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loslentesdepedrito · 10 months

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I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Bottom left gif by: @binary--sun , bottom right gif by: @interstellarflare

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter One

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Three

Word count: 5.1k+

Chapter summary: Nine years later, unexpectedly, Jack hears from you.

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles.

Warnings: Angst, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, mentions of cheating, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone for the overwhelming support on Chapter One! I didn't have much time to work on the graphic for this chapter, so it took me a while to upload it. I have ADHD, and it's currently unmedicated, so that's also a factor. I find that I work best when the house is quiet, but with children around, getting them to sleep can be quite hard, haha! Again, I wrote this years ago, so I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post. So, thank you for your understanding, and I hope you enjoy the story!

As Jack's footsteps carry him back to his apartment from the Kingsmen agency, his mind is consumed by the weight of his day's work. An hour before he intended to go home, he found himself inexplicably overwhelmed by a sudden urge to rush to his apartment. It wasn't a foreboding feeling, but rather a strong sense that something good was on awaiting him. If anyone happened to catch a glimpse of Jack's somewhat clumsy dash out of his office, barely avoiding a slip on the freshly mopped floor- no one commented.

Now, in the lobby, with each step closer to his sanctuary, a glimmer of anticipation flickers within him, a faint hope that there might be a respite from the pain that has plagued his heart for years.

Reaching his mailbox, he pauses, his hand steady as he retrieves the day's mail. Among the advertisements, his eyes catch sight of a familiar return address adorned with the emblem of the firm that handled the painful dissolution of his marriage. The sight sends a jolt through his veins, instantly sharpening his senses. He feels a surge of joy and curiosity that threatens to overpower his cool demeanor. This, this is what I’ve been waiting for, he thinks.

With the letter clutched tightly in his hand, Jack climbs the staircase, his heavy and rushed footsteps echoing through the empty building stairway. As he reaches the sixth floor, he pauses for a moment, catching his breath and steadying his racing heart. Fuckin’ hell, I’m really starting to get old.

His apartment building's signature aroma, a mix of aged wood and Reed Diffusers, drifts through the air and the illuminated corridor, offering a soothing moment. With renewed determination, he strides towards his apartment, the key ready in his trembling hand, eager to discover the message held within the white envelope.

Taking the letter inside, he fumbles to close the door behind him, his focus solely on the contents of the envelope. It feels like an eternity as he tears it open, the sound of the paper ripping echoing through the room. Throwing away the torn envelope, his hat, his phone, and his keys on the coffee with disregard, his gaze locks onto the words that lay before him, ink etched upon the pristine white surface.

With each sentence, the gravity of the situation becomes clearer, the weight of the words pressing against his chest. His heart beats faster, his breath growing shallow. The letter, written in a professional tone, contains the invitation he had never anticipated but always hoped for. She wants to meet me. The delicacy and urgency of the matter are subtly emphasized, practically begging Jack to meet you.

Jack's eyes scan the lines, his mind working swiftly to decipher the unspoken pleas hidden within the formal language. He can almost hear your voice, strained and vulnerable, begging for a chance to talk.

The letter extends an offer of legal representation, a reminder that the cold machinery of the law can mediate their meeting. But Jack's resolve is unwavering. He wants this to be personal, as personal as it can get. I can finally clear everything up with her. Tell her what I never said. The opportunity to talk face to face with you without the barrier of attorneys fills him with a mixture of hope and anxiety, like a tightly wound spring ready to unfurl.

A surge of emotions floods his being, the years of longing and unanswered questions vying for attention. He clings to the flickering flame of possibility, for within this letter lies the chance to reclaim what was lost, to confront the lingering ghosts of his past, and maybe, just maybe, you could love him once more. Throughout the past nine years, when Jack basically pushed you out of his life, he lived in constant regret. He promised himself if he ever got a second chance with you, he would take it and do everything in his power to ensure you never felt the same pain as you did during your marriage.

Jack can't help but feel a glimmer of optimism as he sets the letter down. The future is uncertain, but the mere fact that you have chosen to reach out stirs hope deep within him. It's a fragile hope, like a flickering flame in the darkness, but it burns nonetheless.

As the weight of the letter lingers in Jack's hands, his gaze drifts toward his phone. Resting on the table beside the torn envelope lay a familiar device—Jack's unchanged phone, a device that held precious moments. He had never upgraded it because it carried countless memories. It was the very phone into which you had entered your number when you first met. It was the same phone that had kept him up on calls until the sun peeked over the horizon, the same phone that had exchanged texts with you at all hours of the day. It was the very phone where you introduced him to the world of sexting, etching those intimate moments into his memory. Jack found himself continually revisiting these cherished memories, and he never changed his phone number. Perhaps, in the recesses of his hopeful heart, he believed you might someday reach out. Even though the years following the divorce had passed without your contact, he couldn't bring himself to give up hope.

He reaches out for his phone and picks it up, his fingers gliding over the familiar touchscreen. With a deep breath, he dials the number to the firm, his heart pounding in sync with each number pressed.

The sound of the dial tone echoes in his ear, and before the receptionist has a chance to utter a greeting, Jack's voice resonates with urgency, cutting through the silence, "Good evenin’. This is Jack Daniels. I'm callin' for Mr. Raul Santos."

The receptionist, taken aback by his directness, responds with a polite tone, "Good evening, sir. Please hold while I transfer you." The hold music fills the air, a symphony of anticipation mingled with the echo of distant voices. Jack's mind races; moments feel like hours while he rehearses over and over what he will say.

Finally, the ringing ceases and is replaced by a voice on the other end. It's Raul, the person who holds the power to give Jack his biggest wish. Jack wastes no time, the words escaping his lips before doubt can creep in, "Raul, it's Jack. When can I meet with her?" His voice carries a blend of longing and urgency.

"Jack, can you meet tomorrow at St. Andrew's Hospital at 10 AM?" The words hang in the air, filled with anticipation, as Jack's breath catches in his throat.

Why the hospital? Jack's mind questions. Summoning his resolve, Jack finds his voice and responds, "I'll be there."

"Perfect," Raul replies, his voice a lifeline in the abyss of uncertainty. "We'll be waiting for you on the tenth floor of the East Tower. When you sign in on the first floor, tell them you're meeting Dr. Navarro." Jack nods to himself, memorizing all the instructions as if his life depends on it.

Jack's emotions simmer beneath the surface as the call comes to an end, a torrent of hope, nervousness, and a glint of renewed longing. The image of St. Andrew's Hospital burns in his mind, a symbol of new beginnings and the coming together of their separate lives.

With apprehension and excitement, Jack sets the phone down, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Tomorrow assures a reunion, a chance for Jack to apologize for all of the suffering he has caused you. It is a moment he has dreamed of, yearned for, an opportunity to correct all his errors.

As he gazes into the distance, the fading daylight casting long shadows across his tired face, Jack finds solace in the glimmer of hope that glows in his heart. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, but at this moment, he dares to believe that the fragments of their broken bond may find a way to heal.

Despite his initial doubts, sleep had managed to find its way to Jack, offering him a few hours of rest. When he wakes, a surge of excitement courses through his veins, fueled by the knowledge that he will soon be reunited with you. The morning light filters through the window, casting gentle rays of warmth upon his face; as he rises with a renewed sense of purpose.

Determined to make a good impression, Jack steps into the shower, the hot water cascading over his body, washing away the traces of sleep and leaving him feeling refreshed. He carefully removes the stubble with each stroke of the razor against his skin, his fingertips tracing the sharp contours of his tanned face, ensuring a clean and polished look. The mustache, once untamed, is now meticulously trimmed, framing his pink lips.

Moving to his closet, Jack sifts through his collection of clothes; a rain of fabric and colors fall on his full-sized bed. He changes in and out of various combinations, looking for the perfect outfit. His fingers glide over the texture of his dress shirts, searching for the best one. Jack eventually settles on a deep blue dress shirt, a charcoal gray blazer, tailored pants that hug his frame just right, and a tie with subtle patterns.

Next, Jack turns his attention to his footwear, opting for a pair of polished black leather shoes. Would you examine his shoes with a magnifying glass? No, but that doesn't stop Jack from meticulously brushing off any lingering specks of dust, ensuring they shine in the morning light. As a finishing touch, he retrieves a felt Stetson hat, a prized possession that holds sentimental value because you gifted him with it. He tenderly cleans it, erasing any signs of wear, and proudly sets it atop his head.

Ready to see you- Jack leaves his apartment, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The crisp, chilly morning air greets him as he exits the lobby. I remember I met my sugar on a day like this, Jack thinks. He pretty much runs towards his car and turns the key making the engine roar to life. With each mile that passes throughout his two-hour drive, his mind remains focused on the meeting ahead.

When Jack arrives at the hospital, he hands his keys to the valet while scanning the surroundings for the reception area. He spots a man in a gray uniform and approaches him, his voice full of eagerness, "Good mornin’,” Jack begins, "I have a meeting with Dr. Navarro at 10 AM."

"May I see your ID, please?" The man asks politely, extending his hand.

Jack hesitates for a moment and reluctantly hands over his ID, watching as the man's eyes scan the name. There's a brief pause, and then the man looks up at Jack, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Jack Daniels." The man says with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the name on the identification.

Jack, sensing the unspoken question, clenches his teeth and responds with a touch of irritability, "Yes, it's real." The man understands the tone and directs Jack toward the appropriate elevator.

Jack complied eagerly and made his way toward the elevator. With anticipation, he reached out and pressed the button, making it glow orange. A ding echoed behind him in a matter of seconds. He hurriedly stepped inside the elevator and quickly jabbed at the close button, unwilling to wait for another passenger. Jack kept repeating a mantra of hurry, hurry, hurry in his mind. Without wasting a second, he confidently pressed the number 10.

Jack grows impatient inside the elevator, his fingers tapping restlessly against his hips as he paces back and forth. The rising numbers on the display screen get his attention, frows burring with each digit slowly increasing- reminding him of precious time slipping away. "This has to be the slowest fukin' elevator in the world." He growls in the empty elevator. Frustration lingers in Jack's thoughts; You should've taken the stairs instead of the goddamn elevator, his inner voice cursing the choice that delays the meeting with you. And when the tenth floor finally arrives, Jack leaps into action, his boots hitting the clean baby blue floor with a resounding thud.

Startling the receptionist, Jack raises a hand in apology and walks toward the front desk. He provides his name and appointment details, receiving a buzz of approval before being directed to his destination. Jack rushes forward, his heart pounding. Unbeknownst to him, the receptionist shakes their head, silently cautioning him to be careful, a concern in the receptionist's head so he won't stumble and falls on his ass because of his hurried run.

The instructions echo in his mind, and he checks them off as he goes; walk to the automatic white doors, check, press the buzzard, check, walk to the end of the corridor, check, make a left, check, take one last left, chec-

And there you are, seated on a gray leather bench outside the meeting room, your eyes locked onto the black screen of your phone as if you’re waiting for it to light up, lost in a world of your own. Jack's breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, and his eyes well up with tears. Time seems to stand still as he stares at you, overwhelmed by the flood of memories and emotions that surge within him. Despite the passage of years, you still possess the power to make his heart flutter, your presence stirring a mixture of awe and love. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thinks.

