#so gotta play hostess this week RIP

[sugarpasteltmnt]

YALL ARE TOO AMAZING AND SWEET AND SKILLED AND AHHHHH 🩵😭😭😭🩵💗💘‼️😭

#ya'll are too amazing i'm gunna CRY 😭 #i promise i see and read EVERYTHING🩵 #i'm trying to use the queue so i don't spam everyone at one time 😭 #TYSM i love all of you 😭😭😭 #i'm sorry if i don't answer right away! but i promise all of your wonderful works and words have me face down in a puddle of happy tears ;w #also the fam is in town this week and Ooof. #so gotta play hostess this week RIP #pastel prattling

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 10

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Fluffy Jack being old fashioned, low key voice kink, reference to food play, panty ripping because we are shameless, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, unexpected exhibitionist/voyeur kink Summary: You and Jack take a step forward on the last night of your family’s stay in Louisville, and Tex returns home with his newly minted soulmate just in time for Bobby’s going away party. Notes: I love getting to a sex scene and being surprised to find a character has a kink that I didn’t expect 😂 As always, the chosen gif has no reflection on the reader’s appearance. It’s the emotion that counts.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

On the last day of your family's stay in Louisville, an adventure to the Louisville Slugger factory and museum ended with personalized souvenir bats for everyone and extremely good moods all around. Tomorrow morning your siblings will go their respective ways to return home and your parents will go on to spend a few days at Dollywood, and you and Jack will take another step toward your new normal. The first therapy session went well, and you have another scheduled for next week, so really...it's remarkable how settled you feel considering it was only a few days ago that you were a literal captive in an abattoir in New York City. It seems an entire lifetime away, except for the nightmares, which even seem to dissipate when you wake up from them in Jack's arms in Jack's bed.

“How about we grill tonight?” Jack suggests to you, scratching his head. It’s been a trial trying to keep you from working too hard to play hostess to your family. He can see how much you love it, but you are still recovering.

"Are you thinking burgers, or something more elaborate?" Hanging out in the backyard has been everyone's favorite place to be anyway. A little backyard barbecue for their last night in Louisville might be a fun idea. You won't point out - this time - that he's chosen a method of cooking that he excels at instead of you.

“Maybe a little bit of both?” Jack offers. “Hamburgers for the kiddos and I can introduce your family to Kentucky barbecue. Just gotta start the smoker.”

"We can do that." Sitting on the porch swing with him while your brother-in-law plays with the kids, you tip your head back to lean on his shoulder. "I can get my sister to help me with cornbread and coleslaw. Since I know you'll watch me like a hawk if I try to do it myself."

“You are supposed to be resting and I caught you in the kitchen first thing this morning.” Jack huffs at you, narrowing his eyes playfully. He doesn’t want you to feel smothered but this time is good for you to rest.

"I am resting, honey." The mere minutes of time it took you to put together a tray of things for bagels and some fruit salad compared to what you would normally do is laughable, but you know Jack is just trying to take care of you. "I didn't even start baking for Bobby’s party tomorrow. I had like six different things planned but I promise I’ve narrowed it down to only things I can do tomorrow morning."

“I swear, you don’t know the meaning of rest.” Jack grumbles. “I’m going to have to whisk you away to a private island where the only thing you can do is drink whiskey and lay in the sun.”

"Sounds like a very nice vacation." You grin, having grown to love the difference in Jack's affectionate grumbles versus when he is actually upset. When it's affectionate, it means you can tease him. "I don't think I've taken a vacation since I was still in high school."

“That’s a damn shame.” He huffs at you, watching you stick your tongue out at him. He reaches out and taps the tip of your tongue with his finger.

"Never had the time or the money." Shrugging makes it seem like it's not a big deal, especially because you don't want to get bogged down in anything too serious when Jack has been in such a good mood today. "No rest - or vacations - for the wicked."

“Then once you get the restaurant rollin’ we’ll have to go somewhere.” Jack decides. “You’ll tell me where you’ve always wanted to go and that’s what we’ll do.”

There are so many places you've dreamed of going. Places you've dreamed of seeing and food you've dreamed of eating, that you shrug your shoulders and sigh wistfully. "Japan, Australia, Morocco, France, Scotland, Thailand, Mexico, Egypt... we could go anywhere and I'd enjoy it. Just...as long as we do it together."

Jack chuckles, opening his arms and inviting you in for a hug. Those have become second nature for the two of you now. “So one big world tour.”

"Maybe." The sound and vibration of his laugh warms through you like summer sun. "Maybe we'll choose a different place every year for as long as we want."

“I like that.” He knows you would want to try the food. Spend time in each location and really learn them. “We could do that easily.”

"Then that's what we'll do." Curled into his arms, with your head on his shoulder and breath mingling together, it's easy to think of the future in such wide open terms. Like anything is possible. With him, it really feels like it is. "Maybe one day we'll find a favorite, but we'll try as many different places as we want."

“So you okay with me cookin’ tonight?” Jack asks you softly. “Catering to you for once?”

"As long as you don't stop me from helping just a little." When he frowns you put on a pronounced pout, being playful if nothing else. "I hate having nothing to do Jack, you know that. I promise to have help and to keep it to a minimum."

“Just the sides.” He tells you pointedly. “You won’t touch the grill or the smoker.”

"Deal." One hand held out to him to seal the deal, the other is twined through his at your shoulder. Anyone who could see the two of you now would be astonished to hear that you were ever at odds - all they would see is a couple that is completely enchanted with each other.

He grins and winks at you. “Now you get to experience some of my cookin’ and I expect you to be truthful.” He warns you. “No tryin’ to baby my feelin’s.”

"I promise to be honest." You give him a mock salute with a very serious face. "But I believe in you. You have too good of a palette to be a terrible cook."

“I make my own sauce and rubs.” He boasts, smirking slightly and winking at you.

"Oh yeah?" He's like a peacock almost instantly, chest puffed up and chin tilted to put his nose proudly in the air, and you can't help but giggle when he's playful like this. "You planning on showing off for me? Give me a run for my money so we're the ones all our friends want a dinner invitation from?"

"Absolutely." Jack teases. "They will want to come over when I'm cookin' for free and come to haunt your restaurant and pay dearly."

"Just think of what we'll be able to achieve when we join forces." Placing a kiss on both of his cheeks, you drop one more on his forehead before sitting back in his arms again. "This house seems made for summer parties. It's going to be fun."

"I think that was the point." Jack admits as he looks around the house that had quickly come to feel more like a home with you and your family invading every nook and cranny.

"If summer comes and I haven't driven you totally crazy, we'll have to throw a party." Even though you know he has a summer birthday, you would never bring it up now that you know why he doesn't celebrate the day. It would just be a nice summer get together for friends, nowhere near that day in August.

"Whenever you want, sugar." Jack drops a kiss on your nose and smirks. "Now....let me go get everything ready for you to have the best barbecue you've ever had." He promises.

"Yes, sir." You shift away from him and stretch, tossing him a wink before you skip down the porch steps to join your siblings in sunbathing near what will soon be the vegetable garden. As soon as you have the time and the supplies to make it one. "You guys sick of me yet?" You laugh, knowing that the three of you rarely got tired of each other's company. "Ready to go home tomorrow?"

"I've decided I'm going to move here." Your sister is kidding, but she smiles lazily over at you as she lounges in the deck chair that she has claimed as her own for the entire trip. "There is something about this place that I can't quite clock, but it's the safest I've ever felt anywhere."

"Now you see why I fell in love with it so fast." Nothing would be happier than for Eliza and Ed and the kids to move down to Louisville, but you know they're happy where they are. Only a new job would get them to even consider it, and Statesman isn't exactly hiring doctors at the moment. "One day here and I knew it was going to be the right decision."

Your parents are down at the distillery again, your father falling in love with Statesman all over again and your mother shamelessly indulging him while you are here. Eliza looks around and then stares at you seriously. "Is that why you came running to New York looking heartbroken?"

"It's..." You blow out a breath, falling back on the lawn chair beside her. "It's a complicated story."

"And?" She senses that it's not exactly something that you want to talk about right now, so she decides not to press. "You're sure you are happy here?"

“Jack and I had trouble in the beginning, you know that.” Your sister, above anyone else, knows that you struggled with where your heart lay when you first arrived at Statesman. She was on the receiving end of every phone call. “We…we had a fight. That’s why I went to the city. We had a screaming match and I got overwhelmed. It was just supposed to be a couple of days fucking around New York with Matt to take my mind off things and…” When you shrug, it’s half so you can avoid talking about being kidnapped and half to keep up the front that what you were involved in is an ongoing investigation. “Things got out of hand. But we’re talking now. And Jack and I are making things work. So…I actually am happy. It just took a little while to get here.”

“I still don’t understand why he was so resistant to another soulmate.” Eliza huffs, still not completely trusting that this is the whole story. More like your mother than she’s ever willing to admit.

“He loved Abigail a lot. Isn’t that understandable?” Since Jack had said he was okay with giving your family the old story of what happened to his first wife and unborn child - what he had thought was the truth for so long - so don’t worry about talking to them about it. Your brother and sister do their best to be understanding and sympathetic people in general. “He felt like it was being disloyal to her memory to have another. And considering second soulmates are supposed to be a myth anyway? I get it.”

“I guess.” She frowns and sighs. “I just love you, you know that right? That’s the only reason I’m worrying.”

“I know.” You loop your arm around her and hug her tight. “I love you too. And you’re entitled to kick his ass if he ever makes me sad again, how about that?”

“You know I will.” That is a promise. You are too loving to have your heart stomped on by some – albeit hot – cowboy.

“But either way, he’s making dinner for us tonight.” The promise of good food will perk up anyone in your family, and you laugh when both of your siblings immediately sit up. “I’m taking volunteers to help with sides.”

“I’ll help you.” Your brother and sister both immediately volunteer. The way you have been napping has them both aware that something has happened to cause their normally tireless sister to be a little slower.

“With three sets of hands we might even manage to make some dessert without Jack worrying.” You flash them both a smile. “I know you’ll be back for the opening in barely a couple of weeks, but I’m so glad you guys came to visit.”

“Of course we were coming.” Eliza looks almost offended that you would even think that they wouldn’t come. “We were worried sick until your co-worker called us to tell us you were okay. Mom almost came through the phone at her.”

“I’m sorry you were worried.” It sits like a lump in your throat, the heaviness of what really happened, but for once you’re glad you can’t tell them the truth. If they knew what had really happened to you last weekend they would never let you out of their sight again. Just like Jack is doing. “Everything is okay now. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah but you know them.” Your brother rolls his eyes like he wasn’t the one who had filed the report. “They like to worry.”

“Sure, Matty. It was all them.” You shake your head and pinch his side. “I’ll thank mom and dad for contacting the police, then.”

“Shut up.” He grumbles at you, giving you a pout of brotherly affection. Of course he had been worried. You had come to him so upset and on the verge of shutting down and then disappeared.

"Love you too, big brother." It might be said with teasing, but you reach over to give him a hug and pull your siblings up with you to head into the kitchen.

Jack, for his part, takes the role of providing your meal very seriously. He had Champ keep the brisket over at his house to marinate last night and it’s not too long before it’s put on the smoker to fill the back yard with its mouth watering scent.

When your parents eventually wander back from their last distillery tour and tasting, the sides are ready, dessert is done, and Jack very nearly has the brisket finished. Better timing couldn't have been achieved if he had timed it all out with care.

"I don't know what to tell you, kiddo," your mother grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head when she hugs you. "But it smells like your soulmate has a talent for the only cooking skill you never worked on."

“She doesn’t know how to grill?” Jack asks as he pops back into the kitchen to get a pan. “I’m surprised about that.”

“It’s less doesn’t know how and more that the work never went into mastering it.” Your father shrugs, leaning back against the counter when Jack comes in. “Not a lot of barbecue in classical French cuisine, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that she isn’t lacking for barbecue when she’s got a hankerin’ for it.” Jack tells him, knowing that he would keep the smoker running if you wanted him to.

“There was…maybe a year or so? When she was a teenager.” He looks to your mother for clarification, who nods. “Where she would always request it. Dinners, special occasions, everything. Any time we were eating as a family she wanted to go for barbecue.” Your father chuckles at the memory, obviously a fond one now. “Turned out she had a crush on one of the people who owned the one barbecue place in our little town.”

Jack chuckles and shakes his head, totally able to see it. “I don’t blame her if that’s the case. I’d eat a lot of anything she makes to spend more time with her.”

“I think,” your father intones, crossing his arms and glancing at his wife - his own soulmate - before turning back to Jack. “That maybe it’s prudent for all of us to have a chat before we leave?”

For a moment, the small, indulgent smile on Jack’s face slips. Worried that your parents might not approve of the relationship after all. Despite being polite, that doesn’t mean that they had any intention of allowing Jack with their daughter. “Why don’t you follow me outside.” He glances towards the kitchen where you and your siblings are laughing. “More privacy.”

The smack on the arm your mother gives her husband before he turns to follow Jack outside is pointed, and she hangs back to sit with her grandchildren before they need their nap. This conversation is not her idea, and she doesn’t think it’s necessary.

When Jack finds just your father following him, he turns back towards the outdoor kitchen. “Beer? Or does the conversation warrant something stronger?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Beer is good.” He’s not trying to scare the younger man, after all. Not trying, but if Jack does happen to shake in his boots a little, Jeff won’t be upset about that.

“Sounds good.” Jack moves over to the small fridge and pulls out two beers. Popping the cap off the tops and handing one to your father. Waiting for the other man to start the conversation as he takes a pull of the beer.

A sip of his drink comes first, but Jeff doesn't get in Jack's way as he moves around the grill area to tend to dinner. "Look," he leans back against the porch railing. "You're not kids. I'm not trying to intimidate you or dictate your actions, or anything like that. But she's my little girl and I'd be remiss if I didn't at least talk to you about her."

“I understand where you are coming from.” Jack does, he really does. He probably would have the same conversation if he was the father of a daughter. “What would you like to know?”

"It's less what I want to know and more of what I want to make sure that you know." He admits, taking another sip of his beer before he puts the bottle down beside him. "She was never the little girl that played princess first, or wrote her boyfriend's name out on her notebooks, or planned out her wedding with her friends. Not that we ever saw. But her baby sister...when Eliza wanted to do those things, it would make her sister just light up. It was like..." he sighs, taking another sip and looking for the words. "Like she was waiting for permission to dream. I know we raised her to be quick and smart and self-sufficient, but I'd hate to think that she's gone into adulthood with that same hesitancy. Just...just make sure she talks to you, Jack. That she opens up about what she wants. Because the only answer she ever used to give was that she wanted her own restaurant, and I know there's got to be more than that."

“I will.” Jack nods, frowning slightly as he stares at his bottle, the heat already making the condensation slide down the sides. “I’ve not been a good soulmate so far.” It might not be the best idea to be this honest, but he feels like he needs to be. “I was a pretty rotten one, and I hurt her. But–” he sighs. “I want nothing more than to make her happy. To give her the world if I can. To travel to all the places she wants to go, do the things that she wants to do. I want to make a life with her.”

"You'll make it up to her." Your father doesn't even make it a suggestion, it's more like an order. "Or else she won't have anything to do with you. I learned that when she was a teenager."

“Everyday.” Jack promises easily, taking another swig of his beer as he tries to dispel the image of your limp body in the back of that SUV. “Lucky for me, she’s got an amazing capacity for forgiveness.”

"Gets that from her mother." He huffs an awkward kind of chuckle in return. "I hold a grudge like a motherfucker. But those women? Angels. Who knows how they manage it." Both men are silent for a moment, letting the thought linger between them. "Are there plans?" He asks after the quiet lingers a little too long and becomes awkward. "You and her, have you made plans for that life you want to build?"

“I imagine there will be soon.” Jack frowns slightly, not sure how much you’ve told your father. “I’ve been married before. My soulmate. She was– she was killed while pregnant.” Jack explains quietly. “But I do remember asking her daddy for permission to marry her.” His eyes met your father’s. “When we are ready for that, I expect I’ll be makin’ a trip up to see you.”

“Honestly a little surprised you’re not asking right now,” your father admits, holding Jack’s gaze. “But I’m not going to rush you.”

“I want her to be comfortable with the idea.” Jack admits softly. “And I want to make sure that my past doesn’t haunt her.”

“Most people wouldn’t wait for the adjustment period.” As much as Jeff thinks of it as his job to protect his three kids, he knows you and your siblings are all grown. The oldest has been married and divorced and the youngest has a husband and two kids of her own. You have always been the question mark in the family, right up until he saw you with Jack. There’s no question in his mind now that this is the person you’ve been waiting for - second soulmate or otherwise. “I tell you what, Jack.” He sighs, glancing back over his shoulder at the house to make sure you’re not nearby. “When you’re ready, I have her grandmother’s ring in the safe at home. It’s nothing too flashy, but her grandma Jane meant the world to her and I know she’d be happy to wear it.”

“Thank you.” Jack flashes your father a grin and sighs in relief. “I have a feeling that time will come sooner than I imagine, but we’ll see.” He chuckles.

“Whenever the two of you decide is best.” Is it the life he imagined for you from the time you were just a little peanut in his arms? Maybe not. But you’re not the woman he imagined all those years ago, either. You’re better — you’re you.

Jack nods, grateful that it’s not a different kind of conversation but that’s not a bad thing. “I have talked to her about moving in.” He offers your father. “So maybe I should ask you for your permission.” He ponders.

The other man chuckles quietly, feeling like he’s listening to Jack ponder out loud. “Should I bring the ring down when we come back for the opening?”

“I think that would be very appropriate.” Jack agrees, frowning slightly as he wonders if you would feel overwhelmed if he proposed to you after the opening of your restaurant or if it would just add happiness to the occasion. “So let me formally ask you.” Jack sets his bottle down and straightens his shoulders. “Your daughter is my soulmate, and I love her. I want to protect her and cherish her with everything that I am. May I have your blessing to ask her to marry me?”

“Keep making her happy. And keep her talking to you.” Your father puts down his own bottle and straightens up, putting his hand out to Jack. “And for the love of god, don’t elope. Her mother would be broken-hearted.”

“Never.” Jack can promise that. He didn’t do it with Abigail and he wouldn’t take that away from you. Even if it was something small and intimate, he wants you to have the wedding you want.

“Then you have my blessing, for whatever kind of life you want to build together.” You would huff and call them both old-fashioned for this, but the truth is that this is just two people trying their best to take care of you. “Be good to her, Jack.”

He hadn’t been. He knows this. However, he planned on making sure that you were never distressed or upset because of him again. “Yes sir.” He nods solemnly, the seriousness of the moment not lost on him. “Thank you.”

