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happy74827 · 1 month ago

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Talk To Me

[Eggsy Unwin x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: With your boyfriend sneaking out 24/7 and always returning with carefully concealed injuries, it's only natural to be concerned.

WC: 3033

Category: Slight Angst + Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

I watched Carry-On last night (10/10 so good), and it got me re-thinking about one of my favorite films. Kingsman supremacy 🙌

『••✎••』

You loved Eggsy. Dearly. Truly.

You loved him so much that sometimes it scared you. How fiercely your heart clung to his smile, how tenderly your hands always seemed to reach for his, how naturally your entire world had shifted around him without you even realizing it. He was yours—scruffy, sweet Eggsy Unwin—and you believed you knew him. At least, you thought you did.

But then, the nights started.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Everyone had their own struggles, and Eggsy never struck you as someone who’d open up easily about his. He’d always been the type to handle his own problems, to wear his hardships like armor rather than show them. But that was before the late-night disappearances, before the quiet footsteps across your floorboards, before you’d wake up in a cold bed at 3 a.m. to find him gone.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was gradual—so gradual you could almost convince yourself you were imagining it. One night turned into two. Two turned into a week. And before long, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The first time you tried to confront him, you did it gently. You’d asked him if everything was okay, masking your concern with casual curiosity. "You seem really tired lately, Eggsy. Is work being a pain?"

Eggsy had smiled, all teeth and dimples, and said, "Nah, luv. Just gotta lot on my plate, s’all."

You believed him because you wanted to.

But then there were the bruises.

The first one you noticed was along his jaw, faint and shadowed under the soft light of your kitchen. He’d winced when you kissed him there, just a tiny twitch of his lips, but enough to make you pull back. "You alright?" you’d asked.

Eggsy had waved you off. "Yeah, yeah, fine."

"Fine."

The word had felt too tight on his tongue, too forced. But you’d let it go because that’s what you did when someone you loved was hurting. You gave them space.

Except the bruises kept coming, each one a little harder to miss than the last. The faint cut above his brow, the stiffness in his shoulders when you hugged him, the way he’d flinch—just barely—when your fingers brushed against his ribs. And you noticed. Of course, you did. How could you not?

There was the other stuff, too. The sudden shift in his wardrobe. Gone were the trainers and bomber jackets, replaced with sharp suits and polished shoes. He’d started wearing glasses—ridiculous little round things that didn’t even have a prescription—and he carried himself differently now. Straighter. More serious. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the change. You did. Eggsy looked good in a suit, and you’d told him as much. But it was the why that lingered in the back of your mind.

Everything about him was changing, and yet you were still supposed to believe he was fine.

You weren’t stupid.

And so tonight, when you’d felt him slip out of bed yet again, something inside you had snapped. Enough was enough.

You stayed awake, feigning sleep as you listened to him shuffle around the room. You heard the soft clink of his belt buckle, the muted sound of a zipper, and then the quiet groan he let out as he bent to tie his shoes. He was trying to be quiet, but you could feel his movements, his tension, the exhaustion radiating off of him like smoke.

The front door closed behind him.

For a moment, you thought about following him. Your mind painted a dozen possibilities—none of them good—and the urge to know was almost overwhelming. But something held you back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the sick feeling that if you saw what Eggsy was hiding, you wouldn’t be able to unsee it.

So, instead, you stayed. You waited.

And you waited.

Hours slipped by, the quiet hum of the room punctuated only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional thump of your restless heartbeat. You sat in the darkness, curled up on the couch with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

It was almost dawn when you heard it—the sound of keys fumbling at the door.

Your breath caught as the door swung open, and there he was. Eggsy. Exhausted, disheveled, and dragging himself inside like he’d just run a marathon. He tripped over the shoes you’d left by the door, letting out a hushed curse as he stumbled and caught himself on the wall. "For fuck’s sake…"

You watched him for a long moment, your heart twisting. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale under the bruises, and there was an air of defeat clinging to him that you’d never seen before.

Your hand hovered over the lamp beside you.

Click.

Light flooded the room.

Eggsy froze. His wide, tired eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

"…Where were you?"

Your voice came out steady—colder than you intended—but you didn’t care. You needed answers.

Eggsy straightened up, wincing slightly as he did, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "What’re you doin’ awake?"

"Where were you, Eggsy?" you repeated, softer this time.

He opened his mouth to answer, but you saw the hesitation in his eyes. That flicker of guilt, of indecision. And it hurt.

You watched him—really watched him—take in the situation, his gaze darting from you to the lamp and back again. He looked so tired, the dark circles under his eyes stark against the pale exhaustion in his face. His bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might lie to you.

He always did that when he was nervous, chewing his lip like he was trying to hold the words inside.

And then he sighed.

"Look, luv—"

"No." You cut him off, surprising even yourself with the sharpness in your voice. Your heart was pounding now, a steady thud in your chest, and you swallowed the knot rising in your throat. "Don’t 'look, love' me, Eggsy. I’ve given you space. I’ve ignored the bruises. I’ve let you—whatever this is—carry on without question. But not anymore."

Eggsy’s mouth closed. He shifted on his feet, his wince almost imperceptible, but you caught it. You always caught it.

"Are you hurt?" you asked, voice trembling slightly despite the resolve you tried to hold. Your eyes dropped to the faint, bloodied scrape on his knuckles and the stiff way he held his side. "Jesus, Eggsy…"

"I’m fine." The words came out fast—too fast—and though they were meant to be firm, they only sounded hollow.

You flinched like the word was a slap. "You’re not fine."

He sighed again, this time deeper, and rubbed a hand over his face. "It’s complicated."

"Complicated?" you echoed, your voice pitching with disbelief. "Complicated is when you forget an anniversary or don’t know how to split rent. This isn’t complicated, Eggsy—this is you sneaking out in the middle of the night and coming home bruised and battered, and I’m scared."

There it was. The confession you’d been holding back. The thing that had been gnawing at you for weeks, clawing at your chest every time he slipped away. Your voice broke slightly, the words tumbling out like a dam had burst, and Eggsy’s face softened in a way that almost broke you.

You could see the guilt then, raw and unguarded, etched into the lines of his expression. He took a cautious step forward, but you held up a hand, needing the space to breathe.

"Do you…" Your voice faltered. You didn’t want to say it—didn’t want to voice the fear that had whispered in your mind during the loneliest hours of those nights. “Do you not trust me, Eggsy? Is there something you can’t tell me?”

Eggsy’s head snapped up at that, his brow knitting as if you’d insulted him. "What? No. No, it’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" Your voice cracked, and for the first time since this all started, you felt your eyes sting with tears. "Because I’m running out of scenarios, Eggsy. I thought maybe… maybe it was someone else, maybe you’d stopped loving me. But then I’d see the bruises, and I’d hear you groaning in your sleep, and…" You trailed off, pressing a hand to your forehead. "I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when you’re falling apart right in front of me."

The room was silent save for your quiet, unsteady breaths. For a moment, you thought Eggsy wouldn’t answer, that he’d slip into that shell of his again and leave you stranded in this mess of unanswered questions.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he crossed the room in two quick strides, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss—not like the ones he’d give you after long days or lazy mornings. It was desperate and grounding, like he needed to make sure you were real and that you still loved him despite everything. You froze for half a second, caught off guard by the sudden warmth of his lips on yours before you melted into it. Your hands gripped his wrists, holding onto him like an anchor as your heart hammered against your ribcage.

When he finally pulled away, you stared at him, breathless and reeling.

"Eggsy—"

"I’m sorry," he muttered, his forehead resting gently against yours. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you think that. Any of that." His voice was low and earnest, the accent softening as the words spilled out. "You’re the only good thing in my life, alright? The only thing that keeps me goin’. It ain’t you—it’s me. I’m just… I’m tryin’ to keep you safe."

"Safe?" Your brows furrowed as you leaned back to look at him. "Safe from what, Eggsy?"

He hesitated. You could see the war playing out in his eyes—the push and pull of wanting to tell you the truth but still trying to protect you from it. He was holding something back; you knew that much. Something big.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. "It’s work. The bruises, the nights—I can’t tell you everything, but you gotta trust me when I say I’m doin’ it for you. For us."

"Eggsy…"

His thumb brushed along your cheek, and you realized then that you were crying—just a little.

"You’re right," he admitted softly, the words heavy with guilt. "I shoulda told you somethin’. Not everythin’, but… somethin’. I just didn’t want you to worry, love. Didn’t want you to see this part o’ me." He smiled faintly, the corners of his lips tilting upward. "You deserve better than this mess."

You stared at him, the boy who had somehow become a man without you noticing. His rough edges were still there—still scrappy, still stubborn—but there was something more now, too. He carried weight on his shoulders, weight he hadn’t let you see until tonight.

"I don’t care about the mess," you whispered, your hands sliding down to hold his. "I care about you. And if you’re hurting, I want to know. I want to help."

Eggsy blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to hear that. Then he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly as if trying to shield you from the rest of the world.

"You’re mental, you know that?" he mumbled into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Too good for me, you are."

Eggsy was warm against you, his arms solid and grounding, but you couldn’t let yourself melt into it—not entirely. Not when you could still feel the lingering tremor in his body, the careful way he was holding you like he was afraid of falling apart completely if he let go.

So you didn’t let it slide. Not this time.

You pulled back slightly, enough to look at him, your hands sliding to rest against his chest. He avoided your eyes for a beat too long, gaze flicking toward the floor as if the answers to all of your questions were scattered across the floorboards.

"Eggsy," you said softly, forcing him to look at you. "You’re doing it again."

His brows furrowed slightly. "Doin’ what?"

"Avoiding." You swallowed hard, your voice gentle but firm. "You keep saying you’re trying to protect me, but from what? From you? From whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into? I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with half-truths and cryptic excuses."

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a tight line as the silence stretched between you like a taut wire. You watched him, the Eggsy you knew—the one who laughed too loudly, who lit up rooms with his smile—hidden behind this new, heavier version of himself. A man weighed down by secrets you weren’t allowed to touch.

You felt your throat tighten. "If you’re in trouble, I need to know."

"I’m not—"

"Gary." You said his name softly, but with enough weight that he stopped, his shoulders sagging just a little under your gaze. You could see the walls going back up, the way his expression started to close off again, and your heart ached. This wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about digging into things he didn’t want to share. This was about him—the man you loved. The man standing in front of you with bruises and exhaustion, painting him in shades of worry and pain you didn’t recognize.

"I love you," you whispered, the words breaking through the quiet. His head snapped up, his eyes finally locking onto yours. "I love you, Eggsy. But this—" you gestured gently between the two of you "—this isn’t fair. You don’t get to shoulder all of this alone. Not when I’m right here."

You could see the cracks in his resolve then, the guilt splintering through his expression like fractures in glass. Eggsy exhaled, a heavy breath that deflated his entire posture, and he reached up to cup your cheek again, his thumb brushing faintly at the tears still lingering there.

"It ain’t trouble," he muttered after a long pause, his voice low and rough like gravel. "Not like you’re thinkin’. I ain’t into anythin’ shady, I swear."

"Then what is it?" you asked softly. "Please, Eggsy. I’m not leaving. I’m not running. I just need to know what’s doing this to you."

He hesitated again, clearly grappling with something you couldn’t see. For the briefest moment, you thought he might tell you—might rip off the Band-Aid and let you into whatever world he’d been keeping you out of. But then, as if on instinct, he sighed and shook his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before resting his own against it again.

"You don’t wanna know, luv," he murmured, voice so soft it nearly disappeared into the space between you. "I promise you don’t."

You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully. You could feel it now—the invisible door he was trying to close, to lock between you—and the worst part was, you knew he thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was protecting you.

But all you felt was the sting of being shut out.

"This isn’t fair," you said again, your voice trembling slightly. "You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, Eggsy."

His lips parted slightly, and for once, he didn’t have a rebuttal. He just looked at you—really looked at you—as if weighing the woman in front of him against whatever dark reality he’d been hiding.

"I can handle it," you pressed, your voice steady this time. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. I can handle you."

Eggsy pulled back slightly, his hands slipping to your shoulders. There was a flicker of conflict in his eyes, and for the first time that night, you saw a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. "It ain’t about you not bein’ strong enough," he said finally, his words slow and deliberate. "It’s about me not wantin’ you to see the worst parts of what I do."

"What you do?" you repeated carefully, and you saw him flinch—just barely—like he’d said too much.

"Eggsy, I don’t…"

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Jesus Christ, I’m shite at this."

Your eyes searched his. Part of you wanted to press further—to keep pushing until the dam broke—but the other part could see his exhaustion, the way he was leaning slightly against the counter like his legs were struggling to hold him up. He looked so tired. So defeated. And you hated it.

You let out a soft sigh, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

He stiffened.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a question lingering between you, the same one you knew he was struggling to answer.

Tell her.

Don't.

It felt like an eternity had passed when you finally said his name, squeezing his hand gently.

His gaze lifted to yours.

And you let it go.

You didn't push. You didn't demand. You didn't ask. Because this wasn't a fight, you were going to win.

He wasn't ready.

So, instead, you just said, "Promise me something."

"Yeah?"

You hesitated, the words feeling heavier on your tongue than they had any right to be. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and whispered, "Promise me you’ll come home."

Eggsy stilled.

It wasn't much of a request—more of a desperate hope that this wasn't all leading to some unavoidable ending you weren't ready for. It was an offer of surrender. A silent, exhausted plea to put the pieces back together, to stitch up the cracks before they could break.

He studied you, his tired eyes roaming over the lines of your face as if he could read the question lingering there.

And then he pulled you into his arms, a hand cradling the back of your head. You felt the warmth of his embrace, the weight of his body against yours, and your arms wrapped around him as tightly as you could. For a second, you weren’t sure if he would answer. If he even could.

And then, in the softest voice you'd ever heard, he whispered, "Always."

"For you, always."

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specialagentlokitty · 11 months ago

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Eggsy x reader - crush at first sight

Hello! Could I request an Eggsy from Kingsman x reader with this dialogue "You come here often?" "Well, I work here. So I think I would have to say yes"?Only if you want to of course! 😄 - Anon💜

Walking down the hallways, you glanced at your watch as you picked up your pace a little bit to try and make it in time for your meeting.

You were running late as it was, and you didn’t want to be anymore late than necessary.

You turned the corner, all but crashing into somebody who was heading in the same direction and he grabbed your arms, spinning you around so you landed on him.

He let out a grunt of pain as he hit the floor, and you rolled off him, standing up as you held out your hand to him.

“I’m terribly sorry!”

The man grinned at you a little bit, and he took your hand to stand up, brushing down his suit.

He wore a cocky smirk on his face as he glanced you up and down.

“Are you lost?”

“Nope, I know exactly where I’m going.”

You offered him a smile and carried on your path, and he jogged after you, falling in line with your steps.

“What’s your name?”

“Need to know basis.”

“Okay, what if I told you mine?”

You glanced at the man next to you, you recognised him immediately, he was the recruit your uncle had brought in not long ago.

“You come here often?”

You glanced at him as you stopped outside the door you needed, and you smirked a little, looking him up and down like he had done to you.

“Well, I work here. So I think I would have to say yes.”

With that, you pushed open the door and walked inside, and he trailed behind you.

“I see you finally met Eggsy.” Merlin said.

You nodded, walking over to stand next to him.

Merlin placed his hand on your shoulder, handing you a paper file.

“This is of the upmost importance, we cannot leave any digital trace, will you read this while I get Eggsy up to date on everything?” He asked.

You looked up at him, smiling softly.

“Of course.”

You sat down, opening the file to go through everything that had been collected and put together for you.

You set the file down, picking up a few of the photos of the targets you had been given.

You could hear Merlin and Eggsy talking by the doorway, having a hushed conversation and the whole time Eggsy’s eyes were on you.

You heard the sound of somebody being smacked, and a yelp of pain.

“If you know what’s good for you Eggsy I know suggest that you stop looking at (Y/N) like that.”

“Like what?! I wasn’t looking at her any way!” Eggsy complained.

Merlin walked over, taking a seat next to you, picking up one of the photos.

“It will be a simple recon mission, you are not to engage, do you understand me?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Look at me.”

You turned to Merlin, and he furrowed his brows a little bit.

“Promise me you will not engage the target.”

“I promise.”

He nodded his head.

“You’ll be working with Eggsy.”

Eggsy walked over, taking the file he was handed so he could go through it as well.

You spent the next hour talking about plans of action, what to do in an emergency, if you’ve been made as agents.

You covered every possible worst case scenario and finally you stood up.

“Eggsy get ready, meet me in an hour.”

“Wait, I thought we took orders from Merlin?”

“Aw how cute you’re so stupid.”

You walked across the room to grab Merlin’s laptop and walked back over with it, setting it down.

