@merthurmicrofic prompt: "mpreg" (not actually mpreg) | 161 words | Merlin being a little shit
“Sire, the council would like to raise the issue of succession. We must again impress upon you the importance of securing an heir as expeditiously as possible, preferably an heir that is incontrovertibly yours by birth.”
Several of the knights glanced from Arthur to Merlin. Few at the round table were privy to the exact nature of the relationship between the King and his Court Sorcerer, but regardless, they knew to keep an eye on them both.
Merlin sighed dramatically and leaned out of Arthur’s reach to whisper to Lancelot.
“We keep trying and trying with nothing to show for it.”
Lance smothered his laughter with a fist, choking slightly before turning it into a cough.
From his other side, Gwaine smirked, whispering in Lancelot’s other ear. “Guess they’ll just have to keep trying.”
Lancelot’s face grew a deeper shade of red.
“I will… take that under advisement. Thank you.” Arthur said to the noble pointedly, kicking Merlin under the table.
@merthurmicrofic prompt: bite | bingo fills: hurt/comfort, pov non-merthur, pov third person, past tense, and humor (again) | 2,038 words (whoops)
Gwen once saw Merlin lick an apple before giving it to the Prince Regent.
She knew, of course, that he regularly stole food from Arthur’s plate before serving it; Gwen typically didn’t think anything of it. Surely Arthur would have made a fuss years ago, if it bothered him. The two of them had always had a peculiar and certainly unconventional working relationship. Others may describe it differently— Gwaine in particular seemed to revel in having some choice adjectives close at hand— but Gwen had long ago decided that it wasn’t any of her business, as long as no one was getting hurt.
But when Merlin licked the apple, Gwen raised an eyebrow.
“Bad form to give him an apple with a bite out of it,” Merlin said regretfully, as though that explained it.
Gwen raised her other eyebrow, but Merlin ignored her.
It was at this point that Gwen realized it may not be merely a matter of him being a perpetually hungry young man sneaking food from wherever he could, including from the mouth of his unusually permissive employer, but something more.
@merthurmicrofic prompt: sacrifice | bingo fills: festivals and gifts, magical object, different first meeting, modern au, forced proximity, and humor (again) | 656 words | AO3 link
“Absolutely not. No way. I’m not going to sacrifice my outfit so that you can finally talk to her.”
“Please, Merlin?” Gwen blinked imploringly up at him. She looked gorgeous, as always. Today, in honor of the rapidly approaching holidays, she was wearing a tasteful red and white sweater that was festive without crossing the line into garish. Unlike Merlin's own, as he very well knew.
Merlin frowned, clutching his peppermint latte closer, palms scalding satisfyingly without a paper sleeve to protect them. They had only minutes until the girl in the shimmery green dress would receive her beverage and sweep from the shop once more.
“Why can’t you just go ask her out like a normal person?” Merlin whined under his breath, trying hard not to look at the blond man who was accompanying Gwen’s crush. He was, unfortunately, exactly Merlin’s type, with an athletic build and sharp, clever eyes. He was wearing an understated oatmeal cable-knit jumper that showed off his broad shoulders in a way that definitely didn’t make Merlin’s mouth go dry.
He took a sip of his drink.
“Because I’m a coward and you don’t have a rehearsal in thirty bloody minutes, so you have time to go change. Besides, you don't even like that sweater. Enchant the cup.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Merlin muttered the spell under his breath, wondering halfheartedly if he’d picked the cup he'd meant to. It would work out either way—it was either Gwen’s crush’s cup or her companion’s and frankly either way was going to lead to Merlin miserable and covered in coffee or some other horrible holiday beverage.
“You owe me.”
Gwen’s smile lit up her face and Merlin directed an exaggerated scowl her way for good measure. After a moment of thought, he sent another minor enchantment after the first; it would be a shame to stain that pretty oatmeal knit. He paused. Or the shimmery green dress of Gwen’s crush, he supposed, sending a third enchantment after the second. Fine. Ugh. Gwen owed him.
Abruptly, Merlin shoved away from the table they had been squatting at and started towards the counter. Gwen scrambled to keep pace. Holding his own drink out of harm's way, Merlin strode directly into the path of their unsuspecting targets— erm that is to say, Gwen’s one singular target and her companion, who Merlin didn't care about one way or another, obviously.
The enchantments had done all the hard work already; Merlin merely brushed against the pair (both of them, just to be on the safe side) and it was done.
The woman’s striking bright red lips parted in a dramatic gasp as her full cup upended itself over Merlin. It was shockingly hot, immediately seeping into his stupid snowman sweater and staining it brown. He had known it was coming— he had done it on purpose and he was still surprised. Gwen smashed into Merlin from behind and suddenly all four of them were toppling like festive dominoes to the cafe floor.
“Oh, god! Ow!”
“Ack!” “What the—”
“Gwen! Gedoff me!”
Merlin rolled out of the pile and assessed his own drink. A small amount had sluiced though the lid onto his arm, but it seemed to be mostly intact. Thank god.
The blond man Merlin had landed atop got to his feet, staring at Merlin like he’d never seen a snowman sweater before. Without breaking eye contact, he helped Gwen up with the ease of someone incredibly comfortable with his own physicality.
“I'm so sorry," he could hear Gwen saying from a long ways off. "Please, let me buy you a new one.”
Merlin took a sip of his peppermint latte, still sitting legs akimbo on the floor and covered in at least three, he suspected, rapidly cooling holiday drinks. The blond man raised an eyebrow and held out his hand.
So, he thought, more cheerfully than he had anticipated. That went well.
Arthur didn’t ask why Merlin was wearing a dress or why he was covered with blood. He didn’t ask how Merlin knew the words to stop the stone ceiling from collapsing on top of them or how he found them in the first place. Arthur couldn’t ask anything at all, as his brain seemed to have stalled.
But there was Merlin, wearing a delicate blue dress, blood slowly seeping into its neckline, and looking furious. The tendons in his neck stood out as he pressed his hands upwards against nothing. Dust and small stones dropped in patches, but the way out was held clear by the strength of one man.
“Go.” Merlin ordered. And who was Arthur to refuse?
Pain shot through Arthur’s knees and up into his thighs with the force of landing on the stone ground as he threw himself next to Merlin to press heavily into the ugly sanguine gash in his side. The echoes of his own voice shouting Merlin’s name still rang in Arthur’s ears, but the warning had arrived a breath too late. Merlin had been facing the wrong direction as the man swung his glaive upon him, turning in slow motion. The pivot and step Merlin managed before the blade connected were the only reason there was a chance to staunch the bleeding. Darkness wicked outwards turning Merlin’s blue shirt black and staining Arthur’s hands vermillion with glistening blood. Merlin was pale and hurting and the only thing Arthur could see. When the sudden silence pressed in from beyond the two of them, Arthur knew the battle was over, but far from done.
MERLIN ANNIVERSARY SHARE YOUR WIPS CHALLENGE (for @aemelia ❤️)
It was midday when Arthur felt confident enough to say to himself that the magical creature tailing him was Merlin.
Who else would be able to turn from a cat into a crow and then immediately run headlong into a wall, the impact leaving a comically large, dusty, bird-shaped outline on the masonry? Either he was being stalked by the shittiest magic user ever or it was his clumsiest acquaintance turned corvid.
