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gayandfairycore · 6 months

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Just hold me

Summary: y/n pendragon, is well protected by the knights of the round table and her big brother but when they’re ambushed in the woods and the capable princess is hurt, Gwaine comes to her rescue. But is he too late to save her?

A/n: I love my Irish husband!! gwaines one of my absolute favourites, I Also couldn’t resist making him reader’s bodyguard ahh so cute!! Princess x bodyguard trope or well Princess x knight. I swear it does end in fluff (nothings ever permanent) Also c/h/n means childhood nickname.

Warning: blood, fighting, reader stabs people, readers kinda savage, until she gets owned, angst, major character death, gwaines a little ooc, grammar mistakes.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

The, cool breeze of the forest blew through your hair as the horses continued their trot through the woods neighbouring Camelot, your friends hyper aware of every sound, of every creak in the trees, that blew the leaves. They were wary of every rustling of breeze, and every old muddy footprint.

Everyone on edge since morgana turned a new leaf, and decided her siblings were her enemy and the crown was her life’s purpose, it made a heavy sadness linger in your heart. A great deal of dread that made your skin itch.

Your e/c eyes observed the surroundings, Arthur infront, Merlin beside him, you behind Merlin Gwaine next to you, and the rest of the knights littered all around you all in a protective circle, so that if your sister crawled out from the wood work and decided to attack you they would be ready. And prepared for a fight with the witch.

Out of the both of you Arthur had been taking her betrayal harder than you, he had been sulking in his room with Merlin more than usual and the loss of your father, it was a wound too fresh for the man.

From morganas betrayal, to uthers death, magic seemingly left only destruction in its wake, and Arthur’s life felt like it was falling apart. you were Arthur’s only hope.

the only one he had still on his side. still alive. If the boy was protective before he became even more protective after your sisters betrayal, so protective he assigned gwaine as your personal knight.

Smooth talking, drunk, sticks his hands in beehives, Beautiful, talented, quick witted, gwaine. You never wanted a personal guard but he was talented with a sword, and it helped he looked good in the uniform. So you weren’t too angry at your brother thinking you needed protection, you were fully capable of course you’d been sparing with Arthur since you were kids and beating him for just as long.

But no matter your skills you were defenceless against your sisters magic. everyone was.

You let out a nervous breath at the thought, the hairs on the back of your neck started to stand up your purple velvet cape obscuring your face but still you felt bare, like there were eyes on you.

Whirling your head around your eyes bore into the wooded bush a few meters away looking for any movement or any sign of life, you observed the bush with narrow eyes, paranoid.

“Are you alright Princess?” gwaine asked his horse matching your pace beside you, as he leaned to your ear, his hot breath fanning your face as he whispered. His brown eyes staring protectively at you.

“Hm? oh- yes fine…” you trailed off eyes never leaving the trees, your heart dropped to your stomach as you gripped the reigns tightly in your hands the leather straps rough against your skin as you squeezed tightly.

your twin daggers strapped to your hips, their weight giving you a sense of comfort as your brain started to catastrophize.

“You don’t look alright.” Gwaine pressed, his eyes flickering over your face protectively, You could tell he didn’t believe a thing you said. Ignoring the fluttering in your chest you couldn’t stop looking at the woods around you something felt off.

“There’s nothing there, princess.” The man reassured his voice stern but gentle, his hand placed over yours on the reigns. And his comforting hands over yours made you release your bruising grip on the reigns.

“I know, I just have…a bad feeling.” You murmur, your eyes swimming with worry a mix of familiar paranoia, and intuition.

gwaine was inclined to believe you and your bad feeling when he caught sight of a dark figure hidden behind trees.

The man had been hiding his own unsettling feeling since the moment your group ventured further into the forest, but Arthur appeared unaware of his sister, and her guards paranoia as he commanded the group, “we’ll stop here, let the horses rest.”

Arthur always had a voice that seemingly echoed even if he didn’t want it too, and by his tone of voice he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Your eyes locked with Gwaines and it appeared the man didn’t have enough energy to mask his emotions this time. Anxiety was present in his eyes. A wave of nausea washed over you.

As Arthur lead the seven of you to a small grassed area surrounded by trees a small stream only a few steps away the soft continuous flow of water hid the shakiness of your breaths as you shrugged your leg over your stallion, your leg leaving his stirrup as you hit the floor, Gwaine already circling around to you his reigns in hand as you lead your horses to the river.

“I have a bad feeling still. and I know you do too. Do not lie to me gwaine.” You pleaded to the man as you lead your horse to the stream and your hands run over your horses back as he drinks beside you. The cool breeze blowing under your cape.

“Please, Princess. I don’t want to worry you.” Gwaine eventually says his gaze lowered onto the stream at your feet.

“Please gwaine, you know nothing scares me.” You tease bumping his arm with yours but your voice betrays you it shakes as you speaks. you had lied to him you were scared. who wouldn’t be, you may have had the knights of Camelot to guard you but it would do nothing if you were caught by surprised and surrounded. Which was easier to do the longer you waited.

Gwaines gloved hand came out to hold yours in a tight grip, “nothing will happen to you princess I swear.” The dark haired man promises his dark eyes stern with promise.

Before you could reply to the man the whiz of an arrow souring past your head and shouts of your friends alert you to your fears and you whip your head up quickly looking into the trees around you, a large group of 60 men clad in dark clothes surrounded you.

Bandits working for morgana, great.

Sharing a look with Gwaine the man draws his sword and a smug smile graces his lips at the idea of a fight and you can’t help but think he looks really hot but the fight around you snaps you from your daydream and alerts you to pull your daggers from their sheaths.

And they glint dangerously in the light the shouts of your friends in your makeshift camp only a few few feet away, fades into nothingness far too focused on yourself and gwaine to worry for your friends. They had more knights than you and Gwaine did.

But by the sheer volume of bandits around, you and gwaine began to realise just how much trouble you’re really in. gravitating toward eachother you stood back to back as the leering bandits drew closer.

“Stay close Princess I’ll take majority. if they come at you, you know what to do?” Gwaine asked his sword out infront of him protectively

“Kill em?” You look up at the man with a tilt of your head a mischievous look in your eyes and the knight beside you laughs

“Yeah, kill em.” The raven haired man looks at you with a smug, slightly proud smirk on his face and he gentle elbows you to focus,

So you Hold up your daggers to protect your face an equally smug smile draws across your lips and in a blink of an eye the fight begins.

the silver sword of one man goes to come down on you and you parry it with ease holding it away from you as you slash across his chest with your other dagger, as his body leans to the side you plunge your weapon into his chest his blood staining your silver blade, and you watch in morbid curiosity as the man groans and he falls to the forest floor dead.

You don’t bat an eye at the corpse, Instead you find yourself ducking a long sword from another bandit as the whiz of arrows fly around you, you can’t see Gwaine in your periphery too busy avoiding the large man infront of you as he stalks toward you. no matter your height he seems to be giant.

“You’re going to die little dragon.” He laughs his voice like charcoal and his sword held easily in his hands

“No. I’m not.” You sneer spinning your dagger in your hand and planting your feet into the mud more as he goes to slash at your torso you leap backwards out of the way, he’s as slow as he is big but the power of his hits shake the very earth beneath your feet.

And what’s worse his powerful hits are full of accuracy, as he whirls around to hit you again and both daggers go to hold him off, the sounds of your blades grinding together hurts your ears and you grind your teeth determined to not die by this giant.

pushing his sword to the ground you surge forward planting your dagger into an artery by his leg in retaliation the giants blade comes towards you at full force his swing takes you off guard and you narrowly miss his blow that was meant to sever your head from your neck. and in doing so you don’t pay attention to the pain that lands itself in your shoulder.

The adrenaline masks any pain, but you’re angry now the smug smile of the bandit infront of you angers you so much you take your dagger in your hand and fling it into the eye of the giant Infront of you and the sharpness of your dagger embeds itself into his eye socket. His eye makes a horrid squish as blood and juices squirt. And the man drops dead beside you. Bus long sword falling beside him.

You sneer and grab your dagger from his eye and as you pull it from the socket more blood squirts, you exclaim in disgust as his blood stains your face

An angry shout from a small dirty blonde bandit fills the air as he makes quick action toward you his battle cry falling on deaf ears and you go to throw your dagger, gwaine beats you too it his sword lacerate the man’s throat and he falls dead easily.

Breathing a sigh of relief you look to the brunette knight and he nods in respect before going to fight more of the approaching bandits.

The sound of twigs breaking behind you urge you to duck and you narrowly miss a sword meant for your head instead you grab the man’s arm and fling him over you as he hits the ground with a groan, he lays underneath you as you prepare to plunge your dagger in his chest. his legs sweep yours and you too end up on your back beside the man and your weapon lays just out of reach as the man crawls ontop of you.

His hands grip your throat tightly and your eyes blow wide in panic as your claw at his hands it’s useless so your fingers vacate to his face and your fingers lodge into his eye sockets as his grip on your throat tightens

“Come on!” Your mind screams at you as blackness swims in your vision before a sword lodges through the man’s chest and drenches you in his blood Gwaine is there standing above you as he watches you cough desperate for air. His eyes filled with worry as he gives you his hand helping you to your feet as you continue to wheeze lungs screaming for air.

“Are you alright princess?!” His hands grip your biceps as he pulls you to his chest hands holding the back of your head in worry

“I’m fine, pretty boy. Thanks for saving me.” You nod at the man but your hands shake as gwaine hands you your discarded weapons the daggers bring you comfort as you look at the world around you still there are more bandits around you but it appears many have dissipated.

Whether they have retreated, or they’ve gone to cause your friends havoc you aren’t sure but you can’t find yourself to worry for your friends. You’re too busy looking into gwaines chocolate brown eyes, and you can’t help but place a kiss to gwaines cheek when you pull back from his bearded face you catch sight of an approaching man.

“DUCK!” You scream and the knight ducks just in time. You quickly bring one of your dagger to block their sword as they manoeuvre their blade back and then you both fall into a kind of deadly dance pushing further and further away from Gwaine. Your blades mash against each other and you continue to miss his slashes and jabs.

The bandit moves his sword quickly, too quick to dodge and he manages to cut off a piece of your hair and slice your cheek your blood begins to trickle down your face and in anger you jam your dagger through his leather armour and directly into the man’s heart.

His blade falls from his hold and he drops limply. His eyes glare at you the entire time his body fails him. The body collapses onto the bottom of you cape staining the purple darker with blood and you make the decision to cut the latch dropping your cloak so that nothing holds you down.

Your tunic, and pants cling to your body tightly stained with the blood of your enemies, you don’t care not about the bodies littering the forest floor, or the wetness in your boot from stepping through the stream for better ground to fight on. Not about your friends and if they’re fighting an onslaught of bandits. All you care about is not dying.

The volume of men have dipped significantly but there are still 4 or 5 of them and one man left is an archer quickly loading his bow and releasing the arrows at yourself and Gwaine, if you two were worse fighters he would’ve loaded quite a few into the pair of you marching toward the man you hold your daggers outward crimson blood drops from the tip and soaks quickly into the squishy mud ridden forest floor. The bandit quickly loads an arrow and lets it fly, you avoid his shot with ease ducking beneath it he knocks another and fires it in quick succession and you find yourself skidding against the mud it coats your pants as you miss his fire and the man is panicked now as you stand up,

And you watch his hands shake as he tries to load his bow, it’s too late, you’re on top of the man. “Please! Please your grace, Spare me. I have children! please” He whimpers beneath you and your heart aches in your chest

As your eyes rake the man’s figure you make the decision to hit him over the head with the butt of your dagger and you don’t spare the man another glance before you walk away.

Turning your back to the archer you observe the carnage, Gwaine had gotten quite a few bandits defeated in quick time, the man now intense fight with probably the best bandit here. he’s quick, and talented with a sword.

But Gwaine keeps his own, and you deem it safe enough to not watch the man anymore instead you find yourself up against the final man he’s large like the man you fought before, but this man is smart.

And his dagger drips with something other than blood, a deep blue, oozing liquid? poison. You quickly realise

And now you’re sure you never want to let this man’s weapon touch you. his stinking grey teeth peak through his lips as he sizes you up, the princess of Camelot, clearly exhausted. Clearly covered in a mix of blood and mud, and very obviously in pain. The giants sword from before had managed to rattle your teeth with his hit but you’d been so distracted it hadn’t even registered. clearly the adrenaline of your other injuries had began to wear off.

And This man is quicker then expected as he hurries to you, his sword cuts through the air like butter and he’s clearly just as skilled as the man battling against gwaine. And looking back on it they seemed to be twins.

the moment his blade comes too close for comfort you’re parrying his strike, and the grinding of blades are deafening in your ears.

the ache in your shoulder swells through you the gruesome cut oozing and it makes your strength falter you move slower the burning pain shooting through your shoulder sends you waves of more then just discomfort.

you feel bile well in your throat but you don’t falter as you slash at the bandit he avoids it with ease, every duck, every twirl, every slice, he avoids.

It’s like he’s been watching you? observing your moves? and it’s abundantly clear even with the exhaustion plaguing your muscles and the slick mud beneath you. It makes you worried.

Springing back away from the man you slash at his shoulder nicking him with the blade and watching as he cringes back in more annoyance than pain. and when his sword goes to make contact with your body you duck away from the man until eventually you find yourself behind him

just when things began to look up, just when you were finally winning.

Until The pained shout from gwaine only a few feet away causes you to lose focus and your gaze is set on the Irish man on the floor his chain mail dirty, his face covered in blood and mud, his hair a mess, and a sword held above the man. In a deadly fashion.

And your body moves before your mind and you find yourself flinging your dagger into the bandits back watching satisfied as the man falls dead over the top of gwaine, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight you completely forget that you were mid fight with a bandit yourself. A bandit with a blade coated in poison.

“Y/n!” Before you can get your bearings in order gwaines shouting Your name

And you turn just in time to see the man drive his sword in your side and you whip your head up to look at the man who just stabbed you a horrid smile on his face, as the sharp searing pain of a sword impaling you burns your insides. your warm blood trickles from the wound around the sword, and you drop your spare dagger to the floor unconsciously you seemingly have no control of your body, and your eyes shine with unshead tears. It’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your entire life like the world is spinning and your side feels like it’s on fire.

The man stand carelessly above you smiling a sickly smile as he rips his blade out of you and you don’t muffle your shout of pain, you know you’re going to die when the man brings his sword up to cut you down and your tears fall you can’t bare to look at his face your mind filling with thoughts of gwaine if you were going to die you’d die with the man you loved on your mind.

Shutting your eyes tightly you expect the killing blow, only to feel nothing? Cracking an eye open Gwaine’s sword embeds itself directly in the bandits heart, you watch as gwaine pulls his sword out quickly and rushes to your aid as he watches your knees buckle. And you don’t go to stop your knees from colliding with the mud instead your shaky hands go to hold your bleeding wound, your hand immediately stain with blood when they come into contact with the wound.

Gwaine Holds your bloody form in his arms your hands stained with your blood you feel sick to your stomach, and sweat begins to break on your forehead, you feel like you’re already losing feeling in your feet.

As Gwaines strong arms wrap around you as the knight lifts you up against him, his arms around your knees and shoulders respectively.

He moves quickly to the rest of the knights, and despite the delirius state you’re in from the lack of blood you can only heart your heart beat in your ears but everytime he runs you see a glimpse of his face and you can see he’s screaming.

Your heart constricts in your chest and you whimper in his arms “j-just hold me.”

the man looks down at you with eyes full of tears and that shine with something akin to love. But almost as quickly as the shine came its gone, replaced with fear. It makes Gwaine tighten his grip on you and scream louder

And through the blurriness of your vision you see your brothers scared face break the tree line and b-line to you, as your head lulls to the side you watch Arthur get closer to you and you feel him take you in his arms, sobs escape the young kings as he slumps to his knees you in his embrace “y/n- c/h/n, please don’t do this to me.”

Arthur mutters rocking you back and forth and you see Merlin over his shoulder, face white as a ghost. Hands tightly held over his mouth, and the last thing you see is the servant boy boss the knights around with commands about how to help you, before the darkness takes you.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

There’s a guttural ache in your bones from the fight and a dull burning from your stomach it’s accompanied with a hard pressure on your wound that makes you yell out a sickening blood curdling scream and by the feeling of multiple hands holding you down to stop the thrashing it’s abundantly clear Merlin’s trying his best to save you.

Your brothers hands are familiar as they grip your shoulders, holding you down, you’re alive, mentally you’re awake but you can’t open your eyes.

You can’t control your own twitching body, the wet feeling of your sticky blood on your side, but you can hear every little thing around you, and yet you still can’t open your eyes and there’s this horrible wheezing sound.

And you come to realise it’s your breathing…it feels like you’re breathing through sand and every breath you take fills your lungs with sand like an hour glass.

and then you feel that familiar pressure on your wound and suddenly you feel everything, every burning stabbing sensation, all over your body it burns as quickly and as hot as a wild fire and it feels like hours before you finally feel absolutely nothing again.

And you think maybe it lasts for awhile, but there’s no way to tell time. It’s funny when you can see nothing but the back of your eyelids and the world is dark and you can’t feel the muddy floor beneath your back. you can’t feel the sticks, and the dirt, and the sound of the stream, you can’t smell your brothers familiar scent, you can’t feel the wetness of your boot, or the dried blood on your body, and you can’t see gwaines face.

Or hear his comforting voice, you can’t discern anything but blankness and you half think you’ve stopped breathing. As if your very lungs don’t heave against the poison in your blood stream anymore

But you think whilst you’re trapped in darkness that Your nose bleeds, and your mouth fills with red blood and those who surround your body begin to realise how dire every second is.

Merlin is the only one who can save you. He’s the only one who can rip deaths cold hands from your body and ground you to earth. your chest doesn’t rise.

and those around you know you’re dead. And you can’t feel it yourself, like your spirit is lifting from the cage that is your body up into the sky, ripping through you and part of you is ready to go.