“There you two are.” It hadn’t taken an extreme amount of effort to find them, but the table is set and everything is ready except for the meat. “Do you need another set of hands to help, babe?”

“Nawww, I should have it.” Jack immediately turns towards you with a slow, sugary smile. A little emotional from the conversation and he pulls you close for a quick kiss. “About to pull everything off.”

“Whatever you two were talking about, keep it up,” you tease, not the least bit embarrassed to steal a second kiss with your father right there. Jack is so soft right now that you wouldn’t sacrifice it for anything.

******

Dinner turned out to be a complete success, everyone raving over Jack’s barbecue. Making him smirk at you and volunteering his services whenever you wanted some for a special at your restaurant when it opens. Now with everyone’s bellies full and the evening winding down, Jack sends you ahead to bed to get ready while he finishes cleaning up the kitchen, figuring you might like to shower or soak in a bath.

Sometimes you swear you would have accepted the invitation to move in with Jack based on the master bathroom alone. The powerful shower with seemingly unlimited hot water is the best you’ve ever experienced, and the tub is definitely big enough for two people to lounge in. He had insisted that you bring over your bathrobe when you brought a few things from your house for the week, so now it’s hanging from the rack beside the marble countertop for when you step out. Smelling like him is a small bonus, considering Jack’s soap and shampoo smell like they were made for a lumberjack who stands on top of mountains in the crisp, cold morning to watch sunrise, and you end up just luxuriating in the hot water until you hear him come into the bedroom. That’s when you shut off the water and step out, wrapping yourself up in the terry cloth robe like a warm hug.

Walking into the bedroom finds it empty and Jack smirks as he looks towards the bathroom, knowing you are in there. He needs to shower, since he smells like a smoker, but he can wait until you are out. Instead, he's standing around looking at the small changes that you have made to his once cold bedroom. Things that are almost overlooked but it's very obvious to a man who has been a bachelor for nearly twenty years. The small notebook on the side of the bed you had claimed, where you write recipe ideas when they come to you. The way your general items are scattered on the dresser. He likes it.

“Hey handsome.” It doesn’t matter how ridiculous you look, dripping wet in a bath towel and fuzzy slippers, you open the bathroom door to let him in if he wants to share some while you brush your hair and teeth. “I know I’ve already said it, but dinner was amazing.”

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He smirks at you and comes up to hold onto your waist, wrapping around you to kiss your ear. You hum as you load your toothbrush up and tilt your head to allow him more access to you. "You’re lookin' fresh faced and pretty tonight."

“And smelling very manly,” you joke, turning your head to kiss him properly in between his exploration of your neck and before you start brushing your teeth. Before or after is fine. During would be a bit messy.

“I like the way you smell.” His scent on your body drives him crazy and there has been more than one time where he’s had to take care of the nagging lust that always lives right under the surface since he's given into being near you.

You smile coyly at him in the mirror, raising one eyebrow. “I smell like you,” you point out before starting to brush your teeth. Not that you mind at all. Not even a little, actually.

“Yeah, sugar.” Jack’s voice dips down and he brushes another kiss over your skin. “Like I’ve wrapped myself around you and rubbed myself all over your body.”

The most articulate sound you can manage right now is a groan as you process that image - the therapist had said you were both clear headed enough for sex if it was what you both wanted, but you haven’t taken that step. So far you’ve been too tired from your recovery, so it’s been slow nights of drowning in each other’s kisses in bed - with Jack’s hands down your panties if things got rambunctious.

He chuckles against your skin, feeling himself start to harden. “But right now sugar? I need to clean up. Get the smell of smoke off me.”

"What if I like the smell of smoke?" You pose, spitting out excess toothpaste long enough to pout at him and then grin when he meets your eyes in the mirror. "Go clean up, baby. I'm going to get in bed and read."

Jack grunts, aware that his cock is twitching against your ass and he pulls his hips back. He doesn’t want to push you even if he knows you want to.

You've lost track of time, by the time Jack comes out of the bathroom, and look up over the top of your book when you spy him striding into the room. Squeaky clean but still damp from just toweling off, that towel is now wrapped around his waist when he comes into the bedroom to fish for a pair of boxers to sleep in. Fuck he looks good like that...you might be staring, but you don't care.

Jack knows you are looking and it feeds into his ego like nothing else. No one night stand cooing and lovin’ on him has the effect of his soulmate staring discreetly. He smirks at himself as he turns towards the drawer and ‘accidentally’ drops his towel.

"Whoops." It comes with a half-snort because you know damn well that he didn't do it by accident, and you set your bookmark back in your book to put it on the side table. "I'm sure that was very clumsy of you. And fully unintentional."

Jack throws a look over his shoulder with a grin. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He draws playfully. “Ain’t you supposed to be makin’ recipes? Or readin’?”

“Nice try.” Even if you hadn’t read it before, no book is more interesting than your bare assed naked soulmate. Especially when he’s previously been very careful about modesty to keep the both of you under control.

His chuckle accompanies him reaching into the drawer to pull out a pair of boxers. “Something you like on display, sugar? Didn’t think you liked tiny asses.”

It earns him another little laugh, and you pull the blankets back on his side of the bed. “I don’t keep my hand in your back pocket when we walk around because my fingers are cold, baby.”

“And here I was thinkin’ that you were trying to warm ‘em up.” Jack puts on a thicker accent for you right now, knowing how much it seems to affect you.

“Get in bed, cowboy.” It’s practically an order, but edged with enough begging to stroke Jack’s ego like he’s stroking your voice kink by playing with his accent.

“Yes ma’am.” Jack pretends to tilt an imaginary hat as he closes the drawer and turns around to stride cockily towards the bed.

There’s something to be said for the domesticity of such a moment. The easy way he slides into bed beside you and bundles you up in his arms, and the comfort of clean bodies cuddled up in the light of your bedside lamps like you had been doing this your whole lives. Now that you’re letting yourselves, it’s so easy to be together. “So…” you hum, snuggling up to him. “I saw my dad pull you outside tonight.”

“Yes.” Jack won’t deny that. Especially because you saw it. “He did.” He rubs his hand up and down your back.

“Anything I should know about?” It’s hard to imagine they needed to have a private conversation about whiskey or the grill, but who knows.

“Your father wanted to know my intentions.” Jack admits easily. “To tell me that I need to listen to you, help you dream.”

“He worries too much.” An exasperated sigh passes your lips and you place a kiss on Jack’s chest. “I already have my dreams.”

“I know.” Jack says teasingly. “Your tea room.” He knows you mean more than that, but he’s grinning as he needles you.

“And my soulmate.” There might be other things that you bluster about, but the love of the person you’re meant to be with and your dream job are the two things you’ve always been honest about wanting.

“And your soulmate.” Jack quietly repeats. He knows how important it is to you. To him honestly, now that he’s opened that possibility up again. Your happiness is the most important thing to him.

“So there’s nothing else to worry about.” The questions of marriage or kids or anything else are all secondary to just having him in your life.

He hums and thinks about things for a moment. "Would you...want to go home with me?" He asks softly. "To Montana? See the ranch. You don't have to."

“I absolutely will if you want me to.” At dinner, your parents had invited him to come up to New Hampshire with you any time, and this seemed like a natural extension of that invitation to you. But you do lean back a little to look him in the eye. “I would love to see where you’re from, honey. But if it’s going to hurt too much…reminding you of Abigail and the baby and all that…then we don’t have to.”

"It's been a long time since I've been home." Since he had left, if he were honest, but he wasn't going to bring that up. "Might be good to go see it...introduce you to 'em." He ventures, wondering if you will think it macabre or ghoulish to visit his former soulmate's grave.

“Do you still have family out there?” It’s not hard to tell when Jack has his mind set to something, and this seems like it’s quickly becoming an important idea to him. “Or is there maybe an event that you used to like going to? That we could go back for?”

"No family left." His father had died the year before Abigail. Heart attack, or he would wonder if Rollins had any hand in it now. "Just me."

“No cousins or anything?” That surprises you, but you smooth your furrowed brow so he doesn’t get the impression that you’re judging him for something he has no control over. “Who’s running the ranch?”

"I hired a board of directors to handle things for me." Jack huffs. "Or....Champ did." Champ had taken care of that task to where Jack only had to handle the yearly reports and even then it was more of a cursory glance. He had honestly anticipated the fuckin' thing going to the Statesman conglomerate when he died.

“We should go.” There’s a wistfulness and a worry in his expression that is begging to be soothed, and you run your hand gently up and down his side. “We can see the ranch, you can show me where you grew up, and we can visit Abigail and your son. Would that…would that be a good trip for you?” Of course you’re curious to see where he came from, but the last thing you want to do is hurt him with memories.

Jack bites his lip, swallowing harshly when you are the one that brings up his wife. "I– I would l-like that." He manages, his voice cracking slightly in surprise and so much gratitude. His hold on you tightens. "I would like that a lot." It feels like Jack has a sense of closure now that Abigail's death has been explained. It wasn't some random act of violence that he couldn't rationalize. It was targeted. She was targeted. It had helped to know that more than he ever thought it would.

“We’ll bring flowers.” That’s what you do whenever you visit your own family’s graves, and in some ways you suppose Jack’s lost loved ones are a part of your family now. In an extended and loving memory sort of way. “Whenever you want to go, honey.”

“We need to get through your opening and at least the first few months, I think.” Jack looks to you. “Right?”

“Maybe we could go at the end of the summer or beginning of fall?” The land would still be in bloom and going during the heat of summer might be too close to their death date for him. Considering he doesn’t celebrate his birthday you doubt he wants that big of a reminder. “I would think that…earlier in August might be…a lot harder.”

"That would work." Jack nods, considering it. "There's nothing like fall on the ranch." He admits wistfully. "Especially when the trees start changing colors up in the mountains."

“Fall, then.” Placing a kiss over his heart, you offer Jack a soft smile. “I’m honored that you want to share that part of yourself with me.”

"Just...." Jack picks up your hand and kisses it softly. "Be patient with me when we go?" He asks, knowing that he might have to go quite a few therapy sessions before taking you, so he doesn't lash out or do something stupid.

“Honey, of course.” It seems like you shouldn’t be able to get any closer, but you nudge that much nearer to him and brush some damp hair from his forehead. “And if you decide to put the trip off until spring or even next fall, that’s just fine. The ranch isn’t going anywhere and neither am I.”

"Hmmm, thank you." He squeezes your back gently and his hand starts to drift down towards your ass as a natural progression. Having you in his bed has made it hard to keep his hands to himself on the best days and he was still in a playful mood.

“Serious conversation and then an ass grab, huh?” Sure you might be teasing him a little less, but you’re still you. It’s still fun. “Still in a good mood, Mr. Daniels?”

"Sugar, I'm finding that I've been in a good mood since that first nap with you." He tells you seriously. "Especially when I get to see that gorgeous smile on your face."

“Hmm…” He’s being so damn sweet and sincere tonight, and you’re just soaking it all in like sunbeams. “I wonder why that could be?”

"I don't know." He teases back. "Might be because your parents and siblings haven't strung me up for makin' you cry. Or because I'm currently in bed with a very sexy woman."

“If anybody would’ve gotten out the noose it would have been my sister, and it would have been immediate.” And since you would have done the same to defend her if she needed it, you can’t blame her in the least. But your little sister had listened when you told her that Jack was actively fixing things and making an effort. “I’m thinking it probably has a tiny bit more to do with having a half-undressed woman in your bed.”

"Yes." Jack's voice dips slightly, taking on a smokier sound. "That. That is a big reason why I've been in such a good mood." Despite not having sex, he's more relaxed with you here and he doesn't want you to leave when your family goes home tomorrow.

“I’ve been thinking…” Some might not consider three days a whole lot of time to think, but getting to spend so much uninterrupted time with him has been good for you. When Jack doesn’t have his guard up, he is as sweet and as appealing as apple pie with all the charm of the most attentive Southern gentleman. “And I think…” Finding his eyes in you, you fluster a little and bury your face in his shoulder. “It’d be a shame to go back to my own place.”

"I think you're right." Jack agrees softly, relieved that you seem to be on the same page as he is. "Wasted opportunities to hold you. When you go back to work, I know you aren't going to be able to be under my wing the entire day."

“I’ll text you when I get downtime,” you promise him, stretching to kiss the nearest bit of his skin you can manage - which right now is the slope of his chest just below his neck. “So you don’t worry.”

“Just wear your bracelet for me, sugar.” He requests, remembering how his heart had dropped when he had seen it on your counter.

“Always.” You pick up your hand that had been tucked in beside him to show the delicate chain with its innocent looking charm to show him that you’re wearing it even now. “I only take it off to shower now.”

“Okay.” He knows it’s a little bit of paranoia, since you will be on Statesman property, but Ginger is still going through all the personnel files to make sure another intruder hasn’t slipped through the cracks.

“It’s okay.” It’s an understatement to say that you understand now. “From now, I’m coming home to you at night.”

"Yeah?" Jack smirks slightly and bites his lips at the prospect of having you in his bed every single night. "I like the sound of that, sugar. Hand to God, I do."

“I do, too.” There’s barely any more space to move in, but you reach up and place a kiss on his lips and sigh softly. The kiss starts off soft, but need and hunger makes Jack reach up and grip the back of your neck as he deeps it with the slide of his tongue against your lips. Groaning when you eagerly open for him.

Every night has been like this. Sliding into bed together and having a little pillow talk before you indulge a little in each other without ever pushing the boundary that you’ve set for yourselves. It’s been a blissful few days, if you’re honest, and even though you know the second he signals being ready you’ll be throwing your own clothes off the side of the bed in a big goddamn rush.

That need, the underlying hunger that seems to invade every single touch and kiss is working overtime tonight. Making Jack grip your hips and urge you on top of him, wanting to feel your warmth and weight. The heat of your damp panties pressing against the rapidly expanding tent in his boxers.

The heat grows faster tonight than it usually does, something in the breath you share feeling more addictive or maybe just hungrier. You find yourself grinding your hips down on him without thinking and moaning when his hands slip under your shirt. “Fuck sugar.” Jack groans, kissing down your throat as you roll your hips back and make him choke on his own breath. “You’re so fucking…sweet.”

“Sweet?” You might giggle if you weren’t busy moaning, but you tilt your head completely out of the way to let him lick and nip and suck every bit of skin he wants. “Tonight feels—” you gasp when he swipes his thumbs across your pebbled nipples in unison. “Fuck— definitely hotter.”

“Never eaten melted chocolate?” Jack groans, smirking slightly as you push your tits against his fingers a little more. Begging for him to repeat the move. “Sweet and hot.”

“I will go get the fudge sauce out of your kitchen so fucking fast.” It would be a nice follow up to yesterday when you had caramel sauce all over your hands making yourself a fancy latte before your family woke up and Jack had very carefully licked it off every digit.

Jack chuckles quietly and shakes his head. “No food play with your parents here.” He chides playfully.

Your pout is playful and your circle your hips in his lap again before reaching to pull your t-shirt over your head. There’s been enough modesty this week for two people planning on living together - you’re itching to take a bigger step forward. Jack has seen you naked. You’ve changed in front of him with no modesty, a move that made him grin. Now he groans, eyes feasting on your tits and he drags you down to his chest to feel them pressed against his chest.

He’s throbbing hard beneath you and the barriers of his boxers and your panties are performative at best. At this point you know damn well that he can feel how soaked your panties are, he can feel the difference in the neediness of every kiss.

Diving back into your mouth is like the anchor he needs to keep himself from keeling over. Groaning your name quietly, he manages to break away to look into your eyes. “What do you want, sugar?” He demands roughly.

“I—” You know the answer. What you’re aching for. But if he isn’t ready you won’t push him. “I want you,” you admit, looking everywhere but his eyes to avoid seeing disappointment. “But not if you’re not ready.”

Jack inhales roughly, expecting that answer but still being shocked when he hears it. “With your family here?” He asks, sliding his hands down your sides to grip your hips. “Tonight, sugar?”

“I can keep my voice down.” Another roll of your hips is a figure eight this time, and your eyes nearly roll back in your head when you feel him pulse underneath you. “Can you?”

It takes Jack a moment to be able to remember what you are talking about, let alone his own name when you grind against him like that. His fingers digging into your flesh and pulling you against him again. "I- y-yeah." He groans out brokenly. "Y-you sure?" He closes his eyes and tries to control himself before he looks back up at you seriously. This is a big step for the two of you and he wants you to not regret it.

“I’m sure, baby.” The seriousness of the moment isn’t lost on you, and you stop moving to leave a soft, sincere kiss on his lips. “I love you, Jack.”

He knows you are ready, the two of you have been ready physically since the day you met. It's the mental and emotional barriers that he had created that caused this delay. Now, Jack rolls you onto your back and smirks down at you, his eyes dark and flashing with need. "I love you too, sugar. Now I'm gonna show you how you ride a real cowboy."

If you were feeling pedantic, you might quibble about position and how you had just been in the perfect place to ride him - but honestly you’re too foggy from desire and the burning in your blood to do anything more than surge up to kiss him. The measly barriers of underwear were symbols of restraint more than anything, and you are extremely ready to pull his away so you can experience every inch of him.

Jack groans, enjoying the pure desire that is fueled by your kiss, his hands sliding down to the band of your panties and he smirks into your mouth before he shreds them easily.

Oh that should not make you moan so wantonly, but it’s a good thing you were kissing him when he did it otherwise your promise to keep the volume down would have been shot to hell immediately. “Fuck, baby.”

He chuckles quietly and moves the material away so he can slide his fingers against your wet slit. "You like that, sugar?"

“Show off,” you accuse him playfully, knowing that you’ve told him in the past that shows of physical strength are a turn on for you. “I’m already always soaking wet around you.”

He hums, sliding his fingers down to press into you. Something that he has done before but now he knows that you are going to feel more than just his fingers inside you. Wanting to make sure that you cum before he slides inside you.

“Fu—fuck.” One hand shoots out to clutch his shoulder and the other twines into the soft bed sheets as your hips roll down to meet his hand as deeply as you possibly can. Yes, you’ve enjoyed exploring with him, but you’ve wanted him since the day you met and you’re aching for him now that the chance is here.

Jack's hands are clever, quick. They have to be with the type of rope and pistol work that he does. Now, his trigger finger curls up inside you. seeking the spongy spot that makes your back arch and your gasps turn desperate. Ready to drink down the sounds like a man dying of thirst while he kisses you and pushes you towards the edge.

