all to gather around the holidays. Eggsy loved when Roxy came over, because she was sharp as a whip and the only one his age who seemed to have her head on straight—not many kids knew the difference between an AR15 A4 and a Heckler & Koch HK416 (Merlin’s favorite).

           It was around Eggsy’s fourteenth Christmas, his seventh with Harry, that he realized his slight infatuation with Merlin may lean more towards the crush side, and that maybe, just maybe, he fancied blokes as well as birds. He’d been surprised when he learned you could like both, and he hadn’t thought much of it at first; he knew you could like blokes instead of girls, after all Percival and Lancelot were together, and he  knew Harry fancied men, but he never knew you could be interested in both. Boy did that open up a door for him.

           He got around to experimenting, flirting with some of the lads in his class, but it never accumulated to anything. He even tried kissing Roxy once. Got a bloody lip for that one. She clonked him real good and told him if he ever tried that again she’d beat him bloody—which he was pretty sure she’d already done.

           But on his fourteenth Christmas, Harry got spirited off on a mission, so Eggsy had to go stay with Merlin.

           “I can take care of myself, you know,” Eggsy had insisted as Harry prepared to leave. He jutted his bottom lip in what he was sure a petulant pout and glared defiantly at Harry. “I’m not a child anymore.”

           “If you aren’t, then why are you still making that face?” Harry had admonished. He had stopped in front of Eggsy, a black bag in one hand, and laid his other hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust the rest of the world. Please understand, son.”

           It was the first time Harry had referred to Eggsy as his son, and any argument Eggsy had building up inside him. He had simply hugged Harry, made him swear he’d come back home safe, and obediently packed a bag of his own to take to Merlin’s.

           It wasn’t the first time he’d been to Merlin’s house. He loved going over to the wizard’s flat. He had all the latest game systems, a killer entertainment center, and some tech that wasn’t even on the market yet. Last summer Merlin had helped Eggsy build his own computer. Merlin’s flat was Eggsy’s second—or maybe third?—home. He even had his own room.

           It happened the third night Eggsy was staying at Merlin’s. If Eggsy ever thought back to the event, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, but in that moment, Eggsy had felt like his entire world had been flipped upside down. Merlin had stepped out of the bathroom as Eggsy was getting ready to go in, a towel slung low on his narrow hips. It was the first time Eggsy had ever seen the man shirtless, and my God did it steal his breath. He’d never seen so many tattoos before.

           “Bloody hell,” Eggsy had gasped, staring unabashedly at the older man. “Wicked ink.”

           Merlin chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Thanks, lad. Don’t tell Harry ye found out, eh? I don’t need him getting onto me about exposing you to something ungentlemanly.”

           Eggsy nodded, unable to tear his eyes away. Merlin’s arms were covered in what looked like intricate Celtic armor. His chest was bare, but when he continued down the hall, Eggsy caught a glimpse of the armor turning into what looked like an intricate network of cables and wiring, as if Merlin’s back had been turned into a machine.

           Eggsy proceeded into the bathroom, a feeling stirring in his gut that he’d never experienced before. This wasn’t like when he checked out the girls or blokes at his school, or when he looked at pictures on his computer. This was something carnal and wild and it left him completely giddy and breathless, and maybe even a little bit terrified.

* * * *

           Eggsy went to the Olympics when he was seventeen and won a gold medal in the Rings for gymnastics. He graduated school, got kidnapped shortly after, and was rescued by a large team of Kingsman led by Harry, who massacred the entire Slovakian mob who dared touch his son. Eggsy proceeded to university (Cambridge, no less) where he went in for engineering, dated on and off for awhile, but never had a serious relationship. His longest one lasted a month with a bloke named Charlie Hesketh, but the guy was a bit of an aristocratic prick, so Eggsy dumped him.

