#yeah yeah yeah this moment is actually daniel giving jack the SHUT UP SHUT UP look for diplomatic reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

By Your Doorstep (Part 1)

Summary: When the reader is looking for her teenage sister’s service dog one day, she runs into Dean Winchester who thankfully saw him run past. When she arrives, her sister is fine aside from a sprained ankle but Dean’s decided to follow along and help get her sister home...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,200ish

Warnings: language, minor injury, mention of car accident/death

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Please enjoy this first part! …

_________

“Toast! Toast!” you shouted as you ran down a street. “Toast boy!”

“Uh, you okay?” said a guy walking on the other side of the street. He was raising an eyebrow and you shook your head.

“Toast is a dog,” you said.

“Oh, gotcha. I thought you were nuts for a minute,” he chuckled.

“You haven’t seen a german shepard around have you?” you asked.

“I saw one run down the block a few minutes ago,” he said. You looked the direction he pointed and you started sprinting. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Can’t talk!” you shouted back. You ran down the block and across the street over to the park. You ran over to the basketball court and saw Toast there next to Tessa. She was sat up and holding onto his vest when you jogged over to her. “Tess. Are you okay? Did you have a seizure?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. She was holding her ankle and you saw the swelling. “I think I broke it playing. My phone’s over in my bag. I told Toast to get it but I guess he ran home and got you instead.”

“He barged in through the doggy door, I thought he was just nuts at first,” you said. You heard footsteps behind you and the man from the street was there panting.

“You found your dog,” he said as he caught his breath.

“Yeah,” you said, the man wincing when he saw Tessa’s ankle. “We’re all set.”

“She needs a doctor,” he said.

“Tessa, you okay here while I run home to get my car?” you asked.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she said. “Toast’ll stay.”

“I can carry her,” said the man. You both stared at him and he shrugged. “Save you a trip.”

“Are you some kind of weirdo?” you asked.

“Says the woman running through the neighborhood shouting Toast,” he smiled back.

“Alright. Tess if you’re cool with it…” you said, the man nodding.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Dean will carry you back to the house and I’ll drive you to urgent care,” you said. “If you do try anything though Dean, Toast will rip your face and junk off, just to be clear.”

“Got the message,” he said. Tessa climbed on his back and he was careful of her ankle while you grabbed her bag. You walked with Toast by Dean’s side back the few blocks towards home. “I think it’s just a sprain actually. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“You play basketball?” you asked.

“No. I’m a doctor is all. First glance it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Are you single? Y/N’s single,” she said.

“You’re a little shit, Tessa,” you said. Dean chuckled and Toast bumped his leg. “He wants you to get on the sidewalk.”

“Will do,” he said, Toast giving some space once he’d stepped up off the road. “He’s very intelligent.”

“We’ve only had Toast two years but he’s been very good with us,” you said. “He’s Tessa’s. I just feed him and pick up his poop.”

“I have school, loser.”

“I have work, loser,” you said.

“You guys must be sisters,” he said. “I’m a big brother. I would know.”

“If your younger brother is single and half as good looking-”

“Keep it in your pants, Tess,” you said.

“I like you two,” he chuckled. “Sorry Tessa but he’s probably a little too old for you.”

“They always are,” she sighed.

“You’re seventeen. You’re fine,” you said. “Besides college has way more attractive guys and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, Elmdale community college. Known for it’s hotties,” she mumbled.

“Elmdale University has some good choices,” you said.

“I thought it was too expensive,” she said.

“Well I was gonna tell you this at dinner but I applied for a different job awhile ago. I heard back this morning. I accepted. It’s double what I was making before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. With your grades you can get a half-ride and I figure between inheritance and my new salary, you can do your four year out of the gate without loans,” you said.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said quietly. “Really.”

“You still need your part-time job if you want to get stuff for yourself though. I’m sorry. I can’t make it work if-”

“S’okay,” she said. “I can’t believe I can go to the university.”

“I called up the school earlier and talked to your guidance counselor. We gotta work on your application but we can make it work,” you said.

“Can I get a car? I know I can’t afford room and board but maybe I can get something used so you don’t have to drive me all the time?” she asked.

“Tessa…” you sighed. You knew you couldn’t afford insurance on two cars at the moment and everything else and she wouldn’t make enough part time to cover all the car expenses herself. “I-”

“I can pick up more shifts,” she said.

“Tessa, I want you to enjoy college. I sure did. I’ll give you rides whenever you want. I’ll drop you off in the morning and pick you up at night. That would work, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t even care about my ankle. I can get my art degree!” she said.

“Tessa.”

“I’m joking,” she laughed. “Art minor?”

“You can minor in whatever you like but please for my sanity major in something you can get a job in?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. You rounded a corner and started to walk up a driveway, Dean setting Tessa down in the passenger seat of your car. You opened the back and Toast jumped in, Dean smiling when you shut both the doors.

“Thanks,” you said. “For helping us out.”

“Sounds like you two know how to solve problems on your own,” he said. “Happy to help. Here.”

He dug in his back pocket and pulled out a card.

“If you ever need a doctor, I’m two blocks over,” he said. “Or just to talk.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”

It was around nine when you were sitting on the front porch with a glass of whiskey in your hand. You drank slowly, eyes catching a man in a baseball cap and reflective shirt jogging by.

“Do you always run at night?” you called, Dean stopping at your front walkway. “Cause I never see you run at night and I sit out here a lot.”

“Whew well let’s stop that charade cause running is so not my thing,” he said. He breathed hard for a moment as he walked up the steps. You nodded to the other chair and poured him a glass, Dean drinking it down. “Your sister okay?”

“Yeah. Just a sprain,” you said. “Still gotta pay the deductible for the x-ray though.”

“How old are you?”

“How old are you?” you asked.

“Thirty one,” he said.

“Twenty eight.”

“Where are your folks?” he asked.

“They and Tessa were in an accident two years ago. It’s just us two now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m slowly getting used to be a guardian,” you said.

“I raised my little brother. My parents are still around but they fought a lot. I get becoming the parent when you’re not ready.”

“Do you ever get to just be a sibling again?” you asked.

“Yes. But they have to grow up first and you got a few more years ahead of you before it happens,” he said.

“I figured.”

“What does she have? Toast is a service dog I saw.”

“She gets seizures sometimes. It’s from the accident. She hasn’t had one in seven months. Fingers crossed we got her on the right mix of meds finally,” you said.

“So who takes care of you?”

“My buddy Jack Daniels. Sometimes I hang out Jim Bean too.”

“I’m partial to Johnny Walker,” smiled Dean.

“Very nice. I don’t drink much. Too tired most of the time,” you said.

“So nobody takes care of you then.”

“Who takes care of you?”

“Good point,” he said. “But I didn’t have it this rough.”

“We’re getting by. We always do.”

“I have no doubt that you can,” he said. “Take care of yourself every once in a while is all.”

“When she’s done with school I will.”

“She’s got five years left. You won’t last that long,” he said.

“Watch me.”

“Who worked on your sister at the urgent care tonight?”

“Dr. Novak. Why?”

“Cas is a good friend. I’ll see about getting that x-ray test off the bill,” he said as he stood up.

“Dean, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, heading down the steps. “You want me to leave you alone from now on?”

“...No.”

“You want to go on a date tomorrow?”

“Okay,” you said.

“I’ll pick you up at noon? I’m buying. Nothing too fancy,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. He smiled and nodded, spinning around and sliding right off the last two steps to his bottom. You rushed down them and he groaned, shaking his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” he said, grunting as he stood. “Oh my ass hurts.”

“That’s what she said,” you said, Dean laughing.

“I definitely like you,” he said as you helped him take a few steps. “I’m alright. I’ll swing by tomorrow then.”

“Bye Dean,” you said.

“Bye Dean!” called Tessa from her bedroom window upstairs.

“Oh my God, go to bed!” you shouted back.

“It’s nine and I’m not twelve,” she said.

“Goodnight ladies,” chuckled Dean, waving as he headed back down the path. You gathered up the bottle and glasses, bringing them inside and locking up for the night. A few minutes later you were upstairs in Tessa’s room, frowning as she giggled while looking through her phone.

“Oh come on,” she said as she rolled her eyes at you. “He’s cute, he’s a doctor, he’s single and he’s a dork that just fell on his butt in front of you cause he’s so nervous and trying to play it cool. Like what is wrong with him?”

“Nothing. We have a date tomorrow,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

“We used to talk about guys,” she said.

“I know,” you said. You picked at the wood, Tessa putting her phone down.

“Y/N. You’re not my mom. I know you gotta act like her sometimes but you’re not. Mom and dad would want you to go on dates and stuff. I haven’t seen you do anything fun in years.”

“I barely knew how to be an adult for just me,” you said. “You’re my priority now.”

“I’m not in a hospital bed anymore. My seizures are under control and I got Toast to watch out for me just in case. Dean had a point. You gotta take care of yourself,” she said. “Including me going to community college.”

“Tessa-”

“It’s both our inheritance and you can’t spend all of it on me. I can do two years at community and transfer to the university after.”

“Tess. You don’t have to do that. I did the math and it’ll work out.”

“When’s the last time you bought something for yourself? Seriously when?”

“I bought a new bedspread two weeks ago.”

“You needed one. That doesn’t count. When-”

“Before mom and dad died, Tess. Is that what you want me to say? They made good money but you had medical bills. Do I want a new winter coat? Sure. Do I want to splurge and by myself a nice pair of leggings? Of course. I want things. But I want us to stay in this house. I don’t want us to get shoved in a tiny apartment. I want you to be able to go to college like I did and not worry about this crap. I’m the grown up, not you. I choose how to spend the money.”

“Fine,” she said. She grabbed the crutch by her bed and got up, going to her dresser. She opened her jewelry box and grabbed a wad of cash, holding it out to you. “It’s three hundred. I want you to have it.”

“Tessa, no.”

“I earned it. I get to choose how to spend it,” she said. “You’ve always told me that. Buy a coat and leggings and whatever else you want.”

“Tessa. It’s yours. You were saving up to buy an iphone.”

“I don’t need a fucking phone. I need my sister to stop looking like she cries herself to sleep every night. Just take it,” she said. You shook your head and she shoved the money in your hand. “Y/N, take it.”

“Alright,” you said.

“Good.” She waited a beat before pulling you into a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said. “You got plans tomorrow night?”

“I was gonna sleepover Hailey’s house if that’s okay?” she said.

“Yeah. You guys have fun,” you said. “Just be careful on your ankle.”

“Duh,” she said. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“I’m kinda beat. Sunday for sure?” you said.

“Okay. Night,” she said.

“Night, Tess,” you said. You went next door to your room, opening your desk drawer and opening the envelope inside. You counted the money she’d given you and added it to the front. You definitely had enough for her phone now and her birthday was only a few weeks away. You smiled and put it away, writing out a few bills before you gathered up your pajamas and walked down the hall to the bathroom. You kept going though, down to the shut door. You pushed it open, the room cold and dark. You flipped on a light, a coating of dust on everything again.

“Y/N?” said Tessa from the other end of the hall. You turned off the light and shut the door, Tessa by the bathroom when you walked back. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna shower quick before bed. Shout if you need something.”

“Yeah. Night.”

Dean POV

“Hey, Sammy,” said Dean after he’d gotten out of the shower and was laying in bed.

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?” asked Sam on the other end of the phone.

“I think I just went full on weirdo on this girl I met today.”

“Well that’s obvious but what’d you do? You didn’t like stalk her or anything.”

“She lives in the neighborhood. I kinda went jogging past her house tonight and she was sat on the front porch.”

“Okay that’s kinda creepy,” said Sam. Dean ran his hand over his face and sighed. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I gave off creeper vibes but she might have just been polite. I don’t know. We’re going out tomorrow,” said Dean. He was quiet as he shut his eyes. “Which sucks cause I really like her too. I hope she doesn’t think I’m weird.”

“Maybe she’ll have pity on you and let it slide. Where’d you meet her? I thought you swore off women after your last hookup went bad,” he said. Dean didn’t speak and ran his hand over his face again. “De I know something happened that night.”

“Sammy I got tired of hooking up. I’m too old for it. I just want a girl to go home to at the end of the day and laugh with. That’s all there is to it,” said Dean.

“Dean I was still living with you at the time. You were off for days. I know-”

“If you’re gonna bring this shit up again-”

“I’m just saying it’s nice to hear you excited about a girl again...and you can tell me anything. Anything, Dean. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’re twenty seven. You’re a kid,” said Dean. He rolled over on the bed and lay on his stomach, putting his hands under his chin. “Some things I just don’t tell you about, Sam.”

“Dean, I asked you to stop raising me awhile ago. You’re not my father anymore.”

“I still gotta protect you from stuff,” said Dean with a shrug.

“I get that. But my mind has gone to the worst case scenario on this more than once. Just promise it wasn’t that,” said Sam.

“Sammy, I called to talk about a girl.”

“You want things to work out with her? Then figure out whatever the hell happened in the past so it doesn’t happen again.”

“You don’t understand,” said Dean.

“Whatever. Just crack a joke next time you see her,” said Sam. He hung up and Dean looked at his phone, sighing before he jammed his face in the bed. He gripped the sheets tight and felt his heart rate pick up, bile rising up in the back of his throat.

“Stop. It,” he said to himself, forcing himself to sit up. He wiped off his eye and dropped his head to his chest. “It’s just a fucking girl. It’s just a girl, it’s just a date. It’s all it is.”

He saw his phone light up and Sam’s name appear. He swiped and put it on speaker before he faced away from it.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam.

“It’s okay,” said Dean, freezing when he sniffled. He stared at the phone and Sam cleared his throat.

“You alright?” Dean stared at the phone and shook his head. “De, you there?”

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes…” said Sam. “It’s just me.”

“You repeat a word of this to anybody or you laugh or you tease me or-”

“Hey. I’d rather we not have this conversation over the phone. I can be there in an hour.”

“...Fine but you better bring some pie with you.”

“I’ll see you in an hour, Dean.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #doctor!dean #au!dean x reader #dean x #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #doctor!dean x reader

395 notes · View notes

21burritoseavey · 3 years

Note

Hey love!

How are you?

I hope you are doing good.

Can we please get a pt2 of secret relationship and where’s my love

hey! here's pt.2 to 'where's my love'. FINALLY. The pt.2 to 'secret relationship' will come a little later:)

a/n: without giving too much away...Daniel finds Y/n...and this sucks ergogeijhet

warnings: mental illness. please read at your own discretion:)

Where's my love Pt.2 (d.s.)

9:27am

“Hello,” Daniel rubbed his dreary eyes with the back of his hand, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder tightly as he lifted an energetic Kobe up to his chest.

“Hi Daniel, it’s me, Victoria.”

Daniel took a second to recall who this person was. Victoria, he whispered to himself, finally remembering that she was one of Y/n’s work friends. A smile smeared across his lips slowly, and his eyes lit up with a small glimmer of hope that Y/n would just be at work, and she’d be safe...and warm...and okay. “Oh, hey! You work with Y/n, right? Is she at work right now?” He asked, trying to tone down the sudden excitement laced in his voice.

“Actually, that’s why I called. She didn’t come to the office yesterday, or today.” Her voice was quiet, and despite only hearing her voice through the phone, Daniel could sense her worry. He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach.

“W-what? No, no. There’s no way.” He stammered. “She went to work yesterday.” He clenched his jaw tightly.

“No, she didn’t...Look, I just wanted to ask, next time you talk to her, can you tell her I called?”

Daniel nodded. He didn’t have the guts to tell Victoria he hadn’t seen Y/n in more than a day and he simply let out a “yeah.” in reply.

“I’m just a little worried is all.”

“Yeah,” Daniel nodded again, “I’ll tell her.”

“Great, thank you Daniel. She’s lucky to have you.”

He didn’t even try to mutter out a steady reply before hanging up the phone. He tapped on Y/n’s number and waited impatiently as the phone rang, ultimately going to voicemail after a few long seconds. Daniel didn’t know what to do with himself. With the new information he’d just been told he tried to piece together where Y/n might’ve gone but...nothing. His mind went blank, and he shamed himself for it quietly as he paced the living room. Christian’s door opened rather silently and padded from his bedroom to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of his brother.

“Hey, Daniel.” Daniel looked over his shoulder. “What’s up?” He took a shaky deep breath before speaking. “Y/n’s missing.” “What?” “She’s gone. I haven’t seen her since yesterday and her co-worker called me, and she wasn’t at work yesterday or today and I literally have no idea where she could be. What should I do?” Daniel rushed out, scaring himself even more as stared at his older brother, awaiting his reply. The two boys shared identical panic-stricken faces.

“Do you wanna call the police?” Christian asked gingerly.

Daniel chucked humourlessly. “Y-you don’t think she’s actually in danger, right?” He answered the question himself. “No, no. Sh- she wouldn-” “Look, we should call them just in case, just to make sure.” Christian assured, walking back towards his bedroom to retrieve his phone.

Daniel stopped in front of him and walked backwards, closer to the front door. “No, I can find her. I will find her. Don’t call!” Christian barely had time to at least compromise with his younger brother before the door slammed with a loud thud. Daniel was rushing out towards his car with his keys laced in his fingers and untied sneakers nearly slipping off his feet

The studio came into view as Daniel took his usual right turn - almost speeding - towards the contemporary style building. He knew it was far away from Y/n’s workplace, which was where he planned to drive next, but he always needed his best friends. Especially today.

The automatic door gaped open as he rushed into the studio, running down the corridor that was lined with multiple studio rehearsal rooms. Daniel’s eyes flickered towards the window to look at his bandmates around their microphones and instruments. He swung the door open.

“Hey,” Daniel started, lifting his gaze to his friends sitting on the mini sofas around the sound board. “Guys?” The overlap of voices that lingered in the room and the background plucking and strumming and playing of instruments sent him into overwhelm. “Everybody shut up!” Daniel hardly ever yelled, but when he did, it was more etched with stress than anger and the rise in his tone startled the boys working in the studio. They looked over their shoulders to peer at Daniel, who had a hopeless frown on his face and eyes shimmering with tears. “Daniel? Hey, we missed you this morning.” Corbyn chuckled gently, placed his guitar down to lean on a nearby chair and walked towards the doorway.

Daniel stayed still, suddenly the reality of it all settled right there. “We need to go find her.” They boys knew what Daniel was talking about and they all exchanged concerned glances with each other before turning back to the fearful boy in front of them.

“Like now. We need to go now, come on!” He gestured to his car outside.

“Okay,” Jonah said, getting up as he grabbed his car keys. It took a little convincing from their management and other members of their team, but the boys did ultimately get permission to leave rehearsal early. The boys all followed Daniel’s request and headed out of the studio. Since Daniel was basically brimming with worry, Jonah suggested he should drive as they looked for Y/n.

The car of concerned boys wandered the streets and roads with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, peering out in hope that Y/n would be found. Daniel raked a quick hand through his hair. “God. I hope we find her,” Daniel melted further into his chair tiredly. “Can you drive faster?” he breathed. He knew Jonah couldn’t, but panic was running high, and he had no idea what to do with himself.

Daniel’s gaze drifted out the window, and he kept his chin in his palm as he thought for a moment. “We gotta go to the beach.” Daniel said, glancing towards Jonah in the driver’s seat beside him. “Y/n loves the beach.” Despite the long car ride so far, the boys didn’t argue with him one bit. They all knew first-hand what it was like to feel that heart wrenching fear and concern that emerged when texts or calls go unanswered. Of course they all loved Y/n dearly, but they could’ve never imagined just how terrible Daniel was feeling.

Daniel was right about Y/n. She was at the beach; a place she appreciated devotedly and always went when she wasn’t feeling like herself. The beach looked dozy as it rested in the afternoon glow. Y/n always liked it that way, where the rich blue surface rose and fell easily or where the sun illuminated the clouds with thin streams of light. Y/n ambled along the sandy shore, slowly at first. Hesitant. She took agile steps towards the sea that ebbed ever so gently beneath her feet.

The band got to the beach not long after. Jonah stealthily parked the car on the edge of the curb. They had no idea where Y/n was yet, let alone that she had plunged deeper into the freezing water. And Y/n, was utterly clueless to the boys that were on the razor’s edge of panic only a few metres away from her.

The coldness of the water stung her skin, futile compared to the sting of melancholy in her heart. The sea was like an icebreaker to her, and from there Y/n found it easier to wade across the water despite its aggressive waves pushing her towards the shore again and again.

Daniel leaned his arms on the front of the car and leaned over to look for her from his spot on the pier. He was casting his eyes warily, straining to any sounds with eyes and ears.

“She’s over there!” Corbyn called after hearing her feeble sobs from across the beach. He pulled at Daniel’s shirt so they could run over to her together. Daniel’s whole body shot up at Corbyn’s words but before he could even stumble out any words, the little, slightly blurred image of Y/n knee deep in the water made his blood run cold and he felt a wave of...something rush over him. Corbyn, Daniel and Jonah called Y/n’s name profusely as they clambered down to the beach towards Y/n. Jack and Zach lingered near the shore, shaken and scared.

“Y/n!” Daniel yelled, wading through the relentless water as fast as he could to get to her. “Y/n! Baby?! Come here!”

Sorrowful body-shaking sobs racked Y/n’s body, weakened by her walking, each coming in a wave, and she let out soft whimpers. There was no doubt that Daniel was crying too. He let his tears roll down his face and drop into the water as he got closer to Y/n.

“Hey, hey, hey...” He repeated quietly, finally able to get a hold of her. Y/n clung onto him limply and Daniel wrapped his arms around her, as sure as the sun shining down on them. Y/n couldn’t focus on much. The overwhelming hovering birds orbiting around her or the splashing of water against her skin filled her cloudy mind. “I’m sorry!” Y/n sobbed, “I’m so-sorry!” her sorrowful apologies infused with the crashing waves and surging tide. “I thought it would make me happy, Dani. I didn’t make me happy…. I-it didn’t make me happy she repeated.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Daniel repeated. “You’re okay,”

Y/n’s voice was thick with tears and Daniel tried his best to wipe them away. Corbyn and Jonah were right at her side too. Their hands hovered over her back and arms just in case her or Daniel needed that extra help. They all walked towards the shoreline silently.

---

The car ride was silent. Y/n was cuddled up comfortably in a cocoon of Daniel’s sweater, Corbyn’s jacket and a small blanket that Jonah found in his trunk - tending to Y/n was a team effort - and despite scaring the boys to death, she was glad to feel the sense of warmth and love that mingled with their wary supervision. Particularly Daniel. And she felt awful that she made him feel the way he did. She kept her gaze out of the window and let her mind drift to thoughts of sleeping in his warm bed when they’d get home. The security and cosiness of it all was comforting and she let her cool face lean against the glass to warm under the sun that cascaded down through the car windows.

No matter how hard he tried not to, Daniel couldn’t stop blaming himself for what had happened that afternoon, barely an hour ago. He sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, his knuckles white from the cold water and the lingering glint of panic present in his eyes. The roads shimmered in the midday sun and the city buildings stood tall, piercing the blue sky as they sparkled in the distance. The faraway horizon was a feast for the eyes, but Daniel didn’t care. The world was all a blur to him, and the only view his eyes would focus on was the one right in the seat beside him.

When they arrived back at his place, Daniel noticed Christian through the front window as he parked the car. He was standing right near the foyer with Kobe held securely in his arms. Daniel smiled to himself and glimpsed towards Y/n before he hopped out of his side of the car. As he walked around to her side, Y/n let her eyes linger on his figure trudging across the front of the car, particularly his tired, red eyes, either from crying or lack of sleep. She gazed at him as he opened her door.

Daniel pressed a hand to her back with his hands gently holding hers as she stepped out. Y/n sighed tiredly as her feet hit the ground and she felt his protective hands upon her rosy cheeks, “You alright?”

Y/n nodded. He pressed a kiss to the same spot without a word and let his forehead rest against hers.

“Y/n,” Christian breathed as they walked through the door, guiding the clueless dog away from her as he scrambled around her excitedly. His paws tapped lightly on the wooden floors and Y/n dropped her gaze at the gentle sound, pulling a smile towards the wide eyed puppy that hadn’t seen her in a couple days. She looked back at Christian. “Hey, Chris.” She spoke gently. Daniel kept his hand placed behind her back and he shared concerned glances with his older brother.

