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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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highdefhoetry · 7 months

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Behind the Blindfold, ch. 2 [Satoru Gojo x Reader]

tags: NSFW!!! tickle kink, female reader, penetration (penis in vagina), unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (vaginal), blowjobs, creampie, body worship & praise, aftercare/post-sex cuddling, hand kink, big dick, size kink, size difference, reader is short, enemies to lovers (kind of), dubcon (reader is resistant but only because she's denying feelings), light humiliation with verbal teasing, squirting, reader is tsundere with trust issues

summary: after hooking up with gojo for the first time, you find it increasingly difficult to deny how you feel. tension builds, and your desire for him intensifies. then, on your day off, he shows up at your door...

word count: ~4,350

read part 1 here!

read on ao3 here!

Things became eerily quiet between the two of you after the debacle at headquarters. Conversation was kept to a minimum on missions, eye contact was scarce and purposely avoided, and physical touch was practically non-existent. Of course, this was mostly because you went out of your way to ensure you weren’t left alone together again. Not because you were frightened of him, but because of how he made you feel.

You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt when he discovered your little kink and teased you endlessly about it, nor could you stop yourself from remembering the feeling of his tongue on your clit and his large, thick fingers pumping inside you. You tried to stifle the new fantasies that arose in your mind when you were alone, but it was difficult to think of anything else when you saw his face every time you closed your eyes. This only made the urges stronger, the desire to go even further with this man you were committed to hate…

But, per usual, you shoved those emotions down and buried them somewhere deep, knowing they’d come back to haunt you anyway.

Things were okay for a short time. At first, you enjoyed the peace that came with a quiet Gojo. You were finally able to focus on your missions without having to listen to him blabber on and on about whatever stupid shit he was on that day, which meant that things went smoother and time wasn’t wasted on frivolous mind games or flirting. But as the days dragged on, you found it harder and harder to avoid his gaze, to avert your eyes when they lingered on his face, to turn yourself away when you caught yourself staring once more at his hands…

All things that did not go unnoticed by Satoru Gojo. He himself seemed to have trouble keeping you at a distance, and you got the feeling he was constantly holding himself back. There was a quiet, primal energy that radiated from him whenever you were near, an energy that admittedly was more exciting than terrifying. You wondered what would happen to you if that intensity was ever released. You secretly hoped you’d be there long enough to see it.

Whether it was intentional or not (most likely the former, knowing how he was), he jumped at every opportunity to get close to you. He’d choose a seat right next to you in meetings and stretch out his legs until his knees bumped into yours. He’d sneak up behind you when you struggled to reach something up high, gently grinding himself against your ass while he grabbed whatever it was you needed before handing it to you with a smile. He’d graze his fingers over your hand, pretending to pick up the same thing you were even when it was obvious he didn’t need it. All very, very annoying. One time, when he was feeling bold, he placed a hand on the small of your lower back as he passed by you in the hall, with a hushed “Excuse me” whispered in your ear. You flinched at the ghostly touch, then heard a quiet chuckle as you saw him walk by.

Maddening. Absolutely maddening.

But you had to resist. There was no telling what would happen if you let him get close to you again.

The dam finally breaks on your day off. You had opted to stay at home and rest, since you had spent the last week utilizing your Domain Expansion technique and your body was currently paying the price. You get out of bed in the early afternoon and make breakfast, then spend most of the day plopped on the couch re-watching your favorite old anime. It was kind of dull, but you had made peace with the mundane. Sometimes, boring was good.

However, your peace is interrupted by a heavy knock at your front door sometime in the evening.

You pause the TV and stand up, stretching out your arms and back since they’re a bit stiff from sitting on your ass for so long. It’s probably just the delivery guy dropping off the package you ordered last night. Online shopping is so convenient nowadays. You walk to the door wearing a huge T-shirt that’s basically a dress on you, not bothering to put on underwear or pants. No one is going to see you anyway, right?

Wrong. When you open the door, you see the silver-haired sorcerer staring back at you with a small smirk. A pair of dark tinted sunglasses slide down his nose, revealing the sparkling cerulean of his eyes.

“Heeeey, (Y/N),” Gojo greets you with a voice like silk.

You immediately slam the door shut.

You hear him calling out to you from the other side as your heart starts pounding, throwing itself against your chest threatening to break loose. As each second passes, countless questions run through your mind.

Why did he come here?

What did he want from you?

And why did you feel so damn excited?

“Hellooooo? (Y/N)? Open up, please~”

You let out a deep sigh and slowly open the door again, greeting Gojo with a neutral expression. He smiles back at you, as warmly as the sun.

“It’s rude to slam doors in people’s faces, you know,” he says in a sing-songy voice while leaning an arm against the door frame, right above your head. Your heart flutters as you look up at this man who towers over you, suddenly feeling quite small.

“What do you want, Gojo?” you ask bluntly.

“I was in the area and thought I’d drop in to say hello.”

He leans forward, his head now directly above yours. His dazzling blue eyes stare right into your soul. The butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. Why did he have such an intense effect on you? You’d never met a man who made your knees weak just by looking at you, not until now.

“You look cute,” he says.

You absolutely do not. Your hair is a mess, you’re completely bare faced, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got stains on your shirt from the spicy ramen you ate earlier. He’s just trying to butter you up, and you won’t let him.

“Hello, Gojo. Goodbye, Gojo.”

You start to close the door again, but he stops it easily with his giant hand.

“Wait, (Y/N)...”

“What?” you bellow. “What is it now?”

“Let’s talk. It’s been a while since we had our little ‘heart to heart’.”

He smiles innocently, pushing his body up against yours. You stay put, holding your ground. You cross your arms and lean back against the door frame.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, but there is. Like how loudly you moaned when I-”

You grab his collar before he can finish his thought and drag him inside in a panic, then slam the door shut behind you. You place a finger on your lips to shush him.

“Be quiet! I don’t want the whole world knowing my personal business!”

He smirks at you and chuckles, which only aggravates you further.

“So that’s what gets your attention. Public humiliation.”

“Ugh! You’re infuriating!”

You throw your hands up in defeat and let out a frustrated cry before stomping over to the couch and throwing yourself down. Your little interaction had lasted less than two minutes, and already he had exhausted you. You’re so caught up in your own frustration that you barely notice him walk over to sit next to you. You jump a little when you feel him plop down, and when you look at him he simply smiles back. He looks so casual and nonchalant, acting like it was completely natural for him to be there. You could’ve pushed him away, told him to get out, but you didn’t have the heart. Not when he was looking at you like this, with those soft ocean eyes that made you feel like you were the only one in his sights.

He rests his arm on the head of the sofa, curling it around your shoulders and resting his hand next to your neck. You shudder as his fingers brush against your neck, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. You try not to, but you can’t help but stare at his fingers. They’re quite long, and on the thicker side. His knuckles are dry and calloused, and you see veins popping out on the back of his hands.

They really are gorgeous. Probably the sexiest hands you’ve ever seen. Your clit starts to throb, even though he hasn’t touched you. Yet.

“You love being annoyed by me,” he says.

“I do not.”

“Then why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

“Because, you-!”

You are interrupted by the feeling of his other hand on your chin, a soft gesture to a seldom-touched place. He gently lifts your face up, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip. You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, his fingers gently caressing the sensitive skin on your neck.

“Because I, what?”

You don’t answer at first, finding it hard to look at him now that he’s demanding your attention. He tilts his head to the side, following your eyes as they try to dart away. He traces his fingertips up your neck, over your ear, then runs them through your hair. You shiver, forcing back giggles and other sounds of pleasure.

“Do I really rile you up that much?” he teases. “Or are you just easily flustered?”

He lets go of your chin, then runs his hand down your chest, taking his time to drink you in. You feel his palm caress your breast, then trail down your stomach before sneaking under the hem of your shirt to feel the bare skin hidden underneath. You jump a little; his hands are cold, and the way his fingers are moving feels ticklish. Already in a weakened state, you let loose a few giggles and squirm in his arms.

He grins as he observes your reactions, taking note of your tittered noises and breathy gasps. After taking off his sunglasses and placing them on the coffee table, he swiftly wraps his arm around your back and lays you down flat before sitting between your legs. One thigh to his right, the other to his left. His hands return to your sides, running up and down your waist from your hips to your chest. You stare up at him with wide eyes, feeling completely exposed and at his mercy.

“You know, (Y/N)...” he says almost in a whisper. “I’ve missed your laugh. I’ve been thinking about it ever since that day.”

A single finger circles your stomach, right around your belly button. You gasp and twist away, but he follows your every movement.

“The way you squirm. Your frantic little pleas. The sound of your moans when I touch you in just the right places. And there’s still so much more of you left to explore.”

He leans forward, and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to kiss you again, but at the last second his lips flutter in your ear, sending ice cold chills down your spine.

“Haven’t you missed me, too?”

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a loud gasp. His hands, still wandering down your body, reach your hip pockets, a spot that’s both errogenous and deadly. As soon as his fingers make contact, you cry out and curl up your legs into your chest. He forces them apart, pinning them down with his own and exposing you even further.

“Now that is a delightful spot,” he grins deviously, softly stroking his fingers there once more. “You really it here, huh?”

“Ahaha! Hey…!”

You laugh like crazy, struggling as much as you can as he tortures you for a bit. You grab his wrists and try to push his hands away, but he easily resists and further showcases the gap in strength between you by intertwining his fingers with yours and pinning your hands beside your head with ease. You see his eyes, full of wild passion, staring back at you.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what this does to you.”

He lets go of one of your hands and slides his free one between your thighs, caressing your skin for a few moments before slipping a finger into your pussy. He’s right; you’re already soaking wet, just from his teasing touches. You let out an airy moan, instinctively lifting up your hips to push yourself further onto his finger. This pleases him greatly; his grin widens as he watches your reaction. He adds another finger and starts pushing them in, back and forth, back and forth. This time with a bit more vigor and force. God, he’s great with his hands. His thumb massages the hood of your clit while making sure his fingers keep their momentum. It feels so fucking good, you could almost cry.

With a slight curl of his index, he finds that spongy spot inside and rubs his fingertip all around. You scream out in a high-pitched tone as you squirt all over his hands, your body cumming like quick lightning and trembling like a tree in a storm. You hear him chuckle as he pulls out.

“Amazing…” he croons, licking the fluids you’ve left on his fingers. The sight makes you feel delicious, makes you feel desired.

You lay there, a bit winded from the sudden intensity, but you only have a moment to gather yourself before his face plants itself between your thighs. You feel his tongue circling your clit, his mouth warm and wet on your pussy lips as he leaves random kisses here and there. You cry out in pleasure, run your fingers through his silky hair and gently tug as you pull his head down. The feeling makes him groan, and he starts eating you fervently, as if he hasn’t had a goddamn meal in days.

You’re not sure how much time passes. All you can think about is how amazing it feels having his pretty face buried in your pussy. Your fists ball up, once again taking in his silky locks. You notice that the harder you pull, the more he groans in pleasure. It feels unkempt and wild, the way you’re both consuming one another so ravenously.

But you need more.

And so does he. When he decides that enough is enough, he begins to kiss his way up your body, making sure no part of your skin is left without proper worship. He plants his lips on your upper thighs, your hips, those unbearable divots that make you squeal, the spot on your lower belly right below the belly button. His lips travel up your stomach, kiss under your breasts, then float up towards your collar bones before finally reaching your face. He leans forward and kisses you softly, deeply, with the passion of a long lost lover. Like before, you put a hand on the back of his neck and pull him in closer, wanting to taste yourself on him. Your tongue dances with his; your moans echo his own.

He pulls back and grabs the hem of his shirt, then pulls it off his head. You do the same, lifting your oversized T-shirt over your head and rendering yourself nude. He yanks down his pants and tosses them on the floor somewhere, revealing the chiseled muscles he’d been hiding under his clothes. His torso is lean, but muscular; his abs are defined and rock hard when you glide your fingers across. You feel him shudder at your touch, but he doesn’t stop you when you continue running your fingers up and down his waist and stomach.

While you’re admiring his form, he slowly pulls his tight boxers down his thighs. His hard cock swings out; you gasp when you lay eyes on it. Just as you thought, Gojo Satoru has a big dick. It’s at least nine inches, maybe more, and his girth is modestly thick. It curves off to one side with a vein running down the other, and the skin is paler than the rest on his body.

It’s perfect.

You sit up without thinking and immediately take it in your hand. You feel him throb as you kiss the tip, getting him warmed up for more. Even that little motion causes Gojo to let out quivered moans, spurring you further. You slowly lick up and down his shaft, making sure it’s nice and wet as your hand clenches around it and starts to jerk. You press your lips onto the tip and start swirling your tongue around it until Gojo starts thrusting softly; you can taste salty precum on your tongue. It makes you smile. You could probably make him cum by deep throating him at this point, so you decide to test this and take his dick in your mouth fully and completely. The sound that comes out of his mouth is delightful; his needy cries are angelic.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach his limit. His groans reach new volumes, his dick slides in and out of your mouth with fervor. You feel yourself start to choke, but push through the feeling. You love hearing Gojo moan like this while his cock is in your mouth. You’re obsessed with the way it throbs and pulsates with every flick of your tongue, how easily you’ve brought him to the edge. You didn’t mind gagging and drooling if it meant seeing Gojo in this state, the cocky and overconfident sorcerer conquered by you and you alone.

But right before he’s about to cum, he pulls himself out of your mouth and leans over, bracing his hands on the couch cushions behind you.

“...Not yet…” he pants, sweat dripping down his forehead. “I want to feel what it’s like to be inside you.”

Nothing else needed to be said. You take his dick without hesitation and guide it into your hole, going slowly so it won’t hurt too much. He sticks in the tip, and just the tip, which causes you to cry out in shock despite the fact that he’s barely inside. Gradually, he pushes his cock in further, letting out deep, raspy groans the deeper he goes. Finally, you feel his hips bump against yours, and you know he’s in all the way. The feeling of fullness and the heavenly vocalizations he’s making cause your clit to throb and your walls to clench around his dick.

In a steady rhythmic pace, he slides in and out of your pussy, slowly increasing the speed and ferocity. Your wetness has made it easier to take him in, although you definitely feel his size. It feels better than any dick you’ve had before. You feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out moan after moan, whimpering with pleasure.

“You have such a pretty little hole,” he praises, sweat dripping down his brow. You feel your cheeks flush; even now, when things were most lewd, he found a way to be soft to you. You notice the way he’s looking down, watching as his dick goes in and out. He must be enjoying the visual; he pumps harder as your hole welcomes him again and again.

“Oh, God!!” You cry out, wrapping your legs around his back and your arms around his neck. He feels fucking phenomenal. How long had it been since you’d fucked like this? Your desire for him was insatiable. You couldn’t get enough. You needed so much more.

“God, you feel so fucking good…” he continues, growling like an animal as he thrusts as deeply as he can into your pretty pussy. His praise, his passion, his rapid speed steadily bring you closer to your climax.

He suddenly puts his large hands on your waist and starts stroking your skin, lazily dragging his fingertips across your bare stomach. You arch your back and squeal, which makes you clench your vaginal walls around his cock instinctively. It’s a sensitive spot, but after all the foreplay feels almost like sensory overload. He makes a noise that almost sounds like he’s going to cry.

“Fuck!!!” he growls in a low, guttural tone.

As his soft fingers stroke your skin over and over, you’re caught between long moans and frantic laughter. He lets up after some time, thankfully, opting to focus on thrusting. Where he touched still feels like electric fireworks. You cry until your voice feels hoarse, overcome with ecstacy, erupting in tiny little orgasms as his cock impales you.

Then, after god knows how long, he grabs your hips and slams into you one last time. He lets out one last moan that starts as a howl and ends as a whimper, and you feel warmth spread through you inside. His dick twitches as he lets loose his load, filling you with his cum. It feels so goddamn good, being full of his seed. Pregnancy be damned. It was fucking worth it.

He collapses on the couch next to you, panting heavily like he’s just outrun a curse. His skin is warm and damp to touch, just like yours, except it looks a bit more flushed. You notice some of his hair is plastered against his forehead and reach over to brush it off. He responds by kissing the palm of your hand, then snuggling up against you by wrapping his arms around his body. You feel like a tiny rabbit caught in the arms of a wolf. His body is so big, completely encompassing yours. You have never felt so small… and so adored.

“(Y/N)...” he mumbles while kissing your neck and your cheek. His hands wander over your body, one gently fondling your breast while the other caresses your hips and ass. It’s more soothing than arousing, but welcome nonetheless.

