#tequila x reader

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 5

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: 9.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Sexy shower time, a whole truck load of anger, fisticuffs, a bunch of angry people being upset with each other. Summary: A blissful morning becomes a whirlwind nightmare when Tequila sees your tattoo. But the biggest revelation doesn’t come until you’ve gotten all the way back to Louisville. Notes: Guys, I just...this chapter happens very fast and there is a *lot* of stuff going on. And I just love absolutely everything about it. 😂

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

Sunlight streaming through the curtains is what wakes you, traffic on the busy Boston streets leaking into the beautiful calm of your room and heavy arm around your waist anchoring you to the mattress. Tex is curled around your back like a huge koala, holding on and nuzzling into the back of your neck in his dreams. The general lack of clothing and ache between your thighs would be telltale if you had been drunk when everything happened, but you since you weren't it's just a lovely reminder. Every second is catalogued away in your memory, right down to the moment you both collapsed, sweaty and satiated, and fell asleep in each other's arms within minutes.

Humming, Tex is aware the second you wake, stirring from his own deep and satisfying sleep. "Good morning." He grins and kisses the back of your neck without even opening his eyes. "Did I manage to convince you?" He asks playfully, telling you last night before falling asleep he was going to demand an answer on if you preferred cowboys in the morning.

"Got a secret for you," you mumble, turning over in his arms to curl into his chest. If not for the damn family brunch you're supposed to be at this morning, you would be very happy not to move from this bed. "I've always liked cowboys."

Tequila barks out a sleep rough chuckle and pulls you closer, rolling onto his back so that you are sprawled out on top of him. "That so, cowgirl?" He huffs playfully.

“Always.” The nod you give him is solemn, even if your grin is playful. “Watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the first time when I was eleven and never got over it.”

You would make a perfect spouse for a Statesman agent then. Tequila knows he can't tell you about things until it becomes more serious, but he winks at you. "Well then, I guess you're in luck." He teases, leaning in and kissing you while he reaches up to grab his hat off the bedpost. He pulls away and sets it on your head.

“It’s about as subtle as a heart attack.” His hat shades you like a beach umbrella when he pops it on top of your bed head and you laugh, dopey on attraction and good dreams. “I like it though. Might have to get one of my own eventually.”

“No need to be subtle.” Tex grins at you and rolls his hips up, letting you feel the very unsubtle thing that is hard between you. “Not when I’m showing my hand.”

“Good.” When you look down at him again you hum a little, bowing your head to steal another kiss. “I hate games. One hundred percent honesty all the way.”

He would pull you against him for another round, but he got a copy of the itinerary, same as you, and he knows that you need to be there for the brunch. “How about we explore in the shower while we get ready?” He poses, smirking against your lips as he squeezes your ass.

“Sexy and responsible. I like it.” You sit up reluctantly, knowing that it will have to be a quickie since you’re supposed to be downstairs in the dining room in half an hour. “C’mon, cowboy. I’m sure the shower has enough room for two.”

“I made sure of it.” Tex sits up as you scamper off the bed. Hating that you are walking away from him, but admiring the way your ass shakes. “Plenty of time to make sure your knees tremble when you walk.” He growls confidently before he throws himself out of bed to chase after you.

“Planning on seducing me, were you?” Even though you make it to the bathroom first, his long arm reaches past you to turn on the shower head and you smirk at him over your shoulder. “Have I been seduced?”

“Have you?” Tex winks at you and grins. “You tell me.”

"Fifty-fifty," you decide, after giving him a good, long look up and down. Tex isn't shy about anything, least of all his body, and he gives you a flex for good measure. "Call it a mutual seduction."

"I can't deny that." He chuckles and glances down pointedly at his groin for good measure.

"If you want more, you gotta get in here." One step backward and you're in the shower, tipping your head back to luxuriate in the fierce spray of hot water. "Otherwise we're gonna be late."

"Wash first, play after." Tex promises, sending you a wink and ducking his head down to lick a line of water off your chest, perilously close to your nipple.

"How is that after?" You whine, gasping at how close he comes to where you wish he would have directed that troublesome tongue of his.

He chuckles again and straights up, sending you a small wink. "You don't want me to wash you?" He asks with a play pout.

"Well...if you're offering." The nearby facecloth is in your hand immediately, getting soaking wet under the hot water to hand over so he can lather it - and you - up.

Taking the washrag, Tex smirks and motions for you to turn around. "Back first." He tells you, reaching out to slap your ass when you obey him.

"Yes, sir." Giggling, you shake your ass for him before stretching your arms and giving a contented sigh. This is pretty close to a perfect morning, as far as morning after scenarios go, and you're planning on enjoying the hell out of it.

He tucks his tongue between his teeth and starts to wash you. Just because he's copping a feel here and there - okay, a lot of feels - doesn't mean he isn't going to wash you properly.

It's nearly hypnotic, aside from the distracting hands grabbing and squeezing and making both of you giggle or moan, alternately. When he finally gets to your other arm, he starts rubbing at it like he's trying to scrub your skin clean off and you laugh again. "Sometimes the makeup gets smudgy before it comes off," you explain, having entirely forgotten that you covered your tattoo in the first place. There were different, much more fun things to think about. "I got the heavy-duty stuff a while back. Like what they use on movie sets for actors."

Tex frowns, not commenting as he works the layers of makeup off your skin. Thinking that the placement is odd as he swipes at it with the cloth. He doesn't want to hurt you but there is a knot of dread that is starting to build as the ink starts to slowly become visible under the flesh colored makeup.

"You don't have to be timid about it." Turning half around, you reach for the cloth but see the utter dismay on his face. "Don't tell me you're against ink?" That would be...extremely inconvenient. But it's not like you have Eat Me written above your cunt or something. Although that would be fucking hilarious. "I know everybody at Statesman is into the clean-cut look, but I've had this for years."

Tex shakes his head, unable to explain why this tattoo has him floored. "I—I don't." He murmurs softly, standing up and stepping back from you. His heart aches and he hates that he's seen it. Wishing he didn't know who else sported this tattoo. "I—shit." He shakes his head and closes his eyes on a sigh.

"What's wrong?" He looks like he's seen a ghost, which makes you cringe a bit and suddenly wish you weren't both standing naked in such an intimate setting. "I—I don't...have a soulmate. If that's what you're worried about. I used to have a bunch more tattoos and a couple of weeks ago they...they just disappeared. And that only happens when...when your soulmate dies. So don't think you've got, ya know, competition or anything."

His jaw rocks when he realizes you don't know. You don't fucking know. Confusion mars your beautiful face and he knows that you are going to be hurt. Hell, he's hurt. Jack didn't fucking let him know and he knows that motherfucker was aware of his interest in you. It wasn't like they hadn't prowled around together enough to know when the other had taken a shinin' to a particular woman.

“I’m really gonna need you to say something.” He looks angry and it’s unsettling in the very worst way, making you tense up and cross your arms over your chest in a protective stance. “Like now, please.”

"I've - I've seen that tattoo." Tequila admits, hating how the weekend is now over. Of course it is. "Recently."

“What?” Standing still and perfectly stable, you nearly fall over from the way that seemingly simple news rocks through you and makes your heart skips beats on its way up into your throat. Second soulmates are supposed to be a fairy tale. “On who? When?”

"I—I can't tell you." Tex can't say anything, not without getting into the classified details and Champ's already riding his ass for being 'too lax' with classifications. "Not yet."

“Well that’s un-fucking-acceptable.” And definitely makes you think he could be lying or creating an excuse to get out of seeing you again when you get back to Kentucky. Which is both hurtful are extremely fucking disappointing. You had thought Tex was a better man than that. Of course - you had thought Jack was a better man, too. Maybe you’re just a shit judge of character. “Second soulmates are impossible. If you saw my tattoo on someone then maybe my soulmate didn’t die. They just…had plastic surgery or something?”

You're her. The woman that put marks on Jack's body. The same one that your soulmate was killed by Jack just a few weeks ago. No wonder Jack kept running from you, guilt written on his face. "I—I'm sorry, darlin'." Tex shakes his head and swallows harshly, aware that you are pissed. "It's…it's classified."

“What the fuck does that mean?” It’s too much to digest, after how much fun last night was and how much Jack disappearing into thin air hurt you earlier in the week, to think that Tex is just wriggling his way out of things after getting what he wanted.

He doesn't like the hurt on your face. Not at all. Reaching up, he cups your cheek and stares into your eyes. "I promise you that I'm not trying to hurt you." He chokes out, his heart clenching and he fucking hates that he ever suggested a goddamn shower. He could have been blissfully unaware of who's soulmate you are. "It— it'll make sense soon."

Instinct takes over, making you recoil and slap his hand away the second it touches your skin. The tears are hot and angry, pressing against the backs of your eyes like prickling needles when you shove him out of the way to get out of the shower - half-clean and half-mortified. “If you wanted a one-night thing I would’ve been fine with that,” you tell him flatly, even though it’s a fucking lie. You don’t look back as you pull open the door of the shower and step out, grabbing for the closest towel to cover up with. “You didn’t have to be fucking mean about it.”

"I'm...” Tex sighs and his head drops down between his shoulders. "That's not what happened." He whispers as you march out of the bathroom.

******

Brunch is excruciating, making excuses for his absence to your family because you hadn’t wanted to spoil the morning after your cousin’s wedding with being outwardly angry. Instead you simmer all morning with too many mimosas, and on the plane with your headphones jammed into your ears staring stock forward so he doesn’t dare try to talk to you on the way back to Kentucky.

No more cowboys. You lecture yourself sternly, hauling your weekender bag up onto your shoulder the second you deplane and speed walking away from the broad-and-tall frame of the cowboy who had driven you both to the airport. You’ll take an Uber, thank you very much. Now more cowboys and no more putting your heart on the line. Getting it bashed with a proverbial sledgehammer twice in one week is plenty enough to learn your lesson.

Tequila sighs, jogging up to you and grabbing your bag. While he understands you hate him, he can't let you go off on your own. Not when he knows who your soulmate is. It's a security risk and he wonders if that's why Jack sent him to the wedding with you. "Come on, you don't have to talk to me, but don't be dumb."

“Give it back.” Fury doesn’t usually last this long for you, but you’re seething with it to cover up how disappointed and hurt you are.

"No." Tex shakes his head, pulling it back out of your reach. "Get in the damn truck." He tells you. "I'm gunna get you back to Statesman unharmed. Then you can never talk to me again."

“Why do you even care?” Considering he’s taller, faster, and stronger than you, it’s not like you can overpower him and get your bag back, so you stare him down instead.

"Because I care about you." He insists. "You might not believe that, but I do."

“Bullshit.” Still, you pull open the door of his enormous pickup truck yourself because it will annoy him that you didn’t wait, and swing yourself up into the passenger seat. You’re mad enough to you’ve moved over to spiteful, but at least he hasn’t seen you cry. “Just take me home.”

"I will." Tex clenches his jaw as he climbs into the truck and his fist curls around the steering wheel hard enough to make the plastic groan. "Bet your ass I will."

Fucking dramatic ass cowboys. You sink down in the seat and squeeze your eyes shut, desperately wishing you were going home to New Hampshire to sit with your sister or out to New York City to hang out with your brother. Anything but the little house halfway in between the two men who have kicked you to the curb like last week's garbage.

As the truck barrels its way towards Statesman, the anger inside Tequila builds. Pissed at Jack for what he's done. The selfish son of a bitch caused you to hate him. He stews with every mile that the tires eat up, nearly red faced by the time that truck turns onto the road that leads towards Statesman housing.

As soon as he pulls into your driveway you jump out of the truck, grabbing your bag from the cargo bed and heading straight inside. The sooner you can get into a bath with an army of scented candles and a bottle of something much stronger than watered down mimosas or airline nips, the better. You can just wash away the horrific memories of this weekend and never speak of it again.

The moment the front door of your cabin slams, Tequila throws the truck in reverse, the tires squealing from how hard he stomps on the gas. Fury making him sling the truck around and gun it as he throws it into drive. Hearing the engine roar with a grim wince of satisfaction as the V-12 lurches forward.

******

The door to Jack's office slams open under his palm, a satisfying creak and groan of heavy wood mirroring the stomp of Tequila's boots. His vision is so tunneled by righteous anger that he doesn't see Champ lounging in the armchair off to the side of Jack's heavy desk - only focused on the man he came to confront. There's no hesitation in his step, singularly motivated by the boiling in his blood when he storms forward and swings, connecting with Jack's jaw with flawless precision. "You son of a bitch!"

Jack goes sprawling to the floor, shocked but he's quickly bouncing back. "What the fuck!" He shouts, picking himself up off the floor and glaring at his friend. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Have you?" Tequila spits back, slamming his fist into Jack's desk next. The crash is satisfying in an entirely separate way. "How could you not tell me?!"

"Tell you what?" Jack demands, frowning and shaking his head to look over at Champ. "What the fuck didn't I tell you?"

"Her!" Tequila bellows, towering over Jack with a red face and hurt eyes as the older man gets back to his feet. "Did you think I wouldn't find out she's your fucking soulmate?"

Shit. The anger drains out of Jack's face and he stares at Tequila. "She's— it's a mistake." He chokes out. "I'm not – I can't be her soulmate." He insists, begging the younger man to believe him. "You know that."

"I saw her fucking tattoo, Jack." He doesn't even notice that Champ has jumped up to slam Jack's office door shut, containing the noise as well as the news. Tequila is too wrapped in his own fury to notice anything at all. "You knew and you didn't say a fucking word and now she's furious with me because you went and shoved your head in the goddamn dirt."

"You didn't have to fuck her!" Jack shouts back, anger surprising him although he had known what would happen if the other agent went with you. He had known that Tequila was attracted to you, but he had ignored it. "You coulda kept your dick in your pants for once in your goddamn life."

"I wouldn't have if you had said something!" The outrage on both ends is obvious, but Tequila feels it twisting in his guts like something ugly. "I'd have kept my damn mouth shut and kept her company and kept my fucking feelings to myself if you had just said something."

"Feelings?" Jack scoffs and shakes his head. "Since when is horny a fucking feeling?"

"Fuck you." Tequila bites out, but Champ grabs his arm before he can wind up for another good hit.

"Cut the shit, both of you." He orders, tone short and sharp and brokering no insubordination. "What the hell happened?"

Jack snaps his head around and blows out a breath, realizing that Champ is the room still. He had completely forgotten about the older man after Tequila busted into the room like a pissed off bull in a china shop. "I don't have a fucking clue." He spits, glaring at Tex and nods towards him. "Why don't you ask the hot head?"

"Agent Chicken Shit backed out of taking his soulmate to a wedding this weekend and asked me if I could take her instead." Tequila wrenches his arm out of Champ's firm grip, feeling like he's been caught breaking his brother's nose by his father all over again. "Knowing goddamn well that I—I'm in love with her." Saying it out loud makes him wish he could just storm back across the Statesman campus and explain everything to you. To beg you to believe and forgive him. But it's not his place. Not at all.

Jack snorts and rolls his eyes. "Wantin' to fuck ain't being 'in love'." Jack spits back, furious to hear those words out of his mouth and worse, he wonders if you feel the same way. It pisses him off and he wants to punch the righteous fucker in the nose for touching you.

"When have I ever punched you over wanting to fuck the same girl?" It's not as though they hadn't, after all, but Tequila still glowers at Jack across the desk.

"Can't recall you ever even using the word 'love' before," Champ comments, interested to see exactly how red in the face Jack is going to get.

His teeth are about to crack he's clenching his jaw so hard. Nearly growling at the way that Tequila flusters. Breathing heavily as the younger man turns towards Champ with a shrug of his shoulders. "Because I ain't felt it before." He admits, shaking his head. "But there's somethin' about her."

"She does seem to be a point of fascination." Champ's no fool. He hasn't missed Jack's attentions being centered on you, or Tequila's stolen glances. He hadn't missed the flirting - both intentional and not - and he had listened diligently to what Diana told him without over-divulging or betraying your confidence.

"She's a shiny new toy." Jack hisses, puffing up his chest and glaring at Tequila, ready to throw a few punches of his own considering what he's done. "He'll get tired of her, just like every other woman he's ever taken to bed."

"Look who's goddamn talking," Tequila hisses back. "Barely took you a week to get sick of her and without even the good manners to tell her you why."

"I was trying to PROTECT HER!" Jack roars, his own fist slamming down onto the table as he lashes out. Picking up the bottle of '87 and throwing it against the wall, shattering it and splashing whiskey over the walls.

"Alright, the both of you!" Champ doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to. The disapproval and the anger in it clear without needing more volume. "Tequila, you take your ass up to my office and you stay there until I come talk to you. I want both sides of this and it ain't gonna be clear with you shouting over each other like beasts."

Jack glowers, staring down Tequila as he marches out of his office and hisses as the door rattles on its hinges from the force of him slamming it shut behind him. "She didn't need to know." He defends roughly. "She doesn't need to know."

"What the hell happened?" Champ turns his eyes on Jack, knowing Tequila will do as he's been told and wondering what catalyst had pushed Jack to run the way he had. "You got embarrassed that Diana caught you in an amorous moment? That's nothin' to be ashamed of."

"She's NOT my soulmate!" Jack shouts, fury making spittle fly out of his mouth and his voice cracks in his desperation for someone to believe him. To convince himself.

"That's up to you." And Champ won't push him to admit otherwise. "But she's human. And she deserves a damn apology. Di said she was beside herself upset at you walkin' out, even if she hid it well. I can't imagine Tequila spurning her now is going to make her feel any better, although it ain't your fault the boy lost his nerve when he realized."

"He wants a soulmate." Jack mumbles, his shoulders rounding at the reminder that he had treated you abysmally. They had done a lot more than just been each other's wingman for picking up women over the years. There had been plenty of serious conversations between women and glasses of whiskey. "He's not going to be with someone else's if he knows them."

"So you thought letting him discover it on his own would...go smoother?" He's not even going to go into how jumpy Jack is being about his own attraction to you.

"How was I suppose' to know that the fucking idiot didn't know?" Jack huffs defensively. "I showed him the damn mark on my skin. It's not like the fucking things on her tit. I thought he saw it on her."

"Alright, alright." Champ shakes his head and groans, feeling like everybody's damn father and not for the first time. "I'll go deal with him, but you..." He could just order him to apologize. To walk over to your house right now and make things right. But he knows that won't actually help things, it will only make Jack dig his heels in harder. "Whether you're ready to tell her or not, she still deserves an apology."

"For what?" Jack spread his hands up helplessly before he props them on his hips. "For killin' her soulmate? For her being stuck with me? For kissin' her and running away? For keepin' it from her?" He asks, not sure which sin he has to ask forgiveness for.

"You gotta decide that yourself." He had just meant the bit about running off, but as long as Jack is willing to entertain the idea of actually telling you the truth, he's not going to discourage it.

"She deserves better, Champ." Jack murmurs quietly. "Better 'in me. Hell, better than the kid."

"That's not up to you to decide." Champ's voice is just as quiet, but far gentler. "It's up to her. And if she's rightfully pissed at the both of you after this week, then that's that. But at the very least, she should know that you didn't run off because of anything she did. Y'all are actin' in her best interest as far as you're concerned, but all she can see is two men makin' her feel good and then acting like she did wrong for following down the paths you set."

