#kingsman fix it

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 8 "Back to Basics"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.4k Chapter Tags: Trauma response, description of training, description of weaponry, use of a gun, PTSD/Trauma flashbacks, traumatic reaction, grounding, slight intimacy, description of wounds/scars, beginning of a friendship, drinking, eluding to being drunk at times (sensibly).

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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 7 - "An Encounter")

Training Jack proved to be somewhat difficult - especially when he finally had a weapon placed back in his hands.

A/N: Thinking of changing the artwork for this series...thoughts? Also I'm officially scrapping an upload schedule. I started this as an every Wednesday idea, but I've found it too restrictive. I'm now just going to upload whenever I had a chapter ready! It'll still be regularly that this series gets updated, but that just gives me a bit more freedom!

Your time spent in the bar after work was somewhat different to how you first imagined it to be. Rather than the tipsy affair you had in your head, instead you opted for nursing a whiskey while plotting what training you could offer Jack. You swilled the contents of the glass around briefly as you contemplated what you had planned, your eyes scanning over scrawled notes littering the book you’d been using, before you were joined by a familiar southern drawl. 

“How’s it coming along?” Tequila had asked as he slid into the booth with you, a cold beer in hand. He took a swig of the drink as he got himself settled in next to you as you both awaited the rest of your party to join.

“I think I’ve got it nailed down. Here,” you pushed your notepad over towards Tequila, “have a look and see what you think?”. 

Tequila took another swig from his bottle before setting it down on a coaster and turning his attention to the book you’d been jotting down notes in all evening. Although your meeting with Jack was brief, combined with what Tequila had already told you about his rehabilitation after Jack had left had given you a good framework to start plotting with. You knew before Tex had given you more information that this would have to be a very different training plan, but you hadn’t anticipated just how different. 

Time. That was going to be the main difference - even in spite of the fact Jack had been a very well respected, and highly trained, agent for so many years, there was not an element of this that you could rush. Normally your goal was to get recruits to a high standard as fast as possible, and as you only ever dealt with the weapons training it was simple for you to streamline the process. All your training could be simplified as the more you practise, the better you get.

But Jack would have to be different. The kind of trauma he had faced over his life, totally unchecked too, made you take a different approach. You wouldn’t even dare put a weapon in his hands for a few weeks at least, and only would on the advice of Loretta. 

Tequila nodded slowly as he read over your notes, following the words with his finger - an endearing trait about Tex you’d picked up on when he told you about his dyslexia, and the struggles he sometimes had when it came to the admin side of his job. He’d found ways to make it work for him, and never didn’t turn in his reports, but there were still times you’d see him struggle. Your handwriting probably didn’t help, either…

“Looks good, London,” he said, smiling as he handed you the book back, “are you gonna start training him right away?” he asked. You nodded, placing your ribbon page marker into the book before closing the cover and tucking the book back in your bag. 

“No point delaying things. I imagine Jack’ll want to get going soon anyway. Sounds like he’s been itching to get back out there,” you said, returning to nursing your drink. Tequila chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. 

“You’re not wrong there. For months he was fine, and didn’t want to really think about it. But these last few weeks he’s turned a corner and there’s been a huge shift in him - and for the better, too. He’ll be pleased to know you’ll want to start immediately.” 

You smiled at Tex, finishing the last of your drink. 

“It’s good to have you back. I missed you; we all did,” you said. He pulled you in for a side hug, squeezing you tight into his solid frame. He planted a soft kiss in your hair, then released you. 

“I missed you too, kid.”

You’d spent the rest of that evening catching up with Tequila, finding out about his life in the UK with Astrid, who when she joined the table the two of you both almost broke down in tears after finally being reunited. She coddled you in her arms and it was like no time had passed at all - suddenly it was over two years ago,  the night before you found out where you were being stationed, and the two of you were drunkenly hugging like your lives depended on it. 

Tequila and Astrid would be staying States-side for a while, but that didn’t stop the two of you treating that night like you’d never see each other again. By the time the morning rolled around, and you peeled yourself off your bed, you cursed the fact you’d let Astrid talk you into three rounds of shots to finish the night off. Getting up to brew a pot of coffee, you thanked your lucky stars you’d told Jack to not meet you until the afternoon, and opted to type up his training plan from your work laptop at home so you could at the very least nurse your hangover in the comfort of your sweatpants and no bra. 

Jack’s training plan was a solid one, and this was probably the most thought you’d ever put into a recruit’s programme. Which sounded bad, given that for over a year it had been your job to train the next generation of recruits - but Jack was complicated, he wasn’t a fresh slate like so many who walked in through the doors of your office. There were so many adjustments you needed to make before you could confidently loosen the reins with him like your other students, even if he did technically have more experience than you in this line of work. 

The major adjustment you’d had to make with him was significantly dialling back on the combat and weapons side of things. Having spoken to both Tex and Loretta to get an idea of the kind of rehab programme he’d been undertaking, it was clear that the very last thing you should consider was putting a weapon in his hand. Which was something you knew anyway, but after re-reading his therapy notes once the caffeine hit your system that morning, you thought twice about also getting him involved in physical combat. 

That afternoon, once you’d made yourself look somewhat presentable, you’d started at ground level with Jack, and so began the next two months of you being his 1-on-1 trainer. Meeting at your office, he’d then been given a tour to the site as if he were a fresh-faced twenty-something who had been poached by Statesman, with no prior secret service training under his belt. He’d met all his new colleagues, some of whom he already knew , and learnt about all the recent developments that had happened since he’d been taken off active duty. 

Then, the admin work. How you didn’t pull your hair out with him you’d never quite understand - for a man who had been in a job literally engulfed with technology for the best part of two decades, it was like watching a fawn how to walk on ice when it came to him getting to grips with the new system and the way in which things were filed. Long gone were the days of brown envelopes containing classified information, a system he was so comfortable with, and in with digital. 

After the twelfth consecutive training day of getting him used to the system, you almost lost your rag at him. You were behind on your own paperwork now, with Jack’s training slowly becoming to the detriment of your own cases. At just turned four o’clock one afternoon, with your head in your hands, you grumbled at him. 

“How did you manage before?” you’d asked, genuinely curious how he’d gotten by if he was this shit with technology. He’d just shrugged, wiping his hands across his face in equal frustration at the fact he couldn’t grasp it. 

“I’d had assistants for years! I never needed to worry about any of this shit,” he’d said, which suddenly answered a lot of your questions. 

Jack was the biggest pain in your ass you’d ever known. You thought that for someone who had been given a second chance at life that he might be a little more grateful to the training you were giving him – and in the discreet manner in which you were giving it. Jack didn’t make it easy for you; for as much as you were happy with the cover story that he was brand new to Statesman, the former senior agent spent a fair bit of his time out chatting to other colleagues in a way where it was very obvious he clearly had a past with the company.

But still, you persevered. Sticking to your word, you didn’t tell anyone who he really was, even when you were asked about it. Schmidt had enquired about him on a few occasions.

“Tex says he’s new, but I’m not convinced y’know. Is there more to it?” he’d asked one afternoon you’d gone to get coffees. You’d just shrugged it off, answering with a non-committal, “Not that I’ve been told”.

But in spite of how much you wanted to ring his fucking neck some days, Jack gradually got the hand of it. He saw how much effort you’d put in, and when he’d noticed you not leaving your office one night just to catch up on your own work, he’d seen the sacrifice you were making to your own caseload just to make sure that he was getting the training he’d needed. 

Filled with guilt, he’d brought you a latte that next morning ( with an extra shot of espresso) , and had started pulling extra hours himself to make sure he had it nailed. He would repeat anything he didn’t understand time and time again until he cracked it. You found him one night cooped up in the library by himself in the corner, desperately typing away on a laptop. The smallest quip of a grin could be seen on his face, and you slinked away that evening with a sense of pride that he’d finally started getting it. 

After that night, spending time with Jack slowly got more tolerable. You’d be lying if you said that the two of you hadn’t got off to a rocky start - he was someone who had been so used to getting any privileges handed to him on a silver platter, and now for the first time in years he was actually having to work for it. It had obviously ground his gears, and he’d resented you somewhat while he was getting to grips with everything anew. As his training officer, you became the face of all his misfortune, in his mind you were the reason that he wasn’t progressing faster. 

But once he got over himself and let his ego calm down, he started to see that none of this was your fault, and instead you were doing everything in your power to help speed this along. In a way he started to admire you - how you held yourself, how kind you were, and how far you had come with Statesman in such a short amount of time. The two of you might have still butted heads from time to time, but on the whole it was getting to be a much more amicable relationship the two of you had. 

Finally, Jack started making progress in leaps and bounds. Not only was he finally getting the hand of filing the paperwork, and making record time for some of it now after hours of practice, but Loretta had finally cleared him for using firearms. 

“There ain’t a guarantee he’s totally ready. There never will be, child. But his sessions have been the most positive since I met the guy. I’d say it’s worth a try ,” she’d said. 

You were nervous about the prospect of Jack handling a weapon - you’d read his file and knew what a marksman he used to be, and how he could handle himself in seemingly any situation. Of all the agents who were serving with the organisation at the time of his accident, Jack had suffered the fewest injuries across the entire team, even in spite of how long he had worked here. There was a part of you who worried that he’d try and relive his glory days, and go too far too soon, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. 

But you trusted Loretta, and if she said his sessions were becoming more positive, and that this was worth trialling, you had no reason to not believe her. She was an honest woman, worth her weight in salt, and would never suggest Jack do something if she didn’t think he was ready to take on the challenge from a mental standpoint. 

So, just over two months after your formal introduction, you were finally in the weapons department. Jack marvelled at how the room had changed since his time in here last - even though this is where the two of you had met, he hadn’t really paid much attention to what this room was like. His focus had more so been pinned on the woman in a waistcoat who was to be his training officer for the foreseeable future… 

There were so many safety features installed here in comparison to when he was last in here for official training duties. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the dozens of additional locks and biometric keypads that now covered the cases of weapons and internal doors to the weapons room, a clear indicator of what went wrong with him. 

You let him have a session just getting used to the feel of the weapons room now - even if Loretta had said he could try the weapons, you were in no hurry to put a gun in his hand on the first day. You’d been strict about it, locking away all bullets and magazines behind a biometric lock tailored to you before his session had even begun, just to make sure that he couldn’t suddenly flip a switch and go all trigger-happy. 

But to your great relief, he didn’t. He happily took in his new surroundings, made notes as to the newer weapons that had come in since his time, as well as just get a feel for what a gun felt like again. 

Jack smiled taut down at the small silver revolver, engraved with Statesman’s ‘S’ on the leather handle. It was not all too dissimilar to the kind of pistols he once carried. It was almost bittersweet to handle them once again, and you stood back and watched how he reacted to having them in his grasp once more. 

“You alright?” you’d asked him. Jack had simply nodded, caressing the metal with his thumb gently, before putting them back in their allocated holder. 

“Yes, ma’am. With your permission, I think I’d be ready for us to start using them in training, if you saw fit,” he’d said. 

Truthfully, you no longer had a reason to say no. Loretta had cleared him, and after a couple of sessions where any and all ammunition had been under lock and key, you were satisfied that he was as ready as he could be to start that part of the training now. 

So, you agreed. 

But when it came to those sessions, you were instantly regretting your decisions. For the first time in weeks you were seeing the cockier side of Jack again, the side you’d come to learn  would come out in a situation when he thought he was the only person who could know the answer. It wasn’t very often he would drag up his prior stint with the agency in a session with you, mainly due to the risk of someone overhearing who was not meant to know anything about his former moniker. But also because he’d agreed, along with yourself, Champ, and Loretta, that he’d likely fare better if he didn’t focus on what once was, and instead only looked forward to what would be. 

You weren’t sure what exactly got into him this morning to make him such a colossal ass , but you had no fucking patience for it anymore. You were almost ready to call the session to an early close, but after making him wait for so long to give this a go, you figured you owed it to your student to at least let him have a go. 

That didn’t mean he remotely appreciated your generosity. 

“I know how to hold a fuckin’ gun, Mimosa,” Jack said, anger evident in his tone and an annoyance seeping in. You rolled your eyes ( for the fifteenth time this session, you might add ) and sighed as Jack gripped the handle on the pistol. 

“You used to know, Seltzer,” you said, earning you a disapproving grunt from the former senior agent. You knew it pissed him off no end to be called by anything other than Jack, or Whiskey, but that was a title his own stupidity has forfeited. You’d happily remind him of that whenever he so needed it - it helped to bring him down a little bit, you found. Normally you’d call him Jack, but today you couldn’t be fucking bothered with his childish attitude. 

“Stop callin’ me that,” Jack murmured under his breath as he started loading the pistol for the first round of shots. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice, but unfortunately for him your hearing was significantly sharper than what he gave you credit for.

“Seltzer, I’ll have less of that,” you said. Jack’s eyes darted up to meet yours, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks as he realised he’d been made. You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath as you caught the agent, virtually red handed, embarrassed that he’d been found out. 

Or slightly angry. You weren’t sure. 

“Sorry,” he said coyly, breaking eye contact. He rolled his shoulders back, warming up his muscles to get into position and start firing the pistol at the target.

You furrowed your brow as you watched how he held himself, lining his body up for the shot. The muscles in his shoulders tensed all wrong, his arms weren’t bent properly, and his feet were far too close together. You leant back against the bench at the back of the room, lined with weapons and ammunition, and crossed your arms across your chest. Jack wouldn’t hurt himself if he took a shot like this, so you didn’t need to intervene from a health and safety point of view. But you wondered if he took a shot like this, which would inevitably be off-target, it might make him realise he needed more help than he imagined. 

Jack got into position, albeit the wrong one, and inhaled sharply. He knew something wasn’t right, he could feel it. The gun felt too heavy, his arms were locked up, and his body felt like it was twisting in a manner that was now foreign to him. This was something he’d done day in, day out, for over two decades. He plainly refused to accept that he’d forgotten this ability, and instead of doing the sensible thing and asking for a correction, he carried on.

Like an angry bull going after a bull rider.  

He inhaled sharply and squeezed the trigger, releasing a bullet from the barrel, his breath never exhaling as he took the shot. The sensation of the bullet flying out the barrel careered up Jack’s arms and left a shaking feeling coursing round his body, his muscles still locked up and not releasing even once the bullet was out from the barrel. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the bullet fly out across the room, and avoid the target completely. 

Jack sighed at the miss, but what frightened him more than the disappointment that he’d failed was the feeling he was left with after. Not anger, not frustration - but anxiety. Even long after the sound from the shot firing had ceased ricocheting around the bunker the two of you were in, the noise continued to ring in his ear. 

The pitch of the bullet ringing around in his head got louder and more high pitched with every passing moment, and he screwed up his eyes to try and make it go away. It felt like the beginning of a sharp migraine piercing through his skull, and he’d not felt pain like this in a long time. It all concentrated near his temple, where the scar from his accident stood prevalent. 

A few seconds after the failed shot, you looked to Jack and saw that he wasn’t making any effort to move. Not just to get into a better position, but to do anything. He wasn’t reloading the gun, he looked as though he was barely breathing; the only thing that was moving was his face, which was painted with a pained expression. 

“Seltzer?” you said, pushing off the bench to step closer to him. He still held his position, but you could see that something else was taking over control over his body. 

He didn’t respond to your voice. Truthfully, he didn’t hear it. The ringing of the gunshot ran around his head, bouncing off the sides of his mind and sending a piercing shriek through him. Jack grunted, faltering on his stance, and fumbled with his weapon slightly as he tried not to drop it from the pain the noise brought him. He panted, quickly flicking the gun to have its safety mechanism on, before dropping it to the ground in a panic. 

“ Jack ?!” you said, now actually worried. At the use of his real name he seemed to snap out of whatever haze he was in, and his eyes darted around to meet yours. Your heart shattered as you looked in them, and all you could see reflected back was fear. 

“I- that’s never- I don’t know-,” he stammered, his mouth dry and making it almost impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. You unfurled your arms from across your chest and went up to him, reaching out and gently placing your hands around his trigger hand to comfort him. 

Jack shook throughout his body, and beneath your palms you felt every nervous quake which ran down through to his fingers. You gently applied some pressure, trying your best to ground him, employing techniques you’d picked up at MI5 for trauma responses within your colleagues. You’d all seen some shit in your time, and it had become rather useful you’d found. 

Jack closed his eyes, his ears still ringing and the world around him spinning while he stood in place. His heart thudded in his chest and he could hear every beat as blood rushed through his ears. He found himself clinging to you like a lifeline, finding that your touch was the only thing keeping him from completely spiralling. 

With your other hand, you softly interlocked your fingers with his which rested by his side. His hand gripped yours tighter and you watched as he screwed up his eyes to try and calm himself, his breaths deep and steady. With a gentle voice, and getting closer so that you could speak in just a whisper, you spoke. 

“You’re alright, Jack. I’ve got you,” you said. He had no reason to trust you yet on a deeper level, aside from the fact you’d kept the secret about his identity for over two years. But in this one act alone he learned more about you than he perhaps knew about some of his colleagues whom he’d been working with for several years. He’d spiralled a few times over these last two years, and had to learn on his own how best to bring himself back to square one - but perhaps with you by his side, that might be easier. He never imagined that somebody else might be able to quell his troubled mind in any way, let alone how he so desperately needed. 

Slowly, the grip Jack had on you began to loosen, and his eyes opened. You smiled softly up at him, never once letting go of him as he regulated his breathing and began to calm down. He shot you a watery smile once he was calm anew, and you felt him trying to retract from your grip. You let him, pulling your hands away. 

“You alright?” you asked, letting his hands slide out from yours. Jack nodded. 