You squirm but open up for him like a spring flower, legs spread open as wide as you can manage to give him ample room to explore. All you’ve wanted for months is to drown in him and now you’re clinging to him like a life preserver as he rockets you out over an ocean of pleasure.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack coos in your ear, butterflying kisses along your jaw while the wet heat of your cunt surrounds his fingers. “Give it to me. Let me feel your sweetness.”

He’s well practiced at this - with plenty of partners before you, yes, but also just from the last few days together. He knows exactly the right way to quirk his wrist and exactly the right way to curl his fingers, making you gasp and chase the sensation of his fingers filling you every time he pulls them out only to thrust them back into you with more dexterity than before. He plays you like an instrument until you bow and threaten to break, with one hand clamped over your mouth so you don’t cry his name for the whole house to hear as you fall apart at the seams and flood his hand with your sticky release.

It is only because of your family down the hall that he doesn't let you cry out. When they leave, he will. Letting your sweet sounds fill the bedroom, hell, the house. Wanting to hear it. Now he just groans, his lips pressed against your hand, as if trying to kiss you through the barrier. "Good girl." He murmurs. "Good girl, sugar."

The way he coos at you is borderline criminal but combines somewhere in the back of your head with riding him and you swear you’d let this unhinged cowboy put a damn bit and bridle on you if it turned out to be some wild kink of his. The thought flies out of your head as soon as it enters, blissfully blanking out with white hot pleasure. Only when you’re sure you won’t shout do you move your hand away, pouring a moan into his mouth instead.

Only when your body can't give him any more does he still his fingers. Watching as you relax into the bed and the sugary smile of pleasure graces your face. "Was it good for you?" He asks, smug in your eventual response when you can catch your breath.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you drawl in reply, giggling under your breath when you surge up to kiss him. “I’d be shoving you on your back to stroke your cock except I need you to fuck me.”

"Confident, sugar." Jack chuckles, kissing your lips again before he shuffles off of you so he can push his boxers down. "Confident."

“Because you know I’ve been ready to jump you since the day we met.” It’s not even judgmental or self-deprecating, just a fact as you smirk up at him. He’s so fucking handsome and the butterflies in your stomach erupt all over again. This is actually happening.

Jack peels down his boxers and stands straight, showing off the hard length that is heavily bobbing as he lets you peruse his body. "You should know I've been havin' to hide this since the day we met." He growls.

“Don’t know how you hide it anywhere.” With as tight as he wears his jeans, it should be impossible to keep the thickest cock you’ve ever seen in your life under wraps, but somehow he manages it.

He smirks and waggles his brows at you playfully. "It's all in the way you keep your jacket buttoned."

“Show off.” Though you roll your eyes dramatically, you lean forward to snag his arm and urge him to come back to you. “Get back in bed and show off here instead.”

It's the easiest order that he will probably ever receive as he kneels on the bed. "With pleasure, sugar."

As easily as you ever fit together in any other part of life, the way your bodies seem to move and mold together is instinctive. There’s no guiding or nudging, just fluid motion as he finds the cradle of your thighs and slides one arm underneath your back to keep you as close to him as possible as he devours you in a burning kiss. Jack has never been shy about sex. Not even that first time with Abigail where he was worried that he would last all of ten seconds, only to be surprised and pleased he had lasted thirty. His cock pulses against your mound and he hums into your mouth, enjoying the way you fit against him, soft in all the right places and welcoming him to slide into you.

This tension that’s been building for months has somehow intensified during the last week. No touch has been enough, although you’ve pretended it was, and every moment of intimacy has just made you burn for more. Now, with his weight bearing down on you and the heat of him threatening to consume you, you’re squirming for any kind of friction. The easy roll of his hips comes natural, grinding against your and feeling the way your gasp presses into his throat when the head of his cock catches on your swollen, soaked lips. "Easy girl," he coos gently, keeping his hips angled so that when he shifts down, it presses against your entrance. "Nice and easy."

The smirk drawn tight across your face curls at the edges when you look up at him. “If you have a horse fetish, Jack Daniels, now would be the time to tell me.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, sugar.” He reaches down to grip your hip. “No horse fetish, but I do want you to hang on.”

Even the smallest moment of laughter seems to break the spell of apprehension that had been blanketing the two of you, and when you giggle along with him it’s like music. “Good,” you tease, hitching your leg high up on his hip. “Because I’m feeling more like save a horse, ride a cowboy tonight.”

Once you say that, Jack leans in and presses his lips to yours and slowly starts to push forward. Breaking you open with a smooth roll of his hips and a groan when he slips inside you.

Your mouth drops open as his hips roll forward, that deep moan that originates somewhere in your toes barely stifled when you clamp your mouth shut and bite your lip to keep it contained. Instead Jack gets an enthusiastic whimper while he fills your needy pussy slowly but surely. Every shuddering breath is encouragement, and you are definitely not here to discourage him.

Jack's own moan is quietly, barely breathed out but it's there. Mouth dropping open and his eyes fluttering closed at the tight, hot clutch of your cunt surrounds him. Stealing his ability to make a pithy comment, every thought of how fucking good you feel, how perfect you are, is all that he can manage until his hips nudge yours and he is buried to the hilt in your body.

All the space in your mind seems to be gone along with that space that he filled up in your body, leaving you dumbstruck in a way you’ve never felt before as your body adjusts to the weight and girth of him inside you. It isn’t like the two of you to be speechless, but the moment is consumed in drowning kisses rather than witty barbs and you can’t even say that you care. He doesn't know exactly when your fingers became entwined, curled together as your leg shifts higher on his hip and your lips tilt away from his. Breaking to give you both the space to pant softly. "Shit, sugar." He groans quietly.

“Jack—” You gasp his name softly, rolling your hips against his to seek out even the smallest movements. “You—you’re so fuckin perfect. Fuck.”

“You know how good you feel?” He groans quietly, twitching inside you when your walls contract around him.

The huff that earns him is only because your mind is too wound up in pleasure to be clever, and you draw your nails up his back to urge him on. “Might go crazy if you don’t move, baby.”

“So impatient.” He chides, leaning in and biting your chin before he draws his hips back.

“Maybe.” You might have snarked back at him if he hadn’t snapped his hips forward at that exact moment, pushing the air out of your lungs and making you have to bite back a sharp cry of his name to a bare whimper. He’s a menace and he knows what the hell he’s doing.

His grin borders on devilish and he wraps his arms around your shoulders. “You were sayin’, sugar?” He grunts as he thrusts into you again. Making sure that he forces more air out of your lungs.

“Fuck.” He said he wanted you to hold on - and he truly seems to have meant it. You cling to him as he sets a deep, steady pace that has both of you groaning into each other’s skin. The rest of the world has dissolved away so quickly that you can’t even focus on the room beyond him, eyes half-shut and fluttering every time his cock pulses inside your tight channel.

“I am, sugar.” Jack pants. “But you want it harder, I’m guessin’.” He’s teasing, but he wants to make sure you know exactly what he’s capable of in bed so he sets his knees and his pace speeds up.

It’s a miracle you don’t cry out. One hand leaves its safe place on his shoulder to dive into his hair to let your fingers scrape his scalp and pull on his hair just enough to add that hint of pain to the pleasure. “Shit.” Jack’s pace fumbles for half a thrust before he is slamming into you. Grateful for the solid poster bed to keep the headboard from banging through the wall and alerting everyone in the house to what you are doing.

“We can both play rough, cowboy.” You promise him, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath his ear and moaning vocally in his ear when he bottoms out inside you again.

If it weren’t for your experience being so fresh, Jack would have you tied to the bed. Instead he grabs your hip, hitching it up higher and groaning as he shuffles to his knees. The shift has you bouncing, head nearly hitting the headboard of the bed, and you reach up to brace yourself. The effect is that you’re stretched out in the bed below him, tits bouncing with every thrust and mouth alternately hanging open on a silent cry or pressed tightly shut to stifle the need to call his name into the night.

Huffing and puffing as he rides you hard, Jack grins down at you. Moving so he can lick his thumb and press it to your clit.

"Jesus–fuck!" You yelp when he presses his thumb to your swollen nub, eyes shooting open from where they had fallen blissfully shut to let the moment wash over you. There's a line of sweat rolling down Jack's neck that you don't hesitate to lick away, discovering tonight to be delightfully needy when you had unfoundedly assumed that things would tend toward lovemaking.

“Shhhhhh sugar.” Jack teases as he makes tight, sure circles over your clit. “Don’t want your daddy busting’ in here, do ya?” He smirks and snaps his hips a little harder.

"Fuck why is that sexier?" The pout on your lips at enjoying the idea of enjoying the forbidden or taboo is temporary, taken over by the shaking shivering pleasure from Jack knowing exactly how you like your clit rubbed.

Chucking, Jack decides to change the pace, keeping his fingers moving over your clit but his cock draaaaaags through your walls slowly. “Don’t know, you tell me.”

Biting your lip yet again to keep from moaning too loudly, the abrupt change in rhythm means you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he rocks backward. The slow feeling of emptiness is torture that almost makes you sob with pleasure. “Might hav—have to fuck you in a bunch of different —fuck — places to see who catches us.”

“Hmmm.” Jack ducks his head down and nips at your ear, breathing heavily. “Maybe I’ll fuck you in your kitchen. Let your staff walk in on us.”

“Shit.” That thought rockets through you like wildfire and has you grasping at his skin for any kind of mark or impression you could possibly leave on his perpetually tan skin. “Or your office.”

“My office.” Jack groans, pushing deep and grinding into you. “Spread out on my desk, my tongue buried in your cunt when someone walks in?”

Every image seems better than the last, building you up steadily along with his thrusts and the tight circles he's drawing on your clit so that you're on the edge of bursting. "Fuck yes," you're panting and swallowing your own whines beneath him. "So fucking good, baby, h–holy shit." With as tight as your body is clamping down on him in every way, your nails in his arms just might draw blood as you fall apart on a pitiful moan. It's too fast and too sharp to warn him, but the pleasure comes in wave after wave.

Watching your orgasm rip through you might be the sexiest thing that he has ever seen. Eyes clouding over and back arching up when your broken moan fills his ears. The hot grip of your walls making his already throbbing cock ache and he grits his teeth to keep from cumming as he rocks his hips to work you through the peak.

It's almost ruthless, the way he doesn't let up and just pushes you through to the other side without hesitation, but at the same time you love the seemingly endless aftershocks of such a powerful orgasm. "Come on, baby." You gasp out, holding onto his gaze with hazy eyes. "Cum for me."

“Gunna.” Jack hisses through his teeth, jaw stretched out and the muscles in his neck straining as he pushes towards his own pleasure. The way you tremble around him has him groaning your name, hips stuttering as his pace becomes sloppy and thrusts uneven.

His whole body tenses just a second before you feel it - his hips slamming forward to grind into you as deeply as he can before hot jets of his seed fill you with every pulse of his cock. It has you whimpering even as you slip your arms around him to offer him that place of comfort to come down to.

When he’s emptied himself into you, an experience that nears nirvana, he slides down into your embrace. Tucking his head against your neck and groaning your name quietly. “That..” he pants quietly. “Was worth the wait.”

Your breathing evens a little and you press a kiss to the top of his head, wrapping your arms around him tightly to just savor the moment for everything it's worth. "You were worth the wait."

His hold on you flexes, tightens as if he is afraid you would slip out of his grasp. As if you aren’t pinned beneath the bulk of his weight and still impaled on his softening cock. “Soulmates.” He murmurs softly.

“Soulmates.” You hum, quietly agreeing to what you know was not always the easiest thing for him to grasp or accept. Your hands journey up and down his back, soothing his overheated skin. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He sighs, kissing along your neck and across your shoulder gently. Not ready to move unless you need him to. It’s been a long time since Jack felt like he was home and that’s exactly what you feel like to him right now.

“Can we sleep like this?” Having him wrapped in your arms and pressing you down into the mattress might be the most comfortable you’ve ever been and you would hate to give it up too soon.

His chuckle is quiet and he settles so that he’s not just dead weight on you. “Comfortable, sugar?” He murmurs softly. “I don’t know if I can move right now.” He’s joking and he knows you know that from your huff.

There’s something to be said for feeling both safe and cherished, and your arms tighten around him briefly. “I think this is the most comfortable I’ve ever been.”

“Then go to sleep, sugar.” He nudges his hips forward slightly to make sure he doesn’t slip out of you. “I’ve gotcha.”

“Sweet dreams, love.” A soft kiss lingers between you before you close your eyes, happy to let blissful sleep take over.

******

“Sugar, I think four desserts is enough, don’t you?” It’s amusing to watch you rush around your kitchens and fret, but he knows that you only want to make your contribution to the going away party perfect. “You’ve made the kid’s favorites.”

“Everything has to be perfect.” Without knowing that you’re echoing his thought, you do register the affectionate grin on his face and pause in your movements to shrug sheepishly. “Bobby’s my friend, and so is his mother. This is a big day and I want them to be happy with it.”

“I know.” Jack had come by to peel you out of the kitchen, knowing if he left you for too long, you’d think of another dessert to whip up quickly. “Do we need to pack coolers or can everything go in the back of the Bronco?”

"Everything can go in the Bronco." He had let you out of his sight this morning long enough to bring your family back to the airstrip and get some clean clothes from your cabin, and you had gone into a sort of baking tizzy immediately after. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, red berry scones, pecan pie squares, and a huge batch of coconut cupcakes are all ready to go.

“Okay,” he grunts as he picks up the two large bakery boxes with the cookies and scones. “I’ve got the backseat laid down, so we should have plenty of room.”

"Thank you, baby." You follow him out with the rest of the pastries in your arms, setting them in the back of the Bronco before hopping into the front seat to snuggle up to Jack. "And...thank you for this week. Getting to spend the time with my family was...pretty perfect."

“Recovering from something like that is always better when you have people who love you around.” Jack turns and kisses your forehead. “When we are officially livin’ together, they are welcome anytime, sugar.”

"Only two more weeks until the opening." And that, in and of itself, is as terrifying as it is exciting. "Maybe tomorrow I'll come back here and pack up some of my stuff? It's not like I have a lot to do. The furniture all came with the cabin and I haven't gotten that many new things since moving down here."

“Whenever you want to do that, sugar.” Jack isn’t trying to rush you into any moves until you are ready for that. “You let me know and I’ll be your work mule for any heavy liftin’.”

"First thing's first." You lean over and snag another kiss, giddy to be beside him again after only a couple of hours apart. "Bobby's party."

“Bobby’s party.” Jack agrees, smirking over at you softly and reaching for your hand. The word about you being Jack’s soulmate has spread like wildfire amongst all the Statesman employees and this is the first official outing as a couple. “Word has it, Champ’s opened more than a few bottles of Reserve and Diana’s got all the ingredients for a full cocktail bar set up. Including some bubbly.”

"I expect nothing less of her." If it were your son being sent overseas like this without you knowing when you were going to see him again, you would definitely be sending him off in a big way as well. "Good thing we live right next door so we can just crash when we get tired."

His lips curl into a grin when he hears ‘we’. Proudly straightening up slightly as he marvels over how much his thinking has changed over the past two weeks. “I can see you gigglin’ drunkenly in the bathtub.” He teases.

"It would not be the first time at all." The grin you flash at him when he turns the engine over is unabashed. "My brother's thirtieth birthday was a hell of a party."

“Oh lord.” Jack rolls his eyes playfully and snorts. “I have a feelin’ I’m gunna be carryin’ you home over my shoulder.”

"Nooooo." Although the mental image does make you giggle. "I wouldn't embarrass you like that."

“Who says it’s because you’ve embarrassed me?” He grins lecherously and waggles his eyebrows. It’s not a long drive from your kitchen to the house, so he doesn’t have long to flirt before you will switch back into chef mode.

"You gonna throw me over your shoulder and carry me into the house to have your wicked way with me?" The two of you had woken up this morning still tangled in each other and shared a shower - which made it take far longer than if you had gotten ready separately. It was a beautiful way to spend the earliest hours of the day.

“Might.” Jack admits, reaching over and sliding his hand up your pretty sundress. “Too pretty to keep my hands off of.”

"Mmm, I think we might have unleashed the beast," you joke, not bothering for one second to stop his hand from wandering. The entire reason for wearing a little sundress today instead of a simple pair of shorts and a shirt is so that he would want to touch you.

Chuckling, he makes sure his fingers brush your panties. “Don’t think you’re complainin’.”

"Not even a little." There isn't enough time to make the car ride playful, but you relish the feeling of his fingers against your core for even just a second.

“That’s what I thought.” A small, playful pinch to your thigh is quickly smoothed over with his fingers and he grins at you. “Don’t have to be quiet tonight.”

"Thank god." You huff dramatically, like it was the biggest effort in the world to keep quiet last night. Which, in some ways, it was. At least it wasn't easy. It doesn't matter though, all that matters is that you're taking steps forward at a pace that is good for both of you. Jack parks in his driveway so he doesn't take up any room at Champ and Diana's house, and the two of you easily carry all the treats you made across the yard to the tables that Diana has left bare for your contributions. She had predicted you would overdo it after not being allowed to cook for the better part of a week, and she was right.

“Whole damn table for your desserts.” Jack sounds like he is grumbling but the grin on his face shows that he completely belies that. He’s already planning on stealing one of the cupcakes.

"Might be just enough room." There are all sorts of serving platters out for you to choose from, and you start arranging them carefully to put things at different heights and with different shapes beside each other to make the table interesting and easy to grab from. "But only because I stopped short of making the key lime tarts..."

“Now you’re just bein’ mean.” Jack groans quietly. “I ever tell you Key Lime is one of my favorites?”

"You did not." The pout on his lips is adorable, and you grin before kissing it away. "I'll make one for us this week. How about that?"

“Yessssss.” Jack pumps his fist, grinning as he imagines the tangy tartness of the dessert. It was the perfect balance of nearly too sweet and sour.

"What are we celebratin' out here?" Diana had seen you walking up to the house but was in the middle of taking something out of the oven. Now that she can come and say hello, she's ready to throw a second party altogether for how damn happy you and Jack seem.

“Key lime pie.” Jack doesn’t explain any further than that. Aware that Diana is familiar with his love of anything Key Lime. The only thing that truly beats it is chocolate.

"You're gonna love having a chef for a soulmate," she laughs lightly, embracing both of you in turn. "How are you feelin', sweetheart? Better?"

"I'm good, Di." You hug her back fiercely. "A couple of days of rest with my family is what I needed."

“We’ve got another session with the doc and then she’s got some solo meetings.” Jack hadn’t backed down on his insistence you see the staff therapist. Wanting you to cope with things better than he ever has.