"Shit." Jack closes his eyes, pissed off at himself for being a fool and giving Tequila the opportunity to hurt your already bruised feelings. He should have just taken you.

"Clean up this mess," Champ points to the broken liquor bottle on the floor. "And then go clean up the one you made with her. I'll deal with Tequila."

Jack stares at him for a moment, nodding quietly before the older man turns around and leaves the office. Leaving Jack in the wake of the mess he had found himself in.

Champ heads down the hall with purpose, shaking his head at the ridiculous state his two agents have made of things. He knows he brought you here to be protected, but apparently he should have been protecting you from their dumb asses as well. Thankfully, Tequila is waiting in his office like he was ordered, leg bouncing with nerves but no damage done. "Alright," he huffs, shutting the door behind him. "Your turn."

"Now Champ..." Tequila springs to his feet, aware that he should have handled things better than he had, but he's mad. "Whiskey didn't tell me she was his soulmate. I wouldn't have gotten involved with her if he had of."

"Don't think I know that?" The boy's sense of propriety is usually aces, even if his common sense can lack. "That's not why you got put in time out, Tequila. I can't punish you for makin' a fool of yourself with a lady. Either of you. Even if you deserve it."

"Then why am I here?" There is an edge of defiance in his voice, residual anger from the entire ordeal.

"Because you attacked a senior agent without provocation." Champ tells him flatly. "And I can't be sure y'all won't piss each other off enough that it will happen again."

"He fucking deserved it, and you know it." Tequila argues, standing up and putting his hand on his hip.

"Not the point, son." He can't make a judgement call on this if he ever wants it to get resolved. "It's insubordination and you know it."

Tequila rolls his eyes and huffs before he begrudgingly acknowledges that what Champ is saying is true. "So what's my punishment?" He asks. "Week scrubbing the warehouse?"

"Manual labor ain't gonna prove a point to you." Champ knows that. The kid comes from honest labor and hard work. It rolls right off his shoulders. "You're gonna take an assignment for me. Give you time to cool off and separate yourself from our fascinating lady so you can cool the hell off."

Opening his mouth in protest immediately, he manages to catch himself before he says something. Closing his mouth and just standing there. He knows he deserves it, even if he doesn't say so.

“Kingsman proposed an agent swap about a month ago.” Moving around him, Champ motions to Tequila to sit before plopping down in the large wingback chair behind his desk. “Been debating who to send. Looks like you just gave me my answer.”

"What am I gonna do in London, Champ?" The Texan whines, giving his boss a horrified expression. "They don't know the first thing about ropin'."

“So you’ll teach ‘em.” The side drawer of Champ’s desk holds the folder of papers from Kingsman as they rebuild, and Champ flips it open to skim through the paperwork. “Change of scenery and company might do ya some good, Tequila.” He glances up with one eyebrow half-raised. “After an apology.”

"I'm not apologizing to that fucker." He doesn't care how long Champs sends him to 'Merry ol' London', he will never apologize to Whiskey for belting him like he deserved.

"Not to him." Champ nearly laughs, but he catches himself. He's meant to be angry. A disciplinarian. At least for right now. "To her. She didn't ask for any of this shit."

"I can't apologize without telling her why I backed away." He reasons with Champ. "If that asshole had just manned up, this wouldn't be an issue."

Seeing as he can't actually argue with that, Champ sits back in his chair and eyes Tequila for a second before he lets an approving nod escape. "At least tell her you're goin' and that it has nothin' to do with her. Don't let her hear it third hand and wonder what the hell she might have done to make both of you run." He's gonna have to pay a visit to you himself, he thinks, and make sure you get something nice for the restaurant or let you hire a second-in-command, or something. Anything. Just to make sure you don't resign and he loses the ability to protect you.

Tequila nods and shuffles his feet slightly. "I'll go over there now and explain." He mumbles. "But it might have to be through a door. She's really fuckin' mad at me because I wouldn't tell her where I'd seen her tattoo."

"Can't say I blame her." Hell, if he were a woman, he'd have given them both far more hell than you seem to. "Do what you gotta go tonight. You're on the jet no later than 0900 tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir." Tequila nods once and turns on his heel. He needs to apologize to you before he goes; and put these feelings that he has for you to bed. There can't be a future with you. Not when Jack wears your tattoo.

******

The bath was a good idea, and you bundle up in clean pajamas after crying your damn eyes out and throw on an extra sweatshirt for comfort. You toss a bowl of leftover chili into the microwave and hunt down the bag of tortilla chips to eat it with, figuring you’ll turn on a movie and try to forget that the rest of the world exists.

Tequila decides that it would better to walk over to your place rather than pull up in your driveway. Walking along the way until he is standing on your porch and sighing softly. Hesitating for a moment before he reaches out and knocks on your door. Anticipating that you won't even answer.

“Fucking hell…” Muttering under your breath all the way to the front door, you check the peak hole before opening it and end up groaning. “What do you want, Tex?” He’s the actual last person you want to see right now, but if he’s got an explanation you want to hear it.

“I—” Tex shifts on his heels and reaches up to rub the back of neck in embarrassment. “I owe you an apology.”

Yes. He certainly goddamn does. You pull open the door halfway and look up at him expectantly. “How about an explanation, while you’re at it.”

"That's where you're gonna be mad at me." He bites his lips and shrugs. "It's not— I can't tell you who but I can tell you that I've seen that mark on someone I know. And I—I didn't know when I went after you."

“Unless it’s one of your brothers or something, I can’t see what the big deal is.” Having decided, over the course of the last few hours, that he’s probably lying to try to get out of a relationship, you just shrug your shoulders. “Fine. It is what it is.”

"Believe me...I wish I could tell you." He sighs. "I— I came to apologize because I'm being punished." He grunts. "Being sent overseas on an assignment."

“What did you do to get punished for?” That intrigues you enough to step back, leaving the front door open for him to come inside. He’s rowdy, sure, but you can’t see him being brash enough to put his job in the line. He loves his job.

"I punched someone." Tequila grumbles quietly, his brow furrowing, and he won't admit that his hand is aching. Jack Daniels has a fucking jaw of steel. "In front of Champ."

“And he’s banishing you to another country for it?” First of all, it’s news to you that Statesman even operates in other countries. But who the hell could garner that kind of punishment for something that— It’s like the entire world stops spinning for a second, screeching to a halt as you stand in your foyer next to one frustrating cowboy realizing the entire conversation just turns back around to a second one who is even more frustrating. Your eyes snap up to Tex’s, wide and full of so much shock that it’s nearly embarrassing. Because the second you put the pieces together, it couldn’t have been clearer. “Jack…” His name is barely better than a murmur, but it’s firm. “It’s Jack. Isn’t it?”

Of course you would figure it out. Not only are you funny, beautiful, and talented in many, many ways; you are also smart. Probably a hell of a lot smarter than he is. Your eyes betray your feelings, the stunned anguish in them, and the hurt that you are feeling shining out at him. It makes him want to pull you into his arms and comfort you. But it isn't his place to do that, and he's already hurt himself by getting involved with you. It would just make it harder to let go of you. "I can't tell you who." He shakes his head and sighs. "Just please, please believe me. I never wanted to hurt you."

You never wanted to think he was lying, but now that you know who it is that’s wearing your mark, you can see why he backed off immediately. That’s his mentor. One of his closest friends. And while Jack running off might have been a shitty thing to do, that now makes a lot more sense, too. “Maybe when you come back, we can try hanging out again?” It’s a weird situation for anyone to be in, but you do enjoy his company. “Just as friends?”

Tequila swallows, knowing that it might be hard for him for a while but he nods, giving you a small smile. "I'd like that darlin'." He admits softly. "I-I wish it could be more, but I know you woulda gotten tired of my ass." He jokes, not wanting to make it awkward, but he does want you to know that he had been serious with his intentions. "I'm sorry for ruinin' the brunch."

“I told everybody you were too hungover,” you smirk, already knowing that that is the ultimate blow to his manhood as a Statesman employee. But you were plenty mad this morning and didn’t care.

"Shit." Tequila hisses, shaking his head as he absorbs that blow. "I deserve that, but damn, you pack a low blow."

“Not sorry.” And you won’t pretend to be, either. You meant it when you told him you don’t play games. “But…it does suck that you’ll be gone for a while. Try not to fuck up too much shit wherever you’re going, okay?”

"I'll be alright, darlin'." He boasts confidently. "They should be worried about me."

“I’ll be sure to call and warn them, then.” You laugh softly, shaking your head, and one hand unconsciously rests on your front door.

He's smart enough to take the hint, nodding politely at you and takes a step back. "Well, I'm gotta go pack and I'm sure you're wantin' your peace back, so...I'll see you, darlin'." He offers, tipping his hat to you at the edge of the stairs.

There’s no use telling him that you had fun before this morning. If he actually liked you it will just be cruel and if he didn’t it just makes you sound clingy, so you say good night and shut the door, sighing to yourself as you pace back to the kitchen. That bowl of chili is already getting cold after being heated up, and you’re going to need several drinks to digest the information you’ve just been handed.

Jack.

Jack is your soulmate. Your second soulmate, which is supposed to be impossible. Why? How? Who the fuck even has answers to something like that?

******

Jack moves slower than molasses as he starts to clean up the mess he had made with his temper. The mess he had made of your life was going to take a little time and finesse. He doesn't know what to say. The anger and jealousy swirling in his gut at learning that you had slept with Tequila had surprised him, but he can't fault you when he had practically thrust the boy into your arms. Taking an hour to make his office spotless again, Jack leaves the Statesman offices to start walking back to the cabins to talk to you.

After dinner you stack up the dishwasher and grab one of the key lime tartlets from the test batch you made on Friday, curling up under your blanket on the couch with the second half of your movie and a second glass of spiked lemonade. Relaxation won’t come no matter how hard you try, though, and as if encouraged by your own restlessness - the doorbell rings again.

“Coming.” You call out, grumbling to yourself as you get up, only to deflate when you open the door. “Jack…” You hadn’t expected this, honestly. You thought it was Tex again for some unknown reason or other. “H—hi.”

"Hey, sugar." It's a chicken shit move, to pretend like nothing happened, but the way his eyes light up when he sees you isn't something he can control. "How are you doing?"

“Um…well, honestly I’ve been better.” Shifting in your doorway, you step to the side to let him in and clear your throat before cautiously pointing to the bruise blooming on his jaw. “But I think you have it worse at the moment.”

Jack snorts and shakes his head. "Nah, barely felt this." He lies, his jaw aching and he swears that Tequila loosened a few teeth. He shoots you a grin that is less confident than it appears and scrubs his hands up and down his thighs. "Can I come in, talk?" He doesn't blame you if you say no, but he wants to at least try.

“That’s…probably a good idea.” While you doubt that Tex went back and told him that you might have figured things out, you want to hear it from Jack. Either confirmed or denied, whatever the truth is. This man owes you the truth and an apology and that is the very least of it.

Jack steps into the cabin and lets you close the door behind him. Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, he turns towards you to see where you want to do this. He's in your territory and is willing to follow your lead.

"Do you want a drink?" It's a compulsory thing, always feeling like you should at least offer a drink to someone who's going to stay more than five minutes.

"I don't think you want to give me a drink, sugar. But I appreciate it." He would actually love a stiff drink, but he's not going to impose on you more than he has to.

"If you came to apologize, you get a drink." The nervous way he shifts has you worried, but you smile despite your churning stomach. "If not? I guess...just say what you came to say? I don't know, Jack. This whole thing is very awkward and I'm trying to figure out how to make it less so."

"Then I guess you better pour us a double, sugar." Jack mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes. The eyes that have haunted him for the entire week that he's stayed away from you.

"Come on in." Nodding to the living room, you disappear back to the kitchen for a second to grab a glass and the open bottle from your counter. He idles by the armchair beside your couch so you put the bottle down on the coffee table after you've poured him a drink, and hand him the glass. Your own drink is sufficiently spiked, you hope, for whatever he has to say. At least Tex already accidentally dropped the biggest bomb that might come up in conversation.

"I— hell." Jack takes a nervous gulp of his whiskey and sighs. "I owe you a large apology, sugar." He starts out. "I've acted like a tee-total ass and I regret that. I've hurt you; I know I have and I never meant to."

"Well...thank you." It being the second time tonight that you've heard something like that, you have to admit that the hole in your heart made by Jack's cruelty was much larger. Maybe that's something you ought to be ashamed of, but it's just how you feel. "I feel like there's more, though?" Even if you didn't know there was, the way he shifts his eyes all around the room to everywhere but you would have been a giveaway.

Damn you’re intuitive. Or Tequila ran his big fucking mouth. Both of those could be true. He sighs and taps his fingers against his knee and contemplates what to tell you. "Yeah." He admits quietly. almost inaudible.

"Do you...maybe want to start with why you ghosted me after we kissed?" After grappling with that one for an entire week on your own, you'd like an actual answer. A real, honest, from him answer.

"You scare me." The words fall from his tongue easier than he imagined them. Tumbling out quickly and earnestly. Truthfully. He rocks his jaw and nods. "You scare me, sugar."

That makes you huff, shifting in place on the sofa nervously. "Can't quite see the logic in that," you admit, tapping your fingers on the glass in your hands and smearing the condensation in ugly patterns. "Since you kicked the asses of a half dozen bikers the day we met and I couldn't even do that in my wildest dreams."

"Not that kinda scared, sugar." Jack chuckles at your logic, unable to find the fault with it and is a little pleased with himself for that fight still. "I'm meanin' that it's— it's complicated." He settles for that. "I didn't mean to hurt you because of it though."

"Jack..." The sigh that escapes you is nearly a groan. Or at least something bordering frustrated. "I don't think it's a secret that I like you, okay? I wouldn't have kissed you back if I didn't. I just...even if this - whatever this was - ends here? I just need you to be honest with me. Whatever the truth is, whether it's hard or easy or complicated or simple. I just...I need you to show me that much respect."

"Okay." Jack agrees to that easily enough, nodding his head and waiting for you to continue.

"For the record." The shifting seems to be endless, and you close your eyes for a second against the nerves. "Tex didn't say anything. He kept his mouth shut and protected you. I put two and two together myself." Glancing up at him, you have to remind yourself to breathe. "Will you show me your arm? Please?"

Jack's mouth is suddenly drier than the Sahara desert. Closing his eyes for a moment before he nods and stands up. He will have to roll up his sleeves or take the damn thing off. He shrugs out of his jacket and unbuttons his sleeve. "You are smart, sugar. Don't doubt that."

"I never do." It might be the wrong time to be sassy, but the response is automatic. Your mouth is dry as dirt by the time Jack rolls up the sleeve of his plaid shirt, and it's only partially because watching a man roll up his sleeve is like having a woman put on a push up bra as far as sex appeal goes. The first glimpse of your own tattoo on his skin steals any breath you had left in your body, and you swear you're lightheaded at the actual sight of it. Your mark on someone else's body. It's enough to make you break right down and cry, but you have a feeling that wouldn't exactly help the situation.

The cat is out of the bag, and Jack shows you the marks that are on his skin briefly before he starts to roll his sleeve down again. "Now you know why you scare me." He is leaving a hell of a lot out, but it's a truth you might be able to swallow.

"It's supposed to be impossible." Even with evidence, you have to keep yourself from reaching out and touching his skin just to prove to yourself that it's not make up or Sharpie or something.

"It is impossible." Jack tells you, shaking his head at the entire situation and reaches for his drink.

"Obviously not." It definitely does explain some things. Like the way the two of you can't seem to stay away from each other even when he was obviously not wanting to be around you.

"It damn sure is when I killed your original soulmate." Jack snaps out without even thinking about how those words would land.

"You what?" The glass in your hand goes crashing to the floor, cracking and spilling bourbon and lemonade in every direction but you can't do anything but stare at him: wide eyed and terrified and more confused than you've ever felt in your life. "Wh-wha—you—?" The tears pricking at your eyes are a surprise, but only because you never considered that this would ever be a sentence you would hear in your life.

"Fuck." Jack hisses, realizing he's stuck his ass all the way in the fire and the only way he's going to get out is to tell you everything. "Sugar, I— Statesman— is an independence intelligence agency. I am an agent. The last op I was on, he - your soulmate - was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Innocent bystander." He tells you bitterly. "I killed a civilian by accident."

The blatancy of it nearly knocks you over, to the point where the tears spill over unfiltered. "Fuck off, Jack." You hear your own voice, full of anger for the second time today. "I asked you to be honest with me."

"I am being honest with you!" Jack growls, pissed off that you don't believe him. "How do you think I took on a half dozen men without a scratch? Do you need to have it confirmed?"

"Sure. Confirm it for me. Why the fuck not." You might as well be rolling your eyes at him, and maybe it's childish, but you're sick of being disappointed. Especially so many times in one week.

"Ginger." Jack speaks up, knowing that saying her name will activate his communication link in his watch. "Lock down my soulmate's cabin." He orders. "Code Orange."

There is a brief pause and Astrid's voice comes through the built-in speakers in your cabin. "Roger Jack, Code Orange." Immediately, the soft lights of the lamps switch off and bright emergency lights flicker on. The door lock flips and there is a mechanical whirling as solid metal shutters roll down over your windows and door. The bookcase that you have stuffed with cookbooks in the little breakfast nook pops open, showing an opening behind it that will lead to a safe room.

"What the fuck?" Jumping backward further into the sofa, you curl in on yourself as the lights beat down on you and the windows cover with steel. The bookcase in the corner makes you flinch again, and you look around like you're trying to figure out where the cameras are that are filming this prank. "W-was that...Astrid?"

"Astrid's codename at work is Ginger Ale." Jack tells you. "Just like my codename is Whiskey. Agent Whiskey. It's also the reason why I have no tattoos or scars on my body. No identifying marks."

"Because you're..." Searching for the word, you can't even find a real-world scenario in which you've ever said it before without referring to fiction or a game. "A—a spy?"

"I guess that's the easiest way to look at it." Jack nods.

"What's...that?" The door behind your bookcase is a special kind of scary. That shit only happens in movies or when it's a bomb shelter.

"It's a safe room." Jack provides. "A place where you can go in the case of an emergency. So you are safe from harm. Nothing short of a nuke would get you in there."

Stock still with equal parts shock and the need to process all the information you've been given in the last three minutes, you gulp inelegantly and wipe one hand down your face. "So..." It's a whole lot all at once and you stare forward when you open your eyes again. "You...after..." Deep breath. "How?" You ask finally, not really knowing how to ask about someone's murder.

"Your real soulmate was a chef." Jack tells you quietly. "He was on the loading dock of the Whitney smoking a cigarette." He knows you will recognize the hotel as the one you had just left. Another reason why he couldn't go to that damn wedding reception since he had just had a shootout there. "I saw a gun and I just...reacted." He admits quietly, staring down at his hands because he can't look up and face the blame he knows he will see in your eyes. "There were two men on that dock, one innocent and one trying to kill me. And I took them both out."

"So you just...got it? Just like that?" It doesn't make sense, but it's not like anyone really knows how soulmates get chosen in the first place. "Y-you shot him and got me as a prize?"

"I'm guessin'." That part has him stumped so he just gives a small shrug. "Lucky you."

"Shit..." Neither one of you can look at each other, but the flood lights and steel shutters are sure to attract attention, and you clear your throat softly. "Can you...um...make it go back to normal?"

