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deadhumourist · 4 years ago

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Under Marula Trees - Chapter 3

Rating: M (to be safe)

Warnings: Cursing, unfiltered lusting, mention of guns, fire, wild animals. Let me know if I missed anything?

Summary: You’re a host at an exclusive safari lodge and you suddenly have your hands full with a rowdy bunch of Statesmen.

A/N: Welp things are moving along now and Reader and Whiskey amp things up. Still playing to an empty room but we'll get there (or not?). There's a post of visuals that will help contextualise things a bit better here.

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Under Marula Trees Masterlist

“Shall we rejoin the others and get everyone settled in? I’m sure you want to freshen up after the trip - it gets really dusty out here and the hot weather isn’t helping.”

He looked back at you from where he was staring at the window but his eyes were different now. Friendly but blank, like someone had dropped a curtain on a stage and the actors declined to come out for an encore. The sudden change was jarring,and it bothered you.

Wordlessly he picked up his hat and made his way to the front desk, where the group was still as boisterous as the moment they walked in. Despite the cheery vibe, you sensed rather than saw Whiskey reach down into himself and pull a smile to the surface, joining in the banter and throwing an arm around the woman as he laughed at a joke.

Stepping closer, you looked over the group at Aaron, who was fidgeting with the computer. He was a pro at getting guests in and out quickly, so when he started jabbing at the keyboard and frowning, you suspected something wasn’t adding up.

You walked over.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Aaron half-turned his face to you and whispered “Someone fucked up the booking. They’re not in any of the VVIP suites, which are full, and the only thing I have open are the fire pit rooms.”

Oof. You were familiar with those. They were not very private, as they overlooked a communal fire pit and were quite close together. While this was not an issue for your run of the mill travelers, but the VVIP’s wouldn’t be happy.

With the other rooms booked out, you had limited options, but if you sweetened the deal you could just make it work. Barry wouldn’t be able to say anything if the guests were content. Fucking Barry.

“Give them a complimentary stargazing drive to make up for it. There’s a full moon in a few days so it’ll work out perfectly. If something opens up we can upgrade them, but this will keep them busy for the time being. Don’t say anything about the rooms, let me handle it.”

You straightened up and clapped your hands together. Mentally you chastised yourself for going full-scale kindergarten teacher to corral the kids, but it always worked. Even with rich adults.

“Right everyone, welcome to your home for the next few days. My name is Y/N, I’ll be taking care of you. Your rooms are ready, allow me to get you settled in. Jim will make sure your luggage is delivered to the respective rooms shortly. This way please.”

As the guests piled into the safari vehicle, you took your seat in the middle section next to the driver. Even though it was still stiflingly hot out, the grounds of the resort looked lush and inviting, like an oasis in the middle of nowhere.

To the right of the reception area, the communal area sprawled in a spectacle of marble, wood and reeds - natural materials that enhanced rather than distracted from the beautiful surroundings.

The communal lounge area featured huge, accordion sliding doors. On sunny days like today, they were clipped back to let the outdoors in, and the room dipped as it spilled outside onto a marble patio with loungers under a thatch veranda. It led to a fully stocked bar, and if one took another step down, an enormous, sparkling saltwater pool.

Paradise, truly.

Your reverie was interrupted by a large man leaning over you, very much in your personal space and way too close for heat like this. He enthusiastically pointed out the driver’s window.

“Is that a giraffe? Can we drive closer and check it out ma’am?”

The man you would later get to know as Jake (or Tequila as his group kept calling him) had bodily thrown himself over you to catch a glimpse of the large animal. You tried to squeeze yourself a little more into the seat to make space but it made no difference. So you gently pulled him back into his seat as he smiled down at you like an excited kid.

“I’m sure we can, right Jim?” You looked hopefully over at the driver.

A minute later you were making your way towards a pair of giraffes who were lazily grazing by a copse of trees. As you bounced around in your seat, owing to the rocky road, you wondered what Whiskey was doing.

Not that you cared but it was awfully quiet back there so you guessed some of the alcohol and merriment must have burned off in the afternoon heat and they were feeling the effects of travelling all day.

