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kaetastic · 4 years

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Adapting

pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Agent!Reader

summary: After a mission gone awry, Agent Whiskey and Agent Brandy had no choice but to find refuge at an isolated lodging. It seemed only one of the pair seemed open to the idea of adjusting to the change of plans.

word count: 3k+

warning: nothing spicy, just fluff, angst, mention of death, mention of violence, discreet mention of sexual intercourse oop

note: when i was making this, i based this whole thing around cottagecore aesthetic, however, i want to say that there had been some things in said-community where it’s not right. so, i will not associate cottagecore with this. i honestly just wanted to write this very descriptively, then, i was unforunately hit by w****r’s b***k :( i’m sorry i haven’t been writing much, or i haven’t been that active on this platform :(( x

The creaking of decaying wooden hinges shrieked into the light air. It scraped along the canal of ears, leaving back permanent damage. The rusted flakes that coated the hinge looked like a shy amount of shredded slice of chocolate, the thin line would melt into one’s tongue within seconds. Although, the taste wouldn’t be as delightful as the sweet delicacy. The noise of soft rustling from the leaves from birds who have finally arrived back to their home from their exhausting journey danced with the orchestra of petite lambs. Their gentle ‘baa’s lingered longer in the air, the conversation extended in the warm afternoon sky. Well, it could’ve been assumed it was an argument for it went on and on. The weaving of grass padded by their fluffy feet stomped a song of approaching closing to the day.

The scent of freshly plucked out grass (consumed by the wandering animals) lingered in the air, a refreshing smell- almost comforting. There wasn’t much controlling of the weeds and the greeneries for the only two humans who had occupied the lodging had no experience with said- mowing. Whiskey had been nudged at an attempt; however, with scissors, it would’ve taken hours... or years. So, that task was left behind to be the factor for the spurting growth of grass. Even though the memory of Whiskey suggesting the idea of using his lasso to possibly cut the grass still remained in the jar, it wasn’t brought up much. Disasters then lead to a small branching river of fires, nothing the two agents couldn’t stop by scurrying with horrid-to-the-eyes stitched blankets in their arms.

The blanket of wearing-off white paint peeled away from the wooden fence, creating waves of thickness. There were random bulges and bumps, an inconvenience- more like an uncomfortable blotch of area to graze one’s fingers over. Y/N let out an exhausted huff, arms aching from the hefty wicker basket that hung in her arms. It was her underestimating the fresh fruit from the ground that caused the heavyweight of possibly two dozen ripe strawberries to only bring one basket. If she had not thought less of the weight, she would’ve either brought another basket or have dragged her other accompany. Although, he was quite occupied with his own set of chores. All the ones he had proudly chosen. Y/N couldn’t help but be amused at the thought of Whiskey leading the cattle. It would be an entertaining sight. One she had been blessed to graze her eyes upon once.

While making her way towards the petite cottage that contrasted warm tones to the walls of glowing trees, she couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh. It had been roughly a week and a half since they had found shelter in the lodging. Rough weeks for the two, although, rougher for the woman since she had been the one to have to put up with the other. Hours of Whiskey had somehow made her want to regurgitate whatever she had consumed at the thought of him and the drink.

Even though the mission was going great, the inches at the ending had not been so great. There was joy at the realization that it was going smoothly before it churned into moments of disaster. Chaos. That was the reason for their staying at the cottage. Somehow- as if it was written in prophecy, a perfectly maintained house had resided in layers of forest trees, bedded by greens and towering weeds. The only reason they even stayed there was to stay off-radar from those who were chasing the pair. They stalked nearby.

Stranded with no way of communicating the agency as there would be a chance those they were running away from would be able to pick up the signal, there was not much they could work with. It only made sense if the two agents had stood in front of the wallpaper, blended within barks. An idea that neither of the two liked. Something they had in common, other than the fact that they were both agents at the Statesman. Whiskey had been rambling on and on about having no way of communicating with Champagne or anyone at the agency. Y/N just wished he would zip his lips up or else she would have the dig through the stacks of books on the Leaning Tower of Pisa’s bookshelf.

The man had tried every possible method of initiating communication. Although the reason he told Y/N was to inform them of the intel they had received, she knew otherwise. Whiskey wanted to do nothing but flee away from the pesky bugs that crawled up his walls. Within a week and a half at the cottage, he had at least complained five times a day about the littlest things. It all piled up to his objection to staying at the ‘abandoned’ cottage, so he says. In parentheses because there was no owner- no one who roamed the property, not even a sole photo frame. However, it was peculiar since there had been animals who did not look slightly malnourished. There had been water in their pots, their grass had been at a perfect height as if gingerly trimmed and looked after, and there were no quivering traps spun by spiders. Almost as if the house was cared for, loved.

With every feathery graze of her foot against the odd shapes of the stone steps that seemed as if it had been watered down by rough bites of water, she made a step closer towards the cosy house. It was indeed comforting, almost too comforting. The wallpapers were warm yellow, brown stripes splayed in random measurements to create a soft pattern to the eyes, and the floor let out gentle cries that played a lullaby if one choreographed the notes.

Despite Whiskey facing the truth and embracing the fact that the house wrapped his chest in a fuzzy feeling that he had never felt before, the words had not clawed out of his throat. He refused to say so even though he had accepted the feeling that he would not usually feel in the puzzles of skyrocketing towers.

Digging into the soil-packed ground were heavy slabs of stone which were placed as if thrown. The steps were bubbly shapes, set apart from each other quite spaciously. An extended skip hop with a rise of land between each level. The front of the house had already been a sight, the appetizer to what rested inside the walls. Shrubs ruled over the small land, vibrant flowers peeking out of the twigs while packs of rocks splayed over the ground.

A squeaking plea from the door trickled into the tranquil air. Even though the animals that were in the fences within the properties boundaries, a slight smear of noise only made way into the house. Muffled ‘baa’s from the lambs was replied with guttural ‘moo’s from the cows. It was boisterous outside the house, now it’s just a forgotten radio player that caused chaos for people who are in search of the sound. The hallway welcomed a new path to her right, the petite kitchen that she had somehow made possibly to cook meals in.

Y/N let out a huff as she swung the basket onto the small island in the middle of the kitchen. The aching in her muscles was no different from the time she had her arms chained up in the air. Although, that’s a story for another time. Once she had slipped her way through the small space between the island and the counters, and she had managed to pull out a bowl from the ancient cabinet without having the stack tumbling down upon her, she gingerly went through the fruits individually- with care for any visible faults. That was when the time she was enjoying all by herself eradicated with a blessing of presence by none than the other, Whiskey. Whiskey and his infamous Stetson-Cowboy hat. Just when her head and mindset was in a tranquil and quiet place.

The man let out an exasperated groan, either from his time wasted on scrambling about his horrible time at the cottage or since he had been the one to put at task to chop a bundle of wood. All so they could be warm.

“You know, if you actually helped me, you would be doing much more important work.” Whiskey murmured while his eyebrows quirked towards the victorious strawberries that managed to pass the trial of being without fault. Y/N rolled her eyes at his words. Of course he would jab at the chore she had was assigned to do since it was him who decided to take upon the manly job of chopping up wood. The man had to swing an axe while she hummed a song, caressing strawberries. It was all his fault. Although, every time she confronted him about the truth, he just grunted in frustration before he stormed off.

“If I left them there, it would’ve been a waste.”

Whiskey made his way towards the small circle table that resided in the sad corner, the ragged wooden planks he had pierced through had jagged ends, splinters bulging from the surface from his frustration, “It should be enough for two days unless someone demands for more warmth.”

“It was an exceptionally cold night.”

Whiskey hummed, “Sure,” He pushes down the planks to flatten them on the surface before a cranky groan let his lips- most likely from his ageing body. “Goddamn it, these woods.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the sight of his hand resting upon his aching back. As she hurled another bright red strawberry onto the cascading pile, she inquired without glancing up, “Did you water the plants?”

“Yea, gave them plenty of water, too.” Her eyes hurled to gaze into his dark ones. His pupils had been painted with slight humour, almost as if he had been amused at what he told her. Y/N did not need any more explanation as she understood what he meant perfectly. She exhaustedly groaned, feeling the weight on her shoulders at taking care of the man as if he was a child.

“I told you not to drown the pots, you just- I’ve shown you how to do them before.” Y/N hissed out. The thought of the soil being soaked in litres of water had done more than annoy her.

Whiskey hummed, “I must’ve forgotten how to do it.”

The devil crawled onto her shoulder, the corners of its lips curled up at the tainting thoughts it had plagued her with. Anger, frustration, yet, somehow- Y/N did otherwise. She felt her energy balled up from his stubbornness, thrown out of the window, “I’ll teach you again tomorrow, just start the fire, it’s nighttime.”

Heated waves crawled up her arms in shy bites, fearing for what would be inflicted if they had blanketed her whole body in one engulf. Despite the generous percentage of warmth she had embraced all to herself from the dancing flames, she could still feel her toes shiver. The cottage would be warm during the day; however, with cracks in the walls, at night, it was bound to offer the frigid air a place to rest.

The noise of the fireplace crackling, a sound she had got used to, well, more like forced herself to get used to, trickled along her ears. Y/N would drift off to sleep, her eyes fluttering to shut while the natural music sang her a lullaby. Except, the night did not apply that same ending to the day. No, Y/N could not find an ounce of willingness to melt into the small tattered loveseat even though minutes ago, she had been shaking the whole house with her series of exhausted yawning. It was either from the stuffings of the seat that had been harder than bone, although, Y/N liked to believe that she had got used to the way disobedient stitches would pierce into her back with every shift of her muscle, or the credits for her to wander away from the path of sleep was all handed towards the presence in the living room. The same presence that would find comfort elsewhere- his designated room.

Whiskey was the one who claimed he wanted the only available room which had no fireplace, unlike the living room, saying he had gone through terrible weather conditions whilst working in missions- something he kept bragging on about, even though Y/N had been on the same list of terrible weather missions about seventy-five percent. “Nothing I can’t handle.” The man would say. That night, Whiskey couldn’t peel his eyes away from the gentle swerving of the flames. His arms were crossed, legs tensed, yet, he could feel himself drift away faster than the time he had spent in his own room. Maybe warmth wasn’t so bad after all.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Whiskey quirked up, his southern accent smeared along the heated air. It was the first thing he had resounded in the room in hopes of steering him away from the need for sleep. He knew he deserved every fraction of slumbering from the chores he had worked hard for, but he didn’t quiver under the thought of it.