But Gwaine and Merlin will not allow it, Gwaine drops beside your body his hands pumping your chest to start your heart and his lips are on yours pumping oxygen into your lungs.

and it gives Merlin enough time to mutter a healing spell his eyes glow gold and its mere moments that your translucent spirit ripping from your vessel slams back into your body.

Gwaine still continues his assault on your ribs breathing air into your lungs, he ignores the metallic taste from your lips, and he pleads with every god he can that you will come back to him.

And it’s almost as if the gods deem him worthy.

And you wake up gasping for air springing up from your brothers hold your eyes snapping open your chest heaves with effort to fill your lungs and your heart beat is sluggish before beating hard and strong against your chest.

And Merlin’s hands are on your side checking your wound the gaping hole sealed, and Your wound is practically gone. The servant boy quickly bandages your side before anyone can notice but his bandages

Can’t hide the gross greeny purple tendrils that peak out from the off white plaster. Your side feels clean but the blood still sticks to your face and the pain in your side and shoulder still lingers but you can’t bring yourself to care when gwaine gently takes you from your brothers embrace and hold you so gently against him.

“Oh Princess, never do that to me again.” His calloused hands hold you against him tightly and he tries to mask their shaking.

But you don’t care pulling back from his holds Your eyes take his figure and you can’t help yourself, You smash your lips against his and his beard tickles your skin. and it takes him no time to kiss back his lips mash against yours in a feverish kiss. It’s like your lips fit together perfectly and you find yourself wishing to never let go of the knight in front of you.

His tears fall onto your skin and you don’t care, you pull him closer to your body and you don’t care when your lungs burn screaming for air.

You never want to be apart from him.

Not when you just tasted the sour nothingness of death. It doesn’t wait. It’s cold, and uncaring.

And Gwaine feels your hands shake as you pull him closer his heart physically hurts for you he’s sure you’re probably freaking out.

After you pull back from your kisses you look at the faces of your friends around you, Arthur’s blood shot eyes filled with tears stare at you with such fear, such uncertainty.

the ghostly look in his eyes as he looks at you tugs your heart strings. You realise he can’t differentiate if you’re truly here. And alive he had just seen his sister die. And be brought back.

Of course it would be a lot to process.

beside you Merlin his shaky hands and nervous smile his red hands stained with your blood, and his wet teary face that looks so scared as he looks at you with a mixture of nervousness at the use of his magic and happiness you’re alive.

And your eyes flicker to everyone around you from Leon, who you’ve known since childhood- to elyan, and Percival. who you haven’t known for such a long time but still felt their world shake when your heart stopped beating. You were their princess to see you die in front of them…it was heavy.

Your dead body would haunt them for the rest of their days,the cold desolate blue of your lips and the way your head lulled in gwaines arms.

Tears littered everyone’s eyes as your brother and Gwaine were the first to pull you into an embrace the rest of your friends quickly followed, their iron grip on you brought you so much love and peace.

A chorus of “I’m glad you’re alive” to “good to have you back” ranged from your friends before elyan was the first person to suggest moving to a safer area the unsettling feeling of the corpses scattered around you all made you uneasy, it especially made Gwaine the most uneasy, the man couldn’t stop his intrusive thoughts what if it was you they were leaving behind? What if you died and your corpse was left to decay on the muddy floor of the forest no one around to mourn you it made him feel a bit unwell.

So finally you all high tailed it out of there to a new camp well maned by your friends, a camp where absolutely no one could ambush you. Where it was safe enough for Merlin to patch up your friends injuries.

And night fell quickly the stars shone overhead the green grass served as a pillow under your head and the rocks surrounding you like a barrier from bandits.the ruins of an old castle like a comforting shield and The slight hill you all now camped on was far out of the forest of the rival kingdom where you all were ambushed, finally on safe ground.

Merlin had stayed close to you for most of the early evening to ensure you were alright. And that he didn’t seal up any left over poison.

Crickets chirped in the back ground as yourself and Merlin sat in silence staring at the fire. You turned to the boy, speaking gently “thank you, I know what you did.”

You smiled at the boy, a knowing glint in your eye and Merlin felt his heart drop as he shrugged

“It’s what anyone would have done, milady. I’m glad you’re still with us” Merlin smiled kindly he had a soft spot for the youngest pendragon she was always kind to him, and unlike her sister her perception of him didn’t change. Out of every pendragon she was probably the one Merlin trusted with his secrets the most.

You were Always clever and observant, you were definitely someone he’d protect with his life just like Arthur.

“That’s the thing though, Merlin. I was gone…I wasn’t- my heart stopped” you struggled to find the words putting your legs to your chest as you watched the flames

“I was dead. I felt my heart stop, my heart knew what was happening my- my soul? Was leaving my body and something pulled me back in. It wasn’t Gwaines kiss of life although it did help” you chuckled before you became serious again “It was you Merlin.” You spoke your voice shaky but sure of yourself as you looked the boy in his terrified eyes

“Please y/n It’s not like that.” Merlin pleaded, his hand reaching for you and his skin getting sweaty and nervous at the thought of the youngest pendragon knowing he had magic, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her on the contrary he trusted her whole heartedly but he was always nervous to let people in on his magic it tended to get them killed.

Will, His father, Lancelot… Merlin hated how his magic could save lives but in the end he’s always lose something he hoped this time things would be different.

“I know magic when I see it Merlin, don’t worry I’d never tell. You saved my life. I should have you knighted” You smiled at the boy, before bumping your shoulders together.

“Oh please don’t-“ Merlin started disgust in his voice at the idea of joining your friends as a knight laughing at Merlin’s horrified face

“Don’t worry, I won’t. But really thank you Merlin. You deserve more credit” you smiled at the boy before pushing off of the ground and making your way to Gwaine over by the ruins watching the stars through the window on the second story lost in thought

“Mind if I join you?” You called, watching as the Irish man jumped clumsily almost falling through the window.

“Not not at all, please sit” Gwaine replied shuffling over sitting beside the man you watched the stars from the window in silence for a moment

“I’m sorry” you both spoke at the same time, swallowing a laugh at the unintentional overlap

“You go” you pressed sitting up and looking at Gwaine intently

“I’m sorry, I’m the reason you died…I didn’t protect you. It was my only job and I let you get stabbed.” Gwaine shook his head the man couldn’t bare to look at you in your eyes too afraid he’d see your lifeless ones staring back in a way he was thankful your eyes shut when you died.

In a way it looked like you were sleeping, only the lack of a rise and fall of your chest showed gwaine that you weren’t just sleeping. You were dead and it was gwaines fault.

The man blamed himself, kept running through the last battle moments over and over in his head. If he didn’t shout, if he was quieter maybe everything could have been avoided, or if he listened to your funny feeling maybe you all never would have even been ambushed.

It made Gwaine start to appreciate his friends “funny feelings” something Merlin and the youngest pendragon both shared Gwaine couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head that he was the reason everything happened.

“Gwaine” you placed your hand over his, “it wasn’t your fault, I know what you’re doing. Stop blaming yourself.” Your grip on gwaines hands tightened trying to reassure him it could have happened to anyone.

“But I should have listened to you. I didn’t and you died! You fucking died!” Gwaine cries, his hands cover his mouth to mask his sob he’s striped himself of his chain mail now he’s left wearing a blue tunic and a leather bangle that clings to his muscley arm you know it’s not the right time but god does he look good.

“Gwaine.” You shout shaking his shoulders so he’ll finally look at you

“Just shut up and kiss me.” You sigh in the silver light of the moon, its only Gwaine and yourself in the ruins and you want to take full advantage of that

“Yes Princess”

#Gwaine x reader #bbc merlin imagine #bbc Merlin x reader #gwaine x fem reader #gwaine #bbc merlin

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chloe-skywalker · 2 years

Text

Magic Divide - Arthur Pendragon (Part 2)

Arthur x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2,554

Summary: Now in Y/n’s kingdom Arthur has some making up to do.

Authors Note: Maybe a part3 ? I’m thinking about it. Like Arthur see her do magic and getting to understand it.

Masterlist

BBC Merlin Masterlist

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It didn’t take them more than a day and a night to reach Valmore. As soon as they reached the city Morgana quickly caught eyes on Y/n. She jumped off her horse and practically ran over to the y/h/c-ed girl, everyone else followed in Morgana’s direction.

“Y/n!” Morgana yelled out happily.

“Morgana?” Y/n questioned with a furrowed brow as she turned around to fcae where she heard her name called from. Upon seeing who she thought she heard calling her name. Y/n moved away from her knights, handing her horse's reins off to one of them, meeting Morgana halfway in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“You said to visit anytime.” Morgana smiled at the princess.

“I know I did. I just didn’t think you would so soon. Don’t get me wrong I’m happy you're here. All of you” Y/n smirked happily to have them in her home. Her gaze went across everyone but it lingered a little longer on Arthur before she cast her eyes down.

“What happened to your arm?” Merlin asked with a worried expression after everyone had greeted eachother with smiles.

With Merlin's question, all of them turned their eyes to Y/n’s arm. Noticed the not so pretty gash on her bicep. It was obviously healing and had been stitched up nicely.

“Oh, this?” Y/n pointed to her upper right arm. She shrugged, compared to other injuries she’s had this was a cakewalk. “Happened when I was training. Hadn’t done it in so long I botched a move and well this happened.”

Everyone felt shocked at how she addressed her wound as nothing. But then Arthur spoke up. “Are you ok?”

Y/n looked up at the blonde prince again and nodded before answering. “Yeah, I’ve had worse. Especially when it comes to training.”

Arthur nodded in understanding but it didn’t stop his concern.

“Was it a sword? Or-” Leon asked wondering what made the slightly jagged cut.

“No, no. Swordfighting I wasn’t rusty at.” Y/n shook her head at the young knight. “This came from hand to hand combat. Kind of- a few moves I was rusty at which made me mess up and fall. This cut I got from a very sharp nasty rock.”

Leon nodded in understanding. Gwen stepped forward with a worried look before she asked. “You’ve had worse? That bruise on your upper back looks horrid.”

The others had to agree the bruise looked worse than the healing cut.

“Oh, if only you’ve seen how into it we can all get when it comes to hand to hand.” Y/n smiled letting out an amused laugh. Things were different here than in Camelot. “We go full out. No holding back. Lots of dislocations, torn muscles, cuts, all of it.”

“Women fight?” Gwaine raised his brow in shock and it showed on his face.

Y/n smirked at their shocked faces, so she continued to explain. “In my kingdom, women are warriors, Knights, fighters. We don’t discourage women from wanting to join in on those kinds of things. We encourage them.”

“But the princess?” Lancelot raised one brow in a teasing manner, having seen her fight before unlike most of the others.

“Haha, Lancelot.” Y/n playfully glared at him. “Yes, even the princess. I should know how to defend myself and my kingdom, and my people.”

Y/n spared a glance to Arthur, trying to read his feelings on the words she had said.

“Well, we should probably go up to the Castle.” Morgana suggested with a proud smile on her face. She truly wished she could spend some time in Valmore, enough to learn skills in combat. Maybe even something more magical.

“Yes. I bet you're all tired from the journey. Follow me and my knights. We’ll escort you.” Y/n nodded in agreement to Morgana’s words.

Y/n headed over to her horse, as she went to get up Arthur noticed a slight grimace came across her face as she mounted her horse.

“Do you need some help?” Arthur asked stepping closer to just in case her arm gave out as she pulled herself up onto the saddle.

“No, I uh. I get it.” She answered flustered to having him so close after so long of being apart. Once she was up on the horse she looked down at Arthur with a small smile on her lip. “As I said, I’ve had worse injuries than this. They’ve never stopped me before.”

With that said Y/n escorted her friends from Camelot up to the castle. Once they got their Y/n and her knights took them into the throne room where her parents were currently. After getting them arrangements to stay for as long as they want. With that everyone was shown to their rooms.

It was the next day when everyone decided to do some training in the morning. Some from Camelot had come down to watch Y/n train.

And she wasn’t kidding when she said they trained hardcore.

“Should she be fighting with her arm?” Merlin asked out to anyone that would give him an answer. He winced as he watched his friend fight.

“No.” Arthur answered leaning against the waist high wall. He to was concerned about her but she could hold her own, he knew that. Arthur was more concerned about her fighting and breaking open the freshly healed wound. “No, she shouldn't be, Merlin.”

“Well, are you just going to stare and watch her or go over and talk to her?” Morgana spoke giving Arthur a knowing look.

Arthur glanced Morgana's way before turning his attention back to Y/n. “She’s in the middle of a fight. She needs to concentrate on that.”

“Y/n wasn’t kidding when she said they don’t hold back.” Leon commented as he to watched the training.

Gwen agreed. “Yeah. They really go hard at one another.”

“She’s fighting with men.” Lancelot stated impressed.

“And winning.” Morgana stated proudly.

“She can hold her own.” Merlin nodded in agreement before asking Arthur another question. “When are you going to talk and make up.”

“When I can get her alone.” Arthur told him refraining from rolling his eyes.

“Good luck with that. She’s always surrounded by her knights.” Merlin countered with a tilt of his head.

“They're her friends.” Gwen tried to defend but Morgana cut in wanting to join in on Merlin’s pestering of Arthur.

“Their also men.” Morgana smirked. There were a few girls as well but if she wanted to get at Arthur. Mention all the other men around the girl he loves.

Merlin sucked in a breath in a teasing manner. “She seems very close to knight Jon and Knight Wardlow.”

“I get it okay?” Arthur snapped at them. He didn’t need to be told what he was seeing with his own eyes. Not that he’d admit it but he did feel jealous.

^ ^ ^

It was the next day that Arthur found a moment to get Y/n alone to talk.

“Y/n!” Arthur yelled after her down the hallway.

“Arthur.” Y/n said as she turned around to look at the prince as he came to a stop in front of her.

“Can we talk?” Arthur asked and he glanced nervously to the knights that were beside her.

Y/n stood still just watching him for a moment before giving him a ‘yes’ nod.

“You gonna be okay?” Knight Darby asked the princess with a look Arthur couldn’t decipher.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Y/n nodded sending Darby a grateful nod for checking first. She was indeed close with her knights and when she came back she had told them what had happened. So they were on edge about leaving her alone with the prince of Camelot.

“If not just yell out. I won’t be far.” Knight Jon stated with narrowed eyes pinned on the young prince. Which was very intimidating to Arthur. He’d seen the man fight, he was pure violence.

“Hmmm” Wardlow hummed and nodded in agreement with his fellow knight and friend. Y/n nodded as the 3 men walked to the end of the hallway not so subtly watching.

“What is on your mind Prince Arthur?” Y/n asked shifting on her feet.

“Can we talk in private?” he sighed not feeling comfortable being watched with what he wanted to talk about.

“Of course.” Y/n gulped nodding before turning and giving her knights a wave. Told them it was okay and to stay. So her and Arthur headed into the nearest room. “What is it you would like to talk about prince Arthur?”

He sighed leaning his head to the side. “Are we really going back to using ‘Prince before my name?”

“How else should I address you?” Y/n said looking down at her hands. She didn’t know how to act around him anymore. Not really.

“As just Arthur.” Arthur said loudly before taking a breath. He wasn’t mad at her he was pissed at himself. For putting them here. “Like before.”

It saddened him to realize he made her feel like they had to go back to the beginning. He hated himself for it.

“But things aren’t like before.” she told him with a sigh. God did she wish they were like before. She really missed him but how could they be together now?” We were together before. Now we’re not so I should address you with your title.”

“Are we really that far gone? Our relationship?” Arthur asked with slightly worried eyes. He couldn’t lose her.

“You tell me.” Y/n lifted her shoulders and then her eyes to look at him. The decision was in his court, he’s the one that ruined things, to begin with.

“y/n-” Arthur went to start but Y/n knew his tone of voice so she cut him off.

“No, Arthur. I can’t go through all that heartache again. I-I just can’t.” Y/n’s voice broke as she spoke and that made Arthur's chest ache.

“I’m sorry.” he didn’t know how else to start.

Y/n shook her head. “Don’t apologize when you don’t mean it.”

Arthur squinted in confusion. “What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

“Because you despise magic! An I have magic so therefore you despise me!” Y/n yelled out before taking a deep breath looking at Arthur with unshed tears in her eyes. The love of her life hated her because of something she frankly enjoyed about herself. “You hate me because of something that is a part of me.”

Arthur stepped forward shaking his head quickly at her words. “I don’t hate you.”

“If you hate a part of me then you hate me.” He couldn’t hate her magic and not hate her. And she couldn’t be with someone who hated her. “That’s how that works Arthur.”

Arthur raised his hands to cup her cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away tears she didn’t notice were falling down her cheeks. “I could never hate or despise you Y/n.”

“The things you said to me when you found out and the way you looked at me and acted towards me all say otherwise, Arthur.” Y/n looked into his eyes, she could see the regret in his eyes.

“I felt betrayed and I was angry.I said things that weren’t true and that I didn’t mean.” Arthur explained but it didn’t make him feel any better and he didn’t expect to fix things. But she deserved to know. “It's no excuse for what I did. There’s nothing that could excuse my behavior from before. But I want to repair what we had. I want to make it up to you. If that's even a possibility.”

Y/n shook her head, it was a hard decision to make. And she didn’t know if she could, no matter how bad she wanted Arthur back. “I don’t know Arthur.”

Arthur sighed dreading asking this next question. “Are you afraid of me?”

“What?” Y/n looked at him in shock.

“Are you afraid of me? Were you afraid to tell me because you thought I would have had you killed?” He asked with a gulp afraid himself of the answer she’d give. He wouldn’t blame her though. With how Uther felt about magic and him raising Arthur to be the same. . .

“As much as I wish I could say I wasn’t. . . Besides hiding my magic I have never lied to you. I don’t plan on doing it now.” She told him before letting out a deep breath. “Yes, I was afraid that you might tell your father and we both know how I would have been ‘taken care of’.”

