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capuccinodoll · 20 days ago

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The Confession

Before the sun hits (chapter five)

Summary: Joel wants to know more about your dream, and he might make it come true.

You walked down the stairs humming the last tune that had spun through your mind in the shower—China Girl by Bowie. The song’s notes lingered on your lips, a little offbeat, but it didn’t matter. The warmth of the shower still clung to your skin, and you realized just how much you’d needed that heat until it washed over you, easing the tension you hadn’t known you were holding. Even though the rumbling thunder outside made you tense up a little, the cascade of water had been a comfort, like a temporary escape.

Bundled up in your favorite lounge clothes—pajama pants, a worn-in cotton T-shirt, and an oversized sweater that practically swallowed you—you made your way downstairs. The rain was still lashing against the roof, a steady downpour that filled the house with its rhythmic patter, creating an oddly soothing backdrop. When you reached the bottom floor, you wandered toward the living room window, curious about the storm. The sight outside surprised you; the sky was a swirling, tumultuous grey, like a Renaissance painting where the artist had chosen to convey the world's sadness through heavy, brooding clouds.

"Still afraid?" Joel’s voice came from somewhere behind you, and you jumped slightly. He had a way of sneaking up on you like that.

“No,” you shot back, spinning to face him, but the lie must have been obvious. He was standing just a bit too close, his smirk playful as he stepped back, but only by a few inches, leaving barely enough space to breathe.

“You sure?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Joel, sure,” you replied firmly, trying to hold onto your composure. But almost on cue, a loud crack of thunder split the air, and you flinched despite yourself, taking a small step back.

Joel's lips curled into a bemused smile, his eyes dancing with amusement that he was barely disguising with a frown. “Good Lord,” he said, shaking his head. “Come on, get away from the window.”

You didn’t argue, following him to the couch, feeling like a child caught out. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you settled next to him, your arm brushing against his. Joel didn’t seem to mind. He sprawled out on the couch, grabbing the remote with an easy familiarity, and you took a seat beside him, closer than you probably should have been.

“What do you want to watch?” you asked, your voice bright with anticipation as you tilted your head, studying his profile.

He glanced at the TV screen, then turned toward you, and the sudden intensity of his gaze sent a jolt through you. It was like being seen, really seen, for a moment too long. He gestured toward the screen, where a reality show played, two women shouting and sobbing in a flurry of drama.

“Anything but this,” he muttered, a wrinkle of distaste crinkling his brow.

You reached over, and he let the remote pass into your hands, your fingers brushing briefly against his. You tried to ignore the way the touch made your pulse skip. As you navigated through streaming options, Joel watched you, his focus almost palpable.

When you reached your recently watched shows, Joel let out an exaggerated sigh. “Season twenty of Grey’s Anatomy?”

“Yes, why?” you replied with a smirk, arching an eyebrow.

He didn’t dignify the question with a response, instead pointing to a different movie thumbnail. “That one. Christine.”

You navigated to the film without protest, pressing play. The opening scenes filled the room with the familiar, grainy colors of ‘80s cinema. You’d always loved movies from that era—the way they captured the world with their hazy, saturated palettes, the oversized jackets, the neon lights. It all felt like a time capsule, a window into a different kind of life.

On screen, Arnie strutted around in his red jacket, exuding a cocky confidence.

“Look at that, what a beauty,” Joel mused, leaning a little closer to you. His voice had a warmth to it, a hint of something wistful. “I always wanted a Plymouth Fury, red and everything.”

“Everything? Possession included?” you quipped, looking up at him, catching his eye in the dim light. He shot you a side glance, his expression mildly irritated but also amused.

“Pay attention,” he replied, frowning.

You bit back a grin, turning your focus back to the screen. But you couldn’t help the small huff of frustration that escaped when the car’s dark influence on Arnie became more apparent.

Joel caught the sound, leaning toward you, his voice dropping into a low whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“That damn car,” you muttered, the edge in your voice belying your irritation.

“It’s just a movie,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You know that, right?”

“Oh, no shit, Joel. A movie?" You shot him a mock-serious look, and his mouth twitched, barely holding back a smile.

“Okay, smartass.”

A laugh bubbled up from your throat, surprising you both. Without thinking, you let your head rest on his shoulder, curling your legs up beneath you, and you felt him relax slightly under the weight of it. He didn’t move away; he didn’t make any snide comment. He just let you stay like that, the warmth of his body a quiet reassurance.

“Let me know if you’re hungry,” he said after a while, his voice breaking the silence.

“Why, are you going to cook for me?” you teased, your cheek pressing a little more firmly against his shoulder.

“If you behave,” he shot back, the words carrying a playful edge that sent a shiver through you. You looked up at him, letting your gaze drift to his lips for just a second too long.

“So scary,” you muttered, shifting against him. “Is Joel Miller a good cook?”

“I’ve received no complaints,” he replied, his eyes dropping to meet yours. He was so close that the air seemed to thin between you, and something tightened in your chest.

“I have a discerning palate."

“I’ve seen you eat, sweetheart,” he said, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips. “I can handle you.”

The words hit differently, slipping through your defenses, and without thinking, you let a thought slip out as if it were nothing more than a whisper. “I know you can.”

Joel’s expression shifted, a shadow of something passing over his features. He took in the shift in your tone, the undercurrent of something you hadn’t meant to reveal. “Can I ask you a question?” you asked, suddenly emboldened by the intimacy of the moment.

“You know you can."

“Why did you agree to come to Canmore?”

He fell silent, staring at the screen without seeing it. His mouth tightened, as if he was weighing the words before giving them to you. For a moment, you thought maybe you’d overstepped. But then he spoke. “Have you met your dad?”

“Believe me, I did,” you answered with a dry laugh.

“He was... pretty persistent. I tried to say no, but Sarah disagreed. It was like they had a plan.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who does what he doesn’t want to,” you observed, trying to decipher him.

“Maybe. Most of the time. Not lately,” he said, his voice softer, almost introspective.

A knot formed in your chest. Did he regret being here? Was he just tolerating you? You lifted your head from his shoulder, turning to face him directly. He noticed, his brows knitting together as he took in the change in your expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied, but your voice betrayed you. He shifted closer, studying your face, and the weight of his attention was impossible to ignore.

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, Joel,” you said quietly, the words firmer than you felt. “I mean, today. Or any day.”

“I know,” he replied just as firmly. His gaze held yours, unflinching, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Just so you know,” you pressed on. “You’re not obligated to spend time with me.”

“I know,” he said again, but there was something else there, something you couldn’t quite name. “Are you trying to convince me to leave?”

“No, I’m just... letting you know.”

He exhaled slowly, a faint, wry smile pulling at his lips. “I’m not having a bad time, you know. Even if I have to put up with your sass.”

Relief washed over you, a warmth settling in your chest. You couldn’t help the small smile that slipped out. “You’re not the only one putting up with things, Joel.”

He arched a brow, leaning in even closer, his voice dropping. “Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his words carrying a challenge that made your pulse stutter. You could feel the heat between you, an invisible line you were both daring the other to cross.

“I could list a few things,” you started, your voice playful. “Like you spying on me while I sleep.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something that sent a thrill through you, like you’d just lit a fuse. He leaned in, his thumb brushing against the side of your hip, a touch so light it felt like a promise.

Joel's face hovered close, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, creating an intimate cocoon in the dim light. His arm settled beside your hip, fingers brushing just enough to send a jolt through your skin. It felt almost like a question—one he wouldn’t voice, but asked with the pressure of his thumb, the careful tilt of his head. You were hyper-aware of everything in that moment: the faint scent of soap clinging to his skin, the underlying musk that was uniquely his, and the way his presence filled the small space between you, almost like a gravitational pull.

“Tell me what you dreamed,” he murmured, the request slipping from his lips in a tone that felt like an order disguised as an invitation. His voice had that low, rough edge, the kind that made you want to answer without question, to let yourself be led by it. You felt the warmth begin in your chest and travel downward, a slow unraveling that left you bare.

Look at you, so reckless, you thought, almost laughing at yourself. But even as you hesitated, you couldn’t resist the idea of letting him in on the dream. Would he react like you imagined? Push back, pull away, or lean in further? A thrill went through you at the uncertainty of it all.

“Well, it was dark,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, but there was a slight tremble you couldn’t control. “I woke up to a noise. I was in my bed, alone, until I felt something move behind me, pressing close.”

He leaned in, just enough to make you feel the shift in his breathing. “How close?” His voice carried a note of urgency, like he needed the answer more than you did.

You swallowed, feeling a flicker of boldness ignite. “Not a millimeter away,” you confessed, watching the way his expression shifted, tightening with curiosity and something else, something deeper. “And then I felt it—a hand, sliding over my waist, fingers pressing in, but gentle, almost hesitant. For a moment, I thought it was just a phantom feeling, but then it moved lower, and I turned over to see—” You faltered, catching the gleam in his eyes. He was listening, but not just with his ears. He was taking in every word, every flicker of emotion on your face, holding you captive in his gaze.

You brushed your fingers over the back of his hand, feeling his warmth seep into you. It made your pulse stutter. “I think you know what I mean, Joel,” you continued, his name slipping from your mouth like a plea. “When I finally felt it—all of it—it was like it was tearing me apart from the inside, a sensation so strong it felt like it would swallow me whole.”

His eyes, dark and intense, never wavered from yours. He swallowed hard, like he was trying to keep himself steady, but you could see the hunger there, wild and unguarded. “Say it,” he urged, his voice rougher now, and it made your skin tingle.

You feigned confusion for a second, savoring the way his impatience crept into the curve of his mouth, the tightness of his jaw. “What?” you asked innocently, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

His lips twitched into a smile, the kind that barely reached his eyes. “Don’t play innocent with me. Say it. Out loud.”

The challenge in his words, the edge of command, did something to you. A rush of need flooded your veins, making your head spin, leaving you breathless with wanting. You could have kept up the pretense a little longer, but he was so close, so maddeningly close, that it was all you could do to keep from leaning in those last few inches to taste the urgency on his lips.

“It was you, Joel,” you confessed, feeling the weight of the admission hitting you, your heart drumming wildly against your ribs. “Touching me, gripping me like I was something you couldn’t bear to let go of. Taking me, like you needed it as much as I did. Of course you you had to heard me, those noises were just for you.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, just stared at you with a raw, naked hunger that made your skin feel too tight. His breath came in rough bursts, and his chest rose and fell like he was struggling to keep control. Then, you saw his gaze drop, his eyes tracing the line of your throat, lingering on the curve of your collarbone, and finally, drifting down further.

Before you knew what you were doing, your hand reached out, grazing the front of his pants, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. His reaction was instant—a sharp intake of breath, a tightening of his hand on your hip, as if he might pull you closer or push you away, he hadn’t yet decided. But he didn’t push. He let you touch him, let you feel the evidence of how much he wanted this.

Then Joel’s fingers curled around your wrist, gently halting your touch, as if savoring the moment. His grip was firm, his hand rough against your skin, and when he spoke, there was a crack in his voice that made you pause, just for a second.

“If this happens, there's no turning back, baby,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, but with an edge of vulnerability that you hadn’t heard before. His eyes searched yours, and for a brief moment, a shadow of uncertainty crossed his face.

You swallowed, taking in the weight of what he’d just said, the gravity in his words. But really, that was all you needed. No second thoughts, no hesitations. You leaned in, closing the space between you both, and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was urgent, like you’d been holding your breath for hours, and finally, you could exhale. Joel’s taste filled you—something intoxicating and warm—and you let out a low sound, a moan that vibrated through your joined lips.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his chest heaving as he studied you with half-lidded eyes. He sank back against the couch, drawing you with him. His hands moved quickly, guiding your legs around his waist until you were straddling his lap, your thighs cradling his hips. You could feel the strength in his arms as he adjusted you, holding you close, anchoring you to him. The contact of his hard chest against your own, the way his body seemed to fit perfectly beneath yours—it set a spark in your blood, a need so intense that you barely recognized your own voice as you gasped against his lips.

“Damn, baby,” Joel breathed, his lips ghosting over yours as he spoke. He dipped his head to kiss along your jaw, his hands cupping your backside, fingers digging into the curve of you. A low, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest when he felt you grind against him, his body responding with a slow, helpless roll of his hips. He broke the kiss, just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, a faint smile tugging at his lips when he felt your eagerness. You couldn’t help but match it with a smile of your own, though yours was tinged with impatience.

You pressed your mouth to his again, this time with a frantic edge, your hands finding their way into his hair. The heat between you was searing, uncontainable. Your hips moved instinctively, seeking the pressure, the friction. When you felt the length of him pressing through his pants against your core, a desperate sound slipped from you, something raw and needy.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, the words leaving you in a rush as your head tipped back, your lips parted. He felt so good beneath you, so solid, big, and it made your mind spin.

Joel’s gaze was fixed on you, dark and hungry, watching the way your mouth fell open, how you clung to him as if you might lose your balance. His breath hitched, and his jaw clenched as he seemed to wrestle with himself. Then, in a sudden move, he gripped your waist and lifted you off him, setting you down next to him. A whine of frustration bubbled up in your throat, but he was already on his feet, pulling you along with him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he hoisted you up, your legs dangling for just a moment before finding their place around his hips again. You couldn’t keep your lips off him, your mouth chasing his as he maneuvered you toward the stairs, his hands gripping you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Before you knew it, he turned you in his arms, your back pressing into the wooden railing. Your breath came out in a shudder as he kissed you there, fingers digging into the curve of your spine. But then he pivoted again, leading you backwards until you found yourself at the door to his room. He fumbled for the handle, and when it finally gave way, he pushed the door open and guided you inside.

You took a breath, glancing around, taking in the intimate details of his space. It mirrored yours, but different—more organized, less cluttered, though the bed was rumpled, as if he’d just been lying in it, restless.

The thought disappeared when you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you into the heat of his chest. His mouth brushed over the curve of your shoulder, trailing kisses up to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You tilted your head, giving him more space, your breath catching when his lips grazed your skin. His hands spanned your waist, holding you steady, and you shivered against him, your whole body aching with need.

Turning, you faced him, your hands going straight to the hem of his shirt. You were impatient, trembling, and he must have seen the urgency in your eyes because he didn’t waste time—he pulled off your sweater and t-shirt in one swift movement, leaving your skin bare to the cool air.

For a heartbeat, he just looked at you, and the intensity of his gaze made your breath stutter.

"So pretty, baby."

His fingers traced along your sides, pressing you closer, his mouth finding your neck again. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious ache building low in your stomach.

You tugged at his shirt again, desperate for the feel of his skin against yours. He shrugged it off, letting it fall somewhere on the floor, forgotten. His body was warm and solid beneath your touch, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped when he pressed himself to you, the heat of him seeping into your bones.

The edge of the bed met the back of your thighs, and Joel took advantage of your stumble, guiding you down onto the mattress. He hovered over you, his breath mingling with yours, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—this delicate push and pull of control he was struggling to keep. But then, with a small, desperate sound, he surrendered, his mouth crashing into yours.

His kiss was hungry, consuming, like he’d been starving for you, and it left you dizzy. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you up against him, and you arched into his touch, a helpless little sound escaping your lips as he took control.

His lips moved lower, kissing down your neck, over the curve of your breast, until finally, his mouth closed around one of your nipples. The sensation sent a bolt of electricity through you, and you cried out, your hands twisting into his hair, pulling him closer, as if that would ease the ache growing inside you.

“Please, Joel,” you begged, voice barely above a whisper, but it felt like the only thing you could manage.

He paused, lifting his gaze to yours, his lips swollen and wet, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulled back.

“What, baby?” he teased, the words catching in his breath, his eyes dark with want. “You have to tell me what you need.”

Your cheeks flushed under his scrutiny, but you managed to meet his gaze, biting down on your lip. “Fuck me,” you whispered, the words a raw plea, your hands trailing over his shoulders, urging him closer.

He kissed you again, slower this time, but with a lingering desperation that made your head spin, his body pressing yours into the mattress.

As Joel pulled away, a cold emptiness settled over your body, making you lean up on your elbows, your head following his movement as he stood before you. His hands moved with urgency, tugging down his gray pants. And just like that, the fabric pooled at his feet, revealing skin. You blinked, your breath hitching. Of course, Joel wasn't wearing underwear.

A sigh tumbled from your lips, heavy with desire as your eyes drank in the sight of him. He stood exposed, unabashed, and hard. His hand wrapped around his hard, thick dick almost instinctively, and you caught the smallest flinch in his expression. It was intoxicating.

“I knew it,” you breathed, tossing your head back, a smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth. Joel's eyebrow arched, and he took a step closer, a playful smile spreading across his face as if you’d just confirmed something you’d been dying to know.

You moved quickly, rising onto your knees on the mattress, aligning your face with his. Your arms found their place around his neck, tugging him down, your lips pressing against his with a desperate heat. The friction between you both was electric, his body pressed to yours, and you could feel him—solid and pulsing, rubbing against your stomach, warm and slick where he brushed.

Joel’s hands settled firmly on your hips, rough palms sliding lower until they cupped your ass, kneading the flesh with a force that pulled a moan from deep inside you. It vibrated between you, swallowed by his mouth, the sound mingling with the low groan rumbling in his chest. Your hands roamed downward, feeling every plane and muscle of his chest, before slipping further until your fingers wrapped around the base of his hardness.

“You’re so hard, Joel,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you spoke. “You need this so badly, don’t you?”

He drew a sharp breath at your touch, his hands tightening on your hips, bruising almost. A flash of something wild crossed his expression, and he shook his head, lips quirking as he exhaled a chuckle that held no humor. “Witch,” he accused softly, the word a caress against your lips.

With a sly smile, you brushed a kiss over his mouth, barely a whisper of touch, before you let your hand work up and down his length, slow and deliberate. His eyelids fluttered at the sensation, lips parting as he tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat to your view.

God, the way he looked in that moment—lost and completely yours—made something tighten in your chest. A shuddered breath escaped his lips, breaking into a groan that seemed to take all the air from the room.

He felt it, the pull between you both. That magnetic force that had been there since the first time you saw him sitting on your parents couch, unreadable and infuriating. Now, here he was, completely undone by you, eyes dark with need, his hands leaving marks on your skin as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you tethered. But you wanted more than that—you wanted to give him more, to show him how good you could make him feel.

You shifted back on the bed, your legs folding beneath you, bringing your mouth level with him. With a teasing pause, you took him in hand again, guiding him towards your lips without quite touching. Joel’s breath stuttered, and his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could see your eyes.

“Show me how much I fucking need this, now,” he blurted out, his thick voice piercing your bones, as he pulled you closer to the tip of his dick.

You gave in, tongue slipping out to taste him, the salt and heat of him filling your senses. He groaned, his hips jerking forward, but you held firm, only letting him in bit by bit. When you finally took him into your mouth, the stretch was just enough to feel like a challenge, a thrill. He let out a low, shaky exhale, but you didn’t stop. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, moving with a rhythm that made his fingers tighten in your hair.

You were drooling, saliva dripping down your chin as you picked up speed, Joel ramming into your throat almost causing you to gag.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he whispered.

You didn't care, you wanted to eat him whole. And the sound that echoed through the four walls was obscene, wet, worthy of taking you to hell. And you loved it, loved it too much.