“(Y/N) outranks you by many years Eggsy.”

“Seriously? Aren’t we the same age?”

“You could call it the family business.” You shrugged.

You went to grab your travel bag, and you made your way back to the room to wait for the other agent who came through not long later.

He set his bag next to yours and stood in front of you and Merlin.

“Be safe, both of you.”

“We will.” You both said.

You turned around to check your bag over once more.

“Oh, and Eggsy?”

The man hummed a little bit.

“If you try make a move on my daughter I will know and it will end badly for you.”

“Daughter?!”

You laughed loudly, walking over to Merlin and you wrapped him in a hug.

“Love you dad, thanks for that. I’m going to put up with this now.”

“Love you too, and I know, it’s punishment for putting salt in my tea last week. Now go, before you miss your train.”

You nodded, grabbing your bag as you walked into the hallway and Eggsy was already running after you asking as many questions as he possible could

#kingsman #kingsman x reader #kingsman x you #kingsman imagine #Eggsy #Eggsy x reader #Eggsy x you #Eggsy imagine

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juulies · 4 years ago

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i’ve been fucking thinking non-stop abt the willex check please! au for like a week now (which is absolutely ridiculous considering i first read check please like last monday) so like, here’s some thinking i’ve done when i probably should’ve been doing homework or writing the three fics i have that are currently wip! what can u do? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (also if you haven’t read check please! you can find it here! its super fun and cute and one of my fav things I've ever read)

Alex Joyner (yes I’m using the actors’ last names bc the jatp writers HATE me and won’t give me actual last names) as the no-nonsense, technophobic, highly-anxious captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team that broods bc his brain won’t let him do anything else but gets ridiculously emotional over drumming and hockey strategy

William “Billie” Stewart as the frog recently recruited to SMH who got into hockey solely bc there’s aren’t cars on an ice rink like there are wherever he’s trying to rollerblade/skateboard. got into baking bc his friends in high school used to pay him to make edibles and it just blossomed from there, mostly into tray bakes over pies but he does just abt anything

Luke “Kush” Patterson as the absolutely ridiculous hype-man of the SMH who never properly wears clothes, majors in Gender Studies bc he drinks his respect women juice, and is addicted to kegsters bc it gives him the opportunity to loudly (and drunkenly) play his guitar/sing without anyone complaining abt the noise

Reggie “Eggsy” Shada as one half of the best d-men pair in collegiate hockey history, who’s chosen biology major and determination to graduate with a 4.0 has turned him into a delicate coral reef in terms of academia but CANNOT leave out of his friends’ love lives/the hot goss. Convinced his room in the Haus is haunted and tries to make friends with the ghost(s)

Julie “Juice” Molina as SMH’s team manager who takes no one’s shit and can finagle her way through delicate negotiations like nobody’s business. Double major in art and vocal performance and can kick everyone and their mother’s ass at beer pong, designs the team’s gear and is addicted to coffee from Annie’s, see figure skating rumor below

Flynn “Flynnigan” Marie as designated ??? for SMH. Not quite a second team manager bc she doesn’t do much more than yell at the boys and post shit on their twitter, but she share’s Julie’s room and is constantly at Faber with the guys. Majoring in marketing and advertising, in charge of DJing all kegsters, there’s a rumor that goes around after she skates with the team one day that she and julie used to train with some intimidating Russian figure skating coach and were going to go to the olympics but flynn was banned for yelling at an official

Carlos “Moltzer” Molina as the other half of the best d-men pairing in collegiate hockey history, Julie’s twin brother though julie popped out right before midnight and Carlos came 10 minutes later so they technically have different birthdays, addicted to ghost-hunting shows and possibly is the one behind all of reggie’s ghost encounters, uses his height to his advantage and will eat anything and everything willie makes

Nick is a lax bro

Dirty candy is on the soccer team!

Ok now that characters have been determined(ish) here’s some moments I desperately need (i’m using nicknames here just to get used to it)

Billie shows up to his first visit to the Haus with half a brownie left from his most recent batch. Kush, being the asshole that he is, declares frog tax and steals the rest of the brownie as they all go inside. Once he realizes how good it is, he demands Billie make some immediately and so he does. Whenever Kush sees billie again, he demands more baked goods. It becomes pretty routine.

Alex can’t talk to Billie bc he’s busy being broody and anxious over hockey and he thinks billie’s too damn cute for his own good and it’s throwing him off his game. however, once practices start and it becomes apparent that billie can’t handle being checked (got hit by a car skateboarding once and just, can’t do it) he—under the guise of “helping the team out”—starts giving him checking clinics in the mornings

No one on the team really realizes how anxious Alex can get (besides kush and eggsy (then billie)) bc he’s really good at the captain/team member talks and helping people out. Bc of this, he gets the rep of being a hockey robot

Billie sings kehlani and Rihanna in the shower rather than Beyonce and nicki. Alex is a closet Beyonce fan tho if you tell any of SMH he’ll kill u

That moment when julie comes back from her semester abroad and kush just jumps on top of her (basically all shitty/lardo moments but with julie/kush)

post graduation kiss, Alex is getting all anxious even tho he’s graduated and signed with the falconers and he really doesn’t have anything to be anxious over at the moment but he can’t stop thinking abt billie so he sprints to the Haus and finds billie laying on Alex’s stripped mattress listening to “honey” and just, kisses him. basically the same as the last comic from sophomore year

Rip to jatp!alex’s parents but I can’t do bob and Alicia Zimmerman dirty so like, tho Alex is closeted to the hockey world his parents are the most supportive people on the planet. Need that moment after center ice when they come up to Alex and billie after the kiss and Alex is just like “i kissed billie and its on tv” and they’re just like *sweats anxiously* also Joyner parents fawning over billie!!! Being so excited that Alex and billie are dating!!!!

Billie continues to have the weirdest fucking socks

Bc Charlie Gillespie is the Worst, the ass cam is focused on kush’s ass over alex’s. I mean, have u guys seen 1.09???

Eggsy and moltzer doing all the “hockey shit” comics together

Really I just need someone to draw the “FFFFFFUCK THE LAX TEAM” panel with Luke and Alex

#jatp #willie x alex #alex jatp #willie jatp #sdlkfjkj pls give me ur opinions #also I SUCK at nicknaming so like help on that front #reggie is eggsy partially bc it's a syllable from his name but mostly bc one time he dropped his breakfast burrito on the ice #and it was just eggs. nothing else just eggs #willie is billie bc I'm not creative AND the team put him in charge of music during warm up once and the first thing that came on was #'when the party's over' by billie eilish #Luke is kush bc one of my brother's friends named Luke went by kush and if Luke's gonna be shitty he's gotta have a funky nick name #nick is a lax bro solely bc I can't get Luke going fffffffuck the lax team out of my head and we all know abt jealous!Luke #that moment in junior year when chowder's like lardo why is there white people hair in our shower bc we're both dating white people #is flynn and julie who are dating carrie and Luke #ok I think I've gotten it all out #mine.txt

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companionjones · 4 years ago

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What’s In A Name?

Fandom: Kingsman (Movies)

Pairings: Merlin x Reader, BestFriend!Eggsy x Reader

Summary: After a more than troubled past, you work as a free agent, helping good people whenever you can. In your travels, you come across members of a secret service called Kingsman. You help them, but do not trust them. Will anyone be able to change your mind?

Warnings: Canon level cursing and perhaps above canon level violence (it may get dark), torture

Author’s Note: This takes place in a timeline where Harry, Merlin, and Roxie are all alive. Harry is King Arthur, Eggsy is Galahad, and Roxie is Lancelot. Roxie only gets a mention in this one, but I still wanted to bring her back. I hate that she died in the movies. Also, spoiler alert but it has to do with gender identity, Reader eventually gets the codename Morgana. It is traditionally a feminine name, but Roxy does get the codename Lancelot in the movies, so I figured anyone with any gender identity can get any codename.

Please take some time to sign some BLM petitions! Please remember not to give any money to change.org because the money would go to the website, not the cause.

*******

“Identify yourself immediately, or else your chopper will be gunned down.” The hard Scottish voice threatened you for the fifth time since you had entered the air space of a mansion in a helicopter you had stolen.

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down. I found a friend of yours. He’s not doing too hot. I’m returning him to you. I’m not looking for a fight.”

The young man next to you slouched forward to press the button to speak. “I’m here, Merlin. I’ll vouch for them.”

The mystery voice, apparently named Merlin, went quiet.

When you landed on the mansion, a med team carried away the extremely injured man you had picked up. When you got out of the helicopter, however, several military-grade weapons were aimed at your head. You put your hands up in surrender, and tried to bite back a smile. You were already planning your strategy to fight your way out of there.

“Don’t shoot!” a barely-conscious voice called out. It was the man you had rescued. “Let them go. They saved my life.”

Maybe you wouldn’t have to fight your way out.

“And why should we trust that you won’t come back?” That was the same voice from before. Merlin.

You turned around to find a tell, bald man with glasses. You answered his query by shrugging, “Cause I won’t. And you don’t have to worry about that human trafficking ring. I don’t know if you heard, but it’s all over the news. All of the victims have been sent home with a healthy pension, and every guilty party from the bottom to the top has been arrested by the proper authorities. I have a feeling they’ll stay in prison this time since all of their bank accounts have mysteriously emptied. I do wonder where all that money went.”

The bald man stared you down for a moment. “I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to find information on you. It wasn’t much time, but I’m good at my job. If there was anything to find, I would’ve found it. I didn’t find anything. Why is that?”

“What? Like I’m gonna tell you?” you smiled after a moment. “Look, you’re gonna have to trust me. I’m guessing this is a secret service of some sort, right? Well, my personal opinion on organizations like this isn’t very high. I won’t be coming back. Just let me get back in the helicopter. I’ll fly away, and you’ll never see me again.”

Merlin took a moment to survey you, then stated, “That better be true. Stand down, agents,” Merlin ordered his people.

“Thank you!” Your smile grew as you turned back to the stolen aircraft. “See you never!” You took your place in the pilot’s seat, and flashed Merlin one more grin before you took off.

In the months following your first interaction with the secret service, you ran into it’s members several more times. The agent you developed the most rapport with was the young man you had saved. You were supposed to know him as Galahad, but he had let it slip to you a few times that his real name was Eggsy. You also guessed that wasn’t his real real name. It was just a nickname he preferred to be called. But in all honesty, you didn’t care if you knew his real name, Eggsy was good enough for you.

Despite the life-threatening conditions the two of you met under, you and Eggsy would end up telling each other about the most normal aspects of your lives. Eggsy mentioned his mom and sister a few times, but he mainly talked about his family at Kingsman, as he eventually named the agency. The leader of the service went by the codename King Arthur. Eggsy looked at Arthur as a father figure, you noticed. Eggsy had a bestfriend there, too. Her codename was Lancelot. She and Eggsy had joined Kingsman at the same time.

Then, there was Merlin. You would never admit it to Eggsy; hell, you wouldn’t even admit it to yourself, but you liked most to hear about Kingsman’s tech expert. You had been told that Merlin was a very serious man. You could’ve guessed that much. Contrastingly, Eggsy seemed to be part of the select few that Merlin showed his more human side. Eggsy was very proud whenever he was able to get Merlin to crack a smile at one of his jokes, and you could tell that by how often Eggsy brought up those few instances. You laughed when Eggsy jokingly cursed out the voice in his ear, because Merlin was trying to get him to focus on the task at hand.

In spite of the fact that Eggsy let his own name slip so easily, he made a conscious effort to make sure you would only know his friends by their codenames. You respected that. You also found it funny when you came to realize that even Eggsy didn’t seem to know Merlin’s real name. Eggsy tried to hide it, but you had been doing what you were good at long enough that you could read people too well.

Speaking of yourself, compared to Eggsy, you talked about your life a lot less. That was on purpose. The most personal you ever got was talking about your interests, like your favorite movies and TV shows. You actually had a couple in common with Eggsy.

You wondered if you had any in common with Merlin. It wasn’t like you could speak with him, but you knew he was always on Eggsy’s comms. You made a point to say hi to Merlin whenever you ran into the younger Kingsman agent. You wondered how much Merlin really listened to your conversations with Eggsy, and when you weren’t thinking about that, you were berating yourself for thinking so much about some random man you had met once on a mansion’s rooftop.

Did Merlin have favorite TV shows too? What was his real name? Was he thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him?

All those thoughts were running through your mind as you snuck up on a gunfight. You usually avoided those types of situations, but as you were passing by, you saw that Eggsy was caught in the middle of it all. Once you got involved, the fight didn’t last much longer. You only worked with your hands. You knocked some people out, and cut off the air supply for others long enough that they would be unconscious for a long enough while for you and Eggsy to get away.

“Come on.” You offered a hand to Eggsy. “I called the police. These guys’ll be out ‘til they get they get here, but we should still probably go.”

Once he saw you, Eggsy took a few breaths to process what had just happened. “...That was ruddy awesome! I haven’t seen violence that impressive since Arthur took down a whole church full of people! I gotta ask though, why didn’t you use a gun? I know you have...several.”

“I don’t like killing people,” you simply responded, turning to lead the Kingsman agent away from the scene.

“Well, that’s always good...but sometimes it’s just easier, y’know? And these guys are bad people anyway--”

Abruptly, you stopped and turned around to repeat. “I just don’t like killing people.” You saw that you had clearly taken him off guard, and you sighed and turned back around to continue your trek. “I’ve done enough harm in my life.”

There was a bit of silence after that. Before he started following you, Eggsy griped, “Well, what the fuck is that supposed to me--”

A gunshot rang through the air.

You had turned back around when Eggsy started talking again. At first you had been annoyed at Eggsy, but then you saw that one of the people you thought Eggsy had gunned down was still alive by a small margin. He had aimed his gun at your friend. You had pushed Eggsy out of the way. Seconds later, Eggsy had shot your gunman directly through the head, and blood was spilling from your stomach.

“Fuck!” Eggsy caught you when your legs gave out. “Hey, hey! Don’t die! Don’t die because of me. Please!”

The last thing you heard before you lost consciousness was Eggsy’s voice. “Calm down, Merlin! You know where we are, right?” He addressed you, “They’ll be here in ten minutes, okay?” Eggsy looked away from you again, presumably talking to Merlin. “Of course I’m keeping pressure on it. This jacket is bright red now. Just tell them to hurry.”

You smiled when you thought of Merlin.

When your eyes opened again, the light was so bright you thought you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been. Turns out you weren’t in heaven, but you were still some place you should not have been.

“Hello there,” an older man greeted you with a warm smile. He looked to be about the same age as Merlin, and his suit looked a lot like Eggsy’s.

Suddenly, you realized you were inside Kingsman’s home base. “What the fuck.”

“You have a fantastic first impression,” the man complimented with good-natured humor shining in his eyes.

“I need to leave,” you stated, and tried to sit up in the hospital bed in which they had you.

The man quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to leave? You were injured badly protecting one of my men. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’re King Arthur,” you realized.

He nodded. “That is my codename, yes. But I believe your character is one I would be comfortable with sharing my real name. Harry Hart. It’s the name I prefer, anyway.”

“Harry Hart. It’s nice to finally meet you. Eggsy talks about you a lot.” It did make you pause to be trusted so easily by someone. It was something you weren’t used to at all. You shook your head clear, however. “I have to leave, though. It’s not that bad anyway.”

“Oh, yes it is.” That wasn’t Harry. Merlin had entered the room. He locked eyes with you. “You broke your promise.”

“Literally none of this is my fault,” you protested dryly.

Merlin raised his brow. “Is that right? Because that was a Kingsman mission--not a random person off the street mission.”

You rolled your eyes, and let your head fall back on the pillow.

“I’m going to take my leave, and let the two of you have the room.” You almost missed the look Harry gave Merlin before Harry left.

As if it was nothing, Merlin walked over to your IV machine to check your vitals. “Are you okay?” he quietly asked.

“I’m fine,” you stated.

“I am serious, you know. You really shouldn’t have done that. Galahad had the mission under control.”

You sighed, “If I didn’t show up, Eggsy could’ve ended up where I am, or worse. And he lets me call him Eggsy.”

“I am aware.” Merlin was reading over a tablet he had in his hands.

Your face lit up. “I knew you were listening in on us!”

Although it was quick, Merlin spared you a sideways glance. He changed the subject. “The bullet tore through your large and small intestine alike, but you’ll live. However, you’re confined to that bed for the next month and a half.”

“Goddammit.” You fell back onto your pillow again. “I’m going to kill Eggsy.”

Merlin sighed, “I say spare the boy. You should see him. He blames himself for everything. Even cried during the surgery, of which I did not approve.”

