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artistesoiree · 6 months ago

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Nightfall in Sunridge Ranch

Chapter 1

{'70s Jack Daniels x Fem!OC)

Chapter 2

Rating: Mature Warnings: Mentions of blood and draining blood (she's a vampire, I feel it's a given), drug mention, mc is a bit eerie and her thoughts can be a bit troubling, Likely incorrect things about the 70s and Paris, France, as I was born in '02 and haven't been outside the PNW since I was born, Jack's too suave for his own good and probably shouldn't flirt with vampires, I hope he isn't OOC? Veronica's maker is interesting…(and is named after my favorite IWTV character) but I'll get into that in later chapters, takes place in the late 70s in a made-up Texan town WC: 3.8k

A/N:

Howdy, y'all! I wanted to write this because I've been recently inspired to begin writing again. I was inspired by Interview with the Vampire, 70s Texas, little bit of Ethel Cains Album Preachers Daughter, and my own OCs. The writing might be rough, but I'm proud of it. It's told in the first-person POV, and I hope you guys like Veronica as much as I do. She's a wreck and a weirdo .Oh, and the introduction was inspired by the beginning of The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.

headers by @/saradika

I am Veronica Sharpe. I am a vampire who stands six feet tall. I have been blessed with my mother's black curls and my father's family's white streak in it. I have my mother's pale complexion, cheekbones, plush lips, and aquiline nose. I have my father's slender green eyes. My father gave me his height, while my mother gave me the gift of a body with feminine curves. Over the years, while I have maintained my feminine body, I have gained muscle, which has dramatically complimented my figure. I am a strong woman. I am proud of that.

I was only twenty-one when I was turned in the year 1904. I lived in Paris, France, and several lovers sought my hand. One of them was my maker, Armand Sharpe. He was a tall man with a fine figure, and he loved his beautiful clothes and long silk like red hair. He collected art pieces and hung them in his home. He had found me painting in the Jardin des Plantes and asked kindly if he could buy one of my paintings. Armand loved his beautiful women; I was flattered to be one of them.

He always talked about how I should be grateful that I remain eternally beautiful, that I will never age like most women, and that my youthful beauty will never leave. He always seemed too proud of it. And I am grateful, his beauty is like mine, eternal.

Although I am thankful that I remember my mother, father, and sister, Armand, when we first met, had made it possible for me to have photographs of my family. While I don’t remember my family name, I remember their names. My mother was named Estelle, and my father was Laurent, and my sister was Lucille. But sadly, I don’t know the name my mother gave me when I was born. I expressed my discomfort with not remembering my name to Armand, and he thought of a name for a moment until he told me that my name must be Véronique. It is a beautiful name, a one I deserve.

As time passed, my name changed from Véronique to Veronica. This transition came in ‘64 when a waitress misheard my name and called me Veronica in a thick southern California accent. She was a lovely gal. She was a Barbie blonde wearing a baby blue uniform, which suited her tanned skin tone. Her hair was styled like Farrah Fawcett's and smelled like Adorn Self-Styling Hair Spray. Veronica stuck. The transition was freeing from the name my maker and husband had given me. The name Armand would use to beckon me to his room was the name he would call with desire.

I am very thankful to the waitress at that Los Angeles diner a couple of years ago; she gave me a new name, and may never know what it meant to me. I am sure Armand felt the same way, it is a gift to give a name to someone.

As I make my way along the winding Interstate 10 in Texas, the sky is painted with the last hues of the sunset, giving way to the emergence of countless stars. The radio fills the car interior with the nostalgic melody of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads." This song has been the background to my travels for the past couple years. With my hand resting on the smooth, black leather steering wheel of my 1964 Ford Mustang, I tap my fingers in time to the music. The car, painted a deep raven black, seems to blend seamlessly with the night. Despite the darkness, I wear my circular black sunglasses with their delicate silver frame. It might strike some as odd to wear sunglasses at night, but I do so to conceal my naturally eerie and unnerving green eyes, a feature that has often drawn unnerving attention.

I’ve never understood why they were unnerving. They’re my eyes; they’ve been green since childhood. Is there something I’m missing? Green is the color of the earth, why must I have to cover my beauty.

The fuel gauge on my dashboard is hovering dangerously close to empty, and as I glance out the window, a highway sign catches my eye. It reads, ‘Visit Sunridge Ranch, Texas! The Cowboy Capital of the USA!’ I find myself humming in response, realizing that not only do I need to refuel, but it might also be a good idea to find a place to stay for the night. The sun will rise soon, and although I won't burst into flames like in fiction, its rays will still leave me with a nasty sunburn, turning my pale skin red. It’s embarrassing. Armand would scold me like a child when I would come home red. As my husband, he often acted like a father, not my own. Oh no, he decided my father wasn't useful and took him away from me.

As I made my way into town, I was struck by its quaint charm and the subtle nods to its cowboy past. Before heading to the nearby motel, I decided to fill up my car with gas. As I approach the motel, I couldn't help but notice the small sign featuring a cowgirl riding a horse and the name "Desert Ranch Motel." It seems like a beautiful place to spend a day. The sign advertised a pool I plan to enjoy once the sun had set.

I hear the soft jingle of a bell as I push open the heavy wooden door to the front desk. Standing behind the counter is a woman who seems out of place in this ordinary setting. Her immaculate appearance and bored expression tell me she'd rather be anywhere else. I glimpse her name tag and see "Barbara" etched onto it.

"Welcome to the Desert Ranch Motel, where the Old West meets comfort," she recites in a dry, monotone voice. "What kind of room are you looking for?"

The weirdest thing is that Barbara jumps when she looks up at me and tries to act as if she hadn't jumped. Am I creepy? Surely it cannot be my eyes, they cannot be creepy in this light. Was it my staring? My eyes burning into her.

As she asked if I was interested in the suite, I responded, "I will take the suite." I respond, there is nothing fancy about the way I said it. It was monotone. Following my response, she picked up the check-in book to check for its availability, or at least that's what I assumed she was doing.

"Sure... that'll be no problem," she says, keeping her pretty blue eyes on my figure as she checks the lodging book. That will be 15 dollars for the day," Barbara says uncertainly as I hand her the cash. She carefully notes my name in the lodging book and gracefully passes me the key. "The room is 28B. I hope you have a pleasant stay, ma'am," she says.

The prominent feature of the chain is a weathered cowboy pendant suspended from it, effortlessly enhancing the town's rustic charm and Western essence. I wonder who made it; it looks like an artist had a hand in making it.

As I make my way down the hallway to 28B, the weight of my luggage is a reassuring reminder of the countless times I've journeyed down this similar hallway. I navigate the stairs quickly. Arriving at the end of the hallway, I reach for the doorknob and swing the door open. A smile spreads as I take in the view before me.

The wooden door creaks open as I enter the room, unveiling a spacious living area. The room features a sunken seating area adorned with vibrant patterned cushions encircling a central sunken pit that could double as a fire pit. The brick fireplace is the main focus, making everything warm and comfortable.

Large windows flood the space with natural light, offering picturesque views of the pool outside. The high ceiling is adorned with several elegant hanging lights that glow warmly throughout the room. The inviting atmosphere makes it a pretty space to spend time and relax.

Behind the conversation pit, the bed steals the attention, decorated with a striking orange comforter and decorative pillows. The bedframe and nightstands complement each other, showcasing a matching wood. The clock on the nightstand displayed 3:02 am, signaling the impending arrival of dawn. Hungry from my long drive from San Antonio, I couldn't ignore the persistent itch of blood thirst at the back of my throat. As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, I felt the familiar hunger gnawing at my insides. It is different from a human's regular hunger pains; my stomach feels as if it’s going to turn inside out, and I might die.

The craving for blood pounded through me, and I know I couldn't ignore it much longer. But living in this arid, desolate town presented a challenge—no nearby life sources could quench my thirst. Then it hit me: In such a deserted town, there is an option: to search for the presence of rats. Although I don't like the taste of rat blood, it satisfies my thirst for blood. Or perhaps the local diner could provide a solution. I could order a rare steak and let its rich blood juices satiate my hunger for the night. I always thrived while killing; there is something so satisfying about that iron-rich liquid spilling down my throat.

