#harry x merlin

[merrrrrlahad]

"Welcome back, Galahad."

before & after

[muiitoloko]

Hii! I just saw that your asks are open, and that you write for Kingsman. Yesterday I discovered the two Kingsman movies and I watched them both, and now I'm obsessed with both Harry and Merlin.

I wanted to ask you for a Merlin or Harry fic (whichever you want) of angst and the grovelling trope. Like, maybe he has a terrible day and the reader tries to confort him, but he ends up snapping at her and telling her some real hurtful things and so he has to grovel *a lot* to earn her forgiveness or something like that :)

If you don't want to write it or you're too busy I completely understand :)

Also, if you do write it, please tag me, I don't want to miss it for the world <3

Title: The Price of Pride

Summary: Harry's pride and stubbornness drive a wedge between him and Gawain, leading to a heated sparring match that becomes a battleground for their unresolved feelings.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Jealousy.

Author's Notes: Hii! @leylovestaytay and @shamelesstrekkie13 😊 First of all, welcome to the Kingsman obsession club—Harry and Merlin are just too irresistible, aren’t they? Your request has me grinning because, oh boy, who doesn’t love a good groveling trope? I can totally imagine Harry or Merlin having to do some serious damage control after snapping at the reader. I’m definitely up for writing this. Thanks for the awesome idea, and stay tuned! 💖

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Harry’s hands trembled with barely contained rage as he stormed into the dimly lit safehouse, his usually impeccable composure shattered by the events of the day. The mission had been a disaster from start to finish, and the humiliation of failing a mission—a task that had always come so naturally to him—was like a knife to the heart. But the worst part, the part that made his blood boil, was Chester, the current Arthur, who had the audacity to make fun of him, to belittle him in front of the others.

And to add insult to injury, the one person who had saved his ass on that mission, who had pulled him back from the brink of failure, was the same person now standing in front of him, trying to offer him comfort—Agent Gawain. You.

You watched Harry from across the room, your heart aching as you saw the torment etched across his usually stoic face. You knew how much pride he took in his work, how much it meant to him to be the best, to maintain the perfect image of a Kingsman. And today, that image had been shattered. You wanted to help him, to console him, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides.

"Harry," you said softly, taking a tentative step toward him, your voice filled with concern. "It wasn’t your fault. The mission… it was unpredictable. You did everything you could—"

"Don’t," Harry snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His brown eyes were dark, filled with a fury you had never seen before, and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat. "Don’t try to console me, Gawain. You have no idea what it’s like to fail like this. To be humiliated in front of the entire organization, to be mocked by Chester of all people."

You flinched at the venom in his words, the way he spat out Chester’s name like it was poison. "Harry, I’m just trying to help—"

"Help?" Harry let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating. He took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming as he loomed over you, his height and intensity making you feel small, insignificant. "You want to help me, do you? Is that why you saved my sorry ass on the mission? To play the hero, to swoop in and save Galahad like some knight in shining armor?"

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of his anger, his words cutting deeper than you could have ever anticipated. "No, Harry, that’s not it at all. I just… I didn’t want you to get hurt."

"Didn’t want me to get hurt?" Harry repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is that really what this is about, Gawain? Or is it because of that little crush you’ve been nursing for me? Did you think saving me would make me finally notice you, that it would make me see you as something more than just another agent?"

You felt your heart drop at his words, the sting of his mockery hitting you like a physical blow. You had never been able to hide your feelings for Harry, your admiration for him that had grown into something much deeper, much more complicated. But hearing him throw it back in your face, using it as a weapon against you, was something you hadn’t been prepared for.

"Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, even as your vision blurred with unshed tears. "That’s not what this is about. I care about you, yes, but I would have done the same for any of my fellow agents. You know that."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Care about me? Is that what you call it? Do you know what I think, Gawain? I think you’re just a pathetic little schoolgirl, clinging to some fantasy of what we could be, when the reality is that you’re nothing more than a distraction."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. You had always known that your feelings for Harry were one-sided, that he would never see you in the same way, but hearing him say it out loud, in such a cruel, dismissive way, was almost too much to bear.

"You think that by saving me, by trying to console me now, you can somehow make yourself more than what you are?" Harry continued, his voice cold and cutting as he advanced on you, his presence overwhelming. "You’re delusional, Gawain. I don’t need your pity, your concern, or your so-called care. What I need is for you to stay the hell out of my way."

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. "I’m not trying to get in your way, Harry," you whispered, your voice trembling with the effort it took to keep it steady. "I just want to help you. I want to be there for you."

"Be there for me?" Harry’s laugh was harsh, almost cruel, as he looked down at you, his brown eyes filled with disdain. "You’re not there for me, Gawain. You’re nothing more than a distraction, a hindrance. Your feelings for me, your pathetic little crush, are nothing but a burden that I’ve had to carry. And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you."

The finality of his words hit you like a slap to the face, the coldness in his voice making it clear that he meant every word. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, the weight of his rejection, his anger, almost too much to bear.

Harry’s gaze bore into you, his eyes dark and unforgiving as he took one last step toward you, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "You think I don’t know what you want, Gawain? You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me, the way your eyes linger on me, the way you practically beg for my attention? You’re nothing but a desperate little girl, clinging to a fantasy that will never, ever come true."

You could feel the tears streaming down your face now, hot and unchecked, as you looked up at him, your heart breaking with every word he spoke. You had never felt so small, so insignificant, so utterly worthless.

"And you know what the worst part is?" Harry continued, his voice low and filled with contempt as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You actually thought you had a chance. You thought that saving me, that being there for me, would make me see you differently. But let me make one thing perfectly clear, Gawain—I will never, ever feel the same way about you. You’re just another agent, nothing more."

You felt your knees buckle under the weight of his words, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself together, to keep from falling apart completely. But it was no use. The pain was too much, the anguish too overwhelming.

Harry stepped back, his expression cold and impassive as he looked down at you, his voice devoid of any warmth, any compassion. "Now get out of my sight, Gawain. And don’t ever try to console me again."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, shattered and broken, the pieces of your heart scattered at your feet. You watched him go, your vision blurred with tears, your body trembling with the effort it took to keep from collapsing.

You had always known that Harry was a man of control, a man who prided himself on his stoicism, his ability to remain calm and composed in any situation. But today, that control had slipped, and you had seen a side of him that you had never seen before—a side that was cruel, cutting, and utterly devastating.

And as you stood there, alone and broken, you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever be able to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, or if you would be forever haunted by the memory of Harry’s words, the coldness in his eyes, the finality of his rejection.

The days following Harry’s cruel words were some of the hardest you had ever endured. You did as he asked, staying out of his way, not even greeting him when the two of you passed side by side in the corridors. You didn’t look at him during the weekly meetings, where all the agents gathered to deal with Arthur. You interacted with everyone except Harry, and when you had to address him, you treated him as Galahad, with a cold, distant professionalism that cut deeper than any insult.

Harry noticed the change immediately. It was as if a light had been extinguished. Your jokes, your infectious laughter, your kind words—you still shared them with everyone else, but never with him. To you, he was no longer Harry, your mentor, your friend, the man you had admired and cared for. He was just Galahad, a title and nothing more.

At first, Harry tried to tell himself that this was what he wanted. That it was better this way, that you were just a distraction he could do without. But as the days passed, he found himself missing the sound of your voice, the way you used to tease him, the way you would light up any room you entered. The absence of your warmth, your light, left a void that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried.

It didn’t help that Merlin had begun to notice the tension between you and Harry. Merlin was nothing if not observant, and it didn’t take long for him to piece together that something was wrong. He saw the way you avoided Harry’s gaze, the way you stiffened whenever he entered a room, the way you now treated him with a cold formality that was so unlike you.

One afternoon, after a particularly tense meeting where you had barely acknowledged Harry’s presence, Merlin decided it was time to confront him. He found Harry in the training room, where he was taking out his frustrations on a punching bag, his movements sharp and aggressive, each punch landing with a force that betrayed the turmoil inside him.

“Harry,” Merlin called out, his voice steady but laced with concern as he approached. Harry didn’t stop, didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the bag in front of him. But Merlin wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Harry!” Merlin’s voice was firmer this time, and finally, Harry stopped, his chest heaving with exertion as he turned to face his old friend.

“What is it, Merlin?” Harry’s tone was clipped, his expression hard as he grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering as he studied Harry. “Something’s going on between you and Gawain. What the hell happened?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at the mention of your name. “Nothing that concerns you, Merlin.”

“Bollocks,” Merlin shot back, not missing a beat. “It concerns all of us when two of our best agents can’t even look at each other, let alone work together. I’ve known you for too long, Harry. You don’t just snap at people like that for no reason. What did you do?"

Harry turned away, his shoulders tense as he tried to brush off the conversation. “It’s nothing. Just leave it alone.”

But Merlin wasn’t having it. He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he pressed on. “Did you hurt her, Harry? Did you push her away?”

Harry’s frustration flared as Merlin’s words struck a nerve. The accusation, the implication that he had done something wrong, only added to the boiling anger that had been simmering within him since that disastrous mission. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he stared at Merlin, his mind racing with the injustice of it all.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Harry snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. “Why not Gawain? Why am I the one to blame here?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, his expression unyielding as he met Harry’s gaze. “Because we both know that Gawain would never willingly hurt you, Harry. The girl worships the ground you walk on. She hangs on your every word, looks at you like you hung the stars. Hell, some of the other agents have even gotten a bit jealous of the way she treats you, the attention you receive. And you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of that,” Harry interrupted, his tone defensive as he turned away, trying to escape the weight of Merlin’s words. But the truth of them clung to him, gnawing at the edges of his conscience. He knew how you looked at him, the admiration in your eyes, the way you would brighten whenever he entered a room. It had been both flattering and overwhelming, but he had always tried to maintain a professional distance, to keep things strictly business between the two of you.

But now, as Merlin’s words sank in, he realized just how much he had come to rely on that admiration, on the warmth and light you brought into his life. And now that it was gone, the absence of it left him feeling hollow, like something vital had been stripped away.

Merlin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentler tone as he pressed on. “Harry, what did you say to her? Whatever it was, it broke her. She’s not the same. She barely looks at you, barely acknowledges you. You’ve hurt her deeply, and I can see it’s eating away at you too. So, what did you do?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, the memories of that night in the safehouse flooding back—the anger, the frustration, the venom he had unleashed on you in a moment of weakness. He had said things he didn’t mean, used your feelings against you in the cruelest way possible, all because he couldn’t handle his own emotions, his own failure.

But now, you were paying the price for his mistakes, and it tore him apart.

“I… I was angry,” Harry admitted, his voice thick with regret as he finally turned to face Merlin again, the anguish evident in his eyes. “I said things I shouldn’t have, things I didn’t mean. I pushed her away, Merlin. I broke her.”

Merlin’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Then you need to fix it, Harry. You need to make this right.”

“How?” Harry’s voice cracked with the weight of his guilt, his brown eyes filled with a desperation that Merlin hadn’t seen in him before. “She won’t even look at me now, won’t acknowledge that I exist. She’s gone cold, Merlin. And I deserve it. But I don’t know how to reach her, how to make her see that I—”

“That you what?” Merlin prompted gently, his gaze steady as he watched his old friend struggle with the words.

Harry swallowed hard, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “That I care about her. That I miss her. Damn it, Merlin, I miss her so much it hurts.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. “Then you need to tell her that, Harry. You need to show her that you’re willing to crawl back, to earn her forgiveness. Because right now, she doesn’t think you care. And if you don’t do something soon, she might not give you the chance to prove otherwise.”

Harry’s heart sank at the truth of Merlin’s words. He had pushed you away, shattered the trust and admiration you had held for him, and now he was faced with the impossible task of mending what he had broken. The thought of you, the way you used to joke and laugh, your infectious smile that had always brightened his day, now replaced with cold indifference—it was unbearable.

And yet, you had every right to treat him that way. After all, he had been the one to throw your feelings back in your face, to reduce you to nothing more than a distraction. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, suffocating him with guilt and regret.

For days, he tried to find the courage to approach you, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. But every time he saw you—sitting quietly in the briefing room, your eyes avoiding his, your smile reserved for everyone but him—the words would die in his throat. He had hurt you too deeply, and now, it seemed, you had built a wall between you, one that he didn’t know how to break through.

And so, he began to retreat, letting the shame and guilt consume him, until one day, when he found himself standing outside your door, his heart pounding in his chest. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say a thousand times, but as he stood there, the words seemed inadequate, insufficient to convey the depth of his regret, his longing to make things right.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly, his heart in his throat as he waited for you to answer. When the door finally opened, and you stood there, looking up at him with that same cold, distant expression that had haunted him for weeks, his resolve nearly crumbled.

But he couldn’t back down now. He had to try.

“Gawain,” Harry began, his voice rough with emotion as he looked into your eyes, hoping—praying—that he could find a way to reach you. “I need to talk to you. Please… can we talk?”

You looked at Harry for a moment, your expression unreadable as you stood in the doorway, your hand resting on the handle of your suitcase. The sight of him standing there, his posture slightly slumped, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and desperation, stirred something deep within you, but you quickly squashed it down, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected you.

"Make it quick, Galahad," you said, your voice cool, almost detached, as you turned back into the room, leaving the door open behind you. You didn’t wait for him to follow you, moving to the small desk in the corner of the office and beginning to gather the last of your things. The room was a fraction of the size of Harry’s own office in the Kingsman mansion, but it had been yours—a space where you could work, think, and be alone when you needed to.

Harry entered the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stood awkwardly near the doorway, his eyes scanning the space as if seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t the first time he had been in your office, but it was the first time he had really paid attention to the place—the small, tidy desk, the bookshelf lined with mission files and personal mementos, the single chair tucked neatly into the corner. It was all so much like you—efficient, organized, but with a touch of warmth that had always drawn him in, even if he hadn’t realized it before.

You continued to sort through the papers on your desk, your movements precise and deliberate, as if you were trying to keep yourself busy, to avoid looking at him. "What do you want, Galahad?" you asked, your tone flat, as if you were asking about the weather.

Harry hesitated, the words he had rehearsed in his mind suddenly feeling inadequate, but he knew he couldn’t back down now. He had to make this right, even if you wouldn’t let him.

"I wanted to apologize," Harry said finally, his voice soft, almost tentative, as he took a step closer. He tried to keep his tone measured, his words carefully chosen, but the anguish in his heart made it hard to maintain the stoic façade he usually wore so effortlessly. "For what I said… that day. I was angry—furious, really—and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve it, Gawain. None of it."

You didn’t look up, your hands continuing to move through the papers, straightening them, placing them in neat piles, as if you hadn’t heard him at all. Your silence, your indifference, was like a knife twisting in his chest, but he pressed on, desperate to make you understand.

"I know I hurt you," Harry continued, his voice trembling slightly as he forced himself to keep going. "And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gawain. I never should have said those things, and I—"

"It’s fine, Galahad," you interrupted, your tone clipped, as you set down the papers and finally turned to face him. There was no warmth in your eyes, no trace of the affection that had once been there, and it made Harry’s heart ache. "It’s in the past. Let’s just… leave it there."

Harry felt his chest tighten at your words, at the cold, distant way you dismissed him, as if everything he had just said meant nothing. He had expected anger, or maybe even tears, but not this—this cold indifference that made him feel like he was talking to a stranger.

"But it’s not fine," Harry said, his voice growing more urgent, more desperate, as he took another step toward you. "It’s not in the past, Gawain. I see the way you look at me now—the way you don’t look at me. You’ve shut me out, and I can’t… I can’t bear it. I miss you. I miss your jokes, your smile, the way you light up every room you enter. I miss the way you used to look at me, with that admiration in your eyes. I miss you, Gawain. And I’m sorry—"

"Enough," you cut him off again, your voice firm as you held up a hand to stop him. You didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to let him back in, didn’t want to let yourself feel the pain that his words were stirring up inside you. You had spent weeks building up these walls, weeks trying to protect yourself from the hurt he had caused, and you weren’t going to let him tear them down now.

