jingle bells!! happy holidays!!

Not all the knights are stationed in the UK all the time. Their mission scope is far too global for that. Tristan is often stationed for long periods at a time at their Japanese HQ, Victor in Russia, as they both have advantages in those countries that other agents don’t. Arthur would gladly swear on his dying breath rather than ever admit they had advantages to other Knights, though.

So it’s rapidly becoming rare that Tristan and Gawain are able to meet up in the UK HQ, since they’ve long proven themselves as competent agents that don’t need to be kept close to home. It’s rare that they meet other agents, too.

So one day, fresh out of the showers after a particularly invigorating sparring session, Tristan and Victor are idling in the training area, poking at each other’s fighting styles and any flaws they’ve noticed during the fight.

(Even though he knows his fellow agent’s real name, it doesn’t feel right to call him ‘Yuuri’. They aren’t that close.)

So absorbed with each other, they don’t notice a third individual in the room. “Both of you are fighting rather… softly with each other,” a solemn voice cuts in, “So of course that spar was a mess of mistakes.”

They turn to him in unison. Coiffed brown hair, a Rainmaker in hand, and a field-agent-issue Kingsman suit. His face seems prone to unfeeling politeness, but there are traces of emotion and good humour visible in his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. Tristan recognizes him first. “Galahad, sir,” he greets, bowing with respect that Victor’s quite sure he’s never even shown Arthur. And then the codename clicks.

“Galahad?” Victor asks, half-disbelieving, sizing up the newcomer. He’s older than both of them, visibly so. He’s also the agent with a legendary reputation for missions that require nuclear force, tightly-reined violence all hidden under a genuine gentleman’s face. “The most Kingsman to Kingsman,” Victor’s handler had described him. “Of course, he has his flaws, like being late all the time, but he’s basically the best of the best.”

Victor had watched a few of his mission recordings to see exactly what his handler had meant, and had been suitably impressed by, well, everything. “You’re Galahad?” he asks.

Galahad tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I am.” He turns to Tristan. “It’s good to see you flourishing.”

“I hope to supersede your reputation someday,” Tristan replies, the words so unlike him that Victor has to blink for a few moments. Tristan turns up to Victor and smiles wryly. “Galahad was my sponsor.”

Holy shit, he really is Galahad. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Victor says with barely-hidden excitement, memories of the mission feeds he watched resurfacing. He can’t help but step forward and hold out his hand for a handshake, gentlemanly manners be damned. “I saw the recording of your mission in Bolivia five years ago,” he finds himself saying, “How on Earth did you get out of that one with minimal injuries? I mean, I watched it, but my god.”

Galahad looks at him with amusement, and next to him, Victor can feel Tristan’s own amused gaze. “Are you two done sparring for the day?” Galahad asks.

Victor and Tristan look at each other. “Yes?” Tristan answers.

“That’s quite a shame,” Galahad says. “I find myself in need of a sparring partner at the moment. “I wouldn’t mind giving some pointers to a worthy opponent as well.”

Victor can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, even as Tristan lights up at the same time. “We have time,” he says.

They’re both beaten into the mats quite soundly multiple times by Galahad, of course, but it’s utterly worth it, to learn from his fighting style and to get pointers on developing their own.

“Your sponsor was Galahad?” Victor asks Tristan later after a mission briefing.

Tristan nods, smiling wryly at some memory.  “Apparently, he has an ongoing silent feud with Arthur on the matter of diversity in Kingsman,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “… I never served in any military corps. I was originally a dancer.”

Victor can’t help but raise his eyebrows.

Tristan forges on, looking a little nervous now. “Weird, right? But a close family friend of ours is a weapons dealer for the military. I stayed with her when I was attending university for dance, since her house was closer to my uni than my parents’ inn.”

“So you… picked up firearms as your break from dancing?” Victor guesses.

Yuuri nods. “It… helped. Strangely enough. But it helped.”

“And how did you meet Galahad?”

Yuuri smiles again, that same wry smile. “I got drunk off my ass at a formal event accompanying said family friend and ran into him in the restroom. Drunk me was able to identify exactly what guns he was concealing, and pointed out he had a little gunpowder on his sleeve. And a bullet in the folds of his suit.” He laughs a little, embarrassed. “Less than a year later, I get an offer from someone I couldn’t remember ever talking to to become a super-spy.” Yuuri cringes a little. “God, I was so drunk though.”

“Well, I’m glad you were, because it lead too you being here,” Victor says, smiling back at him.

Yuuri flushes at that, strangely enough. “What about you?” he asks.