“Hm?” Y/N grazed her eyes across the room to land on the man who perched himself on an uncomfortable, solid-looking armchair. The main fabric seemed to be a young teal, something Y/N had assumed ever since the day they had arrived at the cottage because no other cloth overlapped or covered said-colour. Other places were patched over with square cloths of floral designs, some atrociously hard to the eyes.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?”

The woman let out a chuckle before a shiver crawled down her spine, “They just lost one of their best agents, I’m sure they’re doing everything they can,” Y/N spotted the smug smirk growing on Whiskey’s face. Only a second of pride lingered before it flattened back to his pressed lips. “I’m not talking about you.”

Oh, she knew how to press his buttons. She knew what to say, she knew the perfect speed of the syllables that would fall off her tongue for the best reactions, and the following actions- everything. It had always bothered the man. Sure, they had gone to missions together. And sure, they had been side by side in moments where death stood in front of the door. Yet, the chemistry seemed to only spark up in situations where their adrenaline gets fired up. Y/N managed to bring his hopes up, filling his container by caressing his ego, fuelling up till the brim. Then, within milliseconds, all of it vanishes into the air. Not a speck of dust remained.

“What makes you think you’re the best agent?” The man finally squeezed out the words. He had been slightly reluctant to the thought of saying it, yet, his tolerance was only so limited. Even though he was holding back the whiplash of his tongue, he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t think it, I know it,” Finding her words amusing as it brushed on a familiar set of egoism from the man, she let out a chuckle, “I’m sure Ginger just says it to butter me up.” Another sentence rested on her lips, ready to be launched into the air when another chilling shiver spiked down her body.

Whiskey quirked his eyebrows in confusion. He pushed himself away from the chair to sit on the edge, “Do you need more blankets? I’ll go grab some more.”

“All of them are here.” His eyes brushed over the cocoon Y/N had wrapped around her body. It seemed to be a thick mess of heat, possibly suffocating her blood vessels, ready to crack her ribs. Her cheeks reddened. Although, she wasn’t sure if it was from the confession of her using all the possibly blankets offered by the house or the last reminiscent of heat she had to quench upon.

“Well, there’s no point in adding more wood, it’ll just be the same. We’ve already shut every window, you’ll have to bear with it. Unless…” Y/N pulled away from the brim of the blankets where some had poked out to cover her lips, her eyes meeting his in hope. In hope of getting away from the annoying coldness.

“Unless?”

Whiskey glanced at the fireplace before suggesting the thought while his eyes gazed into hers, “Unless we make use of our body warmth.”

Maybe he should’ve said the words better, he could’ve rephrased the suggestion in a more… approachable setting. Or maybe, it was Y/N’s head that was stuffed in the gut, because his idea had not been comprehended the way he thought of it, “Whoa! I’m not sleeping with you.”

The man could feel his eyes roll at her words, “I’m not saying I wanted to sleep with you, I’m a gentleman- I wouldn’t ask so straightforward.”

“That definitely makes it better.”

Having enough of her opposing to his only possibly good idea, he hovered over her resting body, “Move, I’ll sit at the edge.”

“Such a gentleman.” There weren’t any other suggestions they could take. They had done everything so Y/N wouldn’t feel cold during the night. She had no choice. She had to comply with the much more friendly idea, compared to that of diving straight into the fireplace, if she didn’t want to be shivering all night.

Slightly reluctant to the thought of slumbering the night away on a cramped loveseat, Y/N shifted away to press her back against the backrest. Whiskey nudged his shoe down before slithering himself into the cocoon. The first thing that came to Y/N’s mind was the extremely close distance between the two, while Whiskey inquired himself to how she had not fainted at such a temperature, especially with the addition of the fireplace.

“Okay, get some sleep, a day’s waitin’ for us.” No rules had been hung upon the board, no restrictions, yet, during the night, unconscious two pairs of arms slithered to snuggle the other.

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musings-of-a-rose · 3 years

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Christmas Writing Prompt 2021

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x f!reader

Word Count: 389

Warnings: Whiskey flirting

Prompt: Christmas Lights // “The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball”

Notes: I promise you that I actually drew Whiskey’s name for this prompt and didn’t just pick him. What are the ODDS?

I’ve never done a writing challenge before, being so new to writing in general, so I thought this would be fun! Thanks to @marvelousmermaid for sharing the list with me and @toomanystoriessolittletime for creating the list!

I used a random name picker with character names I put in, otherwise I know I would write every single one for Frankie.

My personal challenge for this is to write for people other than Frankie AND to keep it short!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Steph’s Christmas Writing Challenge December 2021 Masterlist

You can’t believe you let your friend talk you into this. She had pleaded with you, begged you to come to her workplace themed holiday party, not so covertly named “The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball”. So now here you stand in country western attire, borrowed boots and clothes, looking out at a crowd of people you know nothing about. You weren’t even sure what your friend did for a living, but whatever it was, it obviously paid well.

The hall was remade to look like the inside of a barn at Christmas time - Christmas lights were strung around, casting a colorful glow on the floor which was covered in actual hay. The namesake for this party, a song by the same name, blares through the speakers for at least the 5th time this evening. Your friend had long since ditched you for some girl she had been crushing on for months, leaving you to sit alone at the bar, gently nursing a drink even though you’d rather chug it.

“Well hey sugar! Aren’t you hotter than a tin roof in August?”

Ugh, you groan as you turn to the voice to shoo the man away. You face him and the words die in your throat as you take him in. His chocolate eyes, dark hair with the hint of curls peeking out from below a black cowboy hat. His shoulders are broad, tapering down to a slim waist with a hint of a pooch. He has a moustache that you would normally hate but it somehow just works on him.

“I- I’m sorry, what?”

The man chuckles and it vibrates in his chest. You find heat rising to your cheeks a little under his intense gaze but…you liked it.

“I was just wonderin’ to myself what a fine filly is doing sitting here all by her lonesome.”

“ Ah. Well she was ditched by her friend.”

“Excuse me for sayin’ but what a dumb friend to have ditched someone like you.”

You laugh, admiring the flirting, and decide to try flirting back. “You don’t even know me. What if I’m a handful?”

His eyes darken a few shades and his voice gets a little deeper as he leans in towards you, giving you a wink and noticing how you jam your legs together.

“Oh sugar. I’m hopin’ you’re two handfuls.”

—----

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @astoryisaloveaffair @softpedropascal @marvelousmermaid @icanbeyourjedi @livingmydreams13 @theewokingdead @f0rever15elf @mesmorales @sarahmilesbendrix @swol-bear @mrsudontknowme @lovesbiggerthanpride @gallowsjoker @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @sunnshineeexoxo @sara-alonso @giggly-otter @dirtytissuebox @diaryofkali @adventures-of-a-noodle @punkerthanpascal @phandoz

Pedro Characters Only Taglist:

@beskarprincessjenny @jediknight122

Agent Whiskey Taglist:

@corrabell

#agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #stephsxmaswritingchallenge2021 #christmas writing prompts #writing challenge

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bestintheparsec · 4 years

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Lauren’s Favorite Fics of 2020

The year is almost over! So I thought I’d make this post instead of a winter follow forever sort of thing. First off I want to say that this is by no means an exhaustive list; I can’t include every single fic I’ve read this year or else I would (all fics I’ve read are on my fic rec blog, @bestintheparsec-reads) - there are so many amazing writers on this website and I’m so grateful for all your works and the effort you put into writing/sharing them, especially this year.

These are the fics that I’ve come back to time and time again and have a special place on my shelf of favorites - they’ve personally brought me comfort or many emotions or both. I’ve read all of these 2-3 times at the very least and have loved/commented on them already, so I tried to keep this concise or we’d be here forever 😂

**in no particular order except alphabetical by URL

Din Djarin

✧ Trust is a Fragile Thing by @aerynwrites

✧ “Kiss” oneshot by @forever-rogue

✧ Always Kiss Me Goodnight by @fromthedeskoftheraven

✧ Vaar’tur, Solace, No Living Thing, The Last Stand, and this drabble by @hiscyarika because apparently Abigail’s Din owns me

✧ Ka’ra (series) and Atlas by @haildoodles-writing

✧ You Promised by @murdermewithbooks

Javier Peña

✧ This Unspoken Thing by @aerynwrites

✧ Please Don’t Leave by @forever-rogue

✧ Landslide (series) by @hiscyarika

✧ Cold Mornings and Hot Tea by @mrpascals

✧ Crystal Clear (series), Better, Now That You’re Here, and Don’t Pull Away by @murdermewithbooks

Frankie Morales

✧ Summer by @dindjarindiaries

✧ “It’s Freezing Outside” oneshot and Christmas Trees and Picky Bees by @forever-rogue

✧ Fear and Trust by @keeper0fthestars

✧ Just the Rushing Wind on a Rolling Mind by @longitud-de-onda

✧ There is No Other Love, Only Yours and Sanctuary by @mrpascals

✧ Golden Hour by @tiffdawg

Agent Whiskey

✧ Visions of Sugarplums and Kentucky Welcome by @fromthedeskoftheraven

✧ Till the End of Time by @haildoodles-writing

✧ My Love is a Dagger by @goldafterglow

✧ Spilling Wine in the Bathtub by @mrpascals

✧ Stardust by @scribbledghost

✧ Sugar and Spice by @writefightandflightclub

Oberyn Martell

✧ In Name Only (series) by @forever-rogue

✧ The Kings Who Are Gone by @hiscyarika

In addition, I wanted to send a big thank you to anyone who’s read my stuff or commented or reblogged or anything - I cherish every single one and I’m so thankful for the love!

#din djarin x reader #javier peña x reader #agent whiskey x reader #frankie morales x reader #oberyn martell x reader #ff #fic recs 2020 #i wanted to post this on christmas or christmas eve #but i know those days are gonna be chaos in the fandom so i didn't want this to get buried lol

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haildoodles-writing · 4 years

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Till the End of Time

Summary: After his mission, Agent Whiskey comes home to check up on you.

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader

Warnings: angst, memory loss/health issues

A/N: Finals are finished, so I finally have time to write haha. This oneshot can be based either on the idea that Jack remarried after his wife died, or if he just didn’t have a previous marriage; either way. I highly recommend listening to “Love Me Tender” by Elvis Presley for this!

