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This is my safe space and everyone is welcome just plz read the rules
I like to embrace the darkness and morbid things, but I do not condone them
Summary: Amid bullets and betrayal, Kay’s sacrifice leaves Harry desperate to save her, culminating in a Christmas proposal neither expected.
Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Blood, violence, death.
Also read on Ao3
Harry finally reaches you, his face tense and eyes scanning you with concern as he takes in the dark red stain spreading across your shirt. Without a word, he kneels down, his hands immediately pressing against your stomach to slow the bleeding. “Bloody hell, Kay,” he mutters, his voice tight, “you had to go and be the hero, didn’t you?”
You manage a weak smile, gripping his arm. “It’s… what we do, isn’t it?”
His eyes flick up to yours, the worry deepening as he helps you up, one of his arms sliding around your shoulders. “Hold on, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and fierce. “We’re getting out of here, just stay with me.” His hand remains firm on your wound, applying pressure as he half-carries you down the hallway.
But as the pain flares, your knees buckle, and you fall, forcing Harry to lower you gently to the ground, leaning you against the wall. He looks down at you, panic creeping into his normally unflappable gaze. “No. Don’t you dare, Kay. Don’t you bloody dare do this to me.” His voice is raw, almost begging.
You reach up, cupping his cheek, managing a soft, wavering smile. “Harry, the mission… you know it’s got to come first. The flash drive—get it out of here. The world needs it.” You push his hand away, steeling yourself as you see the fight flicker in his eyes.
He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “No, absolutely not. I’m not leaving you.” His voice is a growl, fierce and defiant, his hand gripping yours as if he could keep you alive through sheer will.
“Galahad,” you murmur, the pain evident in your voice, “you need to get your head on straight. The Harry I know would never hesitate like this… the mission comes first.” You feel his hand tense in yours, his resistance wavering as he fights the conflict within him.
“No, Kay, no.” His voice cracks, and he squeezes your hand, holding on desperately. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you here to die, damn it.”
You ignore him, pressing your gun into his hand. “You’ll have to,” you say quietly, your voice firm. “I’ll cover you. I’m just dead weight now. You know it.” You lock eyes with him, the determination in your gaze unyielding.
He tries to protest, but you shake your head, lifting the gun with shaking hands. “Harry, it’s Christmas,” you say softly, watching him as he blinks in confusion, glancing around as if trying to decipher your words.
You reach up, your fingers brushing against his face, bringing his attention back to you. “I’ve been waiting all day for my Christmas present, Harry. You didn’t give it to me… so I’m demanding it now. Leave me. Go.”
The words hang heavy between you, and for a moment, he’s silent, his gaze fixed on you as he tries to gather himself. “Kay,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. “Don’t make me do this.”
But you give him a resolute nod, your voice unwavering. “It’s my Christmas wish, Harry. The one thing I want—save yourself.”
He stares at you, a flicker of something dark and intense in his gaze, and then he leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, desperate kiss. His mouth is warm, possessive, a kiss filled with unspoken promises and unyielding need. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his voice barely audible.
“You better know,” he whispers, his voice thick, “that I’ll spend every Christmas remembering this—you.” His fingers linger on your cheek, his breath hot against your lips as he forces himself to pull away, his gaze burning with a mixture of heartbreak and fierce loyalty.
As he stands up, his jaw tight, he clutches the flash drive in his hand, his gaze locked onto yours with fierce determination. “I’ll get help,” he promises, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m coming back for you. Don’t you dare give up on me, Kay.”
But you just shake your head, giving him a weary smile. “Go, Harry. Just… go.” You feel the weight of his hesitation, the struggle in his eyes as he forces himself to step back, his gaze lingering one last time, as if memorizing your face.
You hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway, and only then do you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes and pressing your head back against the wall. But survival instincts kick in, and with a grim resolve, you reach under your Kingsman suit jacket, fingers curling around the spare gun you’d tucked there earlier. The feel of the cold metal against your hand ignites a surge of adrenaline, and you grip it tightly, your body screaming in pain as you force yourself up, pressing against the wall for support.
The taste of blood fills your mouth, metallic and warm, but you swallow it down, blinking against the blurriness in your vision as you stumble forward. Each step feels like fire, but you grit your teeth, determination driving you forward.
The first man you see down the hallway freezes, his weapon half-raised. Without hesitating, you pull the trigger, the gunshot echoing sharply as he falls. Another man appears just beyond him, but he doesn’t stand a chance; you fire again, your arm steady even as your legs shake beneath you. Your vision dims slightly with each shot, but you don’t stop, pushing forward, each step purposeful.
You press onward, leaning against the wall, your blood-slicked hand trailing behind, leaving a streak on the cold metal. More men come into view, their shouts of alarm ringing in your ears, but you take them down one by one, each shot precise, controlled. The pain in your stomach is agonizing, but you push it to the back of your mind, focusing solely on clearing the path for Harry, the man you love—the man you’d die to protect.
A flash of movement to your left, and you turn, firing without hesitation, the recoil rattling through your arm as the man drops, his weapon clattering uselessly to the floor. You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, ignoring the way your body screams in protest with each shot, each step forward.
The hallway begins to spin, your grip slipping on the gun as your blood loss takes its toll, but you press on, gritting your teeth. Another man rounds the corner, and with your last ounce of strength, you lift the gun, firing once, then twice, taking him down.
Your vision blurs, your legs finally giving way as you sink to the floor, your body slumping against the wall. You close your eyes, barely registering the distant sound of footsteps approaching—the sound of reinforcements. A faint smile crosses your lips as you realize you’ve done it. You’ve given Harry the time he needs.
The world fades around you, but a quiet peace settles in your chest, knowing that you did everything you could for him.
"Kay..."
"Wake up"
"Kay, wake up..."
You feel yourself slowly resurfacing from the depths of unconsciousness, your senses hazy, like a dream that refuses to end. There's a voice—a vaguely familiar one—calling your name, insistent yet gentle. You murmur in protest, half-asleep, “Just let me rest… go away, angel. Not ready to wake up…”
The voice doesn’t let up, growing clearer, more familiar. “Come on, Kay. Open those stubborn eyes of yours.”
Groaning, you pry your eyelids open, squinting as a bright light blurs your vision. A figure leans over you, fuzzy around the edges, and as you blink to bring them into focus, you register something odd. “Wait… I thought angels were supposed to be blond,” you mutter weakly, blinking up at the distinctly bald figure before you.
Merlin’s exasperated eye-roll is enough to confirm reality. “Very funny,” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll take that as a sign you’re still yourself.”
Before you can respond, another figure appears beside Merlin—Harry. His gaze is filled with a mix of relief and warmth, and as he looks down at you, you can see the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Good to see you awake, love. Gave us all quite a scare,” he says softly, though the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already back to his usual self.
You take in your surroundings, slowly realizing you’re in a Kingsman hospital room, a sterile but comfortably appointed space with bright, clean lighting. Relief floods you as it sinks in—you’re alive.
“How long was I out?” you ask, glancing between them.
“Two days,” Merlin answers, his expression still a little wary but noticeably gentler than usual. You try to sit up, only to have Harry’s hands press gently but firmly on your shoulders, keeping you in place.
“Let’s not rush it,” he chides, his voice taking on that sassy, familiar tone you know so well. But his touch is anything but playful—there’s a quiet urgency there, a need to keep you safe, unhurt. Ignoring his insistence, you try to push against his hold, but as you do, a sharp pain slices through your abdomen, sending a gasp tumbling from your lips.
“Bloody hell,” you mutter, wincing as you clutch your side.
“Now, now,” Harry murmurs, his hand steadying you, but you don’t miss the faint smirk playing on his lips. “I did warn you.”
Your eyes narrow as you lean back, gritting your teeth against the pain, but Harry’s gaze is laced with something else entirely—a hunger that flares briefly as he watches you. He doesn’t let go of your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your skin with a gentle possessiveness.
Merlin clears his throat beside you, breaking the moment with an awkward cough. “Perhaps we should… leave you two to… reacquaint yourselves,” he says, attempting to maintain his usual stoic demeanor, though you can see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he turns to leave.
As soon as Merlin leaves, Harry's expression shifts, his gaze turning sharp and unwavering as he looks down at you. He releases a heavy sigh, then speaks in a low, firm voice. "Kay, you are never—never—to play the heroine again. Not with me. I won’t lose you, not now, not ever. Do you understand?"
You try to muster a smile, attempting to lighten the tension. “So, I save your life and get scolded for it? Seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” You chuckle softly, hoping to pull him out of his stoic resolve, but it doesn’t work. His jaw tightens, and he simply shakes his head.
“Unfair?” His voice is low, a hint of frustration laced with worry. “The thought of leaving you behind like that—” He trails off, the seriousness of his expression making your chest tighten. You realize he isn’t joking, not in the slightest. You reach up, resting your hand on his arm, your gaze softening.
“Harry… I don’t regret what I did,” you say, your voice calm and resolute. “If it’s to save you, I’d do it a hundred times over. I’d take as many hits as it takes to make sure you’re safe.”
He releases a deep, resigned sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he looks down at you with an expression somewhere between exasperation and reluctant acceptance. "I know you would. That’s what scares me.” His fingers gently trace the back of your hand, and for a moment, the hardened lines in his face soften.
Without another word, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, glancing at it briefly before extending it toward you. “I had planned on giving this to you after the mission,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But then, thanks to your little stunt, I found myself having to wait for you to wake up… for two bloody days, no less.”
You raise an eyebrow, taking the box from him carefully. “What’s this?”
He chuckles softly, his fingers brushing over yours as he guides your hand, urging you to open it. “It’s your Christmas present, though you made me wait quite a bit longer than planned to actually give it to you.” There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice, but it’s laced with something deeper—relief, warmth, and perhaps even a little vulnerability.
With a smile, you carefully open the small box, your eyes widening as you take in the delicate silver band inside. Nestled on top of the ring is a small, brilliantly cut emerald, its green hues catching the light. Your breath hitches as you look up at him, surprise and warmth filling your gaze.