"Oh shit, uh yeah." Jack shakes his head and speaks again. "Ginger, Code Green. Repeat, Code Green. All clear." He knows that she knows that there wasn't an emergency, but it was still protocol to use the codes.

"Thanks." The weight of reality feels exhaustively heavy on your shoulders, but you press your thumbs into your eyes and sigh. "So..." It's getting to be too much to process but the conversation just isn't anywhere near over. "So, what does this mean?"

“I don’t understand.” Jack admits, not sure if he’s getting what you are asking. “What does what mean?”

"Well, we're—we're soulmates." Whether either of you likes it, or the circumstances, is beyond the point. It is what it is and all you can do is deal with it.

“You don’t want to be my soulmate, sugar.” Jack promises you. “My soulmate has been dead and gone for a long time.” The guilt of her death weighs heavily on him.

"I'm not trying to replace her." The thought actually appalls you, knowing that plenty of other people might try to do just that. "She was your wife, I just—" When you finally muster enough courage to look at him, he won't meet your eyes. It's all at once that any hope you might have had shatters, and you remind yourself that he killed the man you were supposed to love with all your heart. "I just want to know if you're gonna keep ignoring my existence or not."

“You’re here, aren’t you, sugar?” Jack answers glibly. “If I was going to ignore your existence that wouldn’t be the case.” He doesn’t mention that Champ was the one who found you and brought you here. “You’ll be safe.”

"Safe isn't the same as—" You shake your head before that word can come out of your mouth. "Okay. I'm safe. And you won't ignore me. Fine." The wave of bitter disappointment that rips through you is angry and you hate it, but it's overwhelming. "So why exactly did you scare Tex off if your top thought is safe?"

“I didn’t scare Tex off.” He is immediately pissy at the idea that you would want that boy. “He came in yelling about marks and punching me in the jaw when I damn sure showed him the new fucking marks on my body.”

"Yeah, you showed him, but you didn't tell him who I am." That might be what stings the most. That he didn't acknowledge you in any way whatsoever until he was forced to. "He nearly had a panic attack in the shower this morning and I got to cry my eyes out for the second time this week."

The pain of knowing he made you cry is like a swift, sharp knife to the chest. “What was I supposed to tell ‘im?” Jack demands. “The girl who will hate my guts when she learns the truth is my soulmate? Or better yet, the universe decided that despite me being unable to protect my real soulmate it’s given me the soulmate of the man I killed as a laugh.”

"Right, but I'm safe here?" Just because you have no idea what he's talking about doesn't mean you're not still upset, and you can fire back just as nastily as he can. It makes you feel like you're being torn apart at the edges, so why not just lash out? Surely that will help.

"Yeah, you are." Jack huffs, not sure exactly what you expect from him. "You've got a job you said you always dreamed of, a house to call your own, and all the security that Statesman can provide you." He holds his arms up and then drops them down onto his hips and stares at you. "What else do you want?"

“Someone to spend my life with.” It’s what you’ve always wanted. More than anything. And getting every other dream in the world without someone to love who loves you with equal ferocity just feels like a slap in the face. You have a career and security, but not love. And that makes the other two things just seem lonely.

"I like you, sugar." Jack admits quietly. "I really do. But that ain't me." He doesn't say anything more than that, knowing it's not necessary. His life ended the day it began ironically enough, he's just been a dead man walking ever since.

“I’m starting to get that.” He’s clear and honest about it, you have to at least give him that. But it still feels like he picked up that broken glass from the rug and sliced your chest straight open to get at your heart. Like the universe replaced your real soulmate with a security guard, not a partner. And you still don’t even know why the fuck you need a security guard.

“I’m sorry.” Jack tells you, hating the way the light has just vanished from your eyes and he wants to rush across the room and pull you into his arms. But he doesn’t move. “I wish it could be different, but…” he shakes his head again and stares at his belt buckle. “We don’t always get what we want.”

“Clearly.” The word is choked and bitter, you know it is, because what you want is sitting right in front of you telling you that you can’t have him. This could be easy. Or at least less complicated. It could be so many things that aren’t this. Instead, Jack is sitting there telling you that you’ll never have the most basic and cherished thing in the world. Love. “I’ll just…try not to get in your way, I guess.”

“I’d like us to be friends, sugar.” Jack shuffles slightly and manages to look up at you. “But I understand if you can’t.” You don’t answer him and the ache in his chest gets heavier, prompting him to move towards the door. “I’ll let you be. I’m really sorry.” He whispers. “For everything.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around.” It’s a dismissal. Maybe even a cruel one. But right now you’re feeling so defeated that you don’t even care. You just want to be alone - a state you’re apparently going to have to get used to.

Out on the porch, Jack wonders why you taking his refusal so easily stings. Wondering if he wanted you to fight, even though it would do nothing but hurt you. He knocks on the front porch pillar as he starts down the stairs slowly to walk to his own house. “See you around, sugar.”

The floodgates open as soon as the door shuts behind him, giving you the freedom and the privacy to weep as openly and as long as you need. As horrifying and complicated as everything is turning out to be, you would have been so glad to love Jack. To get to know him and grow with him and find out what smooths those sharp edges. You would have loved to love him. To have that privilege would have been extraordinary.

But you’ve been dumped before you ever knew what you had. So who knows what will happen next?

______ 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    

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My Masterlist!

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

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

Tequila and his big fucking knot there ya go. Your thirst for the day.

tequila's knot is all swollen and fat, a few juicy veins throbbing in visible view as if it just can't wait to be pushed inside you. it's attached to his already sizeable cock, so seeing this juicy and bulging knot attached to that makes you shudder in slight fear and arousal. when you give it an experimental squeeze, it feels nice and firm against your palm. though that makes the blonde perro jolt and suck in a shaky breath through clenched teeth.

tequila knows that his knot is bigger than what you're used to, and he makes it his life mission to ensure that you'll never be satisfied by anybody other than him. tequila will gently whisper words of encouragement about how well you're taking him and how you're just being so good for him. he kisses away your tears, hugging you close and stroking your skin as a way to distract you from the stinging discomfort. he comes off as a caring partner, but inside is a much different story.

seeing you react so cutely and clinging onto him so desperately, knowing that his knot has brought you to new heights of pleasure that no one else ever will, has him cumming harder and spilling even more of his potent seed inside. but if you think that just one round is enough for tequila, then you're quite mistaken. tequila will force his body to endure overstimulation, just for the sole purpose of knotting you so many times until your body can never forget the sensation. he's relentless.

#lati thirsts #arknights x reader #arknights smut #tequila x reader #tequila smut #arknights tequila #tequila arknights

[deepdrownlamentt]

hello hi beloved love of my life im sorry (im not sorry) for contributing to your masterlist turning into an alcohol menu but hear me out, tequila and phantom/specter/lumen (your horny your call whichever is the most pathetic and subsequently funniest) being jealous

the catch is that the thing that they're jealous over is so TRIVIAL like a new otome game? your pet??? your mom??????? theyre a wet sopping mess and im here for it

↬ courier, specter, and tequila jealousy hcs

content warnings: none

note: the emojis are actually dealing me psychic damage but i like writing dumb things so i will oblige........ sorry for the delay i am being slaughtered out here!!!!! get me out of uni!!!!!! i just want to vibe in peace!!!!!!

i think tequila May be a liiiiiittle ooc since i haven't . looked at his voicelines in a million years . and mine is trust 0 . but anyways i hope u enjoy !!!! xoxo etc

↬ COURIER doesn't think of himself as the type of partner that needs to constantly hog your attention, nor does he think himself so busy that he would leave you wanting. there's a certain balance to it, that much he's sure of — but he can't quite help but be disappointed if he finds something else occupying your mind when he finally has the time to hang up his coat freely and spend it with you.

↬not that he's quick to show it on his face, though. he's long since felt comfortable enough with you to drop any pretense of a fake, customer-service smile in your presence, after all. even then, it's very much clear from his raised eyebrows and confused blinks that he's rather surprised. or confused.

↬ perhaps he's gotten just a little spoiled by you — to the point that going for how many minutes without hearing the padding of your footsteps as you come over to greet him leaves him feeling a little odd. maybe you were busy! he rationalises to himself. maybe you got called away for a last minute meeting, and he just missed you on your way out—

↬ that is, until he hears the telltale little sound effects from a game on your phone you've told him about lately, and lo and behold, and his chest does a weird thing where it flutters and sinks all at once. on the one hand, he's glad it's just a game that's stolen your attention. on the other hand... it's just a game? he won't say anything, but if you notice anything for the next few days — going on more missions with you, or cooking you even more of your favourite foods than usual — then maybe the discreet little glances he spares your phone, making sure it's silent and face-down on the table, have something to do with it.

↬ it's rather preposterous to think that LAURENTINA would "stoop to so low a level," she says, that she would get jealous of something so minor. rather, she enjoys monopolising your attention, you see — and for your little predicament to steal your gaze away from her, well... that won't do, won't it?

↬ she teases you much more often, especially when she finds out what exactly it is that's distracting you lately: lingering touches on your shoulder or waist, sickly sweet calls of your name, or even her plucking your phone out of your hands with a sly little shark-toothed smile.

↬ if she really feels up to it, she might tease you more about your little distraction, too: oh? you want my attention, dear? i thought that little game of yours enraptured you much more. she loves watching the way you squirm, hearing how you hem and haw as you think of a response.

↬ of course, while she acts like she's above jealousy, she can still feel it simmering a little just under her skin — it's why her little teasing prods at you have become more frequent, though there's never any real ill intent behind any of them, and she's very intent on making sure you don't misinterpret her intentions. after all, she wants you to see what you're missing out on, not drive you away entirely!

↬ much like specter, TEQUILA claims that being jealous is "silly" — though it doesn't stop the exaggerrated way he pouts when your gaze is drawn elsewhere... at your phone, specifically. he doesn't seem the type to take it too personally, but as he jokes about oh, i didn't know your game was more distracting than me, there's a part of him that wonders what it would take to take your attention off of it entirely.

↬ there's a chance he might ask you on more dates than usual — even if it's something as simple as a late-night walk together, or chatting at the bar as rafaela prepares you drinks. there's also a chance he might be a little more physically affectionate than usual: his hand around your waist as you walk, resting his chin on your shoulder from behind as he watches whatever it is you're doing at the moment.

↬ in the end, though, the part of him that thought all of this was silly wins by the smallest, smallest margin; he might even ask you about it directly, if he gets the chance. and if you decide to gush about it, he listens with rapt attention — if you have a good time with it, then he's happy that you're happy, or something along those lines.

↬ but just for his sake, to appease the part of him that wanted to steal your attention back, it may be worth it to reassure (or maybe even tease) him a little in turn. just for the hint of satisfaction he might get for winning over pixels.

#♡. writing | burial beyond the light. #arknights x reader #tequila x reader #courier x reader #specter x reader #its not even an alcohol menu i feel like an aa counselor out here /j

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Tequila

Summary: Tequila has a lot to answer for when Y/N wakes up naked in Dean’s bed, but once the shock wears off, she realises that maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of smut, angst, fluff, feelings, friends to lovers

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Another December Drabble for you all to enjoy!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

The sun streams through the motel’s threadbare curtains, rudely awakening you from a deep, drunken sleep. Your head is pounding, and there’s a ringing in your ears that comes with the vague memory of the loud music playing at the bar last night.

It’d been a hard hunt to stomach: Lamia, a child-eating demon, had decided to take up residence in Grangeville, Idaho, and once you’d blasted her ass back to hell, you and Dean really, really needed to let off a lot of steam.

Luckily, there was a dive bar next door to the motel, so neither of you had to stay sober enough to drive home, and you’d both been well and truly shit-faced. You’d hustled a small fortune playing pool; he’d sung karaoke, and there were tequila shots… lots and lots of tequila shots.

A snore from behind you made you freeze. It sounded like Dean, but that couldn’t be right. Why would you and Dean be in the same bed? Whoever it was rolled over and slid their arm over your waist, pulling you into their body. You could feel something hard poke the back of your thigh… at least he’s packing, you thought before the mystery man spoke.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Suddenly, the whole night’s events come flooding back to you at once.

One tequila shot turned into two. Two turned to four. Four turned to six, and before you knew it, you were stumbling through the door to Dean’s room, lips attached to his, nails raking through his hair and over his scalp and neck, tongues dancing a passionate tango while your clothes flew in every direction.

Dean made love to you so deliciously good. He was sweet and gentle at times. Rough and hard when you needed it. In all the years you’d known him, this was the first time you’d ended up in his bed, yet he knew your body better than you did. 

The green-eyed hunter had known how to pleasure you better than anyone had before him. Touching places no one had ever touched before. Taking you higher than you’d ever been, making you scream his name so loud the occupant next door had banged the wall.

It’s overwhelming, and you can feel last night’s alcohol swirl dangerously in your stomach, threatening to make an appearance. You lifted the covers and glanced down. Yep, definitely naked.

Pulling the sheet tighter to your body, you cautiously turn around, your worst fear confirmed as Dean’s twinkling green orbs and cocky smirk greet you.

“Well, this changes things!” he grins, and you can’t decide if you want to punch his painfully beautiful face or kiss him.

“Oh, God!” you gasp, covering your face with your hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“Y/N?” Dean asks, concern evident in his voice. “You okay?”

“I can’t believe I did you—I mean that. I can’t believe I did that,” you mumble.

“Come on, don’t be like that! We had a great time. I got you off six times, sweetheart! That’s a personal record for me!”

Dean’s words are meant to be comforting, but they do the opposite and only embarrass you more. The urge to kiss him is gone, leaving you wanting to punch his painfully beautiful, smug face.

“Seriously, Y/N, are you okay? Did I hurt you in any way? Did you not want that to happen? Because I gotta say, you were all over me at the bar, and I get that we had a lot of tequila and were drunk, but I thought you wanted me, too?”

Now that Dean had put his cocky persona aside and the real Dean was in the room, you’d changed your mind again and wanted to kiss him.

“No, Dean. I wanted it to happen. I have for an embarrassingly long time. What I don’t want is to be just another notch on your bedpost. It’s why I’ve never given in to your very persuasive charms over the years. Because I want to be more than just one night to you. And I know that’s not what you want—”

“Woah, Y/N, slow down!” Dean shot up on the bed and turned you to face him. “Did you not hear me when I said this changes things? Do you honestly think I’d risk what we have for one night? I’ve wanted you since the day we met, and last night was the first time since we met that you’ve shown any interest in me. And sweetheart, I haven’t been shy in pulling out my best moves for you.” His words and body language are so expressive and genuine, and you know he’s not feeding you a line. He likes you and he’s wanted you for a long time. All of his flirting and come-ons were real.

“And I thought ‘this is it. I finally get to call her my girl’. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed through with it when we were drunk, but I don’t regret taking my chance with you. Please tell me you don’t regret what happened.” Dean cups your cheeks to keep your gaze on his. The pain crossing his features breaks your heart. You want to tell him you feel the same way, but it’s risky.

“Honestly, I don’t remember much from last night, just bits and pieces, but I know enough to know that if that happened, I wanted it to happen,” you say, trying to ignore the look of Dean’s disappointment at your lack of memory from the night before.

“Do you really want me?” you ask, terrified this was a tequila-induced dream.

“Since the day I met you. And if you’re interested, I’d like to see where we’d go. Together. As a couple.” For once, Dean looks incredibly shy and vulnerable, making your heart swell.

“I’d like that too, De,” you smile, giggling when he grins boyishly.

“Yeah?” he checks, and you nod.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Then, I think you should lay back and let me refresh your memory of last night,” Dean grins as he gently pushes you back down on the mattress and pulls your legs apart.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#tequila #december drabbles #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester

[b1mbodoll]

thinking abt gp!dom giselle 😵‍💫

pairings: giselle x f! reader

warnings: g!p + marking + exhibitionism + oral + toys + anal

💌: i want her to fuck me so bad

giselle is def extremely possessive. has to mark you up when she fucks you n needs to cum inside you til she’s shooting blanks. her cock is so thick and makes you wince every single time she splits you open. when she’s done with you n pulls out, your hole is stretched so well n leaking a steady stream of cum <3 she also def makes you call her mommy too, even in public and it makes her cock soso hard when you do.

she’s also such an exhibitionist but not on purpose, just gets very needy very easily n has to feel your cunt wrapped around her length no matter where you are. if ur shopping giselle will follow you into the dressing room and cum on ur panties. makes you wear them like normal and eats your pussy at home, moaning at the sight bc ur cunt is so messy :(

although she lives for pleasuring you, she can’t go a day without feeling your lips wrapped around her cock. could spend all day just lazily fucking your throat n painting ur pretty face with her semen <3

if you misbehave expect giselle to tie you up and use a flogger on you 😵‍💫 strikes your clit and breasts bc those are your most sensitive spots and she knows. will also fuck your ass rather than ur pussy as punishment. doesnt bother to prep you, just spreads your hole with her fingers and slides in <3 no lube or even spit, just her bare cock n it makes you fucking scream.

#i feel like thjs doesnt make sense #i hate you forever tequila #enjoy pervs #i want her… #♡.signed. sealed. delivered. #♡.the honeypot #aespa #giselle #aeri uchinaga #aespa x reader #aespa smut #giselle x reader #giselle smut #aeri uchinaga x reader #aeri uchinaga smut #💌.g!p #💌.mommy kink #💌.exhibitionism #💌.anal #💌.oral #💌.toys

[muiitoloko]

JEALOUS HARRY HART - KINGSMAN

Author's notes: Hey, guys! Just letting you know that in this one shot your character, you, uses the code name Bedivere. Any spelling errors please let me know as English is not my first language.

Summary: Harry Hart, the epitome of composure and chivalry, finds himself consumed by jealousy as he observes you gracefully dancing with Agent Tequila.

Pairing: Harry Hart ( Kingsman ) × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, Possessiveness, and Bad Language (maybe?)

The grand hall of the Kingsman headquarters was elegantly adorned, transformed into a setting befitting a formal dinner. High-level agents from Kingsman and Statesman mingled, their conversations blending with the melodic tunes that filled the air. Among the guests, Harry Hart, the newly appointed head of Kingsman, codenamed Arthur, exuded an air of authority, his eyes surveying the room.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the attendees, Harry held a secret—a clandestine relationship with a fellow agent known as Bedivere. Their connection had quietly blossomed behind closed doors, fueled by stolen moments and shared passions. The age difference between them whispered constantly in their hearts, but their love transcended those trivial boundaries.

As the doors swung open, softly announcing the arrival of someone, a few eyes turned to the captivating figure that commanded attention wherever she went. Her entrance was elegantly late, her form exuding confidence, with mischief dancing in her eyes. Bedivere had just returned from a demanding mission, her weariness concealed beneath her seductive charm.

Searching the room for Harry, Bedivere's gaze fell upon Eggsy, known as Galahad, who was engaged in conversation at the bar with a Statesman agent, recognizable by his cowboy hat. A mischievous smile played on her lips as you approached, her steps graceful and magnetic.

"Eggsy," you greeted, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight."

Eggsy turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he registered Bedivere's presence. "Well, well, look who's here, Bedivere. Allow me to introduce you to Agent Tequila," he said, gesturing to the Statesman agent.

Tequila's gaze fixed on Bedivere, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, attempting to mimic an English gentleman. Tequila couldn't help but tease, "Is that how the English do it?"