Victor tilts his head. “I’ll tell you over dinner,” he offers.

“Dinner?” Yuuri repeats, confused.

“Yes, dinner. For the mission, remember?” Victor says.

Yuuri seems to wilt ever-so-slightly at that, but Victor knows he’s probably seeing things. “Yes, the mission.”

[more kingsman au]

I love your Kingsman AU but I wonder how the hell Victor and Yuuri got in, like, they are incapable of shooting their dogs.

Makkachin looks up at Victor, panting happily despite the gun aimed her way.

“Shoot the dog,” Merlin repeats, clipboard in hand. Half of Victor wants to reach up and shoot him instead.

But he can’t, not when he’s come this far. “I should have seen this coming,” he says, the words slipping out of his mouth completely unbidden.

Merlin says nothing, staring at him evenly.

Victor weighs the gun in his hand, the weight of what he’s about to do. The fatherly regard Nikolai treats him with and the rigors of what he’s been through.

It’s callous, but Makkachin, despite how much he loves her, had been a surprise into his life. She represents his training, a way for them to measure how he treats those that are ‘less’ than him in any way. Kingsman gave him Makkachin, and it seems that he’ll have to return her like this to become one of them.

He thinks of the many cats Nikolai allows to wander in and out of his house, his forlorn gaze at Makkachin, silence about his own dog.

Compartmentalizes for ten seconds. There is only one chance to get into Kingsman, and many poodles. If anything, he can buy another poodle with his next salary and spoil her to death in penance for what he’s about to do.

And he pulls the trigger.

-

“Shoot the dog,” Arthur says.

Yuuri relies on his knowledge of firearms to prevent him from spiraling into panic, weighing the gun in his hand. He’s… 90% sure it’s a blank. The 10% that’s uncertain screams at him about how dare he point a gun at at Vicchan, who has trusted him without question as all dogs do. Vicchan scratches behind his ear with one of his tiny paws, looking around anxiously like he can pick up on Yuuri’s ramping nerves.

Arthur smiles. It is not a kind smile. “i wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t do it,” he murmurs like a kindly old grandfather.

It makes Yuuri want to shoot him instead. “It’s easier to shoot a person,” comes out of his mouth, surprising himself.

Arthur blinks, the only tell of his surprise.

Yuuri gets up from the posh chair and steps back several feet to make sure that the air pressure won’t hurt Vicchan. He pulls the trigger.

His eyes are on Arthur the whole time. “Humans are far more capable of cruelty than animals,” Yuuri says with a steadiness he does not feel. There is only relief in his body as he points the empty gun at Arthur and goes up to gather Vicchan in his arms, already thinking about how he’s going to spoil Vicchan rotten for this.

Nothing but contempt visible in his gaze, Arthur says, “You don’t belong here, boy.”

Yuuri throws the gun down, paying no mind to Arthur’s words, as his test results speak differently. “Humans are more capable,” he continues, “So they’re more deserving of death.”

Years later, Yuuri dispassionately concusses Arthur twice and then poisons him to death. As he watches Arthur convulse, he remembers shooting Vicchan, and his words to him then. 

Maybe it was a premonition. Should’ve named me Mordred instead of Tristan. 

[more kingsman au]

jingle bells batman smells robin laid an egg (kingsman au?)

They meet to a backdrop of explosions, blasts resounding in time with their heartbeats.

“I’ve rendezvoused with Tristan!” Victor yells over the comms, oxfords hitting the ground half a beat behind the other agent’s. Tristan has been an agent for a year and a half, the most recent of the knights, but this is their first time paired together, or really interacting in any way other than brief nods through the hallway or at Round Table meetings. Victor knows him by dark, solemn eyes and hair done up with a touch of pomade, silent strides and a swing in his arms more like a dancer’s grace than a fighter’s control.

And now he knows him by savage kicks and thighs of steel that Victor’s quite sure snapped three men’s necks in the span of ten minutes. They’re in Belgium, paired together to dismantle a key point of a European human trafficking ring. Victor had waltzed in in broad daylight, present to deliver the ringleader some precious jewelry she’d bought from the underbelly of Africa. They had made polite conversation and negotiated the price of the goods, as one does. And then he took out her bodyguards, made her swallow a gem (that was actually a cleverly disguised grenade), poisoned the rest of her family, and threw himself out a window instead of waltzing back out because Tristan’s presence meant that Victor was to make himself absent as soon as fucking possible.

After all, Tristan’s frequent missions were honeypots, political negotiations, assassinations and… large-scale property destruction.