“Harry…” you whisper, barely able to find your voice.
He takes your hand, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he meets your gaze, his voice soft. “I didn’t want to just give you something typical. This… this is something that I hope will remind you of us, of every insane mission we’ve been on, every ridiculous argument, every late-night drink we’ve shared.” His lips curl into a small smile. “And if I have my way, it’ll be with you for every moment we have yet to live together.”
For a moment, you’re speechless, taking in the warmth in his eyes and the gentle way his hand cups yours. “Harry,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s beautiful. I don’t even know what to say…”
Harry’s warm fingers brushed yours as he gently took the box from your hands, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned in, his lips grazing your forehead in a tender kiss before drifting down to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Say yes,” he whispered, his voice a low, heartfelt murmur. “Say you’ll marry me.”
The realization hit you like a wave—the ring, his intense gaze, the tremor of vulnerability in his voice. You gasped, a hand instinctively flying to your mouth as the weight of his words sank in. You looked up at him, your heart racing, barely able to process what he’d just said.
“Yes?” you managed to whisper, still half-disbelieving. “Harry, is this… are you really…?”
He chuckled softly, squeezing your hand, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles as his eyes met yours, filled with a warmth and sincerity that took your breath away. “I’d planned a grander proposal, but you, my love, have a habit of making things complicated.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I would’ve gotten down on one knee,” he added, glancing down at his leg, “but as it turns out, recovering from a gunshot wound to the thigh makes that a bit tricky.” He gave you a wry smile, the humor in his tone barely masking the intensity of his gaze.
You let out a breathless laugh, eyes misting over as you reached up to cup his cheek. “So, Mr. Hart,” you murmured, feeling the familiar thrill of teasing him, “is this how you propose? Using a battle wound as an excuse not to kneel?”
He smirked, his fingers twining with yours. “Cheeky, aren’t we?” His voice was rich, amused, his lips brushing over your knuckles. “But yes, I am. And as a gentleman with limited mobility, I’ll need you to take pity on me this once.” He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “So, will you say yes, love? Or are you going to make me crawl over there, wounded and all, to beg?”
Your heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading through you as you looked up at him, the mischief in his gaze softened by the sincerity in his expression. You didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes,” you whispered, the word barely a breath as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Yes, Harry, a thousand times yes.”
His hands slipped around your waist, pulling you close as his mouth met yours in a deep, lingering kiss, the intensity of his touch making your head spin. There was a fierceness in the way he held you, an unspoken promise that he’d never let you go. His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips trailing along your jawline and down to your neck, each touch filled with both tenderness and a barely restrained passion that left you breathless.
“God, I love you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? For you?”
You smiled, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, savoring the warmth of his touch. “Oh, I’ve got an idea,” you whispered, your voice teasing. “But I suppose I can make it up to you.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine, his fingers tracing lazy, tantalizing circles along your collarbone. “Oh, you’ll have to, love. I’m expecting a lifetime of it.” His mouth found yours again, his kiss a mix of fierce passion and tender reverence as he pulled you closer, his touch both gentle and possessive.
You melted into him, feeling the world fade around you as he held you, his hands sliding down to your waist, holding you with a warmth and protectiveness that left no doubt in your mind—you were exactly where you were meant to be.
After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft and full of affection. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, his smile widening. “And don’t you think for a moment I won’t hold you to those thousand yeses, my cheeky fiancée.”
With a grin, you pulled him back in, sealing your promise with a kiss that left you both breathless, fully immersed in the love and laughter that had always defined your bond. And as he held you close, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together—hand in hand, heart to heart, just as you always had.
Summary: On Valentine’s Day, Harry arrives at your door with flowers and a battered face, but no excuse can distract you from the worry that grips your heart.
Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Implicit violence, fluffy.
Author's Notes: Happy Valentine's Day!
Also read on Ao3
Harry turned his face away from the bouquet of roses he was sniffing, inhaling the delicate scent as if it could mask the dull, persistent throbbing in his split lip. He adjusted the grip on the bouquet, forcing a small smile despite the swelling on his cheekbone that made it difficult to do so. The moment you opened the door, his name left your lips in a worried gasp, your eyes widening as you took in the bruises, the way his left eye was slightly swollen, the dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
"Happy Valentine's Day, darling," he murmured, extending the roses toward you as if that would distract you from the sorry state he was in.
It did not.
Ignoring the flowers entirely, you reached for him instead, your warm hands grasping his lapels as you yanked him inside. The door shut with a click, locking the two of you in the quiet of your home, but the silence between you was anything but comfortable.
"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Your voice was sharp with concern, your fingers brushing lightly over his bruised jaw.
Harry huffed a soft chuckle, his lips quirking up for the briefest moment before he winced. "I must say, love, I do appreciate the enthusiasm, but I believe the proper response would be to accept the flowers before interrogating me."
"Harry," you snapped, unimpressed by his deflection.
He sighed, tilting his head slightly, letting his fingers trail down your arm before reluctantly setting the roses on the table. "It's nothing," he said smoothly, stepping past you toward the kitchen. "Just a bit of business. It was handled."
You followed after him, arms crossed tightly over your chest. "That is not nothing. You look like you got into a bare-knuckle brawl."
"In a manner of speaking," he admitted, loosening his tie as he sat on one of the kitchen chairs, exhaling heavily. He rolled his shoulders, his muscles stiff with exertion. "I was on an errand, and there were… complications."
You gave him an unimpressed glare, reaching for the first aid kit tucked away in one of your cabinets. "Complications that left you looking like a back-alley boxer?"
"Something like that," he mused, watching as you wet a cloth, gently dabbing at his split lip. He hissed slightly but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into your touch, his brown eyes warm despite the teasing smirk that played at his swollen mouth. "You should see the other chap."
"Harry, this isn't funny," you muttered, dabbing at his wound more forcefully than necessary.
His smirk faltered slightly, his expression softening as he reached up, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stilling your movements. "I know, darling," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a slow, soothing stroke. "I didn't mean to worry you."
You sighed, setting the cloth down as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs ghosting over the bruised skin. "You didn't just worry me, you scared me," you admitted quietly.
Harry let out a breath, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you just a little closer between his legs. "You know what I do, love," he murmured, his voice softer now, more sincere. "This isn't the first time I've come home looking like this."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," you shot back, your fingers trailing lightly down his cheek before you pressed the gentlest kiss against his forehead, as if trying to will away the pain.
His arms tightened around you, holding you flush against his chest. "I'm fine, I promise," he said, and for once, you let yourself believe him.
The two of you stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in the quiet hum of the kitchen, the tension slowly easing. Then, after a beat, Harry’s lips twitched into something wickedly teasing.
"I assume this means I'm not getting my Valentine’s kiss until my face heals?"
You rolled your eyes, playfully brushing his hair back. "You'll live."
He smirked. "Shame. I was rather hoping to properly ravish you."
You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he murmured, pulling you just a bit closer, his voice low, rich, full of heat, "you still love me."
You sighed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "God help me, I do."
Harry grinned, and despite the bruises, despite the split lip, despite everything, he still somehow managed to look absolutely irresistible.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t quite what you had planned. But then again, nothing with Harry ever was. And you wouldn't have it any other way.
Harry let out a tired sigh, resting his head against your shoulder as he kept his arms locked around you, holding you as if he was afraid you might slip away. The warmth of your body, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his bruised cheek—it grounded him, steadied him in a way no drink or painkiller ever could.
"I'm sorry for the shitty Valentine’s Day, love," he murmured, his voice low, thick with exhaustion and something else—something deeper. "Not quite the romantic evening you deserved."
You hummed softly, running your fingers through his hair, feeling the slight tension in his shoulders begin to ease. "I don't think getting half your face rearranged was part of your plan either."
He chuckled, though it was more of a breath against your skin than an actual laugh. "No, not quite. But I’ll make it up to you later," he promised, tilting his head just enough to press a lingering kiss against your collarbone. "A nice dinner, perhaps. Maybe a trip to that little boutique you like. Or a piece of jewelry, something to match your beauty."
You sighed, your fingers slipping from his hair to cup his face, guiding him to look at you. His brown eyes were warm, searching, and for all his teasing and charm, there was something real beneath it—something vulnerable.
"Harry," you murmured, your thumbs brushing lightly over the bruises on his cheek. "I don’t need jewelry. I don’t need flowers. I don’t need you to buy me things to make up for this."
His brows furrowed slightly, but he let you continue.
"I need you," you said, your voice steady, unwavering. "I need you to always come back to me."
Harry exhaled slowly, his grip on your waist tightening for just a moment. He searched your face, as if committing you to memory, as if trying to understand how someone could love him so fiercely despite everything he was—despite everything he did.
"You have me," he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute. "You always have me, love. Even if I come back in pieces, I’ll always come back to you."
Your heart clenched at the honesty in his words, at the sheer weight of what he was saying. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, mindful of the cut there. "Then that’s all I need."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hum of the appliances, the faint scent of roses lingering in the air. Harry held you close, his hands steady against your back, his body warm against yours.
Then, after a beat, he smirked, the teasing gleam returning to his bruised face. "So… does this mean I’m getting my Valentine’s kiss after all?"
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a small smile. "No."
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.
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.
Prompt: “You came.” - “You called.”
Pairing: Harry Hart x (fem!)Reader
Fandom: Kingsman
Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood and injuries, honeypot mission
Word count: 1511
‘Galahad.’
It was barely a whisper which came out of your mouth. The predicament you were in wasn’t as you had planned. The mission in and of itself was relatively simple: go to an event, talk to some high ranking people and criminals in order to gather information, and leave. Yet, here you were sitting on the floor in an alley, bleeding from a gunshot wound.
It had been going quite well. Your target, Vincent Giante, had been at the event early and you had approached carefully but confidently. Merlin had informed you that he was, in fact, a ladies-man, and that it could be of use to, as he said, “throw your womanly charms at him”. You ended up following that advice after the target had shown interest in you, most likely due to the rather revealing emerald-green dress you were wearing.