As the rush of pleasure finally dies down, you fall silent and just enjoy the tiny moments nestled up to him. You’re not sure you’ll ever have this again. You’ve gone all the way, he’s experienced you at your most vulnerable and taken all of you in, all that you could offer. Your eyes fall on the clock on the end table. 10:13 P.M.

Pretty soon, he’ll be leaving, and the two of you would once again pretend like nothing happened.

“You truly are amazing…” he snaps you out of your daze by pressing his lips against your earlobe, making you coo quietly. You’re not sure what to say back. You shuffle around to face him, staring deeply into his eyes as he looks back with slight confusion.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” you say bluntly, trying to remove yourself emotionally from the situation, preparing yourself for the pain. “I’ll be fine if you go.”

His mouth drops open slightly, and he’s rendered silent. But after a few moments, his smirk returns.

“And what about me, (Y/N)? What if I want to stay?”

He suddenly attacks your sides with vigor, tickling your rib cage until you practically scream with laughter. You thrash around like mad, but can’t manage to kick him or throw him off. He laughs at your suffering, keeps it up for a few seconds before he finally stop. To make up for it, he kisses your forehead and speaks to you as he moves down your face, kissing your closed eyelids and flushed cheeks.

“You can stop with the tough girl act. I can see right through it,” his eyes flash as he stares at you intensely, reminding you of his power. “This is your roundabout way of asking me to stay the night, isn’t it?”

God damn it. Were you really that easy to read? You have nothing to say in response, so you muster up the most displeased pout you can before burying your face in his chest. He laughs, and you feel his chest vibrate as your face presses against it. He places one of his hands on the top of your head and starts running his fingers through your hair. The feeling makes you purr. He’s warm. And soft. And he smells really, really good. Like expensive cologne, the kind you get from designer storefronts locked behind displays. It's like his entire essence is encompassing you.

“Have a little more faith in me, will ya?” he implores you, wrapping you up in his embrace a little tighter. “Next time, just come outright and say how you feel. I promise I’ll listen.”

“No you won’t,” you lift your face to address him. “You’ll just tease me.”

“You’re right,” he flicks your nose, prompting you to grab his hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, chuckling softly. “But that’s only because you’re so fun to tease.”

The two of you press your hands together, palm to palm. Yours look tiny compared to his. His long fingers curls over yours, his palm is almost the size of your entire hand. You play with them a bit, caressing each finger, feeling the rough skin battered by fights and cursed techniques. He intertwines his fingers with yours once more, then brings your hand to his lips to plant a kiss on the back.

“You truly are full of surprises. Who would’ve thought someone as fiery and passionate as you would have such tender feelings?”

You pout again, and apparently the sight amuses him so much that he throws his head back and laughs. His embrace grows tighter as he kisses you on the lips. He lingers there for some time before speaking again.

“If only you knew, (Y/N)…”

“Knew what?”

He lays his head down on the couch pillow, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut. His silver eyelashes are almost translucent in the glow of night. They look as delicate as butterfly wings.

“How bad I've got it for you…”

You want to ask him what that means, but when you hear his deep, sleepy breathing, you decide to leave it alone. Your own eyes are getting heavy, and his arms are so comfortable. Your own eyelids start to droop, and very soon you join him in slumber.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #female reader #minors DNI

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hey-august · 4 days

Text

I know I'm pathetic - Pt 3

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Fic tag)

WC: ~180

Warnings for the entire story: NSFW, mdni, Buggy x GN!reader, not an established relationship, dubcon, auralism, masturbation, buggy is a fucking perv, slight degradation kink

Tag list: @rorywritesjunk @lostfirefly @ane5e

Title from Pathetic by blink-182

Buggy was conflicted. He was having problems. Inner turmoil that he didn’t know how to deal with. After the ear fiasco, he made it his own personal mission to never let that happen again. To never violate someone’s privacy like that, again.

But why did a small part of him hate that mission? Why did it push him to drink more so he would have an excuse to lose control?

That same voice acted like his friend. Like it was looking out for Buggy’s best interests.

Since that night, Buggy had been having trouble coming. No matter how much he jacked off, any accessories he used, the porn mags he hunched over, each orgasm was weaker than the last. They barely brought him any relief.

Fantasies helped, but only for so long. The echoes of your needy moans and filthy mouth were fading and so was his ability to finish. He'd rub his dick raw and get nothing in return.

Buggy tried to deny it for as long as possible, but after another day spent walking bowlegged with fucking painful blue balls, he changed his mind.

Buggy accepted that he was a disgusting deviant and needed to hear you again. He needed to touch himself while listening to you. He need your voice so he could come and finally feel satisfied.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #hey-august i know i'm pathetic

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lunarbuck · 9 months

Text

Parasite - Slaughter pt. 3

Pairing: dark!Winter Soldier x f!reader (any race)

WC: 2.2k

Summary: It's been too long since you've seen the Soldier

Warnings: dark, smut (p in v, unprotected, public-ish), edging, overstimulation, swearing, pet names [little lamb]

A/N: I can't believe I haven't updated this since september of last year... i'm sorry it took so long!!!! this was a doozy lol i hope you guys enjoy :)

Song referenced: Parasite Eve - Bring Me The Horizon

series masterlist | my masterlist | requests are open

part 1 | part 2

He’s been away from you for too long. His fingers itch to touch you, to ravage you. To ruin you. It’s all he can think about. Every mission he completes gets him closer and closer to returning to you.

You’ve been craving him. Nothing feels like him; nothing comes even close. Heat floods your body whenever you think of him, his hands on you, his words.

Don’t thank god, little lamb. Thank me. I’m your fucking god.

You go about your regular life, hiding the masked man away from everyone around you. He’s your dirty little secret, your wildest fantasy come to life.

Even though it’s fucked up, you miss him. It’s been weeks, and he has yet to return to your bedroom. The star he carved into your leg is scarring over nicely, and it serves as a reminder every time you see or feel it, of what he did to you. What he’s done. What he will do.

Tonight, as you dance with a man whose name you don’t quite remember, it’s him that you think of. The masked man with eyes that can see right through you. You think of him as this new man grips your hips just a little too tightly. He dances just a little too closely.

And then you see it.

A flash of metal, those eyes…

You shake your head. There’s no way he’s here. Even before that first night in your bedroom, he never followed you to places like this. He only ever saw you in public, not at a club or bar.

The dancing man behind you grows bored, finally picking up on your disinterest, and abandons you on the dance floor. But you’re not paying attention. No, you’re staring at the corner of the room.

There, hidden in the darkness, you see him. He devours you with his eyes, setting you alight.

You walk to him as if tethered by some invisible force. He pulls you in, hypnotizing you with his presence.

“Little lamb,” he whispers when you’re finally standing in front of him. He’s not wearing his mask, and it takes everything in you to not stare at his lips. They’re soft, plump, and pink. You want to kiss him, to press against those perfect lips and taste them.

His fingers grip your chin, and tilt your head up so you have to meet his eyes.

“You’re here,” you say breathily. His eyes search your face, but for what, you’re not sure.

The Soldier’s fingers reach out and brush up your arm, sending shivers through your body. Your dress is sleeveless, leaving your skin out for him to devour. And that’s what it looks like he wants to do.

“And you were dancing with a man.” His voice is gruff and laced with lust. But there’s anger there too.

All you can do is nod, already falling into his trance. Without speaking another word, the Soldier cocks his head and tugs you toward the back of the bar. You follow him, practically tripping over your feet to keep up with his long strides.

He shoulders open the back door of the bar, and it doesn’t cross your mind to wonder how he knew where the exit was, how he barely had to look for it at all. Instead, your thoughts linger on the way the low light casts shadows over his beautiful, sharp features. You drink him in, committing the slope of his nose, the angle of his chin to memory.

The Soldier presses your back against the rough brick wall of the alley, and suddenly the world comes back into focus around you.

“Thought you were gonna be good for me,” he whispers roughly, metal fingers curling around your chin. His other hand dips down, running up your knee to your thigh. You shiver when he makes contact with the star he carved into your skin.

“I- I have been good, I promise,” you reply, watching the Soldier’s face closely. His brow furrows as his fingers trace higher, finding your pussy already wet for him beneath your panties.

“I don’t believe you.” His words are harsh as he applies pressure to your clit. “You were letting that man touch you. How often have you done that since I last saw you?” Frustration washes over you, overtaking your lust. You push on his shoulders, shoving him back slightly.

“I don’t even know your fucking name,” you say, trying not to be afraid of the man in front of you. “Why would you care what I do when you’re gone? You’re the one who always disappears, who never showed me your face before tonight. Since when do you control my fucking life? You don’t own me.”

The Soldier’s eyes narrow, darkening at your words. He’s back on you in an instant, fingers finding their way back to the mark on your thigh.

“You are all I think about when I’m away, lamb.” Cold fingers trace the star over and over, the gesture practically obsessive. “Your eyes, your perfect body. Only you.” He leans his forehead closer to yours, knocking your nose with his. “I have no choice; I have to leave. But you…” he trails off, dragging his fingers back to your clit. “You chose to give me control that first night.”

“No,” you whisper, not even meaning it one bit.

“You begged for me,” he says, nipping at the tip of your nose. “Fucked yourself to the thought of my cock.” His fingers slide beneath your panties, finding you soaked. “You really going to tell me you don’t want me? Don’t want this?” You moan, feeling his strong fingers circle your clit.

“What’s your name?” You ask with a shaky voice. The Soldier grins, and you feel your knees go weak.

“I don’t have a name anymore.” You can tell he feels conflicted, but you want to push him for more. “I am called Soldat now.”

“Soldat,” you whisper. The sound of his name on your lips sends his mind to dark, dark places, but for you, he would go anywhere.

The Soldier’s blue eyes gleam down at you, and your lips part with a sigh. He’s working you up so perfectly; he knows your body better than you know it. When his lips connect with yours, it sends sparks flying through you.

He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s devouring you. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer. You gasp when he moves one of his legs between yours, spreading your feet apart further.

“Take it back,” he grunts. In a swift movement, he tears your panties down your legs. They fall to the ground, shredded. Confusion must flash across your features because as he fusses with his belt, he continues. “You said I don’t own you. Take. It. Back.”

Two of his fingers press inside of you, and you gasp loudly, suddenly aware of the possibility of someone walking past the alley and seeing what he’s doing to you. You try to cover his mouth with your fingers, but he easily dodges your grasp.

“Say it.” Your eyes roll back when his fingers graze the perfect spot deep inside of you. “Be a good little lamb for me, and maybe I’ll let you come. How’s that sound?” You preen at the idea of being good for him, but part of your brain scolds you for it. You don’t want to tell him he owns you, that you crave him, that you’re infected.

Instead, you shake your head, your orgasm growing closer and closer.

The Soldier clicks his tongue at you, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy. He shoves his pants down his legs, and your mouth waters at the sight of his dick.

He chuckles at your reaction and the way your tongue traces along your lower lip. “Pull up your dress.” His commanding tone sends shivers down your spine, and despite worrying about people that might walk past, you find yourself following his orders.

“What if someone sees?” The Soldier grips your legs at your knees, hoisting you up and against the wall. You instinctively wrap your legs around him, tugging him closer. His cock nudges against your clit, and you bite back a moan.

“Then they’ll know what you can’t seem to get through your dumb little head. That I fucking own you.” As the last word leaves his lips, he thrusts into you, stretching you around his length. This time, you can’t hold back the moan that rips from your throat.

“Soldat,” you whimper, head lolling back as he fucks you with fast, deep thrusts. Suddenly, he’s pressing something against your face. You realize a moment later that it’s his mask. He hooks it around your head, securing it into place. With the way it’s positioned on your head, you can’t open your mouth fully, and it muffles most of the sound you make.

“But those sounds,” he grunts, “are all mine.” His hands scour your body, grabbing and feeling every inch of your body as he fucks you. It’s all you can do to stay upright, and you give in to the feeling of him taking you.

His metal fingers find your clit, and he works you in quick, tight circles. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge, and you grip his shoulders, begging for release. But he doesn’t give it to you. The moment you’re about to come, he stops all his movements.

You groan at the loss, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“Take it back, and I’ll let you come,” he tells you, thrusting shallowly. The Soldier holds you against the brick and watches his cock as it slides in and out of your pussy. “Three little words, that’s all it takes.”

Your silence must last too long because he starts fucking you again, clearly trying to work you back up to your orgasm as quickly as possible.

He brings you to the edge more times than you can count, keeping you from coming each time. Tears stream down your face, and your muffled noises are music to the Soldier’s ears.

“You look so fucking perfect with my cock in you, little lamb,” he groans, pressing a hand against your lower belly. You whine from being sore, but it just makes him go faster. “If you wanna come so bad, you know what to say.”

He likes playing this game with you, especially since he wins either way. He loves seeing you take him, loves watching your body give him everything even though your mind won’t quite let go yet. He knows you’ll say it eventually. It’s only a matter of time, and he can’t wait to push you to your limit.

Your fingers dig into the Soldier’s shoulders, and you feel him shudder, his hips stuttering from their consistent pace. He comes on a low groan, but he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s still hard, still pressing deeply inside of you.

Your eyes widen, and he grins, dipping his head to bite your neck. “You thought I was done with you, little lamb?” You can’t find the words to respond, your mind full of him . “Can’t ever get enough.”

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, muffled through the mask.

“I know you’re sore, little lamb. I just can’t help it; you look so fucking perfect. Your pretty pussy takes my cock so well.” His words are music to your ears, and despite any discomfort, you might be feeling, you grind your hips against his pelvis, shifting yourself to his pace.

“Soldat, please,” your voice sounds broken and hoarse; it just fuels his fire.

“Tell me what I want to hear.” His fingers slide up your body, caressing every curve, before curling around your neck. With an unexpected tenderness, he pulls the mask off your face. You suck in a shaking breath and groan as his cock hits your G-spot.

“You own me,” you whisper. His thrusts still, and your body jolts from sensitivity.

“Again.” The Soldier’s fingers drag down your front, tracing over your nipples. Your entire body feels like it’s been electrocuted, even though a layer of fabric separates his skin from yours.

“You own me.”

“Good fucking girl.” He thrusts into you slowly, deeply, before working up to a pace that makes you see stars. His fingers circle your clit as his lips suck at the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. Tears fall freely down your cheeks as you get closer and closer to orgasm.

Heat builds like a raging storm in your belly from being worked up for so long. You sob, hiccuping as you hold onto him for dear life.

“Lemme see those tears,” he whispers, gripping your chin between his fingers, “Come while you’re fucking crying on my dick, little lamb.”

The Soldier’s hand covers your mouth as you come on a loud moan. You feel him fill you again, pulsing inside of you. The two of you remain, pressed against each other and the brick wall for what feels like an eternity.

“You own me,” he tells you, leaning his forehead against yours. You gaze into his bright blue eyes and see the devotion.

There’s so much you want to say, that you should say. But as silence falls over the two of you, you can’t help but feel that this is how it was meant to be.

When we forget the infection

Will we remember the lesson?

If the suspense doesn't kill you

Something else will

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 3

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

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

Rating: General audiences, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Flirting, discussions of deceased soulmates. Not too many warnings for this one, although Jack and shopping is a personal fantasy of mine. Summary: A party and a day out together give you some time to get to know Jack a little bit better. Notes: Sorry for the post delay this week, everyone, but thank you all for being so supportive. Health is a struggle but fiction is a beautiful escape.

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

Jack eyes Champ, frowning slightly at the older man as he shoots him a grin across the room. He's been cagey lately, smirking at him like he knows a secret that he won't tell Jack. Something that he knows drives the senior agent crazy. Instead of walking across the room and demanding he tell him what is on his mind, Jack turns towards you. Watching as you meet Ginger's soulmate, Gabriella.

Just a little get together, Diana had said when she called you, smiling down the phone as she issued the invitation. To celebrate! Well, Diana’s idea of small was two or three dozen people - all Statesman employees and their families - gathered at the Rogers’ house for a weekend barbecue. It seems like the whirlwind of introductions may never stop, but this bright and happy woman named Gabriella and the two children that she seems to be an expert at wrangling just put you at ease. Introducing yourself seems a little redundant since this is a party to welcome you specifically, but the kids don’t care - just as kids tend not to. They wave hello and ask their mother if they can go play with the other kids, and are off like a shot the instant they get a ‘yes’.