"It’s done, Harry," you said, your voice steady but devoid of emotion as you looked him in the eye. "You said what you needed to say, and I’ve heard it. But I’m not going to pretend that things can just go back to the way they were. You made it very clear that I’m nothing more than a distraction to you, and I’ve accepted that. So let’s just move on."

Harry looked at the ground, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn't quite name. He had come here to make amends, to try and salvage what he could of your relationship, but now, faced with your cold indifference, he found himself at a loss. The warmth, the light that had once radiated from you, was gone, replaced by a wall of icy detachment that he didn't know how to penetrate. It was as if the person who had always been by his side, supporting him with your jokes and infectious laughter, had disappeared, leaving only a hollow shell in their place.

For a moment, Harry considered pressing further, considered trying one last time to break through the barrier you had put up between you. But the words caught in his throat, the weight of your rejection pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn't bear the thought of humiliating himself further, of begging for forgiveness that you seemed unwilling to give.

So, he did what he always did when faced with emotions too complex to handle—he suppressed them. With a deep breath, Harry forced his features into a mask of indifference, schooling his expression into the stoic, unflappable demeanor that had become his trademark. He had tried to make things right, and if you couldn't accept his apology, then that was your problem, not his.

"Very well," Harry said, his voice cool, detached, as he looked up at you with an expression that betrayed none of the turmoil he felt inside. "I hope this... unfortunate conflict won't affect our ability to work together in the future."

You snorted at his words, a sound that was equal parts derision and disbelief. The sound grated on Harry's nerves, but he kept his composure, refusing to let you see how much it affected him. If this was how you wanted to play it, then so be it.

Without another word, Harry turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his steps measured and controlled. But as he reached the doorway, something inside him snapped, a flicker of the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface. He pushed the door closed behind him with more force than he intended, the sharp click of the latch echoing through the room.

Fine, he thought bitterly as he stalked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. If you wanted to shut him out, then he would let you. He wouldn't humiliate himself further by groveling at your feet, by begging for something that clearly wasn't there anymore. He had his pride, after all, and he wasn't about to let it be trampled on by someone who had decided he was nothing more than a distraction.

He had tried to apologize, had swallowed his pride and admitted his faults. If you couldn't see past your own hurt to forgive him, then perhaps you weren't as mature as he had once thought. Perhaps you were still nothing more than a child, clinging to a fantasy that would never come true.

Harry's thoughts grew darker as he made his way through the corridors of the mansion, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and regret. He couldn't shake the image of your cold, distant eyes, the way you had dismissed him as if he meant nothing. It stung, more than he cared to admit, but he refused to let it show. He was Harry Hart, after all—Agent Galahad. He had faced down enemies far more dangerous than this, had endured pain far worse than the sting of a broken heart. He would survive this, just as he had survived everything else.

The next morning, Harry arrived at the training facility, his usual impeccable composure firmly in place. The early hours were always reserved for physical training, and today was no different. The large, open space was already buzzing with activity as agents honed their skills under Merlin’s watchful eye.

Harry forced himself to focus on the task at hand, determined to push the previous day’s events out of his mind. He needed to regain control, to reassert his dominance as one of the top agents in Kingsman. But as soon as he walked into the training area, his eyes found you, and all his resolve crumbled.

You were sparring with James, the current Lancelot, and to Harry’s irritation, the two of you seemed to be enjoying yourselves far too much. James was a notorious flirt, a man who had always tried his luck with the female agents, but until now, you had never reciprocated. Yet here you were, laughing at something he said, your eyes bright with amusement as you effortlessly blocked one of his punches.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had no right to feel this way—not after what he had said to you, not after pushing you away so cruelly. But the sight of James flirting with you, and worse, the way you seemed to be responding to it, sent a wave of jealousy crashing through him.

He tried to focus on his own training, to throw himself into the exercises with the same intensity he usually did, but his eyes kept drifting back to you and James. Every time he saw you smile at him, every time he heard you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, Harry felt his blood pressure rise.

James was relentless, his flirting becoming more blatant with each passing minute. At one point, he leaned in close, his hand brushing against your arm as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. The sound, once so sweet to Harry’s ears, now grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Harry’s fists clenched as he watched James step back, a cocky grin on his face as he squared off against you again. The two of you moved in a graceful, almost choreographed dance, your bodies in perfect sync as you sparred. But it wasn’t the skillful movements or the precision of your strikes that caught Harry’s attention—it was the way you were looking at James, the way your eyes sparkled with something more than just amusement.

The irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface all morning finally bubbled over. Harry’s punches became more aggressive, his movements sharp and jerky as he tried to burn off the anger coursing through him. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge the jealousy that was eating away at him, but he couldn’t deny the truth.

He was angry. Angry at James for flirting with you, angry at you for reciprocating, but most of all, angry at himself for pushing you away in the first place. This was his fault—he had driven you to this, driven you into the arms of another man. And now, he was paying the price.

Harry knew he had no right to feel this way, knew that he had forfeited any claim to you the moment he had spoken those cruel words. But that didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him, from making his blood boil every time he saw you smile at James.

"Nice form, Galahad," Merlin’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, jolting him back to reality. The older man was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the training session. His sharp eyes took in every detail, missing nothing.

Harry nodded curtly, forcing himself to focus. "Thank you, Merlin," he replied, his voice clipped as he delivered another precise punch to the training dummy. But his mind wasn’t on his training—it was on you, and the way you were still laughing with James.

Merlin’s gaze followed Harry’s line of sight, and he raised an eyebrow as he noticed the interaction between you and Lancelot. A knowing look passed over his face, and he let out a quiet sigh. "You’ve got work to do, Harry," he said quietly, his voice laced with sympathy. "She’s not going to forgive you easily. You’ll have to crawl a lot to earn her trust back."

Harry attacked the training dummy with renewed aggression, his fists slamming into the padded target with a force that was almost reckless. He barely heard Merlin’s sigh of exasperation as he muttered to himself, his words laced with bitterness. “I’m done, Merlin. I apologized last night. I did what I could. If she wants to ignore me, so be it. I’m not chasing after her anymore.”

Merlin shook his head, clearly irritated by Harry’s stubbornness. “You’re acting like a damn teenager, Harry,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he watched his old friend take out his frustration on the inanimate target. “You care about her, and she cares about you. But you’ve got to stop being so bloody proud and actually talk to her, not just throw apologies at her feet and expect her to come running.”

Harry didn’t respond, his focus on the training dummy, his knuckles turning white as he continued to land blow after blow. The truth in Merlin’s words stung, but he was too angry, too frustrated to admit it. He had tried—he had swallowed his pride, bared his soul, and all he got in return was cold indifference. What more was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, a sound drew their attention, and both men turned to see you and James in the midst of what appeared to be a playful tussle. James was lying flat on the mat, a wide grin on his face, while you straddled him, your hands pinning his wrists to the ground. The sight made Harry’s stomach twist with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge—jealousy, burning and raw.

James, never one to miss an opportunity, chuckled up at you, his voice low and teasing. “I’ve always loved a woman who knows how to take control,” he said, a playful gleam in his eye. His words earned a laugh from you, the sound light and genuine, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you released his wrists and helped him to his feet.

“Is that so, Lancelot?” you quipped, a teasing smile on your lips. “You might want to be careful with that kind of talk. You never know when someone might take you seriously.”

James flashed you a grin, clearly enjoying the banter. “With you, Gawain, I’d gladly take my chances.”

Harry scoffed under his breath, turning his back on the scene, his eyes narrowing as he resumed his assault on the training dummy. “Isn’t James a little too old for you?” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He landed a particularly vicious punch, the force of it making the dummy sway. “For the love of God…”

Merlin, still standing nearby, couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice as he observed Harry’s childish behavior. “You’re really going to stand there and sulk while she’s right there, laughing and having a good time? Maybe if you stopped being so bloody stubborn, you’d realize that she’s still the same woman you’ve always admired—she’s just hurting.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pounding of his fists against the dummy. He couldn’t let go of the anger, the bitterness that clung to him like a second skin. He had tried to make amends, and you had brushed him off. What was he supposed to do—grovel?

Across the room, James glanced over at Harry, his expression thoughtful as he caught the tension in his old friend’s posture. He knew Harry well enough to recognize when he was struggling with something, and he also knew that this tension between Harry and you wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

James leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, if you really want to get under Harry’s skin, you should keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what exactly am I doing, Lancelot?”

James smirked, glancing over at Harry’s back, which was still turned to the both of you. “You’re driving him absolutely mad. I think he’s seconds away from ripping that dummy to shreds.”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in your eyes. “I’m not trying to drive him mad, James. I’m just… I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after something that’s never going to happen.”

James softened at your words, his teasing demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Gawain, Harry’s a stubborn bastard, we both know that. But he cares about you. He just doesn’t know how to show it, especially when he’s hurt you the way he has.”

You sighed, glancing over at Harry’s back, your expression conflicted. “I don’t know, James. It’s just… it’s been hard, you know? I thought we had something, and then he just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you tried to push the painful memories aside.

James placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Give him time. He’s not the best at dealing with his emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He cares, Gawain. He just needs to pull his head out of his arse long enough to admit it.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile, but the sadness in your eyes remained. “Thanks, James. But I’m not holding my breath.”

As you turned back to your training, Merlin approached Harry, who was still pounding away at the dummy with unrelenting force. “You know,” Merlin said, his tone mild but pointed, “if you keep pretending you don’t care, you’re going to lose her. And judging by the way you’re acting, I’d say that’s the last thing you want.”

Harry paused, his fists hovering in mid-air as Merlin’s words sank in. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of you and James, still chatting and laughing together, and a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over him. Merlin was right, of course. He was acting like a fool, letting his pride and anger cloud his judgment. But admitting that—admitting that he had been wrong, that he needed you—wasn’t something Harry was used to. He had built his life on control, on maintaining a calm, collected façade, and now that it was slipping, he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Maybe she’s better off without me,” Harry muttered, more to himself than to Merlin. “I’ve already caused her enough pain.”

Merlin let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’ve both caused each other pain, Harry. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You just need to stop being so damn stubborn and talk to her. Really talk to her.”

Harry didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the training dummy, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, on the way you had smiled at James, on the way his words had made you laugh. The thought of you moving on, of finding happiness with someone else, sent a fresh stab of jealousy through him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you deserved better. Better than a man who had pushed you away, better than someone who had let his pride get in the way of something real.

But as he watched you from across the room, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late—if he had already lost you to the easy charm of someone like James, someone who could make you laugh without the baggage that Harry carried.

And as he turned back to the training dummy, his fists clenched at his sides, Harry couldn’t help but curse himself for being so blind.

After James finished his workout, he gave you a warm smile, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. "Good work today, Gawain," he said, his tone light but sincere. "If you ever get tired of Galahad’s grumpiness, you know where to find me." He winked, his flirtatious nature coming through even in his goodbyes.

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "I’ll keep that in mind, Lancelot. See you around." With that, James headed toward the showers, leaving you alone in the training room, your mind still spinning from the morning’s events.

You turned back to your equipment, trying to focus on packing up, but you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was; the air seemed to shift when Harry was near, and the tension between you was almost palpable. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was coming.

Harry wasted no time in approaching you, trying to appear casual and nonchalant, but the set of his shoulders and the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. He was nervous, though he would never admit it. "Gawain," he began, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something deeper. "Mind if we train together for a bit? I could use the workout, and it’s been a while since we’ve sparred."

You hesitated, your first instinct was to refuse. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure you were ready to spend time alone with him, not when the wounds were still so fresh. But another part of you, the part that knew you couldn’t ignore Harry forever, reminded you that this was bound to happen eventually. The two of you were partners, after all, and sooner or later, you’d have to learn how to work together again.

With a slight nod, you agreed. "Sure, Galahad. Let’s do it." Your voice was calm, but you couldn’t hide the slight tremor in it, nor the way your heart raced at the prospect of being so close to him again.

Harry’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—relief, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of the old warmth that used to be there before everything had gone so wrong. "Great," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Let’s start with some hand-to-hand."

You both moved to the center of the mat, assuming your stances. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief pause where neither of you moved, as if you were both waiting for the other to make the first move, not just in the sparring match but in the fragile reconciliation that lay just beneath the surface.

Then, as if by mutual agreement, you both lunged at the same time. The first few exchanges were cautious, testing the waters, feeling out each other’s rhythm. But as the sparring session continued, the tension began to melt away, replaced by the familiar push and pull of two well-matched partners.

It was almost easy to fall back into the rhythm, to let muscle memory take over, and for a while, it felt like old times. Harry’s movements were precise, controlled, but there was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He was pushing you, challenging you, and you met him move for move, refusing to back down.

But there was something different, too—a simmering undercurrent of tension that hadn’t been there before. Every brush of his hand against yours, every time he managed to pin you, every time you escaped his grasp, it all felt charged, electric, like there was something more beneath the surface that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge.

At one point, Harry managed to get you into a hold, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His grip on you was firm, but not painful, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, made your breath catch in your throat.

"Not bad," Harry murmured in your ear, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to take me down."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips, the sound breathless and a little shaky. "I’m just getting started," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way your heart was pounding made it difficult.

With a sudden burst of energy, you twisted in his grip, using his own momentum against him to break free. Harry grunted in surprise, but he recovered quickly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted his stance. "Impressive," he said, his tone both teasing and admiring. "You’ve definitely gotten stronger."

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the compliment sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. "I’ve had a good teacher," you replied, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The moment they left your mouth, you felt a pang of regret, worried that you had said too much, revealed too much.

Harry’s eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something more serious, more intense. "I’m glad to hear that," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that small space, connected by something neither of you fully understood.

The sparring match continued, but the mood had shifted. The movements were more fluid now, more synchronized, as if the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that was all your own. There was still the push and pull, the challenge of trying to outmaneuver each other, but there was also something else—a closeness, an intimacy that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Harry to the mat, your knees on either side of his hips as you held him down. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, and for a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"You’ve got me," Harry murmured, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "But the question is, what are you going to do with me?"

The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your heart racing as you tried to figure out how to respond. But before you could say anything, Harry shifted beneath you, using his strength to flip you onto your back, reversing the position so that he was the one pinning you.

His body was pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest heaved with each breath, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was almost overwhelming.

"I’ve got you now," Harry said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, his brown eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "What are you going to do about it, Gawain?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, none of which made any sense. There was a part of you that wanted to push him away, to put distance between you, to protect yourself from the confusion, the hurt that still lingered from everything that had happened.

But there was another part of you, a part that you had been trying to ignore for weeks, that wanted nothing more than to close the gap between you, to give in to the tension that had been building between you for so long. You could see it in his eyes, the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting for something, like he wanted to see what you would do next.

Your breathing quickened, your pulse racing as you considered your options. You could push him away, keep things professional, pretend that nothing had changed. Or you could do something reckless, something that could change everything between you.

As you lay there, pinned beneath Harry, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the weight of his gaze holding you in place, a surge of emotions flooded through you—desire, confusion, and something else, something darker. The closeness between you was almost suffocating, the intensity of the moment making it hard to think clearly. For a brief second, you considered giving in, letting yourself get lost in the moment, in the way Harry was looking at you, like you were the only person in the world.

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, the memory of his cruel words, the way he had mocked your feelings, throwing them back in your face like they meant nothing, came rushing back. The pain, the humiliation, the anger—it all hit you like a tidal wave, dousing the spark of desire that had ignited within you.

Suddenly, the weight of Harry’s body wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating. The intensity of his gaze wasn’t exciting—it was oppressive. The closeness between you wasn’t something to savor—it was something to escape.