* * *

Agent Whiskey couldn’t find it in himself to walk through the door.

He was standing in the hallway to his apartment complex, fiddling with his keys as he stared out the hallway window. The building, located a train ride away from the Statesmen’s Headquarters, was much too luxurious for him to ever be comfortable with--but it had quick access to the med center at home base, and it was next door to Agent Ginger herself, so it had to do.

Through the front door, Whiskey could hear Elvis Presley playing from the record player. The same song, over and over--but it was the only one you would listen to. It was the only one that calmed you.

Instead of walking in, he pressed his forehead against the door, heaving a gentle sigh as the wood pressed against his bruises. He didn’t trust the Kingsmen, rightly so, and he had attempted to retrieve Poppy’s case from them and enter in the access code himself. But they proved his distrust wrong, sending him home with a wounded pride--and a handful of bruises for good measure. He’d likely get a pay cut in the morning, at worst. At best, maybe he’d get a scolding from Champ. Maybe.

It didn’t change the fact that he was too nervous to unlock the door, though. He was frightened that you would react badly as soon as you saw his bruises, as you’d done so before.

But he could hear you humming, hear your quiet vibrato, and it made him push the key into the lock. He needed to see you.

Quietly, slowly, he creeped through the front door, slipping off his boots and hanging up his hat. He shrugged off his jacket and replaced it with another--the red one, your favorite. The one you were most familiar with. In the entryway mirror, he cleaned himself up the best he could.

He heard your nurse call for him softly, and he padded over. On the kitchen counter, June was organizing and restocking your prescriptions: red for morning, yellow for afternoon, blue for evening. More pills than he could count.

“How is she?” he whispered. He tried to fight off the guilt that ate at his throat--he loathed being away from you for longer than the usual 9-5; this time, though, he’d been gone for over a week. He didn’t know how you would react after not being around him for so long.

June, always the gentle one, smiled and gave Jack’s arm a squeeze. “She’s alright today. Took her pills without fightin’, which is good news.”

“Good,” he said. He could still hear you humming, your voice brushing down the hallway from your shared bedroom.

He still didn’t move, though.

“She asked about you a few times,” June said, knocking Jack from his thoughts. “Sporadically, too.”

Unbidden hope filled Jack’s chest before he could snuff it out. “Do you think she’ll . . .”

“Recognize you?” June finished, closing the lids to your pill organizer before stepping away, pulling a key from her pocket. In a swift movement, she unlocked a nearby kitchen drawer, fitting the box amongst your other medications.

“At this rate, it’s a fifty-fifty chance,” she sighed. “You know she’d be fine if this was a regular day, Whiskey, but it’s been--”

“It’s been a week,” Jack ground out. “I know.” And he hated it.

It had been months. He’d been begging for a demotion for most of that time, pleading with Champ to knock him down to a regular shift. She’s sick, he would say. She’s getting weaker. Her memory’s fading. But Whiskey was their best agent, and Ginger wasn’t yet ready to take his place, so they couldn’t afford it. He would have to wait. And wait.

And wait.

But each day, you deteriorated further, your own body chipping away at your smile and laughter and warmth until you became a brittle shell of yourself. And there was nothing that Jack or the Statemen’s best medicines could do to stop it--nothing that could tell him what, exactly, was wrong with you.

“Go see her,” June urged, reaching forward and straightening the collar of Jack’s jacket. “I’ll be here in case anything happens.”

You always are, he wanted to say. Hell, she even had an apartment adjacent to their own--one that, when Jack was absent, she never visited. He paid her a hefty sum, sure, but it didn’t keep him from wishing the aged woman didn’t have to be around so much.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Jack brushed past June and made his way to his bedroom, glimpsing at the photos of you and him lining the hallway. They weren’t covered up today, which was a good sign; still, it did little to calm the anxiety pooling in his stomach.

The doorway to the bedroom was cracked enough for Jack to see you sitting on the window seat, overlooking the city--and the Statesmen Headquarters--beyond. The warm evening light seemed to sink into your skin as you leaned against the window glass, dressed in one of Jack’s shirts and an oversized sweater. He wasn’t sure if you knew the shirt was his.

“. . . love me long,

Take me to your heart.

For it’s there that I belong,

And we’ll never part . . .”

Your voice was soft, timid, but it soothed him instantly, as it always did. He simply stood there, entranced, watching as you sang to the city below. It wasn’t until the song came to an end and you turned around to replay it did Jack move, stepping into the room for you to see.

Your hand paused just above the record player when you noticed him. Immediately, you blushed like a schoolgirl. “Hello,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips. And for a moment, you looked so normal that Jack’s composure fell apart, and he nearly fell to his knees--

“Are you the new nurse?”

His heart fell flat. No, no--you wouldn’t recognize him that quickly. It had been too long. There was no point in hoping.

“No,” Jack whispered, coming to stop a few feet away from you. Enough to keep you comfortable. “I’m just . . . here to visit.” For a moment, he saw you glance at the bruise adorning his cheek and tense--but then, slowly, he reached forward and moved the tonearm back to replay the song. You seemed to relax at that.

“You can sit, if you like,” you offered eventually, straining to shift your legs back a bit. He almost declined, seeing that you had to force yourself to move--but you had asked him. He couldn’t refuse.

As you moved, he was able to glance at your form a little better. You were paler, your skin losing more of its warmth, and you had lost even more weight in the week that he was gone. You didn’t look like you anymore, and that thought alone nearly broke him.

For the duration of the rest of the song, he watched as you hummed, returning your attention to the cityscape. He didn’t bother with conversation, content on just watching you. He had missed you, more than he could really comprehend--no matter how much the situation hurt him.

“You’re familiar,” you admitted after a while, once the song replayed again. “What’s your name?”

“Jack,” he replied, watching with a soft smile as you raised your hand in between you two. He took it gently, and your eyes lit up for a moment. And then it faded; it always did.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” you asked, eyeing the ring adorning his finger. On your own hand, you still were wearing your own band. You didn’t seem to notice.

For a second, Jack had to force himself to breathe, if only to keep himself from crumbling. It’s been a while, he had to remind himself. That’s it.

“The love of my life,” he said after a while, matching your own gaze. Something flickered there at his response before disappearing all over again.

Your expression grew soft as you dropped his hand, leaning back against the window as you were overcome with exhaustion. “A lucky woman, indeed,” you whispered.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep after that, lulled to sleep by the song you both knew like the back of your hand. He picked you up and tucked you into bed before hunkering down in that same window seat, watching your chest rise and fall.

Tonight, you didn’t recognize him. It was alright, though.

He’d try again in the morning.

“Love me tender,

Love me true,

All my dreams fulfilled.

For, my darlin’, I love you,

And I always will.”

* * *

General Tag list: @mutantsandproud @gollyderek @hiscyarika @aerynwrites @theforceofdarkandlight @murdermewithbooks

Let me know if you want to be added to my General taglist, Pedro Pascal list, or Agent Whiskey list!

#my writing #ff #fic #fanfic #agent whiskey #kingsmen golden circle #jack daniels #agent whiskey x reader #whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #statesmen #kingsmen

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quaintsstuff · 5 years

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Ok, we can agree that situation with agent whiskey and save a horse ride a cowboy is clear, but I have smth different: whiskey fever

#agent whiskey #kingsman #pedro pascal #too much ffs for sure #but listen to it!!!#whiskey fever

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summahsunlight · 5 years

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The First Step

Word Count: 3320

Characters: Tim McGee, Tony DiNozzo, others mentioned

Summary: Sometimes we just need a friend to help us get back on our feet. Tony and McGee friendship fic.

A/N: This was the first ever NCIS fic I wrote. Originally posted on FF (which I’m slowly moving away from to AO3). Link to the AO3 story is posted below. As I post more NCIS stories, I will create a master list. Enjoy!

AO3

Timothy McGee could not believe he was about to do this, but he steeled himself and banged on his partner's door—loudly.

It had been four days since anyone had spoken to Tony DiNozzo. He was ignoring cell phone calls, landline calls and emails. Effectively the federal agent had shut himself up in his apartment and off from the world. Abby was in tears most of the time, Gibbs snarled at McGee at every opportunity he got. The poor green agent that had been assigned to the now empty desk had only lasted a day before she ran from the building in hysterics herself.

Everything had fallen apart four days ago. And he wasn't even embellishing like Tony. Ziva's abrupt departure had thrown them all into a topsy-turvy, spiral, where some of them were fairing better than others.

"Come on, DiNozzo, I know you're in there!" Tim hissed. "Abby traced your cell."

Slowly the door to the apartment opened and all fight left Tim as a hallow look peered back at him from heavy lidded hazel eyes. It appeared Tony had not shaved—or showered for the matter—in a week. An unkempt beard covered his face, his skin, which usually had a healthy tan to it, was a gray pallor, and his breath reeked of stale beer and whiskey. "Tony?" He gasped, pale green eyes widening. "What the hell?"

"Oh, nice to see you too, McGee" Tony snapped but there was no bite behind it.

Tim realized he was looking at a man that was defeated. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Tony quite like this. Not even after the break-up with Jeanne had the man gone on what was most appropriately deemed a bender. Tony was warped into a man that Tim didn't even know anymore. "Listen, I'm sorry. That came out wrong. But your appearance…it's not what I'm used too and we've been worried about you since we got the news that Ziva was leaving. Ducky said you needed your space. But Abby wanted to storm the gates—this was the compromise."

Tony grunted a response and threw open the door, allowing Tim access to his domain. The usually neat and orderly apartment was in disarray. Dirty clothes were tossed everywhere, pizza boxes towered on the dining room table, and beer bottles accented as many empty surfaces as possible. Ironically the only thing that could be considered clean was the goldfish bowl. Kate the goldfish happily swam around her bowl, in pristine water, and Tim realized that there was a sliver of hope that deep down Tony was still Tony—he still cared about something.

For a moment Tim watched as Tony plopped back down onto his sofa, eyes focused on the screen on some movie that the younger man had no idea about. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table and he winced at the implications of that. His partner had moved on from beer to the heavy stuff. He supposed that all men had a breaking point—he just never believed Tony DiNozzo was amongst them. Abby had once said that he was a solid rock. It took a lot to chip him and everything just rolled off of him and he kept going.

But was that a fair description? Tony was, despite the juvenile nature, very complex.

"So, um, Abby and I were wondering if you'd meet us for drinks later," Tim ventured.