As I leave the dimly lit motel room, I check that my purse is securely slung over my shoulder. I mentally record the contents within—my wallet holding a substantial amount of cash, my ID, and the all-important hotel room key. Opening it, I make sure that my favorite perfume is safely nestled among the other items. Knowing I'll smell good despite the bloodbath I’m going to put myself through does put a smile on my face.

I stroll across the road from the motel to The Kingsman Diner, relieved to see that it is open 24 hours a day. Knowing that no matter what time, I can always find a warm meal here is a comfort. Approaching the front door, I couldn't help but notice a small cluster of mice scurrying around towards the back of the diner.

Sneaking towards the back of the restaurant, I quickly grab a mouse and sink my fangs into its body. Draining the blood from it and tossing it into the garbage. I continue doing this to a few more mice, draining and tossing. It is not human, but it will do for the night. I need to drink multiple in order to feel fine.

Lost in my bloodthirst, I fail to notice the creak of the back door swinging open. Suddenly, a gruff and low voice startles me from behind.

"Darlin, what are you doin’ near my garbage?" The man asks, and I freeze, realizing someone had caught me. I feel my heart racing as I quickly toss the mouse into the garbage and turned to face him. There was a little blood on my chin, and my hands are stained from the unsuccessful attempt to clean up the mess.

What am I doing? Did Armand’s lessons in cleanliness and manners exit my brain the first moment I stepped foot on American soil? I should vanish now. Wipe his memory, he never saw me.

But as I answered, "Nothing," he gave me a questioning look, and I’m grateful for the overhead light illuminating his face. He was very handsome, with a man in his forties with a strong, tall frame, warm brown eyes, and a mop of dark brown, short hair. A well-groomed mustache adorned his upper lip, adding to his cowboy appeal. He stood before me in well-worn jeans cinched with a leather belt, an apron over his chest, and a vibrant blue flannel shirt. He held a black Stetson cowboy hat in his hand, completing the look of a true cowboy. God, he has kind eyes, clean-shaven eyes, and a beautiful smile. And a confident swagger to him, Armand never really had that sort of confidence or swagger. He was quiet and foreboding.

"Why do you have blood on your hands and chin there, Darlin?" The man asks, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow as if trying to assess my appearance. My mind races as I desperately tried to come up with some sort of plausible excuse. "Were you drainin’ those rats?"

I stammer nervously in response, causing his brows to furrow even deeper. "I, uh, yes...?" I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "I may have taken ecstasy in my motel room. It seemed like a good idea at the time. In the past I loved to drink the blood on ecstasy, it feels lovely."

"Why in the world would drinkin’ rat blood even cross your mind as a good idea?" the handsome man asks, leaving me speechless. Incompetent to conjure a coherent response, I found myself unable to answer him. How about we forget this ever happened, and I whip up something to satisfy that hunger of yours?"

I nod eagerly, awaiting his following words. "What are ya in the mood for?"

"Can you make mashed potatoes and a rare steak? It's been far too long since I've had a meal like that, not since I left San Antonio," I tell him, wiping the extra blood on the sleeve of my black blouse. It won’t be seen anyway. His face cringes for a moment as I do that. God, he needs to stop staring at me.

As the man mulls over my request briefly, he gently scratches his chin and nodded in agreement. "Come on in. Why don't ya take a seat at the counter," he offered as we entered the cozy diner. "Maybe after you freshen up a bit..."

Pausing, I glance down at my hands and suddenly became conscious of my messy appearance. The fancy clothes I bought for myself have blood splatters on me, and my hair is nowhere near presentable. I should’ve washed up in my motel room.

"Oh, excuse me, where can I find the restroom?" I ask, and he gestures towards the doors at the back of the diner, clearly marked 'Men' and 'Women.'

"I'll be back. I'm sorry you had to see that, handsome stranger," I say to him with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. His chuckle is a welcome sound as my eyes wander up and down, finally landing on the name tag labeled ‘Jack’' "Jack, a handsome name for a handsome man," I remark, a twinkle in my eye, nervously laughing. Has it been this long since I’ve been around a man? He must think I'm an idiot.

Jack’s chuckle resonates through the room, carrying a warmth that seems to surround the entire room. "Not a problem, darlin'," he says in a soothing, reassuring tone, his words comforting to my ears. He flashed a kind and friendly grin, and as he did, the well-earned wrinkles around his eyes deepened, adding character to his face. A rush of heat floods my cheeks, betraying the blush that crept up in response to his gaze. Sensing my reaction, he arched an eyebrow ever so slightly, his eyes shining with a knowing glint.

Dieu qu'il est beau. (god he is handsome)

“I will be right back, Mr. Jack,” I chuckle nervously before heading toward the restroom. Mr. Jack?! Why would I call him that? Also, I says I would be back not even a minute before. Must I repeat myself like a babbling imbecile?!

I quickly went to the restroom, but the encounter was still fresh in my mind. As I stand in front of the mirror, I meticulously wash away the stains from my face and hands, taking care to remove every trace of the blood. It's hard to believe that my first impression of this rugged man was being covered in blood. I can't help but wonder what Armand must think of me. I did always turn to him for advice. He was always a posed man; he would get angry when I wasn’t.

But I do not remember even doing anything that vastly embarrassing with him. Did I do something wrong when I was with him? Have I always been this way, and he was helping me? Should I have not left him? I cannot act like a lady around a handsome man who saw me draining mice near his garbage. Well, not that it is a ladylike thing to do, but there are nicer ways of satisfying my thirst. But fuck being ladylike, Armand would use that word so often I never liked it.

Wait, that businessman wanted to get with me at that party in ‘71. Why am I realizing this now? Have I always been this aloof? I need to do better.

“Bloody lady, ya doin’ alright?” I hear Mr. Jack from just outside the door, “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes or so,”

“Sorry, I got lost in thought. I’ll be out in a minute!” I reply, and my cheeks redden due to my embarrassment. Splashing water on my face, I walk out of the restroom with a slightly embarrassed smile, rocking on my heels momentarily. “Sorry about that, it’s been a long day.”

Mr. Jack chuckles again, “‘s alright, darlin’ you not from ‘round here, aintcha?” He asks as I sit down at the counter where he’s prepared my food. God, it looks delicious. Staring at him, a little confused, he smiles again. “You ain’t got an accent like us, ya almost sound European.”

“No, I’m not from around here. I was born in Paris, but I’ve been traveling alone for a while,” I reply, grabbing the fork he’s set out for me. He tilts his head, confused.

“Ya look lil young to be travelin’ for a while,”

“M-My…uhh-” I begin trying to find a good excuse: “My family ages well. I am in my thirties,” Okay, that’s not a bad excuse, and it’s true I do not age. Thanks, Armand; one of the only good things about this gift he gave me. He still deserves to die, though.

"Well, I’ll be damned ya do look good, sugar,” Jack tells me with a suave smile on his face, “that white streak in ya hair is real pretty too, them eyes of yours are real pretty too. I always liked green eyes on ladies,”

“Why thank you, Jack. You sure know how to make a lady blush,” I giggle momentarily, hiding my face behind my hand, and while taking a bite of the steak he made me, and god if it isn’t delicious. That cowboy sure knows how to make a meal.

He and I both chat for a while and continue eating the meal he had prepared. He pauses for a moment before asking, “You says you were born in Paris, that meanin you french?”

“I suppose?” I reply, thinking for a moment. “I grew up there, my parents were born there too. But I have not been there for good while, I am losing my accent.”

“Clearly, you barely sound French anymore, sugar. Are you still speakin’ the language?” he asks, and I nod with a bright smile.

“Oui, j'aime toujours cette langue,” I say, and his eyebrows raise. Is he impressed? “I say, yes, I still love the language.”