With a sharp push, you shoved Harry back, forcing him off of you. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that Harry nearly lost his balance, his eyes widening in surprise as he scrambled to regain his footing. The look in his eyes was one of shock, confusion, and maybe even a touch of hurt, but you didn’t care. The anger, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface since that day in the safehouse had finally boiled over, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

"You win, Galahad," you said, your voice cold, distant, as you pushed yourself up off the mat. The words were sharp, cutting, meant to put distance between you, to remind him that this was just a training exercise, that whatever had happened between you before meant nothing now. "Thank you for the training."

The formal tone in your voice, the way you addressed him by his title rather than his name, made it clear that you were done—done with whatever this was, done with him. You weren’t going to let him hurt you again, weren’t going to let him use your feelings against you.

Harry watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was holding back something—words, emotions, you weren’t sure. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t let yourself care.

Without another word, you turned and walked over to where your bottle of water sat on a nearby bench. You grabbed it, taking a long drink, letting the cool liquid soothe the fire in your chest, the anger that still burned hotly within you. You didn’t look back at Harry, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt, the frustration that still lingered in your eyes.

When you finally turned around, bottle in hand, Harry was still standing there, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, detached, as if he were just another agent, just another colleague.

"Goodbye, Galahad," you said, your voice cool and professional as you nodded at him, the formal tone making it clear that this was the end of the conversation. Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out of the training room, your steps measured and controlled, your heart pounding in your chest.

Harry stood there, watching you go, the tension in his body palpable, the regret and frustration clear in his eyes. He knew he had messed up—knew that he had hurt you, driven you away, and now, he was paying the price. He had tried to make things right, tried to bridge the gap between you, but it was clear that he had a long way to go before you would even consider forgiving him.

As the door closed behind you, Harry let out a low, frustrated growl, his fists clenching at his sides. He had underestimated just how deeply he had hurt you, how much damage his words had done. And now, he was left standing there, alone, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a physical burden.

He knew he had a long road ahead of him if he ever wanted to earn your forgiveness, if he ever wanted to see that light, that warmth, in your eyes again. And as he stood there, his heart heavy with regret, he realized that he would have to work harder than he ever had before.

Because losing you—truly losing you—was something he couldn’t bear.

[pepimeinrad]

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy + Kingsman Haydeaux + Merlahad

Too Much Love Will Kill You (Queen)

inspired by this lovely GIF-set

[thedeakyamp]

Due to the distinct lack of Merlahad playlists. Please give me song recommendations to put on one. Repost, comment idrc just as long as I can find them

[nyra-42]

Just me . . . reopening tumblr for the third time in the last 30 minutes checking to see if anyone posted anything new since I checked 5 minutes ago.

[vomits0cutely]

Yearning Gay and Chaotic bisexual might just be my favourite trope

[itsscottiesstark]

NUMBER ONE BAYBAYYYYYYYY [x]

[papysanzonew]

HogwartsAU

Arthur, England sovereigns’ half-blood son, is a 2nd-year student (Ygraine is alive (and the witch obviously), so Uther is happy and doesn’t want to kill anyone), while Merlin has just arrived at Hogwarts.

It’s hate at first sight. Mostly because of their Houses’ rivalry. But also because of their first, disastrous encounter.

It won’t last though, and they’ll soon become the most iconic and inseparable duo in Hogwarts.

(Arthur proposes to Merlin as soon as he graduates. So suck it. Happy ending!)

My other Merlin art

[vaeblurbs]

JUST A BET.

pairings: theodore nott x fem!gryffindor!reader.

warnings: not proof read and written a while ago so probably some cringe content.

in which you find out the truth about your relationship.

when theodore nott, the hottest slytherin and playboy at hogwarts, first asked you out, both you and your friends were shocked and thought it was simply a joke.

however, when he continued to ask you out until you finally caved and agreed, you started to think he was being genuine about his feelings.

you, surprisingly, enjoyed your first date with him. one date became multiple dates, then multiple dates became a relationship that everyone talked about.

constant teasing from other students never got in the way of your relationship with the boy, as he always shut your doubts down immediately.

even though he tried his best, your doubts still crept into your mind once and a while.

you entered the greenhouse and stood next to your best friend, hermione.

“hello.” she turned to you with a huge smile on her face.

“hey.” you glanced down at the plant in her hands, “pretty plant.”

she rolled her eyes, “y/n, you should know what plant this is.”

hermione continued talking at you, but a certain conversation happening behind you caught your attention.

“yeah, you should ask him out, definitely. he’d probably say yes. you know his girlfriend? yeah, well, draco and i were hanging out and everyone was drunk and he told me something super weird.” you’d recognize that voice anytime. pansy, a girl that’s part of theo’s slytherin group. “don’t tell anyone, theo would kill us all, but like, draco told me mattheo and lorenzo paid theo to ask her out and he’s still going along with it, i guess. i feel bad for her, though, she’s actually nice.” pansy continued gossiping.

you felt your heart sink. you’ve grown used to hearing cruel rumours about you and theodore, but this was coming from pansy, who’s never told a lie, even though she gossiped often.

“y/n?” hermione snapped you back to reality.

“i’m not feeling too proper, i think i had too many pastries at breakfast.” you forced a laugh, “cover for me, please, i’m going up to the dorm.”

before hermione could protest, you grabbed your bag and headed back towards the castle, leaving your fellow classmates confused.

you could feel your eyes watering and focused on making it to your bed without anyone seeing your current state.

however, your plans failed when you heard a voice call after you.

“y/n!” theodore yelled from down the corridor. the sound of his voice only motivated you to walk faster. “wait!”

you inhaled sharply and bit down your lip to hold back any tears.

“what’s wrong? why aren’t you in class?” he managed to catch up you. theodore grabbed your wrist and spun you around to face him. “are you alright? i was on my way to the bathroom and noticed you. you’re supposed to be in the greenhouse, aren’t you?”

you contemplated all the cruel things you could say to him, yet nothing came out, except a shaky exhale.

“hello? earth to y/n?” he laughed, flashing you his usual smile that you used to melt over.

“i have to ask you something.” you mumbled.

“what?”

you looked up at him with a straight face, “are you only going out with me because your friends paid you?” you were blunt and asked him the big question immediately.

“what?” the look in his eyes gave everything away. it wasn’t shame or guilt, it was realization and shock, only because he got caught.

“you’re a fucking dickhead.” you scoffed. you couldn’t listen to him plead, but you also couldn’t stand there and beg for answers and an explanation. you wriggled you wrist out of his grasp and started walking away.

“it’s not like that, okay?” he stopped you again, standing in front of you this time.

“get out of my way.” you sighed.

“you’re really giving up? you’re not even going to hear me out? for merlin’s sake, you’re being ridiculous. who even told you? was it lorenzo?” he spat out his friend’s name with venom.

“it doesn’t matter who fucking told me! i can’t believe you’re calling me ridiculous right now! i’m not giving up, i’m having some self respect, something you clearly don’t have considering you were willing to go out with someone for some money.”

he clenched his jaw in anger. “look, it started off as a stupid bet. nobody thought you’d agree, we thought you’d never go out with anyone, you seemed closed off, i said otherwise and i was right because you’re genuinely the kindest person i’ve met. it became serious after the first date and it wasn’t a bet anymore! i promise.”

“it doesn’t matter if it isn’t a bet now, it was one originally! that’s a vile thing to do to someone!” you yelled.

“i know, i know, and i am so sorry.” he huffed, “just, please, i really like you.”

“i liked you too.” you paused and his expression dropped.

“liked?”

“this isn’t going to work, i refuse to be a pawn in the weird games you and your friends entertain. i am a real fucking person, theo, not some dating experiment.”

before he could say more, you finally walked away from him and towards the moving stairs.

[laughing-moonlight]

If we're all agreeing Hook and Morgie are Harry's gay Dads, that makes Harry the first second generation Descendant, like, ever. Because Morgie is a Descendant himself. And I think that's pretty cool.

[renx01]

Too Sweet

Prompt: Inspired by the Hozier song Pairing: Harry Hart x (Kingsman!)Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: age gap, mutual pining, angst Word count: 6495

Masterlist

You’d joined Kingsman only five years ago, and over time you’ve become a well-respected agent, code-named Tristan. Merlin, who is your uncle, was the one who had proposed you as a candidate and helped you prepare for the role while you were still in your early twenties. The other candidates had been good, but you were nearly flawless, only taking calculated risks and never letting your emotions rule your decision making. Control over your emotions was something you always excelled in, and it tremendously helped you make strides as an agent during the initial few months and first year. This caused you to rise in rank quite quickly, making you go on more solo missions or accompanying Galahad or Percival whenever they needed assistance. Today, you’re helping your uncle instead, hacking into some cameras and security networks so he’ll be able to tell Lancelot and Galahad where to go next and what they should be looking out for. It’s something you do from time to time, mostly upon Merlin’s request when he finds the mission too complicated to oversee on his own.

‘The main control room should be south from where they are now.’ You pull up the map on the big screen which hangs in front of you and Merlin, pointing out where Galahad and Lancelot should be going next. As he’s relaying the information to the other men, you hack into the mainframe the criminal organisation and start going through the different files. ‘Any updates about the nuclear files?’ Galahad’s voice comes through the speakers and Merlin looks at you. ‘Working on it. Just focus on getting to that room.’ The screen in front of you shows Lancelot’s feed. He’s following Galahad through the many hallways and twists and turns they take, taking down guards whenever they come across them. Their moves are deliberate, quick and efficient. You turn back to your screen and after a few minutes you’re finally able to access the file Galahad had asked for. ‘I’m sending you the file now, Galahad.’ ‘Thanks Tristan.’ He replies. They have finally reached the door to the control room. Lancelot holds his watch against it and it opens. Silently, the two men enter the room. ‘Lancelot, I need you to connect us to the controls.’ Merlin states and the other man follows the order. Your screens fill with the necessary information and you start working on fully disarming and disabling  the system. ‘Galahad, please flip the green switch on your right.’ You request. Before he can really do so, a loud bang interrupts him, followed by the sound of shots. ‘Lancelot, you take those men while Galahad follows Tristan’s orders.’ Merlin’s Scottish accent seems thicker momentarily. You’ve noticed it only really happened when he was in more stressful situations; one time when you almost got kidnapped, it was so thick you could barely understand him despite having a mostly Scottish family. Calmly, you instruct Galahad what buttons to press and switches to flip. After a few minutes of him following your lead as you type away at your computer, you’re done. ‘Galahad. Lancelot. The system has fully been disabled and disarmed. Get back to the jet.’ They start running through the building and Merlin glances at you, giving you a small smile before going back to helping them follow the quickest route out of the building. 

‘You did well, Tristan.’ Merlin ruffles your hair and you smile at him. ‘Thanks. You didn’t do too badly yourself, old man.’ He laughs and lightly punches your arm. ‘I’m not that old, your mother is 10 years older than I am.’ You snort and teasingly say, ‘And you Merlin, are 12 years older than I am.’ After that comment, a comfortable silence settles between you. There were a few more tasks you had to complete before tomorrow, so you decided you would spend the evening and night at the mansion.  About an hour after the mission finished, Merlin leaves, leaving you alone in front of the large screen filled with documents. Quietly, you continue working for a few more hours before you call it a night. You’d finished your side of the report, only needing Galahad and Lancelot for the final few details. You’ll probably ask them about those during the debrief tomorrow afternoon. 

Once you’ve locked your computer and turned off all the lights, you silently walk to the kitchen, where you start making a pot of tea. The room is dark, as you only turned on the light above the stove. A sound from behind you catches your attention. Looking back, you see that your two colleagues have just returned from their mission. ‘Evening gentlemen.’ You greet them. ‘Tristan, good evening.’ Galahad walks up and stands next to you, just as the water starts boiling. ‘Would you like a cup?’ Your hands continue moving, putting in the tea egg to let the leaves steep. He hums in response as he grabs two more cups. ‘Chamomile?’ Galahad quietly asks and you nod. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you while Lancelot leaves the room momentarily to put some of their things away. Once the tea has sufficiently gained colour and flavour, you pour some into the three cups. Grabbing your own, you sit down next to the chair you’d draped your suit jacket over. Harry sits down across from you and puts down Lancelot’s cup next to him. You both quietly drink your tea, your eyes scanning that day’s paper. When you look up, you notice his eyes are trained on you, making you a bit nervous. Before you can say anything, though, Lancelot walks back in and starts talking about their flight back to England and the newest Royal scandal of the week. The other man’s attention shifts to his colleague who is talking excitedly. Your eyes scan Galahad’s features. He is handsome, smart, quick-witted, and a gentleman. A combination which has led you to, over time, develop a bit of a crush on your colleague. 

‘Tristan, what do you think?’

You turn your head to face the other man. ‘I think the situation escalated unnecessarily, had the royal family handled it properly, this would’ve never become public.’ He smiles and Galahad interjects. ‘I agree with Tristan, this situation could have easily been avoided.’ The two men continue talking and you sip your tea.  ‘Gentlemen, I’m heading off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the debrief.’ You stand up and put your cup into the dishwasher. It was already 11 o’clock. ‘Tristan,’ Galahad stands up, ‘if you’ll allow me, I’ll walk you back to your room.’ Smiling, you nod. ‘Of course Galahad; thank you.’ He leaves the room with you and as you walk, he leans sideways in your direction and whispers. ‘Thanks Tristan. I was a bit tired of Lancelot talking. He’s been going without pause from the moment we got on the jet.’ It didn’t surprise you in the least. ‘Of course Galahad. Lancelot tends to talk quite a lot; I suspect his favourite sound may be his own voice.’ He snorts. ‘I suspect you might be correct.’ The hallways are silent except for your quiet footsteps and conversation. The distance between the two of you seems to become smaller as you continue walking and talking; until you stop in front of your door. ‘Galahad, thank you for accompanying me.’ You turn to face him and smile. ‘Of course Tristan, it was my pleasure.’ His voice was quiet. The silence between you is tense and Harry seems to slowly be leaning closer as he holds your eye contact. Moments, which feel like hours pass, but he doesn’t make a move. Your noses almost touch when he seems to snap out of a sort of trance and clears his throat, pulling back quickly. ‘Ah Tristan, I should get going. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ As he walks away, you stand frozen in your doorway.

The following morning you watch the sunrise outside, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. It seems no one else is up yet. You’ve left your suit jacket in your room and have your sleeves rolled up, the crisp air touching your form. Behind you, you hear your dog walking and sniffing around. ‘Ares.’ The Doberman walks to your side. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ He barks and you pet him behind his ears. ‘Let’s go.’ You smile and he runs into the field in front of you, with you following calmly. Upon your return, you’re greeted by Merlin, who looks to have woken up not too long ago. ‘Morning Tristan.’ Ares excitedly runs up to the Scot. ‘Morning to you too Ares.’ He puts down his coffee and pets the dog with both his hands. ‘You’ve got an awful lot of energy today, haven’t you?’ ‘He really does, he’s been running around for over an hour already.’ You laugh. ‘I’ll bring Albion to play with him later today.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ll be back momentarily, can you watch Ares for a second?’ He nods. ‘Thanks.’ you say and smile at him. You walk into the kitchen through the open doors. Putting down your cup, you start brewing another cup of coffee. The kitchen is still quiet, but you know that more of the agents that have stayed the night will probably start walking in soon, though it probably won’t be many. Lancelot and Galahad you knew for sure, others you weren’t too certain about. ‘Morning Lancelot.’ You say as you hear the man walk in. ‘Agent Tristan.’ He greets. ‘Want some coffee?’ ‘Yes please.’ The smell of another fresh coffee fills the air. You smile as you hand him a cup. ‘You feeling alright?’ ‘I will once I finish this.’He groans before the two of you clink your cups. ‘See you at the briefing in an hour.’ 