Tony reached for his bottle of whiskey and took a swig. "Got plenty of drinks here."

Tim winced. That had been a dumb question. It was obvious that Tony had been drinking since he'd come back from tracking down Ziva. He knew it was none of his business but he desperately wanted to know what she had said to Tony to shove him on this self-destructive path. "We can do pizza and a movie. Or Chinese. It's been awhile since we all hung out. And I think…I think we all need it."

His partner shrugged his shoulders. "Don't feel like hanging out, Probie. You and Abby go and have a great time though. Suppose she's upset."

"Well, yeah, I mean she had to deal with us all resigning and we're not exactly coming back whole, are we?"

"Nope. We're not."

"Listen, if you need to talk about it."

Tony glared at him and Tim backed down. There was a dangerous look in the senior field agent's eyes and Tim was not in the mood to explore it. After all, Abby had requested that he get Tony to come out of his apartment for a few hours, not make matters worse.

Tim looked around the room, listening to the old movie playing in the background. "We can go bowling. Sister Rosita and the nuns bowl tonight. They'd love to have us."

"Sorry, but no thanks. My back hurts."

"Come on, are you going to hole yourself up here for the rest of your life?" Tim sputtered. "It's not the first time changes to our team have been made. You once told me that you suffered through a rotation of agents and then as a two-man team with Gibbs before Kate joined. We'll get through this. It's not reason to drink. We survived Kate's death, we can survive this, Tony."

"This is different," Tony mumbled.

"Of course it's different. It's better, right? I mean, Ziva isn't dead. It's not like she can't come back and visit us."

"She won't."

He was a little tongued tied. "You psychic now?"

Tony shook his head, another swallow of whiskey. "Nope. She made it clear that she needed a clean break. If she comes back, it won't be any time soon. Tell Abby she can stop emailing and begging Ziva."

"How...never mind, it's not important that you knew this," Tim said, putting his hands up in surrender. "What's important is that we get you out of this apartment and...and functioning again."

"Saying I'm dysfunctional McGee?"

Tim's mouth hung open for a moment. "Well! Look at you!" he gestured to Tony's bum like appearance. He really didn't know what else to say. It was the last card he could possibly think to play at this point.

Tony quirked an eyebrow and swirled the amber liquid around in the Jack Daniels bottle. "Guess I have let myself go."

"You guess?"

"Alright I have. Just a little."

"Just a little?" Tim spat, the pitch of his voice raising. God, I need a mirror so he can see.

His partner didn't offer any counter argument to that and leaned back into the cushions, watching the movie on his plasma television screen. He was really starting to worry Tim. Had Tony been this messed up after Kate died? Tim couldn't recall but at the time he was still fairly new to NCIS and had easily accepted whatever Tony told him. He should have known that Tony did not cope with Kate's death by eating junk food. Tim rubbed his temple for a moment. "Come on, Tony. You need to get out. Hiding away here isn't doing you any good."

Tony threw his head back and took another long swig of the whiskey. Wiping his mouth clean of the alcohol with his sleeve, he narrowed his eyes at Tim. "I know what I need—to be left alone. I'm not going to bounce back like you or Abby or Jimmy. I'm not going to let this roll off my shoulder like Gibbs or Ducky. Because it's different this time. This isn't just a partner leaving. She meant more to me than a partner, than a friend. And forgive me, if I feel like drowning my sorrows in alcohol and old movies."

Suddenly the gravity of his words hit Tim full bore in the chest. He saw the pain, the betrayal and the longing in his partner's eyes. He'd been turning a blind eye now for years. Sure, he'd always known that Tony and Ziva's relationship was different, he just didn't think-or refused to believe-Tony had actually fallen in love with her. Lord does he have a way of falling in love with the wrong woman, Tim thought as he found the easy chair and sat down. "She was Mossad, Tony. You didn't actually think…it was every going to work out in the end, did you?"

"Not when she was officially with Mossad, no," Tony muttered, closing his eyes tightly, "but she left them, to join us because…foolishly I thought it was because she wanted to start anew."

"And you thought, someday, it would work."

"Yeah. Should have known it wasn't going to end any other way. Once Mossad, always Mossad, eh?" Tony spat, bitterly. Another swig of whiskey. "Just another notch on my stupid things I've done belt."

Tim shook his head. "It wasn't stupid, Tony. We can't always control who we fall in love with."

Tony peered at him, thoughtfully. "Look at you, McRomeo. I take it that fair Delilah is treating you well."

"Don't change the subject—this is about you," Tim admonished him. "And besides, you'll bounce back—you always do."

"No, I don't just bounce back. I'm not a rubber ball."

"I don't understand."

Slowly Tony let out a breath, and looked right at Tim. "After Wendy left, I didn't eat for weeks. Gibbs almost literally had to shove food down my throat, pick me up and dust me off," Tony mused. "It was years before I actually went on a date again. Just around the time we met you I think. Oh, don't look that surprised. You've known for a while now that most of the time the women are just apart of the act."

Tim had to admit there were times he was certain that Tony's stories of his dates and his little black book were just that—stories. But hearing first hand affirmation of that shocked him. "And after Jeanne?"

Tony shrugged. "Pretty much the same, except for Gibbs picking me up and dusting me off. I kept the pain private, made it look like that I really had been acting and that I never did love her. Truth was, I loved her—a lot. If we had met under different circumstances, say, where she knew the real me, I might have ended up making a life with her."

"EJ?"

"It hurt that she didn't trust me. Ran from me all the time. But I couldn't let people see how much it hurt. Have a reputation to maintain after all, McGee."

"Tony…why didn't you…God, we would have helped you."

Silence fell between them for a moment, before the SFA put the bottle of whiskey down and looked at his partner, sternly. "You already don't think very highly of me, McGee. I didn't want to give you anymore ammunition to use against me if you saw how weak I'd become."

Tim looked away, embarrassed. It was true. He wasn't always nice to Tony but somewhere throughout their eleven years of working together, the man's goofy charm had grown on him. It was true that at times Tony annoyed the hell out of him, but as of late, he was finding that he really missed the oddball joke or movie reference just to break the tension. "Yeah. Guess I owe you an apology."

Tony shook his head. "No. You don't. I didn't make it easy for you."

"I'll say," Tim mumbled. He heard Tony chuckle for the first time since arriving.

Again they fell into silence, the only sound in the apartment that of the old movie playing on the television, and then the clunk of the Jack Daniels bottle as it was set down onto the coffee table. Tim watched as Tony rubbed his hands over his scraggly face. "What am I doing, McGee?"

Tim cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. "You mean besides locking yourself away, drinking at all hours of the day and watching old Cary Grant movies?"

Tony smiled, sadly. "Impressive, McGee. Didn't know you were familiar with Cary Grant."

"Well, Ducky says you fancy you self the modern day Cary Grant with your dress," Tim replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "But back to the point, since your ADD has sent us off track again. What do you mean, what are you doing?"

"I'm sitting here wallowing over a woman that I was never in a relationship with."

"Come on. Not the first time a guy has wallowed over a woman that wasn't his."

Tony grunted, lowly. "Don't try to make me feel better, because this is how I end up—again and again. In the movies it's the pretty girl crying over the jock breaking her heart. My life—it's my heart that's been broken over and over. Wendy, Jeanne, EJ—Ziva—they all left me."

Tim absorbed that bit of information. "Come on, you must have ended a relationship before."

"I've ended a lot of one night stands and long weekends, relationships that really do not qualify as one."

"I could drop a horrible cliché here and say, everything happens for a reason."

Tony shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Horribly cliché. Not sure the reason why my heart being broken over and over again is. Guess I should just come to terms with the fact that I'm probably going to be alone the rest of my life. I'm married to the job."

Tim didn't know why but his partner's declaration of damning himself to solo life, stung. Tony didn't deserve all that had been thrown at him over the years and as he sat there with him, Tim was beginning to wonder why the mental breakdown had taken so long to grasp him. Of course, maybe it was always that the thought that someday Ziva would feel the same way about Tony and everything was going to work out that they would get their happy ending. Who knew that the womanizing, play boy, Anthony DiNozzo was really a hopeless romantic at heart? "You just haven't met the right girl yet."

"Ya think, Probie?"

"Listen. If it's going to happen maybe you shouldn't be looking for it."

"Wasn't looking for it when I fell for Ziva."

Tim rubbed his temple. They could easily go around in circles for hours. Tony was good at that. "You said Ziva was different. She was different because she was your partner for eight years. You survived all different kinds of hell with her. There's a small possibly that you love her but you're not in love with her."

Tony reached for the bottle of Jack and took a long sip. "You're not making any sense, ."

"Hear me out."

"Fine."

Tim took a deep breath. "If you were in love with her you would have stormed off that plane in Israel and told her. If you were in love with her you would have stopped her from going on that suicide mission to Somalia. If you were in love with her you wouldn't have waited for Gibbs silent signal to go after her when she stormed out of the cabin in May. If you were in love with her you never would have let the relationship with Ray get that close to marriage and that was only stopped because the guy killed someone."

Tony looked away, briefly. "You forget I went to Africa to avenge her death, I disregarded protocol to protect her when Rivkin was in town, and I spent all those hours trying to track down those damn opera tickets but had to settle for a recording. Does someone who isn't in love do that?"

"You did all those things because you care about her. You didn't want her to lose her job when Rivkin was compromising her, we both went to Somalia to avenge her death, and we both know how much honoring Tali means to her. You leave Nutter Butters on my desk all the time, bring me coffee late at night and Chinese food. Abby gets roses and cupcakes on her birthday, and whenever she's down, I can usually find her here, curled up on your sofa with you watching a movie—does that mean you're in love with us too?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Probie. I do that because I care about you guys."

Suddenly a look of understanding passed over Tony's face. Tim finally felt he'd broken through. God, Tony was stubborn, and Abby was right that he was a rock—but he was a rock wall that needed to be chipped away in order to get to him.

In that moment the senior field agent's shoulders eased and it was as if he finally came to accept that Ziva wasn't coming back, that he needed to move on with his life no matter how much it hurt. Tim wasn't stupid. He knew that Tony wasn't going to heal overnight, but at least he could go back to NCIS and report to Abby that he broken Tony out of his fog.

Maybe now he would come back into work. Vance was being awfully lenient with all of them, giving them some days to sort everything out before returning to work. Tim and Gibbs had not taken the days offered to them, but Tony had. It had surprised them both if they were honest.