           It was shortly after Eggsy graduated from university that things started to spiral downhill. Lancelot was killed on a mission. It was hard enough to deal with the loss of a man he considered an uncle, but then Eggsy got into a row with Harry over joining Kingsman to fill the spot of Lancelot. It had been the endgame for Eggsy all along. He knew he wanted to follow in Harry’s footsteps, he’d known it since the day Harry had sat him down and explained that he was an international spy. But Harry didn’t want that for Eggsy. He wanted Eggsy to live his life free of secrets, to be able to enjoy life, and experience love and friends beyond Kingsman.

           It would have all been fine if Harry hadn’t been shipped off on a mission shortly after their fight. Harry left, telling Eggsy before he did, “We’ll sort this out when I return.”

           Only Harry didn’t return. Eggsy saw it all happen from Harry’s laptop. He watched Harry lose himself in savage violence. It was one of those gruesome car accidents; awful to look at, filled with so much blood and carnage, but no matter how many times he told himself to look away, he couldn’t. And then that man with the lisp shot Harry.

           Eggsy screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He didn’t stop until he was sure his vocal chords were shredded, and even then he felt a pathetic scream bubbling beneath the surface. He rushed to Merlin’s flat, but when the man wasn’t there, he went to Kingsman estate, a right mess. Merlin held him through the night, his own eyes misted over and red.

           It came to light the next day that Arthur was behind it. No one questioned when Arthur was discovered dead in the meeting room, poisoned. It still was unclear if it was Eggsy or Merlin who had administered the deadly dose.

           When Eggsy went with Merlin to collect Harry’s body, after the V-Day fiasco was done and over with, they discovered that Harry was alive and at a hospital in Kentucky. Eggsy rushed into the room and practically vaulted onto the bed, clutching Harry tightly. He was in a coma, so Harry never heard Eggsy’s sob, “You said you’d never leave me, you promised. I can’t lose another father. I need you.”

* * * *

           Harry made a full recovery, but he lost his left eye and now suffered from chronic migraines. There was a tremor to his hands as well, one that hadn’t been there before, so he could no longer do field work. After a long extensive process, Harry was voted in as the new Arthur. That left two vacant spots to be filled with Kingsman: Lancelot and Galahad.

           Harry bid for Eggsy. Percival bid for his niece Roxy. The training was hard, a lot harder than Eggsy had expected, but he refused to let Harry down. And if Eggsy also used his new position as a chance to flirt with Merlin, well, could anyone blame him? Merlin was a fine wine, and he’d only gotten better with age. Plus, he saw the way Merlin’s gaze lingered longer on him than the other candidates. And there were several times Eggsy was sure Merlin was standing on the other side of the two-way mirror as he showered. If Eggsy was alone, he always put on a show.

           “You know, one of these days you’re going to cross a line with him and then there’ll be no turning back,” Roxy said one night after a long training sessions. The candidates were down to five.

           Eggsy flashed Roxy a dimpled smile and winked. “That’s the point love.”

           She threw her hands in the air and grumbled, “You’re incorrigible.”

* * * *

           Roxy had been right, of course. When wasn’t she right? It was after their second to last test, when the candidates had been narrowed down to three people: Eggsy, Roxy, and a bloke named Rufus. After everyone went to bed, Eggsy snuck out of the dormitory and found Merlin in his office, studiously working away.

           “Ever call it quits, mate?” Eggsy asked as he strolled in, two cups of tea in hand.

           “You’re supposed to be in bed,” Merlin pointed out as he accepted the tea.

           Eggsy shrugged and slipped onto the edge of his desk. “Couldn’t sleep?”

           Merlin rolled his eyes and took a sip of tea. “What are ye doing here, lad? And get off my desk, it isn’t a chair.”

           Eggsy huffed, set his mug down, and hopped off the desk. He retrieved a chair and brought it over, making a show of crossing his legs. He wore only a pair of low riding sweat pants and a tight white t-shirt, which left little to the imagination. “Thought I’d keep you company.”

           “Ye have a long day ahead of ye tomorrow,” Merlin pointed out, setting his mug aside. “Go to bed.”

           Eggsy pouted. “Come on, you use to love it when I kept you company.”