Joel was soaked in your saliva, it dripped from his cock every time your mouth approached his tip. So you grabbed him with one hand, jerking him off as you moved your lips to his balls, giving them a little kiss before taking them into your mouth and licking them with need.

But just as you leaned in to take him deeper again, Joel's hand found your hair, pulling you back with a gasp. He stared down at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and awe, chest heaving.

“You’re going to kill me,” he managed, his lips twisting into a rough smile, as if the idea didn’t bother him much.

You only answered with a mischievous look, taking him back into your mouth, this time letting him see everything, your eyes fixed on his as your lips wrapped around him. His hands tightened in your hair, his face twisted with the need to control himself.

“Fuck” he muttered, voice breaking. But then he yanked you back again, breathing heavily. “On your back.”

You obeyed, shifting onto the bed, your body singing with anticipation as he settled between your legs. Joel’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide, and he lowered himself until he was almost flush against you. You trembled beneath his gaze, feeling exposed in every sense, but there was something intoxicating in being seen by him like this, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

His fingers traced a slow, teasing line down your stomach, dipping between your legs. When he found your clit, a slow circle of his thumb sent a shock through you, making you arch into him. The look he gave you was dark and satisfied, as if he’d uncovered some secret you’d been hiding.

“Look at you, so fucking desperate,” he murmured, watching your expression change, drinking in the way you gasped and arched for him. “Is that what you’ve been dreaming about? Me, fucking you?”

“Yes, Joel,” you answered, the words slipping out before you could think. “Please, fuck me.”

He just smiled, shaking his head. “Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and unhurried, even as his thumb sped up its torture, drawing moans from you that you couldn’t keep back. His eyes bore into yours, unyielding. “You need to beg better than that.”

He had known exactly how much power he held, savoring it until the very last moment, until his own desire got the better of him. Without a word, he lowered his mouth onto you, sealing it around your most sensitive spot, his tongue moving in waves, patient but relentless.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a cry, your fingers twisting into his hair, trying to anchor yourself against the onslaught.

Joel sucked at you with a gentleness that felt like a contradiction, each flick of his tongue pulling you closer to some edge you couldn’t quite see. The rhythm he set was almost maddeningly precise, a tempo that left you no choice but to arch your hips into him, chasing the pleasure that seemed to spill from his mouth in every movement. Your breath stuttered as he released you for a moment, his tongue sweeping lower, dragging over you slowly before dipping inside, finding that place where you needed him most.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, and the way his voice cut through the haze made you shudder. He sounded almost amused, but there was a hunger there too. “Bet feeling me in your throat got you like this, didn’t it? All swollen and ready.”

“Joel, please,” was all you managed to say, the desperation curling up in your voice like a plea. It felt raw, something you didn’t want to give him but couldn’t keep back.

He didn’t make you wait—his mouth was on you again, as if he’d been starved for you. He kissed and sucked at you like it was the only way to survive, his mouth devouring, each motion of his tongue sending pulses of sensation through every inch of your body. You could feel the texture of the sheets beneath you, the cool air on your skin where his lips weren’t, but all of it blurred together under the hot, unrelenting focus of his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair, trying to find some control, but it was impossible. It was too much, and you let yourself go, surrendering to the flood of sensation.

You tried to warn him, but the words dissolved into a high-pitched cry, and he felt it in the way your body arched beneath him, trembling with the intensity that rolled through you. His rhythm never wavered, the friction of his mouth pushing you deeper into that overwhelming feeling. When it became too much, you pulled your hips back with what little strength you had left, and the sound of him coming off you was slick, leaving your skin sensitive and flushed.

Your clit throbbed, swollen and pink, still tingling with the aftershocks of his attention. And just as you tried to catch your breath, he shifted you onto your side with his steady hands, his chest pressing against your back. The warmth of him behind you was dizzying, the closeness both comforting and unbearable. It wasn’t enough—you wanted him closer, to sink into him completely, to forget where you ended and he began.

Your mind spun as he kissed the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your ear.

“I was behind you, wasn’t I?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost like a secret between the two of you.

A smile tugged at your lips, the meaning sinking in, the memory of your dream making your pulse race again. Before you could respond, his hand found your waist, his fingers kneading into your skin. He remembered without you needing to say a word.

You guided his hand down, trailing over the curve of your stomach until he reached the sensitive spot between your legs, still pulsing from his earlier attention. You shifted back against him, feeling his hardness against your ass, a reminder of how much more he wanted.

“Kiss my neck,” you whispered, and he didn’t hesitate. His mouth found the spot that made your breath catch, and your skin prickled under the heat of his lips. You shivered as you guided his hand lower, until his fingers pressed against you, finding that aching place with an agonizing slowness. The sensation made you moan, a sound you couldn’t hold back.

He took over then, his fingers slipping inside you, and you moved with him, setting the rhythm until he matched it. His lips grazed your earlobe, his teeth scraping lightly as he added another finger, stretching you, pushing deeper. The motion was intimate, almost unbearably so, his breath fanning against your skin, his voice a rough murmur against your ear.

“And then,” you started, your voice unsteady, barely holding on to the thread of your thoughts. “Then—fuck me Joel, please.”

His fingers slipped out of you, and his hand landed on your bottom with a firm smack, the sound cracking through the air and making you yelp softly.

“Be a good girl and spread those legs for me,” he ordered, voice thick, his fingers pressing into your thigh as he guided your leg back, opening you up to him.

The anticipation twisted inside you, tightening like a spring, and you pushed back against him, turning your head to meet his eyes. They were so close, so dark with desire, and when he finally pushed inside you, the stretch of him was enough to leave you breathless.

You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut as your body adjusted to the feel of him, to the way he filled you completely. He didn’t move, letting you take in the heat and pressure of his body, the fullness that made your head spin. And then his hand found your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse before he squeezed, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He turned your head with a gentle but insistent grip, catching your mouth in a bruising kiss. “So tight, so wet, just for me,” he rasped, his voice trembling against your lips.

“Just for you, Joel,” you managed to reply, your voice cracking into a sob.

And then he started to move, his hips finding a steady, unyielding rhythm. Each thrust seemed to reach deeper, leaving you wrecked, clinging to the sound of his breath in your ear and the way his body collided with yours. You could have listened to those ragged, desperate sounds he made forever, each one making you feel like you had him in your hands even as you surrendered everything.

“You're close,” he said in your ear, his words barely a broken whisper. He could feel it inside of your throbbing cunt. “Come for me, baby, I want to feel you break over me, is that what you need?”

“Y—yes, Joel, fuck.”

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

His firm voice in your ear was enough for the explosion to invade your body, making you open your mouth in a silent scream and tighten around him, squeezing him devastatingly tight.

“Oh God,” Joel moaned in agony, his hard movements becoming unsynchronized. His mouth caught your sweaty neck in desperation, digging his teeth into you hungrily as his hand, still on your neck, held you immobile beneath his lips.

A primal sound came from him, making you moan again. His body tensed and his quivering lips released your flesh.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, baby,” he cried, cumming inside you.

Deep inside you, his warm seed spurted out as he lay still, unmoving as his discharge filled you.

His hand released you, leaving a soft pink mark on your skin, and you pulled back seeking his lips, which captured yours in less than a second.

His hand gave you a gentle spank, and a smile from you broke the kiss.

As you looked into his eyes, still dark, his words echoed in your mind.

No, there was no turning back now.

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou fic #tlou hbo #tlou joel #capuccinodoll #joel x reader #pedro pascal joel #joel the last of us #pedro joel #joel tlou #dbf!joel x fem!reader #joel x you

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

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Heat Inducing

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Female Reader Summary: Steve gets what he wants by any means necessary. Word Count: Over 400 Warnings: Implied noncon, dark themes, a/b/o dynamics, implied forced bond, fighting, light choking, could be considered drugging, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: For @cockslutpadalecki 's Fifteen Sentence Challenge (prompt in bold) and can be considered a companion piece to Bucky's First and Last.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Header by yours truly. Banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass and divider by the wonderful @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

One day, you would come to accept that Steve Rogers was stronger, faster, and more determined than you would ever be, but it would only happen with you kicking and screaming along the way. You should’ve known the alpha only asked you into his office once most of the other agents left so he could get you alone, like he intended to from the moment he decided you would be his mate. You managed to get a lucky punch in before he knocked you to the floor and straddled you, shoving a shiny, red pill into your mouth before his massive hand covered it and forced you to swallow.

You didn’t know it yet, but it wouldn’t be the only thing forced down your throat today by the time he was done with you.

Unshed tears burned your eyes as he finally let you breathe, coughing and gulping in air as you wished you could throw up the offending, heat inducing capsule. Life wasn’t easy or kind to omegas and you weren’t foolish enough to think anyone would help you should yell for it. Because who would stand up to Captain America, the very hero who helps everyone?

Steve caught your fist when you thrashed beneath him, squeezing hard enough to remind you that he could turn your bones to dust if he wished. Instead of looking angry like most alphas would at the attempt to not submit and get away, he smirked.

You froze momentarily when he leaned down and whispered proudly, ��Bucky’s omega was a fighter, too, but he got her in the end thanks to me."

You hissed and shouted an impressive string of obscenities as he tore your clothes away, your body growing warmer with each passing second and your will to fight slowly starting to fade. The hand suddenly around your throat cut off your next insult and you half expected the alpha to make a remark about your language or how he'd wash your mouth out.

But he surprised you by releasing you and stating with a smile, “I don’t care if it takes all night, you will submit."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you said, “I will never willingly submit to you, Steve Rogers.”

As he flipped you onto your stomach with a growl, you stared at the door just a few feet away and knew you would never taste freedom again.

So, that happened. Hehe. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #look ma i did it - fifteen sentences #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #alpha!steve rogers x omega!reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #a/b/o #a/b/o au #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you

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subby-succubus · 2 months ago

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Imagine you're sitting in my lap and I'm giving you pills from an unlabeled bottle. Little capsules, all different colors, almost like candy. You keep taking them like a good little whore, sucking my fingers each time. You have no idea what they are, and you don't care. You'd do anything you were told to do AND you'd probably take a pill you found on the ground. There was no way this could ever be your limit.

Your head is spinning a little already. The lights are brighter than they should be. You can mostly think clearly. Well, you THINK you're thinking clearly. Oh, it's time for the next pill! How many is that? Has to be more than five, couldn't be more than, um... Twenty? You think maybe they're starting to really kick in now. Every sense is pulsing, growing and receding in intensity. You try to say something, but it slips out of your mouth and turns into a few happy syllables. "I know, Angel. Here, one more."

I ask what you want to do. You giggle and turn and slip to the floor. You reach for my belt and fumble at the buckle. I smile at you as I undo it and strip off my pants. "Of course we can."

Your mouth isn't so much opened for me as it is hanging limp, but it's warm and wet all the same. I take hold of your hair and push inside your throat. I'm having to do all the work, but you seem happy enough. You're not blacking out just yet, but it can't be far away. You moan and fumble at your own tits and pretend to help me fuck you, but you're getting limper with every passing second.

I figure I'm ready to move on. You figure you're ready to go to sleep. We can both have what we want, really. I strip off what little you're wearing, and the last thing you feel as you drift away is the head of my cock starting to enter your...

Imagine you're waking up, right where you went to sleep. How long has it been? You're still naked. I'm still there. I have one hand on your cheek and the other jerking my cock, slowly. When I see your eyes flutter open, I speed up. You try to say something. Try.

I take my hand off my cock to grab the pill bottle. I shake three of them into your hand. "Go ahead."

You take them, of course. Then I throw back the rest of the bottle into my mouth and swallow them all.

You're shocked. I'm laughing. My hand is back on my cock, making myself cum on your face. "It was a joke, silly slut. They're all placebos!" I smear my load across your face, let you down gently to a lying position. I wipe my cock on your clothes, throw them on top of you, and walk away.

Now imagine that before starting our little game tonight, I took the placebo bottle and put two dozen real pills on top of it. You swallowed them all. What were they? You don't know. I've already forgotten. Who gives a shit anyway. What matters is I drugged you into unconsciousness, did God knows what with your body, and then convinced you that you were sober the whole time. Isn't that hilarious?

- Sinister

Wow. Wow wow wow. Yes please.

I'd just keep taking anything you gave me. I'd want to be a good girl for you after all. Each pill making me more and more needy. Each time I think less and less about the consequences by replacing those thoughts with how badly I want to be obedient. I mean, I can't say no. How could I? I want so badly to please you. Wanting to pleasure you with my mouth. Wanting more, but feeling too sleepy. I fall asleep for you to do whatever you want to my little, weak body.

I wake up feeling hot and used. Not sure what happened to me. Not sure what is currently happening. Not fully understanding how I could be like that with placebos. But if you say so, it must be true. After all, you wouldn't lie to me. It's my fault for being such a dumb slut. It's my fault for being so easy.

It would just make our game so much harder for me to win. Just like it should be.

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bisexualbaker · 8 months ago

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A Secret Fifth Method (that maybe shouldn't be secret)

That poll on taking pills and such from the other day has got people comparing notes, and apparently the information I got isn't common knowledge or whatever?

See, my mom taught me that solid pills and tablets, you tilt your head back to swallow for best results; capsules, meanwhile, float, so when you take them with a drink, you tilt your head forwards to swallow them. From my understanding, the goal is to get them as close as you can to the back of your mouth for better swallowing.

So because the two different types of meds have different swallowing methods, and I take both, I don't take all of them in one go. (I mean, I don't even take all of my solid pills together, but I used to get heartburn from taking my meds the wrong way, so I'm inclined to take it easy with them when I can.)

Anyway, it probably doesn't work for everyone, but if you have trouble with pills and the like, it might be worth a shot.

#medication #oral medication #pills #tablets #capsules #better living through pharmaceuticals #better living through chemistry #swallowing is about muscles and not gravity #which is why you can swallow something even if you're upside-down #but getting the stuff in your mouth in the first place #and where it ends up in your mouth #that's affected by gravity #also fluid dynamics

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wardenparker · 2 years ago

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Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 8

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

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

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Angst, revelations, confessions, emotional vulnerability! Oh, and fingering. Summary: Physical and emotional healing is in the cards the day after Jack rescues you from the Rollins boys. Notes: Guys, I’m not going to lie. I just keep crying. Writing, editing, proofing, crying. All day every day.

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

Exhaustion and an adrenaline crash combine with Ginger’s injection to keep you knocked out all the way back to the campus in Louisville. Six hours is all Ginger said you would need to heal completely and she was right - almost down to the minute. It’s past sunrise outside when you wake up, not that you can see the sun in Ginger’s lab, but when you groan slightly in your sleep and turn your head, the world doesn’t spin the way it had just hours before.

Jack grunts, leaning forward in the seat Ginger had finally relented and put next to the capsule where you were healing. Watchful for any tiny movement, he reaches out to the glass between the two of you with the need to touch you, to reassure you. “Come on sugar, open those pretty eyes for me.”

It isn’t easy to do. The lights are blindingly bright, and you’ve forgotten where you are, causing you to panic immediately before seeing Jack’s face staring back at you outside the pod that you don’t really remember Astrid explaining to you. It only calms you slightly though, seeing him, before guilt and a different kind of fear set in. If Jack is here, and you’re in one of Ginger’s isometric pods, then it wasn’t all just a terrible dream.

“Shhhhh shhhh it’s okay.” The chair scrapes back as he stands. “Ginger, open this fucking thing!” He doesn’t want you to panic and he can see the whites of your eyes already. At least they aren’t filled with blood anymore where vessels had burst. He punches in buttons and yanks on the handle for the door, opening it up. “It’s okay, sugar. You’re safe.”

“You’re here.” Though it’s obvious that you’re questioning why, with your voice so quiet it comes out almost awestruck.

“I’m here, sugar, I’m here.” Jack promises, reaching in and smoothing back your hair gently and cupping your cheek. He hadn’t been able to touch you for six hours, not even hold your hand and it’s burning through him to just reassure himself that you are here and okay. “You did so good, sugar. Hangin’ on. You’re so—” He swallows harshly, remembering how swollen your cheek was. “You did good. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I didn’t tell them anything.” Not even understanding who they were or what they wanted, all you could really go on was that not telling them anything was the only appropriate course of action. Apparently all those spy movies were good for something after all. “I—I promise I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter, sugar.” Jack murmurs, kneeling down and looking up at you seriously. “They’re never gonna hurt you again. You don’t hafta worry about that.”

“They wanted you.” That much was abundantly clear. Knowing what you do about Jack, you know they never would have managed to corner him without leverage. And apparently you made excellent leverage. “I’m…” You shudder with tears that won’t come. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jack frowns, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s me they wanted. They used you to get to me. You were innocent, sugar. I’m sorry you got caught up in something that you shouldn’t have.” He means the feud with the Rollins, not because you’re his soulmate. He’s so fucking guilty because they targeted you. Still unsure of why they decided to try to get into Statesman after all these years. Maybe they had been all along, and the restaurant was the opportunity. Doesn’t matter, they’re dead now.

“I wasn’t wearing the bracelet.” The one he gave you. The one you had faithfully put on your wrist beside the bangle from your little sister. “I was…I was mad…so I took it off…”

“Just means I need to track your earrings.” He jokes, the halfhearted smile that he had attempted sliding off his face when you are staring down at your hands and he sighs softly. “It’s okay, sugar. I— I found your bracelet. The one you dropped. Did you do it on purpose?” He pulls the charm out of his pocket and offers it to you.

“Yeah…” Tired despite feeling better, picking up your hands feels like weightlifting. “I thought…if you realized…you might recognize it.” It was a longshot, but it’s good to know it worked.

“You did perfect, sugar.” Jack’s hands are incredibly gentle, and he takes your wrist and puts the bracelet around it again. Making sure the clasp is secure and then brushing his thumb over it. “There it is, back where it belongs.” Just like you are back near him where you belong.

“Did Ginger…” Here, in her lab, she is Ginger. Her code name seems irreversibly attached to this place. “Did she…I asked her to get rid of everything.” Your hands are free of the nicks and cuts, arms bearing no trace of burns you had gotten all through your career. You’re unmarked. Unattached. So he should be, too.

Jack sighs softly, nodding. “Why did you do it?” He wants to hear you say it. He’ll hear you say that you want nothing to do with him and then he’ll leave you alone. Go work in the New York office or go back out to the field. Just as long as you are safe.

If you were feeling stronger you might have laughed. Or at least snorted. Some derisive sound of disbelief would have been much more intelligent than the way you stare at him in the blinding light of the lab. If he really doesn’t know then he’s an idiot, and if he’s just making you say it for his own satisfaction, then he’s cruel. Either way, you swallow thickly when you look away from him and shut your eyes. “For you.” You tell him honestly, because you don’t have the emotional energy to be mean spirited. “So you can be free.”

So he could be free. Jack swallows slightly and shakes his head. It doesn’t seem like you hate him now although maybe you’re just shellshocked. Shock does weird things to people. “Honey, it doesn’t work like that.” He murmurs softly. “We’re still soulmates.”

“She was your soulmate.” If you could, you’d be sobbing by now. Wracked with them. In agony. You’d be a sniveling, pathetic mess instead of the broken version of yourself you’ve become. “I’m…I don’t fuckin’ know. But at least you can pretend I don’t exist. I know that’s what you want.”

