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demonicbaby666 · 11 months ago

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Tears on the Window Pane

One shot | Supergirl Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Lena Luthor x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.6k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, toxic ex, jealousy, alcohol, rough sex, fingering, humiliation (if you look hard enough), semi-public sex, degradation, hair pulling, asphyxiation, daddy kink, top!Lena, bottom!reader

Summary: months after a breakup, you bump into your ex. Though the relationship was filled with turmoil, and you’d long since believed you’d learnt some valuable lessons from it, it seems you’re not as strong to resist as you think.

A/n: this was originally going to be an enemies-to-lovers story but then a devilish creature crawled out from a dark corner of my room, muttered mean!Lena really seductively in my ear, and I was helpless to fight what came over me then...

It was foggy that Friday night. National city's streets pulsed with life as people filtered out of bars and clubs, only to move on to the next, then the next. When their wobbly steps turned solely to stumbling, they would wave their white flags and surrender to the night or, better yet, early morning. That, too, is what your plan had been - to wander aimlessly with a group of friends until your head spun and your feet hurt, till the sun rose from beneath skyscrapers and the morning breeze would snip away at the lingering effects of hard liquor and cheap beer. Those plans, however, had been wholly derailed when you made your way into a club, and tendrils of cold shivers made their way up your spine, forcing your gaze to flicker over the swarming sea of sweaty bodies, landing on one person.

If it were a year ago, a mousy smile could be caught stretched across your lips. A sudden timidness to being perceived by this goddess whom you'd once called your girlfriend may have even sent butterflies flittering low in your stomach. But a year ago, you were naive, blinded by flashing lights that coloured red, green and toxic, sweet.

You stood there, hand in hand, with a stray girl your group had adopted for the night, past feelings dwindling low in your stomach as your mind walked the line between now and then. Fear had the muscles in your stomach tensing, pupils dilating, and legs refusing to heed the commands of the arm tugging you towards the bar. The other emotion you harboured was similar in nature. However, it differed in that although its predecessor forced your legs to remain rooted, this successor wedged them closed to alleviate the quickening pulse, growing thick and lively.

Trying to ignore that even from a distance Lena's eyes had locked onto your every move with chilling precision, you elbowed your way to liquid relief. It had been your intention to leave after slinging back a few shots of watered-down vodka, but then came the shift - the subtle twist in your gut that made you courageous enough to entertain the attention you were receiving rather than cower away from it.

With a turn of your head and a feeling of which direction to turn in, you granted yourself a few moments to really take the CEO in. She appeared to have come straight from a business meeting, dressed in a navy suit, surrounded by white-collared men and women all fighting to gain recognition. And yet, she gave them nothing. She remained silent. Eyes cemented on the light sway of your hips and the shrinking space between you and the unknown body lurking beside you.

With each boom from the speakers and the accompanying shake of the floor, bodies morphed together until there was only Lena and the blur of scattered masses. The music died in your ears, reduced to a faint hum, and the constant pounding of the bass became secondary to the pounding of your heart. The beginning of a slow-motion step forward was attempted, the heel of your boot hitting the sticky floor before, "You want to dance?"

The spell was broken. Music assaulted your eardrums. The reek of alcohol polluted your nose, and calloused fingers brushed your elbow before a tall figure obstructed your view, sporting an aggravatingly hopeful smile.

"What?" you snapped, not realising how harsh your tone was until the man’s unabashed beam faltered. You tried again, this time softer. "It's loud in here. What did you say?"

There was a charming awkwardness to him. The way he rubbed a palm over the back of his neck and let out a nervous laugh made you feel bad for the guy.

"Come have a dance with me?" he asked, voice gruff but not entirely unpleasant.

The human blockade made it hard to gauge if Lena was still watching, and in the absence of her scrutinising glare, you allowed yourself to be led to the crowded dancefloor.

As the music flowed and your body moved, you let your mind wander. You thought back to the breakup and how the following months were spent re-wiring your brain, re-learning how to make decisions independently and cultivating a life centred around yourself. You’d told yourself it had been worth it. The freedom was blissful, and opportunities popped up where they had never seemed to before. But with the merriment came the bittersweet - evenings spent alone, men thinking they had free rein to eye fuck you and, occasionally, get handsy. A day didn't go by where you wouldn't crave the guidance and praise Lena bestowed. But more than anything, you missed the feeling of being wholly owned. It was that deep-rooted longing that had you looking back to Lena.

Despite not being in a relationship with the woman, the look she was shooting at the poor man behind you led you to believe her claim over you was still unconquered, and that single fact should have sent you running. But once again, strobing lights really did have a way of distorting things.

Her gaze remained fixed, and though it was unnerving, it was thrilling. Being with Lena was always like this. She was intense and stubborn and so damn territorial it spoke directly to the servile side of you in a way that nothing and no one else ever could. It made you desperate to bend to her will, no matter the costs. The only problem then was you weren’t hers to bend, and it became clear in that second that that needed to change.

You kept up the act, dancing as provocatively as stilettos would allow and laughing along to rehearsed pickup lines. The last straw for the fuming brunette came when a pair of hands snaked around your waist, pulling you back into a muscled torso, and a pathetic little jab touched your ass. Lena was up on her feet and charging towards you in no time.

"Hands off,” the older woman growled, digging her blunt nails into your forearm and yanking you forward.

"Take it easy.” The man tried to make a grab for you, but Lena beat him to it, stepping forward to shield you from his grasp. Instantly, he backed away, throwing his hands up. “I didn't know she was spoken for."

"Shut the fuck up." Lena was seething, her jaw clenched and her eyes vicious. “If you even think of you touching her again, I'll chop your dick off and feed it to you."

She didn't wait for a reply to come or give notice to the small crowd that had formed around the three of you. Instead, Lena hauled you into the bathroom in record time, practically threw you into an open stall door and pressed your front firmly against the wall.

"A few months, and you're already whoring yourself out,” came the surly voice from behind you. "Did you learn nothing?"

"I," you tried to answer, but a hand fell over your mouth, silencing you.

"You're disgusting,” she sneered. "What makes you think I care what you have to say?"

The palm over your lips was held tight. There was no space between slim fingers and no room to breathe from anywhere other than your nose. A woeful whimper arose from the back of your throat, sounding so pathetic heat rushed to your face and painted your cheeks pink.

The fact you knew, from experience, there was no way to get out of Lena's hold evaded you. From the surface level, it could be said you were under the assumption your sudden hike in mental strength extended to your physical. However, deep down, you knew the fight was what you and Lena needed. All that pent-up anger, resentment, and hunger required liberation, and together, that was something you always did well.

"You're so desperate, aren't you?" Lena snarled, lodging her foot between your heels and wedging them apart until you were spread open for her. "I bet if I reached into your panties, I'd find you soaked."

As predicted, the contentious grunt that heaved a puff of cool air out your nose and elbow to the gut sparked something primal in Lena. It forced her hand to the back of your neck, where she pushed your cheek harder into the wall and laid a stinging slap over your clothed cunt. The yelp that followed met a quick demise, cut off by bracketed fingers restricting your airways and survival instincts chose then to seek the help of your hands. They flailed about, aimlessly reaching out for Lena, begging her to stop or to give you more; you didn't know. All you knew was your mind's conflict.