However, Jack's expression falters as he realizes the missed opportunities, the unspoken words, the love not fully cherished. Regret taints his thoughts as he reflects on the path that brought the both of you to this moment. He wants to make amends for the pain he caused you, but Jack knows that this meeting has a different purpose; he doesn't know why the exact reason, but after everything he put you through, there must be a reason you need him. He's not going to let you down, not again.

Summoning his courage, Jack calls out your name. Your head immediately turns towards the voice, one that hasn't graced your ears in years, and for a quick moment, he sees a flicker of reluctance in your eyes. Seeing Jack again, admittingly, stirs up an overwhelming desire to hide from him. All you can see are the haunting memories. A flood of painful flashbacks that would bring you to tears in privacy. The temptation to approach him surges within you, but it's not for a hug or a kiss, no. Instead, you imagine the crimson mark your hand could leave on his cheek. But you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of the reason you reached out to him after all these years.

"I didn't think you were going to show." You finally say, your voice tinged with relief and guarded vulnerability. Rising from the bench, you stand before him, your hands tucked inside the comforting embrace of your black hoodie's pouch.

Jack's heart aches at the sight of you, knowing that the pain he inflicted has left an unforgettable mark on you. Though he craves to erase the memories of hurt, he understands that redemption lies in actions, not words alone. Taking a deep breath, he suppresses his own desire to close the distance, touch you, and maybe taste your lips again. He mentally shakes his head, focusing instead on the reason for your reunion.

"Hi, Sug-" He stumbles for a moment, realizing he no longer has the right to call you by the affectionate nickname. "I mean, hello. I'm here."

"I'm glad you came."

Jack nods, his throat tight with emotions he struggles to put into words. "I knew I had to be here," he says, "I couldn't let this opportunity slip away."

"There are things we need to address, wounds that need healing. I want to make things right, to find a way to move forward together."

You want to interrupt, to rip the bandaid off, but Raul's advice rings in your ears, urging you to let the meeting room be the place to lay everything on the table. So you hold back and let Jack do the talking.

Jack takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking. His heart pounds in his chest as he gets closer. "I know I've caused you so much pain," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm here today because... because I want to make things right. I wanna understand, I wanna listen, and try to heal the wounds I've caused. I wanna be there for you, to support you, to love you, and do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. And if you'll let me, I wanna be a part of-"

Just as Jack was about to request something that has always been on his mind, a door opening from behind you interrupts him. Raul with one foot inside the meeting room and the other in the corridor, calls out for both your names.

"We're ready for you," Raul announces a sense of urgency in his voice. He holds the door open, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

You exchange a quick glance with Jack, seeking reassurance, a silent confirmation that he'll follow through and both of you follow Raul into the conference room. The door shuts softly behind you, filling the room with the only sound. Your gaze sweeps the room, and you take in the white conference room with its black and white marble table in the middle and the soft glow of natural light.

Feeling a wave of emotions crashing over you, you instinctively shut your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. This is a lot harder than I expected... the thought lingers in your mind. Dr. Navarro's words echo in your memory, urging you to relax through the simple act of breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, you repeat silently, allowing the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation to steady your racing heart.

Choosing your chair carefully, you opt to sit with your back facing the window. It provides a sense of security and shields you from external distractions allowing you to solely focus on Jack. Your hand reaches out and lands upon one of the gray roll-on chairs, its smooth leather headrest cool against your fingertips.

On the opposite side of the table, Jack is reluctantly guided by Raul to his designated seat. Oh, I can sit wherever I damn well please, he scoffs silently, but I suppose I can play by the rules for now. Just think about all the appointments with Dr. Reynolds and what-if scenarios. Don't mess this up. He takes a seat, begrudgingly accepting the arrangement, while his back deliberately faces the door. The positioning serves as a physical reminder of the boundaries and emotional distance that have grown between the two of you throughout the years.

Raul takes a seat at the head of the table. Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence. "Thank you both for coming today. As you may already know, the purpose of this meeting is of utmost importance. Mr. Daniels, the reason my client-"

Jack interrupts, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and vulnerability. "Stop. I don't want this to be an official meeting. I just... I want," he glances at you, his eyes searching for understanding, "I just want you to do the talking, please." He knows he has no right to make demands, but he wants to talk with you directly, to bridge the gap between you, if even it's just for a moment.

Raul looks at you briefly, to see how you're doing. "My role is simply to facilitate the conversation," Raul responds, his voice assuring and tinged with a hint of anger. Maldito inútil malparido (Fuking useless bastard). This asshole hurt her so much. How dare he make demands? Raul is well aware of the pain Jack caused you. He was one of the first people you confided in about the divorce, and he naturally helped you with the process. Raul cashed in many favors to expedite the process which would usually take time. In fact, he stayed up all night to ensure that he could serve Jack the papers the morning after you left him.

Truth be told, Raul initially liked Jack when you first introduced him to your friends. However, as time went on and you grew more serious, Jack's repeated slips of the tongue and thoughtless actions made Raul's opinion of him sour. The final straw for Raul was when Jack couldn't even give you the wedding you deserved. Raul knew how much you loved Jack, so even though he could see through your forced smile when discussing the wedding details, he congratulated you both and sent a gift.

You meet Raul's gaze, conveying your appreciation for his support. "Raul, está bien. (Raul, it's okay.)" You say softly, recognizing his concern and knowing that you need to have this conversation directly with Jack.

With a nod, Raul settles back in his chair, allowing the focus to shift solely to the two of you. The room is filled with a charged silence. As you prepare to speak, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and decide how you want to phrase everything.

"My baby... my baby has Fanconi Anemia and needs a blood donor." You explain, your voice trembling with desperation. "No one in the family has been a close match. Even among friends, no one is a match. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that almost everyone I know has been tested, but a donor hasn't been found."

You pause, the weight of the situation making your heart hurt. "Just a month ago, we were hopeful. A match was finally found through the National Marrow Donor Program. We finally felt like we could breathe, but then she was involved in a severe car accident. She was T-boned by a drunk driver, and her car fell into a ditch, causing a traumatic brain injury. Thank God she's going to be okay, but unfortunately, her condition disqualifies her from being a donor."

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Now, we're back to square one, searching for a compatible donor, but it's going to take a long time again. Jack, I know you didn't love me or care about me, and I understand that you didn't want me to have the baby. But please, I'm begging you to get tested to see if you're a match. If you are, please consider donating."

A rush of emotions floods through you, a mixture of fear, vulnerability, and a glimmer of fragile hope. You gaze into Jack's eyes, desperately searching for a spark of compassion, a willingness to help. "I understand you still resent me for everything. If you do this, I promise it will be the last time I'll contact you. I won't ask for anything more. Please, Jack."

Jack takes a moment to absorb your words, his eyes flickering with a complex mix of emotions. "What's their name?" He asks, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of longing.

"His name is Ángel." You reply softly, feeling a bittersweet ache in your heart.

Jack's eyes widen, and a myriad of emotions passes over his face. "Ángel." He repeats and although he can't quite replicate your pronunciation thanks to his accent, it's still beautiful to him. "I have a son." He whispers, his voice barely audible.

A flood of thoughts and emotions washes over Jack, overwhelming him. He shuts his eyes momentarily, attempting to process everything. This newfound knowledge stirs something deep within him, a sense of responsibility and a longing to be a father. I lost a son before he was born, I missed out on Ángel’s life when I said I didn’t want him, but I won’t lose him again.

With determination in his voice, Jack looks at you. "I'll donate. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Ángel.”

He’s going to do it, you let out a sigh of relief. The alleviation that surges through you, washes away some of the anxieties that had been weighing you down. You're grateful that Jack is willing to take this step, to offer his help for the sake of your son. However, before you can express your gratitude, Jack's questions pour out in a rush.

“But... what is Fanconi Anemia? How bad is it? Is the procedure going to hurt him? Does he need surgery? What if I’m not a matc-" his voice trails off, uncertainty and concern etched on his face.

Realizing his anxieties, you reach out and gently interrupt him, calling his attention. "Jack," you say softly, trying to soothe his worries. "Breathe."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to explain Ángel's condition. His doctor was supposed to join us, but I can explain for now."

You take a deep breath, grateful that Jack is willing to help. "Fanconi Anemia is a rare condition where the bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells." You explain, your voice filled with sadness. "Ángel was diagnosed fairly recently because he didn’t have any physical abnormalities. But then, he started experiencing frequent nosebleeds, which was weird to us. We took him to his Pediatrician, who ordered blood tests. The results showed abnormally low blood counts, and that's when we knew something was wrong."

A twinge of admiration and pride fills your words as you continue. "He underwent a bone marrow needle biopsy to confirm the diagnosis. It wasn't an easy procedure, even though they numbed the area. I could see the discomfort in his eyes, but he never complained. In fact, he saw that my eyes were red and swollen, and he reassured me that he didn't even feel it. I knew it was a lie, but he just wanted to protect me."

Your voice trembles with a blend of love and admiration as you speak of your son's strength. The memories of his bravery since before his official diagnosis fills your heart with both pride and a deep ache. You pause for a moment, to regain your composure.

You are about to explain more about his condition and the procedure when the door behind Jack opens. Jack's gaze is solely focused on you since he assumes his son's doctor is the one coming in. Suddenly, you have a smile on your face when you look over Jack's shoulder, and he's confused until he hears the voice of the man that has given him nightmares ever since he got served with divorce papers.

“Cariño, Danny, and Heidi are staying with Ángel now,” Javier says as he makes his way to you, his presence a comfort for you and unease for Jack. "Sorry I'm late, I wanted to stay to see if he could keep his food down." He hovers over you and kisses the top of your head.

He pulls out a chair next to you, and that's when Jack sees it – a wedding band on Javier's left ring finger.

Fuck.

Unconsciously, you pull your hand from underneath the table and place your left hand on Javier's for comfort.

You had your hand covered the entire time, and that's when Jack notices it- your rings.

Fuck.

You’re married to him? Jack seethes in his head.

“Jack.” Javier nods but Jack can’t respond. How can he respond when another man is married to the love of his life?

In a moment of anger and hurt, Jack blurted out, "Did you cheat on me with him? Is that why you wanted a divorce?" Jack asks, the pain and jealousy bubbling to the surface.

Just like that, some of the gratitude for Jack shatters.

The response from you was immediate, “Jesus, no, you asshole,” you spit out, offended. “How dare you ask that?”

“You didn’t love me. That’s why I divorced you." You retort, feeling the anger resurface.

At that moment everything he discussed with Dr. Reynolds, all of the progress was gone. He did just find out so much within the past few minutes, and his usual coping techniques seemed to fail him in this moment of overwhelming emotions.

“Wait, if you cheated on me with him, that means he could have been the one to knock you up. How do I know Ángel is my son?” Of course, you remarrying was killing him, but if that on top of having his son snatched when he just got him back, it would end him.

“I never cheated on you, Jack.” You spit out, offended. “You were the one that was involved in another relationship, even if it was emotional. Not me. Don’t make me the villain.”

"You’re Ángel’s biological father, Jack." You emphasized, hoping to dispel any doubts he had. But he seemed stuck in his head.

Biological, the word echoed in his ears. It was a harsh reminder that he was just the man who contributed to Ángel's DNA. He hasn't been his dad, and if he keeps this up, he will never know his son like he wants to.

"You want a paternity test? Done," you offered, wanting to rid his doubts. "But if you don’t want to take my word for it, Fanconi Anemia is an inherited disease. Ángel has the FANCR gene, which is autosomal dominant. I got screened for it, and I’m not a carrier. Autosomal dominant means that a gene from one parent can cause the genetic condition. If I didn’t pass the gene, that means you’re the carrier. That’s how Ángel got the disease."