‘My, my, a lovely young lady at an event such as this one, alone and seemingly without a date.’ Vincent had said to you as he approached. It sounded vulgar as he said it, as if she were a piece of meat, an object which he was intent on owning. That would never happen in a million years if you had any say in it. You did, however, have to play into it. ‘Why thank you, I’m flattered.’ You say as he grabs your hand and leans down to kiss it, his touch lingering a tad too long for your liking. ‘So what’s your name darling?’ ‘Josephine.’ Was what you answered as you heard Merlin in your ear. Target on lock.
Vincent made small-talk with you for a bit before the two of you were approached by a man. ‘Sorry, boss, that I have to interrupt your conversation with this lovely lady.’ He leans in and whispers something to his boss which you’re unable to hear. That’s Vincent’s right-hand man, Giovanni. Be careful around him, he can be quite the fighter. Merlin informs you before the pair can shift their focus back to you. ‘Sorry love, I have to go meet with some people.’ He sounded genuinely disappointed. He leans in to kiss your cheek and whispers in your ear. ‘If you’re feeling up for it, meet me outside in an hour.’
Time passed slowly as you waited to meet up with Vincent. You were in fact, not feeling up to it, but it was too good of a chance to pass up. During that time, you mingled with some more of the guests, but were unable to gather any information that was particularly of note. Merlin, on the other hand, was able to gather the information that Vincent supposedly had a harddrive with him which contained some secret documents which the Kingsman could use to folly his organisation’s plans. As the agreed upon time approaches, Merlin fills you in about the surroundings and what to look out for. Supposedly, Giante would have the drive somewhere on this person, so the goal had shifted from gaining information to getting the harddrive without being caught.
Outside, it was quiet, the hustle and bustle of the event left behind. Vincent stood near a statue in the gardens, seemingly alone, yet you knew better. It was likely that multiple of his men would be surrounding the two of you, looking out for his well-being. ‘Josephine, I’m glad you came.’ He smiles and puts his hand on your shoulder. ‘Let us walk for a bit, I’ve been inside all day.’ You take the arm which was offered to you and join him.
After ten minutes you reach a part of the gardens which seemed completely isolated. Slowly, he tries getting closer, putting his hand on your lower back as he whispers things in your ear. You endure them, finding them disgusting but pretending to love the attention. Slowly, he starts kissing your neck and eventually mouth. If it weren’t for your training and experience, you probably would’ve gagged as his hands slowly started lowering further. Finding your focus again, you shifted it to trying to find the harddrive on him, roaming your hands over his body. Eventually, you feel it in one of his pockets, and slowly but surely, you try to get it out. As he starts getting more passionate you manage to grab hold of it. Slowly, you slip it into one of your hidden pockets. After a few more minutes you pull back and look him in the eye, smiling kindly. ‘We should take this elsewhere.’ Taking his hand, you lead him back to where the event was taking place. He seemed quite content for the time being, but you weren’t too convinced. Well done agent Kay, get out of there.
Vincent leads you back inside to a relatively quiet corner, stopping a moment to talk to one of his men. As you look around, you suddenly hear a click just behind you. ‘Now love, I had so much fun, but I’d prefer it if you handed back that harddrive.’ Vincent sticks out his hand while the man behind you slowly pushes the gun against the back of your head. ‘We can talk about this Vincent.’ You slowly walk up to him. Agent Kay what are you doing? Get out. Merlin almost screams in your ear as you try to remain as possible. You slowly put your hands up, ‘I was enjoying myself quite a bit, but I suppose that is now over?’ your voice is almost sickly sweet. The hand he was holding out slowly wraps around your chin, tilting it up. ‘It’d be a pity to lose this pretty face.’ You were stalling quite a bit, that was clear.
Kay, Galahad is on his way. Just get out of this venue.
Galahad, that was your sign. Your colleague was on the way and you only had to get out of the building. Leaning into his touch, he clearly gets distracted once again, just enough to pull out a small knife and throw it backwards into the man that was pointing a gun at you. Turning, you grab hold of the lead and break the man’s fingers, then shooting him with his own gun, followed by shooting Vincent in the head. ‘A shame really.’ You scoff before turning and running into the crowd, 8 men following you, their guns loaded. Every step felt hot, so very hot, and they were right on your heels. ‘Fuck’, a soft whisper escaping you as they start firing their guns.
Kay, I need you to confirm that you are on the way out. ‘Confirm Merlin, I just have to lose some people.’ Heels continue to click where-ever you go. After turning a corner in one of the many hallways, several more of the men following you go down as you disarm and shoot them. That is until you didn’t have any ammo left. Of course this would happen to you, as if your day wasn’t going terribly already. ‘At least I still have these ones.’ You throw a few knives, hitting several throats. Their blood covers your face. Around you several bodies lay and you are finally able to breathe, even if it’s just for a moment. ‘Galahad, do you copy?’ You say quietly as you continue walking through the maze of hallways. Several footsteps can be heard from several of the hallways around you, so you start running once again.
‘Merlin, where is Galahad?’
You don’t get a response.
Managing to finally get outside, heading into a dimly lit alleyway, you see over a dozen people following you. Pulling out your own gun, you shoot as many of them as possible while continuing to move. They shoot back, one hitting you in the leg.
‘Fuck.’
They seem to keep on coming, and slowly, they surround you. ‘Galahad do you copy?’ Bodies keep on falling, but time seems to be running out when another bullet hits you, this time in your left shoulder. Frustrated, you throw some more knives and grab one of your daggers. One by one they go down, and with every body that hits the ground, your green dress becomes more red and your limbs are covered in blood. As the last of your energy slowly leaves your body and you start feeling faint.
‘Galahad.’
It was barely a whisper which left your mouth. Before you are able to say anything else, you feel a gun being put against your temple. ‘Calm down lady, drop the knife.’ There was only one man left standing and he had the obvious advantage. You sigh, letting the weapon fall to the ground.
You had to find a way out of this situation, you always did, but your body seems to be done. A gunshot interrupts your train of thought, the gun which was held against your head, falling away. Turning, you see Galahad standing there.
‘You came.’
Your voice sounds exhausted as you stand there; shoulders slumped and body aching. Your colleague approaches and hugs your body tightly.
‘You called.’
He whispers in your ear before kissing the side of your head.
hii! can you make part 2 of "Lust Protocol: Activated"? I love smut harry hart so much
Title: Critical Mass
Summary: Harry breaks beneath your touch, begs for release, and says things he can’t take back.
Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut
First and Second part here
Also read on Ao3
Your hand was steady now. Your gaze wasn’t.
He looked wrecked—flushed from crown to collar, chest rising in short, shallow bursts, wrists taut against the belt, and eyes… those eyes. Brown and bottomless. Glazed with heat, yes—but deeper than that. Raw. Grateful. Yours.
You stroked him slowly, deliberately, your palm slick with the mix of his need and your power. He whimpered. Whimpered, not moaned—because moaning was indulgent. Moaning was something he could control. Whimpering? That was a betrayal of everything Harry Hart pretended to be.
You could feel the tension mounting, the way his hips trembled, muscles in his thighs seizing as your grip twisted just so. You squeezed harder, gave him no mercy.
His head slammed back against the pillow, chest heaving. “I’m—fuck—I’m going to—”
“Don’t,” you said coldly, your voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “Not yet.”
He sobbed. His whole body sobbed.
“Gawain,” he gasped, his voice cracking like something sharp and private had finally broken loose. “I—I can’t—”
You leaned in close, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your fingers tightening mercilessly around the base of his cock.
“Hold it,” you whispered. “You said you wanted me to own you. So show me. Prove it.”
His cry was muffled by grit teeth, and his body shook with the effort of holding back. It was agony. It was obedience. It was bliss.
You kissed his throat—just once—and that alone almost undid him. “Good boy.”
His whole frame shuddered.
You gave him three more strokes, then paused—letting your thumb rub gentle circles just under the swollen head. Harry was a wreck now, babbling apologies and pleas, straining at the belt with red wrists and wild eyes.
“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and reverent. “Please let me come.”
You kissed him then.
Slow. Full. Deep.
And the second your tongue touched his, he broke.
Harry came with a cry so sharp it barely sounded human—his body arched off the bed, every muscle locking in place as he spilled over your hand, hot and endless and violently grateful. His pulse thundered against your palm. His cock jerked again and again, painting your fingers, his shirt, the inside of his trembling thighs.
He gasped your name like a prayer.
And when it was over—when he’d finally fallen limp—you wiped your hand casually on the edge of the duvet and leaned over him, watching as he blinked up at the ceiling like he’d just survived a plane crash.
“Still breathing?” you asked dryly.
Harry blinked once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you—hollowed out, ruined, humbled, and still full of a need that had nothing to do with the poison.
“I meant what I said,” he rasped.
You arched a brow.
“About South Africa,” he added, quieter now. “About you. About… all of it.”
You didn’t believe him.
Not really.
Not after everything—after the arguments, the pettiness, the unspoken tension drawn so tight between you both it could’ve sliced steel. Words spoken in the haze of poison and desperation didn’t count. Not when they came from a man like Harry Hart—trained, composed, lethal in a three-piece suit and impossible to pin down emotionally. Especially not when he was tied to a hotel bed, half-dressed and dripping with his own orgasm.
So, you stood.
Your hand was still warm with him. You didn’t look at it.
You walked to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and washed your hands in silence. The water was cold. That helped.
You didn’t look at your reflection. That wouldn’t.
You dried your hands with a hotel towel, folded it neatly, and walked out without a word.
Merlin was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, a phone in one hand and an unreadable look on his face.
You stopped in front of him.
“I’m done,” you said simply.
Merlin studied you for a moment—really studied you, like he was dissecting every microexpression for signs of emotional compromise.
Then he nodded.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
You turned and started walking.
He called after you, “Where are you going?”
“Food,” you replied without turning around. “There’s a vending machine on the fifth floor.”
Merlin didn’t stop you.