“Extraction coming in ten,” his handler says. “There are some remnants of the security converging on you and Tristan  — incoming in two!” 

Tristan ahead yells something, but the words are lost in the gunfire that bursts from around the corner. Victor pivots on his heel and throws himself at a low wall, scaling it in one breath. His glasses change to show the positions of the enemies below him, fifteen men in all moving about, but Tristan’s marker is unmoving. 

Victor panics for .3 seconds before a voice hisses, “I’m right here, Gawain.”  Victor looks to the side to see one scuffed-up Asian man crawling up the wall next to him, Tristan missing his glasses and suit jacket and a vaguely irritable expression on his face. “I had to throw them as dummies.” 

His handler sighs through the comms. “Tell Tristan that he better hope that the glasses aren’t destroyed-” A distant crunch has them sighing again. “Those are coming out of his paycheck.”

Something must show on Victor’s face, because Tristan clicks his tongue and scoots closer. They’re lying side-by-side on the wall now, their opponents yelling about below. Unfortunately, while the wall is thick enough to hold both of them, it’s thin enough that if anyone looks up too long, they’ll be noticed.

“I’ll drop first, you cover me,” Victor says. 

Tristan raises an eyebrow.

“I’m the one still bulletproof.” 

Tristan nods, withdrawing a gun from his holster, and Victor primes his signet ring before diving down in the midst of five. His fist makes contact with the nearest man, Victor shocking him with the ring and using him as a shield as the rest open fire. 

Four shots resound above him, and all four of them drop down. 

Victor unfortunately has no time to admire Tristan’s marksmanship, clicking his heels to trigger the poisoned blade in his oxfords. He jams it into the man he’d been holding, and throws the corpse aside as the rest of the guards come after him. 

He hears a single laugh, bright and wild above the gunshots. Hears a neck snapping, Tristan having twisted around a man’s head as he dropped down from the wall. Finds himself grinning, whirling next to Tristan and knifing someone in the throat as Tristan stabilizes his arm over Victor’s shoulder and shoots twice more.

By the time they reach the extraction point, they’re both quite roughed-up. Tristan’s hair falling in his face, suit jacket and crushed glasses held in hand. Victor’s own hair is certainly a mess, and there’s dirt and blood on his clothes. 

Their driver doesn’t bat an eyelash as they clamber in. “You’re much more sneaky than I am,” Victor says, “I wasn’t aware of you getting next to me until you were there!” 

Tristan laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. His brown eyes are warm and welcoming, especially with the blood flecking the side of his face. “You flatter me, Gawain,” he demurs. 

Victor snorts. “I’m glad we were partnered together. You’re quite formidable.” 

Tristan goes slightly pink at that, strangely enough. “It was good to work with you,” he replies. “Merlin was unsure of sending us out together since we’re the newest agents…”

“It all turned out well, though,” Victor grins, and looks Tristan up and down. “By the way, we absolutely must spar sometime. The way you fight is enthralling.”

Tristan goes even more pink.  “Now you’re definitely flattering me, Gawain,” he protests. 

“Victor,” his own name falls from his lips without bidding, and his handler immediately utters a swear over the comms and goes off about how they shouldn’t be relaxed when they’re not even on base yet. He ignores her, and holds out a hand to Tristan. “I look forward to working with you more in the future.”

Tristan hesitates, and Victor feels his smile dim, but then a calloused hand takes his. “Yuuri,” Tristan says, looking down even as he shakes Victor’s hand. “I look forward to sparring with you sometime, Gawain.”  

“You are never going on another mission together again if this is how fast you start making cow-eyes at him.” Victor’s handler threatens.

Victor just ignores them even harder. “So what’s your favorite tool in the armory?” he begins.

[more kingsman au]

(send me an ask with ‘jingle bells’ and I’ll write you a ficlet!)

kingsman au with yurio's terrible horrible no good very bad crush on his mentor's crush thanq u based wrath for saving my crops :3c

1) Here’s the weird thing. You would think that of all people to end up thinking about as Yuri settles down to sleep, it would Victor, who had saved him from a sticky situation and then proposed him to this… initiation test for a secret spy agency. But no, it’s not Victor that’s on his mind, it’s fucking Tristan. 

Tristan, who caught him robbing his house. Tristan, who threw him out a bloody window. Tristan, who somehow looked filthy good leaning over his balcony waving at Yuri as he fell into the bushes below, softly back-lit by his bedroom lights. 