           “That was when ye were eight and cute,” Merlin said, though the statement was softened by a smile.

           “You saying I’m not cute?” Eggsy tipped his head to the side, stretching his neck out to expose a long column of flesh. He didn’t miss the way Merlin’s gaze gravitated to the skin, or how his stare drifted down, lingering on his well-muscled chest.

           Merlin coughed in his hand and turned away. “Ye know you’re good-looking.”

           Eggsy bit back a grin and scooted a little closer, leaning forward to purr in Merlin’s ear, “So you do think I’m cute?”

           “What are you doing?” Merlin asked stiffly.

           “Nothing,” Eggsy said, all the while slipping his hand around Merlin’s waist, feeling the hard contours of his abdomen beneath the jumper.

           Merlin grabbed Eggsy’s hand to stop him. “Eggsy, go back to the dorm.”

           Eggsy paused, brows knitted together. “I don’t want to.”

           “Stop acting like a child.” Merlin shoved Eggsy’s hand away. Tension tightened across his shoulders.

           Eggsy recoiled. “You’re right, I’m not a fucking child. So why are you treating me like I’m one? Don’t pretend that you don’t look at me like you want to fuck me.” He straightened himself, regathering his courage. “I want it, if you haven’t been able to tell.”

           “You’re my best friend’s son,” Merlin snapped, turning to glare at Eggsy. All the look did was make Eggsy want him more. There was something breath-taking in the way Merlin got furious. His gray eyes grew smoky and smoldering, and desire pooled in Eggsy’s gut, running hot through his veins.

           “And? I’m also a consenting adult,” Eggsy pointed out. “Harry isn’t in this equation.”

           “For fuck’s sake Eggsy, I practically helped raise ye. It be wrong.”

           “Tell me you don’t want me, that it’s all in my head, and I’ll walk away,” Eggsy said, hands balled against his thighs. “Because that’s the only excuse I see that has any credit here. Everything else is bullshite, and you know it.”

           Merlin’s jaw tightened, ticking away as the seconds stretched out. Eggsy tried not to squirm as the silence grew louder. He could practically hear Merlin’s teeth grinding. Finally Merlin blew a long sigh through his nose and growled, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

           Eggsy grinned toothily, taking that as a yes, and launched into Merlin’s lap. Their lips crashed together and it was everything Eggsy had thought it would be. When it was over and they were both stretched on the floor, naked and panting, Eggsy’s limbs stiff from the positions Merlin had held him in, bits of tech scattered on the floor, along with a broken mug and paperwork, Merlin drew Eggsy against his chest, one hand tangled in his damp hair, and said, “Your father is going to kill me when he finds out.”

           “Then we best not tell him,” Eggsy said, already sliding onto Merlin’s lap. “Ready for round two, old man?”

* * * *

           Harry found out, of course. Keeping things from him was next to impossible. Harry had a sixth sense for sniffing out secrets. It was almost terrifying. Merlin and Eggsy had barely gotten into a week of their relationship when Harry discovered them. It was after the final test, when Eggsy and Roxy were being initiated into Kingsman. After the ceremony, Harry had clamped a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”

           Merlin came over to congratulate Eggsy on becoming the newest Galahad. They’d only looked at each other, a small smile shared between them, when Harry roared, “You bastard, you slept with him!”

           Merlin immediately stiffened and launched into his defense. “Harry, I can explain—”

           “I’m going to murder you,” Harry growled.

           Eggsy clamped a hand over his mouth to stave off the laughter. “Dad,”—laugh—“I can”—snort—“damn it, don’t kill him—”

           It took Gawain and Tristan to hold Harry back. Eventually things settled down, and Eggsy took Harry aside to talk to him about the matter. He wasn’t pleased, but after Eggsy explained how much he cared for Merlin, and that he’d always been in love with the older man, and how unbelievably happy he was, Harry sighed and conceded. He never could say no to his boy.