“He watched my surgery?” you asked, a little distracted. Your gaze had fallen to Merlin’s tablet, and you were decoding the effects of your injury.

“We both did.”

Your eyes snapped back up to Merlin’s, though he wasn’t watching you then. He swallowed, almost like he found his next words difficult to say. “It took hours. There were many close calls.” Merlin turned to leave, then. Your wishful thinking told you he might have been preventing himself from showing any more emotion.

Fear spilled through you when he reached the door. You were reminded precisely where you were. “Merlin, wait!” You sounded a bit more afraid than you wanted.

When Merlin turned around, concern in his eyes.

“Um...Listen, I-I know we barely know each other, but you and Eggsy are the only two people I know here. I just...I know it sounds childish, but, um--”

“I’ll stay with you.” Merlin left the door, and pulled up a chair beside your bed.

His kindness took you off guard. It took you a moment to breathe out, “Thank you.”

“So, do you want to tell me your name?” Merlin then asked a little too nonchalant.

It caused a smile to peak out on your lips. “Need help finding info on me? I thought you were good at your job.”

The Kingsman agent stabbed back. “I would be kinder to the man who controls your morphine.”

Merlin stayed with you the entirety of that night. The next day, Eggsy came back from a mission he’d been on, and he was ecstatic to find you awake. After you assured him that your bullet wound wasn’t his fault and that you were okay, he barely left your side for a week. When Harry and Merlin finally forced him to go out on another mission, Merlin was back at your bedside. That became the norm. Merlin did most of his work in your room, and on the rare occasion the tech expert was otherwise busy, you had Eggsy to keep you company.

On one such day, Eggsy and you were enjoying your favorite sit-com. You were nearing the end of your month and a half of healing. If you were being honest with yourself, you could’ve left by then if you really wanted. The thing was, you didn’t want to leave. You looked over to Eggsy, who was still watching TV, and realized that you felt like you had a family at Kingsman. You had gotten closer to Harry and Roxy (she’d told you her name) during your month and a half. Merlin, too. You were practically attached at the hip to the tech expert, and you weren’t complaining at all.

Speaking of your favorite Kingsman agent, he entered the room then. He wore a more serious look than usual, which was saying something.

It didn’t bother you though. “Hey, you,” you smiled.

Eggsy was smiling, too, and he was about to greet Merlin as well.

Before he could, however, Merlin ordered, “Galahad, give us the room.”

The younger agent was confused, but he did as he was told.

“Jeez, if you wanted to be alone with me, you could’ve been a little nicer--” you were teasing, but you were interrupted.

“Y/n L/n.”

Two words. They were all it took to make your blood run cold. It was suddenly taking all the power in you not to start crying on the spot. “...How do you know my name?”

“I’m good at my job.” Words that used to be almost an inside joke between you and Merlin were suddenly stabbing you in the heart. “How many organizations have you worked for? CIA, Mossad, I get an alert for another one almost every hour. All of them are looking for you.”

“What did you do?” Your own voice didn’t even sound like you anymore.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “You’re seriously asking me that right now? What did you do, Y/n?!”

“Don’t call me that! Dammit, did you call someone, Merlin?” You started undoing your IV and sitting up in bed.

He called after you as you exited the room, “Oh, so you can call me by my name?”

“It’s not your real name!” you shouted back.

In hindsight, you should’ve realized Merlin not stopping you from leaving was a warning sign. MI6 was waiting for you outside the Kingsman mansion.

“No!” you screamed, but they surprised you from behind as well. “No! Let me go! Please! Let me go, please!”

As you were being dragged away, you saw Merlin at the door of the mansion, watching you go. He seemed taken off guard at seeing you so scared.

But you couldn’t think about that then. You were too busy kicking and screaming and trying to get away from the type of people you hated most in the world.

MI6 was the fifth organization you were ever involved with. That was back when you still thought governments had the people’s best interests at heart.

Over the years, however, you learned that you couldn’t have been more wrong. No matter what country you moved to and no matter what excuses they had for what they asked you to do, you always found eventually that they were only interested in power and winning an imaginary game they had all convinced each other they were playing.

You played that game for years before you realized there was no winner. To those people, it didn’t matter whose side you sued to work for. It only mattered who’s bidding you were doing in the present. And you did so many unspeakable things for them. Your deeds were what got to your conscience first. After that, you realized it didn’t matter who was giving you orders. All it would always result in were more dead bodies and more money being given to the rich.

And you were back under the roof of one of the institutions you despised so much.

The agents that took you injected something in you to knock you out, and you woke up in a white room that was all too familiar. Each of the groups you hated had one. In that room, you knew that you would be brainwashed and tortured over the next few weeks until you were ready to comply.

You were right. You didn’t know how much time had passed, you were never sure in those rooms, all you knew was you were in so much psychological pain that you couldn’t move from the corner of that white room you hated so much.

The door opened. You couldn’t look at it. You couldn’t even speak. All you could think was that you wanted it all to end. You didn’t care how.

“Y/n?”

You flinched at your name. Your first thought was that you had gone mad. You shut your eyes tight and hoped he would go away.

“Y/n...it’s me.”

Please, just go away.

You heard his footsteps across the floor, then Merlin kneeled down in front of you.

“My god. What have they done to you?”

You had your head turned to the side. Gently, Merlin tried to turn your face toward his. You fought it.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t know. Having finally learned who you are, I was able to dig deeper. I know what happened. They all tried to hide it, but it’s all there. I should’ve seen the red flags when they were trying so hard to find you while keeping the search secret. I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“Don’t call me that.” Even in your confused state, that name reminded you of every single bad thing you’d ever done. Your voice sounded so broken, not even you recognized it. You doubted Merlin recognized it either.

His head dipped down as he sighed. Then, so low that you barely heard it, “Hamish Mycroft.”

Still, you didn’t look at him, but your brow furrowed.

Merlin continued, “That’s my real name. Hamish Mycroft. The only Kingsman agent I’ve ever told is Harry. I haven’t told anyone else in four decades.” He gingerly put his hand on one of the knees you had curled up to your chest. “But, I’m telling you because I trust you. I...I love you. I have for weeks now, I just wasn’t man enough to admit it to myself.”

Somehow, his confession broke through your haze. You finally looked at him.

Sadness and surprise were written all over his face. Hamish informed you, “I’m here to get you out of here, okay? Roxy and Eggsy are taking care of anyone who knows the location of the mansion. You can be safe there.”

“Safe?” you whispered, wondering if the notion was even possible.

Hamish nodded. “You never have to go out into the field again. If you want to, you could work with me. This is the first time I’ve been out in the field in twelve years.”

“You came back into the field for me?” It was nice for you to hear that you could form full sentences again, even if tears were still falling.

One of the corner of his lips twitched upward. “Of course I did. I figure you have to be pretty good with the tech side of things to get along by yourself for this long.”

A laugh slipped through your lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.” You observed him for a moment. “Hamish Mycroft.” You said his name for the first time. “I like it.”

He smiled, “I like your name, too, just so you know. I hope one day you’re able to use it again. But, until then, I was thinking Morgana.”

“Morgana?”

“Your Kingsman codename, if you choose to accept it.”

You thought for a moment. “If I work for you guys, I don’t have to hurt people anymore?”

“Never again, if you don’t want to.”

Another moment. “I want to be able to speak out against you guys, if I see something wrong.”

He notified, “That comes with the job. We’ve had problems with our leaders acting without our okay in the past, but not since Harry’s been in charge. And with how well I know you, I know I’ll agree with anything you’ll have to say.”

“...Promise?”

Hamish nodded, “From now on, I’ve always got your back. You have my word. Now let’s get out of here, yeah?”

You nodded in return. Another smile growing on your lips.

Hamish helped you to your feet. Full of pride, he softly proclaimed, “Welcome to Kingsman, Morgana.”

Then ginning, you replied, “Thank you, Hamish...my love.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate the comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more Kingsman fics over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

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hauntedflamingo · 4 years ago

Text

How many kids? part one

Eggsy x Reader

A/N: this one is cuter than the last one I wrote about babies. At least the beginning of this part. After that I think it goes downhill. I wasn’t planning on writing this one next but that is what happened. Sorry for any mistakes. Also Y/A/N is your agent name. i just left it like that cause I am not good at making names up.

“What are you doing?” The chair you are sitting in slightly dips as Eggsy looks over your shoulder at the computer screen. “Nothing!” You quickly move the mouse to the x on a tab, closing that web page.

“The page you just closed was named baby clothes.” He points out.

“I was looking at them for a friend.” You grumble, hoping your attitude will get him off the subject. Scrolling down the screen, you continue your quest to find a hotel room. You and Eggsy had time off from Kingsman and you wanted to take a mini vacation.

“Have you decided on a destination?” He asks.

Resting your head on the back of the chair, you look up at Eggsy “How about Las Vegas?”

“Actually, Las Vegas is a little too far.” He looks down at you.

“Oh. Where did you want to go?” You ask, trying to hide your disappointment.

“I was thinking about Paris.” He offers.

“Can we also go to Disneyland?”

“Sure.”

Once you make the reservations, you grab them from the printer and walk over to the door. Eggsy takes your seat and begins typing on the keyboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask, leaning against the door.

“Nothing!” He mocks you, moving the chair to hide your view of the computer.

Turning around, you head downstairs to watch tv. A few minutes later, Eggsy walks downstairs joining you on the couch. He sits next to you and stares at you with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“What?” You ask, starting to feel a little nervous. That face usually meant he was up to something. “Why did you have 20 pages open about baby items?”

“I told you I was looking at them for a friend.” One of your friends really was pregnant and that got you thinking about having your own baby one day. “So that’s what you were doing. Spying on me.”

“You are going to buy her a crib?” He teases. “And I wasn’t spying. I was just keeping myself up to date on your activities.”

“No. I didn’t buy anything.” You insist. “I was curious as to how much baby items cost.”

“So, you don’t have anything that you need to tell me?” He scoots closer to you.

“Um. No...like what?”

The next week is your trip to Paris and the first stop is Disneyland.

The whole morning you are staring at every baby you see in the park. Even at the store where you are supposed to be buying souvenirs, you are drawn to the baby clothes.

Once you sit down to eat lunch, Eggsy starts his inquiry. “What’s going on with you? You seem to be a bit preoccupied today.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, cluelessly.

“Every time we pass a baby, you can’t take your eyes off them.”

“They are cute, aren’t they?” You gush. “With their chubby cheeks and their tiny fingers and toes.”

Eggsy laughs at your comment, shaking his head before he takes a sip of his drink.

As you continue to eat, your mind races. You have to tell him. But how? The easiest way was to spit it out. “I want a baby.” You whisper.

“Can you say that again?” He moves in closer, leaning his head towards yours. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I want a baby.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” A smile spreads across his face.

“Well…we haven’t talked about them for a while and I wasn’t sure if you still wanted one.”

That seemed like an eternity ago.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Muting the tv, you turn on your side to face Eggsy. “I want to talk to you about something.” You whisper.

“What is it, love?” He reaches over to rub your arm.

You let out a breath, you didn’t know you were holding in. It shouldn’t be this hard to tell him how you feel. “I was thinking about getting birth control.” You spit out, hoping he doesn’t get mad. Your heart starts to speed up as you continue speaking. Worried about what he is going to say.

“I mean, we have enough kids, right? You didn’t want anymore, did you?” Looking down, you watch your little girl sleep in between you and Eggsy.

It seems like an eternity before he finally answers. “Yes. We have enough kids. I think birth control is a great idea.”

That was not the answer you were expecting. For some reason, you thought you were going to have to fight with him on this subject.I wonder what he will say to the next question. “Can you go with me to the appointment so we can discuss the options together?”

“Of course, I will go with you. But right now, this little one needs to get to her own bed.” Eggsy picks her up, cradling her against his body as he stands from the bed.

“Wait!” You whisper, standing up from the bed. You meet Eggsy at the door before he leaves to give her a kiss. “Good night my sweet girl.”

Sitting down on the bed, you grab the baby monitor from the bed side table and turn it on. You stare at it while you wait to hear Eggy’s voice from the other one.

“Agent Galahad to Agent Y/A/N, she is tucked in and ready for a full night’s sleep.”

“I hope so.”

“I am going to check on the rest of the kids.”

“Okay.” You set the monitor down. A few minutes later, Eggsy is back in the room. “Surprisingly, they were all asleep.”

“Wow. That’s never happens.” You should have known since nobody ran into the room in the last 20 minutes.

When they call your name, Eggsy follows you carrying your little girl. “We need to test you first to make sure you’re not pregnant before we put you on birth control.” The doctor says, holding out a cup for you to pee in. “Ok. I will be right back.” You grab the cup and leave the room to the toilets. After you pee, you head back to the exam room. Thirty minutes later and you are still waiting for the doctor to come back. “What is taking her so long?” You ask Eggsy. He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know.” The doctor walks back in with a smile on her face. “Well, you won’t need birth control any time soon.”

“Why?” You ask warily, confused by her suddenly cheerful attitude. “You’re already pregnant. Congratulations!” She looks from you to Eggsy Shock is an understatement of how you feel. Eggsy was lucky he was holding your daughter. Otherwise, you would have thrown something at him. You give Eggsy the death stare as the doctor continues to speak, not listening to her. Eggsy continues the rest of the conversation with the doctor. He also speaks to the receptionist to set up your next appointment.

You follow him out to the car. He buckles the baby into the car seat while you get into the passenger seat. “Do you want to get something for lunch before we head home?” Eggsy asks, starting the car. You don’t even hear his question. You are in your own world as you stare out the window. He nudges your shoulder “Y/N??” You look over at him “What!”

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Eggsy repeats.

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want.” By the time you go through the drive thru and get home the baby is asleep. You take her to her bedroom and put her in the crib while Eggsy brings the food into the house. You sit down at the dining room table, barley touching your food.

“You need to eat.” He orders.

You pick up a fry from Eggsy’s food and throw it at him. Looking down, you run your hands through your hair. “We just went through this the other day.”

“Well obviously, you got pregnant before our conversation.”

“It’s not funny.” You mumble, on the verge of tears. Eggsy gets up from his chair and squats down next to you. “Baby don’t cry. We will figure it out.”

“I thought we were done.” The tears fall down your face. “I don’t know if I can handle five kids.”

tag: @deankarnysbitch

#eggsy x reader #Kingsman #eggsy imagine #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton x reader

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vanderlindemorgans · 4 years ago

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you're the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings include some graphic descriptions of blood and injuries and some alcohol consumption. Also I know nothing about Texas or horses.

Read on AO3 | Next Chapter | Masterlist

To say things hadn’t gone to plan would be a dramatic understatement. In his case, however, the results of his arrival in Cambodia had proved even more disastrous than he could have ever imagined. Though really, if he’d have stopped to think about it for even just a second, he would have seen that his plan was doomed to fail from the beginning.

Stalking through the busy streets of Dallas, Jack tried his best to keep as low of a profile as possible - you never knew who could be wandering the city searching for him, and after the stunt he pulled with Eggsy and Harry it could almost be guaranteed that he had some sort of warrant on his head. It was probably foolish of him to even come back to the United States in the first place, but really, where else did he have to go?

He didn’t entirely know where he was going now either. He couldn’t return home, as it would most likely be swarming with Statesman agents and the like hunting for him. He was almost certainly cast out of Statesman for his actions by now, so any former friends he could usually turn to in situations like this would be of no help at this point, considering everything that happened. For once in his life, Jack was well and truly alone. The acknowledgement of that fact itself did nothing to alleviate his anxieties, only doing more to further the ever growing void in his stomach. His eyes darted between the various passersby, none of them taking a single notice of him to his relief. He’d have expected to draw more attention to himself, in fact when he stopped to take a gander at his reflection in one of the shop windows he passed by he was almost stumped as to how he had managed to keep under the radar so well - you couldn’t much see it with the way he kept his head down, but upon closer inspection one could easily spot the large nasty gash of blood split across the side of his cheek, complimenting several different bruises that were forming underneath. His clothes were either torn from navigating through the thicket of the Cambodian jungle or scuffed from his confrontation with the two Kingsman agents. The only part of him that was still in almost perfect condition was his damned hat, surprisingly enough. In the most blatant use of the term, he looked like an absolute wreck. If he weren’t on edge from the constant vigilance of potentially running into one of his former colleagues, he might’ve laughed at himself over it.

Escaping from Eggsy and Harry had been the easy part - they’d left him tied up with his own lasso off to the side, but in all the confusion and spate of heroics in trying to distribute the antidote, they had neglected to keep any sort of watch on him. From there on, all it took was the simple slice of a knife he had hidden away in his back pocket and just like that, he’d slipped away into the shadows, running for his life through the thick and sweltering heat of the jungle. He’d wanted to retreat back to the plane he’d used to travel there in the first place but upon realising that Statesman could use radar to track him, he instead was forced to navigate himself to a nearby airfield used for moving cargo. After that it was just a matter of stowing away on one of the planes to ensure his arrival back in America, touching down in Dallas of all places. Jack was fully aware that he was lucky to have his life - if things had gone differently he’d have ended up with a bullet in his head or something much worse. For that much at least he was somewhat grateful for. Somewhat.