“We should get you to bed now, Y/n.” Daniel whispered gently, linking his arm in hers as they walked to his bedroom.

“Have a good sleep, my love, okay?”

Y/n nodded. “Okay,” she held out her hand to hold Daniel’s, and he placed it lazily over hers, bending down to press a kiss to her hair as she kissed his knuckles gently. “M’kay, I love you.” He threaded his fingers through a strand of her hair before pulling away. “I’ll just be in the living room.” He assured her.

---

3:32pm

“Here you go,” Daniel turned around to Y/n, “your pancakes...or what I call, little bits of happiness.” Daniel beamed towards her the best he could and placed the plate on the tabletop.

“You think I could get about a thousand of those right now?” She joked. “The...happiness, I mean.” She let a gentle smile tug at the corners of her lips as she spoke. It was a small smile, but a real one.

“There’s my girl,” Daniel whispered. He rested his forearms on the counter and leaned in closer to dust his thumb over her cheek. “There’s my happy girl…” His quiet voice wavered between them and he finally let the tears in his baby blue eyes drop onto the counter.

Y/n’s heart virtually broke as she watched him cry and sniffle silently. She dropped her fork and cupped his face in her hands. “No, no, Daniel...” Y/n’s voice lowered in sadness and with best efforts, she tried to continue steadily for both their sakes. “I’m okay, I’m okay, really.” She rushed out, lifting Daniel’s limp chin upwards to meet her eyes.

“Why did you do that?”

Daniel’s strong words echoed inside her like a ripple of guitar strings. She thought for a moment, dropping her hands back to her plate of pancakes. “I don’t know...I don’t know what I was thinking.” Daniel didn’t answer. Her genuine response didn’t seem to heal the intense, aching hurt that lingered in his heart from the hours before.

Y/n sighed before continuing, “I’m...I-I feel like I’m being pulled into different directions...I can’t deal with it all! I’m just getting overwhelmed with school and work..,and you’re always busy,”

“I knew it. This was all my fault.” Daniel sighed, lifting his hands up in front of his face.

“No, no. It’s not, none of it is. You are the sweetest, kindest guy I know and it’s not your fault I did...that,” Y/n said quickly.

“We-were you trying to…” Daniel pressed his fingers to the nape of his nose before his tears could fall again. He took a shaky inhale before continuing, but Y/n did it for him.

“No, I wasn’t…trying to hurt myself.” She said honestly. “I just need a break from…”

“Us?” Daniel asked quietly.

“No,” she said strongly, meeting his gaze with a subtle smile. “I need you more than anything right now. I just...need a break from work, and maybe school.”

“Okay,” Daniel’s eyes misted over again as he spoke. “Don’t ever feel like you need to hide things from me, okay? I love you. And when you need to talk and I say I’m busy and all that, you let me know that you need to talk, okay? We can talk whenever you want.”

“Okay,” She muttered with a smile.

Daniel lifted her chin up to look at him. “I know this won’t all go away, but it’s a start.”

“Yeah, it’s a start.”

taglist: @chilling-seavey @marthagryffindor @randomlimelightxxx @hiya-its-amber @the-girl-who-cried-wolf @hackerXavery @jonahlovescoffee @onlyangelavery

join my taglist!

#daniel seavey #daniel seavey imagines #daniel seavey fanfic #daniel seavey x reader #why don't we #why don't we imagines #why dont we fanfic #jack avery #jonah marais #zach herron #corbyn besson

77 notes · View notes

loversandantiheroes · 4 years

Text

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks. I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess. This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary: A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result. At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes. You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it? Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do. Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond? I mean c'mon Claudia. That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway. Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus. As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit? You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong. It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it. Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see. And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension. Whiskey doesn't scare you. His lines don't scare you. The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you. But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.

Maybe it's better to leave it. To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first. Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box. "Look, hon. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure. "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it. Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times. But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair. At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.

You take the time to change when you make it to your room. Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress. Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat. Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise. He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before. Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement. Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head. Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off. He stood you up. You cannot fucking believe it. What's worse is you feel like you should believe it. Should've expected it. As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed. At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now. Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head. The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat. It's satisfying in an awful sort of way. Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood. Too late to take it back now, though. You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly. "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down. Forward. Anywhere but on him. It's hard, too many reflections. Even the distorted shape of his silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard. "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?"

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince. You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself. I like that bar. The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor. I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right. I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration. But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click. "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat. "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late. I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that. Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive. "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter. If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right? Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes. "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day. Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me. If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone. But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe. It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that. Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me. I don't mind a bit. I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left. Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from. And the bastard just keeps talking.

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now. I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me. I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give. So I need you to tell me, honeybee. Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists. Fuck, you want that. All of that. And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up. There's sweat on your palms. It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing. He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you. Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it. Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek. Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh. "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am." His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering. He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator. "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning. "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles. The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that. And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls. He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs. You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit. "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge. He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder. "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet. A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch. Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall. The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better. From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off. And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate. He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus. You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening. "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed. "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he? Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move. The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs. Someone's watching this. The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue. You roll your hips, swearing roundly. It's not enough. It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough. You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp. "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised. "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor. Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands. His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that. Well? Cat got your tongue? Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you. "You can do it, honeybee. I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth. "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl." He grins down at you, wide and wolfish. "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad. And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned. "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me. Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you. "With this? Hm?"

"Fuck, yes." You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.

"Come for me first, honeybee. Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up. The rail digs into your back. You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out. Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!" You moan and laugh all in the same breath.

"You like it," he says simply.

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity. "Don't stop. Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee. Watch yourself."

You try. Everything's a blur; inside and out. Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle. As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek. "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans. "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs. Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding. Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin. The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite. You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights. The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble. Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you. The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse. The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe. The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him. "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt. "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine. "Yeah you do. A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor. "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me." It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes. Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine. "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt. Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly. If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you. He just doesn't stop. And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world. You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming. Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want. This. This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod. Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?" You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him. "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back." The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin. "Fair is fair. Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady. "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee. All right. I only got one rule. If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his. "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.' Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse. And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts. When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples. The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands. "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward. His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon. You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more. And maybe that's what does it. A little mental-short circuit. Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this. But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling. For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11. "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me? I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were." His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are. Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek. When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound. But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you. "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again. Harder this time. For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him. You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth. He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back. A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow. The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space. One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee. You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts. "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades. For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand. The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek. A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down. You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded. You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for. The last thing you wanted was to be sensible. And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand. "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk. They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet. This is just a tease of the real thing. A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek. Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that. Open that up, baby. Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring. The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him. A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time. You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?" Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands. His hand descends again. Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?" CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg. One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter. "Goddamn it yes. I've been thinking about fucking you all day. All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me. Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it. You want him. Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it." His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me. Please. I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before. All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer. Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful. Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that." He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up. Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow. And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more. D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby. Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear. "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you. Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck. You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?" Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck! Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night? Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax. His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders. "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin. Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth. "Careful," you warn. "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching. Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it. Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in. Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't. His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper. The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you. "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air. "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out. The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him. You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come. It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point. To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body. It doesn't seem to faze him, though. Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here. Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much. Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven. Sev-seven. F-f-fuck, Jack. No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try. All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses. Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes. "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter. His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again. Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually. 'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists. You're not sure if that's better or worse. It's a little ridiculous. Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck. For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles. It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either. So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character." His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once. After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter. “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer. "Well. That sorta depends on you, honeybee. My work's all wrapped up. But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it. "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first. Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow. "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting. "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder. "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb. "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself. But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand. But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath. "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do? What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch. "Shit, is that all? Well. Officially, I'm a businessman. I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully. You don't think he's lying. And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs. "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin. "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh. His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket. From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little. "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less. Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar. For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades. "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name. He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says. "Literally."

"Jackass."

#agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations #spicy spicy content babes #I really didn't mean for this to end up this long but here we are I guess #ao3 version and fic masterlist will be updated shortishly

526 notes · View notes

heartbreakgrill · 3 years

Note

hi bb! could I get a cute zach x reader fic? you can take this in whichever way you like but I was thinking some fluff like a movie night at Zach's or he teaches the reader to play video games? you can do it either way/come up with something of your own too! xxx

Slow Down; Zach Herron

a/n: hope you like it, queen!! 💘

You knocked gently on your boyfriend’s front door, feeling insecure in your leggings, your sweatshirt, and sneakers. You’d been to the boy’s house before, but this was still only your second time, and you’d never dressed so casually in front of Zach. Your relationship was still fresh- only 8 dates had happened so far- so you were still holding back parts of yourself you were afraid of him seeing. The lazy, messy part of you that some guys were turned off by.

You wrung the sleeve of your sweatshirt between your fingers. The door opened a moment after you knocked, drawing your eyes from your feet. Jonah, tall as a tree, stared down at you, a sleepy smile growing to his dark features.

“Hey, Y/N, good to see you.” Jonah swept an arm through the air and you walked into it’s path.

The house was noisy, as per usual. Lights were on all over, Corbyn and Jack were shouting over the shooting noises of a video game on the tv, music was streaming from the Bluetooth speakers, Tessa sat at the kitchen island. Daniel was probably out in his studio, and his brothers were strewn around the living room, watching Corbyn and Jack beat each other.

You felt so out of place in the group’s familiar Friday routine. Jonah could tell, harboring the same feeling of social anxiety, and gently touched your elbow.

“I’ll go get him, okay?” You’d been in Zach’s room, he must’ve not have been in there, because Jonah walked outside after you nodded.

You busied yourself with removing your sneakers. You squatted and gently set them beside somebody else’s shoes on the rack. You peaked around at the door and shut it all the way. Somebody finally spoke up when you turned back around.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! Come sit,” Corbyn patted the spot next to him on the couch.

“Shit, sorry, we just completely ignored your existence,” Jack added on, laughing into his headset.

“No worries,” you smiled at everybody, carefully stepping over Christian’s legs to sit next to Corbyn.

“How ya doing, Y/N?” Corbyn glanced at you.

You folded your hands. “I’m okay, thanks. How are you?”

Corbyn went to answer when something happened in the video game and everybody yelled. That’s when you noticed Zach making his way across the room. He pushed Christian’s legs out of the way, earning a playful punch to the thigh. You stood up as he did, giggling at the laughter the two boys exchanged.

Zach threw his arms up when he laughed, one of his cutesy quirks that you had learned yet. His hands landed on you- shoulder and hip. He gently pulled you into his chest, your hands moving to his back.

“Hey,” he laughed in your ear, fingers moving to your back, but landing on your mini backpack.

“Hi,” you leaned away. His fingers slid down your shoulder and gently held your fingers.

He tugged you behind him, guiding the two of you to his room. “Sorry I didn’t answer the door. Daniel was having me record something.”

You shrugged, “No worries. I got a warm welcome from everybody.”

Zach sighed, letting go of you to shut the door. You sat on the edge of his bed. He said, “Yeah, they can be overwhelming at first.”

“No!” You disagreed. “They’re all really great. I like the energy.”

Zach smiled at you as he walked over to you. “You look very cuddly.”

Your anxiety settled in your subconscious, no longer a part of your worries. Instead, a blush painted your face. “We have never cuddled before.”

Zach sat beside you, setting a hand on your knee. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to,” you assured him, grabbing said hand and squeezing the knuckles. “I know you’re probably used to moving a little faster, but I’m just nervous. I’m sorry.”

Zach shook his head, carefully studying your eyes. He brushed the hair from your face, behind your ears, “I think I need to slow down anyways. With my career and looking back on my past relationships, I think it’ll keep me grounded. You’ll keep me grounded.”

Your stomach whirled with adoration. You found yourself leaning forward and kissing him. It wasn’t your first kiss- actually, it was your second. But it felt like the first. You hoped that feeling would stay.

Zach cupped your cheek, thumb just barely pushing your chin up into him. Your hands found his jaw, fingers molding between his hair. You kissed for a moment longer, and intended to keep going, but someone knocked at the door.

You jumped back from Zach, laughing from your naive fright at the sound. Zach pecked your lips and went to the door.

“Hello?” He opened it towards him, leaning against the door frame.

That was hot.

Jack waved from his side of the door. “Can y’all go pick up the pizza?”

Zach rolled his eyes, huffing. “Really? There’s, like, 10 other people here. Why can’t they?”

“Thought maybe you wanted alone time with your girl,” Jack shrugged. “Also, Jonah and Tessa just left, Daniel is busy, the rest of us are playing a game. Please?”

Zach obviously wasn’t going to argue with his band mate in front of his girl, as jack had put it. So he agreed.

Zach went to the closet as you waited on the bed, picking out a hoodie. He slung it over his head and sat beside you again to put on his shoes. As he did, you told him about something you did earlier that day. He was a good listener and conversation came so well between you two.

Zach stood up, offering you his hand. He pulled you up, purposefully tugging you close to his chest. He held you by the back and kissed you again. You giggled into his mouth, feeling his fingers squirm against your sweatshirt. He pulled away, to your disappointment, and looked at your sweatshirt with furrowed brows.

“No, this won’t do,” he tugged at the hem of your sweatshirt.

You looked at him with utter confusion, “Huh?”

He walked back to his closet, voice echoing from inside. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you gotta wear my sweatshirt.”

He settled back in front of you, holding out the hoodie.

You carefully grabbed it. “Is that you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Zach tipped his head at the sweatshirt, “Is that you saying yes?”

You answered by taking off what you had on and replacing it with a hoodie that the The Invitation Tour logo on it. You followed Zach out the living room again and sat down on the floor to put on your sneakers while he found his keys. He helped you off the floor, like in his room, and led you to the garage.

He opened your door for you like a gentleman, passing by with a sweet kiss. You let out a deep breath once you were settled in the seat, feeling a weight of emotions in your stomach.

Zach got in and then you guys were gone. The pizza place was ten minutes away, but they didn’t offer delivery because of COVID. And, of course, you forgot your mask. Zach just shrugged it off while you felt bad he carried two pizzas and a bag of 2 liters to the car. He put it all in the back seat before joining you again.

On the way back, Zach told you to put on music. Meanwhile, his hand sneakily found it’s way to your knee. He didn’t want to automatically place it upon your thigh, genuinely meaning what he had said earlier.

You wrapped your hand around his, letting your intertwined fingers rest in your lap. When you got back to the house, Zach didn’t allow you to carry anything again. As soon as the pizzas hit the kitchen counter, the boys went ravenous. Even Daniel appeared from his cave to get food.

You stood off to the side, feeling rude just diving in. Corbyn noticed you and automatically spoke up over the crowd of men.

“Hey! Guys, we should probably let Y/N go first,” he motioned to you.

Your face flushed and you felt your neck started to clam up. “Oh, I’m okay.”

Zach, who was caught up getting cups for everyone, sighed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told them to wait.”

“No, it’s no worries, guys. Please, go ahead,” you insisted again.

Daniel shook his head and handed you a plate, “No, Y/N, go ahead.”

You carefully took it and joined the hoard at the island. You took a single slice of cheese pizza and circled back to your spot.

Christian disagreed with your sad plate, “Oh, cmon. Get another slice, and some chips and a drink.”

You began to protest when they all spoke over each other, insisting. Daniel slapped another slice onto your plate, Corbyn held up two bags of chips in your face, and Zach had already poured your favorite soda into a glass. You tapped on the Dorito’s in Corbyn’s right hand and he poured some on your plate.

You had a restless, wide grin on your face the entire time. “Thank you so much.”

Everybody went back to being savages. Zach quickly got in and got out, leading you back to his room. He crawled across the bed and leaned back on his headboard. You carefully sat beside him as he turned on the television.

“You wanna watch that movie you told me about the other day?” He held out the remote to you.

Your mouth fell agape for a moment and then you nodded. “Yeah- uh, yeah.”

How was he such a good listener?

You found the movie on Netflix and put it on. Zach finished his food quickly, but you ate carefully and slowly. Zach simply layed out on the bed, waiting for you to finish. Once you were done, you stood up from the bed.

Zach paused the movie, “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Wanna give me your plate?” You held out your hand.

Zach jumped up suddenly, grabbing his plate and yours before walking out.. You caught up to his long-legged strides with protests.

“Zach!” You called after him, tugging on the back of his sweatshirt.

He finally turned around after he set everything in the sink. “Yes?”

You tried to glare at him, but his smile was so sweet, you broke into a grin. “I was gonna take them!”

Zach shrugged. “I got it, babe.”

You lifted a finger to point in his face, but froze when the pet name registered. Your face went red again.

Zach’s innocent smile turned even cheekier- if possible. He kissed your cheek and left you standing there. You followed him to his room, stopping him in the middle of the hallway. You tugged him around to face him, practically launching yourself into his arms as you cupped his jaw and kissed him. He held the curve of your back, leaning into the kiss.

You broke off, breathless, with matching smiles. “Wanna finish the movie?” You jerked your head in the direction of his room.

Zach nodded in a less than calm manner and followed you inside. He shut the door, splaying back in his spot on the bed. You carefully lay beside him, resting your head on his bicep, which he extended out beside him. His hand clasped around your shoulder and tugged you into his side. You got comfortable over the span of a few minutes, at first slightly stiff. When you were in position, your leg was tossed over his, your hands on his chest.

The movie ended and you began another before your breathing evened and your eyes couldn’t keep themselves open. Zach noticed and carefully shut off the lights and tv with the remote. He pulled the blanket at the end of the bed over you.

“Want me to take you home?” He whispered into your ear.

You hummed a disagreement back, curling further into him. “Is that okay?” You sleepily said.

Zach responded by kissing your forehead and mumbling a goodnight.

#why don’t we imagines #why don’t we x y/n #why don’t we fluff #why don’t we x reader #why don’t we imagine #why don’t we #wdw zach #zach herron #zach herron x reader #zach herron imagines #Zach Herron imagine #Zach Herron fluff #Zach Herron x y/n #Zach Herron x you

200 notes · View notes

dameronology · 3 years

Text

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 5

summary: you like jack. jack likes you. it doesn’t have to be complicated - but that’s now how things work. {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing

sorry for the huge gap between this update and the last one!! university has been manic and somehow writing 1500 words for an essay is much harder than writing 4k words for a fan fiction. i hope you enjoy!!

- jazz

You weren’t in a relationship.

This was not a relationship.

Sure, you spent every night at Jack’s apartment and sure, he made you dinner three times a week and sure, he did everything a boyfriend would but no, he was not your boyfriend. You didn’t do relationships - especially not with cowboys. This was, as you had agreed prior, just a bit of fun. It was nice not having to go back to an empty apartment in a strange city, and even nicer to wake up in his warm arms. Because that’s what Jack Daniels was: warm - and funny and kind, all things which continued to surprise you. Every time he offered to help you with your paperwork or made you coffee in the morning, you couldn’t help but ask why. For him, it was his second nature; he cared about you and so, he looked after you. For you, having been trained in an office where it was every man for himself, it was hard to get your head around.

You didn’t mean to let him do much for you. It was just that you hadn’t ever had anyone to look after you; it had always been you against the world. And, on the occasions he wasn’t being a pain in the ass, Eggsy.

Eggsy! Fuck.

You shot up in bed, almost rolling out as you realised what time it was. 7AM. Midday in London, where your best friend had been waiting for your call almost two hours ago. The daily phone call that had become, of recently, weekly. You hadn’t mean for your priorities to slip, but with both Calahan and Jack keeping you busy, it had become hard. You were already stretching yourself in a thousand different directions on a good day - then there were the days where you had three witnesses to do recon on, twenty arrests to file in the system and a suspect to interrogate. Eggsy knew firsthand what it was like but you’d been perfectly able to keep up with the daily calls during your first few weeks here - then Jack happened, and you’d started to slip. Completely unintentionally, of course, but was that not just part of adult life?

‘Jack!’ You tried to wriggle free of his grip, but it only tightened. ‘I gotta get up-’

‘- no, you don’t.’ He wrapped his arms your waist, pulling you into his chest. ‘It’s a Sunday. Like hell do you need to get up on a Sunday.’

‘I have to call Eggsy.’ You attempted to wrench his arms off of you.

Jack lifted his head off the pillow, revealing a tousled mess of dark hair and languid brown eyes. He blinked for a moment, offering you a sleepy smile when your eyes met.

‘Promise you’ll come back?’ He asked.

‘Promise.’ You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, smiling against him when he finally released you from his hold.

You pattered across the room, grabbing your phone off of the nightstand as you passed. As expected, there were six missed calls from Eggsy and a text with a a gif of a sad puppy. You felt a pang in your chest -- had you been a terrible friend? This was the longest time you’d spent apart in your entire lives. He was a constant presence and maybe that’s why you’d run to Jack so easily. No, you pushed that thought aside. You were with Jack because you liked him. It was nothing to do with anyone else.

‘Look who finally found the time to call me.’ Eggsy’s sarcastic drawl came down the phone after exactly two rings.

‘I am so sorry.’ You groaned. ‘I overslept.’

‘You never oversleep.’ He shot back. ‘You get up at 5am every Sunday to go for a run and watch Friends.’

‘You’re the one who was always banging on at me to start enjoying the luxuries of sleeping in.’ You reminded him. ‘So I did.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Eggsy teased. ‘So how come you’re not at your apartment?’

You froze. ‘I am.’

‘Really? Because I tried your landline five times and you didn’t answer.’

‘What is this?’ You scowled. ‘Interrogate your best friend day or something?!’

‘Stop trying to change the subject.’ He shot back. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Whose name?’

‘The guy you’re clearly sleeping with.’

Another groan. ‘He doesn’t have one.’

‘He must do if it’s serious enough to distract you from...nevermind.’

‘From what?’ You asked.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Eggsy. Just tell me.’ You stressed. ‘It’s me.’

‘That’s my point.’ He replied. ‘Look, I didn’t want to say anything because it’s gonna make me sound like an arsehole, but you’ve been distant these past few weeks.’

‘I’ve been working. You know how important this job is.’ You sighed, running a hand through your hair. ‘And the timezone isn’t helping.’

‘You say that, but then you’re with a guy-’

‘- I’m not!’ You cut him off.

You were tired. Too tired for this. You loved your best friend but sometimes, his petulance could rub you the wrong way. You’d been so important to one another for so long that Eggsy sometimes acted a little...entitled. Entitled to every second of your attention, entitled to know every detail of everything in your life. Most of the time, you would divulge - and that probably didn’t help the situation - but this? You wanted to keep it yourself. It was personal. Too personal even for him.

‘You’re the one who left early to be with Tilde and I didn’t whine or kick up a fuss!’ You snapped.

‘So you had a problem-’

‘- I don’t have the energy for this right now.’ You cut him off. ‘It’s early and I’ve been working my arse off all week. This is my first day off in forever.’

‘And you still managed to find time for a hook up and not call me?’

‘It’s not a hook up.’ You quickly said. Quicker than you would have liked, actually. ‘I’m just doing something for me for once, Eggsy.’

‘I encourage it but not at the expense of-’

‘- of what?’ You snapped. ‘Of you?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I’m going back to bed.’ You announced.

‘But we haven’t spoken properly for days!’

‘Yeah, and you still managed to make this into a woe me, she’s doing things that don’t revolve around me! conversation.’ You sardonically laughed.

‘What do you want me to say? Sorry for missing you?’

Eggsy was attached to you. Probably a little too attached. It had caused problems early in his relationship with Tilde and he didn’t even know fully about Jack and was already kicking up a fuss. You couldn’t blame him; you’d grown up together, and you were the only constant person in his life. Whenever things had been bad at home, you were his escape. Whenever he found himself getting into trouble for hundredth time, you never strayed away from fighting his corner. He’d been there for you too; fighting off bad boyfriends and calling out any sexist co-workers. It was just that sometimes his sentiment extended a little too far, to the point where he got offended if he wasn’t the centre of your universe.

‘No, Eggsy.’ You murmured. ‘I just...I’m sorry I snapped, and I’m sorry I was shit and missed your call, but I’m not sorry for not giving you the 411 on everything I do.’

‘I give you the 411 on everything I do.’

‘And I’ve told you a million times that you don’t have have too.’ You replied. ‘I have a life outside our friendship and you’re going to have to get used to it.’