“Sugar, I was— fuck, I was so wrong.” Jack grabs your hands and holds onto them. “I was— I thought I was bein’ disloyal to her memory. Betrayin’ her by having another soulmate. You never did anything wrong. I just— I was scared of how easy it was bein’ around you and how quickly I could—” He cuts himself off, knowing you don’t want to hear about him falling in love with you. You’d never believe it, not after what he’s done to you. “I know I traded my life for yours in a heartbeat and I’d do it again.”

“Why?” In the moment it had made no sense to you, and no clear, shining light has shone on your confusion since then. Hearing Jack agree to take your place without hesitation had flared so much hope, despair, and confusion in your heart that it was like having a chorus of screaming fury in your mind. “I still don’t understand. You could’ve—” He could have let the men kill you. He could have been free of you that way instead and it might have hurt less than believing your soulmate hates you. “Is it just…company policy?”

Jack chokes, hating that you think it’s company policy to not let anything happen to his soulmate. “No sugar…it’s not.” He murmurs softly, knowing this is all his fault. He’s done nothing to make you believe he likes you. “I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I would have never let him hurt you if I—” he shakes his head. “If I hadn’t been a goddamn fool.”

He’s clinging to your hands almost desperately, and you could swear you heard his voice crack but it’s just wishful thinking. Even after what you just went through - what you survived - you still find yourself grasping at the impossible fantasy of him someday caring about you. You won’t even go all the way to love anymore. Just as long as he doesn’t hate you, that’s all you’re really asking for. “It’s okay.” The words feel almost alien, but you look over at him and offer him a pinched smile. “You’re a good agent, Jack. And you can go back in the field now. I’m sorry I was stubborn.”

“The field…sugar, someone from my past nearly killed you and you’re talking about me goin’ back to work?” He’s totally bewildered, wondering if you are in shock or denial about the entire damn thing. He knows that Ginger will set you up with the Statesman therapist. “I went to therapy for you.” He blurts out.

“I’m talking about you getting your life back after I—” You started in so quickly that when he blurts out the word ‘therapy’ you turn back to look at him with bewilderment. “What? Why?” Sure you’re both stubborn, but that’s not exactly therapy-worthy.

“After I—” Jack flushes with shame. “After I exploded on you, I – I knew I needed to fix it. Fix me.” He squeezes your hands gently. “You deserve more than a fucked-up soulmate who had his head so far up his ass he couldn’t see if the sun was shinin’.”

“Plenty of people have platonic soulmates.” It’s been a mantra for you for weeks now. Reassuring yourself that the world won’t end if he doesn’t feel the same way about you that you do about him. It’s not going to end your life. It will be okay. That’s what you told yourself, as you tried desperately to shake the blazing sensation in the memory of kissing him months ago. “I just don’t want you to be unhappy anymore, and…and I know you’ve been unhappy.”

“I’ve been unhappy because I want you.” Jack confesses softly. “And I didn’t think I deserved another soulmate because I couldn’t protect Abigail and I felt guilty because I thought it would be like forgettin’ her.”

“You could never forget her. You love her.” But the mere wisp of the idea that he doesn’t hate you? It seems to light you up from the inside out like a lawn ornament. Hope, as powerful and resilient as any other force in the universe, encouraging your heart to try beating again. “Honestly? I’m jealous. I never got to know anything about my first soulmate. But…I never would have asked you to forget her.”

“I can— I can show you his file.” Jack offers quietly. “Everything Statesman has on him. They had to, you know, investigate.”

“Thank you.” It isn’t quite the same, but you squeeze his hands in gratitude and try to remember to breathe. This is a much heavier conversation than you ever thought you would wake up to. “I don’t know what things would have been like with him, but he deserves to be remembered.”

“He seems like he was a good man.” Which made Jack killing him even harder to accept.

“I don’t blame you for protecting yourself.” Since you can’t ever say what you would have done in his position, and since it won’t bring the man back in the first place, there was no point in hanging on to that anger. It did nothing but make you upset and keep you from moving forward. “Not anymore. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I’m sorry sugar, I know I’m the worst possible kind of soulmate you could ask for.” Jack lifts a hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it gently. “I’m sorry for denying you the possibility of gettin’ to know him. He worked at the hotel. Where the weddin’ was.”

"That's why you backed out?" That little act of affection, as simple as it is, has you squeezing your mouth shut quickly so you don't sigh wistfully or something equally ridiculous. "If you had told me, I would have understood."

“I—” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m— it’s been a long time since I’ve had to explain myself, sugar. And I was feelin’ fucking guilty because of - well, that kiss. Because if Diana hadn’t interrupted us, I would have had you spread out on your counter.”

"I think my exact words were that I would have worn a dress if I'd known you'd come by horny." It stings, still, but you have to laugh at yourself. If you don't you'll just...shrivel up somehow. "I would have let you. Happily."

“I know. I know you would have. And it scared me.” Jack presses another kiss to the back of your hand. “Because I know how easy it would be to love you, sugar. So I ran like a damned coward.”

"I stayed away." It's almost like you're begging somehow, pleading to be told that you did the right thing, even though you're fairly certain that there is no right or even better thing to do in this circumstance. You would genuinely be shocked if anyone in the world had ever been in this situation ever before. "I stayed away and I never asked you for anything except friendship. I tried to do what was going to make you happy, I swear."

“Honey, you were never the problem.” Jack assures you, looking up and begging you to believe him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. Never. You are kind and good and sweet and sexy, I— I fucked up.”

"Hate you?" You huff, shaking your head. Your reaction is instant, disbelieving, and out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. "I love you, you idiot. I've done everything you ever asked no matter how much it hurts because I love you."

Jack closes his eyes and inhales shakily. “Sugar, I don’t deserve your love.” He whispers softly. “I pushed you away, I didn’t protect you, I hurt you.” He opens his eyes and there’s a definite wobble to his chin as he tries to compose himself. “But all I could think about was getting to you. Making sure that the other portions of my soul was safe.” He swallows. “I love you too, sugar. I do.”

There's nothing in his face that tells you he's lying, or that he's forcing himself. If anything, he looks...relieved. Your eyes roam every minute expression you can see, trying to digest the situation and realizing that you might both have come around to this in the most monumentally dramatic and fucked up way possible - but that you still both came around to it. Whether that's the soulmate connection or the threat of almost losing each other making you be honest with yourselves, you can't ever know. "Really?"

“Really.” Jack bends down and kisses your hand again, one and then the other. Inching closer to you from his position on the floor in front of you. It’s not something he would do for anyone but he had meant it when he said he would grovel. “It’s why I ran, why I fought it so hard. Because I knew. I fucking knew that I was going to love you. And I do but I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

"What do you want, then?" Whatever it is, if there's any way for you to give it to him, the way your heart has jumped up into your chest tells you with absolute certainty that you'll give it to him.

“I wanna take you out on a date.” Jack decides, knowing that things need to be taken slow. “I want- would you go to therapy with me?” It surprises him that it comes out of his own mouth, but he’s not going to take it back.

"That's the weirdest damn proposal in history." He's down on his knees asking so formally that the whole thing would just read like a comedy routine if it weren't so serious. "Get up, Jack. And...help me sit up? I feel like an astronaut in this thing and this is an important conversation."

Jack pushes to his knees and helps you sit up. “Slowly— you can feel a little dizzy when you’re first gettin’ out of one of these.” He knows that firsthand.

He's completely right, annoyingly so, and you cling to his hand for a second while you adjust to sitting up again and the dizziness subsides. It reminds you of the time you got vertigo at that theater in Boston years and years ago. "Okay." Once you're feeling a little more like yourself, you breathe out slowly and tilt your head at him. "So...you want to take me on a date...to couples therapy? Do I have that right?"

“No.” Jack chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders down. “I’d like you to go out on a date with me. But then I’d also like to attend a couple’s therapy session with you. To work out the problems between us. To let you get out your issues and better explain mine.” He shrugs. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

"Our issues aren't a little..." You cringe slightly. "Classified? Unless...Statesman probably has a therapist on staff, doesn't it?"

“They do.” Jack nods. “It’s the one that I saw before I – when I was such an ass to you. Got my tail handed to me for that.” He confesses, embarrassed at his behavior.

"Jack..." His hand is still in yours from helping you sit up, and you hold onto it a little harder out of nerves. "I don't want you to do this just because of what happened. But if you actually want to give us a chance?" You might just be able to muster some tears if he actually wants to be with you. Joy instead of sadness or fear. "Then my answer is going to be yes every time."

“I was watchin’ your cabin.” Jack murmurs softly. “Waitin’ for you to come out so I could talk to you. Apologize and ask if you would have dinner with me. To let me try to make it up to you.”

"Yes." It's as simple as that, as far as the request goes, and you rub your thumb gently over the back of his hand. "Anytime, anywhere."

Even though he’s relieved that you would be willing to entertain the idea of stepping out with him, Jack chuckles. “I don’t deserve you, sugar. At all.” He promises, staring into your eyes and wondering how you can be willing to do that after being beaten because of him. “Is there anything you want to know? Right now? About— what happened?”

“I don’t understand most of it,” you admit, wishing you could live in the glow of Jack’s willingness to give you a try but knowing that questions and answers will be less traumatic now than they would be down the line. Letting worries or wonderings fester won’t help either of you in the long run. “He liked to hear himself talk, so there was a lot that he said that I didn’t understand. But…who was he? Just someone from your past?”

Jack sighs, lifting a hand and smoothing your hair back again. “Do you want me to tell you here, or do you want to go home? Curl up with a hot toddy?” He offers softly. He knows your throat doesn’t hurt anymore, but it might be more comfortable than in Ginger’s lab.

“Will you ask Ginger if it’s okay for me to leave?” Going home and curling up with Jack sounds monumental, but you’ve never been one to go against a doctor’s advice. If she says you need to stay put, you’ll keep sitting here. Although the things you’d do for a shower and some clean clothes are pretty extensive.

"Ging?" Jack knows that Ginger is going to respond immediately when he presses the button on his watch.

"Yes Jack?" The answer comes through the speaker and allows you to hear her as well.

"Can I take her home?" He asks, keeping a hold on your hand and giving you a small smile.

"All the injuries are healed; she is okay to go home but I do want to follow up tomorrow after she's rested and get her scheduled with Dr. Masters." She tells Jack before he addresses you. "I want you to rest. Don't go into the restaurant today. Or tomorrow. Your sous chef is taking care of everything and your family has all been assured that you are okay. We are sending the jet for them to come see for themselves tomorrow. I managed to hold them off until then."

“What did you tell them?” Knowing your family, they would have demanded details. A journalist mother and a nosy father are not the kind of people that take ‘no’ for an answer or accept vague assurances.

“That you had been involved in a corporate espionage ordeal and the ATF was in charge for now.” The slight misuse of government names had proved ideal to get them to back off.

“My father is going to be making rum runner jokes for a year once he sees I’m okay.” You laugh, shaking your head and relishing the warmth of Jack’s hand still firmly in yours. As much as you want to resume your normal life and just put your head down at work, you know they’re right. You need rest and distance. At least the rest of your staff is excellent - Tripp Rollins notwithstanding. “Okay. Home, then. Home to rest.” Your eyes move to Jack and find him watching you intently. “And to talk a little bit more.”

Jack nods, helping you stand up and if he didn’t think you would yell at him, he would just pick you up and carry you. The clothes you had been in were ruined and cut off of you, so you are now in just a clean set of scrubs that were used when the lab gets messy. “We’ll get you home and I promise we will talk about whatever you want for as long as you want.”

“And maybe eat something?” The smile you shoot him is sheepish, but you’re just starting to realize how hungry you are. “I think the last time I ate anything was days ago.”

“Shit, yeah. I’ll— I’ll make you something.” Jack promises, hating how you’ve been treated. They could have fucking fed you.

“We’ll manage.” You’re not about to let go of him, but you do feel okay other than being tired. Jack walks you through the building, holding every door and helping you down every step, and you have a feeling that if he could he’d have just carried you all the way to the Bronco to make sure not so much as a pebble even got in your way. Once he has you settled in the truck it takes no time at all to get back to your neighborhood, and you sigh in quiet relief to see your little house again.

“Sorry I went inside.” Jack moves the lever into park and looks over at you once he’s parked beside your cabin, his Bronco tucked in next to the little car that was yours. “But I didn’t really go through anything.”

“It’s okay.” Being home again - and you really do think of it as home - is more peaceful and reassuring than you had expected, and you lean on his shoulder for a second. “If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to me.”

“I don’t even want to think about that, sugar.” Jack’s voice breaks and he opens the door to the Bronco to step out and help you out of the truck.

“You’re getting soft on me, Jack.” You tease, nudging him a little on the porch. The biometric scanner that opens your door isn’t satisfying like a physical key is, but you appreciate the security of it now more than ever.

“I don’t think you understand how badly I wanted to— how I hated myself for not getting to you sooner. For every second you spent in their gasp.” Jack murmurs, guiding you inside and closing the door behind you. He guides you to the couch and helps you down even though you can walk. “I’ll make you something to eat.” He promises, knowing that you would have plenty in your fridge, even if it was just the makings for some kind of sandwich or omelet.

“I really don’t understand.” The care with which he’s tucked you in on the couch makes you not want to get up again, convinced he’ll just come back to retuck if you fuss. But you twist around a little to be able to watch him in your kitchen, surprised when your chest clenches watching him in your space. Your sanctuary. “I thought you hated me. And even if I understand now why you were acting the way you were, it still…” You bite your lip momentarily and look down at your hands, remembering the scars you had removed for him. “It’s going to take a while for me to process, that’s all.”

“I’m not asking for anything, sugar.” Jack promises you. “Take all the time you need.” He opens the fridge and hums when he sees all the options and looks over at you. “What are you feeling like eatin’? You want some tea? Or that hot toddy I promised you?”

“A hot toddy sounds good.” Deciding that you don’t care what time of day it is, you nod. Surely being a victim of kidnapping disqualifies you from petty things like waiting until the afternoon to drink. “I’m pretty sure there’s leftovers in there from the night before I left. Probably enough for two, if you’re into reheated chicken pot pie for breakfast.”

“How about some chicken pot pie and some garlic bread?” He asks, finding half a loaf of French bread on the counter. “Unless you want me to make you an omelet? I’m not as good as you are, but I won’t kill ya with my cookin’.”

“Good garlic bread is worth its weight in gold.” Even the sound of it has you salivating and your stomach rumbling. “Let’s use the leftovers. I’d hate for them to waste.” You’re tempted to suggest omelets for dinner - one of your favorite comfort meals - but don’t want to presume that he’ll be spending the entire day with you.

"Okay. I'm going to use this garlic you've got in the fridge." The pot of garlic confit is only recognizable because Abigail craved it while she was in her second trimester. She would slather it on everything, making Jack joke that at least they knew she wasn't carrying a vampire. He chuckles to himself as he pulls it out along with a hunk of cheese to grate over the top.

“I have a feeling that if I offer to help I’m going to get a dirty look, otherwise I’d be in there with you.” It’s equal parts soothing and wrenching to watch him, and if you were feeling a little saucier you’d probably be focused on his ass as he moves around your kitchen.

"You're gonna sit your pretty little ass right there and let me take care of you." Jack warns, raising a brow at you before he flips the kettle on to boil water for your tea. "I was helpless when you were unconscious. All I could fuckin' do was hold you and pet your damn hair. Now I can make sure you're okay."

“You stayed with me?” After everything he’s said today, you’re not really sure why that surprises you. But reconciling Jack’s apparent true feelings for you to how he’s acted around you for the last few weeks isn’t exactly easy.

"Haven't left your side since gettin' out of that fuckin' warehouse." Jack admits, not looking over at you and instead focusing on mixing the garlic confit with butter to spread onto the soft interior of the bread so he can toast it.

“Shit…” The curse is soft under your breath, but it comes with a shake of your head and a fond smile that he can’t see. “We really have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

"We do and I guess that we should start at the beginnin'." Jack sighs, knowing that telling the story of his background would be easier while he's concentrating on something other than talking. It's not something he enjoys rehashing. "The Rollins boys and I have a history that is long convoluted. My family and his, settled into the same valley in the 1800s and started ranches."

“Hatfield and McCoy style shit?” It’s the first set of names that comes to mind with the whole ‘blood feud’ thing, which is certainly what all of the crazy shouting had sounded like.

"Kinda....'cept my family didn't engage in the crazy. It started as a land dispute. Which I'm sure was violent back then. But..." He shakes his head. "It seems like they've always had a few screws loose. And when our ranch was surviving when theirs was goin' under, it seems to make the grudge even worse."

“I don’t even know where you’re from.” It seems to occur to you out of nowhere, even as you watch him studiously avoid looking at you while he cooks. “I mean I would have guessed Southern, but I’m not exactly an ace with accents. You could be from Alaska for all I know.”

"I'm from Montana, but I've picked up more of a twang since I've been here." He tells you with a small grin. "Settlin' into my surroundings it seems."

“So you’re telling me I’ll be saying y’all in no time?” Small smiles are still warm ones, and you can feel your cheeks burn a little. He’s handsome no matter what, but when he smiles it’s a whole different level. “Go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He starts grating the cheese on top of the breath and butter mixture. “Abigail was— I knew she was mine from the playground. We were—hell we were swingin’ and I saw the scar I got from bein’ thrown from my horse and breakin’ my arm when I was nine. But Hank—” Jack shakes his head. “He always wanted what I had. Claiming that he was her soulmate. So we kept things quiet until high school.”

“I heard him claim it.” It was nothing you could have seen, obviously, but you heard every word that passed between the two men in that room. “He faked her scars, didn’t he? To try to pretend?”

“Yeah. Crazy bastard.” He growls, Hank’s confession of being behind Abigail’s death rocketing through him again. “I— we got married after high school. I was gonna run the ranch, take over for my daddy and let him enjoy his golden years. Although the man would have still poked his nose in and gotten up before the sun.” Jack chuckles. “She got pregnant right away. Everyone swearing she was expectin’ on our wedding day, but we actually waited.”

“Oh god…” You barely muffle a gasp. “You were just kids…”

“I’m not that old, sugar.” Jack huffs, turning around and placing the bread into the oven so he can work on heating up the chicken pot pie. “After - after she and the baby died, I took off. Joined the military and tried not to go back. Only went home when they buried my daddy.”

“Military?” That part surprises you a little, but the line from active service to private sector spy probably isn’t that difficult to traverse.

“Had a death wish.” He admits with a shrug. “Didn’t give a damn about anything, especially that fuckin’ valley, so it seemed like a good idea. Champ recruited me from there.”

“For what it’s worth?” You’re sitting up, hands in your lap as you play with the blanket that he spread out over you. “I’m glad that wish never came true.”

“I don’t know about that, sugar.” Jack hums, feeling guilty about all of it. “If it had, you woulda met your original soulmate and wouldn’t have been tortured at the hands of a fuckin’ psycho.”

“And who knows what that might have been like?” You’ve thought it over and thought it over so many times that you feel like you’ve tried to imagine every possibility even if that’s not possible. “Having my little tearoom has been my dream for my whole life and I know for a fact that I got it because of you. What would I have gotten in Boston? Definitely not a big enough paycheck to open my own place, that’s for sure.”

Jack wondered when you were going to bring up why you got your restaurant. “Champ is still thrilled at the idea.” He murmurs. “The word is spreading and Diana is tellin’ everyone comin’ in for tours.”

“Diana’s the one who ‘fessed up,” you admit. “We have lunch together at least twice a week…it’s kind of a ritual now.”