"So. What are you going to tell Abby when you go back?"

"Oh, ah, that you just need some time…and space."

His lips pulled into a small grin. "Like Abby's going to listen to that. She'll be here tonight," Tony replied.

Tim winced. "Yeah. Probably. I'm really sorry, Tony."

"Don't be," Tony said, pulling himself from the sofa. "Gives me an excuse to finally clean the place up, maybe shave and take a shower."

"Maybe? You smell like you've been lost in the desert for weeks."

Tony lifted his tee shirt to his nose and sniffed. He made a vulgar face and agreed. "Yeah, maybe I'll shower first."

Tim felt some relief wash through him. "Want me to stay and help?" When Tony threw him a questionable look, he clarified, "I mean with the cleaning."

"Put the pizza boxes in the trash chute on your way out?"

"Sure."

Tony moved towards the bathroom but paused. Slowly he turned while Tim was gathering up the pizza boxes and bit down on his lower lip. "Probie."

Tim glanced up from his cleaning and looked at his partner expectantly.

"Thanks. For picking me up and dusting me off."

"No problem, Tony."

"You do realize that if you tell anyone about our little heart to heart here I will have Abby kill you without leaving forensic evidence?"

Tim couldn't help the goofy grin that plastered his face. It was great to have a semblance of the old Tony back. "Yeah. I know."

Tony grunted and disappeared into the bathroom. Tim gathered up the pizza boxes, left the apartment with the door slamming shut behind him and tossed the trash down the chute. On his way out of the building he shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew that Ziva leaving was going to linger with Tony for a long time but at least now he was moving beyond sitting on his sofa drinking the days away.

And that, he reasoned, was a the first step.

#ncis #ncis fanfiction #tony dinozzo #timothy mcgee #the first step

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l0ngschl0ngking · 2 years

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last updated: 02.05.2023

Hi there!

And welcome to my masterlist :)! Here you can find all of my works.

fandoms and their masterlists are listed below - though I mostly write for Pedro Pascal characters.

you can find light summaries and pairings under each fic title. Works with NSFW content are rated 18+ and noted next to each fic title too.

comments and reblogs are much appreciated :)!

Characters I write for:

Javier Peña

Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels

Marcus Pike

Max Phillips

Joel Miller

Tim Rockford

Dieter Bravo

*more characters will be added over time, these are just the ones I already wrote for/have works about them in my drafts

MASTERLIST HERE

Characters I write for:

Harwin Strong

Aegon II Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

* I am on a kind of hiatus (?) when it comes to HOTD characters, however I do plan to finish the works (2) I have of them in my drafts eventually

MASTERLIST HERE

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lionlena · 1 year

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JackDanielsxf!reader ff WIP

Eggsy left with the girl, and Jack had to swallow the bitter pill of rejection. And he decided that a glass of something stronger would help him a lot. He walked over to the bar and shouted, "One scotch with ice!"

The barmaid turned to him, a grimace of displeasure on her face. Jack smiled and licked his lips.

"Well, well, who do my tired eyes see?"

"Fuck you Jack!" you hissed and he clucked in displeasure.

"I'd love to, but do you really want to do this in such a public place?"

You wanted to punch him in the face to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but then you'd probably lose your job, and... You weren't a rich girl anymore. You stepped closer and growled, "What do you want dick?"

"I already told you, sugar. Scotch with ice," he repeated, and your blood boil.

You had to swallow your pride. You handed him a drink, but you hit the glass too hard on the table and part of the liquid spilled onto the counter. Agent Whiskey shook his head.

"I don't understand why you're so angry?"

"What?!" you choked out.

You couldn't believe he was even asking that question. Was he a complete idiot? Did he have memory loss? Was he a clone of Jack who had only part of his memories implanted?

"Did you hit your head earlier?" you hissed. "You used me. You and your fucking agency! You were only with me because of my brother. You wanted to get him and..." You felt tears stinging your eyes. "You did it."

Jack sighed heavily. "Yes, it was just a mission, but the time spent with you was really nice. And your brother, he was not a good man and he deserved..."

And you lost your nerves. Fuck this job! You grabbed a glass with scotch and splashed it in his face. Whiskey jumped back and looked at you furiously.

"You should thank me! If I hadn't stood up for you, you'd be rotting in jail right now!"

"Should I thank you?!" You came out from behind the bar and pushed him. "I'd rather be in prison, or better... I'd rather be dead like my brother!"

There was something other than anger in Jack's eyes for a moment. A kind of worry.

"Don't say that, sugar. You don't deserve to die."

You snorted and smiled sadly. "Tell that to my family. Tell that to my mom and grandma. I lost everything because of you. Brother, family, home, money, and faith in love. I hate you Jack and I hope you die."

Then you turned and walked away. Leaving fucking Jack Daniels behind.

This is just a WIP and I don't know when or if I'll write more. But I had to put it somewhere so I wouldn't forget it ;)

#pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey #jack daniels #kingsman the golden circle #jack daniels fanfiction #agent whiskey and reader #angst

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lilnasxvevo · 4 years

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things that i would still hate about kingsman 2:

continued the kingsman 1 legacy of killing mostly women and people of color even though most characters are white men

both movies tied a relevant social issue to their villain, but kingsman 1′s villain had a coherent stance and kingsman 1 had a coherent message to the viewer in response to this stance, whereas i still don’t understand what kingsman 2′s villain exactly wanted and i have NO idea if kingsman 2 was meant to be pro-drug or anti-drug

the harry thing was stupid. with the butterflies. dumb

although it did make me laugh because fandom has this dumb thing we do where like, you know, a character we don’t know much about pets a cat once and fandom takes that and blows it up so like HE’S THE CAT GUY WHO LOVES CATS SO MUCH CATS CATS CATS because we don’t know anything else about him...in the first movie which i’ve seen MANY times, you see in harry’s bathroom that he has a small framed thing that has a bunch of mounted butterflies in it and it feels less like foreshadowing and more like the fandom thing where they mADE HIS ENTIRE PERSONALITY BUTTERFLIES

also stop queer-baiting us with harry. three times in two movies a homophobe calls him gay or calls him a homophobic slur and one time he even tells someone he’s gay although it’s mostly clear that he’s being insincere. he gets into two bar fights across two movies because a homophobe was homophobic to him. also he has a Moment with elton fucking john in this movie. just tell us he’s gay. TELL US HE’S GAY.

i would still hate that they killed roxy. what is with sequels and killing off the most popular female character from the first movie. what is your fucking damage.

BRANDON DESERVED BETTER FFS

whiskey’s plot twist was absolute fucking nonsense and there was no foreshadowing and i stand by that

the thing. with the thing. the vagina thing. that was the worst fucking thing. i need you to know that taron egerton refused to film that fucking thing so it’s actually that actress’ husband’s hands in That Scene. i respect you, taron egerton.

the kingsman movies’ treatment of harry is so fucking funny and weird to me. they’re like “here’s harry he’s a badass superspy” and then he spends at least 80% of the duology incapacitated, presumed dead, or too weak from a recent BRAIN INJURY to be an entirely effective agent. what the fuck. it’s so bizarre. usually hero’s journey stories just kill the mentor to be done with it but kingsman tries to have their colin firth and eat it too.

ROXYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY WHYYYYY #JUSTICE4ROXY

like just literally threw any social justice themes from the first movie out the fucking window. almost completely absent from this movie. complete bullshit. i’m so done.

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the-book-queen · 3 years

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musings-of-a-rose · 3 years

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Christmas Writing Prompt 2021

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x f!reader

Word Count: 511

Warnings: smut implied but not described (it’s Whiskey)

Prompt: Surprise Trip // “Baby It’s cold Outside”

Notes: I’ve never done a writing challenge before, being so new to writing in general, so I thought this would be fun! Thanks to @marvelousmermaid for sharing the list with me and @toomanystoriessolittletime for creating the list!

I used a random name picker with character names I put in, otherwise I know I would write every single one for Frankie.

My personal challenge for this is to write for people other than Frankie AND to keep it short!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Steph’s Christmas Writing Challenge December 2021 Masterlist

“You can’t leave now, darlin’. It’s cold enough to freeze the teats off a frog out there!”

You laugh. “What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s too cold for you to go, sugar. The snow’s comin’ in strong now.”

Jack gestures towards the open window where, sure enough, the snow was starting to come down harder.

“I really shouldn’t stay, Jack. I only came to drop off those files for the case we’re on.”

“That really the only reason you stopped by, sugar?”

You met his dark brown eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, truly honest, you never passed up an opportunity to be around Jack. You’ve had a mad crush on him since you met, somehow managing to push it back when you were on a mission together. You had just intended to drop the files off and leave, but Jack offered you lunch and so you stayed, unable to say no to his puppy dog eyes.

“I - I can’t put you out any more.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“If I don’t leave now, I may get snowed in here.”

“You might.”

“Then you’d have to put up with me for a few days. And I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s really no trouble, darlin’. If I didn’t want you to stay, I wouldn’t be begging you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “This is begging?”

“My apologies.” Jack drops to his knees in front of you and clasps his hands together in a mock begging pose. “Please, oh please stay here, darlin’.”

You meet his eyes again and chuckle, choking down the warmth that spread throughout your body the second Jack came within grabbing distance of where you wanted him to touch you the most.

“Jack, I-”

“I can think of ways to pass the time.” He unclasped his hands and moved them slowly towards you. You gasp and hold your breath, nodding slightly as he wraps his big hands around the back of your thighs, rubbing his hands up and down the back of your legs.

“You’re tremblin’.” His voice had dropped a few octaves. “You have to know how I feel about you, sugar.”

“I-what?”

He looks up at you. “I think you’re brighter than a new penny and the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ eyes on.”

“You-you do?”

“Mmhhmm,” Jack continues to rub the back of your thighs. “Tell me if I’m wrong sugar, but I think we are in agreement?”

“Do I think I’m smart and hot? Sure.”

He chuckles. “I meant you feel the same about ol’ Jack.”

“As long as “ol’ Jack” stops referring to himself in the third person. That always drives me nuts.”

“I like seein’ you all riled up.”

Words stuck in the back of your throat, Jack moves closer to you still. He looks up at you for consent and you manage to squeeze out a “yes” as he moves his hand further up your legs.

“I’m glad we agree, darlin’. Now, let ol’ Jack show you how to pass the time.”