Almost as if by instinct, he drifted towards a bar in the downtown area of the city, stumbling in and being assaulted by the smoke-scented air that greeted him the moment he opened the door. It was by no means a classy place, yet he didn’t much care in that moment. Any place was better than aimlessly wandering the streets like a stray mutt. Striding through the crowds of patrons ranging from tipsy to drunk, he came up towards the bar and pulled a couple of notes from the inside of his jacket pocket. “A glass of whiskey, if ya will” he requested, sliding the notes over to the disinterested bartender on the other side of the counter. Some part of him felt stupid for ordering the drink of his agent namesake, but some side of him felt like reminiscing on old times a bit. In light of him going rogue, they’d most likely be passing on that codename to another agent. Probably to Ginger most likely. He caught himself sneering at the thought of her, a deep burning sense of hate starting to fester in him. He never did like her much.

Taking the glass of whiskey in his hand, he let the warm rush of liquid seep down his throat, feeling consumed by the blazing burn it left on his tongue. So this was how it all ended for him: hiding out in a dingy dive bar, drinking himself to death while he waited for the inevitable. His mind ran over all of his options from there on, running down the short list in less than a minute tops. He had no job, no friends, nowhere to run to, no-one to turn to.

Unless…

Jack’s mind began to nag on something, a faint memory from years long since passed starting to resurface, the face of someone he hadn’t thought of in what felt like forever creeping into his thoughts gradually. He was in Dallas, right? An idea began to form in his head, recalling days spent during the summer out on a ranch north of the city, of your warm smile and intoxicating eyes that one could get lost in. Waving over the bartender, he pondered on his idea further. Would you even want to see him after all this time? He remembered the way things ended between the both of you, the bitterness and bad blood that most likely still lingered.

It was possibly an idiotic idea to begin with. Hell, you might not even be in Dallas anymore: the last time the two of you spoke was at least a good seven years. But it was the only option he had left. Throwing his head back and downing the last remnants of whiskey in his glass, he threw down a couple of extra notes for the bartender on the counter and sauntered off, fully sure of his next course of action. Like it or not, you were his best chance he had of survival. He just hoped that you didn’t hate him too much to turn him away after everything that he put you through.

___

Wiping a line of sweat from your brow, you found yourself cursing the suffocating summer heat. After living there for so many years you thought you’d be used to it but every June through to August the intensity of the blistering sun always managed to take you by surprise. If only you could simply relax a little, lounge by the pool sipping on cognac and smelling of lilacs, without a single care in the world. Instead, you were out in the sun, tending to each of the horses that your ranch housed. You ran a horse riding ranch only a couple of hours outside Dallas, tucked away in the deep necks of the Texan countryside. It was originally your parents business, and you’d practically lived there your whole life. It wasn’t your original plan to take over the family business, some part of you angling for something more than life as a simple ranch hand but when both of them tragically passed only a few years before, you felt you owed it to them in a way to take up the mantle to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Some things didn’t take much adjustment in a way - you’d already known the procedure for cleaning the stables and tending to the horses like the back of your hand, and the inheritance money left behind had made it easier to pack everything up out of your small city apartment to move back home on such short notice. The thing that did take some getting used to was their absence. Stepping back into their well loved home, seeing the photos still hanging on the walls, the folded pages of the books your mother kept on her bedside that would never be opened again, the places where they should be but simply weren’t - that wrecked you more than anything you could ever imagine.

At first you didn’t even sleep inside the house - it was just too painful to see them everywhere around you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to remove the cheerful family photos from the walls, even if it was only for a little while. The first two months back home were spent in the backseat of your car, curled up with a blanket that you’d managed to drag out from the house. You tried to carry on with business as usual but everything felt bleak around you. Some part of you wanted to blame someone, anyone for what happened. Sometimes you’d felt tempted to blame yourself in some way. Eventually, things did become easier. The emotional weight started to lift, and you were able to get through the day without having to take five to pull yourself together. Nothing was the same as before, but the flow of your life started to settle and become something resembling normal again. And that, in your opinion, was probably the best way it could have turned out.

Doing a onceover the stables to check everything was in its correct place, you pulled the large doors closed and surveyed the landscape around you, taking in the stunning visual of the sun beginning to dip below the skyline, mellowing out into a lively and beautiful sunset. With the front gates locked and everything with the horses all taken care of, you trudged back up to the house at the centre of the property, your mind drifting to the glass of liquor you intended to pour yourself the minute you got inside. It had been a long day, full of tiresome frustrations and irritations. Being in the middle of July, your ranch saw frequent visitors, including kids who were out of school and being taken out of the city on a sort of day trip by their parents. That day in particular had involved a birthday party for some kid, and you’d been out there giving riding lessons to the whole group of them.

Usually lessons were conducted by one of your other employees but in cases of events you tended to take on more tasks yourself. To be perfectly blunt about it, the day had gone horribly. Surprisingly enough, the kids were fine, no, the real piece of work was the birthday boy's mother. She’d insisted on trying to take control of every single aspect of the event and was overly critical of every little thing you did, and was an all round exhausting person to deal with. When the party was finally over and everyone had packed up and left, you remembered breathing a huge sigh of relief and thinking “thank fuck, she’s gone”.

Twisting open the front door to your house, you tossed your keys off to the side and immediately set off in search of something to drink. Grazing your fingertips along the refined wooden edges of your liquor cabinet, you pulled on the handles and reached your hand in to select a bottle. What you really wanted was something strong to take off that stressful edge of the day behind you. You felt your eyes settle on a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey stuffed towards the back and couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, a vague memory teetering on the precipice of your mind. Shaking the thought away, you instead choose a bottle of bourbon, placing it on top of the cabinet as you reach for one of the empty glasses stored inside. As you poured a glass for yourself, you felt your mind get lost in a haze, wandering between the events of the past few hours and what you’d planned to do with the rest of your night, and, admittedly something you were ashamed to say, a lingering thought to do with that bottle of whiskey you’d passed on over before. Fucking Jack Daniels, I swear to god…

Your body might as well have been on autopilot then, as you didn’t take any conscious note of anything other than the burn of liquor on your lips. If you hadn’t been so distracted you might have noticed it earlier - the distant sound of footsteps coming closer up the driveway to your house, the sounds turning into thuds the nearer they got. Too lost in your thoughts and too tired from the nightmarish day you endured, you were only pulled from the depths of memory by a loud bang on the front door. Furrowing your brow, you shot a confused and worried glance over to the front of the house, already beginning to feel alerted and wary. Who the hell could that be at this hour?

There was another bang on the door, this one more insistent than the last, and you felt yourself jump at the suddenness of it. Would it even be safe to go answer it? For a minute, you contemplated the idea of ignoring it and pretending you weren’t home, however once you realised whoever was outside could most likely see the lights on from the windows you dismissed that idea with disappointment. You’d have to go answer it, you knew that, but something didn’t feel right to you. Cautiously rising up out of your seat, you took a small step towards the entryway of the house, and through the fear managed to call out “Who’s there?”.

Taking another moment to contemplate whether or not it would be worth fetching a gun for this, you heard the voice of the person on the other side answer back, a voice that had you freeze in a mixture of shock and disbelief the instant you heard it. “Darlin'? It’s...it’s Jack, could you…”.

You didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you had bolted to the door, hastily unlocking the deadbolt and ripping it open to reveal him standing before you. Something in your heart stopped the second you saw him - he was the one person who you never, ever, in a million years ever expected to see again, much less on your front doorstep. You drank in his appearance, the first thing your eyes being drawn to was the large bloody slash across his cheek. His eyes were looking down at you pleadingly, a look you weren’t used to seeing on him. From when you’d known him he’d always looked so confident, so self-assured and pulled together, so to see him so browbeaten and, dare you say, defeated, unnerved you in a way. You could feel your mouth hanging open slightly, the words being there but your mouth being unable to form them, your eyes only fixated on his own dark and vanquished gaze as your mind raced a million miles a minute. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, yet the only thing you were capable of verbalising in your shock was the one question that pushed itself to the forefront of your mind.

“Jesus fuck, Jack, what the hell happened to you?”.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #kingsman #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #yes i write reader insert fic now what about it

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imagines-by-rose · 4 years ago

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Turning Point

Hello again! Have some angst, on the house ;)

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Genre: Angst w/Happy Ending

Warnings: Mentions of Blood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eggsy was running at full tilt through the foggy streets, the echoes of y/n’s anguished screams carried to him over the hard brick. Freezing rain pelted relentlessly against him and formed dark, icy pools at the foot of the surrounding buildings that seemed to loom, stifling, over him from all sides. He heard her shriek his name and was unable to ease his growing panic.

He stumbled on the slick cobblestone when he barreled around the corner, and when he righted himself he was met with blinding police lights, a pile of rubble where his house once stood, and y/n, fighting with all she had to run toward the ruined home against the restraint of two EMTs. An ambulance was parked nearby at the ready.

“NOO! Please! You have to let me find him, please!”

Eggsy weaved untouched through the police blockade. “Y/N!”

She stilled at his call and turned to him in disbelief. Her eyes were wild, and if it weren’t for the rain her hot tears would have left heavy tracks down her reddened cheeks. She doubled over with wracked sobs and fell hard onto her knees.

The EMTs relaxed their hold on her and y/n reached out to Eggsy, desperate. When he finally made it to her she clung to him, white knuckles stark against the dark fabric of his coat. He dropped down to her, holding her as close as he possibly could.

“I’m here, love. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Y/n’s voice strained through broken sobs, her words muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” The mantra fell like a prayer from her lips.

“You’re alive.”

Suddenly it dawned on him. She thought he’d been inside. That he’d been killed. His stomach wrenched when he realized what she must have gone through.

“Oh God, baby, I’m so sorry.” He tightened his grip when she shuddered against him, and he brought a comforting hand to her head. “Shh. Oh, y/n. It’s alright, love. I’m here. It’s okay. I’m okay. I wasn’t home, it’s okay.”

One of the EMTs gestured to him. “Oi. You this Eggsy bloke she’s been on about?”

Eggsy looked up and nodded, y/n’s head still buried in the crook of his neck.

“You mind helpin’ me with her? Been completely mental since she woke up, tryin’ to get back in that bloody house an’ all. She needs to get to a hospital. She’s in shock.”

Eggsy lightly gripped y/n’s arms and pulled away to look her over. His chest seized when he noticed dark streaks of blood dripping down her temple. “What? Baby, you’re hurt. The hell were you thinking running out like that? We’re getting you to a hospital, okay?”

Her face twisted in sorrow. “But you were inside. They said nobody could’ve made it out alive. I couldn’t let them leave without trying to find you -- I wouldn’t just abandon you like that!”

Eggsy tightened his throat, fighting his own emotions. He would deal with them later. Right now he just needed her in that ambulance.

He rubbed his hand in soothing motions down her arm. “I know, love, I know. But I’m here now, yeah? You don’t have to wait anymore. Let the medics help you, sweetheart. They know what to do. Please, baby.”

She lowered her head back onto his shoulder, her energy fading with her adrenaline.

“Will you stay with me?” She whispered, exhausted.

Eggsy looked to the EMT for an answer.

“You can ride in the cab with her, but you can’t interfere, yeah? You’ll have to let us work.”

“Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eggsy sat in the waiting room, anxiously watching the clock. Two hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds later, a doctor came to see him.

She looked around the waiting room. “Mr. Unwin?”

Eggsy practically shot out of his seat. “Is y/n okay? What happened to her?”

“Y/n will recover just fine, Mr. Unwin. As for what happened, we believe she was walking home when the explosion occurred.” She looked over her clipboard. “She’s suffered a concussion, bruised ribs, laceration to her temple…” she returned her gaze to his. “We’re going to keep her overnight for evaluation in case any complications occur, but you can rest assured, Mr. Unwin; she’s going to be alright.”

Eggsy nearly regretted asking when he heard y/n’s injuries, but the news that she would recover was a welcome relief. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. She needs a calm environment, so don’t do anything to make her excited, alright?”

Eggsy gave her a hurried noise of agreement as he made his way down the hall.

The doctor smiled, offering a friendly “She’s in room 3102, by the way!” before Eggsy was out of earshot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n was awake when he entered the room, gauze bandages wrapped near her hairline. She was sitting upright, seemingly calm compared to the state she was in when Eggsy last saw her, but her puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.

He was at her bedside in an instant, all but crushing his lips to hers. He brought a careful hand to her face, wary of her injuries. She laid her hand over his and gave it a small squeeze.

He rested his forehead gently against hers when they parted, his eyes closed in relief. “Hi, baby. How you feeling?”

“I’m fine, bub. Just a little cut is all.”

Eggsy pulled away, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. Y/n didn’t let go of his hand. “Your bandages say different, sweetheart.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I just can’t believe you’re here. You’re okay.”

His brow creased. “Of course it matters, y/n. Why didn’t you go with the EMTs when they told you to?” He tried to keep his voice calm, not wanting her to mistake his fear for anger. “What if your injuries had been worse, love?”

Y/n kept quiet, looking at their entwined hands.

Eggsy sighed. “I need to know that you’re okay, y/n. I need to know that even if I’m not, you will be.”

Her eyes tightened when she looked at him. Her voice lowered in what he thought may be anger, but he wasn’t sure.

“What do you mean, ‘even if you’re not?’” It sounded more like a command than a question.

He took a moment to choose his words, drawing a long breath through his nose. When his gaze returned to her his eyes were steeled. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but the tailor shop isn’t just a tailor shop. It's a front. I work for an organization much like MI6 called Kingsman.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. “So you’re…an agent.”

“Yes. And I’m not going to lie to you about this, y/n. That missile was meant for me. I just happened to not be home, and I’m so glad you weren’t either. But this…” he shook his head, biting his lip, “this was too close. I can’t-- I won’t sacrifice your safety because of my job.”

“Eggsy, I swear to God if you even think about leaving me because of some macho bullshit like duty or honor I will--”

He cut her off with a dry laugh. “No, no, I’m not leaving. I would never leave you, love. But we’re going to have to live differently from now on. We’ll have to be more careful; set up some ground rules and safewords. But that’s selfish of me. I shouldn’t just-- I can’t presume to know what you want. That’s why I have to ask,” he lowered his head slightly, lips drawn and eyes careful, “would you rather live a normal life,” his voice quieted, “or stay with me?”

He was doing his best to remain stoic, y/n knew. But she didn’t miss the tension in his jaw, or the nearly imperceptible twitch in his brow. He was scared. Scared she’d choose normalcy over him.

As if.

“Is that even a question? Of course I’m staying with you, Eggsy.”

“And you know what you’re agreeing to? This life isn’t easy, love. This won’t be the last attack on--”

“I don’t care about that. I love you, you know. You and JB died in front of me today, as far as I knew.”

Eggsy winced. Y/n brought her free hand to his jaw, prompting him to meet her gaze. “But now you’ve come back to me. You’re here.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m spending the rest of my life with you, no matter what.”

She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her, their lips crashing together once again. Eggsy’s tongue flicked across her lips which she parted eagerly. He brought his hands to her face, smoothing his thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks. Her breath hitched when he moved to kiss down her jaw to her neck, where he sucked on the tender skin. She whined when he pulled away, her lips unconsciously trailing after him.

He rested his head on her shoulder, breathless. “I know, ‘m sorry, love. But we can’t have you getting too worked up, yeah? Doctor’s orders.”

Y’n leaned back with a huff. “You’re such a fucking tease, Unwin. You know that?”

He laughed, pressing a sweet kiss to her shoulder. “You’re right, I’m the absolute worst. Just think of it as motivation to get better, yeah? We’ve got a wild ride ahead of us, love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#eggsy unwin #eggsy imagine #eggsy unwin x reader #taron egerton #Kingsman #kingsman golden circle #kingsman secret service #kingsman imagine

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madamebaggio · 4 years ago

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OMG! They were roommates Daisy Johnson (Agents of SHIELD) x Eggsy Unwin (The Kingsman)

as chosen by me.

***

“You’re a terrible influence.” Eggsy accused from his side of the couch.

“Right.” Daisy snorted. “Just because I don’t let you act all posh inside the house?”

“I’m trying to be something different, you know?” Eggsy grumbled.

“Good for you, bro.” She teased. “You don’t need to be a completely different person all the time.” Daisy pointed out. “You can still be the same person you were before, just more mature. You’re a spy, you can be anyone you want.”