“Yeah, I- I think so. I’m sorry, ‘bout that…,” he said, looking almost perplexed as to what had just happened. You smiled softly and tipped your head towards a bench at the side of the training room, notioning for him to join you. He followed you to the bench and watched you remove your Stetson, setting it down on the seat to your left, before beckoning for him to take the one on your left. 

“When did you last fire a gun, Jack?” you asked. He shrugged, then sighed. He took his own hat off now, revealing the head of thick brown hair beneath it - albeit slightly more grey at the roots than what you recall from seeing in that photograph of him just over a decade ago. 

“On the day I got injured. One of the last things I heard was gunfire, before I-,” he sighed, again, “-yeah…”. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. Tequila eventually gave me the details of what happened that day,” you said, looking up at him. It was then, without his hat on and so close to you, that you saw the scar on his temple. You gently raised your hand and brushed your fingertips over the scar, and Jack grimaced as you did. Deep down he didn’t hate how the feeling of your soft touch was on his skin, but he couldn’t show such weakness. Not when he was trying all he could to appear tough. 

He sighed solemnly, letting his tough facade slowly fade from view. Of all people, there was no point hiding this side of himself from you - you needed to know as much about how he was doing in order to help him, and he’d be damned if he was about to face setbacks all because he didn’t want his pride to get damaged. 

You retracted your hand from his scar, not wanting to draw too much attention to the area, and instead reached over to take Jack’s hand in yours. Your fingers softly slid between his, but it was Jack who responded with a tightening grip. 

He smiled faintly down at your intertwined hands, the feeling now so foreign to him. It had been a long time since anyone had shown Jack physical affection, and even longer since that affection felt like it came from a place of love and care. After his wife passed he’d not wanted anything with women beyond meaningless hookups, and the second things began to feel more intimate, he’d shut things down. On a couple of occasions he’d entertained the idea, but those relationships never lasted longer than a few months, and as soon as he felt as though she cared more for him than he felt he deserved , he ended things. 

So something as simple as having his hand held, while completely clothed, was almost bizarre. But he noted, as he watched your fingers softly curl around his, and your thumb caress the back of his, that he didn’t hate the way this felt. 

“Thank you, Mimosa,” he said softly, “You’re a credit to this organisation, you know?”.

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to now look at Jack. He turned his head and smiled at you, a pair of deep brown eyes boring into you and making you feel warm and comforted from the inside. Even though it was you who was helping him right now, you yourself took comfort in the gentleness that was reflected back at you. 

“Yes. Tequila really undersold you,” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes, not remotely surprised. 

“Oh jeez, do I want to know what he said about me though?” you giggled, and Jack laughed with you now. 

“Only good things, Mimosa. I promise!” he explained. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” you snorted. 

“Oh, stop,” Jack chuckled, his hand gripping yours tighter, “I very much got the impression that the two of you enjoy winding each other up. So for him to still be able to sing your praises? Yeah, I trusted that he meant every word. And he wasn’t wrong; not about a single thing.” 

“Thank you, Jack. That means a lot to hear,” you smiled. 

Jack nodded, then cleared his throat and loosened his grip on your hand. He’d calmed down enough now that he felt as though he could clear up in here for the day, and didn’t want to burden you any longer with his feeling of not being alright. He’d make a point to go and see Loretta after your session, he thought, and as you let him retract his hand from yours, both of you grabbed your stetsons and stood up. 

“You feelin’ better?” you asked, and Jack nodded, putting his hat back on his head. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna head and see Loretta before our next session, just to go over today. But I think for now I’m gonna have to throw the towel in,” he smiled. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” you said, shaking your head. “This was always going to be a strange adjustment, and a big step to take. See Loretta, and perhaps next session we’ll do more work in weapons that don’t involve guns.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Got anything in mind?” he asked. You grinned, looking over to one of the wall panels which was filled with ropes and lassos. 

“I might have some ideas cooking up, yeah,” you chuckled. 

Jack followed your gaze to the cabinet, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t get a twinge of excitement at the thought of gripping a lasso again. It was one of the parts of his job that he missed the most, the power that came from being so nimble with a whip or lasso. 

He noticed, as he turned back to look at you, the way your fingers danced over the handle of your own whip. He’d seen it before, but he grinned as he watched you fiddle with it, he noticed it was a very similar model to the one he once owned. The way the small switch stood out on the end, signifying yours would turn electric at a moment’s notice, had a buzz go through Jack at the thought of you using it. 

He’d been wanting to ask for a few weeks why you chose that weapon - it wasn’t exactly conventional when he made the choice, and with the amount of technological advancements that had come along since his time he very much doubted that it was any more preferable now. You turned back to look at him and were greeted with a cheeky grin, a far cry to the face of the man who you had just seen almost broken not ten minutes before you. You furrowed your eyebrows in curiosity, and folded your arms across your chest in defence.

“What made you decide to have a whip as your signature weapon, by the way?” he asked, that playful smirk never diminishing. 

Ah, fuck. Busted. 

You cleared your throat, a warmth dancing across your cheeks at the reality you were now faced with. You knew that your decision to carry this weapon out of slight admiration was bound to come up one day, but you had hoped it would be much further down the line than this. You began trying to pace away from Jack, your feet moving towards the door. 

But something stopped you. 

Jack reached out and placed his hand on your arm, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Now you were really done for. You dared to make eye contact with the cowboy again, and butterflies swirled in your stomach as you did. 

“Well? Come on, don’t keep me waitin’. I don’t know many that would choose such a weapon. Colour me intrigued!” he said. 

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled to yourself. You figured there was no better time than the present to rip this bandaid off, anyway…

“Fine, fine! Twist my arm, why don’t you,” you began, clearing your throat and inhaling sharply before continuing. 

“I read your file before I knew about you from Tequila, and your stats impressed me immensely. Your success rate, how little you got injured, and the kind of missions you were involved with. From a professional standpoint, I admired the work you did,” you said. “And then I finally got the chance to speak to Tex about you. He told me so much about you, but one detail that always stood out was your choice of weapon. I’ll admit, I was intrigued.”

“Really?!” Jack said, dropping his hand from your arm and replacing playful smirk for a smile of genuine joy. You chuckled as you watched him, slightly giddy, at the prospect that you might have for a second been inspired by him.  

“Yes, really . I couldn’t get my head around the benefit of a weapon like this,” you gestured to the whip by tapping the handle that was hooked to your hip, “But I was interested in finding out. So, on the downlow, I had my training officer show me the way with one”. 

“Who was your T.O?” Jack asked, the two of you now heading towards the exit. 

“Eve. She’s just got back from a prolonged, and well deserved, break. Have you ever worked with her?” you asked. Jack smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure. Does explain a whole lot about you and your training style though, given she shaped you into an agent.”

“She’s the best. I’ve missed her these last couple of months, but it’s been nice to not be worried about her getting injured recently,” you said. Jack shrugged before opening the door for you, allowing you to step out of the weapons room, then followed by him. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. From what I recall Eve seemed to have a knack for getting herself into a pickle even when she wasn’t working!”. 

You laughed to yourself as you locked the weapons room door behind the two of you, turning the key in the lock and then entering the code 719002 into the door. He wasn’t wrong about Eve - even if he hadn’t worked with her for a couple of years, his assessment was alarmingly accurate. She was the best agent you’d ever worked with, but her ability to get caught up in minor self-inflicted accidents was almost comical. 

“You’re not wrong, I’ve seen her trip over thin air before,” you said, still giggling. Jack laughed with you, and then softened as you turned to look at him. 

“Thank you, for today. And for your patience in general. I know I haven’t been the easiest agent to train,” Jack said. You chuckled. 

“You can say that again,” you told him, winking playfully as you tucked the key to the weapons room in the inner pocket of your jacket. 

“Sorry,” he winced. 

“It’s nothing, Jack. You’re a pain in my ass, but… I’m coming to like having to deal with your… quirks ,” you chuckled. 

“ Quirks ?!” he said, not able to hold back a laugh. 

“Yes, quirks! You’re bloody impossible sometimes!”. 

Jack laughed with you, then shook his head in amusement. He knew you weren’t wrong, and that he had been reluctant to some of the changes which had been made recently, but every day he was grateful for the attention and devotion you showed him. 

“Okay, okay, fine . I’ll admit it!” he said, raising his hands as though he was in surrender. You giggled, playfully patting the side of his right rib cage gently as a physical way of telling him to knock it off. 

Jack smiled down at you, feeling totally relaxed in your presence. There hadn’t been many instances in the last two years where he’d felt like he was genuinely calm, or at peace. But something about this friendship that was blossoming between the two of you made him feel like nothing had ever gone awry, and that life wasn’t perfect. 

He had to drop his arms down to his sides fairly quickly, as he found the longer he stayed fooling around with you like this, the more he had the urge to pull you in for a huge hug. Something told him that you might not be totally against that, given the fact you’d already not shied away from using physical touch with him where needed, but that was a line he knew he shouldn’t cross. 

“Go see Loretta, Jack. And have tomorrow off, or use it for database study. I don’t want to overwhelm you given today,” you said. Jack nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let you know when I’ve had my session,” he said. 

“Thank you. I’ll liaise with Champ and Tequila, and let them know about this too. You just get yourself some rest,” you insisted. 

“Thank you, Mimosa. I’ll see you soon,” he smiled, and then the two of you parted ways, heading off into respective parts of the building for the rest of the afternoon.

Even in spite of the drawback Jack had faced today, he was able to walk away optimistic, and with a spring in his step. He knew he still had a long way to go, and the hours he’d need to put into it would be nothing short of monumental. But with you as his T.O, he could actually begin to imagine his life after this was over. 

A second chance. Not one he ever thought he’d deserved, but one he was slowly beginning to earn. 

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Next Chapter (Ch. 9 - "Collision") ->

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[oonajaeadira]

A Welcome Home At Resolution Ranch

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x reader

Reader: Adult female. Former agent, now the manager at a guest ranch. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, but on the edge of healing

Summary: When the news comes through that Jack met his end in Cambodia, you know better.

A/N: Well howdy, friends, and welcome to a good, soft, fix-it fic. What inspired this? @writeforfandoms did when she sent in an ask for a game....

"I wish you would write a fic where Jack is fine and nothing hurts and there are stars in the sky and there is plenty of banter and softness. Maybe horses."

Since her birfday is this week and writing Jack for each other is a love language, this is especially for her. <3

“You sure I’m ready to go on my own?”

Charity is a good girl. A little accident-prone at times, sure, but it’s mainly out of a lack of confidence. She’s got a real knack with the horses though, and you’ve learned to let her be on hand whenever the ranch has new guests check in; that million-watt smile of hers is worth a welcome mat covered in gold. She is Jack’s kin in every way, except he sucked up all the ego in the family and left little over for his niece.

Handing her the roster clipboard, you grant her an approving grin. “You grew up on these trails. You know them better than I ever will. You’re every ounce the guide any of us are. Now you’ve got eight guests riding with you this evening, two of them are about your age, and pretty handsome young gentlemen. You’re about to win the hearts of some suitors with that sweetness of yours…and if not, then for sure their grandparents. Have fun. Oh,” you remember, pointing to a name on the roster, “this lady here is a bit of a tick, but she has it bad for Morgans. Put her on Sasha and she’ll be shining so bright there’s nothing gonna dim her stars.”

“But Sasha’s your horse.”

“She won’t mind. Now get. And remember–”

Charity rolls her eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell me that they know horses better than I do, I know.”

“Good girl. Now you do a good job on your first solo run and I’ll have a big surprise waiting for you when you come back, hear?”

“I’m not a kid. I don’t need a reward.”

Turning the girl around by the shoulders and sending her off in the direction of the stables, you refrain from swatting her playfully, showing her the respect of a coworker. “And I’m not baking you cookies either. I’m not going with you tonight because I have something I gotta do. You’ll get the benefit of that thing whether you do a good job or not. I was trying to be encouraging.”

Her black braid swings down her back as she walks off to her task–both excited and scared, clutching the clipboard with both hands. 

“Oh, and Charry?” She stops to turn and listen. “Don’t put anyone on Whiplash. Leave her in the stable tonight.”

Once she’s given you a nod and marched out of sight, you wander back into the main lodge and relieve everyone for a few hours. You’re ready to take the front desk on your own. No worries, you explain, there’s only one guest booked to come in in the next hour and everyone else is out on the twilight ride. You’ll take it from here.

Once the lobby is quiet, you prop yourself out on the porch in a rocking chair with your boots up on the railing, tip your hat down low, and keep your eyes on the horizon--gradually more pink and gold by the minute--where any cars coming over the mile-long driveway can’t pass your notice.

It’s been six years now since you were secretly decommissioned from Statesman and your agent status revoked. Emotional trauma is a hell of a thing, and some agents take a beating. When head of the organization deems an agent unfit for duty with needs of long-term recovery and care, it’s their call to order it and–with the help of one other top officer–secretly install the probationed agent in a situation where they are anonymous and removed from any society that they could harm or could harm them. The organizational file would relate how the agent was killed in action, with the true story being kept by the two in charge. A total erasure of personage, total disappearance.

If and when the agent passed an evaluation and elected to return, they became extremely valuable as a secret operative, since everyone would assume they were deceased. 

If they decided not to return, the agency made sure they were provided for. For life.

Sometimes they came back; thrill of the hunt, what they know best and all that. But overall, the return rate was low. Something about a slow down calls after a life of deception.

In your case, Jack was chosen as Champ’s second and–having always been one of the only agents that damn cowboy liked working with–suggested you head up his family ranch for your rehab period. Tasked you with making it a nice working vacation ranch for families. Came out and visited you often enough to make sure you were getting on.

And, of course, to make sure you were getting off too. 

There was a lot of hay on property, and Jack was a damn nice rolling partner. Said that he liked that he never had to pretend with you. Not now, not ever.

And you always felt exactly the same.

But the timing was never perfect. And the world had always needed one or the other of you to save it.

Distractions.

After the requisite five year probation, Champ and Jack made the ceremonial trip out and asked if you’d like to be re-evaluated and “reborn”. As much as you’d been itching during the first couple of years to get back in the game, the quiet life had softened your body and won your heart. You’d gained the trust of the employees. Knew all the horses and their idiosyncracies by heart. It had become your home. Walking away to spend days without sleep, lying, taking lives without stopping to think twice….just didn’t appeal anymore.

With Champ’s understanding, you had respectfully retired, and with Jack’s blessing, you’d planted yourself permanently. The ranch was your calling. Your heart. Even with some of Jack’s relatives working and living here it could get lonely at times, but then you’d catch yourself watching the fireflies in the sunset or riding Sasha through a particularly pretty meadow and everything seemed right with the world.

And hells. If the lack of companionship was the only thing you had to complain about, well the universe must have heard. It’s rung the hospitality bell for you.

Taking the letter out of your pocket, you glance over it one more time. An announcement of an agent down. Cambodia. Drug conspiracy. Agents Galahad, Galahad, and Merlin of Kingmen, London. Agent Whiskey showing mental trauma and poor judgment. A violent engagement. A meat grinder. Signed by Head Agent Champagne.

So that’s the story they assigned him, huh. A meat grinder? Really? So stupid. But then, you got to assist in penning your own death, so it makes all the sense in the world that Jack got to have a say in his. Of course he was going to go out in the corniest way possible, of course he was.

Tsk. A meat grinder. Jesus.

Before long, the stars are starting to peek out and there’s a plume of dust on the horizon. Then a black car at the core of it, making its way along the drive. By the time it pulls up in front of the porch, you’ve hidden the letter back in your pocket, stood and made your way to the bottom of the steps. 

Two doors open. From the front a driver emerges, short and sturdy, young and hale, heading for the trunk to retrieve luggage. But when the back door opens, there’s the duo of a boot and a Stetson which emerge together then unfold into a tall, cool drink of Jack Daniels.

It’s a showdown at twilight, but you both keep your hearts in your holster for the time being and instead reach for your sass. “Driver? This here’s a working ranch, so you can just leave the luggage. Guests here are required to haul their own.”

They do as they’re told with a nod, dropping two suitcases and a duffel in the dust. The whole time Jack stands, unmoving, hands on hips, watching with a bemused incredulity as the driver then simply gets back behind the wheel and literally drives off into the sunset, leaving Jack's bags like carrion.

“Well shit. Is that any way to welcome a man home?”

“Maybe I just wanted you all to myself, cowboy. You ever think of that?”

There’s a delicious moment underscored by cricket strings that allows for both of your grins to stretch to full capacity.

But still, he’s a man whose wind has abandoned his sails and you both know why he’s here. It doesn’t mean he’s not still Jack Daniels though. And while he might not come at you with an oppressive swagger, he still comes to you, the cockiness giving way to a genuine fondness.

“Well. Hello, gorgeous.”

“Let me guess,” you tease, opening your arms to guide him to his landing, “You have a pack of cold ones and your roomie’s out so I can scream your name as loud as I want.”

His embrace is more than just happiness to see you. It’s heavy with relief, with longing. He needs it from you as much as you from him, and he hums low into your neck as he lifts you so that your toes just leave the ground before plopping you back down. This is the point where the usual hug might end, but he stays. He stays just a few more breaths and you can tell he’s taking a cure in the moment.

“Come on, cowboy,” you hum into his shoulder. “Let me help you with these bags. I prepared the best room in the house for you.”

Silently, you both heft a suitcase and he takes the extra duffel, and you make it up the stairs of the main house to the biggest bedroom and flip on the light.

“Isn’t this your bedroom, Brandy?”

Throwing a suitcase on the quilted bed you shake a finger at him. “Uh uh uh, that’s not my name anymore, Whiskey.”

He follows suit, unburdening himself. “And that’s not mine. Belongs to Ginger now.”