He only sighed, slipping his phone into his pocket as you disappeared down the hall.
Inside the room, the light was dimmer now. The smell of sweat still hung in the air, faintly sweet and sharp.
Harry Hart was still on the bed—shirt half-open, wrists red and bound, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls, his face pale but no longer flushed with feverish color. The tremors were gone. His jaw was tight again, his expression returned to its usual stoic grimace.
He looked at Merlin as he stepped inside.
“You’re late,” Harry rasped, voice rough from groaning.
Merlin raised an unimpressed brow. “You’re welcome.”
He moved to the bed and began unfastening the belt from Harry’s wrists, careful not to aggravate the skin.
Harry’s arms dropped limply to his sides, too sore or too humiliated—or both—to move.
Merlin handed him a folded towel without comment.
Harry looked at it, then slowly sat up, wincing at the stretch in his back and the soreness in… other places.
He took the towel with a quiet, bitter sigh and wiped himself clean.
Merlin retrieved his tablet from the desk and glanced at the vitals scan still running. “Heart rate’s back to normal. Pupil dilation’s reduced. Core temperature dropping.”
He looked at Harry over the top of his glasses.
“Congratulations. You survived a biological weapon via assisted orgasm.”
Harry grunted. “Not exactly how I imagined going out in the field.”
“You were going out in more ways than one,” Merlin muttered, scrolling through the readings. “The compound’s flushed. But I’ll keep you under observation until morning just in case. Any dizziness?”
“Just the emotional kind.”
Merlin didn’t look up. “You’ll live.”
Harry rubbed his wrist, eyes scanning the room like he might find you lingering in a corner.
“She left?” he asked, voice low.
Merlin nodded. “Said she was getting food.”
Harry’s jaw twitched. “Right.”
“She’ll come back,” Merlin said after a pause. “Eventually.”
Harry didn’t answer.
He reached for the edge of the bed and sat there, towel across his lap, looking like a man who had been disassembled and reassembled with one piece missing.
Merlin looked at him for a long moment.
“You meant it,” he said quietly.
Harry glanced up.
“What you said,” Merlin added. “To her. That wasn’t just the poison talking.”
Harry exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes distant.
“No,” he said. “That was me.”
Merlin nodded once, sharp and silent. Then went back to his tablet.
“She still thinks it was the pheromones,” Harry muttered, half to himself.
Merlin didn’t respond.
He didn’t have to.
Because they both knew: the poison was gone.
But Harry Hart’s trouble was just beginning.
You returned exactly thirty-two minutes later, plastic bags rustling in your fists, the scent of questionable vending machine cuisine wafting down the hall before you even kicked the door open.
You didn’t knock. You didn’t greet them.
You just stormed in, threw a wrapped sandwich at Merlin’s lap with surgical accuracy, and chucked a bag of chips at Harry’s chest with absolutely no grace.
“Eat,” you snapped. “Not because I care if you starve, but because I’m not carrying either of you if you faint from low blood sugar.”
Merlin caught the sandwich without comment, already chewing on a quiet sigh. Harry, half-dressed and now sitting at the edge of the bed in a clean shirt, blinked at the chips like you’d thrown him a grenade.
You flopped into the worn hotel chair, legs splayed, expression thunderous, and muttered, “In case anyone forgot, we didn’t actually finish the bloody mission. All because Sir Orgasm decided to deep-throat a chemical bomb like a horny teenager licking a rave flyer.”
Harry, who had just opened the bag of chips and begun inspecting it like it contained diplomatic secrets, calmly retrieved a crisp and flicked it at you with expert flicking precision.
It bounced off your forehead with the dainty pap of disrespect.
You stared at him.
Then, without breaking eye contact, you reached into your own bag, grabbed the smallest bottle of soda, and lobbed it straight at his head.
Harry barely ducked. It smacked the pillow behind him with a soft thud and rolled to the floor.
Merlin, sandwich halfway to his mouth, didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look up.
“I see things have returned to normal,” he said dryly.
You leaned back in the chair with a dramatic sigh. “Please. A wank doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to fall in love with Harry bloody Hart.”
Harry gave you a sardonic glance. “Shame. I was beginning to think you’d finally developed some taste.”
You snorted. “If I wanted someone pompous, emotionally constipated, and constantly overdressed for every situation, I’d date a coat rack.”
Harry popped a chip into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “At least a coat rack doesn’t snore like a chainsaw drowning in gin.”
Merlin exhaled very slowly through his nose. “You two have been in love with each other since that incident in Marrakesh and I will not pretend otherwise.”
You and Harry both snapped in unison:
“I hate him—”
“I can’t stand her—”
There was a beat of silence.
Merlin took another bite of his sandwich and said blandly, “Mm-hm.”
Harry tossed another chip at you. You caught it this time. Ate it out of spite.
But your eyes lingered just a second too long on the bruise blooming at the base of his throat, where you’d kissed him before he came.
And Harry?
He was watching your mouth again. Like he’d already memorized it.
hiii!!! could you write something for harry hart?? you are amazing!!! ty!!♥️🫵🏻
Title: Lust Protocol: Activated
Summary: When Harry Hart walks into a biochemical trap, it’s lust or death—literally. Gawain is the only antidote, and she’s not happy about it.
Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Hand Jobs, Smut
First and Second part here
Also read on Ao3
You stared at Merlin like he’d just told you to throw yourself into a burning building.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” you said flatly.
Merlin didn’t blink. He stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, face drawn tight in the dim glow of the hotel lamp. “You’re the only viable option, Gawain.”
You scoffed. “Viable? He’s dying from lust poisoning, and I’m the only viable option in a hotel full of strangers and desperate tourists?”
Merlin adjusted his glasses. “It’s a highly specific compound—designed to fixate on emotional stimuli. The person who administered it must’ve been targeting a specific neural response. Which means it’s tied to someone he already has a complicated emotional attachment to.”
You turned slowly. “Complicated.”
“Explosive,” Merlin added with a note of amusement. “Borderline homicidal.”
You barked a laugh. “You think I arouse Harry Hart?”
On the bed, Harry let out a strangled, guttural groan, his back arching like he’d been struck by lightning. Sweat dampened the collar of his shirt, his brown hair clinging to his forehead, and his skin was flushed a deep crimson. His hands strained against the restraint you’d tied to the headboard—a belt you’d yanked from his own waist in irritation when he’d started humping the bloody minibar.
“I swear to God,” Harry rasped through gritted teeth, “if either of you don’t do something soon, I will crawl out of this bed and fuck the lamp.”
You looked at him, then back at Merlin. “That doesn’t sound very fixated on me.”
Merlin shrugged. “His hormones are overriding rational targeting. That won’t last. But if the arousal isn’t resolved in the next hour, he’ll die of cardiac arrest.”
You glanced at your watch. “Forty-five minutes left. Fantastic.”
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with him, Gawain,” Merlin said, sounding almost amused. “Just do what needs to be done.”
“This is all his fault,” you hissed.
You turned away from Merlin and glared at the bed like it had personally offended you.
“We came here for one thing. One simple thing, Merlin. Steal the pen drive. That’s it. In and out. But no—Sir Harry Bloody Hart had to stroll straight into a fucking pheromone mine disguised as a perfume tester. And now he’s hard, pink, and dying.”
Harry groaned again—long, low, obscene. His head lolled back against the pillow, and he was panting like a goddamn dog in heat. The sight would’ve been comical if it weren’t so… well, okay, it was still a little comical.
“He’s seizing, Gawain.”
“He’s humping the air, Merlin. I don’t think he’s that far gone.”
Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “The pink smoke was a targeted biochemical trap. I’ve told you this. It bypasses generic sexual attraction and zeroes in on emotional volatility.”
You snorted. “And it picked me?”
“You’re the one he screams at most often. You once broke a vase over his head.”
“It wasn’t his head. It was next to his head. And he ducked.” You folded your arms tightly across your chest. “Also, he called me a feral dog with no table manners.”
“And you called him a human teacup chihuahua with a superiority complex.”
“That’s accurate.”
On the bed, Harry whimpered like a dying animal. His hips lifted off the mattress again, chasing friction that didn’t exist. You watched, mildly entertained, until his head thrashed to the side and his voice croaked, “Please. I’m begging you—either help me or kill me. I can’t—fuck—I can’t think. It hurts.”
Good. He deserved this.
Still… it was a little… pitiful. He looked wrecked. Red-faced, eyes blown wide, fingers clenched now that the belt was binding his wrists too tightly for escape. His tie was hanging off the side of the bed, and his expensive Oxford shoes were still on.
The bastard was being sexually devoured by a chemical weapon and still wearing brogues.
Merlin sighed. “You need to put aside whatever petty feud you’ve been cultivating. If you don’t relieve him—he dies. It’s as simple as that.”
“I am not sleeping with him.”
“You don’t have to,” Merlin said. “Just… give him a handjob.”
You choked. “Excuse me?”
Merlin, exasperated now, pushed up his glasses. “Manual stimulation. Nothing elaborate. From the data I’ve gathered—yes, I’ve gathered data—orgasm will release enough neural endorphins to stabilize his heart rate and end the feedback loop.”
You stared at him.
Then turned slowly. “Then why don’t you do it?”
“I would,” Merlin said without hesitation, “but the compound requires a heterosexual pairing. Something about sex-differentiated pheromonal compatibility and the target’s hormone cycle. It’s very technical.”
You squinted at him. “That sounds like a lie.”
“I assure you, it’s not.”
“It definitely is.”
Harry interrupted you mid-glare, his voice a cracked, desperate rasp that cut clean through the tension in the room.
“Please—Gawain. You. I need you.”
You froze.
Your spine went ramrod straight. Slowly, you turned your head toward the bed, half-expecting him to have passed out or started frothing at the mouth.
But no.
He was staring at you.
Really staring. Through the sweat and the trembling, through the wreckage of his pride and the heat twisting his body into knots—Harry Hart was staring at you like you were the last goddamn glass of water in the Sahara.
You blinked. “What did you just say?”