“y/n” Arthur's gaze dropped feeling even more disappointed in himself.

“It's not that I didn’t want to tell you, Arthur. It’s just-” Y/n hated that she felt this was but it was true. “I saw how your father flt about sorcery, and then how you felt about it. . . I was scared.”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “You had every right to be.”

“I’m sorry.” she said looking away from him. She felt guilty, even though she had no reason to be.

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He shook his head, dismissing her apology she had nothing to apologize for it was all him. “I’m sorry. For how I reacted and treated you. It was wrong of me.”

“Its ok-”

Arthur immediately stopped her. He didn’t want her to forgive him that easily or pretend it was nothing. He treated her horribly, that wasn’t okay. “No, its not. An I know I hurt you.”

Y/n but her lip as they starred at eachother for a moment. “You could’ve just given me a chance. Magic a chance.”

“I hate myself for hurting you. I’ll never forgive myself for all that I put you through.” Arthur agreed with her, he could’ve given her a chance. Prove and show him she didn’t use magic for evil. “But I do want to make it up to you.”

“How?” She asked with a tilted head. If his views didn’t change how could he make it up to her?

“Well, against my views I was taught growing up. I want you to show me your magic.” Arthur gave her a small smile. It didn’t excuse what he did and said but maybe if he could understand her magic and that part of her then they could get back together.

“Are you sure?” Y/n asked, she knew how he felt if this was uncomfortable for him then maybe things should just be done. She didn’t want to force him to like all of her. If they didn’t work then they would have to accept it.

“More sure than I am about a lot of things.” Arthur said shifting closer to his princess. “But I’m even more sure that I want us to get back together.”

Y/n took a deep breath. “Arthur- we can’t just go back to what and how we were.”

“I know that. It’s going to take time for me to gain your trust back. I’m determined to do so.” Arthur looked into her eyes with determination and passion. He was going to gain his princess's trust back. No matter what.

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smolvenger · 2 years

Text

The Twelve Days Chapter Seven (Henry V x Fem! Reader Series)

Chapter Word Count: 9K

Series Summary: Your family betrothed you to known rake Prince Hal now newly reformed and crowned as King Henry V of England. As December ends and January begins, you must face your first Twelve Days of Christmas Celebration not only as a new queen, but a new wife to a man you are just beginning to know and bed.

Previous Parts: One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six

Warnings: 18+. SMUT Y'ALL!!! Oral (fem receiving), edging, doing it on the floor, P in V sex. I am still getting used to writing smut so be nice but constructive, please. Mentions of drinking and domestic abuse (which our boy, Henry/Hal is not and never does at any point in the fic) and lots of teasing. Sexual tension thicker than Hal's ass in those leather pants. Attempts at historic accuracy and Shakespearean cursing. This is likely the penultimate chapter!

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The Evening of the Twelfth Day

You stood before the mirror in your dress as a lady in waiting sealed the clasps. It was stunningly beautiful. It was a deep color you loved with long sleeves that floated down. There were jewels encrusted around the neckline of the bodice as well as for the belt that was placed around your waist as a jeweled necklace was clasped around your neck. With the smallest light, there you would still glimmer just a little like a stubborn star. Even Gwaine stood still in his spot on the bed to bink slowly in admiration at it.

One lady in waiting took a hand mirror that she was going to set down after she was done with fixing your hair as you like. As the setting sun was shining from the window, the lady saw that the hand mirror made a small light shimmer on the floor from the sun’s reflection. Little Gwaine got up from crouching and ran out, he jumped after it, pupils enlarged. She made the light jump to a different spot. He crouched, wiggling his bottom, and then leaped to catch the little light. All of you laughed and took turns playing with the mirror in the light as he dashed about, attempting to run after it and catch it with his little paws.

Until there was a knock on the door. Though a little part of you was disappointed when your mother appeared. She did smile when noting your appearance in the jewels and clothes of the Royal Family.

“Ladies, may you leave us for only a few minutes? I’d like to speak to my daughter,” she asked.

The ladies bowed their heads and left. Once alone, she went up to you and hugged you.

“What, what is it, mother?” you asked.

“I’m so sorry…and your father is too…” she began.

“Sorry for what?” you questioned, squinting your eyes and releasing the hug, but clasping hands with her.

Both of you sat down on the bed.

“We should have thought more about your own happiness than the standing of our family…we threw you off to the King without thinking of what you would think, how you would feel…” she elaborated.

“Oh, mother…I…I thank you…I was so terrified but I tried not to show it. I knew how much this meant for all of us for me to marry him. He was the best bachelor any woman could ask for and you handed me to him. I didn’t say anything bad because I…I…I didn’t want to disappoint you, to disappoint any of our family…” you recalled.

She sniffed, starting to tear up a little.

“You dressed like a bride at the wedding, but your face looked like your head was about to be chopped off and I saw how your hands wouldn’t stop shaking…I don’t remember seeing you smile once that day. I…I’m so sorry…I realized then and only then when it was too late to call off the marriage. I felt so sorry for you… and angry at myself back then…”

“Mama…I forgive you…” you said.

She smiled and wiped off a tear with her hand.

“Would you like to know a secret, Y/N?”

You nodded, swallowing.

“I never told your father about this- I sent spies to Eastcheap after the wedding. I told them to find the past lovers of Prince Hal, my dear. I had them ask the women if the Prince was known to beat his tavern women or if he was cruel to them in any way and…and…they reported back that he treated all of them well. So I thought…it could be far worse…but then, there was always the risk…if he changed his usual ways with women…if somehow he hurt you after you married him, I would have never forgiven myself. I should have told you of this…sooner but I worried a letter would be intercepted. ”

She smoothed her skirts, another tear welling in her eyes.

“Then I heard what he said to you at the garden and I began to hope…to hope that…that maybe they were right and that he didn’t just pay the tavern women to lie about to him…”

“It’s alright, mama, you made amends and did what you could and…and thank you, that’s good to know. He’s….he’s not a monster at all, mama! You don’t have to worry about it at all!” you assured her.

Both of you hugged with happy tears. Then she gasped to see Gwaine rubbing his fur at bottom of her skirts and purring loudly. You leaned down and picked up the kitten.

“This is Sir Gwaine. He was a gift to me from the King. Why? Because Henry wanted to make me happy. The spies were right. Henry treats me well- he’s a good man!” you explained.

“What else?” she prodded.

“We’re running out of time- someday, I’ll write to you all about everything he’s done for me…” you said.

“Then I am glad for you.”

You both shared a last hug before the ladies returned.

“Your majesty…we all have to finish getting ready. The celebration will begin soon…” one lady reminded you.

On one of the pillows of your bed was your crown- golden and encrusted with Lancaster-red rubies. The tallest lady in waiting placed it on your head. You realized now that you were used to its weight, no longer nervous about if it would trip off your head at a wrong turn. You wondered if your skull could have a giant, ring-shaped dent where it lay. But no- you just realized it was a matter of acquired taste. It felt made to fit your head perfectly.

It was expected for you to arrive with the king at the celebration. You and the ladies exited your chambers and walked through halls, sometimes wooden and sometimes stone, to the entrance before the throne room. As you and the other ladies arrived right to the room that lead to the throne room, your heart skipped in your chest.

There he was, Henry. In his beautiful splendor- in his nicest red leather and crowned. You felt yourself smile when you saw the back of his curled head and when he turned, you saw his eyebrows shoot up.

“My lady, are you well?” he asked as you walked to be on his side.

“Yes, my lord,” you answered.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Are you?” you replied.

“As I can be,” he answered with a shrug.

He then turned around, putting up a hand to signal the others.

“Let us wait a moment before we start,” he directed.

Henry turned to you. From the pocket of his pants, he pulled out a pink silk ribbon that could only be your garter from this morning.

“My lady, you’re missing something…have you replaced it?” he asked, eyes shining.

“No, I haven’t…” you replied, biting your lips as they curved up to grin coyly.

You wondered if this would happen if you didn’t replace your garter- and now you were proven right. Your heart picked up speed even if everything was very still- no sound except the chatter of people on the other end of the doors.

“Then may I put it on you?” he offered.

You sucked in a deep breath and folded your hands, your voice trying to contain your delight.

“You may.”

Henry shot a look at the party behind both of you- the ladies in waiting, his attendants, and personal servants, and waved a hand at them. They all nodded and turned their eyes and heads away from the two of you. Henry leaned down before you on one knee, eyes up at you in reverence.

“Which leg?” he asked.

“The left one,” you answered quietly.

You lifted your skirt up. You were lucky that the stocking was well fitted, but it was slipping some without the support of the garter. You looked down at the top of his head as he took his hands- so large and yet so soft- as they pulled your stocking up. You heard his breath catch at that glimpse of your bare leg- something too often covered by shifts and skirts. Gently, so gently, he put a hand on your leg to keep the stocking from drooping. This time, your own nostrils were sucking in air at the feeling of his hand on you- on only a thin layer of cloth that separated his bare hand from your bare skin.

He then took the garter and looped it around. His hand brushed past your thigh. You even saw his mouth barely open and the pupils of his eyes were dilated wide, his face red as his jacket. He made a knot. Just enough to hold the stocking, but not so tight that it couldn’t be easily removed. He then ran a hand down- making sure there were no creases, and that the stocking was in place. Part of you shivered from his touch.

“There…that feels right,” you commented.

You heard him sigh through his nostrils as you lowered your skirt, hiding your leg. He looked up at you, still blushing. He returned back to standing on two legs, you noticed his chest having for want of breath.

“I’m glad of it,” said Henry,

Both of you had a moment to look at each other. You found his eyes down to your lips.

Part of you wished to cancel the feast, guests be damned, and quickly send the attendants away. Then you wanted Henry to grab you, place you right against the nearest wall, and kiss you intensely. You would gladly lift your skirts up and he lower his breeches, and you would open, accepting him, and cling your arms around as he began to enter you, and move his hips, slamming into you and…

This picture only lasted a second and you had to swallow it out, a bout of laughter from the Twelfth Night guests rousing from the outside. Henry squeezed his eyes shut and let out an exhale through his mouth. He opened his eyes and snapped his fingers. The attendants turned back.

“They’ve waited long enough. We must enter,” he announced to them.

He then stood, eyes forward, but raised his arm so it formed a shape like an L, the palm forward, offering it to you. You then, as gracefully as you could muster, slide your arm down so that your hand landed over his like a blanket.

The guards opened the door. The last day to enjoy ivy and holly everywhere. Gentle, orange candlelight made the room seem golden everywhere. There was the fanfare of trumpets beginning and the chatter halted. You found that you were able to keep up with Henry’s long strides with ease as a loud voice announced.

“Their majesties, The King and Queen of England.”

Heads bowed like grain in the wind when you both entered. You felt yourself grin in spite of it. They backed off like the Red Sea to make way for the two of you. That throne room, where once sat only Henry’s had a twin throne next to it. Like swans gliding on the water, you made your way to stand before it.

Henry then spoke, announcing to the crowd before you.

“I welcome and greet you all as friends tonight. Let us enjoy the last day of Christmas, the Feast of Epiphany, and the Arrival of the Wise Men together. May the Twelfth Night celebrations begin!”

Everyone clapped and cheered as he then sat down on the throne. People made their way to the tables to gape over the food. Not that you blamed them as you arched your neck to admire it. There was a whole set of chess made completely of Marzipan, as promised, and flavored with rosewater. You noticed your older brother reach for some little round sweets called confits before any of the main courses could be looked at and chew at them, then trying to discreetly spit out and get rid of the seed inside it. For a cold, snowy day it was a welcome scent to smell flowers and see plants everywhere.

The Twelfth Night cake in all its glory shone at the center of the far wall in a table for itself, a yard long and across, in preparation for this day. And perhaps enough so that everyone in London could share some. You took note- tomorrow you would have to visit the kitchens and ask if any leftover cake could be given to the beggars outside your gates. As you tried a slice of it, it was moist yet spices danced on your tongue.

Once you made your own way there, you marveled at the figurines of little knights - all completely out of sugar. There was more meat- beef, chicken, hams, eels, oysters, and more giant mince pies, like on Christmas. When you sat at your place at the table next to the King and began to sip at the goblet of wine given to you, you could taste how it was sweetened with honey. As you tried a bite of the gingerbread, you could taste cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom. It was a miracle your tongue did not explode from all the flavors.

Henry himself was enjoying slices of oranges and suckets after the meats. He was relaxed. Both of you smiled and took a small sip of your wine looking at each other. He’d gossip into your ear.

“Hmm, the Lord of Warwick’s already got a circle of ladies around him. He should make a decision on one of them already, he’s been a widower long enough. And the Earl of Sussex chose the ugliest doublet I have laid eyes on.”

“Perhaps, he should have listened to his wife for advice on how to dress,” you responded to him.

You covered your mouth to hide the indulgent smile as you drank your wine deeply. Henry’s lips tightened, swallowing the urge to smile as well.

Some lovely music started to accompany the graceful court dances. You watched and saw with gladness there was Micheal Williams, in the finest clothes he could access, and right next to him, touching his hand and stepping forward in rhythm, was your beloved little sister. He seemed able to keep up with the courtiers, and she was beaming.

Yet you turned to see John of Lancaster seated next to Henry. The second eldest Lancaster brother was frowning. His eyes were soft, looking at how your sister smiled at her dance partner only to give Williams a secret glare. He took a pitiful sip of wine, his hand dangling in midair as he put his elbow on the table, but not letting the cup go.

You then walked beside the prince and leaned over.

“Good evening, John.”

“Your majesty, most revered sister-in-law and queen,” he greeted with a bow.

“My sister looks quite beautiful tonight, does she not?” you asked.

“Yes indeed she does!” he admitted softly.

You smiled mischievously.

“She told me yesterday she was worried about there being no dance partners at court…so I have a command from your queen- dance with her, John.”

“What?” he cried, setting down his goblet on the table.

“Stop sulking and ask her to dance with you! She will be gone by tomorrow evening- you might as well dance with her.” you reasoned, hands on your hips.

He was wide-eyed. But surely this couldn’t be scarier than the battles the young man had fought in by now! He took in a deep breath. You leaned closer and whispered.

“I guarantee you- she’ll say yes,” you added on.

John gulped down the rest of his wine and nodded.

“Then yes, yes I will!”

The second the dance was over and Michael and your sister said their goodbyes, John was right there. You didn’t hear their words over the chatter, but you saw her smile and nod her head. You returned to your spot but didn’t sit back down.

“Can we dance, my lord?” you asked, turning to the king.

He smiled, “of course, my lady.”

As you leaned your hand to touch his, he gently held it and lifted it up. You picked up part of your skirt demurely as you both walked over to the dance floor and began a dance over the next song.

And you were the better dancer. Henry’s feet clucked a little at the steps and he got confused sometimes as to when one stepped left and when right. You smiled and bit your tongue to keep from laughing and Henry pouted stubbornly as he was determined to get it right. You hadn’t realized but he was staring at you so much that he accidentally knocked into another dancer. The terrified youth muttered twenty “sorry, your grace” apologies like a Hail Mary. And the song was almost at its end and Henry still wasn’t getting the steps right!

“Fie it all. Y/N- here! Let’s end it a different way!” he said as he turned to you.

Before you could protest he wrapped his arms around you and you intuitively placed your own arms around him. With a gasp, he lifted you up in the embrace. It was quite bold in its intimacy considering this was a public court event. But who was going to stop The King of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales at that moment from doing it?

He lifted you up and then twirled you around, your skirt moving in the air from it. You couldn’t help but smile and cling closer to him and enjoy feeling like flying. And you heard Henry himself laugh over the ending chords of the music.

You both returned to your seats. A few actors from the lucky troupe invited to the palace prepared the stage for their morality play. Henry whispered your name and you turn to him.

“What is it?” you asked.

“You look beautiful tonight, my lady.”

You felt as if you had a fever from the warmth inside you.

“Thank you, my lord.”

As the play began, two performers swept on- one dressed in gold and one in silver, representing the goddesses Hera and Diana as they disagreed between them as to which was better- married love or chaste love, platonic sentiment or romantic fire. Henry continued to whisper so only you would hear.

“The crown fits you well. I might make a new law- you will wear the crown in my chambers….”

“Henry, that sounds-“

“You will wear only the crown in my chambers.”

It seemed if it came between chaste affection or passion, Henry picked a side.

Onstage, dancers dressed with horns mimicking deer began to prance beautifully around each other. But you felt yourself exhale deeper from his words, the bodice of your chest heaving. You could only glance up at him with a small smile and then return your eyes to your lap in chaste innocence as pretend as those actors were gods. As the performance continued, you crept a hand next to his to hold and he welcomed it. Fingers shielding all of your own. You could almost feel his pulse at his wrist in a steady rhythm.

Once it was at the end where the goddesses called an even truce, everyone applauded and you released your hand, feeling the cool air rather than the warmth of his skin.

“Now, we shall continue but the king shall retire and go to bed!” A courtier announced.

Henry stood up. He reached for your hand and kissed it.

“Good night, my lady.”

He then turned to the crowd.

“I bid you all a merry Twelfth Night and good night.”

They bowed as a farewell. You looked as your husband vanished through the doors. Women then pooled onto the floor, your sister you noticed among them. A lady in waiting went up to you.

“There is a special dance for the ladies when the king retires. Normally the queen would do it too-would you like to join it?” she asked.

“No thank you. I…I would like to retire myself,” you answered.

“Very well, good night, your grace,” she replied politely.

You walked forward through those doors. You did not need your ladies to interrupt their dancing to accompany you. You knew which door it was. This castle was your home now and you could navigate it with more ease each day. You walked through the small stone hallway leading to Henry’s bedchambers and before those giant doors. The two guards stood in front.

“May I enter?” you requested.

One guard bowed his head and opened the door.