           Eggsy hugged Harry tight, whispering to his father, “Thank you, for everything.”

keepfacepalm  asked:

how about Merlin easing Eggsy into D/s lifestyle? Like he figured out what Eggsy needs, but can't say it upfront cause Eggsy is not really ready to face it, but seriously needs it to cope with all stuff that's going on? Like giving up control, firm hand, praise?

ugh YES this is awesome and exactly what i want thank you for this

i have to admit i’m not 100% thrilled with the last part of this. i’m thinking about doing a sequel later if people are interested, i’m not sure about where i ended it tbh.

It starts with a mission gone wrong. Lancelot ducked out hours ago, compromised and injured from her attempt at getting intel, leaving Bors to fake his way through a deal. She passed on the details she had been able to find, but it wasn’t much. She couldn’t even tell him everything due to the minimal contact they were allowed to have. 

Bors is smart, though, and he can read people. Lancelot doesn’t worry. She waits a couple of streets down in their getaway car, listening for his distress call but otherwise blind and deaf. 

The two hours of negotiations, stressful and long, include the following: a huge bluff, a couple hundred thousand dollars exchanging hands, and two briefcases full of scattered tech. After those two hours, Kingsman becomes the owner of the remains of Valentine’s SIM card research, which consists of a handful of prototypes, at least ten flash drives, actual paper notebooks, and an alarming amount of chemicals. 

Keep reading

Angst

Written for Hartwin Week

Eggsy always visits Kentucky.

Merlin clucks his tongue and Roxy comes bearing hot tea and biscuits every year, but on V-Day, Eggsy flies to America. He’s offered his mum to bring herself and Daisy and to come with him a few times, but his mum always shook her head, as if she understood.

He now gets off the plane, heat blasting him full in the face and settling under his stiff, white shirt and heavy, black jacket. It’s not a Kingsman suit, though. Eggsy could wear something bearable for the hot weather, like a t-shirt and shorts, but he doesn’t. Every loop of the simple blue tie and every slip of a button through its proper hole is a memorial to Harry. His glasses are safely tucked into his pocket.

Sometimes, he strolls down the streets, looking into shops and not going in. He ignores the strange looks at his accent and curious glances of passer-by. Today, Eggsy is looking for a certain building.

South Glade Mission Church still holds services, but Eggsy never goes in. The billboard outside has times of different masses and a message, Never Forget, with the date. Flowers—wrapped and potted and planted—decorate the foot of the sign like a gravestone. There are unlit candles and folded notes. Eggsy’s never left a single thing here.

He checks his phone. Five minutes until the time. The pastor inside is spewing vitriol and hate, and Eggsy’s stomach recoils. Harry Hart, codename Galahad—the knight with the biggest heart—wouldn’t approve. Some people begin screaming, and with a quick scan of his glasses, Eggsy figures out that it’s a rapture panic sort of thing. Not bloodshed, not maniac anger, not death.

The last digit on his watch clicks to the next number. Eggsy stands in front of the church, double doors closed, and looks up at the high steeple pointing towards a cloudless sky, the same view Eggsy saw when Harry collapsed to the ground. The sun is beating down heavier than ever, and the medallion weighs lightly against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Eggsy whispers. “So sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

His hands tremble. He knows, logically, if Harry had allowed him to go with him, that Valentine would have shot them both or the rage test would have made them turn against each other. Eggsy used to wake up screaming, invisible blood trickling down his palms, warm and pulsing with draining life. Sometimes, it was a bullet—sometimes, a candlestick—sometimes, his bare hands. But the end result was the same.

He could have pulled Harry back. Could have picked another fight. Could have known Arthur was a traitor when he’d walked into the room with him to shoot JB.

Eggsy wipes furiously at his face and checks his phone. His time is up. He needs to get out of here—go on the first plane and ask Merlin for something for him to do…

As he turns on his heel, eyes blurred with tears, Eggsy collides with someone heavy and solid. Kingsman reflexes keep him from toppling onto the pavement, as well as the steady grip on his arm.