“They’re sweet,” you say, smiling despite how much you miss your niece and nephew. It’s only been five days since you saw them last, but that’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing them ever.

"They are wild." Gabriella corrects you with a laugh, looking after her kids with the fondness of a parent of someone well accustomed to their antics. "But they promised to behave under threat of torture."

“I wish that worked on my nephew.” When she pats the arm of the chair beside her, you sit down gratefully. Deciding to dress up for this party shouldn’t have included heels, that’s your own fault. “When my niece is finally old enough to be his sidekick, everyone’s going to be in trouble.”

"Menaces, huh?" She chuckles and sips her spiked lemonade before she shrugs, keeping an eye on her own troublemakers. "That just means they will have each other's backs when they are older."

“I hope so.” They have good examples to follow, at least, with how close you are to your siblings. Even if you’re not physically close to each other anymore. “So…this is what counts as a ‘little’ get together around here?” Diana had poured you a spiked lemonade a few moments ago, and you’d added peach nectar as your fruit flavor of choice from the bar of fruit flavored syrups and liqueurs by the large bar set up in the kitchen counter. It’s the best lemonade you’ve ever had in your life.

"Any excuse to have a party is Diana's reason for living." Gabriella jokes, motioning to where she is fluttering around talking to people with the largest smile on her face. Her husband ambles behind her, much slower in pace as he allows her to do as she pleases with a fond smile on his own face and a whiskey in his hand.

“A woman after my own heart,” you laugh, looking over in time to see a young man maybe a few years younger than yourself receive an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek and be shooed inside with lipstick on his cheek. “Their son?” It’s not exactly a stretch to guess. He has Champ’s stance and his mother’s thick head of hair.

"Bobby." She confirms with a nod. "He’s back home for a bit after being overseas for the last two years."

“Something fun, I hope.” But you won’t pry, enjoying the easy atmosphere on this sunny afternoon.

"Oh yeah, he's been traveling for Statesman and has been a little homesick." She murmurs, aware that you aren't aware of the real reason for international travel from some of the Statesman employees. Her wife had filled her in before the party.

“I like that it’s a family operation.” Turning back to Gabriella, you take a sip of your lemonade and smile. “Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been here?” You don’t know their story - her and Astrid - but as the newest arrival to what Champ and Diana jovially call ‘the Statesman family’ you feel like you want to know everything.

Gabriella smiles, looking over at Astrid with stars in her eyes. “We found each other about seven years ago. Damn lucky honestly. What with–” She bites her lip, knowing she shouldn’t say the real reason. “Astrid doesn’t have any scars.”

“I noticed that a lot of people don’t seem to have tattoos, either.” It’s just a vague observation, but coming from the culinary world where so many of your coworkers have large pieces or even whole sleeves, it surprises you. “I guess I’m alone in that one.”

“Yeah.” Gabriella gives a slightly nervous chuckle. “There’s actually an incentive to have them removed here. You should look into it. If you want, of course.” If she could get you to remove the tattoos without any suspicion, Jack would be in the clear.

“Why would I want to do that?” Your left hand moves protectively to cover your right elbow, and you think back to your contract to make sure you haven't glazed over anything. There had certainly been a dress code portion of the employee handbook, but nothing about tattoos or piercings. Not even a note on ‘acceptable’ hair colors.

“I meant no offense.” She immediately back pedals and gives a small smile. “I’ve just known plenty of people here who have decided they don't want their tattoos anymore. People change what they once liked…you know.”

“Oh, sure.” That’s true, certainly, and you relax a little. “I guess that’s fair. I just can’t see a single reason I would want to get rid of mine. I just made sure to get it in a place that I could cover, ya know? Just in case. Some fine dining restaurants don’t like to have them showing.”

“Of course.” She bobbles her head quickly, not wanting to alienate you with a thoughtless comment. She wasn’t supposed to know that you are Jack’s soulmate but Astrid had let it slip. “I know all about the ‘professional’ world. I was in the corporate rat race before I found Astrid.”

“Then that makes you a much braver woman than I.” You laugh and sit back in your chair. “I don’t know how you survived it, honestly.” All that corporate nonsense does nothing for you and it never has - no part of your extraordinary life is ever going to revolve around file numbers.

“Oh I’m much happier now with our little house to keep and our kids to wrangle.” She promises. “And just listening to Astrid talk about work gives me all the adventure I could ever want.”

“It’s not that little.” No, you see their house in the walk to work every morning now, and it certainly isn’t petite like yours is. Not that you need more than that for just you and the Dormouse. “You’ve got your slice of heaven, I think. It’s kind of…” You shrug, figuring you’re probably over sharing, but it’s always coming out of your mouth. “Kind of what I always wanted. That idyllic family life.”

“I never knew I wanted it.” Gabriella has no problem admitting that she had never imagined domestic bliss or being a stay-at-home mom when she was climbing the corporate ladder. “Now, I couldn’t imagine anything else.”

“I wouldn’t give up my career for anything.” Anybody who asked you to would be in for a rude awakening. “But a family? That’s…that’s still the dream.” Even with your soulmate, the idea of finding someone isn’t ridiculous. Plenty of people do it every day…right?

“I understand.” Gabriella looks over to where her youngest has spotted Jack and is currently climbing up his leg. Jack smiles and laughs as he swings the boy up onto his shoulders, but there is the underlying sadness underneath. “Sometimes the dreams are all you have.”

“Sometimes they are.” Too lost in your own melancholy overlong losing your soulmate, you don’t see Gabriella’s eyes move to Jack with her son. You don’t even notice Astrid and Tex step up onto the porch together.

“Well, look at you.” Tex whistles as he looks you up and down. “Ain’t you pretty as a picture? You having fun?”

“Hey you.” The sound of his voice is familiar - one of the only things that is familiar around here - and you perk up a little to see two familiar faces. “You made it.” To be honest, you didn’t really know who Diana had invited, but you figured it was a good chance that Tex would be here considering he had been your flight companion and part of your testing team. He seems to be involved in everything the same way Jack is.

“Damn near didn’t.” Tequila admits. “Amsterda—” He cuts off abruptly and shakes his head. “I mean, an armadillo managed to get into one of the storage houses.” He covers his slip up with a mile wide grin. “But I made it.”

“Is that why I haven’t seen you in days?” You pop up from your seat to give him a hug and choose not to say anything about the fact that he was definitely about to say something else. “Because of an armadillo?”

“Tricky suckers.” He huffs, giving you an extra squeeze before he lets go of you. Gabriella sends Astrid a pointed look and then glances at Tequila.

“If I find one in my garden, I’m calling you.” It’s barely a threat, and you don’t have a proper garden yet, but you’ll get there eventually.

“You can call me even if you don’t.” Tex tells you, making Astrid clear her throat and capture everyone’s attention. “Should we get something to eat?” She asks when your head turns towards her.

“Lead the way.” Champ seems to have deputized his son to help him look after the large grill on the other side of the yard, and Jack is nearby with a drink in hand when the four of you approach together.

Astrid and Gabriella whisper together ahead of you as you make your way towards the tables laden down with sides and desserts. None of them yours yet, but a potluck off all those who wanted to contribute.

“I wish Diana hadn’t insisted on just being a guest.” Walking beside Tex, you look over at the table of various desserts with affection. Sweets are what you do, after all. “I would have made a couple of cakes to bring.”

"You aren't supposed to bring food to your own shindig." Jack huffs, walking up toward the group and nods towards you. "It's not how it's done here in the south, sugar."

“I guess I have a few things to learn.” You half step forward to offer him a hug, having left things on a good note after your night at the bar earlier in the week, but you’re not still quite sure what Jack thinks of you and you don’t want to make things weird - so instead you end up just stepping forward awkwardly and looking like your arms don’t work properly. “How have you been, Jack?”

He knows that you are expecting a hug and doesn't know quite how to ask for one. It's slightly awkward, especially since Jack just came back from the funeral of your former soulmate. It had taken a couple of days for his family to be notified and then another week for the body to be shipped back to his hometown. Jack hadn't introduced himself, just stood off a respectful distance while the man he had taken a future from had been lowered into the ground. "As good as I can be." He tells you, looping his arm around you and squeezing you to his side in a friendly manner, although his hand is lower than appropriate on your waist.

“I hope nothing’s wrong?” The side hug is a little awkward but there’s warmth to it - or at least there is to you. It wouldn’t be the first time you imagined that someone enjoyed your company more than they actually did. “Sweets can solve any myriad of problems, you know.”

"Nothing that a party with everyone I care about can't fix." Jack hums, a flash of pain that seems bittersweet and vague for Abigail not being here is almost as a reflex now. He suppresses it and grins. "But I'm eager for another sample of your cakes."

“I’m going to start working on the menu next week,” you tell everyone, chest absolutely bursting with pride. “So I’m going to need everybody to stop by the kitchen a couple of times to try out what I’ll be baking. As many times as you want to come by, I’d love to get the feedback.”

"Everyday." The promise pops out of his lips before he could ever even think about not speaking.

Not expecting such an immediate and earnest response, you practically beam. “Then I’ll start with cakes. By the end of the week you’ll never want to go near buttercream again.”

"Don't tell him that." Tequila rolls his eyes and shoulder checks Jack playfully. "This man keeps bags of candy in his desk all the time."

“Oh yeah?” You raise an eyebrow at Jack and smirk. “What’s your favorite?” Sometimes the smallest thing can be a big inspiration, so you’re never going to shy away from asking the question.

Jack frowns at Tequila for ratting him out and huffs. "I like Snickers." He admits with a modest shrug of his shoulders.

“Noted.” The urge to do something in Jack’s honor on your menu is seemingly expanding far beyond his affinity for your tea sandwiches, but on the outside all you do is smile. You haven’t had a crush like this in ages, and it doesn’t help that you’re nursing one for Tex at the same time.

"I like Zero bars." Tex adds, his brows lifted hopefully as he pushes his hands into his pockets. He really likes you, drawn to you in a way he hasn't felt before and he wants to ask you out.

“Which are, arguably, a white chocolate version of a Snickers.” It starts to turn your wheels even more, wondering if you can’t do something with caramel and peanuts that uses two types of chocolate.

"I keep telling you that." Jack smirks at Tex and shakes his head. "Boy doesn't know anything."

“It just means they can work well together.” Completely oblivious to any undertones in the conversation, you just shrug your shoulders and let your wheels grind on a recipe idea while the group of you moves up along the picnic tables to get something to eat.

Tequila frowns at Jack but he doesn’t feel guilty. The boy needs to sniff around somewhere else. It’s obvious you aren’t interested and you’re grieving your soulmate.

“What in the hell is going on?” Ginger whispers, hiding in Jack’s ear as Gabriella and Tequila whisk you toward one end of the tables to the immense batch of tamales that Ginger’s wife made for the occasion.

“What are you talking about?” Jack asks, feigning ignorance. “We’re at a party. That’s what’s going on.”

“You and Tequila.” She fixes him with a frown and pushes her glasses up on her nose a little. “You’re not normally this subtle, I’ll give you that. But it’s like watching peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” Jack frowns and looks over at where you and Tequila have your heads together over the table and there are the sounds of laughter. “You’re imagining things.” He scoffs. “Nobody’s actin’ like a peacock. Just bein’ friendly to the girl.”

“Jack.” Ginger frowns. She wears her cover for her friends on her sleeve and makes no apologies for it. “I know you might not…all things considered, I get it. Not saying anything to her. But please tell me that you told him?”

“Sure I did.” Jack nods, rolling his eyes. “Showed him the damn tattoos the day Champ benched me.”

“But you’re sure he knows it’s her?” She asks, searching his face with concern. When he rolls his eyes, her eyes pinch shut immediately. “It’s February, Jack. It might be warm enough for a backyard barbecue, but we’re all still wearing long sleeves.”

“Come on Ging– he went to pick her up.” Jack scoffs. “Don’t you think Champ told him that he was on an escort mission for my supposed soulmate?

“Honestly?” She shrugs, biting the inside of her lip while she thinks. “I think Champ told as few people as possible. So maybe he didn’t.” There is nothing supposed about you, but this isn’t the moment for that argument.

“Don’t see why it matters.” Liar. The voice in his head screams it but Jack just ignores it and forges ahead. “They are friendly. End of story.”

“If you say so.” The last thing she wants is to start an argument, so she’ll let it go for now. But Ginger knows Jack and Tequila and she knows their habits - and you’re getting at least one request for a date for Valentine’s Day next week. She just doesn’t know which one of them will be first.

Jack is happy she’s willing to drop it. Uncomfortable with the conversation, although he does side eye Tequila before he dismisses it. It’s not like he has a claim over you even if it was true. You aren’t his soulmate and there’s no way he’s yours. Not when his heart died years ago.

It takes two full plates before you’re finally stuffed, sitting in the afternoon sun in Champ’s backyard as most of the party has migrated indoors in anticipation of that same sun setting. There are still a few stragglers outside and you’re happy to be one of them - enjoying the sun’s rays while they’re still there to beat down on you. It’s been a lively afternoon and you’ve met a lot of very nice people, but stealing a few minutes alone has been nice, too.

Jack notices you off alone, nursing his beer as he watches you. Wondering what you think about this place, everyone here. He huffs to himself and stands, closing the gap between the two of you with no clue as to why. “Appreciating the silence or wantin’ some company?” He asks, knowing that if you want to be alone he’ll respect that.

“I wouldn’t say no to company.” Shifting to one side on the little bench you’ve been occupying, you make room for him to sit. You’ve always come to the conclusion that it would take a hell of a lot for you to say no to Jack.

He tries to tell himself that he shouldn’t be so pleased that you accepted his presence, but that doesn’t stop the quiet pride filling his chest. “No regrets so far?” He asks, looking over the party. Champ would have found something to make you stay, but he’s curious as to you wanting to be here. “Get your stuff easy enough?”

“I’m planning on running out tomorrow for a few things, but honestly the house is great.” It’s not like you owned that much to begin with, and the house came fully furnished. You’re just going to go wandering around housewares stores tomorrow to pick up some personal touches and to try some local restaurants while you’re out. “Everybody’s been so nice. Astrid actually sent flowers after I settled in, and Champ’s given me a key to the restaurant so I can be in the kitchen whenever I want. It’s all…pretty perfect.”

Jack knows that Champ might have put a tracker in the keys that he gave you. But he doesn’t like the idea of you going to town without some protection. “Want some company? Tomorrow?” Jack hears the edge to his voice and scolds himself for acting like an idiot. “I mean, I’ve got some errands to run and you can put whatever you buy into the back of the Bronco.” He tells himself that he’s responsible, at least until your tattoo on his skin goes away. Still convinced it’s the universe’s idea of a sick joke.

“You wouldn’t mind?” It’s not flirting, you remind yourself, although your heart does seem to pick up speed a little at the offer. “I mean…I was going to have lunch out while I was picking things up. So…my treat? As a thank you for driving?”

It’s his immediate reaction to protest. To remind you that his daddy would box his ears, but he catches your eyes. Pride. He’s more than a little familiar with the trait and he sees that you aren’t one to just expect someone to go and do. That you need to contribute to the outing. So he nods. “If you want, I can take you to my favorite country kitchen.” He offers. “They do a buffet of all the things folks love around here. Give you a feel for the area.”

“I’d love that.” It’s exactly the kind of thing you were hoping to find for yourself, but doing it with him sounds infinitely better. “Most of what I know about Southern cooking comes from my grandma, so I definitely want to try as many local places as I can.”

“Best food ever, although, come hungry.” He warns you. “They will be asking why you aren’t going back for thirds.”

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t happily eat thirds,” you laugh, amused by his serious tone. “I’ll go back every week if it’s that good.”

“Have you ever had cornbread so thin it’s like a pancake and fried until it’s crispy on the edges?” Jack asks you with a grin.

“We have something like that at home.” Johnnycakes are a New England classic, and you fell in love with the quick and tasty cornmeal pancakes during culinary school. “But I can’t wait to try the Southern version.” It sounds like it would be perfect for a caviar service if the tea room ever got that fancy…

“That with a piece of catfish fried to perfection is just like momma used to make.” He confides, winking at you playfully.

“Sounds like heaven.” One of these days you really have to stop shivering whenever he winks at you. But it won’t be today.

“That sounds like a plan.” Jack hates shopping, but he’s not going to let you go out to town by yourself. Or with Tequila, although he knows the boy is leaving on another mission.

“I haven’t lived on my own for a while, so there’s just some finishing touches I don’t have,” you explain, wondering why you feel the need to actually explain yourself at all. It just sort of…compels itself out of your mouth.