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, Tequila, you have much to learn about our customs," you replied, your tone laced with playful banter. Eggsy inclined his head slightly at the call through the earpiece of his glasses.

Seizing the opportunity, Eggsy excused himself, leaving Bedivere and Tequila alone. You turned to the bartender, ordering a glass of whiskey. Tequila's curiosity got the better of him, and he remarked, "I didn't know you were a whiskey girl."

Bedivere's smile grew, a touch of mystery coloring her gaze. "Well, there's more to me than meets the eye, Agent Tequila," you said, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and secrecy. Taking a sip, you savored the familiar warmth of the amber liquid.

The playful banter continued, a dance of humor and charm between Bedivere and Tequila. As the music filled the air, Tequila pointed to the dance floor, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Care to teach me how to dance like a true English gentleman?"

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts briefly lingering on the fact that you hadn't spoken to Harry yet. But you pushed those concerns aside, assuming he was busy with his duties as Arthur and entertaining Agent Champ, the head of Statesman. With a nod and a smile, you placed your hand in Tequila's, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Near the dance floor, Harry's eyes followed Bedivere with a mix of admiration and unease. Alongside Eggsy and Champ, his attention was divided between their conversation and the captivating sight of Bedivere gracefully swaying on the dance floor with Tequila. There was a twinge of jealousy in Harry's heart, a possessiveness he struggled to suppress.

His grip tightened around his martini glass, the cool glass offering a brief respite from the heat coursing through his veins. Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself, determined to maintain a facade of composure. He couldn't let his emotions get the best of him, not when the future alliance between Kingsman and Statesman was at stake.

Unaware of the internal battle Harry was waging, Champ continued their conversation, discussing the intricacies of their joint operations. Harry nodded and smiled, his responses automatic, his mind elsewhere. He discreetly activated his glasses, sending a private message to Bedivere, urging her to meet him in the serene gardens just beyond the corridor.

With a renewed determination, Harry excused himself from Champ's company, offering polite pleasantries before making his way towards the exit. The air outside was crisp and refreshing, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the party. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the meticulously manicured gardens, providing a serene backdrop for their clandestine rendezvous.

Bedivere's heart raced as she received Harry's message through the glasses. Confusion momentarily took hold of her. What had you done this time to justify such urgency? You had been behaving impeccably, or so you believed. Nevertheless, duty called, and you knew shouldn't keep Harry waiting.

Stopping the dance, Bedivere turned to Tequila, a apologetic smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, duty is calling, and I must go," you explained, your tone sincere. Tequila nodded, lifting his cowboy hat in farewell, understanding the demands of your profession. "Until next time, Bedivere," he said with a tinge of regret.

With a sense of purpose, Bedivere quickly made her way through the crowd, her eyes scanning the room for Harry. The dimly lit corridor that led to the serene gardens beckoned, and you followed the path, hoping to locate him there.

Suddenly, you felt a firm grip on your wrist, and before you could react, you were pulled into a secluded corner. You collided with a solid chest and looked up, meeting Harry's annoyed gaze. Confusion swirled in your mind as he spun you around and pressed you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, effectively trapping you between his body and the hard surface.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Bedivere questioned, her voice filled with surprise and anticipation. Her heart raced, intrigued by the unknown intensity in his eyes. This was a side of Harry you hadn't witnessed before, and it both thrilled and intrigued her.

Harry's tone was laced with a touch of jealousy as he asked, "Were you enjoying yourself with Agent Tequila?" Bedivere couldn't help but smile mischievously, realizing the source of his agitation. Harry's composed demeanor was slipping, and it was thrilling for you to witness him crumble in your presence.

Toying with the button of his suit jacket, you provocatively replied while undoing his jacket, "Oh, Harry, I must admit, I was having a splendid time." Your words elicited a low growl from him, his hand finding the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes softened his resolve, and you found yourself melting under his touch.

You reassured him, your voice filled with warmth, "Tequila is just a colleague, nothing more." But Harry retorted, his voice husky with desire, "He wasn't looking at you like he wanted to be just a colleague. He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive." Bedivere couldn't resist teasing him further. With a playful smile, you said, "And isn't that how you look at me too, Harry?"

Harry's grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His touch sent shivers down your spine as he whispered, "The difference is, I can look at you like that because you belong to me." Bedivere nodded, acknowledging his claim, feeling a sense of belonging and security in his possessiveness.

Their lips crashed together in a passionate kiss, the culmination of their hidden desires and the release of pent-up tension. When they pulled apart, Harry whispered in your ear, his voice filled with desire, "Go home and wait for me in my bed, Bedivere." You played with his tie, your voice teasing as you asked, "What? Are you planning to eat me tonight, Arthur?"

A smile graced Harry's lips as he took a step back, buttoning his jacket. "Count on it," he replied, his eyes filled with promises. With a final glance, he turned and walked away, leaving Bedivere yearning for more.

Watching him disappear back into the Kingsman mansion, Bedivere adjusted his attire, a sense of anticipation coursing through his veins. You walked confidently to where you had parked the car, ready to obey Harry's command and go home, knowing that your passion would ignite again behind closed doors. The night held promises of love, desire and a future intertwined with secrecy and adventure.

As you walked away from the garden, Bedivere couldn't help but smile. No matter what challenges they faced, their love remained unyielding, stronger than ever. And you looked forward to the moment when you would find yourself in Harry's arms, ready to explore the depths of their connection once more.

#kingsman #harry hart x reader #colin firth #colin firth x reader #harry hart #gary unwin #agent tequila #kingsman secret service #galahad x reader #kingsman fanfiction

[blindmagdalena]

okay but imagine HL with a s/o that just sometimes stares at him and just goes “u like me? why?” and whenever he tries to explain they’re still like “but whyyyyyy 🤔🧐”

AHAHAH this is so cute. this would catch him COMPLETELY off guard.

"Yes, I like you."

"But why?"

"Because I love you."

"Yes, but why?"

"I-well, why do YOU like ME?"

"Nuh-uh, I asked you first."

and naturally it devolves into the two of you writing lists of all the reasons why you not only love each other, but why you like each other. he loves how openly affectionate you are, you love his sense of humor, which is perfect because he loves your laugh.

by the end of it you're just a tangled mess of limbs, cuddling against each other, noses bumping, breath mingling warmly while you whisper endless declarations of love for every inch and quirk of the other. what started off feeling fairly silly winds up being one of your most special nights together.

#homelander x reader #homelander headcanons #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #the tequila is hitting and i'm feelin GUSHY #fluff

[jiunngs]

FLASHBACK ✶ YOON KEEHO

ft. gn!reader x yoon keeho. warnings: drinking, a couple mentions of throwing up. wc 1.7k

desc ★ caught up in a quiet moment, keeho thinks back to how you two met.

all was peaceful inside the small apartment, the only sounds coming from the songs on the music channel turned down low and the occasional screech from a car outside.

the two of you were sprawled out on the sofa, your head resting on keeho's chest while your legs tangled with one another's; one of his hands idly playing with your hair and the other dangling off of the edge. you were happily sleeping, only ever stirring to shift slightly in your place or pipe up with the odd contented noise in your slumber.

his attention drifted between half-interest in the music videos he recognised on the television and gazing down fondly at you, smile unable to stop itself from stretching across his lips every time he stole a glance.

he was perfectly at ease with the positions you were in, and would've been happy staying there for as long as time allowed — perhaps he'd even join you in your napping — until a familiar tune caught his ears, and he moved his eyes to the mv currently playing.

it was a song keeho knew, like the back of his hand. why wouldn't he remember the very lyrics that had played the first time you two had met, after all? call him sappy, but he'd added it to his playlist the second he could find the time to, wanting to return to that instance even if only for as long as the melody played.

relaxing back into the cushions, he allowed himself to reminisce in the quiet. with the tune still ringing in his ears, he closed his eyes and thought back to— what was it, almost three years ago now?

he was at a party thrown by someone he knew from somewhere, somehow. a friend of a friend of a friend, or something along those lines. with a singular glass of something that looked deceptively fruity nearly full sat in front of him, and no one else near him to attempt to make conversation with at the lonely minibar, he wasn't exactly having heaps of fun at that very moment. it was a little out of character for him to be alone in a corner at an event where he would've usually gone out of his way to meet new people and enjoy himself, but for some reason he didn't feel that up to dragging himself to his feet and mingling with the crowd. it was much easier to stay seated and by himself, with no one else to force himself to try and talk to.

yet lo and behold, the universe seemed to ignore his wishes completely and his waning attention span was snapped by a frantic tapping on his shoulder. keeho had turned and came to face to face with a worried-looking blonde, who had a very wasted friend mumbling things unintelligible to both leaning on his shoulder.

"hey, um, can i ask you a favour, really quick?"

he was wary, but nodded anyway. at least looking after a drunken stranger would give him something to do other than stare at the wall.

"would you mind just- keeping them company for a sec? another one of my friends just threw up all over the host's bathroom. it's really bad, i've gotta help clean it up before they find out."

partly out of curiosity of what he would get out of entertaining the (h/c) still talking to themselves and breaking out into the occasional hysterical giggle, and partly out of sympathy for the blonde about to spend the rest of his night cleaning up someone else's vomit, keeho agreed and gestured to the empty space beside him.

a flurry of things in amongst the rush of 'thank you so much!!' and 'i really, really owe you for this' were thrown at him full speed, and in a blur of dyed platinum blonde and the purple of the jacket he was wearing, the unnamed boy was gone as quickly as he'd arrived, and keeho turned his gaze to the intoxicated state of the person now sitting slumped over the bar next to him.

all was silent for a minute between them, the only noise being the buzz of the people everywhere else and a song he was sure he'd heard once or twice before playing over the top. then, the (h/c) launched into a full-blown rant out of nowhere, eyes wide and expression looking almost offended as they lurched towards the dark-haired man still staring at them.

"and appar'ntly- apparently he's married!? like, wh't the fuck? that's- that's just fucking crazy, man. he's so.. strange! anything but marriage material, 'f you ask me. who'd look at an english professor and think 'thats th'guy i wanna marry,' you know? weird as shit.."

they trailed off when they looked up into keeho's eyes properly, squinting and then, after coming to the realisation that this probably wasn't the person intended to hear their story, recoiling backwards so fast they nearly toppled over, prompting keeho to panic and grab onto them, pull them back upright, and hope it all ended without any broken arms.

as it turned out, it ended with a head of tousled (h/c) locks buried into his chest whilst he held them to him in an attempt to stop them from falling, and he froze completely when wide (e/c) irises stared straight into his, air suddenly hard to find. his heartbeat sounded a lot louder than the chorus of the vaguely familiar song in that moment, which made no sense because the speakers it was blasting out of were practically right up against his side.

the person he still didn't know the name of cleared their throat and slowly righted themselves, seeming more sober than previously after their close encounter.

"..you're not jiung."

he shook his head once, flicking his eyes to the glass he'd since completely forgotten about and wondering if it was the wrong time to down it all in one go. "uh, no. i'm not. i'm keeho."

then came the bordering-on-awkward silence once again, until the (h/c) offered up their own name in return.

"keeho. i'm (y/n). wh're did jiung go? sorry, i didn't mean t'start rambling on at you."

keeho rushed to reassure the stranger (who now had been named, at least) that they had no need to apologise, and also fill them in on the whereabouts of their friend. they made a face when they heard the news, snickering to themselves as they made a comment about how they didn't envy him in that regard.

it was then they set their sights on his drink.

"so.. keeho.. d'you want that, or are you jus' gonna stare at it? if not.."

although it most likely wasn't the best idea, he only sighed and slid it over, watching as (y/n) cheered and took a long sip, virtually melting into their chair afterwards.

things seemed to flow a little easier following their introductions, the pair making conversation about anything they could think of and finding they had more in common than expected, smiles and laughs traded comfortably between them.

belatedly keeho realised he was having more fun that he'd first thought he would, and let himself relax a little more. getting acquainted with (y/n) was never on the list of things he'd envisioned himself doing that night — partly because he'd never heard of them before the moment he was being saddled with them and left to fend for himself — but he was glad that he did.

he was less glad that jiung decided to made his reappearance right when they were just getting friendly, although hid it underneath a smile and a teasing question of whether he had managed to get the evidence of his friend emptying the contents of his stomach all over a bathroom that wasn't his; to which the dyed blonde simply grimaced and said the worst of it had been dealt with.

seeing as the (h/c) was beginning to slip back into what looked more like the barely-conscious state they had been left with keeho in (probably due to them draining his glass completely, fruit wedges and ice cubes included), when jiung thanked him for the second time and offered up his number in case he ever wanted to ask the blonde for a favour of his own, he decided to cash it in on the spot.

"do you think i could have (y/n)'s number?"

although initially unsure, he eventually agreed once keeho had sworn he had no ill intentions toward the (h/c), and once both were put into his phone the pair went on their way, leaving only keeho's empty glass behind as evidence they had ever been there at all.

he'd stared at the digits under '(y/n)' for what felt like hours when he'd finally gotten home, before trying to convince himself to snap out of it and leave it until the next morning.

and yet his impatience got the better of him, so he shot you a text asking if you wanted to meet up the next day if the hangover wasn't too awful, and then passed out fully clothed after praying everything would work out from there.

but in the end you had lasted for coming up on three years now, so he supposed he'd done something right along the way.

"-eeho. babe! are you awake?"

the voice tore him right out of his daydream, and he opened his eyes again to see you sitting up on his lap, hair mussed up and sticking up in places and the heel of your hand coming up to rub at your bleary eyes. it brought a smile to his face, and he tugged you closer to him and started to lightly comb through your hair.

"what were you thinking about? you were miles away."

he hummed, smoothing down (h/c) strands to press a kiss to the top of your head and then moving to lie back down, pulling you with him. you were both fully entangled this time, a mess of limbs on the sofa that made it hard to tell where one ended and the other began. the way he liked best.

"ah, nothing much. just about how loud you snore."

your noise of indignation made him snort, and soon you were both playfighting and laughing until you collapsed again, exhausted from the mini impromptu wrestling match, but happy.

the day he met you might've been fun, but keeho found the days you spent together now were something he enjoyed tenfold.

✿ ahh hi??? i wanted to try and write for kpop too (and write again in general because it's definitely been a while LOL) so like. i hope this wasn't crazy awful and u weren't clawing at the walls collapsing throwing up etc.. lmk though!! im gonna pass out now but i'll double check 4 any mistakes later ^_^ gnn

#works ★ #⠀ 🥂 ⠀ seonooz ⋆ ⠀ ? #p1harmony #p1h #p1h keeho #piwon #piwon keeho #yoon keeho #yoon keeho x reader #p1h keeho x reader #keeho x reader #keeho x gn reader #keeho fluff #kpop #kpop x reader #x gn reader #it was def intak or jongseob blowing chunks btw. like sorry but ☠️ #JONGSEOB CANT EVEN LEGALLY DRINK?? #throwing up after mocktails.. thats so me coded #and intak . one tequila sunrise and he'd be done sorry #LMAOO

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 4

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: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Making out, a bit of groping, heavy flirting. Nothing extreme here.  Summary: The day after your outing with Jack things take an unexpected turn, including a visit from Champ’s wife and a change in plans for your cousin’s wedding. Notes: That pesky love triangle is rearing its head defiantly in this chapter, gang! 

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

Jack opens the door to the dining room, a bit nervous as he comes into what he’s come to consider ‘your space’. He knows that he’s blown kind of hot and cold with you, but he wants to see you. Needs to see you, if he’s honest with himself. After a restless night, he’s here. A crate of the new whiskey and a crate of apples from a nearby farm he knows as an offering to your culinary expertise, rolled in behind him on a delivery dolly.

You’ve been in your own little world - singing along to the music playing through Bluetooth speakers situated on the steel counters and dancing around - while you whip up two batches of icing to go with the red velvet cake that you baked. Cream cheese frosting and whipped chocolate ganache are the contenders for topping off the classic sweet, and you’re going to give Diana a call to come do a taste test as soon as they’re ready. Or you were, until you turned around to put a bowl of chocolate frosting on the main counter and saw Jack in the doorway. “H—hey.” You flash him a grin, feeling your cheeks heat at the sight of him all decked out in his suit jacket and tie with his Stetson.

“Hey, sugar.” He hates interrupting your little dance party in the kitchen. Smirking slightly as he had watched your hips sway in time to the beat. “Not interrupting anything time sensitive, am I?”

“Not at all.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. He had been friendly but distant for the rest of the night last night, helping you bring things in the house when he dropped you off but politely declining the cup of coffee you had offered. The man was a menace, leaking into your dreams and permeating every thought afterward. “You’re just in time for the first cakes to be frosted, but I…I actually made something else this morning. You’re the first to try them, if you don’t mind being a Guinea pig.”

“Always willing to be your test subject, sugar.” Jack assures you, inhaling deeply and groaning at the sugary sweetness of the air. He’s starting to think it’s your scent. “Whatcha got for me?” He asks, shuffling closer and smirking as he peers into your bowls.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” With a cheeky grin in his direction, you nod to the hand truck he carried in behind him.

Jack turns around and grins when he looks back at you. “This here are gifts.” He declares, picking up the crate of apples and setting it down on a clear surface of the prep tables. “Man down the road was sellin’ apples. Figured you could use ‘em somehow. Wanted to help him out and they looked good.”

“They look gorgeous.” The crate of orchard fresh fruit is basically crying out to be loved and used, and you pick one up to bite into the flesh immediately. “And they’re perfectly ripe,” you groan happily at the juicy sweetness. “You have to try one of these.” It’s still in your hand when you dash over to the far counter to retrieve the tray of cookies that you made this morning. “And one of these, too.”

"What are all these?" He asks, not caring - he will eat anything you offer him - he purely wants to know so he can tell what you are putting on the menu. "They smell good."

"I was thinking about what you said yesterday...about how you only like shortbread that has jam or in a sandwich cookie." The little Linzer-inspired cookies on the tray have beautifully fluted edges and perfect stars cut out of the top cookie with a layer of powdered sugar decorating the top, but the little purple flecks in the cookies are still visible. "These are lemon lavender shortbread with lemon curd to sandwich them together."

"Sounds fancy." He hums, looking over the tray and choosing a cookie that looks to have the most powdered sugar on top. He inspects it and admires the craftsmanship you put into a simple cookie that is anything but. "Looks delicious."

"I know they're a little unusual, but I made them for my sister's baby shower a couple of years ago and I never would have thought to use lemon curd between the layers if you hadn't mentioned sandwich cookies yesterday." In truth, they're one of your favourite things in the world, but you don't know how lavender cookies will go over with cowboys. If the flavours aren't going to be popular, you'll just make them in your own kitchen at home and be very happy with enjoying it in private. "If you don't like it, that's okay. I just always need you to be honest when you taste something."

Jack nods seriously and takes a bite of his cookie, closing his eyes and chewing silently. Contemplating the flavors as seriously as he would testing a batch of whiskey. "Hmmm." He nods to himself, taking another bite and munching on it again. "I— the lavender is a little heavy for my taste, but I can see this going with a spiked sweet tea." He opens his eyes and looks down at it. "Bourbon sweet tea."

"Pull back on the lavender? I can do that." Somehow you knew - or maybe hoped - that you could trust his palate, and you dash to the refrigerator to pull out the pitcher of sweet tea you have stashed there and the open bottle of bourbon on the counter to mix some drinks and see if he's right.