The reality hit him like a ton of bricks. I did this to my son. He’s sick because of me.

The room falls silent, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. The pain and guilt wash over him, and Jack is overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Querida, calm down. This isn’t good for you. Te va ser daño. (It’s going to harm you.) This isn’t good for the baby," Javier tries to soothe you, his voice gentle and caring. Javier's dark eyes bore into Jack with rage. Jack can feel the anger emanating from your husband. Javi leans forward, his body language asserting his presence. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck visibly tense, and his hands grip the edge of the table as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

The baby? Jack thinks.

The hospital is always cold, which is why you always have a sweater with you, but right now, you feel like you're burning up. You lean back from the table and unzip your hoodie, instantly feeling cooler with your sweater out of the way.

Jack's eyes are drawn to your swollen and round stomach, and he's speechless.

Extended note: Just as I thought, Jack is more popular than Dave, so in the meantime, I'll be working on the graphics for this series instead of Eres Mía. Dave is one of my top 3 favorite Pedro characters, and I think he's highly underrated, but I get the love for the cowboy!

I'm slowly adding titles of fics that I plan on sharing, so if you see something without a link on my masterlist, I'll get to it (eventually). After this series is completed, I think I'll post another Whiskey one-shot (he's been to therapy in this one :), but I'm not too sure yet.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them!

Tag list: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy

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gretavanlace · 1 year

Text

Decorum and Refinement

Jake Kiszka/Oliver Reed x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, degradation, praise, foreign objects, fingering, oral sex (f/m r), terrible English accent/diction (bc come on, it’s Oliver), etc.

“Do you think you guys’ll ever do the whole masterclass thing again?” The thought, that has been bouncing around in your mind for most of the drive home, spills from your lips before you have a chance to think better of it.

His head swivels over in your direction, but you keep your eyes on the road. “I dunno.” Lazily, he sips at the whiskey he shouldn’t be enjoying in the passenger seat. “Why? That’s a strange question.”

“You would know.” You smile, stealing a quick glance over at him. He looks sinful, relaxed back in his seat, legs spread wide, cut-crystal glass he stole from Josh’s sweating in his hand.

“Why would I know?” He grins back. “Are you trying to imply that I’m strange?”

“No!” Your inflection is exaggerated to showcase the lie. “Would I ever say something like that about you, Jake? My beloved. My prince. Love of my life. Keeper of my—“

“Oh, shut up.” He laughs, cutting you off. “And stop dodging. Why’d you ask?”

Now it’s your turn to shrug. “Just making conversation.”

“That’s not true at all.” He challenges. “You never speak just to make noise. Like that about you. Now, out with it.”

“Cal.” You sigh dreamily. “That chef’s hat really does it for me. And when he yelled at the fly? The aggression? Irresistible!”

“Yeah?” He’s in on the joke and playing along. “Verbal attacks against insects kink? Wonder if there’s a name for that?”

“Oh sure…there’s a convention every year, too. You should come scream at some ants with me.”

He takes a long swig of his drink, draining it to the dredges and then lowers his tone. “Yes, thank you, darling. That sounds lovely.”

A shiver tickles up your spine as Oliver peeks out, but he pretends not to notice, and you pretend it hasn’t happened.

You’re safe with Jake, and he is always more than willing to dip into uncharted waters with you…but it’s inexplicably embarrassing; this thing you have for his ridiculous alter-ego.

The way he speaks, so grizzled and rough. Seemingly hardened from years of cigars and Jack. Harsh and clipped, unbothered by anyone’s bullshit.

The swagger in his walk, like he knows everyone in the room wants to fuck him and he hasn’t the time to deal with them, but he’ll give ‘em a bit of a show anyway.

The accent. Even though it’s barely passable at times. A cobbled together mix of dialect he’s picked up through movies and travel, and bits that don’t really make much sense at all, at times. But even that seems terribly Oliver. As if he’s said, “Well, alright then, I’m English, but I’m not like the rest of these cunts.”

That stupid cane. That stupid, unbelievably sexy, fucking cane.

Now, standing in your kitchen, sifting through a stack of mail, you wonder where he’s gone. Normally he’s a touch clingy after he’s had a round or two, or seven, with his brothers, but he disappeared nearly as soon as the two of you walked in the door.

Likely to his music room to pluck away at an acoustic. Winding down for the night with a vinyl spinning softly in the corner. You’ll go and find him soon, maybe lie down on the crushed velvet couch and let him play you to sleep.

The thought, too cozy to resist, sends you wandering up the stairs, only to find the room dark and quiet. He isn’t there, but the room is so Jake, you’re drawn inside anyway.

It smells of him. The piney scent of gin and sap-dripping trees, beaten up leather, linen, metallic strings…

You wander through, ghosting your fingers over instruments in the moonlight streaming through the windows he fought to leave untreated. “No curtains in this one.” He’d argued. “We’ll let the outside in as it sees fit.”

Your touch lands on a row of guitars, lightly skimming the tops. Electric, acoustic, steel…then moves along to the nomads. The instruments he loves, but leaves to lie in wait. Ukulele, banjo, mandolin, lute, sitar…

A gorgeous, posh, cello waits in the corner regally. He swears one day he’ll teach himself to play it. Just as he promises of the violin resting, beautifully neglected, in its case.

You don’t fault or tease him for these two…if the instrument boasts strings, Jake is drawn to it and hungry to take it home.

“Look at this!” The memory fondly floats into your mind. “It’s called a Balalaika!” He’d reached out for your hand, guiding you to strum over it. “It’s Russian…I ordered it from that place downtown months ago, and it finally came in…listen.” A jaunty little tune had sounded out as his fingers excitedly worked it over.

A soft knock on the open door startles you out of your thoughts and sends you spinning around to find Jake leaning against the door frame.

Only, it isn’t Jake. Not quite…

“So sorry to scare you, love,” He raps the end of his cane against the wooden floor absentmindedly, “But I thought I’d let you know that Jacob is, unfortunately, indisposed for the evening. He thought I might keep you company instead.”

He figured it out. Worked to connect the pieces in that brilliant, pretty head of his. Of course he did.

Gaze drinking him in, you feel parched rather than satiated…he looks like a drunken pirate who has done his best to look presentable for an event at which he fully plans on creating a scene.

Rumpled vest layered over a wrinkled button-up, which is anything but buttoned up. Layers of necklaces swaying gently against his bare chest. Cuffed trousers that highlight the anklet that drives you wild, though you can’t decide why. Scuffed, but clearly expensive loafers made of buttery soft leather…worn out in the most perfect way.

“Look all you like, darling.” He sighs, waving his hand around as though he’s royalty, “I am merely a gallery for the female gaze. Male, too, come to think of it. I suppose I just like to be looked at.”

Your cheeks flush with heat…this is silly, right? So why is your pulse pounding in your ears? Amongst other places… “Jake,”

He saunters forward and tilts your chin up with the glossy handle of his cane “I’m sorry, but I’ve already told you. Jake’s not here. Try and keep up, girl, ‘right?”

Hands now clutched around the lapels of his vest you tuck your chin submissively against his cane and finally allow it to sigh off of your tongue… “Hello, Oliver.”

“Hello, love.” He raises your face a touch higher, until he can brush his lips over yours. “If I wasn’t so fond of our boy, I might fuck his pretty thing right here. His favorite room…his favorite girl,” He reaches down and cups his warm palm over your cunt, “Wouldn’t that be bloody dreadful of me?”

“I won��t tell him.” You breathe, sinking into the narrative.

“Oh, I’ve got a wretched little witch in my arms, don’t I?” he’s walking you backwards now, leading you towards the wall. “Willing to let Oliver slip it inside like a common whore when Jacob just loves you so much? Naughty. Disgusting. Vile.”

The air knocks out of your lungs as your back hits the wall. “Dirty girl thinks she needs a bit of cock, when what she really needs is a priest to absolve her of all this sin. Shall I call Father Sam? You can repent and say your Hail Marys and then ruin all your hard work on your knees for me.”

“Fuck repenting…” your legs wrap around his waist, searching for friction. “I’ll go to hell and burn for you.”

“Wonderful,” he takes pity and grinds against your cunt. “I’ll see you there…we’ll rot together.”

His hand is wandering down now, between the two of you, seeking to disappear into your jeans, which you wish would also disappear. “Jake…please, just fucking touch me.”

“Now, now…” he tsks. “That’s all wrong, innit it, girl? Can you say it right for me? Behave for Oliver and stop thinking with your head, hmm? Think with that pretty cunt… my bet’s she knows who she wants.”

A noise you would absolutely die if you ever had to admit to, sounds out of you. “Touch me, Oliver…please…I need it…”

His fingers inch away from where you need them most, “Where?” He circles your belly button. “Right here? You know, I’m bit drunk, darling…a touch inebriated. So sorry to ask, but, I’ll need you to be specific.”

Another moan of frustration escapes you.

“C’mon then…” now his hands are shoving your shirt up. “Tell Oliver what you need.” He tugs your tits free and a raspy laugh greets them like he’s never laid eyes upon them before “Hello, dolls. Beautiful.”

His mouth is suddenly relentless. Licking and sucking and groaning softly against your nipples as you pant and silently pray for his cock to force him into further action.

“Tell me where.” He mouths around your nipple.

“You know where.” Your hands are in his hair now…tugging and pulling.

He drops to his knees and yanks your jeans down to your ankles, taking your panties along with them. “Well hello, lovely girl.” He growls out, nuzzling his nose against your clit. “Name’s Oliver, and I’m about to show you a fucking fantastic time.”

You’re propped against a wall, in this seemingly sacred room where he creates, writhing and whining with your panties at your feet while he carries on a little conversation with your aching pussy. You wish you could say that you feel badly for it, but you’ve never been the best liar.

“You’ve met my mate Jacob…” he continues. “Nice enough, but…” his tongue swirls over your clit and a sob rips from your chest. “Bit upper crust, isn’t he?”

“Darling…” He looks up, drawing you into the conversation he’s been having with your desperate cunt.

“Our Jakey…does he do this for you? Does he get on his knees to kiss her as sweet as she deserves?” His eyes, clear and unashamed of the depravity of it all, stare up at you.

“Yes…” it trembles out weakly as you try your hardest to force him in closer.

“Ahh…” he sounds very proud of Jake, indeed. “That’s my boy.”

Momentarily, you adopt an accent of your own. “He’s lovely, Oliver. Now, give us a kiss.”

“M’only regret is that I’ve shaved.” He drags his finger over his smooth jawline and kisses at your clit. “Might’ve been nice to smell as pretty as you do all night.”

“Couldn’t find the beard?” You tease breathily.

He winks up at you in confirmation and promptly buries his face between your thighs, sucking softly until your legs are struggling under the weight of your quivering body.

“Take me over to the couch.” You whisper, imagining the gentle kiss of velvet against your flushed skin.

“Sofa.” He corrects as though he’s lord of the manor. Then he’s on his feet, sweeping you off of yours, as if you are the lady of said manor. “You damned Americans. Common. The lot of you.”

He deposits you tenderly, but orders roughly, “Let’s get rid of this nonsense…” gesturing dismissively at your state - half-dressed and disheveled. “I’d like to get on with it.”