‘That wasn’t what I was trying to get at.’ Eggsy began. ‘I just meant that I know you and I know you don’t do relationships but it kinda seems like you’re doing one right now and I just...don’t forget about me, yeah?’

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked that the bedroom door was still closed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Jack to hear, but discussing the private details of your thing together to somebody else wasn’t really something you wanted him to hear. Especially when he barely knew Eggsy.

‘I could never forget about you, Egghead.’ You softly smiled. ‘But this is not a relationship, okay? It’s just something to keep me busy whilst I’m in the city. Both parties are very much aware and I promise you that I know what I’m doing.’

(You didn’t).

‘Okay. I’ll let you get back to sleep.’ Eggsy chuckled. ‘Love you, old pal.’

‘Love you more, old chum.’

Your heart was a little heavy as you hung up. You missed him dearly but you liked what you had going here; people actually listened to you at Statesman and whatever the hell was going on with Jack felt good. You’d felt confident in what you’d said to Eggsy about it not being a relationship, but you couldn’t help but panic a tiny bit. What if you were slipping further and further towards the point of no return? What if you were becoming so comfortable that even if you did fall into some accidental, domestic situation, you were too attached to admit it? That went against everything you fundamentally were. Jack went against everything you fundamentally were - and yet, you were so ready to shrug it off. It wasn’t bad to let someone look after you, right? You could stop whenever you wanted, but it hadn’t reached that point just yet.

Jack was still awake when you crept back into the bedroom; he was staring at the ceiling, eyes heavy with sleep, but open nonetheless. He didn’t turn to look at you when you crawled back onto the mattress, instead just reaching an arm out towards you as you collapsed against his side. There was something...grounding about him. Steady and comforting. He spent most of his time humouring your finicky and pedantic nature, constantly reminding you to calm the fuck down and take a breather. He’d been teaching you to take things a little less seriously, and it felt good.

‘How’s Eggsy?’ He murmured quietly, eyes falling shut again.

‘He’s...’ you dropped your head against his shoulder, pondering for a moment. ‘Eggsy.’

Jack’s chest shook with a light chuckle. ‘You sounded a little stressed on the phone.’

‘He was just asking a lot of questions.’ You replied. ‘More than I have the answers to.’

‘About what?’ He asked. ‘Me?’

‘A little.’ You explained.

Jack made a quiet mmm sound, his grip on you tightening as he pulled you closer. He pressed a kiss to your temple and pulled you under chin. You didn’t resist - he was comfortable and warm, and you felt safe like this. The actions were a direct antithesis to the vortex of panic and confusion in your brain. The more you did stuff like this - soft mornings and stolen kisses and sleepily pillow talk - the less easy it would become to cut it all off at a minute’s notice. It’s not that you wanted to do so, but knowing you could was what offered that extra little bit of comfort. It was like an extra fire escape in a big building, or an extra parachute on an airplane.

‘What are we, Jack?’ You asked quietly. ‘Jack?’

Your question was met with a snore.

Jack knew that something was off the following day.

You normally would have stayed at his apartment for the entire day, as you had for the last three weekends, but instead, you’d left at midday with a bullshit excuse about paperwork. He hadn’t argued it. Jack was very much aware of your shining individualism and need for time to yourself, so he didn’t think much of it. It was the same when you’d aired every text he’d sent, and the same when you didn’t ask him to give you a lift on Monday morning. He was a little torn between wondering if you were just being unwittingly taking time for yourself, or if he’d said or done something. Surely you would have said something, right? You always had done before. Of all the people he knew, you were the one who would call others out for their shit.

The final straw had come when you weren’t in the office when he got in. Your desk was empty, and there was no sign of you having been there at all since Friday. No faint smell of Chanel in the air, no discarded Starbucks cup or terribly written stick notes. Nothing that he’d come to associate you with.

‘Tequila?’ Jack stuck his head out the door, eyes catching his colleague’s as he drifted down the hall.

‘Boss?’ Tequila stopped, giving him a nod. ‘Sup?’

‘Have you seen Percy anywhere?’ He asked.

‘Yeah, she’s in Ginger’s office.’ He replied. ‘And damn, she looks good today. Heels and-’

‘- don’t drool.’ Whiskey cut him off. ‘It’s not a good look on you.’

Why were you in Ginger’s office? You never worked there. Heck, he didn’t know that the two of you were that close. You didn’t seem like the type of person who had time for friends. Eggsy was the exception, of course, but Jack saw him more as your weird, surrogate son than anything else.

Sure enough, Tequila had been right - about both things. You were in Ginger’s office and you did look amazing. Not that it was different from any other day, but you were wearing a new lipstick shade that day and your hair had been done slightly differently. He couldn’t blame the guy for making a comment on it, even if it had made his blood boil. Jack knew that he didn’t really have the right, because you weren’t...exclusive or anything. All part of him was beginning to wish you were, but he knew that wasn’t your style. This was the closest he was ever going to get and frankly, he was just grateful somebody as breath taking as you was giving him the time of day.

‘Hey, Whiskey.’ Ginger saw him first. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need my agent.’ Jack replied. ‘Got some paperwork on Calahan.’

‘I know, I’ve got it here.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Ginger is helping me with it.’

‘Not that paperwork.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Other paperwork.’

‘We don’t have other paperwork, Ja- Whiskey.’

‘We do. And I need your help with it.’ He said. ‘Now.’

‘Like right now?’ You frowned.

‘Yes, agent.’

Agent? Had he just called you agent? Freaking Merlin called you that. It did make sense, because they were technically both your bosses, but Jack wasn’t...well, he was Jack. Jack who you’d spent every night with for the past three weeks. Jack who made you dinner every night. Jack who you’d had a thousand deep conversations with.

‘I guess I’ll see you around.’ You forced a smile at Ginger.

‘Sure thing!’ She smiled back, not picking up on the tension.

The pair of you walked back to your shared office in silence, shared for the sound of your heels on the floor and the traffic outside. Neither of you had spoken for twelve hours and yet, there was some kind of tense atmosphere slowly taking over the space between you with each passing second. For a pair that were normally so good at talking, you sure had failed at it.

Jack shut the door as soon as you entered - actually, he slammed it. It made you jump slightly, turning around to face him with a scowl.

‘The fuck’s going on, Whiskey?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’ He grunted. ‘What’s with all the sudden quiet? You doing a sponsored silence or something?’

‘No.’ You leant against your desk, not faltering. He was lucky that looks couldn’t kill.

‘So why are you avoiding me?’

‘Why do you think I’m avoiding you?!’

‘I don’t know, darling - maybe the fact you left early yesterday, you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls and the fact you weren’t in the office this morning?’

‘Well, I guess you got me there.’ You muttered. ‘I just...Eggsy said something yesterday and it freaked me out a little.’

Jack faltered slightly. ‘What?’

‘He said it seemed like I was in a relationship.’ You explained. ‘And it made me realised that we’re really slipping towards that territory and it’s just not something I’m able to do.’

‘So, what? You wanna stop this whole thing?’

‘No!’ You exclaimed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Hey, c’mhere.’ Jack crossed the room, gently taking your hands in his. ‘What are you so scared of, sweetheart?’

‘Nothing. I’m not scared of anything.’ You tried to puff your chest out, and he could only laugh.

‘I know what it’s about.’ He placed a hand on your cheek. ‘Remember all that shit you spewed about not needing anyone? About how you never needed anyone to look after you?’

You nodded.

‘It’s not that don’t need anyone - I think you’re scared to.’ He explained. ‘Now, I’m not saying you need me, because I think you might slap this hat right off my goddamn head if I do, but I am saying that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been bordering on the territory of letting me look after you these past few weeks., and that is scary for you.’

‘Maybe I have.’

‘And that’s okay, sugar.’ He stressed. ‘You’re allowed to want someone to look after you, without needing someone to look after you. There’s a difference.’

‘There is?’

‘You don’t know a damn thing, do you?’

‘I don’t think I do.’ You bit your lip, eyes falling to the ground.

Jack chuckled. ‘Everything we said still stands -- all that about this only being whilst you’re in New York, about it not getting in the way of our work. I know this is more serious than we planned but I’m still down for it if you are.’

‘I just...there is one more thing.’

‘What is it?’

‘Ginger and I were talking - not about you, you just kinda came up - and she uh...’

‘She said I’m the reason she’s not in the field, didn’t she?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s...that’s complicated.’

‘It doesn’t seem complicated.’ You urged. ‘She’s a good agent. She works hard and she at least deserves a chance.’

‘You trust me, don’t you?’

‘Why are you answering my questions with questions?’ You thinned your eyes at him. ‘But yeah, I do.’

‘Then trust me when I say that I have my reasons.’ He said. ‘Please?’

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘So, are we good?’

‘We’re good.’

You didn’t resist when Jack pulled you into a tight hug, or when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. He held your head to his chest, hand on the back of your head for a moment, letting out a small sigh. It was easy to listen to what he’d said, about trusting him and it’s complicated - in fact, it was a little hard to think about anything when the faint smell of his aftershave was swarming your senses, warm body pressed to yours.

But still, you couldn’t push away the nagging feeling at the back of your head.

taglist: @b0nnyzz @xremember-me-notx @somenerdyuser @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @javisjeanjacket @phoenixhalliwell @no-droids-on-sunday @paintballkid711 @waatermelon-sugaar @hepburnwritess @haileyybird @xjaywritesx @jabbajambler @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @welcometothepedroverse @wickedmuse (if you wanna be added, pls drop me a msg!)

#this was meant to end with angst but i couldn't do it #and i had to include the ginger thing because its mentioned in the movies and i have my theory #but more on that next chapter #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels imagine #pedro pascal character headcanons

101 notes · View notes

dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Pretty Please

gif via @pedropcl

summary: You’ve developed feelings for Javier, but you’ve been great at concealing them—until now. You find yourself wanting him now more than ever, and you’re not sure you can take it anymore. (As inspired by Dua Lipa’s “Pretty Please”)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: sexual themes, pining, non-descriptive sexual content

rating: R

word count: 4.256k

masterlist

You must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning—or, rather, inside the wrong bed.

The feeling is sudden and it’s sticking within you. Even as you’re rushing through your morning routine as usual, sliding on your tight-fitted jeans and buttoning up your three quarter-sleeve dress shirt, you can’t help thinking about them coming right back off. You’ve even decided on wearing your best matching set, hopeful that the black lace still remains concealed underneath the purple hue of your shirt. Though, you wouldn’t mind a certain pair of eyes noticing.

You blink a few times, shaking your head. No, you chastise yourself. You can’t give in. You can’t do this.

But you know the truth. You can’t resist anymore. You need Javier fucking Peña just as badly as he needs his cigarettes.

You’ve been trying to avoid this for so long. Coming to work in Colombia wasn’t supposed to mean pining after one of your new partners, but almost as soon as you acquainted yourself with Javier, you were a sucker. His charm, his wit, and his goddamn sex appeal were just too much to resist. It only got worse when you actually learned more about him, joining him and Steve on after-work ventures either to a bar or just a restaurant to get away from the stress of work. You’ve discovered that he’s extremely protective, quite caring, and very passionate—and that just makes you want him more. In multiple ways.

Today, a certain way seems to be making itself very known as your mind can barely focus on whatever you’re doing. When you’re brushing your fingers through your hair and adjusting it to your usual style, you imagine his fingers running through it, tugging on it, even panting into it. When you’re applying your light lipstick, you picture the way his lips would look after crashing against yours, taking some of the color onto his own but caring less in the heat of desire. Even when you’re grabbing your keys and getting into your car, you imagine yourself trapped between the seat and him, hands exploring each other with absolutely no destination in mind.

You try to think about anything else, but you can’t. You continually curse to yourself under your breath. If you can’t get rid of these thoughts, then work’s going to be a shitshow, considering you have to stare at Javier’s face the entire day whenever you’re at your desk. With absolutely no interesting information on Escobar, you know you’re bound to another day full of paperwork at your desk with Javier sitting just a few feet away—which means you’re in deep shit if you can’t get your frustrations under control.

Once you get to the office, you park and take a deep breath, looking at yourself in the rearview mirror and flashing a confident smile. That look falters when you notice Javier’s car pulling in from behind you, and your head turns to see him pulling up right next to you. Swallowing hard, you instantly look back to the wheel. Calm down, you tell yourself. It’s fine. You’ve worked here everyday with this man for months now. It won’t be any different today.

But then he gets out of his car flaunting a bright red shirt, and damn, does red look good on him. You find yourself biting the corner of your lip as you practically undress him with your eyes, studying the usual way he leaves a few buttons undone. You’re lucky he never notices as he strolls inside, especially since your eyes fell to his ass quite a few moments ago. With yet another shake of your head, you curse and slam your hands against the wheel, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

When you manage to at least fool yourself into thinking you’re composed, you finally step out of your car and start to head inside. Your mind goes blank as your eyes watch the tile floor underneath your feet, and you only look up when you know you’re coming upon your cluster of desks. Steve and Javier are both there, and Javier’s already on his first cigarette as you toss your keys onto your desk and pull out your chair.

“You’re later than usual,” Steve observes, looking at you with a raised brow. “Usually Javi’s the one I gotta worry about.”

“Oh, fuck off, Murphy,” Javier jokes, scoffing as he takes a drag of his cigarette. You sit down slowly as you watch his action more closely than usual, seeing the way his lips close around the cigarette and then separate ever so slightly to let the smoke escape.

No, fuck me.

Your eyes widen at your own thoughts, your eyes darting away from Javier quickly as you instead look blankly at the files already awaiting you on your desk. You almost think you’ve somehow managed to get away with your strange behavior until Steve speaks again. “You good over there?” You look up, seeing Steve looking at you through narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a goddamn ghost or something’.”

You chuckle, hoping it doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels as you open up your first file. “I’m fine,” you assure him. “Let’s just say I had a rough night.”

Steve whistles, and Javier sets his cigarette onto the ashtray as he looks over at you with a single raised brow. You try to ignore the way your entire body practically hums at his attention. “Who was it?” Javier asks, the simple sound of his roughened voice practically making you beg for him right then and there.

Yet, still confused by his question, you tilt your head at him. “What?”

“Who’d you fuck?” Javier’s voice is casual, but with all the thoughts that have been swimming through your mind so far today, you nearly choke upon hearing the words. You manage to grit your teeth before you can get the words I wish it was you out of your mouth.

“Jack Daniels,” you confess, impressed with the way you’ve lied so effortlessly. Steve chuckles, and Javier’s mouth makes an “o” in understanding as he turns back to his work. The action still makes you bite your lip, and you start to bury yourself into your work before your mind can think up more things to drive you absolutely crazy.

After at least an hour spent in silence while the three of you shuffle through paperwork and try to ignore the fact you’re bored out of your minds, Steve breaks it. “I can already feel this damn heatwave,” he mutters, starting to fan himself with an empty folder.

“Heatwave?” you echo, looking up from your paperwork curiously.

“Yeah,” Steve responds. “It’s supposed to be hot as hell tonight. I was trying to get Connie to cancel our date because of it, but she’s a stubborn one. You didn’t hear about it?”

You let out a huff. “No, I must’ve missed it somehow.” You curse to yourself, suddenly feeling the intensified heat as you adjust yourself in your chair.

“I’m surprised,” Javier’s voice suddenly joins in, and you look over to see him giving you an amused expression. You practically melt into your chair upon seeing the way his dark gaze glitters at you. “You’re always on top of things.”

I’d like to be on top of you. Your mind thinks the words without hesitation, and you nearly spit them out before you manage to catch yourself again. “Like I said before, rough night.”

Javier lets out a low chuckle, a sound that practically radiates from your head down to your very toes. “Sounds like it.” He pauses for a moment, flipping open a file and looking at you briefly between his lashes. “Should’ve invited me.”

You nearly gasp upon hearing his words, instead managing to keep it cool as you shrug. “Next time.”

Javier offers you a small smile, returning to his work shortly thereafter. You know that on any other occasion, that whole exchange would’ve been fine—but now, with your mind running in such an intense direction, you feel as if you’re about to explode on the spot. The rising temperature of the building doesn’t help, and soon you’re joining Steve in the attempt to fan yourself with a nearby folder.

Things only worsen as the day continues. The heat’s getting unbearable, and the three of you are now visibly being affected by it. Your sinful gaze, of course, continually glances towards Javier, and you shrink a bit in your seat when you observe the bead of sweat that falls from his temple. It moves slowly against his tanned skin, as if mocking you for being unable to touch his skin in such a manner, and dips over his jaw to his neck. You lick your lips as you watch it travel down the length of his throat, finally pooling into the notch of his jugular and joining the rest of the perspiration on his glowing, exposed chest.

Damn.

You have to drop the pen that’s been in your hand and rest your elbow against the desk, pinching the bridge of your nose as you squeeze your eyes shut. The fact that this is affecting your work is making it dangerous, but you can’t help it. You need him. It’s so overwhelming that it’s practically suffocating you—but you can’t give in. It’ll be like giving oxygen to a raging fire. You have to keep it concealed.

Willing the strength to do just that, you take a deep breath, opening your eyes again and letting your arm fall from the desk. You use your hand to release a few of the buttons on your shirt, needing to let your chest breathe in the midst of this heat. It would’ve been fine had you not felt a burning gaze coming from the same direction you’ve been looking in all day, and when your eyes raise to view him again, you notice him watching you from his peripherals. Thinking he likely hasn’t noticed you’ve caught him, you see his eyes explore whatever he can of your exposed chest, and his Adam’s apple bounces as he swallows hard and looks back to his own files.

You nearly collapse from your chair on the spot. Holy fuck.

Staying concealed is suddenly a lost cause. The temperature feels as if it’s risen by tenfold, and you find yourself brushing away a bead of sweat from your forehead as you try your very best to focus on your work. Things are muffled, but you manage to make some progress for another hour until you notice Javier staring again. This time, though, he’s truly looking at whatever you’re reading, as if he’s studying the words on the page. His gaze then looks up to yours, and it’s almost as if you see a light bulb go off over his head.

“Hey, do you mind if I take that for a second?” Javier asks you, gesturing to the file you have opened.

How about you take me right here, right now, on this desk? You make a valiant effort to swallow the words back. “Yeah, of course,” you answer, handing the file over to him. Javier gives you a nod in thanks, and you simply manage your best smile as you watch him look between the file you’ve given him and the papers on his desk. His eyes widen, and soon he’s standing up to walk over to your desk. He places the papers side-by-side in front of you, one of his hands leaning on your desk as the other rests on the back of your chair. You nearly freeze, squeezing your legs together at his sudden close presence.

“See this?” Javier questions, looking over to see if you’re following where he’s now pointing his finger. You nod—knowing your brain’s in a complete fog and you’re definitely not going to process anything he says next—and you resist the urge to completely breathe in the smell of his fading cologne and smoke. Javier goes on to point out some kind of consistency between the two files, but all you can do is focus on the heat that radiates from him and nod as if you understand. It gets especially difficult when he brings one of his hands to his forehead, wiping away some of the sweat that’s gathered there. You bite your lip, trying harder than ever to focus on the papers.

But you just can’t. I can’t fucking take it anymore.

You’re about to whisper something dangerous into his ear when he suddenly pulls away, taking the files from your desk. “I’ll type something up,” he tells you, returning to his desk as he reaches for his typewriter.

“That’ll be great, Javier,” you say, earning a nod as he focuses in on typing whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you earlier. You let out a huff, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking from the brief interaction.

This man’s going to be the end of you.

It’s nearing the end of the work day, and Javier’s still typing away vigorously. You’ve noticed that he’s been sweating a lot more just from taking up a slightly more demanding task, and you’ve tried to stop watching the beads of sweat fall down his face—but it’s not to much avail. At one point, though, he stops typing, leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. His mouth opens just a bit, and you bite the inside of your cheek hard to try to keep your mind from running. Yet, it’s already taken off. You’re suddenly wishing you could be under his desk.

“It’s so fucking hot,” Javier grumbles, wiping his hands over his face and wiping them on his thighs. He looks over at you, gesturing to the longer sleeves on your shirt. “I don’t know how the hell you do it.”

You shrug, trying to get words through your tightened throat. “You get used to it.”

“You’d think she’s the one that’s been living here longer,” Steve jokes, standing up from his desk and collecting his things as he speaks. He looks up to see Javier giving him the finger, causing him to snort. “I’ll see you two tomorrow. Let’s hope I don’t burn to death on this date.”

“I hope you do!” Javier calls after him.

“Fuck you, Peña!” Steve remarks without looking back.

“Gladly!” Javier exclaims, laughing to himself before he returns to his typing.

It’s finally your chance to escape the hell that’s been today’s torture. You stand up and get your belongings together, watching to see if Javier looks your way. He doesn’t, as he’s already focused back in to his work. “I’m headed home,” you inform him. You successfully draw his attention, almost falling to your knees when you catch his gaze looking you up and down momentarily. “Don’t stay here all night, Javi.”

Javier chuckles and gives you a reassuring smile. “I’ll try not to.”

You try to return his look, beginning to turn and walk out. You stall, however, when Javier calls out your name quickly. Your head turns to face him, and you see his brow lifted in concern.

“I just wanted to ask, are you sure you’re okay?” Javier’s dark gaze is sparkling with hope—hope that you’ll tell the truth. You swallow hard. “You just don’t seem like yourself today.”

You want to melt upon receiving his tender care, especially when you hear the sincerity in his tone. Yet, you know you can’t tell him the truth, and so you give him a nod. “I’m alright, Javi. Just succumbing to this goddamn heatwave.”

Javier exhales and widens his eyes for a moment. “Understandable.” He nods once. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You simply choose to give him yet another nod, turning back around and nearly speed-walking to your car. Once inside, you let out a heavy breath, running your hands down your face. You can’t believe you’ve managed to make it through the day, and you can only hope that you get your act together. Still, you can feel yourself wishing you’d gotten what you needed, but you push back the feeling as you head back to your apartment.

Once inside, all you can think about is the heatwave. The air conditioning unit in your apartment does a relatively good job at keeping you cool, but it’s still much hotter than usual, and you find yourself quickly exchanging your work clothes for a simple pair of cloth shorts and a V-neck as you prepare yourself a small dinner. By the time you finish, Javier’s completely left your mind for the first time today, and all you can think about is drowning yourself in the glass of condensing water you have in your hand.

Suddenly, a knock sounds at your door. You put down the glass and furrow your brow, walking over to it and checking the peephole. You’re in disbelief when you see who it is, and you open the door quickly to see a disgruntled Javier standing there.

“I’m sorry to… uh, interrupt.” You watch as his gaze temporarily falls from your eyes to your chest, and you look down to see part of the lace from your bra peaking out from the collar of the shirt. Your cheeks heat up, and when you look back up at Javier, you see that his gaze has returned to yours. He clears his throat. “I just—my air conditioner’s a piece of shit, and it just broke. I was wondering if I could crash here until I cools down later tonight.” He holds up the bottle he has in his hand. “I brought some whiskey.”

You laugh, stepping aside to make room for him. “Of course, Javi.” He walks through the door, and you close and secure it behind him, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes. Keep yourself together, you tell yourself. You can’t think like you did earlier. Yet, as soon as you turn back around, you notice that Javier’s now unbuttoned practically half of his red shirt, exposing a much larger amount of his chest to the cooler air of your apartment.

Well, fuck.

You stroll over to where Javier’s sitting at your kitchen island, grabbing two clean glasses from the cupboard and letting Javier distribute some of the whiskey into them. You start to sip at yours, completely unable to think of anything rational to say. All you want to do is admit that you’d rather taste his lips than the whiskey, but you know you can’t, and so you continue to let the alcohol burn down your throat. You watch as Javier observes this, soon letting a low chuckle rumble from his chest.

“You know, it’s real funny to me,” Javier suddenly says, letting out a sigh as he leans back in his chair. He takes a swig of his whiskey, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “I just can’t believe you’re standing here right now, not mentioning anything about today.”

You swallow hard, slowly resting the glass of whiskey onto the counter as your gaze with him never breaks. “What do you mean? The files?”

Javier shakes his head, a smirk stuck on his lips as he also rests his glass onto the countertop. “No, not the goddamn files.” He raises his eyebrow back at you. “The eye-fucking.”