Henry was sitting, his cheek resting on his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair, looking into the roaring fireplace when jumped at the sound of the door. He saw you, his eyes wide. The orange glow of the fire shone over the other chair and the new rug on that section of the floor. It padded your steps as you approached him, but you remained standing.

“If there wasn’t just a feast, I would ask you to dine with me,” he replied.

“Are you saying you’re unhappy I’m here?” you teased with a grin.

“No. Opposite in fact.”

You walked forward and he broke into a smile, greeting your name.

“Why aren’t you out with the other ladies?” he asked.

“I would rather be with you tonight,” you answered.

You took a step closer to him. And then you knelt down on the rug before the fire, taking his hand. He looked up at you with a softness over his handsome features, listening to your words.

“I’ve…I’ve missed you, Henry. I love my family, but this whole time, these past few days, and especially the nights I…”

He leaned closer and you to him. Your lips a breath away. Not quite a kiss. But almost.

“I’ve missed you. And…and I want you,” you added boldly.

You could almost feel the brush of his eyelashes as he leaned in closer. You placed a hand on his face and he yours.

“I missed you…and I want you too…” he voiced.

He leaned in closely, sealing the kiss. You felt as if your insides exploded from the softness of his lips. You felt the breaths out of his nostrils as you leaned in, furthering the kiss. You felt him smile. You both released your lips from each other. He leaned in and you backed away only an inch before his lips could touch any other part of you, though your hands remained standing. You released to chuckle a little, at his eagerness. The most powerful man on earth and he was at your mercy.

“My little wife, you tease me so,” he purred.

He then wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from escaping. You kissed him again as you felt one of his hands begin to bunch up your skirts. Now you were at his mercy.

“You want me only wearing the crown in your chambers?” you recalled.

“We have all the time in the world to make that happen- I don’t think I have the patience now to watch you undress…” he husked.

Fluidly, he pulled you to the floor on the rug and you met him there. Any bit of him you could touch, you kissed- his cheek, his shoulder, and his neck- which elicited a moan from him. So close, so needy, so desperate- you both knew you couldn’t make it to the bed. You could feel yourself already dripping wet between your legs.

“I’d have you on every surface in this castle if I could…” he murmured.

You felt the warmth from your side and the glow from the flames. One side lit Henry’s face, he was kissing you more, but it was intenser- almost like a bite. His tongue entered your mouth like a cock as if your mouth was what lay between your legs. Your teeth clattered with his as his tongue pushed in. It took your breath how he reached his hands to grip your back, almost trapping you in a wall of his body- but you wanted it. You wanted to feel his weight on top of you. He held himself so not to crush you beneath him- but with a gentle press. He nestled again into your neck.

There was a ferocity, teeth- there would be marks where he kissed and bit. He smiled, eyes over the cleavage of your dress. It made little gasps to feel it. You felt him kiss the tops of it and as he moved to touch them, play with them, feeling them even over the dress. You placed your hands on his back, your nails digging into him, feeling its broadness and the muscles that made you wet for him.

“Mmph, you were a little vixen today, tempting me with your garter…” he muttered from your chest.

“No one’s around here now- punish me for it.”

“I’ll punish you- I’ll get rid of these-”

Henry’s hands moved to your necklace. The grip and strength you felt in his hands made you feel as if he could destroy the thing to pieces- rip it off and have the gems scattered across the floor before you. But he only undid it and flung it off to the side. You felt him at the front, undoing the clasps of your dress.

“Cruel dress, cruel skirts, cruel stockings...all hiding this beauty beneath them…” he mumbled as he undressed you from on top.

He removed and opened the bodice of your dress and then took off the skirt. It shuffled over your head like a colorful cloud over your face as he removed everything over your head and out of the way. You were in your shift and stockings. He then touched your legs, stroking as he raised one. He kissed your ankle and then a bit further down. He bit off the garter and then tossed it from his teeth to his hand like a beast, throwing it away.

“If only you saw how hard it made me whenever I touched it…this damned feast kept me from you..."

“Then feast on me,” you dared in reply.

He smiled in response. He then eagerly flicked off the other garter and rolled off the stocking with his hand. Then, his fingers parting the lips between your legs, he delved in between you with his tongue. You bucked, releasing a moan already. You felt his eager tongue tasting that little nub of yours. He was kissing at- the little rosebud, just like the roses in the marzipan. It hit the nerves as you writhed on the rug. Your body was his. And he was going to take care of it.

Stars filled your eyes. He tasted even deeper as his tongue licked each bit of you. Then he returned, focusing on the bud- a strong, fast rhythm, as the country dances rather than the court dances. You couldn’t help but whimper, relishing being under his power. You ground your hips against him. You could feel his smile as he sucked against your clit gently, slowing down. You could feel that sensation, rising in you- but you would need speed to get to that sweet point of le petit mort. “More…I want more…” you moaned softly. Your back was starting to arch, bearing out one breast from its bodice.

He suddenly stopped and removed his head. His arm wiped off your arousal on his face and you smelled your own earthy scent. Everything in you was pent like a bucket full of water- but now nothing to crack it out. You sat up on your elbows as he rose to his knees.

“Henry! You…you….you starveling!” you cursed in frustration, looking back at him.

He chuckled, eyes shining at your exposed breast.

“The delay will make it better, you will see…Do You want more, my pretty queen?” he offered, his hands down to his pants.

“Yes, please, I want you- and you and you need to bare yourself too” you insisted.

You made sure to undo each button of his red jacket. Nimbly, each one came off until he got to the usual black undershirt beneath, and you flung it off over his head. You licked your lips at his beautiful chest. He flung off his codpiece and took off his tight pants, his erection freed and dripping as you were in anticipation. You ran a hand to touch his wide, muscular, flushed chest h- warm, welcoming, and all for you. He was yours every bit as you were his.

“How do you feel about this shift?” he asked you, putting your hands on the cloth

“I honestly don’t care about this one,” you answered.

“I’ll buy you a new one then-” he answered.

He ripped your shift from the collar down in one smooth tear. You gasped, the cold air and fireplace warmth hitting your bare skin. He place your breast in his hand and kiss it roughly, then moved up so his tongue swirled the nipple- his kisses were the sweetest fire.

“I…I…please, your…your…” you kept begging as you felt his mouth on your chest, yet your own soaking pussy screamed for returned attention.

Henry smiled again, his mouth over your breast to where you felt his breath full of the spices of the feast.

“Louder, darling….I want you loud tonight. I want to have you screaming so all of England knows how I satisfy you,” he ordered.

“Pease?” you responded in a clearer voice that echoed from the walls.

Immediately, he positioned himself sheathed inside you, eliciting a moan from you. Your walls embraced him. A most welcome intrusion.

“Henry- more, more, more. Harder, please,” you pleaded.

“As my queen commands,” he said.

He then grabbed your own hips and adjusted them, he took each of your legs until it was higher and he got it. He trusted again and got a deep spot- completely filling you- he removed you, then empty. Then he crashed his hips immediately in. Before you could take a breath, he slammed into you again, again, and again. Zounds, he was deep. And he was grunting, groaning like an animal, his curls falling before his face. He kept repeating your name in a whisper as he pounded into you, so fast you gasped for air. You had more moans come out of you, moans you.

“Be loud, be loud…I, uhmpf, I, I, -ugh- want to hear your echoes,” he grunted as he kept thrusting.

“Wh-What, I-“ you dazedly said.

He did another quick slam with a grunt interrupting you.

“OH!” you yelped.

It was the fastest he went, and he was moaning himself, cursing, trying to hold off though you felt barely a tremor as he pushed his cock deep in your walls.

“Cry-Cry-Cry out, wife!” he ordered in his own pleasure intoxicating him like ale.

Your hand had to grasp the leg of the chair to steady this wildness, fast, powerful thrusts- the intensity, the fucking you craved for finally given to you.

“Henry, I- Henry- Oh- YES! YES! THERE- GOD! HENRY- HAL-HENRY- I” you began to yell, rising up to screams as you felt yourself go up.

He began going rougher. This was it. The great pleasure you had craved eagerly for days. The lungs in your body were gasping, wanting the air that was knocked out of you with each, the chair moving in your hand only a little to keep up with the power of his movements. Your hand removed to flail to hold onto anything for support

He was practically slamming you on the rug again and again. He then had one hand to hold your wrists above your head, keeping you still so there for the support, no place but this deepness, this intensity. His grunts are animalistic in your ear and the repetitions of your name get huskier and even stop mid-syllable from the feel of how you clenched around him each time.

His other hand then slipped down catching your bud and playing it, matching speed with his thrusts going so fast that you felt as if you would die. All while continuing to violently slam into you. His own voice caught in his throat, the pitch slightly higher, he was getting there himself.

Then, he sped it up more, and your own body shook more, breasts bouncing with each thrust of his. This was ravishment, this was passion. You felt as if your clit would fly out and each bit of your pussy. It would break into pieces. But what sweet, sweet brokenness it was. He was getting louder too but you were practically screaming in his ear.

“I can’t- I’m goingto-I’m going to- Imgoing to I can’t-I can’t Ican’Ican’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’t I CAN’T! H-H-HAL! Henry- Henry- HenryHenryHenry I-“

And he was matching you, one last command.

“Come, darling- come with me, come with me, comewithmeCOMEWITHMECOME-”

It broke you like a punch. The shattering was so intense your vision went black, and you screamed out a last “HENRY!!” to echo across the tall stone walls. That was all he could take. With a last loud “AH!” from him you felt his release spill into you.

Tears had poured out of your eyes. You became dizzy and you could feel your own sex spinning and your legs pulsating from how hard you came. His cock was twitching inside you. You laid a hand behind his head in his hair and felt him almost crash over you, his arms letting go of his weight. He was sweating profusely and a hand of his reached behind your back and kept you close.

Both of you panted as you shook and then your climax began to drift down. Henry then raised his head, so his eyes met yours. You swept his blonde curls to be out of his face. Part of you even felt a laugh from the release and he let out a small one too. His seed poured inside you, mixed with your own climax that released between your own legs. A recipe invented by the court to cook a royal heir. And one where if this wasn't successful, it would be cooked again, again, and again.

“If I knew this would happen, I would have married and bedded you the minute I laid eyes on you-,” Henry confessed.

“Could we move there?” you asked with a laugh.

The seed eventually stopped from his cock. He adjusted his hips and pulled himself out. He took note to ask the servants to clean the rug tomorrow morning. Neither of you bothered redressing an inch, especially as your shift was in tatters. You walked limply into his bed and settled amongst the sheets and blankets. He was on the other side. You dangled a hand above your head on the pillow, staring upwards to the bed set in your state of sweet, sweet release at last.

Henry rolled onto his back, his eyes dating about and chest heaving, still recovering from his own little death. He then looked back at you. He was no longer dark, pent-up, and lustful. The King of England, Henry the Fifth, looked, oddly enough, shy.

“Y/N could you…could you hold me?” he asked sweetly.

“Yes, of course,” you answered.

You pulled him to rest his head on your chest. You wrapped an arm around him and the other on his head as he huddled close. Music was playing in the hall floating down. If it was from the feast or from the musicians known to accompany the king sometimes when he went to bed, you weren’t sure. If it was the latter and they waited as you both fucked on the rug… then however much they were paid was certainly not enough.

“Do you hear that? They’re playing that song! I know the tune but…I can’t remember the words…” Henry muttered, head perked up to listen.

“I know the words, Henry, you silly goose” you replied.

You shushed him and laid his head back on your chest. You heard him sigh with a grin. You combed one of your hands through his curls as you softly sang- a post-coital lullaby to a lover rather than a child:

“When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain, it raineth every day...”

Verse by verse, you softly sang to the king, your husband, your lover. Then the music melted back into silence, save the crackling fireplace.

“Y/N…I have a question,” Henry voiced from below.

He removed his head from your chest on the pillow. His eyes were wide and like blue goblets.

“What is it?” you asked, turning your head to him.

He placed his hands across his stomach and was twiddling his thumbs, glancing down at them.

“Do you…like me, Y/N?” he asked.

You let out a laugh.

“You were thrusting inside me as I was screaming your name moments ago,” you replied.

“Yes, but…do you like me?” he repeated.

You nestled your head to turn to him. You looked him in the eyes as his own shot up back at you.

“Yes, Henry, I do like you.” You answered.

He began to twiddle his thumbs again, eyes returning down. You saw him blush again.

“Y/N I…I…I, uhm…this is…this is hard to say but…I know neither of us chose this, I know you didn’t choose me but…but…”

All those speeches and commands of his yet the words could barely form out of his mouth. You then looked at him, taking his hand and resting yours on it, fingers reaching between.

“Y/N, I’m not a perfect man. My father had every reason to be angry with me. Sometimes I think the sun wouldn’t consider even burning my face in scorn. I get bad ideas. Sometimes I say the wrong things and I’m proud and I act without a thought but…but Y/N…”

He swallowed, glancing down, and then up with pleading eyes.

“With some time…and a little patience… do you think you could love me?”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek and then smiled, still holding hands on that safe, soft, warm bed.

“Aye, Henry, I could…”

Taglist: @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites

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thecowardwrites · 2 years

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The Coward’s Merlin Masterlist

It’s about time that I actually work on this

<><><><>

| Main Masterlist | Archive of Our Own |

BBC Merlin x Reader Fics:

Fifty Shades of Gwaine [ Gwaine x Reader] - Warnings on each chapter

Do You Believe in Love at First Sight? [Morgana x Fem!Reader] - fluff

---

Other Merlin Fics:

I want to write some Merthur eventually

<><><><>

Merlin Taglist (for when I post anything Merlin related)

#bbc merlin #bbc merlin fanfiction #the cowards merlin masterlist #bbc merlin x reader #merlin fanfic

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captainsandclotpoles · 5 years

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Find What You Love, and Let It Kill You...(Sir Gwaine x Fem!Reader Series)

PART ONE: SOULMATES

A/N: For @charlottie2998. x

Gwaine’s never been the type to believe in anything as sentimental as soulmates. He’s not even sure he believes in love, really. He believes in good company, good food, and good ale, and that’s the next best thing, right?

But there’s something about (y/n). Something about the way she can hold her own, always keeps him guessing. He’s always loved playing the knight in shining armour – even if the irony is strong with that one – but with her, he’s never had to.

Well, she’s never let him, is probably a better way of putting it. The first day they met, she’d saved his life. Her, saving him. Not the other way around.

He’s drawn to her. Intrigued by her. Captivated, enchanted…infatuated, he thinks to himself with a snort, shaking himself from his thoughts and tossing the apple core he’s been munching on into a nearby horse pen.

Riding down the valley towards Mercia, he looks to his left and there she is, right there next to him on a horse of her own. Since the day she’d saved his life, they’ve become travel partners. There are no guarantees it’ll be forever, or even for a week; they simply go wherever the wind takes them, and if that happens to be the same place, well – that’s all the better.

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself. But after six months of traveling together, he’s beginning to wonder if the wind is simply guiding him to wherever she is.

Even if he doesn’t know anything about her.

Well, nothing of importance anyway. He feels like that’s such a ridiculous thing to admit because he isn’t sure he’s ever known anybody in his life as well as he knows (y/n). He knows that she loves a big breakfast in the morning, to set her up for the day. She loves large tankards of mead, practical footwear, and adventure. Travel. The wind in her hair, new sites, sounds, smells. New people. She loves freedom – not being bound to anyone or anything. Her form can barely contain her wild and carefree spirit.

But he also knows, or rather senses – since they’ve never spoken about it – that she’s had a troubled past. He’d felt like she was running when he’d met her, and from what, he didn’t know, but she’d agreed a little too quickly when he’d suggested they accompany each other on the next stage of their travels since they’d both been headed on to the same town anyway. He hadn’t thought she’d needed his protection, but even the bravest and fiercest fighters can benefit from a second pair of eyes keeping watch on the roads. It would also mean one of them could stand guard while the other slept; he remembers noticing her dark circles and wondering how long it had been since she’d last been able to do that.

He made sure to take first watch, that night.

(y/n) was also, obviously, a woman traveling alone. All too often the two of them had pretended to be married, to protect her from wandering hands and imposing figures. Having a companion, especially a male one, would provide her with a new level of security that sword alone could not.

But despite adopting the unofficial, and definitely unmentioned – to her – the status of her protector, apart from the above-mentioned things Gwaine knows absolutely nothing about (y/n). He doesn’t know what her past is, just that she’s had one. She’s never mentioned her childhood. Never mentioned her parents. Never even so much as hinted at a possible trade she’s worked in.

He didn’t know who she’d been. But, he supposes he knows who she is.

And that’s more important, right?

They come to a clearing at the bottom of the valley and set up camp for the night. While Gwaine unrolls the beds and (y/n) starts a fire, and he can’t help but smile at how easily they’ve created this routine for themselves, and how comfortable it’s been to keep it.

“I’ll take the first watch.” Gwaine smiles, settling himself against a tree, and fights back a laugh when (y/n) rolls her eyes at him.

“I can take the first watch, Gwaine. You took it last night.”

“Who’s counting?”

“Me.” (y/n) sticks her tongue out at him, before lighting the fire and sitting down next to him on the hard ground. After a while, she looks over at him and smiles, and it’s a softer gesture than he’s used to from her, and takes him by surprise, “I don’t mind.” She continues, “Honest.”

He just nods at that, accepting when he’s been defeated, but simultaneously realising it’s happening all too often with her.

***

A few hours later, the two are lying on their backs, staring up at the stars, arguing about constellations.

“No, that’s the North Star, you idiot.”

“I’m pretty certain it’s that one.”

“Gwaine, that’s south.”

He bundles up a blanket and chucks it at her in defiance, which of course she catches and throws right back.

“Don’t blame me.” She continues, “Blame your faulty knowledge.”

“How do you know that’s south, eh?”

(y/n) sighs, and points upwards, “Ursa Major, there, and then-”

“Wait, where?”