You spent that hour with Merlin and Ares, mostly in silence. The Doberman is as happy as can be, with the Scot and you taking turns throwing a ball into the field and having the dog return it. It was nice spending time with your uncle like this. Usually you have to be  quite serious around him, as you mostly speak to him here, at Kingsman. Now, you can, even if it’s just for a moment, relax and have the relationship you used to have when you were younger and neither of you were a part of the secret service. ‘Uncle Hamish, we should probably get ready for the briefing.’ You say as Ares runs into the distance. He has his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. ‘Just five more minutes; Galahad will be late anyway, he seemed a bit off yesterday evening when I saw him.’ That last comment piques your interest, but you decide not to pry. The meeting room was still empty when you walked into it with your uncle. A few minutes pass before, you are joined by Lancelot, who is, once again, talking excitedly. While you don’t necessarily have the energy for him, you stay professional and listen with intent. He is still talking your ears off when Galahad finally arrives, about five minutes late. Despite Merlin having made a comment, it is still quite unusual for him to be late. 

‘Glad you could join us, Agent Galahad.’ Merlin calls out from the far end of the room as the other man enters. ‘Terribly sorry for my tardiness.’ Harry excuses himself. ‘Morning Galahad.’ Lancelot greets him, instead you just wave at the agent. Everyone sits in their usual spots, with Galahad across from you and Merlin to your left, though he almost immediately stands up, walking in front of the screen which shows the most vital information related to the mission. Most of the information isn’t new to you, as you’d helped your uncle prepare. Whenever Galahad or Lancelot give additional information, which you hadn’t been able to gain before the meeting, you write it down into the report. Your attention is fully focussed on what everyone is saying, that is until you notice that Galahad’s eyes seem to linger on you a bit longer than usual whenever you make a comment. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. He quickly looks away and focuses on Merlin, who is saying something about the risks which may occur in the future. Yesterday’s mission has likely only slowed down the organisation, meaning that you’d still have to find its core and try to eliminate it. Still, all the new information which has been gained is quite useful. Your gaze reverts back to your laptop screen as you continue typing away. 

‘Agent Tristan, could you please explain to these gentlemen what you did to fully disarm and disable the system?’ Merlin’s sudden attention to you surprises you, but you stand up confidently and walk to his side. Galahad’s eyes seem to burn into the back of your head as you do so. ‘So how we did it is -’ Everything goes smoothly as you explain the process thoroughly to the other agents. Hopefully, you’ll be able to join them in the field next time, rather than having to sit and watch from the sidelines to assist them from a distance. You aren’t sure that’ll actually happen however, as it really depends on what kind of mission it’ll be and what is needed of you.  After a few minutes, you’re able to sit back down. Neither Lancelot, nor Galahad had any questions, which you assume is probably a good sign. There are only a few more things you need to discuss, with most of them only requiring only a little of your input from time to time, so you silently drink some tea as Lancelot and Merlin talk. Galahad is remarkably silent, only asking a few questions or making comments when he deems it necessary. Usually, he’s more talkative and tends to lead the conversation, but today he seems to have chosen to leave that to Lancelot. As your uncle is saying something about the implications of such an organisation having access to nuclear weapons, you feel another foot hit yours. At first, you ignore it; but when it happens again, you look around. It couldn’t be Merlin or Lancelot, leaving Galahad as the only suspect. You quickly look at his face but he acts as if he’s innocent. When you feel a third tap, you let your eyes meet his. The lines around his eyes crinkle mischievously, while the rest of his face doesn’t seem to change. You tap him back, your oxfords hitting the side of his silently. This time, his eyes do not divert to Merlin or Lancelot, and it almost feels as if you’re the only person in this room with him. The feeling is short lived however, with his gaze shifting away when his name is mentioned by one of the other men. Still, his foot remains in place, connecting the two of you. Despite the intimate gesture, his feelings for you remain unclear.

The meeting comes to an end, you and Galahad act as if nothing happened when you stand up. Everyone leaves the room and as he passes you, he slips a small folded note into your hand. You do not get a chance to read it though, as Merlin immediately starts up a conversation with you as you walk the wing of the mansion where the individual kingsman offices are located. ‘Tristan, could you send me the report after lunch?’ You nod. ‘As long as we’re going on a walk with Ares and Albion after, you know he’s missed you lately, and this morning wasn’t enough to make up for that.’ He laughs. ‘Of course.’ Together, you walk into Merlin’s office, where you quickly discuss the last few details before you leave for your own. There, you work on the report for a bit longer, adding the finishing touches before sending it to Merlin. Ares lays in the corner of your office, playing with one of his toys quietly. The folded piece of paper sits next to your keyboard, still not read. Once you’ve finally finished the report, you grab and slowly unfold it. Galahad’s handwriting is neat, but not delicate.

Tristan,

Meet me in the library at 21:00 tonight. 

Yours faithfully,

H

‘I suppose I’ll go read in the library tonight, Ares.’ You whisper before you put the note into your drawer and motion your dog to follow you to the kitchens to have lunch. He walks at your side when you enter, and calmly waits as you brew tea and make lunch. Once it’s ready, you decide to eat it outside, as the weather is quite nice today and Ares will be able to run around before you go for the walk with Merlin.  Half an hour passes before you’re joined by your uncle, who has his dog, Albion, with him. She’s a border collie who is usually quite serious and focused, but gets very excited when she gets to play with Ares. The two of them are best friends, so you and Merlin try to have them meet up and go on a long walk at least once a week. This doesn’t always happen though, as duty calls whenever it does, resulting in having to cancel quite frequently, which happened the past few weeks. Today isn't such a day though, and once you both finish your lunch, the four of you start walking your usual round around the grounds. You and Merlin chat away about anything and everything while Ares and Albion run around together and fetch a tennis ball from time to time. It’s calm and you’re enjoying yourself. It’s always quite nice to spend your time like this. All nice things must come to an end though, and after forty-five minutes of walking, you have to return to work.  ‘See you later Tristan.’ Merlin says before walking to his office, taking Albion with him. ‘Later.’ You wave before walking in the opposite direction. Galahad hadn’t been there when you returned from your walk, so you assume he’s at the shop to get a few things in order. It’s probably for the better, as you aren’t sure what you would do if you were to cross him in the hallway right now. He’s constantly giving you mixed signals. Yesterday, he seemed to lean in to kiss you before pulling away suddenly. Today, he almost continuously avoided your gaze, yet wanted to stay connected in some way that wasn’t visible to others, and he wrote you a note telling you to meet him later.

‘Fuck.’

You whisper to yourself. You’re falling for him, hard. You have been for a long time. You always told yourself it was merely a crush, but you’re unable to deny it any longer. This revelation isn’t your biggest problem though. Your biggest problem is whether he would even be interested, as he’s constantly giving those mixed signals. Tonight you’d decide whether you’ll ever act upon your feelings or not. You’d never particularly cared for the kingsman code which prohibits any relationships, though it hasn’t been necessary for you to break it either, as you hadn’t been interested in any relationships in the first place. Kingsman always comes first in your life. This means that you’ve never actually taken the time to think of finding a partner or date around. What you are worried about, is that Galahad is someone that always follows the rules and doesn’t even think about bending, let alone breaking, them. This may be an explanation for him being so hot and cold with you. Still, it’s confusing and worries you. ‘Good afternoon agent Tristan, is everything alright?’ Arthur greeting you pulls you out of your thoughts and you realise you’re standing in front of the door which leads into your office, your hand on the doorknob. You have probably been standing there for a couple of minutes now. Quickly you turn the knob and start walking in.  ‘Ah yes Arthur, I was just lost in thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to attend to.’  You smile at him before swiftly closing the door once Ares has entered the room as well. 

The evening couldn’t come soon enough. Thinking of whatever Galahad could possibly tell you continued racing through your mind the entire afternoon, meaning that you were quite distracted for the most part. Merlin visited you shortly before dinner to discuss the report and what he altered before sending it off to Arthur. While he clearly noticed that you were distracted, he decided against saying anything about it and left. Shortly thereafter, you decided it’d be a good idea to go for another walk with Ares, as it’s a good way of distancing yourself from the setting in which you usually see Galahad. This time, though, the walk lasts for several hours, with the sun starting to set once you start heading back to HQ.  When you arrive back at HQ, it’s nearly nine, so you decide to bring the Doberman to your office before heading to the library. Galahad, or Harry which you rarely ever refer to him as, is already there, waiting for you. He turns to face you and smiles when you enter before greeting you. ‘I’m glad you could make it agent Tristan.’ You nod nervously but try to sound casual. ‘Of course, any time, Galahad.’ His eyes look over your form and you do the same. The tension between the two of you is palpable but you try to ignore it as best as you can. For a moment, nothing happens. The both of you stay still, frozen in place.  Suddenly Galahad moves again and walks up to you. In a moment of passion, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. It’s so intense it feels as if he’s bruising your lips. When you don’t move, he starts pulling back. Quickly, you pull him to you once more and kiss back, one of your hands in his hair and the other pulling his tie. The two of you fight for dominance and he pushes you against one of the bookshelves, his left hand now resting on your hip.  Eventually, he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. For minutes, the two of you stand like this, silently enjoying each other's presence and closeness. ‘Tristan.’ He whispers. ‘Yes Galahad?’ The man sighs and slowly leaves your embrace. ‘Shit.’ You hear him mutter under his breath. ‘Shit shit shit.’ He backs away, as if he’s only just realised what happened. ‘Galahad, what’s going on?’ ‘I cannot do this Tristan.’ His voice sounds almost desperate. ‘Galahad, what do you mean you cannot do this?’ He doesn’t reply and walks away, leaving you alone in the library.

You didn’t see Galahad the rest of that week and you threw yourself into work, only leaving your office to go out with Ares. If you hadn’t had him, you probably wouldn’t have left your office in the first place. That Friday morning, Merlin comes in unannounced and finds you sleeping with your head on your desk. He wakes you and you slowly sit up straight. Your suit jacket is discarded somewhere in a corner and you look a bit of a mess with your hair all dishevelled.  ‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright Tristan? You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself.’ Your uncle asks you, he sounds quite worried. ‘I’m fine Merlin, I promise.’ He sighs. ‘You do not look or act as if you’re fine. What’s going on?’ You just shake your head. ‘It’s nothing really, I’ve just had to catch up on some work. Please don’t fret it.’  ‘We both know that’s a lie, Tristan. You’re always ahead of everyone when it comes to paperwork.’ He stops for a moment. ‘Look, both you and Galahad have been acting off all week and we can’t have that. I don’t know if there’s anything going on between the two of you, but I want you to fix it, especially if it’s affecting you like this.’ His voice is stern. ‘You should go talk to Galahad then, I’m not the guilty one here.’ You stand up for the first time in what feels like years, your knees and back hurting with every move. ‘I don’t have the energy for all this, go talk to him if you want to know more.’ Silently, you usher him out of your office and shut the door behind him. While you love your uncle, you really couldn’t deal with this right now.

The scotch in the corner of your office had been a little too appealing. That combined with the very limited amount of food you’d had over the past few days, made it very easy for you to become drunk. You sit in your chair feeling very sorry for yourself, as you do in such situations. ‘You know Ares, I’ll go talk to that asshole. He kisses me like that and then he avoids me all week. I suppose that’s not very gentlemanly of him.’ Standing up, you feel dizzy and you have to grab a hold of your desk to keep standing. The world seems to be turning and Ares looks to have multiple heads. ‘Fuck.’ You hadn’t realised how badly the scotch had affected you. Still, that didn’t stop you, and you stumble through your office door. The hallway is empty when you enter it, as is usual at this time of night in HQ. Galahad’s office is only a few doors down and you try to walk there as normally as you can. Taking a deep breath, you knock multiple times. When there’s no immediate answer, you knock again, but more loudly. ‘Galahad, I know you’re in there.’ Your voice is loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the door, but not loud enough to wake any of the other kingsmen. Though they probably wouldn’t wake up unless you screamed loudly enough for it to reach the other side of the estate. Moments pass, but the door is eventually opened by the agent. ‘Tristan.’ He greets you solemnly. ‘I need to talk to you, you pretentious asshole.’ The words fall out of your mouth and there is no stopping them. ‘You are no gentleman. You invite someone to talk to them alone after MONTHS, LITERAL MONTHS, of looking at each other longingly and flirting, then kiss them in the way you did and JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT?????’ He finally looks up at you and realises the state that you’re in. ‘WHAT IN THE HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU INCOMPETENT PRICK????’ You jab your finger into his chest. ‘Tristan, you are in no state to discuss this, please go to bed.’ He grabs your hand. ‘YES I AM, I AM A GROWN ADULT THAT CAN MAKE THEIR OWN DECISIONS. YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER.’ ‘Yes you are, but you’re currently incapable of making any good decisions. So, please quiet down before you wake up Mr. Pickle.’ Before you’re able to respond, he grabs you and surprisingly easily throws you over his shoulder. ‘Now, I’ll be escorting you to bed, as you don’t seem to be capable of doing that yourself.’ He completely ignores your protests, which continue for about five minutes before you realise there’s nothing you can do about this situation. He only puts you down when you’re in front of your bedroom door, as he needs you to open it. ‘I’m going to put you down, but please stay quiet. I don’t want you to wake everyone up.’ You nod and mutter to yourself as he puts you down. ‘Still an asshole though.’ He laughs to himself. When you finally have both your feet on the ground again, you’re stable momentarily before you start falling over again. Galahad notices and steadies you by grabbing your shoulders. ‘Careful now, sweetness.’ His lips touch the shell of your ear and you slowly feel yourself going red. You ignore it though, steadying yourself with his help before walking to your door and unlocking it. When you try to open it you almost fall into your own room and so Harry catches you, before the world around you slowly goes dark.

The following morning you wake up in your own bed, not remembering how you got there in the first place. Ares sits next to your bed, looking up at you as you wake. ‘Morning, my boy.’ Your voice sounds more like a groan than anything else. He nudges your arm and softly barks when you eventually sit up. The light hurts your eyes as you look around, so you close your eyes and lay back down. Once you finally open them again, you notice that there’s a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol next to your bed. ‘Who put that there?’ You look at Ares and pet him before taking one of the pills followed by a gulp of water. The headache you have is slowly driving you insane, so hopefully this’ll help. Still, it remains unclear who actually put it there after probably finding you in quite the state. Usually, you could easily hold your liquor, but apparently your body had other plans yesterday. You do realise that you’re still in your clothes from the day before. So, you decide to get out of them and put on something more comfortable before calling Merlin. ‘Morning Merlin.’ Your voice is quite hoarse. ‘Ah Tristan, I was wondering when you’d call.’ He sounds quite amused for some unknown reason. ‘What do you mean?’ The Scot laughs. ‘Well, I got a notification earlier this morning that you’d be out of the office today because you’re ill. Thing is, agent Galahad is the one who notified me, which is a bit odd to be honest.’ You groan. ‘Well he’s right about me not feeling well.’ Slowly, you lay back in your bed.  Merlin didn’t talk to you for much longer after that and he remained quite vague about what Galahad had told him about the night before. Despite you desperately wanting to know what had happened the night before, you decided that would be a problem for tomorrow before heading back to sleep.