"Good." That meets Diana's approval, and she nods as she looks the two of you over. "Positively glowing," she pronounces, having a feeling that she knows why. "Happiness suits you both."

Jack knows that it is mainly his fault, all his fault really. He ducks his head slightly and wraps his arm around your back to pull you into his side. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

"I always thought so." Diana gives you a playful wink before squeezing Jack's shoulder, glad to see him looking proud instead of apprehensive. "Come inside when you're done setting up here. Bar's set up in the kitchen and people should be arriving any minute."

"Do you need anything else, sugar?" Jack asks as he takes the last box from you. He has to admit that all your desserts look amazing and he hums. "Are you plannin' on having a display case in your tea room? Desserts to take home?"

"We're going to do a case for cakes." With the menu nailed down, you know that the only thing that still might expand is the take-away aspect of the bakery, but you're starting small. "The case was put in yesterday, actually. It was the last thing to go in."

"That case is going to be bare by the end of the first night." Jack predicts, knowing that plenty of people will want to take your goods home. Your kitchen staff will have to make sure to keep the cases full.

"You have such faith in me." You lean back in his arms and press a kiss to his cheek, satisfied with the way the table works and basking in the earnest compliment. "Let's go grab a drink, honey. Before the kitchen gets swamped."

Jack follows you willingly, carrying the discarded boxes from the goods as he trails after you. Admiring the way your hips sway in that dress and he smirks to himself.

"Di, I think you might have overdone it just a little bit," you laugh to yourself when you see the way the kitchen is laid out. The enormous tray of her son's favorite mac and cheese that she just took out of the oven is off to one side but a whole half of the counter is devoted to being a self-serve bar.

"Never." Diana huffs, grinning as he whips off the oven mitts and looks over the array of food. "Okay, maybe a little." She admits with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "But my Bobby is leavin' and we are going to celebrate." She swallows. "And then I'll cry tonight when he's on that plane."

"He's not leaving forever, Di." She knows that, of course, but you feel like it's your duty as her friend to remind her. "And you know he'll come home for every holiday he can. Bobby would never stay away that long."

"Shit." Diana rolls her eyes and tosses you a knowing look. "You know as well as I do that boy is itching to get out from under his daddy's watchful eye and gallivant."

"Sure." You nod, stepping up with Jack to pour yourself drinks when she motions to the counter. "But Christmas without his momma? Even a boy Bobby's age isn't eager for that."

"That's just because the darn fool still likes to see what's in his stocking." Diana jokes, laughing with you and relaxing slightly. She's nervous and excited for him, knowing that he will do good things. "How are you anticipating Tex's arrival?" She asks, glancing over at Jack.

"Honestly?" The two of you have your heads bowed as she makes you matching bright pink cocktails. "I hope it will be okay. I miss my friend, ya know? And I know Jack does, too. But...what do we know about this girl? His soulmate?" You're happy for him. You really are. But you also want to make sure that he's actually happy.

"She's a Kingsman agent. One of the few women that they have accepted, so she has to be a damn fine spy." Diana had been told what Champ knows and has no issue with passing it along. "Tall, feisty and mouthier than most Brits."

"Oh." You nearly cackle at the description, shooting Diana an amused grin. "So she'll fit right in here."

"I have a feelin' it's gonna be real interesting around here." Champ adds as he walks into the kitchen and makes a beeline for his wife to steal a kiss.

"We like interesting." You give Champ a hug when he tears himself away from Diana's side, glad to see him relaxed and smiling and not in his suit jacket for once. "Interesting keeps us on our toes."

"When's Tex comin' in again?" Jack asks, not sure how the boy will act when he gets back.

"Plane's landing in about an hour." Champ reports, snagging a beer from the fridge beside his wife. "Said he wanted to come straight over when I mentioned it to him, but I expect Sophia - that's his lady - will want to at least drop their things at the house first."

"Speakin' of houses." Jack glances over at you quickly before he looks back at his friend and boss. "Sugar's gonna be movin' in with me. Should have it empty pretty quick."

"Well look at that." Champ smirks, chuckling with a pleased note in it. "Didn't take you two long at all once you stopped trying to tear each other's throats out. Fantastic."

"Fuck off." Jack's huff is purely bluster and he rolls his eyes to accompany his sentiment before he grins at Champ.

"Charming." You smirk at your soulmate and hug him tight. "You survived five days with my entire family, babe. You deserve to have a live-in cook as a reward."

Chuckling, he can't deny that. He tugs you closer and kisses your forehead. "I will love every second of it too."

"Uncle Jack!" Bobby swings down the main staircase with a broad smile on his face and lights up at the sight of his father's closest friend. "Did you get a load of the smoker yet? Dad's outdone himself."

"Both of your parents have pulled out all stops on this shindig, kid." He lets go of you to stride forward and pull the kid into a bone crushing hug.

"I'm glad you're here." The younger man admits quietly. The idea of leaving without being able to say goodbye had made his stomach turn.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Jack murmurs back, always thinking of the kid like his own. A lot of times he had wondered if his little boy and Bobby would have been best friends.

"Sucks that we never got to run a mission together." There's a hint of regret in Bobby's voice but he smiles, glancing back over at you as you talk to his parents. "You'll be back in the field soon though, right? Never know what can happen."

"As soon as I can get my guns polished." Jack promises with a grin, slapping his back fondly. "I'll make my way over to merry 'ol England and remind you how to use your ropes."

The first flood of guests to arrive includes Ginger and Gabriella and their kids, and before you know it there is music pumping through the outdoor speakers and drinks flowing, with people playing lawn games and dancing and enjoying the sunny spring day for everything it's worth.

Jack stands with Champ over at the smoker, a place of pride as the two men share a drink. His eyes straying over to you as you laugh with Diana and he smiles softly at the scene. Unsure of why he had felt like you wouldn't fit in. That you wouldn't work here in this part of his life, or in his life at all. You've taken to Statesman and everyone he cares about like a duck to water.

“Having fun, love?” When your drink ran dry you headed across the lawn to refresh and stopped on the deck to give Jack a kiss.

"Of course." Jack smirks and lifts his glass up. "I've got some of the best Kentucky mash in existence, a smoker working overtime and the prettiest gal at the party comin' to kiss me."

“Suck up,” you tease, but there’s no bite in it. Instead it just earns him another kiss and a flustered smile from you. “Diana makes dangerous cocktails, I might have to mix something slightly less potent for myself otherwise you’re actually going to have to carry me home like you threatened.”

Champ chuckles and shakes his head. "My girl always did have a heavy hand when pouring drinks." His own eyes find his soulmate and he softens, smiling gently at the older woman across the way as she bullies Astrid into taking another scoop of the mac and cheese, knowing how much the Statesman tech loves it.

“Astrid and Gabi invited us over for dinner tomorrow,” you tell Jack, stealing one more squeeze of a hug before you remind yourself that you’re too old to be hanging all over your soulmate like a groupie. “Is it okay if I tell them yes?”

"If you are wanting to go, sugar, you tell 'em." Jack agrees, knowing that if you want to go to dinner with your friends, he will show up with a smile. "As long as you don't work too hard tomorrow since it will be your first full day back."

“My first day back is the perfect day to have someone else cook dinner, don’t you think?” It’s certainly not a bad idea by any means, and you shoot him a grin. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

"What if I don't want you to be good?" Jack poses playfully. "Go tell them that you will only bring one dessert." He orders, smirking at your immediate pout.

“Only bringing one dessert is being good!” His teasing earns him a stuck-out tongue and you hustle into the house to get another drink before he can retaliate. You’re still giggling to yourself happily just seconds later as you pour yourself a slightly less powerful cocktail, but the sound of the front door opening and boots in the foyer drags your mind to the present. “Come on back!” You call to the new arrival, having heard Diana greet guests the same way an hour ago. “Party’s outside but the bar’s in here.”

"Well hey." Tex rushes up to hug you before he stops short, unsure of how exactly to approach you now that the truth is out there and Sophia is right beside him. He gives you a sheepish smile when you turn around to face him. "Looks like you are right at home, knew you would be."

“You’re home!” The way you both flinch when you obviously want to be excited to see friends makes you shove your hands in your pockets for just a moment before you decide not to care. Friends can hug each other, dammit. If this Kingsman agent soulmate of his has a problem with it, she’s never going to be comfortable at Statesman. “It’s so good to see you,” you tell him honestly, reaching forward to offer him that hug.

As soon as you open your arms, Tex breaths out a sigh of relief and Sophia knocks into him from behind. "Hug her, you ass!" She hisses at her soulmate in reproach before she shoves him again. Rolling her eyes at the hesitancy he's displaying when she knows exactly who you are and what you have done with Tex.

The laugh you let out in surprise becomes a snort, and you hug the life out of the 6’1” Texan before turning to the statuesque woman beside him - stunningly gorgeous even in her jeans and sweater. “You must be Sophia.”

Sophia can't help but grin, immediately liking you. "That I am." She isn't like most British, she's a hugger and she comes in to greet you as if you were an old friend. Which, in a twisted kind of way, you are. "You're the heartbreaker." She teases as she squeezes you and pulls back and looks over at Tex when he huffs and shuffles beside her. "Ohhhh piss off." She huffs at him goodnaturedly. "Not everyday you get to have a friend who's seen your soulmate's cock." Her grin is wicked when she turns back to you and winks. "And she and I are going to be best mates, ay?"

“You really have no choice in the matter.” You inform Tex, grinning like a mad woman when Sophia keeps one arm around you and you can’t help but feel like this woman glows from the inside out. “I love her. I’m keeping her. You and Jack need to have a good gruff grumble at each other so we can all get back to normal around here.” Turning to Sophia, you flash her a grin and nod toward the counter. “Fix you a drink?”

"God yes." Sophia huffs, rolling her eyes. "We had to fly commercial, dealt with an absolute cunt of a ticket agent." She groans, "they didn't even have a proper cuppa on that trash heap they called a jet!" She tends to be told that she's abrasive and mouthy, but she doesn't care. Thrilled to be here with her soulmate and eager to make friends with those that know him best.

“Come by the kitchen any time. I had some of our teas imported so the real thing is just a short walk from your office.” The bottle of rum is already in your hand when you look back at her. “Did Tex tell you what I do when he told you…the other stuff?”

"He said you were the best damn baker on this side of the ocean." She tilts her head and leans in conspiratorially. "Which isn't hard when you compare it to British pastries." She giggles before she reaches out and touches your arm. "Don't worry, Tex might have told me about the incident between you, but that was before we even knew we were soulmates. And I don't care who was wrapped around his cock before me. All that matters is now."

“British pastries are amazing, don’t you dare test me on that. My tea room is opening in just a couple of weeks and you’ll have access to as much tea as you can manage.” Eyeballing the right amount of each liquor for the daiquiri you had started making her, you grin when Tex just shakes his head and steps around you to grab an ice cold beer from the fridge. Warm beer just never sat well with him in any of the pubs he tried out. “What happened between us is in the past, but I’ve really missed my friend.” You tell her honestly. “I’m really glad that you’re not the type to judge before you meet someone.”

"Though I want to punch that soulmate of yours." Sophia's grin turns into a frown and she looks you over curiously. "But it seems like you are doing surprisingly well, considering Tex said you were grieving when he left." There's a question in her comment, one that would be easily ignored if you didn't want to talk about it and the opening if you did.

“Jack and I are doing a lot better.” You hold a fixed glass out to her when you turn around. “Actually? We’re doing great. It was a bumpy ride but we’re on track now. Just like…it seems like you and Tex are doing well?”

"We are." Sophia can't stop the grin if she tries as she lifts the cocktail up to take a drink. "We both have always wanted to find our soulmates and it's just– it's exhilarating. You know?" She asks, making a face of delight when she tastes the drink you had mixed up. "Ohhhh this is good." She moans. "I'm going to love it here."

“I hope you like whiskey because around here it’s a religion.” Looping your arm through hers, you tap your glass against hers and grin. “Come outside and meet everyone.”

Jack looks up to find you and another woman with your arms intertwined and your heads pressed together, a cheery grin on both of your faces. Tilting his head and wondering who the woman is, his question is answered a second later when Tequila follows you and her out of the house, a very uncomfortable set to the boy's shoulders that immediately has Jack grinning out of spite. "Hot damn." He chuckles. "Trouble's blown back into town." He calls out over the yard.

"Tex!" Diana's delighted gasp from halfway across the yard is echoed almost immediately by a wave of other cheers and greetings, and you pull Sophia to the side with you just a few inches so you don't get run over by the ever-boisterous Bobby Rogers who comes careening up to the porch to say hello with an aggressive hug.

"Is everyone as enthusiastic around here?" Sophia bursts out laughing as the obviously grown man nearly tackles her soulmate in a hug that might have killed a lesser man.

"Pretty much," you laugh, nodding a little as Tex and Bobby share something that can only be classified as a bear hug. "I give it until the end of the party until you're getting hugs that big, too. Part of it is just...everybody loves Tex. And they're so excited to meet you."

"I heard he was something of a partier while he was here." Sophia finds it vastly amusing that the stereotypical cowboys around here act like they are all one big group of teddy bears. Most of them wrapped around their soulmates or coming over to greet Tex.

"Just a little." Throwing her a conspiratorial wink, you take it on yourself to introduce the newest arrival to Jack, since her soulmate is currently in the center of a group hug that would put any sorority to shame. "Honey," you reach out to touch Jack's shoulder and get his attention. "This is Sophia. Soph– this is Jack." The grin that unfurls on your face is unstoppable. "My soulmate."

"Well, fuck me." Sophia grins, shaking her head and reaching out to shake his hand. Unsure if this one was a hugger and she wants to needle him some. "Do they breed them all like fucking Gods here?"

You snort again, louder this time, and almost double over laughing at the comment. "Holy shit." It's going to take you a lot longer than just one or two seconds to regain your composure, especially with how amused Jack looks. "I fucking love this girl," you pronounce absolutely to anyone who could possibly be listening. "And yes. They do. At least, Statesman recruits all the godlike ones."

"I should have come over to America sooner." Sophia huffs, grinning towards her soulmate. "Tried a few of these cowboys on for size before I found Tex."

"Naw, you already got the second best the country has to offer." Your eyes slide over to Jack and you smile again, feeling that familiar fluttering in your chest that you always get when you look at him. "I'm afraid I already nabbed the best for myself."

Jack chuckles and reaches for you, relieved that the entire situation isn't awkward. Sophia looks like she is a woman who will keep Tex on his toes. "All yours, sugar." He promises. "All yours."

When Tex finally manages to extricate himself from the mountain of greetings, you ambles back over to Sophia with a sheepish grin on his face. "Didn't I tell ya we liked big hellos around here, baby?" He practically blushes, running his hand down her arm to thread their fingers together before looking up at you and his best friend. Or, at least, the man who had been his best friend. He's just hoping that he didn't fuck that up too badly. "Jack." He flusters before holding out his hand to say hello.

Jack stares at the boy's hand for a moment before he slaps it away. The sharp inhale of the entire group barely able to register before Jack busts out into a chuckle and grabs Tex, pulling him in for another rib bustin' hug. "Son of a bitch!" He growls. "The fuck took you so long? I've been miserable with just Champ for company."

The air goes out of all of you all at once, and Tex practically crumples into hugging his best fucking friend. "Jackass," he huffs, though the relief is clear in his voice. "You know that's why your daddy named you Jack, right? Knew from birth that you'd be a jackass."

"Better than Tex." Jack huffs, slapping the taller man's back harshly. It would sound like he's hitting. him, but it's just the affection being pounded back into him like men do. "Can't hit for shit, Tex." Jack's own relief at Tex's return and forgiveness for his actions are palpable. A weight off his shoulders.

"Gonna have to get back in the practice ring." Tex chuckles, shaking his head at Jack before he wraps his arm around Sophia and flashes the softest smile in the world at her. "It's good to be home." He has to admit that. Fully and wholeheartedly.

It's satisfying, seeing the boy wear a besotted smile that he's only seen one other time. This time he's got an even bigger sparkle in his eyes and it's reserved for Sophia. "Good to have you home." Jack promises, nodding at the other agent meaningfully. "You made it in time for the grand openin' too."

"I heard!" And he's not going to lie and claim that he didn't hurry back to be here in time. "Gotta admit I'm a little bummed to have missed out on all the menu tastings, but..." he clears his throat and looks down at Sophia who gives him an encouraging nod. "Champ says...y'all are gonna be doing weddings soon?"

"Oh my god..." You're wide-eyed when you realize what he's asking, and immediately look down at Sophia's hand to see a meteor-sized emerald on her finger. It's unique and bold, exactly like she is. "Are you serious? That's so exciting!"

"Goddamn." Jack whistles, not missing the split second flash of something on your face. It wasn't necessarily envy but it's more like a yearning. He thinks about the conversation he had with your father and knows that he will be sliding that ring on your finger just as soon as he can get you alone after the opening. He'll have to text your dad for a picture of the ring, get another band to compliment it. Something specifically from him for his soulmate. "Congratulations." He offers seriously.

"He wanted to wait until we got over here to have the thing." Sophia absolutely beams, looking between you and Jack. "Something utterly unEnglish. No little village church, no dour aunties over breakfast, no pall mall on the lawn." She snorts as though the idea of it is completely ridiculous.

"You'll both help, won't you?" Tex had talked about you both constantly once he was more comfortable doing so. They had opened up to each other so quickly that his hesitancy to talk about you and Jack had been the biggest clue that the two of you are important to him.

"Whatever you need from me." Jack agrees instantly, knowing that he will do anything to help the couple have the event they are dreaming of. Wanting them to be happy here, he wants Tex to be happy. Wants him to be happy with his soulmate. Just like he is now with you.

"Absolutely anything." And if you happen to have a few stray thoughts about your own wedding, it won't be your fault. But you would never bring it up to Jack.

"So you mean to tell me that the first weddin' you and Diana are gunna plan is Tex's?" Jack can't help but chuckle at the irony of it.

"Looks like it." You have a sip of your drink and note with a clear conscience that the only jealousy you feel is for being able to get married, not for the specific man. That would have been a whole extra therapy session right there.

"Looks like I owe my wife twenty bucks and a spa day," Champ chuckles from a few feet away, eyeing his two agents with amusement. "I'd sworn it woulda been Jack and his Sugar, here."

Tex’s eyes widen and he glances at you and then Jack. Just now realizing that things are a bit more friendly than when he left. “Seriously?” He asks, a slow grin breaking out on his face. “You two?”

"We're not engaged or anything," you quickly throw that conversation off the rails before it can get traction, not wanting to make Jack uncomfortable. Instead you choose to focus on the very real and very positive step toward a solid relationship that you actually are taking. "But, um...I'm moving...to Jack's place." For Sophia's benefit, you point at the side of the large house across two yards. "Right next door."