“There!” (y/n) points harder, again, but Gwaine just scrunches up his face, clearly not seeing where there is at all.

(y/n) grabs his hand, uses it to point upwards, “There. See?”

But all he can focus on is the fact she’s holding his hand.

He knows she’s tough, that she can hold her own, that she’d probably kill him if he said any of what he’s currently thinking aloud to her, but right now, in this moment, all he can think about is how small her hands are, how soft and yet strong they feel in his own, how perfectly they fit in his own, and he wonders if he can tell her how he feels through the contact, if their wrists are close enough for her to feel his pulse hammering against his skin, beating out a rhythm that says more than he ever could with his words.

Gwaine has never been the type to believe in soulmates. But he thinks if he did, he’d probably say (y/n) was his.

***

She falls asleep not long after.

For a while, Gwaine just watches her, wonders how he’s fallen in so deep so fast, wondering how he could have let himself, why he wasn’t more careful.

But he keeps watching her and finds he doesn’t regret a moment of it, because it’s brought him here, now, with her trusting him like this, and he remembers it’s a two-way street, that she wouldn’t be putting so much faith in him if he wasn’t safe enough to do the same with her.

Right?

A distant rustling in the trees snaps him from his thoughts. He doesn’t even need to shake (y/n) awake; her own years of traveling solo wake her instantly from her light slumber. She sits up with a start, instinctively reaching for her sword, eyes darting to Gwaine immediately – who’s jumped to his feet and is standing with his back to the tree he’d been leaning against.

(y/n) scrambles up and darts behind a tree of her own, directly across from him. They both look over their shoulders into the trees, and Gwaine hears the sharp breath (y/n) takes in when they see the flames of torches flickering in the distance.

But it’s not the torches she’s shocked by, not the fact that they’re about to be discovered by knights patrolling the borders, and that as nomads they’ll be executed for trespassing if they’re caught. No. It’s who the knights are that’s got her so panicked, more specifically - who they serve; a man she hasn’t seen in a year, a man she thought she’d escaped from, a man she had wanted to leave behind with the rest of her past.

She should never have been so naïve.

(y/n)’s head snaps over towards Gwaine’s, to tell him who they’re looking at, and maybe get a chance to explain herself before this all inevitably blows up in her face, but she sees the exact moment the realisation washes over him, and she knows she’s missed her chance.

Her real chance was when he’d told her about his father, three months ago. She should have told him then. She should have been honest, but although she couldn’t be honest with him, she’s got no problems being honest with herself, and (y/n) knows she’s feeling something for Gwaine she’s not felt for anyone in a long time, and that’s why she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth.

And now it’s too late because they’re being surrounded by Caerleon’s men, and when the King himself steps out of the shadows and his eyes land on (y/n)’s, (y/n) realises why they’re here – the King has been looking for her, and now he’s found her, (y/n) knows she’s probably not going to make it out a second time.

#sir gwaine #find what you love and let it kill you series #part one #gwaine #merlin #bbc merlin #knights of camelot #gwaine x reader #gwaine x fem!reader #gwaine imagines #sir gwaine imagines #fantasy #medieval #knights in shining armour #pre-merlin au

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where-dreamers-go · 4 years

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Where-Dreamers-Go Bingo Masterlist

2021

Moodboard - Merlin

Coffee Shop AU - “A Declaration” Riley Poole x Reader

Headcanon - Luke Skywalker Kisses

Fix It Fic - “For The Knights” Sir Gwaine x Reader

First Kiss - “Aligned Stars” TMR Newt x Reader

Mutual Pining - “Game On” Riley Poole x Reader

Fluff - “Your Friend” Poe Dameron x Reader

Soulmates - James Conrad x Fem!Reader (Soulmate AU) Part One

Hurt/Comfort - “Dark Choices” Luke Skywalker x Reader

Smut - “Indelicate” Merlin x Magic!Fem!Reader

Temporary Amnesia - “Patience” Luke Skywalker x Reader

Mistaken Identity - "Complications" Han Solo and Chewbacca x Reader

Crack - "Astral Projection" Doctor Stephen Strange x Reader

Follower Prompt - "A Present, My Dear Sir" Merlin x Reader

Angst - “Don’t Leave” Tobey!Peter Parker x Reader

Royal AU - "A Walk" Prince! Luke Skywalker x Princess! Organa! Reader

#where dreamers go #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #Bingo Masterlist #Merlin #Luke Skywalker headcanon #Riley Poole x Reader #Sir Gwaine x Reader #TMR Newt x Reader #Poe Dameron x Reader #James Conrad x fem!reader #Luke Skywalker x Reader #BBC Merlin x Reader #Han Solo x Reader #Doctor Strange x Reader #Tobey! Peter Parker x Reader #Prince! Luke Skywalker

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mimiswitchywrites · 3 years

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Not A Burden: Chapter 3

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering). Vague r**e scene at the end.

Master list or read on AO3

2.2k words

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Percival, sat with Elyan and opposite Arthur and Lancelot’s bickering, kept tabs on Gwaine and the girl. He didn’t miss the way his face lit up with glee and, if he understood correctly, mischief. It made him happy to see his friend on his way back to normal, but he still felt the pit in his stomach filled with anxiety. Why had his joyous little friend been in such a state in the first place? He had initially dismissed the thought that he was spooked by seeing the girl looking so unwell as he was well versed in bloody bodies, but that was the only explanation he could find.

“You see it too?” Elyan asked from his spot next to the giant. He could only grunt in response, too caught up in his concern for his friend. “Maybe he just needed some rest like he said last night.”

He understood the suggestion, but Percival had seen Gwaine when he was tired, and this wasn’t it. Unless, the cynical side of him thought, you don’t know him as well as you think you do. He tucked that thought away into the back of his mind to deal with at home. The woods with an injured woman and the king are not an appropriate setting for a crisis.

“We should help Merlin pack everything up and get a move on. I think it’s best that Lancelot and Arthur are separated as soon as possible.” Elyan said, knowing that things could only get more heated if they stayed where they were any longer.

With the horses all loaded up and the argument currently settled (Arthur was wrong, regardless of his pitiful defences) Lancelot mounted his horse and helped Percy lift Miriam up to him again. He was looking forward to riding with her now she was fully back to the land of the living. She seemed like an interesting young woman and reminded him of Gwen, somehow. The whole party – bar Arthur, if that morning was anything to go by – seemed to look at her in a sisterly manner. They wanted to help her, but no one knew how to treat her. They knew not talk walk on eggshells around her, but she was still a stranger, and they didn’t know the appropriate limits yet. Hopefully, they would figure them out soon, for everyone’s sake. That was the one good thing that came from Arthur’s outburst last night: they knew shouting was not a wise idea.

Well duh, he added.

“Are you comfortable, Miriam?”

“As comfortable as one can be on the second day of riding with a head that won’t stop spinning.” She quipped back. It took everything in him to not laugh at the way she made her remark.

“We can go slowly if that would help. Or I have water. Or you could sleep again, maybe more sleep is what you need?” She shook her head but leant back against his chest anyway. He could feel warmth spread through him and his cheeks heat up.

“It is okay. I would like to get to still, stone ground as soon as we can anyway.” He understood the feeling – it was often one he experienced on the return from hunting trips. While not quite as against them as Merlin, they always drained him and he found he slept far better the first night back. He hoped it would be the same for her as, judging by the bags under her eyes, she hadn’t got much sleep the previous night. “And I wanted to hear more of your stories.” She tilted her head back to look at him as she said this and he couldn’t help but notice how the freckles that littered her face reminded him of the constellations his mother taught him when he was but an infant.

“I suppose there are a few more I could tell you. Anything in particular you are after?”

They sat in silence as she pondered the question. Just as he was considering asking again, she answered: “tell me about Camelot. Is it truly as free as they say?”

This was not the topic he was expecting. He mulled the question over, what did she really want to know with one like that? Was it, he worried, that she wanted to know about the attitudes towards magic? He had enough to worry about with Merlin and his magic (that isn’t to say he isn’t grateful that his friend still confided in him, but he was quite the chaotic individual and more than once he had feared for Merlin’s life and the likeliness of him getting himself killed) and the prospect of befriending another magical individual did not do his heart much good.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, I am sure you don’t want to disrespect your home or king.”

That was curious, she didn’t expect the answer to be positive, then? Deciding to brave it, he asked her to elaborate.

“When I was younger, maybe eight summers, a woman passed through the village I was living in. She wore armour of leather and steel and carried curved swords – like I’ve carved into the handle of my knife that your large friend has taken from me,” Percival turned on his horse at this, and gave her a small, apologetic smile, “and she told the most curious stories of lands she had visited. One such land – Camelot, she told me – had women like her. Women that wore armour and…” She paused to take a deep breath. She was getting rather warm; Lancelot could feel it on his arms as they curved past her to hold onto the reins. She began again, voice lower this time, “Women that would do unto each other as a man might his wife.”

She stopped, hoping her riding partner might catch onto what she was asking. Her head was so foggy that she was no longer sure that she knew what she was saying, really, but she had to ask before they arrived at their destination. She had been watching the way the King interacted with his manservant since she awoke the day before and she needed to know if they were what she thought they were.

If they were like her.

Gwaine watched as the girl slumped against Lancelot, clearly exhausted. He remembered the first time he was in her position and how it drained him. The thought of riding for days before finding a bed, while in that condition, was not a pleasant one and he certainly didn’t envy her.

He had enjoyed their conversation that morning. Having yet another person that could see Arthur as the ‘prat’ he was (he really needs to thank Merlin for introducing him to that word) was nice but the moment they stopped talking, he noticed his mind drifting back to why she was with them in the first place.

He hated it, plain and simple.

He thought that those days were far behind him and that, wearing the royal red and gold cloak, he was free. To have years of repressed memories hit him at once like this did not do him well.

The pounding behind his eyes grew. He really should have eaten dinner last night. Serves you right.

He sighed, rolling his eyes at himself.

The sun was directly above them before the pearly walls came into view. It was getting swelteringly hot, and all Arthur could think of was his large wooden tub in the centre of his room. And, though only a brief thought that he shoved away as quickly as possible, what Merlin would look like in it with him. He cleared his throat and raised his hand.

“I can see Camelot; we should be only another half of an hour.”

He heard Percival cheer, possibly sarcastic but probably not. Internally, he was reacting the same way. With Merlin by his side, he led the party back home.

Miriam insisted that she could walk to the Physicians chambers herself and that she didn’t need carrying. After reaching the top of the entrance steps, she began to reconsider. She could hear the sea in her ears, and her vision was fuzzy. I’ll just rest against Percival for a second, she thought.

She woke in a small cot with a blanket pulled up to her neck. She was so hot, sweat pooling in every crevice. Her head was pounding worse than it had the night of Anabella’s wedding and her arm was burning again. This isn’t ideal. She can’t die right and now it seemed as if she can’t not die right either. What a cruel irony. The ocean in her head was quieter and she could hear distant voices. One sounded like Merlin and the other someone old – the Physician, perhaps? After a few attempts, she pulled her eyes open and waited for them to focus. She could see ointments lining shelves, herbs drying from the ceiling, and more books than she had ever seen before. A woman with beautiful brown skin sat beside her, rinsing a cloth in a bucket on the floor.

She opened her mouth with the intention of greeting this stunning stranger, but could only make a quiet, choked sound. She brought her hand up to her throat as if that would make it better. The woman, noticing her distress, jumped up and retrieved a goblet of water. She lifted the back of Miriam’s head and helped her take a few sips, before setting her back onto the feather pillow.

“I’m Gwen. Guinevere. I’m a friend of Merlin’s.” She smiled and Miriam couldn’t help but notice the way it made her eyes sparkle.

“Miriam but you can call me Miri.” She forced out, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

“’Miri’, I’ve never heard a name like that before. It’s cute.” Gwen looked down at the goblet, red seeping into her cheeks.

Miri began to push her hands on the bed, attempting to sit up. She could feel the torn skin protest, but she couldn’t bear to lie down any longer. Merlin rushed over, helping Gwen push her back down onto the bed and the old man – Miri could see him properly now – made his way to the empty chair beside her.

He had white hair that reached his shoulders, more wrinkles than she would expect on a man that could move as well as he could, and an impressively judgemental look on his face. One eyebrow seemed to be permanently raised and, feeling small, she obeyed Merlin and Gwen’s direction for her to lay back.

“You need rest, my dear.” He spoke gently, but she could feel the order behind his words. She sighed and, giving up, closed her eyes again.

It took a while to get to sleep, as it always does for the broken girl. She could feel Gwen put the wet cloth back onto her forehead which was quite a relief for a little while, and she listened to the trio talk. The old man said that she was too stubborn for her own good and that she reminded him of Merlin when he was sick (she wondered if he was often sick, she hoped not for the man’s sake if Merlin was truly as stubborn as he said) and Gwen asked what happened to her. The room went silent at that and Miri felt herself freeze up. She knew people would talk, especially while she was being treated, but she had hoped that she would at least not hear it. She wondered how she would explain it when she was allowed to talk again, and if she even wanted to explain it. What would they think?

Secretly, she thought that Gwaine fellow would understand. There was something about the way he watched her that made her feel like he knew what had been going through her head when she made her way into the forest that day. For his sake, she hoped he didn’t, but she resolved to talk to him about it when she could. Even if she was wrong, he seemed fun and she was in dire need of someone fun right now.

When she finally did get to sleep, thinking of plaiting daisies into the knight’s hair, she met her nightmares. It shouldn’t have surprised her but a part of her had expected them to leave her alone for a little while after such a traumatic event had happened to her body. Gods, did she hope they would leave her alone.

It stared as they normally did. The fire was burning, casting a warm orange glow against the back wall of the hut. Miriam, around five summers, was sat on a stool, occasionally throwing sticks onto it. She looked behind her and she was in the village hall, bodyless hands traveling over her body. One made its way up her dress, softly tracing the inside of her thighs, and a laugh sounded in her ear. A body formed next to her. It had the same brown eyes and curly black hair as her – his cropped close to his scalp – and that smile that she had seen everyday since she was born.

All she could do was gasp “No, please. Please stop.”

But she knew it wouldn’t do anything.

It never did.

She was pressed against the mud, one hand holding her face down and the other gripping onto her hips. Please, not again, she begged her mind to stop showing her this.

Fabric teared, bruises formed, and tears poured.

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depressedbagpipe · 2 years

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Bagpipe's Masterlist

Welcome to the weird world of a 23-year-old with ADHD and too little time on her hands!

Started: 07/23/2022 Last updated: 03/08/2024

If you wish to be added to the General Taglist, interact with this post. If you wish to be added to any specific Taglist, just ask :)

ao3, wattpad, about me

Rants Requests [open atm]

Current Works:

"Blackbird to Robin, do you copy?" (Billy Russo x original female character) [The Punisher AU]

Ka-Chaow (Charles Leclerc x fem!reader) [F1]

Golden (King Caspian x fem!reader) [The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader] [Part II of Silver]

A Heartrender's Fire (Tolya Yul-Bataar x ofc) [Shadow and Bone: Season 2]

Finished Works:

Silver (Prince Caspian x fem!reader) [The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian]

Enchanted (Prince Caspian x you) [The Chronicles of Narnia AU] <short story>

The Freak and the Jedi (Eddie Munson x fem!Henderson!reader) [Stranger Things: Season 4]

Future Works:

That's Sir Gwaine to you (Sir Gwaine x fem!Pendragon!reader) [BBC Merlin] Webbed Hearts (Peter Parker x fem!reader) [Spider-Man Universe]

General Taglist: @angiewhoohooo, @azaleaniath, @mishaandthebrits, @celestialcharles, @idohknow

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p-taryn-dactyl · 2 years

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imma start writing for merlin bc i love the show so much

If you would like to request this is what I’ll write for the fandom:

Platonic:

Merlin x reader

Arthur x reader

Any of the knights x reader

Romantic:

Morgana x reader (fem!reader or gn!reader only)

Guinevere x reader (fem!reader or gn!reader only)

Gwaine x reader (fem!reader or gn!reader only)

Edit: i forgot to put merthur as a ship I’ll write for as well…how could i forget (no NSFW sadly tho)

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blurblurdeactivated · 2 years

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REQUESTS + RULES.

heyyyyy, here's the information/rules about requests i take. overall rule, please ask nicely :))

status: only matchups are open.

◆ MATCHUPS! are open.

matchups!!! these are really fun, ik i always love them. for matchups what i need is what fandom/s you want (max 3) a matchup for, if you want a male/female/whoever matchup, and a reasonably detailed description of you.

i will not take anonymous matchups and i'll only do them for people following me :) if you submit an anonymous one, dm me or submit a second non-anonymous one and tell me it was you so that i can post it without your url but also that way i can also see if you're following me.

brief description of you should include: a brief description of your physical appearance, your mbti type if you know it, mentions of both positive and negative personality traits, your hobbies, your likes, your dislikes, what you do in life, hopes and dreams. a wild variety of things that sums you up.

fandoms available are; The Boys, Stranger Things (not the kids obvi), MCU (includes Netflix Shows), Star Wars (Skywalker Saga + Mando).