Your eyes nearly double in size at his words. “Javi, what the hell are you talking about?”

Javier sighs as he stands from his chair, slowly making his way over to you. “You really thought I didn’t notice all of that?” He lets out another chuckle, shaking his head as he looks down at you. “You were practically in a daze, hermosa. I’d recognize that look anywhere.” Your gaze falls to the floor, embarrassment pulsing through you as you stand dumbfounded at the counter. You see his feet stop just in front of you. “I thought maybe you’d tell me earlier, but you’re a tough one to crack.”

You look back up but continue to avoid his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Javi, I don’t know what got into me today. I just—.”

You stop when you feel Javier’s fingers touch your chin, forcing you to look back into his eyes. His gaze is even darker than usual, and your stomach twists in pleasant knots when you study his expression further. “What you didn’t realize was that I was doing the same exact thing back to you.” His hand brushes up along your jaw, his fingertips sending shivers through your spine as he tucks your hair behind your ear. He leans forward so that his lips are brushing against your ear. “Were you also imagining those different scenarios? Sneaking away to the car, or just being taken right there on the desk?” Javier pauses to chuckle lightly. “You were driving me crazy.”

Unable to believe it’s actually happening, you let out a struggled breath, watching Javier’s gaze only darken more at the sight of your pure instability at his words and touches. He pulls himself completely away from you, raising his brow at you once again.

“Is that what you want? Do you want me, hermosa?”

You’re so close to just flinging yourself onto him, but you try to retain some sort of self-control, swallowing hard as you finally get the words out. “Please,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper.

“What was that?” Javier teases, stepping even closer to you. You’re eye-level with his glistening chest now, and you’re absolutely certain you’re going to fall apart at the seams.

“Pretty please,” you nearly whimper, unable to hold yourself back any longer.

“Since you asked so kindly,” Javier assures you, and no later does his arm wrap around your waist as he pulls your body flush against his. Within seconds, his mouth’s on yours, and you drown in the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on his breath as you press your tongue against his. You nearly melt at the relieving feeling of his touch, especially as his hands glide over your ass and touch the bare skin of your thighs. He lifts you so that your legs wrap around his waist, allowing you to deepen the kiss as your hands—once unable to leave his face—start trying to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Javier stops the kiss to laugh against your lips, starting to make his way towards your bedroom. “At least wait until we get somewhere, hermosa.”

You let out a curt laugh before reattaching your lips to his, unable to get enough of the feeling. As soon as you’re inside your bedroom and Javier’s eased your back onto the bed, all clothing’s strewn to the floor and you’re sure you’re not helping Javier with the situation of trying to stay cool. Your lips are already swollen when he pulls away to rest his sweating forehead against yours, looking deep in your eyes for a moment.

“Before we go any further,” Javier starts breathlessly, “I need you to know that I haven’t been wanting you like this just because of your body, like you might think.” Javier pauses, as if he’s searching for the right words to say. “I’ve wanted you in this way and many more for a long time now. I—.”

“This is all really sweet, Javi, and I’d love to hear more,” you cut him off. “But please, I’ve been waiting for this for way too fucking long, so please wait to tell me the rest after.”

Javier chuckles at your desperation, giving you a reassuring nod as he reconnects his lips with yours. The next few minutes feel like heaven on earth, even if the temperature represents something more like hell. Your bodies together create a heat that rivals the wave spreading throughout Medellín, and even hotter are the words you share with each other. The confessions, the utterances, the way you say each other’s names—it’s enough to turn this heaven into something much more sinful. Everything that’s been building up for so long is seeking release, and you can feel the opportunity approaching the faster things start to go. With your fingers practically embedded into his slick back and his holding you in place beneath him, Javier urges you to finally follow through with what you’ve been waiting for so relentlessly. His mouth covers yours just in time to muffle your voice, and he’s not too far behind from getting that same relief before he rests beside you. He looks over at you, laughing a bit as his fingers brush over your cheek.

“Was it worth the wait?” Javier questions, and you giggle as you let your face fall into his slick neck.

“Hell yeah,” you admit, feeling his throat vibrate against your lips as he chuckles. You close your eyes as you absorb the euphoric feeling you’re drowning in. “So, can I hear the rest of that speech now?”

Javier runs a hand through your messy hair. “What’s the magic word?”

You smile against his neck. “Pretty please?”

#I don't know what to say other than WOW #a MAN #javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javie #narcos

731 notes · View notes

cosmic-lavender · 3 years

Text

Stability Chapter 11

Otis Driftwood x Reader

Masterlist is here.

"You listen to me, and you listen well! I am gonna kill every member of your family! I'm gonna hunt them down like the animals they are, and I'm gonna skin em' alive! They are going to feel the pain and suffering of every last victim!" A disgusting squishy sound-filled the empty void of the cell. Sheriff Wydell had stabbed Mama Firefly in the stomach and twisted it until the light left her eyes.

He was done playing this cat and mouse game. Mama's last taunt and laughter that ran through the station after more questioning pushed him over the edge. He had grabbed a large knife from his office and stabbed her in the stomach. As she fell to the ground he stood and took in the scene of what he had done. There was no turning back now, people like these people are monsters he thought to himself and the only thing monsters fear are other monsters. He had discovered through the interrogation that his brother was indeed murdered by Mama herself when he had come to investigate the cheerleader's disappearance.

Sheriff John Wydell's eyes widened at the sight of his dead brother getting up from the couch he was sitting on, he began stuttering "I'm, I'm walking the line on this brother. I'm... I'm walking".George Wydell scoffed and answered sarcastically "Well, mother pin a rose on me, that is so great! I want these motherfuckers dead! Kill 'em!" John Wydell jumped up in a cold sweat… oh it was just a dream he thought, or was it? It couldn't be this hard to be signed by his brother that he needed to avenge him. "I'm brother, I'm trying," he thought to himself.

"Why are you over here all by yourself handsome? Married or not you don't gotta be all alone"... Candy had slinked over to where Otis was laying on the couch downing a bottle of Jack Daniels. The rest of the crew was partying with the ladies at the brothel. Otis wasn't in the mood to party though. He wanted to get out of here and get moving.

He felt guilty which was surprising for someone like him, that he was here enjoying a safe environment for the night without knowing where you were. "What do you want woman" he scoffed and attempted to get up.. "now now lay down You look like a mess Is your back hurting or something I can give you a massage I am a masseuse Well at least I can give a good enough massage that feels like I'm a masseuse" Candy said in a sultry voice twirling her hair, "listen here woman I said I ain't fucking you so go on and get" Otis said shooing her away with his hand.

"Hey now no one said anything about fucking! How about I help you out friend to friend? You just must be tense worrying about your old lady out there". She sat next to him on the couch, he slowly got up to face her, "just a massage right No funny business or I'll throw your ass through the window". "Duly noted" she laughed and helped him stand grabbing his arm. She led him to a soft mattress on the floor.

Sheriff Wydell on the other hand was not having the best night either, he was racking his brain on what was the next step to take for finding the four of you. He found himself staring at himself in the mirror talking to himself "You know I got to tell you, that's some catch phrase you got there, Devil's Rejects. What? You got something to say to me clown, huh. I bet you scare lots of folks, don't ya? Yeah, regular fuckiin' killer. You want a piece of this motherfucker? You want a piece of this? Huh, what you got! What you got! Lord I am your arm of justice. Lord I am your arm of justice. Lord I am your arm of justice. Your righteous sword of vengeance. Let my blows be true. From the illusion leads me to truth. From darkness leads me to light. From death leads me to eternal life."

"Ah sir? That guy you asked for is here" his deputy Ray Dobson knocked on the door to his office breaking him out of his trance. It was his deputy, who made the connection that the aliases the family members usually went by and their connection to the old Groucho Marx films. He also discovered that the Fireflies were associated with the local clowns celebrity Captain Spaulding. Hoping to gain some insight into this connection, Wydell brought in film critic Marty Walker for consultation.

The over the top Marty illustrated how each of the killers named themselves after characters played by Groucho Marx throughout the course of his career. Things between Wydell and Walker quickly became unsavory when the critic made a remark about Elvis Presley. Marty head scateched his head while looking at the clues pinned to the board "that goddamn fucking Elvis Presley." Sheriff Wydell looked up at him with his eyes wide and full of rage.

"What'd you say about the King?!" Marty was clearly taken aback by the sudden tone change and looked around at everyone else in the room before sputtering out "I said he died three days before Grouch…" Wydell walked very close to him, looked him deep in the eyes and slowly said "Marty... if you ever say another derogatory word about Elvis Aaron Presley I WILL KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU!".

"Boss don't you remember we had to run in with that guy Charlie not too long ago didn't he stay around with the guy named Spalding?" Ray quickly replied trying to defuse the situation. "Well goddamn you're right Ray… let's go pay Mr. Charlie boy a visit" he backed away from Marty and grabbed his hat. "Be seeing you Marty"

Spalding had told Charlie that if he went and bought some fresh chicken He whipped them up some fried chicken on the house as a thank you for letting them hide out there. Unbeknownst to Charlie Sheriff Wydell had spotted him leaving the funtown and heading towards the chicken stand. He corners Charlie and demands that he give up the three of them and if he had any information on where you were he needs to give that information up to or it would not end well for him.

He also asked him if he catches Otis in any compromising situations if he could snap a photo. It would be in his best interest. "I was also wondering," Wydell said, closing the car door a bit more on Charlie. He had closed his car door on Charlie's hands after instructing him to approach the vehicle once they cornered him in with their vehicle. "Is this girl with them by any chance? and I'm only going to give you one chance to answer me honestly" he held up a picture of you, Charlie shook his head viciously "no no naw she ain't with them gods truth man god's truth".. "god's truth hmm well you know where she is? I would like to have a little chat with her" Wydell replied. "Oh c'mon what's that lil girl gonna do" Charlie attempted to chuckle. "Hmm" Wydell said "looks can be deceiving, anyways tonight midnight I'll be seeing you". He released his hand and drove off in a cloud of dirt and smoke.

Back at the house unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you look at it for Otis, Candy was actually a very good masseuse and actually did just give him massage without reaching for his penis which is what he assumed was going to happen. His back was killing him from the hours of driving and that shit van they had stolen from the family back at the motel.

He also was holding a lot of stress in his shoulders from the anxiety of the plan not going his way and not having any word from you now for multiple days. Unfortunately now she wouldn't stop following him around which was starting to piss him off because one she was annoying and two his back was still hurting and he could have used another massage. "You sure you don't want another one I mean you passed out during yesterday's massage just let me do your shoulders just a little more" she said skipping toward him.

He wasn't sure if she was just trying to be nice or she was trying to wear him down to fuck her or something. He sat cleaning his knife while staring off into space thinking about you and when you gave this knife to him. You were in town with Baby and wandered into an antique store. You knew as soon as you saw it you had to have it.. he was overjoyed at the knife and vowed to never go anywhere without it.

"What took you all so long? You said you were just heading into town for some supplies tonight" He asked , slamming the screen door behind him and walking out towards the car. You had insisted on driving your mustang into town with Baby on a girl's trip while he was in the middle of a project. He was hesitant but he allowed it because he knew that you two could probably use some girl time, he wasn't the easiest to always be around.

"Oh shut up Don't know why you always got to be rushing people" Baby replied flipping her hair and strolling past Otis. "Fuck you" "no fuck you" "no fuck" "Hey!!" You yelled waving your hand in his face. "I took so long because I got you something, I saw it and I couldn't pass it up". You pulled out a dark paper bag and handed it to him. He looked inside and got silent, it was a large beautiful knife. Taking it out the bag he held it in his large hands and studied it closely. "Shit darlin this, this is beautiful..for me huh?" "Yeah of course!" "Why though?" He asked looking back at you with general confusion on his face. You walked over and stepped up on your tippy toes to softly kiss him. "Just wanted to do something nice because I love you". You said patting his chest and walking inside after Baby.

He stood there for a few more moments looking at the knife and tucking it in his boot. Once inside he grabbed you by the waist and kissed you deep. "Thanks.. ah.. I just don't know how to accept gifts, not used to 'em." "Well I'm glad you like it" you smiled up at him "had me worried for a second I was starting wonder if you didn't like it" "naw I love it it's going everywhere with me always" he said wrapping his long arms around you "just like you".

"Stop hovering woman!! If I need anything from you I'd ask now get" he huffed at her looking back to his knife. She stood for a moment and turned on her heels and headed away. Charlie headed back to the house trying to swallow the anxiety in his throat. He didn't want to betry the group but he also wanted to protect his business and livelyhood. He stopped at the liquor store and grabbed a bunch more bottles of Jack Daniels, might as well get them drunk and make this shit easier.

#otis driftwood #house of 1000 corpses #three from hell #otis driftwood x reader #otis firefly #thedevilsrejects #the devils rejects

50 notes · View notes

woodchoc-magnum · 3 years

Text

911:Lone Star 2x07 Hate Watch

God you guys

This episode sucked so hard.

Friendly reminder - if you love this show, keep on keeping on, friend! I hate it!

Eddie Diaz to cleanse our hearts and minds before we embark on this journey of hate together:

Gwen can do better than Rob Lowe

He's not the one having second thoughts, she IS

Yes Gwen you are crazy for wanting to be with Rob Lowe

You can do better

What will be this episode's gross thing I wonder

CARLOS? IS THAT YOU?!

Why does Rob Lowe insist on doing all the stuff himself? Marjan could've climbed up there

What I love about TK in this scene is his total and utter lack of emotion

The flat register of his voice

It's such a phenomenal acting performance

They should nominate Ronen for an Emmy for the monotone alone

The outside of Rob Lowe's house is just as ugly as the inside

God this argument about what boring ugly kitchen stuff to keep is so fucking stupid

Oh I totally bought my friend one of those sloth tea infusers, she loves it

I also got her a shark

And… something else? A dinosaur?

These two are DOOMED

They can't even agree on kitchenware

And instead of communicating they just have sex

That's not the mark of a good relationship, friends

Is Nancy's foot still broken or nah?

I feel like Nancy hates TK as much as I do

Wait are paramedics geeks now

He CHANGED THE SYSTEM WITHOUT ASKING HER

No wonder she hates him

TK is so goddamn stupid and I hate his face so much

"Live in it for a minute"? Man fuck TK he sucks

Wait

How did they not know the fucking MRI machine was on?

Was there not a goddamn warning light?

Is there not an emergency shut off?

THE BUTTON IS ON THE FRONT OF THE FUCKING MACHINE ARE YOU FUCKING FOR REAL

"TK you got any metal in your body I need to know about?" "son you got a dick piercing or no?"

REALLY THEY TOOK THEIR FUCKING CLOTHES OFF FUCKING REALLY

This is legit the dumbest thing that's ever been on this show

This whole thing is so stupid

It was just an excuse to get everyone in their underwear

I just saw Rob Lowe's bulge

But I feel like I actually saw his dick in a movie once? The movie with Demi Moore… "About Last Night" – I'm like 90% sure you catch a glimpse of dick in that movie

Also off topic but Demi Moore looks absolutely fucking amazing in that movie and it has some full on 80s sex scenes and honestly, I was into it but Jim Belushi was also in that movie with his curly 80s mullet? So points are immediately subtracted

I would like to talk about Gina Torres and her goddamn BANGING BODY

GET IT GIRL

Judd is so nice and if he and Grace decided to move to LA, that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world

Oh wait Judd is complimenting Rob Lowe on his STYLE? JUDD WE NEED TO TALK

YOU'RE ON THIN GODDAMN ICE

Nancy hates TK and I don't blame her

Not one little bit

NO MASKS AT THE TAEKWONDO THING

NO ONE IS WEARING A MASK

I haven't seen one mask – except for in the hospital – this entire episode

I'm kinda confused as to why the kid doesn't want her there? But I also need to make it clear that I don't care

TK is actually stupid

CARLOS

Wow you get more that one scene this episode! Great work bro

TK is a melodramatic little bitch and I hate him

Carlos has a really nice house though and I do like his couch

Wait did TK have that earring in when he went into the MRI room?

I'm going to assume no? But honestly with this show it was probably in and visible in the scene

I love this friendship between Tommy and Grace

We're seven episodes in and Tommy is still carrying on about how hard it is to be at work instead of with her kids – lady, women do this all the time

I feel like I'm meant to have sympathy but I just don't.

IT'S NOT HIS FUCKING BABY

WHO IS ENZO

IT'S NOT HIS BABY

Okay so this baby is going to be born but it's NOT ROB LOWE'S

"Rebound guy?" ROB LOWE YOU ARE THE REBOUND GUY

It's not over, she's still into whoever this Enzo is and I'd like to meet him

Lisa Edelstein you can do better than this man and this show

God this episode is so boring, literally no one has exploded

The odds aren't in Rob Lowe's favour, he had chemo, his sperm are DEAD

Why is there a bottle of Jack Daniels on the kitchen island during breakfast?

Oh he put it in the omelette wow okay

Okay someone has to clean up after the food fight guys

The earring in TK's ear makes him look like a 90s fuckboy

Yeah I said it

Wait it's JANUARY IN LONE STAR?

Is it January in the OG?

For this one fucking character who had less than five minutes of screen time in Season 1, they sure are spending a lot of time forcing us to care about his death

Oh thank god this is nearly finished

Rob Lowe is about to have his heart broken I can't wait

Delete the email? GIRL READ THE EMAIL

READ IT

Pretentious and insufferable? YOU ARE, OWEN

YOU ARE THE WORST

IT'S NOT HIS BABY

IT'S NOT HIS I KNEW IT

God there is going to be so much white man pain after this fucking bullshit

These two are doomed, totally fucking doomed

She's running away, it's done

She totally loves Enzo

I really want to meet Enzo, I bet he's hot

YOU ARE THE REBOUND OWEN

AMAZING

It's like watching his heart be crushed in slow motion and I love every minute of it

I give this episode a solid 0/10, there was nothing enjoyable about it - nobody blew up, not even one SINGLE PERSON BLEW UP.

God I hate this show so fucking much

How can the OG be so good and this just be so utterly abysmal? What the fuck is going on in the Lone Star writers room?

Is there something in Rob Lowe’s contract that says he needs to be the focal point of every single episode? Because truly, that’s the problem. On the OG, everyone gets a chance to shine - they know how to have some characters take a backseat in certain episode to give others a moment on their own. That’s why you feel so connected to all of the characters.

Angela Bassett is first billed on the OG and not every episode revolves around her - because the writers for the OG understand how to let everyone have a turn in the spotlight!

But not on Lone Star, it’s the fucking Rob Lowe show and it SUCKS.

And nobody wears a goddamn mask

And the MRI scene was SO FUCKING STUPID

AND I HAD TO SEE TK IN HIS UNDERWEAR.

Worst episode ever - you know what? Revised score: -1,000,000/10 FUCK YOU LONE STAR

Diaz to cleanse and breathe and we are moving on and everything is fine:

#911 lone star hate watch #lone star hate watch #i hate tk strand with every fibre of my being #this episode was the worst yet #everyone is awful

24 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

Running to a Standstill - 5

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1939

Rating: E

Square filled: none for this chapter

Warnings: none

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 5

It had been a long time since Steve had had to share his space. Even in the army, he’d ended up with his own quarters after he’d agreed to go on the USO tour. Now there were bras hanging on a rack in the bathroom to dry. Toys all over his floor and his fridge was full of things like go-gurt and applesauce that came in satchels. It was a lot to get used to, but he was enjoying it. He liked the noise and the chaos at Geo’s bedtime. He liked coming home and you being there whether it be just be watching some tv, or cooking dinner, or giving Geo a bath. He even liked it when you weren’t there and there were just signs you would be back again. The dishes in the sink or Geo’s Lego spread out on the coffee table.

After the incident at your apartment, you had agreed to stay with Steve at the tower. The fact the people after you were willing to commit suicide over anyone finding out where they were from meant this was bigger than just you or Geo. You had agreed - rather reluctantly at first - to stay with him until they could get to the bottom of it.

His apartment was only two bedrooms and given that you had only been dating for a little while, you’d been sharing a bedroom with Geo. He hadn’t wanted to pressure you into becoming more intimate than you were ready for and if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he was ready for it either. Partly because of the high stress of the situation, he worried that any feelings the two of you shared might be too heightened, and partially because he always needed to be sure. He’d taken two years to get to a first kiss with Peggy. He was slow to act.

He did like you though and he liked having you around. He was aware that he overthought everything, but he was also becoming very aware of something else. He liked being needed. Right now you needed him and he didn’t want that to go away.

Unfortunately, trying to find the people who had done this to you was proving harder than it seemed. IGH was a shell company covering the tracks of a medical research group looking into replicating the super serum. They seemed to have gone defunct years ago after some success though the levels of cover-ups of whoever was the result of that success were the kind only an incredible amount of money could buy. Steve had put Tony on trying to unravel the threads and he’d eventually come back with the name of a private investigator and an address of her office.

As he rode the elevator up in the Hell’s Kitchen apartment building a thick dread filled him over the fact that the serum had worked so well on him and people were going to keep trying to replicate that again and again until someone worked it out or he died.

The elevator stopped and he and Bucky stepped out. “You think she might run?”

Steve shook his head. “From what I gather she’s one of the good ones. Abrasive, but she’s been linked to the taking out of several criminals.”

Bucky nodded and the two walked to the end of the hall. The door for Alias Investigations had seen better days. It had several chunks out of it and in the space glass would normally be sitting, a large piece of cardboard was taped into place. Steve rapped his knuckles on one of the undamaged parts of the door and it rattled in place.

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door and it creaked open just a little. The pale face of Jessica Jones poked around the corner, her jet black hair framing her face.

“Oh hell no,” she said and tried to shove the door closed.

Steve caught it and for a moment he thought she was still going to manage to shut the door on him. They were definitely on the right track. “Ms. Jones, we just have some questions.”

“No. Fuck, no. I’m not getting involved in any of your goody-two-shoes, Avengers bullshit,” she said, giving up on holding him back and striding back into her office. “I have enough of my own shit to deal with than to worry about fucking Aliens and out of control robots.”

“Ms. Jones,” Steve said, as she went and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from her desk, unscrewed the cap, and started drinking straight from it. “We just want to ask some questions. It’s about an organization known as Industrial Garments and Handling. We believe you might know about them.”

She lowered the bottle and narrowed her eyes and collapsed down into the chair behind the desk. “You’re too late. There is no IGH. I shut them down. Everyone involved with it is dead.”

“You know them then?” Steve asked, taking a seat. Bucky stayed standing by the door like he was expecting Jones to try to run.

“I know them. They did this to me,” she said and clenched her fist on the bottle. It shattered, spraying glass and alcohol everywhere. “And I made them pay for it.”

“Did you sign up for experimentation?” Steve asked, and quickly held up his hands. “No judgment. I signed up to be a lab rat too.”

Jones shook her head. “No. I was in a car accident and they took me. What’s this about?”

“They were involved in human experimentation several years back. We believe they were trying to make some kind of combat enhancers,” Steve said.

Jones scoffed and spun around on her chair, and began rifling through a filing cabinet. “You have so many resources at your hands and that’s where you are? You’re a little behind. They were, the army had them and were using them on soldiers. There’s one still alive. His name is in here -” she spun back around and tossed a stack of files on the desk. “As for IGH there’s a nurse and a janitor still alive and they’re in prison. The rest is gone. You’re chasing a dead lead. You can relax and take a break.”

“I’m afraid we can’t. We have one of their test subjects in custody. They’ve been trying to take her in,” Steve said. “I’ve found with places like this, you think you get the root of the evil and you’ve just been pruning back some leaves.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed derisively. “Nice analogy, Cap,” she said. “I’m sorry about your friend, but they tried to destroy their own work, including me. I know they’re gone because no one has tried to kill me in months now. Whoever is trying to get to them, it’s not IGH.”

Steve sighed. She seemed so certain, but someone had been trying to take you and Geo, and this company was involved somehow. “Everything you have is in here?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, take it,” Jones said. “Now get out. I have work to do.”

Steve stood and nodded. “Thank you for your help. I’ll call you if I have any questions.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Jones said. “I have friends who’ll get a kick out of the voice message I have from Captain America.”