Showing Tequila something passing, you let your gaze slip to the back of the vehicle. For the drive you wore sunglasses, because fuck being caught out again. You were not a sucker twice.

The group was sitting quietly enough. The woman had fallen asleep on Champ’s shoulder and Whiskey sat way in the back on his own. You willed him to look up so you could get a good look at him out of the corner of your eye, but he continued sullenly staring out the window.

The vehicle rumbled to a stop in front of a row of thatch cottages. Disembarking, each person received a key and was shown to their respective dwelling. Each cottage had a king-size bed with an en-suite bathroom (you envied those fancy corner baths!) and a small living area. The woman, introducing herself as Ginger, gleefully threw herself on the massive bed and sighed contentedly.

“Oh my goodness this is so comfortable and I can’t wait to take a long shower, I’m beat!”

You smiled at her. “Of course, enjoy! Please let me know if there’s anything you need, my direct number is right next to the phone.”

Next was Champ, who settled in with no issues.

The minute Tequila stepped into the room, he gave a long stretch and promptly started undressing.

“Um, uh, I’ll get out of your hair, please call if you need anything.”

Unbothered, he pulled his shirt over his head. “Alright, catch ya later.”

Last was Whiskey. You were both dreading and strangely looking forward to being alone with him.

As Jim set his bags down and left, you stood around a little awkwardly. This was stupid, your internal voice shouted at you, he was just another guest and an annoying one at that. Nothing to see here. Move the fuck along.

You didn’t. The tension stretched like stringy molasses, thin strands of nothingness that refused to snap on their own.

“Ok, I’ll be on my way, if you need anything, my number is next to the phone.” You repeated it in almost a perfunctory way but for the first time you found yourself waiting for a response. Waiting for a reaction.

None came. You were sweating. Whiskey hadn’t said a word and just carefully watched you squirm. How did someone who was so mouthy suddenly become so quiet?

As you started heading out, he called after you. “Thanks, missy.”

Just that. You didn’t know what to make of it. Why were you trying to make anything of it?

You tried to put the interaction out of your head as you trotted in your front door and shut it with your heel. It was already nearing 4pm and you had to coordinate with the staff to set up a supper for your group.

After making some calls to the kitchen and hospitality, you laid your outfit on the bed and headed to the shower.

The cool water beating down on your back did little to dispel thoughts of the afternoon. Your thoughts drifted to the cowboy. He triggered an almost instantaneous annoyance whenever he was within reach. In some ways he reminded you of every smug rich asshole that darkened the doors at the resort, but when he didn’t push his luck at the check-in it caught you off guard.

Normally a sharp rebuke would either elicit someone backing off or lashing out in equal measure but Whiskey...he briefly let you see the bullet holes from the onslaught and gave you time to cock the gun again.

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At 17:30 you went over to the firepit, which was adjacent to a tented dining and bar area. The team had done a great job of creating a lovely ambience for dinner. The firepit had roared to life and red hot embers spat up in the sunset, creating a cosy, welcoming atmosphere.

A quiet low-fi beat was drumming from the speakers and the place was bustling with staff getting everything ready.

The Statesmen group slowly started drifting over from 6pm, grabbed some drinks at the bar and moved around the area - some at the fire, some looking out over the sunset.

You went over to ask the barman something, and the next moment Whiskey was next to you.

“Hello again darlin. I think we got off on the wrong foot this afternoon, and that’s something I’d like to fix tonight. Name’s Jack.” he drawled.

Oh god. He was right next to you, and he was scrubbed up and had changed into jeans and a white t-shirt that somehow seemed to caress the wide expanse of his chest in a way that was bordering on sinful. As you turned your head to him, a fresh, woodsy scent drifted up to your nose, combined with something incredibly masculine. The visual and scent combination was making your heart throb impulsively.

“Yeah? What do you think was the wrong foot exactly? The part where you thought I was stupid or that I wanted to fuck you as soon as you stepped foot on the premises?”

His eyes widened for a moment before crinkling in amusement, his lips curling into a smile. You couldn’t imagine what he found so funny as you were not pulling your punches.