The top half of your body fought hard, shoulders driving back and forth, whilst the bottom speedily submitted, rocking against the minimal pressure Lena's palm offered and greedily pushing down to gain more stimulation. It was all in vain, of course.

"Pathetic," she tutted, delivering another swift slap to your aching sex. "Little slut wants her pussy fucked?"

"Lena, please,” you quietly sobbed.

Swift as the wind, the brunette had your back to the wall, one hand gripping your jaw, the other holding your wrists above your head.

"Please, what?" she goaded, pushing your head up to work the blank space of your neck with not-so-gentle bites, topping them off with soothing licks.

"I d-don't know," you whined.

It wasn't far from the truth. Your mind was hazy from alcohol. You were letting your body lead you into something you knew you’d later regret. But the scariest thing was that it didn't frighten you at all how willing you were to throw months of hard work away. You knew what you wanted. The problem was grappling with whether it'd be a good idea to say the words out loud.

Your indecisiveness earned you a piercing pain that rang from the veins of your neck to the tiniest of capillaries in your toes. There was no way to see the irreparable damage done. Alas, there was no need. You felt the sharp edge of each tooth sink into your throat, marking you. The agony, however, was thankfully quashed seconds later as you received your second reprimand. Between the tearing of lace and Lena thrusting three fingers into your tight channel, there was no time to stop the ear-splitting moan that tumbled from your lips and bellowed over the bathroom stalls. The sound alone sent any remaining occupants fleeing in fits of laughter as your stomach sunk due to both mortification and arousal.

With Lena's new hand placement came the opportunity to use your hands again. Instead of using this as a chance to fight back, you pulled Lena up from the nook of your neck and hastily interlocked your lips together in a frenzied kiss. She reciprocated at first, then drew a sharp breath before pulling away. You attempted to chase her. However, you were woefully mistaken in thinking you had the authority to initiate such an act again. A brutal strike of curling fingers taught you that, alongside the smirk you witnessed when your eyes flew wide open and a shove to your neck forced the back of your head to collide with the wall. Lena wasn't shy with her pace after that. It was like she was adamant about proving how easy it was for her to drive you crazy.

Trailing fingers up your jaw to the back of your neck, Lena bundled your loose waves into a bun and tugged, forcing you to look into her blackened eyes as she frowned. "Do that again, and I'll bring you to the brink over and over again, then leave you here crying. Understand?"

You heeded the warning with fast nods and chants of 'yes, yes, yes', which seemed to please the brunette. She kept up her hurried movements, digits sliding rapidly up and down your hot canal, occasionally curling to stroke the rough patch of tissue that had you seeing stars.

The closer you got, the harder it was to remain still, and when Lena didn't stop your hips from matching the flow of her ministrations, you were beyond grateful. In fact, the move garnered reward, specifically a svelte hand moving south to knead your breasts. It turned out this was only a distraction from the nimble thumb readying itself for work. A swipe to your clit followed the next hit to your sweet spot, and before you knew what was happening, your stomach muscles were convulsing, and pangs of liquid heat soared through every vein in your body.

Your breaths were short and shallow. Lewd moans were given free rein to fill the four walls of the suffocating stall, and the thrumming bass coming from outside was being overtaken by the pulsing sound of blood pumping in your ears. Yet, somehow, through it all, you could still hear the shameful jabs Lena was throwing at you.

"I'm going to,” you began, only to be cut off by a stern voice.

"I don't think so, honey,” she interjected. “Who decides when you get to come?"

"Lena, oh god, Lena," you cried, squeezing around her fingers and trying to stop the tight coil in your gut from unfurling. "I can't!"

"Who tells you when you get to come?" Lena barked, slowing down.

Tears were welling in your eyes, giving shine to the stars interspersed across your vision.

"You!"

"Who?!" Lena sped up again, redoubled her efforts and slipped a fourth finger inside you, filling you so completely that your knees almost buckled beneath you. Even still, you weren't granted permission to release the strained muscles holding you from your orgasm.

"Fuck!" you screamed. A tear spilt down the side of your face, your jaw shook, and blood coated your tongue as you bit the inside of your cheek, tearing into the smooth flesh. “You do, Daddy!"

Just when you thought you might pass out, hot breath skimmed the shell of your ear, and Lena whispered the words that were your undoing.

"I want everyone to hear you. Come nice and hard for Daddy."

Finally, you let go. All the pent-up tension rushed to the surface like a tidal wave. It submerged you in a whirlpool of flooding pleasure that had you shouting out for Lena, begging her to hold you steady whilst you shook and shook for what felt like hours. Her arm was around you in no time, providing a lifeline to hold onto whilst her fingers kept you under, massaging soft tissue.

You stood there, mind numb, body useless, until the shudders passed, and Lena carefully pulled her fingers out of you. It wasn't until after feeling had returned to your legs and the strain of standing wasn't registering that you realised Lena was practically holding you up. Her arms were on your hips, and her body firmly pressed you to the wall, so there was no chance you'd keel over.

When your eyes met, you detected the slightest bit of worry, making your heart skip a beat, and that alone was why you didn't argue when the next thing she said was, "I'm taking you back to mine."

It wasn't so much a walk to the car; rather, Lena stormed through the club, dragging you alongside her before slamming you against the back door of the vehicle and kissing you silly. At first, you were taken aback. Her reluctance to do just this only minutes ago was still echoing between your legs. You shook it off and accepted the moment for what it was: fleeting. That was when the rain started to fall, and the drunken mob's laughter erupted into roars of childlike amusement, and for the first time in a while, you felt content.

You laughed and laughed and laughed, genuine bubbling girly giggles shaking your chest and vibrating between rain-kissed lips.

"I'm so screwed," you half-whispered, half-sighed, nestling your head into Lena's neck. And as the sky cried a fresh set of trickling tears that splattered off the car's window panes, you happily bled a few of your own.

"Mmm," the older woman hummed in agreement, kissing your temple lightly. “Yes, you are."

Tags: @anonslay @homo-oddity | Click here to be added to my tag list

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor smut #lena luthor #supergirl cw #lena luthor fanfic #supergirl fanfiction

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prettygirl-gabi · 6 months ago

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Coffee, Confessions, and Office Chaos

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Rating: General Audiences

Warning: Fluff, slight angst

Category:F/M

Fandom: Seventeen (SVT) (boyband)

Relationships: !office worker S.coups x !office worker f reader

Summary: it's not for some work place, but who knows?

Trope: office romance..

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Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the first installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

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I had never been a morning person. Not until the day Seungcheol, or as everyone in the office affectionately called him - S.Coups, started bringing me coffee. At first, I thought it was a coincidence; he had simply grabbed an extra cup for a colleague. But then it became a routine. Every morning, like clockwork, a perfectly brewed cup of coffee would land on the corner of my desk with a smile brighter than the morning sun.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he’d say, placing the cup carefully next to my keyboard.

“Morning, Seungcheol,” I would reply, trying to hide the smile that tugged at my lips.

We worked in a bustling marketing firm, and while the job was fulfilling, it could be incredibly stressful. Seungcheol and I often found ourselves working late into the night, surrounded by stacks of paperwork and endless lists of deadlines.