“Really?” Sophia hums and her calculating gaze turns towards Jack. “That’s a mighty big house to not be married in and fill with babies.” She points out practically.

"Ain't it, though?" Tex adjusts his arm around Sophia and grins. "Seems an awful shame not to have that place full of life."

"Oookay." Too nervous to even look at Jack, you give his hand a squeeze and remind yourself to smile. "I'm gonna go tell Gabi that we're on for dinner tomorrow before I forget," you murmur, excusing yourself as fast as gracefully possible.

Jack huffs, narrowing his eyes at the happy couple, although he isn’t upset. “Let me propose to the girl before you have her knocked up and pushin’ out babies.” His heart skips a beat at that thought but he closes his eyes and reminds himself that he diced Rollins into easy to handle pieces.

"Well she's not running because she's afraid of it." Sophia observes, sipping her drink. "She looks at you like you...what's the phrase?" One glance up at Tex and she remembers it. "Like you hung the stars in the sky."

“She’s gotta– gotta heal first.” Jack murmurs quietly. Taking another sip of his drink and watching you talk with Gabi and Astrid.

"Heal?" Tex's face flashes anger immediately but since Jack looks upset rather than angry it dissipates immediately. "What the hell happened? She looks fine."

“She– uh, she was kidnapped a week ago.” Jack tells Tequila brokenly. “Someone– it was… the same person who killed my Abigail and baby boy. Took her and tortured her.”

The way Tequila absorbs that information is the instant and yet simultaneously thorough turning of gears that marks him as an intelligence agent. Has he heard the words and absorbed their meaning? Absolutely. But is he still processing their full implication? That could take an extra moment. "Tell me you took care of it," he hisses, trying to even imagine half of what he would do to someone who hurt Sophia, let alone two of his soulmates. "Tell me you took care of it or we're leaving in the Silver Pony right now."

“They are in tiny pieces.” Jack confirms. “Never gunna hurt her again. I made sure of it.” His satisfaction is grim and he’s never told you that he’s got a video file of what he had done to Rollins, captured through his glasses, on his phone for when he needs a reminder the bastard is dead.

"Good." Both the agents in front of him - Tequila and Isolde - nod seriously. "So what she needs is to take her mind off things?" Sophia raises an eyebrow at both men. "Or should I be aiming her right at wedding thoughts to have her giddy to be proposed to?"

“I’m gunna propose after her grand openin’.” He admits quietly. “Her daddy’s bringing me her grandmother's ring. Gonna give her that and a ring to go with it from me.”

"So get her excited, then." That seems to delight Sophia, who has a mischievous streak several kilometers long. "Cheers."

“She’ll try to ignore being excited.” Jack predicts. “But remind her that it’s okay to dream. To want things.” A lot of this is because of the way he treated you, and he knows it will take time to completely fix things.

“Consider it done.” An intrigue, her mother would have called it, and Sophia has always loved a good intrigue.

“But, doesn’t mean I don’t want her to focus on your weddin’.” Jack promises. “Ain’t lookin’ to steal your thunder.”

“Jack, I, uh—” Readjusting his stance and wiping his palms on his jeans, Tex is the very picture of nerves. “I wanted to ask you to be my best man, if you weren’t still pissed at me.”

Jack looks seriously at Tex, knowing that the boy is still unsure of their standing despite the greeting. He swallows, emotional and soft at the idea. “I’d be honored.” He answers honestly, reaching out and pulling him in for another hug. “Fuckin’ honored.”

“Good.” It’s as heartfelt a moment as could be between the two men, and Sophia smiles as she rubs a hand gently on her soulmate’s back. “He was bloody terrified to ask on the way over in case you were still mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” Jack asks, making sure that the boy holds his gaze. “I was wrong.” He admits. “I owe you an apology. I shoulda made sure you knew the score. I’m sorry.”

“And I shouldn’t’ve overreacted.” Tex isn’t fool enough to think he didn’t go overboard by hauling off and laying Jack out flat. But clearing the air is what they both need. “I’m glad it’s behind us.”

“Water under the bridge.” Jack waves it away, aware that he shouldn’t have hit him, but Jack was being a jackass. “Let’s just leave that in the past.”

“Right.” Tex nods, glad to have it all aired out, and looks over at Sophia with a grin. “I’m gonna go show off my lady,” he announces unrepentantly. “Can we sit and eat with you guys later on? Catch up?”

“Go on.” Jack nods and waves them away. “Gotta make sure Champ doesn’t ruin the brisket.”

“I would not!” Champ looks scandalized at that the way only a Texas man can, and all three men laugh before Tex bundles Sophia up against him and goes out into the yard to say hello to old friends.

Jack chuckles and nudges Champ with his shoulder. “Guess things are lookin’ good. ‘Cept I know you’ll miss the kid.”

“I will.” Champ is not too proud a man to admit that he’ll miss his only child. “But every boy’s gotta leave home to grow, don’t they?”

“They do.” Jack admits, knowing his life would have been much different if he hadn’t left the ranch. Even under those circumstances. He honestly wonders what the world would be like if Jack Daniels had never become Agent Whiskey. It’s a sobering thought. “Good thing the kid knows that he’s welcome home whenever he needs a soft place to land.”

“Yeah.” Champ huffs a laugh as he inspects the progress the meat is making in the smoker. “Your house.” He doesn’t grouse about it, though, he only chuckles. “I know he’ll do well. It’s just hard to see him go.”

“I know, but the kid is a helluva agent.” Jack beams with pride, since he had helped train the kid. “You and Di did a fine job.”

“Give it a little time, Jack.” There’s confidence in Champ’s tone. It’s soft, but it’s there. “Yours will be just as headstrong and determined as you and their mama.”

“It scares the hell out of me.” Jack confesses, looking over at where you are talking with Rye, flown in from New York. You had given him a hug and there were some tears, but you had waved him off from coming over. “What if I lose her? Another baby?” He chokes out. “It’ll kill me.”

“The man who took your family - who tried to take this one - is dead.” Champ reminds him quietly, abandoning the smoker to focus entirely on his friend. “I know it’s hard to remember, but I’ll remind ya every day if you’re needin’ it. What else could hurt her - birth? Not with Ginger hoverin’ over her the whole time. Ain’t no disease we can’t tackle. No danger that Statesman can’t pull her back from. And shit,” Champ clicks his tongue. “With how well she did under pressure? Leavin’ you her bracelet as a clue an all? Keepin’ her secrets like she did? Even if there were other people out there who might wanna make a target out of a Statesman agent’s wife, I’d be more afraid for them then I am for her.”

“She’s a goddamn goddess, isn’t she?” Quiet pride fills him as he stares at you in a way that has his eyes watering slightly. Just drinking in the sight of his soulmate happy and healthy. “I never believed in second soulmates, never wanted one.” He knows that Champ is completely aware of that. “But I’m goddamn proud that this is who the universe chose for me.”

“She loves the hell out of you.” The older man claps Jack on the back in a friendly, playful gesture. “Can’t for the life of me figure out why, but you’re goddamn lucky.”

“Don’t I know it.” It’s a far cry from his viewpoint a month ago, but it’s amazing what can happen when you let the fear go.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide​ @elegantduckturtle  ​

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #Agent Tequila #Agent Tequila x OC #Agent Tequila x female OC

[sisterspooky1013]

Liquid Courage & Promises Kept

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3558

Read it on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

December 20, 1999

She’d been standoffish lately. Well, she’d been standoffish today, yesterday she was actually borderline flirty. He was having a hard time reading her from one day to the next, unsure if the difference in her demeanor was real or if it only existed in his head. At times he was sure she returned his affection; the flutter of her eyelashes over her icy blue eyes and the slight part of her pouty lips appearing as an invitation, and he’d almost accepted it several times. Almost. Something always got in the way; a knock at the door, the ring of a phone, the sting of a bee or the sudden aversion of her gaze, self consciousness dragging her back inside herself and away from him. He thought he could see the internal struggle in the set of her shoulders and the tuck of her chin. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, but she couldn’t admit it to herself, and he wasn’t going to push her. He’d waited this long, what was a bit longer?

Today, the typical relief that comes with a Friday afternoon was overshadowed by her businesslike demeanor, the perfectly polite but impersonal way she answered his questions, and the thorough but unemotional way she engaged in conversation with him. The more she withdrew, the more he advanced, grasping for some feedback, some response that soothed his feeling of rejection.

“Any big plans this weekend?” He inquired, resorting to small talk, which they typically didn’t need.

She didn’t look up from the file she was reviewing. “I’m getting dinner with an old friend from undergrad tomorrow. That’s about it.” Her tone was flat and disinterested, but not annoyed. She didn’t ask him about his own plans, not that he’d have had anything to share.

“Scully….are you okay? Did I do something?” He hated the whiny tone in his voice, the insecure way he sought her validation.

She looked up then, her brow knit in confusion. “No, why do you ask?”

“You just seem kind of…off? Distracted maybe? You don’t seem like yourself.”

He saw her sit up a bit straighter, just a touch more life enter her eyes. “Sorry, Mulder. I’m fine, it’s just been a long week I guess.” She offered him a thin smile. She was placating him, that he could tell, but he still wasn’t sure why.

He returned her tight-lipped, not at all genuine smile, nodding. “Glad to hear it.”

They finished out their workday, she wished him a good weekend and left the office quickly, before he had the chance to attempt walking out with her. Part of him wondered if “dinner with an old friend” was a euphemism; did she have a date? Maybe she was going out with an ex? He’d certainly been less than supportive (not to mention mature) when he’d been aware of her going out with someone in the past, so it would make sense that she’d hide it from him. Heaving a defeated sigh, he locked up the office and headed into a weekend full of boredom and misplaced jealousy that he didn’t have any right to feel.

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

Saturday he had slept in, played some basketball at the Y, and stopped by to check out the Gunmen’s latest research to pass the time. It was now half past 8 and he realized he hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so grabbed his keys and headed to a restaurant in DC that had the best burgers, in his opinion. The fact that Scully was probably out on her date right now entered his mind at regular intervals, and he pushed it away, wanting to give her space to have an actual life outside of him and The X Files. Regardless of his feelings for her, above all else he wanted her to be happy, even if it was with someone else. The thought of having to meet some guy she was dating and act like he didn’t want to rip his face off made his stomach turn.

He parked in a 15 minute space just outside the restaurant and headed into the lobby. It was a busy Saturday night crowd, noisy and boisterous with various sporting events playing on several TVs and people shouting over each other to be heard. He placed his order, to go, with the hostess and then leaned against the wall to survey the scene while he waited. It was hard to say what made him feel worse, the families with children dragging french fries through lakes of ketchup, or the couples with their heads titled close together in intimate conversation, oblivious to anyone and anything but each other. His solo status was always painfully obvious in a setting like this. Most of the time it didn’t bother him, but today, knowing Scully was somewhere with someone else, it felt like shit.

And then he heard a laugh ring out like a bell. It was a sound he knew in his bones. One that, while infrequent, was a balm on his soul. Well, usually it was, anyway. But when he turned toward the sound and saw Scully, one hand to her chest while the other lay flat against the table top for stability, leaning toward the recipient of this sweet sound with her teeth bared in a joyful grin, his heart sank. She looked completely incredible, her hair mostly pulled back with a few strands loose around her face, a blue v-neck sweater clinging to her tiny frame and showing just a hint of cleavage. She was leaning in closer to a man whose back was to Mulder, removing the hand from her chest and placing it on his arm as she practically fell over in hysterics. He had never seen her like this, and envy twisted in his rib cage. Who the fuck was this guy that could make Scully laugh like that? He forced himself to look away, to stare at the gaudy rainbow checkerboard tiles on the floor. He checked his watch to calculate how much longer it might be before his food was ready and he could get the fuck out of here. Mercifully, the sound of her laughter subsided and he willed himself not to look that way again; he didn’t want to see something he’d never be able to erase from his memory.

He was doing such a good job pretending she wasn’t there that he was genuinely startled when he felt her cool hand thread around his elbow, linking his arm in hers. He looked to her and saw that her eyes were glassy and a little bit red. She was drunk.

“Come here often?” She drawled, her smile and the weight of her body leaning against him sending a wave of electricity down his torso.

“I might ask you the same” he countered, working very hard to seem casual, though he probably didn’t need to, given her state.

“Come sit with me.” She ordered. The contrast between her behavior at work yesterday and the open, seeking way her eyes roamed his face now was jarring. He was so confused by her signals.

“Nah, I don’t want to intrude. You’re out with your friend.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “date.”

She waved her hand in the air, brushing away the concern. “It’s fine, Mulder, he wants to meet you, come say hi.”

So she’d talked to her date about him? He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, flattered, or weirded out. He turned to tell the hostess where he’d be before allowing her to pull him by the arm over to her table. As they approached, a second man sat down at the table, appearing to have just returned from the bathroom.

“Guys, this is Mulder!” She said with a level of excitement that seemed, to him, to be unnecessary.

“Mulder!” They both repeated as though they were reunited with an old friend. One was tall and blonde with an athletic build, the exact kind of guy he’d expect Scully to be interested in. The other was shorter and lean with a bald head and calloused hands. After an awkward beat where he looked at her expectantly, Scully remembered her manners and began introductions.

“Mulder, this is Rob, he and I were good friends in undergrad” she motioned towards the tall blonde man, and then to the shorter, bald one. “ This is his husband, Michael.”

A grin spread across Mulder’s face as he understood that this was most definitely not a date. He stuck out his hand and shook both theirs enthusiastically, agreeing to Scully’s insistence that he sit down as she stole another chair from a nearby table.

“I have to pee” Scully announced suddenly, leaving the table. Mulder looked after her in amused surprise at her lack of decorum. This was a side of his partner he had not had the pleasure of seeing yet.

Mulder stood to remove his coat, noticing Rob discreetly flick his eyes over his body as he did so. He always appreciated being checked out, even if it wasn’t from his target audience. As he sat back down, Michael spoke.

“It’s nice to meet you Mulder. Dana has told us so much about you.”

Mulder smirked self-consciously. “Nothing bad I hope.”

“Nothing that we can’t see with our own eyes” Rob remarked, giving him another once-over with an appreciative nod of his head. Michael jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Sounds like you do a lot of interesting work together” Michael offered, distracting from Rob’s remark.

“Uh, yeah, something like that” he responded cooly, seeing the hostess approaching with his order.

Scully returned from the bathroom and plopped down beside him dramatically, putting her hand on his thigh. He eyed her skeptically, but didn’t move it.

“I gotta go, I’m parked in a 15 minute spot. It was good to meet you both. You’ll make sure this one gets home okay?”

“Of course” Michael answered, sliding his arm around his husband’s shoulders. “Rob is a drunk Dana whisperer, from the stories I’ve heard.”

“No one wants to hear those stories” Scully warned, draining her glass. “Anyway, I’m going with you, Mulder.”

Mulder looked at her quizzically “oh are you?”

She gave him a coy smile and nodded, her eyes bleary from the booze.

“How about I take you home instead, party girl.” He stood and put his jacket back on.

Scully shrugged, accepting this alternative, and hugged her friends goodbye. Rob held on to her a little longer than Michael, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle before she told him she’d call him tomorrow. They left the restaurant arm in arm, and when they reached his car outside he opened the door for her to climb in first.

“So chivalrous” she mused, beaming at him.

He shook his head and laughed at her condition. In the moment, she was the antithesis of everything he knew her to be. The Scully he knew would roll her eyes and pity this blatant show of flirtation. Throughout the 15 minute drive to her apartment, she continued to paw at him, sliding her hand up his thigh until he batted it away. He settled on holding her hand, which seemed to make her happy and distracted her from more nefarious contact. When he pulled up outside her building, he expected her to get out and go inside, but instead she turned to him and asked “aren’t you going to walk me to my door?” It seemed to be asked in earnest, absent any innuendo, so he agreed. She held on to his arm and leaned into his side as they made their way in, her footing unsteady in her heels. He took her keys and unlocked the door for her, his feet planted firmly in the hallway. He was intrigued by her behavior and he could admit that he was very turned on by it, but she was drunk, and there was no way in hell he was going to take advantage of that.

“Come inside” she suggested, pulling on his arm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Scully. You get some rest, call me tomorrow and let me know you’re alive. I’ll bring you some coffee and a breakfast burrito.”

She pushed her lower lip out in a little pout and stepped toward him, sliding her arms up his and on to his shoulders. The height of her heels compensated quite a bit for their usual discrepancy so that she only had to stretch a tiny bit for them to be face to face.

“What cha doin, Scully?” He asked, his mind telling him that this was a bad idea, while his body urged him to proceed.

“Just giving you a hug. Is that allowed?” Her voice was sultry and smelled like whiskey.

“A hug. Sure, I guess that’s okay.” His hands found her waist. Just a hug. They’d hugged hundreds of times.

She slid her hands around his neck and pressed her cheek to his and the rest of her body followed, breast to chest, pelvis to pelvis, thigh to thigh. This was not their typical hug. She was draped over him, her breath hot on his ear. He was afraid if this went on much longer, she’d be able to feel how much he wanted her. She pulled her head back, keeping the rest of her tucked against him, and looked at his face. God, she looked beautiful, if not a bit out of it. He willed himself to pull away, but he couldn’t, not yet. She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. Electric. His body tensed, knowing it couldn’t go on. Next she pressed her soft full pout against his lips, her fingers digging into his hair. He sighed, and then pulled away, stepping back from her, breaking contact.

She looked at him with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. Not wanting to send the wrong signal, he took both her hands in his. “You’re drunk, Scully. It’s not right. I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret tomorrow.”

She held his gaze, her eyes watery and tired. “I won’t regret it, Mulder.”

“Well if that’s the case, kiss me sometime when you’re sober and I promise I won’t turn you down.” He was smiling at her, captivated by this moment where he felt like he could say anything, where they could be completely honest for once.

“Why haven’t you ever kissed me, Mulder?” There was sadness in her voice. Regret.

He took a breath before responding. “I guess…I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“I do. I want you to.” He was afraid that he was about to find out she was a tearful drunk.

“Okay, I promise that I will. Soon.”

She nodded solemnly, and he pulled her into a hug, a real one, with her cheek squished against his shoulder and her hair tickling his nose. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he stepped back and looked at her, asking “are you going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”

She blinked slowly, her eyes working to focus on his face. “I think maybe not.”