But this time he was ready. You might have knocked him on his ass during the first round but Whiskey was nothing if not a quick learner.

“I don’t think you’re stupid and I do apologize for my behaviour, Champ would agree that I sometimes get ahead of myself with fillies. We’ve been out in the field a lot an’ good company has been hard to come by.”

“You’re doing great with that apology, keep going.” Your words said progress but your tone dripped with an acerbic edge that could make milk curdle. You were secretly enjoying the banter and you were delighted that he didn’t seem to step down from the challenge this time.

He scoffed. “I’m tryna apologize and you’re making it awful hard, sugar. If we’re going to be spending time together on this vacation we’ll have to at least get along.”

“Does this honky tonk bullshit ever work on anyone?” you quirked an eyebrow.

He paused for a second and with a wholehearted smile that was meant to disarm you, conspiratorially said “There’s never been a horse this cowboy couldn’t ride.”

“I’m here to take care of guests’ experience on the resort. If it’s riding you’re after we have a stable and an escort service. Whichever one you choose is none of my business but I’ll happily arrange either.”

You got a kick out of the way surprise flashed in his eyes.

You started to walk away, when something occurred to you and you called over your shoulder: “and Jack...there’s never been a cowboy that couldn’t be thrown.”

As the night wore on, drinks flowed and conversation became more animated over the fire. You were sitting next to Champ, listening to an anecdote about a recent mission. While the story was interesting, your eyes couldn’t help but wander. Jack was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, features illuminated in the licking flames.

You could finally get a good, undisturbed look at him. He was polished but with a roguish streak, his eyes glinting mischievously.

His neatly trimmed mustache framed lush, full lips which were crooked into a smile that dared you to just give him an inch, that’s all he needed. God those lips were the perfect juxtaposition to the angular lines of his jaw and nose...

Unbidden the image of how his bottom lip would catch on your jaw as he planted open-mouthed kisses trailing from your neck up to your mouth….no no, wait, hold on, no... you mentally chastised yourself. Guest. At least thirteen levels of inappropriate. Rein it the fuck in.

You cast your eyes back to Champ but you felt Jack looking right at you. It seemed he had a knack for catching the tail end of your stolen glances and winding them up into a stranglehold.

While you had a calm exterior, internally you were doing a terrible job of keeping your emotions in check - this was uncomfortably close to attraction and you had to constantly remind yourself that he was off-limits, and a jackass. A handsome jackass whose large fingers would feel right at home in your...no, stop it.

As the evening wound down, you all drifted to your respective cottages, and heels in hand, you could feel the exhaustion of the day setting into your bones as you reached your porch.

You flicked the kettle’s on switch and lobbed yourself onto the worn couch. This day. This day had been trying.

Chapter 4

TAGS:

@honestly-shite @hello-i-am-daydreaming

#undermarulatrees #agent whiskey #agent jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle

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deadhumourist · 4 years ago

Text

Under Marula Trees

Rating: Mature (to be safe)

Warnings: Cursing, vague reference to shenanigans in the workplace.

Pairing: Jack Daniels X f!reader

Summary: You’re a host at an exclusive safari lodge and you suddenly have your hands full with a rowdy bunch of Statesmen.

A/N: Alright, so this is my first stab at writing in around...10 years? I know it’s going to be bad, and the dialogue is horrendous but I have to just bite the bullet and throw it out there. All criticism and corrections welcome, I am super new to publishing on Tumblr. I might change the title because I literally just made it up in one minute. This also starts off a bit slow due to world-building and creating the visual reference points. English is also not my first language so there might be gremlins.

I was so inspired by (and in awe of) many wonderful writers here, especially @yespolkadotkitty who drew first blood (tears rather!) with her beautiful work @sirowsky whose work I *inhale*, @asta-lily who is immensely talented and encouraged me to write a self-indulgent daydream (which is what this is), @honestly-shite with her immaculate writing and so many more. Thank you for sharing your incredible work.

Some notes:

This takes place in South Africa - fynbos is a type of indigenous plant type which is found in the Cape Region.