One evening, as the clock ticked past 8 PM, I looked up from my screen and found him leaning against the door frame of my office, two take-out bags in hand

“Dinner break?” he suggested, tilting his head slightly, causing a few strands of his dark hair to fall into his eyes.

I laughed, pushing my chair back. "Only if you have extra soy sauce packets."

He grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Always.”

We ate in silence at first, the only sounds coming from the bustling city outside. But soon, conversation flowed as easily as it always did between us. We talked about everything—from office gossip to our dreams and fears.

“You know, Y/N, you’re pretty amazing,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard.

I snorted, shaking my head. “You’ve seen my handwriting; I’m far from amazing.”

“I mean it,” he continued, his voice sincere. “You’re hardworking, kind, and you never give up. It’s… inspiring.”

A blush crept up my cheeks, and I focused intently on my noodles to avoid his gaze. There was something about his words, about the way he looked at me, that made my heart race in a way I wasn’t sure I could handle.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself looking forward to our quiet moments together. The morning coffees, the late-night dinners, the shared glances across the office—it all felt like a beautiful secret between us.

One particularly exhausting Friday, the weight of the week caught up with me. I was the last one in the office, trying to meet an absurd deadline. Tears of frustration began to pool in my eyes as I stared at the screen, feeling utterly defeated.

“Y/N?”

Startled, I glanced up to see Seungcheol standing at my door, concern etched across his features.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Just… everything,” I mumbled, wiping away a stray tear. “I can’t seem to get this right.”

He walked over, pulling a chair next to mine. “Show me.”

Together, we worked through the problem, and with his help, everything seemed to fall into place. By the time we finished, the clock read midnight.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice heavy with gratitude.

“It’s what friends are for,” he replied, but there was something different in his tone when he said the word ‘friends’.

My heart pounded as I mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for weeks. “Seungcheol… is that all we are? Friends?”

He paused, looking at me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “I hope not,” he admitted softly. “Because I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. Completely.”

Tears filled my eyes again, but this time, they were tears of overwhelming joy. “I’ve fallen for you too, Seungcheol.”

His smile was pure sunshine as he reached out, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Well then,” he said, his voice gentle, “how about we start this weekend with a date?”

I nodded, my heart soaring. “I’d love that.”

And just like that, our beautiful secret was unveiled, marking the beginning of a new chapter in our story—one filled with love, joy, and of course, plenty of morning coffees.

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Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-Prettygirl-gabi🎀

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rekino2114 · 2 months ago

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Blind date with Veronika grebenshchikova

Pairing:Veronika grebenshchikova x male reader

A/n: episode 12 was great, Charles was the mvp and it ended on a pretty big cliffhanger. We also got to see this Veronika quote:

(I love her so much)

Anyway I have an announcement to make starting today I will be doing a weekly drdt post every Saturday until chapter 2 is finished (I know the episodes come out on Friday but they actually come out at 1 am where I live) next Saturday will actually be the first genderbent post about this fandom (you can probably guess who it's gonna be)

This is kinda inspired by red flags by Tom Cardy and montaigne (with a twist), I put it here if you wanna listen to it, i know i'm not the first person to say this but that song is just Veronika (sorry for the really long note)

Veronika got set up on a blind date by her classmates ,mostly because they were tired of her creeping them out and wanted to pass that burden on someone else, so they asked whit to match her with someone and he chose you.

You waited at the table that you booked for you and the girl you were supposed to meet, you were slightly nervous about the date, mostly because you were scared your date would be put off by you as it's not the first time that happened but the ultimate matchmaker matched you together so you had hope.

You saw a red haired girl enter the restaurant and approach your table

"Hey, are you y/n l/n by any chance?"

"Yeah are you Veronika?"

She smiled and sat down across from you

"Yep, it's great to meet you"

"You too, I really dig your look, those fake eyeballs look amazing"

"Oh thanks so much, you're actually the first person to say that"

"Really? That's a shame, they're great"

"I think it kinda spooks people"

"Well I don't get spooked easily"

"*giggle* well then I think this date might go better than I thought"

You started talking for a bit until a waiter arrived to take your orders

"Oh I'll take a stake,very rare,I want to see the blood"

"I was about to order the same thing"

"Oh really?"

"Yes I love seeing blood in what I eat"

"Same!!"

Your waiter got very freaked out and left as you continued talking

"So what's your favorite movie?"

"Oh......it's human centipede"

"Huh? Really?"

"Yes I know it's weird but-"

"That's my favorite movie too"

"........what?"

"Yes I love seeing all the body horror and the fear on the actors faces its amazing"

"...do you like scream too?"

"I have a Ghostface mask in my closet so I can prank my friends"

"Saw?"

"I also have a Billy the puppet doll there"

"Halloween?"

"Micheal Myers is my lock screen"

".......marry me"

".....what?"

"Sorry if I'm too forward, but I think we might be soulmates. You know how I said I go to Hope's peak"

"Yeah I was wondering what ultimate you were"

"Weeeeel let me introduce myself formally, I am Veronika grebenshchikova the ultimate horror fanatic"

"....really?"

"Yes I adore all things horror and I see that I have found a kindred spirit"

"Absolutely, I love horror too, I didn't know Hope's peak considered that a talent if I did I would have probably asked to join"

"This is amazing, you're the only person I know who has a love for horror other than me, now I see why paired us together"

You continued to talk about horror movies and eat, and after eating dessert(feeding each other the red jam in the cake to make it seem like blood) you walked Veronika home, who very happily accepted another date.

[Timeskip]

Some time after your date Veronika is talking with her classmates in the cafeteria

"Y/n is the sweetest guy ever, do you know what he did for me yesterday? He carved my name with a heart on a tree in a graveyard so romantic"

"....how is that romantic?"

"That's just disgusting and unsanitary"

"Soooooo I did well matching you together didn't I?"

"100%, we've been dating for only a few days but I already feel soooo happy and in love"

"Well at least she won't bother me anymore"

"Says the guy who can't leave j alone for more than 5 minutes"

"Shut up"

Everyone got distracted by the door opening, and you coming out of it, especially Veronika who immediately tackled you into a hug

"Darling, what are you doing here? Don't get me wrong, I love that you visited me, but you're not a student"

"Well now I am actually, I asked if I could "share" your talent since I love horror as much as you and they said yes"

Veronika squealed happily and peppered your face in kisses

"That's amazing now we can spend even more time together, I have to show you my dorm it's full of horror stuff I know you'll love"

"I can't wait to see it"

As you two walked away happily a look of horror appeared on teruko and Arturo's faces

"Awww how cute, seeing happy couples like these is why I love thi- ow! What was that for?"

"You idiot, do you understand what you did, now there's two horror psychopaths in this school"

"All of the heart attacks Veronika gives us daily are gonna be doubled"

"Weeeeel, she didn't really do anything scary to me before. In fact, you two seem to be the ones she likes pranking the most, so I suggest you prepare yourselves"

".........fuck......."

#danganronpa despair time x reader #danganronpa despair time #x reader #veronika grebenshchikova x reader #veronika grebenshchikova #Veronika grebenshchikova x male reader #x male reader #male reader

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captainsophiestark · 28 days ago

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Jurisdiction

Jack Thompson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober, and for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Requested by Anon!