◆ ICONS! are closed.

all i need for icon requests (which are more like suggestions) is what character you want! i'll only do one set per character and you can find who i've already done here (link coming soon)

◆ FANFICTION!

what i need from you in your request is specified in the subheading beyond according to fic type :) i only write headcanons and blurbs just based on time considerations (if you have ideas for oneshots or prompts or something you'd like to see i'd love to hear that just not as a request)

characters i write for, star ☆ indicates my top picks:

from The Boys: Soldier Boy ☆, Billy Butcher, Hughie, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, Annie, Maeve.

from Stranger Things: Eddie Munson ☆, Billy Hargrove ☆, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Jim Hopper.

played by Oscar Isaac: Poe Dameron ☆, Moon Knight bois (Steven, Marc, Jake) ☆, Nathan Bateman ☆, Duke Leto, Blue Jones, Abel Morales, Sergent Kane, Orestes, Richard Alonso-Muñoz, Rudal Keener, William Tell.

lol miscellaneous: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars), Spike (Buffy), Dean (Gilmore Girls) (let me have this), Will Turner, Elizabeth Swan, James Norrington (POTC), Morgana Pendragon, Gwaine (Merlin BBC),

played by Ben Barnes: Billy Russo ☆, The Darkling ☆, Caspian X.

from Marvel: Frank Castle, Matt Murdock , Loki Laufeyson, Bucky Barnes, Erik Lehnsherr, Wanda Maximoff, Valkyrie, Thor Odinson.

rules for all fanfic:

i won't write anything that i haven't experienced (or that i find triggering) so just please stay away from topics of mental illnesses, extreme trauma, that sorta thing.

i'm not going to write NSFW for requests so let's just skip that (steamy/suggestive is all good though),

i might decline a request if i think it'll take too long, i'm not confident in it, or i just don't like it. that's not to say your request was bad just that it didn't fit me.

also it might take a while oop, be patient with me. i'll close requests if i'm a bit back up with them.

◇ HEADCANONS! are closed.

the only requirements for headcanons are tell me what character you want, what headcanons you'd like eg. "date night hcs", or "breakup makeup hcs", if you want fem!reader or gn!reader (apologies for the inconvence but i don't do male!reader).

◇ BLURBS! are closed.

the only requirements for blurbs are tell me what character you want, if you want fem!reader or gn!reader (apologies for the inconvence but i don't do male!reader) and gimme a prompt! whether that's a dialogue prompt you found, a scenario you wanna see, whatever :)) these should be short... but also i might get carried away.

#requests #rules #fanfic requests #matchup requests

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gayandfairycore · 6 months

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-‘๑’- Merlin master list

A/n: Here is my masterlist purely filled with my Merlin fanfics majority has been written now, quite literally, years ago my writing has improved significantly. To those who sent me requests for Merlin I love and appreciate you all!

[* this indicates smut]

Merlin 🧙‍♂️

First time *

Moment alone *

Destruction and creation part one part 2

Morgana 🕯️

Destruction and creation part 1 part 2

Jealousy *

Gwaine 🗡️

Just hold me

Arthur 🛡️

The prince, the magician, and the physician

Gwen 🪻

There’s nothing here…

Lancelot ⚔️

There’s nothing here…

#bbc merlin x reader #bbc merlin x sibling reader #bbc merlin imagine #bbc merlin smut #bbc morgana #bbc merlin #bbc Merlin x fem reader #gwaine x fem reader #gwaine #arthur pendragon #merlin #morgana x merlin sibling reader #mommy morgana #morgana x reader smut #morgana x reader #morgana x fem reader #bbc morgana x reader #katie mcgrath #colin morgan

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talesofnox · 3 years

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FANDOM LIST

THESE ARE THE FANDOMS AND CHARACTERS (AND SHIPS) I WILL WRITE FOR!

THERE WILL BE PLATONIC AND FAMILIAL SHIPS AND THEY WILL BE SPECIFIED! NO INCEST OF ANY TYPE IS PERMITTED IN MY REQUEST BOX!

I SUPPORT ANY TYPE OF SHIP (GAY / LESBIAN / LGBTQ+) SO REQUEST AWAY!

FOR ANY REASON, if a fandom or character (is)...

CROSSED OUT! I no longer write for the fandom or character.

HAS A “☆” NEXT TO IT! It is one of my favorite fandoms or characters to write for.

Without further ado, here are the lists (IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER)

CRIMINAL MINDS

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

☆ SPENCER REID

DEREK MORGAN

PENELOPE GARCIA

EMILY PRENTISS

JENNIFER “JJ” JAREAU

BAU TEAM

SHIPS / PLATONIC

SPENCER REID X DEREK MORGAN

MASTERLIST

DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

CONNOR

HANK

GENERAL CHARACTERS (POLICE, ETC)

SHIPS / PLATONIC

N/A

MASTERLIST

GLEE

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST

MIKE CHANG

SEBASTIAN SMYTHE

GENERAL CHARACTERS (NEW DIRECTIONS, WARBLERS, ETC)

SHIPS / PLATONIC

N/A

HARRY POTTER

GOLDEN ERA:

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

HARRY POTTER

HERMIONE GRANGER

RON WEASLEY

GINNY WEASLEY

FRED WEASLEY

GEORGE WEASLEY

WEASLEY TWINS

PERCY WEASLEY

CHARLIE WEASLEY

WILLIAM “BILL” WEASLEY

SEAMUS FINNEGAN

DEAN THOMAS

☆ NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM

CEDRIC DIGGORY

OLIVER WOOD

GOLDEN TRIO

WEASLEY FAMILY

SHIPS / PLATONIC

SEAMUS FINNEGAN X DEAN THOMAS

OLIVER WOOD X PERCY WEASLEY

MARAUDERS ERA

X OC / READER (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

JAMES POTTER

LILY EVANS

REMUS LUPIN

SIRIUS BLACK

(YOUNG) PETER PETTIGREW

MARLENE MCKINNON

DORCAS MEADOWES

FABIAN PREWETT

GIDEON PREWETT

PREWETT TWINS

SHIPS / PLATONIC

JAMES POTTER X LILY EVANS

REMUS LUPIN X SIRIUS BLACK

MARLENE MCKINNON X DORCAS MEADOWES

MASTERLIST

LES MISERABLES

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

ENJOLRAS

COURFEYRAC

GRANTAIRE

EPONINE

GAVROCHE

BARRICADE BOYS

SHIPS / PLATONIC

ENJOLRAS X GRANTAIRE

MASTERLIST

MARVEL (AVENGERS)

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

TONY STARK

STEVE ROGERS

STONY

BUCKY BARNES

STUCKY

SAM WILSON

NATASHA ROMANOFF

PIETRO MAXIMOFF

PETER PARKER

TEAM CAP

AVENGERS

SHIPS / PLATONIC

STUCKY

STONY

MASTERLIST

MAZE RUNNER (SCORCH TRIALS / DEATH CURE)

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

THOMAS

NEWT

☆ MINHO

WINSTON

GALLY

ZART

JEFF

CLINT

CHUCK

GLADER BOYS

SHIPS / PLATONIC

THOMAS X NEWT

THOMAS X MINHO

JEFF X CLINT

MASTERLIST

☆ MERLIN

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

MERLIN

ARTHUR PENDRAGON

SIR LEON

SIR ELYAN

SIR LANCELOT

SIR PERCIVA;

SIR GWAINE

GUINEVERE

MORGANA PENDRAGON

MORDRED

KNIGHTS

MERLIN CAST

SHIPS / PLATONIC

MERLIN X ARTHUR PENDRAGON

☆ MERLIN X SIR GWAINE

☆ MERLIN X LANCELOT

MERLIN X LEON

PERCIVAL X GWAINE

MORGANA X GWEN

ROUND TABLE X MERLIN

ROUND TABLE X FEM!MERLIN

MASTERLIST

NATIONAL TREASURE

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

☆ RILEY POOLE

BEN GATES

ABIGAIL CHASE

TRIO

SHIPS / PLATONIC

N/A

MASTERLIST

☆ NEWSIES (MOVIE OR MUSICAL - SPECIFY)

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

JACK KELLY

DAVID “DAVEY” JACOBS

CRUTCHIE(Y) MORRIS

LES JACOBS

SARAH JACOBS

KATHERINE PLUMBER

RACETRACK HIGGINS

SPOT CONLON

ALBERT DASILVA

☆ ROMEO

MUSH MEYES

BUTTONS DAVENPORT

ELMER KAZPRZAK

HENRY

JOJO DE LA GUERRA

☆ SKITTERY

TUMBLER

FINCH CORTEZ

SNIPESHOOTER

BOOTS

SMALLS (MALE OR FEMALE)

OSCAR DELANCEY

MORRIS DELANCEY

NEWSIES

SHIPS / PLATONIC

JACK KELLY X DAVID JACOBS

JACK KELLY X KATHERINE PLUMBER

SARAH JACOBS X KATHERINE PLUMBER

RACETRACK HIGGINS X SPOT CONLON

SPOT CONLON X SARAH JACOBS

MASTERLIST

THE SANDLOT

X READER / OC (SPECIFY IN REQUEST)

BENNY RODRIGUEZ

SCOTTY SMALLS

MICHAEL “SQUINTS” PALLEDOROUS

ALAN “YEAH-YEAH” MCCLENNAN

SANDLOT BOYS

SHIPS / PLATONIC

BENNY RODRIGUEZ / SCOTTY SMALLS

MASTERLIST

Enjoy this list and make requests if you please. I would love to write more often than I do, so please help me out!

#masterlist #writing #writingrules #writerscommunity #criminal minds #detroit: become human #glee #harry potter #les mis #les miserables #avengers #marvel #newsies #national treasure #merlin #the sandlot

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retvenkos · 4 years

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he smiles // mordred

Merlin (BBC) - Mordred x Fem!Reader, fluff

A/N: 8.1k words!!! i didn’t think it was in me, but i clearly love mordred more than i should...

Summary: There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

brother, you could never understand the beauty in his eyes and the pain reflected there. i have found legends of the most desolate of places with the most gruesome of histories and none of them compare to the look in his eyes. he has been rubbed raw of everything he’s loved and has been chipped away of everything he once was.

but he is beautiful, brother, when the stars are resting in the black night of his hair and when the ivy climbs his skin like a statue of marble.

and when he smiles…

is there beauty that could compare?

ii.

Laughter, warmth, and wine filled the Banquet Hall. Knights celebrated, feasting and drinking to good fortune, speaking with one another in their usual, rowdy tones. Music played and merriment filled the hearts of every soldier and guest in the room.

Instead of sitting at the high table where his father had sat before him, King Arthur was amongst his people, Guinevere at his side, speaking to the man that was cause for celebration; Mordred. An old acquaintance and new ally, this young man was knighted earlier that day and the newest recruit was being honored the only way Camelot knew how.

Mordred was smiling, disbelief clinging to the edges of his mouth, hope blooming roses on his cheeks, underneath his skin. His joy was more subdued than that of those who surrounded him, but it seemed as though the happiness that clung to him was the most pure and full joy he had ever experienced in all his years on Earth.

(Y/n) had yet to meet Modred when Gwaine grabbed her arm and took her over to where his fellow knights were huddled together, in the center of the hall.

“Gwaine,” (Y/n) huffed, following her older brother, despite her initial reaction of refusing, “what is it, this time?”

“You haven’t greeted the King and Queen! Guinevere was wondering if you had gotten holed up in the library again, archiving histories no one’s ever going to read.” Gwaine’s voice bubbled with glee, the mead he had drunk already taking effect on his mood, making him even more playful than usual.

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you didn’t want me talking to the ladies at court? I heard a pretty blonde knows you better than I.”

Gwaine grabbed another drink from a nearby servant and took a swig of it. “If she knew me better than you, she wouldn’t have talked to me the way she did.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Apparently she spends quite a lot of time in your chambers, as well.” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and stole her brother's mead, taking a drink of it herself.

“We’ve been getting better acquainted.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and Gwaine laughed, taking his drink back, only to find it empty. He nudged her in the ribs with a playful scowl before letting go of her arm and nodding to the Queen. He disappeared into the crowd after that, leaving his younger sister to bow and exchange formalities.

“My Lady.”

“(Y/n),” Guinevere smiled, laughing at the title she now wore. Her spirits, too, had been lifted by the contents of her goblet, and the candle-lit hall seemed to be painted in rosy hues. “You know you can call me Gwen.”

“But that isn’t nearly as fun.”

(Y/n) bowed once more, her eyebrows raised in jest and Guinevere shook her head. “Have you met Sir Mordred?”

“No, I’ve not.”

“Well, then,” Guinevere led (Y/n) a few paces deeper into the throng of knights and very quickly found who she was looking for. She smiled triumphantly when she did and put a hand on the shoulder of a man turned away from her. “Sir Mordred, this is Lady (Y/n).”

The knight turned around, (Y/n)’s gaze met his, and the world around them slowed. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught as his blue eyes shook her to her core, seemingly looking right into her soul, finding the pure gold that lay at the heart of her very being. In that moment, which stretched into infinity for them but never left the stream of time for others, (Y/n) could see the most beautiful sky form in his eyes.

And she knew the poets to be right in their rambles of beauty and desire and all that fell in between.

“Sir Mordred,” (Y/n) bowed low, long lashes kissing her cheeks and allowing her a second of relief from his intoxicating gaze.

He breathed her name and it sounded like a forgotten memory; like something that was all at once fondly missed and discovered anew.

“I see you’ve met my sister!” Gwaine’s strong voice shattered the still moment efficiently. The knight clapped Mordred on the shoulder with a strength that could have made mountains crumble, but Modred did not move. “She works with Geoffrey of Monmouth in the Royal Library.”

“She’s the brain to his brawn,” Guinevere supplied with a grin, a twinkle in her eye.

“And the beauty,” (Y/n) teased, earning a laugh from Guinevere and a protest from Gwaine. Through the laughing, (Y/n) caught Mordred’s keen eye as it lingered on her.

iii.

brother, i cannot describe it, but there is a kindness in his bones. it is so deeply rooted in the fabric of his being that it cannot be separated without destroying him - picking him apart piece by piece, excavating his soul until it becomes a cavern, stripped of it’s jewels and metals.

the heavens treat him as though he is a part of them. the sun haloes around his head like a crown, like he is an angel on earth.

and, brother, when he smiles…

the skies above clear just for him.

iv.

(Y/n) walked through the castle, purpose quickening her step, her mind stuck in days gone by, those scholars called the Great Purge. She had been translating history texts written in languages that had died with the Old Religion, and had come across a mention of a sorceress she had not heard of in her many years of learning. Geoffrey of Monmouth, the keeper of the library, had told her to take the name to Gaius in search of more information.

“If the sorceress does, indeed, exist,” Geoffrey had told her, “then there is great reason to believe she did not perish in the Great Purge and the king must be warned.”

(Y/n) understood the danger that a sorceress could present to the kingdom, which fueled her haste in going to Gaius’ chambers, but hesitation pricked at the back of her mind, making her avert her eyes from those around her.

Was a sorceress inherently evil? It went against all her beliefs to concede to that idea. She had always been taught that evil was a thing to be cultivated, it was not the natural state of mankind. Then how could it be justified, slaughtering her before she has committed a crime? All men face hardships that poison them with the potential for great evil, yet they are not senselessly killed. But with times being what they were - with Morgana threatening everything Camelot stood for…

The sound of swords clanging disrupted her thoughts, and (Y/n) stopped to calm her mind.

The world was a hard place to navigate through and come out unscathed. There were times when (Y/n) thought it just might be impossible. Sometimes, it seemed that humans were made to bleed. Skin was made fragile for a reason, after all.

Swords clashed together once more, and (Y/n) turned to the source of the noise. The knights (just as she has suspected) were honing their sword fighting skills, the men engaged in one on one combat. Her eyes immediately found Gwaine, who was sparring with Percival, both of them clearly taunting the other. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at their antics, chuckling when Percival was able to get the jump on Gwaine, delivering a harsh blow that her brother was only just able to block, stumbling backward.

Her eyes drifted, then, to Mordred, who was sparring with Elyan. As she gazed at the pair, (Y/n) found herself under his spell once more. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his jaw was set; he looked lethal, like a dangerous poison had been unleashed in his bloodstream and was ready to consume everything in its path. (Y/n) looked deeper into his eyes, expecting a hurricane to be raging within but found no animosity there.

Mordred; like all men; like the sorceress who’s name she had on a scrap of paper, tight in her fist; had the capability to be cruel in this harsh world, but it was not in his nature. She could see that in his soul, and the fact that she could see it from such a distance was a testament to that goodness and beauty she had seen in the Banquet Hall, only a day prior.

King Arthur called for his men to cease their training. Swords no longer clashed. Mordred’s eyes locked with (Y/n)’s.

She smiled politely and he nodded to her, his own mouth curling upward, slightly; a look that was meant for her, and no one else. (Y/n)’s breath caught in her chest. The ache that lingered there was pleasant and bearable, when she remembered who had left it.

Gwaine saw his sister and called to her. (Y/n) snapped her attention to him and waved.

Then, with one last glance at the knight who had caught her attention, she continued on her path to Gaius’ chambers, her thoughts straying from the sorceress at hand, her cheeks warm and heart hammering.

brother, there is a knowledge in his voice that could drown the world in sorrows. he speaks and his words are heavy enough to bury us all alive. but that is not who he is. for, brother, when he looks at me with eyes like diamonds forged far beneath the ground, i see a light that he has created within.

it is warm and kind and believes in the world this one could become. how has he fallen in love with this world when it has come to him broken, already in shambles?

i do not know, but when he smiles…

could the world really be this way?

vi.

The gossip ladies shared while dining was, for the most part, colorful but frivolous. Most of the time it was rumors about a prince who couldn’t banish his feelings for a commoner or a princess who couldn’t hold her tongue while in the presence of men. It was spoken of in tones that made it sound more interesting than it was, and it was passed through the table like another dish they were being served.

(Y/n) listened and engaged with it at yet another banquet, thrown in the aftermath of yet another victory over sorcery. The music played energetically, and as the wine flowed, the painted lips of women loosened and their words came freely.

“That Sir Mordred,”—(Y/n)’s ears perked at the sound of his name—“he’s grown awfully close to the King, hasn’t he?”

The lady who spoke tilted her head and her friends urged her to continue - to finish the thought that was stewing inside her head.

She smiled wickedly, lowering her voice and leaning in, “I’ve heard nasty whispers about where he’s from - no one really knows, but some think he’s a slave-trader, and others…” she paused for affect, and when the music played loudly again, she divulged, “others say he might be a Druid.”