“Oh?” It almost startles him how quickly he focuses on that. “Lived with a lover?” He asks. “Statesman will let you bring someone to live with you if you’re trying the long distance thing. It doesn’t work - trust me.”

“I know it doesn’t.” While you didn’t really have any intention of talking about it today, there’s a Nudging feeling inside you that just wants to spill everything to Jack. To lay yourself proverbially bare and let this whole new beginning at Statesman be made of honesty instead of hiding pieces of yourself away. “I—a few years ago, I was with this person. Someone I thought was really going to last, ya know? I mean it wasn’t my soulmate but we had been together for years. Anyway…they got offered a job in New York. And we had all these plans for me to drive down to them and visit on off days and to make things work and they just…” You sigh, hating that everything that happened with your ex still hurts so badly. “It only took them two weeks to find someone else. So I left the apartment we’d been living in with our other friend and moved back in with my family. My little sister had just given birth to my nephew and every pair of hands that could help was welcome.” Rubbing your eyes, you huff ruefully and shrug your shoulders. “Sorry if that’s oversharing, I guess.”

“It’s not.” Jack wants to reach out and hug you, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve to comfort you and he doesn’t trust himself to not try. “Whoever they were, they were an idiot.” He can’t imagine just finding someone else. Not when you claim to love them. It’s why he’s been very careful to make sure that what he did have was very surface level physical pleasure. He hasn’t had an intimate connection since Abigail. Not real intimacy.

“They’re somebody else’s problem now.” If you wanted to, you could probably argue to yourself that Jack moved closer with this small moment of comfort, but you don’t want to tease yourself like that. You do like him, but it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t see you as more than a potential friend, so you don’t want to push anything. “I appreciate that.”

"Hopefully they step on Legos in the dark for the rest of their life." Jack jokes.

“You are cruel.” It draws a laugh from you anyway, a grateful feeling from being supported in a moment of emotional need. Things like this are easy with Jack - no matter how nervous you may get from your little crush, the softest moments are always easy. “But…on point, honestly. A lifetime of barefoot Lego steps would be pretty suitable.”

He laughs and feels like the moment is light and easy with you. Letting it settle over him like a soft blanket.

“Oh…” The memory hits you immediately and out of nowhere, as you sit in a moment of comfortable silence with Jack. “Tomorrow…I was going to go dress shopping, also. I completely forgot. So…if that doesn’t exactly sound like fun for you, I’ll totally get it.” It would be a disappointment to not spend the day with Jack now that you’ve made the plan, but you can’t imagine that womens’ clothes shopping holds any great appeal for him.

“I don’t mind going dress shoppin’.” Jack shrugs. “You know that it could be fun.” He hums, unable to resist imagining you in a sleek and sexy dress.

“I said yes to this wedding invitation ages ago and I just…haven't had any time to prepare.” The impulse to continue to explain yourself is obviously strong. “The plan was just to ignore my plus one and drive down to Boston on the day, but now it’ll be a flight and a hotel and all kinds of craziness and I—” You shrug. “They’re family, so I can’t just not go. So…I have to find a dress.”

“Wedding huh?” He relaxes slightly and shrugs. “You don’t have to ignore the plus one, I’m sure someone would love to go to a wedding.”

“Well, I’m friendly with about six people at the moment, and four of them are married couples.” Hope flames so strong in your chest that you’re sure he must see it. Maybe misinterpreted as a flash of desperation, but that isn’t it. You’re just…so fucking drawn to him. “So unless you or Tex is willing, I’ll just hang out with my siblings that night like I’ve been planning.”

“When and where is this little shindig happening?” Jack asks, smirking as he imagines perching you on his arm for a wedding and seeing how the rest of your family is. Even though the thought confuses him.

“The Whitney Hotel in Boston, a week from today.” Hope. It flares bright and beautiful in your whole body but you try not to look too much like a fawning schoolgirl. Without knowing how old Jack is, you would guess that he had about ten years on you, and you don’t want to come across as immature when you’re just being sincere.

Instantly, it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. Except it’s no team celebration for winning a playoff or prank by Tequila. It’s the horror of realizing that you would have met the man you were supposed to be with if Jack hadn’t been there two weeks ago. Guilt curls in Jack’s stomach and the barbecue and baked beans he had eaten along with about a fourth of the dessert table threatens to make a reappearance. “Sounds- sounds good, sugar.” Jack manages to croak as he leaps ungracefully to his feet. “Excuse me.” He can’t even tip his hat towards you before he is rushing across the yard like the hounds of hell are after him.

******

“I miss you guys.” Hours later, on the phone with your sister, you still haven’t quite shaken the unease left behind by Jack’s abrupt exit from the party. Everyone has started going their separate ways by evening time and you had come home with the intention of starting to write out a shopping list for tomorrow, only to be interrupted by a call from Eliza. “How are my little prince and princess doing?”

“Missing their favorite aunt.” She huffs, even though she’s laughing down the phone. “Driving me crazy and asking when they are going to see you again.”

“At Cassie’s wedding.” You promise, shifting the phone in your hand as you look out into your backyard from the bedroom window seat. “I’m not skipping out on my family just because I moved.”

“I felt like you weren’t going to miss it.” She agrees, happy to hear it. “Have you found your dress already?”

“I’m going shopping tomorrow.” Obviously not with her, like you had been planning, but you’re still going to get it done. Even if Jack backs out of coming with you after leaving the party on such a weird note, you still need to go. “I need a couple more things for the house, so tomorrow is going to be dresses and housewares.”

“I’m so excited to see you.” She huffs, even though it’s only been a couple of days. “Are you settling in okay? I’m just amazed that the job comes with housing.”

“It’s like a little company town out here. There’s a whole neighborhood of full time employees and we all have these cute little houses and manicured yards. And the guest room is open any time you want to come visit.” Other places might have made it suspect or oppressive, but Statesman seemed to thrive on being a family company. “The owner even threw a little welcome party this afternoon. Backyard barbecue, amazing drinks, lots of people just hanging out and kids playing. I met most of the higher ups.”

“It sounds amazing. Friendly atmosphere plus booze?” She laughs. “Tell me the men are handsome.”

“I—” You laugh before you can stop yourself, glancing out the window again into the backyard of the house next door - owned by a woman you met today who works in HR. “Yeah. I’m not even going to be coy about it. Some of these men are stunning.”

“Really?” She knows you can hear the wicked grin on her face through the phone. “Tell me allllllll about them. I need a little cowboy in my life.” She laughs again, well aware she’s never even really interacted with one before but you are in the thick of them apparently.

“So…there are two that stick out.” The only person in the world who knows all your stupid relationship and crush bullshit is your sister. She’s been your best friend for your whole life and never wavered. “They both work security, and they’re…” This time when you laugh it’s a slightly embarrassed sound. “They’re really close friends. So I’m trying not to rock any boats by showing interest.”

“Let me guess, there is one of them that’s older and you like that one best?” She knows her sister better than anyone and whether you want to admit it or not, you have an eye for older men.

“Shut up.” There’s no heat whatsoever behind the scolding and you end up laughing at yourself, appreciating that Eliza isn’t beating around the bush with you. “There is, but if you meet him you have to swear not to embarrass me.”

“Ohhhh, I can meet him?” She asks evilly. “Are you bringing him to the wedding?”

“Maybe.” A part of you instantly wishes you hadn’t said anything, but you know that Eliza always has the best advice. “I don’t know. He offered to go shopping with me tomorrow and come to the wedding but then immediately got weird about it and I don’t know what to think. I’m getting super mixed signals from him.”

“Why do you think he got weird about it? Most men get weird about the wedding part, but you said he basically agreed to go with you, right?” She asks.

“He offered, I didn’t even really ask.” The kids in the yard next door are cackling, laughing as they play with their dog, and you watch them so that you don’t relocate to the living room windows downstairs - which gives you a view of Jack’s house. “It’s like…remember I told you I went to a bar earlier in the week and cleaned up some bikers at a pool game?” At the time, you hadn’t exactly told her the entire story.

“Yeah?” On her end of the phone, she ticks her eyebrow up curiously. “Did you go with old handsome?”

“He’s not old!” You both laugh anyway. “But yes. I went with Jack.” There is a longer-than-necessary pause while you debate with yourself, but you end up shrugging your shoulders. “He calls me ‘sugar’, but I really don’t think I should be reading too much into that because even my boss uses nicknames with literally everyone. It’s just a Southern thing.”

“But he wants to go shopping with you?” She reminds you. “Most men hate shopping.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna let him into the dressing room.” You protest, although you immediately think that if he made a move, you probably would.

“Sure you wouldn’t.” Clearly not believing your bullshit, she laughs. “Maybe he has something weird about the date? A Valentine’s Day wedding is very sappy.”

“Maybe. I really don’t know. And I don’t want to pry, ya know? Because as much as I get mixed signals from Jack, Tex has been nothing but sweet.” Talking it out will help, you tell yourself. It absolutely is not just going to pave the way for further frustration…

“But you don’t really want sweet.” She guesses. “Do you? You’ve always been attracted to the troublemakers.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re both trouble.” Another laugh bubbles out of you and you shake your head. “Remember the guy that came back on the jet with me to help me pack? That was Tex.”

“Oh he was cute, you mean the other one is even better looking? You better bring his ass to the wedding.” She huffs. “Bring both of them.”

“You want me to just strut into our cousin’s wedding with a cowboy in either arm?” God…your whole family would just lose their minds…

“Fuck…a girl can dream can’t she?” Your sister giggles. “I’ll be living vicariously through you.”

“Oh please.” Rolling your eyes is a useless gesture because she can’t see you, but you’re sure she can hear it in your voice. “Is having a surgeon for a husband not enough of a bragging right anymore?” You adore her husband - They’ve been together since high school and discovered their soulmate status after she graduated - but that doesn’t mean you won’t tease her. “Picture perfect kids, a successful husband, and your own amazing career aren’t doing the trick these days?”

“Nope.” She has zero shame and you know it. “I want to hear how hot cowboy sex is.”

When you huff at her it’s supposed to be indignant, but it comes out completely agonized. “If I ever have any, I promise I’ll let you know. But I genuinely doubt I have an actual chance.”

“Please, you’re gorgeous and it sounds like both of them are sniffing around.” She teases. “They want your sugar.”

“I never should have told you that,” you groan, knowing it will probably never die now.

“Hell no, you should save a horse and ride a cowboy.” She laughs and loves how you are sounding better. She knows about your loss of a soulmate and how much it has affected you.

“Oookay.” Snickering, you let out a sigh that is actually more like a half-groan and wipe one hand down your face. “Tell the kids I love them, will you? I’m going to see if I can get some sleep. I think I ate my body weight in barbecue today and it’s catching up with me.”

“I will, okay. I love you,” As much as she misses you, it’s best that you have a fresh start and it sounds like Kentucky is a good place for you.

“I love you, too.” Faintly on the other end, you can hear your mother’s dog barking and laugh softly. The sounds of home are absolute comfort and you do miss it. But this is the right place for you to be right now. “I’ll try to text you a sneaky picture of Jack tomorrow.”

“You better.” She warns you with a cackle. “Otherwise I’m going to embarrass you when he comes to the wedding.”

“If.” The nagging feeling you have that he doesn’t want to go is very real, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He either will or he won’t, and that’s that. “I’ll talk to you later in the week.” Another round of goodbyes is murmured before you hang up, and you sit in the window seat a while longer before dragging yourself to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

******

Jack feels like an ass. No– he is an ass. Actin’ like a fucking pup who had been scolded as he shot across the lawn and away from you. There’s nothing coincidental about where your little wedding is being held and he knows that artistically culinary talented you would have made your way to the kitchens even if they were off limits. He just knows it. Now, he’s watching your house like a damned stalker. Wanting to still keep his promises even though you might slam the door in his face. Spending most of the night up, hearing Abigail’s voice in his head, chewing him a new one for not apologizing for his behavior earlier. As soon as he sees movement, Jack is out the door. His jeaned legs eating up the distance between your house and his, ready to go if you're still wanting, and ready to apologize and just let you use his Bronco if you’re not.

Up, showered, and dressed after a night of lousy sleep and bad dreams, you drag yourself downstairs to make a cup of coffee. This coffeemaker is going to be the first thing you replace, you’ve decided, because you can finally afford a fancy espresso machine like you’ve always wanted. Kitchen gadgets are happening today, and it’s going to be a good time. Whether you go alone or otherwise, you tell yourself. Not knowing what the hell happened with Jack yesterday, you’re not assuming you’ll see him. Until your doorbell rings. Hopefully that’s just Jack holding up his promise to come with you, and not some random coworker wondering if you’ll be coming to church with them.

Shuffling on your small porch, Jack adjusts his hat before he swipes it off his head altogether. Nervous as a teenager going to his first dance, Jack rolls his eyes at himself. He just needs to relax, but for some reason he can't. He doesn't like the idea of you being mad at him. His stomach flips as he hears you walking towards the door.

The door swings open without a single creak, and you bite the inside of your lip when you see him standing there on your porch. “Morning, Jack,” you murmur, stepping aside to let him in. Whether this is an excuse not to come out today or an explanation for his departure last night, you have to admit that you’re just glad to see him. It means you probably didn’t do some unknown mysterious horrible thing to make him hate you - which is definitely what every dream you had last night was about.

Your neutral greeting gives him a smidgeon of hope and feels tension draining away in minute amounts. "Sugar, I-" He steps inside and huffs. "I need to apologize for leavin' so quickly yesterday." He turns and stares at you with a repentant expression on his face. "After makin' a fool of myself, I realized we didn't set our plans for today in concrete and while you might not even want the addition of my presence to your outing, I didn't want to be even more of an asshole and not show up." He manages to rattle this off in one breath and stops to inhale. "However, if you're wishin' to not be in my company, I at least want to offer the use of my bronco to you, since that had been a main sellin' point of the day." Offering for someone to drive Betsy is unheard of, but he's pulling his keys out of his leather jacket to extend them to you if you want.

Verbose. Jack Daniels is a verbose man, who can and will turn any four word sentence into four paragraphs. But you don’t hate that - it flies in the face of ‘quick’ communication like texting or shouting across a kitchen. It’s kind of nice, actually, when you’re not generally upset. “Did I say something wrong?” You finally ask, looking from his keys up to the sincere expression of reticence on his face. “Or did I do something to make you leave?”

"No." Jack assures you quickly, shaking his head and wondering how the hell he could possibly explain. "It was all me, sugar. All me and I apologize for worryin' you. It was never- I feel nearly sick at the idea of makin' you think that you had done anything." He's going to just pray you don't ask him for details.

“But everything’s okay?” If it wasn’t you, then it likely was something personal, and he seems like a fairly private person. A conclusion that’s only being reinforced by the fact that he hasn’t actually explained what happened. You decide, though, that you’ve only known the man a week and he doesn’t owe you his life story, so a sincere apology is enough.

"Right as rain, sugar." He manages to paint on a half grin, rocking forward towards you and there is a magnetism that he feels, like he's being drawn to you. "Does this mean you might still want me to squire you around town?" It's old fashioned and a little a lot flirty, but it feels right.

“Do you want a cup of coffee before we go?” Closing the front door is the silent signal that you want him to stay, and you can feel relief coursing through you that he seems to want to do this. The last thing you would ever want to do is drag him along unwillingly.

"If you're havin' one. If not, we can always swing by the best little coffee shop in town." Jack offers, not wanting to inconvenience you.

“We could do that.” Instead of retreating back into the kitchen, you reach for your jacket and purse instead. “A new coffee maker is on the list of things we’re picking up today.”

Jack chuckles as looks at your standard Mr. Coffee maker that was left in the cabins. "Doesn't quite do it for you?" He guesses, figuring you drink those fancy coffees with art made from the foam.

“My very first job was as a barista in a bakery in the town where I grew up,” you tell him. Keys, phone, purse, jacket, you’ve got everything you need so you open the door again and move to set the alarm via the panel on the wall. “I started drinking espresso and never looked back.”

"Figured." He gives a small chuckle and waits for you patiently, his hand moving to the small of your back when the two of you set out of the cabin and you close the door behind you. "Have you set up your biometric lock yet?" He asks, noticing that you are using the fob for the door.

“Not yet.” Keys go into your purse and you close your eyes momentarily against the warmth of his hand at your back. “Someone is coming tomorrow morning to set it up. Then I’ll lock myself in the kitchen at the restaurant and bake cakes all day.”