Fandom: Marvel

Day Seventeen Prompt: "Strangest thing I ever heard."

Summary: Jack's meeting one of his SO's oldest friends, who just so happens to work for the FBI. Unfortunately for all of them, sometimes the job has to take priority.

Word Count: 1,115

Category: Fluff

A/N: Okay, officially *this* is the closest I've come to missing a Friday lol

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You're never gonna believe the case I just solved."

I grinned, humoring my long-time friend as he leaned across the table and closer to me.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. So we were trying to track down this group-"

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

My friend, Robert, and I both turned at the sound of someone behind us. I smiled immediately. Chief Jack Thompson of the New York SSR had finally arrived.

Jack and I had worked together for a long time, and now we'd been dating for the better part of a year. We'd been trying to set up times for meeting each other's important friends and family, but it had been incredibly complicated trying to work around our schedules at the SSR, especially since we weren't really supposed to tell anybody about our jobs.

Robert was one of the last people in my circle that Jack hadn't met. We'd grown up together, and while I'd found my way to the SSR, Robert had built up a career with the FBI. He had no idea what I did for a living, but I knew plenty about what he did.

"Glad you could make it," I said, fixing Jack with a smile as he took a seat on the other side of me. He planted a kiss on my temple, then reached out and offered a handshake to Robert.

"Jack Thompson. Nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," said Robert, taking his hand with a grin. "You're just in time to hear about the case my boys and I just finished up. It was a doozy."

"Yeah, I heard you were with the FBI. That's real impressive," said Jack, his voice dripping with sarcasm that only I caught. I gave him a subtle elbow to the side, but he ignored me.

"Thank you," said Robert, nodding solemnly. "Like I was saying, we were trying to track down this group we thought was smuggling weapons into the country through a port in Maine. And we found the guys we were looking for, found their operation just like we'd been expecting. But they weren't smuggling weapons."

Jack and I both raised an eyebrow, leaning forward as Robert did. He lowered his voice for dramatic effect.

"They were smuggling technology."

I raised an eyebrow, and beside me, Jack leaned even further forward.

"It was all kinds of crazy stuff," Robert continued. "I can't tell you guys most of it, since neither of you has clearance, but... it's the kind of thing that would knock your socks off. I'm talking minature engines that can just hover about a foot in the air, some crazy glowing stuff that none of us have been able to identify yet... and that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Wow," I said, playing it up a little bit out of politeness. Robert grinned and nodded.

"I know, right? I mean, can you even believe it?"

"Strangest thing I ever heard," Jack agreed, sounding anything but floored. At the SSR, we saw stranger things than that almost every week. "You said stuff that glows? What kind of stuff? What kind of glow?"

"I really shouldn't be telling you guys this, but so far, it seems like some kind of chemical mix just sitting in a little ball, waiting for who knows what to activate. It's been a few days since we caught all this stuff, and the glow hasn't gone down even a little bit."

Jack hummed next to me, leaning even farther forward and dropping his arm from around my shoulders. I could tell he wanted to drill down on exactly what Robert had found, and I didn't blame him. But before he got the chance to ask followup questions, the waiter came over to take our orders.

By the time we'd put in our requests, Robert was apparently ready to move on from his work stories. Jack fidgeted next to me, but still, he let it go. The three of us talked about life, told (non-work) stories, and laughed over lunch and drinks. By the time things were winding down, Robert had a massive smile on his face, and he shook Jack's hand again as we got up to leave.

"It was a real pleasure meeting you, Jack. I'm glad to know my friend found someone so wonderful to spend time with."

"It was great meeting you, too," Jack said. I noticed his smile was a little more forced, but Robert apparently didn't clock it as he turned to give me a hug.

"Good to see you. I know we're both pretty busy, but let's not go this long without seeing each other again, okay?"

"I completely agree."

We shared a smile, then Robert gave Jack and I one last little wave before hustling off down the street. I turned back to Jack with a sigh and a smile.

"Well, that was fun! And I think Robert really likes you."

"Yeah, but I don't know for how much longer." Jack ran a hand through his hair, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think Robert would feel if I claimed jurisdiction on his case?"

I gasped, and then grimaced. What Jack was saying made perfect sense—everything Robert had told us sounded right up the alley of the things we dealt with for work.

"Now I know what that face you kept pulling was about," I said. Jack scoffed, and I put my hands on my hips. "I don't think Robert would take it very well, honestly. But... we did say we wanted to see each other more often. And taking over his case would certainly accomplish that."

That got Jack to fully laugh. He put an arm around my shoulders, and the two of us started the stroll back to our office.

"So does that mean you're on board with me talking to the FBI about the SSR getting jurisdiction over all that stuff they found?"

"I mean, yeah. Robert and I will work it out, and it'll be nice to have a reason to tell him what I really do for work. Besides, he's great, but... even in the few minutes we were chatting, it was pretty clear the FBI aren't equipped to handle this."

"No, they're not. Glad we can agree."

"Who knows, maybe this'll even work out in our favor? Robert will see us working so well as a team solving his case that he'll be even happier than when we finished lunch."

Jack laughed again, and after a moment, I couldn't help joining him. Robert was in for quite a shock the next time he saw Jack and I. I might actually have to recruit Peggy or Daniel to take a picture for posterity.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

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guardian-angle22 · 6 months ago

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Thank you to @heartstringsduet & @liminalmemories21 for tagging me in a revival of Fic Rec Friday! I wasn't sure what fics to pick for this one so I went through my history on AO3 and here are all of the completed 911LS fics that I read (or re-read) in the month of May!! (if I also added the WIPs or the fics from other fandoms we'd be here all night so I narrowed it down 😅)

◆ Meet me in the afterglow by @mi1kc0ffee (Words: 2.9K; Rating: E)

So maybe Carlos is just a bit upset that his new boyfriend isn’t into cuddling after sex. Or, TK experiences aftercare for the first time.

◆ The Shadow of You by @littlemissmarianna (Words: 798; Rating: G; TW: discussion of grief & canon character death)

TK should be safe in the grocery store, and yet, Carlos feels himself begin to panic when aisle after aisle turns up empty. The cans and boxes are in perfect rows on each shelf, and the strangers seem friendly enough when Carlos passes by them…but TK has vanished.

◆ Hold me too close by @paperstorm (Words: 1.8K; Rating: T; TW: discussion of grief & canon character death)

“Hey, baby,” TK whispers, soft enough that were they a few inches further apart Carlos might not be able to hear him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you cry.” Carlos’s lips curve into a small responding smile and he shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He tilts his chin forward, asking for a kiss, that TK gives him readily because he thinks it would hurt like having a limb ripped off if he didn’t. Carlos’s lips are smooth and damp against his, wet with the salt from his tears. “Wanna go for a walk?” TK asks when they part, and Carlos quickly nods. - A small extension of the scene after Tommy sings at their wedding.

◆ Five fingers on each hand by @sloganeeer (Words: 323; Rating: G)

Carlos didn’t put a shirt on last night, after, and TK gets to rubs his palm over the short curls of Carlos’s chest hair. “You wanna?” he asks. - Or, TK wakes up with his husband.