“You deserve it.” Jack insists, his reaction to your food hadn’t been an act. He loved everything you let him try. “Though they do try to make soulmates happy. It’s not easy bein’ with an agent.”

“I do…want to, you know.” Now that you’ve come to it – to the topic. The possibility. It makes you nervous. Something else could happen. Someone else could consider you a target. But…for Jack? You would have died zip tied to that chair for Jack. You had accepted that inevitability. “Be with you, I mean.”

Jack looks up from his task, spooning the chicken pot pies into bowls to heat up and he stares at you for a moment. “I— I want that too.” He confesses softly.

“I know it won’t be perfect.” Slipping out from under the blanket, you stand from the couch to cross the small divide, and you end up smiling at him like a dopey schoolgirl with her first crush from the other side of the kitchen counter. “But I would rather have something imperfect than have to spend another day pretending I’m not in love with you.”

“It’s another reason why I want to do therapy with you.” Jack admits, looking up and smiling at the expression on your face. “I come with a lot of baggage and I’ve hit you with a lot of it, but I don’t want you carryin’ it for me.”

“Don’t worry.” The soft look of love turns to one of teasing so easily. “I think we’ve proven that we’re a lot more likely to fight than to not speak up.”

“I’m tired of fighting.” Jack huffs, shaking his head. “And it’s not worth it when I know for a fact that I’m sunk.”

It’s like your own private miracle to hear him say it, and you inch closer at the counter while he works. “You don’t have to decide any time soon, because I feel like we should probably be slow and steady and all that…all things considered. But if you don’t want to get married again, I’ll understand completely. I’m not trying to take Abigail’s place and we don’t have to say another word about it ever again if you don’t want to. I only want to do what will make both of us happy.”

Jack turns around and shoves the first bowl into the microwave and covers it with a paper towel. “Sugar, I don’t want to count that out.” He tells you as he turns back towards you. “And I don’t think that you are tryin’ to take her place.”

“I just want you to know that I’m not gonna be sitting around here counting days for you to propose, that’s all.” Most soulmates would have been married already, at least from what you’ve seen and heard. The fact that you and Jack have known each other for months and only kissed once is extremely rare. “If we get there, we get there. And if we decide not to, that’s okay, too.”

“We’re kinda in uncharted territory here, aren’t we sugar?” He murmurs, stepping closer to you and sighing. “Second soulmates and tip-toeing around each other.”

“Seems like...” The forgotten tea kettle on the stove hisses angrily, shrieking to life with a shrill whistle that makes both of you cringe and laugh, spoiling the thick tension for now but easing some of the mood in the room.

“Why are you willin’ to forgive and forget?” Jack asks curiously, his turn to learn more about you. “You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should. I don’t know.” Since he hasn’t shooed you back to the couch, you move to pour hot water into the mug he has waiting for you - tea bag and whiskey already at the ready. “But the second you walked into the kitchen that first day Champ was pretending to interview me, you— you just took my breath away. And maybe all the bullshit would make some people pause. Maybe it should make me pause, I don’t know. But it just seems like a test to me now. That first week, getting to know you and spend time with you was everything I wanted. But the universe had to make sure I knew that things wouldn’t be easy, and maybe we’ll have plenty more bumps in the road in the years to come. But at least we know now that we can get past it, ya know?”

“I agree.” Jack murmurs, turning back to check on the garlic bread so he doesn’t burn it.

"I think we got dealt a difficult hand." You shrug, stirring your tea. "It's how we play it that counts."

“Yes it is.” He pulls the garlic bread out and right after that the microwave dings, making him hurry to put it down so he can pull out the bowl and put in the next one.

"I hated dating after I found out you're my soulmate." Studiously avoiding his eyes, you pull forks out of the drawer and plates for garlic bread out of the cupboard. The tray you keep on the counter can easily transport everything into the living room all at once. "Trying to force myself to not think about you was its own special kind of hell."

“Well, it seems like we are more alike than we thought.” Jack admits. “Because I hated you dating. Do you know how many nights I sat on my porch wishing those bastards would leave?”

It pains you to realize that you hurt him even accidentally, but you had been doing what you thought he wanted: moving on, trying to let him live his life, not force a new soulmate on him. If you had known what he was feeling, you never would have done any of it. You would have sat tight and let him work through things until he was ready to talk to you. "Never again." You can promise him that easily. "From now on the only person spending the night is you. Ya know...when we get to that point."

“You were doing what you wanted to, sugar.” Jack brings the bowl over to the countertop and searches for a knife to cut the bread. “I’d rejected you. Didn’t expect you to live like a monk. It just— I couldn’t— I hated that I wasn’t there instead of them and I hated myself for wantin’ that.”

"I was doing what I thought I was supposed to." The bread knife from your block is within arm's reach and you place it gently in front of Jack. "I'm glad to put it behind me."

“Me too.” Jack won’t tell you how many sleepless nights he had because of you, because of the entire situation. It wouldn’t be fair, but you know he wrestled with this ordeal a lot. “Thanks.”

With everything ready, Jack loads up the tray but only lets you carry your mug into the living room. You settle in again, letting the large throw blanket cover both of your laps, and eagerly reach for the garlic bread he made when he seems satisfied that you have everything you need. "Oh, holy shit." The hum turns into a throaty giggle, a pleased sound that comes with an expression so blissful that your eyes have closed on their journey to rolling back in your head. "It's so fucking good."

“I have made a lot of garlic bread in my day.” Jack chuckles, watching you enjoy yourself as you eat something he has made for a change.

“I’ll be calling you up every time I want to make Italian for dinner.” It’s a nice little thought - domestic - and you feel like you ought to be pinching yourself over this reality. One where Jack actually returns your affection.

He hums and nods. “Let me know. Like I said, I became an expert.” He takes a bite of your pot pie and moans at the flavor.

"So." His reaction makes you grin, always pleased when he likes your food. Which is every time, granted, but some things he obviously likes more than others. Your pot pie, apparently, is a big thumbs up. "Do you want to have our first real date tonight, or do you want to wait until after my family visits?"

“That is up to you.” Jack decides. “But you need to rest. You—it was a lot for you to go through. I know agents that could crack in that situation. You deserve a night off.”

"I can't decide if it will be more wildly uncomfortable for them all to be able to interrogate you about your intentions before or after the fact." Knowing that the only thing that could stop your family from being well-meaning but overbearing, you take a sip of your tea and shrug. "We can just not tell them yet. About...what we are to each other."

“You’re my soulmate.” He’s come to accept that, tired of fighting it even though there isn’t a mark on your bodies to distinguish that fact anymore. “I’m not going to hide that from your family.”

"Well, then prepare yourself for childhood stories, endless teasing, and extremely unsubtle hints about how my sister didn't fit into my mother's wedding dress so it's my moral obligation to wear and fulfill her life dream of passing it on." It warms you right from the inside to hear him actually say the words out loud, tingling through you like sparks crackling under your skin.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “We just have the Daniels family veil.” He tells you. “It’s considered a requirement for any wedding in our family.”

"Then I hope they match." Your head shake matches his, and you both end up smiling a little more sheepishly than before. "My family is great. Don't let me give you the wrong impression or anything. They just get really excited."

It’s strange to think about weddings, but he’s not panicking, so it’s an improvement. “You can tell them whatever you want. I’m actually easy going.” He manages this lie with a straight face.

"Bullshit." You snort, reaching for your garlic bread with a smirk. "I'll tell them the truth, and you just be yourself. Your not-at-all easy going self."

“I’m complicated, but I’m also a professional spy sugar.” He reminds you with a smirk. “It’s a part of the package.”

"I don't mind that you're particular. It's a hell of a lot better than guys who have no opinion about anything and half the time you feel like you're just playing a guessing game trying to figure out if they even care about anything at all." Just being able to sit and talk is more relaxed than you've felt in weeks, even if sometimes it does make you a little jittery. It's the good kind of jittery. Excited.

“What do you want to do?” Jack asks, sitting back and watching you closely. The swelling is gone, the contusions healed, bones mended, but he can see that every time he glances back at you. Never wanting to see it again.

"When we go out?" Go out. With him. On a date. You hope you're hiding your beaming smile well enough behind your drink. "I'm the easy going one, Jack. We could go sit in the backyard and watch the stars and I'd still love it." All you need is for him to be there, but you're afraid that saying it will be too overbearing.

He huffs at you and shakes his head. “That’s not a very good date.” He grumbles at you. “Although it’s a romantic one.”

You tilt your head at him, wondering how many dozens or hundreds of dates he's been on over the years with women he never wanted to spend serious time with. How many times it might have been boring, or he might have wished he had chosen something else altogether. How many times he actually had fun and didn't want to admit it to himself. "What's something you've never done before?" You ask him, wondering if there even is such a thing.

Jack thinks about it for a moment and grins. “Never took a girl up in the Pony Express.” He answers finally. “Always wanted to.”

"You're on." You agree immediately, knowing that he loves that plane and genuinely finding yourself surprised that he's never used it to impress anyone before. That would have been a go-to move if you were him.

He raises his brow and grins at you. “Really? You want to take a ride on the Pony Express?” He asks, shuffling closer.

“Well now you’re making it sound dirty.” The grin on your face as you set down your bowl is pronounced, but you’re not going to pretend you don’t like how excited he is at the prospect. Like a kid getting to show off his favorite toy.

“I mean, it could be dirty.” He grins at you and sends you a small wink. Flirting with you has never been hard and now it seems as natural as breathing.

“And here I was thinking you would want to go slow.” It seems an almost silly thought, since you had been on the receiving end of the mild form of his flirting right when you had first known him.

There is a serious look to his eyes even though the wicked curve of his lips is there. “Sugar, we can go as slow as you want.” He promises.

“I want us to do what feels right for us.” Maybe it’s a cop out, you don’t know. But since you would have happily taken him home with you after that trip to Shootouts the very first day you met, you have an inclination that maybe ‘slow’ isn’t in the cards. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” That’s the key.

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Sugar, I would have taken you to bed the first night. Especially if I didn’t know who you were to me.” He puts his own bowl down and picks up your hand. “I just don’t wanna make you feel like I’m tryin’ to make up. I want you to feel like I’m here. In this.”

“Then let’s just see what happens naturally.” It’s good to know you’re both on the same page. To know that what you had felt right from the start was mutual and natural. “It might not be slow,” you admit sheepishly. “But it will be what’s right for us.”

“Right now, you need to eat.” Jack squeezes your hand before he lets you go. “Then I want you to take a nap. The hyperbaric chamber wasn’t sleep, it was you healing.”

“You don’t have to babysit me while I’m sleeping.” The offer is made gently, trying to be courteous and not be possessive of his time even though you want to be. “If you sat up with me while I was in that thing, then you need sleep too.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Jack insists, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand having you out of his sight. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just stretch out on your couch and shut my eyes while you nap.” What he doesn’t say is that he will be checking on you every two minutes for his own peace of mind. The kidnapping had rattled him to the bone and it’s gonna take a while for him to settle down.

“This couch will wreak havoc on your back.” It’s stylish and attractive, and comfortable for sitting, but definitely not a good sleeping space. You found that out in your second week here. “If napping together is too forward of me to mention, you can at least use the guest room.” It doesn’t matter that you desperately want to find out what waking up with him is like. If he’s not comfortable with it, it’s a nonissue.

“No!” Jack jumps at the opportunity to curl around you and protect you while you sleep. “I—I mean, it’s okay if you want to nap together.” He tries to play it off subtly but is probably failing miserably. “I don’t…mind.”

The urge to tease him about it is so strong on the tip of your tongue, but it’s fully overruled by that blossoming, pleased feeling of warmth that unravels through all your limbs. “We’re both adults,” you reason, as though you’re not doing a happy dance and giggling on the inside. “We can survive a nap together, I’m all but certain of it.”

“We’re adults.” Jack nods, pointing at your food. “So finish your food, missy.” He teases. “This old man is tired, and you look like you need some sleep too.”

You roll your eyes at him dramatically but comply, picking up your bowl again to finish off your leftovers quickly. The warmth and calming effect of the hot toddy isn’t lost on you either, and by the time you’re done eating you’re smothering unsubtle yawns behind your hand. He doesn’t even let you load the dishwasher, shooing you upstairs to change into your pjs and get into bed. It seems like Ginger had gotten you cleaned up when they cut away your ruined clothes and got you into the scrubs, but you’ll probably shower after you wake up anyway. Just to feel clean again.

Jack takes his time, going through your home and securing it. Ridiculous, but it makes him feel better. Finally, he’s walking up the stairs, leaving his sports coat tossed over the back of a chair and hovers just outside the door. “Ready, sugar?”

“You’re not getting under these covers with your boots on,” you tell him, aiming for an amused tone and ending up grinning as you pat the empty space beside you with butterflies launching themselves around in your belly. “C’mon Jack. I don’t bite unless given permission.”

Huffing at you, Jack moves closer, toeing off his boots and placing them beside the bed before he looks at you again with his fingers on his belt buckle. “You sure? You want me to get comfortable?”

There’s a part of you that wants to tear that belt buckle open with your damn teeth, but it’s not the loudest part of your brain right now. It’s deeper than anything physical, and that’s the part that makes you hesitate. Honesty, you decide, nodding slowly. “I would feel safer.”

He’ll accept that. Slowly starting to undress as you slip under the covers and settle into your bed. He would feel more comfortable out of the tight jeans and button down, but he leaves his boxers on as he joins you. “Now we can get some sleep.”

It’s about safety, you tell yourself sternly. It doesn’t matter that he’s stripped down and your mouth is practically fucking watering. It doesn’t matter that your threadbare t-shirt and shorts are all that’s between you. It’s about safety. “Yup.” You gulp. “Sleep.”

“Do you mind if I hold you?” Jack asks as he turns towards you. You are tired but still so damn beautiful. “Maybe— I mean, you might feel safer.” He offers. “Knowing that I’m right here?” He will feel better, touching you but it’s your decision.

Mind?! You would have begged for it if necessary. But it’s also just…how you sleep if there’s someone else in the bed with you. “I would have ended up cuddling against you,” you admit, shutting off the light so he doesn’t see the embarrassment on your face. “I’m a cuddly sleeper. Sorry…I should have warned you.”

“That’s good, sugar.” Jack coos, drawing you into his arms with a happy rumble in his chest. Feeling relaxed for the first time since he discovered you were missing. You are safe, healthy (again) and in the protection of his arms. “You just curl into me and sleep as long as you like.”

******

It’s a good four or five hours that you sleep, held fast against his chest and so deeply that when you do toss or turn - the product of nightmares that you’re sure you should think about talking to that therapist about - you end up settling down with his shoulder as your pillow again before too long. The midafternoon sun is shining brightly through your windows when you start to move one last time, shifting lazily as though you’re trying to burrow even deeper into his side.

Jack actually sleeps, cradling you in his arms and feeling your gentle breathing against his hand. Reassuring him that you are safe and secure. Your warmth combines with his and creates a little cocoon under the sheets. Your leg wraps over his hip and he kisses you hair, settling back down and falling back under the sweet waves of sleep.

Even with the nightmares it might qualify as the best nap you’ve ever taken, and you try not to move too much when you finally open your eyes to the sight of Jack looking so peaceful in his sleep. Lips barely parted, skin flush with warmth, and immaculate hair mussed from the pillow, this might be your favorite sight in the whole world. The way it makes your heart swell and clench all at once is a beautiful new sensation. One you want to hang on to for as long as possible.

For his part, Jack is blessed with dreamless sleep. Or maybe it's more that his brain is still fucked up from being shot, he can't be sure but he doesn't dream about seeing you bound to a chair and head covered with a gun to your head, thankfully. He grunts, feeling a slight movement and he starts to stir before tightening his arms around you. "'s okay." He mumbles. "'m here."

“I know.” Taking a chance that the gesture won’t be too forward, you place a kiss on the back of his hand where it holds yours on his chest and revel silently in how good it feels. “Go back to sleep, Jack. Everything’s okay.”

He grunts again and hums, twitching slightly and stretching in the bed with you. "''ou awake?"

“More than you.” You laugh softly, almost more of a single breathy chuckle.

Finally managing to peel one eyeball open to tilt his head down and try to focus on you. "Makin' fun of me?" He huffs when he finally manages to clear the haze of sleep.

“Maybe a little.” The grin that splits your face is beaming, and you don’t care to hide it. “You’re cute when you’re all sleepy.”

It's natural, the way his lips pout, shooting you a narrowed eyed playful glare. "I didn't get any sleep."

“Close your eyes, then.” It’ll keep you from kissing the pout right off of his face if he does, and that might be the only thing that can stop you. “I know you stayed up to keep an eye on me. We can spend today drifting in and out of sleep.”

"Is that what you want to do?" The rasp of his voice is deep, laced with sleep and the need to clear his throat. "Or do you want to get up?"

“Nah.” Shaking your head and nuzzling closer feels like an absolute dream. “I wanna stay right here with you. We’ll order pizza for dinner and I’ll text my mom to see what time they’re flying in tomorrow, but let’s stay in bed.”

Jack grunts and rolls you over to where you are on your side, facing away from him so he can wrap his body around yours. "Then go back to sleep, sugar." He murmurs in your ear.

It’s easy to do just that, letting yourself be absorbed by the comfort and safety of Jack’s broad frame at your back and his steady breathing in your ear. There are no more nightmares, mercifully, just good dreams. Specifically dancing, hips swaying in your sleep like you’re having a premonition of some wonderful date that has yet to happen.

Jack Daniels had always had a healthy sexual appetite and since you’ve been in Kentucky - hell, since he killed your soulmate, he’s been abstaining. So it should surprise no one that he ends up hard as a Texas rock in a heat wave, pressed up against your ass like he is melted into you. Still sound asleep.

It might have been what woke you up. Or it might have been the way your dreams turned to other things with Jack - not just dancing. Either way, the evidence of what brought those thoughts on is pressed snuggly against your ass when you start to stir again hours later. You practically groan at the feeling, realizing that it’s not because he’s moving beside you but because his thick hard on is twitching eagerly against your ass. If you were any kind of decent you would ignore it. You would just take the subtle, unconscious compliment and not say a word later on. Besides, you shouldn’t even be thinking about anything sexual after what you went through over the last two days. But maybe that’s exactly why your body reacts the way it does. The need to feel alive and more like yourself overwhelming you, melding with your attraction to your soulmate and making your hot cunt flood with arousal as you studiously try not to guess how long Jack’s cock is. He’s sound asleep, you tell yourself when you shift a little and he just keeps on dozing. He’s sound asleep and he’ll never know. This is just your secret. That’s what you tell yourself when you crush your eyes shut and slip your hand into your pajama shorts to coat your fingers in slick that will make them glide over your clit so gorgeously.

Jack’s breath huffs against your neck, deep and slow as he sleeps. Groaning quietly as his arm around you tightens. Lost in the best damn sleep he’s gotten in weeks; he sighs softly as his cock throbs.

Being as careful as you can not to move his arm, the tight circles that you rub around your aching clit barely scratch the surface of the deep need that has built up so quickly. If you can manage to get yourself off without jarring him awake it will be a miracle, if he wakes up you'll have to pretend to be waking up and pray he doesn't smell your arousal in the air.

It takes another two seconds before Jack wakes up. A great thing about his training is that he doesn't change anything. His breathing stays the same and there is no movement this time. Allowing him to wake up more alert this time, listening to the sounds you are making.