"What kind of cakes?" Jack immediately starts drooling, imagining what you might make. His sweet tooth is happy at the prospect.

“Well everybody seemed to like the coconut cake, so I think I’ll leave that recipe alone.” He opens the door of the Bronco for you and you slide in, loving that Kentucky in February is warm enough for an open air drive. “I think I’ll work on the red velvet or a hummingbird cake first. Try to nail down the classics.”

"Diana will adore you if you make her a fancy red velvet." Jack promises you as the two of you get situated in the truck and he turns the engine over. "And Champ will adore you for his wife being happy."

“They’re very sweet together.” The older couple have been nothing but lovely and welcoming to you, and you’re grateful for it. “And I wouldn’t dare open a tea room in the south without red velvet cake on the menu.”

"Maybe one of those scone thingys." Jack rolls his eyes. "She's always talkin' about how no one makes scones here."

"I can do scones." Any suggestions he has are more than welcome, as they give you a pretty good idea of what people in the area are actually looking to eat and that helps you focus your energy while you're putting together your menu. "Scones. Tea sandwiches. Maybe tartlets or quiches. I have way too many ideas."

"Was this always your dream?" He asks, pulling onto the main road and heading towards town. It's in the opposite direction of the bar he had taken you to the first time, but it's amusing to think that he has been showing you all the area himself.

"For my career?" You glance at him as he drives, recognizing the placid look of contentment there. He likes to drive, and you file that away in the back of your mind. "I mean, I did have a pretty decent stretch of time as a kid where I wanted to be a princess, and then about a month in middle school when I decided that I wanted to build a time machine, but...yeah. I pretty much always knew I wanted to be a chef. The debate was savory or pastry, and obviously pastry won."

"You're good at both." He promises you with a chuckle, enjoying the sass that seems to come naturally to you. "A princess, huh?" He looks over at you with a grin. "You know that job title comes with a high chance of being stuck in a tower, right?"

"Yeah, but traditionally it also comes with a handsome prince and really good clothes, so nine-year-old me was okay with it." When he laughs softly you grin, glad to see the tension between you has dissipated. "What about you? Was CEO of an international distillery always on your radar?"

"Definitely not." Jack shakes his head and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Smaller plans. Much smaller." He thinks about all the dreams him and Abigail had talked about, laying in the dark and holding onto one another. "Just a happy life, family, you know - the normal stuff."

"Not everything happens early in life. Sometimes the best things are worth waiting for." Obviously he never got his wish - or at least he hasn't yet - and you frown slightly. Surely he hasn't had any shortage of offers? He must be waiting for his soulmate, and you can't blame him for that.

"Yeah." It's better to agree instead of laying out his own sob story. He knows it would make you soft, probably make you want to comfort him and although he's enough of a man to appreciate the ways women love to comfort widowers - he can't do that with you. He's already doing more than he needs. He should be maintaining some distance but he can't quite stay away.

"It's none of my business." You know that, and can recognize it, but there's something about Jack that just continues to draw you like a magnet. "But if you ever want to talk about it...you very literally know where I live."

"I appreciate it, sugar." He does, he really does but he doesn't want to talk about that right now. Not when the day is turning out to be a beautiful one.

The drive turns back to pleasanter topics and Jack lets you play with the radio, laughing when you settle on a classic rock station just before he pulls into the parking lot of his little coffee shop. There are plenty of chains around - Louisville is a city after all - but Jack prefers this little place to Starbucks or - according to him - just about any place else.

“The corporate places are okay- don’t get me wrong, but you can’t get that hankering for something unusual and bring in what you need and have them make it for you like you can here.” He offers, opening the door onto the small coffee shop.

The smell is brilliant, hitting you in the face all at once, and you inhale almost greedily. Whatever sweets they're doing here, they're baking fresh. It washes over you and makes you eager to get up to the counter to see what they're working with. "What's your favorite?" You ask Jack, seeing a fairly standard bar menu when it comes to coffee drinks, but a plethora of tea options and syrups for flavor.

Jack grins at you, sure that you’re going to give him a dirty look. “Plain black coffee.”

"I can't believe you don't drink sweet coffee with the way you go after desserts." Is it teasing? Probably. But it's still a surprise.

“The bitterness of the coffee enhances the sweets.” Jack argues, huffing slightly. “I will have some of that syrup in a coffee if I’m not having a pastry with it, but that’s rare.”

"You know you don't have to defend that to me." You nudge him a little as the two of you step into line. "I always put a little coffee in my chocolate things. It amps up the flavor so much."

“Well then you should know.” He grins, eyes greedy as they roam over the case. Trying to see what they have for today. “They change pastries daily.”

"How often do you come in here?" It must be a lot, judging from the way the baristas call their hellos to him by name, and the cup of coffee already waiting for him at the counter when the two of you finally make it to the front of the line.

"It's my go to spot when I'm in town." He admits, shooting the girls behind the counter a wink and a nod for the coffee. "I'll take one of those sausage, maple and blueberry crumb cakes." He tells the one waiting for his pastry order. "They look good."

"Could I have one of the tomato, leek, and goat cheese quiches?" You ask, when the girl nods to Jack and asks you for your order right away. "And a café au lait of whatever your single origin coffee in today." The cashier dutifully types everything in, gets your milk preference, and gets everything moving. "Is it even worth my offering to pay?" You ask Jack, slightly smirking at how you had to bargain to even get him to allow you to pay for lunch when you planned out today.

"Nope." Jack shakes his head and his own wallet comes out. "I don't think you understand how badly my daddy would whoop my ass." He chuckles.

"Thank you for breakfast, then." If it's something he feels strongly about, then you'll learn to pick your battles. He's sure as hell not paying for any of your shopping today. "I wouldn't want your daddy to appear out of nowhere just because I'm stubborn."

"He'd be coming from the grave, so don't put it past him." Jack jokes, shuffling down the line and collecting his cup while you wait for the pastries and your own coffee. "Man could probably convince Satan himself to open the gates of hell to let him come back to whoop me."

You snort, laughing as you bring over plates of warm pastries and your oversized coffee to the table he has chosen. "Sounds like our fathers would have gotten along," you admit ruefully. "I love my dad but he is a ballbuster of the highest degree."

"Something about a father that does that." He murmurs, remembering his own pride at learning he was going to be papa. It had been the proudest seven months of his life.

"Yeah, I noticed that with my brother-in-law." Everything looks amazing, and you hum happily over the first sip of your coffee. Sweet and creamy but not overpowering the natural flavors of the coffee. You might have to see if this shop is interested in partnering, so you can use their coffee in the restaurant.

Jack is damn thankful that you didn't pick up on the momentary flash of pain, maybe he hid it well enough. Instead of saying anything else about it, he just ticks a brow up. "So? Whadya think?"

He had to ask while you have food in your mouth? You roll your eyes at him for a second but grin, nodding as you finish chewing the perfect first bite. Choosing not to say anything about the dark clouds in his eyes was apparently a good choice - you're just desperate not to do anything to rock the boat between you. "It's sooo good," you groan after a second, laughing at your own exaggerated reaction.

"Try some of mine." He offers, nudging a piece of his crumb cake with scrambled sausage, fresh blueberries and dots of real maple syrup over towards you along with his plain coffee.

Immediately offering him the same, you both try each others' breakfasts and hum happily. Whatever this place is using for their house coffee blend, it works gorgeously with maple. You'll have to remember that if they agree to a partnership. "So everything is good here? That's the vibe I'm getting?"

"Eh." Jack shrugs. "I don't like some of their stuff. Their cookies are a little too crumbly. I like 'em soft and chewy."

"How do you feel about shortbread?" The question comes with a raised eyebrow as you switch breakfasts again and file away Jack's cookie preferences. You're still not sure why you're so invested in making sure that everything you make is going to be to his taste, but it feels important that it is.

"Only if they have a sweet jam on top or sandwiched between layers." Jack admits, giving a small shrug.

"You realize that you have been all of my menu consults so far?" You ask him, thoroughly enjoying your breakfast and trying not to look too embarrassed or eager about that fact. "I ought to just call the place Jack's."

The joke makes him grin, contemplating it seriously for a moment before he shakes his head. "You don't have to take all my advice, sugar. I just like what you're offerin'."

"I'm sure I'll make something that doesn't suit you but everyone else likes, and that's fine." It's an inevitability of your career. Not everyone is going to like every single item on the menu. But that's why having multiple testers is important. "Champ's giving me three months to get the place up and running. He wants to have it ready for the summer tourist season, so I'll be asking for plenty more opinions before that time comes."

"I'm sure it will be amazing." Jack praises honestly. "You seem like you have a passion for makin' people happy and their belt tighter."

"Hopefully." The sting is unexpected - how the thought that smacks you out of nowhere is wondering whether or not your soulmate would have liked your baking. "Hopefully."

Jack sees the way your mood shifts, and he knows it's because of him. From what he can tell, you had been looking forward to a future with your soulmate and he's taken that from you. Guilt settles on him and suddenly, he's not hungry anymore.

An uneasy silence settles between you and you know it's your fault, the thick melancholy hanging over your shoulders making you blurt out and unasked for explanation. "My soulmate died," you tell him, not able to actually look him in the eye but staring into your coffee instead. "Less than two weeks ago. So I'm sorry if I get...awkward sometimes. I never met them or anything, it's just...it's hard to adjust to."

His stomach drops and he opens his mouth to confess. To take the look of sadness off your face and replace it with anger. Maybe it would help you. Help you focus on something else, direct your emotions on hating him. His lips part and the words are on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sorry," is what comes out instead. "I know how you feel, losing someone - I mean."

"Did you--?" Your fingers squeeze into fists on the table, curling in on yourself to try to keep from crying in public. Jack is the first person beyond your immediate family that you've told, and saying the words out loud again makes you ache. "Your soulmate?"

He figures it's safe. That if you know he's lost a soulmate you wouldn't think he has your marks on his body. After all, he's never heard of another set of soulmates in real life. It's always that hopeful whisper. "Yeah." He admits, frowning slightly and reaching out for your hands to cover them with his before he realizes he's doing it. "Her and- and our little boy."

"Oh my god..." Immediately feeling mortified, your fingers open to squeeze his instead of letting your nails bite into your palm. "I'm so sorry. Here I am getting upset about someone I never even met and you...you lost both of them. Shit, Jack."

"It was a long time ago." Jack offers, not wanting you to feel even worse than you do. "You just- it's different. You are allowed to grieve, sugar."

"I think it's part of why I took this job," you admit, feeling all the thoughts you've been keeping a lid on come bubbling to the surface. "A new start, ya know? A brand new life. I have no idea what it would have been like if I had known them, but I'm willing to bet anything that I wouldn't be working at Statesman if I had." Something makes you absolutely certain of it, in fact, and that's almost comforting. Everything in this new life is something you'll choose for yourself.

Jack's nodding covers the way that he swallows, knowing that you had no choice in this. The ink on his skin makes sure that you would end up at Statesman. He can only hope that you are happy here. "Statesman was my fresh start." He tells you honestly.

“And look how well you’ve done for yourself.” The smile on your face might actually be pride, except you have no claim over him in any kind of way that would justify that feeling. “All the way to CEO. I don’t think that it’s…any kind of exaggeration at all…to think that she’d be so proud of you.”

He tells himself that you are trying to be nice. Smiling weakly and giving a small shrug. "Hopefully so."

“Well,” you shrug, sensing that the topic isn’t exactly comforting to him, and pick up your coffee again. “I would be, if I were your soulmate.”

Jack closes his eyes and gives a soft chuckle. "If I were your soulmate, you'd hate me, sugar." He tells you, knowing that the secret he keeps from you would completely change your thoughts on him.

“I doubt it.” There are very few people on earth that you actually hate, and you can’t imagine a single thing he could ever do to cause that kind of reaction from you. “But I guess we’ll never know.”

"Yeah." That was true because he knew that no one was going to tell you. You would be happy and safe here at Statesman, maybe meet someone and fall in love with them, never aware that Jack is your soulmate. He frowns deeply at that thought and takes a sip of his coffee as he wonders why he hates that idea.

******

Dragging him around Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma ends up being a fully entertaining morning after an awkward breakfast. The shiny kitchen appliances and soft, fluffy throw pillows and blankets that end up in his Bronco pile up, punctuated with scented candles, a few decor pieces, and a beautiful full set of dishes and glasses for your table. The house stuff is easy, earns you a little teasing here and there, and is done before you know it.

"Where to now, sugar?" Jack asks, raising a brow at everything that is packed in the back. "Your dress or you want some more knick knacks?" He is in an indulgent mood and the slight bickering you had entertained him with had showcased how funny you are.

“Seems like dress time. I think I can put off more knick-knacks for another day.” You laugh and roll your eyes at him playfully. Jack had ragged on you the entire time you were in Bath & Body Works picking out scented candles, just as bad as the search for decor items in Pottery Barn. “You keep teasing me and I’m gonna make you buy me flowers for my new vase.”

"Aww, sugar, now you've gone and ruined my housewarming gift." He huffs, scowling at you playfully. He hadn't really been thinking about getting you flowers, but now that you mention it - it seems like a fine idea. "I'll get you the best ragweed Kentucky has to offer."

“If you do, you’ll lose taste testing privileges.” That is a very real threat, since your allergies affect your senses of smell and taste fairly dramatically. Allergies have cost you more than one exam grade in culinary school.

"No ragweed. Check." Jack drolls, just to make you laugh as he guides the Bronco towards some boutique that the women folk went to. Ginger had designed several outfits for formal affairs off what she had seen there.

“This is fancy.” When he pulls up in front of the building you can see into the big picture windows. Ladies sitting on settees with glasses of champagne that is probably cava - just as delicious at a third of the price - and women in crisp suits toting beautiful gowns in and out of dressing rooms.

"Hopefully you can find something beautiful here." He tells you. "They dress a lot of people around here for fancy things."

“Statesman people for fancy Statesman things?” You both climb out of the truck and he leads you to the door, giving you the feeling once more that all his gentlemanly behavior is just how he is with women and has nothing to do with you. Which is fine. It is. You’re just trying to talk your crush down off that ledge before you do or say something stupid. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” But your credit card will be laid respectfully to rest after today for a very long time.

"Sometimes." Jack grins. "We get a hell of a discount here."

“Now you’re talking my language.” The grin you shoot him is broad, morphing into something infinitely more amused when the woman behind the counter recognizes him immediately. “Mr. Daniels!” She practically purrs. “What can we do for you on this beautiful day?”

"Now Stephanie..." Jack turns and introduces you to the shop owner. "This here is our newest Statesman employee and she's lookin' for a dress." He tells her. "And of course, your shop was the first and only one I could recommend to her."

“Oh, you’re too kind.” She titters, downright blushing like he’s just outright flirted. It makes your stomach twist in something awful like jealousy. “My dear, what occasion do you need to be dressed for?”

“Um…a formal wedding.” You know you should have taken care of this ages ago, but if you’re honest with yourself you had just figured you would raid your sister’s closet and called it a day. She has plenty of nice things. “Black tie optional, the invitation said.”

"Black tie." She purses her lips and cuts her eyes over at Jack playfully. "I'm assuming you're attending and wearing the velvet Tom Ford we tailored to you with the black stetson?" She asks, tapping her finger to chin thoughtfully. "We will get a bow tie and pocket square that matches the color of the dress we find her." She decides.

“I really appreciate the help.” That’s undeniable. Clearly you hadn’t managed to get this done just by walking through a mall. “The, uh…the wedding colors are pink and white…if that helps? Obviously no one wears white to a wedding but I guess no pink, either?”

"Red is a no-no." She hums and her eyes light up as she thinks of a dress. "What about a blush champagne colored dress?" She offers. "I have a new design I just got in and it would look magnificent with your coloring."

"That sounds like a good place to start." You nod gratefully and let her whisk the pair of you over to one of the smaller sitting areas beside a dressing room. As soon as she disappears down a hallway another young woman appears with drinks and all but winks at Jack when she hands his over.

Jack winks back at her and nods in appreciation of the drink before he turns to you. "What do you think of this place?" He asks, looking around at it like he hasn't been there a hundred times.

"I have a feeling I'm nowhere near the first woman you've brought here for a dress." It's just an observation, and you try very hard not to sound sour about it, but your stomach is churning as you set your drink down on the small table beside you. "It's nice. They obviously take pride in their business."