That night, a knock wakes you from your slumber. You almost jump out of your bed at the sound, scaring Ares a bit. ‘One moment please.’ You shout at the person behind the door before calming your dog. ‘I should take you out for a walk in a few, shouldn’t I? I’m so sorry Ares.’ After whispering that, you stand up and walk to your door. Opening it slowly, you reveal Merlin’s form. ‘Good evening Tristan.’ He smiles. ‘Thought I’d bring you some dinner.’ The tray he’s holding has a plate with a baked potato, some carrots and broccoli, and some beef, accompanied by a large glass of water and a cup of your favourite tea. He walks in once you’ve further opened your door, putting the tray on the small table that stands in the corner of your room. ‘Do sit down.’ His voice is soft. You do so silently, Ares laying down next to you. ‘Thank you.’ Your voice is soft and you start eating your first meal of the day. Merlin sits down across from you. ‘I do hope this was a one time thing, Tristan.’ He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’ Your voice can barely be heard from across the table. ‘Look, you’ve been doing flawlessly so far, so getting drunk and insulting go Galahad isn’t something that’ll affect you or your career in any way. It can, however, have an effect on how well you’re able to work with him in the foreseeable future.’ Your eyes don’t meet his. ‘Now that I’ve scolded you for getting drunk and acting in the way you did, I would like to know why. Harry hasn’t wanted to tell me anything and I’m against just checking your glasses if I can ask you.’ Your plate is only half finished but you’re already full and you put down your cutlery. ‘I’m not sure you want to know.’ Leaning back, you make yourself more comfortable in your chair. ‘Galahad has really said nothing?’ He shakes his head. ‘Well then, I suppose I’ll tell you what’s going on; under the condition that this will strictly stay between the two of us. Not even Galahad can know.’  ‘Why are you being so secretive about this?’ He enquires. ‘You’ll understand once you hear the full story. Now do you promise?’ You hold out your hand with your pinky ready for him to intertwine with. And he does. ‘I promise.’ A smile creeps onto  your face. This is something you’d always done with him when it comes to promises, starting when you were just a little kid. ‘So, as you may have noticed the past few weeks, there’s been some tension between me and Galahad, or Harry.’  You start. ‘But this has been an underlying issue for years now -‘ 

That night Merlin listened as you talked about how the situation between you and Galahad had unfolded over the past few years and more in detail about the past week or two. Understandably, it was quite a bit for him to take in, and at first he wasn’t certain how to feel or respond. If you hadn’t been who you are to him, he would’ve been fine with it. But with the familial ties you have, and the fact that he and Galahad are best friends, made him hesitate. Yet, he promises to keep quiet and have you and the other man resolve it by yourselves. He would, however, urge his friend to do so if the issue isn’t resolved within a week, meaning that you’ll have to hurry up when it comes to talking things out. He did make clear that he isn’t against you having a relationship with the older man, his tone may have even been slightly supportive, which was somewhat unexpected.

The next time you finally see Harry it’s Sunday. Exactly three days since you’d last seen him and had had the drunken encounter. There you stood, in front of his apartment, your heart pounding in your throat. He’d been at the shop the past few days while you were at the mansion. Merlin was quite convinced that Galahad was, in fact, avoiding you, so he’d suggested you go visit him that evening. Well, suggested was quite a loose term in this case. It was more that Merlin just dropped you off here and told you to ‘Go ahead and talk it out’. Obviously, this was his way of forcing you to do so, as he is quite sick of having the two of you avoiding each other.

Finally, you ring the doorbell and you stand there waiting nervously for Galahad to answer. He does after a few minutes and the confusion is quite evident on his face. When he doesn’t say anything, you start talking. ‘Sorry to bother you Galahad, but Merlin’s dropped me off so we can talk things out.’ You smile sheepishly and he sighs before letting you in.  You have never been inside his home before, so you look around curiously as he leads you into his kitchen. He was wearing his usual attire, save for the glasses. Apparently, he had been cooking dinner when you rang his doorbell. As you look around the room, not moving, he clears his throat. ‘Would you like to join me for dinner Tristan?’ The question is logical, yet you aren’t certain whether he actually wants you to join or if he’s asking it out of obligation. You’re hoping it’s the former rather than the latter. ‘If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can talk and then I’ll leave, I don’t wish to intrude Galahad.’ He motions you to sit down. ‘I would love for you to join me, I’m almost finished cooking dinner anyway, so do feel free to have a seat.’ When you do so, he turns around to face the stove once again before finishing dinner. It is a simple yet delicious meal, and you appreciate the gesture of him inviting you to join him. It is mostly spent in silence, save for a few comments appreciating his skill, or talking about the goings on at the shop and HQ. 

After dinner, Harry offers you a cup of tea before pouring one for himself and sitting down across from you. It is silent for a few minutes before he finally speaks again. ‘I would like to apologise.’ His voice is soft. ‘I should’ve handled this situation differently and not have run away in the way I did.’ As he says this, his eyes divert. ‘It is just that I was, and still am, quite uncertain of how to go about this. I do not wish to hurt you, but in my attempt to do so I did the opposite of what I had intended. I thought you were too pure, too kind. You’re too sweet, too sweet for a bitter man like me. Yet here I am, madly in love with you and confessing my feelings.’ When he finishes talking he looks you in the eye once more. There’s emotion in them, seemingly a mix of sadness and regret. ‘Galahad, I don’t know what to say.’ You pause. ‘I understand why you may have hesitated to approach me in the way you did, however, I am quite confused as to why you ran away so suddenly. You are the one that made the initial move and I never approached you because you were likely to have reservations about breaking kingsman code, yet you gave me hope by inviting me to the library to talk. And for a moment, when you kissed me, I thought we could be together, even if it was just for a moment.’ Slowly, you stand up from your chair. Putting down your cup of tea in the process. ‘Then you went ahead and ripped my heart out by walking away like that. As if I mean nothing to you, as if you weren’t the one that made the first move.’ You raise your voice a bit, but try to stay calm. Following your example, he stands up as well and starts walking towards you. ‘I truly am sorry but it is up to you whether or not you forgive me.’ He looks down into your eyes. ‘What will happen if I forgive you, Harry?’ The two of you are almost touching each other, only a few centimetres between your faces. ‘I shall take you on a date and be your partner. That is, if you’ll have me.’ Rather than answering him with words, you pull his tie and kiss him passionately.

[muiitoloko]

Hi!! Could you please write the second part for "The Price of Pride"? I loved the first one, thank you!!!🤩

Title: Shattered Facades

Summary: The mission forces Harry and Gawain to face the truths they’ve been hiding, leading to a raw confrontation and a new beginning.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, Smut.

Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy part two! 🫶

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Later that day, you were tasked with stocking one of the Kingsman safe houses with supplies and replenishing the weaponry. It was a routine assignment, one that you’d done countless times before, but today, your mind was anything but focused on the task at hand.

The training session with Harry earlier that day had left you rattled, your emotions swirling in a confusing mix of anger, hurt, and something else—something you desperately tried to push aside but couldn’t quite ignore. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the press of Harry’s body against yours, the heat of his breath on your skin, the way his voice had sent shivers down your spine.

But then you remembered his words from that night in the safe house, the way he had cruelly mocked your feelings, belittling the very thing you had tried so hard to keep hidden. Your admiration for him had always been an open secret, something you couldn’t quite hide, even when you tried. You had always hung on his every word, looked up to him in a way that went beyond professional respect. To you, Harry had been everything—mentor, friend, the man you quietly, foolishly, loved.

And that was exactly what made his words that night cut so deeply. He had seen through you, seen how much you cared, and instead of acknowledging it with kindness or understanding, he had used it against you, twisted it into something ugly and pathetic.

As you loaded the last of the supplies into the car, you couldn’t stop the bitter snort that escaped your lips. His apology yesterday had been laughable. He said he missed you, but what did he really miss? Not you—not the person you were, not the agent you had become—but the way you had once adored him, the way you had practically worshipped the ground he walked on. He missed the attention, the validation, the way you used to look at him like he hung the stars.

You climbed into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly as you tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a second skin, refusing to let go. No, Harry didn’t miss you. He missed being adored, being the center of someone’s world. He missed having you at his feet, ready to hang on his every word, ready to praise him for every little thing he did. That’s what had bruised his ego—the realization that he no longer had that hold over you, that you had seen through the façade and realized that the man behind the title was just as flawed, just as capable of cruelty, as anyone else.

The drive to the safe house was a blur, the roads passing by in a haze as your thoughts continued to spiral. You replayed that night over and over in your mind, each word he’d said cutting deeper, each memory of his cold, dismissive gaze only fueling the fire of your anger and hurt. It was easier to be angry, to let the bitterness take root, than to confront the lingering feelings of affection that refused to die, no matter how hard you tried to smother them.

But those feelings—those ridiculous, stubborn feelings—were a weakness, and you knew it. They had blinded you, made you see Harry as something more than he was, someone worthy of your admiration, your love. And now, faced with the reality of who he truly was, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself for ever thinking he could be anything more than just another agent, another man who was too wrapped up in his own ego to see the damage he had done.

As you arrived at the safe house, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, unloading the supplies and carefully arranging the weaponry. The mechanical nature of the work helped, giving you something to concentrate on other than the storm raging inside your head. But even as you went through the motions, your mind kept drifting back to Harry—his apology, his attempt to smooth things over, to make you believe that he cared, that he missed you.

He didn’t miss you. He missed the adoration, the way you used to look at him with stars in your eyes, the way you used to hang on his every word. He missed being the center of your world, the one you looked up to, the one you cared for with that quiet, unspoken devotion. And now that you had pulled back, now that you had started to see him for who he really was, he was scrambling to regain that control, to pull you back into his orbit.

You snorted bitterly as you stacked the last of the weapons on the shelf, the sound harsh and ugly in the quiet of the safe house. If Harry thought he could just waltz back into your life, apologize, and have everything go back to the way it was, he was sorely mistaken. You weren’t that same girl anymore, the one who would have done anything to win his approval, who would have bent over backward just to see him smile.

You had changed. You had seen the truth, seen the way he looked at you that night, like you were nothing more than a silly little girl with a foolish crush, someone who wasn’t worth his time or attention. And now, it was too late to go back, too late to pretend that those words hadn’t cut you to the core, hadn’t shattered the image you had built up of him in your mind.

As you finished your work and locked up the safe house, you allowed yourself one last, bitter thought before pushing it all aside. Harry didn’t miss you—he missed what you represented, the way you made him feel like the center of your world. But you weren’t going to give him that power anymore. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small, insignificant, like you were nothing more than a distraction.

You were stronger than that. You were better than that. And as you drove away from the safe house, the sun setting on the horizon, you made a silent vow to yourself.

You would never let Harry Hart hurt you like that again.

The sun had set, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns of the Kingsman mansion, but Harry Hart, Agent Galahad, was still hunched over his desk in his dimly lit office. The stack of mission reports loomed before him, an endless sea of paperwork that seemed to grow with each passing minute. Normally, Harry would have tackled the task with his usual efficiency, his mind laser-focused on the details that others might overlook. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back to you—Agent Gawain.

He sighed deeply, removing his Kingsman glasses and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. The frustration gnawed at him, an unfamiliar sense of helplessness that he couldn’t quite shake. Harry had always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to keep his emotions in check, to maintain that calm, composed demeanor no matter the situation. But ever since that day in the safehouse, ever since he had lashed out at you in a moment of anger and hurt, something had shifted inside him.

You were everywhere in his thoughts now, an unbidden presence that haunted him no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work. It was infuriating—this inability to push you from his mind, to regain the control he had always wielded with such precision. He had never been this distracted, this… obsessed. So why now?

Maybe because she’s ignoring you now…

The voice in his head was a mocking whisper, one that made Harry grit his teeth in frustration. But there was truth in those words, and that truth stung more than he cared to admit. He had taken you for granted, dismissed your admiration as nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, something to be endured, even laughed at. He had always known how you felt, and he had always believed that you would be there, hanging on his every word, looking up to him with those wide, adoring eyes.

But now, those eyes were cold, distant, refusing to even meet his. You had withdrawn from him, retreated behind a wall of icy professionalism that left Harry feeling hollow, adrift in a sea of regret. And it was only now, with your absence so keenly felt, that he realized just how much he had come to rely on your warmth, your light.

He missed the sound of your laughter echoing through the halls of the mansion, the way you would banter with him, tease him with that sharp wit of yours that never failed to bring a smile to his lips. He missed the way you used to joke with Merlin, the way you would brighten any room you entered with your infectious energy, your kindness. He missed the way you looked at him, like he was the most important person in the world.

Harry let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet of his office. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. The phrase echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of just how badly he had misjudged the situation, misjudged you. He had pushed you away, believing that your feelings were nothing more than a distraction, something he didn’t need or want. But now, with that distraction gone, he found himself adrift, unable to focus, unable to think of anything but you.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him. He wasn’t good with feelings—he never had been. His life had always been about control, about keeping his emotions in check, about doing what needed to be done without letting anything—or anyone—get in the way. But you… you had slipped through the cracks, wormed your way into his thoughts, his heart, without him even realizing it.

And now, he was paying the price.

Harry leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of the turmoil inside him. What was it about you that had gotten under his skin, that had made it so impossible for him to move on? Was it the way you had always looked at him, with that mix of admiration and something more, something deeper? Or was it the way you had always been there, by his side, supporting him, believing in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself?

The memory of your smile, that bright, infectious grin that had once been a constant in his life, sent a pang of longing through him. He missed that smile, missed the way it lit up your face, the way it made everything seem just a little bit better, a little bit easier. But now, that smile was gone, replaced by a cold, distant mask that made Harry’s heart ache with regret.

He had hurt you—deeply, profoundly—and now he didn’t know how to make it right. He didn’t know how to reach you, how to break through the walls you had built around yourself. And the thought of losing you, of never being able to see that warmth in your eyes again, was almost more than he could bear.

Harry sighed again, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the empty office. He wasn’t used to feeling this way—helpless, adrift, unable to find his footing. He had always been the one in control, the one who knew what needed to be done and did it without hesitation. But now, faced with the mess he had made of things between you, he didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how to fix what he had broken.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him—the way you used to joke with him, tease him, your laughter echoing in his ears, the way you would get flustered and nervous in his presence, your cheeks flushing a soft pink whenever he praised you. He had always found it endearing, the way you looked up to him, the way you admired him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And now, he realized just how much he had come to rely on that admiration, on the way you made him feel like he was worth something, like he mattered.

Maybe that’s what it is, he thought, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe I just miss being the center of your world.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Harry knew it wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t just the admiration he missed, wasn’t just the way you used to look at him. It was you—your kindness, your warmth, your laughter, the way you made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

And now, he had thrown it all away, all because he had been too proud, too blind to see what was right in front of him.

Harry’s gaze drifted back to the stack of mission reports on his desk, but the words on the pages seemed to blur together, meaningless in the face of the turmoil inside him. He had never been one to dwell on his mistakes, to let regret weigh him down, but this… this was different. This was something he couldn’t just push aside, couldn’t just ignore.

You were different.

He closed the file in front of him, unable to focus on the words any longer, and leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with thoughts of you. The way you had looked at him during that sparring session earlier today, the way you had pinned him to the mat, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else—something that had sent a jolt of desire through him, even as it filled him with regret.

She’s stronger than you ever gave her credit for, the voice in his head whispered, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. He had underestimated you, dismissed you as a distraction, but now he realized just how wrong he had been. You were one of the best agents Kingsman had, a force to be reckoned with, and he had been a fool to think that your feelings for him were anything less than genuine.

But now, those feelings were gone, replaced by a cold, distant professionalism that made Harry’s heart ache with loss. He wanted to reach out, to pull you back into his orbit, to make you see that he wasn’t the man you thought he was, that he wasn’t the cold, unfeeling bastard he had pretended to be.

But how could he do that when he didn’t even know how to reach you? How could he break through the walls you had built around yourself, when he had been the one to push you away in the first place?

Harry let out a long, frustrated sigh, his hands rubbing at his temples as he tried to make sense of the mess he had made of things. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm, composed, in control, but now he felt anything but. The emotions swirling inside him were a confusing mix of anger, regret, and something else—something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to confront just yet.

I need to talk to her, Harry realized, the thought sending a jolt of urgency through him. I need to make her see that I’m sorry, that I—

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. You were angry—rightfully so—and Harry didn’t blame you. He had hurt you, dismissed your feelings, belittled the very thing that made you who you were. And now, he didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to make things right.

He had never been good with feelings, had always kept them locked away, hidden beneath layers of control and professionalism. But now, faced with the possibility of losing you for good, he realized just how much those feelings had meant to him, just how much he had come to rely on your warmth, your kindness, your laughter.

The days passed slowly after your sparring session with Harry, the tension between the two of you thick enough to cut with a knife. You had thrown yourself into your work, avoiding Harry as much as possible, focusing on missions, reports, anything that kept your mind off him. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the two of you would be forced to confront each other again. And when the news finally came, it was like a punch to the gut.