His breath hitched, his hips jerking against the mattress in an involuntary motion that made your stomach twist in a way you refused to name.
“I said you,” he panted. “Not Merlin. Not anyone else. You, Gawain.”
You bristled immediately, every instinct sharpening. “You’re not in your right mind, Harry. That’s the whole point of this mess, remember? You’ve been poisoned by sex perfume and now you’re hallucinating your way through every unresolved emotional impulse. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Harry groaned, low and wrecked, but his voice held steady when he snapped back, “The hell I don’t.”
You blinked, startled.
“I’m lucid,” he gritted. “Too fucking lucid, unfortunately. Everything hurts, I’m shaking like a sodding Victorian woman at the sight of ankle, and I still want you.” His eyes, blown dark and wide, locked onto yours. “You think I chose to want the one person who can’t stand the sound of my voice?”
You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry.
Merlin, to his credit, had the grace to back away from the conversation like it was a landmine about to go off. He muttered something about running an analysis in the hallway and slipped from the room without another word.
Leaving you alone.
With Harry Hart.
And a hell of a lot of heat.
“You don’t want me,” you said, more quietly this time. Less venom. More hesitation. “You want friction. Relief. You’d fuck the minibar if it had a pulse.”
“I might’ve tried,” he bit out, “but the minibar doesn’t make me furious. Doesn’t argue with me about missions. Doesn’t punch like it was trained by MI6 and fight like it means it. Doesn’t call me a posh twat and then look so smug about it, I can’t sleep for a week.”
You blinked.
Harry went on, wrecked but steady.
“You drive me fucking insane, Gawain. You’re loud, you’re brash, you eat like a wolf, you never use proper grammar in briefings, and you’ve ruined every single tailored suit I’ve ever packed for a mission. But God help me—”
He groaned, his head tipping back, his voice fracturing. “God help me, I’ve wanted you since South Africa. You broke my nose and then kissed me on the cheek like it was a favor. I’ve never been so hard in my life.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
He met your eyes again, flushed, panting, restrained, but somehow clearer than before.
“This isn’t the poison talking. I swear to God, it isn’t. I’ve been wanting to fuck you for months, but I was too proud to say anything. And now I’m dying with a hard-on and the only person I want to come apart for is you.”
You stared.
Then—because it was easier than thinking—you barked a laugh.
“Well,” you said, voice sharp and a little too high, “that’s very romantic. Shall I add that to your eulogy? Here lies Harry Hart. Died tragically of blue balls because his arch-nemesis wouldn’t give him a handjob.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw tense. “I’d be on my knees for you if I could move.”
You froze.
Something behind your ribs twisted violently.
He wasn’t lying.
He looked like shit—drenched in sweat, red-faced, trembling—but the desperation in his voice wasn’t just hormonal. It was real. Raw. Furious in that sharp, stubborn Harry Hart way that never begged for anything unless it mattered.
Your voice dropped.
“This is going to ruin everything.”
Harry let out a strangled breath. “Everything’s already ruined.”
He was right.
You took a step forward.
He gasped when you reached the bed, his breath hitching as you leaned over him, your face inches from his, eyes sharp.
“One word from you,” you said coldly, “about this tomorrow, and I will throw you out a window.”
Harry’s lips twitched, the ghost of a grin breaking through the agony. “Only if you kiss me first.”
You didn’t answer him.
You didn’t kiss him either.
Instead, you reached down, your fingers moving to the waistband of his trousers, unfastening the button with a sharp, practiced flick. Harry let out a gasp—half relief, half sheer, ragged anticipation—as the zipper slid down, the fabric parting beneath your knuckles.
The belt around his wrists creaked.
Not from the looseness of the knot—but because he pulled against it. Hard. As though restraint was the only thing standing between you and devastation.
The moment his cock sprang free, you went still.
Your breath caught. Your spine straightened.
“Fucking hell,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
He was… gorgeous. Not absurdly massive. Not some pornographic monster. But thick. Veined. Heavy. A flushed, purple crown glistening at the tip, slick with pre-come, twitching with need. The base of him was framed with neatly trimmed curls, dark against the pale, sweat-slick skin of his lower abdomen. His thighs trembled with tension, and his cock curved slightly upward with a quiet, devastating arrogance.
It fit him—of course it did. Elegant. Dangerous. Overwrought with control and begging to be ruined.
You swallowed hard.
And looked away.
“Do you want me to untie you?” you asked quietly, not meeting his eyes.
Harry’s breath caught—painfully, audibly—like even the thought of it struck a nerve. His voice, when it came, was rough silk.
“No.”
You blinked.
“I don’t trust myself,” he said, his jaw tight. “If I touch you, I might not stop.”
You finally looked at him.
His brown eyes were wide—glass-sharp, wrecked, pleading—but beneath all the sweat and the fury, you saw it: fear. Restraint. Real, trembling restraint from a man who’d been tortured with arousal for nearly an hour and was still afraid of hurting you.
You nodded once. Tightly.
And then looked back at his cock.
It twitched.
Jesus.
You reached out, almost cautiously, wrapping your fingers around the base—testing the weight, the heat, the sheer pulse of him. Harry groaned, his back arching off the bed like he’d been electrocuted.
“Oh—fuck,” he hissed, voice splintering as you tightened your grip slightly.
He was hot in your hand. Velvet over steel. Your palm barely closed around him and still, it felt obscene—intimate in a way that went deeper than you'd expected. Like you'd reached into the very center of him and yanked out something raw.
“Please,” Harry whispered, head thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Touch me again. I’m begging you.”
Your thumb dragged up the underside, teasing the sensitive ridge beneath the head, and he shuddered. His hips jerked up helplessly, straining toward your fist, toward you, but the belt kept him pinned—wrists taut, shoulders tense, muscle pulling tight under the white cotton of his shirt.
“Good Lord,” you murmured, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant awe. “You’re going to break the damn headboard.”
Harry groaned low, teeth gritted as your fist stroked him again—slow, deliberate, unforgiving. His hips bucked involuntarily, the belt biting into his wrists with each desperate jerk, and yet he didn’t plead for release.
He only begged for one thing.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please, just… kiss me.”
You paused.
Your hand tightened instinctively around his cock, dragging a tortured moan from his throat—but your face remained close to his, your expression unreadable.
“Kiss you?” you murmured, the words dripping with mock innocence. “Is that what you’re dreaming of right now, Galahad? A kiss?”
Harry’s eyes were glassy, wide with arousal and something else—something older. Raw. Reverent. He nodded once, barely.
“I’ve dreamed about it,” he admitted, his voice fraying around the edges. “Fuck, I’ve wanted it. More than anything.”
You tilted your head, leaning just a little closer—your breath brushing his, but not touching.
“Is that so?” you whispered. “Tell me.”
He blinked, panting, his pulse thudding at his throat.
“Tell you what?” he asked hoarsely.
You smiled. Not kind.
“What else you’ve dreamed of.”
The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long.
And then—
“I dreamed of your mouth,” he said, voice low, guttural. “Soft. Hot. Filthy. I dreamed of kissing you until you bit me, until you shoved me back and told me I was yours.”
Your breath caught.
Harry wasn’t finished.
“I dreamed of you straddling my lap in the briefing room, your hand over my tie, yanking it down while you rode me like you didn’t give a fuck who walked in. I dreamed of you licking into my mouth and saying my name like it meant something.”
Your chest tightened.
He licked his lips, eyes flicking between yours, his voice shaking with restraint and fury.
“I dreamed of you pinning me down. Making me beg. Using me. I dreamed of you fucking me with your hand around my throat, whispering all the things you hate about me while you came all over my cock.”
You swallowed.
“And I dreamed of this,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Your hand around me. Your voice. The heat of you. I dreamed of being this fucking ruined for you.”
You stared at him, breath ragged, your hand still unmoving on his cock. And Harry—poor Harry—looked like he was about to combust from the inside out, his brown eyes burning with the weight of months of silence, months of hunger.
You leaned in again.
So close your lips almost touched his.
But didn’t.
“Is that why you’ve been so insufferable?” you murmured. “Because you couldn’t stop dreaming about being mine?”
Harry gasped, hips bucking against your palm. “Yes,” he rasped. “Fuck, yes.”
You smirked—just barely—and began to move your hand again, this time in slow, tight strokes. Harry’s head fell back against the pillow, a broken moan catching in his throat.
“I’m not going to kiss you, Harry,” you whispered, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it.”
His hips twitched at the cruel promise.
“But you can come for me,” you said, voice thick with command. “You can show me just how desperate you are. Right here, in my hand.”
“Christ—” Harry shuddered, the muscles in his stomach contracting as your grip tightened.
“And then,” you added softly, your mouth against the shell of his ear, “maybe I’ll let you taste those lips you’ve been dreaming about.”
Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the 20 followers!
Summary: Mrs Hart drags her husband to a doctor's appointment, determined to make sure he gets the necessary checkup.
Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem!Reader
Warning: None.
In the refined world of Kingsman, where espionage and intrigue were everyday affairs, Harry Hart, known as Galahad, stood as a paragon of unwavering strength. Confronting perilous situations with a calculated and composed demeanor was his forte. However, one challenge managed to elude his methodical planning: the routine prostate exam.
On the previous day, Harry had been slated for a medical examination, yet he opted to skip it, assuming he could sidestep the minor inconvenience. He had fabricated a tale for you, his wife, a civilian untainted by the espionage realm, about having completed the requisite prostate checks. This pretense had held its ground for a while, but his innocent white lie was on the brink of catching up with him.
Merlin, the tech-savvy mastermind behind Kingsman's intricate network, possessed a knack for uncovering hidden truths and incongruities. He noticed Harry's absence from the medical roster and couldn't help but smirk. As it dawned upon him that Harry's omission must have been intentional, given his meticulous attendance at every medical exam except the prostate one, Merlin's chuckle echoed through the surveillance room. He dialed your number with a sense of duty, justified by the concern for his friend's health, even if it meant playing the role of the "traitorous" friend.