His cane has somehow found its way home, nestled in his grip. He catches you staring at it as you hastily strip as instructed.

“That was a mistake, girl…” he taunts. “You should learn to hold those filthy cards closer to your chest. Spread your legs, love. Let Oliver see tonight’s stage.” He bows gently, “I am but a thespian.”

You open wide for him, spreading until your hips flare with a dull ache. “Please, Mr. Reed…make me feel good. Jake never has to know.”

“I think someone who’s about to fuck herself with my cane deserves to address me a little less formally, don’t you, darling?”

The smug smile swept across his lips makes you want to cry tears of frustration…he is just so fucking beautiful. Instead, you moan wantonly at the mere thought.

“Nasty little bit likes that, doesn't she?” He’s really leaning into it now. “Wants Oliver’s cane right in her sweet, pink, cunt? You look so tight, think you can even take it, love?”

He speaks as if he’s never been inside you before…fingers tucked in, fucking against the perfect spot. Cock stuffed inside, making you see stars and wishing for it to never end.

He returns the nod you offer.

“Right then,” he tosses the cane at you and you, thankfully, catch it like a pro. “On with it.”

You’re so lost in him you begin inching the bottom closer to yourself, but he puts a quick stop to it. “No, sweetheart, what’s been on the ground doesn’t deserve the perfection you’ve got there between those thighs. Handle, yeah?”

Eyes on his, you guide the handle to your mouth, licking and sucking it as if you aren’t already so dripping wet it’ll slip right inside.

“Thank you, Oliver.” You fix your fucked out doe eyes on his blushing face.

“What for, little love?” He asks - a bit of cockney coloring that ramshackle accent of his.

“For letting me use your cane.” You clarify with put-on innocence. “I just need to cum so badly.”

“S’that right?” He taps his foot, pupils blown as he moves in closer. “Pretty thing just needs to cum so badly?”

“So badly.” The cool handle of his cane begins nudging at your entrance.

“Go on, then, Miss America…” he rasps. “Let’s treat her right, shall we? Together? Can’t have you running back to tell Jacob I made you do all the work, now can I?”

“Thought we weren’t telling Jacob?” You smile softly.

“Oh, my dear girl.” He smiles right back. “You think he doesn’t know your body well enough to know when you’ve gotten off properly? Even when you’re all alone and you think it’s a secret. He knows, love…he knows.”

“How does he know?” You slip his cane inside and bite back a whimper.

“I’m not exactly in the habit of asking him about his beautiful girl and how he knows when she’s enjoyed an orgasm…but I s’pose I could guess if you’d like.”

“Yeah…” your back arches away from the couch as you slide against a particularly sensitive spot inside with his cane. Fuck, with his cane…the vulgarity of it makes you tremble.

“Alright then, love…” he sinks to his knees before you and kitten licks at your clit. “If I had to make an educated guess - and I’m very educated - I’d venture that you might get a bit…loose limbed, yeah? Languid and gentle. The prettiest baby…”

“Whose fucking baby is this?!” You interject, with the smallest of giggles, because you just can’t help it, and he gives you a look that could kill.

“Settle down.” His fingers swat at your thigh just hard enough to sting.

“Did I ruin the mood?” You tease.

In response, he slides his cane out, replacing it with two long, warm, fingers to find you soaked and squeezing. “Doesn’t feel like you’ve ruined anything at all. What a pretty little wreck she is. How’s Jakey boy ever get anything done?”

Your hands are buried in his hair again, yanking him in until his mouth is kissing, soft and hot, along your neck. “I have to force him to leave me alone. He wants it all the time.”

His fingers are moving inside of you like heaven…circling and massaging against that perfect place, rather than fucking in and out. “S’that right? Just wants to live buried inside this tight little cunt, does he? Can’t say I blame him.”

Grinding shamelessly into his hand, you pitch your voice gentle and quiet, in the way you know he can’t resist “You wanna fuck me and find out why?”

“You couldn’t handle it, darling.” His teeth sink deliciously into your throat until you shudder and pull at fistfuls of his tangled hair. “Oliver’s not got a gentle bone in his body. I’d tear Jacob's pretty girl apart.”

Your shoulders shiver, his voice, like cashmere over sandpaper, huffing so menacingly in your ear. “Oh, someone likes that…” you can hear the half-smirk in his tone, though your eyes have fluttered closed.

“Tell Oliver how much your pretty cunt loves him already. Does she, darling?” You can’t help the way you clench around his fingers any more than you can help the ragged sound that gasps from your parted lips. “Hmm, feels like she does. I said, tell me.”

Tears are burning in your eyes, he’s gotten you so close, but he’s holding back just enough to keep you right there, watching you intently, eyes trained for your body’s tells.

“I need more,” the tears are falling now, and you know he adores every single one of them. “Need to cum.”

Instead, he slows down even more and lessens the pressure. “Does he let you act like a brat, or’s the pleasure all mine? I asked you for something, and I expect you to give it to me.”

“Yes…” you nod frantically, lifting your head to find his eyes. He offers a lazy wink like a smug bastard. “She loves you, Oliver.”

But it isn’t good enough. “Who loves me?”

“My cunt…” you rush on, eager to give him what he wants in order to get what you’re after. “She loves you. Now, please, baby…c’mon.”

“S’right she does. Just look at her soaking my hand so pretty. Sucking my fingers in. Greedy little baby, isn’t she?”

“Please?” You whine pathetically and he hums in approval.

“Love a girl with manners.” He’s teasing now, with both his words and too gentle touch. “Reminds me of a someone I used to know, she’d beg so nicely for my cum whenever she was thirsty.”

Your nails dig into his wrist in warning and it sparks a laugh out of him. “Jacob didn’t tell me you had such a jealous streak, girl. I like that very much.”

Finished with his games, you reach down and find your clit, stroking quick, slick circles over it. Writhing and panting, trying to get there before he stops you.

Rather than scolding, he praises, as his fingers begin moving with a purpose deep inside you. “That’s it, darling. So pretty. Show me what a filthy girl you are. Take what you need.”

“Faster…” you breathe, barely making a sound as your head drops back, expression twisted up in bliss. “Fuck me faster.”

His hand quickens, working into you at a lightning fast pace until your thighs are shaking and the nails of your free hand are raking over the upholstery.

Here, love…” he hands you his cane to grip instead. “Let’s not ruin the velvet, right?”

All thought has sizzled apart in your brain, so you nod aimlessly and grab it up in your frantic grip, squeezing around it so hard it stings your palm, though you don’t much register it.

“Gonna cum,” you manage to whisper.

“Let’s have it then.” He encourages, reaching up to stroke your cheek as he twists his wrist, scissoring those perfect fingers inside your fluttering cunt. “Come on, darling, let’s go.”

That’s what does it. It isn’t his hand, or even your own, that finally pushes you over the edge, it’s those gravley, coaxing words, in that fucking addicting accent. It’s Oliver, he’s what does it.

A near scream moans out of you, and he’s suddenly wrenching the cane out of your hand, only to place it between your teeth; a makeshift bit as he growls into your ear. “Keep quiet, girl. What if he’s back? Wouldn’t want him to hear your cumming all over Oliver’s hand like a whore, would you?”

You thrash and fight through your orgasm beneath him, teeth sinking marks into the wood stifling your incoherent cries.

“S’good, sweetheart. That’s lovely. Plan to shut that pretty mouth up with my cock next. Would you like that? Has he throat trained his gorgeous girl yet? Will you be able to swallow me right down?”

He knows you’re too gone to answer, he’s simply winding you tighter, working you through, but keeping you stirred up enough that you’ll be eager to suck him off rather than float off to sleep, after. Clever, devious, delectable, man.

You’ve pushed him away and fallen to your knees the second you can breathe again.

“Love a pretty girl on her knees.” He muses, brushing the hair away from your blushing face. “My cock hurts from watching you. You’re a dream when you cum, love.”

The metal of his belt clinks into the room like wind chimes as you pull it open. “Can I fix it?”

His response comes lazing out, thick with accent, with a Jack Sparrow wave of his hand “You may.”

You pull his cock into the cool night air and sigh, “Its so pretty.” And it is, it really fucking is.

Licking a warm, wet stripe along the side, you end with a swirl just below the tip, smiling when a shiver rattles through him.

“Is that the spot right there, Oliver?” You purr as if you don’t know. “Does that feel good?”

“Perfect, darling.” A tiny pant of a breath escapes him, making you crave more.

Sucking him in softly with a warm kiss, you wait until his hands find your hair with a tug, and then swallow him down to the base - allowing a gag just to let him feel your throat constrict around him.

With a choked groan, he holds your head still and buries in a little deeper. “So he did train you…or is this natural talent?”

He knows the answer as well as you. And you flush with heat at the countless memories of him nudging further and further down your throat; gently teaching you how to take a bit more each night until you could welcome him in one go without batting an eye.

Still, he pulls you off and tilts your head up by your hair, raising a brow in question.

“He taught me.” You blink up innocently. “I didn’t know how before, but he was so patient with me while I learned. Let me show you.”

“Jesus, fuck.” Jake appears for just a split second before he shakes it off.

Back in character now, he pulls you back down around him. “Go on, then, love. Swallow it down nice and sweet.”

You pull out every stop, every trick in the book. Every little thing that has ever made him moan in surprise, or thrust into your mouth…he gets it.

Your nose is pressed against the soft plush of his stomach when his fingers tighten in your hair. “That’s so good, darling. You’re so good. Gonna hold you still, fuck that pretty face, that alright, love?”

You nod eagerly around him and swallow just to feel his body tense up in pleasure. You get your wish and beam inwardly with pride.

“Did that on purpose, dinnit you, girl?” He hisses, grabbing for the upper hand. “You’re gonna get it now.”

He taps your face, a subtle reminder of how you should tap if you need to stop, and then - without warning, begins fucking your mouth. It’s hard, and deep, and fast, and sloppy…wet sounds that should make you blush echoing through the room. It’s dirty and slightly uncomfortable. It’s all of those things, but it’s perfect.

Staring down at you, with eyes so full of love and lust it makes your heart ache, he nods. “Good girl, darling. Good girl. You look like a bloody angel, cock down your throat, letting me fuck it like this. You just want to make me feel good, don’t you?”

You answer with your eyes.

“S’right, love.” He slides in deep and groans in appreciation when you ripple your tongue. “Again.”

Tongue working him as best you can, you let him hold you there until your lungs are screaming for air. He pulls you off when he feels the slight struggle, lets you catch your breath and then shoves right back in.

When his thrusts begin to falter you grow desperate to taste him, but at the last minute, he yanks free, one hand still tangled in the roots of your hair, the other fisting over his cock.

“Open up.” He demands, sounding weak, and so close you could cry you want it so badly.

Your mouth falls open, and you present your tongue in waiting.

“Gonna feed it to you, girl.” He pants, gritting his teeth. “Would you like that? You want to taste me?”

Resting your hands primly in your lap, you nod. “Yes, please.”

Your little display of innocent decorum while asking for something so depraved sends his end crashing into him wildly. He jerks his cock roughly through it, warm cum spurting into your mouth and splashing across your cheeks and lips.

Accepting it all, happily, you wait until his shoulders slump with a drawn out fuck, before closing your mouth to savor him.

He stares down at you for a long, smoldering, stretch and then tucks himself away before leaning in. “Looks like I’ve made a mess. I’ve been known to do that, y’know. Apologies.”