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @astoryisaloveaffair @softpedropascal @marvelousmermaid @Icanbeyourjedi @livingmydreams13 @theewokingdead @f0rever15elf @mesmorales @sarahmilesbendrix @swol-bear @mrsudontknowme @lovesbiggerthanpride @gallowsjoker @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @sunnshineeexoxo @sara-alonso @giggly-otter @dirtytissuebox @diaryofkali @adventures-of-a-noodle @punkerthanpascal @phandoz

Agent Whiskey Taglist:

@corrabell

Pedro Characters Only Taglist:

@beskarprincessjenny @jediknight122 @mishasminion360

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everlastingcaptainswan · 7 years

Photo

Seven Encounters (Modern Royalty AU)

Summary: It took seven times for Emma Nolan to realize she loved His Royal Highness Prince Killian, but it only took him two times to realize he would chase her to the ends of this earth.

Note: Okay so a little more angst, but some hope as well. There are good things to come for these two, I promise.

AO3 FF

The Sixth Encounter

Emma’s nervous, her palms are a sweaty mess. Oh fuck she’s a mess. Why on earth did she volunteer for this? Oh right her mother needs her to do this. With the State of the Union being tonight Mary Margaret couldn’t make the trip to London for the King Brennan’s Funeral. She didn’t even know the King was sick, Killian never mentioned anything about it. He died of cancer, he must’ve been sick for months.

Emma volunteered to come here because well she felt like her mother needed something taken off her plate and Emma’s right here, it was easy for her to go. At least that’s what she told her mother who seemed beyond grateful when Emma suggested this solution.

However, waiting in the car Emma’s regretting being so helpful. She hasn’t seen Killian in months. Not since she slipped out of his bed in the middle of night. It was for the best, she wasn’t ready for more, for marriage. Hell, she could barely handle dating him. He deserves someone who can handle being in the public eye and the expectations that come with that. She couldn’t be that for him. It doesn’t mean she stopped caring for him though. She wants to know that he’s okay. She wants to check in with him.

As the car pulls up to Westminster Abbey, Emma wrings her hands and takes some deep breathes.

“Everything alright, Miss Nolan?” August asks her from the driver’s seat.

“Yes,” she says shakily. Even though she’s sure that isn’t true. They get out and the cameras are flashing as she makes her way in. August and Graham surround her and make sure she gets through the crowd of reporters. It’s odd she doesn’t even really care anymore when they take her picture.

--&--

This day is hard enough and then she shows up. He wasn’t really looking for her, but all sudden he sees her get out of a car and his heart stops. He hasn’t seen her since the night of Liam and Elsa’s wedding. The night she slipped out of his bed. A breeze brushes her hair over her shoulder and he is absolutely stunned by her beauty.

“Killian, what’s wrong?” Liam asks between guests. Killian nods down towards Emma. Liam and Elsa both follow his gaze, she hasn’t looked up at him yet and he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

“I’ve got this,” Elsa says and takes off down the stairs before the brothers can say another word.

--&--

Emma gets in line with the procession of mourners as they slowly make their way up the steps. She spots the royal family at the top of the steps, but Killian is engaged in conversation with someone. Elsa catches her eye and shakes her head. She steps away and comes down to meet Emma. Elsa pulls her to the side.

“What are you doing here?” she asks harshly.

“My mother couldn’t make it to convey her condolences. I am here to pay respects on behalf of the President of The United States of America,” Emma explains just as harshly, she had a feeling this would happen.

“That’s all?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” Emma asks confused.

“I don’t know you’re not here to mess with Killian? Or give him some false hope about the two of you. He still talks about you,” Elsa says, sternly.

“No, I’m not here to mess with him. Despite what happened between us, I care about him. I’m not here because of us. Today isn’t about us,” Emma says getting defensive. She expected this from Liam, but certainly not Elsa. Elsa’s her friend, well she was her friend. People pick sides in a break up. Especially when family is involved.

“Alright, I’ll hold you to that. He’s my family and I have to make sure he doesn’t get hurt. Although it’s a little late for that,” Elsa comments causing Emma to cringe.

“I’m not here to hurt him,” Emma defends herself cooly. Elsa nods and moves back up the steps to her husband and brother in law. Emma rejoins the line. When she looks up again she catches Killian’s eyes for the first time. Oh she missed his eyes, she missed him. Fuck, this day is going to be hard . She tears away her gaze first. She just tells herself that it’s not about them today. She’s here for the President of the United States of America. She’s here for her mother.

Emma reaches the Royal family, who all look somber. Killian won’t make eye contact with her. She shakes hands with Liam.

“President Nolan and the entire First Family send our condolences. We’re sorry for your loss. My mother regrets that she couldn’t be here today, but with the State of the Union tonight she couldn’t make it,” Emma says efficiently. She tries to not look at Killian, but that’s hard when it’s just the four of them. Although he has no trouble not looking at her.

“Thank you for coming and for your family’s condolences. Tell your mother we understand,” Liam says poised and calm.

“I will,” Emma says and moves into the abbey without another word. Her and the agents find a spot in the back and sit down quietly. Emma knows she has to stay for the service, but hopes she skip out on the wake afterwards. She’s about to ask August what he thinks when Anna comes up to her.

“Emma, it’s nice to see you. I didn’t know you were coming. I mean Killian has missed you, are you two getting back together? Is that why you’re here?” she says at her usual rapid pace.

“Oh no my mother couldn’t make it, so I’m here in her place. We’re not getting back together,” she explains stiffly, taken aback by Anna’s questions.

“Oh that’s nice of you to come even though you guys aren’t talking. I don’t know many people who would come to their ex’s father’s funeral,” she says cheerily, even though her words are less than nice.

“You can’t say no when the President asks you to do something,” Emma says trying not to be rude.

“I guess not. I’ll see you at the wake. It was nice to see you, Emma,” Anna comments before walking away. Emma lets out a sigh of relief. Well she’s going to the wake apparently.

“Can this day get any worse?” Emma utters.

“Chin up, you’re doing good,” August reassures her and she smiles at him. A few minutes later the service starts. It was a beautiful service. She even teared up at one point and she wasn’t even from England. It was during Killian’s speech. His hurt and pain was written all over his face and it killed her to see him like this. She has no clue what she could even do for him. He probably doesn’t want anything to do with her. She’s going to have to keep her distance.

They’re in the car on the way to the wake, a wake she doesn’t want to go to. Since Anna called her out she has to go now.

“What would be a respectful time to be at a wake before leaving?” she asks her agents.

“At least thirty minutes,” Graham says and she sighs.

“Damn alright, but as soon as those thirty minutes are up I’m leaving,” Emma states and her agents nod.

Once there she makes her way to the bar and orders a drink. It’s the only way she’s getting through this day. She’s sipping her whiskey when he walks right up to her. His blue eyes piercing through her. He looks so angry, there’s fire raging behind his eyes. She’s never seen him like this.

“Follow me,” he says the anger boiling over in his tone. Not having another option she follows him. They end up in a small room away from the guests.

“Killian,” she starts. Emma just wants to know how he’s doing.

“Look, I know you’re not here cause of your mother,” he cuts her off, with so much malice in his voice.

“Excuse me?” she asks getting angry. How dare he say that? Who the hell does he think he is?

“You’re here to taunt me or something I don’t know, but I sure as hell don’t need it,” he says and won’t even look at her.

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous! I’m not here to taunt you. I was trying to pay my respects. How the hell can you think I would do something like that to you?” she yells at him, her anger from the day finally spilling over. It takes him by surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d leave my bed in the middle of the night, but you did that no problem,” he yells. That stung, but she deserved it.

“I understand you’re mad, but I was doing what was best for you,” she says through her teeth.

“Oh no you weren’t, Emma. Don’t lie to me or yourself. You did that because you were scared and couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t about me at all,” he fumes.

“I couldn’t be what you needed me to be, so yeah I left in the middle of the night because you wouldn’t have let me do it in the light of day. We would’ve fought. It was easier this way,” she yells at him.

“If I had the choice I wouldn’t let you go. You don’t let go of the people you love,” he snaps and she stares at him in shock. Did he say that he loves her? Is that what he meant?

“You love me?” she asks quietly. His gaze snaps to her, he didn’t realize what he had said. It was what he had never said out loud, at least not to her. He knew it would scare her, but now. Oh now she’s staring at him and she looks lost and confused, like no one could ever love her. He knows how she thinks and that’s what’s running through her head. How she could ever think that is beyond him.

“Of course I do,” he exclaims. With that he takes her in his arms and kisses her. He tries to show her how much he loves her through a kiss. She’s shocked and thinks about backing out of it, but dammit it feels too good. She’s missed this, missed him. This is all she’s wanted for the past couple of months. Everything feels right with him. Emma pulls back abruptly. She steps away from him.

“No. I can’t-We can’t do this, Killian,” she mutters.

“Why the bloody hell not?” he asks frustrated. He’s missed her, it’s been agony without her. Always one step forward and three steps back with her.

“Because I can’t be what you need! I’m not like Elsa, I’m not the girl you marry,” she shouts.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous. I don’t want someone like Elsa! I want you. Were you thinking about us getting married?” he responds frowning.

“No, but everyone at that damn wedding was saying you and I were next. I couldn’t handle that. They all talked about how you were husband material. The last man I loved left me with his stolen watches and I almost went to jail. I won’t let myself be hurt like that again,” she says turning away regretting what she just said. Her emotions always just spilled out with him. It was easy with him. So easy it scared her. He places a hand on her shoulder and turns her to face him.

“You never told me that,” he comments.

“I didn’t know your father was sick,” she points out.

“They didn’t tell me for a while. They said they didn’t want to worry me,” he shrugs, but she can tell that it bothers him, “When I found out you were already gone.”

Emma sighs and launches into the story, “I don’t tell anyone about him. My parents worked hard for that to go away. I was young and naive. We went to the same private high school. I thought he loved me, but really he needed a scapegoat for his crime. He had stolen these watches because even the son of a senator has to act out somehow. They were at a bus station and he couldn’t get them, so I volunteered because I was in love with him. I was supposed to meet up with him and instead the cops were there. My mom was Governor at the time and when she showed up they dropped the charges. She made me promise them I would do community service for a year. Which I did without complaint. We graduated the next year and I kept my distance from him,” she tells him her sad story. She hadn’t told anyone before. This is the reason for her walls. He wants to beat this prick to a bloody pulp.