“Why can’t I be posh?” He insisted.

She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “Because the moment you get an excuse to not act posh you grab it. You don’t like it.” Daisy pressed. “You put on those suits, carry that umbrella and talk like a lord, but that’s not who you are.” She turned fully to him on the couch. “And that’s fine.” She told him firmly. “You changed as a person, and those were good changes. You became more responsible, learned to focus and you found a purpose. But that doesn’t mean that everything about you was bad. You don’t have to completely erase the Eggsy you used to be.”

Eggsy narrowed his eyes at her. “How come you’re so smart?”

Daisy narrowed her eyes back at him, but she was grinning. “It’s a girl thing.” She teased.

Eggsy snorted, but Daisy was glad to see him relaxing again.

Since SHIELD and the Kingsman had partnered up for the time being, Daisy was living in Eggsy’s house -he’d offered.

They had a lot of fun together; they were both more easy-going than the rest of the other agents, they liked the same tv shows and Daisy enjoyed the beer Eggsy normally bought. They thought similarly and managed to work things out in their own way.

Merlin and Coulson learned that sending them together in missions was always the best way to get work done.

They were also quite aware of the gossip that happened behind their backs. They knew everyone was just waiting for them to say they were together -there was a rumor that Dagonet had a bet going.

They weren’t dating.

Yet.

Daisy had the impression that they were both convinced they were going to. At some point, it would just make sense and they’d start dating. At least that was how she felt. She wasn’t pinning for Eggsy -as if -but she liked him -a lot -and she just felt that they were going to date eventually.

It wasn’t immediately, and she didn’t know if it would be tomorrow or the day after; she just knew it was bound to happen.

She didn’t know for a fact that Eggsy felt the same way, but he’d said things once or twice that made her think he did.

“If you’re so smart, how come we aren’t dating yet?” He teased.

Daisy almost choked on her beer. “Jesus, Eggsy. Some warning, please?”

He snorted.

“I was waiting for you to move your English ass.” She threw at him.

Eggsy hummed and took a sip from his drink. “Good to know.”

She rolled her eyes.

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #gifs not mine #tropes #fanfiction tropes #they were roommates #AU #Kingsman #Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.#Daisy Johnson #eggsy unwin #daisy x eggsy

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fireinmoonshot · 5 years ago

Photo

A/N: This is a masterlist for my AGENT WHISKEY x READER fics from the KINGSMAN fandom. Everything on this list was written between September 2017 and December 2021, though it will be updated accordingly if I decide to write for Whiskey again in the future!

ONE SHOTS

Love Again - 1.3k (Agent Whiskey falls in love for the first time since losing his high school sweetheart.)

Accidental Romance - 1.1k (Agent Whiskey intends for you only to be a short fling, but he’s gotten himself into more than he bargained for.)

Trust - 1.4k (You’re the only reason Whiskey regrets his choice to try and go against the Kingsman.)

Frustration - 1.9k (You have to seduce the enemy for information. Whiskey is frustrated.)

Better Than You Thought - 918 (Kingsman!Reader)

Hidden Crush - 1.8k (Reader is a techie, like Ginger, and Whiskey is shy about his crush on you. Eggsy picks up on it. He’s a bit of a tease about Whiskey’s crush.)

Confident Seduction - 1.8k (Kingsman!Reader flirts right back when Whiskey tries to flirt. He can’t help but develop feelings after seeing your confidence.)

Memory - 1.9k (You lose your memory after being brought back to life at Statesman, and Whiskey tries to make you remember him.)

Telling You - 894 (Whiskey confesses that he loves you.)

Miscommunication - 861 (Whiskey is told, after a mission gone wrong, that you’re dead. When you show up alive, are you a ghost or are you real? He doesn’t know.)

Screw Tradition - 871 (During a panic attack on your wedding day, only one person can help you.)

1.4k - After being rejected by Clara, Whiskey flirts with you instead.

Regrets - 3.1k (You tag along on the mission to Italy to retrieve Poppy’s antidote with Whiskey and Eggsy – problem is, you and Whiskey have slowly been falling for each other for months.)

Reluctant Birthday Celebrations (You and Whiskey celebrate his birthday.)

DRABBLES

“If you loved me, you’d fight for it. If you loved me, you’d show it. If you loved me, you’d fight for me. Do you even know what love is?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Why are we at a strip club?” / “Are you– are you flirting with me?”

“Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving.”

“What’s with the box?” / “I don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you.”

“Am I dead?” / “Are– are you flirting with me?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” / “Please pretend to be my girlfriend/boyfriend.”

“When you smile, I fall apart.” / “Oh my God! You’re in love with her!”

“I will not hesitate to murder you.” / “I don’t know who I am without you.”

“Well. Yell, scream, say something, anything.”

“Wait, you’re my soulmate?”

“We can’t lose each other, we just can’t.” / “I just don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you.”

“I told you not to fall in love with me.” / “H–how long have you been standing there?”

“I told you not to fall in love with me.” / “You’re wrong and I’ll prove it.”

“This is by far the most stupid plan you’ve ever created. Of course I’m in.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“I never imagined myself in a wedding dress.” / “Just marry me already.”

“Does your life revolve around embarrassing me?” / “Hey, have you seen my– Oh!”

“Just hold me.” / “You’re the best part of me.”

“I’m going to kiss you now.” / “You’re wrong and I’ll prove it.”

“This is by far the most stupid plan you’ve ever created. Of course I’m in.” / “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh, this isn’t a costume. This is my natural state of being.”

“Can you please help me carry this pumpkin inside my house? It’s like three times bigger than me.”

“Make me.” / “For some reason I’m attracted to you.”

“We should do a couples costume.” / “We’re not a couple, though.”

“October ain’t October until someone has their head stuck in a pumpkin.”

“We all know that __ will be the first to die.” / “It’s my nightmare come to life.”

“Why are you just sitting there? RUN!”

“Stop looking at me like that.” / “Just say it is okay. I need to hear you say that.”

“I trusted you.” / “I don’t know who I am without you.”

“He creeped me out. I’m not gonna lie.”

“D–did you just make that noise?” / “You leave whenever you feel like it.”

“You got a cute butt.” / “Oh, did I scare you, big boy?”

“Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” / “Ew, your hand is sweaty.”

“Please, please, please ignore that mistletoe.”

Whiskey trains you as a Statesman.

“Will you please remove him from my sight?” / “Do you really think I’m royalty?”

“Who ate all the advent calendar chocolates?”

“Where do you think you’re going? It’s not safe out there!”

“Well, what did you expect would happen when you’re walking alone at night? Come on, let’s get you away from that creep.”

“It’s New Years. Aren’t we supposed to be making out?” / “I don’t love you.”

“[choked up] I thought I lost you.” / [choked up] I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Please don’t let me be alone.” / “Why are you shaking?”

“I heard that!” “You were supposed to!”

“It’s four o’clock, don’t you think you should fuck off?”

“Are you in trouble?”

“I’d feel better if you kissed me.”

A cold winter’s night

HEADCANONS

Fluffy Whiskey.

Being married to Whiskey.

Whiskey taking care of a sick reader.

First Date with Whiskey.

Being married + working at Statesman together.

First pregnancy/first child

Whiskey liking a nurse at Statesman.

Whiskey flirting with a fellow Statesman.

Whiskey as a father and a husband.

Whiskey dating a Kingsman agent.

Whiskey + PDA.

Dating someone younger than him.

First Kiss with Whiskey.

Whiskey dating an Italian reader.

Whiskey + jealousy.

Whiskey dating an artist.

Whiskey with a s/o wanting to adopt.

Whiskey being someone’s first boyfriend.

Whiskey + a stubborn, headstrong s/o.

Whiskey meeting your parents.

Whiskey crushing on an agent in New York.

Whiskey reacting to your supposed ‘death’ after a mission.

#agent whiskey #masterlist #kingsman #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman x reader #kingsman x you #my gif #moonshot masterlist

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fuckyeahharryhart · 4 years ago

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HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

KINGSMAN III Fan Fiction REDACTED Part 1 (in case they mess up the last Kingsman movie)

Because I’m both excited an afraid of what they are planning for the last Kingsman. I, as well as A LOT of people were pissed that they killed off Merlin, let alone all the others. This is my Fan Fic for what I thought should happen in Kingsman 3 and how they could possibly bring Merlin back....And A LOT of Harry Hart, and some new characters, too..

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,900

Summary: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

-----

PART 1

The evening was still warm and pleasant as the sun dropped behind the last of the buildings overlooking the London skyline. For a few brief moments, when the final rays of light glanced off the windows facing the west, the sky seemed to flame.

The sun struggled to hold its place, but as it conceded, the day began its transition into night. A new energy would begin to blanket the momentary quiet streets.

So the sun set on another day in London. Saville Row stilled once more as store fronts closed up and settled down for the evening.

Further along the walk, two gentleman were about to descend the stone steps of one of the shops. One man stood a little taller, a little older, more distinguished than the other. Both were impressively attired, as would be the case if they were in the company’s employ. But of course, this was to be expected. What this street was best known for was being the undeniable home of hand-crafted British bespoke - thus named because when customers used to choose their cloth it was said to "be spoken for".

The older gentleman, the taller of the two, had broad shoulders and a lean figure, with long legs and a silhouette that suggested strength and movement. The younger man, though shorter, had a compact, sturdy build with a wide chest and a distinctly strong jaw line, sandy hair and blue eyes. He had the shape and movements of an athlete, and the personality to match. Gregarious, enthusiastic, like a puppy who was just beginning to grow into his paws.

It might have been the younger man’s youthful exuberant energy and confidence that caught your eye, but it was the older man whose quiet, distinguished gravitas that held your gaze and kept it.

As twilight embarked on its journey to introduce the night sky, the new Kingsman shop glowed with golden light among the dark streets of London. In the heart of Savile Row, the street was, perhaps, a bit too quiet.

The younger man was jesting the older in the manner of both a comrade and a son. And with the patience of both a father and the derision of an older brother, the man, resigned to be the long suffering confidant, obliged the mischief with a somewhat exasperated, but affable, good nature.

“So.” The younger man queried. “You gonna get one of them new Kingsman cars for your birthday?”

He eyed him with a sideways glance. “What would you know of my birthday?” the stately gentleman countered, skeptical.

“Know it was long time ago.” He chaffed under his breath.

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it.” He replied briskly.

“You gonna have a do?”

“Rubbish.” “ he replied, unamused.

“You should.”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind.” However, the quip in his voice and his doubtful expression suggested that he had already dismissed the notion as utterly preposterous.

They both took the steps down to the pavement and toward the waiting car. The new taxis, upgraded with first rate technology, were still in production. In the meantime, hire cars were made available for their use.

“When are the Kingsman cars gonna be ready, anyway?”

The older man he reached down to unlock the car door. He was about to reply when the key fob was shot out of his hand.

Apparently, not soon enough, he thought as he dropped down to the ground. Who ever had taken that shot was sending a message, and if the message included bullets, it was best to fall below the line of fire.

More gunfire erupted, this time from a different direction. Mayhem, of course. He sighed. Would he never be able to enjoy a quiet evening ever again? Perhaps he was getting too old for this.

His expectations for a peaceful, uneventful evening were simply entertainment for a higher power. Every time one makes a plan, he thought reaching for his own weapon, God laughs. He would be sure to bear that in mind next time.

——

If the word gentleman were to take on a physical shape, that shape would look like Harry Hart. If you were in his presence, you had no choice but to look at him. No other option existed. It was as if there were an unseen magnetic force that held your gaze upon him.

Harry Hart was a man you saw immediately. He carried an air of timelessness. There was neither a sense of young or old. Nor future or past. He was both modern and old world. He was a contradiction that somehow made perfect sense.

He was an arresting figure. From his dark horn rimmed glasses, all the way down to the impeccable shine of his black Oxford shoes. The immaculate cut of his bespoke suit emphasized the sleek masculine lines of his body and he carried himself as naturally and as easily as though he was born to wear it.

The suit seemed to enhance his movements, rather than hinder or constrict. He presented a certain ease and grace of movement, as if the lines of the suit knew how he moved and thus moved with him. But even as he grew still, the suit would hang perfectly in place. Only a slight movement of his hand would smooth out his jacket or a flick of the wrist to adjust his cuff links.

He existed as if being Harry Hart was effortless. Without a hint of doubt or hesitation. A man who was never one to question his purpose in life or in his work.

There was no denying, that even in his late fifties, that Harry Hart was a handsome man. Each individual feature was attractive, but it was the man, as a whole, that was truly beautiful. He was the kind of being that if he were to walk by, he would turn the heads of both men and women. All intrigued for reasons they wouldn’t be able to explain in words.

If you asked someone in passing what he looked like, they would say he was handsome. But if queried further they would be curiously unable to recall any exact details of his physical appearance.

It was the rare quality of a person completely at ease in his own skin, who never doubted the reason for his existence or the meaning of his life. Who does not need or desire anything that lies outside the present moment. He possessed a rare, undefined quality that communicated without speaking a word. It said honor, integrity, decency and benevolence.

Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts.

Yet, one could not deny that he was a man of exemplary physical characteristics. If you had the opportunity to sit and observe him for longer than a passing moment, you would determine that his presence, his immediacy, was also due to the fact that he was a very tall man, a substantial man, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and long legs that were able to carry him with a grace and elegance that was inimitable.

Looking more closely, you would notice the pleasing structure of his face, clear, golden brown eyes below a strong brow and a smooth broad forehead. His hair was a light brown, made even lighter by the dusting of silver at his temples and around his ears. His hair was combed back and styled into smooth waves, but if left on its own you suspect that it would be a little wild, a little untamed.

He also exuded strength and power, but not in a purely physical sense, for his suit covered his body from the nape of his neck to the soles of his feet. These qualities seemed a part of him, naturally. He was not a man who worked out for vanity. His strength was not an end to achieve, in and of itself, but rather the means for a greater purpose. As opposed to the bulk muscle of a weight lifter, whose strength was inert, motionless, without purpose, whose power lacked a driving force. Harry’s strength seemed lighter, more balanced and suggested the movement of a precision instrument, guided by an expert hand.

If, perchance, you were able to see him in his own surroundings or with people close to him, you would be able to glimpse the finer points of his character.

That his clear brown eyes could see into anyone he chose to observe. He had the ability to maintain eye-contact with a singular focus that was unwavering, direct, sometimes disconcertingly so. He could speak as clearly with his gaze as he could with words. Or, if needed, close himself off to any inquiries that might not be welcome.

But also, those brown eyes, with just a little softening, could exude kindness, warmth, and affection. Or at other times, a twinkle of amusement or mischief. Maybe a slight narrowing, a hint of displeasure, maybe concern, a glint of approval.

Perhaps, in a quiet moment, you had the chance to hear his voice. Deep and calm, soothing even. Articulate. He was not known for his garrulousness, so the words he did speak were deliberate, communicating precisely what he wanted to say. Measured pauses of silence were often as eloquent as his words.

Surprisingly, he was a more quiet man. You expected his voice to be louder, but then you realized that his tone and his pace were calculated. He wanted whoever he was speaking with to be present and concentrate on his words.

But just underneath the steady low, tones you could hear the steely vibrations of a more dominant voice. Just as his physicality suggested a latent power he only need to tap into. Never one to shout or yell to be heard, all he needed to do was unleash that forceful voice to ensure the attention of those around him.

Unknowingly to those around him, all of these features made Harry Hart a lethal and ruthless secret agent with the ability to annihilate his enemies with ease. His mind was sharp and exacting, honed by years of training, experience in the field, and natural talent and skill. Combined with his physical prowess and his innate unflappable nerve, he was nearly unstoppable.

Yet, even beyond these features, could be found a hint of something more, a softness, a gentleness, a kindness and a vulnerability. If only someone took the time to look for them.

—

In the hushed shadows of the evening, as the sky blackened and welcomed the night, a lone figure stood in the shelter of the darkness. A female figure, though it would be difficult to tell at first glance. Ambiguously attired in appropriate, but unremarkable clothing. She was tall and slight. Her features were obscured beneath the cap she wore. Which was her intention.

Her objective was to observe, and even so, remain unseen. To achieve this, she had to be unmemorable, forgettable, average, so she could continue her surveillance without raising scrutiny. Careful not to linger too long in one spot, she continued to move steadily in the direction of the two men. She remained within the shadows between buildings, in a store front, near a set of stairs.

She maintained her air of causal nonchalance. Under the pretext of quietly browsing at the collection of mens wear and accessories, she paused on the landing of a closed shop. As would anyone just getting off of work and arrived too late, after the shop closed and chose to stay and window shop. The two men were conversing as they closed up.