◆ love in a series of bursts and inches by @lemonlyman-dotcom (Words: 35K; Rating: G)

It’s Eid 2024 and Tarlos is preparing to host Marjan and her parents for a celebratory dinner at the loft, where they will be meeting Joe for the first time. Over the night before and morning of Eid, both TK and Marjan reflect on the past four years in Austin, and the Eids they’ve spent together building a bond as found family.

◆ breathing deeper than i've ever done by @your-catfish-friend (Words: 4.6K; Rating: E; sweat/scent kink)

Carlos smells good, and TK has feelings about it.

◆ Silence and Gloom by @wandering-night19 (Words: 13K; Rating: T; TW: PTSD, physical abuse, aftermath of torture & violence)

Carlos is fine. So he wishes TK would stop looking at him with those wide, green eyes like he's something fragile that might shatter at any moment. He's fine.

◆ all is not lost by @strandnreyes (Words: 14K; Rating: M; TW: brief discussion of grief & canon character death)

As they tear through the loft, Carlos gets flashbacks to when he had to do the same for a lost lizard. Twice. Except this time it’s not a reptile, but a very expensive engagement ring that doesn’t even belong to them. They flip cushions and roll rugs and dig through the dishes filled with pretzels or chocolate covered almonds, but even after their home looks like a tornado ripped through it, they’re still empty handed. TK slumps down on the living room floor after a last ditch effort to look under the couch, staring up at Carlos with wide, horrified eyes. “The ring is gone,” he mutters, and all Carlos can do is swallow past his dry throat and nod. Or, a tale of three lost rings

◆ The Rest of the World Was Black and White (But We Were in Screaming Color) by reyestrand (Words: 9K; Rating: T)

TK Strand doesn’t like the world he lives in. The best part of his day is at night when he closes his eyes so he can’t see anything, and the worst part is in the morning when he has to open them again - open them back up to a world that lacks in beauty. He wakes up and everything is just gray. All there is are shades that are making him numb every day that passes without meeting the one person who will bring color into his world. - A soulmates AU where the world is seen in black and white until soulmates share their first kiss

◆ Thirst Trap Thursday by @chicgeekgirl89 (Words: 40K; Rating: M)

When Carlos accidentally sends a sexy picture to a random stranger he apologizes and vows never to text again. But when T.K. Strand receives that picture, he can't help but start texting back. It starts with a thirst trap. It ends with love.

◆ You Keep Coming Back With a Bird In Your Teeth by vaguenotion (Words: 133K; Rating: T; TW: kidnapping, stalking, violence, non-consensual touching)

When a gesture of goodwill is misinterpreted, a patient begins to develop a dangerous attachment to TK. The whole point of the job is to save patients, not to have to be saved FROM them.

◆ The Greatest Gift I’ve Found, The Sweetest Thing I’ve Known by @lemonlyman-dotcom (Words: 7.3K; Rating: E)

“You know, there’s a lot of things to adore about TK. But do you know the thing we love the most about him?” He makes a questioning noise. She points a finger into the dimple in his cheek. “This.” He furrows his brow in question. “Oh, I’ve known you for thirty years, niñito.” He bites back his quip about how he’s not 30 yet, wanting to know where she’s going with this. “But I’ve never seen that smile, not until about four years ago.” “When I met TK.” “When you met TK.” She nods. “We all knew something was different. Even if it took you a while to work up the courage to bring him around. You seemed so light, so happy. We knew something had happened.” He looks over to where TK is chatting away with his abuelita. “He’s a special person,” Carlos says. “He is, but honey. So are you,” Lucy grips his bicep softly. “We love you, Carlitos, and I’m sorry that we ever made you feel like you had to hide any of your specialness from us.” --- Nochebuena at the Reyes house. It's Tarlos's first Christmas as husbands, and the family's first without Gabriel.

#911 lone star fic recs #fic recs #fic rec list #fic rec friday #tarlos fic #yay!! I kinda love that this is almost like my monthly book wrap ups but for lone star fics LOL #and I hadn't realized i didnt leave comments on a couple of these!! BOO at me #I need to get better at leaving comments! someone yell at me when I just reblog fics and dont comment!#ETA I FORGOT ONE FROM TODAY!! but it was so good so I had to include it!

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oonajaeadira · 2 years ago

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This Will Be The Day That I Spy - Part 1: Blindsided

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Reader: Bold, smart female, not easily fazed, always open for an adventure. Has a chemistry degree and is a spirits distiller by trade. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: darkness, enclosed spaces, and Jack Daniels being a flirt.

Summary: A blind date with Jack Daniels does not go according to anyone’s plan…and that’s what makes it interesting.

A/N: For my March entry for Year of Tropes as part of @yearofcreation2023 we’re going for BLIND DATE+. The + is there because I couldn’t decide between two tropes for this fic, so there will be another one tackled in part two.

It was the construction that pushed you in the door to the swanky Manhattan high-rise. Ginger wasn’t kidding, this guy must be loaded. Not your usual fare, rich guys, but Ginger assured you he was a sweet, Southern gentleman…if you could get past the hokey name. And the corny compliments. And something about a belt buckle….?

“I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, Ginge,” you’d pleaded over the video call. “If that’s what he’s expecting–”

“It’s not. Believe me. I only suggested he meet with you to springboard your network in New York and look over your portfolio. He’s impressed with your background and your work at Herlot Watt, but…” your old friend’s lips pressed together in an otherwise controlled flickered moment of frustration, “then he saw your picture and asked me what you were like when we were in college and I figured I’d just cut to the chase and set you up. One thing you should know about Jack is that he thinks he’s being subtle. But that man is never subtle.”

“So you’re saying he’s rich but tedious and you think that’s a good match for me.”

“No! I’m sorry. No.” She adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses, doing her best to hide a knowing smile. “Jack is…he tries. He’s a romantic at heart. He really is. But he’s been alone too long and I think he knows it.”

“Wait. Is this that CEO that flirts with every woman he sees? That one boss that irritates you to hell???”

Ginger let out a long, measured breath. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“You forget that I was trained in a multitude of forensics. And I know when you’re lying.”

“You know when I’m lying because we shared an apartment and you’ve held my hair while I was puking.”

“That too.” Ginger was never known for having a tender heart, but every once in a while, she’d let you see it. “Listen, dearest. I promise you, his personality fills up a room. But I’ve known him long enough to see that it’s a diversionary tactic. He’s got a deep core of honor in him. And if you meet him and sparks don’t fly, he will still open doors for you in the distilling biz, I promise.”

“This is the Manners Maketh Man guy, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t realize I’d told you so much about him.”

“Less told and more complained. You’re throwing me to the wolves here, Ginge. At least tell me he’s good looking.”

One sly corner of her mouth raised. “He does alright. I think you’ll find him acceptable to your tastes.”

“What’s that look for??”

“Nothing,” she cooly mused, “I’m just curious to see if my hypothesis is correct. Friday night, 7pm, rooftop restaurant of the Calgary Suites. I’ll send you the coordinates. Enjoy.”

As she leaned forward to end the call you told her to “wait–I’m not one of your experiments!” but with a click she was gone, nothing but a white afterimage on a black screen in glorious negative relief.

Well. If nothing else, he sounded like a challenge. And you like a good challenge.