“He’s a bastard for doing that to you. You deserve better than the likes of him. If I ever see him I’ll be sure to make him regret it,” he scowls and she laughs a little.

“You’ll have to get in line then,” she comments.

“I can see why you’re scared to love, to let anyone in, Emma. I love you and have for a while. I would never hurt you and I won’t stop loving you,” he kisses her forehead, “I'm a fan of every part of you. When you’re ready I’ll be waiting.” He brushes past her and walks out of the room.

As soon as the door shuts tears runs down her face. He’s too good for her, far too good. How can he love her? She hurt him. She left him. After all of that he can still love her? How? A couple minutes later August comes in looking concerned. She wipes away her tears.

“Find a back door to get me out of here,” Emma commands and August nods. A few minutes later Graham and August escort her out a back entrance and they take her home. She has no clue what to do with His Royal Highness Prince Killian once again.

--&--

A few weeks later an invitation for Liam’s coronation comes in the mail. It’s on thick white cardstock with beautiful gold lettering. On the back of it there is a note in the most beautiful cursive she’s ever seen. Emma knows exactly who’s handwriting it is. Killian. The note reads, I would happy if you could join us. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She picks up the phone and calls Mary.

“Did you get an invitation to Liam’s coronation?” Emma asks.

“I believe so. Your father and I were thinking about coming out for it to see you mainly, but we would have to attend the ceremony. Why?” her mother responds quickly.

“I got one too,” Emma mumbles.

“A what?”

“An invitation…” Emma says.

“What happened at that funeral?” Mary demands. Emma freezes, realizing she hasn’t told her mother what happened at the funeral. Knowing she can’t back out of this conversation now she continues on.

“I- oh we fought at the wake,” she begins too tired and confused to lie. She needs to talk to someone about this. Emma proceeds to tell her mother everything that day.

“Oh sweetheart he just loves you. He wants you back,” Mary says.

“What if I’m not ready?” Emma asks.

“The only way to know is if you go. I think we should all go. RSVP yes,” her mother all but orders her. To Emma’s surprise she agrees to go with her parents. This is a horrible idea.

--&--

Her parents arrive in town two days before the coronation. Mary has meetings to attend before the coronation, so David and Emma go sightseeing without her.

“Mom told me a little bit about what’s going on with Killian. I know you’re not big on talking about it, but keep this in mind. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let yourself be happy,” he comments and they move along to the next attraction. The thought lingers in her mind, but what can she do? From the funeral it seemed most of the people in his family hate her. He was upset with her. That was clear, but then he kissed her said he was willing to wait for her. What does all that mean? She certainly has no idea.

--&--

The day of the coronation arrives and it’s going to be a busy one. There is a ceremony in the afternoon followed by a ball (yes, an actual ball. Like the ones that happen in Disney movies). There has to be an outfit change in there somewhere according to Mary. Emma isn’t quite sure what is going on she just knows what she’s wearing and follows her mother’s lead.

Once again Emma is in a long procession of cars waiting to be dropped off at the abbey.

“You know this is a bad idea,” Emma says for what feels like the hundredth time.

“It’s not. The fact that you’re saying that makes me believe it’s not,” Mary says all while looking out the town car window. Emma just sits back and tries not to freak out.

“His sister in law will probably try and run me off for showing up,” Emma complains.

“I dare her to try,” David says in a stern tone.

“They know you’re coming this time. You probably caught them off guard last time. Besides her husband is becoming the King today, she has bigger things to worry about,” her mother adds. Their car finally comes to a stop and the First Family gets out of the car. They’re immediately whisked through the line of reporters.

--&--

Once inside the Abbey, Killian spots Emma and her parents. Anna stands next to him.

“Killian, I want you to be happy and have true love, but is she it? I only ask because I don’t want you getting hurt,” Anna says cautiously.

“She is. She was scared and everyone in this family needs to get over that. Excuse me,” Killian says before walking away. He strides right up to the First Family with a smile.

“Madam President, Mr. Nolan, Emma we’re so glad that you could make it today,” Killian greets them.

“We wouldn’t miss it. It’s not everyday you’re invited to a coronation,” Mary responds.

“No it’s not,” he turns his gaze to Emma, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” She’s surprised by the question, but nods. He leads them to a quiet corner away from the guests.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come today,” he says.

“I wasn’t either,” she sighs, fidgeting. He’s never made her this nervous before.

“I hoped you would. You’ll be at the ball later?” he asks her and she nods, “Good, I’ll be looking for you.” A bell rings throughout the Abbey.

“That’s the que for us to find our seats. Save me a dance tonight?” he says as they make their way back.

“I can’t dance,” she blurts out.

“You just needs a partner who knows what they’re doing,” he smirks as they part ways. Emma finds her seat with her parents.

“What was that about?” Mary asks.

“Dancing,” Emma mumbles causing a confused look on both of her parent’s faces. Before they can ask anymore questions the ceremony begins.

--&--

Between the ceremony and the ball Emma changes into a red evening gown and her hair is twisted into an elegant bun.

“He won’t know what hit him,” Mary Margaret winks as they pile into the limo on the way to Buckingham Palace.

When they arrive at the party it is already in full swing. It’s a full red carpet event. The whole family poses for pictures, while reporters shout their questions at her mother, which she ignores. They head inside and the room is filled to the brim with people.

Once inside they are lead to their table for dinner. Their table is next to King Liam’s table and Emma keeps catching Killian looking at her out of the corner of her eye. He’s so distracting she can barely keep up with the conversation happening at her table.

After dinner is over a dance floor opens up and Liam and Elsa make their way out onto the floor and music for a waltz begins. Emma is really screwed, she’s not a good dancer under the best circumstances and she definitely doesn’t know how to waltz. Not long after Killian walks up to Emma and extends his hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asks her with a cocky grin on his face.

“Yes,” she places her hand on his, “But I’ll probably step on your feet,” she says as he leads them onto the dance floor.

“That’s a risk I am willing to take, but like I said earlier you just need a partner who knows what he’s doing,” he smirks. They begin to dance and so far no toes have been stepped on.

“You’re a natural, I have no idea why you said you couldn’t dance,” he teases her.

“I’ve never done this kind of dancing before. I was sure I would mess it up,” she defends herself.

“You haven’t and won’t,” he smiles as he spins her out slowly then back in.

“We need to talk,” she blurts out, something she’s been holding in since the ceremony.

“We do,” he bristles, not sure of what she’ll say next.

“Why did you invite me?” she asked confused.

“Because I wished to see you and I’m glad you came, you cut quite the figure in that dress. Is that such a bad thing to want to see you?” he asks her.

“No,” a slight blush crosses her cheeks at his compliment, “You confuse me at every turn. You say you love me then say you’ll wait then invite me to this I don’t know what to make of any of this,” she sighs.

“I’ll wait for you and I do love you. You deserve to hear that when we’re not fighting or upset. I’ll tell you everyday if that’s what you want. Just because I said I’ll wait doesn’t mean I’m not going to stop trying to win your heart,” he says pointedly and for once she has no witty comeback.

“I’m sorry,” she says uneasily. The next song starts and they keep dancing.

“For what?” He asks his brow furrowed.

“For leaving. I- That’s not how I should’ve done it. You deserved more, better than that in any case,” she apologizes and she can tell he didn’t expect that at all.

“I’d rather you’d never left at all, love. I appreciate the apology though,” he says slightly flustered, obviously still thrown by what she said. The song ends and he kisses the back of her hand.

“I’ll see you soon, my love,” he smiles and walks away. She spends the rest of the night with her parents. He spends it talking to various guests, but he doesn’t dance with anyone else. They keep sneaking glances at each other from across the room.

Emma wants him and trusts him, but what if one day he wants more and she can’t give it to him? She would just lose him and she doesn’t think her heart can handle that. It's not like these past months have been easy. It's been hard without him. Emma doesn't know what to do, she needs more time.

--&--

Killian is surprised to say the least when President Nolan walks up to him later that night.

"Madam President," he greets her.

"Prince Killian, I just wanted to say something before we left. Be patient," she advises.

"With what?"

"With Emma," she says as if it were obvious, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Killian says, processing what she just told him. Killian is a patient man, when he said he'd wait for Emma he meant it. He's not going anywhere.

#cs au ff #cs #CS modern AU #cs mc ff #cs mc #cs modern royalty #Modern Royalty AU #emma swan #killian jones #Prince!Killian #firstdaughter!emma #captian swan

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bioticsandheadshots · 7 years

Note

Hilarious prompts: I think 34 & 36 sound fun. Think you can work with either of those (separate or together)? There are so many good ones on that list, but my brain shut down half way through. MShenko is my favorite, but I'm totally not picky!

Thank you for the prompt! I’ve never written mShenko before, but ask and ye shall receive! Hopefully I did alright. Sorry for the length, it kind of got away from me.

Also available on AO3 and FF.

The Man Behind the Legend

“Don’t stress so much, Alenko.” Witha smirk, Tela slapped Kaidan’s hands as he adjusted the knot of his tie for thefifth time since hailing their skycar.

Kaidangrumbled under his breath and tried to still his fidgeting fingers. The skycarwhirred as they flew past the neon lights of Tayseri Ward, but Kaidan paid nomind to the dazzling sights of the Citadel. His stomach twisted too much toappreciate the view.

Aftermonths of being shadowed by Tela Vasir, his mentor for the Spectres, thegalactic Council had approved her recommendation that Kaidan be inducted intothe organization. Even though he’d expected it, had been training to prove his ability, nowthat the time for his initiation had come, Kaidan questioned whether he wastruly ready. Becoming the second human Spectre was a big honor and an evenbigger responsibility. There was a long line of dedicated and phenomenalSpectres that had come before him, none quite so famous as humanity’s first.

Lt.Commander John Shepard was the Lion of Elysium, the man who had single-handedlyheld back enemy forces until reinforcements arrived to secure the colony. He’d come from nothing as an orphan onEarth and rose quickly through the Alliance ranks to become one of the youngestpeople to receive the Star of Terra, then gone on to achieve the coveted andrare N7 designation.