“Are you all right?” That voice. Faintly American, but familiarly British. “Sir?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Eggsy reassures hastily. “I just…fell.” And he looks up.

Harry Hart smiles kindly at him. “Is it the heat?”

“The what?”

“The heat,” the older man patiently repeats. “It gets abominably hot this time of year, and you’re not doing yourself any favors wearing such a heavy suit. Should we get you some water?”

Eggsy stumbles after him, feeling as if it were all a hazy dream. Harry’s dressed in sober black pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled just above the elbows. His hair is combed, but the length falls almost to his shoulders. His left hand shakes when he points at a nearby store, and Eggsy notices that it keeps shivering like a leaf in the wind when he puts it down.

When they sit down in the air-conditioned booth, Harry orders two glasses of ice-cold water and asks Eggsy if he wants something to eat. Eggsy isn’t hungry, but he orders a sandwich, hoping that he can stretch out the time. Harry doesn’t get anything.

“Thank you,” Eggsy says, after he downs half a glass. “I’ve never gotten your name, though.” His voice is surprisingly steady.

Harry holds out his hand, and Eggsy shakes it, touching warmth and strength. “Harry.”

“Your accent…it sounds familiar.”

The other man only shrugs. “I was born overseas. England, I believe.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You were at that church, yes? I was there that year—can’t imagine why, vacation, perhaps—but I was the sole survivor of the carnage.” Harry sighs. “Now, I teach at a local boxing studio and also at college—Medieval Literature.”

Eggsy’s heart pounds in his ears. “Like…Arthur? Merlin? Galahad?”

Harry smiles, surprised. “You’re a student of literature?”

“Not really,” Eggsy confesses, disappointed. “I’m just a tailor.”

“Must be an interesting job.”

“You can call it that.” Eggsy mutters.

His order comes, the waiter fills up their glasses, and Eggsy forces himself to take a few bites, drinking in the man in front of him. His memories seem scattered, frays of what used to make up Harry Hart at the seams. But he seems calm—tranquil, even: just a kind-hearted man who’s moved on with his life and just helped a bumbling stranger.

“Are you happy, Harry?”

Harry’s smile wavers. “That’s a very forward question. Why? Are you happy?”

“No,” Eggsy admits. He decides to keep going, ripping off a bandage and letting the quick pain streak through his skin: “I feel like something’s missing from my life. I have a good job and amazing friends and family—my life’s all set out for me, but I can’t be happy.” He looks Harry in the eye, pleading for him to remember. “I lost someone very…special to me, a long time ago, on this day and near this time. He took me in when no one else believed in me, and he helped make me into the man I am today.”

I loved him, he wants to say. I loved you, and I can only now admit it to myself out loud.

There’s no trace of remembrance on Harry’s face, only sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss. Would it help to talk about him?”

“He was brave,” Eggsy replies, still hoping for a glimmer of anything beneath those familiar brown eyes. “Very posh, but wouldn’t hesitate to get his hands dirty.” He pauses to admit, “In truth, I knew very little about him. He gave off this very capable, badass, cultivated air, with all this dry humor, conviction, and kindness. He was…just a very magnetic person. But eccentric, you know? He had his old dog stuffed and hung above the toilet.”

That startles a brief chuckle out of Harry. “Fancy that!” He then looks at Eggsy, solemnly. “He seems like quite the character, but a good man. I can see why you were fond of him.”

Eggsy deflates, pushing away his barely-eaten sandwich. His stomach turns. “I wish he’d known.” He waves down the waiter and digs out his Kingsman credit card; Eggsy hadn’t thought to bring American cash. But it doesn’t matter now.

It’s time to leave.

The other man stares at him, perturbed. “Are you all right?”

Eggsy manages a brave smile. “Yeah,” he chokes. “Just…a rather emotional day.”

Harry smiles gently. “I know the feeling, Eggsy. Do you need me to walk you wherever you need to go?”

Always a gentleman, even in the wrong body—no, the wrong mind. “No.” It takes every ounce of him to stand up and begin his exit. “Sorry to take up your time.”