So on a balmy Friday night you found yourself gaping up up up the reach of the Calgary against the twilit sky, towering over Central Park at your back, smelling the reek of a life too expensive for your tastes and instinctively turning on your heel to walk away.

What stopped you was the restoration scaffolding enclosing the building under which you were standing. Or rather, the way it shuddered. And the way a large pole fell on its end with a clang to the sidewalk where you’d just passed a moment ago, tipping slowly out into the street. Nobody was hurt but the screams and concrete crack and sudden blaring of horns spelled out a true disaster in front of you.

Where someone else might have been rattled and shocked, all it did was give you perspective.

Fuck it. Let’s do this. Can’t be a worse disaster than this, right?

“I can call up for you, ma’am. What suite?” The doorman at your elbow brings you back to the moment.

“Uh, no, uh, I’m sorry. Daniels? I’m actually meeting him at the rooftop restaurant.”

“This way, ma’am. So sorry about all of this.” He seems nervous, a little shaken by the victimless accident outside, anxious to put all to rights and it looks like you’re something he can fix. You follow him to the elevator bank, letting the sleek extravagance of the lobby wash over you.

Once an elevator arrives, there’s a swipe of a key card, a little door opens to a small button that gets tapped, a friendly nod, and the doorman backs out of the elevator, smiling as the door quietly slides shut.

Well. That decides that then. Might as well just ride this out.

Looking at your reflection in the polished doors, you try to see yourself for the first time. Are you shoddy looking? At least clean and tidy? Would you ever find yourself really fitting in at a place like this? A little lip tint might help, if for nothing than confidence…

In an attempt to look at anything but yourself, you reach into your purse to find a gloss or lipstick or balm, something with some color, and are so occupied that when the elevator stops and the doors open, you simply step back and to the side to let the new passenger in.

Once you’re in upward motion again, you find what you’re looking for, turning to apply it in the reflection of the polished wall. Finishing and taking in the final effect, a smooth baritone rolls from behind you.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but are you–”

You just start to turn–just enough time to catch a black Stetson and tie, a charcoal blazer and painted-on denim, just enough time to register the deep chestnut hair and mustache, just a fleeting twinkle of a dark eye and a silver buckle–before the world goes black.

A jolt shakes the box you’re in and it comes to a rude halt, then another harsher one as the generator initially kicks in but fails before it’s begun, and you feel yourself stumbling backward through a pitch black void, banging your shoulder and then head against a polished metal wall.

“Owwwwww.” A bright light pierces the blackout; not from the spark of pain but rather a phone flashlight. “Hey!”

“My apologies,” your fellow passenger says and the light swings out of your eyeline. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…surprised.”

“Okay, that’s good. Hold on a minute, sugar.” The light goes out, replaced by the display backlight shining onto the man. It’s dimmer, but you can make out his thumb tapping out a few numbers and the line of a strong jaw as he lifts the phone up to his ear. “We’ll see what’s spooked the horses.” A few distant rings. A few more.

Sugar? Sugar?? Excuse him??? Wait. No. Wait. Is he–

A distant answer through the phone. “Sir?”

The man is calm and steady, respectful and patient. “Howdy, Jones. I’m in elevator 3 with another passenger and we’re in a stall and blackout. What’s the situation?”

“I’m so sorry, sir! We think it might be the construction outside, perhaps a wiring issue. There was an accident. We’re working to get it fixed as soon as we can. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, we’re fine. No worries. You wanna call up top and let them know I’m going to be late for my reservation?”

“Of course Mr. Daniels. Although, they’ll be in blackout too; the whole building is… Oh! Your guest was just–”

“Yes, she’s in here with me. I believe…” He turns to face you in the shadows as if he can see you past the light of his phone.

The silence that follows is a bit too long and fills itself with the collection of regrets–the outside accident, the elevator stop, the darkness, being stuck in a box with the potential employer slash begrudgingly blind date that you’d rather meet under literally any other circumstance. What a disaster.

And then you realize that the silence is too long and it’s your fault, that he’s waiting for you to confirm who you are and you stutter out a “Yes. Yes, it’s me, I’m…I’m your–” just as he is about to ask you again.

“Yeah, it’s her, Jones. I got ‘er.”

“I guess that’s both a good and bad thing, sir. But at least you both have company, right?”

“Jones.”

“Sorry, Mr. Daniels. Just trying to make light. Ha! No pun intended!” The doorman’s laugh roars and then awkwardly fades through the receiver. “We’ll do our best to get you up and running again, sir.”

An abrupt return to absolute blackness comes when the call ends and you hear a small shuffle as he puts his phone back into his blazer pocket. Then there’s a beep--like a notification--but he doesn’t answer it. “Well shit, you went through the effort to put the last shine on the boot and I don’t even get to enjoy it.”

“The…boot?”

“The lipstick? Your face.”

“Excuse me?” Ooof. This guy really has some kind of cowboy schtick going on.

A chuckle in the darkness. “I’m Jack. Ginger’s told me a lot about you. Said you had some bite.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Daniels,” you say, hoping your voice carries a smile rather than the tingle in your spine. “I assure you I’m harmless. If there was light, I’d shake your hand.”

“I prefer Jack. And if there was light, I’d most likely kiss your cheek in a gentlemanly manner.”

Wow. Wasting no time in the flirtation then. From any other strange man in close proximity, this should be too forward. But incredibly, intuitively, you know he means no harm. Ginger wouldn’t hook you up with anyone who was a threat, and obviously he knows that any bad step on his part would be reported.

But it is his voice that gives you calm. His voice in the dark. Deep. Mannerly. Steady. With a twang that is on track to becoming a big distraction.

You’re self aware enough to realize you made a mistake on your way here. You had already decided that the date was a minor hurdle to get through in order to meet your networking goal, that these business types weren’t your style and that you’d shake hands and leave with nothing more than a little professional support.

It had been a subliminal, foregone conclusion. At no point had you seriously expected to have your head turned.

But he’s said all of a few sentences to you–all of them polite, gentle, and smoothly southern…

…And it’s working on you.

You can feel your face start to burn and even though it’s impossible to see anything in any direction, you still smile hard in the direction of your shoes. It would be nice to be kissed on the cheek by a man with that voice. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all?

“You still with me, darlin’?” It’s smooth and sweet, a perfect balance of charm and attempting not to be a threat or take up the whole room, even as tiny as it is.

“Hmm? Oh, yes… I was just wondering,” you peer in his direction out of habit, trying to find him in the void, “what brought you here.”

The careful calm cracks and a little cornball shows through. “Well you did, sugar. I believe we had a blind date. Although, this is awfully literal.”

You can feel your face squinching up, suppressing a laugh–a hopeless endeavor that fails–and it’s pleasantly surprising at how instantly you are won over. “I meant Manhattan! I assume you’re not from here…your accent…”

“Ah that,” he purrs, laying it on thicker for your benefit. “I am a Southern boy born and bred. But someone had to run Statesman’s New York branch, so I slung myself into the saddle, and here I ride.”

“I suppose the cowboy act is helpful for the brand….charming investors…subliminal suggestion of authenticity…”

There’s a sharp intake from his corner. “Sweetheart! I can assure you there is no act. I grew up on a fair few ranches and have one myself.”

“Really? With the horses and everything.”