"Just a smidge, for me." Jack tells you. "But I'm sure others will like it just like it is." Jack watches as you pour out the drinks, one for him and one for you. He takes it and immediately takes a sip before taking another bite of the cookie. "Yep, holy hell in a handbasket." Jack whistles, looking at the cookie and the drink with fresh eyes. "You gotta try that combo, sugar."

A bite of a cookie and a sip of your drink have you grinning almost immediately, doing a little happy dance in place as you realize that the subtle floral notes in the bourbon are amplified by the cookie and the tartness of the curd tempers the sweetness in the tea. It's an absolutely perfect combination and you're on the verge of giggles because of it. "Holy shit," you look up at him again with bright, excited eyes. "That's incredible."

"Now, with that sweet tea, you don't have to do anything to the cookie." Jack tells you. "It's balanced just like that - at least it is to me."

"I'll have to put a note on the menu that they're recommended as a pairing with the spiked sweet tea." You had already been planning on putting that particular drink on the menu, but now it's mandatory. The combination is too good to pass up. "And it's one hundred percent thanks to you."

“Nothing to it sugar.” Jack winks. “I know my whiskey and I know my sweets.”

"Do you have time to hang out?" If he's just dropped by for a few minutes you'll understand, but the jittery eagerness in you that just doesn't seem to be satiable hopes that's not the case. You'll take every single moment of time with Jack that you can get.

“Now, sugar, I haven’t even gotten to my other gift.” He pouts, secretly pleased that you want him to stay. “What kind of man would I be if I deprived such a gorgeous lady of my company when she’s wantin’ it?”

"You brought me something else?" Only the crate of apples had been visible over the side of the counter that he was standing behind, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "Besides the gift of your generous company, I mean?"

Chuckling, Jack bends down and picks up the crate of whiskey he had pinched from the warehouse. “I brought you some of the new whiskey line we were talking about. So you can see how you like it.”

“Oooo!” Practically squealing when he puts it down on the counter, you slip around the other side to steal a tight hug of gratitude. “Thank you, thank you for this. I’m going to have to make a study of this one to get the tasting notes right.” Something in the back of your mind is saying to try pairing it with the apples he brought, but you’re far too distracted being pressed momentarily against his body for that thought to continue.

Electricity practically crackles in the air when your eyes meet his and Jack grunts a small, nearly unheard curse. It’s wrong, it should not be happening, but the voice of reason that is normally screaming in Jack’s mind is disturbingly silent as he leans in. Pressing you in to the counter and reaching up to adjust his hat so he can kiss you.

That tightness in your chest was so individual - you had thought. The butterflies in your belly and lump in your throat, a problem you would have to deal with on your own. You were convinced they were isolated feelings until his eyes met yours. Instead you see nothing but desire reflected back at you and the delicate flutter of his long lashes before you both shut your eyes. His kiss is so much of his own personality - brash and insistent yet somehow also gentle and coaxing; and his hands mirror the feeling with one gripping your hip tightly and the other softly cradling your opposite cheek. It’s the most achingly sweet and intoxicating kiss you’ve ever had in your life and you just…surrender. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t completely in his thrall, so you just wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and soak up every second of affection he’s willing to give you. You can analyze it later. For now, you’re just going to luxuriate in how startlingly right it feels.

Once his lips touch yours, it's like a fuse has been lit. Or a countdown started. Inevitably working down to the moment that Jack is going to lose control with you. The moment building between you like an organic thing, taking on a life of its own as he presses into you more, his tongue becoming slightly more insistent as he swallows your moans down.

You open up for him instantly, never intending to be coy or mask how much you want to be on the receiving end of his affection. Maybe other people might turn their noses down at you for it or call you easy, but you’ve never believed in playing games. Especially not right now. Not like this. Not with your hips shoved up against the steel counter and your fingers clawing at his clothes to drag him impossibly closer to you while your tongue dances with his to a beat all their own.

With a willing partner, and you are obviously willing, Jack takes control. His real job as an agent is good for making sure that Jack as the ability to throw a grown man twice his size so manhandling you up onto your pristine counter is no mean feat and he does it with a small grunt and grin against your lips.

It’s the first time you disconnect from him since he started kissing you, and it only happens for a moment, but you yelp in surprise when he picks you up and giggle gleefully when you land right on the counter where he has determined you belong. Shaky hands remove his hat from his head, leaving it on the counter beside you and letting you dive back in for more of that fervent press of his lips to yours. Every pleased sound you absorb from him seems to roll down your spine and make you that much needier, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He's never been a shy man and he doesn't start now. His hands roaming over your body in a way that if you weren't amenable to his affections, he would be getting slapped. Squeezing your ass and pulling you against him as he breaks away from your tantalizing lips and starts to kiss down along your jaw.

“Shit, Jack…” His name is barely a gasp, pushed out of you all at once when he tips his head to the side and finds out exactly how sensitive the tender skin on your neck is. Your fingers might as well be claws now, digging into his back while your knees bracket his hips and squeeze. Whatever the fuck caused this absolute snap in his composure, you want to pinpoint it exactly so you can repeat it as often as humanly possible.

His mind is filled with you, unable to think of anything else other than you and touching you. He groans and his teeth nip at your skin. Chuckling when you shiver and gasp, his mouth working its way south.

“Would’ve worn a f—fucking dress if I’d known you’d come by horny,” you pant, nipping at his earlobe before he continues to move down your shoulders, pushing your sweater off your shoulders with ease.

Jack chuckles, moving to your shirt and under it so he can unhook your bra. Wanting to duck his head under your shirt and pop your nipple in his mouth.

Something in your brain short circuits when his thumb swipes the underside of your breasts, a pitiful whimper dripping from your lips as your head drops back just for a second. There’s no way you can let this go by without watching him, though, and one of your hands threads into his hair to encourage him to explore as much of your skin as he wants.

He has your tit in his hand, his mouth diving down to suck on it, just to hear you cry out his name when a wrench is thrown into the mix. The door in the front of the building opens. “Hello?” Jack lurches back from you like he’s on fire and his eyes widen at what just almost happened. “I—” he backs up, nearly tripping over the hand cart and reaches over to grab his hat. “Get dressed. I’ll— I’ll stall.”

“Shit.” He pulls back from you with an unreadably wide-eyed expression and you aren’t much better, frantically pulling your shirt down and trying to get your bra back into place all in one graceless motion. The fact that you were in the process of having your clothes pulled off in the kitchen of your damn restaurant is either completely inappropriate or just a christening for coworker trysts yet to come, but either way you’re going to have extremely stern words for whoever is out there.

“Hey hun!” The bright and cheerful voice of Diana rings out through the space and Jack bites back a curse. She’s probably more eagle-eyed than her husband and she will notice kiss swollen lips and flustering bodies.

“Shit.” He hisses quietly, turning around and fleeing through the double doors to greet her and give you time to fix yourself.

“Well you’re not who I was expecting to see.” Diana smiles widely when Jack comes out of the kitchen, only raising an eyebrow when she notices he always-immaculate hair is mussed up right before his hat goes back on. “Visiting our new friend, Jack?”

"Just dropping off some of the new label for her to try along with some fresh apples." Jack tells her smoothly, bypassing any conversation about kissing or how he had to adjust so his jeans weren't tenting before coming through the doors.

“That’s very generous of you.” Nobody devours mystery novels and detective thrillers the way Diana Rogers does without developing a few observational skills, and the crumpled lapels of his jacket combined with the way he won’t meet her eyes, and she glances at his lips to be greeted with the exact sight she hoped to see. After all, she knows who and what you are to him. Diana chuckles quietly. “So the kiss was a thank you for the delivery?”

It's like the wind has been pushed out of his sails and Jack's shoulders slump at being caught. He looks back at the door with his hand rubbing the back of his hot neck as he blows out a breath. He had lost control. He had done the dumbest thing he could and touched you. The heat of your skin tingles against his fingers, as if your touch is already muscle memory. "I—" He swallows, closing his eyes. "Lapse in judgement." He murmurs quietly, the walls going back up and common sense taking control of his thoughts again. He can't do this with you. "Tell her— tell her I had to go, okay?"

“Jack—” Instantly regretting saying something, Diana watches him hustle out the front door with a frustrated sigh. That man is as dear to her as her own flesh and blood, but he can’t see past the end of his own nose sometimes. It was maddening to watch before, but now that there’s another person involved it’s worse. Even more so because she genuinely likes you. And who knows how you’ll feel about Jack running out the door without a word like a scared, spurned puppy.

Jack hits the side of his Bronco when he gets to it, frustrated at himself. "Shit!" He groans, knowing that he's fucked up royally. He can't do this with you, to you. So, frazzled, he opens the door and climbs inside. He needs to talk to Tequila and ask for a favor.

******

“Diana! What a nice surprise.” You’re all but glowing when she walks in the door, expecting Jack to stroll back in behind her with that cheeky look of self-satisfaction on his face that he would most certainly have earned. Your whole body is on fire - and if it weren’t your boss’s wife that just waltzed into the kitchen, you’d be shooing her out again immediately.

"Hey hun." Diana smiles brightly at you despite being annoyed at Jack. She's going to witness your face fall in disappointment and she hates it. "I came to see if you wanted some company and perhaps help?"

“That’s so sweet of you. I was actually going to call you later once the red velvet cakes were frosted.” And after Jack left, but that doesn’t need to be said out loud. He must be composing himself in the dining room. Not that you’re necessarily surprised - the insistent bulge in his jeans had been pressing against your thigh barely two minutes ago.

"Oh, you are just so sweet." Diana hates that your eyes shift behind her towards the door. Expecting Jack to come through them with the eager anticipation of a sweetheart waiting on her beau. "I know that it's disappointing, but perhaps you might want my company now, since Jack had to run off? Something about an emergency?"

Shit. You can feel your shoulders tense, lips pressing together in a firm line so you don’t frown and chest tight so you don’t sigh disappointedly or something equally melodramatic. It’s more of Jack’s hot-and-cold bullshit, apparently. Just when you thought it was obvious which way he was going to go. “O-of course.” You force yourself to nod, plastering a bright smile on your face so she doesn’t see you crumble. “Pull up a chair and I’ll pour you a glass of tea.”

She wants to wring his neck, or drag him back in here by his ear and demand that he fix the stricken look on your face. But she also knows that it will make Jack dig in his heels harder. "Maybe there is an emergency." She suggests softly, wanting you to believe that it's not you. Because it isn't. All of this is on Jack Daniels.

“Maybe.” You offer Diana a half smile before moving to the refrigerator. She’s observant enough to have obviously figured out that you have something to be embarrassed about, and that just makes you all the more embarrassed.

“Sometimes cowboys want to make you throw a lasso around them and knock ‘em upside the head.” She tells you as she moves towards the crates of apples and whiskey. It was a sweet gesture and one all done on his own. “I know that for a fact.”

“It’s my fault.” The logic doesn’t track, but you feel guilty, so it must be. You shrug a little, putting the glass of cold tea down in front of her. “Getting your hopes up after knowing a man for a week is schoolgirl stuff.”

The only reason she doesn’t reassure you that you have a reason to be drawn to Jack is because it’s not her place. “Seems like it’s not all unfounded.” She hums. “Just— Jack has a lot of past trauma. I have a feeling he’s wrestlin’ with it.”

“I’m not asking anything of him.” And you barely ever had on any front, which is why this whole thing was so frustrating. It makes your heart ache in a way that is completely new to you and makes you feel like he’s already burrowed into your insides before you could stop it. “I wouldn’t pressure him. He—he told me about his wife. It would be a shitty thing to do, to expect anything from someone who’s still in mourning.”

“Abigail Daniels has been dead for nearly twenty years.” Diana tells you bluntly. “Jack carries around his grief like an old dog with a mangy bone.”

“She was his soulmate.” And you’re not, you remind yourself harshly. Even if it’s a nice daydream to have. “Some people are only ever with their soulmate for their entire lives. It’s not fair to want him to jump into something just—” You blow out a breath, deciding to retrieve the layers of red velvet cake from the fridge and start icing. Maybe it will help calm you down. “Just because I have a crush…”

“He’s had his share of dalliances.” She admits, probably more than what were good for him. “He’s a red-blooded man with needs. But every woman he’s been with has known upfront what to expect and I’ve never seen him skedaddle off like his pants were on fire. You scare him.”

“Hell if I know why.” It’s not like you’re a scary person. Or at least no one else has been scared of you this same way. “It is what it is, I guess. I’m certainly not going to force a man to spend time with me.”

“Have some patience with him. He’s a man, bless his heart.” Diana knows that there will be more ups and downs before all of this plays out just because your soulmate is so damned hardheaded.

You smirk, stifling a laugh, and shake your head at the phrase. Enough time was spent with your grandmother throughout your life to know that ‘bless his heart’ is not a compliment. “I’ll call him later to apologize,” you decide. He’s supposed to be spending the weekend with you in Boston and the last thing you want is for that whole trip to be awkward.

“No, you won’t.” Diana tells you sternly. “You did nothing wrong.” She doesn’t even know what happened beyond the two of you kissing but she has a feeling that Jack couldn’t help himself. “That boy needs to apologize. And you should make him grovel a bit before you forgive him.”

“Did he say something?” The motions of icing a cake are soothing - getting out the cake stand and a cardboard pad, giving the giant bowl of chocolate icing a turn before putting a little on the pad to stick the first layer of cake to - it’s all a series of comfortable motions that your body has memorized.

“Just for me to tell you that he had to go.” She won’t bury the knife. You don’t need to hear about a ‘lapse of judgement’, especially when you don’t know why he is fighting this so hard.

There’s no need for a verbal response, not when the look on your face does all the talking for you. You just nod, focusing all of your attention on the task in front of you, and decide that when you call Jack later you’ll let him out of the commitment he made for this weekend. He’s obviously changed his mind about whatever spurred him on today, and you don’t want to spend time with a man who regrets you.

Diana moves over to help you, un-crating the bottles of whiskey and holds one up. “Do you want to try this now or wait until you are happier?”

“I’m fine, Diana. Honestly.” The fact that you feel heartbroken is just silly, you tell yourself, and put two glasses down on the counter in front of her. “Let’s try it. No reason not to.”

She studies you for a moment before she nods and starts to break the seal of the bottle so she can pour healthy measures into a glass. "I'm surprised that Jack brought you all this." She hums as she sets down the bottle and picks up the glass to smell the liquor. "It's under lock and key right now. Champ hasn't even brought home a bottle of it yet."

“I wanted to name the restaurant The Rabbit-Hole,” you explain, hating the ache of knowing Jack had done something so sweet and potentially broken rules to surprise you. “He thought since this is called Red Rabbit, I could use it in some recipes or pairings.” It downright makes you want to cry, if you’re honest with yourself, but you won’t do that in front of Diana.

“That boy.” Diana shakes her head and shoots you a grin. “I swear I don’t know if I need to pull his head out of his ass or shove my foot up it.”

“He doesn’t owe me anything.” The insistent and nagging need to defend him, to protect him, is right there on the surface even though you have no idea why. “We just hung out a few times. That’s all.”

Diana hides her smile behind her glass, happy to see that you are so sweet as to protect a man who obviously hurt your feelings. She wonders if you know that it must be your soulmate connection. “It smells delicious. What do you think?”

“It’s fruitier than I expected.” Of course, until right now, you hadn’t known anything about the line except that it was aged in applewood barrels. You had assumed that that was why Jack had decided to bring the apples with it. “It smells like the mature older sibling of the applejack we used to buy from the farmers in town growing up.” It’s such a small-town thing to do - to find the one employee working in the local apple and pumpkin farm every year who was willing to sell flasks of applejack whiskey to the underage high school kids. “And sweet. Like…maple?”

Diana tastes it and tilts her head as she swishes it around in her mouth. “Not maple.” She narrows her eyes and thinks. “More cane? Raw cane sugar?” She asks you, trying to confirm.

“Is that what that is?” She’s right, it’s not maple, but it has an earthier flavor than table sugar does without going all the way to molasses. “This would be amazing in caramel.” The thoughts are already forming, swirling around in your head while you figure out what flavours will work best with the unique liquor.

“And with that crate of apples.” Diana muses, looking towards the box. “He must have stopped by old Junior’s place and begged a box off him. Man is stingy with his ‘babies’ as he calls his trees.”

“He said somebody was just selling them by the side of the road…” He wouldn’t have done that for you, would he? Make such a lovely and sweet gesture and then take off like his ass was on fire?

Diana snorts and walks over to the crate and picks up an apple. “Nope.” She shakes her head and looks back at you. “These ambrosia apples are only available out of one farm in the area and Junior’s a son of a bitch about selling them.” She tells you with a grin. “Jack must have done some sweet talking or opened up his wallet to get these. The man wouldn’t sell me a bag to make fruit salad for my son’s birthday last year.”

“Oh.” When your shoulders finally slump, you pick up the apple you had taken a bite of earlier and have another nibble, letting the taste of the bourbon roll around it in your mouth. Whatever you do, it has to be this bottle and these apples. “I—I guess…I guess he must have changed his mind about me, then.” What the hell other explanation could there be?

“I think Jack is fighting what he wants.” Diana murmurs softly, setting the apple back in the crate and reaching out to stroke your shoulder. “He believes he doesn’t deserve it.” That is the truth, since his guilt over killing your original soulmate is hanging over his head like a shroud. It’s her opinion he needs to tell you and get it out in the open, but that was just her.

“There’s no reason to. It’s not like I have a soulmate that’s going to pop out of nowhere and try to complicate things, or anything like that.” No, that definitely would not happen. Not with all your marks gone and second soulmates being an impossible fairy tale that people told widows and widowers to try to comfort them. “I mean honestly, I came here with no intention of restarting that part of my life, only to have two different men flirt with me right from the get go and then within a week it all dies down and slips away. What was I even expecting? For some…magical change in appeal? Like I just needed a change of scenery and suddenly I could have my pick of men? That’s just…ridiculous.”

“Two?” Diana blinks for a second before she settles into a small smile. “Tex, of course.” She murmurs to herself, shaking her head. “I don’t think you have to worry about the interest not being there.”

“I should be focusing on the restaurant anyway.” Anything else is just a complication, and complications will just cloud your mind. At least, that’s what your dad would say if he were here.

She sighs softly, nodding at your comment even though she doesn’t agree with it. “Whatever you think is best for you.”

“I’m sorry you had to walk into the middle of this.” While you’ve been talking and sipping, your hands have been busy working. The first red velvet cake nearly has its crumb coat of chocolate frosting done. “It was never my intention to create any kind of workplace drama here.”

“I’m sorry that I interrupted.” Diana huffs at you. “Things might have been vastly different if you hadn’t had someone come in.”

“Maybe not for the better, though.” You can just imagine how it would have turned out now. Your clothes strewn all over the kitchen and your attraction satiated, only for Jack to turn away after he’d gotten what he came for. You’d only be even more miserable.

All she can do is hum, not sure how Jack would have reacted, although it was probably better than right now. The sound of the front door opens again and she can hear the sound of boots thumping on the hardwoods, heading towards the kitchen with a eager determinate stride.

Boot steps make your ears perk, but you swear you’re trying not to show any interest whatsoever until there’s a knock on the kitchen door and it swings open to admit Tex’s imposing frame. You honestly can’t be sure if you’re relieved or disappointed, but the natural smile that comes to your lips is a definite clue. “Looks like everybody’s looking for sweets today,” you observe, trying to get a little of your own teasing tone back again.