"Well, I've brought Astrid, Gabriella, Diana when she wanted to surprise Champ." Jack ticks off names playfully, aware that's not how you meant it, but it's kind of rewarding to see the tinge of jealousy in your eyes.

"I do...appreciate you doing this." There is absolutely no reason to be jealous. Just because you have a stupid crush on the man does not mean he owes you anything. "I know it's a big ask, this whole weekend away thing. Even more so because we really just met."

He gives you a smile, shoving down the worries and insecurities under the veneer of confidence. "It's not a big deal, we'll go and drink, dance, have some canapés and you'll tell me who is the family black sheep and I'll make friends with them."

You snort, shaking your head at him and reaching for your drink as an anchor. "You already have," you tell him honestly. "I'm her."

"Now why would you be the black sheep?" Jack huffs, shaking his head at the mere thought.

"It's more like my family are the black sheep family out of the whole extended group." Having very independent and capable parents with strong opinions had meant that you and your siblings turned out just as independent and opinionated. "But my siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles and all of that...even my parents...they all have really incredible success stories in their education and careers, and everyone in my family has married their soulmate. No one is even going to believe that the restaurant is real. They all turned up their noses when I chose pastry in culinary school. Apparently bakers can't be celebrity chefs, and if I'm not a celebrity chef then I'm nobody." You shrug, long having since given up on gaining the approval of your extended family. "My parents and my siblings are great. And that's really all I care about."

"Ahhhh." Jack nods as he settles back in his chair. "I bet you would blow their fifty dollar socks off when you get your tea room set up. Have you come up with a name yet?"

"I'm still debating." One sip from your glass proves that you were right about the theory that it was cava to save money, but it's still a lovely glass of bubbly. "An Alice in Wonderland reference probably won't mesh with the general feeling around Statesman, so I might name it after my grandmother."

Jack gives a small shrug. "You could always call it The Rabbit-Hole and use the Red Rabbit Burrow blend they are working on marketing for." He tells you, thinking about the new line that is about to come out.

You stare, mouth open, and a hollow laugh sticks in your throat while your brain vaguely short circuits. If you had known about this new blend, you would already have the name down on the paperwork. "I could kiss you." Is the declaration that comes out of your mouth instead, gratitude and giddy glee reaching all the way to your toes. "Jack, that's perfect!"

It's on the tip of his tongue to take you up on that offer, watching your eyes light up with delight and joy. Making you seem even more beautiful than you normally are. "It's going to be launching in about five months." He tells you with an offhand shrug. "I can get you a few gallons to sample and experiment with if you want."

"That would be amazing." You're already itching to get your hands on it, wondering what the tasting notes will be like and what you can pair it with. "The Rabbit-Hole." Humming happily, you barely manage to keep your little wiggling happy dance under wraps when the woman - Stephanie - comes back with a handful of dresses.

Jack takes your glass of champagne from you and smirks. “Go play with the dresses and pretend you're a princess, sugar.” He winks and motions you off.

The large handful of dresses that Stephanie has reappeared with are grand and sparkling in tone of gold, champagne, and rose that will obviously compliment a pink-themed wedding but not upstage it. She seems to have picked out a style she likes for you - glamorous and evoking a bombshell look that would guarantee that the first person anyone in the room looks at after the bride, will be you. "These are stunning," you breathe, letting your fingers graze the sequins on the first dress on the rack. "I've never worn anything like them. But...I guess after today I won't be able to say that."

“Try them all on.” Jack encourages you. “We don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He's right, of course. The only other plan you have today is to have dinner together, so you disappear into the fitting room to swap your clothes for the first dress that might wind up in your closet by the end of the afternoon. The cut is flattering and the color is brilliant, but it doesn't quite feel right in some amorphous way that you can't quite put your finger on. Still, you step out to show Jack and see what he has to say.

Jack whistles and his eyes drag up and down your body. “Damn, sugar.” He huffs. “How do you like it?”

You can't help preening a little, even though you're sure he would compliment absolutely anyone he was with the same way. "It's nice, but I don't think it's quite right. I do love the color, though."

“Well then I guess we can mark that off the list.” Jack smirks. “Next one sugar.”

The next two dresses are nixed - one by you and one by Jack, who insists that the skirt doesn't fall right and you just end up smiling and nodding because you're trying not to spontaneously combust from him paying so much attention to your figure. When you go back into the dressing room, you skip the next one that Stephanie had chosen for you and go straight to the last, sighing over the flowers embroidered all over the dress and its accompanying sheer cape. The rose coloured fabric is darker than the Barbie-pink you know your cousin has chosen and the purple and gold accents make it fascinating to watch shimmer. It's gorgeous and the price tag makes you wince, but you have to try it on.

When you step out of the dressing room, Jack immediately stands and sweeps his hat off his head as he stares. “This- this is the one, sugar.” His body tells him that he really likes the way you look and he motions towards the mirror. “What do you think?”

"It's amazing." His reaction doesn't hurt either, and you turn to face the wall-sized mirror beside your dressing room. The cape falling around your shoulders is the closest to being a princess you'll ever come, and you glance at Jack over your shoulder as you watch your reflection. "It's so comfortable," you admit, laughing that that is so exciting to you when you're wearing such a gorgeous piece of art.

“So this is the one? Yeah?” Jack waits for you to nod and then turns to Stephanie. “Does there need to be any alterations?”

"A slight hem, depending on what shoes your friend will be wearing." Stephanie smiles, making sure to stay polite. "Oh...I guess I do need shoes, don't I?" Turning around in place, you look between them both. "I'm not too steady on high high heels, but...can a hem be done this week? The purchase is...sort of last minute." "I can have it done by mid week for you." Stephanie assures you, stepping forward to inspect the dress on your body and make sure she's correct that nothing more needs to be done. "We do have some heels here, if you would like to look. Gold will work well, or we can dye a fabric pair to match the gown if you prefer."

Jack chuckles. “Go check the shoes out, sugar.” As much as he doesn’t ‘shop’, he’s enjoying himself. Enjoying learning things about you. Maybe it’s crazy, he doesn’t know, but he looks at it like he’s taking care of you. Making you happy.

With a few very careful steps, you get down from the little platform that your dressing room was on and follow the saleswoman around the corner to a large display of heels in nearly two dozen shapes, styles, and heights. There are so many that it’s a bit overwhelming, but your eyes settle on a pair with intricate caging and open toes that will strap onto your feet and hopefully not move an inch all night. Something worth putting up with high heels for. “What about these?” You ask out loud, almost afraid to see this price tag on top of the dress.

Stephanie chuckles, actually chuckles and admires the boldness of your choice. “They are statement pieces, aren’t they?” She reaches for the shoes and pulls them off the display. “They are gorgeous and actually probably some of the more comfortable heels. Let me get your size and we will see how they look?”

“Thank you.” Your fingers subtly stroke the fabric of the dress as she retrieves your shoe size from the back and you walk back to where Jack is waiting.

Jack looks up, still in awe of the way the dress looks on you and gives you a smile. “Are they dying shoes or did you find some?”

“I saw a nice gold pair. Hopefully they have my size.” There’s only a moment of hesitation before you go back into the dressing room, retrieving your cell phone from your pants pocket to bring it out to him. “Would you…mind taking a picture? I…it’s silly. I just really want to show my sister.”

“One without the shoes and one with?” Jack guesses with an indulgent and slightly naughty grin. “I never have a problem taking a picture of a beautiful woman, sugar.”

Stephanie returns with the shoes while your face is still burning from Jack’s compliments. Absolutely no part of this is what you figured today would be like. You had pictures hunting through the dress department at Dillard’s quickly so as not to bore Jack, coming up with something passable but unremarkable. This is an altogether opposite experience to that - and definitely the closest to being a princess that you’ve ever felt.

Jack hums as Stephanie brings the shoes over and you sit down on one of those little poofy circle things women love. Standing, he moves over to you. “Let me help you put them on, sugar.” He murmurs silkily as he drops down to one knee in front of you and takes the shoes from the other woman.

It’s a damn Cinderella moment and all you can do is sit, frozen, trying not to react to the strength and gentleness of Jack’s large hands working the delicate straps on the heels. It’s not that you have a foot fetish, or anything even akin to it. It’s the warm way your skin tingles under his touch and the absolute intimacy of helping someone get dressed that have you holding your breath while Stephanie makes her unnoticed escape. You two clearly ought to be left alone.

He’s never thought of a foot as pretty. Never given them much thought beyond walking and laughing then Abigail had stuck her feet in his lap and demanded foot rubs for carrying his boy. He had acquiesced every time willingly. Now he keeps his fingers light as they move, sliding across your skin or holding your heel while he slips the heels on and buckles the straps.

It’s soft. Gentle. And you have no fucking clue why having him help you with your shoes has you in the verge of tears but here you are. Once they’re in place you shift slightly on the pouf, not sure that you want to break the spell of whatever the hell was just happening, but you need to see if the damn things are actually going to work for you. “Would you…?” You hold your hands out to him awkwardly, asking for help up.

“Of course, sugar.” Jack stands and dusts off his pants before he offers his hand to you with a wink and a slightly embellished flourish. “A Princess should not stand on her own.”

The way you huff is quiet - almost mournful but more like boarding indignant as he helps you to stand and just keeps you in front of him like this. Looking you over like it’s his privilege instead of a right. “If you treat the women you’ve just made friends with like this,” you observe, trying to shake off how special it makes you feel. “I don’t understand how somebody hasn’t snatched you up since being single.” You shrug, a little gesture but an honest one. “That’s just to say…your wife was a very lucky woman.”

“No sugar, I was the lucky one.” He promises, shoving down the wave of sadness and bitterness so he can concentrate on you. You deserve to feel beautiful at this moment. “Remember, manners maketh man.”

“Not in a dress shop, I hope.” A little smile crosses your lips, remembering he had said the same thing before taking those bikers to task a week ago. “And…it’s possible for you both to have been lucky. That’s—that’s what finding a soulmate is. At least…that’s what it seems like.”

It slips out, the dreaded words he hated for so long. “Maybe you will be lucky and have another soulmate.” He murmurs, knowing that according to the universe - you do.

You’ve heard those words before. From your father and brother, mostly, and you paint on the patient smile that you offered both of them when they said it. “Second soulmates are a fairy tale,” you remind him gently. “They don’t happen in real life. I’ll— I’ll just be glad if I ever find somebody willing to put up with my own specific brand of weird bullshit. That’s the dream now.” Companionship, not true love. That’s the best that you’ll dare to hope for.

He sees the brittleness in your smile because he has been far less kind with those words spoken to him. “I know.” He murmurs. “We just have to say it, right? It’s almost required.”

“Right.” You nod, stepping away from him before you say something incredibly stupid, and move back to the mirror to see the dress with these shoes on. It’s a spectacular combination and your smile softens, wondering what your soulmate would have thought of this kind of glamor.

Jack takes the picture you asked for and hands you back the phone. “Excuse me for a moment, sugar. Too much champagne, and I need to use the facilities.” He steps away, disappearing from the private dressing room.

******

“Mr. Daniels.” Stephanie’s head pops up from the front desk in surprise when she spots him, looking like he’s slinked away from where he was supposed to be. “Did you require assistance?”

“Sure can, darlin’.” Jack pulls out his wallet and lays down his credit card. “Everything she wants goes on this card. Tell her that it’s on the Statesman account and she’ll be billed at a heavy discount.” He requests, needing to buy that dress for you for some strange reason.

“You don’t want her to know it’s a gift?” She asks, head tilting slightly like she’s intrigued at the request.

“No.” Jack shakes his head adamantly. “This is a secret between you and me.” He makes it seem more charming with a wink and a flash of a flirty smile.

“Alright.” She’s damn well not going to question it. Not when she makes a commission. “Shall I encourage your friend to peruse our jewelry and clutches to complete the outfit, or would you prefer to keep the purchase small?”

“Whatever she wants.” Jack reiterates. Perhaps some of it is that underlying guilt that springs up around you, but this is mostly to make sure you look amazing at an event where your family will be.

“Very good.” Offering him a nod, she enters his credit card information into the purchase order under your name and hands it back with a smile. “If it’s not overstepping, the two of you do make a very sweet couple.”

“I wouldn’t be good for her.” Jack murmurs as he shoves his wallet back into his back pocket and sighs. “Now to actually use the bathroom.”

When Jack does return several minutes later, you are changed back into your own clothes and pour over a small display of gold earrings with Stephanie. “Hey!” Your smile is wide and true, eyes lighting up when you see him. “For a second there I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m harder to shake than a tic on a dog’s ass, sugar.” Jack jokes, just to make you giggle at his inappropriate comeback.

“Noted,” you snicker, even more amused because Stephanie looks so horrified. “I swear I’m almost done here, and then we can get dinner.”

“Take your time, sugar. The decorations make the cake more delicious.” Jack muses.

“He says to a baker.” This time you throw him a wink, deciding that playful things are just that much more fun today. It doesn’t matter that he’s just being kind, whereas you would willingly and easily drag him into that dressing room to find out exactly how much of that cocky attitude actually comes from his cock.

Grinning, he can’t help the way that his cock twitches in his jeans. You are a sexy woman and even more so when you are playful. He likes that in a woman. “So go on and pick out your doodads.” He motions towards the display case. “Gotta work up an appetite.”

Doodads. You shake your head, feeling the action be much more affectionate than you meant for it to be, and turn back to the case of jewelry in various colors, tones, and styles. The earrings you end up picking are simple but beautiful sparkling gold stud, and a nearby soft fabric clutch in gorgeous metallic gold. Stephanie tries directing you to other pieces like elaborate bracelets, but you just end up wrapping your hand around the simple gold cuff you wear every day on your wrist. It was a gift from your sister and you haven't skipped wearing it a day in the three years since she gave it to you. "I think this is plenty," you announce, when you really understand that she isn't going to stop pushing. It's fine - she probably works on commission and you're making her a lot of money today. But you're not replacing the bracelet your sister gave you for any reason. "Dress, shoes, earrings, and a purse. That's more than I expected to do today, anyway."

“Alright.” Stephanie wants to tell you to spend more money. She knows Jack Daniels can afford it, but you aren’t supposed to know. “I don’t think with the heels you need any hemming, so would you like to take the dress with you now?”

“Please.” The placid smile on your face belies how excited you actually are about the dress - it’s just your credit card bill you’re dreading. “I really appreciate all your help today. I would have been lost on my own.”

“I love helping people dress for special occasions.” Stephanie tells you brightly and scans all the items, wrapping them up and putting them in a boutique bag before pulling out a garment bag for the dress.

“My cousin’s wedding is sure to be memorable.” That’s just the sort of person she is - a very big personality that should never be silenced. You shift your purse off your arm at the counter, digging for your wallet to hand over your credit card.

“That’s great.” Stephanie zips up the dress and smiles at you as she pushes the bag forward. “Well, I hope you enjoy it and have a great rest of your day.”

"I--um..." Standing there with your credit card out, you tilt your head and furrow your brow at the shop employee. "I haven't paid yet," you remind her gently.

“Don’t worry about that.” She waves away your card with a smile. “It’s been put on Statesman’s account.” She explains breezily. “It will be billed to you, at a heavy discount.”

"Oh." Vaguely wondering how many local businesses Statesman simply has an account at, you put your card away and give the woman a slightly dazed nod as you accept the bags she has packed for you. "Well-I...thank you, again."

Jack winks at Stephanie and nods at her politely before taking your bags. “Are we ready, sugar?”

"We're ready." This whole we and sugar business is the kind of thing that makes you feel like a schoolgirl - like you're going to go home tonight and call your sister from bed while you kick your legs and gleefully recall every detail of every interaction. And fuck - who knows - maybe you will. He's been wonderful today. Completely relieving you of any worry you had last night. "Time for dinner?"

“Only if you are ready for the best collards and cornbread you’ve ever stuffed in your sweet lookin’ little mouth.” The urge to compliment you is just too much. Depending on what he says, he gets a sassy comeback or you turn charmingly shy. Both are perfect in Jack’s book.

The eyebrow you raise in his direction is matched by a smirk, and you can’t help yourself. He’s getting more outlandish in his comments and it’s either a Southern thing that you just don’t have up in New England, or he might actually be flirting. “Been thinking about my mouth today, have you?”

“It’s a nice mouth.” Jack opens the door to the shop and lets you proceed him. “The day a man doesn’t think about a mouth that is sassy and sweet, sour and sugary, well - it’s the day they put him in the ground.”