As they went back into the hall, Bucky laughed softly. “She was charming.”

Steve bit back his own laughter. “Well, I guess you don’t have to be pleasant to do good.”

“You can say that again,” Bucky said, jabbing the button to call the elevator. “You think this is a dead-end?”

Steve flicked through the folders as he got onto the elevator. “They obviously didn’t go away completely. Whatever remnants existed might have been absorbed by something else, and going off how hard it was for me to keep that door open, I’d say they might have gotten closer than most at replicating what was done to us. I’m guessing that something has taken what they can and is after Geo to fill in the blanks. This is a start.”

The elevator stopped and Steve and Bucky began to make the walk back to the tower. It was only seven blocks and even with the fact they were going to get stopped several times on the way, it was still easier to walk it than try and find a parking spot in Hell’s Kitchen.

“I should grab something for dinner on the way home,” Steve mused as he shoved the folders into his jacket and zipped it up. But he and Bucky pulled on their ball caps and put on sunglasses. Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket to hide the telltale glint of metal.

“What? You sick of home-cooked meals already?” Bucky teased.

Steve chuckled and nudged Bucky in the familiar way that always came so naturally to him, his shoulder bumping into his friend’s and pushing him slightly off course. “Hardly,” he replied. “I just worry about her thinking she owes me. I’m really up in my head about it. It’s hard dating someone who’s living with you and who is that reliant on you. The line between normal boyfriend and girlfriend things and a person in a vulnerable position thinking that they need to comply with a request so they feel safe is blurred.”

Bucky’s lips twitched and he shook his head. “Steve, I love you, pal,” he said. “But do you overthink or what?”

Steve shrugged and let out a breath. “I’ve never been good with this kind of thing, Buck. You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Bucky agreed. “And it’s sweet how you worry about things like that. It’s the reason why it took us so long to hug when you finally tracked me down though, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I know. What do you think I should do? I want to move forward with her. I’d even be happy if she started sleeping in my bed, but all we’ve done is some quick pecks on the lips when I’ve gotten home and cuddling on the couch. And I don’t even know if I can count the cuddling on the couch because she cuddles with you too. You’ve always been better with women than I have. What would you do?”

There was a heavy silence in the air while Bucky seemed to think it over. When he finally spoke his voice sounded slightly tight and Steve wondered if he’d pushed him too far into thinking about how he used to be. “Take her out again. On an actual date. I’ll watch Geo if she’s okay with it, or I’m sure Clint and Nat will come around if she still doesn’t trust me. Talk about it with her. Then kiss her for fuck’s suck. Properly.”

Steve nodded, still not quite sure how to actually talk about it. A date would be good though, the domestic thing made it hard to do anything romantic anyway. “You wanna have dinner with us?”

Bucky nodded. “Sure. What are we having?”

“Burgers seem safe don’t you think?” Steve said. “Geo would probably eat a cheeseburger.”

There was another small nod from Bucky and Steve pulled out his phone, texting you for any special requests and to make sure you didn’t start cooking. He hoped he could move things forward with you a little, but it wouldn’t be the first time he ended up having unrequited feelings for someone. Either way, it was nice he could have you both in his life sharing dinner.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

298 notes · View notes

alessandriana · 3 years

Photo

For @laylainalaska, @glorious-spoon and @gwynnia -- I combined prompts in the interests of getting as many done tonight as I can!

Peggy found Jack huddled sideways in the passenger seat of the car, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Mud and water dripped from his clothes and the ends of his hair onto the dirt, and his face was pale. Periodic shivers rolled through his body. Scattered snowflakes drifted down from the sky, lighting in his hair and on his shoulders, melting too slowly, though the heat was running full blast. Daniel was leaning against the car next to him, shielding him a little from the wind on the side the car door didn't protect.

Jack didn't look up when she walked up, though the ground was gravel and she made no effort to be silent. She glanced at Daniel, who grimaced and wiggled his hand back and forth, which she took to mean Jack hadn't improved much since she'd left.

She reached out and nudged his toe with her own foot, and that did the trick, at least-- he jerked his head up. It took him a moment. Then he said, "Peggy," with a little bit of a slur to the name. Hopefully from the cold, and not the sign of a head injury, she mused.

She held out a thermos and two wax-wrapped packets. "I brought you gifts," she said. "Cocoa, and... turkey and cheese, I believe. Agent Turner had them." She'd stolen them with no regret, though Turner'd given her a mournful look as she'd walked off. It'd probably been his Thanksgiving meal; she'd have to make up for it later.

Jack leaned his head against the door frame. "'m not hungry," he said, letting his eyes slip closed.

"At very least, you can at least drink the cocoa," Peggy said. Steam escaped when she opened the lid. She handed it over, and Jack emerged from the blanket enough to cup it in his hands, putting his face in the heat and breathing deeply. "That's not drinking..."

"Yeah, yeah." Jack at least sounded a little more alert. He tilted the thermos up and took a small sip, then another larger one.

In the meantime, Peggy handed one of the sandwiches to Daniel, who started pulling off the wax paper. He took a bite, then glanced down at it, grimaced, swallowed, shrugged, and took another bite. "Did they get Yates and that device sorted out?" he asked, chewing.

"Yes, Marshall and Flynn have it all packed up in a crate, ready to be shipped back to the SSR as soon as they can find a truck large enough. And the Hudson's already mostly back to its previous levels. Yates is getting handed over to the feds, though he still won't say why he tried to flood the city."

Jack coughed, and said, "I figured that one out actually, while he tried to drown me."

Peggy and Daniel exchanged a look. "Oh?"

"He was trying to get out of Thanksgiving with his in-laws."

Dead silence for a second. "You've got to be shitting me," Daniel said.

Jack raised two fingers. "Swear on my honor, that's what he said." He coughed again. "Hates his mother-in-law. Guess their property is right on the river..."

Peggy closed her eyes for a brief moment. Remembered watching Daniel pull Jack out of the raging Hudson; how limp and silent he'd been, the way for a moment, she'd thought... "Of all the selfish, idiotic motivations," she said, bitterness coating the words.

When she opened her eyes again, Jack was giving her a look. He tapped his foot against the side of hers. "So was that other sandwich for me, or...?"

Reminded, she handed the packet over. Jack took a bite; an undisguised look of horror crossed his face, and he leaned to the side to spit it out, half choking. "Christ," he said, once Peggy had finished thumping him on the back. "You said that was turkey and cheese? What the hell. That is the absolute worst sandwich I've ever had. How are you eating that, Daniel?"

Daniel took another bite of his with a perfectly straight face, though Peggy wasn't sure he was actually chewing. "Army, remember? I've got an iron stomach. Not like you sensitive Navy types."

"Oh come on."

Peggy took the sandwich back from Jack, sniffed, and took an experimental bite. Saliva flooded her mouth and she had to work to swallow. Christ, that's awful. Turner should be grateful she'd saved him from possible food poisoning. "It's... not that bad," she managed to get out.

Jack glared at both of them indiscriminately. "I hate you both." He swigged from the thermos again, swishing it around his mouth to get the taste out.

While he drank, Peggy leaned discreetly to the side and dropped the rest of the sandwich in the dirt behind the car. Wiping her hands off, she met Daniel's eyes. They started laughing at the same time, Daniel's eyes crinkling, Peggy nearly snorting. Jack watched them over the rim of the thermos, bemused, but lips turning up at the corners.

"C'mon," Peggy said, once she'd gotten herself back under control. She took the sandwich from Daniel and dropped it in the dirt as well to join the first. "It's Thanksgiving. Let's go get some actual food."

"At this time of night?" Jack said. "Not to mention, I should really go home and get changed--"

"It's New York City," Daniel said. "There has to be a diner open somewhere, right?"

Jack looked between Daniel, heading for the back seat, and Peggy, sliding into the driver's. Then he rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat to face forward and shutting the door. "I think Dino's on 16th is 24 hours," he offered.

"Dino's it is," Peggy said, and backed out, right over the sandwiches.

#agent carter #peggy carter #jack thompson #daniel sousa

38 notes · View notes

godwithwethands · 3 years

Note

lmao i don't know all your shipping preferences but can i say, i much prefer sam with ba'al than with jack (this might be because i'm a high jack/daniel shipper but also, i just prefer the sam/ba'al vibe over the sam/jack vibe)

I'm a multishipper so I ship pretty much everything simultaneously: I love JackDaniel too 🥰🥰🥰 They are so cute and so good for eachother 🥺

Honestly yeah I prefer the vibe of BaalSam to JackSam as well 👁️👅👁️ But that's personal taste and interpretation of course 🥴

Oh no now I feel like explaining in depth why I love Baalsam and why I ship it... oh no... someone stop me 😩... LET'S FREAKING GO I'M GONNA EXPLAIN WHY!!!!

Mino’s “Here’s why I love BaalSam so much” aka just me gathering up the few baalsam crumbs the show writers, Amanda Tapping and Cliff Simon left in their wake....and baking a cake with those crumbs.

Before I start, PSA: English is not my first language, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes 😭

Okay so I feel like at first I can't explain it without mentioning the differences with jacksam, and to all jacksam shippers: I love jacksam to bits too and they're so good, as the show has showed us multiple times, but I miss a little spice here 😩🌶️

I will also briefly talk about things I have found in Baalsam fics that I adore in (Fic points)!! And link back to fics I love with (x)!!!!

(Mid-writing note: I realize I say a lot about Baal and less about Sam, and that is because I just think about Baal way much than I think about Sam, mainly because we have so little Baal screentime compared to Sam’s screentime. I often wonder how/what he feels and try to analyze his behavior closely. 🥺 I don’t do it as much with Sam, sadly 😭

1. The ship dynamic scale (totally made up by yours truly, me 😎)

I often describe the ships I prefer as "A is obnoxious and B is struggling to stay sane" (maybe because it is a description of my own relationship??? 🤔) (this is exagerrated for fun and giggles don't worry i am fine and happy). They are all a variation of this, in different levels. I'd say jacksam fits level 1, Jack being obnoxious sometimes but in an endearing, jokingly, "aww you're such a goof 😍😂" way, and Sam's not really struggling, she just laughs and shakes her head, her heart full of love for her man.

Baalsam on the other hand. Oh boy. They are on level 5 out of 5. What the hell. Baal is obnoxious, in the villain way. And that means, a VERY extra way. He's mean obnoxious. Putting salt in the wound obnoxious. "if you don't shut up I will punch your teeth in/shoot you" obnoxious. Sam is struggling every minute to stay sane with this crazy motherfucker. He's SO MUCH. ALL THE TIME. But joke's on her, she also thinks it's funny. 🤡 That's her sanity flying out the window.

Seriously, Sam has to put her foot down. She has to play Baal’s game and sometimes be mean too. I feel like Baalsam allows Sam to unveil her true potential. A strong woman who takes no shit from men and 2000 years old overlords. She can be 200% true, smug, mean. Maybe JackSam respect each other too much they wouldn’t dare saying/doing some things like Baalsam would 🤔 Maybe Sam is restrained by everything she lived with Jack, the respect she has for him, the 10 or so years spent having him as her superior officer.

A lot think that Sam got her smug from Jack, but I don’t agree: she was smug from the get-go in COFG. She just can’t be too smug with him around or it’d sound like insubordination. Aint she tired of being nice? Doesn’t she wanna go apeshit? That’s what baalsam is. Sam going apeshit and quitting being the perfect nice girl.

Baalsam is an explosive volcano and it ravaged me 😩💖💖💖

2. Baal is a Villain

Send him to horny villain jail!!! BONK!!! 💥🔨

Baal being a villain is VERY important. Villains are so extreme. Everything he does, he does way too hard and too much. His evil plans? As layered as an ogre. Onion. I meant onion. His wardrobe? Nothing but the finest. His love? He'd give his Queen the Universe.

I love that. Everything he does, it's too much. But it's so amazing. Urghhj I love it SO MUCH. Sam is overwhelmed 😩💖 All of that for HER?? Damn, boi either really wants to get laid with her especially or.. 🙊‼️ I love the concept of a Villain’s Love because it knows no boundaries. A villain won’t be held back by things like morals, the love they feel is disproportionate......AND I DONT KNOW Sam being able to provoke this kind of feeling in Baal’s little snake heart makes me lose my absolute fucking mind!!!!!

Very important too: even if he becomes a SGC ally in one way or another in whatever AU, Baal will still keep his good ol' villain habits. Sam would try to tone them down, but they will always be there. You don't erase 2000 years of bad habits 😭. His first solution will be murder, and she will go "we talked about this." Classical Enemies to Lovers shit 🥴💖 (x)

(Fic point: When Baal does something so extreme yet so so soooo damn sweet for her and Sam can’t believe it??? 10/10 Or when he acts on his villain plans for distasteful jokes and that puts Sam on a tight spot and he immediately feels bad at the unfair treatment she gets because of him (x))

3. The endless verbal jousting

I love watching them being mean to each other. If Baal goes too far, she /would/ hit him, and he would turn his other cheek saying "Do it again, loved it". What a freak 🥴🌶️ (x)

Honestly I just love their little sparring matches, even more so when they do it in front of an audience. Like lmao guys..... y'all flirting in front of everyone what the hell!!! BONK !! 💥🔨 horny jail for both of you. At least Teal’c seems to enjoy their jousting 😂 He even teases them holy shit, Teal’c is the true multishipper in that show!!!!

(Fic point: When they argue and come to a fistfight (mostly Sam hitting and Baal taking or blocking the hits)? HELL YEAH!!!!)

4. Admitting the other’s qualities

I’ll start with Baal:

Baal seems to appreciate the courage Sam shows in front of him. You could explain her confidence in The Quest by saying that at this very moment Baal doesn’t have an advantage on Sam since she’s the one holding the gun. There is something else, and I will bring it up later.

Let’s talk about Reckoning!!!! The situation is different, Baal actually called for help whereas he was supposed to kill everyone on Dakara. And here goes the little sparring match in front of Jacob 🤡 Sam ordering Baal around??? Being smug as hell??? 10/10 love it

It’s the first time he sees her and he’s taken aback. He should look mad, having a woman addressing him like that. But he looks rather surprised and curious of what’s going to happen next. I can literally hear the little “Hm. Interesting.” in his head. Baal enjoys that smug look on her face. Tau’ri female who??? Who IS she!!! Quick gotta be a jerk so she won’t suspect I’m crushing super hard right now!!!! Cliff Simon decided Baal will be the horny one among the System Lords and holy shit he did just that 😂😂😂 i’m sorry i’m just incohenrently babbling at this point I CANT BELIEVE THIS, I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!! you thought that huge ass post was going to be me thoughtfully bringing points and evidence? nope it’s just me losing my shit.

I believe that, despite what Baal says, he recognizes Sam’s intelligence to some extent. He’s just too proud to say it clearly and is too busy testing Sam’s limits. The more I think about it, the more I feel like he really looked for that punch in The Quest. Some kind of... I don’t know... “What makes you so special, as a female Tau’ri, to be on your kind’s elite scout team? How much can you take before you retaliate, if you retaliate at all? Show me what you’re made of.” kind of thing? Baal has shown some kind of interest in Earthlings in the past. He has studied them while living among them and he seems to like how different they are from other humans, Now he knows she’s as fierce as she needs to be to survive in this galaxy.

Have you sEEN his smile and his laugh after she punched him in The Quest? AFTER SHE TURNED HER BACK TO HIM TOO, OH, MY GOD. He really wanted a drastic reaction from her and he got it.

That is a “I love me a woman who can kick my ass” kinda smile if you ask me 👁️w👁️...

What makes me think that it was a test is: after the punch and Sam’s threat to kill him, he stops being so annoying and they can finally work together. But why? Why did he care about being killed? He was a clone, there’s no way he was still hoping to steal the Sangraal from SG-1, so his mission as this one Baal clone couldn’t be fulfilled anyway. That makes me think that he was just testing Sam’s limits, and maybe having a little fun with her.

(Fic point: I LOVE IT when Baal gets access to the SGC and everyone gets on his nerves because he thinks they are all dumb as shit. But when he talks with Sam, he’s not so annoyed. She can keep up with him. Well, sometimes she needs a little help but- Maybe she’s okay to be with sometimes...(x))

Sam’s turn:

It’s no problem for Sam to admit Baal’s intelligence. However the idea of working with him just makes her go [grimacing emoji] 😭 😭 😭 She just knows he’s gonna be obnoxious pfahahaha But!! She trusts and values his knowledge nonetheless! She knows that teamed up with Baal, they can solve anything. I believe that’s why she asks him for help so easily despite...Well, Baal being Baal.

I feel like, when you put the "it’s a matter of life and death” thing aside, Sam’s desire to learn could push her towards Baal. She knows there is a lot she could learn from him, and they can work together once he stops insulting her every 5 seconds. She can learn from him in those moments.

(Fic point: I love fics where Sam learns things from Baal... It’s usually very sweet, because Sam is absolutely adorable when she’s excited about science and Baal can’t help but melt a little bit when she smiles so bright at him. Thankful.)

5. Sam’s kindness

I said earlier that, as we all know, Baal is a villain. But what’s important here is that he is a Goa’uld System Lord.

No trust, no kindness and love allowed between those guys. Those would leave the door open for treason and low blows. (See Qetesh in Continuum)

(I believe the only Goa’ulds truly in love we saw were Apophis and Amaun’et)

Now what I tell myself is: that must be pretty freaking lonely. In any shape or form. You can’t have friends, because you can only befriend your fellow godlings who will try to kill you at any given opportunity. Same for mates. 🤔 Baal is just alone at the top of his army and that’s all. What if this isn’t enough? He is different from other Goa’ulds.

What if Sam’s genuine worry and thankfulness towards him in Reckoning were the first time he had someone feel those towards him for like, hundreds, or even thousands of years? Not something distorted and stained by any slave-to-god adoration?

He is soooo surprised. He even stutters a little? At a loss for words when faced with kindness, you, galactic overlord? And she looks actually worried about him and his ship about to go down, when before saying thank you, she asks him what’s going on. I like to think that this first interaction shaped what Baal will think and feel for Sam forever....And that it made him a bit soft for her 🥺 Maybe he sees in Sam (and in the rest of SG-1, see: how much fun he’s having with them during The Quest) a possibility for friendship and maybe more, something he hasn’t considered for A WHILE. He seems to be thinking “did she really say that...wait what do I answer to this...uh....Good luck.......ok i said it. damn that was weird.”

Also can I briefly talk about this??

Why does Sam look so embarrassed in a “Oh god right Dad is right there and saw all of that hUM.” way 😂 I don’t think she felt like it was creepy, since Baal was just responding to her kindness, and she definetely doesn’t want to talk about her being nice to a System Lord with Jacob bjfdjgbfdg

(Fic point: All I can think of is this fic where Sam gets thrown in a prison cell with a badly beaten up Baal (his symbiote is not able to heal his wounds because of a collar he wears), and she refuses to leave him there to die. They escape together 😭💖💖💖 (x))

6. Sam knows Baal will never hurt her

Maybe this is a result of Sam’s kindness in Reckoning, but Baal made it clear to Sam that he would never hurt her directly. And this is what I was referring to when I said “there’s something else” in Sam’s confidence in confronting Baal. This line below activates all of my monkey braincells because what the hell!!!!

That’s “I kinda like you” in Villain language is it not????? Out of all the things Baal could have answered to “You can kill me if you want”, he decides to say “I would never dream of killing you.” with a voice so soft... oh my god. Talking about soft....

Is it me or Baal’s touch on Sam is kind of gentle....like he doesn’t hold her wrist too tight or anything,,,, 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭💖💖💖 Because honestly, another Goa’uld would have yanked on her arm so hard to put their hands on that hard drive but no no no he just closes his hand on her wrist and lets her go gently when she pulls out of his grip and AM I OVERANALYZING THIS?????? IM SORRY I GOT THAT TRAIT FROM MY DAD!!!!!!! we just have that tendency to watch things over and over again to notice all the small detailsssss

I like to think that afterwards, once the heat of the moment gone, she noticed that, hey. He /could/ have hurt her very badly, she was at his mercy after all. But he decided against it. Maybe because she’s the only one who’s been nice to him for literal cenTURIES????? HHHNHNHNHNHN I CANT!!!!!!!!!!! I HOPE SHE NOTICED IT!!!! And that it’s why she’s so confident addressing him like she does in The Quest.

I think I’ve addressed pretty much everything here and I’m going to talk about more things I like about BaalSam but more on the headcanon side 🤔

Miscellaneous:

About Baal’s host:

I have said multiple times that Baal is different from other Goa’ulds, and I really don’t think it is just an act.

He is willing to break the god act, change strategies when he realizes there are better ways to proceed, searching for new allies in drastic situations, etc etc... Baal is way more human than other Goa’ulds.

What if that was because Baal let his host’s thoughts influence his own?

Why wouldn’t there be asshole humans wanting to be hosts to asshole Goa’uld symbiotes? Just like the Tok’ra, but on the villain side? (even if Tok’ras are assholes lol) (except Jacob. I love Jacob) (And Martouf) (I don’t like Martouf but he’s the only one with Jacob that I consider a Real Tok’ra) (The other ones are hypocrites) (ANYWAY!)

I love to think that when Baal doesn’t have the flanged voice, it is his host who speaks, as Tok’ras do. I know symbiotes don’t have to talk with the flanged voice but. Having Baal and his host thinking so alike that it doesn’t matter if it’s the host or the symbiote talking makes so much sense to me. It really could explain his different way of thinking. Baal has shown curiosity for humans and how they think, how to better manipulate them...What if it was because of the good experience he has with his host? It could also explain why he’s the horny one amongst the System Lords 😂 He is just very human in a lot of ways.

Now you’re like “ok but what does that have to do with Baalsam” AND YEAH I HEAR YOU !!!! I just think it may be easier to imagine Baalsam for a non-shipper if you see Baal in that light? 🤔 🤔 🤔 it sure helps Sam seeing herself with him in fics 🥴 I don’t know!!! We know so little about Baal, and there are so many possibilites. I’m going way out of the Baalsam remit but at the same time, I strongly believe those who don’t understand the ship are those who stop their analysis of Baal at Abyss. He is so much more than just “that one Goa’uld who tortured and killed Jack in that one episode”. Baal has so much potential that makes this ship work!! Sam seeing that potential makes this ship work!

Sam hosting Baal (yes, the symbiote):

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO!!! This is something I LOVE to bits!!

That’s a thing that is great if as I said, Baal and his host are on the same wavelength. But it can work without it nonetheless.

Sam hosting Baal, consensual or not, is always ALWAYS such an amazing trope. (x) It’s really something that makes me hyperventilate because it makes them so close...so blended...it’s infinitely intimate... When Baal is in love with Sam, it’s even better. (x) I almost can’t describe it because it is so wonderful. Being able to feel each other’s feelings. Baal healing Sam from inside when she’s injured. Sam deciphering his emotions and most importantly the affection he has for her, especially when he still haven’t confessed it? holy shit it’s SO DAMN GOOD!!!!! The silent conversations they can have within Sam’s head, Baal pouring Goa’uld knowledge into Sam’s mind. It’s just the two of them and I can’t express how comforting that is to read.

i don’t know, random stuff I like i guess, I’m almost done:

He just really craves her attention huh. Look at that smile, so cute...”I’m smart! Did you know I’m smart as hell? Of course you did. But I Would Like You To Acknowledge It.” He’s even bouncing on his heels, i love when he does that!!!! He is turning towards Sam especially too 😭💖 and she’s just ê____ê LMFAO

(Maybe this is just another “it is my speciality and not yours” moment but hey i like to give him the benefit of the doubt 💖)

Baal being “I’m tired of being a villain, I want to be loved now”...Aren’t you tired of going apeshit? Don’t you want to be nice? just a little bit?

Baal using so much petnames so easily... i’m usually not a fan of those but having him saying “my love, my sweet” etc etc oh fuck!!!!! i don’t know wHY it gets me!!!

A lot of Baalsam fics are smutty, and while I enjoy that, I still think they have so much potential on the spiritual level. They’re both nerds and they both have so many things to learn from the other. (x)

Baal taking Sam on his ship to show her some neat space stuff.

Baal loving motorcycles just like Sam and modifying engines with naqadah.