Marula fruit trees are found throughout Africa. If you have any questions please shoot, I am very friendly and would love to explain anything you’d like to know.

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“Barry, I booked annual leave more than a month ago, you can’t do this. I...I've already paid for plane tickets, accommodation... a bloody phrasebook!” Your voice broke pathetically at the last part but you were going all in. He needed to understand how irreversible this was.

Heart racing, you waited for the staticky landline to crackle again. The phone lines out here were really not great and you were internally cursing shitty technology and your shitty boss and you swore to several gods that you were going to lose your shit if he went through with this.

“Y/N” He sounded tired, even through the poor quality of the call. “Henry is in hospital and this is a VVIP booking. No one else is available, what would you have me do?”

Your knuckles turned white around the receiver and you hissed “I don’t know Barry, that’s your problem. I’m not running Nimbali and if I were, I wouldn’t pick this moment to start managing a playpen for rich shmucks.”

You had a great relationship with your boss but he was plucking at your last highly-strung nerve. You knew the retort had crossed a line as soon as it left your lips.

“The guests are arriving two days from now...be ready.” Suddenly the phone beeped in your ear and the quip that had been flying out of your throat died at the finish line.

You stared at the phone.

“Motherfu….WHAT!?”. You threw the phone clean off the side table, making it wobble perilously. You were furious and had nowhere to channel the energy to, so you took to stalking around in your living quarters ranting to yourself.

“So Henry needs some minor surgery and can’t stand around smiling at guests? Like he does anything on a bloody normal day?. Oh noooo of course, let’s cancel expensive travel plans!”

Your anger made your speech lean comically towards hyperbole but you needed to seethe and get it out of your system.

“Did I learn Spanish for shits and giggles? Why yes it appears I HAVE, because OBVIOUSLY. I have the kind of time and money to just oh, I dunno” you threw both your hands up in an indignant gesture “rebook an entire bloody trip to Chile. That’s fine. That...IS...FIIIINE!”

You plucked open the door of your liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of craft gin that you had been saving for a special occasion.

You deserved to sulk properly, so you poured two generous fingers, adding a sad slice of lemon and flat tonic you fished out of the back of the fridge.

At least the view was nice.

You stepped onto the large wooden deck at the back of your house and inhaled deeply. The balmy air was fragranced with the fresh, herbaceous scent of fynbos. Stepping forward, you looked down onto the gently sloping valley beneath you; a panorama of undulations shaded in yellow and green, with the odd rock jutting out to pierce the smooth geography.

You could already feel some of your irritation dissolving into the breeze. The sun was dipping low, bathing the sky in a deep blush and indigo wash, and every evening you felt like you were seeing an African sunset for the first time.

Nimbali Safari Lodge had been your home for nearly 4 years now. Looking for a quiet place to finish your linguistics PhD, you stumbled upon an opportunity to live on the estate if you became a host. The job seemed too good to be true - a beautiful, cozy home nestled in an exclusive resort, majestic animals you could see anytime, and meeting new people from all over the world.

The novelty, however, wore off during the first year. The location and animals were indeed magnificent, but the guests were trying at the best of times, and downright unconscionable at the worst.

Guests normally ranged from prissy showbiz types who were more interested in sucking the bar dry and lounging by the pool than the elephants, to the rich and terribly spoiled who were only there to take photos with the animals to post to their socials. You had put up with a lot and could hold an infallible smile and professional veneer while doing so. That kind of professionalism was valued at this kind of lodge.

The lodge prided itself on meticulous attention to detail and an unforgettable experience of wildest Africa, all in the comfort of immaculately air-conditioned rooms and pristine, white linened luxury. Horse riding, an in-house spa, game drives and more. Every convenience was anticipated and taken care of, and no guest request was too much trouble. Discretion also meant that if the guest was the trouble, it would never reach the outside world.

You sighed. You disliked this group already. They were on your bad side for merely booking this week at the lodge. How DARE they. You groaned inwardly at the thought of catering to their every need while you could have...well..catered to your every need on a beach in Chile.