“Darlin’ I’m always down for some sweets.” Tex throws you a wink and hooks his fingers into his belt loop. “Was wonderin’ if I could talk to you?”

“Sure.” The second after you say it, you get the feeling that he’s asking for privacy more than anything else, and Diana seems to sense it as well.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” she offers, smooth as silk. “You call me later if you want to talk some more, okay honey?”

“Um—yeah. I really appreciate it. Thanks, Diana.” Her hand on your arm is a hair’s breadth away from being the most maternal hug in the world, and you pack up a few of the lemon lavender shortbread cookies for her to take home to Champ and Bobby before she slips out the door as unceremoniously as she came.

Tequila nods towards Diana respectfully as she takes her leave, waiting until he hears the door open out in the front before he lets out a breath and turns towards you. "So, uh—" He blows out a breath and grins at you. He knows you might not be happy but he wants to make sure that you have a blast. "Want to talk to you about something...if you've got a minute."

“That sounds ominous.” He’s never delivered a single piece of bad news to you, though, and never been anything but smiles. You just hope that that isn’t about to change. “Is this a seat and some tea kind of talk, or are we contemplating something serious over a whiskey?”

"I'm hopin' it's more a of 'I made your day' kinda talk." He admits, ducking his head down slightly and looking at you underneath his lashes before he straightens slightly. "Jack just came to tell me that he can't attend the wedding this weekend with you." He explains. "Something about an emergency that is pulling him away - he looked really upset about missin' it - but I was hopin' you would let me fill in and escort you to the wedding?" He asks hopefully. "We can have some fun."

There is no way in hell that Jack looked upset after running out of here like a bat out of hell, you decide, and you wonder if the older man had told his friend the reason he was chickening out of his promise. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with Tex. Honestly, it’s kind of the opposite. He’s a sweet guy who likes to have a good time and is always admirable and ready for good conversation. He’d be a perfect choice if you weren’t upset about Jack tucking tail - so you tilt your head at him and remind yourself to smile. Tex is just being nice, and it would probably be an extremely bad idea for you to read more into it. “Well that all depends,” You tell him, leaning back against the counter. “Can you dance?”

"Depends on what kind of dancin' you want." Tex admits with a wink. "I'm not good at the fancy ones. But slow dancin' or having fun? I'm better than Jack any day of the week." Jack hadn't really explained, just said that he couldn't make it to the wedding and asked him if he would step in and make sure that you had a good time. Knowing that he had a crush on you. At least he thinks Jack knows he likes you. He should.

“And meeting my family once wasn’t enough to warn you off ever spending time with them again?” When he flew back to New Hampshire with you to help you pack, he had gotten treated to a full family dinner at your favourite Tex Mex restaurant and your father had laughed mercilessly about ‘taking Tex for Tex Mex’. To his credit, the cowboy hadn’t seemed to mind and it had given everyone else a good giggle.

He gives a half shrug of his shoulders and grins at you again. “What can I say? I’m a masochist for a pretty girl.” He drawls.

It stings somehow, almost bittersweet, knowing that an hour ago there was someone else here who might have been prepared to say something similar until he decided to tuck tail and run. Still - Tex is a good guy and has never given you any reason to doubt his good intentions. “I’d love for you to come.” You’ll have fun with him. You know you will. And just maybe you won’t be run out on this time.

******

The reception is in full swing, Tex adjusting the velvet lapel of his tuxedo and holds the laughably delicate champagne glass in his hand and wishes that he had a crystal cut glass of whiskey. Being here with you is worth the commercial flight, the crowded plane, and he understood why you didn’t want to take the Statesman jet. Worried about the way it would look and misuse of company property. Since he knew you don’t know about the intelligence portion of the company, he had let you book a flight on Delta.

What he hadn't told you was that he had called the hotel, transferring your room for the night to his own credit card and upgrading the room to a suite for luxurious comfort and privacy.

You'd taken your time washing the plane smell off and carefully covering your tattoo like you always do for anything formal, then making sure your hair and makeup were as close to perfect as you could manage on your own before getting into that beautiful dress. The tie and kerchief that matched your dress went to Tex tonight instead of Jack, and honestly he has been an absolute dream of a wedding date. Friendly with every elderly relative and murmuring jokes in your ear when cousins get snooty, your hand is looped around his arm now as you sip champagne and watch far too many friends and family members jump up for the Chicken Dance. No power in the universe could force you out of your seat for this craziness. No thank you.

“Ten dollars says you catch the bouquet.” Tequila leans over and whispers in your ear, using any excuse he can to murmur against your skin. He hadn’t missed the way you shiver slightly when he does that.

"Who says I'm even getting in on that brawl?" You huff and roll your eyes at him for effect. Anything that makes him laugh is good in your book.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Darlin’ a brawl is always a good time. Especially when it’s against your cousins.”

"You just want to see if anybody throws an elbow." Knowing your cousins it very well might happen, and now you kind of want to see it for yourself if you're honest. "It'll really annoy Paris if she doesn't catch it," you laugh, subtly pointing out one particular cousin of yours in her bright fuchsia bridesmaid dress.

“Oh, you’ll win against her.” Tequila predicts, smirking slightly. “Guaranteed. Tell ya what? You join the ladies for the bouquet toss and I’ll join the men for the garter.”

"Alright, but using your hat is cheating." It's so nice that the night hasn't been awkward at all. Nothing feels forced or like you're trying too hard to tiptoe around uncomfortable topics. This is comfortable and flirty, and you grin up at Tex. "Is there a prize if either of us win?"

His matching grin is daring and he leans in. “A kiss?” He offers, knowing it might be too much, but he’s going to shoot his shot. You look gorgeous and he’s drawn to you more and more as the night goes on.

You swallow, knowing that the last time that you kissed someone it got very heated and ended very badly. It's not that you don't want to. Not at all that you don't want to. Tex is a great catch and ridiculously attractive. And if it's awkward, you blame it on the champagne and never speak of it again. "Alright." You nod after a second's hesitation. "You got yourself a deal, cowboy."

With a grin more powerful than the sun, Tex nods quickly. “It’s gonna happen.” He promises you, setting his champagne down and immediately scanning the reception area as he scopes out his competition for this garter catch. Doing recon as if it were a mission.

“Oh, so you’re going to be the one throwing elbows?” That makes you laugh, at least, and you finish your drink before setting the glass down on a passing waiter’s tray.

“Whatever it takes to win.” He admits with a sly grin. “‘Specially when the prize is so worth it.” He’s felt like you’ve warmed up to him. Your fingers lingering on his arm a little longer and your smile a bit brighter. He knows that you’ve got a little thing for Jack, but he’s here and Jack missed out.

“Well, don’t knock anybody over or anything. Nobody gets rewarded for bad sportsmanship.” Flustered by the whole thing, you bite your lip and turn back to watch the last few seconds of your family flapping around like idiots until the song comes to an end. Are you flattered? Absolutely. But also a little nervous.

Tex chuckles, watching you fluster and squirm slightly. He’s aware that you might not be as interested in him as he is in you, but that happens. He’ll kiss you when he catches that garter and then if you don’t want it to go any farther, it won’t. But he wants to see where this goes, hoping it might lead to something beautiful.

The DJ gleefully announces the bouquet toss a few seconds later, and you laugh softly when your cousins flock onto the dance floor like seagulls after one, lone French fry on the beach. “Here goes nothing.” You decide, out loud, and give his arm a squeeze before heading directly into the thick of the group. Your sister will tease you mercilessly for it later when she finds out about the bet, but that’s okay. Tonight has been fun - you’re just hoping it stays that way.

Tequila hums in amusement as the women gather, watching you look back at him and roll your eyes in annoyance. You have been on the receiving end of plenty of envious looks because of the dress you are wearing and maybe because of him, but there is a definite competitive air around the group as they try to nudge you towards the outskirts.

If you had a smaller family this might be less hysterical, but the sheer volume of single cousins guarantees that no one can have a single clue who’s actually going to catch the obnoxiously bright pink bouquet. It’s Cassie’s absolute right to enjoy the attention on her wedding day, and she’s encouraging the competition from the other side of the dance floor, so you just shake your head and laugh, preparing to give a good old college try but not intending to turn the whole thing into a mosh pit.

It’s almost humorous, the gasp and screeching that goes up from the crowd as the bouquet lets loose into the air and starts its arch over the crowd. Watching the hands go up and reach for it. Even though it’s far too high for them to reach.

This moment might be most athletic your cousin Cassie has ever been, tossing her flowers out into the living sea of eager hands. The shrieking is ear piercing, but makes you laugh more than anything. This is a group of women who firmly believe that a bouquet of flowers will predict their future and you just can’t take that kind of thing seriously. Which makes it all the funnier when your fingers snag on the large Barbie-style bow adorning the bouquet’s handle and you tighten your fist to make sure it doesn’t slip through your grip.

Tex immediately sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles out happily before starting to clap and holler as you keep a firm hand on to bouquet. Grinning like a loon and winking when you look over at him.

There’s a collective groan and general whining of discontent from your cousins, with one even remarking how you barely know Tex so it isn’t faaaaair! But you laugh it off as you walk back to him, wiggling the flowers in his direction with a smirk. “No one can ever say I’m not competitive,” you tell him with a giggle.

“You sure are.” Tex hums, grinning as he reaches out and strokes your arm softly. “If looks could kill right now, you’d be havin’ your stone set.” He chuckles, looking over the sour looks of every one of the other ladies as they disperse reluctantly.

“Now let’s go piss off the men, too.” Tossing him a wink, You nod to the dance floor where all the single men are now gathering to catch the garter. It’s a tradition you genuinely don’t understand, but for the moment it’s fun. Plus your heart is beating just a tiny bit faster wondering what kind of a kisser Tex will be.

Ambling over to the crowd, Tequila seems relaxed, but he’s tensed slightly under the cool veneer of his tuxedo. The skills that make him a great Statesman agent going to make sure that he is the one that catches the garter.

For the most part the men are less enthusiastic about the whole ‘next to get married’ thing, but they are all competitive and eyeing Tex like he’s the greatest threat to their existence they’ve ever known, which just makes you cackle with private laughter.

It’s a little more suggestive than the bouquet toss, everyone whistling when the groom’s hands slide under the bride’s dress to pull the garter off. He stands, holding it up like it’s a prize and grinning before he twirls it around his finger and launches it into the crowd.

It’s honestly pretty entertaining to watch the guys acting like they’re going to start knocking each other over while your divorced brother rolls his eyes on the sidelines, but the highlight is how horribly indignant the groan is through the crowd when Tex’s arm goes up and easily catches the little fabric missile in his large palm. He doesn’t even hide his happiness, turning around and smugly grinning at you. Waggling his brows as the other men slunk away grumbling under their breaths.

The DJ comes over the sound system again, calling for you to join your date on the dance floor so the winners of the two tosses can share a dance, and you chuckle at the pageantry of the whole thing. “It’s either a victory lap around the dance floor or putting us on display for my cousins who are planning bodily harm,” you decide, taking his hand regardless once you’re in front of him.

Tequila snorts and looks around the room with a cocky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He promises, looking back at you and giving you a small wink. “Enjoy the moment, darlin’. Every one of them are jealous of you.”

The song is nothing you recognize, but you move into his arms easily. It’s slow and melodic and obviously meant to set a mood, and you find yourself getting more and more nervous. With no desire to fuck things up between the two of you, you also have to admit that you don’t really know what actually is between you at all.

He can feel the nerves pouring off of you and his grip on you tightens slightly. “Relax, darlin’.” He murmurs, taking mercy on you. “We don’t have to kiss here in front of everyone and we don’t have to kiss at all.” He allows, knowing that if you aren’t into it, he’s not going to insist.

“No, I want to.” You assure him with an immediacy that surprises both of you. It makes your ears and cheeks burn and you clear your throat self-consciously. “Maybe not…not in front of everyone. But…I’m just nervous.” You sigh a little, shrugging against his chest. “I’m not very good at this, can you tell?”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Tex hums, his fingers at your waist stroking your side gently. “Maybe just out of practice.”

“Maybe.” The confidence in his tone makes you want that to be the case, and you turn your arm slightly so that he’s now holding your hand against his chest instead of holding it out. It’s more intimate, but not in a pushy way. “Maybe it’s just that I don’t have great luck.”

“Luck is what you make it.” Tex tells you seriously. “You can say you had a string of failed relationships. Or you can say you learned what you won’t tolerate.” He murmurs, looking into your eyes and he wishes that he had some inkling of what you are thinking.

“I guess I’ll have to think about what I learned, then.” Thinking of them as failures certainly hadn’t helped at all, and the idea that there are lessons to learn and room to grow is a comfort now that you have no soulmate and an amorphous future to try to navigate.

Tex honestly doesn’t know if he has a soulmate, he’s never had scars on his body, and he holds out hope that his is an agent, but he’s not counting on it. “You do that.” He murmurs softly, his smile encouraging.

“Pretty sure there won’t be anything against you in there, though.” You tilt your head a little, moving in closer to him as you sway to the music and looking up into his face. “Just in case you’re wondering.”

“Well first that means that I’ve got to be counted among the liaisons you’ve had.” Tex winks at you and waggles his brows at you playfully.

You had meant that you didn’t think any of the lessons you had to learn would count him out in the future, but of course his playful nature wins out and you end up with burning cheeks. “I suppose so,” you admit.

The song comes to an end and there is a smattering of applause and some murmurs that shuffle through the air. “Do you want to get another drink, darlin’?” He asks, not wanting to assume anything.

“Something other than champagne this time?” Bubbly is great, but you’ve sort of gotten the feeling that it’s not his drink. And as much as you enjoy your family, you also really enjoy just spending time with Tex. “Then maybe we can say good night? My feet are killing me and I’m sure you don’t want to get jumped by my cousins who were hoping that garter would get them proposed to.”

"One for the road." Tequila nods, and his hand stands on your back while he guides you towards the table with your name cards on two of the seats. "You can sit and I'll get our drinks." He offers, knowing those shoes have to be killing you. They look painful.

The atmosphere of the dress shop last weekend had been intoxicating - that’s why you went for them - but the next time you plan on dancing the night away you’ll definitely be in sneakers. Or cowboy boots. “Just get two of whatever sounds good,” you tell him, figuring he’ll come back with Statesman whiskey or something of similar quality. A full open bar is a thing of beauty.

Tequila makes his way to the bar and orders two old fashions, nodding politely to the older couple as he waits for the bartender to make them. Tonight has been interesting and he’s going to give Jack hell for skipping this, knowing how the older agent loves a good party and schmoozing up attractive ladies.

A few silent signals between you and your siblings are enough to tell them not to come over - that you’re in the middle of something with Tex and will fill them in later - and your older brother rolls his eyes at you as dramatically as humanly possible before pulling your little sister and her husband back into the dance floor for ‘Dancing Queen’. Your phone in your clutch has remained silent aside from social media posts, pictures from the wedding reception already going up as people continue to have fun. You had really hoped. Thought maybe a small ‘Sorry again!’ text or an ‘Hope you’re having fun.’ message might come through from Jack just to prove he’s been thinking of you. But there’s nothing. There’s been nothing but radio silence from him since he walked out of the kitchen on Monday. So you swallow the disappointment, shove your phone into the bottom of your bag, and resolve to forget about him entirely. You’re out with a handsome, sweet, funny man that made a stupid bet to earn your kisses, and goddamnit you’re going to make sure they’re good ones. And whatever else happens? Happens.

“You are a lovely looking couple.” The older woman smiles as she eyes Tex, making him grin like a sap as he twists his head towards where you are sitting. “Well, thank you ma’am. Hopefully that will be true soon.” He doesn’t want to start a rumor that you have to defend, but he would like to be reality.

“Soon?” The woman glances back at where you’re sitting and chuckles softly at the uncertainty of young people. “What’s stopping you?”

“Lady’s choice.” Tex answers easily. “I’ve made my interest known and now the reins are in her hands.”

“I didn’t see the face of a disinterested woman while you were dancing,” she assures him as the bartender puts two glasses down in front of Tequila.

Tex grins and tips her hat to her. “Ma’am, sir.” He drawls as he picks up the drinks. “I better go back to her before she loses interest then.”

“There you are.” When Tex reappears at your side with two glasses, you offer him a contented smile. “What are we drinking?”

“Old Fashioned’s.” He sends you a small wink and sets the glass down in front of you. “Since we are doing all the traditional things tonight.”

“Sounds perfect.” You pat the chair beside you, inviting him to sit with you for a moment to enjoy your drinks. “To good company.” Is the toast you offer, holding up your glass to him. “Thank you for coming this weekend. I know there are a million other things you could have done, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Tex takes the seat you’ve offered, wanting to be in something that moves a bit easier than this tux, but it’s worth it. “No one else I’d rather be with too.”

The rims of your glasses tap against each other with a dainty ringing sound, and you shift a little closer to him at the table under the guise of getting comfortable after your first sip. “Next time we decide to party, I say we do it in jeans and sneakers,” you laugh, seeing the discomfort in how he holds himself. “Something a little more casual.”

“God yes.” Tex groans, nearly ready to kiss you for that suggestion. “Don’t get me wrong, you look beautiful, but you’d look beautiful at a bonfire sippin’ a beer with a t-shirt on.”

“I like a good excuse to dress up, but it’s been a long night.” His utter relief makes you laugh, and you sip the delicious drink he brought you between laughter. “You…you look very handsome. I mean, you always do, but I mean…tonight especially.” Geez…you really are bad at this…

“Tonight I’m irresistible?” Tex offers, throwing you a wink before he takes a sip of his cocktail. “That was the goal, darlin’, I’m glad I pulled it off.”

You could laugh. You probably should. But you end up simply shrugging, and offering him a shy smile. “Tonight you look like Prince Charming.”

“Does that make you Cinderella or Aurora?” Tex asks with a smirk. “Always confuse those two.”

“Cinderella.” You tell him, your tone as serious as if he had offended your family’s honor. As an enormous Alice in Wonderland fan, you had had a very Disney-centric childhood. “Aurora’s prince is named Phillip.”

Tequila winces, shaking his head. “That’s a horrible name for a prince.” He huffs, insulted by the lack of imagination. “Although, Tex ain’t any better.”

"I'm sure it was just fine for the 1950s." Never really having thought about the validity of a cartoon prince's first name, you nudge his leg with your foot under the table and let your smile come back ever so subtly. "Besides, princes aren't all they're cracked up to be."

It takes him a moment, but when he gets your meaning, Tex breaks into a beaming smile. “Yeah?” He hums and waggles his brows. “Prefer cowboys?”

"Maybe." The way he takes that as such an absolute victory is adorable, and you lean into him at your table to enjoy the warmth radiating off of him in waves.

“Then I guess I better work on changing that to a ‘definitely’.” Tex chuckles and takes another sip of his drink.

"You have a particular method in mind?" The way you've ended up sitting, your chair is scooted right up next to his so you basically only need to whisper to each other. It makes everything feel that much more intimate and secluded even though you're still in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

The small, teasing smile that is in the Statesman’s agents face turns devilish and slightly cocky. “Well, that depends on what happens after that kiss.” He drawls out. “I can always show you how good I am with my hands.” He winks and settles back for your reaction.

Freezing with your glass halfway to your lips, you can feel your eyes widen and your body flush hot all at once. “I—is that…something you want to show me?”