It takes biting down on your lip to keep from whimpering out loud. To hold in the sighs and whining as tightly as you can. As much as instinct makes you want to drag this out and enjoy it, you have no idea how easily Jack might wake up and you do not want to have to explain that you just couldn't fucking control yourself imagining his thick cock sliding inside of you to throb and pulse in your pussy instead of against the curve of your ass.

You move subtly, softly grinding back as you work your clit. Jack's cock throbs even more and he doesn't want to interrupt you, he wants to take over. The beautiful pants that you are letting out are steadily gaining. Instead of speaking, Jack moves quickly, plunging his hand into your sleep shorts and pushing your fingers away in favor of his.

"Oh my— oh my GOD." The original exclamation of surprise is swept away by a deep moan and breathless pant, the sound finally breaking free of your lips as Jack's calloused fingers replace yours faster than you can blink. Your heart leaps into your throat but doesn't manage to stifle the gasp when he doesn't miss a beat, keeping the pace and pressure of how you touch yourself expertly.

"Imagine my surprise waking up to find you playin' your pretty pussy like it was a fiddle." He coos in your ear, wrapping your arm around your waist and pulling you back against him even more. "Apparently you're a dirty girl, sugar."

"How could I n—not?" You shudder in his arms, grinding back against his hard on shamelessly now that you have such obvious encouragement. "Waking up with you hard as fucking stone."

“’Course I was hard.” Jack rasps in your ear. “Always hard around you, sugar. You should have known that.” He knows that you didn’t know, because he’s been an ass, but with every swipe of his fingers, his cock pulses against your ass. “Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Don't know how you h-hide it," you pant heavily, moaning again when his fingers slip for just a bare second and nearly push inside you. "You wear the tiniest fucking jeans in the world."

Jack chuckles, the sounds vibrating through his chest. “Tucked under the belt, sugar.” He teases, wanting to push his fingers inside you but he doesn’t. He keeps the pressure on your clit.

"Fuck Jack." That thought is going to live rent free in your mind for an extremely long time, and you cling to his arm a little tighter with every firm rotation of his fingers. "Of course you're a fuckin' tease."

“How am I teasin’?” His tone is syrupy sweet and full of mischief, teasing. “I’m givin’ you what you want, aren’t I?” He hums, lips pressed against the shell of your ear and his thumb swooping in to press against that little button while he plunges two thick fingers into you like he had been wanting.

"Fuuuck." The gasp you let out is sharp, keening as you grind your hips down on his fingers shamelessly. Every time you rock back you end up feeling the heat of his cock against you and when you push forward his thumb is pressing against your clit with that perfect amount of extra pressure that makes you want to cry his name so loudly the neighbors will hear. "Your hands are so fucking big."

He chuckles again. “Use ‘em then, sugar.” He croons softly. “Want you to pour that sweet honey of your cunt into my hand.”

With his arm pinning your hands down there's no way you can do anything to help him except continuing to rock your hips, doing your best to ride his fingers like he so gorgeously requested while still giving him some kind of friction to enjoy for himself. What you really want is to strip away the thin fabric between you and find out exactly how thick that cock would feel inside you, but this is already crossing the line into definitely not moving slowly, so you're going to thoroughly enjoy this moment for all it's worth.

This is so wrong right now. Not because of who you are to him or anything. No, Jack’s accepted that. He accepted that the moment he knew that he was going to tear your kidnappers limb from limb for touching a hair on your head. This is because you are freshly healed. He shouldn’t take advantage of you like this when your emotional state is so off kilter. Still, he continues to grunt into your ear, pouring praises in it for you. “Good girl, sugar. I know you can do it. Ride my fingers.”

Good girl, sugar. You shudder, whimpering at how good he feels touching you and how he managed to goddamn guess at your praise kink. Or else it’s a perfect accident, making you cling to him that much tighter as you move. The coil of fire in your belly says you’re so near to your peak that you can practically taste it but the getting there is so sweet.

He can feel your body tensing, priming to explode under his hands. “Come on baby.” He urges you, letting go of your side to snake his hand under your thin shirt to squeeze your breast as he pushes his fingers deep and curls them up in a beckoning motion. Drawing you to your prize. “Cum for me.”

It feels like someone gave him a map of your pussy, letting him find all of your most sensitive points perfectly. When his fingers curl it’s like your whole body locks down. Your back arches against his chest and your cunt clenches down on his fingers, squeezing them tight as your orgasm slams into you with a strangled cry of his name dripping from your lips.

Jack loves it. Loves how you cry out his name. It's hoarse, but not because of your throat being bruised from screaming, but because you are overwhelmed. His cock pulses against your ass and he swears that he would cum if he slipped inside you right now. Instead he concentrates on your pleasure, making you ride out the sensations until you are limp against him.

"Fuck." The deep, throaty giggle that blossoms in the middle of your chest bubbles out of you as you catch your breath, and you bury your face in the pillow momentarily. "I know I was trying not to get caught but I'm really okay with you waking up."

He chuckles in your ear, squeezing your tit one more time before he reluctantly lets go and starts to unwind himself from your body. Easing his hips back so he can calm down. "Happy to help, sugar." He promises.

When he moves away you turn around, a frown painted on your otherwise relaxed face. "You don't want me to take care of you?" It's okay if he doesn't, obviously. Not pushing him into anything clearly includes not pressuring him into any kind of intimacy. But he should never doubt that you want him.

“Sugar— you’re still recovering.” He huffs towards you. “I don’t want to push that on you. I’m okay.”

"I'm okay, honey." You promise him, letting the little pet name warm through you. "When you're ready, I'm ready."

Jack knows that physically, you are probably better than you’ve ever been, but he knows what it’s like to not take a moment after a big ordeal. “Believe me, I want you sugar. That’s not the problem.”

"Then what is?" There's a box of tissues on your bedside table, and reaching for one or two to help him clean up seems kinder than sucking his fingers into your mouth like you want to. If something is bothering him then offering him the chance to open up is the best thing you can do. If he isn't ready to take it, that's up to him.

Jack wonders why you are grabbing tissues, but maybe it's because you don't like the way cum feels between your thighs. His fingers slip into his mouth and he groans at the tangy taste of your juices, imagining drinking them from the source and tasting you in his mustache. "I— I got shot about six months ago. In the head." He tells you quietly.

You barely manage to stifle a groan of your own, watching your slick disappear past his lips before you register what he's saying. "You—in the head?"

"Pointblank." Jack still doesn't remember anything beyond demanding the antidote from Eggsy and then waking up in Ginger's lab a completely different man. The man he had been after Abigail had died and he had gone through his whoring ways – ignoring the hole in his heart. "We have something called 'Alpha gel'. It's what saved my life."

"I'll be sending Ginger an incredibly large 'thank you' basket for that invention." It had seemed almost cartoonish when it was described to you during your tour of the lab after learning the truth about Statesman. "What the hell happened? Was it a mission?"

"It was." Jack sighs softly. "I – we were dealing with that Poppy Adams incident." He tells you, nodding when your eyes widen. "For obvious reasons, I held a very long, very personal grudge against drug dealers, drug users, drug pimpers, all of them." He frowns when he remembers that it hadn't been druggies. It had been Hank Rollins and his personal brand of crazy.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Whatever he's thinking, you'll let him get there in his own time. The fact that he's opening up to you is a very good thing. You just wish there was something more you could say to comfort him.

"That's not the point." Jack shakes his head and frowns more. Knowing that what he might say could possibly change your opinion of him. "After I was healed – in the hyperbaric chamber – I was different." He explains. "I would have never – ever – let my personal feelings get in the way of a mission, but I did. I wasn't thinking fully like myself." He takes a breath and meets your eyes finally. "I almost let everyone in the world who was affected die because of it."

Letting it sink in takes a moment. Working out his meaning until you shift your head on the pillow to find worry in his deep, brown eyes. "You're worried that I'm not myself?"

"You have to admit that you don't exactly know how you were affected in that chamber." Jack murmurs softly. "I wouldn't want you to wake up and realize that you wouldn't touch me. Or feel like I took advantage of you."

"Jack, I promise you didn't take advantage of me." If anything, you were the one pushing the envelope first, but you'll just leave that aside for now. "But if it will reassure you to wait a little while so you can see that I'm still the same me, then I completely respect that." Leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you offer him a smile and squeeze his hand for good measure. "But the least myself I've ever felt is these last two months trying to pretend that I didn't want to spend every spare minute with you. This finally feels right."

"Let an old man worry." He gets it, he really does, but he needs to be sure. The feelings that are budding in his chest aren't ones that will be pushed away easily. Losing another soulmate for real might actually kill him this time.

"Alright." You'll concede it for the sake of this brand new whatever you are-ship, but you don't make any moves to get out of bed or even out of his arms. "Let's make sure we go over it with the therapist, then?"

"As soon as we can." Jack promises, knowing that he wants nothing more than to slide into you right now and make both of you happy, but he needs to do the right thing by you, for once.

"It might be better if we distract ourselves?" You offer, knowing that the proximity of him and knowing what he can do with those overly large hands of his is going to make you focus on him alone unless you bring something else into the equation. "I can turn on the tv? Or order dinner if you're hungry? We've slept most of the day away."

"Whatever you want to do, sugar." Jack sends you a wry smile. "I can restrain myself from attacking you and making you scream my name." He teases with a small wink.

"I'm not so sure I have your restraint." A rueful shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do while you try to wipe the sheepish grin off your face, but you grab the television remote for the flat screen in your bedroom and turn on a movie channel on low for background noise.

"Are you saying you would have your wicked way with me?" Jack sounds scandalized but the grin on his face is undeniable. Mischievous and spread from ear to ear.

"Not without your eager consent." When you settle back down there's a smirk on your face that you try twisting into a dramatic frown, but it just doesn't work at all and you end up huffing a laugh. "Wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you. But I can wait."

"Believe me, sugar. I think you have more than enough proof that I want you." He glances meaningfully down between you and chuckles himself. "I just want to do right by you, for once."

"Which is why I turned on the tv." It would be completely awful of you to push, but you settle down again against his shoulder and pick up your phone from the bedside table. "And find out what time my family is getting here tomorrow. Distractions, so I don't take a peek under the blanket."

Jack snorts and shakes his head at you. "You can look all you want." It's fun to tease you, and he knows that things are going to progress faster than he would probably want, but that's okay.

"Not if you want me to keep my tongue to myself." You throw him the same kind of wink he used to aim at you when you first met and pull up the family text thread on your phone. There's been plenty of activity in these texts over the last few days but you ignore the worried and panicked messages for now. You don't have the stomach to read them right now.

"They are going to fuss over you." He reminds you. "Just like I'm fussing over you now."

"They'll see that I'm okay." There is no reason to involve your family in anything that happened in that warehouse in Brooklyn, and you're certainly not going to describe any of it to your siblings, so you'll probably keep the nightmares and any future possible PTSD bullshit under your hat as well. "I don't want them to worry about things they can't have helped or changed," you explain, when his brow furrows slightly. "I think...I might see the Statesman therapist on my own, too. For a little while at least. Just...to make sure I work through everything that happened properly. Pretending it wasn't a big deal isn't healthy."

"That's a good idea." Jack can firmly get behind it, knowing it will be good for you to talk it out with someone who had no part in what happened. You can talk to him, but he will always have a biased slant on you, so it is best you work with someone professionally.

"Turns out my soulmate has a few of those." Smiling when you put down your phone, you slip your hand into his easily.

"I'm glad you think so." Jack huffs playfully, squeezing your hand and giving you a soft smile.

"Well it was a damn good way to wake up from a nap, and you picked out the most beautiful dress I've ever worn in my life. So that's at least three excellent ideas you've had, counting therapy." Lifting his hand to your lips lets you leave a soft kiss there, and you revel in the ease of just being with him like this.

It's almost laughingly easy how this thing seems to flow between you when he's not fighting it. Making him shake his head at the irony of it all. "Sounds like I need to suggest orderin' pizza now, to make it four." He teases, remembering how you had mentioned wanting a pie later on.

You grin, letting the playful tone of his words warm you through until you giggle quietly and pick your phone back up again. "Do you have a favorite place to order from?"

"There's a secret place. Hole in the wall. It's called Tony's pizza shop. Best fuckin' New York pizza outside of the five boroughs." Jack groans. "Guy moved down from the city and I swear it's the only reason I don't have pizza flown in on the Statesman jet."

"Tony's it is." Handing your phone over so he can make the call feels as natural and low-key domestic as just lying in bed together could possibly be. "Whatever your favorite thing is from there, that's what we'll have for dinner."

"Porcini and truffle pizza coming up." Jack hums as he dials the number he knows by heart and waits for it to connect.

“Thanks for calling Tony’s.” The underwhelmed sounding teenager on the other end of the call smacks his gum into the receiver. “Pickup or delivery?”

"Delivery." Jack declares, rattling off the address of your cabin on the Statesman property and he looks over at you. "Can I get a medium porcini and truffle...and, uh, you got any special pies?" He asks, knowing that Tony was always creating something in that pizza oven of his. Feeling like you would enjoy the man, what with your own culinary creativity.

“Special of the day is the shakshuka pie with lamb sausage and a fried egg and fresh herbs on top.” The teenager reports, trying not to sound like he’s drooling over the phone. “It’s absolutely killer.”

It sounds like it would be right up your alley and Jack nods. “Lemme get one of those too.” He decides.

“Sure thing, Mr. Daniels.” It’s not like Jack isn’t a regular customer. Every employee there knows his voice after just a couple of words. “That’ll be thirty minutes. You want it on your tab?”

"Sure thing kid." Jack grins. "Tell the driver that if they get it here in twenty, it's a double tip." He promises, disconnecting the call after the boy agrees and waggles his brows at you. "Pizza'll be here in seventeen minutes."

Instead of sinking into him for a kiss like you want to – despite the fact that his fingers were inside you twenty minutes ago – you just smile and take your phone back to see if your mother has texted about their flight. “What kind of specialty did they have?” You ask, genuinely curious as to what passes for specialty or experimental flavors around here. If you were home you’d be fighting with your dad not to order clams or something equally bizarre.

“Shakshuka?” He asks, not quite sure what that means. “Lamb sausage with fried eggs and herbs?” He shrugs. “I just know if Tony sells it, it’s worth eating.”

“Ohhhhh I love shakshuka, that sounds amazing.” You’re instantly in a state of near-drooling that can normally only be achieved by sweets or a very attractive and usually naked man. “It’s basically a spicy Middle Eastern tomato sauce that sometimes has meat in it but can be a really killer vegetarian meal. You crack eggs into it and bake them like that to dip bread in.” A small, proud smile graces your lips but it’s just the warmth in your chest filling again. “If you like it, I’ll make you my version some morning for breakfast.”

“Sounds delicious.” Jack has always loved spicy meals anyway, though he might have to have an antacid now after dinner. Getting older changes things. “I think you’ll love Tony’s.”

“I hope so.” He has good taste, generally speaking, so you aren’t worried. Instead you lay back against your pillows and tap out a quick reply to your mother before putting your phone away. “My family are landing at noon tomorrow. Mom says Champ offered to send the jet for them, so they’re coming straight here. No airport trip.”

“I figured he would send the jet.” Jack hums. “Plus they have to get the Pony Express back.”

"And it looks like my brother-in-law is staying behind with the kids, so you'll be spared diaper changes while they're here." Who knows if he minds or not. If being around little kids still reminds him of his son. You wouldn't blame him if it did. "I say it like that, but I love them. My siblings are my best friends in the world."

“Why are the littles staying behind?” Jack asks, frowning slightly. “Between my cabin and yours, there should be enough room for everyone.”

"If you want to meet everybody at once, I can tell them to come." Anybody else might have considered it a blessing to be able to only meet a portion of your loud, enthusiastic family the first time, but Jack looks positively offended that they aren't all descending on Louisville en masse. "They know I only have one guest room here, so they probably figured there wasn't enough room. I don't...you don't have to give up your space to my family, Jack. I can't ask you to do that."

"I don't mind." Jack shakes his head and twists to look at you fully. "You deserve to have all of your family here. I'm sure they all want to be here." He sends you a half smile. "Family comes first, sugar. If I need to bunk somewhere else, I can - but you tell all of them to come."

"There aren't so many of them that we'd run you out of your own home." That would be unforgivable in your opinion, and you're fairly certain your grandma Jane's spirit would rise up and smack you upside the head for it, as well. "Champ's sent an email that I'm not supposed to go back to work at all this week. Only doctor's appointments and spending time with my family. So I promise I'll keep them busy. You'll only have to spend time with us when you choose to."

Jack snorts and gives you a shrug. "I can make myself scarce sugar, you don't have to make it seem like it would be a blessin'." He promises, sure that once you explain how he had treated you, he wouldn't be well liked by your family anyway.

"That's not when I meant." Embarrassment flushes hot in your cheeks and you sink under the covers. "I would love for you to spend time with us. Time to get to know my family and time that you and I can spend getting to know each other better. I'm just apparently more paranoid about you feeling forced into anything than I thought I was."

"How 'bout this?" He poses seriously, sliding down to where he was once again eye level with you. "You tell me where to be and when to be there and I'll be on time." He offers, sending you a small wink. "Plus, I have a bigger kitchen and three spare bedrooms."

"If you let me use your kitchen I might never leave." It's a joke, of course it is, but it still makes you smile and you shift forward on your pillow until you're almost nose to nose. "Thank you, Jack. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"It's not a problem, sugar." Jack loves the way you light up at the prospect of having your entire family around you and he wants to encourage it. "You can always bunk with me to make another bed available if needed." He teases, winking at you playfully.

"Sure," you huff playfully, adding a dramatic eye roll to make him laugh. "If you wanna see how really little self restraint I really have, I will absolutely share a bed with you."

Chuckling, Jack reaches out and cups your cheek. "You mean you couldn't restrain yourself with me walkin' around my room naked as a jaybird?"

"No. Absolutely not. No way in hell." The answer is immediate and sure, and you shake your head emphatically. "I can barely restrain myself now and you've already gotten me off once today."

Jack's grin blooms on his face and he leans in, raising a brow at you. "Sounds like you're needin' to get to the therapist then, sugar." He's not above a little blackmail to make sure you get the help you need to process everything. So that you don't end up as fucked up as he is.

"Ugggggh." Groaning even more dramatically this time, you practically wail in hysterics that you can barely get through without giggling at yourself. Throwing one arm over your eyes, you toss yourself onto your back and sigh as loudly as you can. "Why did I have to get the only man in the world who wants a healthy, lasting relationship and won't just tear my clothes off?"

That makes Jack stare at you for a moment, realizing what you are saying is true. Normally he would be that man, but he’s not. Just like with Abigail, he is taking it slow. He hums. “Sorry sugar, clothes ripping will happen later.”

"Just as long as it happens eventually." You tease, peeking out from behind your hand and grinning at him. "Physical strength is a turn-on and I will never deny it."

“Is it?” He contemplates that seriously and smirks. “So sweeping you off your feet literally will get me into your panties?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you as he asks, as if there would be any answer other than ‘yes’.”

"Since you've already technically been in my panties, I don't see the harm in being honest." It's easy. So easy with him. Even as much as you've enjoyed other men's company, no one has ever made you feel quite the way that Jack does on a basic level. It's almost its own kind of therapy right here in bed. "The night we went to the bar together?" You raise an eyebrow right back at him. "I touched myself thinking about that barfight for days."