You can’t--and won't--hide your delight. “Well hot shit. Good for her. She’s always wanted to go out into the field.” But it’s also bittersweet. It's been six years. “How is my girl?” 

“Oh, she’s doing real fine. Took over as Champ’s right hand when I went out and Tequila hopped the pond to work for those Brits.”

“Damn. Well, I’m proud of her. I wish I could tell her. If I could have just had one more agent to keep in touch with….wait.” Something in Jack’s little smile gives you pause. “Waaaaait a minute. Did she–???”

He finishes the thought for you. “With the transfer of title, she also became Champ’s number two. So she’s got access your retirement file. I’m sure she’ll be booking a vacation here soon enough.”

Turning to the window and clamping a hand over your mouth, you hold your own reflection and do your best to keep the tears for later. It’s been six years and your old friend is in Kentucky right now, finding out any day now that you’re not dead after all, that you’re only a plane ride away. A long dreamed-for reunion is coming. Oh god. 

But Jack’s here now, and he’s going to need your support. And of course he’ll demand your attention–”You never answered my question. Where are you sleeping if I’m in here?”

Turning to him, you wink. “Who said I was moving out of this room?” His blush signals that you’ve just out-Jacked Jack Daniels. Stepping in closer, you take his hand. “Hey. I just wanted to give you a view of the stables. If you want me here, I’ll share the room with you. If not, the guest room is free and I’m comfortable sleeping there too. This is your home now, cowboy. I want you to see the sun in the morning. Give you a reason to get up every day.”

“Sunshine’s wherever you are, partner. It’d actually be real nice to have a reason to stay in bed.”

His words spread through you like a good bourbon. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” It’s a warm moment, new for both of you. Instead of the thrill of the promise of sharing a bed and the obvious adventure that awaits, you have something now that you both never had before–time. Time to hold. Time to breathe. Time to heal and take it soft and slow. “Come on, cowboy. I wanna show you something.”

Picking up his Stetson from the bed, you place it lovingly on his head, your fingertips lingering as they trail down his sideburns. He wears the hat well, and the facial hair. And the deep adoration. Before he gets lost in the moment, you lead him out of the main house and down toward the stables.

“So. A meat grinder.”

He grins as he watches his feet, big hands swinging at his side. “Can’t blame a man for people wanting to remember his demise. That one’ll be talked about.”

“Little over the top, isn’t it?”

“That’s the way I went in, apparently.”

“Stupidest death I’ve ever heard of.”

“But you’ll remember it, won’t you.”

Rolling your eyes, you lead him to one of the front stalls of the stable. “Yeah, but I’d never believe it. Jack Daniels? Taken down by an unarmed, unstable agent and his apprentice? This hulk of a man tossed around and yanked into a grinder as if there’s one big enough to take you?”

“You’re real hung up on the meat grinder part, aren’t you. You do know the target was actually processing people and making them into burgers, right? I don’t see why it’s so unbelievable–” But he stops like stone when you reach your target stall. “Is that…Well slap my chaps. That’s the prettiest mustang I’ve ever seen.”

“You like her?” Clicking your tongue, the lithe and beautiful bay immediately comes to you, tossing her mane, ready for the apple you’ve got on offer. And when you hide it behind your back, she knows to put her nose to yours, to nuzzle you gently. “This is Whiplash. Fast as a shooting star and twice as bright. Picked her out myself. Helped Charity to train her up, which is why she’s also sweet. That girl has the patience of a saint. Must get it from the other side of the family. But this mare was a passion project for both of us. Thought you might like to claim her,” you say, handing the apple over to him and, with it, Whiplash’s attentions. “Anytime you need to clear your head, she’ll run you to the moon and back.”

Jack holds out the apple reverently with one hand, running the other along the mare’s neck. “Always wanted a mustang. Thought I’d have to settle for the automotive variety. They’re not the kind of horse you keep at a pedestrian ranch for just anyone to ride.”

“I know. It was meant to be a surprise for your next visit. But now that you’re here to stay, she’s even more yours than she was before.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to hold those tears for later, his beautiful brown eyes gathering up all the rising moonlight. Swallowing hard, he gives you a nod, a thanks that he can’t put into words just yet. Instead, he deflects. “Where is my favorite niece?”

“Your only niece is out leading a twilight ride. It’s her first lead. I told her I’d have a reward waiting for her when she got back as long as all the guests are alive and kicking. She doesn’t know you’re coming yet.”

He nods. Goes back to petting Whiplash. The full day and the journey finally come to settle on him and all his thoughts seem to rise to the surface and float in his tired expression.

You reach out. Hook a finger in his belt loop and give it a coy tug. “Hey. Can I ask you...what happened, Jack?”

He has to take a breath. Two. Then he gives Whiplash a final pat and takes your hand, weaving it through the crook of his arm, and you wander out into the darkening pasture together.

The mission was nearly doomed from the start. With Tequila down and Harry still recovering and Eggsy still green, it was just a mess. It didn’t help that his heart wasn’t in it, that he kept thinking about his loss so many years ago, that maybe it was better if all the addicts were just taken down in one fell swoop so they could stop hurting themselves and everyone else. Running the New York branch and distribution on top of fucking saving the world every five minutes–the burnout was getting to him and just made him fixate more. 

Harry saw through him but misinterpreted his reluctance. Harry shot him to take him out of commission, knowing full well that Ginger could fix him. Jack went back into action too soon, too hot. Went straight to Cambodia. Joined in the fray. Ended up taking out his rage on Poppy and brutally jamming a needle in her neck, overdosing and killing her rather than neutralizing her and taking her in as he should have. Harry and Eggsy were kind. Stood up for him with Champ. Helped to corroborate a story so he could step down. Jack let the record show that they were the heroes so they could go back to the Kingsmen in triumph and he could heal in peace.

This is what surprises you the most.

That Jack let himself go down as the bad guy.

“You could have just said you were taken down by one of Poppy’s men and walked away a martyr.”

He simply watches the first fireflies come out in answer to the first stars, squeezes your hand a little tighter, shakes his head. “If I’d had my head in the game, a good agent wouldn’t have died. Merlin. His name was Agent Merlin. Damn fine man. And if Harry and Eggsy hadn’t been the excellent agents they are, my lapse of judgment could have killed a lot more folks. This is my way to atone.”

“And there’s no way in hell you’d let anyone think you got taken down by some nameless thug.”

“Shit. Got me there.”

All you can do is show agreement with a knowing nod. “You know, when I first came out here, I couldn’t wait to leave. But you knew, didn’t you. You knew that I needed this.”

“I did.”

“Cocky bastard,” you mumble in loving admonishment. “Did you understand that you were nearing the end too? That you were sending me out here to give me time to be ready to bring you home?”

“I wasn’t aware of it at the time, probably a little too confident to ever think I should stop.” He turns to you, a sweet little apology in the corner of his smile. “But maybe a little part of me knew.”

“Yeah, that little part of you has gotten me into trouble before.”

He huffs a little laugh, tilts your chin up with a knuckle. Still holding your hand and sliding it inside his jacket against his chest he whispers, “Ain’t the part I was talking about, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it’s a different Jack than the one you used to settle for on occasion. This Jack is ready to put down his revolvers and his whip, ready to concentrate on himself, on you, on a life far from trouble. His kiss holds in it the promise of summer sunsets and long trail rides, of barbecues and lemonade and lazy mornings sleeping in. And there will be stars that are brighter...and nights under them for just the two of you. It’s a kiss that leaves no doubt that there will be many more to follow, each one with its own brand of sweetness and a happy ending well-earned.

No more distractions.

Time enough.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[thefiddlingdeath]

I had this old wip from September last year rotting around in my gallery and I had the urge to (kinda) finish and fix it, so I painted over it.

So yeah...

Baby Perci 🥰

[replaytech]

I’m not saying that I could fix him but yes I am saying that I could fix him

[shima-draws]

Thinks about Perry covered in the blood of his enemies and swoons

[shots-of-whiskey-and-wilson]

i wish someone had told agent whiskey that all of his problems could've been solved with therapy

[formerlyfandy]

when i wake up in the morning it is over for you guys

i’m gonna look thru the kingsman tag properly again

[missladym1981]

Ok let’s try this again shall we? Marcus Pike kept getting cut out of my damn photo but I finally got him to stay . Again, sorry. Here once again is the damn ledger.

Top row from left to right

1. King Lear- Edmund

2. Lobby Hero- Jeff

3. Much Ado About Nothing- Don John

4. Maple and Vine - Roger

5. Sand- Ahmed

6. Hamlet- Horatio

7. Trolius and Cressida- Thersites

8. Lorenzaccio-Piero Strozzi

9. Orphans - Phillip

10. Graceland - Juan Badillo

11. Nikita- Liam

12. Red Window- Jay Castillo

13. The Sixth Gun- Special Agent Ortega

14. CSI - Kyle Hartley

15. Old Comedy from Aristophanes Frogs- Diony

16. Body of Proof - Zach Goffman

Second row Left to Right

17. The Mentalist - Marcus Pike

18. Burn Notice : the fall of Sam Ace- Comendante Veracruz

19. Wonder Woman - Ed Indelicato

20. Law and Order SVU- Special Agent Greer

21. Charlie’s Angels- Fredrick Mercer

22. Brothers and Sisters - Zach Wellison

23. Lights Out- Assyrian

24. The Good Wife - Nathan Landry

25. Law and Order- Tito Cabassa

26. Without a Trace- Kyle Wilson

27. Law and Order CI- Reggie Luckman

28. NYPD Blue- Shane “ Dio “ Morrisey

29. Touched by an Angel - Ricky Hauck

30. undressed- Greg

31. Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Eddie

‘Third row Left to Right

32. TWMT- Javi Gutierrez

33. If Beal Street Could Talk- Pietro Alvarez

34. The Great Wall - Pedro Tovar

35. We Can Be Heros - Marcus Moreno

36. WW84- Maxwell Lord

37. Bloodsucking Bastards- Max Phillips

38. Kingsman : The Golden Circle- Agent Whiskey

39. The Equalizer- Dave York

40. Prospect- Ezra

41. Triple Frontier- Frankie Morales

‘Row 4 left to right

42. The Bubble- Dieter Bravo

43. House Comes With A Bird - Nico

44. Strange Way of Life- Silva

45. Freaky Tales- Clint

46. Drive-Away Dolls- Santos

47. The Uninvited- Lucien Flores

48. The Mandalorian - Din Djarin

49.Game of Thrones- Oberyn Mother Fuckin Martell

Final row of epicnessssssss left to right

50. The Materialist- TBA

51. Narcos- Javier Peña

52. The Last of Us- Joel Miller

53. Gladiator lol- General Marcus Acacius

54. Merge Mansion- Tim Rockford

55. SNL- Mr. Ben

56. Fantastic Four- Reed Richards

57. The Wild Robot- Fink

58. Housebroken- Claude

Sorry again for the fuck up. Sometimes shit happens but they are fixed now. Thank you have a good night

[bunnyscrypt]

how i envision jason todd in my head + fics i write for him

*.⊹˚🖤 ‧₊˚

starting off with looks; it depends on which version of him i’m thinking of. comic!jason: i fluctuate between these face claims. i like the michal mrazik face claim and use him for my college!footballer!jason au. in my mind jason has a hooked nose (those nose shapes are so beautiful and i love them)plus a scar on his cheek + neck

his hair: black with a white streak. keeps it short but grows it out & usually just wears it down but will tie it back sometimes.

body type: strong arms with a lil pudgy tummy . my baby is thick okay! he’s 6’4!!

jason has a lot! of tattoos. all over his abdomen and chest. an almost full sleeve. one i’ll mention is the taif rose near his heart with a ribbon that says “ummi jaan” dedicated to talia (my favourite one). his tattoos dedicated to you.

his style: very much so contemporary faunlet vibes. lots of reds and blacks. green too. he’s very simple laid back. sweatshirts and sweaters. boxy 90s cut leather jackets. jean jackets. skinny jeans and cargo pants. black or grey sweatpants on lazy fays. likes muscle tees and graphic tees. wears a lot of rings and a couple necklaces (a simple chain & cord necklaces). will throw on a random hat from time to time. wears simple shoes: doc marten boots.

bonus: drives a matte black yamaha yzf-r3 sports bike. speaks arabic and urdu. his favourite hobbies include collecting knives, listening to music (he’s a metal head), thrifting, fixing cars and motorcycles, long drives, gift giving as a love language, horror movies and action movies (the kingsman movies in specific), cemetery dates, gun ranges, reading, eating, kissing, hand kisses, cuddling, giving back love bites, getting tattoos, playing sports, acoustic guitar, going to shows, hanging out with duke, baking, sunsets, writing, and many many more.. <3

[muiitoloko]

Your Protector

Summary: He would burn the whole world down for you.

Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Dark Harry, Obsession, Protectiveness, Distrust, Possessiveness.

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for the 100 followers 🥳🥰 This fanfic was lost in my drafts and I decided to post it.

You enter the dimly lit room with a mixture of apprehension and hope swirling in your chest. Merlin's words echo in your mind, the revelation that Harry is alive hitting you like a tidal wave after a year of mourning his supposed death. But the knowledge that he doesn't remember you, that he's been locked up at Kingsman, struggling with aggression and suspicion, casts a shadow over your heart.

As you step further into the room, your eyes fall on the figure sitting in the corner, his posture rigid and his gaze cold and distant. Harry Hart, your husband, alive and well but wearing an eye patch, his once warm and loving eyes now masked by a veil of confusion and distrust.

Your heart aches at the sight of him, so close yet so far away, a stranger in the body of the man you once knew. You approach him cautiously, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the room, your hands trembling with emotion as you clutch the photos in your grasp.

"Harry," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper as you come to stand before him. "It's me, your wife. I know this must be confusing for you, but please, look at these photos. They'll help you remember."

But Harry's reaction is not what you hoped for. Instead of recognition or warmth, his eyes narrow with suspicion, his lips curling into a sneer as he regards you with thinly veiled hostility. "Who sent you?" he demands, his voice laced with accusation. "What do you want from me?"

Tears well up in your eyes as you realize the depth of his confusion and mistrust. He doesn't remember you, doesn't trust you, sees you as nothing more than a stranger in his fractured reality. And yet, despite the pain and rejection, you refuse to give up on him.

With trembling hands, you offer him the photos, each one a snapshot of your life together, moments of happiness and love frozen in time. "Please, Harry," you plead, your voice cracking with emotion. "Just look at them. Remember who we are, who you are."

For a moment, there's a flicker of something in Harry's eyes, a glimmer of recognition buried beneath the layers of confusion and fear. But it's fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by the cold mask of indifference.

"I don't know you," he says, his voice hollow and distant. "I don't know any of this. Leave me alone."

Your heart shatters into a million pieces at his words, the weight of his rejection crushing you like a vice. You nod silently, understanding his need for space and his mistrust of those around him. With a heavy heart, you turn to leave, but not before placing the stack of wedding photos gently in his hand.

"I'll leave you in peace, Harry," you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "But please, take these. They're important."

As you start to walk away, a sudden grip on your hand stops you in your tracks. You turn back to see Harry, his gaze fixed on the engagement ring adorning your finger. It was his mother's ring, a cherished heirloom that held a special place in both of your hearts.

For a fleeting moment, there's a spark of recognition in Harry's eyes, a flicker of memory stirring within him. And then, as if a veil has been lifted, his features soften, and he looks at you with a sense of familiarity that fills you with hope.

"You," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I remember... [your name]."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, tears welling up in your eyes as you realize that he's starting to remember. Maybe not everything, but enough to know that you were someone important to him, someone he cared about deeply.

"Yes, Harry," you reply, your voice choked with emotion. "It's me. I'm here."

And in that moment, as Harry looks at you with newfound recognition, the weight of his suspicion and aggression begins to lift, replaced by a sense of connection and warmth. You know that it's just the beginning, that there's still a long road ahead filled with challenges and obstacles. But for now, in this moment, all that matters is that Harry is starting to remember, starting to come back to you. And with that glimmer of hope lighting the way, you know that together, you'll find a way to overcome whatever darkness lies ahead.

As you watched Harry's tentative recognition flicker and then ignite into a spark of remembrance, your heart soared with hope. Finally, it seemed like you were breaking through the barriers that had separated you for so long. But that hope was short-lived as Merlin entered the room, his presence casting a shadow over the fragile moment you had shared with Harry.

Merlin's expression was a mix of concern and anticipation as he approached, his eyes locked on Harry's guarded stance. But as he drew nearer, Harry's demeanor shifted, his suspicion rising like a dark cloud as he tensed, his hand tightening around yours in a protective grip.

You tried to reassure Harry that Merlin was a friend, that he was someone they could trust, but Harry's distrust ran deep. He regarded Merlin with narrowed eyes, his lip curling into a snarl of aggression as he pulled you closer, as if shielding you from a perceived threat.

Merlin's heart sank at the sight of Harry's hostility, his hopes of Harry regaining his memories fading with each passing moment. He had watched the entire interaction through the hidden camera in the room, praying for a breakthrough, but now it seemed that Harry's mistrust extended to everyone, even his closest allies.

"Harry, it's me, Merlin," he said softly, his voice filled with sadness. "I'm here to help you, to guide you through this. Please, you have to trust me."

But Harry's response was a growl of defiance, his distrust of Merlin palpable in the air as he refused to let his guard down. He saw Merlin as a threat, an intruder in his fractured reality, and he would do whatever it took to protect what was his.

In the days that followed, Harry's suspicion only deepened, his aggression simmering just beneath the surface as he clung to you like a lifeline. He didn't remember Kingsman, didn't remember his years as a spy, didn't even remember his own name. All he knew was that you were someone important to him, someone he had to protect at all costs.

