#fighter is all talk but really he is a respectful polite and shy gentleman

[delicrieux]

god save the queen [ eggsy x reader ] 001

warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol

words: 1876

summary:  The relationship between Statesmen and Kinsgmen is fairly good, could be a bit better though. Various failed mission in the past has put some tension between the two branches, but thankfully, an olive branch, one looking exactly like (Name) (Lastname), is extended and intended to patch up any fights the Cousins had had. She is sent on a secret mission to London along with her new partner Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin to guard some expensive jewels and accidentaly save the world.

a/n:  since tequila's name isn't made public, i just call him channing (since that's the actors name lololol) also! this is somewhat of an AU where the golden circle hasn't happened (yet) and the two branches already know each other and have worked in the past.

MASTERLIST KO-FI.  AO3. GSTQ masterpost.

from america, with love 

The ice cold water running down a lone faucet turns hot and pink once it connects with the hands of yours truly. The bathroom is quiet. Usually after training most would be here, relieving themselves after a beating and/or taking a shower to wash away the grime and tension. None of these fall into the category of your current occupation. You hiss softly when the stream connects with raw knuckles, eye the tares in the skin and cuss lowly, as if afraid that someone might hear you. The pale white lights create illusions, they almost make your head spin: everything is so polished it reflects and turns neon. You look up; see your reflection staring right back at you with a confused, tired and angry face.

“Fuck…” Another low curse escapes your parted lips as you lean closer to inspect the subtle red peeking out your left nostril, “Fuckin’ Margarita…Name suggest she’d be a lot sweeter…” You mumble to yourself. Ah, yes, now you recall it all in vivid detail.

The training room was mostly empty, just a few leftover Statesman lurking around: some picked up their bags and left shortly, some stuck around to punch and kick and do some push ups. You and she were the only ones sparring. After a few minutes or so you felt your breath burn in your lungs; you had her pinned and she grunted, tried to elbow your foot away from her neck, but you only pushed harder and in turn, made her angrier. Margarita is a poor fighter, you knew this, everyone there knew this, and that’s why a crowd started to form around you soon after her first tumble to the ground and your ‘Get the fuck up’. Everyone was expecting you to throw in one of your famous kicks and knock some of her teeth out, you even overheard Wine and Ale making bets on how much the poor girl was going to get this time. You got cocky (you usually do). Let a triumphant smile slip on your face as you looked straight into her big blue eyes and were taken off guard from what you saw: rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. She most likely had had enough of you humiliating her in front of the whole agency, honestly – who could blame her ?- and before you realized what’s what she slipped your tight pin, jumped onto her feet and nicked you so hard that your bones rattled.

A collective gasp and amused, hushed whispers followed right after that, a whistle from Ale. Margarita, or Stacy Simons, shared one last second of victory before tumbling to the ground from exhaustion.

You turn off the faucet. A few drops pick on the side of it and drop with a silent ping. “Great…” You utter, eyeing the bruise slowly forming on the bridge of your nose, “Just when I have to meet those fucking brits, too.”

~*~

A couple of layers of makeup, a shower and an extra minute or so to pick the right outfit and it’s already two hours later. 11am. You trot down the hallway with your hands still aching by your sides. You try to concentrate. Try to think of what will you say to the cousins – from what Cider has told you, they have a major stick stuck up their ass. Well, that’s no surprise, really. You picture Kingsmen exactly as he had described: cold, like their weather, polite, but not honest, polished and of course, having a master’s degree in queuing. Also, Cider mentioned something about them being in a true gentleman(y) age. Which was quite a surprise, honestly, since most of the recruits working in Statesman are barely over twenty five. You fall into a small handful that is twenty one…You and Margarita. You guess that’s why you pick on her so much.

“Oi.”

You have a sudden urge to roll your eyes so far back into your head that you are sure they might pop out. Tequila joins you (where exactly did he come from you have no idea – Statesmen have this sort of magical ability to just show up). He towers over you and is never afraid to exploit this advantage either to eye your cleavage, which is hidden at the moment, or to mess up your hairdo. His hand was already raising and you smack it away before it reaches you. Tequila snorts, “Pissy mood?”

“Shove it.”

“Hey, not my problem that Margarita nearly knocked you out.”

“Beginners luck.” You scoff.

“She ain’t exactly a beginner.” He states, “Maybe you’re losing your touch,--“

“-Maybe you should go fuck right off before I make you.”

He raises his hands in defence, slows his pace, “Woah, you wound me.”

“Oh, I wish I did.”

To an outsider this conversation would suggest that the two of you hate each other. And you do. But there is also this strange sense of familiarity, companionship, just two friends making fun of each other for the hell of it. Tequila can’t help the grin that spreads on his face, and you can’t help yourself either. The tension fades just as abruptly as it had come. The two of you turn a corner, this time led by peaceful silence. You with a quick step return once again to thinking how to act like a proper lady in front of those English Queen’s Messengers, and Tequila, lagging behind just a bit, eyes the way your hips sway. Both of you are thinking about something equally important.