Preferably with a smutty book, a hot guy and a taste bypass.

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You stood around in the lobby waiting for your VVIP group. After a heated call with a, in your humble opinion VERY unhelpful airline, you were in no mood. You stared unseeingly out of the large bay windows, past the tastefully decorated reception area with its large, comfortable leather couches and opulent lamps.

You smoothed out your outfit absent-mindedly. Although staff were required to wear khaki or beige uniforms (typical!) hosts had a bit more leeway in line with their status. The light cotton-like material of your deep khaki jumpsuit hung softly from your shoulders and cinched neatly around the waist, giving the impression that you were a guest rather than part of the brick and mortar of the lodge.

A loud bash yanked you out of your reverie, and you frowned at the main doors, which had swung open unceremoniously. Looking back you should have guessed that you would be saddled with the most raucous, ill-disciplined bunch for your sins.

A silver-haired man with a cigar dangling from his lips was deep in conversation with a younger man, who despite his impressive musculature seemed to have trouble walking in a straight line. Behind them a beautiful woman scuttled in heels, trying to keep up, and another man wearing the most ridiculous all-denim outfit with….with...was that a Stetson? In this heat?

You had to stop your eyeballs from rolling so hard that they would leave scuff marks against your sockets.

As the group made a (jagged) beeline for the reception desk, Stetson seemed to notice you out of the corner of his eye.

He turned lazily in your direction and came to a stop right in front of you. Looking you over leisurely, the right corner of his mouth pulled up in amusement.

It was clear at this point that things were about to go either very wrong or very humorously.

“Well Sugar there hello” he slurred.

Combined with a heavy drawl the short sentence was nearly unintelligible and you needed a few seconds for your brain to rearrange the words.

Misconstruing your confusion for incomprehension his eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he started gesturing, his voice now much louder and speaking slowly.

“HE-LO. My n-name (he plopped his hand on his chest) is WHIS-KEYYY. WHIS-KEY. What IS YOUR NAME (wagging a finger in your direction).

His adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed, waiting for you to magically understand him now that he has spoken the same language, but several decibels louder.

“Sir, I speak English. You don’t need to shout”.

Your clipped tone and disapproving look was rewarded with the widest, most delighted smile you have ever seen on a man.

This was going to be an interesting week.

Read Chapter 2

#kingsman the golden circle #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #africa #undermarulatrees #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey

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deadhumourist · 4 years ago

Text

Under Marula Trees - Chapter 2

Rating: M (to be safe)

Warnings: Cursing, looking *respectfully* (uhm..)

Summary: You’re a host at an exclusive safari lodge and you suddenly have your hands full with a rowdy bunch of Statesmen.

A/N: Well this took a bloody while to write - I have no idea if any of this makes sense so if there's a gaping plot hole please let me know. Also, I don't know if this is convention but "game" refers to wildlife over here. As always, criticism and comments are welcomed and appreciated.

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Read Chapter 1

The little group crowded the front desk where your coworker Aaron was signing them in. You tried to survey them through the lush palm next to the curved rosewood desk. They seemed like an odd, incongruous bunch, the members running the full gamut of stereotypes, from the mousy but sweet nerd to the bulky, loud jock. Like something out of a movie.

A female voice called from the front desk “Whiskey, where’d you wander off to? You need to sign in, hun”.

Couldn’t be his last name or first name, but if he was named for his poison it was spot on - he reeked of the stuff. While you were praying to high heaven that you would become nose-blind soon, the older man left the group at the desk and sidled up to the two of you. Cigar still miraculously perched between his lips, he clapped a hand on Whiskey’s shoulder.

The camaraderie between them was evident. They looked comfortable in each other’s company, the kind that could only have come from working together for many years.

Although the older man was trying his best to look serious, he was failing miserably, the twinkle in his eye evident. He must be a terrible poker player, you thought.

“Now son, don’t go gettin’ on this missy’s bad side right off the bus, she’s our host and takin’ care of us during our stay here. Would be very unfortunate if she threw you in the predator camp.” Buoyed by the booze he cackled at his own terrible joke, doubling over when he saw the other man pale.