Jack chuckles as he takes my empty plate and cleans it quickly while I wait at the counter. Should I wait for him to come back? Or should I leave? This feels weird. My legs begin to sway underneath the counter, waiting for him to come back, my chin resting on the backs of my hands.

He comes back a couple of minutes later, and I've been looking around the diner, taking in the details of it all. It’s a very cozy diner. The warm lighting adds to that. If I lived here, I would be a regular, I know it.

“How long you in town sugar?” He asks, snapping me out of my daydream.

“As long as I want, I tend to keep myself in different towns for a few days before leaving. But I can stay in a spot for months if I’d like. Why do you ask?”

“I wanna offer you a job, if you’d like it. It would be watiressin’ but it pays good with tips.”

My eyes widen for a moment. Is he serious? His expression says he isn’t; extra cash would be nice. I have been running out of it since I left France and stole an excellent sum of Armand’s fortune. It would be nice to stay in one spot long and not be on the run. He also did find me with blood all over me. Why is he offering me a job? Did he not find me in the back with blood all over me..he does not have good awareness.

“I like that a lot. It would be nice to have extra money and save up a good sum.” I say to him, and his lips curl into an almost sly smile. He looks too mischievous with that mustache of his, but that is a reason he’s a joy to be around. He is much better than Armand, so much better.

“Sounds like a plan darlin’ let me get ya the uniform,” He tells me, walking to a closet in the back and coming back with two things, a red dress, it has short sleeves and seems that it would end at my knees. What’s in his other hand is an apron, simple enough. “Here’s the uniform, keep your hair in a bun and simple earrings. You got shoes that could go with it?”

Pausing, I think back to the clothes in my luggage, more specifically, the shoes I’ve been carrying with me. There are a couple of options, and others that would never work for that uniform.

“Would a pair of red-heeled sandals work?” I ask, unsure if that’s what he is asking for.

“I believe they would darlin’. You can wear those with the uniform. Have you ever waitressed before?”

“When I was in Paris, I worked briefly for a cafe. Is this similar to that?”

“You’ll do great sugar. Now go get some rest and I’ll see you here at 2pm okay?” He asks, and I nod quickly, my arms gathering the uniform he handed me in my arms.

When I leave the diner, the sky is empty; spare it for the stars sprinkling in the sky. This town is eerily quiet. Paris was loud, and so was Los Angeles. I like quiet; I've always liked quiet. Maybe I should stay here. Until Armand uses his fledglings to find me again, then I will run. I do miss him, the chase is more fun knowing he misses me. But for now, I will stay.

I hope y'all enjoyed it! I do plan to have more chapters, as this is just the beginning; I've got a bunch planned!

Taglist: @morallyinept @604to647

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x oc #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey jack daniels #agent whiskey kingsman the golden circle #my writing #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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yomi345345345 · 11 months ago

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@fartthepart the buddies.

#digital art #art #pedrohub #pedro pascal #artwork #fanart #pedro pascal fandom #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #narcos #agent whiskey #pedro pascal characters #oc art #original charater art #original character #pedro pascal art #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanart

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sweetliss55 · 7 months ago

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~Kingsman Oc~

Agent Celms"/"Whiskey"/"Lancelot

(Peirce cane)

Name: Peirce Cane

Agent Name/s: Celms

Age: 24

Gender: Male

DOB: 2000/1/1

Birth Place: Kentucky, USA

Next Of Kin: ?

Dog: Half Shepherd Half Pomeranian

Height: 6'4

Family: Classified

Relationship Status: Single

Playlist: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLixqmmKZ4rjVpNsQ2yoTjgtOnvapkTDsW&si=Mtnqh_klawteQtSJ

Fan Fics: None for now (Maybe)

Quotes: "Manner Maketh Man" "Oxfords Not Brouges" "I don't have to try.. I am Clever"

Agency: Used to be in Statesman and another Agency (Classified) and is now working for Kingsman

Mentor: Ginger Ale

Personality: Smart and gentleman like. Used to have more of a cowboy personality when he was in Kentucky. Can be funny when he wants

Likes: Art, Whiskey, Fighting

Dislikes: Stupid People,

Sexuality: Bi but won't admit. (More interested in men)

Fav Movies: Valmont, My Fair Lady, The Shinging

Favorite Book: Many

Favorite Colors: Any

Other: He doesn't really like to date and is more focused on work. He can use a lasso best. Is great at hand to hand combat. He is definitely a gentleman and a cowboy. Smokes

Other photos:

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sgt-morgan · 2 years ago

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Pedro Masterlist 🎯

Joel Miller:

🥃Whiskey Sunrise🌅

TLOU MUSICIAN!JOEL AU

High Ho Silver 🛻

I Just Wanna Dance. 🎵

Jack Daniels:

Of Cowboys and Daisies 🐎

A Bushel and a Peck 💖

Of Flowers and Family 💐

Mando 🌌

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nrthernsong · 2 years ago

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I'd pay money to read all of these again for the first time. Now I get to twiddle my thumbs and re-read everything while I wait for updates!

WardenParker’s Masterlist!

Support the writer and Buy Me a Coffee 🧡☕

This blog is 18+ ONLY but you’ll find ** below for pieces that contain explicit smut. Enjoy!

Pedro Pascal Characters, My Beloveds:

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales Triple Frontier

The Alewife Soulmate AU

“Together” Universe (Frankie x female Reader x Benny Miller): Better Together** Taking Care Together Waking Up Together** Celebrating Together** Together for Christmas

Flyboy**

Full Moon Fury** (Spooktober)

Better Than a Date** (Frankie x reader x Santiago Garcia)

“I have no idea what you just said to me.” (Santi x reader x Frankie microfic)

Frankie and Maggie Miller: Beach House Gone Fishin’

Marcus Pike The Mentalist

Ménage à Trois** (Marcus Pike x f!reader x modern!Oberyn Martell)

Sexus, Ars, Amor (Marcus Pike x f!reader x Ezra)

More Than Mistletoe** (Christmas fic!)

Starting Over

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3** Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7** Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Epilogue

I’m Yours: (on hiatus) Prologue: Mondays Suck Chapter 1: Two Terrible Ideas Chapter 2: More Evil Than Genius

Agent Whiskey Kingsman: Golden Circle

A Second Chance at Love** A Second Chance at Love pt 2** A Second Chance at Life** (Jack Daniels x reader/Zach Wellison x f!OC)

Bad Moon Rising: pt 1** Bad Moon Rising: pt 2**

You, Me & Mexico**

Ghostly Touch** (Spooktober)

Down the Rabbit Hole Soulmate AU: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5** Chapter 6 Chapter 7** (E for violence) Chapter 8** Chapter 9 Chapter 10** Chapter 11** Chapter 12 Chapter 13** (E for references to violence) Chapter 14** Chapter 15 Epilogue

Oberyn Martell Game of Thrones

Ménage à Trois** (Marcus Pike x f!reader x modern!Oberyn Martell)

From Dorne, with Love (modern!Oberyn x female reader) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3** Part 4** Part 5 Part 6 Epilogue

The Viper’s Bride soulmate au (Oberyn x reader x Ellaria x male OC) Chapter 1** Chapter 2** Chapter 3** (Explicit for violence) Chapter 4**

Javier Peña Narcos

The Meeting Place (Javier Peña x reader x Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy)

Broken Road

“There is no us.” (microfic)

Marcus Moreno We Can Be Heroes

Wish You Were Here Soulmate AU

The Date**

What are you doing here? (microfic)

What Happens in Vegas, part 1** What Happens in Vegas, part 2**

Ezra Prospect

Sexus, Ars, Amor (Marcus Pike x f!reader x Ezra)

Louder (microfic)

Dave York Equalizer 2

Table for Four** (Dave York x Carol York x f!reader x Quinn McKenna) Couch for Four

Killer Writing Soulmate AU (Dave York x plus size reader)

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” (microfic)

Zach Wellison Brothers and Sisters

Once Upon a Time… (Zach Wellison x plus size reader)

A Second Chance at Life** (Jack Daniels x reader/Zach Wellison x f!OC)