The ladies gasped and (Y/n) felt bile rise in her throat. Suddenly, she wished the gossip to stop - for the music to become so loud that the lady who sat across from her wouldn’t be able to finish the vile thought that she was already speaking.

“If he hadn’t saved King Arthur’s life… Well, we know where he would be.”

(Y/n) stood up in a flash, her jaw set, her eyes angry and frightened, her nerves a mess. The ladies startled and turned to her, but the rest of the celebration carried on. The music still played, the instruments now shrill and jarring, the voices of men suddenly harsh and cruel. (Y/n) was suddenly overwhelmed by the crowd - their fanged grins and ravenous eyes, the hate and anger that lay in their hearts.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.” (Y/n)’s lips quivered, but her words rang true. The women at the table looked at her, their mouths working soundlessly.

With no further ceremony, (Y/n) left, walking through the castle, letting the sounds of the Banquet Hall fade behind her. Unsure of where she could clear her racing mind, (Y/n) let her legs take her where they pleased.

She stopped in the middle of the balcony corridor, the gentle wind calming her mind, the moon above reflecting a soft, steady light that played against the stone beneath her. The only sound here was her skirts grazing the floor. The stillness calmed her. She sighed and leaned against the stone wall, turning her face to the inky night sky.

What had angered her? She looked at the stars scattered across the sky and wondered at her own actions. Had it been the ladies questioning who Mordred was? No, people were always questioning from where people hailed. It was a way to understand a person without ever knowing them - it was an easy way to allow comfort when in the presence of a stranger. Had it been them accusing him of being a Druid? Perhaps. But, then again, it was not the Druids that had angered her. What had brought her to stand was the implication of what could befall him if he were, indeed, a part of them.

It was dangerous to be something more than just flesh and blood. For there to be rumors, there had to be doubt - and if there was the smallest ounce of doubt in the hearts of those most adamant in the war against magic…

It was not fair - none of it: the rumors, the fear, the suspicion, the deaths of innocents. There was no crime in being born. There was no evil in having been created with skills that few understood. Nothing was inherently wicked, so then how could magic be persecuted as such?

(Y/n) sighed. Perhaps she cared too much. What good could she do, at the end of the day? Being a magic sympathizer only passed suspicion on those you cared for. Was it wise, then, to speak the way she did, to let her feelings be known?

“(Y/n),” a voice called from the shadows, disturbing the silence that had given the woman peace of mind, only moments before. (Y/n) spun around, feeling guilty, her heart beating louder.

It was Mordred, dressed in a knight’s finest, his expression impassive in the moonlight. (Y/n) calmed when she saw it was him who had called for her, but heat rushed to her face.

“Mordred,” she smiled, despite herself, and the dim light played against the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t hear you come. Is the celebration over, already?”

“No,” he answered, walking over to stand beside her, a respectful distance between the two, “I doubt it’s going to end anytime soon.” (Y/n)’s hands itched to be nearer to his, and she folded them together to occupy them. “But what brought you out here?”

“Some of the women I dined with are not as kind in their hearts as they should be.” (Y/n) gazed into the never ending sky, wondering how the stars burned so bright in such a dark expanse. Did their warmth, too, come from within? Did they see Mordred below and feel the same heat fill them so completely? She couldn’t imagine feeling any other way, in his presence. “They may be at court, but they are not nearly as deserving as others.”

Mordred’s eyes twinkled with mirth, like tiny stars igniting in blue skies, although (Y/n) did not seem to notice, her gaze still searching the night around them. He looked at her admiringly, his eyes tracing the curves and dips of her profile - that serene face that drew him out of himself and towards her.

“None of them have any idea of what it’s like to be an outsider, but their judgements of others are swift and cruel.” She turned to him, hesitant to see his reaction.

(Y/n)’s words, so sincere, so carefully chosen, turned Mordred’s face into something softer - something (Y/n) had only seen once before, but felt like she knew more deeply than anything else. “Nobility knows nothing of the suffering they can inflict.” He held her gaze when he spoke, and his words were a melodious lament - almost a siren’s call, pulling (Y/n) deeper into his depths. He sighed, his eyes averting from her own. “But everyone pays for their soul, in the end.”

“Then let ours be pure of heart while we’re still here.” (Y/n) leaned heavier against the stone before her, her shoulders falling deeper, her forearms bearing her weight. She tilted her head to look at Mordred beside her, and he relaxed in a similar manner.

“This world needs more people with your ideals.” Mordred complimented her and heat flooded (Y/n)’s cheeks. He regarded her with a smile - small and conspiratorial, like a soft embrace.

“You can thank my brother for any beliefs I hold. He was the only man to teach me how to rise above what I am.”

The wind visited them once more, weaving through their hair, twisting Mordred’s cape and twirling (Y/n)’s skirts. (Y/n) leaned into its caress, her eyes closing for a brief moment, her entire being becoming one with the heavens above.

“You’re lucky to have each other. Being alone isn’t easily shaken.” A shadow came over Mordred’s eyes, heavy and dark.

(Y/n) turned to the man beside her, her lips parting as she moved to say something.

She was untimely interrupted by Gwaine calling for her. She held Mordred’s gaze for a moment longer, as though debating whether or not to stay and say something more, but when her brother called again, she obeyed.

vii.

brother, he lives with such gravity. every breath is a gust of wind, every step is a tremor in the earth. he is so heavy on this earthly plane, the world presses down on him as though he were made to carry it upon his shoulders.

and yet, when he is still and the world stops around him, he looks weightless, as though he could fly. and brother, when he soars above me he is an angel out of reach, a dream beyond imagining.

and then he smiles…

is there freedom such as this?

viii.

(Y/n) held her skirts in her hands, running through the castle’s corridors, taking the familiar path to Gaius’ chambers. Weaving in and out of people who were in her way, her mind raced faster than her legs. It was only by luck that the gossip of the servants reached her, and she hadn’t a moment to lose.

The King had gone on a patrol to the Black Mountains that morning, and when they had come back…

The servant’s weren’t clear in what had happened, but Mordred was wounded - carried into Gaius’ chambers by Arthur and Merlin.

To be wounded was one thing; but to be carried into the castle by the King, himself? (Y/n) didn’t know what to think, but she feared the worst. Her heart was beating faster than ever, a drum to which her anxieties chanted inside her skull.

Still running, her feet slapping the stone incessantly, she turned a corner and stumbled headlong into someone walking the opposite way. (Y/n) muttered an apology as she started to dodge the obstacle, but whoever it was moved in her path once more, grabbing her shoulders with a tight grip.

“(Y/n), what’s the matter?”

It was Gwaine, his brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s not me you need to worry about,” she all but snapped, her tone clipped from worry. “Were you with Mordred?”

“He’s with Gaius, now.” Gwaine’s worry started to melt away, seeing his sister unharmed by the day’s events, but (Y/n) shared none of his relief. “He’ll be fine,” Gwaine repeated, trying to reassure her by catching her eye.

“What happened?” Her voice and lower lip shook, her nerves frayed and unable to settle. “I - I heard rumors, and—”

“—And you won’t settle down until you see for yourself. I know.” A smile slowly grew on Gwaine’s face, and he wrapped an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder, walking with her to Gaius’ chambers. In all their years together he had become the father his younger sister never had, and learned her better than any lesson he had been given in his entire life. Gwaine knew his sister, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to still without absolute confirmation.

He slowed her eager pace, trying to soothe her before she saw what lay within the physician’s chambers.

“So,” he began, a grin already plastered onto his face, “you’re that worried about Mordred?”

(Y/n) felt herself burn from embarrassment.

“Not not, Gwaine. He could by dying!”

Her brother laughed and allowed her to see the knight she fretted over. She rushed to his side, and the pallor in his cheeks made her stomach twist in knots. She brushed his raven hair off of his forehead, feeling his fever. She looked to see if his eyes moved behind his lids or if his chest rose as he breathed inward, but he didn’t seem to respond to life at all. She whispered a prayer under her breath before turning to Gaius, already questioning what was wrong and what could be done.

“There is old sorcery at work - knowledge beyond my understanding.” Gaius’ words were uncertain and he shook his head just slightly, as though he had already concluded the worst. “The Disir were said to be a most sacred court with power unimaginable.”

The Disir. (Y/n) knew their name from stories she had translated from dead languages to that which was spoken, now. If Mordred had been stuck by a force so revered and entrenched in the Old Religion...

“But there could be a cure?” (Y/n)’s tone was adamant in their desperate hope - far more so than her thoughts. Gaius looked at her as though he saw something deep inside her gaze, and eventually conceded.

“Perhaps… in the texts of the Old Religion…”

(Y/n) was out of the physician’s chambers and racing down the hall before he could finish. She had no practical skills in medicine, but she was an archivist. She knew languages and history, and due to her position, she had unlimited access to the Royal Library. If there was an answer between the pages Camelot stored, she would find it and use it to save him.

The candles in the Royal Library burned brighter than usual, lighting the shelves that lay in dark, unused corners. (Y/n) situated herself amongst the shelves she knew had to keep the secrets she so desired, choosing books from the rows. She lost herself in piles of ancient texts, her hands careful and precise as they skimmed down page after page, searching for an answer. Volume after volume was pulled from its resting pace, meticulously scoured, and replaced once more.

Geoffrey of Monmouth allowed the candles to be burned all night long, eventually retiring for the evening and leaving (Y/n) to her search, giving her a fond, supportive squeeze on the shoulder before shuffling away. Servants still gossipped out in the corridors, their voices drifting like ghosts to where she sat. Gwaine came to her before his nightly rounds of the castle began, and found her sitting on the floor, her skirts pooled around her as she continued her search. She was desperate for some kind of news, but Gwaine had none; Mordred’s condition was unchanged and dire, still. Tears threatened her eyes and he had taken the time to embrace her, rubbing her back soothingly, promising her things would be alright.

(Y/n) clung to his faith, feeling the crushing weight of gravity bearing down on her. How could people live with such pain?

She felt herself grow tired. She opened more books. She felt herself grow tired. She flipped more pages. She felt herself grow tired. She sought more answers, feeling them slip through her fingertips - elusive and intangible. She felt herself grow tired.

The candle burned lower until she could no longer feel it’s warmth - until she could no longer see it in her mind’s eye.

In her dreams, she could see pages before her, with drawings of three women in robes of black, with writing that was slanted and almost unable to be read. (Y/n) reached out to grab the page, hold it in her grasp and learn it’s secrets, but her body was heavy like stone, unable to move - unable to save him.

“(Y/n)...” Mordred’s voice called out to her, so full of life, so full of love. She stirred. “(Y/n)...” She moved.

(Y/n)’s eyes opened, and she was lying against a shelf, a volume open on her lap. Light from the morning sun spilled from the nearby window, and when she looked up, she had to blink to believe it was real.

Mordred smiled down at her, his cheeks pink and flushed with beauty, his eyes bright. He was something out of a dream, in that moment, the sun’s rays casting the shadows away from him, bathing him in golden light.

His name slipped from her lips in wonder, and she repeated it once more, euphoria filling her tone with something akin to a song.

“I was told I could find you here.”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him long enough to hide it.

ix.

we could never see it, brother, with our lives painted in such rosy tones, but his world is drenched in stormy, blue waters. it is salt rubbed into wounds and waves battering stone until they erode away. it was not a crucible that forged him, but an ocean that drowned him and left him washed on shore, gasping for breath. brother, his story is one that we whisper at night, voices low in fear of giving those wayward souls power over us all. if he so desired, we could be crushed and left. the crows would pick us clean.

but he looks at me and his ocean eyes cradle me, rocking me back and forth with the tide. and i am safe, in his embrace. i am loved, wrapped in his arms.

and when he smiles…

our story has yet to unfold.

(Y/n) looked at the wares of different vendors, strolling through the streets with no real destination in mind. The day was beautiful, with the sun partially covered with thick clouds, the heat emanating from it just enough to be comfortable and without chill. The people around her were happy, for the most part, their worries few and their good fortune abundant.

There was peace in Camelot, and (Y/n) wished - foolishly, perhaps - that it would last.

Stopping to search for coins to buy a loaf of bread, (Y/n) readjusted the basket she held and a book she had been carrying fell out. Before she could lean down to grab it, the book was already in someone else’s hands, being wiped clean. “I’m sorry about that.” (Y/n) looked up to see who had helped her and found Mordred before her. He had a grin on his face, lopsided and pulled to the left, his teeth just visible beneath his lips.

His sharp eyes were on the small volume before him, reading the title with interest (Y/n) had not thought she would find.

Mordred shrugged off her apology, instead turning his interest to that which he had recovered. “Poetry?” (Y/n) shifted under his teasing gaze. “Is it for the King, perhaps?”

(Y/n) scoffed, well aware of the joke that had been floating through the palace - Merlin and King Arthur learning poetry by candlelight. Was the Queen impressed with her husband’s talents? Leon had been given extra training for two weeks when word of it reached Arthur.

“The King and I have very different tastes in poetry, I believe. He’s more of a romantic.”

Mordred snorted, flipping through the worn pages. “These poems…” Mordred’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his tone still gentle when he spoke, but his countenance changed nonetheless. “They’re about magic.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, training her eyes at her skirts brushing the ground below.

She had been caught.

It was just literature, and she didn’t believe there was any harm in it. Poetry could not teach her sorcery. The knowledge that lay in those poems were not spells that she could wield against Camelot and those she loved, and yet, she knew, deep down, that such things would not matter to those who would wish to persecute her for harboring such knowledge and allowing it into her home.

“They’re just poems. Just stories written in beautiful languages. There’s no harm in it, only understanding.” (Y/n)’s words were low but spoken with conviction and heart. “I only wish to understand that which I am to fear.”

“And I admire you all the more for it.”

(Y/n) looked up into Mordred’s eyes where she held his tender gaze. Her worries were put to ease by his serenity, and she idly wondered why she has ever been nervous in the first place. Even now, she could look into his gaze and see the kindness that lay deep within his heart. Within those blue eyes, she could see his sympathy for magic, not dissimilar from her own, but more deeply sown. She could see, deep in his soul, that there was something he knew and had not shared.

She wished to tell him she wouldn’t tell a soul. (Y/n) wished to hold Mordred and whisper in his ear that he could bare his entire soul to her and she would regard him the same. She wished to let him know that she knew him deeply and irrevocably, that in those still moments when they walked with one another or locked eyes from across the room, she felt their souls were one and she could not distinguish where one began and the other ended.

“Would you like to hear some?” (Y/n) put her hand on the book lightly, her fingers brushing his, warmth igniting where they touched. “The old way of speaking… it’s beautiful.”

Mordred smiled and she slipped the book out of his hands, starting to leaf through the pages, searching for the right sentiment she was looking for.

He spoke, then, his words soft and with a lyrical lilt, whispered between the two of them. (Y/n) gazed up at him, and it took her a moment to realize that he was reciting a poem - a variation of one of the poems inside the book she had in her hands. She listened to him, allowing his language to captivate her senses and pluck at her heartstrings. The poetry spoke of magic - it’s ubiquitous power and intentionless existence - and how the world, whether it wanted to be or not, was gifted with it.

When he finished, (Y/n) realized that the warmth that had spread through her body had made her lips pull into an expression of awed wonder. She tried to regain control over her features, but Mordred had already seen her beauty and wouldn’t forget it for all his days.

Mordred took (Y/n)’s hands in his and closed the poetry book, placing it back in her basket. “Keep that safe,” he said. “It’s not wise to have poetry about magic in Camelot.”

(Y/n) started to grin, staring up at him challengingly. “And to have it committed to memory? Is that just as guilty?”

Mordred chuckled, but after a moment, his face turned grave. “In Camelot, I believe so.”

“Then Camelot is too harsh with matters of magic.”

Mordred did nothing but nod.

xi.

there is a ferocity deep within him, brother. it has the strength of a bear and the loyalty wolf; baring its teeth and tearing out throats. he keeps it deep within himself, burrowed beneath the ground, hidden amongst the trees.

it is strong, brother, but he is it’s master. he has run with the wolves and become one with the pack. he has faced the bear and made peace with its power. he has a strength inside of him that cannot be changed, and it protects this world from what he could be. and i stare at him, in awe of the power which he possesses within.

and when he smiles…

he is nothing i could not love.

xii.

The forest around them teemed with life - birds singing from the treetops, the undergrowth shaking from the movement of small animals, and the nearby brook babbling. (Y/n) breathed in deeply, the smell of the fresh air clearing her mind and filling her senses with a feeling of calm. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the bad slung around her shoulder, the books inside of it slapping against her thighs as she rode her horse forward. Mordred, riding alongside her, looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she did not notice his gaze through her pleasant sigh.

They were riding to Carleon - Sir Mordred escorting the Royal Archivist - to meet with the genealogist that worked for Queen Annis. Geoffrey of Monmouth found a discrepancy in their bookkeeping of the old, noble families and needed to compare his records with the other kingdom, but at his age he was far too old to undertake such an adventure - especially at such a critical time in Camelot’s history. (Y/n) had been sent in his place, her expertise growing with every day that passed, the old librarian sharing his knowledge and legacy with the woman so that she might one day succeed him.

It was to be a fairly safe journey. Carleon was an ally of Camelot, and the two kingdoms were not far from one another. King Arthur had allowed Mordred to escort the woman, his warnings minimal - only that Mordred not forget his duty while protecting (Y/n).

Gwaine had been there to see the pair off, teasing (Y/n) of her feelings for the young knight.

“I believe your love life is the one we need to keep an eye on, Gwaine.” Her brother had laughed at that, and she told him to behave while she was gone. The last thing she needed was to worry about him while traveling to another kingdom.

Their journey so far had been a peaceful one. The two had time to talk about all that had happened in Camelot - from the gossip of what happened in the lower towns to the battles that the knights had waged in the name of the King. After that, there had been time to talk about the histories she had been translating and scribing; the worlds that she learned about on weathered pages were vibrant in their age and charming in their customs and habits - all of which had betweitched her, ensnaring her attention.