Guess i’m just gonna link to fics I love now nvkjfdg and that I haven’t linked to already--

In the Lap of the Gods - Rating: M - Sam gets stuck in a sarcophagus with Baal. Really well thought fic, I love it!!!

The Mating game - Rating: M - Ten dates. Can I call this slow burn? It’s slow but not too slow. Please read this, it’s hilarious and so well written like- this fic makes me lose my absolute shit!

The Mating Game: Endgame - Rating: E - Read after The Mating Game. Honestly yEAH!!! Amazing sequel to an already amazing prequel, what else can I say 😩💖 you got some Host!Sam action in this too!!

Enemy Amongst Us - Rating: E - Hmmmm Sam falling for Baal is always yummy 🥴 It has more than that, it’s pretty wild!!!!!!

Those are not all but they are the ones i prefer 🥺💖💖💖 (along the ones I linked during the essay)

I think I’m done? Congratulations for reading all of this lmao 😭💖 I hope you can see why I love Baalsam so much now!! They are just SO MUCH FUN!!!

feel free to send me asks and stuff about this TvT/

#stargate sg1 #baalsam #samantha carter #baal #my thoughts #that was long but fun #i dont think im bringing anything new to this part of the fandom but heyyyyyyyy #*daniel voice* anyway i'm sorry but that's how i feel about it!!!!! what do you think?????#in conclusion: THEY ARE HILARIOUS. that's it #i could have just said that #but i didnt #me*baalsam

16 notes · View notes

maylovexhs · 3 years

Text

everytime - X+Y(Chp. 40)

Author’s Note: Less than five chapters of everytime. Writing this literally broke my heart but boy, some shit goes down in this one. I was slightly inspired by Miaculous Ladybug but hey, this is my new favorite chapter. Enjoy loves - May.

Catch up on everytime here

December 7th, 2019. 11 PM.

Okay, it was working. Harry’s scheme to make me fall in love with him was working. Well, a little. If getting nervous every time Harry looked or flashed a smile at me counted, I guess his plan was working. It was working ever since I spoke to him in the hallway. I could have swore Harry was being more nice than ever before. It was if he was trying to show me how better he was than Ashton. Paying for all our drinks, giving me too much compliments, charming Ali who I swore could never be swayed and bragging about his accomplishments. I thought I was immune to Harry’s flirting and narcissistic ways but by the looks of my sweaty hands, that clearly changed.

“You put her in a song?” Rita asked Harry. “Your ex?”

I looked to Harry.

“Yeah” Harry said. “The name of it is our name together. Cherry”

Ah, yes. Cherry. The song about Camille. Harry was telling Rita all about her. I hated to admit it but I felt a little spike of jealousy in me. I shouldn’t be but I was. It’s just . . . the way Harry talks about her is beautiful. He talks about her like she was everything to him. Was I everything to him? He practically confessed he loved me and keeps flirting with me all night but I wasn’t quite sure. Would I ever be sure with him? Was I really enough for Harry? Was Harry really sure I was right for him when there are other girls better for him?

“Just in the beginning you hear her” Harry said. “It’s nice to be friends after everything”

Harry looked to me. I looked away, looking around the bar for the hundredth time tonight. I was surprised Rita didn’t notice yet.

“Says you” Rita said. “All of my exes do is talk shit about me . . . Why did you two break up again? You sounded so happy with her”

“The distance got to us” Harry said. “I started tour when we got together. We decided it was better to call it off”

“Well. . .” Rita said, holding her drink up. “I can drink to that one”

Rita took a sip of her drink. She looked to me.

“Y/N,” Rita called on me. “What about you?”

Oh, great. My turn to talk.

“What about me?” I asked her.

“What’s going on with you?” She asked me. “Taken up any lovers?”

I bit my lip, tempted to lie. I had enough going on in my love life to want another person involved. Especially Rita of all people.

“No” I lied, shaking my head. “Nothing really new”

Harry and Ali looked to me, a little surprised. Rita squinted her eyes at me, suspicious of me.

“Liar” Rita said.

“What?” I asked her.

“You’re lying” Rita said. “I saw photos of you kissing someone. He had blue hair, right?”

“They just broke up” Ali said, jumping in to save me. “It was nothing serious”

“You broke up with Ashton?” Harry asked me, dumbfounded.

I turned to him, shooting a “not helping” look to him.

“Ashton” Rita said. “That’s his name?”

“Yeah” I said, nodding. “We’re on a break”

“A break?” Rita said, more interested than before. “Because . . .”

I looked down at my drink.

“I really don’t prefer to talk about it” I said. “It’s confusing as it is”

Rita looked to Harry.

“Do you know something about this?” She asked him. “You know him”

I looked to Harry. Harry looked from Rita to me. I stared at him with desperate eyes.

Please. Please don’t say anything.

Rita looked at us, confused.

“Am I missing something?” Rita asked us.

I looked to Rita, taking matters into my own hands before Harry could.

“Maybe we should just leave it alone, Rita” Ali said. “You wouldn’t want to hear-“

“No,no” I said, cutting Ali off. “It’s just . . .”

Was I really going to tell Rita everything? I couldn’t. But I had to tell her something just to shut her up.

“There’s this other guy” I said.

Rita smirked at me.

“Really?” Rita asked, now excited. “Spill. Everything”

I sighed, looking down at my bottle.

“Well, he’s a close friend of mine” I said. “He told me he loved me but I have no idea if I should be with him”

“Oh my!” Rita exclaimed. “You’re in a love triangle! What’s his name? Do I know him?”

“No” Ali said, answering for me.

Rita looked to Ali.

“He’s from New York.” Ali said. “Not in the industry. I introduced Y/N to him”

Rita looked back to me.

“What’s his name though?” Rita asked me.

Crap. Think fast.

I looked at Ali’s drink. Jack Daniel.

I looked up to Rita.

“Jack . . .” I said.

Harry and Ali let out a small sigh, relieved.

“Okay, Jack. . .” Rita said. “Tell me about him. How close are you with him?”

“Umm, two-three years I’ve known him” I said, lying. “Didn’t talk for a few months between then but-“

“But?” Rita said. “Did he do something?”

I bit my bottom lip.

Great . . . I had to make a whole backstory in a span of a second.

“Yeah, something. . .” I said, having no idea what to say.

Rita laughed at me.

“I know” Rita said. “I’m asking what is that something, Y/N”

I looked to Harry out of panic.

Something. What should I tell her? Should I tell her about what Harry done to me? Should I tell her about how hurt Harry made me? How he left me for another girl? How much pain I felt as I tried to pick up the pieces that he broke all alone? How hard it took me to move on and find someone actually good for me? How he had the nerve now to tell me he loved me after I forced myself to never think of him in that way again? Seriously, who the hell did he think he was? He knew I was happy. He knew I was and always he had to ruin it. You know what? It was my turn. It was my turn to hurt him. It was my turn to make him feel what I felt.

I looked to Rita.

“Yeah” I said. “I liked him. I told him I did and he left me for another girl-“

“Wait, what?” Rita said. “He had another girl?”

“Hmmm” I said, nodding. “Didn’t talk to him for a few months later. One day he came back and apologized to me. Stupid me forgave him and we were friends again”

“Stupid?” Rita asked, in disbelief. “I’m sorry to say it but . . . wow! He left you for another girl and you let him back into your life? I wouldn’t. How could you?”

“I told you, Rita” I said. “I was stupid”

“I know but so is he!” Rita said. “You’re . . . you and he leaves you for another girl?”

“He didn’t mean it” Harry said.

Rita, Ali and I looked to Harry. He had his mouth open to continue to speak but quickly shut it, knowing he had to pick his words carefully.

“What?” Rita asked him.

“I’ve met him . . .” Harry told Rita. “Y/N told me and I talked to him about it”

Nice save. . . asshole.

“And what was his excuse?” Rita asked him. “What was that dickhead’s reasoning?”

I smirked at Harry. What was his excuse again?

Harry looked down for a moment. He then looked to me.

“He was an idiot” Harry said. “Didn’t realize what was standing in front of him before it was too late”

I squinted at him, not believing him for a second.

“Oh, that’s bullshit” Rita said, looking to me. “That’s what they all say. He’s a fuck boy. If he could realize he wants to be with another girl, how could he not realize that with you?”

I didn’t understand that either. It always puzzled me what Harry saw in Kendall but didn’t see in me now and then. It’s me. What did Kendall have I didn’t? She’s not the one who has always been there for him. She’s not the one who sat listening to Harry cry over his ex-girlfriend. She’s not the one who helped him fix his broken heart. I did all that. I did and Harry didn’t see that.

“He isn’t that bad” Harry told Rita.

“H, you think no one is bad” Rita told him.

Rita looked to me.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t give him a chance” Rita said. “He didn’t give you one when you said you liked him”

“I know” I said. “But I wish it was that easy”

“Why not?” Rita asked me. “Just tell him to get out of your life”

I looked to Ali.

Help me out here?

“I know why” Ali said.

“I don’t” Rita said.

I kept quiet.

I basically just told Harry I hated him. How could I tell him I didn’t now? How could I tell him that even after everything he’s done to me, I still wanted him in my life? He hurt me so much but I couldn’t lose him. That would hurt me the most. It hurt me so much when I didn’t speak to him for two years. I couldn’t imagine the pain if we stopped talking again. Harry was my best friend. We were always friends. I still wanted to be his friend by the end of the day.

“Oh, come on” Rita said. “You can’t tease me about it and not tell me the rest. What does he had that your Ashton doesn’t have?”

I looked to Harry. He was staring at me, waiting for my answer. He had that look in his eyes I’ve seen before. The same look in his eyes when he told me Nadine broke up with him. The same look of hope lost.

I let out a sigh.

Why couldn’t I just know already?

My focus returned to Rita.

“Well, ever since I met him . . . I just felt being with him was right” I confessed.

Rita looked at me, expecting more.

“I didn’t have to pretend with him” I continued to speak. “I feel comfortable with him like I don’t need to explain myself. He just . . . gets me”

“And?” Rita asked. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I can’t trust him” I said. “I can’t trust him if he’s going to be my boyfriend.”

“Yes, you could” Harry said.

I looked to Harry, who seemed more determined than before to convince me.

“How?” I asked him. “After everything, he’s done . . . It’s not that easy when to pretend everything is okay when it’s not. It’s hard to believe he could when he showed me he can’t”

“I have. I could. ” Harry said. “I feel the same, Y/N. I never thought I would end up in love with you but . . . I’ve always felt drawn to you since we met”

“Wait, what?” Rita said, shocked. “You like Y/N?”

Rita looked from Harry to me.

“I thought Jack liked you?” Rita asked me.

Rita looked back to Harry. Her mouth dropped open, everything making sense.

“You’re Jack?” She asked Harry.

Harry nodded. Ali facepalmed herself. Rita smiled at Harry and I.

“You two . . .” Rita began to speak, a little speechless. “I mean, I imagined it but . . . shit, you two really”

Harry shook his head, disappointed. He stood up from his chair. He looked to me.

“Sorry” Harry said. “I wanted to talk to you about us but it’s not the right place”

“Oh, no, H” Rita said. “I could leave if you wanted to talk to Y/N alone. I really didn’t mean to call you a dickhead. Well, I did but-“

“It’s okay, Rita” Harry said. “I heard it before”

“But you and Y/N should really talk-“ Rita said before Harry cut her off again.

“No, it’s okay” Harry said, looking to me. “It’s too late anyways”

Rita and Ali looked between Harry and I, waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. I just stared at Harry, completely disappointed.

“I’m sorry, Y/N” Harry said. “I’ll get going”

Harry took his phone and jacket. We watched him as he left the bar. I looked down at my beer, with growing guilt come over me.

I shouldn’t have said all that. Harry looked like he was about to cry. I should have said something but not that.

“You should go talk to him before he leaves” Ali said.

I looked to her.

“You said you wanted to talk to him to get some answers” Ali said. “You don’t know when you will see him again”

“I can’t” I said. “I hurt him and-”

“It’s Harry” Rita said, cutting me off. “He’ll forgive you.”

I bit my lip, tempted.

“Didn’t you say it felt right being with him?” Rita asked me.

I looked to Ali.

“Go talk to him” Ali said. “You don’t need to lose him again. It’s the right thing to do”

It was the right thing to do . . . Harry would think it was right too.

I got up from my chair.

“I’ll be back” I said to Ali. “Watch my stuff”

I walked away from them and out the bar. I stepped outside, seeing Harry stand by the outside of the bar. He was on his phone.

I sighed, relieved. He didn’t leave yet.

“You’re still here” I walked over to him.

Harry looked up from his phone. His eyes looked red. Was he crying before I came out?

“Don’t worry” Harry said. “I’m leaving. I’m waiting for my car.”

I stared at him, having no idea what to say. From his defensive tone of his voice, it was more than clear Harry was angry at me. I always knew what to say to Harry when I wanted to make things right but . . . I’ve never seen him like this before. I felt like anything I could have said or done wouldn’t matter or fix us.

“Aren’t they waiting for you inside?” Harry asked me.

“Uh, yeah” I said. “But you told Rita you’re leaving for LA tomorrow so, this might as well be my last chance to talk to you”

“You still want to talk to me?” Harry asked, a little surprised. “Inside you were-“

“I was mad” I told him. “I didn’t mean it. Well, I did a little but . . . Not like that”

Harry looked down. I did too. Even though we probably had a million thoughts running through our heads, we both didn’t say anything for a moment. I looked down at the cobblestone ground.

I kept thinking of what Harry said to me inside. He said he was always drawn to me since we met. He said he felt the same as me when I said being with him felt right. He said he showed me that I could trust him. But if I did so much, why didn’t I make up my mind sooner about being with him? And if Harry felt he was drawn to me ever since we met, why didn’t he realize or tell me that sooner? He had countless opportunities over these years to tell me but he didn’t. He didn’t give any sign that he loved me like that.

“You really can’t trust me?” I heard Harry ask me.

I looked up from the ground to Harry.

“You said you couldn’t trust me if we were together” Harry said. “Why? You trusted me as your friend”

“Because you were my friend” I said. “You were always my friend. I only imagined you as a friend. Having you as my boyfriend is different. . .”

I let out a little sigh before I continued to explain.

“You always know when something is wrong with me. As much as I try to hide something from you, I just take one look at you and I can’t hold it in anymore. I love you for that but I also hate it. You make me more vulnerable than anyone else and I hate that feeling.” I said. “When I was your friend, I knew I only had to feel that for a little. I knew I could tell you my secrets because the next day you would leave me. I felt safe knowing I could share anything with you and never have to talk about them again. But you asking me to be with you . . . I’m not ready to feel like that everyday. I don’t want to. I can’t-“

“I don’t believe that” Harry told me.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t think you really feel that” Harry said. “If you felt that way, why did you still be my friend all this time? I know there’s another reason”

I looked down.

There was none. I always had trouble trusting and letting people in. Harry was that one person who shined a light on that problem. He just left me so vulnerable. He made me feel weak by just looking at me sometimes.

“There is no other reason” I said. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this”

“But you are” Harry said. “You did think of me more than a friend once. Before I left you for Kendall”

Harry took a step closer to me. He held my hands in his. His eyes had a little hope in them.

“You thought of me more than a friend once.” Harry said. “Can’t you think of me like that now? You have to a little.”

I looked down at our hands. I shook my head.

“I did once” I said. “But not anymore. I can’t see you like that anymore. It’s too late for us”

I let go of Harry’s hands. I turned away to walk back but Harry quickly stopped me.

“Why are you here, then?” Harry asked me. “If you can’t see me like that anymore, why are you here? You would be with Ashton now if I didn’t feel something for me”

I turned to Harry. I suddenly felt a rise of anger in me.

“Don’t ask me that” I told Harry. “I said it’s too late-“

“But it’s not” Harry said. “If it was, you wouldn’t have broken up with Ashton. You had to break up with him because of a reason. Because of me!”

“Just because I broke up with him doesn’t mean you’re right for me” I said, frustrated. “Let it go”

“I will if you admit it” Harry said. “Say you left him for me-“

“FINE! I LEFT ASHTON FOR YOU!” I yelled at Harry. “I LEFT ASHTON BECAUSE EVERY TIME I LOOKED AT HIM, ALL I THOUGHT ABOUT WAS YOU! YOU’RE RIGHT, OKAY?”

People on the sidewalk stopped walking and looked to us. I sighed, feeling exhausted but somewhat relieved. I looked to the steps by the entrance of the bar. I walked over and sat down. Harry walked over to me, giving me a moment to cool down.

“You’re right, okay? Ever since you kissed me, all I can think about is you when I shouldn’t be.” I said. “I tried to forget about you but I couldn’t. . . Ashton was my boyfriend. The guilt was eating me up inside. I needed to leave him, even for a little while. I know Ashton is better for me and I should be with him but . . . it’s torture.”

I looked up to Harry.

“Why did you tell me?” I asked him. “I actually found someone good and then you had to come to me with this. After thinking you would never say you love me, you actually did at the worst time”

Harry bit his lip, clearly feeling guilty. He sat down next to me.

“Well, I already told you” Harry began to talk. “I didn’t mean to”

I stared at him, not saying anything. Harry looked down at the ground.

“I know if it’s hard for you to think you can’t be with me. I hurt you enough for you not to want to be with me. I understand that” Harry spoke. “I wanted to tell you sooner but I knew how you would have reacted. But I also knew what you meant when you said you felt like you could be happier with someone else than Ashton . . . I felt like I could make you happy”

A strand of Harry’s hair fell on his face. I smiled. He pushed it back. Harry looked to me. I saw my reflection in his green eyes.

“You make me feel scared too” Harry said. “I never have to tell you what’s wrong. You always knew whenever something was wrong as soon as I walked into a room. No one else could except for you”

Harry looked to the side.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. You just get me” Harry said, speaking with his hands. “You understand me in a way people can’t. I can be myself with you. I never felt as if I had to prove something to you when all everyone else does is expect something of me”

Harry looked back to me. There was something genuine in his eyes. The same genuine I saw in his eyes when I first met him.

“You always believed in me. You’re always so willing to take a chance on something or someone when no one else is.” Harry told me. “You make me want to better. You always have made me feel better just being around you. You were always there for me when no one else was. You have something, Y/N”

Something. I had something to him. Something no else had in his life. Something no one noticed I had except for him.

CRACK!

Harry and I looked up to the sky, hearing thunder. I don’t remember anyone saying there would be a storm tonight. Another rumble of thunder was heard.

I looked down to the ground, feeling my heart beat against my chest. I felt my heart beat a hundreds of times before, mostly from anxiety but this one time wasn’t that. This one felt like that one time when I took my first boyfriend home. It felt like finding out I was pregnant with Felix’s child. It was felt like coming home to my family. It felt like . . . love.

Harry looked to the street, watching a black car drive up. It stopped in front of us. Harry and I looked back to each other.

“That’s me” Harry said. “I need to go”

Harry stood up. He looked to the bar, annoyed.

“Jesus,” Harry said. “How long have you been there?”

I looked behind me. Rita and Ali were standing right on top of the stairs.

“Just a minute” Rita said. “We’ve been here since Harry said he could make you happier than Ashton”

“We swear” Ali said to Harry. “We only came out since we heard Y/N yelling at you”

I shook my head. Of course, why didn’t I expect Rita to come out? She couldn’t stop digging into my life all night.

I stood up on my own. Harry walked over to the car, looking down. He opened the car door but didn’t go in. He stared at the ground for a few seconds before looking to me.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to hurt you. After everything, the last thing I want is to hurt you. . .” Harry said. “I wish I knew earlier. I wouldn’t have done all that if I knew.”

Harry stared at me for a moment, waiting for me to say something. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him to not leave. I wanted to tell him to stay with me. I opened my mouth to but I quickly shut it. I looked down.

I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him that and give him that false hope. I couldn’t tell him and let myself to sacrifice any happiness I could have for him. It was best that we weren’t together. It had to be.

“You’re right.” I heard Harry say.

I looked up to Harry again. He was looking at the ground again. His lips started to tremble.

“I should have never told you.” Harry said. “You should be with Ashton. He’s better for you”

Harry quickly got into the car, closing the door. I watched as the car drove off. I felt a drop of rain hit my head. Then, another. It started to rain.

“What is wrong with you, Y/N?” Ali asked in disbelief as she walked over to me. “You just let him walk out of your life again like that!”

I turned to Ali.

“But he made his choice. . .” I said. “What did you expect me to do? He told me I should be with Ashton. I thought you were on his side.”

“I am! But I can’t let you do this!” Ali said.

“What?” I asked her. “You never liked Harry”

“It doesn’t matter who I liked” Ali said. “You’re the one who said you can’t lose Harry. So, what are you doing?”

I looked down the street. I saw Harry’s car stopped at a red light the block down. I looked to Ali, feeling her hands on my shoulders.

“Who is Harry to you? A friend or more than a friend?” Ali asked me. “There will never be a better time to be clear with yourself. Do you want him to leave or do you want him to stay?”

I looked down the street again.

I wanted him to stay. I wanted Harry to stay. I was wrong. If him leaving was really for the best, why did it hurt so much to see him go? I felt like my heart broken into a million pieces when he got into that car. Harry had to stay. There was a reason why I chose to have him in my life all these years. There was a reason he made me feel like no one else. There was a reason why I was so jealous over who he was with. There was a reason why it felt so right to be with him.

I ran away from Ali and down the sidewalk, chasing after Harry’s car.

“HARRY, STAY!” I yelled out, hoping he would hear me. “YOU HAVE TO STAY!”

The light turned green. I watched Harry’s car drive and turn around the corner. I ran faster after it. I ran as much as my feet could let me. I ran until I fell, slipping to the ground. I looked up, my sight a little blurry.

“Harry, I . . . I love you” I said out loud.

I blinked a few times, seeing Harry’s car was no longer in my sight.

I lost him. I lost Harry.

#hs imagine #harry styles imagines #hs imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #hs fanfic #hs fanfiction #hs one shot #harry styles one shot #everytime HS #everytime chapters

26 notes · View notes

softboywriting · 5 years

Text

Fate | Shawn Mendes

Summary: After having your heartbroken and getting rejected by the only guy who has ever asked you out, a good friend like Shawn may be just what you need to turn your horrible day around. [general au] [fluff] [’cowboy’/farm boy au] [friends to lovers]

Word Count: 4.3k

|Masterlist In Bio|

The last thing you hear as you leave your house is the screen door clattering against the old wood door frame. You need to get away, to clear your head of the fucked up mess you just experienced.

Your date, your first ever real date, lied, stood you up, and went on a date with another girl. It's literally the worst thing you can possibly imagine happening to you on your first date. Other than someone dying, but honestly this kind of feels worse.

Ten minutes before Josh; your date, is supposed to pick you up, he texted you. He said he couldn't make it, that his grandma had just been taken to the hospital. It was believable enough, things like that happen. You were disappointed of course but sent back well wishes and said you were open to reschedule. He didn't reply back. That was fine, he was probably with his family.

Not half an hour after Josh texted you, your friend Tia sent you a photo. It was two people, a guy and a girl sitting at a table in the food court at the mall in the city.

Tia: isn't that Josh?

You: no? He's at the hospital with his grandma.

Tia: no he ain't

Another picture downloaded and you could see very clearly that it was in fact Josh sitting there with a girl who is definitely not you. Your stomach lurched. He lied. He lied and went out with another girl. What the fuck? You got up and dropped your phone on the bed. The past few weeks... everything that's happened...all the flirting, the jokes, studying together. All of it meant nothing. Josh was a player and you were just part of his game.

That's how you find yourself about half a mile from your house on a gravel road that leads to the Mendes Ranch. The Mendes family are your neighbors and your family is good friends with them. They have a son, your age, named Shawn and a daughter a few years younger named Aaliyah. You look at the red barn and think maybe you'll go there and just chill for a while, hang out with the horses. Surely they won't mind.

You hear a vehicle approaching and you glance back to see the old truck that you know is Shawn's. Shawn, an actual walking talking gentleman of a "cowboy" who makes all the ladies swoon. He's like the James Dean of farm boys and you're so fucked for him but you're pretty sure you're just good friends according to him.

You step down off the road to avoid getting hit or ending up with gravel kicked at you from the tires.