Dieter Bravo The Bubble

You’re So Vain Soulmate AU

Surprising Reunions, pt 1** (Joel x Dieter x reader) Surprising Reunions, pt 2**

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams, pt 1** Bright Lights & Broken Dreams, pt 2** Bright Lights & Broken Dreams, pt 3**

Pero Tovar The Great Wall

Sassenach and the Spaniard Soulmate AU: Chapter 1 Chapter 2** (E for references to assault) Chapter 3** (E for references to assault and violence) Chapter 4** Chapter 5** Chapter 6** Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9** Chapter 10** (E for violence) Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13** Chapter 14** Epilogue

“Does no one here know how to knock?” (microfic)

Max Phillips Bloodsucking Bastards

Close Encounters of the Toothy Kind** (Spooktober)

Javi Gutierrez The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Redbox Romance** (Spooktober)

Joel Miller The Last of Us

“For” Series: For Pleasure** For Her For Protection**

“I thought you loved forehead kisses.”/”Put me down.” (microfic)

Surprising Reunions, pt 1** (Joel x Dieter x reader) Surprising Reunions, pt 2**

Detective Tim Rockford Merge Mansion

“You brought me flowers?” (microfic)

Charlie Hunnam Characters, My Darlings:

Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller Triple Frontier

Necessary Arrangements (Royalty AU) - On Hiatus: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Boyd Holbrook Characters, My Sweets:

Steve Murphy Narcos

The Meeting Place (Javier Peña x reader x Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy)

Small Towns and Second Chances**

Quinn McKenna The Predator

Table for Four** (Dave York x Carol York x f!reader x Quinn McKenna) Couch for Four

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autistic-cowboy · 9 months ago

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Okay guys!!!

Absolutely need an Agent Whiskey for my oc, just watched Golden Circle and fell in love with him!! Anyone interested comment or pm me <3

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gold-onthe-inside · 2 months ago

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masterlist

spencer reid x oc:

dr piper bishop <- track tag #oc: dr piper bishop for updates Dr Piper Bishop is the newest addition to the BAU after Elle Greenaway's departure as a consultant appointed by Aaron Hotchner. She quickly rises to Senior Supervisory Agent after a series of courses and successful cases. But what she didn't see coming was the growth of a new family with new people to protect, finding love and with it, trauma, hurt and ghosts haunting her every move. (currently on season 7)

hemkärlek | spencer reid (s6) x oc (piper bishop) | fluff agent seaver catches spencer and piper in a moment of domesticity.

ataraxia | spencer reid (s5) x oc (piper bishop) | comfort piper suffers a bout of insomnia from overly philosophising at 4am

deck the halls | spencer reid x oc (piper bishop) | fluff, domestic caving in to the norm of the street, piper and spencer decorate the house, but their neighbours are total assholes about it.

comfortember 2024:

laws of thermodynamics | spencer reid x f!reader | fluff spencer and reader spend a rainy afternoon in, and he explains thermal equilibrium over a cup of cocoa.

just stay with me | derek morgan x f!reader | childhood friends, references to buford, hurt/comfort after carl buford is arrested, derek morgan seeks comfort from an old childhood friend.

ralvez:

ice cream never tasted so sweet | spencer reid x luke alvez | college au, meetcute, fluff spencer reid picks up a job at an ice cream parlour during the summer break but that job is quickly derailed by a cute stranger who seems to be addicted to ice cream.

spencer reid x reader:

a pearl | spencer reid (post-prison) x fem!reader | hurt/comfort spencer's fighting a war in his head, and it takes your presence to bring him back to the moment

bau!reader:

hey, december | spencer reid (s2) x bau!reader | fluff on a snowy day in chicago, spencer's terrible aim lands him in hot water with his crush.

tongue-tied | spencer reid (s2) x bau!reader | borderline smut, mostly fluff the bau notice spencer being quieter than usual, the resident genius pressed to reveal an embarrassing injury

gingerbread kisses | spencer reid (s4) x bau!reader | smut with plot if you squint, 18+ mdni your first christmas as a couple with spencer involves baking, construction, and lots and lots of kisses.

santa's little helper | spencer reid (post prison) x bau!reader | fluff after finding out henry no longer believes in santa after he missed last christmas, spencer dedicates this year to bringing the magic of christmas back to his godson's life... with a little help from you, of course.

count the odds | spencer reid (s8) x bau!reader | established relationship you reflect on the past year at rossi’s annual nye party, which brings you back to your relationship with spencer, and all the different ways your lives could’ve gone, and the odds of you both finding each other.

blake!reader:

blind date | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | set-up, flangst the one where you finally agree to let your godmother set you up, except this one might actually become the love of your life.

new year's resolution | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | sprinkles of angst and smut, 18+ mdni the end of the year brings your life in perspective, the trajectory of your life inverse to the champagne you drink. the morning after, spencer brings you around to the idea that when one door closes, another opens.

wrong person... | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | wrong recipient, hurt comfort (?) spencer sends a message to the wrong person in a fit of anger... and then does his best to make up for it.

smells like infidelity | spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader | songfic, reader heavy convinced that her friend has been murdered by her husband, reader confronts him on his own... she's so sure he did it.

tough!reader:

a shot of whiskey | spencer reid (s6) x tough!reader | mild angst, domestic reader contemplates whether she's sweet enough for spencer

frostbite | spencer reid x tough!reader | case-fic spending christmas on a case is hard enough without you tracking down the unsub on your own, and tough as you are, you're not invulnerable.

postgrad!reader

make the yuletide gay | spencer reid x postgrad!reader | hurt/comfort the year's been hard, and the holidays hurt, and spencer realises maybe this christmas, comfort precedes joy.

analyst!reader

pair programming:

part one: driver | spencer reid (s1) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, casefic you invite yourself onto a case to help penelope after an unsub runs a blackhat operation onto her set-up, getting to know your best friend's team in the process.

part two: navigator | spencer reid (s3) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, casefic, angst what happens after your roommate and better half is shot on the doorstep of your building by her date. turns out, your support network seems to have more nodes that you'd thought.

greylist | spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers when your celebratory drink with penelope is disrupted, you end up at a bar with the person you famously cannot get along with even if you were paid... until you do.

corrective maintenance | spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers, lovers' quarrel your complicated and suppressed feelings for spencer result in an argument, the blowback of which leads to a fight with penelope.

contingency operations | spencer reid (s7, post-doyle) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers when a former navy SEAL threatens your base of operations, your safety is the only thing on spencer's mind.

medic!reader

amelie, where'd you go? | spencer reid (s2) x medic!reader after you save spencer from his overdose after the hankel kidnapping, he's haunted by the glimpse of you.

mayor!reader

diplomat | spencer reid (s6/7) x mayor!reader | hurt/comfort after a schoolbus full of kids goes missing, right near the end of your first term as mayor, an old flame is called to help, and he intends to make things right.

hamelin | spencer reid (s6/7) x mayor!reader | hurt/comfort spencer's the first person you think to call when the kidnapper attacks your home. part two to diplomat.

emily prentiss x reader

no grave can hold my body down | emily prentiss (s7) x teacher!reader | angst, suggestive our grief over losing emily is forced undone when she re-appears seven months later outside your apartment

i crawl home to her | emily prentiss (s7) x teacher!reader | angst, smut, 18+ mdni a continuation of no grave

coming soon:

debriefing | spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader | annoyances to lovers the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer

#masterlist #my fics

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letsgobarbs · 11 days ago

Note

CHRISTMAS WITH JACK AND MARLEY IS SO GOOD, genuinely my favourite story i’ve read in a while along with my priestess ‼️‼️‼️‼️

OMG CHEE!!! I am going to be so honest i was kicking my feet and twirling my hair with every notification of you reading the fic. It was so so satisfying like taking a hit from a blunt to just sit there and refresh and see that you had finished reading, liked and reblogged the next chapter.