“I might have been showin’ off just a bit.” Jack admits, smirking slightly. “Believe me, I wanted to show off, fuck– I probably could have bent you over the hood of the Bronco in the parking lot, couldn’t I?”

The groan that elicits from you is pitiful, as much a whimper as anything else as you squeeze your thighs together and consider yourself lucky that he can't see you doing it. "Yeah," you admit, not even upset about it for a second. "In a heartbeat."

“Hmmm.” Jack grunts, the conversation not helping his throbbing cock, but he is learning about his soulmate. “Exhibitionist.” He intones solemnly.

"Only a couple of times." It's barely a defense, and you bite your lip for a second while you contemplate how much to tell him. "Three times grand total." He stares at you for a moment in shock before he throws his head back and laughs. A deep belly jiggling laugh that echoes through the room. "What?" Your cheeks burn all over again and his contagious laughter takes you right along with it. "I'm just being honest!"

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, not wanting you to think that he’s making fun of you. “It’s a good thing, I promise.”

"Have we got matching kinks or something?" It's one of those things that people with soulmates - like your sister - talk about all the time. That sexual compatibility is supposed to be part of the package.

“I have no problem with anywhere, anytime.” He assures you with a wink.

Saved from whatever dramatic groan your mind is about to make, your ringtone cuts through the boisterous tone of the room and you glance at the unsaved number before realizing you shouldn’t send it to voicemail. “That must be dinner. You want me to throw on my robe and go down while you answer, or the other way around?”

“I’ll go get the food.” Jack shuffles out of the bed and grabs his pants so he can slide them on and take his wallet out to pay.

Meeting him downstairs means throwing a sweatshirt over your thin t-shirt, and you're just walking down the stairs when he shuts the door with two pizza boxes in his hand. "I'll grab drinks and plates if you want to bring those into the living room."

“So you aren’t an eat in bed type of girl?” He asks, smirking slightly at the very messy look that you have going for you. It’s cute and he can imagine you cooking just like this.

"Snacks or a drink, maybe. But not so much for meals." You do crack a grin, though, reaching the floor and wiggling your toes on the cool wood floor. "And washing tomato sauce or oil out of my bedsheets doesn't sound like fun."

“No, it doesn’t.” Jack has to admit that and the special pie sounds like it could potentially be messy. He brings the pizzas into the living room and decides that the floor seems like a good spot to eat, pushing the coffee table back to make more room and layering throw pillows to cushion your backs.

A moment later, you reappear with beer bottles, plates, and napkins, and grin at the little sitting area he’s set up. “Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?” It’s the sort of low key, comfortable, domestic little thing that you honestly just love and the fact that you didn’t suggest it at all makes it even sweeter.

Jack watches as your grin gets wider and you nod. Feeling like he’s making the right choices and he frowns for just a second. “Is–” He sighs and tries again. “Would you be offended if I talked about her?” He asks quietly.

“Honey, of course not.” You drop down amongst the pillows he’s set up and reach for his hand immediately. “She’s important to you. If you ever want to talk about her or share a memory or something, then I want to hear it.” It’s such a peculiar situation and - as far as you know you’re the only two who have ever been in it. There is no blueprint for behavior here. The best you can do is go with your instincts and your instincts are always for honesty.

“I just– I don’t want to upset you if I mention something about her, or things we used to do together.” He explains. “I was going to tell you how when we were younger, these were our ‘dates’. Curled up on the floor watching movies and eatin’ junk. When I wasn’t workin’, of course.”

“I’m not going to be upset if you want to share with me.” Holding his hand in both of yours, you press a kiss to his palm, somehow still afraid that kissing his lips could lead to losing that careful thread of control. “If it gets to be too much, or overwhelming somehow, I promise I’ll tell you.”

“Please.” Jack begs softly. “I don’t–I don’t want her to be a taboo subject, but I also don’t want you to feel like I’m hanging on to a ghost.” It might be the first time he’s ever said those words out loud before and they are profound for him.

“Jack…” One of your hands leaves his to cup his cheek, finding so much sadness in his eyes when you meet them. “I think you loved her very much, and she was taken from you unfairly. You deserve to be able to remember and talk about her. Hell, I’ll probably talk about my exes sometimes and they didn’t mean anywhere near as much to me. We’re just going to have to check in with each other sometimes; that’s all. Just to make sure we’re balanced and equal and all that.”

He nods after a moment, feeling emotional and instead of pushing it down or letting it fester inside him, he faces it. “He was gonna take you too, sugar.” Jack’s face turns deadly at the thought. “I couldn’t let that happen. Not twice.”

“I didn’t think you would come.” There’s shame in it, you can admit that, and you drop your hand back into your lap as your eyes fall away from his face. “I still thought you hated me…and I didn’t know how you ever could have found me anyway…”

“Never.” Jack promises you. “I’ve never hated you and I will always come for you. No matter what.” It’s easy to promise that to you now, but he wants you to know that no matter what ever happens, he will protect you with his life.

“It’s done now.” It was literally just yesterday, but the part of you that’s trying to cope with how it made you feel is analyzing it like it was a decade ago or more. “It’s done and you’re here and that’s what matters.”

He stares at you for a moment and then snorts. “Hell, sugar. I think you’re better than some of our agents. Myself included.”

“I definitely prefer my kitchen.” His laughter is contagious, though, and you end up cracking a half-smile. “Gives me a hell of a lot of respect for what you do though. Shit.”

“Never been scared on a mission before.” Jack admits. “This time, my heart was in my throat the whole fuckin’ time.”

"We're both okay." You promise him softly. "We apparently just needed some extremely dramatic bullshit to happen for us to get our heads out of our stubborn asses and talk to each other."

“I don’t like you thinkin’ that I wouldn’t have come for you.” He murmurs, reaching out and taking your chin in his hand. “I’d die for you, sugar. I promise.”

"I know that now." Then, just a day ago, you hadn't had any reason to think that things would ever take a turn for the positive between you. "But I'm hoping we never have to put that to the test."

“Me too.” Today doesn’t need to be weighed down by the maybes or what ifs. Jack smirks and nods towards the pizzas. “You ready to have the best pie you’ve ever put in your mouth?” It’s a bold claim, but he knows this pizza backs it up.

"You talk a big game Daniels." Plates, drinks, napkins, and slices are distributed and you settle on just leaving the television on whatever channel it's on and heckling the movie that's playing if you decide you don't like it. Your first bite of the mushroom and truffle pizza is accompanied by such a groan that anybody else would have thought that Jack had his hand in your shorts again. "Holy shit you weren't kidding."

He chuckles, not even denying how sexy that noise you make is. “Told you.” He hums. “Best fuckin’ pizza. And it’s fresh, every day that man is makin’ his mozzarella. Or at least that’s what he told me.”

“I’m a convert,” you declare about four bites later when you can finally force yourself to come up for air. Everything is perfectly balanced and gorgeously fresh and if this isn’t the best pizza you’ve had in years you’ll eat your hat instead.

“Knew you would be.” Jack grins, his own slice already halfway devoured. “Tony is why I knew you would do well here. The artistic food setting is starting to grow.”

"I can't believe there's only a couple of weeks left before the restaurant opens." It feels like every possible second has been spent in that kitchen since you got here, but only in the best possible way. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you haven't actually been serving customers this whole time. But that is mostly because there is such a handful of fellow Statesman employees who have been steadily dropping by to act as your taste testers on their lunch breaks.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asks you seriously. “I know that Champ has given you carte blanche to design and set it up like you’ve wanted, but is there anything we are missing?” He’s already talked to Champ about flying your family down again for the opening. It’s only fair they witness the celebration of your achievements.

"A new line cook for the savory side." You blow out a regretful sigh. "I'll have to go back through the resumes I kept on file and bring in some more interviews, but other than that?" A slight shrug of your shoulders is one thing, but you offer Jack a small smile. "I just really want my favorite people to be there. The opening night party is all reservations and almost every seat is sold already. So...I wasn't going to ask, obviously, but...do you want to be there? I mean I want you to be, but you don't have to."

“I will be there.” Jack rolls his eyes and grins. “Of course I’m going to be there. You think I’m missing out on your cookin’?” He tuts and shakes his head in disappointment. “Besides…I’ve already got the jet reserved for your family to come in again for the openin’.”

"You do not?" The squeal that accompanies the question is shattering, and you throw your arms around his neck so carefully so the residue from pizza on your fingertips won't stain his shirt. "Honey, that's so fucking sweet of you, oh my god..." No one had come down to visit yet specifically because of the cost of airfare, because you had talked it through with your mother a month ago and decided to split the cost of the five round-trip fares plus hotel rooms that would be needed for them to come to the opening. Even with everyone doing well, the cost of existing in the world today is high. With your face buried in the crook of Jack's neck, you sniffle quietly. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Jack chuckles, basking in your adoration and kisses the side of your head. “I have a lot to make up for, sugar.” He murmurs softly. “But this was something I had done before I came to my senses. Your family should be here. It’s not every day you open your own restaurant.”

"If I do this right, this will be the last opening night of my career, and the only one I've ever been chef for." You squeeze him tightly before sitting back, knowing that your face reads nothing but awe and excitement. The opening night party is set to be an incredibly special event and you've been looking forward to it with equal parts anxiety and excitement.

“You will do amazing.” Jack promises. “We decided that we are cracking open a barrel of the whiskey to go along with it. If you want, of course.”

"It will be perfect." To a certain degree, it has to be. Your career rides on the success of The Rabbit-Hole, even if you came by it in a sort of round-about way. You have no problem acknowledging the fact that Champ wouldn't keep a failing restaurant open just to appease Jack. "We'll open a barrel as a surprise sneak peak. We're going to have both the afternoon tea menu and the full dinner menu available that night so there will be no shortage of good things to pair it with."

“It’s going to be amazing.” Jack promises you. He looks at the other flavor of pizza. “Ready to try his newest creation?”

"Absolutely." You press a kiss to his cheek before you move away again, and pick up the slice of tomatoey, spicy smelling pizza. The first bite has you moaning again, doing a happy little dance in your seat on the floor beside him. "'S so fuckin good," you mumble happily, grinning while you eat.

Jack grins, watching you eagerly as you eat. “Good to know what I can order on nights where you’re too exhausted to do anything but lay on the couch and let me take care of things.”

"That's some real domestic talk there, Jack." The grin on your face spreads, cheeks warming through, and you put down your half-eaten slice to wipe your hands. "I like it."

“What can I say?” He teases with an exaggerated drawl. “I’m just a simple, traditional man.” He sends you a small wink. “Besides, I like the way you look when you’re flustered and still looking like the cat who got the canary.”

"That's pretty much how I feel." You can admit that fairly easily, and being able to open up to him even a little is such a relief. "I guess I would technically consider myself traditional, too. At least I wanted to be. But life throws you curveballs, ya know?"

Jack nods, frowning slightly since he was the one who hurled the curveballs your way. “I can see that.” He murmurs, wondering if you regret removing your tattoos. Now there is no proof you are soulmates.

"Now, why does that upset you?" As you both sit and eat, the noise of the television fades into the background and you shift your position to face him fully. "I already said that we don't have to push any of that."

“It’s stupid.” Jack shakes his head and gives a small shrug.

"Your feelings aren't stupid." You promise him, frowning slightly yourself.

“I was just thinking about the marks you got removed.” He admits, rolling his eyes at himself. “There’s zero proof we are soulmates now. Beyond us knowing.”

"I know I should have talked to you about it." There's more than a little guilt attached to that decision, especially now that you've talked and decided to explore whatever it is that's between you. "But now you can go back to work. And isn't that a good thing?"

He can’t deny it was what he wanted, but now that he has it, he’s not happy with it. Maybe it’s because it had been meant to cut ties with him visually. He’s a selfish asshole and can confuse himself sometimes. “Yes and no.” Jack huffs, reaching for your hand and taking it. “I’m just– you loved that tattoo and I don’t want you to, hell, regret it.” He tells you. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“The situation isn’t exactly cut and dry,” you remind him. “It’s okay to feel conflicted about something complicated.” God knows you do, and you have nothing like his reasons for having such conflicting wants. “Which part upsets you more? That I gave up a piece of art that I loved, or that there’s no proof we’re soulmates anymore?”

Jack sighs, rolling his eyes at himself again. “That there’s no proof.” He admits quietly. “Everyone always wants to see proof.”

“But is there any way to have proof that’s safe?” Given what you’ve just gone through, safety is officially at the top of your list of concerns.

“Not until I come out of the field.” Jack shakes his head sadly. He looks down at his hand. “Used to have a bullseye tattoo right there.” He muses. “Hated having it removed.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your job.” Nothing could be further from your mind, especially with how much he’s been itching to get back to things and how he begged you to remove the tattoo before this. “You love your work, and the fact that I’m sitting here right now is first hand proof that you’re good at it.”

“I…could give it up.” Jack murmurs slowly. He’s made being an agent his entire life because he had nothing beyond that. It wasn’t exactly the case anymore. “I do love it, but…”

“Jack.” You shake your head fiercely, squeezing his hand in yours. “You’re miserable with nothing to do. I’ve only known you for a few months and I know that. Please don’t make any rash decisions?” The fear in your eyes is obvious, and you sigh quietly. Honesty. Honesty. “I don’t want you to give up your work so there can be proof of us and end up resenting or regretting the decision down the line.”

“How about a compromise?” He offers quietly. “The second I’m ready to come out of the field, you put that tattoo back and however many others you want?”

“We’ll talk about it again when you start to think about it.” That is an easy enough promise, and one that you can make sincerely. “You can get your bullseye back, too. But not before you’re ready.”

There’s a moment where the two of you just stare at each other, gazing into each other's eyes and seemingly coming to an agreement. Jack tilts his head once and flashes you a grin. “Yes ma’am.”

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

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 @kettlekatie @preschoolispunk @djarinsstuff @generallysleepdeprived @love-affair-with-fandoms @jay-ghostly @wowieitbeme @fanofverymanythings @josephquinnswhore @this-harl0t-shant-be-unalive @djarinsstuff @justherebecausesafarisucks @cedricbitch @rebel-soldat @madisonred88

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

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angelnumber27 · 8 months ago

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Supplements will be like “just three easy to swallow capsules each day!!!!” and the pills are like this

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molsno · 5 months ago

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yesterday, I did shrooms for the first time. I wasn't really that sure what to expect. I take weed gummies every week, and I have experienced some psychogenic effects from them in the past, so I thought that they would be somewhat comparable, but they're really not. I wanted to write about my experience and organize my thoughts, so I tried to go into as much detail as possible. this post is very long, so I've put it under a read more.

first of all, I took them via capsule. I don't handle strong, bitter tastes very well, and I'd heard that's what they tasted like, so my girlfriend and I ground them up into a fine dust and packed them into pills. I ended up taking 6 pills, for a total of 1.8 grams of shrooms. I ate light beforehand since I knew nausea might be a problem. I just had a simple cheese and salami sandwich and then swallowed the pills.

it took a while for them to take effect, and I was a little anxious to find out how I would react. that said, I was in a pretty good mood yesterday - I had just had a job interview that I thought went really well, so I'd been feeling a little better than usual. normally I'm quite pessimistic, but I knew that going into a trip with a negative mindset would make for a bad experience, so I tried not to stress over it too much.

the effects were mild at first. my pupils began to dilate, and the ceiling looked as though it was tilting and rotating. the popcorn pattern had the illusion that it was sliding to the left as I stared at it, which made me giggly. based on what I'd heard, I thought that I would start having stronger visual distortions, and maybe even some hallucinations. that wasn't the case. I'd taken a milder strain of shrooms - golden teacher. and I was about to learn just how fitting that name was.

slowly, I started tearing up. I wasn't sure why it was happening at first; I thought it was just because I'd had my eyes open for a long time. but soon enough, the floodgates burst. the world fully opened up to me, and before I knew it, I couldn't stop crying tears of pure, unrestrained joy.

it's difficult to describe what it felt like, so let me give you some context. for the past 6 months, I've been unemployed since being laid off from my job, and I've been struggling to hold it together emotionally as things continue to fall apart around me. recently, every day has made me question whether or not life was even worth living. I've felt powerless to help myself as the horrors of capitalism continue to push me down and break my spirit. I've felt alienated from my friends, especially as many of them have left me and the friends I hold dear. and due to my aforementioned powerlessness, I felt as if it was impossible for me to truly help the people I care about as much as I want to, even when they're going through horrible crises, especially because of my own fears holding me back.

in an instant, all of that changed. I can honestly say I've never felt happier in my life than I did yesterday. I approached the window, which extends from floor to ceiling, and put my hands against it as I looked out. the sky was overcast, but the world had never seemed so bright. as I listened to the album "nurture" by porter robinson, I looked down at the city, watching all of the people walking around, and it dawned on me that like all of them, I'm just another person in this wide world.

it can be difficult for me to understand that, because being a marginalized trans woman living under a capitalist regime makes me feel so insignificant. but in reality, I'm connected to every single organism who's ever lived on this planet, and in that moment, I felt like I really understood what it means to be human.

in our industrialized society, it can be all too easy to downplay the significance of nature, to see it as less important than us, or in the worst cases, to see it as an obstacle to our survival. but that's simply not true! humans aren't separate from nature; we're just another part of it. even in a concrete jungle made by human and mechanical hands, nature surrounds us, we just have to know where to look.

sure, nature can be dangerous. there are plants, animals, and fungi that can easily kill us if we don't know what we're doing, if we don't respect their needs and desires. but humans survived for all of these millions of years by helping each other, by teaching each other, and by loving each other. even in the harshest conditions, we're incredibly resilient due to our eagerness to care for one another.

with tears still streaming down my face, I couldn't hold myself back from telling the people I care about how happy I was to know them and how much I love them, and how happy I was to be alive. for the first time in a long, long time, I felt genuine hope. I truly felt that no matter what happens, everything will turn out alright.

incidentally, I really wanted to go for a walk outside, but my girlfriend advised me not to, both because she was worried about my safety, and because there were too many people out there, and I was very obviously tripping. I think she made the right call this time, as I have no idea how a stranger would have reacted when I inevitably approached them with tears streaming down my face and told them how beautiful the world is. still, I believe that going for a walk through the park on shrooms some time would be really enjoyable. perhaps one day I can, when I have more experience and I'm in a less populated area.

in any case, I genuinely believe that these mushrooms were communicating with me. sure, we bought these from a company, meaning they were probably grown in a lab or some other artificial environment, but mushrooms just like these exist all over the world. they wanted to teach me to appreciate the natural environments they originated from. if I truly took their lesson to heart, if I researched and studied hard enough, if I learned how to reliably and consistently identify the organisms that exist in the world around me, it would be possible for me to go to a forest and safely identify mushrooms like these growing in the wild, where I could just pick them and eat them freely.

is it naive for me to believe that they intended to teach me that? maybe, but I don't think so. I would say I'm overall a skeptical person, but after this experience, I don't think it's fair for me to discount their intelligence. we may be different, but we're ultimately both organisms that exist on this earth together, and we all share a common ancestor. I'm no mycologist, but there are fungi out there that know how to take control of an ant's body and use it to spread their spores. I think it's fair to believe that they're intelligent enough to communicate with humans in their own way. that's why I think that golden teacher is the perfect name for them.

soon enough, the peak of my trip began to fade, and I stopped crying. I eventually got a headache, but I still felt wonderful. I ate some oreos and drank a glass of milk, then laid down for a while and processed my thoughts in silence.

after some time, I started to feel tired, and even a bit nauseous. I wanted to hold it in, but after an hour or so, it only grew stronger, so I rushed to the restroom and threw up. I hadn't been prepared for the nausea - I heard that it would usually only take effect about an hour into the trip, but mine didn't hit me until several hours after it had ended. although my stomach felt better, my head still hurt. despite being exhausted, I found myself unable to sleep. I stayed awake for hours. 2 am came to pass, then 3 am, then 4 am. at some point, I think I did fall asleep, as I remember having some dreams, but it was a very light sleep, and wasn't continuous at all. as I write this, I'm still very tired. I think I'm going to take melatonin tonight to help me sleep.

during my trip, I wanted to feel the euphoria I'd been feeling forever. but as it faded, I realized I don't need to. and in fact, I actually didn't want to; feeling so much joy was actually very overwhelming! it's difficult for me to convey just how strong the emotions I felt were, and having so many revelations in such a brief period of time was overly taxing on my brain. not to mention, throwing up and being unable to sleep was pretty unpleasant.

these mushrooms were never going to solve my problems or cure the emptiness I've felt inside, and it would be disrespectful toward them to ask them to do that. rather, they taught me how to obtain happiness for myself. they taught me to find value in the world around me, to pay attention to the nature that surrounds me in my day to day life, to be proactive and vulnerable with the people I care about, and to remember my place in the world. if I want to feel this joy, I have to put these lessons into practice, and work to make the world a better place for everyone. and I'm going to try my best do just that.

while I'd love to do this again (ideally with a bit more preparation), it's not something I can take for granted. I'm really glad I got to have this experience. I feel like it changed me for the better, and I want to do for the world what these mushrooms did for me. ❤️

#personal

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fuckyeahthomaspynchon · 7 months ago

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The nostalgia you feel is not your own, but it's potent. All the objects have grown still, drowned, enfeebled with evening, terminal evening. Tough skins of oxides, some only a molecule thick, shroud the metal surfaces, fade out human reflection.