With a kiss, though your lips are still dripping with him, he straightens and stretches. “You wait here, darling. I’ll go fetch Jacob to clean you up. Not really Oliver’s thing. You understand.”

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chouxsardine · 5 months

Text

Ticked (all my boxes) — Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: It's December 24th, but you've still got so much to do. --A look into y/n's Christmas Eve with Jake in the form of a to-do list

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 5655

Warnings: not much, mentions of alcohol, nearly 6k of PURE FLUFF

Genre: holiday fic, tooth-rotting fluff

Tips: Some may prefer an uninterrupted reading experience, but I have linked some visual cues to the specific items mentioned in the fic so you can better visualize them. You can click when you see an underlined word. Please suit yourself :)

Author's note: This is my GVF Secret Santa gift for @nina-23-45 (if you are Nina, please click here for A Letter from Santa; Sorry for the wait!!). This is the longest fic I've written. As challenging as it is, I honestly had so much fun writing it, it has certainly helped me find the joy of writing again, and I wish to share it with all of you. I hope you are staying cozy, happy, and healthy. Happy holidays. This is a long one, so grab your hot cocoa, make yourself comfy, snuggle with your pets, put on some of your favourite holiday tunes, and...enjoy!!

🎧: everyone has their own favourite Christmas songs, so take your pick! But I do recommend listen to Cause We've ended as Lovers by Jeff Beck when you have time

7:00 AM You crack open an eye. The red digital numbers on the bedside clock becomes clearer in your vision. You try to move and feel Jake’s arm wrapped protectively around your midsection. You turn your head slightly, and there is your lover: his hair covering half of his face, breathing long and even, soundly asleep like some royal prince from a medieval oil painting, although you know he’d probably prefer to look like a pirate with a pipe hanging out of his mouth, if he had the choice. The thought of that brings a smile to your face. You manage to escape from Jake’s hug without waking him up, moving one frame at a time like a character in a slowed-down stop motion film. Jake lets out a grunt as you finally climb out of bed. You hold your breath nervously, but he doesn’t stir, just rubs his cheek further into the pillow. You place a feathery kiss on his temple and tiptoe downstairs.

You were never a morning person, but tomorrow is Christmas and you know it is going to be a long day of preparation. You put the kettle on, taking out two mugs from the cupboard, and find yourself staring eye to eye with Blackbeard. That’s the mug you got for Jake when you started living together. He has been using it ever since. He even drinks whiskey out of it. (“No one drinks whiskey out of a mug, Jake.” “I’m the Captain, I make ship happens if I want to!” refutes Jake in his Oliver Reed voice)

The whistling kettle pulls back your attention. You pour the boiling water over the tea bags. The living room is dimly lit. A certain kind of dimness mixed with a humidity that is unique to winter days. You peak through the blinds, the snow has stopped; everything is covered in white.

You stand in front of the open fridge as a pair of arms snake around your waist, following by Jake’s chin resting on your shoulder.

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Hmm, it’s still very early. Did I wake you up?” You reach your hand back to ruffle up his hair.

“Nope, the bed is just cold without you.”

“What do you want for breakfast, anything that caught your eye?” Holding the fridge door open without taking further action is your guilty pleasure; you feel like an old Duchess inspecting her prized jewelry collection.

“Dunno. Omelet?” You’re not even sure if Jake’s eyes are open from how sleepy his voice sounds.

“Sure, but only if you are making it. I can never get them to the right texture and it pisses me off!” You scold dramatically as you retrieve the eggs.

“Uh-uh, can’t have a pissed-off y/n for Christmas,” Jake takes over the carton, “but I do know she makes some killer sausage patties.”

Lord, this man knows how to hype you up, even when it’s the simplest task of throwing some pre-cooked frozen meat into the oven.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are sitting at the table. You sink your fork into a piece of omelet. Upon tasting it, your eyes light up immediately. The outside maintains its shape with lightly crispy edges while the inside melts away in a creamy concoction.

“Jake, this tastes like liquid sun!” You compliment in awe.

Jake snorts out a chuckle at your analogy, trying to wave it off, despite the fact that he is obviously flustered. As the good girlfriend that you are, of course you won’t let go of the chance to tease him. So you wave you fork like a baton and hum your improvised tune: “Jakey boy did it again, oh he done did it again!”

This time Jake is full-on laughing. “Come on, y/n. It’s just an omelet.”

“How dare you?” You gasp, pretending to be offended. “This is not JUST an omelet, this omelet has…” you lower your voice and flutter your fingers around the food, “rock star magic in it!”

What a nice way to start off the day, you think as you chew on another forkful of egg, certainly worth sacrificing some sleep.

✅ A nice morning with a full belly.

10:00 AM You push and the wooden door opens with a jingle and a creak. You hurry inside and are wrapped in a warm embrace of the musty smell of paper and expired mothballs. The ruddy-cheeked old man behind the counter looks up from the tome in front of him and greets you warmly: “Good morning, dear.”

“Morning, Mr. Friesen.” You hold your freezing fingers near the wood stove that stands in the centre of the room. “It’s so cold out there today.”

“On the brighter side, we get a white Christmas, ain’t so lucky last year.”

Friesen’s is your favourite second-hand book store around town. You have been a regular since freshman year in college, and you have lost count of how much money you saved by relying on the old textbooks you found here. Naturally, you have acquainted yourself with its friendly and mysterious owner. Mr. Friesen is quite the myth and legend himself. From his conversation with customers that you’ve accidentally eavesdropped over the years, you pieced together that he used to be the frontman of a rock band in the 70s before one of his bandmates sadly passed away in an accident. He opened the bookshop as an extension of his basement collection thirty years ago.

“I have the books here for you. They are still in decent condition, a rare find these days. Whoever’s getting them must be lucky.”

One good thing about the Friesen’s is that if there’s something specific you’re looking for, you can always request it. There’s no guarantee, but Mr. Friesen will try his best; and this man never disappoints. A few weeks ago, you asked him to keep an eye out for any American classics: Hemingway, Fitzgerald and the like, planning to give them to Josh as his Christmas present. You were losing hope until you received a last-minute call from the bookshop, telling you that a rare first edition of John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row is ready for you to pickup.

“I honestly can’t thank you enough. You’re such a gem,” you smile. “And I have a little Christmas present for you as well.” You pull out a wrapped vinyl from your tote bag.

“Oh you don’t have to do that, my dear,” Mr. Friesen peels back the wrapping paper. “Oh! Phil Sector’s Christmas Album, I don’t have this one yet. What a nice addition to my collection. Thank you, y/n.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Friesen. It’s the least I can do. You’ve always been so kind to me.”

The old man hums before looking up at you somewhat smugly. “Now, excuse me for being nosy, but how’s it going with that rock star boyfriends of yours?”

Despite being together for so long and being open about your relationship, you still blush when people mention Jake as your boyfriend in public. You have brought Jake to the bookstore before, while things between you were still platonic. If Mr. Friesen sensed anything then, he never let it show.

Taking in your expression, Mr. Friesen beams meaningfully, “Well, I think he’s a lucky guy. You can always tell from a person’s appearance when they’re with the right one, and I can see it in you. I’ll say he’s a keeper, that kid.”

“That’s such a nice thing for you to say,” you reply shyly.

“Well, I shouldn’t be keeping you any longer. It seems like someone is already waiting,” Mrs. Friesen motions outside the window. You follow his gaze and see Jake standing across the street.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Friesen. Thank you again.”

“Anytime, kiddo. Merry Christmas.”

Outside the bookshop, Jake is kicking a chunk of ice between his feet while he waits for you.

“Do You have everything you need?” You ask.

“Yes. Do you?” he holds out his elbow and you happily hook your arm through it.

“Yup.” You show him the book wrapped in brown paper.

“Huh,” He huffs in a playfully offended voice, “someone’s got the good stuff this year.”

You slight elbow him in the ribs. “Hoy, you green-eyed monster, that’s because Josh’s on the good list this year.”

“Oh, is that so? How did I make it onto the naughty list then?”

“The possibilities are endless!” You exaggerate, holding out your hands to count, “first, for being the sexy little swine that you are…”

You and Jake could probably go on like this forever if weren’t for the fact that you’re arriving at your destination. To finish some last minute Christmas shopping is the only reason that you are outside on such a cold day. You and Jake have decided to “divide and conquer”, with you going to the bookshop to pick up Josh’s gift and Jake going to the liquor store to for some nice Prosecco for the family gathering tomorrow. Then, you will go to the mall together to pick up the present for your cousin.

Rewind to about an hour ago:

As much as your cousin is a sweetheart, it is a real pain to buy Christmas presents for her. And as the procrastinator that you are, of course, you put it off until the last minute to make decisions. Last but not the least, you comfort yourself. Now the time has come for you to have a taste of your own medicine. You were unconsciously tugging your hair as you stared at the coffee table, furrowing your eyebrows deep in concentration.

“Why do you look worried?” Jake plopped down onto the couch next to you.

“I still haven’t got a present for my cousin.” You rubbed your temple and groaned. “I feel like she’s got everything. Everyone always says, ‘oh it’s not about the gift’, but I couldn’t go to her empty handed! I mean, it’s Christmas, people are expecting gifts anyways.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I think I have an idea.” Jake reached for his phone and you perked up.

“I saw this the other day, do you think it will suit her?” Jake showed you a picture of what happens to be a magnetic key holder. “Ronnie has mentioned it before, and I saw it at the mall the other day. Didn’t you tell me that your cousin just got her own place earlier this month? It could be a nice housewarming slash Christmas gift.”

“No, you didn’t! ” You almost jolted up from the sofa. “Aww, thank you, Jake! you don’t have to do that!”

“That’s okay, love, anything that takes worries away from my girl.” He beams back at you. “Now we just need to go to the store to pick it up.”

You have always known Jake for being the most caring and attentive lover. But this is on a whole another level. The fact that he even keeps the most mundane trifles you blurt out in mind shows how much he cares. You have already been deeply incorporated into his life, his every decisions now will always include the factor of “you”. The thought makes your heart melt.

Therefore, here you are now, standing in front of the mall entrance.

Although Jake has made your task a thousand times easier, you still hated going into the mall. The crowd, the music, all the right ingredients for sensory overload.

“Last-minute Christmas shopping, yeah?”

“Okay, deep breath,” Jake holds both of your hands in his, eyes shining with encouragement. “I know the exact shelf it’s on. We’ll go in and out, quick as a bunny, a Christmas Bunny, alright?”

“Yeah, okay, we can do this.” You nod.

“One, two, three….go!”

And like Mario Karts you two set off.

You are sure there are people passing by watching you two adults giggling and pushing through the revolving doors like you are lunatics, but you don’t give a hoot. You love embracing your inner child from time to time, and you just happen to be so lucky to have the right person who makes you feel at ease doing so.

✅ Drop off vinyl and pick up the book for Josh at Friesen’s Christmas present for (your cousin’s name)

2:15 PM The film is still playing in the background, you must’ve fallen asleep. See, you just know that waking up too early isn’t for you.