“With the horses and everything. Did you say ‘charming?’”

There’s something so freeing about knowing your expressions are masked. But no doubt the delight comes through. “Can you do lasso tricks?”

“I might know a few.”

How does he do sincere and suggestive at the same time? Ginger said he wasn’t subtle, but he certainly has nuance.

The sudden image of a tall, dark, handsome cowboy and his lasso running around New York sends your imagination rolling though. Clapping a hand over your mouth to hide your sudden smile isn’t necessary, just a reflex. Thank god he can’t see what a giggling mess he’s making of you.

He’s ridiculous.

And you love it.

What on earth has gotten into you?

Too fast. Too fast. Calm down.

“So..has this happened before?”

Your question hangs in the darkness.

And then....keeps hanging.

He’s been quick to respond up until now. Did you say something wrong? Is he thinking back? It’s hard to say why, but his pause raises the hair on the back of your neck.

But it’s only a matter of seconds before he gently eases the silence open. “What do you mean by that, sugar?”

“Ah…the elevator? Does it break down like this often? You don’t seem particularly stressed out by it.”

“I would point out that you seem pretty calm yourself.”

You shrug needlessly. “There’s no reason not to be. There’s ventilation. Standard codes will have a secondary cable system in place and there’s no way we can fall unless the cords are severed, which is unlikely. Worst case scenario is that we have to hand pry the door open and either crawl up or drop down… I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, but I’m sure the both of us could handle it. The only reason I’d have to be afraid is because I’m trapped in a lightless box with a man I don’t know and might need to defend myself.”

“And I bet you could defend yourself.” His drawl deepens when he’s delighted.

Noted.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to have to.”

“No, ma’am.” There’s a shared, sweet and nervous laugh between you and you have a distinct image in your mind of those dark eyes crinkling at the edges. You’d wager he has a beautiful smile. You’d wager more that he has a cowboy grin–lopsided and dopey, but somehow just as charming as that twang. And just as you’re reminding yourself to slow down your flirting again, it seems he’s had the same thought. “These old buildings do have their quirks. A breakdown isn’t unheard of. So...how does a master distiller know so much about elevator mechanics?”

“Well, first of all, just ‘distiller.’ I’d like to be a master someday. Furthest I’ve been is head distiller. Secondly, I’m sure Ginger told you that we were undergrad together, started off on the same track, but I stuck with the chemistry and she went into the physics… we kind of learned a lot from each other. I don’t remember talking about elevators specifically? But it’s funny what just happens to stick in the memory banks.”

“I see.” Strange. He seems slightly perplexed with that answer and lets his reaction drag as if he’s formulating his follow up question. “And then you took off for Herlot Watt.”

“That’s right.”

“What sticks in your memory banks about that?”

Ah. He’s switched to the more professional side of the questions. That can be appreciated. After all, Ginger did say that he could help you along even if the date didn’t go well. And since it seemed almost certain to go well, it’s gentlemanly for him to save it for better lighting–with a table and a meal between you--and spend this trapped time getting the dryer and safer questions out of the way.

“Well, my postgraduate studies were–”

“Oh I know about your studies. I’ve read. I’m talking about your time in Ed-in-burrow. Did you enjoy it there? What’s something you learned that wasn’t taught in their books?”

“Edinburgh is beautiful. The history, the shadows and light…I can still smell the bitter florals of the old perfumery from the little side street I lived on…I guess I learned… well, I mean, the air is in the whiskey there. And I learned that you can’t force a spirit to be what it’s not. Every spirit you distill will have its history in it–the local water in the wash, the particular ions in the soil that grow the barley in your mash, the sweetness or bitterness of the wood used for the barrels…even those change from forest to forest in the same region. If you pay enough attention, you can see the thread of the chemical makeup in each spirit as you drink it, each one unique, even if you don’t have the knowledge of its path to the present, you still know there’s a signature experience there…”

Another long silence.

“Sounds like you’re pretty perceptive to your senses and your surroundings.”

“Your cologne has cedar and tonka in it, I can tell you that.”

An amused chuckle that ends in a drawn out note, “Well shit. Thus ends the interview section of our meeting. I’m sure Statesman can put your talents to good use.”

“Oh, I’d love that–”

“But tell me. Did you ever get out of the city? Go exploring the countryside?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. If I was too wound up in studies, I’d pick the closest castle on the map I hadn’t gone to yet and go take a drive out to the country. It was gorgeous. That became like my little pastime and reward all wrapped up in one.”

“You ever visit the North Berwick area?”

It takes you a moment to scan your mental map. “On the coast? Yes, actually, Tantallon Castle was kind of a go-to place when I needed to get out of the city and spend some time by the sea. Do you know it?”

“I do, actually. So you’re familiar with the area.”

“Oh yeah. There’s a little abbey hotel I booked a few long weekends in that had the best meat pies I’ve ever had. The woman who ran the place had this little Westie she’d dress in a tartan that she’d allow me to walk in the mornings on my roamings…” It’s a happy memory, one you wish had more time to pour over, but don’t have the advantage of reading his expression to know if it would be boring or not. “Wow. I haven’t thought about that place in a while.”

“You think you still know how to get around?”

You blink in the dark. An odd question. “I…think so?”

“Would you like to go back?”

Something’s wrong, and your eyebrows know it as surely as you do, pulling together as you try to keep your voice casual and innocent. “I…guess I wouldn’t mind a visit? Why? Would Statesman Distillery require me to have more training?”

Tilting an ear to him, you listen hard. A shift of feet or a shallow breath or a change in speaking tempo can belie a lot and he’s suddenly being strangely persistent in this questioning line.

“Not exactly. Ginger said you were pretty good with the dialect in that area.”

“It’s thick, but it’s not like it’s Glaswegian.”

“But she said you were a good mimic.”

“That’s…weird. Why would she tell you that?” Your senses go on full alert.

“You ever ramble on through the caves in the cliffside there?”

“I heard there were caves, but I’d never gone, don’t want to get sucked in by high tide.” What the hell kind of questions are these?

“You ever meet a man at the University name of Barclay–”

“What?”

“No. You stop! I’m ending this.”

The sharp retort is an abrupt change in character from the urban cowboy you’ve just started to get to know, and you naturally step back and put your hands up in a defensive stance. “I…what? Did I say something–”

Your companion’s voice suddenly gains an edge, authoritative, impatient, an irritation gradually salting the earth. “Yes, I can see that. Listen, I can trust your word on this but you know patience is not my main quality and she’s not dumb. Look at her. She’s seein’ through all of this already so I would appreciate the opportunity not to beat around the bush this one time. Yes, I know! But this is my assignment now and drawing this out is not the way to build trust–”

“Ah…excuse me? You can see what, exactly?”

“--no signs of stress, high perception, the skills are there! I know what I’m about and the damage is done. Turn on the damn lights, Ginger.”

Squinting against the sudden brightness as the elevator lights flicker on, you catch sight of Jack Daniels across from you in full for the first time. You weren’t mistaken, he is decidedly handsome and well-kempt, big hands on slim hips, head tilted back and watching you intently with dark eyes through the bottom of his glasses…

You don’t remember seeing the glasses.

“Over speaker, Ginger. She can’t hear you though the tech.”