"Hey Sweetheart!" The truck rolls to a stop beside you and your heart lurches into your throat. "You okay?"

Of course he has to stop and check on you. He's too nice, too good.

"Yeah I'm fine." You cross your arms for a moment before you wipe your nose with your sleeve, all while still avoiding eye contact. "I'm just going for a walk."

"But you're cryin'? Can I give you a ride back home?"

"I'm not going home right now."

"Well I am not leavin' you to cry on the side of the road. Come on, get in and I'll take you up to the ranch with me for a bit."

You sigh and wipe your face. Just what you want to do, get in Shawn's truck while crying. How is he going to see you now? Like the sad girl who lives down the road? Ugh. Great. You crawl up into the passenger seat and stare out the window as Shawn starts driving.

"So, why are you cryin'?"

"Stupid reasons," you mumble.

"Stupid reasons like what?"

You glance over and he looks genuinely concerned. "It's just a guy that wasn't who I thought."

"Oh." He goes quiet.

"Yeah. Stupid."

"It's not stupid to have your feelings hurt." He pulls the truck around the side of the big red barn where you were headed anyway. He would have caught up with you one way or another. "It's okay to feel let down or heart broken. You're a human being. We're supposed to feel things like that."

"Y-yeah I guess."

"Wanna help me?" He drops his keys on the seat between the two of you and slides out of the drivers side.

"With what?"

"Feed for the horses." He thumbs to the back of the truck and you look through the window into the bed. Sure enough there are probably a dozen twenty or so pound bags of feed in there.

"Sure, why not." You get out and Shawn jumps up into the back of the truck. He flips his maple leafs ball cap around and rolls up the sleeves of his dark red flannel shirt. "Should I catch them?"

"Can you catch'em, Sweetheart?"

"They're like twenty pounds right?"

"Thirty five." He grabs the corners of the end of one and hauls it up like it's nothing. "How bout I have you hand'em down to me?" He tosses the bag in his arms onto the ground and reaches out for your hand. You take it and he lifts you up into the truck bed with ease. "Alright, just drag or push 'em to the tailgate and I'll take 'em from there."

For the next few minutes you struggle to shove bags of feed down the truck bed and Shawn lifts them out, carrying them to the barn and dropping them off. By the eighth one you're pretty exhausted.

You drop down onto the cold metal bed and lean back on the last few bags propped against the cab. Shawn appears at the tailgate and chuckles, leaning forward, resting on his forearms. He doesn't even look winded.

"Gettin' tired?"

"Yeah. I don't know how you do it."

"Well, I've lived on the ranch my whole life. It's just part of what I gotta do." He jumps up in the back and leans against the bags with you, stretching his legs out beside yours. He's so much bigger, his legs are like a mile long compared to yours.

"I'm impressed."

He chuckles. "Yeah? You like a guy who can haul some feed?"

You flush and elbow him. He laughs loudly.

"I'm teasing. But hey, you're not cryin' over some guy anymore right?"

"Yeah, I guess not. I'm still pretty hurt though."

"What happened?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks over, head back against the window of the truck. "You wanna know?"

"Yeah. How bad did this guy fuck up?"

"Well, he stood me up for my first date ever. Lied about his grandma being sick as the reason why he couldn't make the date. Then my friend saw him on a date with another girl literally half an hour after he said he couldn't make it."

Shawn's jaw drops. "What the hell? What kind of fucked up dick head does that? You don't treat ladies like that, hell, you don't treat anyone like that. Damn."

"Yeah. So you understand why I'm not in the best mood."

"I definitely get it, that's pretty harsh. Maybe I can help though?"

"Help?"

"Yeah, make it up to you." He stands up and grabs one of the feed bags.

"Okay?"

Shawn grins and hauls the bag over his shoulder. "We could hang out, just have a good night."

"You're asking me out?"

"No?" He jumps down off the tailgate and turns to face you with a smile. "I just wanna make your night not suck and get your mind off that jerk. What do you say?"

"I guess I'm not doing anything else." You push yourself up and drag the feed toward the end of the truck. "But it's not a date right?"

"Nope," he grunts as he throws the bag you've pushed to him over his shoulder. "Not unless you want it to be."

You watch him carry the bag to the barn and just stare. Was he asking you out? He said he wasn't but still...it seemed like he was. No, that's completely unlikely. Someone like Shawn could have any girl he wanted why would he want the girl down the road who used to catch frogs with him by the pond behind the barn and blow up corn cobs on independence day in his backyard? He isn't asking you out. He's just being nice because he's your friend and he feels bad for you since you got stood up.

"You gonna make me come up there and get those feed bags myself?"

You snap out of your thoughts and Shawn leans on the tailgate. "I've got them."

Shawn pulls his hat off and plops it on your head. "Get your head in the game sweetheart. Come on, lemme see you move those bags."

You push the brim up and he grins at you, all white pearly teeth and tanned skin with freckles across his cheeks and nose. Fuck he's so cute. You turn back and grab another bag, dragging it down the length of the bed. "Why are these so heavy?"

"They're feed." Shawn laughs. "It's full of vitamins and fiber and other good things horses need to stay alive. They're heavy with love."

"You're weird."

He grins and flicks the brim of the hat before he carries the bag away. Your heart skips a beat and you adjust the hat back down on your head. You can't help but wonder what he has in mind for a good time.

_____________________

"Open your eyes."

You open your eyes slowly, Shawn had you ride the whole way with them closed, and you're sitting in the truck in one of the fields by the edge of the woods not far from the house. You look around as if expecting something to happen. "So...what?"

"So, this is a good time." Shawn grins and shuts off the engine. "I've got stuff in the back."

"What...I don't understand."

"Come on, just get out."

You climb out of the truck and peek over into the bed to see a bunch of blankets and pillows piled in it. There's a bottle of something you think might be Jack Daniels and a blue cooler, a lantern and a grocery sack full of something.

"We're gonna watch the stars come out." Shawn says, dropping the tailgate and climbing up inside to arrange the pillows and blankets. "I got drinks, marshmallows and s'more fixin's as well as hot dogs and buns. We're just going to hang out, talk about life and forget about everything else for a while."

You crawl up into the bed of the truck and sit down on some pillows. "This is your idea of a good time?"

"Yep." He grins and flops down on the pillows next to you. "It's not complicated and it's fun."

You smile softly and he brushes your hand as he moves to get up. Your heart goes wild. If he only knew how he made you crazy.

"Wanna help me get firewood?"

You follow him down the truck bed and he jumps out, reaching out to grab your waist to help you down. "We're building a fire?"

"Yes?" He lifts you down and you flush at the closeness. "How else are we going to roast marshmallows and hot dogs?"

"I dunno. I didn't think about that I guess."

He looks down at you, eyes soft. His hands come up to your shoulders and he gives you a little massage. "Loosen up. You're too caught up in your head about Josh."

"You're right." You sigh and try to let go of the tension from Josh, but it's not just that. It's the fact you're out here alone with Shawn, on a date. Well, not real date. But nonetheless, he's the guy you've had it bad for since you were like twelve. The guy who has been a gentleman to you every day of his life. The guy who is easily one of your best friends and probably knows more about you than any of your other friends. This is really happening but you're not even there for it mentally. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should just go home."

"Hey, it's alright."

"No, I'm not being good company. I'm being mopey and lame."

Shawn chuckles. "Are you overthinking it? Because we're just hanging out. We've done this before. Just friends chilling and talking, no strings attached."

"Yeah, you're right. I dunno why I'm making this so complicated."

"Let's go get firewood. We can talk about it while we collect sticks and stuff."

______________________

"So why'd you wanna go out with Josh?"

"He was cute." You toss a couple of sticks in the tote Shawn brought with you to carry everything back. "He was nice, funny, y'know guy stuff."

"I mean, no I don't know 'cause I'm not into guys."

"Shawn!" You laugh and he chuckles. "You know what I mean. I'm sure you can relate from a guys point of view toward a girl who wasn't all you thought they were."

"Well, kinda. I haven't been with a lot of girls."

"Really? You seem like the type who could have anyone they want."

He chuckles. "Why's that?"

"Because you're so sweet and you're attractive, hard working, kind, gentle...you're you."

"Sounds like you like me."

You bite your lip and squat down to grab some more sticks and brush for tinder. You were not about to confess that you've been head over heels for years. Nope. No way. No h-

Shawn crunches some sticks in front of you and you look up, eyes traveling up his body until they meet his.

"You're standing on my sticks."

"I'll move if you tell me if you like me"

"Of course I like you. You're my friend."

"Oh come on, I know you have a crush on me." He steps back and leans against the nearest tree. "Aaliyah told me ages ago."

"What?!" You stand up and drop all the sticks under your arm. "She swore she'd never tell you!"

"So it's true?"

"N-no!"

"Okay, okay." He raises his hands in surrender and wanders away. "Just gather a few more logs and we'll be good to go back."

"Alright," you mumble, gathering up your dropped sticks and dumping them in the tote. Overhead thunder rumbles, distant but still very audible. You've got a few more hours before a storm rolls in. Or so you think.

______________________

You make it through roasting hot dogs and marshmallows with enough casual banter to keep things sort of normal. But you're hurting. Not only was the whole situation with Josh still weighing on you, but now Shawn knows you have a crush on him and he doesn't even like you back. He was supposed to be helping you right now, not making things worse.

Thunder rumbles and you sit up from your place among the pillows in the bed of the truck. Shawn is cleaning up the makeshift fire pit and you decide you don't really want to stay any longer. You just want to go home.

You slide off the end of the truck and grab your sweatshirt from the side of it. "I'm gonna head home."

"What?" Shawn dumps his water bottle over the smouldering embers of the fire. "Why?"

"I just want to be alone."

"Well, I can drive you back."

You shake your head. "Walking will help clear my head."

Shawn throws the rest of the supplies sitting on the ground into the bed of the truck and closes the tailgate. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"No...It's fine, I'm fine." You wrap your sweater around your waist and start walking across the field toward the road that leads to the house.

Shawn jogs after you. "Sweetheart, I can't let you walk home like this. A storm is gonna hit any minute. Please come back to the truck."

"I'll be fine. I won't melt, I'm not made of-"

Rain drops start falling rapidly, and to your left you can actually see the rain as it gets heavier, like a wave heading right for you as the clouds overhead start blowing in fast.

Shawn wraps his arms around you and hurries you back to the truck. He helps you in the passenger side quickly. By the time he's in the driver's seat, the rain is coming down heavy enough that you can't see but a few feet in front of the truck. "See? You would have been stuck in this."

"Yeah, yeah you were right. Take me home please."

Shawn gives you a concerned look before he starts the truck and heads for the road but you shrug it off. He doesn't get far before the truck lurches, jarring both of you in your seats. He revs the engine and the tires spin, mud splattering the back wheels. "Fuck," he mutters, opening his door to look out. "I knew it."

"What happened?" You lean forward to try and see out of his door but to no avail. "We're stuck?"

"Yup. We hit one of the tractor ruts in the field." He smacks the steering wheel and sighs angrily. "I knew I should have gone the other way. We're going to have to make a run for the house."

"But, can't we just wait until the storm passes?"

Shawn shakes his head. "No. You wanna sit in a hunk of metal during a storm? Doesn't seem like a great idea sweetheart."

Thunder shakes the truck and a crack of lightning streaks across the sky. He's right, but running in this storm doesn't seem much safer.

Shawn opens his door and slides out. You see him round the front of the truck and fall on his face in the mud.

"Shawn!" You open your door and get out onto a squelchy patch of field. In seconds you're soaked.

Shawn stands up and meets you beside the truck. He's got mud running down his face and his maple leafs hat is long gone, probably down in the rut somewhere.

You let out a sharp laugh. "Nice going, mud puppy."

"Mud puppy?" He scoops a glob of mud off his jeans and tosses it at you, causing it to splatter up your chest. "Look who's talkin'."

"Shawn!" You shout angrily. The rain has washed most of the mud off your face as you go to wipe it off. "You're a jerk!"

"You know that's a goddamn lie."

"Yes you are! It's your fault we're even out here!" You stomp off toward his house, feet sloshing in your tennis shoes, clothes clinging to every inch of your body. The rain is ridiculously cold and you're miserable. "This is all your fault!"

"My fault?!" He yells from behind you and you don't look back. "Mind tellin' me how any of this is my fault?!"

"If you would have just left me on the side of the road to mope I wouldn't be here right now!"

His footsteps approach rapidly and you feel a hand on your shoulder just as you approach the back lawn of the house. "I'm so sorry I tried to be a good friend!" Thunder cracks over head. "I'm sorry I wasn't gonna stand by and watch my friend get heartbroken over some douchebag who doesn't deserve her!"

"Oh what do you know about who deserves me?!" You shove his hand off your shoulder and head for the house once more.

"I know you deserve a man who's gonna treat you right and love you every day of your goddamn life!"

"Yeah?! Well when you find one of them let me know!"

"I'm right here!" He yells your name, but you keep going. "Damn it, look at me!"

You turn and look back at him standing in the middle of the backyard with his arms out. Was he seriously admitting that he wants you? He walks across the yard and stops before you.

"I'm right here," he says, breathless. "And I'm always gonna be here."

"Shawn, you can't be serious."

"What?" He shakes his head and slicks back his hair. "I can't feel the same way about you as you do about me?"

"But...you..."

"But what? You didn't really let me talk about it earlier and I wasn't going to push it after you got upset that I said I knew you had a crush on me."

"You're lying."

"The fuck I am." He grabs your face in his big hands and forces you to look at him. "I've been in love with you since I was twelve years old. You're my best friend and the only woman I have ever wanted to spend my life with. I'm sorry it has to come out like this, but I can't go another day without tellin' you the truth."

You grab his arms and let out a little laugh of disbelief. Here you are standing in the middle of a storm confessing your love for each other. Could this be any more like a movie? Seriously, romance like this didn't happen in real life and it surely didn't happen to you.

"Say you swear." You bring your pinky up and he drops one hand from your face, hooking his pinky with yours. "Do it, say it if you're not lying."

He laughs. "I swear. I swear on everything living and dead that I am not lying to you right now and I won't ever lie to you in the future."

You stare at his dark eyes, trying to find any fault in his words. There is nothing but pleading, heartfelt eyes staring back at you and you know he isn't lying. "Kiss me? If you're serious, kiss me."

"I thought you'd never ask." He drops your pinky and leans down, bringing your face up to his and kissing you lovingly. His lips are wet from the rain but they're warm and soft. You can feel every ounce of love he has flowing through him as he kisses you like it's the last time he ever will. He pulls back, staring down at you. "As much as I'd love to keep doing this, I think we're going to catch a cold if we stay out here any longer."

____________________

"Put that end over the porch light." Shawn instructs and you lift the corner of the sheets he pinned together up and over the light fixture.

The two of you had gone in and got changed out of your wet clothes, kissing some more in his room before Shawn said he wouldn't have the night end just yet. He brought out a bunch of sheets and had you grab all the blankets from the linen closet to set out on the porch. It was then that you realized he was making a fort to watch the storm like you did as kids sometimes.

"I'll get the pillows," you say as you duck under his arm to get in the back door for the couch pillows.

"Grab some drinks! There's whiskey in the cupboard over the fridge!"

You laugh and throw the pillows out onto the porch before going to the kitchen. You open the fridge and there is a bunch of water and juice. Not so great with whiskey. Then you spot them, the red cans at the back of the crisper drawer. Two ice cold cokes. Perfect.

You set the cans on the counter and look up to the cupboard Shawn claimed there was alcohol in. It's way out of your reach. Great. You look around for a step stool or really anything to stand on that won't collapse. There is an empty wood crate by the side door and you drag it over.

"Sweetheart what're you doin'?"

You turn and look back to see Shawn standing beside the island counter with his arms crossed. "I'm getting the whiskey?"

"You're gonna fall." He puts his hands on your waist and lifts you off the crate. "Don't want you gettin' hurt," he says with a kiss to the back of your head. "I'll get the liquor, you go set up the fort."

Shawn joins you a few minutes later and he has two glasses full of whiskey and coke as well as a bag of popcorn and some chips.

"Planning on being out here a while?"

"All night." He says as he sits down behind you. He pulls you back between his legs and you lean against his chest.

The storm rages on, winds whipping the rain against the outer eaves of the porch. The air is cool but heavy with the rich earthy green smell that comes with storms. It's refreshing, like everything is starting anew, and in a way it is.

Shawn's hand cards through your hair, short nails massaging gently into your scalp. His other hand comes around and you take it, threading your fingers between his as he rests it against your chest.

"Why did we wait so long?"

"Who knows? I like to believe everything happens for a reason." Shawn says, rubbing his socked foot against yours. "Maybe this was the plan for us all along."

"I didn't know you believed in that sort of thing. You think fate brought us together?"

He kisses the side of your head and lays his hand over your heart. "Honey, I think fate brought us together a long time ago. We just had to take the right steps to get to where we are now."

You lay your hand over his on your chest. "I'm glad I didn't go home, and I got in the truck with you this afternoon. I almost didn't." You chuckle airily. "To think that one little decision could have changed everything."

"Mmmhmm." He leans back into the pillows more and you adjust yourself against his chest. "We're here now, and I don't plan on ever lettin' you go."

"Good." You close your eyes and smile, relaxing into the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Because I don't plan on going anywhere."

End

----------------------

Thank you so much for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed or even if you just want to save it to read later!

Everyone has been amazing lately, thank you for all your support! -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

917 notes · View notes

bandzrus · 4 years

Text

The No Fun Tour (Part 16)

The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // You’ve been working as a roadie for Motley Crue for a number of years because of your interest in the music business and family connections with Doc. The boys just got off tour with Ozzy and things are looking promising for them. After babysitting Tommy for the last leg of the tour, the two of you admitted your feelings for one another. Your relationship is now out in the open, and you’re still trying to adjust.

NOTE // well this chapter took me waaaaay too long to write. I’m also not very happy with it, but it’s a filler chapter so I’ll live a guess. Only 4 more until TNFT is over! Crazy right?

WORDS // 2897

TAGLIST // @mainly-me @shamelessobsessions @broken-pieces @calspixie @shouttatthedevill @cigarettes-after-sexxx @thatbandchick39 @buckyofthemyscira @countrygirlswonderland @kawennote09 @tommyfuckinlee @miserablecunt @madsthegroupie @livingforrt @catsoo12 @whisky-a-go-go @motherloovebone @rysepieces98 @kickstartmyheartmc @voguesixx @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @princesof-theuniverse @cordysblog @everygoodusernameistaken16 @brooklyn-antiques @queens-rose-garden @fandomshit6000 @hxllywood-whxre @ladycrow666 @sandy-anakin @tamedhearts @cosmicsskies @repostsfanfics @bella-0104-123 @mustbeaweasleyginger @freddie-roger-brian-john @captainloki1 @divaanya @curlyrxth @krazykatkay456 @ratedrkohardychic91 @bohemian-war @whydoilooklikekurtcobain @xxchloejoe @imtrashlikeeveryoneelse @nassauartist @teddyboyharrison @anxieteaandsadboihours @thekidbakerinthetardis @bohorhap @allmyheart2 @darcytherandom @kitten-overdose @allie-mcginn @aliensforleaders @premiumcable @snitchthewitch @heavymetalprincessa @applcrumbl @pixrcethesirens @samantha2247-blog @goodoldfashionedqueen @sweetdayme4427 @writingmyanxietiesaway @therocketqueensaje @swoopygorl @chasityquinn @yesloverboy @scarecrowmax @vintageratdoctor @imtheonetheycalldrfeelgood @supertravelerofbothtimespacefan @totallynotkaibiased @anxious-diabetic @liebe-ist-ein-wildes-tier @perriwiinkle @itsametaphorbriansblog @juliarose21 @superstitiousinstincts @angstydogblog @99percentsure @knightwhosaysnii @motleybitxh @littlesunnymoon @joes-milk @everlinachevalier @vnathaliexisabelv @slowandangry @floregrohlssard @thoughtfullyscreechingphantom @thanks2pete @crazysaladchopshop @grungegirlfungirl @killer-queen-ofrhye @countryday @zoe0401 @lighthousefromthesea @mgirl08 @momothepeachgirl @luv4fandoms @katysfunsized @snatchedbylele @weakmoony-stuff @keepcalm-and-beyou @sincereleygmg @samanthadegaro @isabellarose5150 @letslyn @iwanttoberogersdrums @hailey-the-heathen @falcon-arrows @iiwontgiveuponmilkk @saturatedsunrise99 @fayereed15 @random-internet-user-4471 @high-voltage-rockandroll @defin8lyhetero @am-tired-bois @thexbasketcase @terminallydisorganised @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @samanthaofanarchy @cruebaby @ panics-at-the-everywhere @myheartdesirepure @volcaniccth @babypink224221 @tommy-lee-81 @oh-well1 @rosie-sixx @softommy @its-hope-babe @florenceivy @anotherhopefulgirl @lain-ee @star-incandescent @sharon6713 @irishhiggins @obsessivecompulsivedestructive @verywell-fandango @valentines-in-london @ggore-horror @samanthajbenbow @freddiessmallnipples @d0ntfitin @vamprlestat @yourfavbabymom @lauravic @the-soulless-spider @kellysimagines @princesadeltoro @kajk9727 @looksthatkill666 @rocknrollcantdie @kohanayaki @letdecemberburninflames @fanofnightz @leterscam @impartinghades @forthe-culture @blackrose8898 @chlobo6 @gnrskrt @tommyleeownsme @anyasthoughts @keithseabrook27 @nikki-six-is-daddy @phoenixbloodmoon @madeofsunshineandsugar @imgonnakillgod @yellow--inlove @accio--jesse @babybloomer @no-shxt-sherl ((sorry for not activating any of the tags; I had to remake this whole post and it takes FOREVER))

***

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. It had been days and you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you and Tommy had been given the clear. It didn’t feel real. Which was funny in and of itself, because when did you and Tommy dating in secret start to feel real? It was just strange to think that the two of you could go out or talk about whatever you wanted and not have to watch yourselves. You didn’t have to worry about how much physical contact you were making, or how long Tommy was staring at you anymore. You could just… hold hands whenever you freaking felt like it.

Which you did. A lot.

So much so that Mick started making gagging noises whenever the two of you walked into the recording booth. The boys had been going in to record more and more lately, and you kept coming along for the ride. It was an easy way to spend time with them, since your time together with Motley Crue was going to be coming to an end in a month and a half. You’d still see them, just not nearly as much as you had in the past. It was going to be weird. Just as weird as you and Tommy being out and official.

“I was going to go out for coffee, you boys want anything?” you asked, leaning your hip on the doorframe of the recording room. Motley Crue was crowded onto the couches around a shrine of empty bottles, cans, ashtrays, fast-food wrappers, and scribbly lyric sheets. Tommy leaned backward over the back of the couch and gave you a big smile.

“Tall, black?” he said.

“Of course.”

“Can you do a booze run too, Y/N?” asked Vince. He draped his arm over the back of the couch and tried to imitate Tommy’s signature puppy dog eyes. You always pictured the blond more as a scraggly cat.

“It’s 2pm Vince.”

“So?”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere!” Nikki said in an attempt to convince you. He still had a half-full bottle in his hand.

“The coffee shop is 5 minutes away, the liquor store is 20,” you sighed.

“Ah, come on, Y/N, please?” begged Vince. At this point in your career, you should have been invincible to the band’s pouting. But you weren’t. You let out a sigh.

“Fine. Just beer?”

“Daniels.”

“Anything else?”

“My groceries?” asked Mick, before he stopped himself. “Wait, never mind. Your hands have been on Tommy, I don’t want you contaminating my food.”

The band laughed.

“So tall black coffee, beer, and Daniels – got it,” you repeated, smiling at Mick’s tease anyway.

“Oh!” Nikki shot up. “If that guy down the street is selling hot dogs—“

“Fuck yeah, dude, those are killer ‘dogs!”

“Get the ‘dogs!”

“The ‘dogs! The ‘dogs! The ‘dogs!” the boys all started to chant. Laughing, you pulled your hip off the doorframe.