You had heard the same joke so many times that you were able to time and execute a perfect reaction by now. Hazard of the job so to speak - people were either being threatened with predators or being left out in the savanna to fend for themselves. They were less funny each time. You sighed inwardly and teed up the response.

“We have the Big Five on a strictly alcohol-free diet sir. Otherwise they sneak out of camp and go for joyrides in the Jeep”

The older man’s face suddenly fell. So you had noticed the smell and must think the worst. Clearly mortified, he continued in a more sober tone.

“Miss, I have’ta apologise, we hit some turbulence in the air and a coupla’ tumblers of whiskey ended up on our boy here. The air hostesses were really nice, weren’t they Agent? Even escorted you back there to change your sh…” Whiskey’s eyebrows shot up again and he hurriedly talked over the older man. “Uh, fetch a spare”.

Both looked at you guiltily, like they were waiting for the penny to drop. It was clearly only part of the story because the man in front of you was several sheets to the wind. Some liquor might have spilled onto him but even more spilled into him, you thought sourly.

When you offered them nothing but a perfect poker face, the older man stuck his hand out to you, part peace offering, part introduction.

“I’m Champ, I’m responsible for bringing these incorrigible yokels to your side of the world. It’s a little break as a team, we’ve had one heck of a year and thought we could use a change of scenery. These are some of our finest agents, and you’ll pardon me if I can’t divulge where they’re from or who they work for.”

He shot you a knowing look and you nodded. You often received famous visitors so the admission didn't surprise you. Whether it was the CIA, Mi5 or the bloody Ministry of Magic, you didn’t care and didn’t want to know. Plausible deniability and general disinterest in this particular group would go a long way to make this little….interruption….to your planned holiday fly by. If you could even work in a little polite torture that would be superb.

You were yanked from your musing by Champ’s voice.

“If they bother ya, you’ve got my permission to kick ‘em back in line. ‘Specially this one.” he said, cocking his head to the cowboy.

God….permission. Yes please.

Your eyes drifted from Champ to Whiskey. Something about this stranger in particular chafed at you, like sandpaper grazing the same spot over and over. As far as first impressions go, he had already dug himself into a hole and you would happily stand on the edge shovelling dirt onto his yeehonk ass for the remainder of the trip.

“Thanks sir, I might take you up on that.” You could barely conceal the mirth as you answered him in your best customer service smile.

As Champ left to rejoin the group, the man in front of you slowly tipped his hat into his open palm to place it down on the bench next to him. He ruffled the dark hair that had been plastered to his head.

As it reached midday in the bushveld, temperatures easily soared to 100 degrees Fahrenheit and it had gone from a balmy day to properly sweltering.

Even though he swayed gently as he overbalanced, you could see he was in good shape and the painted-on jeans did nothing to quell the heat that you were now well and truly starting to feel. Acclimatization what?

You swallowed thickly, as your eyes fixed on the delicious stretch of denim over his thighs. A hot flush crept up your face as the jeans swelled slightly with the fluid movement of his quads as he straightened back up.

His dark brown eyes found yours and suddenly you knew. You had been caught out. Fuck.

“Well guess we’re not the only ones sight-seeing today” he smirked.

A furious, rolling blush bloomed in your chest out of nowhere and you dipped your head, unable to cope with the weight of it. The nerve of this guy. But you were also stupid to get lost in thought. Fighting to recover, you looked back up and put on your sweetest smile.

“You must be mistaken, I don’t pay attention to common game.”

A frisson of discomfort shot through his smirk just for a second but if you blinked you would have missed it. He looked down and then out the window, his armour visibly pierced despite the smirk. He was letting the comment sit uncomfortably in the stuffy air, which was somehow worse than a retort.

Despite your smug reply, you felt bad. Your embarrassment at being caught out turned your sarcasm level up way too high; and it was akin to shooting a can off the fence with a bazooka.

Deep down you knew he was teasing but you were too far into it now and you’d be damned if you were going to backtrack. You resolved to be a bit nicer to him and hoped it would suffice. Just a bit.