He laughed, stepping through into her apartment and leading her to her bedroom, where he waited outside the door as she changed into pajamas. Once she was tucked safely in bed with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol within arms reach, he went out to the kitchen and got a piece of paper to leave her a note. By the time he returned to leave it next to the glass of water, she was already asleep.

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

Scully woke in the morning to find her mouth dry and sticky. As she sat up, her head lurched and squeezed her brain in protest. She looked around, unsure how she got here. The last thing she remembered was spotting Mulder at the restaurant, and then….nothing. Turning to check the time, she was relieved to see a glass of water and she chugged it down, stopping halfway to take two of the Tylenol; she must have put them there before she went to sleep. As she turned to drape her legs over the side of the bed and prepare to stand, she spotted a slip of paper on her nightstand and unfolded it.

Hey Party Girl,

I’m willing to bed you have a mean hangover. Whether you remember it or not, I did promise you a breakfast burrito. Call me when you’re awake.

Mulder

Her eyes went big. Mulder was here? She felt strange not being able to remember it, and hoped she hadn’t done anything embarrassing. First she dragged herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth and then took a shower, pulling last night’s mascara from her eyelashes. As she stepped out, already feeling a little better, the phone rang.

“Hello?” She cringed at the volume of her own voice.

“Hey pretty lady, you make it home okay?” It was Rob.

“Apparently so, though I don’t remember much of anything. What happened after Mulder showed up?”

Rob chuckled softly and her stomach turned. What had she done? There was a scuffling sound on the other end of the line and she could hear Michael say “stop torturing her!” Before he wrangled the phone away from Rob.

“It wasn’t that bad, Dana, Rob is just being a jerk. You got a little handsy with him then told him to take you home. We could tell he wasn’t going to take advantage of you.”

“Uh, what do you mean by handsy, exactly?” She was starting to feel nauseous.

“I think you had your hand on his thigh and you were making some serious bedroom eyes at him, but that’s it, at least at the restaurant. I can’t speak to what happened after you left.”

“Oh god” she whispered.

There was more scuffling and then Rob was back on the line “Look, honey, it’s clear that you both want to be with each other so I don’t see the issue. Just get over yourself and fuck him already.”

“Right, thanks Rob, that’s really helpful.” She rubbed her free hand over her throbbing temples.

“It was good to see you, Dana. We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, it may be a while before I can stomach alcohol, Rob.”

“You know my number. Bye.”

He hung up and she replaced the phone on the receiver, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. Dragging herself to her bedroom, she put on sweats and a t shirt, brushed her hair, and then flopped down on to the couch, already predicting it would be a wasted day. She was too old for this. When she heard Mulder’s familiar tap tap on the door, she considered staying very quiet until he went away, pretending not to be home.

“Scully, I know you’re home, your car is outside.” She heard him call out. Fuck.

Fluffing her hair a bit as she walked to the door so she wouldn’t look like a drowned rat, she opened it and found him looking adorable in jeans and a blue sweater, a paper bag in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes went big at the idea of food and she realized she was starving.

“Well it’s clear the burrito is welcome, do I also have permission to enter the premises?”

He was grinning at her in a way she found both endearing and infuriating. She hated not knowing what had happened. Taking the bag and cup from his hands, she turned and walked to the couch, leaving the door open as an invitation for him to follow.

“Thanks” she muttered, taking a sip of the coffee before setting it on the table and unwrapping the burrito.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Like I drank way too much” she returned without looking at him.

He nodded knowingly. “Do you remember…everything?”

She shot him a wide-eyed look. “What is there to remember?”

He shrugged “nothing, just wondering.”

“Look, Mulder, I don’t really remember anything after you showed up at the restaurant and if I did something embarrassing I’d rather you just tell me now instead of dragging this out. So what did I do?”

He shook his head nonchalantly. “Nothing, Scully. You were very pleasant, actually.” He smiled at her and she knew there was more to it, but he was taking the path of allowing her to remain blissfully ignorant, and she was thankful for it.

He turned on the TV and they sat quietly and watched the news while she ate and drank, slowly feeling more human as the minutes passed. He saw her check the time and took that as his cue to leave, and she walked him to the door.

“Thanks, Mulder, both for getting me home safe and for breakfast.”

“Anytime. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

She gave him a rueful look while shaking her head slowly.

“Well, in the event that anything does come back to you, I want you to know that I intend to keep my promise.”

“That really means nothing to me Mulder, but thanks I guess?”

He chuckled a little, then turned and left her to nurse her hangover in peace.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #xf fanfic

[areiton]

call & come (send up an SOS)

Read on AO3

~*~ 

1.

Rhodey gets the call in the middle of a date. 

Well. 

Not the middle. 

Rhodey gets the call when her mouth is around his dick, his balls tight and aching. Blonde hair is caught in his fist and she’s got a gleam in her pretty blue eyes, as he fucks her wet hot mouth, and he’s gonna come, jesus christ and--

His pager goes off. 

Carol comes off his dick with a wet pop and smirks at him. “You wanna get that?” She licks her lips and uses her hand to jack him off. 

She’s got these callouses on her hand from the joystick of her bird, and they drag over his cock in the most delicious of ways. 

“No,” he pants, and she laughs, and moves to take him back in her mouth, and he catches her by the jaw, pulls her up and kisses her, licks the taste of himself out of her mouth and pinches her nipple just to hear the growly little moan she gives up. 

“But I gotta,” he adds. 

He swipes it up, and three little letters blink up at him. 

SOS. 

He sighs, and glances at Carol. She’s sprawled against her sheets, a hand on her cunt and his mouth waters at the sight. 

The pager goes off again and he says, “Got a phone I can borrow, gorgeous?” 

~~ 

He scowls up at a fucking frat house. 

It’s a goddamn frat house, didn’t they outgrow this shit? 

He scowls, and it’s only a little bit because he left Carol biting her orgasm into her arm while his cock ached against his jeans. 

Most of it’s because Tony went to a goddamn frat house. 

He finds Tony quick. It used to surprise him, how he could always find Tony, like a compass pointing north. Now--now it’s just a skill he’s grateful for and let’s it pull him through the party to where Tony is holding court, surrounded by twenty undergrads who look like this might be the first time they’ve ventured out of the labs. He’s perched on a blond giant's lap, and there’s something frenetic about the way he’s moving, his words starting to slur. 

Rhodey once watched Tony defend a PhD thesis, drunk and running on two hours of sleep in seventy two. 

He doesn’t fucking slur. 

Rhodey’s gaze narrows on the hand on Tony’s waist, the way it’s too tight and holding him in place and he bites back a snarl that wants to rip out. 

He’s horny and his best friend is being manhandled and drugged by a fucking frat boy. 

“Honeybear!” Tony crows, and gives a happy little bounce in his new friend’s lap. Rhodey reaches for him, and--

Tony scrambles free and into Rhodey’s arms, tucking himself against Rhodey’s side like he belongs there, a smile brighter than the sun tilted up at him. 

“You’re drunk,” Rhodey says, patient. “Time to go home.” 

Tony grins and let’s himself be guided out of the fucking frat house and Rhodey has a moment, watching a pair of girls making out against the wall, where he regrets it, the way he left Carol, the way he’s still horny and annoyed. 

But Tony called. 

And he came. 

“You smell like sex, Rhodes,” Tony complains, and Rhodey growls, and drags him home. 

~~ 

2.

He's asleep when the pager buzzes. 

He only notices because it's tucked under his arm, near the pillow, and it sends him scrambling across the bed to get away from it, cursing and rubbing his arm. 

"What the fuck, what the fuck," he grumbles, and the damn thing buzzes again. 

It was his idea, is the thing. 

Tony was a walking disaster, and underage to boot, a messy twink with enough money to buy anyone's affections and Rhodey--

Rhodey took one week to realize that was the worst idea in a whole long list of bad ideas. He bought the shitty pagers and tossed one to Tony, and said, "If you need a rescue or a pick up or anything--send me an SOS." 

"I don't need you to play white knight, honeybear," Tony said, curiously staring at it and him. 

"I know you don't," Rhodey told him, even though he did. "But I want you to have that option. If you need help--" 

"Send up an SOS," Tony echoed. 

The thing is--Tony didn't ask for help. Not when he was drowning in assignments and SI work, not when his mom dragged him away from campus for a week in Tuscany, not when he got caught with coke on him at a party or when a boyfriend got too handsy. 

So Rhodey gave him the pager and prayed Tony would use it in emergencies. 

The first call was startling, and terrifying, and Tony had blinked at him over three boxes of donuts, seemingly as startled as Rhodey was that he'd used the damn thing, or maybe that Rhodey responded. 

It was never serious. 

But Rhodey always answered. 

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking at the address that popped up and sighing. 

Studying would have to wait. 

~~ 

It takes him less than thirty minutes to dress and make his way across campus to the address, and he blinks at it blearily. It's a restaurant. 

A nice one. 

He groans, and wishes fervently for coffee before fixing a polite smile on his face and pushing inside. 

He sees Tony right away, sprawled messy and far too casual, across from Howard. 

He bites down on his curse, and scoots around the hostess busy with a nice white couple and approaches. Tony's gaze flicks to him, and his eyes brighten. "Rhodey!" he crows. 

"Hey, man. Did you forget we've got that lab this morning?" 

"Shit-" Tony breathes, jerking in his seat. His coffee sloshes and it's too creamy and sweet, but Rhodey eyes it anyway. "I gotta--Howard, I have--" 

"Go," Howard grumbles. "God knows you aren't actually listening to me." 

"Board meeting on the 3rd, new patents pending, rework the Icarus propulsion tech. Mom has a charity thing the 5th she wants me to attend. Anything else?" Tony asks, sweetly, but his smile has teeth. Rhodey huffs, reaches across the table, snagging bacon from Tony’s plate, and it makes the tension rising between father and son break. 

And there's bacon. 

"I'll see you the 3rd," Howard says and Tony tosses off a sloppy salute as he slides out of the booth and Rhodey crunches on his stolen bacon. 

"Let's go, Rhodey, wouldn't want to be late." 

Rhodey nods at Howard and follows Tony from the restaurant and back toward their apartment, and it's only when Tony sighs and the tension drains out of his shoulders does he bump his best friend companionably and say, plaintive, "But you're buying me breakfast, right?" 

Tony laughs, and it's star bright and happy. 

~~

3. 

Pepper's eyes narrow when she sees Rhodey in Tony's office. It's rare enough that anyone is there that he had to wipe a thin layer of dust from the top of Tony's desk. 

He's settling in real well as CEO, then. 

"You do not get to rescue him today," she almost hisses and Rhodey smile, all innocent and beatific. 

"I'm just here to see a friend," he says, spreading his hands. 

She snorts, patently disbelieving, and yeah, ok, that's fair. Rhodey's leave never comes as coincident, and for it to run smack into one of Tony's few visits to the East Coast and the quarterly stock meeting--well. 

He's only surprised that he hasn't been called yet. 

"When did it get started?" she asks, and Rhodey blinks at Pepper. She's been part of Tony's life, making sure it spins properly, for almost three years now, longer than anyone but Happy and himself, and it startles him that she doesn't know the origin of the SOS. 

"College," he says. Shrugs. "Tony was always gettin' himself into trouble. I couldn't babysit constantly, so I got us these pagers." He grins down at the clunky thing. Tony hates it but Rhodey refused to let him upgrade. "Told him that if he ever needed me, all he needed to do was call." 

"And he actually did?" she says, skeptical, and Rhodey grins. 

It took six months for Tony to start using the damn things, and then he used them almost obsessively. It was almost a game. 

He missed it, the calls for coffee, the time he and DUM-E got super-glued together, the petulant frown on Tony's face when he burnt his last box of mac and cheese. 

"Have you ever missed one?" she asks, and Rhodey blinks at her. 

"Of course not," he says, and Pepper's eyes narrow, her mouth opens--

And the pager goes off. 

Rhodey smirks and waves the little black box at her. "Duty calls, Pep," he drawls, and pushes himself out of Tony's desk chair, where he's been lounging like he belongs there, and strolls out of the office. 

She sees him a few minutes later, one arm around Tony's shoulders, the younger man talking animatedly while Rhodey steers him effortlessly toward the elevators. 

She watches them and wonders if either of them can see what she can. 

The fond smile on Rhodey's lips, the eager light in Tony's eyes, the way they tipped toward each other, the way they didn't seem aware of the world around them. 

She sighs as the elevator slides closed behind them, and straightens the files she prepared for this eventuality, and squares her shoulders, stalking into the conference room to finish the Board meeting. 

Rhodey, she thinks, ruefully, isn't the only one who comes so readily to Tony's rescue. 

~~ 

4.

"Sir, you can't come in dressed like that," the maitre d says, a little desperately. 

Rhodey spares her a second glance and the true this--he feels a little guilty. He's in a pair of sweatpants he stole from Tony, SI logo plastered down the leg. A faded, too thing MIT t shirt with holes in the collar. 

He was comfortable, reading a book Happy had suggested because for all that Tony liked to give Happy shit for his taste in TV and literature, the man had only ever passed on books that Rhodey enjoyed. 

He was comfortable, two beers into his evening and happy to spend it relaxed, when he got the call. 

Tony called. 

Rhodey came. 

Didn't mean he was gonna change out of his sweat pants to do it. 

"I just need to grab something," he says, flashing a smile, all the cocky self-assured ego that Tony had taught him. 

It works, and he finds Tony tucked into a corner of the restaurant, a bored expression on his face as he sits across from a gorgeous blonde. 

"Tones," he says and smiles at Tony's friend. She is pretty. 

Nice rack too. 

From the confused little furrow in her brow and the blank look on Tony's, Rhodey thinks she probably has a bigger bra size than IQ. "I'm gonna need to borrow him, darling," he says. 

"Oh, are you going?" 

"National security," Tony nod sagely, and Rhodey rolls his eyes, and drags the smaller man out of the damn five-star restaurant. 

They take a shitty cab back to Rhodey's apartment without really talking about it and Tony strips down to a Air Force tshirt he steals from Rhodey's dresser and plaid pajama pants that puddle over his bare feet before curling against Rhodey's side and stealing his beer.

"Want me to order pizza?" Rhodey asks. 

"Chinese?" Tony says, hopefully, and Rhodey rumbles a laugh, adjust to the weight of the other man against his side and reaching for his phone. 

"She wasn't bad," Tony says, after he's ordered and Rhodey is reading again, one hand drifting through Tony's hair. He's laying quiet against Rhodey's side, uncharacteristically quiet, and the small admission draws Rhodey's gaze. "She was just--" 

"Not smart?" 

Tony nods, miserably and Rhodey sighs. "Why do it then? Why date the ones you know aren't smart enough to keep up with you?" 

"No one can keep up with me," Tony says, and he sounds so forlorn, so lonely, it makes Rhodey's chest hurt. 

"I can," he says, without thinking and Tony's gaze flicks up, wide and startled. Too open. It makes something in his chest go tight and aching and he smiles, a quick teasing thing. "If I can, you can find someone else who will." 

Tony grins and the moment slips past, but it doesn't go away, as they eat Chinese, as Tony sips his beer and listens to Rhodey read to him, as they curl together in Rhodey's big bed, and the darkness. 

He can't stop seeing the hope, copper bright and shining, in Tony's eyes. 

~~ 

5.

The thing is. 

The thing is, he’s been with Tony now--best friend, brother, keeper, something--for almost than he hasn’t. Tony is as much as much a part of him as his mama, as much as his uniform and his duty, and he can’t imagine a life where he doesn’t answer, when Tony calls. 

He can’t imagine who he’d be, if he weren’t the other half of Stark & Rhodes, of Tones & Rhodey. 

He doesn’t even want to imagine it. 

He does, however, wish he could sleep a whole night through, sometimes. 

He glares blearily at the phone that replaced the beeper two years ago, when Tony’s finally died and couldn’t be revived. 

Tony will never admit it, but Rhodey’s pretty sure even he misses the clunky relics of their childhood. 

The phone flashes, red and white, SOS bright in the dark and he thinks, just for a moment, of not answering. 

Of calling or sending Pepper or Happy or just pretending he hadn’t gotten it. 

He yawns, hard enough his jaw cracks, and crawls out of bed. 

~~ 

He pulls up to the club and send a text because he loves Tony, he does, he’ll chase him down and rescue him even in the dead of night, but there’s a limit and they are closer to forty now than thirty, and he’s not dragging him out of a club. 

He send the same text to Happy, and then slouches in his seat, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. 

It takes less than ten minutes, which might be a new record, before Tony is crawling into the passenger side of the truck. He smells of booze and sex, and Rhodey arches an eyebrow and Tony shakes his head. “Not mine.” 

Rhodey makes a quiet noise, and pulls into traffic. Tony is quiet at his side, long enough that Rhodey finally glances at him, and he’s a little surprised to see Tony watching him. He’s quiet, and there’s eyeliner smeared under his eyes, making them larger than normal, and he’s still. 

“You ok?” Rhodey asks, softly and Tony smiles. 

It’s a tiny smile, familiar and sweet,and it makes him ache, because that smile is his. 

Shy and boyish and so real it almost hurts. 

“Why do you come rescue me? I’m not an idiot child at MIT anymore, honeybear,” Tony says. 

“Why do you still call? You don’t need me to rescue you,” Rhodey answers, and Tony laughs. 

He reaches out, tangles their fingers together and squeezes. And even after twenty years of sharing space and life, Tony’s casual way of touching makes his heart flip and plunge and soar. 

“I’ll always need you to rescue me,” Tony murmurs. 

Rhodey squeezes his hand, and they lapse back into silence. And then, coaxing and sweet, Tony says, “Will you buy me donuts?” 

Rhodey laughs. 

~~ 

+1

 His fingers rub over his phone, compulsively. Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

It’s been eighty-eight days. 

~~ 

At first, he’d tapped it on his leg, while he lay in a medic’s gurney, and demanded to know what the hell happened, demanded to know where Tony was. 

No one answered, and his phone was trashed, and by the time he had one again--they’d told him.

A bombing. 

Mass casualties. 

Tony Stark, missing. Presumed dead. 

Rhodey threw a fit, when they said that, a screaming raging thing that ended with him strapped back to his goddamn gurney, a needle in his arm. 

“You’ll hurt yourself,” someone said. 

He fucking hoped. 

~~ 

He stares at the night sky and he stares at the bunk above him, and he stares at the blank sky outside his plane window and the desert beyond the helicopter and the wide open sky that he’s always loved and hates now. 

Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

“I heard you’re still looking,” Stane said, and Rhodey stared at him, blank and unemotional. 

The older man--Tony’s partner, Tony’s godfather, Tony’s but not Tony--smiles, oil slick and cold. “You can’t keep looking, Rhodes. There’s nothing to find.” 