You practically gasp at the admission, taking the garment bag with your gown and carefully arranging it amongst all the other boxes and bags in the back of the Bronco when you get outside. “So you’ve actually been flirting with me and I’m the idiot who just caught on?”

Jack shuffles, looking for the world like a man who’s gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. He had been flirting and he hadn’t even realized it, the feeling so natural with you. Jack Daniels claims to be a born flirt, but ninety percent of it is an act. He hadn’t been acting with you. “Yes?” He asks, slightly worried that it might offend, given what you had said earlier.

He sounds worried, and you almost round the car to press a kiss to his cheek right there. But since the two of you had a short but legitimate conversation this morning about your dead soulmates, you decide not to push it and to just move with the flow of teasing. He seems to like it, and you have to admit to loving finding out that this man returns your attraction. “Good,” you hum, instead of doing anything sappy or too forward. “Keep it up.”

Jack’s grin is slow and he winks at you after he hops into the Bronco again, defying the need for the door. “Bossy lady.” He teases as he turns the key and the engine roars to life. “Easiest order ever, sugar.”

“I just know what I like, that’s all.” The victorious grin that overtakes your face settles there and stays as he pulls out onto the main road. You know what you like and you like him - right from the first second you saw him. It’s just that simple.

Jack drives you about five miles from the dress shop. The outside of the restaurant doesn’t look appealing, it’s the same facade of any strip mall in anywhere U.S.A. For Jack, that was part of the charm. Looks were deceiving. “Here we are, sugar.”

The outside looks like nothing at all, but through the glass windows you can see a line at the cafeteria counter that goes almost to the door. “Looks like we’re just in time for the dinner rush,” you shoot him a grin. “Perfect. Everything will be fresh.”

“Get two scoops of the collards or you’ll be waiting on a new pan.” Jack warns you, smirking as he opens the door and the scent of the buffet wafts out.

“Oh my god it smells like heaven.” The second you’re through the door you’re salivating, eagerly hopping into line with Jack at your side. “It smells like my grandmother’s house in here.”

“Your grandma cooked like this?” Jack asks, arching an eyebrow at you doubtfully.

“You think my coconut cake story was a lie?” You challenge him, grin twisting into the corner of your lips. “Grandma Jane was born and raised in Virginia. She only moved north after my older brother was born. According to her, being a long-distance granny simply was not an option.”

“Well then, let’s see if they cook as good as Grandma Jane from Virginia.” Jack teases, sending you a wink as the two of you get in line.

The building is absolutely packed to the gills, busy employees and happy customers all buzzing with their own energies. You and Jack slowly make your way up to the front of the line where regulars are being greeted by name, and you grin when one very maternal woman behind the counter lights up at the sight of him - this man seems to make an impression wherever he goes.

"Miss Mary, how are you doin' today?" Jack coos as he shuffles forward with you, a grin on his face and he sweeps his hat off his head and snatches her hand to kiss it playfully.

“Always missin’ you, Jack,” the woman laughs, swatting at him ineffectually and obviously enjoying this ritual playful flirtation. “You been in New York again? We ain’t seen you in a dog’s age.”

"No ma'am." Jack shakes his head mournfully. "Work pulled me farther away than New York, otherwise you know I would be flyin' down to sample your famous biscuits." He motions towards you and introduces you to the older woman. "Just had to show our newest Statesman member the best damn home cookin' around."

“Well, welcome, honey!” She shifts her attention to you with a beaming smile. “What is it you’re doin’ over there at the distillery, sweetheart?” “I’m a chef, actually.” You flash her a grin as if you’re both guilty of the same crime. “Brand new to the area, and I asked Jack to show me his favorite place. So here we are.”

"Oh well, I don't know if our cookin' 'ill be up to your standards, but let me know what you think." She looks impressed at the fact that you are a chef, as if running a wildly successful restaurant doesn't qualify her for the same thing. "Sweet Jack here was one of my first customers and sometimes he can be a little biased."

“I haven’t had real Southern cooking in about three years, so I’m excited to dig in.” You tell the woman honestly, making sure not to react to the inquisitive look on Jack’s face that you’re sure you’ll be answering for later. “I’m sure Jack’s bias is completely earned.”

Mary flusters, looking extremely pleased and flattered as she shoos you past. "Well you just enjoy and tell me all about it, you hear?" She demands, motioning you towards the drink station. "Get the sweet tea, honey. It's the real star of the show."

“I’m under orders, I guess. Not that anyone needs to encourage me to drink more sweet tea.” Turning to Jack as you move down the line together, you can see the question still in his eyes. “My grandmother died three years ago,” you explain. “There’s nowhere to get good Southern food in New Hampshire, and…cooking it myself hurt a little too much. Made me miss her too much. So I haven’t made anything except her coconut cake since the funeral.”

"I'm sorry, sugar." Jack knows about loss that just cripples you. He's lived with it for so long, he's functioning. At least as much as he could with his heart ripped out of his chest.

“Thank you.” It’s not ‘okay’, so you won’t say so even off-handedly, but you do slip the thin gold band from your wrist and show him the words written inside: Beautiful girl, you can do hard things. “My little sister had these made a few months later. It’s what she always used to tell us when we were worried or scared. So…she’s still with me. I know it’s not the same as losing your wife and son, but…I get what it feels like. Being so sad you can’t even open your eyes in the morning. I know that feeling.”

Jack stares at the phrase, his own eyes pricking with tears and he nods. "Loving someone is a curse sometimes, as much as it is a privilege."

“It is.” You nod and slip the band back on your wrist. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop. It just means the next person should be worth loving.”

Jack can't comment on that. Not when he's vowed to never love someone again. His own tea in hand, it's a silent perusal for a table, one set up in a small corner and he points to it. Unsure of if you will like it. He knows the silence is his fault, but how could he tell someone that he is wearing their tattoo that loving someone else wasn't in the cards for him.

It’s telling, the way chatty and openly flirtatious Jack clams up at your point of view, and you follow him to the table with a flash of melancholy in your understanding. He’s the kind of man who will simply never let go. No one will ever take his wife’s place and anyone that’s drawn his eye since is just a distraction. And for the life of you, you can’t understand why that makes your chest feel hollow and empty the way it does.

He hates that he's put a pall over the outing and once the teas are set down, he reaches for your hand. "Sorry, sugar." He murmurs softly. "It's just— it's hard to talk about. I don't mean to make you feel bad."

“Oh, I’m fine.” Lying through your teeth is what you are, but you smile for him anyway and squeeze his hand. “I think I went too long without eating, that’s all. It can affect my mood. Nothing to worry about.” Swallowing the lump squeezing your heart, you manage to find his eyes. “You can always talk to me. If you want to, I mean.”

"I appreciate that." He does, but he can't. Not without giving away the real issue. It's like your tattoo is burning and he rubs his arm absentmindedly. "Why don't we get you some grub and we can talk about less haunting things?"

“Sure.” You find yourself nodding around him quite a lot, content to be led by him through this new world you’re navigating. After all, you do like him. And Jack’s never given you a single reason not to trust him. “That sounds like a plan.”

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

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche

My Masterlist!

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

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our-marvel-universe · 1 year

Text

IRL

Pairing: Jake Jensen x reader

Warnings: Non - just fluff

WC: 1.7k

Summary: You and Jake work together and you're really good friends…but you've never met IRL.

A03 Link

“So…” Missy looks at you raising an eyebrow

“So what?” you ask as you scroll through your inbox

“Next week is the big day, what are you going to wear!?”

You turn your head giving your friend your full attention.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your long distance work buddy. He starts Monday” your best friend smirks into her coffee cup as you shake your head in disbelief.

“No, no he doesn’t start for another 2 weeks!”

“Nope” she says, exaggerating the P, “Change of plans, they asked him to move up his start date so he would be settled in before all the upgrades next month. Which your boyfriend will be heading up.” Miss adds with a smirk. You’re in such shock you don’t even stop to correct her.

“Lucky for you, your best friend works in HR and can keep you in the loop about these things” Missy is smug as she gives you a wink but you don’t even notice your brain is moving a mile a minute trying to process all this information. He’s going to be here MONDAY. There is only 1 weekend standing between you and…

“Ohh” Missy says, dropping her voice down to a whisper “by the way I reviewed the policies and the two of you are good to go. You can bang as much as you want, although if you bang in the office try not to get caught, the paperwork will be a nightmare for me!”

“Oh my, Missy!” You say slapping her arm “cut it out. Seriously. Last thing I need is for him to think I’m some pervert before he even gets settled in!” You scoff.

Missy, naturally ignores your scolding and continues on her matchmaking mission for you and a certain IT associate.

“Do you think he’s cuter in person? I bet he’s cuter in person” She muses.

“Well I wouldn’t know. I don’t even know what he looks like.” You say trying to calm your internal turmoil.

“Oh I’m well aware I can’t believe you haven’t looked him up I mean you aren’t the slightest bit curious as to” You cut her off before she can finish that thought.

“I can’t believe he starts next week. More importantly I can’t believe he didn’t tell me!?” I mean why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Ohh come on, it’s understandable.” Missy says in an attempt to comfort you. I mean he is very busy with a cross country move. He probably forgot. Or figured you’d find out I mean” Missy says as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “The important thing is the guy you’ve been crushing on forever will be working a mere few feet away where you can drool over him in person. Think of how much more vivid your fantasies will be once you see him in person. You can tell a lot about a man from his walk you know.” She says wiggling her eyebrows.

You slap her hand off you and attempt to hold back your laugh, lest you encourage her. How someone with a mouth as filthy as hers ended up in HR you will never know.

Jake. Jake Jensen will be here in person with you in just a few days. You will finally get to lay eyes on the man you’ve been crushing on for the past 6 months.

You and Jake both worked for the same company, a startup based out of Boston. You work at the office although a lot of your coworkers work remotely from all over the country, including Jake.

You were first introduced to him 6 months ago when you were having technical problems and he helped you, virtually of course. When you called for help you were lucky enough to have him answer. From the moment you heard his voice you were completely enamored with him. The two of you immediately clicked and not too long after you found yourselves talking outside of work.

You and him have really gotten to know each other. What started as emails and slack messages eventually turned into texting and talking on the phone late into the night. As much as you liked him, you never brought it up, afraid of not only the “we work together” conundrum but there was also the we live 2,000 miles apart issue. So you let your feelings grow, but never bothered to say anything to him.

Then a month ago he told you the big news. He was relocating to Boston to be closer to his sister and her kids, which meant he’d be able to work right out of headquarters with you. When he first told you, your heart soared at the possibilities. Being able to see him talk to him face to face, the thought was too much. You are already so smitten with him! And it’s easy over text but…in person..you’re afraid you’ll freeze up.

Or worse what if he’s not how you imagined? You could have built up this amazing man in your head but what if the real one falls flat? Or worse what if he’s as great as you imagine but he doesn’t like you the way you like him. There are way too many variables. Maybe it would just be better if he stayed where he was!

But that is not an option. No matter what you want he is on his way here. Hell he’s probably already here in the city unpacking his stuff right now. Your heart picks up at the idea he may be near you.

It’s first thing Monday morning and your day is already awful. You changed outfits 6 times. Yes 6. 4 times last night and then twice more this morning. Despite the cute fit you are wearing you feel a wreck. You were tossing and turning all night, only to fall asleep only moments before your alarm went off. Then to make matters worse, you spilled your coffee, not on your outfit thank god, but still no coffee for you. You didn’t have time to stop for another cup since you were already cutting it close on time.

You are rushing into the building determined to not be late. You completely miss the handsome man in glasses at the front desk trying to check in.

Missy finds you in the break room attempting to make a cup of tea and is kind enough to let you vent over your terrible weekend and even worse morning.

“Seriously Missy, this day could not possibly get worse and it’s not even 930am. Maybe I should just call it and head home.” you sigh. “I don’t have any meetings scheduled today. I’ll just tell Carly I’m not feeling well and do the rest of my work from home”

"Do it. Take care of you…" You love Missy. She may be a little vulgar and definitely NSFW but she was always so supportive of you.

Firm in your decision. You’re headed back to your desk to write up a quick email to your boss and then head out.

Turning the corner you slam into what you assume to be a brick wall someone added to the office over the weekend, leading you to drop your drink and fall onto the ground.

You vaguely hear an “ohh God” through your haze as you try to not completely lose your shit. Looking down you take deep breaths through your nose as you push your tongue into the roof of your mouth in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

“Oh my god I am so sorry are you alright!?”

The person you bumped into crouches down in front of you and you are completely taken aback.

Turns out the man who made you drop your second beverage of the day was rather handsome and his beautiful blue eyes were trained right on you.

After triple checking you were ok the man you bumped into ran to get some napkins. He insisted on helping you clean up.

You’re sure he’ll be back in a moment but before he arrives you see Dave from HR walking towards you.

“Hey what happened here?”

“Ohh there was a bit of an accident. I bumped into someone but he’s going to get paper towels now.”

“Ohh man ok well I was just looking for, Ohh Jake there you are!”

You turn and see your mystery man walking towards you, paper towels in hand.

“Ohh, hey Dave, sorry I was headed down to find you but..” Jake tapers off while gesturing between you, him and your spill.

“It’s totally fine man. Take your time, no rush! Maybe once you two are done cleaning up and Jake is ready maybe you can show him back to my office?” Dave says, looking directly at you.

“Ughh yeah, sure” You reply. Your over tired and under caffeinated brain is trying to make sense of everything that’s happening. As you are slowly trying to make sense of things you turn to Jake and see him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck before he looks over at you.

“Guess I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Jake, Jake Jensen, IT. I mean I work in IT.” He says sticking out his hand for you to shake.

You can’t believe it, this is Jake your Jake and he is so handsome and…shaking your head you remember your manners. Shaking his hand you introduce yourself. Jake’s face lights up as soon as you say your name. The two of you stand there holding hands for longer than necessary before you recover and remember to separate.

You grabbed some paper towels from him and you both start to clean up.

“You know this is not how I envisioned our first meeting…” You confess.

“I know,” Jake replies “I didn’t think it’d be so easy to sweep you off your feet.”

You laugh out loud at his super lame pick up line. Although you have to admit that line along with that blush has you crushing even harder on your newest coworker.

A/N - what did you think of these 2? I have been toying around with this fic for a while and there could possibly be a part 2... leave a comment and let me know what you think!

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen fluff #Jake Jensen fic #Kes Writes

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topguncortez · 2 years

Text

ANGST

Loveless Love J. Seresin x Ex-Wife Simpson!Reader. Jake wants to be more than just the guy you call when you're lonely

Anxiety J. Seresin x Female!Reader. Jake hasn't been dealing with the aftermath of the Uranium Mission as well as everyone thinks he is.

One Night Stand J. Seresin x Female!Reader. One night stands were never supposed to be more, but now it is.

Does the Father know? J. Seresin x female!pilot. What happens on the carrier, is supposed to stay on the carrier. . .

I'll Never Forgive You J. Seresin x female!pilot. Jake has been distant for a while, and the truth is beyond devastating

FLUFF

My Protector J. Seresin x Female!Reader. It's the small things that Jake does to protect you.

Tug J. Seresin x Female!Reader. Jake's a morning person, and she's a night owl.

Spin the Bottle J. Seresin x pilot!female. How can one game of spin the bottle lead to a confession of feelings?

Show me where it Hurts J. Seresin x Female!Reader. Jake takes care of you when the pain becomes too much

The Final Sunset J. Seresin x Female!Reader. You ask Jake to take you to see the sunset one last time

SMUT

You're Mine J. Seresin x Female!Reader. Jake is possessive over what is his

Just Friends J. Seresin x Female!Reader. Jake reminds you that you are more than "just friends"

Hotshot J. Seresin x pilot!female. Two Hotshot pilots who need to be put in their place. warnings: SMUT, PIV, dumbifcation, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, public sex

Shaky Legs J. Seresin x female!pilot. Jake knows exactly what to do to make you scream warnings: unprotected sex, vaginal sex, dom/sub themes, overstimulation, creampie, pet names

Squirting J. Seresin x female!reader. Jake makes you squirt for the first time. warnings: unprotected sex, vaginal sex, name calling, choking, overstimulation, dom/sub themes

Not A Single Thought J. Seresin x female!reader. Jake doesn't waste anytime in getting down and dirty after winning a trophy. warnings: unprotected sex, choking, sex on the floor, name calling, teasing, tears, Jake is a condescending dom.

While You're Sleeping J.Seresin x female!reader. Jake helps you act out one of your fantasies. warnings: CNC, usage of sleeping pills (melatonin), talks of safe words, vaginal fingering, oral sex (F) receiving.