He fidgets on his bed, unable to rest, too wired from the day’s events. Thoughts of the beating he had narrowly escaped, Dmitry holding a cleaver to his face, Victor saving him from the police station, Tristan beating Dmitry’s thugs effortlessly all whirl around his head. 

Last night he’d broken into Tristan’s house in Stanhope’s Mews and gotten arrested by the police, and tonight he was sleeping in Kingsman’s recruit barracks….

and being submerged with water. 

Yuri jolts up in alarm, screeching at the rest to wake the fuck up, because the room was flooding. 

2) Here’s another weird thing: Victor was clearly over the moon for Tristan, but not once had Yuri ever heard him use the agent’s actual name. Did he just… not know it? (Part of Yuri thinks that Tristan might actually be the guy’s name, but he wouldn’t bet on it) There was that incident in the pub which Victor had called Tristan solnyshko, but that was just an endearment. 

“Does he know?” Yuri asks Victor one day while his mentor guides him through how to talk like a gentleman.

Victor pauses, looking at Yuri in confusion. “Does who know what?” he asks in return. “If you mean Merlin, yes, he knows everything.” 

Yuri rolls his eyes. “No, I meant Tristan and the fact that you’re tits over arse in love with him,” he says bluntly.

Victor blinks once, twice. “Pardon?” 

“It’s completely obvious!” Yuri exclaims. “Whenever you pass him in the corridor you give him this stupid little wave like a secondary girl mooning over a boy she wants to ask to go out with her.”

A multitude of emotions flicker over Victor’s expression, going too fast for Yuri to figure out what the man was thinking. He smiles wryly. “I do love Tristan,” he says as matter-of-factly as one would say the sky is blue. “And as for whether Tristan knows or not, well, why are you so curious?” 

Yuri crosses his arms and taps his foot. Victor gives him a stern look and he straightens his posture, stilling his feet. “Because you’re making a fool of yourself,” Yuri retorts. 

“My feelings are none of your concern,” Victor says. “Concern yourself with catching up to your fellow recruits instead. They’ve had their whole lives to learn the manners and etiquette I have to teach you, after all.” The deflection is obvious, and Yuri grumbles at it, but he lets it slide.

For some reason, the idea that his mentor’s feelings for Tristan might be unrequited makes him feel light.

3) It’s after Victor’s death, after Valentine’s mad plan and his death, afterdealing with a bunker full of rish people that had been happy to let the world burn, that Yuri collapses next to Tristan- no, Yuuri on a bed in the Kingsman jet. 

“You did well,” Yuuri murmurs, and Yuri tries not to shudder at how close Yuri’s breath was to his ear. Suddenly, he vaguely regrets not taking that Kazakh celebrity up on his offer of celebratory sex for preventing the apocalypse. 

They’re so close right now, smushed into the covers of the comfortable bed. From this angle, Yuri can count Yuuri’s long eyelashes, smell his cologne, see exactly the way the light touches Yuuri’s lips. It’s almost maddening. 

It’s also saddening, because this close, he can see the grief too, Yuuri’s walls slowly inching down as he comes down from the adrenaline high. His breathing is heavy and there’s a cut on his cheek from Gazelle’s prosthetics, weariness emitting from every pore. 

Yet, somehow some traitorous part of Yuri is glad to see him like this. During all their other interactions, Yuuri had been Tristan, an untouchable aloof agent with a sly snarking sense of humour and terrifying fighting capabilities. And then he had become Yuuri Katsuki, Victor’s fiance (and thus even more untouchable to Yuri). Now, he’s just Yuuri, and they’ve saved the world together. 

And he’s lost the love of his life. 

Abruptly, Yuri can’t help but hate himself for the flush on his cheeks that are from proximity to the older man rather than the adrenaline of the fight they survived.  Victor is god, for heaven’s sake — Victor, who had given Yuri a chance to make himself a better person — and he feels like an utter heel for even harboring a crush on his dead mentor’s fiance in this moment. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Yuri manages to croak in return. God, he needs something to drink.

Yuuri smiles sadly, soflty. “Victor would be proud of you, Yuri,” he murmurs.

“Are you proud of me?” Yuri blurts out and then immediately wishes he could take the words back.

Yuuri blinks at him in surprise for a moment. “Of course I am,” he says, and he cracks a smile. “We just saved the world, after all!” 

Yuri smiles back. But you lost your world, he thinks mournfully. And I’ve lost my heart to you. He finds it hard to believe that his mentor would be proud of him in this moment, savior of the world or not. After all, even though he knows Yuuri is in mourning right now, his heart still beats for him