You tried to reassure Harry, to help him piece together his fractured memories, but it was like trying to hold onto water slipping through your fingers. He didn't remember who he was, didn't remember the man he used to be, and it broke your heart to see him slipping further and further away from you with each passing day.

As Harry descended into darkness, consumed by suspicion and aggression, you found yourself caught in the crossfire of his turmoil. He was fiercely protective of you, distrustful of everyone else, and it was starting to take its toll on both of you.

You longed for the man you had once known, the kind and gentle soul who had stolen your heart and filled your life with love and laughter. But now, he was a stranger in the body of the man you loved, lost in a maze of confusion and fear.

And as you watched him spiral deeper into darkness, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any hope left for him, for the two of you. But deep down, you refused to give up, clinging to the sliver of hope that someday, somehow, you would find your way back to each other, no matter the cost.

As Eggsy entered the dimly lit room, his gaze filled with determination and hope, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety knotting in your stomach. You knew how much Eggsy longed for Harry's recognition, for the bond they once shared as mentor and protege to be restored.

But as Eggsy approached Harry, his enthusiasm palpable in the air, Harry's reaction was not what either of you had hoped for. Instead of warmth or recognition, Harry's cold gaze remained fixed on the photo album in your hands, his expression unreadable as he deliberately ignored Eggsy's presence.

"Eggsy maybe you should give him some space," you murmured softly, offering him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, he's just... not himself."

Eggsy sighed in disappointment, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he realized that Harry was still lost in the fog of his confusion and suspicion. "Yeah, I get it," he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "I just... I miss him, you know? Miss the old Harry."

You nodded in understanding, feeling a pang of sympathy for Eggsy as he struggled to come to terms with the reality of Harry's condition. But despite the disappointment, he remained optimistic, his determination unwavering as he clung to the hope that someday, somehow, Harry would come back to them.

"I know, Eggsy," you replied softly. "But we'll get through this together, I promise."

As Eggsy tried to engage Harry in conversation, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, Harry remained stoic and unresponsive, his attention focused solely on the photos in your hands. It was as if he had built a wall around himself, shutting out the world and retreating into the safety of his fractured memories.

As you sighed at your husband's indifference, sadness washed over you like a heavy wave crashing against the shore. The distance between you felt insurmountable, a vast chasm separating the man you loved from the reality of his fractured mind. But before your despair could consume you completely, Eggsy reached out to shake your hand in an encouraging and comforting grip, his presence offering a glimmer of solace in the darkness.

But Harry's reaction was swift and brutal, his hiss of warning slicing through the air like a knife as he grabbed Eggsy's hand and threw it away from you. The look of shock and fear on Eggsy's face mirrored your own horror as Harry's aggression escalated, his words dripping with possessiveness and jealousy.

"If you touch her again, I'll break your hand," Harry growled, his voice low and menacing as he fixed Eggsy with a steely gaze. "She's mine, understand? Mine."

You screamed in horror at Harry's outburst, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to reason with him. "Harry, stop! He's just trying to help," you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear and frustration. "You can't just—"

But Harry's grip on reality was slipping further with each passing moment, his possessiveness bordering on obsession as he sent Eggsy away with a warning to stay away from "his fucking wife." Eggsy, visibly shaken by the encounter, hurriedly left the room, casting worried glances over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.

Alone with Harry, you felt a mixture of confusion and apprehension swirling in your chest as you confronted the dark and unfamiliar side of the man you loved. "Harry, what was that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to make sense of his sudden aggression. "You've never been like this before."

But Harry's response was unwavering, his gaze intense as he held you captive with his piercing stare. "I have to protect you," he said, his voice tinged with desperation. "No one else can touch you, only me. Do you understand?"

You were taken aback by Harry's possessiveness, his words sending a chill down your spine as you realized the depth of his paranoia and distrust. "Harry, this isn't like you," you protested, your voice tinged with concern. "You can't just—"

But Harry cut you off with a gentle yet firm touch, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as he silenced your protests with a tender kiss. "Trust me, darling," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing against your lips. "I'll keep you safe, no matter what it takes."

Reluctantly, you nodded, unable to deny the fierce determination in Harry's eyes. You knew that trying to reason with him in his current state would be futile, that the only way to calm his fears was to play along with his delusions, at least for now.

And as Harry smiled, his touch gentle and reassuring, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your mind. Harry may never hurt you intentionally, but his descent into darkness was a reminder that the man you loved was slipping further and further away from you with each passing day.

But for now, you pushed aside your doubts and fears, focusing instead on the fragile connection you still shared with Harry, praying that someday, somehow, you would find your way back to each other, no matter the cost.

As you reluctantly walked away from Harry, your heart heavy with the weight of his words and actions, you made a move to retrieve the wedding album from his grasp. The photos held precious memories, fragments of a life you both shared, and you couldn't bear to leave them behind, especially not in Harry's current state of confusion and suspicion.

"Harry," you began softly, your voice trembling with emotion as you reached out for the album. "I need to take these with me. We'll come back, I promise, but for now, I need to go home."

But to your surprise, Harry's reaction was not what you expected. Instead of acquiescing to your request, he tightened his grip on the album, his eyes flashing with determination as he declared, "No, I'm going with you."

You froze, taken aback by Harry's sudden insistence. "Harry, you can't," you protested gently, trying to reason with him. "You need to stay here until you've recovered your memories. It's not safe for you to leave."

But Harry's response was resolute, his gaze unwavering as he held you captive with his intense stare. "I don't need those useless memories," he insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I have you, and I have to protect you. That's all that matters."

You sighed in frustration, knowing that convincing Harry to stay would be an uphill battle. He was stubborn and fiercely protective, and you knew that trying to reason with him would only lead to further conflict. But you couldn't let him leave Kingsman without his memories, not when it could put him in even more danger.

"Harry, please," you pleaded, reaching for the album once more. "You can't go with me. It's not safe, not until you remember who you are."

But Harry's determination only seemed to grow stronger, his grip on the album tightening as he pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper. "I want to go home," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to feel your heat, taste your essence. I want to fuck you like I used to, lost in ecstasy."

You blushed deeply at his explicit words, taken aback by the raw intensity of his desire. Harry had never been so forward before, his words sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But you knew that indulging in his fantasies wasn't an option, not when his safety was at stake.

"Harry, we can't," you protested weakly, trying to push away the flood of desire his words had ignited. "Not here, not now."

But Harry was relentless, his gaze dark and hungry as he looked around the room, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "This place isn't safe," he growled, his fingers trailing down your arm possessively. "But home... home is where we can be together, where we can finally make love without fear."

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in as you realized just how far Harry had descended into darkness. But despite the danger and uncertainty, a part of you couldn't help but be drawn to his passion and intensity, to the promise of intimacy and connection that lay just beyond your reach.

"Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you tried to reason with him one last time. "Stay here. You'll be safe, I promise."

For a moment, Harry's resolve wavered, his grip on you loosening slightly as he searched your eyes for reassurance. And then, as if coming to a decision, he reluctantly released the album, his gaze softening with resignation.

"Okay," he conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. "But promise me... promise me you'll come back soon. I can't bear to be without you any longer."

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. "I promise, Harry," you murmured, holding him close. "I'll come back for you, I swear."

And as you pulled away, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips, Harry's gaze lingered on you with a mixture of longing and desire. "Until then," he whispered, his voice filled with yearning. "Just know that you disturb my dreams, darling. I want you so much."

You blushed deeply at his words, a mix of embarrassment and affection flooding your heart as you watched him reluctantly release you. "I'll... I'll remember that," you stammered, trying to compose yourself as Harry chuckled softly, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Good," he replied, his smile filled with genuine warmth. "Because I'll be waiting for you, ready to make all your fantasies come true."

With one final glance back at Harry, his form silhouetted against the dim light of the room, you turned and walked away, your heart heavy with the weight of his words and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

As you crossed the threshold of Harry's suite the next morning, you were met with a sight that both warmed your heart and filled you with apprehension. Harry, with his rugged appearance and intense gaze, rushed towards you with a sense of urgency, sweeping you up into his arms in a gesture that felt both familiar and comforting.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern as he began to inspect you for any signs of injury, just like he always did whenever you returned to him.

You couldn't help but smile at his familiar routine, the way he checked you over with such meticulous care, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you. "I'm fine, Harry," you reassured him softly, running a hand through his unruly hair as he continued his inspection.

But Harry's worry didn't seem to diminish, his touch lingering on your skin as he searched for any hidden wounds or bruises. "I missed you," he confessed, his voice tinged with sadness as he finally let you go, his arms still wrapped around you in a tight embrace.

You tried to downplay the situation, reminding him that you had only been gone for a few hours, but Harry's grip only tightened as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

"I know," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "But it felt like an eternity without you."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at his words, knowing that Harry's confusion and paranoia only seemed to worsen with each passing day. But despite the darkness that threatened to consume him, his love for you remained steadfast and unwavering.

As you gently stroked his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips, Harry's gaze softened with affection. "I'm going to shave today," he declared suddenly, a hint of determination in his voice. "Merlin said they'll bring me a razor blade. I want to look presentable for you."

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of Harry wielding a razor blade in his current state of mind, but you nodded nonetheless, not wanting to dampen his spirits. "That sounds like a good idea, Harry," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

As you stood in Harry's suite, enveloped in his protective embrace, the sudden sound of the door opening behind you shattered the moment of peace. Harry's reaction was immediate, his grip tightening around you as he tensed, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger.

But to of your relief, it was only Merlin who entered the room, his expression a mix of concern and apprehension as he took in the scene before him. However, Harry's guard remained firmly in place, his suspicion evident as he held you back, his gaze fixed on Merlin with a steely intensity.

Merlin approached cautiously, his hands held up in a gesture of peace as he tried to defuse the tension in the air. "Harry, it's just me," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I brought something for you."

But Harry remained on high alert, his distrust of Merlin apparent as he watched him closely, his body coiled like a spring ready to pounce. It was clear that Merlin's presence only served to heighten Harry's paranoia, his suspicion of everyone around him growing more intense by the day.

Merlin seemed to have anticipated Harry's reaction, as he approached the table and placed an electric razor on the surface before retreating, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to provoke Harry further. But even this small gesture failed to put Harry at ease, his defensive stance unwavering as he continued to regard Merlin with a mixture of caution and hostility.

You sighed in frustration at Harry's refusal to trust Merlin, knowing that his paranoia was only exacerbating the situation. "Harry, Merlin is our friend," you reminded him gently, reaching out to touch his arm in an attempt to calm his nerves. "He's just trying to help."

But Harry shook his head stubbornly, his distrust of Merlin deeply ingrained as he refused to let his guard down. "I don't trust him," he muttered darkly, his gaze never leaving Merlin's retreating figure. "I don't trust anyone."

You sighed again, feeling a pang of sadness at Harry's growing isolation. It pained you to see him so lost and alone, his mind consumed by suspicion and fear. But you knew that pushing him to trust Merlin would only push him further away, so you remained silent, allowing Harry to come to his own conclusions in his own time.

As Harry cautiously approached the electric shaver on the table, his movements deliberate and cautious, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this small act of defiance against his paranoia was a sign that Harry was starting to come back to himself, that the man you loved was still buried somewhere deep inside.

With a sense of cautious optimism, you watched as Harry examined the electric razor, his expression shifting from suspicion to curiosity as he inspected it for any signs of danger. And when he found nothing amiss, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of his old self shining through the darkness.

"I'm going to shave," he announced suddenly, his voice filled with determination as he picked up the electric razor, his gaze meeting yours with a sense of pride. "Just like the old days."

You returned his smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your heart at the familiar routine. Despite everything that had happened, Harry still had moments of clarity and connection, moments where the man you loved shone through the darkness of his confusion.

As Harry set to work shaving, his movements careful and precise, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope stirring within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to bring Harry back from the brink, to help him reclaim the memories and the identity that had been stolen from him.

As Harry called you into the bathroom to help him, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to expect. But seeing the determination in his eyes, you pushed aside your doubts and entered the room, closing the door behind you.

Harry handed you the electric shaver, his expression serious yet strangely vulnerable as he took a seat on the toilet lid, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of apprehension and trust. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the sight of him, once a confident and capable spy, now reduced to a shadow of his former self.

Gently, you began to shave Harry's stubble, your movements slow and careful as you navigated around the scar tissue on his face. It was a task you had performed countless times before, a simple act of intimacy and trust that had once brought you both so much joy.

As you worked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you, memories of happier times flooding your mind as you recalled the countless moments you had shared with Harry before his memory loss. But those memories felt like a distant dream now, a bittersweet reminder of the life you had lost.

Suddenly, Harry spoke, his voice breaking the silence of the room as he confessed, "I remembered something today."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, excitement bubbling up inside you at the prospect of Harry regaining a piece of his lost identity. "What was it?" you asked eagerly, hope shining in your eyes as you waited for his response.

But Harry's answer caught you off guard, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he replied, "I remembered fucking you in a car."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his blunt admission, the memory of those passionate encounters flooding back with startling clarity. It was true - you and Harry had shared many intimate moments in the backseat of his car, stolen kisses and whispered promises exchanged under the cover of darkness.

Harry watched your reaction with satisfaction, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he reveled in your embarrassment. He took the electric razor from you and set it aside on the sink.

"Harry, we can't—" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to find the words to convey your discomfort. But Harry cut you off with a wicked grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Why not?" he whispered huskily, his tone laced with desire. "We're alone, aren't we? No one will know."

You blushed even deeper at his suggestive tone, the heat rising in your cheeks as you pushed him away gently, your heart pounding with a mixture of desire and apprehension. "Harry, we can't do that here," you protested weakly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. "It's not appropriate."

But Harry seemed undeterred by your protests, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "That's why I want to go home."

You shook your head adamantly, knowing that allowing Harry to leave Kingsman before he had fully regained his memories would be dangerous. "Harry, you can't," you insisted, your voice tinged with frustration. "It's not safe for you to go back until you remember who you are."

Harry's expression darkened at your refusal, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he struggled to contain his anger. "Why won't you let me go?" he demanded, his voice laced with frustration. "I need to be with you, to protect you. Don't you understand?"

You sighed heavily, knowing that Harry's insistence was driven by his fierce protectiveness and his desire to keep you safe. But you also knew that allowing him to leave Kingsman prematurely could put both of you in danger.

"Harry, I know you want to protect me," you began gently, reaching out to touch his arm in a gesture of reassurance. "But we have to wait until you've regained your memories. It's for your own safety."

Harry's grip tightened on your arm, his frustration boiling over as he struggled to control his emotions. "I don't need to remember anything to know that I love you," he growled, his eyes flashing with intensity. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means defying orders."

You recoiled slightly at his sudden aggression, surprised by the depth of his conviction. But you knew that allowing Harry to leave Kingsman against medical advice would only put both of you in danger, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.

"Harry, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. "We can't risk it. Not until you're ready."

For a moment, Harry seemed to waver, his anger dissipating as he searched your eyes for reassurance. And then, as if coming to a decision, he reluctantly released his grip on your arm, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation. "But don't think I'll forget this."

You nodded, knowing that Harry's frustration was born out of his fierce protectiveness and his desire to keep you safe. But as you watched him turn away, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your mind, a silent reminder of the darkness that threatened to consume him.

As you tried to compose yourself, Harry's voice suddenly broke the tense silence once again with an unexpected question, his tone soft yet tinged with curiosity. "Did you... touch yourself last night?" he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours for any signs of hesitation.

You blushed furiously at his blunt question, feeling a surge of embarrassment wash over you at the intimate inquiry. "Harry, that's none of your business," you scolded gently, trying to deflect his attention away from the uncomfortable topic.

But Harry seemed undeterred by your deflection, his gaze intense as he pressed you for an answer. "Did you think about me?" he persisted, his voice low and husky with desire. "Imagined it was me?"

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal at Harry's brazenness. Despite your attempts to maintain composure, his proximity and his suggestive questions left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"I... that's not important right now," you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you tried to change the subject. But Harry wasn't ready to let it go, his gaze unwavering as he continued to search your face for a response.

"Why not?" he countered, his voice tinged with frustration. "We could... we could make love here, in this bathroom. There are no cameras here, I checked."

You looked at him in surprise, taken aback by his sudden revelation. Was Harry aware of the surveillance cameras in Kingsman? It was a detail you hadn't considered before, but now that he mentioned it, it made sense.

"Harry, how do you know about the cameras?" you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity. "Did Merlin tell you?"

But Harry shook his head, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "No," he replied cryptically. "I figured it out on my own. Did a little test."

You frowned in confusion, unsure of what he meant by "test." But before you could press him for more information, Harry continued, his tone serious yet tinged with mischief.

"I pretended I was going to kill myself here in this bathroom," he explained calmly, his eyes locking with yours in a silent challenge. "But no one came to stop me. Unlike the other times I did this in the bedroom."

You gasped in shock at his revelation, horrified by the thought of Harry putting himself in danger just to test the surveillance system. "Harry, that's reckless," you scolded, your voice tinged with concern. "You could have seriously hurt yourself."

But Harry brushed off your concern with a wave of his hand, his gaze unwavering as he pressed you for an answer to his earlier question. "Did you think about me?" he repeated softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a surge of arousal at the intensity of Harry's gaze. Despite your reservations, a part of you couldn't deny the allure of his suggestion, the promise of intimacy and connection in the midst of uncertainty and fear.

"I... yes," you admitted quietly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you met Harry's gaze head-on. "I thought about you."

Harry's eyes lit up with satisfaction at your confession, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Good," he murmured, his voice filled with desire. "Because I've been thinking about you too."