In the haven of your home, your phone signaled an incoming call, revealing Merlin's name. You picked up, greeting him with curiosity lacing your voice. Merlin's words carried his signature dry humor as he initiated the conversation. "Good morning, Mrs. Hart. I trust you're in good spirits?"
Your laughter revealed your intuition that Merlin's call held more significance than mere pleasantries. "I am, Merlin. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call today?"
Merlin's voice took on an undertone of shared secrets. "Well, I thought you might find it amusing to learn that your husband, dear old Harry, missed his routine medical appointment yesterday. The prostate exam, to be precise."
An exasperated sigh escaped you. "Why does that not surprise me? Very well, I'll take care of it."
Amusement threaded through Merlin's voice. "I was fairly confident you'd step in. I've rescheduled the appointment for this afternoon. Remember, it's all for the sake of keeping our beloved Galahad in top shape."
Rolling your eyes at Merlin's words, you acknowledged the camaraderie shared between your husband's closest friends. "Of course, Merlin. Have a wonderful day."
You hung up the phone, resolute in your determination to set things right. Stepping into the kitchen, you found Harry leisurely sipping his tea and perusing the newspaper. Oblivious to the brewing tempest, he greeted you with a smile.
"Everything alright, my love?" he inquired.
Narrowing your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement simmering beneath the surface, you retorted, "Oh, just splendid, Harry. Except for the minor detail that you conveniently 'forgot' to mention your little doctor's appointment."
Confusion knitted Harry's brows. "Doctor's appointment? What are you referring to?"
Arms crossed, your voice tinged with sarcasm, you replied, "Don't play innocent, Harry Hart. You led me to believe you'd had your routine prostate exam, and now I find out you skipped it."
From confusion to mild embarrassment, Harry's expression shifted. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah, well, you see, I was caught up in some pressing matters and..."
Raising an eyebrow, you interrupted him. "Merlin called, Harry."
Realization dawned on him, the evidence of his deception laid bare. "Ah, I see. Well, I suppose there's no point in denying it."
A blend of amusement and exasperation colored your gaze. "Honestly, Harry, you're a seasoned agent, but you can't face a routine medical exam?"
Harry sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not a matter of facing it, my dear. It's just...not the most enjoyable experience."
Sarcasm laced your response, your eyes rolling playfully. "Ah, I understand. So, staring down bullets and explosives is a walk in the park, but a prostate exam is where you draw the line?"
A small smile tugged at Harry's lips. "It's a bit more nuanced than that, Mrs. Hart."
As exasperation melted into affection, you sighed. "You're incorrigible, Harry. But you're not getting away with this."
Leaning back in his chair, a resigned expression on his face, Harry quipped, "I suppose there's no escaping it now?"
Your eyes twinkled mischievously. "Indeed, there isn't. Merlin has rescheduled the appointment for today."
With a dramatic groan, Harry surrendered, "Of course he did."
Later that same day, you took the lead, guiding your husband Harry through the grand passageways of the medical wing within the confines of Kingsman Manor. Harry followed in your wake, his demeanor reminiscent of a man walking the final steps to his own execution. Through the pristine corridors you treaded, Harry's steps were hesitant and restless, almost akin to a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Seated shoulder to shoulder in the waiting room, the air was thick with Harry's disquiet. His fingers fidgeted, his gaze darting around as though he might discover a secret escape route. The impending prostate exam cast a shadow over him, a challenge that seemed to undermine his very masculinity. You, however, found yourself bemused by your husband's predicament. It was almost unfathomable to you that a man as audacious as Harry, a true embodiment of a Kingsman agent, could be so unnerved by a simple medical procedure.
As the moments stretched on, Harry's unease seemed to amplify, his internal struggle translating into his shifting, uneasy glances. You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your amusement earning you a sidelong look from your husband—a mixture of irritation and a silent plea for sympathy.
Unable to resist your curiosity, you turned to him, your eyes alive with humor. "Harry, love, I'm genuinely curious. How does a man who faces death practically every day exhibit such apprehension about a prostate exam?"
Harry let out a sigh that was a mixture of resignation and embarrassment. Bowing slightly, his voice took on a self-deprecating tone. "Honey, I would gladly face the embrace of death a thousand times before I could bear to have a stranger stick their finger up my-"
Harry's answer was cut short when Merlin made his characteristic entrance. The man appeared in the doorway, lips curved in a smirk, accompanied by a doctor.
Harry's expression darkened instantly, his glare so sharp it could cut steel. Merlin's amusement was evident in the way he met Harry's deathly glare with an untroubled grin. Addressing you with a nod, Merlin greeted, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hart. Seems you've managed to escort our elusive Galahad to his appointment."
You couldn't suppress your amusement, responding with a knowing smile. "Indeed, Merlin. Even the boldest of men harbor their Achilles' heel."
Merlin's laughter resonated in the room, a conspiratorial wink accompanying it. "Absolutely. Well, let's not prolong our dear Galahad's anticipation any further, shall we?" Turning to you, he introduced the doctor with a flourish. "Doctor Jones, allow me to present the courageous wife of Galahad."
Doctor Jones extended a warm smile, shaking your hand with congeniality. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hart. Galahad here holds quite a reputation, but rest assured, we're here to ensure this is as comfortable an experience as possible."
Harry's discomfort seemed to intensify with the doctor's words, his unease evident in the way he stiffened. There was no escape now. As Doctor Jones led him into the examination room, Harry threw one last withering look at Merlin, who appeared to relish every moment.
The door closed behind them, leaving you and Merlin in the waiting room. You met Merlin's gaze, your lips curling into a smile. "You certainly derive immense pleasure from this, don't you?"
Merlin's chuckle reverberated, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You have no idea."
Inside the sterile confines of the examination room, Doctor Jones maintained a calm and reassuring demeanor. He guided Harry through the process, instructing him to remove your pants and lie down on the bed. Harry complied, his movements a mix of haste and eagerness to conclude the uncomfortable ordeal.
As he positioned himself on the bed, Harry's eyes fixed on the wall opposite him, his thoughts a deliberate attempt to distract himself from the situation at hand. He conjured images of vibrant butterflies, their colors and patterns occupying his mind as he willed his thoughts away from the procedure.
Doctor Jones moved efficiently, his professionalism evident as he conducted the examination. His voice remained steady as he explained each step, creating an environment of clinical detachment. Harry focused on the wall, allowing himself to be lost in the thoughts of butterflies, his discomfort an unwelcome presence that he struggled to suppress.
Finally, the procedure concluded, and Harry's relief was palpable. He practically leaped off the bed, quickly donning his clothes with a sense of urgency. His steps were purposeful as he made his way back to the waiting area, his movements somewhat hindered by the residual unease from the examination.
You and Merlin were engaged in conversation when Harry returned. Your eyes landed on your husband, a playful glint in your gaze as you observed his slightly exaggerated limp. You shook your head in amusement, your voice tinged with fond exasperation. "Harry, darling, could you possibly be any more dramatic?"
Harry straightened, a mock-indignant expression on his face. "I assure you, I'm not being dramatic at all. That doctor had fingers like sausages."
You burst into laughter at his response, your amusement infectious as you placed a hand on his arm. "Oh, Harry. Only you could turn a routine medical check-up into an epic tale of bravery against sausage fingers."
Merlin, who had been listening in, couldn't help but join in the laughter. He clapped Harry on the back with a hearty chuckle. "Well, my friend, I must say, you've faced down countless villains and thugs, but it took a doctor's fingers to truly test your mettle."
Harry rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, though a smile played on his lips. "Yes, yes, laugh all you want. But mark my words, I'll be having a word with Doctor Jones about proper finger dimensions."
The camaraderie in the room was palpable, the tension from earlier dissipated in shared laughter. You linked your arm with Harry's, a fond smile on your lips. "Come on, brave Galahad. Let's put this behind us and celebrate your victory against the mighty sausage fingers."
And so, with jest and laughter, Harry's encounter with the routine prostate exam became another tale to add to the annals of Kingsman's history—a testament to the strength that can be found not just on the battlefield, but also in facing life's more unexpected challenges.
Hey @muiitoloko, may I make a request, my friend? I've read your one-shots about Bedivere and Harry, and I absolutely loved them (as I've mentioned in our previous messages, but let me reiterate, you're an incredible writer). Now, getting to the point, could you write an angsty story with a happy ending? If you can, I would be really grateful. Thank you! xx
Author's notes: Your wish is an order! And yes, I remember all your compliments, reuri, all ten to be exact, and thank you for that, actually thank you all for the compliments, I really appreciate them.
Title: Scar
Summary: Bedivere finally sees Harry without the eyepatch, but as she gazes into his uncovered eye, she not only sees the physical scar but also glimpses his deep-seated insecurities.
Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem! reader
Warning: Angst.
The room was bathed in soft, dim light as you patiently waited for Harry on the bed. You wore a delicate nightgown, your eyes fixed on the pages of a book. Moments later, the sound of the bathroom door opening caught your attention, and you looked up to see Harry emerging, wearing his eyepatch.
Harry lay down beside you, his lips gently pressing against your cheek in a loving kiss. Your smile graced your face as you placed Harry's book on the bedside table, your fingers briefly intertwining. Holding his face, you caressed his cheek, your touch daring to almost reach the eyepatch.
But, as had become routine, Harry instinctively grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from the eyepatch. Your gaze met his, a mixture of desire and curiosity shining in your eyes. The question that had been kept inside for so long escaped your lips, soft and sincere: "When will you let me see, Harry?"
A heavy sigh escaped Harry's lips as he hesitated, his insecurities threatening to suffocate him. He couldn't bear the thought of you recoiling in horror, mirroring the reactions of others who had seen his scar. His voice trembled as he shared his fears, confessing his reluctance to reveal his vulnerability.
You listened attentively, your unwavering eyes showing your support. You gently squeezed Harry's hand, your touch pleading for him to trust you. Your voice was gentle yet resolute as you assured him, "Harry, I love you. I want to see all of you, even the parts you consider imperfect. Trust that my love for you surpasses any external flaw."