Mordred had deep interest in what had come before him - those millenia in which magic reigned, free - and (Y/n) was happy to share her passion with someone who listened and cared.

There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

Now, there was less than a two hour ride left, and with the end in sight, (Y/n)’s anxieties started to claw their way into her heart. She closed her eyes and focused on the world in front of her, this forest of bright yellows and deep greens, this sanctuary where she and Mordred were together, close enough to get lost in each other’s eyes for eternity.

“How much do you think Gwaine has worried while we’ve been gone?” (Y/n) smiled at the knight who rode beside her, her tone fighting to be as light and cheerful as the words she spoke. “I saw him talking to you before we left. What did he—”

A high-pitched scream that was not their own erupted into the sky. With a flash of metal, Mordred had unsheathed his sword and was riding for where the sound originated. (Y/n) followed, and when they burst into a clearing, they found it to be full of bandits surrounding an elderly man and his daughter. Without a second thought, Mordred sprung into action.

(Y/n) grabbed a sword from one of the bandits that Mordred felled and joined him in battle, her strikes proper and effective, although unceremonious and without the craft of a true swordsman. Mordred spared her an impressed glance before engaging with the rest of the marauders.

Surprise was their biggest advantage, and the two of them were able to dispose of four of the bandits quickly. The rest of the men ran, reasoning that the spoils weren’t worth the risk involved, now that a knight of Camelot was among them.

After the last of the men disappeared into the trees, (Y/n) dropped the sword she had been using, looking over the scrapes and minor flesh wounds she had received. Mordred walked over to her, his own eyes scanning her for injury, and she reassured him she was fine, her eyes moving to search him.

“Where did you learn to use a sword?”

(Y/n) scoffed, the adrenaline still buzzing through her veins. “Gwaine. Who else would arm a young girl against her will? He said I would need to one day.” A grin tugged at her lips. “I suppose he was right.”

Mordred smiled briefly and the two of them turned to the people who had cried out for help. The elderly man thanked them, taking their young hands in his own and blessing them good fortune for days to come.

“Such kindness is lacking in the world, today, when it is most needed.”

“We are just glad we could be of assistance to you and your daughter.” Mordred dipped his head low, and his voice echoed with past transgressions - moments of his past where he was a victim to circumstance, just as they were. “No one deserves such violence and pain.”

The old man peered at Mordred with years of wisdom, and he squeezed his shoulder like a father would. “You have such good souls”—he looked at (Y/n), as well, with a kind twinkle in his eye—“both of you.”

“Good souls are hard to come by.” (Y/n) agreed, gently. “They’re a rare treasure, indeed.”

Mordred looked at her, his eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. She regarded their bright brilliance with a warm glance and roses of the most vibrant pinks blossomed beneath his cheeks.

Later, after the travelers had gone on their way, and the two were riding for Carleon once more, (Y/n) found the courage to speak something that she had been thinking on for a while, but had only articulated just then.

“Mordred, when we were fighting those bandits…” her words trailed off, but Mordred was patient as he waited for them. “I know we’re only human - average and simple - but when I’m at your side, I feel stronger than that - better, even. It’s almost like…”

Silence didn’t stay between them, long.

“Like you have magic.”

xiii.

brother, we live such violent lives and meet such violent ends, but his life is precious in it’s softness and should never die on the end of a blade. this world has rubbed his edges with stone to sharpen them to fine points, but he wraps himself in soft down and refuses to be changed.

this life he lives deserves to be full, brother, with none of the emptiness that has surrounded him for so long. so much has been taken from him, so much of what he owns has been displaced. and so he holds me as though i am already gone.

but when i am resolute beside him, he smiles…

could the world bear to tear us apart?

xiv.

“All I’m saying is that Mordred is a lucky man to have caught my little sister’s eye.” Gwaine held up his hands in mock defeat as the two of you walked down the castle steps and into the Citadel. “How many people have you turned down over the years? I vividly remember at least three…”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at her brother’s teasing, quickly shooting back, “And for every person I turn down, you lead another to your chambers.”

Gwaine feigned hurt, but a grin grew on his lips all the same. “I have more honor than that, (N/n).”

“More tact, you mean. If Arthur were to see you—” Gwaine nudged (Y/n) in the side and she laughed good-naturedly, elbowing him right back.

“But, truly, (Y/n). Mordred is a fine knight and if the two of you—”

“Gwaine...” (Y/n)’s face was hot with embarrassment and her brother smiled down at her, affection in his gaze.

“I would be happy, is all” —he tilted his head, then, his lips pulled into a thoughtful frown— “and a bit proud.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. “Exactly what I always wanted.” The two laughed, and once the moment sobered, (Y/n) turned to Gwaine, her expression genuine and earnest. “But really, thank you.”

Gwaine put a tender hand on her shoulder, squeezing it strongly. He opened his mouth to say something, but the clapping sound of horse hooves hitting stone caught his attention, and both siblings turned to see who was approaching.

An entire patrol of soldiers burst into the Citadel, many of them leaning over, their expressions drawn in pain and suffering. (Y/n)’s eyes searched frantically until they settled on Mordred, his expression grim and worried, but the rest of him seemingly okay. Gwaine walked over to him and he dismounted, both Knights meeting each other half-way.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked.” Mordred’s blue eyes flashed dangerously. “It was Morgana.”

“And you got away?” (Y/n) walked over to them, her eyes scanning over the injuries that the patrol had sustained. Almost all of them had a bruise or two, some of them with gashes on the head or sides. What had she done?

“It’s the King she wants,” Mordred sighed. “She’s just trying to draw him out.”

Gwaine nodded deftly, his brow furrowing as his entire disposition changed. “I’ll let Arthur know,” he assured Mordred, putting a hand on his arm before leaving.

(Y/n) watched as Mordred turned back to the men behind him, checking their wounds and sending them to Gaius if necessary. She watched his face contort with worry as he passed over each man, his eyes filled with care and legitimate attentiveness to each of their circumstances. The soldiers smiled gratefully at him, as though thanking Mordred for showing them that they were seen. In such a large military, it was easy to get lost in the sea of hundreds; people stopped becoming human and were just another sword in combat, just another body left on the battlefield. But here, under Mordred’s worried gaze, they were human. Bleeding, battered, and bruised people with hearts that were broken and minds that were screaming in the silence.

The love that resided within Mordred was quiet, but (Y/n) could see it from any distance and behind any facade.

When the last soldier was tended to, Mordred made his way over to (Y/n) and she looked at him deeply, with a soft care that made him feel entirely known and wholly loved. “Are you alright?” Her voice was low and pleading, careful but firm. “Morgana didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m alright.”

(Y/n) looked at him, her eyebrows still furrowed as she searched his expression for something to tell her the contrary. Finding nothing, she sighed and reached out to embrace him, holding Modred close to her beating chest.

He melted against her slowly, then all at once. His arms moved to wrap around her more securely and she responded to his touch, her hand getting lost in his hair. The pair stayed like that, enveloped in each other’s arms, until their hearts synced together and beat as one.

“Things happen so quickly Mordred,” she spoke without pulling away, her breath hot against his ear, “I don’t want you to be someone that passes by without me ever telling you how much you mean to me.”

Mordred hugged her tighter, until he felt he couldn’t breathe from her love. “Nothing can happen to me while I have you to live for.”

(Y/n) pulled away slowly, her eyes questioning whether or not he meant what he said. Mordred’s smile was in full bloom, adoration and love pouring out from him with no end in sight. She stared into his deep, blue eyes and her question died before ever making its way to her lips.

xv.

brother, you could never understand how the world has wronged us all and the poets exist only to make amends, but when i feel his heart against mine, i know it to be true. this existence is strife and heartache and nails tearing into flesh, but there is consolation in the arms of a lover and there is peace in their kiss.

and, brother, you may not understand his depths, but my lover is good. despite how he bleeds and breaks, he is whole when he lays beside me, his hands lacing with mine, his features carved by the artist we know as Time.

and when he smiles…

is there love that could rival mine?

xvi.

His lips were rough against her own, hot and wanting, pushing all thoughts that weren’t of him to the recesses of her mind. His arms were steady as he held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other planted firmly on her waist, pressing her against him. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands trailing up his chest as they reached for his dark hair, thick and soft beneath her fingertips.

She kissed him deeply once more before parting to take a breath, her forehead resting on his, their noses bumping together, gently. Mordred’s eyes fluttered open and the world was extended to (Y/n), begging her to take it in her soft hands and make something beautiful from it’s fraying edges and tattered bits.

She didn’t know how to tell the world that it was already beautiful, when she looked through his eyes and saw its glory reflected there. If everything could be crafted in his mind’s eye this existence could be a much softer way of living.

“I love you,” she breathed the words, and even though they were her own, they made her heart race in her chest. She could feel his speed up as well, and placed a hand over his chainmail, where she knew his heart lay beneath.

Mordred sighed, “And I love you.” Their lips connected for one sweet, brief moment, and when their eyes met once more, he was smiling, his iris’ twinkling with the light of the sun. “I could love you for the rest of my days and it wouldn’t be enough.”

(Y/n) giggled at his charming words, unable to contain the love that filled her so completely. He kissed her again and it felt like a cloud - downy and warm, like what she imagined heaven to be like. For a fraction of a moment, his lips hovered over her own, and it was she who chased after them, her lips divine as they pressed against his.

A knock at the door pulled them apart, and Mordred looked at her with sympathy, unwilling to pull away from her embrace, not wanting to venture into the night when all of his world was right here, in front of him.

(Y/n) put a hand to his cheek, rubbing the smooth skin with her thumb. “Be careful out there, Mordred.” Her voice was still ragged, her breathing slowly finding its normal state, and the sound of it pushed on his resolve, begging him to stay.

“I promise.” He kissed her once more, and when he walked out the door, sword in hand and a smile on his face, she believed him.

xvii.

and when the sun has not yet come up and he is wrapped in my embrace, he is mine.

#merlin bbc #merlin #mordred #mordred merlin #bbc mordred #x reader #reader insert #imagine #one shot #fic #long fic #fem!reader #fluff

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nincompoopydoo · 4 years

Text

STOLEN GLANCES

PAIRING: Sir Percival x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1589

SUMMARY: You and a certain knight of Camelot keep catching each other’s eye but one of you ever acted upon the visibly growing tension between the two of you. Small and wistful glances only ever came close. However, all that changed on one night.

A/N: It’s kind of a mess because I wrote SO MUCH. But, I personally love it. The concept of it at least. Percival will forever hold a special place in my heart. Stay safe, lovelies xx

MASTERLIST

“I see you have caught a certain knight’s attention.” You jump at the familiar sound of none other than Merlin approaching from behind you. He shoots you a smug look when you turn towards him with furrowed eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, nodding in a direction that passes you. You follow his candid gaze, turning, you are greeted with a certain pair of blue eyes. Sir Percival’s, particularly. He stood among the other knights, towering over them, with a cup in hand. Your heart promptly begins to stutter under his unwavering gaze as you watch the growing crimson color upon his cheeks once he realizes he has been caught. Instantly tearing his eyes away from yours, he anxiously takes a sip from his cup, directing his attention back to Sir Leon. You merely blink, turning to Merlin with a somewhat bewildered look yet your apparent blush inevitably betrays you. You wave your hand dismissively. “He’s looking at Gwaine.”

The manservant snorts. “If you say so.” and with that, he flees, abandoning you once more as you typically begin to think about what you’ll have to salvage from the leftovers for supper tonight.

When you turned your attention back to the hall, it didn't last for very long as you found yourself naturally drawn towards Percival. He was laughing heartily along with Leon and Elyan and before you knew it, he looked up; those same startling blue eyes were on yours once more. You watch the right corner of his mouth crease up in a half smile, your heart jumped and your pulse raced once more.

Promptly returning a bashful smile, you forcefully yet reluctantly shift your stare away, preventing anyone else from falsely accusing you for merely making ogle eyes at one of the knights of Camelot.

You hoped to maintain your job, for now.

Initially, Sir Percival was nothing but a name. But when you had seen Prince Arthur and the knights returning from a quest, riding on horsebacks, Percival stood out the most. The other women had said he was the tallest among them all yet no one ever mentioned him being so incredibly handsome. You had let yourself embarrassingly walk into one of the barrels near the stable, causing all eyes to turn on you. Capturing his eyes briefly, you sheepishly ducked your head lowly, swiftly running back through the door leading to the kitchens.

As for Percival, he was only able to catch a slight glimpse of you as you ran away in spite of your embarrassment but when his eyes met with yours, even for a brief second, you had managed to knock the wind out of his lungs instantly. His sense of balance grew weak, nearly falling off his horse causing Percival to make a sound as he steadies himself back onto the saddle. The other knights’ attention were all on him, with smug looks as they looked at each other knowingly.

Ever since then, the idea of you and him constantly filled your minds day and night. It was rather distracting at times.

Tonight was no different.

Camelot was particularly silent during the wee hours of the night; the mere sound of crickets and men talking from afar, indicating the knights were still making their rounds throughout the area.

Your cloak drowns your figure into the night, it’s dark fabric faintly contrasts under the moonlight. In your arms, loafs of bread and a couple or apples -- leftovers from the feast earlier on -- were wrapped neatly in a beige woolen cloth. The walk from the castle was thankfully near enough for you to make it in time to Alberta, who was awaiting for you every night for supper. She was a mother to you ever since you first arrived at Camelot during your adolescent years.

You couldn’t wait to see her face when she sees the amount of food you had tonight in comparison to the days. Ever since she began to fall ill, you were the sole source of income which sometimes forced you to sacrifice your meals just for her. She doesn't know about this, of course. There were many times you wanted to call upon Gaius, just to check up on her, but the woman refuses to allow you, not wanting to trouble anyone else.

“You already do so much, dear. There’s no need for Gaius.” She would claim.

You take long strides, cutting between the small stone cottages as a certain knight's half smile begins to fill your head. You can’t help but grin to yourself. As you made a sharp turn into another alleyway, you suddenly heard a low yet hush voice of a man from behind you. “What are you doing out here?” he calls out.

You desperately hoped whoever stood behind you wasn't a bandit.

But then, would bandits ask you such a question?

Bringing your feet to a halt, you cautiously turn around and your eyes grow wide. Percival towers over you, torch in hand; his eyebrows shoot up as his face softened at your somewhat petrified look. Your eyes, however, seem to shine even brighter under the firelight. He nearly loses his grip on the fire torch.

Recomposing himself, his eyes immediately flicker towards what he could make out as bread peering out of the tightly wrapped woolen cloth you held in your arms. “Please do not tell me you stole those.” Percival gestures towards the bread; his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Your brows begin to knit into a frown, gazing down as you realize what he was indicating at. “Oh! No, no, no. No. These were leftovers. I’m heading to Alberta’s for supper.”

He seems to be taken aback by your response. In truth, Percival was certainly unprepared to hear your voice; it’s sweet, gentle and somehow reminds him of home.

He’s already attached, that’s for sure.

You watch him grow silent, lips pursed; you finally let yourself breathe as he cleared his throat.

“Let me-Let me walk you back. It will be uncivilized of me to let a lady walk alone at this hour.”

The knight attempts to showcase his confidence in such a way it might impress you although he isn’t quite sure why but Percival still manages to stutter under your stare.

You try not to gape at him, becoming even more flustered by the second.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” You lower your head briefly, an expressive gesture to show one’s appreciation.

The corners of his lips turned up gently, gazing wistfully at you. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

You turned, starting to walk once more as Percival fell into step beside you.

You feel foolish for not introducing yourself to the very man who was currently accompanying you on the trek back home. “Y/N,” you merely say, he turns to you. “You can call me Y/N.”

He nodded thoughtfully, eyes still fully on you. “Percival.”

Oh, you knew that already. Nevertheless, you sincerely appreciate the formal introduction.

Nothing was said beyond that as your footsteps sounded in quiet unison along the cobble-stoned path already nearing the cottage. You see the twinkling candle that glistened through the window; she was still awake.

The two come to a halt at the doorway side by side; you take this chance to glance up at him and notice that due to his height, he was nearly as tall as the doorway. “Thank you again. I will find a way to repay you.” You said, lowering your hood. Percival waves a hand dismissively. “Like I said, I am only doing my job.”

You let out a soft chuckle, the corner of your eyes crinkled. “If this is a knight’s job, I must say the others aren’t doing theirs.” It was true, this was the first time you have been offered to be escorted back home. Percival eagerly beams down at you.

An audible gasp pulls you away from the conversation, and you were immediately met with the sight of Alberta by the door, staring up at Percival in awe. “A knight of Camelot...” she trails off, voice hinted with pure amazement. “Tell me sir, are you courting this young lady? Because it’s about time she-”

Your skin pales, eyes wide. “Alberta!” you exclaimed nervously. Percival merely averts his gaze elsewhere, face reddened. The woman merely laughs at your reaction, heading back inside.

You turn to him once more, cloak flicking behind you. “I,uh... Goodnight, Percival.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue, it sends a million butterflies to his chest. He bows his head slightly, “Goodnight,”

He begins to walk away when Alberta simply appears by your side at the doorway once more, pushing past you. “And where do you think you’re going, sir?”

Percival comes to a stop, snapping his head towards you and Ma. “Ma’am, I-I was heading back.” The woman scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous! Join us please.” Her gaze shifts between you and him for a moment. “I insist. You can accompany my dearest Y/N when you return to the castle.”

What was she up to?

The knight merely stoorld there for a moment or two. The night was somewhat still young, and he clearly wouldn’t want you returning the castle alone once more.

You wistfully watch him return an imperceptible nod, and Alberta smiles triumphantly. You willingly meet his kind eyes as he flashes that same smile he had given you earlier at the banquet hall.

This was assuredly going to be a long night.

#sir percival #sir percival x reader #merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #sir leon #sir gwaine #sir elyan #sir lancelot #gwen x arthur #merthur #merlin x reader

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