You had been called to the briefing room for a new mission, and as you took your seat at the long, polished table, you couldn’t help but notice Harry sitting directly across from you. He looked composed, as always, his expression cool and unreadable, but you could feel his eyes on you, feel the weight of his gaze as he watched you settle into your chair. You did your best to ignore him, focusing instead on the file in front of you, flipping through the pages to avoid meeting his eyes.

Arthur—Chester—stood at the head of the table, his presence commanding as always, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Merlin was beside him, holding a tablet that displayed the details of the mission. The tension in the room was palpable, everyone on edge, knowing that this mission was crucial, and that any mistake could have serious consequences.

“As you all know,” Chester began, his voice as cold and sharp as ever, “we have received intelligence that Lord Carlisle is in possession of documents that could expose Kingsman’s operations. These documents must be retrieved at all costs. We’ve arranged for two of our agents to infiltrate Carlisle’s estate during an upcoming party. The two agents will pose as a couple, allowing them to move freely through the event without raising suspicion.”

You could feel your stomach drop as you listened to Chester’s words, a sinking feeling of dread settling in your chest. You didn’t need to hear the rest to know what was coming.

“Agent Gawain and Agent Galahad,” Chester continued, his eyes locking onto yours with a knowing smirk, “you two will be taking on this mission. You’ll pose as a married couple attending the party, giving you the perfect cover to search for the documents and retrieve them without drawing attention.”

Your heart sank. Of course, it had to be Harry. The one person you had been trying to avoid, the one person who had hurt you more than anyone else, and now you were expected to pretend to be his loving spouse, to play the role of a happy couple while searching for potentially deadly intel. It felt like some kind of cruel joke, and you couldn’t stop the rush of frustration and resentment that bubbled up inside you.

You raised your hand, your voice steady but tinged with a touch of nervousness. “Arthur, if I may, I believe Agent Lancelot would be a better choice for this mission. He and I have… better chemistry, and it would be more believable for us to pose as a couple.”

Chester’s eyebrows shot up, a look of surprise crossing his face. You had never objected to a mission before, especially not when it involved working with Harry. He clearly hadn’t expected you to speak up, and for a moment, you thought he might actually consider your request. But then his expression hardened, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“Better chemistry, Gawain?” Chester’s voice dripped with condescension. “I wasn’t aware this mission was about your comfort level or personal preferences. Lancelot is already assigned to another operation, and frankly, I don’t care if you think you have better chemistry with him. You will work with Galahad, and you will get the job done. Is that clear?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a flush of embarrassment and frustration rise in your cheeks. Chester’s words stung, but you knew better than to argue further. You had already pushed your luck by speaking up at all. “Yes, Arthur,” you replied quietly, your gaze dropping back to the file in front of you.

“Good,” Chester said, his tone dismissive as he moved on with the briefing. “Merlin will provide you with the details of the mission, including your cover identities and the layout of Carlisle’s estate. I expect both of you to execute this mission flawlessly. Any slip-up could result in those documents falling into the wrong hands, and that is something we cannot afford.”

As Chester and Merlin continued to discuss the finer points of the mission, you kept your focus on the documents in front of you, trying to absorb the information and push aside the lingering resentment that gnawed at you. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on his own file, but you could feel the tension between you, a tension that neither of you seemed willing or able to break.

When the briefing finally concluded, you gathered your things and prepared to leave, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. But just as you were about to step out, Chester called after you, his voice laced with a hint of smug amusement. “And Gawain, Galahad—make sure you practice your… chemistry before the mission. We wouldn’t want anyone to doubt the authenticity of your relationship, would we?”

You forced a tight smile, nodding curtly as you turned away, your fists clenched at your sides. Chester’s words were like salt in the wound, a reminder of just how difficult this mission was going to be. But you couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let anyone see just how much it affected you. You were a Kingsman, one of the best, and you would do your job, no matter how much it hurt.

As you stepped out of the briefing room, you felt Harry’s presence beside you, his tall, imposing figure a constant reminder of the task ahead. He hadn’t said a word during the briefing, and now, as the two of you walked down the corridor, the silence between you was heavy, oppressive.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, your heart twisting at the sight of his familiar profile—the strong jaw, the slightly disheveled brown hair, the way his eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if he were determined to ignore you completely. It was a far cry from the man you had once known, the man who had always been there for you, who had once been your mentor, your friend… your everything.

But that man was gone, replaced by someone colder, more distant, someone who had hurt you in ways you never thought possible. And now, you were expected to pretend that everything was fine, to play the role of his loving wife, to lie to the world and to yourself.

As the two of you reached the entrance to the mansion, Harry finally broke the silence, his voice low and measured. “We should go over our cover story, make sure we’re both on the same page before the mission.”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Of course. We’ll need to practice our roles as well, make sure we’re convincing.”

Harry’s lips twitched, a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure we can manage that.”

The tension in the air between you was almost unbearable, the unspoken words, the unresolved emotions hanging like a dark cloud over your heads. But neither of you was willing to address it, to confront the pain and anger that still lingered between you. Not now, not when you had a mission to prepare for.

With a slight shake of your head, you turned to leave, intending to take a taxi to the tailor shop to choose a dress for the mission. But before you could take more than a few steps, Harry’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back with a firm grip.

"Hold on," he said, his voice low but commanding, laced with a tension that matched your own. "We need to talk about this."

You glanced down at his hand on your arm, your heart skipping a beat at the closeness. Despite everything, despite the anger and the hurt, the contact still sent a jolt of something electric through you. But you quickly shoved that feeling aside, meeting his gaze with a hard look of your own.

"What’s there to talk about, Galahad?" you replied, your tone cold, deliberately using his title to keep the distance between you. "We have a mission to complete, and I intend to do my job. That’s all there is to it."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your arm tightening just slightly. "That’s exactly my point, Gawain. We can’t let our personal conflicts interfere with the mission. This is too important for either of us to be distracted."

You couldn’t help the small scoff that escaped your lips, a sound filled with bitterness. "Don’t worry, Galahad. I’m well aware of the stakes. I’ll be careful on the mission. Wouldn’t want to have to play the knight in shining armor and save your miserable ass again."

Harry’s eyes flashed with something—anger, hurt, you couldn’t quite tell—but he loosened his grip, letting your arm go as he realized what you were doing. You were throwing his own words back in his face, the very words he had used to cut you down, to mock your feelings. And the realization seemed to hit him hard.

"You’re acting like a child," Harry said, his voice tight, but there was a note of something deeper in it, something that made your heart twist with guilt. "You said that was in the past, but it’s clear from the way you’re acting that it isn’t. Not for you."

You opened your mouth to snap back, to defend yourself, but the truth in his words stopped you short. He was right. You were still holding on to the anger, the hurt, and it was clouding your judgment, making it impossible for you to act professionally. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to put your emotions back in place, to regain control of yourself.

When you opened your eyes again, your gaze met Harry’s, and this time, there was no anger, no bitterness—just a weary resignation. "You’re right," you admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It won’t happen again."

Harry’s expression softened slightly, and for a moment, you could see the man you had once admired so much, the man who had been your mentor, your friend. "We’re a team, Gawain," he said, his voice gentler now. "We need to be able to rely on each other, especially on a mission like this."

You nodded, a small, humorless smile tugging at your lips. "I know. I’ll be more professional in the future."

There was a beat of silence between you, heavy with the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings that still lingered just beneath the surface. But you knew better than to dwell on it now. You had a job to do, and you couldn’t afford to let your emotions get in the way.

Harry seemed to sense your resolve, and he gave a small nod of approval, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer before he turned away. "We’ll meet at the tailor shop in an hour," he said, his tone returning to the businesslike professionalism that had always defined him. "We need to make sure our cover is airtight."

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but watch him go, your mind still spinning with everything that had happened, everything that had been said. But you knew that you couldn’t afford to let it distract you, not now, not when the mission was so important.

With a final, deep breath, you pushed the thoughts aside and made your way to the taxi waiting outside. You had a job to do, and no matter how difficult it was, no matter how much it hurt, you were determined to see it through.

An hour later, you arrived at the tailor shop, the familiar scent of fine fabrics and polished wood greeting you as you stepped inside. The shop was quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as one of the tailors worked on a new suit in the back.

Harry was already there, standing near a row of evening gowns, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. "You’re on time," he remarked, his tone neutral, though there was a hint of something lighter in his eyes.

"Of course," you replied smoothly, trying to keep your voice light, though the tension between you was still palpable. "I’m nothing if not punctual."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, let’s not waste any more time. We need to find the perfect dress for you. Something that says you’re my beautiful wife, but also hides the fact that you could take down half the party if necessary."

You couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed your lips at his words, the familiar banter between you bringing a strange sense of comfort, even if it was tinged with the unresolved tension that still lingered between you. "I think I can manage that."

As the two of you began to sift through the selection of dresses, the atmosphere in the shop gradually shifted, the tension easing as you focused on the task at hand. For a moment, it almost felt like old times—before the mission that had shattered your trust in him, before the harsh words that had driven a wedge between you.

But even as you tried to lose yourself in the selection of gowns, you couldn’t ignore the way Harry’s eyes kept drifting back to you, the way he seemed to be watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. It was as if he was searching for something in your expression, something that he wasn’t quite sure how to find.

Finally, after trying on several dresses, you stepped out of the dressing room in a sleek, black gown that hugged your curves in all the right places, the neckline plunging just enough to be daring without crossing the line into indecency. The fabric was soft and luxurious, the perfect balance of elegance and danger.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering a little too long on the curve of your waist, the way the dress clung to your figure. "That’s… perfect," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual, and you could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you took a step closer to him, the familiar spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. "Careful, Galahad. You’re staring."

Harry blinked, clearly caught off guard by your playful tone, but he quickly recovered, a smirk tugging at his lips as he met your gaze. "Can you blame me? It’s not every day I see my… wife looking this stunning."

The way he said the word "wife," the way it rolled off his tongue with a hint of something darker, sent a shiver down your spine. But you refused to let it show, instead, you leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping to a low, sultry murmur as you whispered, "You’d better be able to keep your eyes on the mission, Galahad. Wouldn’t want you getting distracted by your own… wife."

Harry’s eyes darkened, the smirk on his lips growing as he caught onto your game. "Oh, don’t worry, Gawain. I’m very good at multitasking. I think I can manage to keep an eye on you and the mission."

The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air thick with the unspoken emotions that neither of you was willing to fully acknowledge. But instead of pulling back, instead of retreating to the safety of professionalism, you found yourself stepping even closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the lapel of his suit jacket as you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Just remember," you whispered, your voice a seductive purr, "if you get yourself into trouble, I might just let you fend for yourself this time. I’m not here to save your ass, Galahad."

Harry’s breath hitched, the teasing light in his eyes replaced by something darker, something that made your pulse quicken. But instead of backing down, he leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispered, "Is that so? I think you enjoy saving me a little too much, Gawain. But don’t worry—I can take care of myself. Just make sure you can keep up."

The proximity, the heat of his breath against your skin, sent a thrill through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. But you refused to let him see how much he affected you, refused to let him have the upper hand. Instead, you pulled back slightly, your eyes locking onto his as you flashed him a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I can keep up, Galahad," you replied, your voice dripping with confidence. "But can you?"

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you crackling like a live wire, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. But before either of you could push it any further, the sound of the tailor clearing his throat broke the spell, reminding you both of where you were and what you were supposed to be doing.

Harry stepped back, his expression quickly returning to the calm, composed demeanor that had always defined him. But there was still a glint in his eyes, a spark of something that told you this game was far from over.

"That dress will do," he said, his voice smooth and businesslike, though there was an edge of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "We’ll need to work on our cover story next. Make sure we’re convincing as a couple."

You nodded, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror before stepping back into the dressing room to change. But as you did, you couldn’t help the small smile that played on your lips, the thrill of the banter with Harry still lingering in your mind.

This mission was going to be difficult, there was no doubt about that. But if nothing else, it was clear that you and Harry still had that spark, that connection that had always made you a formidable team. And as you stepped out of the dressing room, dressed once again in your usual attire, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation, a thrill of excitement that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

The game was on, and this time, you were determined to win.

You clung to Harry’s arm as the two of you made your way through the grand entrance of Lord Carlisle’s estate, the soft click of your heels on the marble floors blending with the murmurs of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. The opulence of the mansion was almost overwhelming—gilded chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a warm, golden light over the assembled guests, while elegant tapestries and priceless works of art adorned the walls. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, mingling with the faint aroma of gourmet hors d'oeuvres being passed around by liveried waitstaff.

Harry, ever the picture of a perfect gentleman, led you with a firm yet gentle grip, his tall frame exuding confidence and charm. You played your part flawlessly, smiling up at him with just the right amount of adoration, as if he were the center of your world. For tonight, you were no longer Agent Gawain of Kingsman, but Mrs. Darcy, the devoted wife of the dashing Mr. Darcy—Harry’s cover identity for the evening. And while the mission demanded that you remain focused, you couldn’t ignore the flutter in your chest every time Harry glanced down at you, his eyes dark and intense beneath the guise of polite affection.

As you moved through the crowd, your gaze subtly scanned the room, taking in the various exits, the positions of the security personnel, and the guests themselves. You were searching for any sign of the documents that had brought you here, the papers that Lord Carlisle had obtained—papers that could expose Kingsman to the world.

Your fingers brushed against the earrings you wore, a seemingly innocuous accessory that housed the sophisticated technology that allowed you to communicate with Merlin. While Harry had the advantage of the Kingsman glasses, which provided him with both visual and auditory input, you had only the small earpiece hidden within your earrings, allowing you to hear Merlin’s instructions and updates.

“Can you hear me, Gawain?” Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear, the familiar tone instantly grounding you amidst the overwhelming luxury of the party.

“Loud and clear, Merlin,” you murmured softly, keeping your voice low as you leaned in closer to Harry, as if whispering something intimate in his ear. To any onlookers, it would appear as though you were simply sharing a private moment with your husband, but in reality, you were receiving vital instructions.

“Good. I’m patching into the mansion’s security system now,” Merlin continued, his voice steady and reassuring. “Harry, you should be able to see the layout on your glasses. Gawain, I’ll guide you through what I can, but you’ll need to stay close to Galahad.”

You nodded slightly, your expression calm as you responded, “Understood, Merlin.”

Harry’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your arm, a silent reassurance that he was with you, that he had your back. Despite everything that had happened between you, despite the unresolved tension and the hurt that still lingered, you couldn’t deny the comfort that came from knowing Harry was by your side. He might have wounded you with his words, but in the field, he was still the partner you could trust with your life.

As the two of you continued to mingle, playing your roles as the devoted Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, you felt the weight of someone’s gaze on you. Glancing up, you found Lord Carlisle himself making his way towards you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin crawl. He was an older man, his graying hair slicked back, his sharp features softened only slightly by the practiced smile he wore as he greeted his guests. But there was something predatory in his gaze, something that made your instincts scream for caution.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!” Carlisle’s voice boomed as he approached, his smile widening as his eyes roved over you with a barely concealed appreciation. “It’s a pleasure to have you both here tonight.”

Harry’s grip on your arm tightened just a fraction, a subtle signal that he was aware of the shift in Carlisle’s attention. “The pleasure is all ours, Lord Carlisle,” Harry replied smoothly, his voice warm and polite, though you could sense the underlying tension. “Your home is absolutely stunning.”

Carlisle’s gaze finally shifted to Harry, though it was clear that his interest lay elsewhere. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I do try to maintain the estate to the highest standards. But I must say, your wife is the true gem of the evening.” He turned his attention back to you, his smile widening. “Mrs. Darcy, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

You forced a demure smile, feeling Harry’s arm tense beneath your hand. “You’re too kind, Lord Carlisle,” you replied, your voice smooth and charming, though the compliment made your skin prickle with unease. “Your home is simply breathtaking.”