Harry's hesitation persisted, his desire to protect himself conflicting with his longing for intimacy. He tried to pull away, retreating into the shadows where his fears could be contained. But you refused to let him go, your grip on him firm and unwavering.
A tear trickled down Harry's cheek, his emotions threatening to overpower him. He couldn't comprehend why you would want to see the scar that had haunted him for years. In a vulnerable whisper, he questioned, "Do you think I'm repulsive, Bedivere? Is that what you'll see when I remove this eyepatch?"
Your touch softened, your fingers caressing his face, wiping away his tears. Your eyes met his, your voice full of conviction as you denied his self-deprecating words. "No, Harry. You're not repulsive. You are beautiful, inside and out. The scar doesn't define you. It's just a part of your journey, a reminder of the strength you possess."
Harry tried to scoff at your words, his gaze averted. He questioned the sincerity of your declaration, bitterness tainting his voice. But you were determined to make him see, to make him believe. You gently guided his face back to yours, ensuring your eyes met once more.
Your voice held unwavering certainty as you repeated your affirmation. "You are good, Harry. With or without the scar, you are worthy of love and adoration. And I love you, scar and all."
Harry's grip on your hands tightened, his voice a mere whisper as he made a plea, "Promise me, Bedivere. Promise me that you will still see me the same way, even when the eyepatch is gone."
Bedivere promised, accepting Harry as he was, scar and all. And so, with your unwavering support echoing in his heart, Harry gathered the courage to finally remove the eyepatch. He sat in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to gently remove the eyepatch that had concealed his scar.
You watched him with tender eyes, your heart pounding with anticipation. You knew this was a pivotal moment for Harry, one that could deepen your connection or reinforce his fears. You tried to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to pressure him.
Harry's eye, once covered by the eyepatch, was now exposed to the dim room light. The scar tissue was evident, a reminder of the pain he had endured in the past. He kept his focus on you, studying your face intensely for any sign of your true feelings.
When your eyes met, your expression softened with empathy and unwavering love. But as you looked into his missing eye, you shrugged slightly.
Before you could say anything, Harry quickly turned away, his emotions building within him. He didn't want to face the possibility of his fears becoming reality – that you found his appearance repulsive.
You called out to him, your voice filled with concern, "Harry, please, wait!"
But Harry was already running down the hallway and down the stairs, desperate to find some solace. He locked himself in the bathroom on the ground floor, feeling a mix of anger and self-loathing. He couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him as anything other than the strong and capable person he tried to be.
The bathroom door closed with a resounding click, and Harry found himself alone, staring at his reflection in the sink's mirror. His heart hammered in his chest, his hands trembling as he brought them to his face. His eye socket, once hidden by the eyepatch, stared back at him, a raw reminder of the past.
Tears welled up in Harry's remaining eye as he gazed at the scarred landscape before him. The sight sent a wave of self-disgust through his veins, his own reflection amplifying the insecurities that had plagued him for so long. He couldn't bear the idea of you witnessing this grotesque sight, of seeing his expression marked by revulsion or pity.
A choked sob escaped Harry's lips, and he quickly covered his mouth with his trembling hand, trying to muffle the sound. He leaned against the sink, the weight of his emotions threatening to crush him. In that moment, he felt utterly alone, consumed by his self-perception of ugliness.
A gentle knock on the bathroom door interrupted his despair, and Bedivere's voice, filled with concern, called out to him. "Harry, please, let me in. Let me hold you."
But Harry couldn't face you, confront the possibility of your rejection. His voice faltered as he choked out a response, his words mixed with anguish. "I can't, Bedivere. I can't bear to see the disappointment in your eyes."
Bedivere's voice held an unwavering determination as she pleaded with him, "Harry, I love you. Every part of you. Please let me be there for you."
Harry's resolve faltered, his desire for comfort battling his fear of rejection. Finally, he unlocked the bathroom door, his hand shaking as he turned the knob. Bedivere stood before him, his eyes full of compassion and unwavering love. You held out your arms, your embrace a beacon of comfort amid his turmoil.
With a mixture of anxiety and longing, Harry took a step forward, surrendering himself into your arms. You held him close, your touch grounding him in the warmth of your love. Harry's tears flowed freely, his body shaken by sobs as he clung to you, his anguish pouring out in waves.
You tenderly stroked his hair, whispering comforting words. Your voice was a balm to his wounded soul as you reassured him, "Harry, you are not defined by your scars. You are defined by your courage, kindness, and the love you bring to the world. You are beautiful to me, inside and out."
Harry buried his face in the curve of your neck, his tears moistening your skin. He whispered amidst sobs, "But Bedivere, when you saw me, you flinched. I couldn't bear it."
Your touch softened, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. You lifted his face, your eyes meeting his with unwavering devotion. "Harry, I flinched not because of what I saw, but because I felt your pain. I flinched because I realized how much you've been carrying alone. But that doesn't change how I feel about you. You are still the person I love, and I'm here to support you through it all."
Harry's grip on you tightened, his body trembling against yours. In that vulnerable moment, he allowed himself to be enveloped by your love, to shed the self-imposed burden of shame. Your presence became his sanctuary, a place where he could begin to heal, to see himself through your eyes and find beauty in the scars that marked his journey.
As you stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Harry felt a glimmer of hope ignite within him. With you by his side, he knew he could face the world, unmasked and unafraid. Together, you would rewrite the narrative of his scars, transforming them from symbols of pain into testaments of resilience and love.
In that quiet moment, as your hearts beat in sync, Harry realized that the true strength lay not in hiding his imperfections, but in embracing them. You had shown him that love was not contingent on physical appearance, but on the depth of their connection and the beauty of their shared journey.
With renewed determination, Harry released his grip on you and took a step back. He gazed at you with gratitude and a newfound sense of self-acceptance. His voice, though still tinged with vulnerability, carried a spark of newfound confidence as he said, "Thank you, Bedivere. Thank you for seeing me, scars and all. I'm ready to face the world, knowing that your love will always guide me."
You smiled, your eyes shining with pride. You intertwined your fingers with his, your touch a reminder of your unwavering bond. "You don't have to face the world alone, Harry. We'll navigate this journey together, supporting and uplifting each other every step of the way. I love you, scars and all, and I'm here to stay."
As you left the bathroom, hand in hand, a newfound strength enveloped you both. Harry were ready to face the world as a team, embracing your vulnerabilities and turning them into sources of strength. In each other's love, you had found the courage to rewrite your own story, one that celebrated resilience, acceptance, and the transformative power of love.
Warnings: Post-Kingsman: The Golden Circle, insecurities, Harry's scar, Kingsman canon violence mentioned, possibly depression hinted to, hurt/comfort?, affirmations, this man needs love, nicknames, description of his scar, scars, mention of injuries, italics, slight angst, and fluff
It was a quiet Friday night as you sat on your bed, a book in your hand. Jane Austen's "Pride And Prejudice." There was the soft sound of rain falling, pitter-pattering against the roof and trailing down the windows. It was soft and peaceful, you always loved the rain; it was one of your favorite sounds. Sometimes you liked to just stand in it, letting the cold chill of the rain fall upon you, wetting your hair and lashes. You used to do it a lot as a child, playing in the puddles and laughing in the rain until it thundered. You missed those days.
From downstairs, you heard the front door open and close. Harry was home. A smile graced your face as you continued to read, hearing his tired feet climbing the stairs and soon enough, the bedroom door opened. Mr. Pickle Jr. jumped up from your legs, tail wagging furiously as he leaped from the bed and ran to his feet. Harry smiled softly, reaching down to brush his fingers through the puppy's fur before he moved to the closet.
The night went like clockwork. You read whilst Harry got ready for the night, undressing and redressing in his pajamas before he headed to the bathroom to finish up. Every night followed the same pattern. As the bathroom door shut, you continued your reading, but as a few minutes went by, and then ten, you looked up from the pages. You looked at the bathroom door, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern. Harry was taking an unusually long time in there.
Sitting up further, you placed your book on your nightstand, before slipping out of the bed, your feet landing on the soft carpet below. Walking over, you hesitantly knocked on the door, calling out, “Harry?” Silence. You frowned, before opening the door. There, Harry stood, hands pressed against the sink, hunched over, staring down at the white porcelain. There was a hardened expression on his face, a look that you had come to know well and recognize.
Without a word, you stepped closer, reaching for his hand. The contact seemed to break whatever trance he was in, his body stiffening before his gaze met yours. There was a quiet sadness in his eyes, but there was also something else - a longing, a vulnerability that he wasn't used to showing. You raised his hand up, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. One after the other, your lips soft and tender. His hand, once cold and tense, relaxed in your touch, and you could feel the relief in the way his fingers lightly curled against your skin. The tips of them brushed along your soft skin as you pressed little kisses along his palm.
You wished you could take away his pain - emotional, physical, and everything in between. But you couldn’t. All you could do was be there, offer comfort, ease his burden, and love him in every way you knew how. And if it meant helping him forget, even for just a little while, you would do it a thousand times over.
Silently, you led him back to the bedroom, your hand in his as you pulled the covers back, urging him to get into bed. He did so without protest, his movements slow, almost hesitant. Slipping under the blankets, you positioned yourself above him, straddling his waist, and let your hands rest gently on his abdomen. You gazed down at him, your heart swelling with the overwhelming love and care you had for him. He looked up at you, visible eye soft but wary, and you could see the battle he was waging within himself.
A small smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned down, your lips hovering just above his. Without a word, you began to kiss him. The same little kisses that you pressed against his hand, brushed along his skin. Starting at his chin, you trailed your lips to his cheek, then to the other, before caressing down his jaw, grazing his nose, and forehead, before finally brushing the corners of his lips. Harry lay still beneath you, his breath catching for a moment before he exhaled slowly.