“Tall black coffee, beer, Daniels, and ‘dogs; I’ll be back,” you chuckled, giving them a wave and then sliding out of the building. You shook your head and smiled to yourself. Every damn day you spent with those boys they made you laugh. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you headed towards the coffee shop. The hotdog stand was on the way, and you prayed the guy was actually there today. You knew what kind of wrath you’d face if you came back empty-handed.

As you walked, you realized Tommy hadn’t offered to come with. Usually he’d abandon whatever the boys were working on to tag along with you. They had been working pretty hard on their new album (which sounded amazing, and they still had a long way to go), so maybe he just wanted to stay and work on it, but now that you’d thought about it, it was going to nag you. Was something going on? You’d spent enough time with Motley Crue to pick up signs that they were planning something.

Back in the recording studio, Tommy and the boys waited until you had left before they all huddled around the table.

“So what’s the game plan, T-bone?” asked Nikki, taking a quick swig of his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Mick pulled his guitar into his lap.

“When she comes backs,” said Tommy, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Vinny, can you introduce the song?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Sweet.”

“Are we just going to start playing it then when Y/N comes through the door?” Mick cocked an eyebrow.

“That was the thought.”

“You have those?”

Vince and Nikki laughed and then Vince slapped the drummer on the back.

“It’s going to be great, Tommy, she’s gonna love it,” promised the singer.

“I fucking hope so, otherwise I’m going to look like a dumbass!”

“I think Y/N is into dumbasses.”

“Shut up, Mick.”

You’d overestimated how far away the liquor store was. It was probably more like 15 minutes; 10 from the coffee shop. Any normal person probably would have felt weird carrying a large coffee, three bottles of Jack Daniels, and a case of beer all together, but you were used to it. The hotdog guy obviously wasn’t bothered by it either. Coffee and case of beer in one hand, bag of Jack Daniels and hotdogs in the other, you somehow managed to get the studio door open with your foot.

“I’m back,” you called, waiting for it to shut before you headed to the recording room. You were trying to make sure you didn’t trip over any empty bottles and spill everything you were precariously balancing in your arms, when Vince’s voice got your attention.

“And next up we have a song called ‘Without You’,” the singer announced. “Written by Mr. Tommy Lee for the lovely Y/F/N.” He gave you a huge smile, and then a big sweeping gesture. You stood there in the doorway, cradling hotdogs as all the boys began to play.

Without you, there's no change

My nights and days are gray

If I reached out and touched the rain

It wouldn't feel the same

Without you, I'd be lost

I'd slip down from the top

I'd slide down so low

Girl, you'd never, never know

Without you, without you

A sailor lost at sea

Without you, woman

The world comes down on me

They all joined in for the chorus, and maybe it was just you, but Tommy was singing the loudest. You had been pestering him to sing more (ever since Gilligan’s Island), and in that moment it was the sweetest thing you’d ever heard. Vince might have been singing the rest of the song, but when you saw Tommy, you knew it was really him singing it to you.

Without you in my life I'd slowly wilt and die But with you by my side You're the reason I'm alive But with you in my life You're the reason I'm alive But without you, without you

Without you, there's no change My nights and days are gray If I reached out and touched the rain It wouldn't feel the same

Without you, without you I'm a sailor lost at sea Without you, woman The world comes down on me

You were crying. There in the hallway with your arms full of booze, coffee, and hotdogs, you were crying. You weren’t a crier, but this was the song Mick had told you about over the phone that night after the tour. This was the song Tommy had been working on. This was the one song you hadn’t heard them play yet and now you knew why.

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

But with you in my life

You're the reason I'm alive

But without you, without you

I could face a mountain

But I could never climb alone

I could start another day

But how many, I don't know

You're the reason, the sun shines down

And the nights, they don't grow cold

Only you that I'll hold when I'm young

Only you, as we grow old

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

In most cases you watched the whole band when they performed. But right now you had eyes only for Tommy. He wasn’t looking as his drums either; just at you. As the song wound down, you finally remembered you had stuff in your arms and quickly deposited it on what available table space there was. Your hands were free just as Vince put down the mic.

“Oh my god!” you cried, hastily scrubbing your cheeks with the backs of your hands. “Did you write that, Tommy?!” You knew he had, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

The drummer had put down his drumsticks and was making his way over to you when you threw your arms around him.

“Did you seriously write that? It’s beautiful!”

“Yeah,” said Tommy, blushing. His hands felt warm around your waist.

“Tommy it’s amazing!” You planted a kiss on him.

“I wrote it for you.”

And there it was again. Every DAMN time! You didn’t think you could love him any more and then he did something and somehow you did. For fucks sake he wrote a song about you! Not only was it the most romantic thing anybody had ever done for you EVER, you knew from years of experience with music that once somebody wrote a song about you – you became immortal.

“Holy shit Tommy, I can’t believe it.”

“So you liked it then?”

“Liked it?! Tommy, I swear to god there is NOTHING that could make me love you more right now.”

The drummer finally stopped fighting the smile he had been holding back.

“Wanna bet?”

“GET A ROOM!” shouted Mick, causing the both of you to start laughing. Still hugging the drummer for all you were worth, you shuffled over to the couch where the rest of the band was congregating.

“I can’t believe you guys did that for me,” you breathed, wiping your nose and smiling up at Tommy. “I can’t believe you wrote the song, AND made me walk 15 minutes to the damn liquor store just so you could surprise me with a concert when I got back!”

The boys all chuckled and ducked their heads. They looked so cute and suddenly you were struck with a wave of sadness. You were going to miss them all so much.

“It was all Tommy’s idea,” Mick confessed. “We just went along with it ‘cause we knew it’d make you happy.”

“Since Mick’s not gonna say it,” sighed Vince. “We’re all really going to miss you, Y/N.”

It was your turn to laugh, but you could tell the blond caught the tinge of sadness in it.

“I’m not gone yet, guys.”

“Not to ruin this touching moment or anything, but you got the ‘dogs right?” Nikki asked, sliding back onto the couch. Everyone started laughing and you could feel the sadness leave the room again.

“Right in front of you, Nik,” Tommy gestured, his hand still resting warmly on your waist.

Motley Crue had finished their studio session about an hour ago. All the guys went their separate ways, but Tommy suggested the two of you go for a walk instead of just heading home right away. The air was fresh and it was still light out, plus it was quality time with the drummer. Hell yes you wanted to go for a walk.

Somehow being on tour had made you forget how much you loved LA. You’d spent a lot of time walking the streets in the early days of Motley Crue. There were so many beautiful houses and little stores that showed off just how unique a place it really was. It didn’t surprise you at all that so many people came here to follow their dreams – there was something for everyone. You smiled inwardly knowing you were one of them, and you’d succeeded. It was almost a little scary how perfect your life seemed right now. A tiny part of you was waiting for the hammer to drop, but you kept reminding yourself that it already had when Doc found out about you and Tommy.

You and the drummer had been walking probably for an hour when you came upon a park. It was getting late, the sun was going down, and the park was empty.

“Wanna sit down for a bit?” Tommy asked, eyeing up a bench.

“Only if we get to sit on the playground,” you smiled, tugging at his jacket to follow you.

“Are we five?”

“Maaaaybe.”

It had been a long time since you’d been on a playground. You’d always been a monkey-bar fiend as a kid and you made a mental note for later to see if you still were. Clambering up, you laughed as Tommy tried to scale the fire-pole in leather pants and cowboy boots. Finally you had to give him a hand. Hauling his dumbass up, the two of you sat on the highest platform and leaned against the rail.

“The sunset looks cool,” you pointed out. The clouds were all pink, and just where the buildings interrupted the horizon, the sky was liquid fire.

“You look pretty cool,” mocked Tommy, bumping your knee with his. The fucker was so damn cute. You snuggled into his side and pushed your hand into his. How insane was this.

“I still can’t believe this is all happening,” you said, finally voicing what had been circulating around in your head since your conversation with Doc.

“The us-allowed-to-date part, or the management part?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, it is kinda insane,” agreed Tommy, resting his head again the rail and looking up at the sky. You wished you had your camera on you – he looked beautiful.

“It doesn’t really feel real. I keep waiting for the hammer to drop or for me to wake up or something.”

“Me too.”

“I’m glad it is real.”

“I really don’t know if I could survive if it wasn’t,” Tommy said. His chin came to rest on top of your head and you wanted to sit there forever with him. He smelled good; like Tommy. The two of you watched the sky for a while, enjoying the quiet; something that didn’t happen often in Motley Crue, until Tommy broke the silence.

“Did you really like the song?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in circles over your hand. The look you gave him should have said it all.

“Tommy, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You really mean that?”

“One-hundred and ten percent.”

“Mkay. Just wanted to make sure,” the drummer blushed.

“If I kiss you, will you stop doubting yourself like an idiot?” you inquired, leaning in until there was barely an inch between your lips.

“Yes,” promised Tommy.

So you did. Gentle and tender; probably the softest you’d ever kissed him. Reaching your hands up to his hair, you felt the drummer’s rough ones pull you close. And then you kissed him again – longer this time (and maybe a little harder). You could feel him smile into it. Shifting so you could get a better angle, it wasn’t long before the whole thing turned into a damn make-out session. After a few minutes you had to pull back and laugh.

“Oh my god,” you snickered. “I feel like I’m in fucking high school.”

“It’s the playground.”

“No, it’s us making out like a bunch of idiots.”

“Does that mean you wanna stop?”

“Fuck no.”

Straddling Tommy’s lap, it was your turn to smile into the kiss. Making a cute little noise as Tommy’s kisses moved from your lips down your jawbone, you settled into his lap. The drummer’s lips were still heading south, and you shuddered under the touch of his fingers as they tugged at your collar.

“Tommy,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of his way.

“Mm?”

“What are you doing?”

The drummer stopped his kisses for a brief moment to answer, but his hands were starting to lift up the hem of your shirt.

“Nothing.”

Your hands were knit deep in his hair, and it was taking a bit more concentration than it should have to keep quiet. The LA air was starting to cool off and as it hit your skin, you felt yourself break out in goosebumps. Tommy’s warm knuckles against your stomach as he felt under your shirt were a welcome feeling. That and the drummer knew what to do with his damn hands.

“Tommy,” you tried again, feeling your willpower to say no to him decrease by the second. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this at a park.”

“Mm, but doesn’t it make you feel like just a little bit of a rebel?” asked the drummer, his hands getting dangerously high and his lips dangerously low.

“I’ve been a rebel for a long time.”

“I guess so – you decided to go out with me.”

“Yes.”

“Do you wanna –“ he paused for a moment, finally bringing his lips back to yours. “—go back to my place?”

To answer his question, you sank a little lower into his lap.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tommy smirked, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the slide.

***

sorry guys! I don’t know what happened to this post - it was fine up until December 8th. Hopefully it stays put now. :(

336 notes · View notes

katrandomwrites · 4 years

Text

Wierdly Human

Alternate title was "Jon the Archivist is Kinda Hot"

Little in between snippets from the assistants and their impressions of Jonathan Sims.

I declare this a fluff and humor only zone! Episode 160 can kiss my butt.

You can also find this on AO3 under the same title.

I got the inspiration for this from a tumblr post about Jon being a clean boy despite crawling through hell and back but I think the writer deleted it because I spent forever looking for it and couldn't find it :n: Also 2 Drink Jon is a reference to 2 other fics I've read so his wild ass is not mine.

Supplemental Headcanons at the end.

Pre-Show

There was somebody new at the Institute.

He was short and dark with black hair neatly trimmed and styled. A pair of browline glasses perched in front of wide brown eyes that seemed to absorb everything around him.

“Hey, uh, Tim,” Martin whispered as he leaned over to where his coworker was digging through a drawer, “Who’s that?”

“Hm?” Tim’s eyes widened as he looked up, “Oh shit, he’s cute.”

“Not helpful, Tim.”

“Um, I think he might be Daniel’s replacement. I think his name is Joe or something,” Tim swallowed, “I wonder what modeling agency Bouchard raided for him.”

Martin elbowed him in the ribs hard, his face going as red as his hair, “Shut up!”

“But look at him, Martin! He has to have a skincare routine an hour long and don’t tell me you didn’t notice that those trousers are bloody tailored. I see you looking at his arse!”

“SHUT UP!”

”What are you two fighting about now?”

Both researchers jumped away from each other as Sasha popped up behind them.

“Hot new guy,” Tim said, earning another jab and a hiss.

Sasha looked at Martin and grinned, “Short, scrawny, Persian, and angry?”

“He’s Persian?” Martin stuttered before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah, I got to talk to him during his follow up interview. Smart guy but kind of grumpy and super awkward. We got talking about foriegn food and he offered to give me his grandma’s recipe for chelow kababs,” Sasha said.

“What’s his name.” Tim asked, looking back at where the new guy was glaring at a row of filing cabinets with several drawers ajar.

“Jonathan Sims.”

Pre Episode 44

Basira watched as Sims limped away with the tape clutched to his chest like a lifeline before sighing and heading out to the car where Daisy was waiting.

“Well?” Daisy asked, “How’s our favorite murderer?”

Basira swatted her feet off the dash, “He looks like he hasn’t slept in 3 weeks and recently got hit by a car.”

“I wasn’t asking about his nasty, worm-eaten face, Basira,” Daisy said, “Does he know we’re watching him?”

“I don’t think so -put your seatbelt on- it seems like he’s more invested in what’s on those tapes for now. I get the feeling he’s more worried about watching the people he works with than us.”

“What a sad little librarian. I’m looking forward to how he managed to kill Robinsen without getting his ass whipped.”

“She was old.”

“Yeah, but Sims looks like he’d get knocked out by a light breeze even before he got munched on by some nasty fucking bugs. Did you see the surveillance from Robinsen’s initial investigation? I went back through to track Sims and watched him struggle move a box that was in front of a filing cabinet for a solid twenty minutes; the big ginger guy had to move it for him.”

“That’s-” Basira snorted, “That’s pathetic.”

Daisy grinned, “He has to be one manipulative bastard to get anything done.”

“Is that your theory?”

“I mean look at you.”

“What about me?”

“He gives you the puppy eyes once and now you’re smuggling him tapes from the evidence locker? I have never known the great Basira Hussain to ever cave to a suspect’s wishes in my life- and don’t say it’s to keep a closer eye on him. We have less illegal tactics for that.”

Basira opened her mouth to argue but found that Daisy had a point. She really only gave into suspects if the circumstances were dire. This was technically classed as a low priority case.

What was going on here?

Post Episode 76

Melanie flopped dramatically onto Georgie's couch and let out a long winded sigh.

"Oh?" Georgie asked from the kitchen door.

Melanie sat up slightly to let her sit down before plopping her head down on Georgie's thigh, "I had to go talk to Sims at the Institute again."

"How's Jon?"

"A fucking bastard is what he is."

"Well I knew that," Georgie laughed, gently beginning to brush through Melanie's hair with her fingers.

"I don't know, he's was wierdly defensive and I think he was trying to gaslight me about one of his new assistants."

Georgie paused her brushing, "I haven't seen Jon in a while but that seems… out of character for him. He's a grump, sure, but I've never known him to be a bully -on purpose that is."

"Yeah, well…"

The pair lapsed into a tense silence.

"Would it make you feel better if I show you a picture of Jon in university that he is very embarrassed about," Georgie ventured after a few minutes, "He's still mad I have it.~"

Melanie twisted her head back and grinned, instantly breaking the tension and sitting up to look at the phone screen presented to her.

On it was a picture of Jon passed out, mouth wide open and drooling, on the ugliest couch she'd ever seen.

"He still owns that couch by the way," Georgie said. Melanie waved a hand in her face to silence her as she took in the details.

Jon was in a pink crop top that Melanie was sure she'd seen in Georgie's closet, union jack boxers, gladiator sandals, and The Admiral was planted square on his chest, though he was about half the size of the fluffball that roamed the flat now. Surrounding them where piles of papers and books on the paranormal.

Melanie began to cackle.

"Our friend group used to call him '2 Drink Jon' and this was after he'd done four shots in the kitchen and decided to lecture us on how ghosts are bullshit and he could beat one in a fist fight," Georgie elaborated, "I'm still not sure when he ended up in that outfit but honestly, if we had recorded his rant he probably could have used it for his Masters thesis."

Melanie wheezed into her shoulder as tears began to stream down her face.

"2 Drink Jon was actually a lot more charismatic than sober Jon. This one time he almost had us convinced that he could talk to plants after two gin and tonics, granted we were also drunk but-,"

"Stop, please," Melanie wheezed, "I'm dying."

"Gosh, one of these days I'll have to tell you about tequila and the alien conspiracy. Randall could almost recite the whole speech from memory."

Melanie fell off the couch.

Post Episode 109

Julia and Trevor exchanged a look as the Archivist powered through the spiciest Thai food they could find without even breaking a sweat.

It was supposed to be a joke, spiking Jon's food, the cashier had even given them a panicked look at the restaurant and Trevor's eyes had been watering the whole way back to the safe house. They'd even waited by the door in case Jon tried to make a break for the case of water bottles in the car but he just unwrapped the plastic fork and dug in without even asking for a drink.

Julia picked at her own food but couldn't quite manage to eat it and glanced back at Jon, "Are you sure you don't need a water or anything?"

Jon looked up for a moment, his eyes were more alive than they had been all day and practically sparkled in the shitty fluorescent light. He shook his head and instead reached for another packet of chili sauce to add to his food.

"What the hell is he," Trevor whispered to Julia in horror.

"I don't know but he's definitely not normal."

During Episode 132

Daisy had misjudged Jon. She'd grossly misjudged him.

She flexed her fingers around his, ignoring the way the sand dug into her skin, and gently pulled him closer. The man she'd called prey gave her a soft smile and compiled, pressing against her side like she'd never held a knife to his throat, like she hadn't just admitted to planning his murder before she was trapped here.

Daisy turned her head awkwardly and dug her face into his shoulder savoring the human contact, her tears soaking into his shirt.

The Hunt in her blood tried to sing, tried to fight the Buried, "Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect", it echoed faintly.

Jon said something and began to move, pulling Daisy forward along with him.

"Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect"

Hours past as they shimmied through the coffin, the pain of being scraped and crushed was overpowered by the sheer ecstasy of moving more than an inch every few days.

"Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect"

There was a door, Jon tucked himself under her arm and pulled her up the stairs to the blinding lights of the institute. She ducked her head down to his shoulder again and grimaced as her joints popped and groaned.

"Jon, you stupid idiot! What did you think-"

Daisy looked up to the person she thought she’d never see again and smiled.

"Hi."

Post Episode 132

Martin had horrible timing really. He just needed to pee, was that really too much to ask?

Of course it was. The universe hated him.

So instead of slipping into the private bathroom upstairs which was magically broken, he had to go down a level and walk in on Jon shaking dirt out of his clothes.

Martin was going to die here but at least he'd die happy.

Jon didn't even seem to register that someone else had joined him (thank the Lonely) so Martin took a second to sneak a guilty look before darting back out and hiding for 40 years.

Jon was painfully thin. Martin got the idea that he could count every vertebrae and rib if he was allowed and even at a glance he could spot the sunken area where at least one rib was now missing.

Worm scars and burns were peppered up his back along with a few moles and freckles. Little red marks circled his chest in a way that Martin immediately recognized as being from the black fabric crumpled at Jon's feet.

And to top it all off, much to Martin's delight, were a set of three black gears tattooed down Jon's right shoulder blade. Sasha had mentioned once that she had gone out for drinks with Jon when he first started and they'd managed to get on the topic of tattoos. Tim had spent months trying to get Jon to show it to him before 'giving up'.

Martin stepped out and stood in the hall for a moment, red faced and giddy, before stumbling off in search of another bathroom.

Somewhere between Episode 132-154

"Hey, guys?" Melanie called.

Daisy and Basira glanced up to see Melanie holding a giant plate of the best smelling food they'd seen in weeks. Steam wafted up into her very confused face.

"Did either of you make this? I went to ask Martin and I can't find him."

"I didn't make it," Basira said, "Daisy?"

"I once made spaghetti and lit it on fire.

Basira grimaced and walked up to Melanie, "Kebabs, Tahdig rice, flat bread, and jam cookies. Those are Iranian dishes, or Middle Eastern at least.”

Daisy looked at Basira, "How do you know that?"

"Took a foreign cuisine course focused on middle eastern food a few years ago," Basira said as she made her way to the kitchen area with the group in tow.

Sitting on the table were three more huge plates of food and two empty plates sitting in the sink. Martin was standing next to the table with pure confusion on his face.

"Did you make this?"

Martin jumped and looked at the group, "Uh, no? I really only do pastas… this is a little outside my skill set. I think-"

"It could be a trap," Daisy interrupted, "Maybe it's laced with something?"

"No, I'm pretty sure-"

"Could be, but who would go to this effort, the Web?" Basira said.

"Guys, it was probably-"

"It was the Archivist!" Helen exclaimed from behind them, somehow having opened her door without making a sound and scaring the shit out of them, "He is an excellent cook."

"Bullshit," Melanie wheezed, setting her plate down before she dropped it.

"No, she right," Martin sighed, "Jon actually cooked something similar a few years ago for a company thing. He gave this whole speech about how grandparents immigrated here from Iran, well Persia at the time, and his grandma made him learn to cook what she called 'real food'."

"You mean to tell me that Jonathan Sims, the skinniest guy I have ever met, can cook like this," Basira said in disbelief before cautiously sitting down at the table with the rest following suit.

"He called it his grandmother's curse," Helen provided cheerfully, "He said that no matter what he does, he always makes far more than he needs and never has people around to give it to. So he just never cooks."

"You talked to him?" Melanie asked. Daisy began to pick at a plate and made a sound of confusion and delight at the taste.

"Oh yes, he even let me help by getting things off high shelves!"

"This is amazing," Daisy said in disbelief before grabbing a fork and beginning to eat in earnest.

"It is! Jon and I had a lovely chat and I'm not much for 'real' food these days but he really convinced me!" Helen declared, spinning back around to re enter her door, "And I must say it was delightful."

"Huh," Basira shrugged and began to eat.

Not bad.

Post Episode 159

For the second time since he woke up, Martin pinched himself. He had to be dreaming, the smaller body smooshed up against his chest and the boney limbs clinging to him had to be a figment of his imagination.

Jon huffed in his sleep and burrowed deeper into Martin before settling again. A few stray rays of the morning sun slipped through the blinds highlighting Jon’s gray hairs and the raised edges of scars that trailed along his skin.

Gently, Martin carded his hand through the wild mess of hair, marveling at how soft it was despite everything. Jon sighed, leaning into the touch without stirring.

He could stay like this forever, with Jon safe in his arms and the dangers of the world outside, away from his happiness.

"Wha' time?" Jon mumbled, stretching before re-draping himself over Martin. He looked up and the light caught his eyes in a way that Martin could see all the blue heterochromatic spots in Jon's left eye through dark, heavy lashes.

"Doesn't matter," Martin whispered as he pulled him closer, "We have all the time in the world."

Supplemental Headcanons: - Jon is a 3rd gen Persian/Iranian immigrant. His grandparents on his dad's side moved to England post WWII. (Persia became Iran in 1979) They took the last name Sims during immigration. - His mother was full blooded English. - He can out cook 87% of the local grandma's when he really gets into it - He built an unnaturally high tolerance to salt and spice as a kid to keep people from taking his lunch or trying to mess with his food and now thoroughly enjoys spicy foods. - Jon does care a lot but his grandma never taught him to show it in any other way but tolerance and mute acceptance. It's hard to know where you stand with Jon because of this. - Was a runner while in school. - Was forced to take violin lessons as a kid and Georgie taught him some piano in University. - Jon is and always has been feral little man though he is more bark than bite (unless he's under the influence of something). He learned it from his grandma. - He's one of those drunks that often wanders/ runs away from his drinking group. He has strong drunk college girl tendencies. - He changed his middle name to Ulysses when he got his first name legally changed because he’s a nerd. - Jon has had the same pen pal since he was 10. They are one of the few points of normalcy he has left. - Jon and Daisy are trans mlm and wlw solidarity. Fight me.

Fun Fact: Sims means "the Listener" which seems almost too on the nose.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #basira hussain #melanie king #georgie barker #my writing #fanfiction #jonmartin #spoilers #dasira #what the girlfriends

281 notes · View notes