Carlisle chuckled, clearly pleased with your response, and before you could react, he reached out to take your free hand, bringing it to his lips for a brief, overly familiar kiss. The gesture was meant to be chivalrous, but the way his eyes locked onto yours as his lips brushed your skin sent a shiver of discomfort down your spine.

Harry’s jaw tightened visibly, his posture stiffening as he watched the exchange. “We’re honored to be here, Lord Carlisle,” he said, his voice carefully controlled, though you could hear the edge in it. “My wife and I were just admiring your collection of art. Perhaps you could give us a tour?”

Carlisle’s eyes flickered with interest, though you could tell that his attention was still firmly fixed on you. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. But first, I was hoping to steal your lovely wife for a moment. There’s a piece I think she would particularly enjoy.”

You felt Harry’s grip tighten almost imperceptibly, a silent plea for you to refuse, but you knew better. This was your chance to get closer to Carlisle, to possibly discover where he was hiding the documents. “I would love that, Lord Carlisle,” you said, offering a bright smile as you reluctantly released Harry’s arm.

Carlisle’s smile broadened, clearly pleased with your response, and he offered his arm to you in a gallant gesture. “Right this way, Mrs. Darcy.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking to Harry, who was doing his best to maintain his composure. His expression was inscrutable, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes darkened with a mixture of jealousy and concern. It was a rare sight to see Harry so visibly affected, and a part of you couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at the idea that he might actually care.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. You took Carlisle’s arm with a practiced smile, allowing him to lead you away from the main party and into a more secluded area of the mansion. As you walked, you kept your movements fluid and relaxed, playing the role of the adoring wife, while internally, you remained on high alert, your mind racing with possibilities.

“Stay sharp, Gawain,” Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear, a reminder of the gravity of the situation. “Harry, I’ll keep you updated on their location. Gawain, I’m patching into the security cameras now, but you need to stay close to Carlisle. We need to know where those documents are.”

You nodded slightly, acknowledging Merlin’s instructions while keeping your expression neutral. Carlisle led you into a small, dimly lit room that appeared to be a private gallery, filled with various pieces of art, sculptures, and artifacts. The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and polished stone, and the soft lighting cast long shadows across the room.

Carlisle released your arm, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made you uneasy. “This piece,” he said, gesturing to a large painting on the far wall, “is one of my most prized possessions. A masterpiece from the Baroque period, depicting the myth of Narcissus. I thought you might appreciate its beauty.”

You took a step closer to the painting, feigning interest as you studied it. In truth, your mind was focused on the task at hand—scanning the room for any hidden compartments, any clues that might indicate where Carlisle was keeping the documents. “It’s exquisite,” you said, your voice soft and admiring, though your thoughts were elsewhere.

Carlisle moved closer, his presence unnervingly close as he leaned in to speak. “I must say, Mrs. Darcy, you are far more captivating than any work of art in this gallery.”

You forced a polite laugh, taking a small step back to create some distance between you. “You’re too kind, Lord Carlisle. But I’m afraid my husband might not appreciate such comparisons."

Carlisle chuckled, clearly not deterred by your attempt to deflect his advances. “Ah, but your husband is a fortunate man, indeed. A woman as beautiful and charming as you… it’s a rare combination.”

As he spoke, you felt the weight of his gaze on you, and you knew that this was your opportunity to gather more information. If Carlisle was interested in you, perhaps you could use that to your advantage. You needed to gain his trust, to get him to reveal more about the documents—and if that meant playing into his flirtation, then so be it.

“Thank you, Lord Carlisle,” you said, allowing your smile to soften, your voice taking on a more flirtatious tone. “You’re quite the charmer yourself. I can see why your guests are so enamored with you.”

Carlisle’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, clearly pleased with your response. “And I can see why Mr. Darcy is so protective of you. A woman of your beauty and wit is a treasure indeed.”

You feigned a small sigh, letting your shoulders slump ever so slightly as you gazed at the painting. The calculated vulnerability was a part of your plan, a tactic to draw Carlisle in, to make him believe you were an unfulfilled woman seeking comfort. You knew how to play this game, how to manipulate the situation to your advantage, and tonight, you needed Carlisle to believe that you were someone he could exploit.

“I just wish Mark would appreciate that about me,” you murmured softly, your voice laced with a subtle sadness. You made sure your words were loud enough for Carlisle to hear, your tone hinting at the loneliness you were trying to convey.

Carlisle’s gaze flickered with interest, his predatory instincts kicking in as he stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “My dear Mrs. Darcy,” he said, his voice low and soothing, “it’s a shame that a woman as beautiful and captivating as you feels unappreciated. Your husband is a fool if he doesn’t see what a treasure he has.”

You turned to face Carlisle, allowing a small, sad smile to tug at the corners of your lips. You had him right where you wanted him. “You’re very kind, Lord Carlisle,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a hint of vulnerability. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m invisible to him. He’s so busy with his work, with all these important things, that I wonder if he even notices me anymore.”

Carlisle’s hand slid up your arm, his touch lingering as he looked into your eyes with a feigned sympathy. “A woman like you should never feel invisible,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “If you were mine, I would make sure you felt cherished every single day.”

You felt a twinge of disgust at his words, but you kept your expression soft, playing along as you leaned in slightly, your breath brushing against his cheek. “That’s sweet of you to say, Lord Carlisle,” you whispered, your voice carrying a hint of seduction. “I just wish Mark felt the same way.”

Carlisle’s hand moved to your waist, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled you closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice low and suggestive, “I could show you what it feels like to be truly appreciated. Mark doesn’t need to know. It could be our little secret.”

Your stomach churned with revulsion, but you forced yourself to remain in character, to play the part that was required of you. You let out a small, breathy laugh, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you gazed up at him through your lashes. “Our little secret?” you repeated, your voice teasing, as if you were considering his offer. “And how would you show me that, Lord Carlisle?”

Carlisle’s eyes darkened with desire, his hand sliding down your back, pulling you even closer to him. “I have a private bedroom upstairs,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “We could go there now, and I could show you exactly how much I appreciate you.”

Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear, the urgency in his tone a sharp contrast to the sensual atmosphere Carlisle was trying to create. “Good, Gawain,” Merlin said, his voice low but steady. “Keep him talking, but try to get him to take you to that bedroom. The documents are likely hidden somewhere private, and this could be our best chance to find them.”

You nodded almost imperceptibly, letting your hand trail up Carlisle’s chest to the nape of his neck, your fingers playing with the hair there as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “That sounds… intriguing,” you whispered, your voice sultry and inviting. “But we’ll need to be discreet. I wouldn’t want Mark to find out. It would ruin everything.”

Carlisle grinned, clearly pleased with your response, and you could see the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said, his voice husky with anticipation. “No one will know. Follow me.”

He took your hand, leading you towards a hidden staircase at the back of the gallery. Your heart pounded in your chest, not with excitement, but with the knowledge that you were getting closer to the documents. Carlisle might think he had the upper hand, but you were the one in control here.

As you ascended the stairs, you could feel the tension building within you, the weight of the mission pressing down on you. You had to keep your focus, had to remember that this was just another assignment, another role to play. But as you reached the top of the stairs and Carlisle led you into a lavishly decorated bedroom, you couldn’t ignore the unease that settled in your stomach.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to create an intimate, almost suffocating atmosphere. The bed was large and ornate, draped in rich fabrics that matched the opulence of the rest of the mansion. Carlisle closed the door behind you, his eyes never leaving you as he stepped closer, his intentions clear.

You could hear Merlin’s voice in your ear, a steady reminder of the mission at hand. “Stay focused, Gawain. Search the room for anything that might be out of place. We’re running out of time.”

You nodded slightly, keeping your expression soft and inviting as you allowed Carlisle to pull you closer, his hands roaming over your back. “This is a beautiful room, Lord Carlisle,” you murmured, your voice low and seductive. “It’s almost too perfect. Is this where you bring all your conquests?”

Carlisle chuckled, his hands sliding down to your hips as he pulled you against him. “Only the special ones,” he replied, his voice thick with desire. “And you, my dear, are very special.”

You forced a smile, leaning in closer as you let your fingers trail down his chest. “I’m flattered,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck. “But I’m curious… what makes me so special?”

Carlisle’s grip tightened on you, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “You’re a rare gem, Mrs. Darcy. A woman of beauty, intelligence, and charm. And I can’t resist a woman who knows what she wants.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the mission pressing down on you as you tried to maintain your composure. You needed to keep him talking, needed to find a way to search the room without arousing his suspicion.

“Tell me, Lord Carlisle,” you whispered, your voice soft and alluring, “what else do you keep in this room? Surely, a man of your… stature has more than just a bed to offer.”

Carlisle’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of desire and arrogance, clearly pleased with your question. “Oh, I have many treasures hidden away in this room,” he replied, his voice low and conspiratorial. “But those are for my eyes only.”

You smiled coyly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. “You can trust me, Lord Carlisle,” you murmured, your voice sweet and persuasive. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Carlisle’s grip on you tightened, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he looked into your eyes, his expression filled with lust. “You’re a dangerous woman, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But I like that.”

You could hear Merlin’s voice in your ear, urging you to stay focused, to search the room for any signs of the documents. But Carlisle was close now, too close, his hands wandering over your body with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

As Carlisle's hands roamed your body, you felt a familiar sense of detachment wash over you. You had been in this situation before—seduction was a tool, a means to an end, and tonight, that end was retrieving those documents. You knew the routine, knew how to play the part of the willing, desirous woman. Carlisle wasn't unattractive, and he certainly wasn't the worst target you'd ever had to seduce, but that didn't make the task any easier. It was a job, nothing more. Yet, as you let yourself fall back onto the luxurious bed, the silky fabric cool against your skin, there was a nagging thought in the back of your mind—a reminder of the tension between you and Harry, of the hurt that still lingered.

Carlisle leaned over you, his breath hot against your neck as his hands roamed your body, his touch both possessive and eager. "You’re even more beautiful up close," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can’t wait to taste every inch of you."

You let out a soft, calculated moan, your body arching slightly under his touch, playing the role you knew you had to. "Then don’t keep me waiting," you whispered back, your voice dripping with seduction, even as your mind remained focused on the mission. You needed to keep him engaged, keep him distracted long enough for you to find out where those documents were hidden.

But then, through the small earpiece concealed within your earrings, you heard a sound that made your blood run cold. It was a deep, familiar growl of frustration, followed by the unmistakable clink of a whiskey glass being set down with a little too much force. Harry. He could hear everything through his Kingsman glasses, every moan, every sigh, every word. And he wasn’t taking it well.

You knew Harry had always been overprotective of you—he was your mentor, after all—but this was different. The tension between the two of you had been simmering for weeks, ever since that night in the safehouse, and now it was boiling over. You could feel his anger, his jealousy, radiating through the silence, even though he wasn’t in the room.

"God, you’re driving me crazy," Carlisle breathed, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your dress. "I can’t wait to taste your sweet pussy."

You felt a surge of revulsion, but you forced yourself to stay in character, to keep up the facade. "Then what are you waiting for?" you purred, your voice a sultry whisper, even as your mind raced, trying to figure out how to get Carlisle to reveal the location of the documents.

Carlisle smiled and pulled the top of your dress down, taking a breast in his mouth. You moaned, grabbing the back of his neck, not having to fake your moans this time. God, he was good.

His touch sent shivers down your spine, and as much as you hated to admit it, Carlisle knew what he was doing. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, your body reacting despite your best efforts to remain detached. But you couldn’t afford to get lost in the moment, not when the mission was still at stake. You needed to stay focused, needed to find those documents, no matter how good Carlisle’s mouth felt on your skin.

But even as you tried to keep your mind on the mission, you couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Harry. He was still out there, somewhere in the mansion, listening to every sound, every moan you made. The idea of him hearing you like this, knowing that another man was touching you, made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with Carlisle’s skilled hands.

Meanwhile, Harry was at the party bar, drinking whiskey and getting impatient. He could hear your moans and sighs through the Kingsman glasses, and he didn’t like it. As always, the idea of another man with his hands wandering around your body made his blood boil.

At first, Harry had told himself that his feelings were purely professional—that he was just a concerned mentor, worried about his protégé. But tonight, something was different. The tension between the two of you had been building for weeks, ever since that night in the safehouse, and now, hearing you moan for another man, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. The jealousy was overwhelming, consuming him in a way that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered under his breath, downing the last of his whiskey in one gulp. He couldn’t stand it anymore—he couldn’t just sit here and listen to you like this, not when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to do something, anything, to make it stop.

Ignoring Merlin’s voice crackling in his ear, warning him to stay put, Harry slammed the glass down on the bar and pushed himself to his feet. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but beneath the surface, he was a storm of barely contained fury.

“Harry, you need to stay where you are,” Merlin’s voice came through the glasses, his tone firm and laced with concern. “This is her mission, not yours. She knows what she’s doing.”

But Harry wasn’t listening. The jealousy, the anger, the hurt—it was all too much. He couldn’t just stand by and let this happen. He needed to see you, needed to make sure you were okay, needed to—

“Harry!” Merlin’s voice was sharper now, more urgent. “Damn it, man, get a hold of yourself! This isn’t just about you. You’re going to blow the mission if you don’t pull yourself together.”

But Harry’s mind was made up. He was already making his way through the mansion, moving with the stealth and precision that had made him one of Kingsman’s best agents. He knew he was being reckless, knew that he was letting his emotions get the better of him, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of you, alone with Carlisle, vulnerable, was more than he could bear.

Merlin sighed heavily on the other end of the line, his frustration palpable. “Bloody jealousy,” he muttered, clearly exasperated with Harry’s behavior. “This is going to be a disaster.”

As Harry moved through the mansion, ignoring the curious glances from other guests, his mind was racing. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he found you—he just knew that he had to get to you, had to make sure you were okay. The rational part of his mind, the part that knew he was acting irrationally, was drowned out by the overwhelming need to see you, to be with you.

Back in the bedroom, Carlisle’s hands were everywhere, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your chest. You were struggling to keep up the facade, to maintain the act, even as your mind kept drifting to Harry.

You could feel Carlisle’s hands slipping lower, his intentions clear, but your thoughts were a jumbled mess of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to focus on the mission, to find the documents and get out of there as quickly as possible. But another part of you—a part that you were desperately trying to ignore—couldn’t stop thinking about Harry, about how he was hearing all of this, about how he was reacting.

“Harry,” Merlin’s voice came through the glasses again, more insistent this time. “You need to stop. You’re going to compromise the mission. If you don’t pull back now, everything we’ve worked for will be for nothing.”

But Harry wasn’t stopping. He was already too far gone, too consumed by the jealousy and the anger to think clearly. He was acting on pure instinct now, driven by a need that he didn’t fully understand.

As he neared the hidden staircase that led to the private rooms, Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what he was going to find when he got there, didn’t know what he was going to do—but he knew that he couldn’t stay away. Not anymore.

In the bedroom, Carlisle was getting more aggressive, his hands wandering lower, his breath coming in short, hot bursts against your skin. You could feel the tension building, the pressure to act, to do something, but your mind was still racing, still trying to process everything that was happening.

And then, just as Carlisle’s hand slid down to your thigh, the door to the bedroom burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash. You barely had time to react before Harry was there, his eyes blazing with fury, his chest heaving as he stood in the doorway, his presence overwhelming.

Carlisle jumped back, his eyes wide with shock and fear as he stared at Harry, clearly taken aback by the sudden intrusion. “What the hell—”

But Harry didn’t give him a chance to finish. In one swift, fluid motion, he crossed the room and grabbed Carlisle by the collar, yanking him away from you with a force that sent the older man stumbling backward.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” Harry hissed, his voice dripping with venom as he shoved Carlisle away, his eyes never leaving the man’s terrified face.