Your friend’s tense voice reverberates from above. “Yes, thank you I know.”

“Ginge?” you ask into the air. “What the hell.”

“My old friend…I’m so so sorry about this. This isn’t really how I wanted this to go. I promise you there’s an explanation. I need you to breathe. And relax. You’re going to break that railing, sweetie.”

You suddenly take stock of your back pressed against the metal walls of the elevator, hands gripping the brass railing that runs along at waist height like you need to brace yourself, a contradiction to a fight or flight response. “Wait.” Your gaze bounces to the four corners of the ceiling searching for a camera. “You can see me?”

Jack taps the frame of his glasses and the notification sound you’d heard earlier in the dark pings again. Sliding them off his face, folding them in a huff and jamming them in his breast pocket he smirks, “Not anymore, she can’t.”

“Whiskey–”

“Dammit, Ginger… You gonna do this, or am I?”

There’s a tense moment as Jack glares you down and your friend heaves an audible sigh.

“Jack is going to explain some things. It’s going to be a lot, but I’m going to need you to trust him. Like you trust me.”

“I don’t understand–”

“I know, dearest. But you will.”

Turning to Jack Daniels, you find him easy, smiling, and extending a hand across the small space toward you, putting on all the charm. “Let’s start over. Howdy. I’m Jack Daniels, CEO of the New York branch of Statesman Distilling, and high-ranking operative for the covert espionage agency it covers. Code name: Whiskey.”

You find yourself reaching for him through your shock, propelled by Ginger’s assurance, Jack’s return to confidence and warmth, and your own curiosity kicking in. “Espionage…. You’re a spy?”

“Yes ma’am,” he winks as his fingers curl around yours. “Ginger too, if you can believe it. And–wouldn’t you know it–we’re recruiting.”

“They just called in a reboot of the whole building system,” Ginger warns. “It will probably be fifteen minutes before that takes. I can reliably give you ten. Without interruption, Jack should be able to tell you what you need to know, so keep your questions for the dinner table. I’ll scramble the mics and be back right before go.”

Dropping your hand to tap a button on his overlarge watch, Jack nods. “In ten, copy. Now then, sugar,” he hums at you, “let’s begin with Statesman.”

Over the following ten minutes, Jack explains the agency that coexists with the whiskey business, as well as its several fraternal organizations throughout the world, how Ginger came to be a part of it, why she had to keep it a secret from you, and will continue to do so if you decline the invitation to join–memory wipe, painless, no big deal, done right here in the elevator and the date continues as if none of this happened. But the background checks and paperwork are all done, you’ll need minimal training, and there’s time for that before you depart for your mission in Edinburgh–

“Mission? Wait. What? I thought you wanted me to work in the distillery–”

“Of course,” Jack explains, “there’s that too, but we need your skills and expertise and boots on the ground for this one. You know the area, as an alum you have an in at the University. You don’t have to do anything tactical. Not to worry, that’s my department and I’ll be right there with you–”

“So this was all some elaborate set up for what? To feel me out? Some kind of stress test?”

His thumbs hook into his belt loops as he settles into one hip, his chin chasing a raised eyebrow. “Why? Do I cause you stress, darlin’?”

Oh shit. That pulls your reins up short. You have no answer to this. Well. None that you’d like to admit out loud anyway. His chest is so broad. And it’s right there. And his shirt pulls against it when he stands like that…

Beside the point. Focus.

“But…why on earth would you want a spirits chemist on a spy mission?”

A wry smile pulls at one corner of his mustache as he catches you looking. “You said so yourself; there’s a lot of useful stuff in that memory bank of yours.”

“Yes, but–”

“Are you seriously underestimating the importance of chemistry?”

You might have protested further, made him understand that chemistry is noble but that you can’t wield it like a weapon; you use it for mixing compounds not for unveiling secrets. But the gentle swagger with which he closes the gap between you stops the words from coming. And the smooth and measured way he pulls you into the circle of his arms stops your head from thinking. All this just before he presses his lips to your cheek….

In a gentlemanly manner.

Ah. That chemistry.

“Is this…still a date?” You don’t mean to whisper, but your voice seems to be on an inconvenient hiatus.

His cheek hums next to yours, honeyed twang circling your ear. “Seems a shame to waste a good dinner reservation. And good company. You disapprove?”

“No. But,” pulling back an inch or two, you swallow and do your best not to look him in the eye at this close proximity. Somehow, that’s supposed to keep him from hearing your heart booming. “I thought you said you’d wipe my memory before this continues as a date.”

“I never said the two scenarios were mutually exclusive. There’s no rule says agents can’t co-mingle. And if there were such rules…well, shit,” tipping his head down to hook your eye, “They’ve never built a fence this buck can’t jump.”

“Seems unprofessional.”

“That’s what makes it fun, sugar.”

“Jack! I leave you alone for ten minutes–” Ginger’s chiding echoes from the speaker above. “You’re deviating from the plan.”

He steps back to assess your bemused smile. “I beg to differ. I told you I’d be flirtin’ to get what I want. Never specified that ‘what I want’ stopped at information.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea so soon–”

“I do, Ginge,” you call into the air while holding Jack’s steady gaze. “How did you put it? ‘Acceptable to my tastes?’ You know me better than anyone. I find it hard to believe that you’d trap me in a box with a sturdy, handsome man of mystery and expect me not to rise to the challenge.”

In the short silence that follows, you can almost hear Ginger fume. You can certainly see Jack grin.

“Jack. If you mess this up or hurt her, I will replace your entire glandular system with a colony of pigeon ticks.”

He gives a stoic nod, mostly for your benefit. “Odd choice of pest, but copy that. In the meantime–”

He makes it official by stepping forward and offering an elbow.

And you seal the deal by looping your arm through it.

“--order up. One box of Whiskey and Rye to the rooftop patio.”

You can’t recall the last time you gave over to the power of “well hell why not” like this. There’s something about him that is instantly trustworthy and you can’t wait to find out what it is. In the meantime, the reflection that you two make in the elevator doors tells you all you need to know; it’s a story in itself, an epic meet cute, an adventure in the making.

There’s a lurch as the elevator begins to climb, but this time you stay steady on your feet; he makes sure of that.

As the doors slide open, the picture of you on the arm of this new challenge splits to reveal a quiet patio restaurant under the stars. All the tables are empty but for the one in the center–a lone candle burning, and a setting for two.

“An arranged elevator stall. A fully reserved restaurant. The offer of a job and possible espionage. What else do you have up your sleeve, cowboy?”

As an answer, he flexes slightly, his bicep pushing at the blazer fabric under your hand. “Possible espionage? You still havin’ doubts? You hold onto these guns, sugar, and follow my lead. I will happily persuade you.”

Stepping out into the night together, you close your eyes and let him guide you to the table. “You know what, cowboy? I think I might happily allow you to.”

A chuckle. “What do you reckon? Best blind date ever?”

“Best blind date ever.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#kingsman golden circle fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #year of tropes #jack daniels x blind date

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gutterfuuck · 3 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ „welcome back” playlist ! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

i’m returning to a constant fic release schedule!? yep! after being gone for so long and being almost forced to marry (least craziest writer experience) i have come to make my triumphant return!!

multifandom writings, dark content blog, mdni, masterlist