Practically fleeing, Eggsy lets the door slam behind him, replaying every word of their conversation. It hurts like extracting a barbed fishhook from underneath the skin, pushing it back in—painful, but necessary, so it could be over with quickly.

’…I know the feeling, Eggsy.’

He hadn’t told Harry his name.

Eggsy doubles back, but it’s too late.

Harry’s gone.

Strange Occurrences

Characters: Dean x Reader

Words: 974

Summary: Christmas comes to Hogwarts, the reader and Dean spending it together.

Part 42 in the Magic Series (Harry Potter AU). Read Part 17 here,Part 18 here,Part 19 here, Part 20 here, Part 21 here, Part 22 here, Part 23 here, Part 24 here, Part 25 here, Part 26 here, Part 27 here, Part 28 here,Part 29 here,Part 30 here, Part 31 here, Part 32 here, Part 33 here, Part 34 here, Part 35 here, Part 36 here,Part 37 here, Part 38 here, Part 39 here, Part 40 here, and Part 41 here.

Enjoy some Christmas fluff! And be prepared for a lot of time skipping in the next part. I really want to get to the big parts. :) Enjoy!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Word: pastel

Author’s notes: So, before I wrote this down I sat down to eat some breakfast, I had a ton of ideas which seemed overused, like Will passing by an art shop and seeing a pastel painting of him, a coffee shop thing where Will or Nico liked how the other looked, drew them and accidentally left their sketch book, even a reincarnation thing based on Arthur and Merlin! In the end, I came up with this one, inspired by one of the episodes in my childhood fave anime “Law of Ueki”.

Background song: ‘Til My Heartaches End by Carol Banawa (I don’t know, I was just singing it while I was eating and I thought it would be perfect) and the No Regret Piano Version from Law of Ueki


“Pastel”

The washed-out white walls of the hospital were becoming familiar to Will’s dull blue eyes. The world, once filled with colour, was nothing but grey and white to him now. The smell of antiseptic and pain killers in the air had become so constant that even when he got home to shower he could still smell it, no matter how much scrubbed his skin raw.

“Hello, Mr. Solace, back again?” The nurse, Pippa- or Piper or whatever it was- gave him a sympathetic smile.

Once upon a time, it would have made Will smile back, albeit hesitantly. But right now, he was just very, very tired. His shoulders were slumped, his coat heavy on his shoulders, the sketchpad in his hands felt as brittle as his sanity at the moment.

“Yeah, I- I had some new things to show my boyfri-” He swallowed thickly, “Nico.” Will said, voice empty, eyes downcast, “I thought he’d maybe like to see them.”

“I’m sure Mr Di Angelo would love them.” Piper -her nametag flashed helpfully towards him- said in an encouraging tone. “I saw the last ones you left, you’ve really gotten good! I can see you becoming a famous artist someday!”

Will gave her a bland smile, “Nico’s the real artist, I’m just- He always liked to see the things I did and stuff. Hey, who knows? Maybe if I become actually good at it, he’d wake up, huh?”

Instead of the tone being joking, the words came out painfully earnest and hopeful. Will couldn’t help but flinch at himself.

“He’ll wake up.” Piper said, patting him on his shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe.” The blond whispered, “Anyway, I have to go. Thanks.”

Piper watched him leave, a sad frown on her face. She always did hate seeing visiting families looking so forlorn.

“Hey,” A passing nurse hip checked her. “You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, hey Annabeth.” Piper said, wiggling her fingers in greeting. “Just- you know, worried about Will Solace.”

“Hm? The blond with a sketchbook?” At Piper’s nod, she asked, “What’s his story?”

“Tragic accident, artist boyfriend in a coma.” Piper sighed, tired fingers playing with lose strands of her hair. “He brings him pastel art every time he visits. Thinks it might wake him up.”

Keep reading

mysmileispureandblood-stained  asked:

For the 5+ thing: Morgana never went evil and Merlin helped her with her magic control

Yesssssss.