Keeping a close eye on her subjects, she simultaneously scanned for possible counter surveillance. Watching out for other people, watching her as she watched her mark. Recording all the people she saw along the street, the make and models of the cars that drove past, any subtle shifts in the temperature and feel of her surroundings. An aspect that appeared out of place, shop lights that remained on past closing, a delivery lorry that arrived behind schedule. Anything that fell beyond the edges of the routine she had documented over the past four weeks. Her sharp sense of hearing, honed to listen and analyse approaching sounds, vehicles, the footsteps of nearby people, their gait, speed and direction, would alert her to any suspicious activity that was out of her immediate view.

After all, Kingsman was a covert intelligence agency, performing under the umbrella of a bespoke tailor shop. but in the end, they were all just spies practicing tradecraft.

——

For the last fortnight, the routine of the two men remained the same. Surprisingly sedate and unremarkable. They would meet at the shop in the mornings, between 8:00- 8:30am. Opening hours were 9am to 5:30 am during the week from Mondays to Friday. Saturdays were 10am to 3pm or by appointment. Closed on Sundays. They followed this schedule diligently, which simplified her task. Perhaps there were some outings during the day for either of them. As the days passed, one indistinguishable from the next, she began to suspect that they had a secondary location.

It would make sense. Kingsman was their backstop, their front organization so they could keep their intelligence operations secret. Many individuals entered the doors to their shop. Some stayed suspiciously longer than others. After detailing the amount of foot traffic stepping through their shop, she gathered that they must have an ancillary site, or an annex, whether it be at this location, or somehow connected.

An unusual number of clients entered the store, but the corresponding number of customers did not exit the shop. With the size of the shop, the footprint of space that was available, she estimated there to be at least three fitting rooms in addition to the showroom, workshop, a studio, and perhaps a small living area. The shops of Saville Row were not known for being expansive. Most could be termed cozy if one was being generous. She highly doubted that the number of well dressed men that she saw entering the shop, but not leaving, were entertaining themselves with tea and biscuits and conversation for most of the day. However, at the onset of the eve, without fail, after she was able to distinguish the clients from the employees, one by one, like rabbits out of a warren, they stepped out from the front doors and disappeared into the city for whatever evening they had planned.

—

Her first fortnight was spent mapping out the city, learning its lines of traffic, communication and commerce, so she could build an internal map in her head. At sunrise, she was a figure on the move. Walking one day, riding the Tube the next. She traveled up and down the streets. She took the Overground, the tram, the light rail. But mostly she walked. She walked through the markets with their fresh bread and curries and trendy second hand clothing. One day the Tate Modern stood to her right. The following day she walked past with the Natural History Museum on her left. She noted how the morning light struck the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and how the sunset on the two western towers of Westminster Abbey. She crossed the River Thames via the London Bridge and then crossed back by the Tower Bridge on her return. She walked from Piccadilly Circus to Leicester Square and then around to the National Portrait Gallery.

Though the sites were beautiful, she wasn’t sightseeing. However, she was, indeed taking mental snapshots wherever she went.

She wasn’t memorising routes.

She was learning the lay of the land.

She was following the flow of the River Thames.

She was reading the structure of the city.

She was noticing points of convergence.

She was looking for routine and repetition.

She was identifying patterns.

She sought out patterns from the cities routes to the naming of streets. If she had to go on the run, time wouldn’t stop so she could check her phone or ask for directions. She needed to know where she was going, and if she needed to, how to get back. Knowing where she’d just been was as important as knowing where she was going. So the same way she was mapping where she was going, she utilised a post-route mental street mapping technique to backtrack. Reliance on technology could be a weakness and she made a point to “go analog” when it was opportune. And if her confidence yielded to encroaching doubt, she always circled back to square one.

Always remember your training.

She was trained to look for signs of directions no matter where she was.

And to do that, she first had to establish a known point.

——

She commandeered Kingsman as her known point, a sort of home base, but for mapping purposes. She used it rather than her hotel since it was the main site of her surveillance. It was the logical choice. If she mapped properly she would be able to maintain where she was in relation to the shop no matter where she was in the city. Having Kingsman as her known point helped her connect the mental map she was creating in her head to the physical landscape of the city. If she ever found herself lost, she could use her known point as a sort of primitive means of navigation. All roads lead back to Kingsman, she thought with irony. For her, they actually did.

From her known point, she determined where north, south, east and west were. In any direction she went, no matter how near or far, she continued to add on to her mental map, making it more comprehensive and precise. The architecture of the city was invaluable. She used the landmarks to help her navigate distance, direction, and orientation. If it was a full overcast day, she wouldn’t be able to rely on the sun’s location in the sky to determine time and orientation. But if she knew the history of the city or how the architecture was initially planned, she could use structures as directional indicators. Studying which sides of a structure shows bleaching or corrosion could also help her determine cardinal directions or aid in maintaining a “heading” of travel without drawing attention herself, without seemingly wandering around lost.

Half of this knowledge she would never have to use. Hell, 99% would just be filed away, never to have an occasion to be helpful. But today’s preparation determined tomorrow’s achievement. Or, depending on her mood, as one “Big Ben” once said, “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.” Regardless of attitude, she had to be prepared for any scenario. There would be no second chances. She had no safe house, no handler guiding her, no fancy tech at her fingertips. Every operation of hers was a black operation. If there was blowback, she was the first and last in line. There was no station that she could return to, no case officer to back her up, no one to offer her operational security, no diplomatic cover, no plausible deniability. There was no protocol she could follow for what she had planned. She was acting purely on instinct and intuition and the intelligence that was already in her possession. It was all she had. SHE was all she had. She was all she ever had.

——

When she first arrived in the city, she was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the city itself, true, like it was a living and breathing entity. But mostly, she was overwhelmed by the purpose of her journey. Her reason for being in London. It was a delicate mission with an uncertain outcome and could easily be derailed by a single misstep. She was determined not to make one. Hence the extra time for reconnaissance and surveillance. Failure was unthinkable.

She had journeyed from Paris, underneath the channel, to London via Eurostar. The high speed train was clean and modern. It ran on time. She found the seats comfortable. The Wifi connection was strong and she had plenty of outlets to charge her many devices. She was pleased to avoid Heathrow, as she found the whole process of flying a test of her patience. When she arrived at London St. Pancras International in the evening, she collected her few belongings. Which mostly consisted of her laptop, two smart phones and a tablet. Securing her bags, she stepped off the train, onto the platform and followed the flow of arriving travellers.

When the station opened up to a huge concourse, she was greeted with the sparkle of brightly lit, colourful shops. An impressive range of high end luxury stores and boutiques, selling everything from perfume, to crystal, to gourmet foods. Bars and restaurants were brimming with patrons. Clinking glassware, the shuffle of plates and silverware underscored the many voices all layered within their conversations. Among the droves of people, there were the homecomers and those who were departing for their own destinations. Immersing her senses with the spirit of the evening, her pace subsided until she halted to a standstill. She was a rock that split the stream of travellers and they flowed on either side of her. She felt them pass by. They posed little interest to her. She asked herself, one final time, if she was doing the right thing. She stood underneath beams of the vaulted ceiling that curved high overhead. She witnessed all of these people, coming together, converging, merging on this one spot, this open space where paths meet.

She took a deep breath in. She took a long breath out.

She hoped that the path she had chosen was the right one.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder she stepped into the stream and disappeared within the throng of journeyers, the transients, and the seekers.

-----

Back at Saville Row, at the top of the street, she spotted the front end of a dark blue, two door Vauxhall Corsa turn the corner. Twice now, she had seen the same vehicle drive past. The likelihood of the same car, navigating the one way streets and having to backtrack to come around the same corner a third time, was not happenstance. It might be the third most common car in London, but when the plate had the identical three letter identifier, HFK, it was not a coincidence, and in fractions, she was fully alert.

The length of Saville Row, from one end to the other was less than 900 feet. Which left her with only heartbeats to decide what to do. Asking herself “what if” would burn through seconds she did not have. That was a rabbit hole not to fall into. The best way to stay calm and focused was to decide what to do next. A suspicious car rolling down the street could mean anything, from something as simple and innocuous as a tail, to something as dangerous as a kidnapping, to an attack with possible devastating effects, if they had a VBIED, a vehicle borne improvised explosive device.

Clearing her mind of anything outside her assessment of the possible threat, she processed the information in-front of her. Having something to concentrate allowed her mind to remain focused no matter what was happening in the background.

Identify the problem. When you saw hoof prints, you thought horse, not zebra. The circumstances were less than ideal for a kidnapping; the vehicle too small, the street too prominent, two targets rather than one. For a VBIED, while it could be a VERY effective way to eliminate two targets at once, unless they were thinking of suicide bombing, the vehicle should have been set up in advance with a trigger mechanism to ignite the device, like a pressure plate or a vibration switch. Could their taxi have been booby trapped with a device? She observed no suspicious activity. Was there another vehicle on the street that could be hooked up with a secondary explosive device? Certainly, an effective means of blocking the entire area against police and emergency staff. The blue Corsa could be used as a road block or could carry a remote trigger. Two explosions, without knowing the payload of the bombs, could not only be devastating, but catastrophic. The rabbit hole was slipping under her feet. Too many “what if’s”. She stepped back from the edge and bet on the horse.

Once again, she closed the door to any uncertainties. What kind of problem was this? She recognised the set up for a drive by shooting when she saw one.

Something was going to happen next regardless of what she did. So when that something happened, she wanted to be the deciding factor. Again, what to do next?

Shooting the vehicle would only incapacitate their transportation. They would still be dangerous. She could take out the windshield and the driver at the same time. But they would surely have a second shooter, especially for two targets, and he would still be active and armed. Plus, if she had time to take out the second man, that meant the second man had time to take out one of his targets. One out of two was still one too many for her. Which led her to her course of action.

For the two men to survive, they needed to get down. And she wasn’t talking about ducking. Not dodging, not looking for cover. They needed to hit the ground, and hit it fast. With feeling. Her options? If she just pulled a warning shot, chances were likely that they would look around for the source of the gunshot, and there was no way to distinguish her shots as “friendly fire”. Friendly fire could still kill, regardless of the intent. The bullet didn’t care why it was fired. When there were bullets coming in your direction from an unknown gunman, it was all enemy fire.

Because of their training, they would react instinctively to the sound of gunshots. Experience would tell them to take cover, quick draw their own weapons, and return fire in the direction of where the shots came from. For once, she cursed their skills. When the target was not aware that the gunshot they just heard was friendly fire or a warning shot, that just meant that the shooter aimed and missed. Thus the shooter was a poor shot, giving them a chance to shoot back.

She needed to make her threat as immediate as she could. Instinct would tell them the only option for survival was taking cover. A shot above their heads would definitely get their attention, but that still didn’t guarantee that they would move out of the line of fire. Not her line of fire, but from the threat. A single shot had to tell them she could have easily killed them, the bullet did not miss, the shot was intentional, and the message was, GET DOWN NOW. Bonus points if they rolled. That would be even better. Where to take that shot? If she missed her target, well, saying that would be bad, would be the understatement to understate all statements.

Firing her gun was her last option. Regrettably, it was her only option. She was carrying illegally, and with no doubt, would alert both sides to her presence. Even though they would have minimal information, she preferred they didn’t even know that information existed.

Many things would result from putting her gun into play. If she used her gun for a warning shot, then she had to be prepared to be directly involved in a fire fight. And if she was going to be in a firefight, she damn well was going to come out on top. And if she was forced to fight, she would sure as hell fight to win.

She processed all of this in the matter of seconds. Her weapon was drawn before her last thought completed its message.

Her final thought. Fuck.

She wasn’t extravagant with her choice of firearms. She preferred performance and reliability over looks. A Glock 26 sub-compact was her pick for conceal carry. It had less recoil, more on target accuracy, and a fast rate of fire for a gun of its size. Compact enough to be easily concealed, even on her slim frame. A shoulder holster was her carry position of choice. Other positions risked printing. It still had sufficient barrel length to get decent performance out of her ammunition. Ten round magazines were her preference, though it had the capacity for more. She found it cumbersome on the field and only used larger capacity mags when she was target practicing. With the smaller barrel, it had a little more lift than her full size weapon, the Glock 19, but she could compensate easily for the difference between the two. She always kept one in the chamber, ready to be fired. Now she was very glad she did.

The blue coupe rolled toward the men at a deliberate pace as they descended the few steps to the pavement. Tinted windows and the glare of the streets lights blocked her view of the car’s interior. She kept its position in the periphery of her mind. As she drew her weapon, she was comforted by its familiar weight, shape, feel, and the trust that she had with the nuances of its operation. When her weapon was on her, whether holstered or drawn, it became, essentially, an extension of her own body, and thus, was as personal to her as the hands that used it.

No matter where or how she shot her weapon, whether it be for practice, self defence, or to kill, she always returned to the same training, every single time, no matter her target. Repetition, after all, was mastery.

Accuracy was paramount. The biggest lesson she had ever learned? If you didn’t hit what you intended to, you would, of course, hit something else. And you were the one responsible for it. Guns didn’t miss, shooters missed. The bullet would land wherever the muzzle and front sight were pointed when the trigger was engaged. If she didn’t hit her mark, it happened because her front sight and the muzzle were pulled, pushed or jerked out of alignment with the straight line between her eye and her target. And if it deviated, it did so because of the way she manipulated the trigger. Basically, a missed shot was down to user error.

When firing her weapon, she always came back to the relationship between her front sight, rear sight, trigger, her eye and the target.

The more precise the shot, the more precise her sight picture had to be. And this had to be one of the most precise shots she’d ever had to take out in the field. What had she been thinking about understatements?

Well, whatever she thought fell aside and she focused singularly on the task in front of her.

She adopted her modified weaver stance, by instinct. Feet a little wider than shoulder width. Knees soft. Dominant foot slighty behind the other. Her weight was evenly distributed, but she was leaning forward just slightly and angled away from her target. Basically, a boxer’s recovery stance.

She looked at the exact spot on the target that she wanted to hit

She visualized a straight line between her eye and that spot.

She raised her weapon and brought it up to eye level.

She relaxed her grip until it felt natural.

She made sure that front and rear sight intersected the line she drew between her eye and the target.

She levelled the top of the front sight with the top of the rear sight.

She changed her eye focus from the spot on the target to the front of her gun, until her sharp focus centered on the front site.

She could still see her target in line in the distance.

She softened and relaxed the muscles of her face until it felt peaceful.

She shifted her weight just the tiniest bit to the balls of her feet to minimise the lift of the muzzle.

She curled her index finger around the face of the trigger until it nested in the perfect spot.

At the bottom of her exhalation, with just the amount of pressure necessary, no more no less, she smoothly pressed the trigger straight back to the rear.

The sharp report rang in her ears. As the muzzle lifted from the recoil, she kept her focus on the top of the front sight, and maintained alignment with the invisible thread that was pulled tight from her eye, completing her follow throughprecisely at the same time as her bullet hit its mark.

All of this happened, seamlessly, without hesitation, within fractions of a second. In situations such as these time and space had no meaning.

She had just triggered, pun intended, a chain of events that she hoped wouldn’t end in bloodshed. But if it did, she had faith that it wouldn’t be theirs.

The two men fell to the ground, already reaching to draw their own weapons. Without a second thought, she adjusted her aim and stance toward the vehicle that was now passing by the store front. Its window was rolled down and she could see the barrel of a large handgun materialise from the darkness. A shot fired in their direction. She didn’t bother noting the make and model of the gun. Most likely an illegal side arm. Her whole process started from the beginning once more, this time with the anticipation that she may have multiple targets to shoot between.

Her next shot hit the barrel of the weapon before it could pull a second round.

She stole a quick glance at the two men on the ground. Shit. Rather than lining up with the shooters in the car, the older gentleman immediately turned his head in her direction. He was looking for the original shooter. He was good, he nearly zeroed in on her exact location despite gunfire coming from two separate sources. She weighed her options. She could pull back so as not to be seen, but if she did, she would no longer have sight on the car. She could not be certain that they had been incapacitated and without being certain, she couldn’t drop her cover fire position. It would leave the two men vulnerable.

With misgiving, she stayed in place. And, fuck, for a split second their eyes met. She and the car both pulled off one last shot, hers hitting, theirs missing the mark before the vehicle decided that the unknown in the equation was more than they had bargained for. They sped off without her getting a good look at the passengers. They were banking on the element of surprise but she had knocked all of their chips off the table before they could cash out.

Gunfire, uncommon in the streets of London, especially in high traffic, upscale areas like Saville Row, would definitely be suspicious. Reports would be made to the police. She wasn’t sure what the protocol for the two Kingsman were, if they would handle the situation as civilians or remain under the cover of Kingsman, which operated outside the rules of law. She wasn’t waiting around to find out.