And as Harry pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing down on yours in a passionate kiss, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the heat of the moment, the promise of intimacy and connection overshadowing the darkness that threatened to consume you both.

As Harry's lips trailed down your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you tried to protest weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Harry, we shouldn't..."

But Harry silenced you with a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your skin with possessive urgency. "Shh, love," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "Trust me, it'll be quick."

You couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle at his promise, the tension between you palpable in the air. "God, I hope not too quick," you joked, trying to lighten the mood despite the apprehension coiling in your stomach.

Harry chuckled softly in response, his eyes dark with desire as he unraveled his sweatpants and took them off along with his underwear, his erection already straining against the fabric. "Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his voice husky with need. "I'll make it good for you."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Harry helped you take off your jeans and panties, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he caressed your skin with gentle reverence. But just when you thought he would take you, he surprised you by kneeling down in front of you, pulling one of your legs to rest on his shoulder.

With a sense of anticipation building inside you, you watched as Harry leaned in, his lips trailing kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly close but never quite reaching where you wanted him most. It was as if he wanted to savor every moment, to draw out the pleasure until you were begging for release.

You fought to stay silent, biting back a moan as Harry's warm breath ghosted over your most intimate parts, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite the urgency of your desire, you knew that making a sound could alert someone to your activities, and the last thing you wanted was to be interrupted.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, you reached out to tangle your fingers in Harry's hair, urging him closer with a desperate plea. "Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I need you."

Harry's response was immediate, his lips closing around your throbbing clit as he began to suck and lick with fervent intensity. The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure washing over you in waves as Harry expertly teased and tantalized you, his fingers slipping inside you to stroke your most sensitive spots.

You couldn't hold back anymore, a moan escaping your lips as Harry's ministrations pushed you closer and closer to the edge. "Harry," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. "I'm so close."

But Harry didn't stop, his pace relentless as he drove you towards the brink of ecstasy. And just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he plunged his fingers deeper inside you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a skill that left you breathless.

With a cry of release, you came undone, pleasure crashing over you in a tidal wave of sensation. Harry didn't let up, his touch unrelenting as he milked every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, his own desire evident in the way he worshipped you with his mouth and hands.

As you lay there, panting and spent, Harry rose to his feet with a satisfied smirk, his eyes burning with hunger as he gazed down at you. "You taste even sweeter than I remembered," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.

You couldn't help but blush at his bold compliment, feeling a surge of arousal at the raw intensity of his desire. Despite the darkness that threatened to consume him, there was no denying the passion and connection that still burned between you, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

With a wicked grin, Harry pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss that left you breathless. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispered against your skin, his voice filled with promise. "There's so much more I want to show you."

As Harry turned and bent you over the sink, you spread your legs even wider, eager to receive him. Your heart raced with anticipation as Harry grabbed your ass and spread your cheeks, his touch possessive and commanding.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and menacing as he gazed at you with intense desire. "All mine."

You whimpered in response, unable to suppress the surge of arousal that flooded your senses. "Please, Harry," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "Fill me up."

Harry didn't hesitate to obey, his one eye fixated on your expression in the mirror as he thrust into you with primal urgency. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment.

As Harry rocked against you, his balls hitting your clit with each powerful thrust, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy. The sensation of him filling you completely, his body pressing against yours with unbridled passion, left you breathless and wanting more.

"Open your eyes," Harry commanded suddenly, his voice firm yet filled with longing. "Keep them on the mirror."

You obeyed without hesitation, locking eyes with your reflection as Harry continued to drive into you with relentless determination. The sight of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, the raw desire and need reflected in both your gazes, only fueled the fire burning between you.

With each thrust, Harry's grip on your hips tightened, his control unwavering as he claimed you as his own. You surrendered completely to the pleasure, lost in the sensation of being filled and owned by the man you loved.

Harry grunted with each thrust, his voice breaking through the haze of pleasure, you felt a surge of heat flood your cheeks as he tightened his grip on your hips. His intense gaze bore into yours through the mirror, his one eye filled with primal desire as he questioned you with a husky tone.

"Have I ever taken your ass?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and hunger.

You blushed even deeper at his blunt question, shaking your head slightly as you denied his assumption. "No, Harry," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've never tried that."

But Harry wasn't satisfied with your answer, his movements never faltering as he continued to drive into you with relentless determination. "Why not?" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration. "I must have been pathetic back then if I didn't."

You tried to protest weakly, knowing that Harry's perception of his past self was skewed by his current state of confusion and paranoia. "Harry, you weren't pathetic," you insisted gently, your eyes meeting his through the reflection. "You just... you thought it was messy."

But Harry wouldn't accept your explanation, his grip on your hips tightening even further as he pressed you against him with possessive urgency. "I don't care about that anymore," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I'll take your ass one day, I promise."

You groaned at the idea, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions as Harry's relentless thrusts drove you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Part of you wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn't need to prove anything to you, that his past self wasn't pathetic and that you loved him just the way he was.

But all coherent thought fled from your mind as Harry reached out to squeeze your breasts through your blouse and bra, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite your reservations, you couldn't deny the overwhelming arousal that pulsed through your veins, drowning out any semblance of reason.

"Harry," you gasped, your voice filled with need as you clung to him desperately, your body arching against his with unrestrained desire. "Please, don't stop."

Harry's movements only grew more urgent in response, his grip on you tightening as he plunged deeper and deeper into your welcoming heat. His one eye bore into yours with a mixture of intensity and possessiveness, his primal desire evident in every powerful thrust.

Meanwhile, Harry's thoughts raced with a newfound sense of clarity, his perception of his past self tainted by his current state of paranoia and suspicion. He was convinced that the old version of himself was pathetic, weak, and unworthy of your love. But now, now he was different - stronger, fiercer, and more determined than ever to protect you at all costs.

As he lost himself in the pleasure of being inside you, Harry's mind became consumed by a single thought - he didn't need to recover his memories to be the man you needed him to be. He already had everything he needed right here, right now, with you in his arms.

"You feel so good," Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside you, relishing in the sensation of your tight, wet heat surrounding him. "You're mine, [Your Name]. All mine."

You moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and wanting more. With each powerful thrust, Harry claimed you as his own, his grip on your hips possessive and unyielding.

And as you surrendered completely to the pleasure, lost in the intensity of the moment, Harry's resolve only grew stronger. He would keep you safe, no matter the cost. Even if it meant tearing down everything and everyone that stood in his way.

"You're mine," Harry growled, his voice low and menacing as he pressed you against him with unbridled passion. "And I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. Even if the world has to burn for it."

You whimpered in response, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his desire and the fierce protectiveness that burned within him. Despite the darkness that threatened to consume him, there was no denying the depth of his love and devotion, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

As Harry continued to move inside you with primal urgency, you clung to him desperately, knowing that he was yours and you were his. And as you both reached the peak of ecstasy together, a sense of belonging washed over you, binding you to him in a way that transcended time and space.

"You're mine," Harry whispered against your skin, his voice filled with reverence and awe. "And I'll never let anything or anyone take you away from me."

And as you melted into his embrace, surrounded by the heat and passion of his love, you knew deep in your heart that you were safe, cherished, and fiercely loved by the man who would do anything to protect you. Harry was yours, your protector, your guardian angel demon that would keep you safe no matter what.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Could I pretty please request #17 with Eggsy!! You’re writing is amazing and you definitely deserve all the love you get!

.⋆｡Let’s Pretend It’s Sunday｡⋆.

Eggsy Unwin x plus size reader

Eggsy finally has a day off from saving the world and all he wants to do is stay in bed with you

Warnings: implied smut, some nudity, domestic fluff

WC: 568

Minors DNI

3000 Follower Celebration

Cool morning light streamed into the bedroom, illuminating the lone figure in the bed. His dark eyebrows ruched as the light fell over his face, waking him from the first good night's sleep he’s had in a long time. 

He rolled onto his toned stomach to bury his face in the fancy pillows that he bought on a whim and stretched out his arm to pull his personal heater closer to him. But instead, his hand met a pile of rumpled and cold sheets. 

With a groan of frustration, Eggsy forced his blue eyes open only to be met with an empty bed and an alarm cloak reading a time too early for him to be awake. Just then the en-suite door opened, and you stepped into the bedroom half-dressed. 

You didn’t notice your now awake boyfriend as you quietly walked into the room, fixing one of your earrings as you did. But Eggsy certainly appreciated the sight of your gorgeously curved body clad only in a tight black pencil skirt, dark stockings, and your favourite bra which cupped your tits perfectly.

“Well isn’t this a brilliant morning?” You jumped at the sound of his voice, letting out a cute yelp as you clutched your chest.

“Jesus, don’t do that.” You scolded but with no real heat behind your words. Eggsy smirked and let his gaze slowly run over the length of your body before meeting your eyes. “And stop that, I have to go to work.”

He groaned pathetically and slumped back onto the pillows. “Oh come on, this is my first day off in months and I want to spend it in you.” You raised an eyebrow at him as you pulled your blouse on.

“Don’t you mean with me?”

“Nope I definitely mean in you.” The room is silent for a moment save for the rustling of clothes as you finish getting dressed before you speak again, killing your boyfriend’s dreams.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I have to go to work.” But instead of complying, Eggsy slipped from the bed, letting the sheets fall away from his toned body.

“C’mon love, just call in. We can pretend it’s like the Sundays we used to have when we first got together. I order some food, we watch those shit tv shows you like and then I can fuck your brains out.” He cupped your full cheek and held your wide hip with his other hand. “Just say yes love.” His lips first met your cheek in a delicate kiss, then travelled across your face to the tip of your nose before he picked down to your neck and jaw.

Unable to fight his affections, you melted in his hold, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued to lather your skin with kisses. But then you seemed to suddenly come back to yourself and pulled away. “You know I can’t.”  You pouted.

Yet Eggsy wouldn’t give up. With a quick move, you were thrown onto the bed and swiftly pinned there by your boyfriend. “Sorry love, but you aren’t leaving this bed, not until I say so. And you know I’m not above tying you down.”

You grinned. “Alright Unwin, you have 10 minutes to convince me to stay.” Your skirt was suddenly bunched at your waist and your stockings ripped as Eggsy nestled his shoulders between your plump thighs.

“I only need five.”

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Fallout - Chapter 3 "Out Into The Light"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/ 18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.3k Chapter Tags: Description of injuries, description of hospital equipment, punishment, anger, frustration, angst, reference to trauma, reference to death, recovery.

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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 2 - "A Curious Affair")

Still in his hospital bed, Jack gets a long awaited visit from Champ, who details the punishment he now has to endure as a result of his crimes. But even in spite of losing his moniker, and facing the wrath of Agent Tequila's anger, Jack remains positive for what his new life might look like.

2:17pm. February 8 th , 2018.

The road ahead for Jack was going to be a long one - this morning had already made that abundantly clear. His body ached and cried out in pain and exhaustion every time he tried to move any more than just simply sitting. Even stretching out fatigued muscles sent shocks through his body as his nerves and tendons all got used to proper movement again. 

After sleeping for another few hours, Clara had taken small steps with Jack to establish where he was at physically. Slowly she had sat him up in bed, taking time and adjusting the backrest of where he lay so that his body could acclimatise to being upright again, and not pass out from any more sudden movement. It took almost an hour, but she eventually got him sitting upright. 

Normally, patients who were reliant on ventilators or in any kind of comatose state, would need weaning off their oxygen steadily. Half an hour increments daily, followed by the smallest bits of exercise in conjunction. Any more could risk further internal injury, or delays in overall progress to recovery. 

Jack had a slight upper hand in that the Statesman technology which had kept him alive these last few months was far superior to any standard hospital equipment that he would have been using had he not been in the lab. His body had been preserved much more efficiently than it could have been, and as such things were not as dire as they could have been when he finally woke up properly. 

Electrostimulation had been administered gently throughout his muscles while he slept, preventing a lot of atrophy he would experience for being out cold for so long. He still would need some form of rehab to develop what had been lost, and the side effects of not breathing autonomously for so long would take a long time to be completely over. But things could be a lot more dire for Jack if he had found himself anywhere other than Statesman. 

Jack sat in silence after Clara excused herself for a moment to go run some blood tests on him - although he was smart enough to know that this was definitely a ruse to just be out of the way. He knew that Champ would need to come by soon and speak to him, but in a sense Jack could hardly bear waiting any longer for that to happen. It felt like he was waiting for his own day of reckoning, and the sooner he knew what fate he was going to face, the better. 

His prayers would soon be answered. 

The elder Statesman agent stepped out of the barrel-shaped elevator and walked down the long corridor of the labs. It had been a few hours since he’d had word from Clara about needing to be down here, but that she would need a while to make sure Jack was completely stable before he would be able to bear being questioned. 

Champ had waited as long as he could. He had spent most of the morning itching with a feeling akin to excitement, nervousness, and also dread. For as happy as he was that Jack was back in the land of the living, he knew that he was about to face up to the reality that was the betrayal of his most senior agent - not only someone who he regarded as trustworthy in the field, but also someone he had come to know so intimately that he would be able to consider him a friend. 

But he’d had the benefit of time on his side, and ever since Jack’s accident he’d mulled over how best to treat the former agent. Anger had blinded him in the first few weeks, wanting nothing more than to cut ties with Jack and send him packing at the first opportunity. But the guilt at what had caused Jack to snap had eaten away at the older man for far too long, and he’d had time to process that perhaps he had some accountability to take for what happened. 

Inhaling sharply, Champ pushed open the door to the lab and stepped inside. He had wanted to remain a confident figure of authority today, and to maintain the kind of stature he was known for - stoic, no nonsense, and would absolutely kick you to the curb if needed. But all that faded away the second he laid eyes on Jack across the room of the lab, almost stopping him dead in his tracks. 

Propped up in bed, still with a ventilator and IV tracks feeding into him, he looked rough . The colour in his face had long since faded, replaced by a look of fatigue under heavy eyes and a solemn brow. Someone, Jack looked more dead now than he had in the four months he’d been laid unconscious. 

Champ bit on his bottom lip gently as he shuffled his feet along the crisp white floor of the lab, then cleared his throat to get the attention of Jack. Two dark brown eyes scanned over to the noise before setting on Champ, and he was met with a melancholic smile from the younger man. A smile which shattered Champ from the inside. 

“Hey, kid,” he said, snapping himself out of his daze and slowly wandering over to Jack. He tried not to let it show, but Champ carried so much guilt towards the former agent that sat before him now. He had wondered, for so long since the accident, if any of it was preventable. Could he have done more to prevent Jack from going down this road? Was this the fault of the organisation Jack worked for so many years to uphold, and protect? 

Had he failed to protect his own?

Jack smiled faintly towards Champ, his brow softening as the older man approached him. He thought, at first, that he might feel differently when this time finally came - when judgement came knocking at his door. But, for as much as Champ tried, he could never fully hide his feelings. Not from Jack, anyway. He didn’t know if it was regret, remorse, or sympathy that was painted across his face, but Jack knew that whatever he was about to say would not be the aggressive screaming match that he anticipated. 

“Hey, boss,” he said weakly, his voice cracking with each syllable he pushed out of his mouth. He’d spoken in small parts to Clara and Jane since waking up, but on the whole this morning had been focused on making sure he was stable and well rested. There would be a lot of rehab to come, so he needed to save his energy. 

“How are you doing?” Champ asked, pulling an office chair across the room from an empty desk, and situating it next to Jack’s bed. He sat down, grunting slightly as he did, old age and the stress of running this organisation without his most senior agent by his side having taken its toll on the older man. 

“Been better, if I’m honest,” Jack said, just about forcing out a small chuckle. Champ smiled sympathetically, nodding in understanding. 

“Yeah, I figured, kid. Sorry for asking such a dumb question,” he said, laughing faintly along with Jack. 

Jack smiled towards the older man, someone he had respected and looked up to for so long. What he had tried to do was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to tell him that, but somehow the thing that hurt most was that he had let down Champ - a man who represented a team that had done nothing but have Jack’s back for the last two decades, and yet he still betrayed them. 

“No change there then,” he joked, winking at Champ. He smiled back at him earnestly, and for a brief moment anyone could be forgiven into thinking that there was nothing amiss between the two men. That Jack had just had an unfortunate accident, and here was his boss coming to check on his condition. 

But none of that was the case, and the sobering reality of the situation couldn’t be ignored for long. A weight sat on both the men’s shoulders the longer they chose to keep sweeping this conversation under the rug, putting it off, and off, until eventually one of them had to address the elephant in the room.  

Jack didn’t want it to be him which broke the veil of denial that lay across them both in this moment. He wanted to enjoy what could potentially be his last few civil moments with the man who he had betrayed - he had turned his back on Statesman for the sake of his own fucked up principles, and wouldn’t blame Champ for cutting ties and leaving him out in the dust somewhere. 

Forgotten. Unloved. But probably deserved. 

Champ didn’t want it to be him, either. He wanted to still believe, for just a moment longer, that this entire situation had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. That Jack hadn’t acted out how he did, that Eggsy and Harry had lied. 

But the video footage from the Kingsman agent’s glasses was proof enough. For as much as he wanted to bury his head in the sand, and pretend like their British cousins were lying for some reason, he could not deny the evidence so plainly in front of him. 

And now, Jack had to face the music.  

“Jack, I’m sorry to do this, but I gotta ask. What was the last thing you remember?” Champ asked.

Jack sighed softly, but nodded. The silence couldn’t last forever - this question was always going to have to come one way or another. He could see in Champ’s face he didn’t like asking it as much as Jack was going to hate answering it. He inhaled sharply, preparing himself for the words he needed to own up to; the reason he was here today. 