MUAH MUAH MUAH LOT'S OF KISSES. Thank you so much for reading and reblogging and your kind and sweet message— it made my day!!! And I'm so so glad you enjoyed the fics <3

#fic comments #pedro pascal fanfiction #jack daniels #agent whiskey #marcus acacius #jack daniels x oc #agent whiskey x oc #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you

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loreandcreation · 6 months ago

Text

As of August 13th 2024, the canon characters that are still OPEN:

Literally all of them save:

Eggsy Unwin || Galahad

Harry Hart || Arthur

Seriously if we don’t see a body (if they were ‘killed off in the movies’) and/or you can justify how they survived or if they’re a villain and you can justify how they fly under the radar anyone is available.

Only characters that are exceptions to the rule so far are:

Jack Daniels: he was turned into a hamburger

Gazelle: she was hit with the fastest acting neurotoxin

Poppy Adams: overdosed on poisoned heroin.

Brief Intro:

ToOurUnion is an 18+ Kingsman RP server taking place after the The Kingsman: Golden Circle with the rebuilding of Kingsman and their collaboration with the Statesman. You can play a Kingsman, a Statesman, or a civilian with the ability to reserve Canon characters or create your own original characters.

Brief Need to Know:

You will need to prove your age with your D.o.B as this is a 18+ server

Canon character reservations are first come First Serve.

There is a light activity requirement

#kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #kingsman secret service #Kingsman rp #kingsman roleplay #Kingsman OCs #fandom OCs #origninal character #statesman OC #indie rp #discord rp #discord server #Harry hart #agent whiskey #agent tequila #agent champagne #agent ginger ale #eggsy unwin

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lady-bess · 6 months ago

Text

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).

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- 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.

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artistesoiree · 6 months ago

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Nightfall in Sunridge Ranch {'70s Jack Daniels x Fem!OC)

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Rating: Mature Warnings: smoking, drinking, nudity, mind reading spicy thoughts, sexual tension, cowboy hat rule makes an appearance, flashbacks, turning into a vampire, copious amounts of blood, Veronica going into detail describing the men she loves, conflicting feelings, WC: 3.8k

A/N: Here's the second chapter, y'all! I'm sorry it took so long. I was finishing up my college degree and packing my apartment to move back in with my mom. I changed some things about Veronica and her Maker/Husband Armand; he's eccentric; I hope you like him as I do! The aesthetic collage features what Armand and Veronica look like! In my art too :) headers by @/saradika

I confided in Jack about my vampirism one evening after our shift ended. The topic came up when he realized that the math of my age didn't add up. Surprisingly, I felt comfortable sharing this information with him, as he had already seen me at my lowest point when I fed on those mice behind the diner. The night was truly enchanting, to say the least.

Jack's laughter filled the air like a baby tickled with a feather, and the moon shone brightly overhead. It had been an incredible night so far. I had changed into a stunning floral green dress with elegant bell sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a hem that fell just midway down my thighs. I had purchased it the day before, and it perfectly complemented my captivating green eyes. I adore this dress and the confidence it gives me.

“Let me help ya sugar, you ain’t in your right mind to walk,” he says, walking over still giggling to himself as he grabs my hands, helping me to my feet. “Thought you could handle your liquor,”

“I can!” I reply defensively and dusting road rocks from my face, making him laugh even more with that cigarette in his hands. “There is something different about the liquor here than in France,”

“Ah I forget yer European for a moment, they tend be hussies,” he tells me and taking a puff with his cigarette. I squint my eyes, and he smirks even more. “If you tryin’ to scare me it ain’t gonna work, a pretty like you don’t scare me. I jus’ thought you could handle whiskey,”

“I can handle whiskey, Mister Jack Daniels, ironic you’re even named after that company. Your mother must’ve loveeeed it,” I tell him, leaning forward to make fun of him, and it only makes him grin even more, that cigarette still between his lips. But that leaning only makes me dizzy. “Oh mon Dieu, j'ai la tête qui tourne…” (oh god I am dizzy).

“Do ya always speak more french when yer drunk Miss Vee?” He asks and I sigh.

“Give me the cigarette; it is my mother tongue, but I dislike that country anyway.” I hold out my hand for a puff of his cigarette and wait for him to give it to me. But he takes a couple minutes and I realize what he wants. Sighing heavily I say, “Please hand it to me,”

“There’s our manners,” He teases me and gives me the cigarette. “Now it’s clear you’re much too drunk to be doin’ anythin’, me too for that manner. You’re stayin at that motel ‘cross the way lets go there and I’ll sleep on the couch of whatever,”

That doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea, do I have my room key? Quickly checking my purse, okay thank god I do. “Let’s do that, if I can walk properly,”

And something I hadn’t done in a long time, Armand had taught it to me when I was first turned many years ago, I hear Jack's thoughts as plain as day.

I had forgotten I could even do that.

‘Love to make her not walk properly. Sure she could ride me realll nice’ I hear him say, and my eyes widen as we walk over to the motel. Thankfully, I’m walking in front of him so he cannot see my shocked expression. Widened eyes, but a smirk to my lips.

It seems we have always had the same idea.

Once inside my room, Mister Jack flops his body on the couch of the conversation pit, it makes me giggle as he nearly tripped even getting there. “No laughin at me sugar! I am no more able to do anythin’ than you are!” He says, his voice all muffled from the cushions. His cowboy hat falls off when his head pops back up to look back at me.

But his beautiful brown eyes, eye me up and down and his thoughts pop into my head like before. “I ain’t sure if this the whiskey speakin…but that figure deserves to be without any clothes, covering her far too much..Maybe wearin’ my cowboy hat too…she’d be real pretty ridin’ me..”

“Let me ask you something Jack, what would happen if I..” I say, swaying my hips and walking to him, and leaning over the back of the sofa. Subtly using my arms to press my breasts together, seeing his not-so-subtle ways of staring at them. I can understand, I have been blessed with wonderful breasts, and their larger size has always helped men stare at me. If that is a good thing, I will never know. “Took your very handsome cowboy hat and put it on my head…would I have to do something in response? Is there a special code I had broken by doing that?”

Jack's eyes are still settled on my breasts as I ask my question. A playful smirk plays on his lips as he thinks of his answer. “There is a certain rule, ladies and cowboys abide by. If a cowboy's hat is taken and placed upon your head sugar, you must ride on said cowboy.”

“Fascinating! What a lovely rule,” I giggle in response before reaching out and grabbing his cowboy hat and placing it on my own head. My eyes slightly widened with the biggest grin on my lips, seeing his reaction. And as I expected, his thoughts pop back into my head like before.

‘Well I’m feelin’ like a tornado in a trailer park, she’s lookin’ mighty fine in my hat..she’d be even better with her clothes off and on the floor with only the hat..but who is that man in the frame seated on the nightstand..is she married?’

As I sat engrossed in Jack's conversation, my attention was inadvertently drawn to the photograph resting on my nightstand, capturing a beautiful moment frozen in time.

In the picture, Armand stood proudly beside me, my body adorned in my mother's exquisite wedding dress, holding an intricately arranged bouquet of vibrant flowers. His presence in photographs evoked a sense of timeless charm; he radiated an especially striking handsomeness. His wedding suit exuded impeccable tailoring, and his long, flowing, firey red locks cascaded down like a silken river. The memory of his love-struck gaze and the mystifying golden color of his eyes, brimming with the most romantic smile, became prominent in my mind. His skin was always so sun-kissed, a golden tan that beautifully looked beautiful with his hair. As I reminisced about that momentous day, I couldn't help but recall that it occurred just a few days before my twenty-second birthday.

It's strange, isn't it? Finding love in the mere presence of his photograph does not fully align with my conflicted emotions toward him. "I see you are looking at this photo..." I remarked as I rose from my seat, retrieved the picture from the nightstand, and walked over to Jack, offering it to him for a closer look.

"Handsome fella," Jack muttered, his finger tenderly grazing Armand's suit in the photograph. Indeed, his observation was accurate. Armand had always been undeniably handsome. He was my husband, and that fact would remain unchanged. I am his wife, and there will forever be a certain love that resides in my heart for him. He had shielded me, even if it meant that I had to clean up the aftermath of his actions. I am and will always be his wife, and that has always been the reality. “Who is he sugar?”