He reached up, his hands finding purchase on your waist, fingers lightly digging into the fabric of your sleep shorts; he shut his eye. You continued your journey, pressing kiss after kiss, decorating his skin in little invisible pink tingles of your love. Slowly, you sat back up, hands slipping down his chest before resting back upon his abdomen. You bit your lip, hesitant as you reached up and slowly took hold of his glasses. You felt Harry's hands on your waist tighten, but they relaxed again as you slid them off, folded them close, and sat them on the bedside table.
You had seen his eye before. Or at least, the space where it used to be. You were no stranger to it. Where his eye used to be was a scar, the wound has long since healed, only leaving a small opening of tissue; overall, you didn't know how to explain it, but that didn't matter. He was still as beautiful as the day you met him, all those years ago. You felt a deep warmth fill your heart as you admired him. You couldn't help it. You could look at him forever if you could.
Leaning back down, you pressed another soft kiss to his chin, your lips lingering for just a moment before you whispered, "Beautiful." You moved to his cheek, kissing it gently, then to the other, each time adding the words as you went. "Gorgeous," You murmured, your lips brushing against his skin. "Handsome," You followed the path along his jawline. "Hot," You breathed against his forehead, "Pretty," You said, your lips lingering on the corner of his mouth. Then, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his eyelid, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke, "Stunning." And, finally, you pressed a gentle kiss to the scar, the scar that marked his resilience, and whispered, "Breathtaking."
When you pulled back, he chased your lips, making your smile widen as you leaned back down for one more. Pulling back again, Harry gave you a small smile, his eyes glimmering. Smiling back at him, you brought your hands up, cupping his face. Your thumbs stroked over his cheeks, brushing away stray tears that had gathered there. You brought your hands forward, tilted your head, and pressed a light kiss against his lips. "I love you, Harry." You spoke, shutting your eyes, nuzzling your nose against his as you continued, "I love all of you."
One of his hands left your waist, reaching up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing along your skin. And with a swift movement, he flipped you both over, pinning you beneath him on the mattress. You let out a surprised giggle, your heart racing as his nose brushed against yours, mirroring the tender gesture you had shown him.
"I love all of you, too, darling," He whispered, his voice low and full of admiration for you, and only you. Slowly, his lips met yours - his silent thank you - and you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers slipping into the soft strands of his hair. His kisses always left you breathless, making you crave more.
As he pulled away, his body shifted, laying upon you but careful not to put his full weight on you. His face nestled into the warmth of your neck, his arms wrapping around you. You sighed contentedly, running your fingers through his hair; your nails lightly grazing his scalp. It didn't take long until Harry's breathing softened and he fell asleep, and you were close behind him. Your eyes began to flutter, a silent yawn escaping you, the rain outside lulling you to sleep. As you drifted into dreamland, your hand still buried in his hair, you heard the faintest of paws hitting the ground before Mr. Pickle Jr. hopped back up on the bed, curling up at your side.
Hi! I was wondering if you take requests and if so, could you please do a harry hart hc! it could be anything at all from smut to fluff and anything inbetween! tysm
Author's Notes: Yes, I am accepting requests! Thank you very much for your order. I already had a headcanon of Harry in my drafts, but in writing I focused only on Harry Hart without including an original character or reader element. So I hope this satisfies your request. Thanks again for ordering!
Please let me know if there's anything specific you'd like to know about Harry Hart or if you have any other requests. I'm here to help you!
- Harry's life outside the spy agency revolves around his love for butterflies. He spends his free time as a lepidopterist, studying and collecting butterflies. His house is adorned with paintings of butterflies, and he has an extensive collection of stuffed butterflies displayed on his walls.
- Harry has a dedicated notebook where he sketches and draws intricate butterfly illustrations. He finds solace in the delicate beauty of these creatures and loses himself in the art of capturing their essence on paper. It's a private and therapeutic hobby that allows him to unwind from the demands of his spy life.
- In terms of his sex life, Harry is no stranger to one-night stands. His dangerous career and the commitment it demands make it difficult for him to maintain long-term relationships. However, he is a skilled lover who knows how to please a woman, adapting his approach based on his partner's preferences or his own mood at the time.
- While Harry can be rough and dominant in the bedroom, he is also capable of showing tenderness and kindness to his partners. He is perceptive and attentive, always attuned to their desires and needs. He enjoys exploring different dynamics and role-playing scenarios, creating a thrilling and fulfilling experience for both parties involved.
- Harry's encounters are discreet and carefully chosen, ensuring the safety of both himself and his partner. He values privacy and understands the importance of maintaining secrecy in his line of work. His rendezvous are passionate, but he never lets emotions get too involved, keeping a firm boundary between his personal and professional life.
- Despite his casual approach to relationships, there are times when Harry yearns for something more. He craves a deeper connection and companionship, but the nature of his work makes it challenging to pursue a traditional romance. He often finds solace in the arms of his partners, appreciating the fleeting moments of intimacy they share.
- Harry's encounters sometimes serve as an escape from the high-stakes world of espionage, allowing him to let go of the weight of his responsibilities and indulge in pure physical pleasure. It provides a temporary respite from the dangers and complexities of his life as a spy.
- When it comes to his partners, Harry is selective and values intelligence, confidence, and a sense of adventure. He is drawn to strong-willed individuals who can match his wit and engage him both mentally and physically.
- Harry's love for butterflies parallels his approach to relationships – appreciating their beauty and fleeting nature. He embraces the transient moments, cherishing them for what they are, but always aware that they may flutter away in an instant.
hi! can i have some fluffy headcanons for harry hart? thanks!!!🩷🩷
Author's notes: If you want HeadCanons not just of Harry but including elements of Reader or original characters, feel free to ask! ♡♡♡
- Despite his impeccably tailored suits, Harry Hart has a secret love for fun and vibrant socks. Hidden beneath his polished exterior, his sock collection boasts an array of colorful patterns, including animal prints. It's his personal way of adding a touch of whimsy and individuality to his Kingsman attire.
- Harry is not immune to the occasional guilty pleasure. He secretly indulges his love of cheesy action movies, finding pleasure in their over-the-top explosions and improbable plotlines. It's his way of switching off and embracing the escapist entertainment these movies offer.
- Surprisingly, Harry has an insatiable appetite and can eat like a wild boar when given the chance. Behind closed doors, he enjoys indulging in hearty meals and savoring every bite. It's a delightful contrast to his refined appearance, and his fellow Kingsman find it both amusing and endearing.
- Harry's attention to detail extends beyond his spy work. He takes great pride in his ironing skills and finds it oddly therapeutic. On cozy afternoons, you can find him leisurely ironing his shirts, enjoying the rhythmic motion of the iron gliding over the fabric. It's his way of finding a sense of calm and order amidst the chaos of the world.
- Behind his stoic demeanor, Harry has a soft spot for animals. He can't resist the charm of a playful puppy or the elegance of a graceful cat. He often donates to animal shelters and secretly volunteers his time to care for and socialize with rescue animals. His love for creatures big and small is a testament to his compassionate nature.
- When Harry finds some downtime, he enjoys curling up in a cozy armchair with a good book. His taste in literature is eclectic, ranging from classic spy novels to historical biographies. With a cup of tea by his side, he immerses himself in the pages, escaping into different worlds and expanding his knowledge.
hiii! can you post some headcanons for harry hart x reader?? thank youu🖤🖤🖤
Author Notes: Hello, thank you very much for the order! I hope these headcanons please you!
If you are a Simple Civilian:
- You and Harry have a tradition of making breakfast together on lazy Sunday mornings. Harry insists on perfecting the pancake flip, and even though there's usually a bit of batter splatter, you can't help but laugh at his determination.
- You often introduce Harry to modern films, and he's absolutely fascinated by all the special effects. He'll occasionally pause the movie to ask questions, leading to adorable debates and discussions.
- Harry loves leaving handwritten notes for you to find. Whether it's a simple "Have a great day" or a heartfelt message, these notes always brighten your day.
- Harry enjoyed taking you to his favorite coffee shop, where the two of you would spend hours sipping on lattes, people-watching, and engaging in deep conversations.
If you are a Kingsman Agent:
- You have joined the Kingsman agency, and training sessions with Harry are a mix of intense challenges and playful banter. The competitive spirit between the two of you only serves to strengthen your bond.
- You and Harry make an unbeatable team on missions. With impeccable coordination and nonverbal communication, you flawlessly navigate dangerous situations and emerge victorious.
- There's nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline when you and Harry have to pose as a couple on undercover missions. The playful flirting and secret touches become an essential part of the act.
- Harry introduces you to the art of wine tasting and gourmet dining. You playfully challenge each other to identify the flavors and aromas, leading to playful debates and laughter.
- After a particularly challenging mission, you and Harry would find solace on a secluded rooftop. The adrenaline rush would fade away as you held each other, knowing that your partnership was built on unwavering trust.
Bonus - Whether you were a civilian or a fellow Kingsman agent, Harry would often whisk you away for spontaneous dance lessons. The two of you would twirl around your living room, his guiding hands and warm smile making every step feel like magic.
hi! could you post some headcanons for harry? (or harry x reader! however u like) thank uuuu <3
→ Harry has a secret passion for ballroom dancing, and he occasionally attends dance classes under an alias, leaving his fellow Kingsmen unaware of his graceful moves.
→ He's a technology whiz and enjoys keeping up with the latest gadgets. His phone is loaded with various spy-themed apps, and he prides himself on being a cybersecurity aficionado.
→ Harry has an impeccable taste in suits but secretly dreams of rocking a flamboyant, sequined outfit at a glamorous Kingsman party – a side he never reveals to his colleagues.
→ He has a collection of customized umbrellas, each equipped with a unique gadget, just in case he needs to deal with unexpected situations in style.
→ He's a master at poker and often hosts secret poker nights with fellow Kingsman agents, where he may or may not let them win on purpose.
→ Harry's favorite guilty pleasure snack is a classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he enjoys in private to maintain his image.
→ Another of Harry's guilty pleasure? Binge-watching cheesy rom-coms. Eggsy and Merlin stumble upon this secret one night and decide to join him. Movie night turns into a hilarious marathon of lovey-dovey flicks.