Soon or not soon enough the office doors come into view and you feel a pang of excitement springs in your chest. You glance at Tequila. He tilts his favourite hat at you with a smile. You don’t return the gesture, merely turn to see the dark wood doors behind your future lies. The two of you stop. No sounds escape from the other side, and you have no idea if they’re talking or drinking or possibly both. With Champagne it’s usually multitasking, that’s one of the reasons you like and respect him so much.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, (Name), just open the damn door.” Tequila sighs. You shoot him a displeased glance but comply; your fingers hook around the handle and with an uneasy heart you open the door fully. Your body drowns in sunshine and you have to squint. A pleasant ‘Oh’ and ‘you’re here’ from Champagne and you see him sitting in his chair with a cigar in hand. His attention then turns to the other end of the table and with a smile he motions to you and Channing standing by the door.

“Gentleman,” Champagne starts, “Some of my finest.”

Well, Cider wasn’t exactly wrong about their age, but damn did you not expect to see a slightly shorter male about your age looking like a proper British gentleman, just without wrinkles. You try not to stare, but it is a bit hard. He stands with poise, hands behind his back and his chin tilted in a way you can see the brilliant outline of his jaw. A smirk slowly rises to his lips once your eyes meet. Your brow ticks and you promptly look away, “That’s Tequila. A rowdy one, I suggest him on hand-to-hand missions, stealth ain’t really…his brand.”

“Damn right.” Channing agrees.

“And that’s…” Champagne’s eyes land on you, “Gin.” He glances at the Cousins, “She blends with just about anything and anyone. Be careful, though. The girl packs a punch.”

“And knows how to take one.” Tequila adds.

Champagne chuckles, “Ain’t that right? Sit down, you two. I’d like to give you a heads-up.” The two of you obey without a word in protest. Tequila sits on Champagne’s left; you go sit a few chairs back on his right. “So, I and my humble guests have been discussing a mission. In London, to be specific. Now, neither of you have been overseas yet, so that’s why I recommended you. It is their choice, however, which one of you to pick.” Instantly, your gaze shoots to the three men at the end of the table. Your eyes narrow – you recognise one! Galabad…Galasad? Mad?—What’s the difference?! You remember Ginger mentioning finding an agent wounded when this whole Valentine business took place. Sadly, you were in LA at that time on a romantic getaway with your ex-boyfriend. Looks like agent Galahwatever is fine after all.

“And…” You pipe up, “What exactly is the mission?”

Champagne shrugs, “Only one of you will find out, I’m afraid.”

~*~

Evening. The bar is rowdy with customers and country music blares from the old jukebox by the door with such flare and passion that one would think it was brand new. Some men by the pool table score and cheer, glasses clink and a few crash to the ground and shatter into a thousand glistering pieces. The bartender, Caroline, sends one last wink your way before she throws a dirty rag over her shoulder and moves away from the counter and you take her place. You smile down at your new partner, Galahad Junior, sitting on a stool right in front of you. He eyes the glass you gave him: a cold clear liquid with frosty ice sizzling at its bottom, smelling of Sprite and having a carefully sliced lime in its corner. You hold up one, too.

“Are all of you Statesmen working part time as bartenders?” He asks.

You tick a brow, “We all know how to make our drinks. Tequila is a master of shots, Wine picks out the best cheese to go along with his glass and I…” You motion to the glass in your hand, “Make a killer Gin and Tonic. Careful, though. Might be a bit too strong for you.” He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth with a mildly-amused expression. You take a shy sip. The alcohol burns the inside of your mouth, filling your nostrils with its sharp taste and sliding down your throat like a warm, fuzzy snake. Galahad follows in your example.

“Not bad.” He says.

You shrug, “And how about you? Are all Kingsmen tailors?” You lean onto the counter, “Will you make me a custom suit, Galahad Junior?”

“It’s Eggsy, and the only thing I can do is take your suit off.”

“A generous invitation that I will have to decline, Egi.”

“Eggsy.”

“Whatever.” You mumble into your drink.

“And you?” He pesters, “Was your name?”

“(Name).” You introduce, “Don’t get used to saying it, though. You’ll know me only as Gin.”

“Why’s that?”

“We’re not friends, Galahad.” You state, “And I doubt that we will be.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow; the corner of his lip curls into a tiny smirk, “I bet after five of these-“ He motions to his drink, “we’ll be the best of friends the world has ever known.”

“How early is our flight, again?”

“Depends on how early you want to back out.” He grins, “C’mon, call your bartender friend and tell her to keep ‘em comin’, yea? I think we’re gonna take a while.”

You smirk, “God save the Queen.” You toast.

“And bless America.”

Your glasses clink. It seems like a long night is ahead of you.

tbc (if you want to be tagged, let me know!)