“I remember most of it, unfortunately. My last memory is getting into a fight with Eggsy and Galahad when I tried to stop them from releasing the antidote to Poppy’s laced narcotics. Leading up to that point, I was in a bit of a haze. Anger blinded me, Champ,” he said.

No words Jack could say could ever begin to make up for the damage he almost caused. Clara had gone over her estimations with how many people had been affected, and how many would have perished had Jack been successful with his own personal mission. It pained him to know that he almost cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent people - something he could only see now, four months after the accident. 

Champ nodded, staying silent for a moment as he processed what Jack had said. In a way he was glad that he remembered a good portion of the details, as it made it easier to go straight into questioning him as to why he acted like he did, rather than starting from square one and having to fill in the blanks. 

Champ had an idea as to why Jack ended up snapping. He knew about what happened with Lela, and had seen over the years Jack’s defiance of anyone using recreational drugs. But to Champ, that wasn’t enough of a reason. He had to know what set it off this time.  

“Were you always like this? Were we truly just so stupid that we didn’t see it?” Champ asked, his hands clasped together on his lap. Jack shook his head.

“I never in my wildest imagination saw myself as being the kind of agent to go rogue. I still can’t believe I did,” he said, sighing to himself. All morning his mind had replayed to him the final mission he was on. What got him there, how he tried so hard to deal with the feelings that resurfaced because of it, and his subsequent idea as to how he could work against Statesman and Kingsman for his own benefit. 

“When did it start, then?” Champ queried, leaning forward slightly in his seat, asking a question Jack had been trying to answer himself all morning. He’d never wholeheartedly supported the use of narcotics, especially given what happened to Lela, but for so many years it had never been a point of contention. 

But finally, he had an answer.  

“It was just after Poppy’s case landed on our doorstep. Something just clicked in my brain. I’m not an idiot, Champ, I know drugs are all around me. Hell, I know Jefferson used them from time to time. I didn’t like it , but I at least knew he was being fairly safe with it,” he began, trying to explain his reasoning. 

Champ furrowed his brow, sucking his lip in as he mulled over what Jack had to say. He’d seen the tiffs he and agent Tequila had over the past few years in regards to drug use, but it had never escalated beyond a shouting match. Something still didn’t fully make sense. 

“So what about Poppy tipped you over the edge?” he asked. Jack gave his former boss a taut smile, followed by a breathy laugh through his nostrils. 

“Champ, this is gonna come out sounding like the most fuckin’ misogynistic thing in the world. Please, bear with me,” he said. Champ couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Go on?” he said.

“I think the fact that Poppy, a well educated woman who yearned for that traditional American aesthetic…the fact it was her behind all of this, shattered the illusion I had of what a drug dealer was,” he said, before pausing to take a breath. It was only now he realised that he so rarely spoke about his wife out loud, and to other people, that he was getting choked up at just the thought of mentioning her name. 

“Since my wife passed, and they busted the guy who had dealt those guys that meth, I think it got ingrained into my head that drug dealers were all horrible, brutish men. Guys most people would avoid on the street, you know?” he said.

“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down, but continue?”.

“The fact this operation, one that was so fuckin’ massive it affected people globally …and it was Poppy running it…it completely knocked me for six. Suddenly this ideology I had built in my mind of what these people were was destroyed, and it was abundantly clear that literally anyone had the ability to distribute drugs and destroy lives in the process,” he said.

“So, for you, it was less about the drugs and more about the dealers?”. Jack nodded.

“I was blinded by anger, and confusion. I didn’t really care about the people who used those substances, but the ones who shipped ‘em out, even if they were harmful…they were the people I wanted to see gone,” he said.

That was always his rationale, he’d come to realise. The people who made money from those who would go on to make reckless decisions; they were the ones to blame. Tequila had shown him time and time again that drugs could be taken sensibly, if done properly. He still didn’t like the potential risks he posed to himself, but never once had Tequila acted out of sorts because of what he took. 

But those who sold it, even if they knew a client might potentially do themselves or other people harm - they were the ones he couldn’t stand. The ones who needed wiping off the face of the earth. 

The way in which he had intended for that to happen, by essentially drying up and eradicating their customer base, was not the best course of action. Jack could see that so clearly now that he almost couldn’t comprehend that it was something he ever considered logical in the first place. But blinded by his anger and grief, emotions he so often chose to bury, it all became too much to rationalise. 

Champ nodded, slowly starting to see where Jack was coming from. He still didn’t agree with his actions, he’d never be able to do that, but it was gradually becoming clearer what happened in his mind. What made him snap. He opened his mouth again to inhale, about to speak again, but the two men would have to wait for that. 

The doors to the labs burst open, making both Champ and Jack jump in their skin slightly as the door whipped back and slammed into the concrete wall. Both their heads turned to face the entrance, and simultaneously their hearts plummeted to the pit of their stomachs as they saw the younger man striding towards them.  

“Is it true? The son of a bitch is alive ?” Tequila said, storming into the room. 

Jack figured something like this was coming, though. If he had been successful, Tequila wouldn’t be here today – he deserved this anger. That still didn’t mean he was quite prepared for the rage which came tumbling towards him at a hundred miles an hour. 

Flinching at the sound of Tequila’s boots hitting the ground, Jack’s knuckles went white as he screwed up the bedding of his hospital bed in his fists. For the first time in his life he was truly frightened - something he had not been for so many years. He never had anything to lose when he hurtled himself head first into a mission, never caring about the potential ramifications to his own life - but this , Tequila’s anger, made him almost sweat. 

“Tequila I thought I told you to calm the fuck down before you came into this room?!” Clara asked, her jaw clenched with frustration as she followed her younger colleague, barely keeping up with the pace he strode ahead with. He rolled his eyes as he stormed over to the other side of the room where Champ and Jack were, not even paying attention to look back at Clara as he spoke.

“How the hell can you expect me to be calm about this?” he asked, venom laced in his words, a redness in his face creeping up from his neck as tempers rose.

“Tequila, I-,” Jack began. He wasn’t sure what he was going to try and say – hell knows he didn’t get the chance to even get half a sentence out before being cut off.

“I nearly fucking died because of you, Jack!” Tequila shouted, visibly enraged. His skin was red as anger coursed through him, and his jaw was clenched so tight that the veins in his neck were visible. Clara turned to him, her eyes silently pleading with him, hoping and praying that he would see sense and calm down. But Tequila could only see red - silent pleas were not going to suffice this time. 

“Tequila, calm down, please ,” she said softly, her hand reaching out to take hold of him by his elbow. She tugged gently, hoping the pull of her fingers around his arm would be enough to snap him out of the upset and rage he had towards Jack. But even that was no use. He shrugged his arm away from her, not even turning to look back at her as he responded. 

“No,” he snapped, his breathing sharper as fury continued to bubble just under the surface, threatening to spill out into all-out violence the longer he stood there staring at Jack. A man who, for the longest time, he trusted with his life. A man who, as he came to learn a few months ago, was more than happy to sacrifice Tequila’s life in an effort to rid the world of drug users. 

He wanted to hurt him so badly. He’d been waiting months for the chance, and seeing him lay in his bed with all manner of wires and tubes plugged into him, keeping him alive - the temptation to rip them from his body was high. But the only thing that stopped him was the hope that Champ would deliver a punishment which Jack deserved - something he could not endure if he were already dead. 

Clara could understand his anger, and for a long time she had carried that similar weight on her shoulders of betrayal. She understood how he felt, with Jack being someone she had for so long looked up to and admired. For him to turn out like this - it was still slightly beyond belief. But the one thing she would not tolerate from Jefferson was his rudeness towards her . Eyebrows raised, she retracted her hands and rested them on her hips, glaring disapprovingly up at the younger man. 

“Tequila, I will kick you out if you don’t fuckin’ can it ,” she said, now almost yelling herself. At those words, with a sharpness to her threat, Tequila finally turned his head. Clara rarely spoke ill of anyone, nor did she idly make threats. For her to have threatened to kick him out the labs, her labs , snapped him out of the daze he had slipped into. 

Turning to face Clara, with a slightly softer gaze, he shook his head apologetically.

“Sorry, doll,” he whispered, his breathing still ragged from anger. She wasn’t completely going to let him off the hook, but for the time being she’d let it slide until he was in a better headspace. She nodded, smiling taut, and Tequila returned the gesture with a small grin, then turned back to face Jack and Champ. 

“My apologies, sir. Although I’m sure you can understand where my anger stems from, I shouldn’t have acted as such,” he said, removing his stetson and tipping his head towards Champ. 

“It’s alright, kid. This day was never gonna be easy,” Champ said. Tequila nodded, placing his stetson back on his head. 

“Might I ask what punishment Mr. Daniels will be facing?” he asked, eyes locking with the former senior agent. Jack swallowed harshly at Tequila’s gaze, eyes that were so often sparkling and filled with life now pierced into him like the first harsh frost of a winter.   

Champ sighed to himself under his breath - he had imagined in his head how delivering this news would go, always planning in the back of his mind how he would speak to the man before him after all that he’d done. Like Clara and Jefferson, it was difficult to understand that Jack would ever want to go rogue, but he hoped that over time he could come to understand his reasoning. But the one eventuality he did not account for was the one in which an enraged and flustered Tequila would be present at the delivery of such information. 

“I really wish I could have done this in private, Jack,” he said, smiling apologetically down at the former senior agent.  

“Do what?” Jack asked. He had figured as soon as he had woken up, and regained the crucial memories which helped him piece together how he came to be here, that there would be some form of punishment for his actions. It only seemed right, and even Jack could see that. Whatever Champ was about to deliver would be well deserved, and perhaps not punishment enough. 

“You’ve lost your moniker, Jack. You’re no longer Agent Whiskey,” he said. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Jack nodded, solemnly, as he listened carefully to what Champ said. He couldn’t lie and say he expected to wake up and everything be okay - there would be consequences to his actions, and he had made peace with that. He might have only been back in the land of the living for a short while, but he’d had long enough to already be racked with the guilt and remorse of the actions he’d taken to get him into this position. That didn’t mean finding out he had essentially lost his identity didn’t still sting, though. 

“I expected as much. Please tell me what else will happen to me,” he asked, mentally preparing himself for what would be coming his way.

Champ shifted where he sat, looking like he was pondering what it was that he wanted to say. He gently sucked his bottom lip under his top teeth, now seemingly a bit reluctant to talk, with all eyes in the room firmly pinned on him. He sighed, softly. 

“Let me talk you through a couple of things, Jack. The initial plan was to get you healed up here, then ship you off somewhere with a brand new identity. Essentially, reinvent you, then leave you somewhere alone, with no ties to Statesman,” he said, eyes unable to focus on Jack. For as firm as Champ was, and as sure of himself as he so often was, this was one thing that he had tormenting him for months. That plan no longer felt right. 

“But, I came to see that the initial plan was something that was made only out of anger, and rage. It was a knee jerk response to the actions you had taken, and while I will never be able to condemn what it was that you did, I cannot in good faith punish you in such a way like that anymore,” he said.

Jack smiled faintly, a pang of guilt tearing through him again, and tears welled up in his eyes. Champ was a mentor to Jack, and had been such a constant presence in his life for two decades now. He would take a long time to be able to forgive himself for what he did, but his biggest regret was that he had the burden of feeling like he’d let Champ down to carry around with him. Gaining back his trust, and forgiveness, would be a hard battle to fight. 

Tequila, still thoroughly unimpressed at Jack even daring to breathe the same air as him, scoffed at Champ’s words. Jack understood why Jefferson would be so bitter towards him, and he knew if the shoe were on the other foot he’d probably be just as resentful towards him. He didn’t take it personally, but it still was enough of a visceral reaction to make Jack turn his attention towards his former colleague. 

“You’ve all gone fuckin’ soft,” Tequila said under his breath, his arms folded tight against his chest. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Clara quipped, her head snapping round to Tequila the second he dared open his mouth and interrupt Champ. He rolled his eyes at her, but did as she asked, not uttering another word for a while longer. 

“So, what’s the new plan then, Champ? Whatcha gonna do with me?” Jack asked. Champ smiled faintly, his thumb and forefinger on his right hand gently twirling the end of the bolo tie that he had on, something which all agents in the room had realised was something Champ did when he was anxious about something. 

Champ might be someone who came across like he had a hand on everything, but when it came to his closest agents, the most senior ones who had been with Statesman for over a decade, there would always be some decisions which would leave him feeling slightly unsure he was taking the right action. These people were like a family to Champ, and one wrong move had the possibility of jeopardising his adoptive family. In a job like this, where personal relations were hard to maintain outside of work, having any kind of rift in the team was never something he wanted. Life was hard enough for them without it.  

“I’m giving you another chance, Jack. You’ll undergo a course of intense psychological treatment once you’re physically healed, and all the while we’ll keep you bound to these grounds. Consider it a form of house arrest, given what you tried to do,” Champ said. 

Clara furrowed her brow, now turning her attention back to Champ. 

“Champ, I didn’t think that was part of the plan?” she asked. Tequila scoffed, again . 

“It ain’t enough, if you ask me,” he said. Clara didn’t want to detract from any point Champ might be about to give in response to her question, so she didn’t make all that much of a deal of his quip; although that didn’t stop her from muttering “ nobody asked you” under her breath. 

“I changed my mind. I want to give you another chance, Jack, but I need to be sure that you won’t go rogue again. We had guys from the FBI on our case not long after the antidote got released, wanting to know what the delay was all about. I managed to get them off your trail, but fuck , it was a close one. Put my neck on the line for you, Jack, so I gotta be a hundred percent sure whose side you’re on before I even think about giving you a proper job back here,” he said. 

“What makes you think we can ever trust him again, Champ? Are you forgetting how he was quite happy to just let me fuckin’ die ?!” Tequila said, that anger rising in him anew. Champ shrugged. 

“Only time will tell that much, Tex. But my decision is final,” he said, turning back to Jack. “So, what do you say, kid?”. 

Jack smiled faintly, nodding at the older man, choosing to ignore Tequila’s outburst. He’d come around one day - or maybe he wouldn’t; who knew? He probably deserved it if his old friend could never look at him the same again. 

“Statesman is all I’ve ever known, for so long. I want to make it work, Champ. I’ll serve my time,” he said.

Champ smiled, nodding as he stood to his feet, holding onto the lapels of his jacket as he returned to the strong stature he so liked to maintain. 

“Very well. Tequila, may I see you outside for a moment?” Champ asked. Tequila scoffed, still completely bemused at the solution to Jack’s punishment, but nodded nonetheless. He’d never been one to question Champ’s authority, so he sure wasn’t about to start now - regardless of his personal feelings towards the decision. 

The two men began walking away from Jack’s bed, but before they could leave he had just one final burning question that he needed answering. 

“Hey Champ, if I’m not Whiskey, then who is?” Jack asked. Champ turned on his heels, ignoring the fact that Tequila kept walking towards the door, and smiled. 

“Clara, can you fill Jack in on those details?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Very good,” he grinned, then nodded towards Jack, “Rest up, kid. I’ll see you soon”. 

Jack watched as Tequila and Champ left the room, the lab doors swinging behind them as they left. A silence fell across the lab once they had departed, the gentle sound of machinery beeping and whirring behind his head the only thing he noticed for a while. Jack felt his mind slowly wandering away from the physical space in which he resided, the reality of everything crashing down around him. 

He’d lost his moniker. 

The man he fought for years to become, the stoic and immovable Agent Whiskey - just like that, gone . A part of his life, so big that he didn’t even know who he was without it, had been taken away. He didn’t disagree with Champ, he would have acted the same in his shoes - but the feeling of loss left a vacant hole deep inside his chest, and for a moment Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to piece himself back together.

Clara sat down besides Jack’s bed and sighed quietly, the weight of that conversation heavy in the air surrounding them both. She could see that he’d wandered elsewhere, his eyes almost empty as she looked over at him. This was a conversation that she didn’t want to have, especially given how heartbroken he looked - but the band aid would need to come off sometime. 

She slowly slid her hand atop of Jack’s, caressing the back of his hand while she waited for him to come back to her. He didn’t react at first, the dissociation taking hold and carrying him far out of this room. Far away from the reality he was having to acknowledge. 

“Jack?” she whispered, finally snapping him out of his daze and bringing him back to her in the room. He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with tears, but yet he still managed a small smile. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, sniffling to himself and wiping his eyes with his free hand. Clara shook her head, lacing her fingers between his and squeezing his hand. 

“Don’t be,” she said, “This is a lot to process all at once. We can always revisit this conversation another day?” she suggested, but Jack shook his head. 

“No, Clara, I need to know. Who is the new Agent Whiskey?” he asked.  

Clara bit her lip, still unsure if she felt ready to tell him. But one look into those deep brown pleading eyes, and she was a goner. Her and Jack might have never been intimate with one another, but that didn’t make her totally immune to the looks and glances he could pass around. 

“It’s me, Jack. I’m Agent Whiskey,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry”. 

Jack had never been keen on Clara becoming a senior agent, even though he knew as well as anyone else that she would have been deserving of the position. But being one of the only women he worked closely with on a daily basis for so many years, he’d so long wanted to protect Clara and keep her safe - denying her the chance to work her way up the ranks was his way of crudely preventing her from putting herself in harm's way. 

He knew it was wrong. Truthfully, the fact his old moniker had been passed to her felt like an ironic sense of justice being delivered - a karma given to him for all the times he had denied Clara the right to do what she was more than capable of, what she was more than deserving of , in the name of protection. 

Jack smiled at Clara, trying to reassure the evident worry that was dancing across her face. With her hand still in his, he returned the affection she’s given, squeezing her fingers between his. 