  • When Morgana finally lets the word fall from her lips, with her eyes wet and frightened and desperate, Merlin stops breathing. He tries to shake his head, to say that he can’t say anything, can’t do anything to help. He hears Gaius’s warnings and the dragon’s dire prophecies ring in his ears, but all that is overshadowed by the sight of Morgana trembling in front of him, pulled taut like a bowstring and ready to snap. And he nods. Morgana’s gasp sounds like the first breath of a woman drowning and he knows he did the right thing and damn the consequences.
  • It’s a few more days before Merlin works up the courage to confess his own secret. He’s been avoiding Gaius as much as possible and ignoring the dragon’s insistent calls, focusing instead on the way Morgana’s pale face brightens whenever she catches sight of him in a room, the way she stands a little straighter and holds her head a little higher when she knows he’s there. He sneaks into her rooms one night after Gwen has been dismissed and he tells Morgana in halting sentences that don’t really make a whole lot of sense but they get the point across, and his hand is shaking when he conjures a flame in it. Morgana’s grin is brighter than the sun and Merlin can breathe free for the first time in weeks.
  • They spend many nights in Morgana’s rooms, the doors magically locked so no one can barge in and catch Merlin where he is very much not allowed to be doing things he is very much not allowed to do and have him hanged for one reason or another. They sit crosslegged on Morgana’s bed with Merlin’s spellbook between them and he teaches her the language, helps her form the words to shape her magic, bring it under her control. Morgana’s first successful, intentional spell manages to light all the candles in the room (without catching anything on fire this time, thankfully) and she is so thrilled that she launches herself into Merlin’s arms and hugs him tight. It takes him a moment to get over the shock and hug her back, but he can’t deny that he never wants to let her go.
  • The two of them fall asleep there, still dressed and sprawled out across her bed after a night of spellcasting. Merlin wakes up to the sound of Morgana whimpering in distress. She thrashes, clutches at the bedsheets, whips her head back and forth, and Merlin sees a glimpse of gold in her rolling eyes. When she wakes with a scream, eyes distant and wild and terrified, Merlin doesn’t hesitate to pull her into his arms, to stroke her hair and murmur reassurances and kiss her forehead. He tells her that it’s alright, she’s safe, they’re all safe. He tells her that whatever she saw isn’t definite, that it isn’t the whole story, that there’s always a way and they’ll find it together. She clings to him until the panic subsides and the shaking stops. She thanks him with a kiss and the two of them stay awake all night, trying to find a way to sneak Merlin out of her rooms before Gwen brings her breakfast.
  • Arthur finds out eventually, of course. About everything. Gwen finds out about the two of them together first, but the magic comes out to them both at once, when a hoarde of bandits looking for ransom material crash into a quiet picnic in the woods. With Arthur disarmed and pinned down and Gwen with a bandit’s knife at her throat, it’s Morgana who doesn’t hesitate to sling the first spell, but she’s only a novice and she doesn’t have the strength or the stamina to fight them all off. Merlin catches her as she faints, exhaustion taking her over, and he finishes what she started with a wave of his hand, sending the remaining opponents fleeing into the trees. When Merlin finally takes a moment to look at Arthur, he isn’t sure what had truly shocked him more – the display of magic from the two people he trusts most, or the way Merlin cradled Morgana to his chest and placed a gentle kiss on her lips when she came round. When they got back to Camelot, Arthur did a lot of shouting and Morgana shouted back until Gwen stepped in and asked if they wanted to alert the whole damn castle and get Merlin and Morgana both killed. That had sobered Arthur dramatically and driven Morgana into Merlin’s arms as they waited for Arthur’s judgment. When Arthur made a joke about Merlin staying away from Morgana’s chambers, or at least not getting caught there (because really how many executionable offenses do you want to commit??), they both heaved a sigh of relief. Until, of course, they confessed that Merlin actually did spend a great deal of time in Morgana’s chambers and Merlin had to start ducking goblets.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it