He looks at you for a moment to gauge if you really don’t understand how much he wants you. He murmurs your name quietly, “I want nothing more that to take you back to the suite and show you exactly that.”

The decision isn’t a hard one. It’s not as though you aren’t attracted to Tex, and there isn’t the threat of alcohol clouding your judgement because your tolerance is so damn high. This is one consenting adult to another - and also admittedly a reminder to yourself that Jack Daniels’ opinion is not the only one in the world. Shaking off the sting of that rejection, you knock back the end of your drink and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek with your own completely on fire. “Then I think we should say our good nights,” you tell him pointedly. “And have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

The speed at which Tex springs to his feet is astonishing, immediately setting his drink down and holding out his hand to help you out of his seat. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’.”

To your siblings’ credit, they don’t actually say anything when you come and say ‘good night’ with Tex’s hand on your back, and your mother only raises an eyebrow halfway before shooting your father a look that says not to say anything. She knows you’ll fill them in if there is anything they need to know, but your business is your business. In just ten minutes’ time you’re slipping out of the ballroom, hoping not to be seen or stopped by distant relatives looking to chat.

Your hand is still firmly in his as the two of you make your way towards the elevators. “Do you want to take your shoes off?” Tequila asks you. “You can walk barefoot or I can carry you?” His grin is playful, but he would totally carry you up to the suite.

“I’m not going to make you carry me.” You roll your eyes at him like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said, but still laugh. “I’m definitely taking these off, though. Three inches is too much.”

He snorts and bites his lip. “Darlin’ if three inches is too much, we’re gonna have a problem.” He jokes, a filthy grin on his face.

You stifle a laugh so hard that you snort, covering your mouth in embarrassment and looking up at him to see the absolute mischief on his face. “Oh no,” you promise him with a snicker. “That’s a very different circumstance.”

Tex winks and you and then bends down to one knee in the middle of the large hallway. “Let me take off those three-inch heels, hmm?” He pats his knee expectantly and smirks up at you.

“Reverse Prince Charming?” The hallway is mostly deserted, except for a few stray caterers and one guest who smiles at the two of you fondly before hurrying off to give you privacy. When he doesn’t move, obviously serious about the gesture, you lift one foot to rest it delicately on his knee while still trying desperately not to get his tuxedo dirty.

“Always gotta help a pretty lady in distress.” His fingers are thicker than the whoever designed the tiny buckles, but he manages to get the shoe undone and starts to slide it off your foot. “And this looks painful.”

“Who knows what I was thinking.” You laugh it off, nearly groaning in relief when you put your bare foot down on the chilly floor and let him unbuckle the other. You know exactly what you were thinking - it was all about how Jack looked at you in this dress and how you wanted to impress him. Thoughts that have no place in your mind right now.

“Done.” Tequila keeps the straps of the heels hooked on his fingers as he stands up and grins. “Now you can walk properly, even if it made your ass look incredible.”

“Flatterer.” Tangling your fingers with his when the elevator door opens, you pull him in with you and reach to take your shoes back.

“Just tellin’ the truth.” He puffs up in excitement and pride that you are so eager to go up to the room with him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Deciding that teasing is better than letting your emotions get involved even in taking a compliment, you tap the button for your floor and watch the doors close while you lean into his side. “I know you’re after my sweets,” you tease, shooting him a grin. “Sugar is the great temptation.”

"It is." Tequila can't even deny the way his body reacts to that tease. "I wanna find out if your sweets are only limited to your baking."

“Well…” Glancing at the closed door, you know you have nothing but privacy for at least the ride to your floor. “I believe I owe you a kiss.”

There's a smugness to his smile as he turns towards you, reaching for your waist to pull you against him gently. "Yeah?" He hums, glancing up at the numbers going up. "Think we've got enough time to do it properly?"

“That depends how much time you waste talking.” Tex likes to be teased, it gives his ego a stroke and makes him laugh, and he chuckles now even with the palpable tension in the air. “I swear, cowboys chatter more than church ladies.”

"Nothin' better to do at times." Tequila acknowledges, leaning in and his breath huffs against your skin. "But I'll shut up now and do this." He mumbles right before he captures your lips in a kiss that is meant to start gentle but eager.

It’s heated, neediness poorly hidden under the soft touch like he’s holding himself back but only barely. That gorgeously satisfying feeling of wanting and being wanted rolls through you and you lean into him more surely, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and letting the kiss linger.

It's hard not to deepen the kiss, not when he feels you soften under his lips. Your body shifting towards him and he could take it farther. Press you up against the wall and show you exactly how wild you are driving him, but the doors will open in approximately twenty-two seconds.

The faint ding of the elevator pulls you both out of the moment, albeit reluctantly, and you bite back a grin. “Maybe we should find someplace that has privacy for more than thirty seconds?”

He doesn't answer, just takes your hand and swiftly pulls you off the elevator to start striding down the hall towards the end where the door to your two-room suite is located. Eager to get you into the room and see where this goes.

______ 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

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #love triangle #Tequila x reader #Channing Tatum

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

Do you think Tequila would have a corruption kink? He just gives “the vibes”.

imma be real with you my sweet nonnie--YES, yes tequila would have a corruption kink. one hundred percent corruption kink just eating away at this man's soul. in all seriousness, it's not the whole introducing you to more depraved kinks and "corrupting" your supposed innocence that gets tequila going. it's more so fucking you so hard and good that he ruins any sort of possibility of you being satisfied by any other man that gets his blood pumping south. tequila is going to make sure that your body never forgets the feeling of the pleasure that he wrings you through, and that you can't possibly find any sort of relief without his touch.

tequila is quick to find every single spot on your body that makes you weak in the knees, and targets them with relentless precision. all the while, he's teasing you for reacting so nicely for him and cooing how cute you look begging for his cock and how he's going to fuck you so hard when he's had his fill. and tequila isn't lying—he's going to fuck you like he's in heat, thrusts smacking against your skin so hard that you might've passed out from the intensity of the pleasure ebbing away at your nerves. it's a bit of lewd knowledge to know that perro, vulpo, and lupo guys have knots at the base of their cock, similarly to their animal counterparts, and tequila is no exception. he makes sure to knot you multiple times and fill you up with his hot load.

i also like to think of tequila as a yandere, and that's not because i'm really fond of well-written yandere men as whole (god knows we have enough poorly written ones out there). this is a man who has been utterly stewing in his resentment and anger for way too long and does not deal with it in a healthy manner. it's literally in his operator files that sussuro and other operators that worked alongside him are very worried about him not showcasing any sort of negative emotions. so throw in a corruption kink with all those brewing issues and you've got yourself a man who cannot stand the thought of anyone but him, having you all to himself. and he's very good at hiding his less than pleasant feelings, only showcasing his usual pleasant and easygoing demeanor to win you over.

#lati thirsts #arknights x reader #arknights smut #arknights tequila x reader #arknights tequila smut #tequila x reader #tequila smut #arknights tequila

[bonniebird]

Agent Tequila x Reader

Requested by Anon

December event

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Agent Tequila stared at you with a frown on his face. Ginger Ale stopped next to him with the information he needed on a clipboard. “What’s going on?” She asked.

“Is (Y/N) wearing a different sweater?” He asked. She looked over at you and squinted.

“I… I think so?” She said and waved you over. “Cute sweater.”

“Oh! Thanks. It’s my holiday sweater. I have one in every colour. I can wear a new one every day of December.” You said and grinned. You gave them a little twirl.

“A little casual don’t you think.” Agent Tequila muttered. You and Ginger Ale turned and frowned at him.

“Says you. The least serious agent we have.” You said and laughed he huffed and waved you off.

“Why would you want to wear a sweater anyway? We have state-of-the-art heating systems.” He asked.

“Cosy sweaters are just blankets you can wear to work.” You answered. They followed you to your small office and Agent Tequila burst into a fit of laughter when he saw your office. The inside had been lined with jumpers and sweaters. Christmas jumpers with lights, sparkles, bells and holiday patterns. The walls, the floor and your desk chair were covered in them. Looking closer the realised that you’d tied them together and made a blanket to go on your chair.

“Just… why?” He asked you.

“They said I couldn’t have my blankets or my big dressing gown jumper. So I had to make do.” You smiled and hurried over to a folded pile in the corner. “Now that you’re here though I can give you this. You left for your mission before I could give it to you.”

Agent Tequila took the garish holiday jumper you handed him and immediately put it on. “Well. Maybe I like it.” 

“I knew you would.” You said and turned to your computer as it binged. You waved them off.

“What’re you smiling about?” He asked as Ginger Ale smiled at him.

“You know you’re going to have to wear that all the time now you said that you liked it. Otherwise (Y/N) will be disappointed.” She pointed out. He sighed and pulled at it.

“I’ve worn worse.” He said and rolled his eyes at her as she hummed and smiled.

Tag

#agent tequila #agent tequila x reader #bonniebird #december2022

[deepdrownlamentt]

Hello feeshcule ehehehehe may i ask for how headcanons on how tequila and flamebringer are like when it comes to hand-holding (separately) ? thank you very much in advance (-> sry I'm insufferable when it comes to these two🐥)

↬ flamebringer & tequila handholding hcs

content warnings:

note: feeshcule... yue i think you're trying to kill me :/ what happened to mercy... forgiveness... everyone is so mean 2 me........... anyways here r ur welfare guard boys!!! its a little short . i couldnt think of what more to write . but i hope u enjoy :)

↬FLAMEBRINGER's hands are just about as rough and calloused as you might expect, from years of wielding a sword and doing work in the gardens. and while sometimes it might seem like he's just as gruff when it comes to you, the fact that that's not necessarily the case isn't exactly something he's going to start spouting out of nowhere.

↬ he has a habit of holding onto your wrist, your upper arm. he's not quite one for pda, but it suffices for the meantime — he gets to sate any desires you might have to hold his hand, and he also gets to... you know, hold your hand.

↬ in private, he much prefers pressing his palm flat against yours to feel every groove, callus, and scar on your skin, and you on his. he's satisfied with just that much, no need for any grand shows or gifts, or even rubbing circles into your hand with a thumb. all he wants is the feeling of your palm flush against his, your fingers curling down to hold his hand closer to yours.

↬ to say that TEQUILA is a little on the handsier side is just a little bit of an understatement. he seems the type to love having a hand on you at all times, whether he's got an arm around your shoulders or a hand on your waist.

↬ he's rather casual with his (physical) affections for you, too. so long as you're comfortable with it, he'll be reaching out to grab your hand while asking you about your day, when he comes up to greet you while you're busy, while teasing you for not being able to force a jar open...

↬ tequila loves the feeling of your fingers tangled together. he has a habit of doing it whenever you hold hands — linking your pinkies, weaving his index over your middle, his thumb brushing gently over the side of your palm. it makes him feel like you've made some sort of secure, tender knot... and if you have to let go? no worries, he'll just come find you later; surely you can spare him a hand then, too.

#♡. writing | burial beyond the light. #arknights x reader #tequila x reader #flamebringer x reader

[estoniacobaltpayne]

The Mystery of Your Loneliness

The Mystery of Your Loneliness

Pairing: Bruno Madrigal X GN! Reader

Warning: Angst, Cursing, Mentions of Heavy Drinking and Alcohol

A/N: So this is a semi sequel to Goodnight Sweet Prince, both of these can be read on their own. I’ve been trying to finish this one for forever, so thanks for your patience. I credit Bruno’s birthday on the 17th the inspiration for finishing it. Be warned, as this has some bits that go into the dark depths of Bruno’s psyche while in the walls. Anyways, enjoy.

Dolores Madrigal liked to think of herself as a practical woman. A “don’t ask, don’t tell” kind of woman. After all, 7 plus years of hearing everything someone says or does- down to their heartbeat- tends to wear on one’s ability to care too much about the trivial little “he said she said”’s constantly being tossed about the small Encanto, of which there were many. She’d heard too much, starting at far too young an age, to be bothered with who’s having an affair with who, or the gossip that was spread across the dinner tables of the village.

No, instead, Dolores tended to save the announcements of revelations brought to her attention via her gift for the big things, for the important things. Like when the astonishingly old Señora Vasquez took a tumble off of her one and only porch step again, Dolores knew she’d need to relay the situation to her tía Julieta, who’d rush off with a plate of buñuelos to aid the fallen woman.

Not many things held Dolores’ attention for too long, and it took a lot for her to be surprised by something.

So when she had awoken the morning after her little cousin Mirabel’s failed gift ceremony, she had been shocked to find that she had been taken completely by surprise.

Her tío Bruno had simply… vanished, and it was the first time Dolores ever truly hated her gift. Somehow, in the middle of the night, Bruno had disappeared and because she was in her room when it happened (the only place which granted her relief from the never ending onslaught of noise), she hadn’t heard him slink away. And as the months passed, Dolores watched as the rest of her family and the Encanto began to turn their backs on the hope of finding their lost fortune teller. Their lost tío. Their lost hermano. Their lost friend. No amount of familial pressure, nor no amount of family feuding had ever disappointed Dolores about her family like their willingness- their eagerness- to forget Bruno had. And casita, it seemed, had agreed with her.

Dolores had noticed a whole new set of sounds emanating from within the walls of Casita, bemoaning the loss of a beloved Madrigal. Little creaks, small cracking sounds, even little sighing sounds as the house moved and settled. She’d never heard these sounds coming from within Casita before, but given that the house was… sentient, for a lack of better words, Dolores simply attributed the sounds to Casita’s mourning of Bruno.

It wasn’t until one night about 6 months later, where she had been up much too late, unable to sleep as her mind stirred restlessly with the predicaments her family were facing and fighting about, wandering the unlit halls of La Casa Madrigal when Dolores realised that the heartbreaking little sounds coming from the walls were not, in fact, the house itself. As she descended the stairs and entered the dining room, Dolores heard what she could only assume was someone… moving furniture? And with such a peculiar sound, how could a bright, young 12 year old not investigate?

As she listened more closely, she began to realise that the sounds, aside from the scraping of furniture across the floor, sounded all too familiar. A little “hmm” here, the shuffling of sandals there, and every so often, a “fuck!” hissed under a breath. And a heartbeat. To Dolores, it almost sounded like-

“Tío Bruno?”

Suddenly, all the noises behind the dining room wall stopped. No shuffling, no humming. Only the heartbeat remained, which grew increasingly louder and faster.

“Tío, I know it’s you.”

Bruno was silent for a minute, hoping that Dolores would turn around and walk away; hoping that she’d think she was mistaken and never think back on this moment again, or that she’d wake up the next morning and just assume that this was all a strange dream she’d had. But he knew better. His months of isolation hadn’t ruined his mind yet. Finally, he responded.

“You should be asleep, Dolores.”

But Dolores wouldn’t have that.

“Where have you been? The entire family was looking for you!”

“Dolores-“

“And then Abuela got tired of hoping and she was so angry and she gets mad whenever anyone talks about you now and-“

“Dolores! For someone who can hear to the ends of the earth, I would have thought you’d be able to listen better!”

The young girl was instantly embarrassed. I’ll never talk that much again, she thought. But she was angry. How could he sit back there, hiding from a family that was losing hope in him?

“I’m sorry, Dolores, I shouldn’t have said… Dolores, I need you to do me a favor; promise me that you won’t go and tell the family I’m here. For their sake. If they find out that Mirabel-“ Bruno cut himself off.

“Look, just know that this is for them. For the Encanto. For my miracle.”

Dolores was confused. How could abandoning the family possibly save them?

“But tío Bruno, we can save the miracle if we work together as a family!”

But this time, Bruno didn’t respond. At least- not verbally. Dolores could hear the quiet sobs that her uncle tried to muffle into his hand. She could hear the desperation that shivered down his spine with each shaky breath he tried to take in.

“No, Dolores. Not the miracle. My miracle.”

For a minute, Dolores was only more confused. But as she thought about it more… how could she forget, Bruno’s dearest friend, the one that spent so much time at La Casa Madrigal, the one Bruno had been too afraid to say “I love you” to? The one who had been to every Madrigal birthday and supported her and her brother and cousins their whole lives? The all-hearing girl had always been a hopeless romantic, and she always knew the bond her uncle had with his closest companion went far beyond friendship. Dolores always knew that what her tío and his friend possessed for each other was a deep, understanding, and desperate love. Dolores was pulled out of her pondering when her tío finally gathered himself together enough to speak coherently again.

“We finally told each other, and wow, do we have god-awful timing. Literally right as I was leaving.”

Dolores chuckled, “serves you right for the time you told me I’ll suffer from unrequited love my whole life.”

Bruno scoffed theatrically, “blasphemy! Slain by mine own kin! You put thine own self-serving words into my mouth, girl! Never did such an utterance leave my lips! But lo, I shant deceive thee, that mayhaps I had proclaimed that one day, a gent with whom you may or may not find yourself smitten with, shall propose matrimony unto a maiden yond is not thee!”

The two were resolved into a fit of quiet laughter over Bruno’s goofy Shakespearean acting, and for a moment, Dolores felt like she had her uncle back; that he wasn’t hiding behind a wall that was both literal and figurative.

Unfortunately, the gravity of the situation wouldn’t allow them to dwindle in that moment for long.

“All I have left is this portrait photo from few winters ago. At the time, I thought… I thought I’d have more time to say ‘I love you,’ but… well, we know how that turned out, don’t we? And when I left, I just figured that I’d dragged down the reputation of the one person who really cared about me enough; that maybe, if I was gone, I could give back what my miracle gave to me- a chance at something new. But then we kissed that night and I knew I’d always be a selfish son of a bitch. Oh, sorry! You didn’t hear me say ‘bitch!’ Oh shit, I did it again!”

As Bruno voiced his inner tangent about his cursing in front of his young niece, Dolores started to feel bad for her uncle; but she also couldn’t have been more proud to call him family in that very moment. He’d spent so long chasing after love, be it from his family, his community, or his miracle, only to have love ripped from him when he finally caught up to it. He willingly gave it up to protect everything.

“Can I ask for one more favor?”

“Anything, tío.”

“Can you… update me, from time to time? Just to let me know that everything’s ok. Just to make sure that the light doesn’t die. In either miracle,” Bruno added with a hollow chuckle.

“You have my word.”

Bruno sighed out, “thank you, Dolores,” and looked at the picture to his left. Various belongings he’d brought with him or had snagged when he snuck out at night had been littered across the floor, or piled up on crates he’d stacked up along the walls in lieu of bookshelves. His little room in the walls was disorganised and hodgepodged. But the picture of you he’d told Dolores about was proudly displayed on the only tidy part of the room- the little table he’d made for himself that sat attached to the wall he shared with the dining room. Bruno had placed the photo there, across from his seat where he’d crudely drawn the image of what was his family dinner plate, so as to seem that you were there with him while he ate, smiling not at the camera he had been holding when he took the picture, but at the current him; the Bruno that was hiding himself away. It was a good picture, too. You hadn’t realised he had taken it the time, and maybe you never would. You had stubbornly claimed you didn’t need a sweater that day because “you were never cold.” But then, you were cold, and so Bruno, who’d come thoroughly prepared as he was always cold, swept off the ruana he’d been wearing and angrily slipped it over your head, muttering about how ‘he was right’ and that ‘you should have brought your damn sweater.’ But one look at you, and he knew he’d never blame you for forgetting a coat again; in fact, he swore he’d make sure you’d forget it every time, just so he could keep relishing in the image that was you in his clothes.