Carlisle’s stunned expression quickly morphed into one of indignation as he attempted to regain his composure. Straightening his collar, he looked at Harry with a forced smile, trying to mask his unease with arrogance.

“Mr. Darcy,” Carlisle began, his voice laced with false civility. “I must apologize if I overstepped my—”

But Harry wasn’t in the mood for apologies, false or otherwise. Without a word, he reached for his wristwatch, pressing a hidden button that caused a small dart to shoot out, striking Carlisle squarely in the neck. The older man’s eyes widened in shock before he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

You sat up in bed, pulling your dress back into place as you glared at Harry, your irritation bubbling over. “What the hell, Harry?!” you snapped, using his real name in your anger, abandoning the charade entirely. “Why did you storm in here like that?”

Harry’s gaze was dark, his jaw clenched as he looked at you with a mix of fury and something else—something raw and intense that made your breath catch. “Why?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step closer to you. “Because I wasn’t about to stand by and let that pompous old bastard lay his hands on you.”

You huffed in frustration, sliding off the bed to check Carlisle’s pulse, making sure he was merely unconscious and not harmed. Harry’s presence loomed over you, his anger radiating like heat. “Don’t touch him,” Harry ordered, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Ignoring him, you struggled to lift Carlisle’s dead weight, intending to put him back on the bed. “Help me with this, Harry,” you demanded, your tone brooking no argument despite your rising irritation. “We need to make this look like he just passed out from too much wine.”

Harry’s scowl deepened, but he moved to your side, grumbling under his breath as he grabbed Carlisle’s arms and helped you lift him onto the bed. His touch was rougher than necessary, his frustration evident in every tense muscle. As you adjusted Carlisle’s position to make it seem like he was simply resting, Harry stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes burning into you.

“You shouldn’t have come in here like that,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “I had it under control.”

“Under control?” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he glared at you, his frustration boiling over. “Would you rather I’d let him fuck you, then? Would that have been better?”

Your mouth opened to retort, a sharp comeback on the tip of your tongue, but before you could say anything, Merlin’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Both of you, shut up,” Merlin snapped through your earpiece, his tone filled with exasperation. “I don’t care if you two want to bicker like an old married couple, but do it later. Right now, you need to find those damn documents before someone comes looking for Carlisle.”

Harry shot you one last glare before turning away, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to regain his composure. You took a deep breath, pushing aside the lingering anger and focusing on the task at hand. Merlin was right—there was no time for this. You had a mission to complete.

“We need to search the room,” you said, your voice steady once more as you began scanning the area for anything that might hide the documents. “Check the desk, the drawers—anywhere that looks like it could be hiding something important.”

Harry nodded curtly, his usual professionalism slipping back into place as he joined you in the search. The tension between you still simmered just below the surface, but you both knew better than to let it distract you. The mission came first—no matter what else was going on.

As you rifled through the drawers of a nearby dresser, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Harry. His movements were precise, methodical, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Despite everything, despite the anger and the hurt, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his outburst than just professional concern.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had to focus, had to find those documents and get out of there before anyone noticed Carlisle’s absence.

As you continued your search, Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear again. “Gawain, there’s a hidden compartment in the desk. Try the top drawer—it should have a false bottom.”

You immediately moved to the desk, pulling open the top drawer and feeling around for the catch that would reveal the hidden compartment. Your fingers found the latch, and with a click, the false bottom slid open, revealing a stack of papers neatly tucked away.

“Got it,” you murmured, pulling out the documents and quickly scanning them. They were exactly what you’d been looking for—evidence that could expose Kingsman if they fell into the wrong hands.

You turned to Harry, holding up the papers with a triumphant smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry’s eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. But instead of responding, he simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he moved to the door, pausing to listen for any signs of movement outside.

The tension between you was still there, but it was tempered by the urgency of the situation. There would be time to deal with whatever was going on between you later—once the mission was over and you were safely back at the Kingsman mansion.

For now, you had to focus. You had to get out of this mansion and complete the mission. Everything else would have to wait.

The car sped away from Lord Carlisle’s mansion, the engine purring softly as Merlin navigated the winding roads with practiced ease. You sat in the back seat with Harry, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. The adrenaline from the mission was still coursing through your veins, but the relief you’d expected to feel once you were safely out of the mansion hadn’t come. Instead, a different kind of tension had settled over you, one that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the man sitting beside you.

Merlin’s voice crackled, breaking the silence. “Good work, both of you. We got what we came for, and Carlisle will be out cold for hours. He won’t even remember what hit him.”

You handed the documents to Merlin, who accepted them with a nod, tucking them into the glove compartment. “We’ll analyze these once we get back,” he added, his tone brisk and efficient. “But for now, let’s just get you two back to base.”

You leaned back in your seat, letting out a sigh of relief, but your eyes drifted to Harry. He was staring out the window, his jaw clenched, his posture stiff and unyielding. The anger that had flared up during the mission was still simmering just beneath the surface, and it was clear he hadn’t let it go.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. The adrenaline was making you edgy, and the tension between you and Harry wasn’t helping. “You almost ruined the mission tonight. What the hell were you thinking?”

Harry’s head snapped around, his eyes flashing with irritation as he glared at you. “What was I thinking?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “I was thinking that I wasn’t about to stand by and let that bastard lay his hands on you, that’s what I was thinking."

“You were thinking with your emotions, not your head,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “We had a plan, Harry. I was in control of the situation. You didn’t need to come charging in like some kind of knight in shining armor.”

Harry’s expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “And what was I supposed to do, Gawain? Just sit there and listen while he—”

“While he what?” you interrupted, your voice rising with frustration. “While he tried to seduce me? It was part of the mission, Harry. I knew what I was doing.”

“Did you?” Harry snapped, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with anger. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were about to let him fuck you just to get those damn documents.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in your chest. “That’s not fair, Harry,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “You know I would never—”

“Enough,” Merlin’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, his tone firm and exasperated. He glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he took in the heated exchange. “I’ve had about enough of this. You two need to sort yourselves out, because I’m not putting up with this obvious sexual tension any longer.”

You blinked, taken aback by Merlin’s bluntness. “What?” you asked, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “That’s not—there’s no—”

“Oh, please,” Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes as he glanced back at you and Harry. “Don’t even try to deny it. Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on between you two. And frankly, it’s about time you both did something about it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Merlin cut you off with a wave of his hand. “Save it, Gawain. I’m tired of Harry’s tantrums and whining about missing you, and I’m tired of watching you both dance around each other like lovesick teenagers.”

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your heart pounding in your chest as Merlin’s words sank in. “I—I don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Merlin shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t like him? Don’t think about him all the damn time? Because if that’s what you’re trying to say, then you’re either lying to me or lying to yourself.”

You glanced at Harry, who was staring at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced by something deeper, something raw and vulnerable that made your heart ache. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said it all—he was waiting for you to say something, to admit to the feelings that you had tried so hard to ignore.

“I…” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Merlin.”

“Bullshit,” Merlin shot back, his tone blunt and unapologetic. “You’ve been in love with Harry for years, and everyone knows it. And Harry—” he added, turning his gaze to the man in question, “—you’re just as bad. You’ve been miserable ever since you pushed her away, and it’s been driving all of us insane.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Merlin. “Merlin, that’s enough—”

“No, it’s not,” Merlin interrupted, his voice firm. “You two need to stop pretending that this is just some professional relationship and admit that you’re head over heels for each other.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at Merlin’s words, your mind racing as you tried to process what he was saying. You had always known that your feelings for Harry were obvious to everyone, but you had never imagined that Harry might feel the same way. And now, faced with the truth, you didn’t know what to say, what to do.

“I don’t like him,” you said weakly, your voice trembling as you tried to deny the feelings that had been bubbling up inside you for so long. “Not like that, at least.”

Merlin scoffed, shaking his head as he glanced at Harry in the rearview mirror. “Do you hear this, Harry? She doesn’t like you ‘like that.’ Despite the fact that she’s been pining after you for years, she’s convinced herself that her feelings are one-sided. But we both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

Harry’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes dark and intense as he leaned in closer, his voice low and rough. “Is that really what you think, Gawain? That I don’t care about you? That I don’t think about you every damn day?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, unable to believe what you were hearing. “Harry, I…”

But Harry didn’t let you finish. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I was too damn stubborn to admit it. Too scared to lose you. But now, I don’t care anymore. I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and I’m done pretending that I don’t care.”

You felt your heart swell with emotion, your breath hitching as you looked into his eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability, the unspoken desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. You had spent so much time convincing yourself that your feelings were one-sided, that Harry would never see you as anything more than a colleague, a friend. But now, hearing the truth in his words, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin, you realized just how wrong you had been.

“I thought I was just a distraction to you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

Harry’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he shook his head. “You’ve never been just a distraction, Gawain. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was a fool for pushing you away.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart overflowing with the emotions you had kept bottled up for so long. “Harry, I—”

But before you could finish, Harry closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was filled with all the passion, all the longing that had been building between you for years. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair as you poured all of your love, all of your desire into the kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he looked into your eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything I said, for pushing you away. I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart swelling with love as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

The air in the car was thick with the aftermath of the kiss you had just shared with Harry, a kiss that had been years in the making, filled with all the unspoken emotions and desires that had simmered between you. But as the euphoria of the moment began to fade, reality crept back in, bringing with it the weight of the things that had been said, the wounds that had yet to heal.

You pulled back slightly, your breath still mingling with his, and looked into Harry’s eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability there. For a moment, you just stared at each other, letting the magnitude of what had just happened sink in. But then, the memory of that night in the safehouse—the night Harry had shattered your heart with his cruel words—came rushing back, and the hurt you had tried so hard to bury surfaced once more.

You cleared your throat, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke, “Harry, you once told me that you would never, ever return my feelings. That I was nothing more than a pathetic and desperate girl pining for you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with pain. You could see the way Harry’s eyes darkened, his expression tightening as he remembered the night you were talking about. There was regret there, a deep, aching sorrow that made your chest constrict, but it didn’t erase the hurt those words had caused.

In the driver’s seat, Merlin blinked, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror. “Did Harry say that?” he asked, his voice filled with surprise and a touch of disbelief. “I didn’t know that.”

But neither you nor Harry responded to Merlin. Your focus was solely on each other, the weight of the past pressing down on both of you as you tried to navigate the emotions that were swirling between you.

Harry’s hand was still on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he searched your eyes, his voice low and rough with emotion when he finally spoke. “I was angry, Gawain,” he admitted, his words laced with regret. “Angry at failing that mission, angry at being humiliated by Chester. But more than that, I was angry at myself for letting it get to me, for not being the agent I was supposed to be. And instead of dealing with that anger, I took it out on you. I lashed out because… because I couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “Disappointing me?” you echoed, your voice filled with confusion. “Harry, you could never disappoint me.”

Harry’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with a deep, aching sadness as he shook his head. “But I did,” he said quietly. “I let you down that day, and instead of admitting that, I attacked you. I said things I didn’t mean, things that were cruel and undeserved. You’ve always been more than just an agent to me, Gawain. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was a fool to push you away.”

Your heart ached at his words, the sincerity in his voice tugging at the wounds that had been left raw for so long. But there was still a part of you that was hesitant, a part of you that wasn’t sure if you could trust him not to hurt you again.

“Harry, I—” you began, but your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of the hurt and give in to the feelings that had always been there, but you couldn’t shake the fear that he would push you away again, that he would hurt you just as deeply as he had before.

Harry seemed to sense your hesitation, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, rumbling whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you to trust me, Gawain. Let me prove to you that I’m not going to push you away again. I want you, all of you, and I’m not going to let anything come between us.”

His words sent a thrill through you, a rush of heat pooling in your core as you felt the intensity of his desire, the sincerity of his promise. But there was still a part of you that needed more, that needed to know that this wasn’t just about the heat of the moment, that Harry truly meant what he was saying.

“Harry, you hurt me,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked into his eyes. “You made me feel like I was nothing, like I was just some pathetic girl with a crush. How do I know you won’t do that again?”

Harry’s eyes darkened with regret, his hand tightening on the back of your neck as he pulled you even closer, his voice a low, desperate growl. “Because I can’t lose you again, Gawain. I’ve been miserable without you, and I’m not going to let my own stupidity get in the way of what we could have. I want you, all of you, and I’m not going to let anything—or anyone—come between us again.”

You felt your breath hitch at his words, the raw intensity of his desire sending a wave of heat through you. It was as if all the tension, all the unresolved emotions between you, were coming to a head, and there was no turning back.

Harry’s lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that made your heart race. “Let me show you how much I want you, Gawain,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the heat between you growing almost unbearable as you looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the desperation there. You wanted to believe him, wanted to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.

But there was still a part of you that was hesitant, that was afraid of getting hurt again. “Harry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to find the words. “I…”

But before you could finish, Harry’s lips were on yours, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands clutching at his shirt as you poured all of your love, all of your desire into the kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he looked into your eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything I said, for pushing you away. I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart swelling with love as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I don’t want you to let me go, Harry,” you whispered against his mouth. “I never wanted you to let me go.”

Harry’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m never letting you go again, Gawain,” he murmured, his voice filled with a fierce determination. “You’re mine, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the possessiveness in his tone sending a thrill through you. There was something so raw, so primal about the way he held you, the way he claimed you as his own, and it made your heart race with anticipation.

Merlin cleared his throat, a deliberate and pointed sound that broke the intimate moment between you and Harry. The two of you turned to face him, your fingers still intertwined, the warmth of Harry’s touch grounding you even as your heart raced with the lingering emotions from your conversation.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral, though there was a glint of something in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t quite as stoic as he appeared. “Well, it’s no wonder you were so hurt, Gawain,” he said, his tone laced with a touch of dry humor. “If I were in your place, I would have dumped Harry’s ass ages ago and—”

Harry cut him off with a sharp look, his voice firm but not unkind. “Merlin, shut up.”

To your surprise, Merlin actually obeyed, his mouth snapping shut as he returned to his usual stoic demeanor, though you could still see the amusement lurking behind his eyes. He gave a small nod, as if to say, message received, before turning his attention back to the road.

You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped you, the tension in the car easing just a little as you glanced at Harry. His expression softened as he looked at you, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smile.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” Harry said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he held your hand, his voice sincere. “I know I’ve made things difficult, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently as you leaned into his side, the warmth of his body comforting. “You’d better,” you teased lightly, though there was no malice in your voice—just a gentle reminder of the hurt that had been caused and the work that still needed to be done to heal it.

Harry nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet determination as he looked down at you. “I will,” he promised, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I won’t let you down again.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift as you allowed yourselves to look toward the future. The tension that had been simmering between you for so long was still there, but it was different now—softer, more hopeful. There was still so much to work through, so much to say, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were finally on the same page, ready to face whatever came next together.

Merlin, ever the professional, kept his focus on the road, though you could tell he was listening to every word. He didn’t say anything more, content to let you and Harry have this moment, but you could see the small, approving smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he drove.

You rested your head on Harry’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. Your fingers remained intertwined, a tangible reminder that you were no longer alone in this—that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

And as you sat there, surrounded by the quiet hum of the car and the steady rhythm of Harry’s breathing, you allowed yourself to believe that, maybe—just maybe—things were going to be okay.

[flowgeeksout]

When you are reading fanfiction you are looking for something good and are reading the description/tags and you see something and you just nope and scroll so fast like it might contagious?

[dryadalisliv]

One thing that, without fail, makes me giggle and swing my feet like a happy little school girl, is when fics about a non-canon ship backs it up using only canon occurrences… like yes! Show everyone that this is bullshit! that this IS, IN FACT, canon! Literally get a grip, I can’t handle it

[johnmurphysgirl]

why am i, an almost 25 year old female obsessed with fictional gay men 😭 i shall never recover

[mourningliliesmorningglories]

Okay but do you know what I mean when I say Potter x Black is just another variant of Merlin x Arthur. Everything is always Soldier x King. I beg will you die for your love or would you kill for it instead?