As I run my fingers over the emerald nestled in the center of the silver band, I can't help but smile to myself. Some might find it strange that I still wear my wedding ring, but for me, it brings a sense of comfort and familiarity.

"He is my husband," I say simply, watching Jack's eyes widen as he quickly sets the photo down.

"You're married, sugar? Why didn't you mention this before?" he asks, caught off guard. I can't help but let out a soft laugh.

"It just didn't come up in our conversations," I reply, giving him a gentle smile. "And I'm still trying to find the right words to express my feelings about him. Our marriage has always been filled with ups and downs, but there's always been a deep love for him that I hold close to my heart. Even when my thoughts about him don't quite align with it”

Jack tilts his head, his expression reflecting the conflict of thoughts in his mind. I understand - what I've shared is indeed conflicting. Just as my own feelings for my husband. “I can tell you about him, if you’d like to learn about him Jack. As I fear I am hiding more from you than just my marriage,”

He looks interested, “What would that be sugar?”

“Have you..learned about what vampires are? Or know of the mythology about them?” I ask and Jack nods.

“Ain’t those those bein’s who got fangs and drink blood, can’t be the sun kinda thing?” He replies, and I nod, and before I can respond, the gears in his head begin to turn. “Wait a damned minute, weren’t you drinkin’ blood when we met? Does that mean..but I have seen you in the sun.”

"I need you to remember this, Jack," I say, leaning in closer and fixing my eyes on his. "I am a vampire, but I'm not like the others. I can walk in the sunlight without any harm." Jack looked at me with disbelief and curiosity as he sat on the worn sofa, trying to process my revelation.

I continue, "The man in the photograph is not only my husband, but he is also the one who turned me into a vampire. He's been alive since the 1700s, and I was just a woman he took a liking to. I met him in Paris in 1904 when I was only twenty-one. My art captivated him and insisted I come to his estate and paint him."

Jack chuckles nervously, thinking I was spinning an elaborate tale for unknown reasons. His laughter faded as he saw the sincerity in my eyes. "You’re paintin’ a pretty picture, but there's no need for these wild stories," he said, trying to make sense of my words. “I ain’t a child at bedtime needin’ to be put to bed.”

I hold his gaze and reply, "I'm not lying, Jack. I may be a conflicted woman, but this is not a fabrication." As a slight smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, I add, "I can understand why it's hard to believe."

Confused but intrigued, Jack asks, "Why are you sharin’ this with me? I'm just a simple man from Tennessee—nothin’ special."

I pause momentarily, carefully choosing my words before responding to Jack, "I trust you, Jack. You mean a lot to me, and I want you to truly understand who I am. I believe you deserve to know me just as Armand did. The man you see in that photograph knew me. If you're interested in knowing the real me, I'm more than willing to share myself with you in that way.”

Jack thinks for a moment before giving me a slight smirk as a response. “This husband of yours..seems quite fun, sugar. Tell me about him.”

“My dear, now that we are wed, I must share something with you, it is only fair a woman of your beauty and your cerebral must have it as well.” Armand murmured against my ear, I can feel the strength of his hands against my waist, how he wishes to pull my wedding dress from my body so he may see me bare. “A woman as extraordinary as you..as lustful as you..deserves this more than anything..”

“Wh-what would that be..” I whisper shakily, closing my eyes to feel his touch against my body. He has never been this tender, this sensual, or this heated. I see him in a new light, he is my husband, I am his wife, and we are joined together. “My husband…” I breathe out, the words flow easily from my mouth, like a smooth and delicate silk dress enveloping my body, comfortable. They feel so natural and familiar, as if they've always been a part of me and always will be.

I love him. I love him.

The sensation of his elegant hands gliding across the delicate fabric of my wedding gown sends shivers down my spine. As he reaches the intricate lace detailing on the back of the gown, I can't help but feel grateful that we are alone in the privacy of our own home. The wedding guests have long gone from our home, it is only us. Only us.

“I have not been a truthful man..” Armand's lips ghost my ear, opening the back of my dress, pressing the most tender of kisses upon my skin. “I keep a secret from the woman I love most..and she must know the most intimate of details about myself. My darling wife, the moon that kisses upon my brow, I have the dark gift. The gift that allows me to never feel mortal again, to encompass immense amounts of strength and lust for the iron-rich liquid that flows in your buxom body..and I wish to share it with you. My eternal life.”

As he fills my brain with lust-filled whispers, the sleeves of my dress are removed from my arms. His large hands rest on my chest, squeezing my breasts, making a yearning whine escape my lips. A rush of this liquid rests in my cheeks, my body feels hot, I must remove my wedding dress. “You wish for this..?” My voice is filled with air as his actions are taking parts of my brain, and I fear I cannot function.

I want it this way. I want his desire swimming in my veins forever. I wish to never find my words so my lips may make sounds that can only communicate it. “Have you made a vampire before? Will I be your first?” I ask, opening my eyes for a moment, gazing at him from underneath my eyelashes, needing to see the sculpted beauty of my husband. “And will I be your only?”

“Mon seul et unique pour toujours..” The breathtaking golden color of his eyes meets my own, his sculpted face and body, his beauty rivals my own. “My only forever..you will be bonded to me...I will feel your desire and your pain for eternity. Do you wish for this?”

“Please husband…please I wish for this. Make me yours, bond yourself to me.” I beg, whines leaving my mouth as his lips attack my neck. His hands delicately cup the back of my head, caressing me and keeping me close to him.

He is ravenous, so filled with desire as I can feel the sharpness of his fangs pierce my neck. I am a puddle within his hands as he feeds upon my blood, draining my body of life and becoming his in the process. Keeping my eyes shut, feeling every shot nerve and ounce of pain—this is what I want. I desire this.

My dress falls from my body as he picks me up effortlessly, leaving me bare in front of him. He continues to ravish me as he carefully lays me upon our marriage bed, will we consummate our marriage now? I have wanted this, have craved this for so long.

“My darling,” Armand whispers into my ear, “Open your eyes. There is one last step you must take.” I do as he says, but my body is heavy, and I cannot lift myself. I watch as blood drips down his chin and his chest as if it were the rubies of my love. He has removed his blouse and coat, leaving him in his pristine and beautiful trousers, his chest bare to me as I am to him. That is my blood upon his skin. Oh, how he looks so beautiful with it.

His fangs rip at his wrist, making blood cascade from the wound. “Drink at my wrist. Then we will be as one forever..” Armand’s voice is laced with passion as I sit up, grabbing his hand and pulling his wrist closer to my lips. As the blood spills from him, it drips upon my breasts and makes me feel a rush of arousal within my body.

Biting into his skin, he groans, and I can feel the dark gift begin to rush into my veins. All the power and desire I wish for is taking over every cell of my body. My eyes are clenched shut as I feed from him, tasting his blood. I can hear him praising me to continue until I cannot anymore. Once an overwhelming urge to gasp overtakes my body, I pull away from his wrist. Panting with exhaustion as his blood fills my body, taking root and staying.

Gasping, I open my eyes and gaze upon my husband's magnificence. My heartbeat has ceased, and my hunger remains the only thing that remains. Armand’s watch rests upon my figure; he can see the gift taking over my body. “We are one, my darling, my eternal one. The eternal gift has blessed itself within you. Oh, the beauty you radiate!” He laughs with such love filling his voice, his hand cup my cheeks as he kisses me with such passion that I am in shock. “How do you feel, darling one?” His voice mumbles with the clashing of our lips, and I cannot respond right away, only the sounds of my whines are the answers he is given. Our bodies are filled with such lust and need, he is the only one I crave. The only one I desire in this midnight hour.

Armand gazes at me with such intensity, his voice resonating with a deeper timbre and his brow furrowed with longing. It feels as though his desire was my own, so closely were we bonded. "Please, let me see, my darling," he implored. With a gentle touch, he traced my cheek, and I obediently revealed the fangs that had freshly emerged. "How beautiful and magnificent they are," he murmured, his admiration evident. "They suit you, my eternal one. And now, I have another gift for you."