A Night with Lieutenant Commander J. Seresin x Female!Reader. Jake gets promoted and a chance to wear his dress whites warnings: smut, allusions of sex, dirty talk, public sex

Beg for Me Professor Seresin x female!reader. Professor wants to see you beg for him warnings: SMUT, teasing, dom/sub relationship, age gap, a lil p in the v moment, masturbation, voyeurism (slightly)

SERIES:

Professor Seresin J. Seresin x Female!College Student. Professor Seresin is known for being a hard ass. He's cold and rude, and demands excellence from his students. But what happens when one student manages to break through the icy cold exterior.

The Professor: Vol 2 J. Seresin x Female!College Student. A book deal, a new job, and a chance at starting over. The last three years have been a rollercoaster of up and down for Y/N and Jake putting not only themselves but their love on the line.

Opposites Attract J. Seresin x shy!wife. How can Hangman, cocky, arrogant Hangman fall in love with a girl who is so different than him and raise a family completely opposite of him. on going series

What to Expect J. Seresin x female!reader "Exes can have a baby, right?" "Of course they can. . . I think."

Bad Medicine J. Seresin x female!Reader. A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good.

EXTRAS/HEADCANNONS:

Christmas Moodboard

Helping you with Postpartum Depression - HC

updated: Feb 26th, 2023

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brighteststar707 · 7 months

Text

Turn It All Back

Part Three of Don't Say My Name

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist | Read on AO3 (Registered users only)

✦ Saeyoung x gn!Reader

✦ Words: 3407

✦ TW: Death mention, destructive anger

“And… what brought you here?” As if he doesn’t know. He can read it off your face. You were there with him at the funeral, were the one to give him the news. You have been watching him with those same eyes since the day he woke up. “I’m worried about you.” The real question is how much do you know? What do you see when you look into his eyes? He can’t bear to look at you and find out.

Saeyoung sits at his desk and absentmindedly watches the screens in front of him. One of the monitors is broken, a web of cracks and multicoloured pixels is all that’s left on the screen. He can’t remember the outburst that caused it, only the sick feeling he got when he realised what he had done. He pretends it’s not broken, though, and keeps flitting his eyes from screen to screen, as if he's anticipating a mission that is never coming.

This has been an increasingly common occurrence over the past few days as the anger inside him has swelled up, taken up all the remaining space in his body, leaving room for little else. It has resulted in small, isolated outbursts like the one that caused him to break the screen. Manifestations of momentary frustration that he cannot contain.

He feels like a time bomb about to go off, the pressure between his ribs threatening to break him at any moment. The funeral was the last straw. When he is not at the hospital, mask all the way up, putting his only real energy into trying to help Saeran, he loses hours to sitting motionlessly, holding himself tense so he doesn’t do something stupid. In the waiting room seats, in the car, at his desk. Even at the funeral.

He has caught himself fantasising about revenge lately. It is temptingly easy. He'd go quiet for a few days, abduct Rika before she can be sent anywhere out of reach. He would finally be able to ask her all the questions that had been raging in him for so long. He'd deliver justice. Then, he'd finally be free. Or so he tries to believe.

With everyone at fault gone or out of reach, he is the only one his anger has left to hurt. This is the closest thing to catharsis he can picture.

He had seen her at the funeral today. Intentional or otherwise, there was always someone standing between them, keeping them a safe distance apart. He wonders if it was your doing, or perhaps Jumin had been more attentive than Saeyoung had given him credit for. She had been staring at V's picture, oblivious to everyone around her. In a world of her own grief.

It doesn’t take long before his fantasies are interrupted by the more rational side of him that knows that revenge in this form really won’t make things any better. Even if she spoke to him, he doubts anything she would say could make any difference. Killing her would just put more blood on his hands, make him feel more like a monster than he already does.

The robotic voice of his security system suddenly announces a visitor, pulling him from his train of thought. He doesn't care enough to get up. Whoever managed to get through the front gate will just have to come find him themselves if they really want to. It's probably Vanderwood anyway, here to pick up something he forgot.

He was not expecting your voice to ring through the house.

“Saeyoung?”

He straightens up suddenly, wincing when he jostles his arm the wrong way. He scrabbles for the alarm remote to turn it off. Gingerly, he gets up from his chair and rolls out his shoulders, as if it’s going to do anything to ease the tension there. He is equal parts thrilled to see you and anxious to keep you away from him as much as possible.

“I’m here,” he says as he comes out into the living room. It’s a mess. Besides going without Vanderwood’s regular cleanings (Saeyoung does not have the presence of mind to attempt it himself yet), there is more proof of his declining mental state here too. A broken figurine, the robo-dog looking worse for wear after getting in his way. Old takeout containers sitting by the front door. He hopes you won’t see any more of these traces through the house before he can set them right.

You’re already there, waiting for him in the middle of the room. There is a strange dissonance in seeing you here under the fluorescents. He has come to associate you with warmth and comfort, starry skies and sun coming in through the windows. The real, the beautiful. There is nothing in this house that is real (not in the way that it relates to him), much less beautiful.

You take him in slowly. For the first time, he feels self-conscious of how poorly he has been taking care of himself. His clothes are crumpled (he hasn’t gotten changed since getting back from the funeral), his hair is a mess. He knows he has dark circles and he can’t remember the last real meal he ate. Belatedly, he notices he is still holding the remote.

“How did you get in?” He asks to try and deflect your attention away from him.

“Vanderwood lent me their dictionary. Turns out my Arabic isn’t too bad.”

He assumes that Vanderwood also gave you the address. Traitor.

“I’m worried about you.”

The real question is how much do you know? What do you see when you look into his eyes? He can’t bear to look at you and find out. He does what he knows best instead.

“Oh, this?” He gestures vaguely to himself and the space around them, “It’s better than it looks, I promise. It’s just with Saeran… ah… you know how I get.”

“Saeyoung.”

“Please,” and now his voice is pleading. More desperate than he wanted it to sound. Please let it go, he thinks, I can’t talk about it or I’ll shatter. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” You echo. His pupils are big and dark, all but swallowing up his irises. He looks possessed. “I thought we promised that we’d tell each other the truth.”

The memory hurts. It’s bright, coloured in a happiness that seems almost unreachable to him now. He will be the first to admit that he has fallen into old habits, keeping you just out of reach for your own safety. And he hates it. Now that he has grown used to the comfort you bring, he hates to be apart from you. It’s just that lately he has been afraid of exploding and hurting everyone around him. His roughest edges are out on show, and he is barely keeping them contained. He'd rather he be the only person he hurts.

So, he deflects again.

“You… don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Bullshit.”

He looks surprised. You’ve never spoken to him this way before. But this isn’t the time for delicate approaches. He will take any out you give him.

You know full well that the funeral was the last drop in the bucket that was on the brink of overflowing. You had caught the sharpness to his words, the way he kept his hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking earlier today. And that terrible stillness. That’s the biggest tell. As if someone has robbed him of his essence and left behind an eerie impostor.

Opposite you, his demeanour has shifted. He has squared off his shoulders as if he is preparing for an attack. “Fine. I don’t want you to know. It’s… ugly,” he says.

“That excuse has never worked on me before. I want to know what you’re feeling and thinking, regardless of how bad it is. How am I supposed to support you if you won’t let me in?”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you stubbornly.

More softly, you add, “you know I’m not going to think less of you for what you’re thinking, right?”

In theory, he does. He has come to trust you completely. It’s still hard to believe in practice, though. Being in his own head so much lately has made it hard to imagine that you wouldn’t be disappointed in him, or worse, repulsed by what he has become. He doesn’t know what will become of him if he ever lets go of his building anger completely.

God, does he wants to, though. There is a part of him that wants to put himself in your hands and trust that you’ll know how to help him. It’s almost a relief that you were stubborn enough to come and find him yourself . He loves and hates that you would chase him down just to break down his walls, over and over again.

He knows just by looking at you that you’re not going to give up. And in that moment, he has to trust that you are as strong as you have proven to be so far. That you will catch him if he crumbles.

“What… do you want to know?” He finally says. His posture relaxes slightly, his eyes not empty but fearful, as if even he doesn’t know what is coming next.

“What are you thinking?”

“I… I don’t –” It dies in his throat. It’s nothing coherent. A hot, restless fury, fantasies of blood and revenge and the inescapable reality of the damage that has been inflicted.

“Okay, then let’s talk about Saeran instead. How is his treatment going?”

He deflates a little bit. You know him too well. The details of Saeran’s care are imprinted on his brain, and they start to tumble out of his mouth without needing any more prompting.

"It's not. He is resisting treatment; the doctors don't know what to do with him. He won't talk to me and he- " his breath catches when he thinks about how broken he looked the last time he saw him. Not just physically, but mentally too. The emptiness in his eyes as he watches the clouds passing by his window. “The doctors say that his condition indicates years of drug use.” He grits his teeth. “Years.”

The anger that had temporarily subsided in your presence flares up again. It fills his lungs and burns his throat as the memories come all at once. That list of chemicals, the blue substance they discovered after raiding the Mint Eye compound. The side effects, the withdrawal symptoms. The testimonies of former cult members coming out every day – the ceremonies and the punishments. His brother’s eyes, icy mint where they were once warm amber.

He instinctively wants to put it out, change the subject before he can’t breathe anymore and his heart starts to hammer too hard. At the back of his throat, it all builds up, begging to be let out. It's too much.

You’re looking at him encouragingly, urging him to push through it. So, he lets the spark catch. The more painful realisations start to come out, and these hurt more to say.

“They forced that stuff on him for years and put him through hell. They lied to me, sent me those pictures to keep me quiet while they abused him! It was never supposed to be this way!”

His voice is already getting louder, but you don’t flinch, so he doesn’t try to stop it. He hasn’t said any of this out loud yet, and in a way, this feels more like a way for him to untangle the mess in his mind than it is to answer your question. You let him talk regardless.

“V spoke to me almost every day and he never told me how bad things were! He told me to defend the RFA against the hacker! He knew who I was fighting and did it anyway! How DARE he!” Every time he says V’s name, it’s with venom. "I might have made things worse for Saeran by just-" His voice gives out before he can finish.

He doesn't fight against the memories that resurface.

Saeran’s skills at hacking, the years it must have taken, the toll it took on his health. That keyboard at the compound, the letters on the keys long since rubbed away from use. The list of injuries he sustained, old scars and new bruises, the chronic malnutrition and lack of sleep, and – somehow the most offensive – the extensive scarring around his wrists and ankles from being physically restrained.

Blood is pounding in his ears. He wants to scream, to sob for every second Saeran had to endure in that place. It is impossible to think clearly when all he can hear is his heart racing and all he can see when he closes his eyes is the pain and regret in V’s eyes when they were back in that cell. It wasn’t enough, and it is all he will ever get.

“This was supposed to be the beginning. We were supposed to be free. But how am I supposed to live with his fingerprints on everything in our lives? I go into Saeran’s hospital room every single day and he threatens to kill me. How am I supposed to move on?” He says that last part mockingly, echoing what one of his doctors had told him before he was discharged. “He let Saeran be tortured! Who gave him the right to meddle in our lives? We were kids!”

In that moment, his fury feels inescapable. Embedded in his flesh, impossible to separate from himself without turning into a bloodied wreck.

“You asked me what I have been thinking recently? I wish I was the one to kill him. I wish I could have ruined him exactly how he ruined us. I wish I could show him what any father of mine truly deserves.”

It’s all too much, it needs to get out out out before it chokes him.

He hears the plastic of the remote cracking against the floor and then feels it under his heel as he grinds it into the tiles. It takes a second for his mind to catch up.

He looks back to you suddenly, expecting the worst, shame already clawing at his insides. He is already looking for any trace of disgust on your face, or worse, fear. But you only look mildly surprised.

“Saeyoung, you’re crying.”

He touches a hand to his cheek to find that it’s wet. How long has he been crying for? He isn’t sure. You reach out to cup his cheek. The tenderness in your eyes makes him feel brittle, on the brink of shattering.

He takes a ragged breath and then says, “That boy… in the pictures… that was who Saeran was supposed to be. Happy, in the sun. Carefree. Now, he might never -” he doesn't want to finish that thought. Shakily, he continues, "I was the one supposed to suffer for us. He should never have known this kind of life even existed."

You intervene, meaning to stop him before he can follow that line of thinking further. You clasp his hand in yours, try to straighten out his fingers, warm them up in your own (they're uncharacteristically cold).

"The responsibility of saving yourself and your brother should not have fallen solely on you. They should have protected you too," you continue.

He goes cold. Your statement tugs at something in him. A feeling so old it is etched into his bones, remembering it sends a dull ache through his body. It’s more instinctive than a clear memory he can define.

When he was young, there must have been a moment where he had wished that he didn’t have to hurt so much to keep Saeran safe. But that thought might as well have been sacrilege. He quickly repressed it, put it somewhere far out of reach, and grew around it.

But the way you've put it, so matter-of-factly, without any space for doubt, has unearthed that feeling, brought it back with a renewed strength, made it impossible to ignore.

His anger so far has felt overwhelming, too complicated to handle. This anger is simple. Childlike, almost.

He is Luciel, naming himself after the devil, and nobody intervenes. He is told that he has to do work - commit crimes - to earn money (he would only learn of V's personal riches later on in life and never connect the dots). He brings down international servers at the age of fourteen, because he'd rather be a criminal than watch his brother go hungry again. Nobody intervenes.

He is Agent 707, aged sixteen, fresh out of agency training, body aching and mind wiped blank. He is breaking codes he didn't know he had until it was too late, crossing lines that he never had the luxury of setting. Killing someone for the first time, taking on assignments without knowing who he is serving. Begging V and Rika, the only people he trusts in the world, for any indication that he is doing this for something greater than himself, because the concept of himself as a person is fading further every day.

He had always taken these struggles as a necessity, the sacrifices he has to make to keep his brother safe. He trusted V and Rika to guide him in the right direction, to know better than he did. They told him the agency was his best option, so he took it without question.

It’s only in hindsight that he realises just how much of himself he lost to that decision.

It’s in the knowledge that, despite being unconscious at the time, he can picture exactly how Saeran felt on that fateful day at Mint Eye. The cold metal, clasped in his hands. The shot, the recoil, the ringing in his ears. That momentary sense of relief, because he had bought himself more time, immediately followed by the sick seeping sense of guilt at what he’d done. He has been there many times himself. It is a feeling he’d do anything to take off of Saeran’s hands.

Again, more muted this time, he feels that surge of anger through his body, wishing he could pull V out of hell now and squeeze the life out of him himself and save Saeran that pain, at least.

There is a child in him, begging to be heard, wondering if he really was deserving of better. For the first time, he listens.

He inhales sharply through his teeth. "If I believe that then..."

"Then everything else falls apart," you finish.

If, he said. But it has already taken a hold in his head. The belated frustration he is feeling on his own behalf, the way his past memories are being tainted. And, yes, it all falls apart.

His voice is fragile, the question devastating in its simplicity. “Why? What did we do?”

The fight has left him. The anger has forced its way out and has left him raw and tired. With no defensive buffer, there is only the pain left to feel. You reach for his other hand and guide him to the sofa with you. He sinks into it warily and melts at your touch.

You give his hands a squeeze. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“There’s so much… where do I put it all? I can’t get away from it… I can’t let it go. It’s ruining me.”

“I don't know. There isn't an easy way out. But allowing yourself to feel the things you're feeling is better than the alternative. You can’t hurt yourself forever. I won’t let you.”

He lets that sink in. You wrap your arms around him and he allows himself to feel small for a moment. He can feel the breath you take before you speak again.

“You know I’m always here to catch you, right?”

And for the first time, he does completely.

You comb your fingers through his hair. He takes a breath, then another. Each one hurts, but it feels good to focus his energy on one action.

You both know that this isn’t the end. That this isn’t the last time this conversation will have to happen, but he feels a certain relief in knowing that he made it through this one. That you will be here to hold him through the next one and the one after that. Maybe it won’t kill him and maybe he doesn’t have to become a monster consumed by it.

He can only hang on for a day when he isn’t ruined by everything he has lost and suffered.

#Oh the time i have spent writing and rewriting this one #Don't say my name #mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeyoung #mystic messenger Saeyoung Choi #mystic messenger 707 #mystic messenger Luciel choi #Mystic messenger luciel #saeyoung choi #mysme seven #mysme 707 #mysme saeyoung #my writing

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