She holstered her weapon, adjusted her face and body to a person of no significance or consequence, turned, and took her leave in the opposite direction.

----If you got this far, thanks for reading! First time for a posting a longer fanfic. Apologies for any first timer quirks. Let me know what you think! Liked it, loved it, hated it, burn it, no worries, all feedback is welcome. (but of course, I hope you had at least kinda an enjoyable time.) ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO REBLOG or send to someone who might be interested.

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perksofbeingatallpotato · 5 years ago

Text

The One where Eggsy Called Harry a Sly Dog

Harry Hart x Reader Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 1,084 A/N: Hey guys, It’s been a while! I’ve finally managed to finish writing a fic this quarantine. How are you all doing? I hope you and your family is in good health. This fic was inspired by @verdonafrost‘s ask a few months ago. I hope this is good enough, and thanks again for reading my fics! Hope you will all enjoy this. Stay safe!

After the toast with the 1815 Napoleonic brandy, it seemed like someone had hit a play button, and the world spun again. The Kingsman agents focused back on their own missions, or was given one. Everyone knew what they had to do next.

Harry Hart had proposed another unsuitable candidate according to Chester King’s standards.

Halfway through the training of the final six candidates, news that one of them is the daughter of an agent had been circulating.

And there’s only one female candidate left.

She was usually seen taking a walk on the manor grounds with agent Galahad. No one paid attention at first, the other recruits thought that it was mainly because it is Galahad who proposed her, and he was just checking up on her.

But as the training went on, she and Galahad were frequently seen spending more time together. One time, they were seen together having lunch in the Kingsman Manor. And shortly after that, her co-candidates had started to notice, that's when the rumor started.

(Y/N) is tall and exceptionally beautiful, her brown locks falling just a few inches below her shoulders. And a female recruit guaranteed that most of the boys have been wanting to hook-up with her from the very first day. One recruit even tried a pitiful attempt at flirting just moments after she arrived. And that's just what's on the surface, the more they got to know her, her wit and her skills, half of the male recruits were smitten, and the other half were threatened.

Galahad's colleagues have caught wind of this, too. Only no one had dared to ask. like the recruits, they simply assumed she is either Galahad's daughter or niece.

Now, it was down to the last three candidates, it was (Y/N), William, one of (Y/N)'s close acquaintances, and Elliot, who belonged to the threatened male population.

She didn't expect they'd already be assigned on a risky mission while still training. But there she is, bound by her hands and her feet on a railway track. She only hopes that Harry would know of the abduction and arrive in time to save her. Just like they do in the movies.

"Hey (Y/N), my employer only has two questions for you." A sinister-looking man said. He was standing on the side of the tracks, holding a knife. "What the fuck do you want?!" Now's about the perfect time for Harry to swoop in, she thought. "What is Kingsman? And who is Harry Hart?" She tried to hide her surprise. "I have no clue what you're talking about! You got the wrong person!" This is it then, she thought to herself. If it means protecting the identity of Harry Hart, then she would die a gory but meaningful death.

But it was just another one of the tests. When she opened her eyes, standing where the man previously was, is Harry Hart. "Well done. I'm very proud of you." He proceeds to untie her from the tracks. "Your friend William is up next, want to watch?" William passed the test, just as everyone had expected, while Elliot brought huge disgrace to his mentor.

"Galahad, Giles, congratulations. your candidates have reached the final stage of the testing process. As tradition allows, you now have 24 hours to spend with them." (Y/N) had to suppress her delight from what she heard. It was quite probably going to be the best 24 hours she would get to spend with Harry in a while.

By the next day, Merlin called for her at the dining area. "This weapon is live. Shoot the dog." The instruction was clear as day. She had an idea. Merlin didn't say kill the dog. Shoot. Just, shoot. She thought she could just shoot her dog at a limb. It's terrible. But what choice does she have. Harry had prepared her for combat training, but not for any of the tests, including this. She took a deep breath, aimed, and pulled the trigger. (Your dog's name) didn't even flinch. He's okay. It was just a blank. And William, bless his heart, somehow couldn't go through it.

"Welcome to Kingsman, Percival." Arthur shook her hand. "Congratulations (Y/N)!" Merlin said before he began with a little orientation about the organization, her role as an agent, and a formal tour of the whole manor. When the two arrived at the last room, which was the lounge, Harry was there. "(Y/N), congratulations!" He stood up and gave (Y/N) a hug, which was Merlin's cue to give them privacy for a while. "I'll leave the two of you."

Merlin, Eggsy, and Roxy knows (Y/N) is important to Harry, so they've decided to throw a small surprise for her, to welcome her and get to know their new colleague.

"Pizza?" Merlin asked the blonde Kingsman agent. "And chicken wings!" Roxy chimed in, raising the box she's holding. "We weren't sure what to get, Merlin." Eggsy explained. "Aye, I got the wine. I think they're still in the living room. Let's go surprise our newest agent."

Eggsy swung the door open, Harry and Y/N were in the middle of a kiss. One of her hand was gripping Harry's hair, and the other was on his shoulder while Harry's holding her by the waist.

"SURPR—"

At the very least, it was Merlin, Eggsy, and Roxy's jaws that dropped, not the food they were carrying. And the pair took a step back from each other.

"What the heck is going on?"

"Oi. What the fuck, Harry?!"

"OH MY GOD!"

After a minute of shock and silence, Harry cleared his throat, "I would've thought by now you all would have a clue." The three had confused looks plastered on their faces. "Y/N's my girlfriend. I know it's against Kingsman rules, I have no excuses, but I love her."

"Wow" was all Roxy could say. "Huh. And here I thought she was a relative of yours." Merlin was still in disbelief. Eggsy was the first one to move. He put the pizza boxes at the coffee table before walking over to Harry.

"Harry, you sly dog!" Eggsy said with a cheeky smile while he grasped his mentor's shoulder. Harry looked at him as if asking why, to which Eggsy replied with "for bagging such a young babe!"

"Ah, does that mean you underestimated me, Eggsy? Am I not allowed to bag such a young babe?" "Oh no, of course that's not what I meant, it was just a huge surprise, that's all."

#Harry Hart x Reader #Galahad #Harry Hart #Kingsman Imagine #Kingsman x Reader #Kingsman Fics #Harry Hart Fics

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year ago

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Harry hart x daughter!reader - new family member

Harry and daughter teen Reader playing with dogs, and Teen Reader finding an abandoned puppy who everyone walk past due to the pup having three legs. - Anon 💜

Walking down the street towards the tailor shop, you stepped aside to let a couple walk past, offering them a small smile.

When they went past you began walking past once more only to stop, and looked at a box in front of a random shop.

There was small yipping, and you crouched down, mindful not to get your coat in the puddle next to you.

“Well hello.”

Reaching out, you let the puppy sniff your hand before reaching over to pet it’s back.

It wiggled with happiness and you looked around for a possible owner, but nobody seemed to pay any attention to either of you or seem to care.

Turning back to the puppy who was trying to get out the box, you laughed a little bit, carefully picking it up to place on the floor.

The puppy yipped and bounded around you excitedly, tripping over a few times.

“Aw you’re so excitedly you can hardly walk on your own three legs, how about we get you to the shop and all nice and warm.”

Sweeping the puppy in your arms, you carried on walking.

You carefully ran your fingers over the dogs fur, taking the turn around the corner, bounded up to the shop and pushing the door open.

Setting the puppy on the floor, you hung your jacket up by the door and looked around.

“Merlin are you here?” You called.

“Yes I’m here (Y/N).”

He came around the corner, and you beamed a little bit at him.

“Is my dad back yet?”

“Not yet, he should be here later this afternoon with Eggsy. Is there something you need?”

“Not really no. I was just hoping he would be back by now, you can help me wi the me current task though if you have time?”

Merlin hummed, putting a suit jacket before turning to look at you.

“Which is?”

“Bathing and taking a stray dog to the vet before taking it home?” You grinned.

You point to the puppy and Merlin laughed, immediately agreeing to help you.

He was tasked to care for you when your father was busy, and Merlin could never say no to you.

You could ask him to fly you all over the world, and he would.

So he happily helped you care for the puppy, who you were told was a boy and you decided to name Eli.

After getting some more things, Merlin dropped you back at home, and you spent the next few hours waiting for your dad to get back while settling Eli into his new home.

When Harry got home, he wasn’t expecting to be rushed by a puppy, so when he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to avoid the hyper animal he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I take it this is your doing?” He asked.

“Yup!” You beamed.

Harry smiled, picking the dog up, walking over to give you a hug.

“And this is why Merlin never replied to my calls?”

“Also yup.”

“Of course, what’s this little guys name then?”

“Eli, he was a stray, now he’s mine.”

Harry hummed a little bit, placing Eli back on the floor.

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Nope.”

Grabbing the ball from the floor you held it out to your dad and he took it, gently throwing it down the hallway for Eli to go chase.

You laughed, going to get the ball from the puppy, sitting in the floor to roll the ball around.

“Let me put this away, then I’ll come join you.”

Harry walked past to put his things away, and he came back, sitting next to you so the pair of you could play with your newfound family member

#kingsman #kingsman x reader #kingsman x you #kingsman imagine #Harry hart #Harry hart x reader #Harry hart x you #Harry hart imagine

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buckyodinson · 5 years ago

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Not Fair

Agent Whiskey x Reader

Words: 1k~

I heard this song for the first time since I was like 10 (and upon listening to it now, I realised 10 year old me should definitely not have been singing it), and the country-ish vibes made me think of Whiskey, and then this happened.

So take this little drabble about some revenge by embarrassing Whiskey with some karaoke!

As you stumbled through the doors of this particular bar, you couldn’t even remember what the Statesmen were celebrating anymore, but you were happy to have a few more drinks with your fellow agents, as well as some of the Kingsman. Jack had been pretty much attached to your hip all night. The only time you’d been apart was when you went to the bathroom - and even then he was set on joining you, but you made him stay at the table with everyone else.

You loved Jack, you really did. There’s a ring on your finger to prove this. But he could be an insufferable drunk sometimes. On this particular occasion, Jack had been teasing you all evening, lingering touches here, dirty things whispered in your ear there. As Jack has got more and more buzzed as the evening went on, he’d made a few little dirty remarks to you which were loud enough for the boys to hear and they teased you both about it, though it was mostly winks and high fives thrown to Jack, and suggestive eyebrows raised at you. You knew they were only messing around, but you still didn’t appreciate Jack talking about your sex life. At least Harry was there to throw a sympathetic look your way.

You’d been thinking all night about how you could get him back, not having much luck so far. So when Tequila noticed the little karaoke stage set up in the bar and jumped up to drunkenly sing along to some Johnny Cash, an idea struck you. While Tequila sang up on the little stage, Jack pulled you to the dance floor and twirled you around, whispering what he wanted to do to you when you left the bar later and letting his hands wander over your body in full view of everyone. You gave him a warning glare as his hand dipped to the hem of your dress, but leaned in to kiss him regardless, smirking into it as you prepared for your own karaoke debut.

He turned you around and subtly rubbed himself against you as you moved across the floor, and as much as you just wanted to pull him into the closest bathroom and have your way with one another, you needed to make him suffer a little bit first. You twirled yourself round and kissed him again, smirking as he groaned into the kiss.

Tequila finished his song and there was a smattering of applause from the other agents as he hopped down from the stage and joined Eggsy and Harry back in their booth. Jack chased your lips as you pulled back from him, looking up at the dazed look on his face and grabbing his hat before walking over to the stage. There were some cheers from Eggsy and Tequila as you stepped up onto the stage and selected your song on the screen, placing the hat on your own head. Jack made his way back to the booth with the other boys, grabbing his drink as he made himself comfortable.

You smirked as you spoke, “I’m dedicating this song to my lovely fiancé, Jack.” You blow a kiss and point at him as he raises his glass to you, and a handful of people turn to look at him.

The song starts and Jack smiles at the country twang it has to it, smile only widening as you start to sing, not recognising the song you’re singing but the opening verse is sweet enough.

Oh he treats me with respect He says he loves me all the time He calls me fifteen times a day He likes to make sure that I'm fine You know I've never met a man Who's made me feel quite so secure He's not like all them other boys They're all so dumb and immature

You have a coy smile as you sing along to the song, swaying your hips softly, and you almost feel bad for Jack because he has the sweetest look on his face, and you know once you get to the chorus of the song, that smile will be gone.

There's just one thing That's getting in the way When we go up to bed You're just no good Its such a shame I look into your eyes I want to get to know you And then you make this noise And its apparent it's all over

Jack’s eyes widen as the lyrics dawn on him, and even from across the room you can see the blush that has painted his cheeks. Eggsy and Tequila are in hysterics at the look on Jack’s face as he sinks further into his seat, and they cheer you on as you carry on singing. Harry is smirking into his glass as he watches Jack get redder by the second.

You notice people around the bar keep turning to look at Jack, and even a few have picked their phones up to record you, panning between you and Jack repeatedly, and you laugh as you make your way through the rest of the song. Once you finish, there’s a round of applause from people in the bar. You bow and hop off the stage, making your way back to your table, planting yourself in Jack’s lap and grabbing his drink out of his hand. As you sip from his glass, you wink at him and his expression softens ever so slightly.

Eggsy hold out a fist and you bump it, while Tequila raises a hand for a high five and you comply before shuffling off of Jack’s lap and grabbing his chin to make him face you.

“That’s what happens when you tell our friends what happens in our bed, got it?” you smirk at the puppy-dog eyes he’s sporting.

“Yes, ma’am.” he replies quietly.

“Good. I love you.” you press a kiss to the tip of his nose before reaching for his drink and finishing it off.

"Love you too, doll.”

Masterlist

Permanent taglist: @castieltrash1 @fioccodineveautunnale @mrsparknuts

Whiskey taglist: @hillarymurray4

(please message or ask if you want to be added or removed from a taglist)

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal x reader #Kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman imagine #agent whiskey x fem!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader

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ficsilike-reblogged · 5 years ago

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Sunshine City: Two

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. But I do hope you guys like it. If you haven’t watched Kingsman: The Golden Circle, I would really recommend it. I’m pulling quite a bit from the movie for the first handful of chapters and I don’t want to confuse anyone. But if you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer them!

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating For This Chapter: M for Whiskey being Whiskey, inappropriate hand gestures, lusting after your boss, and some dubious consent on behalf of Clara. tldr: finger-fucking a stranger to save the world :)

Read the Prologue and Chapter One!

Louisville was a quaint city—not that she would ever say that to a local. Ginger Ale greeted her as she landed at the airport and had filled her in on the goings-on at the main headquarters and how there was a strange set of explosions in the UK that landed on their radar. After hearing about the “blue” aspect of her and Whiskey’s latest mission, Champ had requested she come down to Kentucky and brief him in person, citing his distaste for mission-brief emails. Whiskey was tasked with keeping the New York headquarters running, as he always did. The lucky bastard. But it was fine. He had nearly strangled her and she still thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met.

Something was clearly wrong with her and maybe some time away from his face and crooked smile would help her stop feeling like she had something clawing to get out of her chest every time he looked at her.

(It wouldn’t help. She knew that.)

Their mission in Vegas had been a success—in a strange kind of way. After the men turned blue, she and Whiskey followed them through the club and carried the mission out—with one caveat. They grabbed a vial of blood before disposing of the bodies. There had been a minor shoot out with the suppliers but it was easily handled, too.

Ginger Ale took the vial of blood and made it a priority to test it as Capri Sun went to Champagne’s office.

“Ginger will probably be able to give us more specifics when the tests are done,” she said as she finished her spiel.

“What do you think it is? What’s your gut say, Capri Sun?”

She wiped a hand down her face and leaned against one of the chairs at the long table. “Something’s going on, Champ. People turning blue? The explosions in the UK? All of it feels…off.”

Champ opened his mouth to say something else but his personal intercom buzzed and Tequila’s voice rang out. “Champ, we’ve got some stragglers on the tour. They’re lookin’ to get inside the cask vault. British by the sounds of it.” He paused. “They’re using some tech to get through our biometric scanners.”

Cap looked at Champ to see him arch an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says they’re here for Butterfly Guy.”

“Bring ‘em in, Tequila. Real quiet like,” Champ ordered.

“Ya got it, boss.”

As the line went dead, Champ crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at her. “The butterfly guy, huh? You reckon that’s what they’re here for?”

“Three bombings at nearly the exact same time in the UK and the next day two Brits show up here, where we’re housing a one-eyed amnesiac spy? Yeah.” She shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

‘The Butterfly Guy,’ as he was dubbed after waking up a little less than a year ago, was a fodder for a fair bit of gossip at all of the Statesman offices. It isn’t every day that a Brit, obviously involved in intelligence in some capacity, gets shot in the head outside a zealot’s church after a spike of low wave frequencies catch Ginger’s eye. The fact that he was obsessed with butterflies just made him even more of an anomaly. Agent Seltzer thought he was some sort of double agent from MI-6. Agent Absinthe thought it was a ploy from some terrorist organization to infiltrate Statesman HQ. She didn’t really care either way.