Aftermaking N7, Shepard disappeared, surfacing later with a human-centric shadoworganization called Cerberus. Later, Shepard’s involvement was revealed to be that of a deep undercoveragent. The organization fell, unable to deny the proof Shepard brought forth.From detonating starships over human colonies to ensure the birth of bioticchildren to conducting torturous research in an attempt to create supersoldiers, the group had conducted a multitude of abhorrent experiments. JackHarper, leader of Cerberus, now awaited trial in a high security prison cellfrom which he insisted that he’d only done what was needed to help humanityachieve its rightful place in the galaxy.

Theremnants of Cerberus hadn’ttaken their defeat lightly and, intent on inciting galactic war so humanitycould claim the bones of what was left, they’d put a twofold plan into place.Using synthetic mind control they’d developed from an ancient alien life form,Cerberus directed a high profile turian agent to attack a human colony. Thenthey’d sent a secondary group of operatives to assassinate the galacticCouncil. Shepard’s choice to save the Council at the expense of a human colonyhad earned him the title as humanity’s first Spectre and taken him fromAlliance poster boy to galactic household name.

Kaidanswallowed at the thought, reaching again to tug at his tie. The decision tomake him a Spectre was humbling but, compared to Shepard, he was a no one. Asimple Alliance man who trained biotics for spec ops missions. Sure, he had afew wins under his belt. He’dprevented the assassination of an Alliance chairman, subsequently talking downa group of biotic extremists and convincing them to surrender peacefully. Mostrecently, a spec ops drill had uncovered a plot by the Batarian Hegemony tolaunch an asteroid into a human colony. What started as a routine trainingexercise had turned into a harrowing mission, but they’d succeeded in savingthe colony. Still, those were a blip on the radar compared to Shepard’s servicehistory.

Inshort, Shepard was a legend no one could hope to live up to. And was rumored tobe attending the ceremony that night.

Theskycar touched down in front of the Dilinaga Concert Hall, cutting Kaidan’s musings short. Tela squeezed hisshoulder with a grin, admonishing him not to embarrass her, before the dooropened and they set off toward the entrance amid the bright flashes of cameradrones and omni-tools.

Insidethe ballroom, asari matriarchs mingled with turian generals. The gleaming rankof Alliance admirals sparkled under the lights and The Enkindler Anointed (ahanar bioluminescence entertainment group) set up on stage for theirperformance after the ceremony. Despite being the guest of honor, Kaidan’s entrance went unnoticed and heand Tela made their way to front row unimpeded.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the newestwhelp.” A tall turian, none other than Spectre Kryik, came to a stop besidethem.

“Nihlus.” Tela glared up at theother Spectre. “Where’s Shepard? Getting shit faced as usual?”

Thelong-standing competition between Tela and Nihlus ran deep. Kaidan didn’t know all the ins and outs of therivalry, only that Tela had two failed nominees under her belt: one dead, theother preferring an easier, less complicated life thus turning down theapprenticeship. Nihlus, on the other hand, mentored Shepard, for which he stillreceived a certain amount of praise that he often rubbed in Tela’s face.

“Drunk andblindfolded, Shepard’sstill more than a match for this one.” Nihlus twitched his mandibles inamusement, not bothering to glance at Kaidan.

Kaidanchose not to be insulted. Nihlus probably had a point.

Instead,he excused himself and headed for the bar. One whiskey before the ceremonymight help settle his nerves. The bartender poured a finger of golden liquorinto a clear tumbler, then slid it down the bar. A hand, decidedly human,plucked it up before it could reach Kaidan. His eyes traveled over the fingersclasping his glass, up an arm coveredin an expensively tailored suit, and landed on the face of the first humanSpectre.

Asmirk dangled on the man’slips and blue eyes sparkled as John Shepard downed the whiskey in a singlegulp. He slammed the glass back on the counter and extended his hand.

“John Shepard, but you probablyalready knew that.”

Pushinghis irritation aside, Kaidan smiled warmly and accepted Shepard’s hand. He’d prepared for thismoment after all. So he was horrified when he seemed to trip over hisintroduction. “Alenko. Kaidan, I mean. Major Kaidan,” Kaidan’s eyes widened asthe more he spoke, the worse he stuttered over his own name. “Major KaidanAlenko. I’m the—”

Shepardbarked with a hearty laugh. “You’readorable all tongue-tied. Don’t tell me you have my poster on your wall orsomething?”

Ashe tried, and failed, to come up with an appropriate response (because, no, he didn’t havea poster - did they make posters), Kaidan’s mouth dropped open and closed like a fish out of water.Almost of their own accord, his fingers reached up and ran through his hair. Atwhich point, Kaidan realized that Shepard still hadn’t let go of his otherhand.

And,as if the situation couldn’tget any more awkward, Tela chose that moment to retrieve Kaidan to take hisplace on stage. When her eyes dropped to their clasped fingers, she pressed herlips together in amusement but, thankfully, didn’t say anything other than thatthe Councilors were ready to begin.

“Well, this social situation isn’tgoing the way I acted it out in the shower,” Kaidan mumbled under his breathonce they’d gone far enough to be out of Shepard’s range of hearing.

Telatilted her head in his direction, her smug look pulling up the corners of herblue lips. “Which partwere you acting out in the shower? The ceremony? Or meeting Commander Shepard?”

Heatflushed over his cheeks and Kaidan increased his stride, leaving the laughingSpectre behind.

Asthe ceremony started, Kaidan tucked the botched introduction to the back of hismind and focused on the significance of the oath he was about to take. When thetime came, he swore to be a protector of peace and defend the safety of thegalaxy from any threat it might face. And, just like that, the ceremony wasover.

Thelights dimmed as The Enkindler Anointed began their set and music filled theroom, low enough that the guests could still carry on conversations. Cocktailhour had begun and, if Kaidan had to guess, it was likely why most people had shown up. No one threw aparty quite like the Council.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

“Dad!” Kaidan pivoted with a grin athis father’s voice, surprised to see both his parents. “I didn’t know you werecoming.”

Hismother reached out and clasped his elbow with a warm smile. “Of course we’re here. You didn’treally think we’d miss it!”

“I know you’ve got a lot of peopleto talk to.” Kaidan’s father, a retired Alliance captain, had been to more thanhis fair share of events during the course of his career. “We’ll be on theCitadel a few days. Go, celebrate. You deserve this. We’ll get breakfasttomorrow morning.”

Departingafter they’d squeezedin a few more hugs (mostly his mother), Kaidan’s parents disappeared in thecrowd. Tela was off arguing with Nihlus in the corner, leaving Kaidan to hisown devices. So, alone, he made the rounds, meeting and greeting all theofficials that the councilors had deemed important enough to invite. Shepard’sdislike for formal functions was well documented by the press so it was asurprise when Kaidan ended up face to face with him again.

“Well, hello again, Major Kaidan,”Shepard said with a wink. “Or should I say Spectre Kaidan?”

Theman just wasn’t going tolet it go. That old saying ‘never meet your heroes’ seemed tailored to thisspecific situation.

Closinghis eyes for a second, Kaidan took a breath and smiled, refusing to beflustered. “Kaidan isfine.”

“Kaidan it is. Well, Kaidan,” Shepard’s voice dropped a littlelow as he enunciated his name, “you ready to take on this responsibility?”

“You set the bar pretty high, but I’lldo my best. It was nice to see you again, Commander, but if you’ll excuse me…”

Kaidanstepped to the side, intending to go around Shepard and find someone—anyone—elseto mingle with. In his rush to escape the awkward conversation, he jostled intoa waiter with a tray full of drinks. Kaidan could only watch in horror as thewaiter stumbled, spilling the contents down the front of Shepard’s immaculate suit.

Shepardglanced down, his chiseled jaw tightening as the champagne soaked through hisclothes. Steady hands loosened the buttons and he shrugged the jacket from hisshoulders. The white dress shirt underneath hadn’t been spared and the fabric clung to his torso, nearlytransparent from the moisture. Kaidan’s throat went dry as embarrassment andallure commingled at the sight.

Eyesfinding Kaidan’s fromunder his brows, one corner of Shepard’s mouth rose with a smirk. “If youwanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

That’s it!Kaidan had had enough. Humanity’sfirst Spectre was an arrogant ass and gave no thought to embarrassing Kaidan infront of the councilors or any of the other dignitaries he may need to workwith in the future. It was time for the man to get a small taste of his ownmedicine.

“Are you flirting with me,Commander? Because if that’s what you’ve been doing all night, you really needto work on your technique. I’ve seen elcor flirt better than this.”

“Amused. We are much better atflirting than the Commander,” Calyn, the elcor ambassador interjected.

Redraced up Shepard’sface, visible through the faint 5 o’clock shadow that perpetually covered hisjaw. Crossing his arms over his chest, he rocked back on one leg and opened hismouth to reply but seemed at just a loss for words as Kaidan had been earlier.Councilor Sparatus rumbled with laughter. In all their meetings and debriefs,Kaidan had never heard the turian councilor sound anything other thanindifferent. Shepard jerked to glare at both Sparatus and Calyn and Kaidanchose that moment to slip away so he could nurse his humiliation alone at thebar.

He’d just finished his second drinkwhen a presence settled itself onto the barstool at his side. Without lookingup, Kaidan instinctively knew it was Shepard.

Theman’s voice confirmed his suspicions. “Kaidan…”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Kaidanspared a glance out of the corner of his eye, finding that Shepard had coveredhis wet clothes with (or was maybe shirtless beneath) an N7 sweatshirt.Somehow, the combination of sweatshirt and tuxedo pants worked for him.

Shepardpropped himself up at the bar on an elbow and dropped the back of his head intohis hand. “I’mactually pretty cool if you give me, like, 5 tries to get it right.”

Kaidanraised his eyebrows and frowned with disbelief into his empty glass but didn’t bother arguing.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Shepardcontinued, sounding sincere. “It’s one thing being Commander Shepard, hero,lion, blah blah. I’ve gotten so used to him that sometimes it’s hard just beingJohn, meeting someone he admires.”

Atthat, Kaidan did look up. “Me?”

“Who’d you think submitted your nameto the Council?” Shepard’s sly grin was back though, now that he was lookingfor it, Kaidan saw a tiny smidge of vulnerability. “Now, how about you let mebuy you a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”

SoKaidan let him. And Shepard did. And when he received a message from hisparents about missing breakfast the next morning, Kaidan couldn’t quite find it in him to beremorseful.

#mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #mefanfic #sweet-ree #mShenko #Shenko #Kaidan Alenko #Commander Shepard #John is an adorable ass #Kaidan is clueless #they're both so bad at this #my writing #writing prompt

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