You feel exhausted after your gift-hunting excursion, so you decide to watch a film together while snacking on some chips. Your Christmas movie list is like no other—none of the fluffy rom coms like The Holidays or Love Actually, also no household classics like Home Alone or Miracle on 34th Street. To be fair, you have nothing against them, you just prefer something that brings more of an adrenaline rush. Therefore, your picks consist mainly of psychological thrillers and horror movies. You remember feeling apprehensive when you first told Jake about it, thinking it would be weird for a girl to choose The Shining over Titanic. But Jake is completely unbothered. Instead, he loves that about you. “Love my girl quirky,” is how he had put it. “And I get to hold you if you’re scared.” (You always protest that you’re not, but sometimes you do, and you have to admit it does feel nice to have someone’s shirt to bury your face into just in case some scenes get too intense for your liking). Actually, you think now you’ve successfully gotten Jake into it as well. He especially likes to plague you with his theories after you have finished the movie, turned off the lights, and snuggled under the duvets. (“But do you think he really killed her? I mean, what if—-” “Jake, enough!”)

But now, art kind of imitates life. The house feels weirdly empty and quiet. Jake is no where in sight.

“Jake?” Not in the bathroom. Not in his studio in the basement. Not in the garage either.

Just as you are staring to wonder if this is some kind of prank, you look outside the window and saw a familiar figure in the backyard. Jake was standing near the fence, fumbling with something. His back is turned against you, so you couldn’t figure out what he is doing.

It starts snowing again. The crisp air outdoor whips all the sleepiness clear from your head. You wrap your arm around yourself and walk towards Jake. He must be really focused on whatever he is doing because he didn’t hear you approaching at all. Now you are standing close enough to see clearly.

He uses a gift card to scoop up some snow, flattens it with his palm, and then adheres the now thin slice of snow to a stick. There are already layers attached to it; the shape of it somewhat resembles a flower.

“Jake, what are you doing up here?”

Jake spins around. For a moment, he wears the expression of a child being caught red-handed stealing cookies from the countertop. And then you see what he is holding in his hand.

It is a half-finished rose, but made of snow.

“Shh, it’s almost done. Just give me a moment.” Jake has that serious look on his face, the same one on stage when he was looking down at his guitar through hooded eyes, a slight crease at the inner corner of his eyebrows; his lips pressed, showing his Marionette lines. His long eyelashes give the false impression that he has his eyes closed.

The snows has accumulated over night and reached a rather firm texture, which is idea for shaping. But it is also naturally brittle. Even if you are not the one making it, you can tell that it requires one to find the sweet spot between melting the snow and wetting it just enough so that it sticks. You see Jake’s hand red with cold and your heart wrenches at the sight. He doesn’t seem to care at all. You want stop him right there, but something about his demeanour tells you that he really wants to show you the result.

It seems that Jake got the gist of it pretty quickly. He repeats the process a few more times and there it is, a rose made of snow. The layered petals hug around the bud, its edges crystal and flimsy like cicadas’ wings. He picks it up by the stem carefully and extends it to you.

“Here, a rose for my dearest.”

You are too stunned to speak, struck by the beauty frozen in time. You don’t know where he gets the idea from, but it is such an endearing gesture, him leaving the warm bedside of his soundly asleep lover, standing in the cold, molding snow with his bare hands, just so that he could surprise her.

“I…I love this so much. Thank you, Jake.”

When you look up at Jake, your eyes are stinging with tears. The tip of Jake’s nose is frozen red, as well as his cheeks. He was looking at you with a toothy grin. As cliché as it may sound, Jake truly came into your life like a knight in an armour made of starlight. Being in a relationship with him has taught you so much more about growth, trust, and loyalty. He adores and cherishes you with all his heart. He will always make an effort for you, will always firmly choose you and stand by you to support you. Shy he maybe, when he loves, he never holds back. A single rose has always meant the words, “I love you”; it holds all his love.

“Don’t cry, my dear, your tears are gonna freeze too. I wanted you to be happy.” Jake coos, wiping away your tears. The coldness of his thumb reminds you of you shouldn’t be wasting more time on stupid tears and Jake should get his hands warmed up.

“Wait here!” You yell over your shoulder as you run inside the house. Don’t even bother taking off your wet boots; you grab a Tupperware and a piece of styrofoam laying around from the gift wrappings and rush back out.

“This is going to live in my fridge forever.”

Jake laughs as he helps you stab the snapped stem onto the styrofoam to secure the rose in the container. “It is truly amazing how romance always resides in the ephemeral and transient things. It is lucky that we still have eyes that can see and a heart that is still beating to appreciate them.”

“Yes, but not everyone is lucky to have this kind of beauty and happiness captured for them, though.” You put his hands into the pocket of your coat as you walk back inside, “Oh, Jakey boy, what have I done to deserve you?”

✅ A snow rose. This one is uncalled for, but hey, what’s a to-do list if there wasn’t some surprise interruption, especially when it’s an incredibly precious one like this.

7:45 PM You have been checking on your snow rose every time you open the fridge (which is very often), like checking on the pet goldfish you’ve got in kindergarten.

“Baby, you know it’s not gonna grow legs and run away, right?” Jake leans against the kitchen counter. “With that much snow out there, I could just make you another—-”

“Don’t you dare risk those money makers for things like this again!” You give him a pointed look. You have been babying Jake’s hands since the moment you got back inside: running them under lukewarm water, submerging them in a basin of warm water with essential oil, rubbing and massaging his fingers to accelerate blood circulation, you even made him apply some coconut-scented hand cream (“My hands smell like piña colada”). Jake has to assure you thrice or even more times that he feels just fine, but still, you give him that suspicious “mom” look. (“Y/n, I promise you my hands are fine. They are strong guitar fingers, they can hold against a little chills. Plus, I’ve broken my arm before and——-” “Shhhhh! Knock on wood, Jake!”)

“Anyways, I think the cookie dough should be done chilling. Do you mind taking them out after you’ve done inspecting your rose, my love?”

You are baking some cookies for the family gathering tomorrow. You have found a recipe for Aquarium Cookies, which upgrades the traditional stained glass cookies by pressing two of them together and creating some space in between for sprinkles. You are also going to bake some regular sugar cookies using the instrument-shaped cookie cutters you bought, one symbol for each boy.

Baking is your favourite Christmas activities. It warms up the house—both temperature and atmosphere-wise, and makes it smell like a bakery. And nothing beats decorating cookies.

Think about it, a gingerbread house is too limited, and let’s be honest, half of it mostly ended up in the stomachs of some raccoons. Decorating a whole cake is too daunting, but cookies, cookies are perfect! Perfect size, perfect usage, no waste, everyone’s happy.

“They are basically edible canvases,” you tell Jake as he hands you a rolled-out dough.

“Y/n, have I told you how I love the way you brain works? ‘Liquid sun’, 'edible canvases’. Listen to yourself, you are basically a lyricist.”

How does Jake just constantly whips out compliments out of thin air and make your heart flutters like colourful flags in the wind? You smile bashfully. However, the next second, that smile turns into a pout as you remove the cookie cutter and find out that the guitar cookie has a broken neck again.

“Jake, I broke it again,” you whine.

“Here, let me try.” Jake takes over your failed attempts, crumbles it into a ball and flattens it with the rolling pin.

You hold your breathe as Jake gently lifts up the mold. The cookie lies pliantly in his hands. No break. It is kind of magical how Jake can basically “tame” all the guitars in the world if he wants to, even if they’re composed of flour, butter, and sugar.

“How do you do that?” you marvel. “Really, how come you are so good at cooking?” Jake made pasta for dinner using his secret sauce recipe. You helped yourself to two servings.

“Hmm, because I’m a good poet.” Jake says as he produces another perfectly drum-shaped cookie.

“Enlighten me, please.”

“‘A good poet differs nothing at all from a master-cook. Either’s art is the wisdom of the mind’.”

Jake couldn’t help but chuckle at your star-struck fangirl face, “Not my words, it’s from Ben Johnson’s ‘Neptune's Triumph for the Return of Albion’.”

Of course, of course, he would just quote some 17th-century play like it’s some item off the grocery list. You shouldn’t be expecting anything less from a man who recites poetry while launching a paper plane.

✅ Bake and decorate Christmas cookies (philosophically, with a side of literature)

9:43 PM You decided to go to bed early so that you would have enough energy for the official Christmas Day tomorrow. You are going to Karen and Kelly’s house around noon for the family gathering and dinner. But there remains one very important thing to do before you sleep, and you have been waiting in excitement the whole day like a pupil on their way for a field trip.

You and Jake will do your personal gift-opening on Christmas Eve. It is a special and intimate moment just between the two of you when you elope as lovers to your own love nest. It is a time that you deliberately reserve for yourselves away from all the hectic holiday bustle. It has been a tradition of yours, something you probably will keep on doing even after you have kids in the future (that is, if you decide to have them), just to remind yourselves of the special bond you share. And nothing and no one will change it, not the possibilities of additional family members nor the passage of time.

A string version of Last Christmas is playing in the background. Some may consider it a worn-out tune, but it holds a special place in your heart. It brings you back to your sweet elementary school years, where you and your friends would secretly meet together after school and rehearse the song for the school’s annual Christmas party. You guys were so serious about it, coming up with the choreography and everything. And you also remember your mom showing Jake the pictures of your performance when he met your parents for the first time. You feel embarrassed, but Jake finds you adorable in your silly little Santa hat and fluffy costume. Since then, he has made a mental note to always have some version of this song playing in the house around the holiday seasons.

You are wearing one of Jake’s sweaters. It’s a green acrylic sweater from his younger years. He once let you borrow it on a particularly rainy camping trip, and it was the first piece of clothing that you’ve “adopted” from his closet after you got together. The sleeves are a bit long for you, always covering half of your palms when you put your arms down, but you love it; it feels like holding Jake’s hands.

You treat this activity with an almost ritualistic seriousness, making sure you are in your most comfortable state, both mentally and physically.

“Come sit, angel,” Jake pats the space on the carpet next to the fireplace where he is sitting.

You happily oblige. You will play a round of rock, paper, scissors to decide who goes first. This time Jake loses, so he will start first.

He reaches under the Christmas tree and pulls out a small box with forest green wrapping paper. You almost feel bad for ripping the paper just because how beautiful the colour is. You open the lid to reveal a little witch figurine. She is about twenty centimetres tall and made out of wool. She wears a dress with a mixed shade of orange, warm brown hair hanging down to her waist, and a tawny pointy hat with a milky ribbon proudly sitting on top. She holds an Oslo grey broom in her hand, her arms opening as if she is caught in the middle of welcoming someone. The metal spring attachment in the bottom showing her function as a tree topper.

“She is so beautiful!” Your thumb brushes her dress, the wool so smooth and soft.

“It is only right to have her look after the house for my little quirky girl,” Jake says. “Do you want to put it up and see how it looks?”

You nod excitedly and step onto the stool beside the tree. Just like magic, she blends into the whole look perfectly, adding a rustic charm and a warm glow to the evergreen. It is as if she’s belonged there all along.

“I love her already. Thank you so much, baby.” You bend down to kiss Jake on the lips. He knows you so well, he knows that your fantasy since you were a little girl has been living in the woods as a witch, and he remembers how excited you were when the music video of Meeting the Master came out.

“Now, my next gift may need you to help me out a bit,” you say as you walk towards the bookshelf. Jake stands within reaching distance, watching you in curiosity as you move the metal vase stand out of the way and then reach into the gap between the bookshelf and the wall with your right arm. He helps you drag out a long rectangular box.

“Wow, sneaky move here, y/n.” Jake teases. “But that’s a good hiding spot though, I wouldn’t have thought.”