Straw-colored drive belts of polyvinyl alcohol sag and release their last traces of industrial odor.

Though found adrift and haunted, full of signs of recent human tenancy, this is not the legendary ship Marie-Celeste--it isn't bounded so neatly, these tracks underfoot run away fore and aft into all stilled Europe, and our flesh doesn't sweat and pimple here for the domestic mysteries, the attic horror of What Might Have Happened so much as for our knowledge of what likely did happen... it was always easy, in open and lonely places, to be visited by Panic wilderness fear, but these are the urban fantods here, that come to get you when you are lost or isolate inside the way time is passing, when there is no more History, no time-traveling capsule to find your way back to, only the lateness and the absence that fill a great railway shed after the capital has been evacuated, and the goat-god's city cousins wait for you at the edges of the light, playing the tunes they always played, but more audible now, because everything else has gone away or fallen silent... barn- swallow souls, fashioned of brown twilight, rise toward the white ceilings…

-Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow

#thomas pynchon #gravity’s rainbow

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meaninglessblah-writes · 1 year ago

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☀️⚰️👂🔒

Thank you for helping me work towards my Nanowrimo goal! 💙

The boy at his feet is on the verge of hysteria. Tears streak his cheeks, the ocean of those blue eyes overflowing past his bitten lips and trembling chin. His face is upturned to Apollo like a sunflower to the sun, the radiance of his countenance endearing.

Apollo runs the crook of a ringed knuckle down the boy's cheek, pausing to tilt his chin up ever higher. "Not yet, pet. I don't want to hear a peep from you. Understood?"

The boy whimpers, but nods his agreement, the whole of him rattling with the effort of keeping himself contained. The hands that cup his breasts are curled into claws, his own nails leaving little half crescents in his soft flesh.

Apollo drags a fingertip over them, meandering across the valleys of Jason's chest before he finally seeks out those peaks.

Jason trembles — once, bodily — when Apollo's nail grazes the edge of his nipple. But he holds steady, a fierce determination set across his handsome features.

The mage takes the opportunity to revisit their first lesson. "You recall your instructions, starlight?"

Jason swallows, and nods.

Apollo draws a fingertip around those swollen teats, and Jason's thighs dip together, the muscles there clenching hard to tamper down the urge that rises in him. Apollo can feel it like a blastwave kept at bay, radiating from the capsule of his body.

He lets his finger still, to grant the boy some leniency. He's been so gracefully obedient, after all.

"Remind me," Apollo purrs.

Jason licks his lips, breath trembling when he opens his mouth. He pauses, lashes fluttering, when even that small motion jostles the weights hanging from his tits.

He perseveres. "Don't come unless permitted."

The pride that washes over him at Apollo's, "Good boy," could sustain the mage for eons. He's gluttonous in the wake of it, hungry for all that the boy has to offer him.

The tears in his eyes make the hope in them gleam even brighter when Jason entreats, "Sir, if it please you, may I—"

"Not yet," Apollo reminds him, and taps once, firmly, on the clamp pinching his teat.

Jason's jaw snaps shut audibly, to cage the cry that rips up his throat. It comes out as nothing more than a vibrating moan.

His hips jerk, once, before he manages to claw back some control. All of him wound so beautifully tight. Apollo yearns with the thought of what that grip would feel like around his cock.

He uncrosses and recrosses his legs, leaning back to survey Jason. The boy's eyes follow his movements like a satellite trapped in his orbit, all of him tethered to Apollo.

"You have been so well-behaved, though," Apollo admits, and all of Jason sings with the praise. Apollo traces the line of his collarbone, rubbing cool sweat between his callouses. "Would you like to come for me, Jason?"

The relief that ripples through his body is almost enough to undo him. It's no small feat that Jason manages to pull himself together enough to nod and whisper, "Please, sir."

Apollo smiles, beatific. "This time, then, you may come. But, pet—"

Jason leans into his focus, entranced by the opportunity to please. Waiting with baited breath for Apollo's next instruction.

"I want you to get loud for me. Could you do that?"

"Yes, sir," is Jason's emphatic response. The hands cupping his tits knead, presenting them for Apollo to tease.

He does, drawing featherlight patterns over the sensitive flesh, flicking at the nubs to have Jason whimpering and moaning. It's too easy, to work the boy up to the edge he's been toeing their whole session, dancing on the precipice of his climax. Awaiting Apollo's permission to take that plunge.

Apollo shifts until his fingers are poised over the nearest clamp. Jason's skin is prickling with his eagerness, all of his focus narrowed to Apollo's steady touch.

"Don't forget to scream, pet," Apollo reminds him, and unclasps the clamp in one swift move.

Jason howls. All of him ricochets into the swell of sensation, his entire body vibrating with the purge. It pours through Apollo like a flood, licking at his veins with a heat that rivals a forest fire.

He's all at once sated and greedy, fingers flashing out to latch onto the boy's tit, pinching and twisting as he jerks through his orgasm, jaw open on an endless cry.

It's with inhuman restraint that Apollo pries his fingers away. Leaning back to put physical distance between himself and the boy kneeling at his feet. Apollo feels crazed, ignited by the power he wields over his fount.

He's never had a fount so willing; Jason took to his newfound role with such enthusiasm and passion that even Apollo finds it difficult to service at times. The boy is an endless font of radiant energy, enough to fuel Apollo a thousandfold.

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of Jason's efforts. The boy is a beauty, so eager to please and succeed. Some days Apollo is unsure if he's leading or being led by Jason's enthusiasm.

At his heels, Jason's chest heaves with a slowing pace. The remaining clamp glints in the torchlight, beckoning Apollo in closer, begging for his touch as much as Jason is.

He thumbs the metal, smiling at Jason's sharp intake of breath when he asks, "Ready for another so soon, starlight?"

2,836 / 50,000

Help me reach my goal!

#meaninglessblah answers #meaninglessblah conquers nanowrimo #daemoninwhiteround2

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ineedibuprofen · 1 year ago

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Percy Jackson + 137?

Percy doesn't even see it coming.

His instincts and reflexes are something he's always been able to rely on and that was only confirmed as the River Styx's curse protected him. Achilles' mark was unpredictable and dangerous there was no doubt, but Percy found it a whole lot easier to focus on the fight when he wasn't worrying about being killed. For the most part.

He finds himself on the other side of Manhattan, crossed paths with a demigod on the opposite side of the war – a child of Hermes, ironically enough, and Percy would be lying if his familiar sandy blonde hair didn't cause equal parts hesitance and resentment to stir up inside him. He doesn't know his name, doesn't recognize him from if he went to camp before, but that wasn't all that surprising. Most of the demigods on the other side Percy didn't recognize.

He's a good sword fighter. Percy knows he's good himself, taught by Luke, the best swordsmen in hundreds of years – he swallows down the hesitance and resentment that rises once again at the reminder – but this kid's been able to hold his own for a good while now. Kid, not just because it was Percy's default nickname to call other people, but also because he really was a kid. He looked maybe fifteen, if he was stretching it, but probably younger. Definitely younger than Percy.

It's a bitter reminder of where they are. In the center of Manhattan, Percy stresses about disarming this kid so he can run and get back to the main fight. Everything is stock still frozen, a time capsule city, and it still feels unreal. It was easy to get lost in the illusion that none of this was actually happening.

"Give it up," the kid grits out as Percy loses his footing.

He slips back a bit and the son of Hermes brings his sword back up. Percy does the same and they meet with a clang that echoes in the silent landscape. There's no one and nothing around, aside from a smashed car that's on fire. It's a few feet away, not close enough to be of help if Percy loses Riptide, but not far enough to be a completely useless asset. Percy uses his other hand as leverage as he places at the other end of his blade and pushes. His foot catches on a rock and it helps him gain traction.

"No," he says, and the kid falls back.

He lands on his backside, taking breath after breath. There's soot and smoke surrounding them and it tastes like fire, like Mt. St. Helens, like scars in his skin that reappeared after Calypso's magic wore off, like he was fourteen then and didn't know how to control his powers and now he's sixteen and destined to die and about to kill a kid a year younger than him. His eyes are brown and round and he's staring at him with the look of a wild animal.

Percy lifts Riptide and points at his throat, feeling the way it trembles in his hands. The blade meets the kid's skin and he closes his eyes, preparing for what he believes is the inevitable. He almost looks like Nico di Angelo. Like Ethan Nakamura. Like Luke Castellan. Like any other camper who was scared shitless and rightfully angry at the Gods. Like Percy.

He swallows down the regret of this whole situation. He swallows down the nausea in his gut. He swallows down his dwindling will to live and the none of this would've happened if you'd never been born. Take a look at the damage around you, Luke has taunted in his dream, how much of it would still be here if you didn't exist? How much of it would go away if you just died?

Percy's eyes unexpectedly sting. He tries to become apathetic, but – this isn't the first demigod he's killed, even if he tries to avoid it like nothing else. It was inevitable, or so he told himself. That was his excuse. But it felt weak now, in the middle of a war with no end in sight.

No end in sight, except for this demigod who was about to die. By Percy's hands.

One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths.

He can't do it.

His eyes squeeze shut and he pulls Riptide back towards himself. He caps it. He puts it back in his pocket. The kid's eyes open. There's a strange look on his face, a combination of terror and confusion and relief.

"Go." Percy says, voice tense. He takes a step back in a weak white flag and looks to the side, "I didn't see you. Just go."

He stares at him for another second in presumably shock before he splutters and nods. He mutters as he scrambles up, a series of okays and oh Gods and other relieved words Percy doesn't catch. When he's found his balance, he frowns at Percy.

"Why would you –,"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence.

Percy doesn't even see it coming.

There's a loud noise, a noise of a deep, familiar noise. It's exponentially loud, so, so loud, and Percy's ears are ringing before he hits the concrete. He's weightless as his body flies. After half a second and forty years, he slams his head against the pavement as he hits the road a few feet from where he's been standing. His ears are ringing and he doesn't know the logistics of the Achilles' heel, but his head is pounding like a motherfucker and when he touches his ear, his fingers come back bleeding.

What the fuck. What the fuck just happened? What – an explosion. The familiar noise. Charles Beckendorf's final salute. The Princess Andromeda. The Titan War. It was all the same, it was – where was he? There was an explosion. What caused it? Bomb. Bomb? No, that – where did bombs come from? What was happening – definitely bomb. But no. Fire. Car. The car. Oh, shit. No, no, no. The car had been on fire.

Damnit.

He lets out a groan and curls in on himself. He's not in pain, physically, but he's off put and his ears aren't recovered yet and –

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The kid.

There was a kid, wasn't there? A son of Hermes. Luke? No. Was it – or maybe Ethan? No, no. God – focus. Son of Hermes. Details unknown. He has to find him.

Percy, ignoring his brain's protests, manages to roll over and get to his feet. His ears are still ringing, but it's low and quieter, and he can hear the crackling of a fire nearby. He stumbles as he takes a step forward, mind not quite registering the damage.

The car is no longer there, replaced by bits of metal and rubber and other bad smelling shit that burns in the air. There's little fires scattered around them, and then a bigger one where the car originally was. The air is hot and the atmosphere is like he's in a bubble with no air. It hurts to breathe and he must've inhaled some smoke or something because everytime he breathes too much, he coughs. It's hard and forceful, rattles his lungs, and he hasn't coughed like this since he was ten and Gabe was chain-smoking in the living room while he had bronchitis.

He can hear shouting in the distance, war cries and battle calls, and as the ringing finally fades, Percy remembers he's in the middle of a war. There are people to help and monsters to fight and when did he get sperated from Annabeth? He doesn't know. He doesn't know and it doesn't matter and he needs to focus because there's a kid that needs him.

He scans the rest of the horizon, ignores the way his mind tells him he's abandoning his post. He's abandoning his post for someone on the enemy's side and what kind of leader was he, standing in the middle of wreckage looking for someone most likely saveless to save.

He sees him, across the street from the crime scene. He's on his side, his back facing Percy, his clothes smouldering. He's not moving, except for a very faint rise and fall of his chest. This time, Percy doesn't hesitate.

He runs to the other side of him, crashes into the ground so hard he can feel the skin on his knees break. He turns him over carefully, so his face is towards the sky. His skin is covered in soot and there's burn holes in his shirt and he's bleeding in more than one place.

"Hey, hey," Percy murmurs, "get up, kid. Are you okay – you're okay. You're okay. C'mon, kid."

He doesn't say anything. Percy, feeling his panic rise and take over his instincts, rips open the guy's shirt. He assesses the injuries and takes stock of the supplies he doesn't have. He has a gash on his forehead that's bleeding, red crimson running down the side of his face. His ankle is twisted the wrong direction. Minor cuts and burns cover the bigger half of his body.

Percy has nothing. No ambrosia, no nectar, no first aid. He searches the kid's pockets, desperate for a solution, but the only thing he finds is half a square of crushed ambrosia. He shoved it in the kid's mouth, who remains unresponsive. He moves his jaw and hits him in the throat so he chews and swallow it, and then he's left to his own devices.

The only helpful thing he has is own t-shirt and a piece of sturdy wood and arm's length away. He grabs it, rips the end of his shirt off and then rips it in half and creates a makeshift splint for the ankle. He takes the other half piece and wraps his head best he can, but it doesn't even go in a full circle and he doesn't have any tape to hold it in place.

Kronos has risen and he's forever away from any kind of medical equipment and this kid still hasn't fucking moved. His chest isn't moving. Percy flicks around for his wrist, holds his breathe as he checks for a pulse.

Nothing.

No. No, no. He just had him, Percy just had him. He just – he was alive. What the hell happened? The explosion wasn't that bad, he's not bleeding that bad anywhere.

Percy reels back on his heels and let's himself sit on the floor. He stares at the body of a son of Hermes he never knew the name of. He wonders if anyone knew his name.

People die. People have died. People are dying. People will die. Percy's been at the other end of the sword more than once. That doesn't change the guilt that grows into a parasite and eats his insides. That doesn't change the tears still burning in his eyes. It doesn't change the prophecy, the hero's sould cursed blade shall reap. It doesn't change Annabeth taking a knife for him.

It feels like a cruel, cosmic joke. Like his whole life, everything he's suffered through and sacrificed, all the shit others have suffered through and sacrificed, has been leading up to the fact that he and his friends and the only safe place for people like them was going to be destroyed.

There's nothing left, at the end of the world, except for Kronos and his goons.

If there was any justice in the world, Percy thinks – he leans over and closes the kid's eyes, crosses his arms over his chest, and makes sure he'll tell others to make him a shroud – Gods hope that they've put their trust in the right people.

If there's any justice in the world, this war will not end in chaos. This war will not cater to those who started it for their own benefit.

#prompt btw was “are you okay?”#hope u like!! ty for the prompt heart heart #f: pjo #my writing #pjo #pjo ao3 #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan #percy jackson #ethan nakamura #pjo oneshot #pjo canon #pjo drabble #pjo fanfiction #pjo fanfic #pjo fandom #pjo fic #pjo hoo toa #pjo kronos

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elvenbeard · 1 year ago

Text

Olives

Summary: V somehow survived a gig some deemed unsurviveable. Now all he needs to do is find his way back home - easy, right? (Post-Sun-Ending, Chapter 1/?, 4778 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V)

V pulled himself through the open hatch with all his might, groaning in pain, greeted by the blazing South California sun and a cloud of dust and sand stirred by the impact. He managed to only just find enough purchase on the hot, smooth metal to wriggle himself out of the escape pod and sat down at the rim of the hatch to catch his breath. His legs dangling into the capsule still, he once again made sure he had everything on him that he needed. An old-fashioned but hard to trace GPS tracking device in his pocket, the key to a car he still had to find, his sunglasses, his phone, his gun… Yes, that was it. Everything else would stay. His hand found the side of his chest, pressing down on his hurting ribs. Not everything had gone to plan. But things rarely did. In the grand scheme of things though… he’d pulled off the impossible. He laughed, almost desperately, closed his eyes and let his head fall back, feeling the suddenly so intense weight of his own body, gravity pulling him back down from the most insane high he’d felt in a long time.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled his legs up and swung around, slid down the side of the spacecraft, and landed more harshly than he would have liked on the rocky desert ground. He hissed, stumbling forwards, but managed to catch his balance only just. An annoying but familiar scratch made itself noticeable in his throat, maybe intensified by the sand surrounding him, and V pulled together all his willpower to suppress the urge to cough. He breathed slowly, deeply, and that alone hurt his ribs more than enough. He swallowed, even though his mouth was dry, then turned to walk around to the pod’s other side. He opened the cover of a small control panel and entered the code he had memorized to set up the self-destruct protocol. His fingers lingered on the “start” button for a moment longer as he once again went through all steps in his mind, making sure he’d thought of everything. He nodded to himself, then started the timer. Seven minutes. Enough to get himself into some distance from this thing, but hopefully not long enough for the SoCal military to find it. He was certain they were on high alert already. V put on his sunglasses, took out and turned on the GPS tracker, then started marching north.