As Armand gracefully rises from our bed, I find myself propped up on my elbows, unable to take my eyes off him as he leaves the room. His hair, with its radiant sheen and delicate curls at the ends, captivates me every time. It glows like fire in the light, adding to the allure of his chiseled physique, reminiscent of a stunning Greek statue. His beauty is striking, and at times, I can't help but be captivated by his feminine qualities, which contrast so elegantly with his undeniably masculine form. The way his powerful chest muscles contour beneath a robe never fails to bewitch me, evoking a sense of wonder that momentarily overwhelms my senses. It's as though a new consciousness takes hold of me every time I lay eyes on him. I often ponder what I must have done in this life to be blessed with a husband as exquisitely beautiful as him.

When he walks back into the room, he is gracefully balancing two elegant wine glasses in his hands. A wide, enthusiastic smile lights up his face, accentuating his soft, inviting lips. His eyes locked with mine, and a sly smile played across his lips as he tilted his head in curiosity. 'What has caught your attention so completely?' he inquired, his voice filled with intrigue. All I could manage was a mischievous smirk in response, relishing the suspense that hung in the air between us.

His perfectly sculpted form seemed as though it had been chiseled by a master artist. As I gaze at him, my words failed me, and a smile spread across his face. Setting his glasses aside, he placed a hand on his hip and slowly turned, casting a provocative glance over his shoulder. “You have a way of driving me crazy,” I murmured.

“You seem to have a poetic way of admiring my physique,” Armand chuckles softly as he takes a sip of the wine he has brought to our room.

"You resemble a figure from ancient Greek mythology, a living sculpture worthy of admiration; I am sure your makers felt the same way," I continue, sitting up and following his every move as he handed me a glass of wine. Armand's laughter lacked its usual carefree tone and seemed tinged with discomfort. "Oh, did I say something wrong?”

"No, no, do not worry," Armand says with a nervous laugh, his eyes peeking above the rim of his wine glass. "My creators were not the most loving people... so I aspire to be everything they were not for you."

He gazes at me with a warm smile. "I'll share more about them later, not now. Let's focus on this joyous moment! You've embraced the dark gift, and I must say, you look absolutely magnificent with it."

I can't help but giggle softly. "You're quite the master of flattery, just as I am with you," I remark, and he responds with a playful wink, his expression adorned with the most mischievous smirk.

"As a woman as resplendent as yourself, it's a duty I gladly fulfill. I want you to always feel cherished and see the true extent of your own beauty. It's as if you've stepped right out of a painting. If only I possessed the artistic skill to capture your essence and immortalize your beauty on canvas!" He tells me as he leans over and kisses the back of my hand. “I am a very lucky man to have someone with such beauty inside and out,”

Jack chuckled to himself as I continued recounting the events of my wedding night, causing me to pause mid-story. "What's so funny, cowboy?" I asked, to which he responded with an even wider grin.

"That husband of yours seems like quite a handful," he remarks, pausing to sip the whiskey he had just poured from the well-stocked bar cart. "Part of me is curious to meet a man as eccentric as him. God bless him,"

I can't help but roll my eyes in response. There's no denying it—Armand has always been known for his eccentric behavior. His way of expressing love may be overwhelming, but I have treasured every compliment and cherish every little love note he left around our home in Paris. Despite me running away, I find myself yearning for his presence. Even in the electric presence of Jack, Armand will always have this grasp within my heart.

There's a lingering hope that he will track me down. Our time in Paris was exhilarating, especially our post-killing rendezvous. I can't shake the feeling that he's the only one with the ability to locate me, not his vampire friends, but only him. But then again, how will I settle my feelings? Jack has a certain electricity and suaveness that makes him wonderful to be around. But Armand is...Armand, I suppose. And that was always enough for me.

He will find me again, I know he will.

taglist: @morallyinept @604to647

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x oc #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey jack daniels #agent whiskey kingsman the golden circle #my writing #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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yomi345345345 · 11 months ago

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Thanks dawg.

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the-fiction-witch · 12 days ago

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Miss Juniper

Media - Nosferatu Character - Thomas Hutter Couple - Thomas Hutter X (Reader/OC) Reader - Juniper Potter's Rating - 12 Word Count - 2417

Thomas never enjoyed parties much. He always felt awkward as a guest in someone else's home. He found eating and drinking in someone else’s home uncomfortable like he was a leach suckling at their betterment. Maybe one day, when he earns enough as a real estate agent to buy a nice home, he will feel more at ease as a host. For now, he simply stayed in the corner, nursing a whiskey and trying to avoid conversation.

"Thomas! There you are I've been looking for you, man." Fredrick joyfully smiled as he came over his wife Ana in tow his arm linked with hers.

Thomas forced a smile upon his face. "Y-yes, Herr Fredrick. I was merely enjoying your fine whiskey."

"Yes, yes it is a good vintage." Fredrick laughed, "I admit I come with an ulterior motive." He came closer and spoke with a smirk,

That certainly got Thomas worried, He took a deeper drink to quell his anxiousness. "Dare I ask, what is this ulterior motive this time?"

"Have you had the delight to meet Miss Potters?" Fredrick smirked glancing across the room to a young lady. She also stood alone, with long curls in a well perfectly milkmaid braid, and big eyes, wearing a gown of deep purple to match her lipstick. With long black opera gloves to her elbows. The gown was a very modern and intricate off-the-shoulder gown, it was likely the finest gown at the party even more so than Ana's.

Thomas' eyes widened in disbelief, and his heart began to race. For there at the other side of the room, was the most beautiful lady he had ever set his eyes on. He almost choked on the remainder of the whiskey in his glass. And even after swallowing painfully, he couldn't take his gaze from her. For he had never seen someone so…ethereal. Thomas suddenly became very self-conscious of the cheap suit he was wearing. Compared to her expensive gown, it might as well have been an old sackcloth. He looked away briefly as he tried to regain his composure, but his heart continued to race. "N-no, Her Fredrick," he muttered, hardly taking his eyes away from her for a second.

"Unmarried. Maiden in all regards." Fredrick whispered with a slight smirk, "Shall I introduce you?"

Thomas' eyes widened greatly. He nodded his head, quickly trying to straighten out his messy suit. "Y-yes, I think I would like that very much."

Fredrick happily led Thomas across the room to the young girl and she jumped a little that anyone was talking with her.

"Miss Potters, I don't believe you've had the pleasure. This is my dear friend Mr Thomas Hutter, a real estate man primed for his rise. Thomas this is Miss Juniper Potters she runs the seamstress shop on Seventh Street, Ana finds her work incomparable. I'm sure you two self-made folks will have much to discuss." He introduced them before of course scampering off back to his wife leaving them alone,

Thomas quickly put on as charming a smile he could muster as he was introduced to the young lady. He hoped she didn't think he resembled a drunken fool as he tried to bow his head to her. "Miss Potter's. The pleasure is all mine."

She nodded sheepishly, "it… It is uhh nice to uhh nice to meet you. Mister Hutter."

Thomas had to refrain from smiling too widely at her nervousness. She was so nervous and such a shy little thing. It was rather…endearing. "Please," he replied, "Do call me Thomas. 'Mister Hutter' makes me feel as if I'm a hundred years old."

She nervously nodded fiddling with her gloves, "Of course, forgive me."

"No need for forgiveness," he assured her with a slight shake of his head, "in fact, might I hear your name again, dear lady? My Apologize but I believe I must have forgotten it in the moment you were introduced to me."

"Juniper. Like the berries."

"Juniper," he repeated, "It is quite a lovely name. As lovely as the lady it adorns."

She blushed but said nothing more,

"Then…might I have the honour of asking you to accompany me, perhaps out onto the balcony?"