“That’s the point,” you smirk. You are quite proud of yourself, honestly. Jake has been at the studio a lot this month, and you did not let those hours go to waste. Jake wanders around the house when he can’t sleep at night, and you have contemplated a lot of hiding spots.

“This is big stuff,” Jake tears away the wrapping. You got Jake a Whiskey Barrel guitar holder. As the name suggests, it holds three guitars and is made out of staves from renowned bourbon distilleries. The wood is sanded and matt coated, with the black marks of the barrel rings showing its origin. Each piece is unique.

“Merry Christmas! I thought it’d be a nice addition to your studio downstairs.” You lace your fingers together nervously.

“I say it’s a perfect upgrade! The Gibsons are definitely going up on the walls, baby!” Jake presents a winsome smile. “Thank you so much, y/n.”

If your excitement are already bubbling, now it has been dialed up even higher. You and Jake have one last gift for each other and both of you love to save the best for last.

“I didn’t wrap this next one, because I have been literally still adding to it as of today. Now close your eyes.” You move to sit across from Jake.

Jake feels something like a book being laid in his lap. He opens his eyes and sees what appears to be a leather sketchbook. You nod and motion him to flip through it.

They are sketches. Sketches of him. The first page is a sketch of Jake sitting on the lawn and holding his guitar He recognizes that’s one of your first dates at the park. There’s Jake in his sword and rose costume on stage. You have always told him that is one of your favourite costumes of his. There’s Jake in his aprons, stirring something over the stove. There’s Jake soundly asleep, you must’ve sketched that one while he was taking a nap….the last page, freshly dated, concludes with the sketch of a single rose, resembling the one he made for you earlier this afternoon. You have used your pencil as an old-fashion camera and encapsulated all the lovely moments between you on paper.

“I’m not the best with my sketching, but you know, I’m improving. Also, it is not fair for you to be so pretty that it is difficult to draw.” You cheeks now are rosy pink.

“No, sweetheart, these are perfect,” Jake reaches to cup your face, “you know I have always adored your drawings.” He can also see you through the pages; you sitting by the table, stealing glances at him, nibbling on the back of the pencil. The weight of the sketchbook is way more than just paper and lead; it is also his lover’s heart.

“So, to wrap up the night.” Jake gets up and lifts the needle off the playing record. The room becomes quiet, brewing with anticipation. He pulls out his lap top and turns it to face you. On the desktop, there’s a folder labeled with your name; a single audio file lies in it. Jake turns the volume to the fullest and clicks on the file.

Within five seconds, you have recognized it is Jeff Beck’s Cause We’ve Ended as Lovers. Or, should you say, Jake’s version of Jeff Beck’s Cause We’ve Ended as Lovers. The song is without a doubt your all-time favourite guitar solo. The whole Blow by Blow album is amazing, but you have taken a special liking to this song. Yes, it is sad, but it is bittersweet in a poignant and amicable way. It is an elegiac of old lovers but also an affirmation and proof of a beautiful memory, representing the a part of life that is forever altered just because you have crossed path with someone. For the whole five minutes and forty-two seconds, it is as if you are transported to another dimension. Now, this song has become even more significant to you. The fact that Jake covers and records it for you feels makes it particularly personal and intimate. You try to picture him standing in the studio, in a similar position as the figure on the album cover.

A single tear escapes the corner of your eye and Jake is quick to catch it with his thumb. You hold his hand close to your face, kissing his fingers gently.

“I’m in my feels again,” you say after taking a deep breathe, “continue to make me cry and I will need to go check on my emotional support rose again.”

Jake chuckles. “Aww, I am glad you like it, love. Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you so much. I love you, Jake.”

“I love you too, doll.” He scoots over closer. “Now, can I get another kiss from my girl?”

Surely he can, but you just want to tease him a bit more.

“Oops, I’m afraid you can’t, sir. I see no mistletoe around here.” You grin mischievously.

Jake was prepared for your impishness. He grabs his phone and quickly searches up a photo of mistletoe. Holding it above your heads, he raises his eyebrows, a silent “how about now?”

You roll your eyes. “Come here already, you dork.”

✅ Give Jake his gifts. (The guitar holder is hiding behind the bookshelf)

10:21 PM Having exhausted almost every single item on your to-do list, it is finally time to relax. You lie in each other’s arm like a pretzel. You are dozing off to the steady rhythm of Jake’s heartbeat. You must have ended up on the nice list this year. You are so grateful for all you have, for being loved and cared for in every way.

✅ Snuggle with Jake. Tell him how much you love him.

Mentally, you tick off the last box of your Christmas Eve to-do list before falling into a dream filled with marshmallows and hot chocolate, starlight and lover.

Here, you made it!! Thank you so much for reading.

Just in case you want to check out more of my works:

Mariner's Complex || Permission to Fall || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones ||

I'm just starting off with writing fics for gvf, please leave a comment or send me an ask/message if you would like me to put up a tag list :)

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bullet-prooflove · 5 months

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Lake Tahoe Series - Part One: Black Bear Lodge - Manny x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Sledding!

Tagging: @darqchilddaydreamz @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @theesirenteller @darqchilddaydreamz @wnbweasley @bonni-98 @skyesthebomb @yezzyyae @delightfulbelieverwerewolf @redpool @trublu2u @fleureeee

Set a few years after End of the Line which ties in to a Hank Loza storyline

It’s at Black Bear Lodge in Lake Tahoe that you meet Manny. He’s sitting at the bar in a white sweater, his thumb chasing over the etchings in the crystal tumbler that he holds in his hand as he studies the amber liquid.

You’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours now, finishing up an article you were writing up on Reed Mather, a tattooist that works out of Lake Monster whose use of bold colouring was proving revolutionary in the field.

It’s the reason you’re up here at this time of year, four days after Christmas. The truth is you have nowhere else to be. You have no family; your friends are all settled, and you can’t stand the idea of another seasonal blind date. The people in your life, they’re well-meaning but they don’t understand that being alone, isn’t the same as being lonely. You enjoy your own company; you’re not looking for a relationship. You enjoy the freedom you have to travel, to explore.

You’ve got another three days booked in the Lodge, you’d splashed out on one of suites with a jetted tub and planned to spend a couple of hours soaking. It’s when you close your laptop that a drink appears in front of you, you pick it up surveying the amber liquid before raising it to your lips and taking a sip.

It’s smoky and warm on your tongue, the heat flowing through your chest as you meet Manny’s gaze across the bar. He smiles before tipping his glass towards you and you smile back.

That’s how it starts this thing between the two of you.

A glass of top shelf whiskey on a Chesterfield couch, laughing so hard that your ribs hurt.

“So, what brings you here?” You ask him, drawing your legs up underneath you. Your arm comes to rest on the back of the couch, the sleeve of your jumper riding up towards your elbow. Manny’s fingertips trail across your bare skin, sending a rush of anticipation chasing through your synapses.

“My daughter.” He says softly, the edges of his mouth turning up into a small smile. “She’s always wanted to go sledding and we don’t get much snow up in Yuma. We went to that place further up, Heavenly Lake.”

“I bet she loved it. I’ve been up there a few times; it turns out I’m terrible at winter sports.” You tell him and he laughs, it’s such a rich, genuine sound, that you feel all the way down to your bones.

“Yea I discovered the same thing.” He confides. “My daughter took to it like she was born to do it. We had a lot of fun together on the sleds but everything else…”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not made for the cold weather. Her mother, my ex, picked her up this afternoon and I’m kinda at a loose end tonight.”

You turn your hand over and his thumb smooths over your underarm, tracing over the tattoo of a laurel wreath on your wrist. The one you you’d gotten after you’d won an award for your photography collection ‘The Ancient Art’ – documenting different tattoo methods throughout the world.

“I know this work.” He says, before his eyes flicker up and meet yours. “Hank Loza out of Santo Padre.”

“He’s done all my tattoos.” You tell him and you see Manny’s interest pique, his gaze straying to the contours of your navy-blue sweater. You imagine his hands straying underneath it, ghosting over the tattoos that decorate your body. He wants to see them, you can tell.

“The Tattoo Journalist.” He recalls, teasing over the leaves etched into your skin. “The two of you used to be a thing.”

“A couple of years ago.” You tell him, watching as his fingertips trail across your palm. “He’s settled now, has two kids with a lovely woman called Maggie.”

His fingers caress yours before they settle within the grooves, entwining. The silver stacker ringers you wear upon your fingers clack against his own.

“No lingering feelings?” He questions and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He needed someone more present and that just wasn’t me.” You tell him honestly, cradling your glass of whiskey to your chest.

“Ah.” He says, nodding his head in understanding. “That’s the reason my marriage fell apart, I wasn’t very present. I’m a good father, a decent President but a shitty husband. We co-parent and she’ll always be the mother of my child but…”

“Sometimes two people just aren’t right for each other, no matter how much you try to make it work.” You say and he smiles that handsome smile of his before he brings your hand to his mouth.

His gaze is heated when he looks at you, you can see his desire simmering in his eyes as his lips brush over the hollow of your wrist.

“You wanna get out of here?” He murmurs against your skin. “Continue this someplace else.”

“Yea.” You say, setting your glass of whiskey down on the table. “I think I do.”

Love Manny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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spark-my-nature · 2 years

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Decorum and Refinement - JTK

I won't lie, this is self-serving filth. I know I'm not alone in being down bad for Oliver Reed though.

Words: 5k

Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, face riding, roleplaying, light degradation, masturbation, all of the filth

Summary: Jake discovers your dirty little secret, but Oliver reaps the benefits of your fantasy.

It was ridiculous, really. Absolutely ridiculous, the effect it had on you. Almost as ridiculous as the persona itself.

You’d managed to keep Jake in the dark about your… special interest. You weren’t sure how, as he prided himself on knowing every single detail he could possibly learn about you. Your boyfriend was endearingly doting, but it made it exceptionally hard to hide anything from him, even to save yourself from the onslaught of embarrassment you were sure would follow if your fantasies got out.

Biting your lip and sighing softly through your nose, you clicked replay on the YouTube video for the fourth time that afternoon. You glanced at the time in the corner of your laptop screen, making sure Jake wouldn’t be home for another hour at least from his lunch with the guys. You let out a whine in the privacy of your room as the video started again, staccato strings softly arpeggiating through the speakers of your computer.

“Why did I decide to become an actor…” Oliver Reed’s rumbly voice began. Your heart beat a little faster, and a silly smile spread across your face, accompanied by a shy blush. You lay on your stomach on the bed, chin propped on your hand as you drank in your boyfriend’s masterclass persona. You were vaguely aware of the accumulating evidence in your panties of the chokehold it had on you, but you ignored it, knowing you didn’t have time to see it through before the real Jake would be home. Opting instead to torture yourself, you sighed again lustfully at the screen as Oliver’s pink lips glistened with whiskey through the fake beard.

He was going to be the death of you. You couldn’t tear your eyes off the veins and muscles twining delicately around his tanned forearms, extending into strong fingers that wrapped teasingly around the neck of the bottle of Jack Daniels and a cigar. He was so delicious, smoke billowing gently from his pursed lips, gesturing wildly with his cane.

The cane. Don’t even start with that fucking prop. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment before returning your gaze to the screen, grinding your hips into your bedspread. You let out a shaky sigh as you watched Oliver say the words, “I am your daddy.” Another small whine escaped your lips, and you huffed slightly.