But for the present Bruno, the photo was beginning to grow bittersweet; every glance he took at it reminded him of the fact that he’d most likely never get to see your face in person again. He’d never get to be playfully angry with you again. He’d never get to kiss you again. And as the weeks turned into months which turned into years, Bruno found that he couldn’t look at that picture much at all. And as much as Bruno told himself that forgetting you altogether would be so much easier, he knew that for one, he’d be utterly incapable of forgetting you, and two, it wouldn’t be fair to you. And so, Bruno suffered in near silence, save for Dolores’ occasional updates on your wellbeing.

And, according to his niece, you weren’t doing all too bad. You still spent time with your friends and family. You still went to the same bar the two of you frequented together (although sometimes you apparently spent a little too much time there). You still visited Casita to see his sisters and their families; a few times he’d even caught little glimpses of you through the holes in the wall, and it made it so much harder to remain hidden when he did.

But he was never more tempted to leave the walls for you than he was on the night of his 45th birthday. Alma had of course thrown a birthday bash for ‘Pepa and Julieta’ (it was no longer a birthday party for ‘the triplets,’ something that deeply wounded Bruno at first, but as the years dragged on Bruno found himself growing numb to it). The sisters had opted for a smaller affair than normal, with Pepa being suddenly pregnant again and unable to consume the alcohol needed to quell her nerves around large crowds.

Amongst the close friends and family in attendance was you, and with the party mostly taking place over dinner, Bruno got to watch you through the wall for most of the night. Dolores’ remarks about your worsening drinking habits were, to Bruno’s chagrin, true, as he saw you drink enough for both yourself and Pepa. Your drunken charades didn’t go unnoticed either; as everyone else trickled out for the evening, his mother pulled you aside.

“I’m worried about you,” he heard his mother remark to you. He watched as you cast your gaze away towards the wall, anywhere to escape her scrutiny. Little did you know that you were inadvertently staring into Bruno’s eyes through the unnoticed crack he used to peer out of.

“I’m fine, Alma. Just… passing time.”

Passing time until what? Bruno mentally inquired. Alma, it seemed, didn’t need to ask to know the answer.

“I know you had feelings for… him, but I had hoped you would have found someone else to warm your heart by now.”

The air grew stiff. The thickness penetrated even the walls, rooting Bruno to the spot. “Don’t say it” resonated between each of you. Everyone, including yourself, could feel that you wanted to say it, and your pause made it clear you were trying to hold your tongue, but it seemed the alcohol diminished your ability to do so.

“Bold words coming from you of all people, Alma.”

Alma, for her credit, took it far better than Bruno would have thought she would have; less personally than he thought she would have.

“All I meant was that you should seek happiness. That you should start thinking about your future beyond today; beyond this week, beyond this year.” You scoffed, bringing up the bottle of tequila you’d been nursing throughout the evening to take a sip of what was left of it. “But it’s hard to look that far into the future with a bottle of reposado permanently attached to your lips,” Alma encouraged, taking the bottle from your hand.

But you just cast your eyes downward, a far away look looming in them as you slurred your response.

“I spent so long dwelling in the future. For once, I want to just wallow in the past.”

Bruno didn’t miss the double entendre in your ‘future’ comment, and the thread of hope that you’d eventually be happier without him completely unraveled. After all, wasn’t one of the main reasons he’d hidden himself away to give you the chance for better? He spent so long pining after you. He spent so long knowing you loved him too, and spent too long being too much of a damn coward to say it aloud to you. And he almost risked it all in that very moment; almost hacked down the whole damn wall that kept you from him and oh, how it would have been the sweetest birthday gift he’d ever gotten, too.

But then he thought of the vision.

He thought of the miracle breaking. He thought of the house breaking. He thought of little Mirabel trying her hardest but eventually breaking herself.

He thought of you breaking.

And unlike Mirabel, not just in terms of your psyche.

No. No! He couldn’t dwell on that, it would devour him. No, he had to save you.

He could do this, he could stay away. He could save you from himself.

When Alma left the room, you remained behind, staring at the faded painting of Bruno on the family tree.

“Oh, mi amor. I hope that wherever you are, life’s easier for you than it is for me right now.”

You sunk to the floor and sobbed. “Happy damn birthday, Bruno.”

Had you been more sober, you’d have heard the “hush, amor, I’m always with you,” that came from within the walls.

As the next few years passed, you started coming around to La Casa Madrigal less and less, your presence an awkward reminder of what was and what could have been. When you did, you remained vacant; unexpressive and unimpressed, your brows permanently drawn upward in a passive resolve while your lips pulled downwards and deepened the frown lines around your mouth. Your eye sockets were deeper, your cheeks more hollow. Your weight fluctuated and your posture grew increasingly more slouched. But despite all that, your beauty never diminished in Bruno’s eyes.

It was the final years that were the hardest. It was as if he’d completely ceased to exist in not only the eyes of the Encanto, but in the eyes of his family. No one uttered his name, actively avoided it, really. Stories that involved him were not discussed, and any sentiment previously felt regarding him or his disappearance seemed to dissolve entirely. His name felt foreign to even his own tongue at this point, and with the passing years, the characters in the stories Bruno wrote to occupy himself started becoming synonymous with his own psyche; Bruno was no longer just Bruno. Bruno was also Hernando, the brave, the valiant, the suave. Bruno was Jorge, sturdy and practical. He was also Mateo, the laidback friend who always had weed. He was Teodoro, the honest. He was Andre. He was Roberto. He was Alejandro. The one person he was not? He was not Bruno. Never Bruno. Not anymore. Bruno was gone. Gone like… it didn’t matter. Bruno was useless when he was alive. Better off dead. Don’t think about him. He couldn’t scavenge the food at night like Santiago could. He couldn’t work the pipes to make some semblance of a shower like Jorge could. He’d never be good enough, like Diego was. Don’t think about it, shut it out. Shut it out! Keep the house standing. Let Dante write the stories so the rats can have something to do. The rats. The rats! Feed the rats! Another wall needs patching so the magic doesn’t break. Always the magic. Protect it. Protect them, Hernando! Oh, and don’t let Carlo spiral. He spirals. Spiral bad. Get food. Don’t fail them. Don’t fail them, don’t fail them-

“Can someone please just tell me about tío Bruno?”

Bruno, Bruno who?

“We don’t talk about Bruno!”

Yeah, we don’t talk about Bruno!

“Please, I’m going to save the miracle! But I need to know about Bruno if I’m going to do that!”

But the miracle is fine, Jorge patched it yesterday. Spilled spackle powder all over the floor, too. Why does Mirabel need to know about… who?

“If you want to know about Bruno, you should talk to his Miracle. Lives on the other side of town. The green house with the really tall palm tree.”

“Thank you, Dolores!”

Ah, Bruno. The one that belongs to his miracle. Bruno, the hopeless romantic. Bruno, who left to protect his family. Bad luck Bruno. Bruno the broken. Bruno the coward.

It was the first time he’d heard his name- his real name- in so long, over ten years. It was nice, grounding even, to hear it. And as… Bruno, watched Mirabel run off in search of his long lost friend, he felt like himself for the first time in a decade. And it was this clarity that told Bruno that his vision, the vision, was about to come to term. He could only hope he did enough to protect the magic, his family, and you.

Isabela Madrigal liked to think of herself as a cooperative woman. A woman of grace and sophistication. After all, 17 plus years of being everything someone else wants you to be- down to the smallest hair in place- tends to wear down on one’s ability to be anything outside of the preconceived perceptions placed upon them, completely complacent in the “I think you should”’s and “you must be perfect for”’s they’ve heard day in, day out.

But in this very moment, Isabela wanted nothing more than to break her reserve. She wanted to scream, shout, do anything to tarnish the image of her. After all, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that whatever occupied the minds of her father and Mirabel seemed to be more important than her engagement dinner; an engagement dinner she had bemoaned the arrival of, nonetheless. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to marry Mariano. She knew of Dolores’ feelings, and she held no real sentiments of romance toward him. So why not Dolores? But no, it couldn’t be Dolores that he was marrying. It had to be her. And as she watched her father and Mirabel pull strained, tight smiles and hurriedly encourage Mariano to propose, Isabela knew that no one in her family would ever even entertain the notion of her freedom. It was preposterous. Isabela? Her own person? Unacceptable.

Even her own mother was now preoccupied with Mirabel’s secret that Dolores undoubtedly told to the rest of the family. Julieta would never need to be concerned about Isabela; there was nothing to fix. She was already perfect. But Mirabel? Poor Mirabel, the gift-less one, the one that required all of her parents’ attention. Did they not realise that their eldest 2 daughters were flailing? Did they not realise that they needed fixing too?

When Isabela saw the reassembled shards of her long lost tío’s vision, she lost it. Poor Mariano, an innocent bystander of the disaster that was the Madrigal family, as a vine shot out of the ground and smashed his nose in. Of course, it was about Mirabel. Of course, the magic would only recognise Mirabel’s suffering. Of course she’d be the one to break the magic.

But what about everyone else? Was their suffering not enough to break the magic too? What about her tía Pepa, who had to suppress every negative emotion lest she wipe the town away with a wind storm? What about Luisa, who laboured tirelessly and without rest? What about her tío Bruno, who’s unfortunate gift was exploited to the point that he ran away? Did no one see their pain?

No, Isabela did not find it fair. She did not find it fair that, upon a closer look at Bruno’s vision, everyone was terrified of losing a magic that only seemed to create stress amongst the family, and she didn’t find it fair that her tío, wherever he may be, was about to lose everything.

“She’s back! She’s back!”

The cries of scared and flustered townsfolk rang through the air, signalling the return of Mirabel, who’d ran off in the aftermath of La Casa Madrigal falling. The horse sped through the streets, despite the weight of three people. And as Bruno looked around at the town he hadn’t seen in a decade, he was glad to see that most of the town went unscathed from the cracking of the mountain. A few houses here and there had a wall or two fallen in, two houses had even lost parts of their roofs as well. But nothing the town couldn’t pull together and fix. But none of them compared to the absolute ruin that was Casita.

“Mirabel! We looked everywhere for you! We were so worried!”

Bruno watched his sister embrace her daughter, watched on the side as the whole family came together for his mother to apologize. It was all a daze. He prayed that that part of his vision ended up not coming to fruition.

“My miracle… wasn’t at Casita when it fell, right?”

Everyone’s attention shifted towards him. He watched in slow motion as his sisters ran up to him, embracing him for the first time in 10 years. He remembered a round of apologies exchanged between the three of them. But he couldn’t focus. Not now. Not when-

“I need to know, please. The vision… my-“

“Not at Casita,” Mirabel exclaimed, “maybe at home, but not here. Looks like we can’t call you ‘back luck’ anymore, eh tío?”

Bruno wasn’t put at ease. His visions always came to pass, as much as he tried to stop them.

“Then where…” he trailed, his mind and stomach churning. There was a resounding chorus of “who”’s and “what”’s  from his family, especially the younger members who did not remember the most important person in Bruno’s life. His sisters tried to pull him back, tried to console him. But his mind was elsewhere. His vision explicitly showed his miracle; showed the crumbling green wall-

The green house!

Bruno raced off, leaving his family confusedly chasing after him.

Bruno always figured the green wall in his vision that tumbled down on you was that of his tower. It would be fitting that he’d be your ruin; after all he’d done to try and tear you down in your youth. But never did he think that it would be your own house. He never thought the house he’d spent so much time in when he was a young adult getting to know you, watching shit novelas and drinking shit wine would have the wall that committed the crime. A home. Your home. The home he’d spent so much time imagining the two of you wasting your days away in, laying in each other’s arms. The home he’d carry you into after your wedding; he wouldn’t want to stay in La Casa Madrigal, no, he’d want his privacy with you. The home where he’d christen every surface with the essence of the two of you on your wedding night, taking you over and over and over again until the two of you collapsed from euphoric exhaustion. The home you’d come back to after long days, just to relish in each other as you got to work on making dinner together; eating together; washing the dishes together. The home where he might even imagine a boy and his younger sister playing in the yard as he hung up the laundry to dry; he always liked the names Joaquin and Naomi. Little Naomi, she’d be his headstrong little girl, she’d have your nose and his eyes and hair. Joaquin, the son he’d be so proud of, the exact opposite in features. The home where he’d have the rest of his life to be with you.

But all the fairytales of this home-to-be came to a crashing halt when he reached your house.

It was one of the two buildings whose roofs had caved in, and the scene was more brutally grotesque than his vision could have ever prepared him for. Two opposing walls had been split by the cracks in the earth, collapsing in on themselves, sending the roof above crashing to the ground. Rebar and wooden support beams were poking out from the broken drywall, and split bricks and shattered terracotta roof tiles littered the ground. And somewhere in all of this mess, was you.

At first he couldn’t move. All he could do was stand there and process. Move, you idiot, you have do something, the one person you could always count on is counting on you now! Bruno thought urgently, but his feet remained frozen. This couldn’t be happening, his vision must have been wrong. Please let it be wrong, just this once!

By this point, the rest of his family had caught up to him, taking in the pile of rubbish that was the fallen house. They knew whose house it was, they knew it’s significance. They knew what was about to come. They told Camilo and Mirabel to take Antonio back up the hill to Casita.

Finally Bruno moved, with the encouragement of his niece Luisa, as she took his hand and helped guide him in the process of cleaning up the rubble.

Bricks were moved, and with the help of Agustin, Luisa, and Felix, the larger chunks of wall were set aside. No stone left unturned. Bruno didn’t think he heard or felt a single thing the entire time they were cleaning up the mess. He was just looking. For a sign. For anything. He needed to find you. You were all that mattered. Sure it was great to have his family back, but he didn’t think that would matter all too much if you weren’t part of the package.

“Bruno,” he distantly heard Julieta say to him, and his heart plummeted to his stomach. Fat, hot tears broke free from their confines and rolled down his cheeks. He didn’t want to look. He saw the vision. He saw the wall that fell and inevitably crushed you. He knew what he was about to see. He couldn’t see this. He couldn’t see you dead.

“I can’t, Juli. I don’t think I can see… not like this.” He shut his eyes tight. He didn’t think he could handle this. It would break what was left of him.

He felt his sister’s comforting hand on his shoulder. “Bruno, I think you should turn around. Open your eyes,” she coaxed. But Julieta knew that her brother, as sweet as he could be, was stubborn. Annoyingly so. And so Bruno remained stalk still with his eyes closed, his breath held and his head empty. He couldn’t face this. He wouldn’t. You were fine. You were still on the stairs of a perfectly fine Casita, in his arms and your lips on his. You weren’t beneath the wall.

“Wow, after 10 years, it should be me standing here refusing to look at you, Bruno Madrigal.”

Suddenly, Bruno’s heart thawed. It couldn’t be…

But then he turned around, and there you were, as if you hadn’t been under the wall at all. Except you had been beneath it, clearly, as bits of drywall and dust powdered your disheveled hair. You had scrapes along your arms, hands, and face, and your clothes had suffered a few tears. But aside from that, you were fine. You were alive.

Bruno could only stand there and gawk, the bottom half of his jaw hanging slack in disbelief.

“But… I saw you! The vision… How?”

“Well, the wall did fall on me,  but luckily it collided with the adjacent wall on the way down and it mostly shattered by the time I ducked under my kitchen table. The part of the roof that fell wasn’t even over me, for the most part. Wasn’t too hard to get myself out of the debris, either. Doesn’t say a lot about the quality of my house, though,” you quipped.

Bruno smiled. Your ability to make jokes at expense of the severity of intense situations used to piss him off sometimes, but now it was refreshing. Or maybe it was the way you were smirking at him. It could also possibly be the fact that you, save for a few greying hairs and the years starting to wrinkle your skin, still looked exactly like you. Still stunning. Or maybe it was a combination of all of these things, and it was the entirety of your presence that Bruno found refreshing.

But Bruno figured he could think on these things later. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry. After all, he had been separated from you from 10 years, and Bruno knew he couldn’t wait a minute longer to kiss you again.

And so he started walking over to you. You started walking towards him, but you stride was bigger, and it seemed like you were going to meet him 3/4 of the way.

Like you always did. You met him 3/4 of the way down the bar. You met him 3/4 of the way up the stairs. But Bruno was done with that. He was ready to take whatever this was that had spent so long growing between you all the way. So he ran in order to make the distances the two of you travelled equal.

When he finally reached you he wasted no time in grabbing your face and smashing your lips onto his. Your hands fisted into his ruana and hair, and the hand that wasn’t holding your head in place snuck down to wrap his arm around your back, pulling you into him. He couldn’t possibly fathom what was happening outside of the little world the two of you were in, making him acutely aware of what was happening inside of it. He could feel his tears mingling with yours as your lips melted together. Your lips were just as chapped as his. Your tongue tasted faintly of añejo and orange. Your eyelashes were soft and feathery against his cheeks, and every so often his nose would collide with yours. Your skin was rougher with age and hardship and it was perfect as it rubbed against his stubble.

Bruno was grateful that for once, time seemed to stand still for him. There was no future. There was just now. Now with you.

Eventually, the realisation that most of Bruno’s family was standing behind you seemed to seep into your consciousnesses, so you reluctantly pulled away with embarrassed chuckles.

Bruno wrapped his left arm with your right. “C’mon, I have a prophecy to fulfil.”

You didn’t need to ask to know which prophecy he was referring to.

Bruno didn’t bother turning backwards before he spoke, and with a confidence he’d never used but surely inherited from his mother, he addressed his family.

“Julieta, run to the jeweller’s shop and pick up that pair of gold rings she has in the window but no one ever wants to buy because they don’t like that the bride’s band has an emerald instead of a diamond. I know she hasn’t sold them, they’ve been there as long as we’ve been alive.”

The Madrigal family stood stunned and confused. What was Bruno on about? Surely there were more pressing matters at hand than jewellery. But Bruno continued.

“Felix and Agustin, go to the tailor’s and get me a guayabera. Something smart but comfortable. Oh, and a new pair of pants, these have more holes than the sky has stars,” Bruno laughed as he began to lead you towards the center of town.

“Isabela and Dolores, go with them. Find the most stunning garment for my Miracle to wear, and maybe some flowers. Mama and Pepa, go back to Casita and get the kids. Luisa, if you could, run ahead of us and fetch the Father; you’re the fastest runner. Tell him we’re on our way and to have everything ready for us.”

Pepa spoke up first. “Bruno, what is going on?”

The prodigal son only looked at you and smiled.

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re getting married.”

The rest of the family stood in excited silence.

“But... why now?” Alma questioned.

Bruno only pulled you closer, and you looked at him with pride and love in your eyes.

“No time like the present.”

#bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal #bruno likes tequila #reader likes tequila too #encanto #encanto fanfic #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

👀👀

MAYBE I TOO AM A BIT TIPSY AND DID NOT ACCOUNT FOR THE FACT THAT SHE WOULD TAKE IT AS REJECTION

or maybe i am an evil genius 😈

OF COURSE SHE WOULD, HER LIFE IS JUST ONE REJECTION AFTER THE NEXT

She's just rolling with the hits at this point, maybe she wouldn't even feel confident enough to instigate anything with Matt anyway.

#i mixed vodka #and jack #with tequila #why did i do this #never quite enough asks #never quite enough #billy russo x reader