Champ huffed with a smile. “We’ll see, Cap.”

They spoke a little more about the Vegas mission before they heard the intercom buzz again—it was Ginger, quickly relaying that the British intruders did seem to know Butterfly Guy but were here for a completely different reason…supposedly.

She turned as she heard the elevator chime on the other side of the door. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, Champ.”

“Don’t go too far, now,” he said as she started to walk away. “Whiskey’ll probably need ya when I talk to him about Vegas in a minute.”

She nodded and let herself out, dodging Tequila’s swat that he aimed at her shoulder. Tequila had been the man in the alley all those years ago. He was friendly and sweet, if not a little brash, and she considered him a friend. But the other man at Tequila’s side caught her eye. He looked her over with a critical and quizzical gaze before the Statesman agent all but shoved him into the room and the door slapped shut behind them. Her phone quickly ate all of her attention as she brought up the cameras the doggy daycare had set up throughout their shop so owners could check on their dogs. Bela was currently gnawing on a tennis ball as a golden retriever licked at his ear.

She hated leaving him alone so much. Hated it. He was such a good boy and she loved him so much that she actually asked Champ if she could bring him to Kentucky whenever she came down.

It was a firm no—apparently Tequila had accidentally let loose his fleet of basset hounds in HQ a year before she joined and Champ had to instate a no-pets policy because of the damage they caused. It was a shame, really. She thought Champ would really like Bela.

She checked her email, too, responding to Agent Grenadine’s plea for help. She was a newer agent and still needed a bit of guidance when it came to the more finite details of missions. Whiskey had slept with her within a week of Grenadine being assigned to the New York office. He never waited long, it seemed. And she didn’t really blame him—Grenadine was young and beautiful and vivacious. And always “down for a night of fun with no strings” as she had so eloquently put it. Perfectly Whiskey’s type.

And why was she thinking about that right now?

She shook off the thought and rubbed at her eyes before she pocketed her phone.

The door opened and Tequila came out with a huff.

“The Brits getting on your nerv-” The words stalled in her throat as she saw the blue crawling up his neck and across his face. It was exactly like what she had seen on the targets in Vegas. “Tequila? Oh my god.” Her hands reached out to touch him and winced as he all but crumpled into her grip. “What is happening? What did you do?”

“I-I…fuck, Cap. I don’t even know.”

Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks with a frown. “Go to Ginger. She’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

Tequila’s smile was small. “I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, not believing it, and watched him go with a sigh.

The man from earlier slipped out the door with a sigh of his own. His eyes found hers. “You Capri Sun?”

She held out a hand for him to shake. “Everybody calls me Cap. You’re Galahad or whatever?”

“Call me Eggsy,” he said as he shook her hand.

“Eggsy. Fewer syllables.” She crossed her arms over her chest as they dropped their hands. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, uh, Whiskey says you’re coming back with us. He’s sending a jet?”

She groaned.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Sunny,” Whiskey said as Eggsy stepped out of his office to make a call.

She crossed her arms with a sigh. It had been hours since they landed back in New York and she was tired. They had been formulating a plan to meet ‘Clara,’ the ex-girlfriend of some Kingsman cast-off who had ties to The Golden Circle cartel who was possibly responsible for the blue rash. Clara was all over social media with her plans to attend the Glastonbury Music Festival. The fact that there was another independent intelligence agency named Kingsman was really the least alarming information she’d learned that day—apparently there was a guy walking around with a robotic arm capable of hacking entire security systems.

She needed a nap before they loaded up to head across the ocean in an hour.

But Whiskey’s smile continued to grow and he buzzed for his assistant to, “bring him in.”

The door opened and she turned to see little Bela wiggling like crazy in the poor woman’s grasp. His entire body seemed to shake when he spotted her and happy little barks escaped him.

She quickly pulled him into her arms and let him lick all over her face. It had only been two days since she’d dropped him off at daycare but he always greeted her like she had been gone a year. “Hi baby. Hi hi hi. Yes, I missed you, too.”

Her fingers pushed through his thick fur as Bela finally settled in her grip and propped his head against her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his one ear as she smiled. But then it dawned on her: Whiskey had definitely witnessed all of that. A giant crack in the visage she had sculpted. Fuck.

She slowly turned to face him and scowled at the shit-eating grin splitting his face. “Now, what’s a guy got to do to get a welcome like that?”

“Be a one-eared corgi,” she replied drolly.

“C’mon now, Sunny. I had to call in a big favor to have Vanessa pick him up and bring him here without you. That doggy daycare has some stringent guidelines about who can pick up a dog, by the way.” He placed his hands on his hips and they cocked to the side as they so often did. But he was still smiling. “I think I should get something.”

She sighed and Bela nosed at the underside of her jaw. “Thank you, boss. That was very kind of you.”

“And?”

“And that’s all you’re getting.” His smile fell the slightest bit and she bit back a grimace. In truth, it was the nicest thing someone had done for her in a long, long time. Letting her indulge in a little time with her dog before having to fly across the world was definitely spoiling her. And her traitorous mind had to remember how broken Whiskey had looked when he had realized he had wrapped his hands around her neck. This was probably just an I’m-sorry-I-tried-to-kill-you-while-asleep gift. But it didn’t feel like that and she really needed to stop lying to herself or get better at it. “I really do appreciate it, Whiskey. I don’t like being away from him for so long.”

“You really love the little guy, don’t’cha?” He stepped forward and let Bela sniff his fingers before petting him. Bela’s stumped tail quickly resumed its body-shaking wags when Whiskey instinctively found his soft spot. “I guess he’s cute.” The teasing lilt to his voice almost made her smile again.

“Yeah, he’s my favorite.”

“His name’s Bella? Italian for beautiful.”

“No. Like Bela Lugosi. The guy who played Dracula.”

Hearing his name, Bela licked at her face.

“Never took you for a monster movie fan,” Whiskey said, continuing to pet her dog.

“My brother loved them. Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff—if they were in the movie, he made me watch it. But this little guy didn’t look like a Boris. So, Bela it was.”

“Your brother?” Whiskey asked, trying to catch her eye bet she kept them firmly on her dog.

“Yup.” And that was all the answer she gave, her heart a little heavy already. She hoisted the corgi a little higher and Whiskey pulled his hand back. “I guess I should get him back to the daycare before we take off.”

“Vanessa can handle it.”

She nodded and walked to the door and spoke to Vanessa and pressed a series of kisses behind Bela’s ear before the assistant walked away with her dog in a careful hold. Her shoulders slumped as she watched them go. “Thanks for letting me see him. I know you think it is stupid-”

“I never said that, Sunny.”

She hummed, filing away her small bit of melancholy, and turned back to face him. “So, why’d you want me on this gig? I thought you’d be able to handle a pretty girl at a music festival on your own.”

Whiskey opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before shutting. His broad shoulders rolled. He turned back to his desk and settled into his slick black leather chair. “I don’t trust the kid.”

“Eggsy? Why?” She thought him a little cocksure—but she also dealt with Whiskey on a near-daily basis.

Whiskey shrugged. “Call it an instinct.”

She settled into the chair across from him with a frown. “And you thought bringing me along would do what exactly? Stab him in the back before he stabs you?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe.” The leather of his chair creaked as it leaned forward with a smirk. “Maybe I just think you need to let loose a little and a music festival can do that.”

Rolling her eyes at her boss wasn’t really an option so she settled for blinking very slowly. “That’s kind of a waste of company funds, boss.”

“You are absolutely no fun.”

“People are dying.”

“All the more reason for you to come along.” He tilted his head to the side with another smile. “Please?”

She let out a slow breath and mulled over her options. She could call Champ and say she wanted out. It would be the first time she handed over a mission to someone else and each agent gets one pass. But then she could never get out of another one again. And it was just a music festival. Right? “Fine. But only because one of my favorite bands is playing at the festival.”

His smile grew and it twisted her stomach. She shouldn’t let him sway her this much. But the surprise (and probably illegal) visit from Bela did soften her resolve. And maybe watching him seduce someone else would actually—finally—put a stop to her silly feelings for the man. So far, she’d avoided any and all social functions that would let her see him scoping out another fling for the night. And yes, it did make her a little bit of an outcast within the social circles of Statesman. But she was only there to do a job anyway. Save the world. Pet her dog. Go to sleep when she had the chance. She didn’t need anything else.

“I’m glad you’re coming along, Sunny. I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Dammit.

Finding out that Eggsy was dating a Swedish princess would have been hilarious if Whiskey hadn’t insisted on picking Eggsy up in a fucking Bronco that had the most obnoxious horn known to mankind. Eggsy helped her put the VIP band around her wrist with a small smile. He was a good kid, she decided. A little rough around the edges. Definitely cocksure. But genuine.

She tried to focus on that and not how she caught Whiskey’s eyes trailing up her thighs in the rearview mirror.

She had dressed to blend in at Glastonbury. Tiny shorts, a fringed, low-cut top, and Hunter rainboots. If it worked for Kate Moss, it worked for her.

But the heated gaze she’d caught from her boss almost made her squirm in her seat.

Thankfully, they arrived at the festival grounds without too much trouble and she focused on the passing greenery instead of the eyes she felt on her skin. They spoke about the tracker and the need for it to stick and the two men, of course, made frequent innuendos about the size of their dicks as she tried very hard not to commit murder by bludgeoning them both to death with her rain boot. The music was thumping through speakers, songs overlapping from the various stages and creating a raucous thrumming as they approached the VIP bar. She watched the various attendees pass by. It really was colorful. Some guy was wearing a pair of leather wings and drinking next to a girl in head-to-toe tie-dye.

“I say we both make an approach. Whoever gets on best, goes for it.” Whiskey said. “Sunny will make sure the target doesn’t ditch us before we can plant it.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “Well, it doesn't have to be a competition, bruv. Why don't we just go up to her, shake her hand, pat her on the back. Whatever, you know. Job done.”

“The hand is not a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Neither is the back. They teach you anything at Kingsman?”

And she had to laugh at that, despite Eggsy’s absolutely offended face.

“What are you talking about?”

“We need a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Remember?” she supplied, trying to be helpful.

“Our trackers are designed to enter the bloodstream. They circulate harmlessly, providing full audio and GPS.” Whiskey’s pointer and middle finger curled and swirled as he spoke and she had to look away for a moment, knowing exactly what he was implying with that motion. Heat coiled in her stomach. Now was not the time to be thinking about getting finger-fucked by her boss. But the senior agent caught her eye anyway and winked as his fingers curled again and she would swear she could almost feel those phantom fingers. But, she set her lips into a firm line and his smile fell.

Eggsy’s jaw went to side as he mulled their words over. “Mucus membrane. That's like up the nose, isn't it? What the fuck am I gonna do? Stick my finger...” She watched as realization dawned on him. “It's not just inside the nose, is it?”

“No, Eggsy, it ain't. Fuck.” Whiskey shook his head. “All right, I'll take the first crack. Watch and learn, buddy.”

As Whiskey sauntered up to the bar, Eggsy sighed. “Is he always like this?”

She nodded, sagely. “Yes.” But her eyes quickly focused on Whiskey and listening in on their conversation. But her stomach quickly dropped as one horrible pick up line after another spilled out of his mouth. Did he really just ask her what band she was in?

Good god. How did she find this man attractive?

“Eggsy, for the love of God, please go rescue that poor girl.” She nudged him toward the bar and he all but dragged his feet with a scowl but it quickly morphed into a cocky grin when Clara spotted him.

She really thought she had saved the mission. Really. But then Eggsy was just as bad as Whiskey, it seemed, at picking up women. How did he manage to woo a Princess with those lines? It eventually devolved into both Eggsy and Whiskey passive-aggressively trying to one-up each other and Clara quickly had a hoard of drinks she didn’t want or order sitting in front of her.

She couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough at the two men peacocking in front of the poor girl and decided to salvage the mission on her own. She wedged her way between Clara and Eggsy with a sigh and ordered a water as her fingers plucked the tracker from his pocket. Her eyes slid over to Clara to see her already looking in her direction. Perfect.

It hadn’t taken long from the pair of men to realize they’d been all but dismissed by Sunny and Clara and they both retreated (Whiskey to the other side of the bar and Eggsy to the VIP entrance to make sure Clara didn’t leave) to spectate and make sure she didn’t blow it with Clara, too. But Whiskey knew she wouldn’t. Her records were clear. She never missed a target. He wasn’t sure what had thrown him off his game so much. Usually he’d be retreating to a shadowed hallway or an empty room by now with the target ready and wet for him.

Maybe it was the perfect set of legs he’d already spied. His Sunny always looked good. Always.

But she’d never come on a “tracking” mission with him before and he could feel her eyes on him the entire time.

Whiskey watched, a little entranced, as Sunny had the target eating out of her hand within a few moments—and then literally eating out of the her hand as Sunny pushed an ice cube between Clara’s lips with a giggle he’d never heard her make before. Her thumb dipped into Clara’s mouth with the ice and she slowly pulled it out only to lick the water from her skin with a smile.

Something definitely stirred beneath the zipper of his jeans.

Clara leaned close and let her fingers trail down Sunny’s arm as she whispered something into her ear. Sunny then bit her lip with another smile and nodded, grasping Clara’s hand in hers. Even from a distance, he could read her lips, “lead the way.” The pair of women slipped away through the crowd and Whiskey had to lean against the bar to hide what surely was the erection of his nightmares and daydreams as Eggsy walked up to him, a relieved little smile on his face. “She really saved us, mate. She’s a good one, ain’t she?” The kid settled in the empty stool beside him.

“Yeah, kid,” Whiskey muttered as he waved down the bartender. “She’s a good one.” He ordered a whiskey neat before discreetly activating and raising the volume on the earpiece so he could monitor Sunny. He knew Clara wasn’t much of a threat—not against the likes of his Sunny, anyway—but he just wanted to be sure.

The earpiece hummed for a moment and recalibrated before he caught the tail-end of some sort of whispered flirt. “You’re so pretty for me.” There was a soft answering noise and then a shuffle, like a dress being pulled off. “So pretty.”

“God, you’re mouthy,” Clara said. “I love it.”

“Get on the bed,” Sunny said and he imagined Clara scrambling to do as she was told and then Sunny climbing over her. His mind drifted, for a moment. Was she like this with everyone she brought to bed? Sounds of some illicit act buzzed in his ears as he thought of her lips, her fingers…

“Look at you. So wet. I’ve barely touched you.” His Sunny laughed.

“Oh please,” Clara whined, high and breathy. “Please.”

Whiskey glanced at Eggsy to see him squirming in his seat. He tapped the kid on the shoulder and then snatched the earpiece right out of his ear. “The fuck?” Eggsy grumbled.

Whiskey just pocketed it and ordered another drink.

Clara was moaning now and there was a distinct wet sound that he knew all too well.

“Oh! Right there! Fuuuuuuuu-there!”

Sunny laughed again but it sounded muffled. “You almost there? Yeah, I think you are. Just about covered my hand—leaking all over me. You’ve made a mess.” Sunny sighed and the wet noise grew faster and faster. “Come on, gorgeous. You can come for me.”

The zipper of his jeans was becoming increasingly more cumbersome and he took a healthy gulp of the liquor. He shouldn’t be picturing her making those sounds. Shouldn’t be wondering what she sounded like with his fingers buried deep. Shouldn’t be thinking about what she would taste like on his tongue.

But he did. And it wasn’t the first or the last time.

Clara’s moans turned into a staccato of whimpers and groans that grew and grew until she wailed.

Sunny hummed—he could tell she was smiling. “I knew you’d be beautiful when you came.”

Clara panted and there was a soft sound of a kiss. “Your turn?”

“Mm, no. I just like seeing pretty girls come.” Another kiss. “But thanks for the offer.”

“God, you are just a walking dream, aren’t you?” Clara asked, all breathy and smitten.

Whiskey finished his drink and paid. The rest of the conversation between Clara and Sunny was a hum in his ears as he left the bar and Eggsy quickly followed.

“Think she can teach me her tricks?” He joked.

“Nah, kid. You either got it or you don’t. She just has it in spades.” He walked toward the tent but slowed to a stop just out of reach so as to not look like they were lingering. He gave it a moment, and then another. Sunny walked out of the tent with a smile and licked her fingers. Mission accomplished.

A/N: Welp. There’s that. I will try to have the next chapter up in less time than it took for this one to get published. Please tell me what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #kingsman #kingsman the golden circle

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