Rhodey smiled, regulation sharp and precise and empty. “Sir.” 

“You’re still looking,” Pepper said, and Rhodey stared at her. Tony’s friend, red-eyed and barely held together, and he squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t stop,” she said, fiercely. 

“Ma’am,” he breathed. 

~~ 

The dust stings his eyes, and he wants to close them and he wants to scream, and he wants--

Tony. He wants Tony. 

The phone is quiet in his hand, a dead talisman. Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

“You keep chasing a ghost, you’ll throw away your career,” his CO warned him and Rhodey stared into the middle distance. 

“Are you ordering me to stand down?” he asked. 

“Would you listen, if I did?” 

Twenty years and a thousand SOS calls, a thousand rescues when Tony never once needed him, and now--

His phone was quiet and still and his jaw clenched. “No, sir.” 

~~ 

“Colonel,” someone shouts, and Rhodey watches a patch of mountains explode on the radar and his heart squeezes. 

Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

He didn’t sleep. 

He didn’t sleep because when he slept, he dreamt, and Tony wasn’t missing there, he was dead, a bloody broken body with so many others, and Rhodey was too late, an unanswered call. 

He didn’t sleep. 

He just hoped.

~~ 

The helicopter blades thrum and all he can hear is taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

They bank and search and all he can feel is taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

“Sir!” 

He falls out of the copter and into the sand, stumbling, and his heart goes taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

Tony clutches him, sobbing silent, and his fingers dig into Rhodey’s fatigues, into his skin, and Rhodey holds him close, presses Tony’s head to his chest, and feels it. 

Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

He bites back his sob, and tightens his grip. 

“I’ve got you,” he breathes into filthy hair, into Tony, lips brushing over his temple. 

~~ 

Rhodey holds him, when Tony falls asleep against his chest in the chopper, heartbeat steady under his skin, and the rhythmic tapping fades away. 

He’s here. 

He’s safe. 

He’s home. 

#arei writes fic #tonyrhodey #ironhusbands #ironbros #5+1 things #james rhodes #tony stark

[domesticmail]

the club

pairing: jj maybank x kook!reader

word count: 1.3k (but it’s a little more like an extra long blurb than an actual fic lol)

warnings: cursing, a lil bit of angst!

requested: nope!

summary: jj hates being dragged along to sarah’s outings, and going to the island club for dinner counts as a stupid kook event.

JJ Maybank was tired of his best friend’s Kook girlfriend dragging them into her Kook life.

Sure, he liked Sarah. She was nice enough, and not necessarily bad-looking. Good personality, yeah, and witty, yes, but a Pogue like JJ had no place in the whole Kook lifestyle. 

It was stupid, actually, why he was here. He didn’t even want to be anywhere near this stupid building, would rather be back at the Boneyard, but John B hadn’t really given him a choice – he knew JJ didn’t have plans that night.

The whole crew, a while ago, had grown bored of eating at The Wreck or The Chateau every night, and had devised a new dinner plan: every Friday, one person would be in charge of dinner. Whether they were eating out or at The Chateau was entirely up to that person, whatever they wanted, and it was their job to pay for it, too. (Since that rule had been established, JJ had become a pretty good home cook, considering he couldn’t pay for going out – not that any of the others in the group would’ve minded covering for him.) Kie had picked The Wreck for her week, John B his own cooking (Kraft Mac n’ Cheese, anyone?), Pope his parent’s (his mother made some damn good dinner). It was Sarah’s turn this week, and she was the first to pick a place none of the other Pogues had been to before:

The Island Club.

He knew he was going to hate it the moment Sarah started talking. Pogues are not meant to engage in Kook events, and Pasta Friday at the Island Club sounded exactly like the type of place he was not supposed to be.

The entrance to the club cemented his belief: two gray stone pillars supporting a painted-white wood overhang that framing large birch french doors. Fuck that. The whole place had that fake, man-made oasis vibe going, but it was so obvious that Sarah loved it, no one said a word. 

“Is this where you guys sacrifice innocent Pogues to your Kook god?” Pope asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddess,” Kie corrects.

“No, sacrifices are in the basement,” Sarah answers.

“Ha ha. Funny,” JJ comments.

Sarah and Kie look deadly serious, just looking at each other silently, then at the boys.

“No,” John B. says.

“No fucking way.” JJ raises both eyebrows.

Pope’s mouth forms an O, and he hits JJ’s arm. “Oh my god, they’ve sacrificed people. We’ve gotta run.”

Sarah snickers, and Kie rolls her eyes and beckons everyone into the restaurant. “There’s, like, half a brain cell between all three of you.”

The hostess, a bored-looking kook girl, leads them to a nice patio table under an umbrella, hands out menus and silverware. It’s clear she thinks JJ is cute, and he’s not having it, just listening and nodding, looking anywhere but her. She takes the hint and leaves, and Sarah snorts at him.

“You could try being polite, JJ. She was just making a joke.”

“I know,” JJ says. “I just didn’t think it was funny.” He shrugs.

Sarah looks defeatedly to John B for support, but he just shakes his head. He’s just in a mood, he mouths to her.

The server comes over after a little while, a pretty kook whose name tag reads “Caylee” and has four little thumbs-up stickers in the corner – “Employee of the Week, four times,” she explains with a grin when JJ questions it. He snorts. 

When she leaves, he asks, “What type of person is actually proud of being Employee of the Week four times?”

Sarah grimaces. “People who have jobs.”

JJ looks at her with disdain. “Nice shot, Sarah. I don’t have a job. Ha ha.”

“It’s not a shot, it’s just true. Usually, people take pride in having a job, and in doing well – “

“JJ, don’t be a dick,” Kie cuts in.

“I’m not being – “

“Seriously, dude, apologize,” John B. insists.

“Oh, right, like she’s not the one who was being a dick first. You’re right, guys. Sarah, I’m so sorry I don’t have a job, some of us don’t just get handed anything we want because our family has money – “

“JJ, this isn’t about money!”

“No, no, it is, don’t pretend it’s not! You look down on me because I’m a Pogue and you’re a Kook and you think you’re better than me.”

“JJ – “

“Dude, you’re fucking ruining dinner,” Kie practically hisses, hitting his arm. 

“I’m ruining dinner?”

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Pope joins in.

“Okay, you know what? I’ll fix it. I’ll just leave, how about that? Would that fix this ruined dinner?”

“That’s not what we – ” John B. starts, but JJ stands out of his chair abruptly, cutting him off. He steps away from the table and drops the menu back on the table. 

“Sorry for ruining your night. See you guys later.” 

And maybe that would’ve been a cool way to leave, to storm out like a badass, but JJ quickly realizes he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or where he’s going. He’s lost, trapped in the maze of country club rooms and gyms and cafes – until he spots glass french doors that look like they lead to the beach, and he breathes a relaxed sigh. His hand on the door handle, he’s ready to get the fuck out of here, and pulls towards him – 

Not budging. Maybe it’s push instead?

Nope. The doors are locked.

Fuck fuck fuck. 

There are footsteps approaching him, tennis shoes squeaking their way towards the doors. Think, Maybank, think.

The squeaky tennis shoes belong to you, who’s just on your way to get more ice for the bar when you see this poor guy. You’ve been working at the Island Club for a year now, becoming acquainted with every member, guest, and friend-of-a-friend who has ever set foot inside the inhumanly cleanly doors, and he couldn’t look more out of place. His hair is a mess, his shoes are ripped in ten different ways, and his shirt looks like it was a bear’s dinner before he got it, not to mention the look of pure panic on his face, the anxiety-ridden get me the fuck out of here right now stamped in red on his forehead. 

You’ve been working at the Island Club for a year now, and you’ve never seen anyone try to sneak in. Especially not such an obvious Pogue.

This’ll be interesting, you think as you approach him. No sense in trying to hide who you are – the bright white Island Club top with the black palm tree embroidered on the upper left is a dead giveaway. You chose a good day to put on makeup and curl your hair, because upon closer inspection, the guy is cute, in a scraggly, once-was-suspended-for-bringing-a-pocket knife-to-school way.

“Hey, you know that door’s locked, right?” You ask, stepping up to him.

He tugs the handle a little. “Yeah, I figured.”

Oh, wow. He really doesn’t know what to do, does he? Look at how helpless he looks! Yikes. “Unless you have a keycard.” You hold up your own, white with the black Island Club palm tree.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he stumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I just, uh, I forgot mine.”

That’s a blatant lie, you know he knows you know, but this is the most interesting thing to happen to you in weeks, so what’s the harm in playing along? You nod in the most indifferent way you can manage, trying not to giggle at how terrible he is at playing this off. “I guess I can just let you in, then.”

His face lights up, a conspiratorial grin appearing on his tan features. He has a really nice face, you notice. With a similar smile, you swipe your keycard across the security pad, a quiet beep sounds, and the door latch unlocks. He winks at you as he exits through the door, and turns around and salutes you as he jogs away.

The walkie-talkie at your hip comes noisily to life as your manager, Emile’s, voice crackles through the speaker: “Yo, Y/N, where’s that ice?”

Right. Ice.

No cute Pogue boy sneaking out of the club.

Just ice.

#jj maybank x reader #kook!reader #jj maybank #sarah cameron #pope heyward #john b routledge #kiara carrera #the club #obx

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 1: The Middle of the Beginning

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he's tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Four years after graduation Taylor catches up with his old college roommate, Kristin, and her work friend Vera for Mardi Gras. But a lot changes over time and Taylor isn't the same person he was back then.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The speckled pinks and oranges of rapidly-approaching sunset mirror the tourist’s neon shirts; plastered to their backs with patches of damp sweat.

He can’t imagine what it must be like to lead the pungent masses day in and day out. To mark them as prey with bright triangle flags flying high; leading them along like children with tethers of long camera straps and beaded trinkets from this shop and that stall.

It was hard enough to be an outsider when he first arrived. For his coworkers to see his born-and-bred habits like the traditions of a long dead civilization. To always be the other and to always be othered in a way he wasn’t used to.

Oh he’s used to being the other. Just for things that aren’t where he’s from and why he can’t handle the spice-coated flavors others were just born with.

It’s taken a year and some weeks but he’s finally close enough to being one of the rest that he’d never do something to damage his carefully cultivated reputation with something as tarnishing as a cemetery ghost tour.

So long as he keeps his distance he’s just another onlooker maybe digging for scraps of a heritage long-forgotten. No way is he one of them.

“All right-y y’all, let’s head on back to the carriages. They’ll take ya back to the Square and from there y’all’re free to enjoy the col-a-ful Quarter nightlife on ya own terms!”

The tour guide’s accent is thick and rich with generations of Cajun history. Taylor’s seen her run this route a dozen times in one day — she may not have a theatre to call home but he’d definitely consider her to be as much of a performer as he is.

No one could be that excited to spout out the same facts and deal with the constant barrage of insensitive Civil War-obsessed family dads every day. Not without being a little dizzy in the head.

Lo’ and behold one raises his sunburned arm. “Can we stay if we want?”

The guide almost slips — almost rolls her eyes.

“Ya paid for a ride back but that’s your dollar. You just gotta high-tail it with everyone else when the gates are closin’.”

“Why,” comes the petulant response, “don’t tell me they lock this place up because of the ghosts.”

Taylor watches the perpetrator; a young man wearing the Hartfield University logo like he’s getting a thousand bucks for each separate instance, wiggle his fingers at a woman beside him. She playfully shrieks, swats him away with a “ohmygod stop it Jake!” and no matter the answer the guide is going to give they could care less.

And the guide’s noticed it, too. Squares her chest and brushes her braid over her shoulder with a nonchalant frown.

“Not so much them as the muggers and drunks who take advantage of scrawny lil’ white boys like you who hang around like dumb shit. But by all means — stay if you think you can handle it.”

‘Jake’ must decide he can’t handle it because no one but the guide is left behind when the masses start back to the carriages. Taylor can’t help himself when he laughs.

“You need a ride too, straggler?”

She’s looking right at him. There’s a coy smile on her lips and something about her that seems a bit hazy — Taylor chocks it up to the humidity playing tricks on his tired eyes.

“Yeah, you,” she says without being prompted; throws a look back to her charges before crossing the cobblestone path to the crypt Taylor’s been using as good vantage point. “Don’t think I ain’t seen you creepin’ on my path. Next time you pay; got it?”

“Oh, I wasn’t —”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before so save it.”

He didn’t ask for a ride back — would appreciate it but he’s fully capable of using his two feet and turning them in the direction of the Quarter. So he tries not to bristle at her defensive tone; tries to think back to all the things he was pushed into learning growing up.

Being defensive is sometimes the only way to get through the day.

“You got kin in here, cher?”

She has to snap to bring him back to reality.

“Huh?”

But at least she’s smiling now. Even if her smile changes in the shadows that grow and stretch over the evening. He tries not to linger on it too much.

“Just I’s seen you around here a couple times, is all.”

“Oh, no,” —then when he realizes he’s just given the implication that he likes hanging around crypts— “It’s a nice place to think. Away from the crowds.”

As if the world exists to prove him wrong there’s a whoop of laughter behind them. Taylor and the woman look to see a pair of children trying to climb on a stone ledge while their parents argue several feet away.

The guide groans. “Will you think less’a me if I’m too tired to deal with that right now?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then get that cute butt up in that there carriage. Now I just plain owe ya.”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, you don’t —”

“Hush. Book it.”

He’s flustered and she knows it. Flustered in the heat and with the visible light slowly dimming — that’s what’s tricking his eyes. What’s making her ears look a little too pointy and her eyes a little too bright and wide.

After all — what’s he gonna say? ‘You’re looking a bit Lord of the Rings today, miss?’ Probably not.

“Anyway the gates is closin’ soon — so this ride’s on me.”

They probably exchange words (or in Taylor’s case flustered nods and smiles) but hell if he can remember them. Not when he finds himself in the same carriage as Jake and his friend with the friendly guide — “call me Tilly” — beside him.

He must be awfully flustered the whole ride back to the city.

One thing to know about New Orleans is Mardi Gras isn’t just a party or a festival that comes around once a year. It’s a way of life.

Adopted by the tourists who travel from all across the country in search of a place to forget all but the celebration for the short time they’re here but first birthed by deep blood running in red rivers and streams through the Bayou and down into the sewers on Bourbon Street.

Ask anyone who calls the Big Easy home and they’ll tell you; it’s in the earth and the sea and the sky. It clings to the hull of every boat on the Mississippi and catches on the breeze that carries fallen leaves through the streets. More than just the open booze and cheap plastic beads — it’s the collective time to share the heady atmosphere of do everything but more and bridge the divides that settle in the city’s oldest bricks.

For Taylor it’s an excuse to undo the top button on his shirt and lose himself in the sweet swell of jazz down every block.

For Taylor’s old college roommate Kristin it’s an excuse to take a week off work and invite herself onto his tiny (tiny) couch for a full week nowhere near sober.

Tilly was — is — cute but if Taylor’s being honest with himself he’ll probably forget the ripped brochure panel with her number on it. Only to remember it come laundry day with the regret of the single-but-okay-with-it crowd.

As he shuffles off with elbows pulled in tight to maneuver his way through the crowds he’s given a stark reminder of why he went to the cemetery to clear his head in the first place.

Ping.

[TEXT]: I C U!!!

Taylor’s well within his rights to be terrified of a text like that, especially when the ping that follows it is met with a blurry picture wherein the flash practically whites out his hair.

But this is Kristin and Kristin has absolutely zero boundaries. Even going so far as to send at least three more photos of him looking down at his phone before he can even try to pinpoint the rooftop she’s hanging off of.

Luckily he catches sight of her (hard not to with her bright and glittery costume and long arms flailing like willows in the wind) before he stalls the entire street. Awkwardly shuffles into the bar and gestures at the back staircase to the hostess who literally couldn’t care less.

The rooftop seating isn’t as crowded as the floor below — for that he’s grateful. Less so for the sudden onslaught of glittery, liquor-tinted kisses pressed to every visible inch of his face, though.

“You ma~ade it, you ma~ade it!” Kristin sing-songs; almost spills her half-drunk hurricane but is apparently still sober enough to keep from spilling such a valuable item.

“And you started the party without me, I see.”

She giggles and brushes her hair away from her shoulders with a flourish. Wiggles her half dozen plastic beaded necklaces in his face with triumph. “Indeed I did!”

“Just be glad I managed to get her down to something she needs to sip out of a straw.”

Taylor looks up at the unfamiliar voice — finds himself dragged towards it by Kristin’s eager hand.

When she mentioned a ‘friend from work’ would be coming with her on vacation Taylor hadn’t known what to think or say. After four years their lives had gone in completely different directions — as was expected to happen when a theatre major and an accounting major ended up sharing an apartment on pure chance.

Frankly, though he’d taken the pushover high road and not said a word about it, when he thought Kristin had invited both herself and her coworker to stay with him he hadn’t been pleased in the fucking slightest.

But Vera — “amazing Vera,” “perfect Vera,” “I don’t know what I’d do without her Vera” — hadn’t wanted to impose on a stranger and gotten a hotel room for the week.

How is it that Kristin always attracts the kind of people who take care of her?

The humid breeze rustles Vera’s curls; not out of place but just enough to make her seem like even the wind is staged to highlight her best features. She looks like she came to the roof straight from the airport in a lax business suit with sleeves rolled up and collar button undone.

Not that the sleeves make much of a difference — Taylor chocked up Kristin’s insistence that Vera “always wears long silk gloves — like always” to her penchant for hyperbole but nope, there they were. And judging by the humidity and the way she holds her sweating cocktail glass by the tips of her fingers they aren’t very comfortable.

“Keep sippin’ sugar,” coaxes Vera, her smile fond as she directs Kristin’s neon-green crazy straw back between her lips, “don’t want you to crash and burn just yet.”

She hums in compliance, smacks her lips when she’s done and only then realizes she needs to make introductions.

“Whoops! Tay — this is Vera! Vera — Tay —”

“The infamous Taylor, oh I know.” She extends a gloved hand that he shakes — tries to hide his confusion but apparently not very well.

“I’ve seen enough pictures of you to feel like we went to college together.” Knowing Kristin as well as he does that’s a perfectly valid answer.

“I just wish I could say the same.” He admits almost sheepishly.

But Vera waves it off like it’s nothing. “Nah, you’re good. Baby girl knows how much I value my privacy.”

Before he can answer Kristin’s calling out to one of the waitresses making her rounds and snatching a drink off her tray to head directly for Taylor. With mortification he takes it and hands it back to the now irritated waitress — hands her a solid twenty for her troubles, too.