“No, Clara. I’m sorry,” he said. She furrowed her brow, not expecting an apology to come from his lips - in fact, she expected anger. A sense of betrayal, even, that after all this time working together that it was her who would be the one to take his moniker the second he were to lose it. But no; instead Jack looked remorseful, and genuinely sorry. 

“What for?” she asked. 

“You mean aside from causing all this mess?” he chuckled, motioning to the bed in which he lay with his other hand. 

“Oh, shut up,” she giggled, wanting to playfully slap his arm but knowing that was probably not the best idea given his current condition. 

“I’m sorry for ever denying you the chance to become an agent. You never deserved that,” he explained. 

She’d get an explanation from him one day as to why he did. That didn’t matter right now - for the first time in her life, Clara had just heard Jack apologise to her. 

“It’s okay. In a way it all worked out in the end,” she said. Jack shrugged. 

“Yes, but I should have never stood in your way. For what it’s worth, I’m glad my moniker has gone to you, of all people,” he said. “You deserve the title.”

Clara smiled at Jack, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. He lifted her hand, still within his, up to his lips. Softly he placed a kiss on the back of her hand, all the while his deep brown eyes staying firmly on hers, his own tears starting to seep from the edges and trickle down his face. 

For Clara, it was an acceptance that she hadn’t anticipated, but one she had so desperately needed. For as long as Jack had been asleep, carrying his former moniker had felt more like a burden than a privilege. A metaphorical ball and chain clamped around her ankle, weighing her down and scraping at the ground beneath her with every step. It had been an unbearable weight. 

But looking back at Jack now, whose features seemed softer than she’d ever seen before, there was not a doubt in her mind that everything would eventually work out. Whatever became of Jack, however well he would cope with the upcoming months and years of rehab, she could leave this room today as Agent Whiskey with her head held high. Something she had yearned for since September. 

“You better rest now, Jack. We’ll be getting you into physical rehab in the morning, so you’ll need your energy. I think you’ve had enough for one day now,” Clara said. 

Jack nodded, setting Clara’s hand back down onto the bed and loosening his grip, allowing her to pull away. She stood up from his bedside and adjusted her lab coat, before heading off in the direction of the door. 

“Thank you, Clara,” Jack said weakly, smiling over at his former co-worker as he felt his body relax into the bed. She turned her head back towards him, chuckling to herself as she saw his eyes go heavy and begin to close, fatigue taking over his body. On her way out, Clara dimmed the lights, and by the time she came to leave the labs Jack had already slipped away again into a deep slumber. 

As Jack slept that night, he dreamt of his old life. A life he would no longer see again, but perhaps for the better. He had been a wayward soul for far too long, and his unpredictability had led him to ruin. For him to feel happiness again, to have a new lease of life, change was inevitable. 

“All great changes are preceded by chaos”. 

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Next Chapter (Ch. 3 - "Confinement") ->

[emotionally-damaged-carrot]

Harry Hart x Kingsman!male reader

The sword and the knight

No Warning

Just fluff or something

I got back into kingsman and saw a lack of male readers, so I am fixing that. I could do a lot better than this one, it's pretty boring and long, I am still trying to get back into the game and that will take a long while. But for the mean time, enjoy 🫰

Didn't have time to proofread, sorry.

Eggsy entered the tailorshop with his casual wear, jacket, shirt, cap and all. He looked out of place as he looked around until he saw Harry looking at him with a man beside him, his head was on Harry's lap with eyes closed, while Harry stroke his hair. Eggsy found it amusing and was about to talk until Harry put a finger to his lips, signalling him to shut it.

"Keep your voice down, he gets very grumpy if he gets woken up."

Harry said in a hushed tone as he beckoned Eggsy closer.

"Who is he exactly?"

"You'll know when you get into kingsman, now, are you ready?"

"way to leave a bloke in a cliffhanger, yes, I'm ready."

" Alright, head to the third fitting room, I will follow you shortly."

Eggsy did as he was told, still looking at Harry and the mystery person. After waiting a few minutes in the fitting room, Harry got inside and stood beside Eggsy.

"Apologies, he reacted not how I anticipated he would. Now, what do you see?"

Harry asked Eggsy as they were both looking in the three mirrors infront of them.

"Because I see, a man who is loyal, who can do as he is asked, and wants to do something good with his life."

Eggsy looked intently at the mirror.

"You ready?"

"What have I got to lose?"

Harry placed his palm on the mirror, a few moments later the floor began to descend into a subway. They got into the pod and travelled to the kingsman HQ.

As they arrived Harry told him everything he needed to know and brought him to the dorm with the other candidates. A few moments later Harry was joined by a bald man and the man earlier.

"Alright you lot, listen here and listen close, what I am about to say is vital. Your recuitment into kingsman is to take up to 3 months, more or less depeninding on how well all of you do."

The man from earlier spoke, and looked at Eggsy.

"I am Excalibur, and the bald scotsman beside me is Merlin, and this tall as shit fellow here is Galahad."

Excalibur said as he pointed to them respectively.

"I do not appreciate being called that, Excalibur."

"I just described you, what you want from me?"

Merlin just sighed as Excalibur crossed his arms in sort of a pissed off kid kind of way.

"Your test is already underway, the moment you stepped into this place the test has started. Now get some rest, and goodluck."

The three of them left after saying their farewells.

–—–

"When are you going to make them swim?"

Excalibur asked Merlin as he stood beside him.

"In a bit."

Merlin pressed the button, making the doorm fill up with water, Eggsy was the first to wake up. Noticing the water, the others were not far behind.

"Loo snorkels, loo snorkels."

Charlie said as he pointed towards the toilets.

"Showers heads."

Roxy followed behind, Eggsy was confused looking around as he looked at the door. After the room was full of water, he swam towards the door and tried to open it, unfortunately it was locked. He looked towards the mirror and began to swim towards it, as he got to the mirror he repeatedly punched it until it broke.

"That was fast."

Excalibur said as he looked towards the candidates on the floor.

"Good job, Charlie for quick thinking, as well as Roxy. However, all of you failed, you forgot the most important thing, teamwork, look inside."

Merlin said as the candidates now looked inside the dorm again, finding the lifeless body of a girl named Amelia.

"Still commendable, get some rest, we will continue tomorrow."

Excalibur said as he smirked at them, Eggsy looked quite pissed off.

"Are you trying to kill us?"

He asked angrily as he looked at Excalibur.

"Our job is to narrow down the candidates to one, Arthur never said how."

"For an old man you sure are fuckwd in the head."

"I am not old, I am just 3 years younger than Harry, I am Y/n, by the way."

Y/n reached out his hand for Eggsy.

"Proper sadist you are."

Eggsy shook his hand as he followed where the others went.

"If you see Harry, tell him I am looking for him, he knows where."

Y/n said before Eggsy was out of sight.

As Eggsy was walking to his dorm, he stumbled upon a tired Harry sat against the wall as he turned the corner. He looked to be asleep but with a cut on his head and he is sweating profusely.

"Harry!"

Eggsy ran towards him.

"You good, mate?"

Eggsy shook his shoulder as Harry slowly opened his eyes.

"Just got into an accident, no need to fret."

Harry said with a tired face as he closed his eyes again.

"You sure? Well, Y/n is looking for you."

"thank you, Eggsy."

Harry nodded at Eggsy as he began to stand up, although struggling, he managed to be on his feet. He began to walk but he was stumbling and seemed to be in pain.

"You sure, you good? You don't seem proper, Harry."

Eggsy walked beside Harry as he put one of Harry's arms around his shoulder.

"I am feeling quite tired, my apologies, but I may need some assistance if you don't mind that is?"

Harry looked at Eggsy.

"You are tall, never realized just how tall until now."

Eggsy joke, trying to lighten the mood as he went with Harry.

"I am indeed tall, tallest in this place not to boast."

Harry chuckled.

"where are we going?"

"Just to Y/n' office."

"Where?"

"Right, I forgot, just on the second floor and last door on the right."

Eggsy hummed in acknowledgement.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you lot named after the knights of the round table? Guess it fits the name, dunnit?"

"We are named based on our capabilities."

"And why is Y/n named excalibur?"

"Because he is the best of us, he is quite literally, Arthur's weapon. When Arthur deems it necessary, Excaliber will be there to slay the foe. He is a cold blooded killer, he does not show remorse, he has his own justice. He is the one Arthur sends when his Knights are in trouble, Excalibur has never failed a mission yet, and Arthur trusts him with his life."

They reached the door to Y/n's office after Harry explained.

"Well, here we are, would love to know more about the others. But Your duty calls, and sleep is pulling me down, Night."

Eggsy gave a two fingered salute to Harry before making his leave, leaving Harry infront of the door. He knocked six times in a pattern, alerting Y/n of who is at the door.

"Come in."

The voice from inside said, just as Harry opened the door to the office, he collapsed. Y/n immediately ran to Harry and shook his shoulder while gently tapping his cheek.

"Harry? You good, Love? Come on."

Y/n aid as he was getting emotional, his voice wavering a bit. Harry woke up after a few moments, later.

"I'm alright, nothing to worry about."

Harry said as he forced himself to stand, Y/n noticed and helped him, holding his hips so he doesn't fall.

"Why don't you lay down, hm?"

Y/n offered as he looked at Harry with distress.

"If it calms you down."

Harry laid down on the couch in the office.

"What did you call me for, my dear?"

"I just missed you."

Y/n said shyly as he looked everywhere but at Harry.

"Needy little thing, aren't you?"

Harry chuckled as he motion for Y/n to join him in the couch.

"Was the mission hard?"

Y/n asked as he snuggled into Harry, his small frame fitting perfectly with his head on Harry's chest with Harry's hand playing with his hair.

"Smooth."

"Then why are you injured?"

"I fell down a flight of stairs."

"Don't lie."

"I jumped off a plane."

"Come on, Harry, why so secretive?"

"Whatever do you mean, my love? I am telling you nothing but what happened as best as I remember it."

"You're so annoying sometimes, I wonder why I even married you in the first place."

"Because you fell for me 27 years ago, why? Do you regret it?"

Harry said as their bodies relaxed, the playful banter becoming softer and quieter.

"Very much, I would rather have been with someone else if I knew you would be this annoying, posh twat."

"That is not a gentleman thing to say to someone."

"Look at my eyes and tell me whether I care or not."

Y/n raised his head hid chin now resting on Harry's chest.

"I love you."

Harry said as the hand on Y/n's hair now rested on his cheek as he caressed it carefully and lovingly.

"You cheeky, bugger, I love you too."

They leaned in for a kiss, not rough nor was it delicate, just the perfect kiss to fit the moment and to slightly calm the fire of their love just for a moment of respite between them. They fell asleep in each other's arms, not wanting to let go, Y/n face buried in Harry's neck and his face in Y/n' hair. Just the way they like it, close and feeling the love they hold for one another.

[simpingcowboy]

Pedro boys and why I'm swiping left on their tinders

This is all to be silly!! I love them all very much <3

Frankie Morales

His name there says Frankie (Catfish)....with his main profile picture being him holding you guessed it...a catfish. He doesn't have many other photos on there, with the exception of a few older military photos that are so blurry you can hardly tell which one he's meant to be.

The rest of his page is pretty empty aside from the music section, where you actually get the first real glimpse at what this man is about. While his music selection is very respectable, it does not overshadow the glaring issues with his profile.

In short, Frankie's profile makes you think "Am I dating the man? The fish? Or a catfish?" Swiping left fs.

Marcus Moreno

This one isn't his fault! His profile is perfect. No really. All the women at The Heroics made sure to help him with it! His photos are cute and show off all his best assets. The bio is a little cheesy in an endearing "yeah he's definitely a dad" way. The problem then? It's Marcus fucking Moreno!!! Leader of the Heroics!!!!!! On Tinder???? There's no way anyone is going to believe it's really him. I believe there's a verification option on Tinder now, but really...even then Idk. Unless he fully comes out on an interview or something to super casually mention he's on Tinder, it just ain't working. No one likes a catfish! (Sorry Frankie!)

Jack Daniels

Mr. "Tinder What?" himself!!!! Let's say he manages to figure out how to set up a profile and all that. It's gonna be inTERESTING to say the least. His photos are actually pretty solid. An intriguing mix of photos of him on the ranch and photos of him in the Statesmen HQ looking very well put together. Opening line is definitely "Save a Horse! Ride a Cowboy! 🤠♥️" Very on brand for him. Followed by something very pro-american about the flag or serving his country and honestly... that's where I'm gone 😅. We get to see a bit of Jack's political mind in Kingsman and let's just say i don't wanna know the rest of it.

I'm grateful this is Tinder and not Bumble. Because if Jack used the audio prompt and I heard that smooth Kentucky accent...forget EVERYTHING I just said. I would be taking a chance on him. Sorry 😔 I can't fix him, but I will have fun trying!!

Joel Miller

For namesake, we're gonna set this pre-outbreak. There's no time for swiping in the apocalypse. Profile isn't bad just very empty. He's not really trying and it's kinda obvious. His bio reads something along the lines of "Single dad of a spoiled teen" with mostly photos of himself and Sarah on his profile. A few photos of him and Tommy out camping or on a work site.

And as handsome as he is, the profile feels like something his kid forced him to make as a way of getting him off her back. I wanna sympathize and help her out, but I don't know I have the heart to attempt to win over this very clearly emotionally unavailable DILF. So for that reason, I'm swiping left.

Pero Tovar

If for some ungodly reason Pero was given Internet access and had a dating profile... it'd be a disaster. His bio reads something along the lines of "I don't open this app. If you wish to see me meet me at this pub" with approximate days and times he's there.

The first picture on his profile is a way too far away blurry shot of him training. If I was feeling brave enough to continue scrolling through his photos...the rest would certainly be borderline explicit highly suggestive photos of his torso and groin. And whilst I might think about it for approximately .25 seconds any remaining sense of dignity would kick in before I actually did anything about it. It'll sting momentarily, but I will be swiping left.

Ezra

Another man on this list who should absolutely NOT be given internet access. His photos are beautiful but uninformative...the only shots of him are blurred and artistically obscure. He pads the rest of his profile with photos of books he's reading and grainy shoots of the forest.

The bio...if there's a word limit best believe that Ezra has hit it. He used every given character at his disposal and managed to say very little with all of it. Something about a wandering spirit longing for companionship and a couple sexual innuendos for good measure.

While visually and verbally not the worst profile on this list, his pretension is so utterly palpable through the screen I actually don't think I'd be able to make it through the end of his bio without cringing...also his music selection is all just banjo instrumental???

[javier-pena]

So ... I recently hit 10,000 followers, which is completely insane to me!! I wish I could thank each and everyone of you who has been here since the beginning or who followed two days ago personally, but that's just not possible. Instead, I'm doing a small request-based fic celebration 🤭

What is it about?

You can choose from a list of characters and a list of prompts (or send in your own) and I will write a (hopefully) short fic (1-3k words) based on your request. You can choose a stand-alone fic or request something that fits into one of my longer stories (Hubris, Triumvirate, In Plain Sight, the Javi G universe). Please send in your requests until April 27!

How to send in your requests?

Please send me an ask (anonymous or not) specifying the following:

Step 1: Do you want your fic to be reader insert?

Please specify the gender (if there is no specification, I will most likely write f!reader, but I might choose something else if I think it fits the prompt). You don't have to choose just one character, you can also choose more, e.g. Javi Gutierrez x f!reader x Dieter Bravo x Agent Whiskey. Your request doesn't have to be reader insert, you can also request a specific dynamic, e.g. Javier Peña x Joel Miller.

Step 2: Do you want your fic to be nsfw?

If you want your fic to be nsfw or if you don't want it to be nsfw please specify this in your request. If you don't, I will write whatever fits the prompt.

Step 3: Is there anything you want me to avoid?

If there are any triggers, themes, character traits etc. you don't want me to include, please tell me. The fics will come with warnings but I wouldn't want to write something you can't/don't want to read for whatever reason.

Step 4: Choose one or more character(s)!

I will write for the following characters. You can send in a different character too, but there is no guarantee I will write your request unless it's another character from the movie/show that's on the list (e.g. Tommy Miller).

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

Clint (Freaky Tales)

Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey (Kingsman: The Golden Circle)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Ezra (Prospect)

Lucien Flores (The Uninvited)

Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier)

Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Tess Servopoulos (The Last of Us)

Silva (Strange Way of Life) - I will not write x f!reader for Silva

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

Step 5: Choose a promt!

You can choose up to three of the following prompts or send in your own.

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?"

"And what are you going to do about that?"

"I would love to spoil you, can I do this for you?"

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

"I don't like you!" "Finally something we can agree on."

“My tongue still remembers the way you taste.”

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

"Can you just look at me? Please?"

"Don't play with me."

"It's not your choice."

"Please tell me I can touch you."

"Make me beg for it."

"Oh, you're hard to please."

"Let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

"You're still holding back, just let go."

"I don't want you to say that you love me. Love will not fix anything. It just makes everything more complicated."

"Don't look at me like that." "How am I looking at you?"

"I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried."

"You knew how I feel about you. You have to have known."

"Don't make me jealous."

"I'm going to be here when you wake up."

"I could make you beg for it." "I would love to see you try."

"I already have a boyfriend." "That's great. Invite him as well."

"It was just a kiss."

"I don't feel like we're close enough to have this type of conversation."

"Oh, jealousy looks good on you."

"Do you still have feelings for me?" "Well, do you still have feelings for me?" "I asked first."

"Three years was not enough to get over you."

"What if someone sees us?"

"You're not my dirty little secret. And I never want you to think that."

"No, I refuse to believe that you would do that to me."

"You're just saying that to be nice. No need to pity me." "What I feel for you is definitely not pity."

Step 6: Have fun!

And if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to message me!