The GPS signal showed that the car was a little over three miles away. Not too bad. Since he was not quite dressed in anything resembling hiking gear, he would still raise eyebrows if he ran into anyone, so he stayed away from the roads. The shuttle was already out of sight, had disappeared behind a hill, when the explosion tore through the silence of the desert. V was drenched in sweat, the sand he stirred up with each step sticking to his face and clothes, his head and eyes hurt, and his chest was sore. What he should have been thinking about was the next steps of the plan: how he’d get across the border, what to do if things went wrong, getting the data to Mr. B, getting rid of the car… but instead his thoughts revolved around how much he hated it that for safety reasons he couldn’t call Kerry yet. Tell him he was fine, all things considered. He hadn’t dared to promise it, but he’d come back in one piece. The thought to be finally able to tell him the whole story, explain why he’d been so distant lately, was the only thing that kept V going now.

In the distance, at first not recognizable as such in the heat haze, a gas station appeared. The GPS seemed to be leading him directly towards it. V was overcome with a sudden sense of dread. Again, for safety reasons (or so Mr. B had said) it had been better for him not to know where the getaway car would wait for him. V had expected it somewhere out there, maybe covered with a tarp, parked under an overhanging rock… not at a gas station, where not only the car would be hidden from view, but all kinds of undesirable people too. He slowed down just slightly, turned off the GPS tracker and slid it back into the pocket on his cargo pants. As he got closer, he saw that the windows of the shop were broken or boarded up, the road sign pointing to the station itself so scratched up by sand it was barely legible. There were no visible vehicles, but the walls of the building were, as he’d expected, covered in Raffen tags and symbols. The wind howled through the abandoned carcass, and V unholstered his Kenshin, just in case. He scanned the area for movement or other signs of life. There was a security camera above the entrance to the shop and another at the corner of the adjacent garage, but neither had power. The gas station seemed positively abandoned. Just in case he ducked as best as he managed to with his bruised ribs, peering around the backside of the building. If the Raffen Shiv used this as a hideout or meeting place, they weren’t here currently. Or ideally, Mr. B’s people on this side of the border had taken care of them before placing the car.

Still careful, but slightly more at ease, V made his way to the back entrance of the garage. The door was unlocked, the interior dark. His optics adjusted to the low light conditions quickly, but he still took off his sunglasses to look around. Dust and more dust covered the old tools and rusty machines this former repair shop still stored. At the heart of the room waited his ticket back home. A light blue Archer Quartz, old, but kept in good shape. V couldn’t help but chuckle. It looked a lot like his first car that he’d parted with not long after accepting the job at Arasaka. It wasn’t exactly the same, a newer model than his, but still. His heart sunk though when he remembered who had picked and placed the car here, who’d been playing mind games just like this with him for the past three months. V walked around the car, scanned it for any unwanted modifications, hard- or software that shouldn’t be there. Trackers, traps, anything… but it appeared clean. Before getting into the car, he carefully and slowly opened the garage gate, the area out front still quiet and abandoned. Only then he dared to unlock the driver’s side door and got behind the steering wheel. He didn’t need to adjust much, and he was thankful for a sixpack of water bottles waiting for him on the passenger seat. Without losing any more time he turned on the engine and set out.

The dusty desert highway had seen better days. The first road sign V came across was so covered in graffiti it was barely legible. He only just could make out “Night City – 29 miles”. At least he vaguely knew where he was now. Not long after the sign a couple of armored Militech SUVs breezed past him, heading south. He was sure to know where they were going and surprised it had taken them so long – but sometimes even V was granted some luck it seemed.

This little convoy remained the only other vehicles he encountered all the way up to the border station. His heartbeat sped up at the sight of Night City’s neon lights in the distance, gleaming bright even in the daytime. The line at the crossing was short, and V joined the queue like anyone else just passing through would, winding the window down as it was his turn.

“Good day,” the border patrol officer said, “Got anything to declare?”

“No, sir,” V said as friendly as he managed.

“What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Comin’ home, visited family in L.A.,” he lied through his smile.

The soldier looked over his car briefly, but V knew this was routine. He had nothing to worry about yet.

“How long were you gone?”

“Two weeks,” V said, having memorized all important dates of his fake family trip to a T.

The officer looked something up on the data pad he was holding, taking a little too long for V’s taste, but he was good at not showing his growing nervousness. That was probably the most valuable skill his time with Counterintel had taught him. After a solid minute the soldier finally looked up from his datapad, turned it around and held it out to V.

“Please scan your SID-chip, sir, then we can proceed,” he said. V did as he was told, placing his thumb on the screen until a blip and green popup said the scan had completed.

“Thank you… Mr. McFarley?” the soldier said as he looked at the datapad, “Like the senator?”

“You wouldn’t believe how often I hear that,” V played his part, “Not related by blood or marriage.”

“I see…”

He tapped around on his screen a bit more, looking over the edge of the pad at V occasionally, who always just smiled and nodded back at him.

“Are you alright, sir?” the soldier then suddenly asked, taking V off guard.

“I am, yes?” he said after a moment of hesitation, his throbbing ribs and head saying otherwise.

“Just making sure. No offense, but you look a bit pale,” the soldier said.

“Just tired from the long drive,” V said, adjusting his sunglasses. Then, finally, the soldier stepped to the side.

“Everything in order,” he announced, lowering his datapad, “Welcome home.”

“Thanks, have a good day,” V nodded and sighed in relief as he left the shadow of the checkpoint, no obstacles between him and Night City anymore now.

He breezed past the Biotechnica protein farms on the left, the solar power station on the right. So many memories flooded his mind it made him dizzy briefly. It felt like all this had happened in a different lifetime – and well, in a way it had.

V pulled his phone out of his pocket, keeping his eyes on the road as best as he could as he finally turned it back on. Immediately he was flooded with missed calls and messages. It took less than ten seconds before he received a new incoming call, caller ID obscured, voice garbled as he picked up almost automatically.

“If someone could’ve done this, it was you,” Mr. B said, V recognizing his voice even through the distortion by now.

V had all manners of replies ready at the tip of his tongue as he finally crossed over the city limits and entered Santo Domingo. How one of their first conversations had been about V being a disappointment to him for example. He swallowed down his anger and took a right turn, first heading to the drop-off point for the car.

“I guess you don’t want me to send you the data right now, right?” he then asked.

“Yes, too insecure,” Mr. B said, “When can we meet in person?”

V wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

“What about right after I dropped the car off?” he suggested, suppressing a cough, “I can be at The Afterlife in 30 minutes.”

“No, not there,” was the reply, and V’s palms grew sweaty, “Too many curious eyes. And I don��t want to crash the ‘welcome back’ party they’ll surely throw you?”

V scoffed. As if.

“Alright, have it your way then,” V said, adding ‘as always’ in his head, “Where and when?”

He pulled into the parking lot of an old auto repair shop, parked his car in a row of others that waited for “repairs”, and turned the engine off. He put the key behind the sun visor, grabbed his stuff and the two last remaining water bottles, then exited the car.

“Your penthouse, in an hour?” Mr. B then suggested.

“Absolutely not,” V snapped, not hiding his anger this time, “You can keep doin’ that kinda shit with the Peralezes and the likes, but I swear - …”

“I was joking,” Mr. B said calmly, “Besides… what would you do to stop us?”

V slammed the door of the car shut and started walking, leaving the premises of the repair shop without looking back.

“Where. And when,” V repeated.

A brief pause of crackling static on the other end of the line.

“The North Oak Columbarium, in 30 minutes?”

V sighed. He would rather not. But it was not like he had a choice.

“Meet you there,” he said before hanging up.

His own car was parked in an alley a few blocks away. As he marched on, he pulled up his contacts. He checked the time, 5.32 p.m. – could be that he was busy, at the studio or another appointment, a few had been lined up this week… but V decided to try and give Kerry a call anyway. It rang a couple of times, and his heart skipped a beat at the sound of Kerry’s voice, but it was just the mailbox after all.

“Hey, seems like ya missed me. Leave a message, I’ll call ya back later.”

“Hey, um…” V started out slowly, “Just wanted to let you know, I’m back. Got a few more errands to run, but I’ll be home in an hour or two, so…”

He scratched his head, grasping for words that could get across what he was trying to say, without making it sound too dramatic or causing Kerry to worry.

“There’s a bunch of stuff I gotta tell you that… I couldn’t really talk about ‘til now. Not ‘over-the-holo’ stuff so, I’ll see ya later. I hope you’re havin’ a good day!”

With that he hung up, half-regretting it immediately. I hope you’re havin’ a good day… how fucking lame. He had wanted to say how much he’d missed him, that he thought of him constantly, that he couldn’t wait to see him, hold him again, just how much he loved him. But the words just wouldn’t come out, and he didn’t know why.

“Fuckin’ hell…” V cursed under his breath, and this time he couldn’t prevent another onset of coughing from shaking his body. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, for a moment he thought he would collapse right then and there on the sidewalk. There were certainly more pathetic ways people had died in Night City, but maybe he would make the top ten on the list.

“Breathe, breathe…” he repeated over and over in his head, maybe he even said it out loud. Sometimes he couldn’t quite tell the difference anymore. Living with Johnny in his head for over two months had left its mark in many ways. He’d been without his annoyingly charming remarks and unwanted but entertaining commentary for longer again now than he’d ever been with him. Yet it still felt like he’d left something behind that would remain a part of V for the rest of his life… however much of it was left. One thing was clear though, and Johnny would agree: he hadn’t come this far to go down without putting up one hell of a fight, at the very least.

He caught his breath again, bracing himself against a dirty brick wall, his other hand at his side, holding his ribs. He slowly stood up straight, took another few deep breaths, then continued his walk, a little slower than before but just as determined.

His V-Tech still parked where he had left it two days ago, as instructed. The driver’s side door swung open as V approached, and he got in carefully, putting what he had been carrying on the passenger seat.

“Let’s get this over with…” he said to himself as the engine sprung on and he turned to drive to North Oak.

On the way to the Columbarium V went through his mailbox, listening to all the voice and holo messages in chronological order. Incredible how much could accumulate over the course of less than 48 hours. He made a mental note of who to call back and when, who he needed to pay a visit sooner or later, too. Admittedly, he was surprised at how random some of the messages were, people checking in to make sure he was okay… as if they’d sensed what he had set out to do.

Then he got to Kerry’s missed calls, and his chest grew tight… they hadn’t been that long ago, from this morning, left probably before he headed out to the studio. V’s heart broke at how sad he looked, even if just briefly. He’d always been good at glossing over it. Sad about how little time they spent with each other, just the two of them… somewhere between the lines V could even read blame for being forgetful about things he’d promised to do and didn’t stick to. That one hurt the most.

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” Kerry said, but it was hard not to… even more so because he was right. V had been so swept up in preparations for this gig for the last weeks, and even before… The last time it had been just the two of them doing something together, nothing else coming up all day, had been almost a month ago, V realized.

The Columbarium came into sight, but almost automatically V’s eyes wandered to Kerry’s villa visible on the rolling hills beyond. He most likely wasn’t there, but briefly V was tempted to stand Mr. B up and drive home right away instead. It wouldn’t make any sense, obviously, and achieve nothing. So, he pulled over, eyes on his goal, and got out of the car.

He was early, but Mr. B usually was, too. Yet, when he took a quick look around the tall rows of niches, enjoying the cool shade and quiet, trying his best to be respectful about the people here to mourn their loved ones, he could not see him yet. V stopped at the center of the premises, turning back to the entrance, assuming he’d get a call directing him where to go and what to do, as usual. As long as that hadn’t happened yet though, he decided to pay an old friend a visit.

“Hey, Jackie,” he said quietly as he stopped in front of his niche. He hesitated, feeling silly to be talking to a pile of ashes that could neither hear him nor reply. But maybe that wasn’t the point.

“I know I don’t come by often. I’m tryin’ though. Maybe that counts for somethin’ in the grand scheme of things,” V said, then paused.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

He really didn’t. He took a deep breath, through his teeth, one hand at his side again.

“I still often think about our conversation back then. Before our big heist,” he said, “How you wished to die a legend, and how I kinda hoped it wouldn’t ever come to that, at least not yet… but I guess you got your wish granted, even if too soon. I didn’t know then if that’s what I would have wanted for myself, and honestly… I still don’t know if it’s what I want right now. Not for lack of trying.”

He paused for a moment upon this realization. Sometimes his situation felt so hopeless, so grim, only looking death in the eye still made him feel alive. Talking, walking, corpse he was… At least one thing was certain. After today, there was no way he’d end up being forgotten.

“You’re long gone, and I’m still standing, somehow, despite it all,” V continued, “I hope you’d be proud of how far I’ve come, ‘cause I sure as hell know you would have fought just as hard to make it here, had you been in my place. You’d probably be waiting at The Afterlife right now, disappointed as I walk in ‘cause even this crazy-ass gig didn’t kill me like it should’ve…”

V sighed and lowered his head.

“Maybe… I’m not done yet.”

His holo rang, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“See ya, Jackie,” he said, brushing along the edge of the niche before answering the call.

“Front third, turn left, the middle section,” the voice on the other side ordered before ending the call abruptly. V walked to the instructed area, recognizing it as the row where he once saw one of those glitching graffities. He no longer did. And he no longer believed Mr. B chose this spot at random, either. He awaited V there already, dressed in an all-black suit, fitting for the location. V was still covered in dust from head to toe, wore his combat boots, worn-out cargo pants, and a tactical vest over a tactical shirt. The hierarchy here, and who was the one to do the dirty work, was never clearer than in this moment.

“On time, as always. Perfect,” Mr. B said, intensely glowing blue eyes looking him up and down, “You look not nearly as roughed-up as I’d expected either.”

“Things rarely go 100% according to plan,” V said calmly, and Mr. B smiled coldly, fake almost.

“What matters is, the job is done, without raising alarms, and everything extracted you wanted,” he added.

Exhausted, physically and mentally, V didn’t want to engage in more small talk than was absolutely necessary. Small talk with Mr. B usually felt either like an interrogation, manipulation, or a mix of both.

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. B said, “Send me the data.”

“First,” V said sternly, “you tell me what happens next. ‘Cause you’ve been pretty damn elusive about just how exactly you’re gonna help me if I do this for you.”

Mr. B’s smile turned just slightly colder, sending a shiver down V’s spine.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

“Trust gets you stabbed in the back quicker than you can say ‘Ceasar’,” V replied.

Mr. B chuckled.

“Fine,” he said, “Would an address suffice for now?”

“Of what?” V asked.

His question was answered by a notification blip and a map with coordinates showing up on his interface. An inconspicuous looking building appeared, not too far from here actually, in the south of Charter Hill by the looks of it.

“One of our many bases of operation,” Mr. B explained, “A small, brand-new lab we own, completely legal, up to the newest standards, not linked to any major corporations. You will find no better place to treat injuries of the brain, and we specialize in restoring damaged or even destroyed nervous systems.”

“How convenient…” V said slowly, the map minimizing and disappearing out of his vision again.

“We care for the people we invest in,” Mr. B said, “And if the data you have for us turns out to have been a good investment, we even more so have an interest to keep you around as long as possible.”

Or as long as I’m still profitable, V thought, but stayed silent.

“I am a man of my word, V,” Mr. B said after a short pause, “Are you one of yours?”

He wasn’t so sure of that himself anymore. But at least it used to be what V prided himself with, that he finished what he started, and that he kept his promises.

“Of course,” he said, feeling like he stepped right into the trap laid out for him, but tried not to let it show. He opened a secure communications channel to send the Crystal Palace client data to Mr. B.

“Much appreciated,” was the sly answer as the transfer was completed, “We will analyze the data and contact you in a few days about the next steps. Time, we tackle your little problem properly.”

“I’ll wait for your call,” V said briefly and with that Mr. B nodded, turned around, and disappeared around the corner. V lingered a moment longer, not even wanting to think about what they’d do with some of the world’s elite’s data, only glad that Kerry hadn’t been up there just yet. He still didn’t know if he wanted to tell him this part of the story, because he was so excited about the chance to play at the Crystal Palace one day, and V didn’t want to taint the idea to him.

He slowly walked back to the Columbarium’s entrance area, then got into his car. Despite craving nothing more right now than a long shower, V decided not to head back to Little China right away. Even if Kerry had already taken care of it, V was gonna go and get him his nasty olives. He’d shower him in them for the rest of his life if it meant it wasn’t too late yet to fix what he’d broken about their relationship recently. He turned the car around and drove back to Santo Domingo, stopping by Caliente’s to grab two cups of coffee to go. Then he headed to a nearby convenience store, picking up the biggest jar of olives they had on shelf, as well as some popcorn and a bottle of Bolshevik vodka.

Then finally it was time to drive home, the sun already setting. V sipped his coffee, hoping it would help soothe his still burning headache at least somewhat, but nothing seemed to help at this stage apart from trying to sleep it off. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been with Johnny at times, but it still felt like the attacks were getting more frequent and worse the more time went on. It would have been the smarter choice probably to pull over and call Del for the rest of the trip, but V was all the way through Heywood already. Waiting for the cab to get here would take forever in the rush hour traffic. To distract himself from the pain he decided to try and give Kerry another call.

“Hey, seems like ya missed me. Leave a message, I’ll call ya back later.”

“Hey back at ya. Again,” V said, feeling a little more at ease now than during the last call, “Just wanted to say, I’m almost home now, just driving through Corpo Plaza. I’ve… been thinkin’ about you a lot, about us. I finally had a moment to listen to your messages from earlier today, too...”

He paused briefly, the endless ocean of neon lights breezing by not helping with his headache.

“I love you, Kerry, I hope you know that. ‘Cause I know I’ve been bad at showing it lately. So, I guess… I’ll see you soon!”

He hung up, then tried to call Rogue, but she was also busy, and he only reached her mailbox.

“Hey, I’m back. Guess you’ll have to deal with me a little while longer,” he said, “But I’ll give you a little break at least, take a bit of a breather. Depending on how things with the client progress, I might not be at my best for a while anyway. But we’ll see. Given how well things are running at the moment you probably won’t even notice I’m not there for a week or two. Just so you know… in case I don’t show up as regularly for a while.”

Not that Rogue would worry much if he went MIA for a couple of days, but he’d still rather tell her. Just as he hung up this call, he noticed a missed call from Kerry. Perfect timing.

V stopped his car at the last red stoplight before he would have reached the parking garage, pondering for a moment whether to call him back right away or to do it as soon as he was home. Maybe Kerry was there already anyway.

The decision was abruptly made for him as somewhere around the corner tires screeched, shots were fired, and police sirens began to blare. A blazing red sportscar covered in Tyger Claws imagery shot out of a side street, one ganger hanging out of the passenger side window firing a machine gun at the NCPD squad car giving chase. They were going way too fast to do anything about the sudden obstacle in the shape of V’s car appearing in front of them, still parked at the stoplight.

There were many pathetic ways to die in Night City. Being the victim of a car crash you didn’t even cause was surely among the top three on the list, especially right after pulling off the craziest heist a single merc had ever successfully completed. That was the last thought that went through V’s head as he braced himself for the impact.

(sorry for ending on such a cliffhanger... it's my specialty :D this is not a final version just yet probably, but I really wanted to share the angst... will put it up on ao3 when I'm 100% happy, maybe with some art or VP to go along with it)

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#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fanfiction #cp2077 fanfic #cp2077 #cyberpunk v #male v cyberpunk #kerry eurodyne x v #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne #mr. blue eyes #vincent ezaki #otp: to bad decisions #my writing #sorry this got loooong #I've been writing all day and chapter 2 is almost done-ish too xD #love is stored in the olive jar

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