When Kristin and drinks are involved he knows to always come prepared to placate wait staff.

“Does your friend need to be cut off?” the woman asks with a leer. It’s the second time he’s flustered that evening because there’s no way her eyes go from hazel to yellow. Obviously.

“No no, she’s good. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m the, uh, D-D.” Thank god his smile works because the last thing he needs is her to get him banned from every bar on Rue Bourbon in a single week.

There’s a reason they don’t go back to their college homecoming week.

“I’ll get you a pop then.”

“Thanks.”

When he turns around Vera already has their girl back in her seat gabbing; a few steps closer and he catches the end of what was undoubtedly a riot of a story about something that happened on her flight over.

Vera flashes him a sympathetic look and a nod. Oh yeah, he likes her already. They’re gonna get along swimmingly.

“Do you have to be so loud?!”

“You’re the one screaming.”

“No ‘m not…”

“Yes you are~”

“Am not!”

“Are too~”

Taylor’s never had the best reflexes; doesn’t have enough of a sixth sense for oncoming violence to duck before his sofa pillow smacks him in the head.

“Your aim’s gotten better.” He drawls. Rounds the kitchen island and throws the pillow right back at the hungover mess squished on the cushions.

Kristin looks at him through a ratty ginger mess. He can feel the hatred from the distance.

“I was aiming for your butt.”

“Oh, then I take it back.”

“Dunno how I missed such a wide load!”

Despite her general anger at the world Taylor continues making her the barest excuse of a hangover breakfast; fried rice and scrambled eggs slathered in the ketchup that might as well run in her veins.

He leaves breakfast in a little display at the island — plated with a side of orange juice and coffee brewing in the pot.

“I gotta head to rehearsal — please get up if only to turn off the coffee maker?”

He scratches her hair like a pet — smiles fondly at the memories it brings back. Memories of them in this exact position four years younger. He missed the company.

Now that her dramatic episode is over Kristin yawns and gives him a pitiful frown. “I don’t need coffee,” she whines, “I need vodka.”

“Well you’re fresh outta luck there.” She knows any space he calls home is a dry one.

She watches him grab his keys and head out. Calls out “love you!” just like they used to.

“Love you back!”

The door closes behind him.

New Orleans wasn’t exactly the place for young, fresh-out-of-college performing hopefuls to go searching for roles. Not unless they were returning to their roots. Truthfully if anyone bothered asking him why he’d chosen the Big Easy he wouldn’t be able to give an immediate answer; he certainly struggled finding a company to latch onto when he first came down. Struggled (and continues to struggle) between temp jobs and deciding whether to pay rent or treat himself to something other than grilled chicken — again.

Most of his struggles he could blame on the glamorous life of an actor; big struggles early in life surely meant big rewards in the future.

Yes; he’s well aware he’d have at least a few less struggles had he picked up his entire life and moved, say, to Los Angeles.

But Taylor’s never been a fan of the easy way out. New Orleans called (probably a wrong number, but who was he to fight fate) and he answered.

There’s a laugh off to his left while he scrubs the sweat from his face. The bottom cotton of his tee itches like hell — but it’s better than not being able to see.

“Trying your hand at stripping, Hunter?”

The thud of a body sitting beside him on the edge of the stage. He drops the thoroughly soaked hem — still has to rub his thumbs into his eyes — before catching a glance at the lead he’s under-studying.

“I mean I thought about it,” admits Taylor—only half-joking, “but I like beignets too much.”

Antoni rolls his eyes and leans back with all the casual freedom of a man who has played five starring roles of the seven productions the company’s put on. Once you have your spot secured like that you can pretty much get away with anything. Especially making fun of the newbie.

The only thing Antoni and Taylor have in common are the lines and blocking they’re leaning. Where Antoni is brunette, Taylor is blond. Where Antoni is lithe and wiry — perfect for dancing though the company refuses to put on any musicals until their tenth year — Taylor is a little broader in the shoulders, a little curvy on the hips in comparison to the almost ethereal way Antoni’s body shoots downward.

Sure, like anyone with a pulse, Taylor had walked into his audition with a slight crush on Antoni’s heartbreaking smile and bright eyes. Then the star opened his mouth and Taylor couldn’t remember one thing he found attractive about the New Orleans-born performer. He didn’t know whether being a pompous jackass was in the man’s contract but he sure carried himself like it was.

Antoni looks Taylor up and down; his lips pursed in an all-too-familiar judgy frown.

“Sure, that’s why you couldn’t pull it off.”

The words send violent little stings all over his body. Make Taylor turn away from the way his coworker suddenly zones in on his chest. Everyone in the scene was sweating their asses off but two layers of spandex compressed on his chest didn’t make it any easier on Taylor. Still, no complaints as he endures the exercise in stifling Louisiana heat.

Fucking Antoni.

The rest of the scene’s performers join them on the edge of the stage. Water bottles are passed around and Taylor takes one gratefully from the girl beside him. Antoni declines his offer like plastic bottles are for peasants and snaps at one of the non-speaking roles to grab his metal water jug from the greenroom. He’s Antoni so… the kid scrambles to do his bidding.

When everyone is gathered the director smacks his palm against his clipboard — every single time, without fail, it makes Taylor feel like he’s back in a class being wrangled by a teacher — until everyone’s focus it on him.

“Alrighty, y’all, that was a real good run! I just have a few things I wanna go over…”

He pays attention like a good little soldier, but even though the director is a seasoned pro and his feedback is good, some people can be way too chatty. Makes Taylor zone out and think about how badly he’d now like to shove his face full of fluffy hot donut to simultaneously prove Antoni right and give him the middle finger. It’s not like he’s going up on stage anyway.

Being the understudy is fun. Being the understudy to a guy with enough ego to fill the bayou and a spotless attendance is less fun. Just means he knows he’ll only ever play the lead if Antoni gets eaten by gators… and even then it’s a little up in the air.

Tangential threads of thought have him thinking of the last time he bought a bottle of Gatorade when there’s motion around him and everyone is getting up and saying their goodbyes for the evening. “Hey, Antoni, stay back a sec,” says the director — Taylor tries not to roll his eyes as he heads to the back to change.

The reason he’d picked this company out of the dozens of amateur theatre gigs in New Orleans was simple — if not a little shameful. He should have wanted to go where the talent was, where the stories were, where the audience was. But Comerlan & Company was the only group that boasted (like, boasted) their inclusivity. Like, made-sure-to-include-their-nonbinary-green-room boasting.

He’d been slightly confused upon entering to find a faulty light switch and storage supplies — but at least it wasn’t being used for the wrong reasons. A couple of the crew members even welcomed him with a personalized sign:

TAYLOR’S GREEN ROOM LEAVE YOUR SHOES & BINARY THOUGHTS AT THE DOOR!!

Antoni may be a stuck-up prick but Taylor has his own green room. If anyone was keeping score that was at least ten, maybe even eleven points in his favor.

He’s bag-slung-over-shoulder and nearly out the back door when one of the crew rounds the tight corner with a stack of boxes obscuring his sight. If Taylor hadn’t been scrolling through Kristin’s five literal million texts about plans for the evening that he has no say in he might’ve stopped just in time to avoid a crash.

Yeah, he doesn’t.

They both go tumbling down with boxes between them. It takes Taylor longer than normal to blink the daze out of his system — judging by the costumes spilling out of the boxes they shouldn’t have been that heavy yet he can’t shake the distinct feeling of running into a brick wall. Or a mountain.

“Oh jeez — not again —” comes a gruff voice off to his side; followed by a hand outstretched in offering.

“— are you okay kid?” —the hand switches to a set of three fingers— “How many fingers am I holding up? Have you ever had a concussion before? You know what — stay there. I’ll call an ambulance.”

The man towers so high over him — really towers even at Taylor’s ground-level view — that a chunk of the overhead lights is obscured by his frantic head. You’d think a man so high in the sky wouldn’t take a fall so seriously but he’s acting like he just tried to stab Taylor on accident or something.

“H-Hey — hey, HEY!”

He shakes off the cartoon canaries flying overhead and rubs the back of his head; sore but there’s no blood on the linoleum; not that he suspected there might be.

Then the lights shine in Taylor’s eyes as the large crewman crouches down; reveals a worried face cut in serious angles. Like a-jawline-made-out-of-stone angles.

And there’s no way a guy that hot should be looking so worried, so… almost innocent.

“Hold still — and if you feel the need to vomit —”

“I’m fine, man, fine,” the more he says it the more he starts to mean it, too, “I’ve taken worse falls than this.”

“Are you sure? I’m… a bit hard to run into.”

“Like a mountain.”

“Er — sure.” A strange look comes over the man’s face before he offers up his hand again. Taylor uses it to pull himself up, hold steady. Could swear the man’s face shifts and grows darker (literally several shades darker) out of the corner of his eye but this time, flustered or not, he’s pinning it down on the unexpected head trauma.

Before he can look around for it the man seems to conjure Taylor’s phone out of thin air — he checks the intact screen with relief.

“Thanks.”

The crewman is already bent down, though; putting costumes back in boxes haphazardly. “It’s my fault. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Dunno how you could have,” Taylor chuckles as he begins to help, “those things were stacked taller than you are. And that’s pretty impressive, no offense.”

The man’s face goes a slight pink — Taylor’s glad for once he’s not the embarrassed one.

“None taken.”

When everything is cleaned up and the boxes are re-stacked (which, doesn’t that just ask for trouble, but Taylor doesn’t say it) he turns to leave without a word. Only stops when the other clears his throat at Taylor’s back.

“I’m Krum, by the way. I’ve seen you around… you’re the King Oberon understudy aren’t you?”

The understudy. Yeah… that’s all he’s known for — all he’ll ever be known for. But still he tries to take it as the compliment it is; forces on a smile and turns back on his heel.

God, he wishes he hadn’t. Because maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Maybe he did need an ambulance. Judging by the sudden garish, almost monstrous appearance of Krum the Crewman’s face.

He compared the man to a mountain before but not like this. Not with his jaw suddenly cut from what looks like granite and the veins in his literally rocky muscles now black and glittering with sediment.

With the air whisked from his lungs Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. Grits his teeth so hard his jaw begins to ache and the fading headache from his fall comes back full-force.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s. not. real.

“Hey… you okay?”

The way ‘Krum’ asks isn’t like before. It’s startled — unsure. But why wouldn’t he be? It’s all in Taylor’s head — he’s just flustered again.

He snaps his eyes open; steals back what little oxygen is left in the suddenly too-crowded empty hallway, and nods.

“Yeah. Gotta go. Bye.”

Not that the jarring switch from air-conditioning to the muggy humidity of the New Orleans sunset does him any good. But he’ll take anything over hallucinating again. Anything.

Kristin accepts that Taylor won’t join her in her pregame, but she’s not a fan of him trying to delay the start of her very-good night.

“Tay, hon, I’ve accepted that you’re not gonna pregame with me but I don’t see why that means I have to start late because you wanna talk.”

And at first he’s okay with it — knows she can be a little self-centered at times but when it counts she’s always there for him — until she’s too busy texting Vera about the secret club she’s been raving about ever since he got back from rehearsal to notice that this would be those times where it counts.

“If you’d stop trying to relive your college glory days for one fucking second, Kristin, I could use a friend and not a human vodka bottle.”

It’s gets her attention because it’s not Taylor — not the passive, takes-everything-silently Taylor she knew.

But he needs her right now. Not just because he doesn’t really have anyone else.

Only when they’re sitting on the couch together with newly-brewed mugs of tea in hand, though, does the silence break.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Kristin sips her tea for something to do. “I shouldn’t have been, uh…”

“College-Kristin?”

“Yeah.”

Their hands meet where the cushions do and they squeeze. Things really have changed.

Only now he has the space to talk and in classic Taylor-fashion he’s unsure of what to say.

“Whenever you’re ready, okay?” While some might not consider Kristin taking her phone and turning it screen-down as a big deal, he knows better. Knows it means she’s living in the moment with him.

It takes him a whole twenty minutes to be ready — and she doesn’t look at her phone once.

“I never told you why I stopped drinking just before senior year.”

“No, you didn’t.” Not for my lack of asking she doesn’t say; doesn’t have to.

“I know it’s a bit late, but…”

“But better now than never.”

Better now than never. The same words Taylor said to her seconds before his first injection. Her hand gripping his shoulder tightly the whole time. It’s the only throwback so far that hasn’t made his stomach queasy.

“Right,” he nods, “better now than never.”

No one meeting them now would believe that it was Taylor with the drinking problem and Kristin worrying one step behind. As it was only a few people in their shared and close-knit social circle of queer outcasts and image-reinventors knew there was a time when sobriety was a fickle joke to him. He made sure it stayed that way, too.

Even back then he’d been good at hiding; hiding his drinking, hiding his therapy, hiding his doubts about who he really was. And maybe no one would have ever known had their group plans to visit Europe for their last summer not fallen through.

Because going back home to stay with his mother — not that he blamed her; he could never blame her — had been the tipping point. All those old familiar faces who kept calling him the wrong name, kept using the wrong words. The whispers behind cupped hands that would stop the moment he walked into a space. The once-friends who were suddenly ‘too busy’ to get to know the man he’d become instead of the woman they thought he was.

Each drink made the whispers and rumors easier to suffer. He could laugh them off and, on really bad days, joke around with them — turn himself into a joke at his own expense. But it was a double-edged sword and he knew it.

“Remember that trip my mom and I took to the city to see Wicked?”

Kristin nods. She’s been silent the whole time — through every admission of guilt, every notable time they had fallen out or he’d been caught up in something stupid that had only happened because of the drink — and Taylor wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to stay with Vera for the rest of her vacation.

Taylor exhales; this isn’t something he’s ever admitted beyond the safety of a private office, beyond a patient confidentiality clause. “She was never much of a drinker, you remember. So she didn’t know what I was ordering was way stronger than hers. And when we were done she went out to call a cab to the theatre and… and I remembered I hadn’t taken my meds that morning.”

“Shit, Tay…”

He shakes his head to stop her. If that’s what’s got her worried she won’t be able to handle the rest of the story. “Yeah, it was dumb. But to be fair I was pretty dumb back then.”

Kristin just shrugs. Brushes her thumb over his knuckles.

“That’s when I, uhm, you know I was a week late moving back to the apartment?”

“Yeah, you said…” No matter what he’d said it wasn’t the truth so she doesn’t finish.

But Taylor remembers. Remembers laying in the hospital bed trying not to panic himself into a heart attack. Remembers his mother crying over his bedside some nights and trying her best not to shout at him during others. Please don’t tell anyone, he begged her with bleary eyes and a fresh IV in his arm, I’ll get help, I’ll get help. Just don’t tell anyone.

“Well what really happened was… it was bad,” even with all his extensive vocabulary it’s the only word he can think of, “it was really bad. The doctors said it was the combo — that I probably took more of my meds than I needed on accident.

“I was looking at people but — but I wasn’t seeing them. They looked strange or inhuman or… or both. I’d hallucinated like that before but never… never that bad.”

Her nose scrunches up — she’s holding her thoughts back but right now that’s okay.

“You’d hallucinated before? And did the same shit knowing what would happen?”

There’s an accusation in her voice that makes him look away in shame. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Too bad — try.”

So he tries — doesn’t know how well he succeeds. Explains in broken sentences and half-started half-finished examples of when the hallucinations first started and how happy he’d been when drinking made them go away. Well… until that last time.

“So lemme get this straight;” Kristin pinches the bridge of her nose, “you were seeing shit, and started drinking to not see shit, but you still kept seeing shit so you kept drinking until you didn’t see shit anymore?”

“Pretty much.”

“Taylor that’s the stupidest fucking logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Like, it doesn’t even make sense.”

“It did at the time.”

“Bullshit — but continue.”

Only by that point there isn’t much left to say. He got help — missed the first week of senior year because it overlapped with his rehab. “Explains why you never answered my calls,” she mutters. “Mom passed along every single message, though,” he offers as consolation.

“Rehab was the easiest month of my life. I didn’t want to drink again — especially if it meant seeing… seeing stuff. And I wasn’t even tempted when I went back to school. I had my meds, and I had that terrifying last time to scare me straight.”

He tries not to let Kristin’s silence get to him — tries not to shift under the weight of imagined scrutiny. It’s not like this thing ruined their friendship and only now, four years after the fact, is he coming clean about it. It’s more like he’s… filling in the blanks. Giving the story more context.

So very meta of him.

“So why are you telling me this now?”

Man, he hoped she wouldn’t ask that. But why else would he bring it up if he wasn’t prepared for it?

“Because,” he says on a shaky inhale, “I know you’ll believe me when I say I haven’t had a drink in years. You’ve seen my place, you’ve seen how I am out on the town; I’m not even tempted. My mom… she loves me — and that’s why she’d probably think I’m lying if I told her.”

“‘Told her’ what?”

“That I think… I think I’m starting to see things again. And I’m scared, Krissy, I’m really really scared.”

He falls into her open arms without hesitation. Knows when things are less serious that she’ll get on his case for leaving wet spots in one of her favorite shirts later but she knows when to put the persona aside and just be there for him.

Others may not get the full story between them — and, really, now she knows the full story too — but god is he glad to have someone like her in his life.

Every time the full and unopened bottles clink in the bag between them, Kristin looks over his way. He gets it, really he does, but it’s starting to get annoying.

“No way are we going out tonight.”

“Seriously — it’s okay.”

“Dude you just had a full-on mental breakdown in my lap.”

“And that’s new?”

“I can’t enjoy myself knowing you’re miserable!”

“I’m not miserable, Krissy. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for legit ever.”

“Ugh, well… you’ve got me there. But we’re gonna change things up a bit, okay?”

So she called Vera while Taylor showered the tears from his conscience. Gathered up all the bottles she bought while he was gone that day into one eco-friendly tote bag and made a second call to a rideshare with the destination set at Vera’s hotel in the Business District.

“I don’t want you guys to change your plans because of me.”

“Shuuuuut up, Tay. My liver will probably thank you in the long run.”

“But what about your friend?”

“Vee — oh she’s fine with it. Apparently she found a club or two we can get to instead!”

Not that there’s much difference between a bar and a club in any other town but here in the Big Easy (and especially during Mardi Gras) near-every bar is a club on certain avenues, but that doesn’t mean every club has a bar.

Kristin beckons him close and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper in his ear. “And if you start to, well, you know, then we’ll leave and go check out the sights. Cool?”

The driver probably gets the wrong impression of them when Taylor kisses her temple lovingly. That’s okay though. He wouldn’t be the first.

“Cool.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #choices nb #playchoices #vera reimonenq #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics #tw: hallucinations