She shyly nodded and offered her hand,

Thomas' heart skipped a beat as she shyly nodded and offered up her hand. He carefully took it in his, trying not to appear too eager. From the few seconds that he touched her gloved hand. He gently, but firmly, led her away through the party, carefully opening the French doors and onto the balcony. Thomas led the shy little seamstress over to the edge of the balcony that looked out to the garden below and the city. The two of them were quite high up and the city, though lit by lights, still looked very dark. A chill swept through the air and through Thomas' suit. His teeth actually chattered. "G-goodness," he muttered, hoping she didn't notice how cold he suddenly was, "quite the n-night, isn't it?"

"Eastern chill. Snow will be here tonight." She said,

"Likely so," he mumbled in agreement as he looked out over the city and the lights of the houses, "This city does tend to get rather cold in the winter. You…you should have a thicker dress."

"I have many I chose style above substance this evening."

Thomas laughed softly as he gazed down at her beautiful gown. "Style looks quite lovely on you, Miss Juniper," he said, trying earnestly to compliment her politely, "You are…quite the vision tonight."

"Thank you." She nodded, "I fear it may be… Too much I feel the glare of some of the ladies."

Thomas frowned as he realized what she meant. He looked over his shoulder to glance inside the party. "Nonsense," he muttered, quickly looking back at her, "they're merely envious of such a lovely sight."

"They would not be if perhaps they knew…"

Thomas' frown deepened at her words. There was something in the tone of her voice. A slight edge that sounded almost…sad. "Knew what?" he questioned gently,

"… A seamstress does not make very much money, not with such rising fabric costs having to ship such fashionable fabrics from London and corsets from Paris… My own gowns are, merely made from scrap of what remains and is mostly unusable."

Thomas' frown softened as he listened to her words. Poor girl, making dresses out of off-cuts. He felt somewhat of a kinship with her, knowing they both were pretending to belong to this higher life. “You could never tell.” he reassured her, “And it is a marvel you could make something so beautiful with so little, true skill Miss Juniper.” He explained, "You…you shouldn't let them get to you," he spoke quietly, trying to soothe her worries, "You look like a vision,"

"thank you." She smiled,

After a second, he gathered his courage and took a step towards her and quickly removed his suit jacket. Thomas didn't say a word as he carefully laid the coat over her shoulders. The fine material of his jacket almost seemed to swallow her frame, "You should…you should at least wear something to keep away the cold," he mumbled sheepishly,

"Thank you Thomas." She smiled,

Thomas' heart beat quickly at the mention of his name on her lips. To hear his given name come from her…he desperately hoped it would happen more than just once. He smiled warmly at her as he looked down at her wearing his jacket like a cloak. "Better now?" he questioned, his voice still soft and quiet, as if afraid to ruin the moment.

She nodded and held his arm a little tighter. "May I?"

Thomas almost visibly perked up at her question. It honestly thrilled him that she seemed to want to touch him in some way. He didn't mind at all, in fact, he wished she'd hold onto tighter still. "Of course," he answered as he carefully placed his free hand over her's as it clutched his arm.

she moved closer shifting to her tiptoes and without warning biting down close to his neck.

Thomas's eyes widened as he felt her form move closer to him. He found himself holding his breath in anticipation, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt as her hot breath tickled against his neck, and smelled the sweet scent of lavender coming off her. It was driving him mad almost. "M-miss Juniper?" he muttered, his voice a mixture of both surprise and desire.

She pulled back with a soft smile and pulled a thread from her teeth. Clearly a thread had come loose from his cheap shirt and she had cut it with her teeth. "there, all fixed"

Thomas almost felt embarrassed that there was a thread loose on his shirt. But he found his heart swelling at the thought she had even bothered to fix a loose thread. It was such a sweet, little thing to do…so caring…he couldn't help but stare at her with awe in his eyes. "You…you fixed it," he found himself saying as he slowly raised a hand to his neck where the thread had previously been. He was surprised at how much she had managed to affect him, and just from a simple action alone.

She nodded but then frowned, "oh.. forgive me i-"

Thomas' gaze suddenly softened upon noticing her frown. He quickly shook his head and placed his hand gently on her arm. "No, don't…don't apologize," he spoke quickly and carefully, not wanting her to believe that he hadn't liked it, "You….you simply surprised me is all."

"I meerly wanted to help I didn't wish to offend you or -"

"You didn't offend me," he hastily cut her off with a firm tone. He gently grasped onto her arms and looked into her beautiful green eyes, trying to get her to listen to him. "You…you can do it again if you want. I…I do not mind at all."

She blushed hard and smiled tilting her head down to hide her giggle,

Thomas watched as a pretty blush took over her cheeks. He smiled softly at the sight. No one could look so pretty as she. He gently squeezed her arm where he was still holding her and gazed down at her shyly hiding her giggle. "I hope I can bring about more giggles from you, Miss Juniper," he mumbled, not taking his eyes from her.

She blushed and shyly nodded, "I uhh… It is getting late I uhh I should begin the walk home."

Thomas almost frowned at the news that she was leaving. He didn't want her to leave, he was enjoying her presence so very much. His grip on her arms tightened almost subconsciously. "You…you're going to walk the entire way home?" he questioned, his voice almost desperate, trying to think of a way to get her to stay a while longer.

“Yes, unaccompanied tonight.” She nodded,

Thomas felt his heart sink. She was going to walk all the way home, all by herself, in the cold of the night. No, he could not have that. He felt a sense of protectiveness within him at the notion of her walking home alone. "No," he said firmly, his grip still tight on her arms,, "Please, Miss Juniper," he all but blurted out, his voice still firm but desperate at the same time, "Please allow me to walk you home. It isn't safe for a lady to walk alone in the night."

She blushed but smiled, "I would like that."

"Come," he mumbled, trying to sound casual and polite at the same time, "We should start heading out, it is rather cold tonight."

They both said their goodbyes to Fredrick and Ana before they left the grand house and began to walk though the dark cold cobble stone streets surrounded by old houses.

Thomas made sure to keep his arm tucked close to him, so that Miss Juniper would stay snug against his side as they walked. He had to resist the urge to hold her closer to him, to wrap her up in his arms, no…he had to stop such thoughts.

"Is that your office?" She asked,

Thomas followed her gaze and found that she was looking in the direction of his office building. He nodded a slight frown on his face at the thought of office work. "Yes, yes it is," he replied quietly almost ashamed,

She nodded, "perhaps I could come see you some days it is only a small walk from the shop. I could bring you tea."

Thomas could feel excitement building within him. The thought of her bringing him tea to his office filled him with a happiness he did not know he could feel. "I…I would like that very much," he mumbled, trying to keep his polite manners at the same time.

"thank you for walking me home Thomas." she smiled as they came to the little dress shop and the door beside it leading to her home,

"You…you're welcome," he said quietly, gently taking hold of one of her hands in his and gently lifting it up to his lips, he pressed a quick kiss onto her knuckles. Thomas had already committed the route from the party to her shop to memory, hoping that he would remember the way in order to walk her home again.

She blushed and smiled at his little kiss. She slowly slid off his jacket and offered it back to him,

Thomas almost sighed, He knew he should take it back, but part of him wished he could let her keep it. He smiled a little sheepishly and gingerly took it from her. "Thank you," he mumbled as he folded it over his arm, his grip on it tight, as if refusing to let it go for the second time that night.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, and do hope we can see each other again soon." She smiled "I'll be here if ever you need anything repaired." She giggled

Thomas found himself chuckling along with her, "I'm sure I'll be back soon, Miss Juniper," he said,

She nodded "Goodnight Mister Hutter." She smiled standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek,

Thomas' eyes widened. All of his resolve to remain calm, cool and polite flew right out of his head as she pecked his cheek. The feeling of her soft lips on his skin left him completely breathless, his heart thudding in his chest. He was so distracted, he almost missed her saying goodnight before she left to enter her shop. "G-goodnight, Miss Juniper," he mumbled as she shut her door behind her, and he lifted a trembling hand to the spot she had kissed feeling so warm even as a fluttering of snow began to fall from the heavy clouds.

#nosferatu #thomas hutter #thomashutter #thomas hutter x reader #nosferatu 2024 #fanfiction #nicholas hoult

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