[1-imaginary-girl]

I’ll Take Care of You Pt. 2

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Summary: You and Eggsy have continued seeing each other after the incident. The only problem is, Eggsy only sees you when he's injured. Will he find the courage to tell you how he really feels? Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Warnings: Talk about minor injuries, but overall fluff again.

Word Count: 3824

Part 1

A/N: The second part is finally here! I rewatched "Robin Hood" recently and it got me back into the Taron Egerton headspace. God I love that man. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Eggsy is walking out of a Kingsman meeting and he can feel the fatigue settling into his bones. Without having a mission to focus on, spy work can be rather boring. Especially during meetings like those. He's trudging down the hall when suddenly, he feels a buzz from his phone. He takes it out and instantly a smile appears on his face.

He received a text message from you saying: Did your meeting kill you with boredom? :P

He laughs to himself before responding: It was fucking dreadful, but thankfully I will live to see another day.

Ever since that fateful night where Eggsy got hit by your car, the two of you have stayed in touch. He thinks he’s actually found a friend in you. It feels nice to have someone to talk to about being a spy, other than his fellow Kingsman agents. Maybe Eggsy shouldn’t be telling you the information he does, but he can’t help it. There’s something about you that makes him want to tell you everything and he knows he can trust you. And you already knew he was a spy, so he figured what’s a few more secrets to spill?

Eggsy loves having you in his life. The only thing he doesn’t love is that the two of you don’t really hang out other than when he gets hurt. Yes, Eggsy has continued to visit you, his favourite nurse, whenever he gets injured in the field. Once, he even paid you a visit after fighting practice with Roxy resulted in a nasty black eye. You didn’t appear mad at him for wasting your time, since all you could really do is offer him an ice pack. You just tended to him as you often did and the two of you talked the night away.

It isn’t even a conscious decision anymore to go to you. He just always finds himself making the journey to your place with a new injury. The first time it happened after the car accident, it was because he had gotten injured near your place and thought it would be easier than returning to base or even going home. But after a few visits, he found himself just wanting to be with you, injured or not.

After this realization, he began to feel bad about selfishly wanting you to be the one who fixes him. After all, you already spend all day tending to patients. So he told you:

“Are you sure you don’t mind fixing me up all the time? I’m starting to feel bad for inconveniencing you.” 

But instead of agreeing, you smiled at him and said, “Eggsy Unwin, you could never be an inconvenience. Don’t tell anyone, but out of all of my patients, you’re my favourite.”

His heart sped up at that, so he cracked a joke. “I’m sure that’s what you tell all your patients.”

“Only the handsome ones,” you replied with a wink that caused a shade of pink to bloom on his cheeks, but luckily you had returned to your work and didn’t seem to notice.

It was after that encounter that Eggsy had realized he was developing feelings for you that evolved past friendship. He had tried to chalk his feelings up to being platonic, but who was he kidding? He was falling for you, and falling hard. He thought about confessing to you, wondering if you felt the same, but it was too risky. Eggsy didn’t want to ruin one of the best friendships he had over feelings that are most likely one-sided.

“Is that Y/N?” A voice sounds from beside him, causing Eggsy to jump and almost drop his phone. So much for his spy training. “Tell her I say hi.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, tucking his phone away and out of Roxy’s nosy stare. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, now walking beside him.

“Cut the shit, Unwin, I saw you smiling down at your phone with that goofy lovestruck smile that is reserved only for Y/N,” she says. Eggsy had never planned on sharing Y/N with Roxy, not wanting to risk you getting into trouble, but unfortunately for him, Roxy and Merlin are no good busybodies. The next day at work after the car accident, Roxy immediately bombarded him with questions about you. Apparently, when Eggsy informed Merlin that he was going to a random civilian’s house, the news was too interesting not to tell Roxy.

He also never planned on giving Roxy your name but having a friend that’s a spy is not convenient when keeping secrets. She had spied on him when Eggsy was texting you, the two of you having exchanged information that fateful day, and saw your contact name before he could stop her.

“I was not smiling, and I do not have a goofy lovestruck smile only for Y/N,” Eggsy tells her, but as soon as he says that, he wonders if he does. If his feelings are really that obvious.

“God, for a spy you really are obvious.” Sometimes he wonders why he’s even friends with Roxy.

“And for the last time, Rox, I am not in love with her,” he insists. 

“Is that why you won’t let me meet her? You’re afraid I’ll tell her? Because I can assure you, unlike yourself, I am quite excellent at keeping secrets.”

“For the record, I won’t let the two of you meet because I’m afraid you’ll scare her off,” he says, but he’s also afraid that Roxy might steal you away. Maybe you’d prefer a female spy friend over him. He doesn’t think you’re the type of person to do that, but his insecurities continue to hold him back, just in case.

Roxy lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, Unwin, just admit that you love her! I already know, and you won’t convince me otherwise.” Eggsy realizes how true that is when he looks over to see his friend’s dead serious expression. Fuck it.

“It’s not love, quite yet,” he admits, and Roxy giddily celebrates. Eggsy looks up and down the hall to make sure no one sees her. “What was that about being too obvious?”

But Roxy doesn’t hear him. “I knew it. I can’t believe I got you to confess, I thought I’d have to bug you at least a few more times about it,” she says with a smile on her face. He rolls his eyes.

“Well, now you know. Satisfied?”

She stays quiet for a moment before asking, “Why don’t you tell her again?”

“It’s not that simple,” he says, shaking his head. He doesn’t know how to explain himself without making him seem like a miserable sod. “She’s my friend. A good friend, and I don’t…” He sighs and stops walking. Roxy stops beside him. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Eggsy Unwin,” Roxy says, and when he looks her she has a serious arms-crossed look that makes Eggsy want to keep walking. “You’re not going to screw this up.”

“But what if she doesn’t feel the same?” he confesses and then realizes they should have chosen a more private location to be having this conversation. Luckily, there appear to be no other agents around.

“By the looks of your messages, I can almost guarantee she feels the same. On top of that, I’m your best friend and even I would get annoyed at having to fix you up after every fight,” she says.

“Sorry, exactly when did you see such messages?”

“Never mind that,” she says, brushing the topic aside. “The point is, I think she feels the same way. And even if she doesn’t, based on the limited knowledge of her, she sounds like the type of person to handle that well. You don’t have to worry about your friendship.”

What she said makes sense, yet Eggsy can’t shake the queasy feeling in his stomach at the thought of having to confess to you.

“It’s up to you what you do,” Roxy continues. “But would you at least consider it?”

He stares at her unyielding gaze, and relents. “I suppose.”

“Thank god. I don’t know how much more pining I can take,” she says and resumes walking.

“I do not pine!” he says, picking up his pace to catch up with her.

†††

A week later, Eggsy finds himself sitting in one of the Kingsman jets heading back to base after a long, but successful, mission. He’s lounging in one of the chairs, feeling proud that the mission had gone off without a hitch. 

His mission had been to retrieve some confidential information that had gone missing, but the retrieval ended up being fairly easy. The people who had stolen the information got lulled into a sense of calm and had lowered their security. Thanks to that, Eggsy had been able to be in and out of the compound, only having to take out a few people along the way. 

Eggsy feels the pride and relief he normally would but now he’s also filled with excitement. Typically, at the end of his more recent missions, Eggsy will have acquired a few wounds that need tending to and would drop by your place (if you were available, which most of the time you were.) Only, as Eggsy relaxes into the jet’s seat, his excitement suddenly dwindles. He lifts up his arms and examines his body to check, but this time Eggsy finds himself in perfect condition. No injury to be found. He slumps back into the chair.

This should be a good thing, as Eggsy isn’t always as careful as he should be, but he finds he’s disappointed. After all, now he didn’t have a reason to see you. He bites his lip and gazes out the window. He was really excited to see you and now there is a hole of dissatisfaction left behind.

He continues thinking about you, about what you’re doing right now, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s dialling your number. He only wants to hear the sound of your voice, even if he got your voicemail he would be satisfied.

On the third ring, you pick up. “How’s my favourite spy doing?” you ask as a greeting. He’s almost embarrassed at the butterflies that flutter in his stomach at your voice, and you calling him that.

“I don’t know, how is Bond?” He hears you giggle, brightening his already wide smile.

“Oh hush, no need to be jealous over a fictional character. And you were right, he is a bit posh for my taste.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Well, your real favourite spy is feeling pretty fucking good right about now.”

“I take it the mission went well?” He had been texting you throughout the mission when he got bored. Merlin used to give him shit for it, but now he’s begrudgingly resigned to it, knowing that Eggsy had no intentions of stopping. As long as it’s only you.

“It went great! Everything went according to plan.”

“Sounds a bit boring.” He laughs, as he silently agrees with you. “Speaking as your nurse, however, I suppose this is good news.”

“What a lovely nurse I have. How did I get so lucky?”

Another laugh. “Right place, right time, right car I suppose.” He laughs. It took a while before you were able to laugh about hitting him with your car, as you still felt extremely guilty. But after reassuring you that he was over it, and constantly teasing you about it, you found the humour in it. “Seriously, I’m happy for you Eggs. You must feel great.”

“I do,” he says, despite the disappointment that lingered due to not seeing you. “Want me to tell you about it?”

“Duh!”

“Could you please try to leave out the classified bits?” Another voice sounds from the jet. Eggsy looks up to see Merlin passing by. He gives Eggsy a tired, worried expression. Eggsy smiles up at him.

“You can count on me, Merlin,” he says with a cheeky smile and a wink. Merlin simply rubs the bridge of his nose where his glasses sit.

“Is that Merlin? Tell him I say hi!”

“Y/N says hi,” Eggsy relays to him. Merlin’s face softens.

“Hello dear,” he says. Despite the nagging and scolding, Eggsy thinks Merlin likes you. The two of you have never met, but Eggsy suspects the older man believes you’re a good influence on him. Truthfully, it’s because you make Eggsy happy.

“He says hi back.”

“When are you going to introduce me to your spy family? Or is that against the rules?”

“I think it’s a little late to be considering the rules.” You laugh.

“Fair enough. Then what is it? Do you just want to keep me all to yourself?” Eggsy’s breath catches as you jokingly hit the nail on the head. He knows it’s selfish, but he can’t help the feeling of wanting to be yours. To remain your favourite spy.

“You caught me,” he says with a laugh to avoid the truthfulness from leaking through his tone.

“You can’t keep anything from me, my dear boy.” Again, his heart hammers in his chest. “Now enough chit chat, tell me about your mission.”

†††

Later that night, Eggsy is sitting on his couch, your phone call from earlier echoing in his mind. Even after hearing your voice, it didn’t quite satisfy his need to see you. He considers slightly nicking his hand with a knife when he catches himself. What is he doing? There’s nothing stopping him from going to see you right now except his own nerves. But if the two of you really are friends, then there’s nothing wrong with it, right?

“Fuck it,” he mutters to himself. Summoning up courage he doesn’t have, he stands up from his couch. What’s the worst that can happen? A deep breath, and he’s making his way to the door when suddenly he hears a knock. He pauses, wondering who it could be. It’s the middle of the night.

Eggsy cautiously walks to his front door and opens it, only to stop in shock. There, on his doorstep, is you. You’re here, at his place. Once that registers, concern overwhelms him as he takes in your state. 

You’re leaning against his doorframe with a hand pressed against your left side. You also brand a gash on your chin and a split lip. Despite all of this, a smile graces your lips. “Well isn’t this ironic?” you say as way of greeting. Eggsy’s still having a hard time believing he didn’t fall asleep and dreamt this. But your voice shocks him out of his frozen state.

“Y/N, what the bloody hell happened to you?” he asks, opening his door. Shock is slowly giving way to worry as he watches you slowly make your way into his place, taking in the view.

“It’s actually a funny story,” you say. You make your way to his couch but pause to examine his living room. “Nice place you have here.”

Eggsy’s mind is going a mile a minute. He didn’t know what to do, but then he remembers that you’re injured. “I-I’ll go see if I have anything to patch you up with.” Before you can argue, Eggsy starts scrambling around his place trying to find what he thinks he would need. He ends up bringing a wet cloth, a bag of frozen peas, a package of bandaids, and some disinfectant cream that you had given him.

He returns to find you sitting on his couch, a pained expression on your face as you take deep breaths. As soon as you see him however, your face hides any trace of pain. He furrows his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. He dumps the stuff on his coffee table.

“Whoa,” you say, taking in his collection. He becomes self-conscious since you’re an expert in medicine.

“I-It’s not much, I know, but it’ll do for now,” he says reassuringly. He takes a seat on the couch beside you. He knows about the injuries on your face but not your stomach. He eyes your side and you know what he’s thinking. “Could you lift up your shirt?”

“How forward of you,” you say with a smirk and he’s acutely aware that your roles have truly changed. He gives you a stern look, and you drop the smirk. You pull your shirt up to reveal your side and Eggsy sucks in a sharp breath.

“Jesus Y/N,” he mutters, examining the massive bruise. 

“I’m lucky it’s just a bruise,” you say, a wince on your face. Eggsy looks at you and forces your gaze to meet his own.

“What happened?” he says sternly. He knows you’ve been dodging around the subject since you got here. You blush, realizing that he’s caught onto your game. To distract you, Eggsy begins fixing you up. He gently places the frozen peas on the bruise and you gasp in pain, causing his heart to squeeze.

“I don’t know how you spy types do it,” you comment. He thinks about asking how you medical professionals do it, as seeing you in pain breaks his heart. But Eggsy won’t let you dance around the subject any longer. You let out a sigh as you hold onto the bag while Eggsy examines your other injuries. “So, it’s actually rather embarrassing, but…I was actually on my way to see you.”

His eyes widen. You wanted to see him too? He tries to catch your eye but your gaze is directed at anywhere but him. A deep red is encroaching on your cheeks. You clear your throat. “So anyway, I got in my car and drove over. I…I was a bit rushed so when I got out of my car I wasn’t paying much attention. That’s when this biker rounds the corner and rides right into me.” Eggsy finishes dabbing the wet cloth on your chin and begins to apply the disinfectant, causing a hiss to escape your lips.

“Sorry,” he says. He finally meets your eyes and it feels like he got the wind kicked out of him.   

“It’s fine,” you whisper, not breaking away from the stare. A moment passes before you look away and continue your story. “Anyway, he knocked me over and my left side hit the curb while my chin hit the pavement.” Eggsy winces for you. 

“Did the wanker at least apologize?” His voice is clipped, withholding his anger for your sake. Tending to you is all that’s keeping him from tracking down this man and inflicting the same pain he forced upon you.

"It wasn’t his fault, Eggs, I wasn’t looking." He nods but still isn’t satisfied. Accident or no, this man hurt you which stirred unpleasant emotions in his head. “He ended up falling over as well, but he had a helmet so ultimately both he and the bike were fine. We both apologized to each other, me for not looking and him for not steering away or stopping quick enough. He was actually really nice about it.”

To distract from the illogical flare of jealousy that rose within him, Eggsy decides to joke around. “Is this a habit of yours? Getting into accidents with nice men? You know, there are other ways of gaining a man’s attention.” His comments make you break out into a smile that instantly winces due to the split lip.

“First of all, shut up,” you say, causing him to laugh. “And second of all, I’ll have you know that I had a clean record before I met you. Perhaps you’ve begun to corrupt me.”

“Perhaps I have.” The two of you smirk and the flirtatious energy soon leaves a sharp tension in the room. Eggsy applies a large enough bandage onto your chin and now begins to dab on the cut on your lip. You’re close enough for your breaths to tangle. But before Eggsy makes a complete ass of himself, he has to know. “Why were you coming to see me?”

This question wipes the smirk from your face and reheats your cheeks. “O-oh, that,” you say, trying to find the words, it seems. “Well, the thing is…okay, after your mission, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was expecting to get a call from you saying you needed to be patched up. I-I had gotten used to it, so I was expecting to see you. But then the mission went fine.”

Eggsy can’t believe what he’s hearing. His heart begins picking up speed as he eagerly waits for you to continue.

“And I know I should have been happy to hear that—I was, I mean I hate seeing you hurt and I’m always the one telling you to be more careful.” You begin to ramble on and in your ramblings, Eggsy’s confidence grows. “I selfishly wanted an excuse to see you, but then I decided fuck it, and made my way over here. I-I just wanted to see you.”

You will no longer look at him. Your flirtatious confidence is gone as you let the unspoken words hang in the air. Looking at you, processing what you said, Eggsy realizes that there’s a chance. There’s a chance that you feel the same way, a strong one. And if there’s a chance, Eggsy’s going to take it.

“Y/N,” he whispers. His continued silence forces you to look at him and he hears you gasp softly at his proximity. He’s looking at you, flicking his gaze down to your lips and back up to your eyes. His eyes hold a question and you glance quickly at his lips before nodding.

Eggsy gently takes your face into his hands and crashes his lips down onto yours. You hiss and he breaks apart, feeling guilty for forgetting your cut, but you grab his collar and force his lips back on yours.

Eggsy sinks into the kiss, letting the passion take over and melt his body. He can’t think of anything else other than your lips, moving together, sweeter than his imagination could have predicted. When the two of you break apart, gasping for air, he breaks into a smile. You giggle, making him want to kiss you all over again to swallow the sound and live off it.

After a moment, you say, “If I’d known this is what it would take for you to finally make a move, I would have got hit by a bike ages ago.” You both laugh before Eggsy can’t hold himself back any longer and captures your lips again. You hungrily accept.

You kiss until you pull back, wincing in pain. “Totally worth it,” you whispers. He sighs as the cut on your lip reopens. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he says, shaking his head as he reapplies the cloth. 

“Nurse me back to health?” you say with a smile. He smiles back.

“Don’t you worry love, I’ll take care of you.”