“Fuck it,” you muttered to yourself and quickly crawled up the bed, flopping on your back, and popped open the button of your jeans. You set the laptop on your thighs, balancing it before pulling your zipper down. Your hand wriggled into your tight jeans, slipping into your panties as Oliver leaned back in the green velvet chair. You sighed at the mess sticking to your cotton undies, and as the increasingly inebriated man on the screen stumbled around shouting profanities, your fingers went to work.

Jake, on the other hand, was no longer at lunch with his brothers. The guys were too eager to get back to their own respective partners, as was Jake, and so as soon as they’d finished eating, they said their goodbyes. He was still chuckling to himself as he switched his jacket to his other arm to open the door. Shaking his head, recalling the story Sam told him about Danny, he set his jacket down over the back of a chair and looked around. The living room was empty, but he saw your glass of water on the coffee table and sweater tossed on the couch, proving you were still home. Curious, he walked quietly down the hall, still no sign of you. His eyes had just settled on the staircase when he heard the smallest noise coming from the bedroom. Furrowing his brow, Jake paused, listening for a moment, and then he heard it again. His eyes widened, a smirk spreading deviously across his face at the source of the sound.

“My, my, my,” he whispered to himself, and creeped up the stairs. The bedroom door was ajar, and he could faintly see the glow of a screen in the darkness of the room. His mind rushed with the implications of a screen combined with the sweet whines you were making. Were you watching porn? He bit his lip in excitement, never having known you did such a thing. You’d never said anything, he wondered what genres you liked. He felt his pants getting tighter as his imagination ran wild. Was his amazing girlfriend into lesbian porn? Anal? What if you were into something really kinky… unable to stop his curiosity any longer, he tiptoed toward the bedroom door, avoiding the creaky boards on the floor. The last thing he wanted was to interrupt-

His jaw fell to the floor at the sight in front of him. You were laid out on the couch, hand moving in tight circles under the cover of your pants, mouth hanging open as soft pants escaped you. All of this exactly as Jake pictured it, better, even. But the contents of the screen, he never would have guessed in a million years. His masterclass video. That’s what you were getting off on? His moronic Oliver Reed parody?

Jake stood there, stunned for a few seconds, allowing the confusing, yet incredibly erotic scene play out before him. His hand found his erection through his pants, palming it and swallowing a moan. You seemed to be getting close, if the increasingly frantic movement of your hand was anything to go by.

An idea formed in his head, and he smirked, hoping it would go the way he hoped.

Pushing the door open a little more, Jake slipped into the gravelly British accent you apparently loved so much. “Well, well, well.”

You let out a short scream, hand flying out of your pants and slamming the laptop shut with a furious blush. You blinked at him, panting softly in surprise and remaining excitement. You watched in horror as Jake stepped into the room like he owned it, eyeing your body hungrily.

“How long have you…” you trailed off, wincing in anticipation. Jake’s smirk widened, resembling the Cheshire cat.

“Long enough, darling. Long…” he took another step closer to you, “…enough.” He was thoroughly enjoying your embarrassed but undeniably turned on expression, and he finally reached the side of the bed, resting his hand on the headboard and leaning over you tauntingly.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, love,” he continued in his Reed voice, albeit softer now in the close proximity of your face. “All the women love Oliver.” After a moment’s dramatic pause, he shot straight up and walked out of the room and across the hall to your office slash storage room. You craned your neck to see where the hell he was going, muffling a snort of laughter at the thud of boxes falling, then your eyes widened as he reappeared in the doorway, leaning casually on the doorframe. Your boyfriend was now sporting those flat-topped sunglasses, and he was carrying the cane. Your mouth actually watered as you took him in, smirking faintly at the fake beard. He looked just as deliciously handsome as you’d ever seen him.

He stalked forward and towered over you once more. You swallowed and allowed your eyes to wander down his body, biting back a whimper at the stiffening erection his pants couldn’t hide. Jake’s hand reached out to grab your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes, and he leaned his head forward, peaking at you over the top of his glasses. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and smirked, remembering the clip in the video, and you licked your lips.

“Jake, I-“

Immediately, he cut you off. “Who the fuck is Jake? Huh?!” He straightened and gestured outwardly in mock confusion. His gaze landed back on you, hungrily.

“I’m Oliver,” he smacked at your inner calf with his cane to spread it outward, “Fucking,” the other leg, “Reed.” He stepped between your open legs and pushed your shoulders back, flopping you on the bed with a growl.

You moaned and grabbed his shirt in your fists, pulling him on top of you. You tugged his hair and captured his lips in a desperate kiss as you ground your hips up into his. A few hairs from the limp beard tickled at your cheeks and he pulled back, just enough to tease your bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue, before thrusting it past your open mouth. He groaned, deep in his throat, and rutted his now rock-hard length into your heated groin. Your hands found the few buttons that were actually done up near his stomach and you struggled to pop them open, finally shoving his shirt off his toned shoulders.

Jake broke the kiss and smirked down at you. “Now darling, why don’t you tell Daddy what’s got you all worked up,” he rasped, grinding into you again. Your eyes fluttered but remained on his. “I- mmm, I really fucking like Oliver,” you gasped when Jakes hand dove into your panties.

“Well,” he chuckled deeply, teasingly stroking your clit, “Oliver likes you, too, love.” He watched as your eyes rolled back slightly, then Jake pinched your clit gently. Your hips bucked and you moaned loudly, gripping the sheets. His fingers circled your clit a few times, then retreated up under your shirt to cup your breast. You whined impatiently, arching your back into his touch, and Jake chuckled darkly.

“I can’t wait to fuck you absolutely senseless, darling. You’re gonna let Oliver make a fucking mess of you, aren’t you, love?” You heard the taunting English accent growing deeper with desire as Jake plucked at your nipples. He was groping you obscenely, watching your face as he played with your tits. You couldn’t remember ever being so turned on in your life, your little fantasies paling in comparison to the show your boyfriend was putting on just for you.

Oliver, as you decided to call him in your head for the time being, gave your breast one last grope before unbuckling his belt. The metal clanged sinfully, and your hand went to seek out some relief between your thighs, but Oliver’s voice halted your movement. “Oi’! Don’t you dare,” He growled, unbuttoning his pants, and shoving them down to the floor in a heap. Left in his boxers and those stupid glasses, he grabbed your ankles and spun you to lie flat on your back with your head on the pillows. You gasped and he crawled over you, practically sneering with conceited lust.

“Please, Oliver, show me how you like to fuck,” you teased breathily, playing up the seduction in your voice to play along. You lifted your hand to stroke his beard, staring into his eyes through the glasses. Oliver’s eyes darkened at your tone, and his calloused hand ran up your front, pulling up your shirt with it.

“Oh, gladly, darling. But first, lets see those pretty tits, yeah?” You moaned and Oliver pulled your shirt up and over your head. His mouth immediately came down and latched onto your nipple, his other hand groping at your opposite breast. You whined helplessly. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed at how eagerly you reacted to his actions. You loved everything about this, being treated like Oliver Reed’s whore, groped for his own pleasure. Jake was making this filthier than you could’ve dreamed of.

Seemingly picking up on your obscene thoughts, Oliver lifted his face enough to flash you a cheeky grin before diving between your tits and shaking his face back and forth into your cleavage. For a split second you wondered how long Jake had been wanting to do that but hadn’t had the opportunity. The thought made you smile and you inwardly laughed at what a boy he was.

Oliver pulled back and he eyed your flushed face. “Forget a penny, I’d pay a fortune to hear your thoughts, my beauty,” he murmured sensually and ran his calloused warm hand down your side, beginning to work your pants over your hips and down your thighs. Deciding to test your limits, you smirked after kicking your jeans off, and shrugged one shoulder. “Just hoping you haven’t been afflicted with whisky-dick I suppose,” you raised an eyebrow challengingly.

Oliver’s jaw fell open slightly but he quickly composed himself. Grabbing your wrist, he growled as he slid your hand down his chest. “You are feisty tonight, love.” Your hand slid closer and closer down his stomach, his soft happy trail making you bite your lip. “Well luckily for you,” he leered, holding your hand still for a moment and pulling the band of his boxers away from his hips teasingly, giving you a shadowy glimpse at the base of his cock before snapping it back in place, “I know how to handle both my Jack and my women.”

He guided your hand down into his boxers and let go of your wrist, allowing you to touch him freely. You looked up, locking your doe eyes with his darkened ones, and held intensely heated eye contact. You ran your fingertips down just low enough to brush against his base, and then you raked your nails lightly upwards through his pubic hair. Oliver’s face momentarily gave away his slip of control, his eyes unfocusing. You grabbed both sides of his neck and flopped him beside you. He chuckled darkly and your other hand joined the first. You ran both hands down his lower abdomen, slipping lower and lower until you took his boxers down with them. You allowed his waistband to rest just a couple of inches below the base of his cock, the rest of his length still hidden. You eyed him shamelessly, licking your lips, and Oliver watched as you traced a single finger lightly down the short bit of exposed skin. Oliver physically shuddered at your teasing, allowing you to explore this new dynamic as you wanted.

Your finger traced along a thick vein and smirked as his erection twitched under your touch. Oliver was starting to breath more heavily, holding himself back from bucking his hips into your hands. “Listen you little minx,” your eyes met, both sets of pupils blown with desire, “you’re being an awful fucking tease. Don’t make Daddy punish you.” You moaned under your breath, hooking one leg over his hip, and grinding yourself up into his cock, still half covered.

He grunted and reached up, lowering his glasses down his perfect straight nose to peer at you over them. Your eyes wandered over his face. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Oliver. I just like to make sure my toys are in working order, is all.”

With a growl, Oliver shoved you roughly back into place on your back. “Oh, I’ll show you who’s the toy, you saucy little brat,” he spat. Standing, he grabbed the forgotten cane from the side of the bed. Your eyes widened and you clenched your thighs together as Oliver loomed over you. He held the cane horizontally with both of his strong, rough hands, and cracked it against his palm once. He wrapped his hand around your neck and pulled you to your feet. He sat in your place and took your arm, pulling you roughly over his lap, ass in the air. You whined and wiggled in his grasp.

“You’ll hold still, if you know what’s good for you, love. It’ll only make this worse for you.” His voice had become nearly unrecognizable through the accent and dark, gravelly lust. You couldn’t dwell on it long before the cane came cracking down against your ass. You yelped and Oliver’s hand smoothed over your reddening cheek, squeezing it with a sigh.

“I bet you just fucking love this, don’t you pet? You wanted Daddy’s cane to spank you. Naughty girl,” he brought the cane down twice rapidly, one smack on each cheek. You moaned and begged, “Please Oliver, I’ll be good now, please, please.”

“I’m not convinced, my darling. Maybe we should just check for ourselves, shall we?” Before you could answer, he was yanking down your drenched panties over your ass. They barely hit the floor before his hand spread your ass open, exposing all of you to him over his lap. He groaned softly and spread your pussy open with his fingers, watching how you glistened in the dim light. “Good fucking girl. So fucking wet, I could go for a sail between these pretty thighs.” You normally would have laughed, but his persona made the ridiculous statement erotic as hell.

You lifted your ass up invitingly, hoping for his fingers. Instead, you gasped as you felt the cool handle of his cane meet your unsuspecting clit. Oliver rubbed it up and down over the swollen bud, watching you struggle to keep your head from hanging. You craned your neck to peak at him, and he met your fucked-out gaze with a wink and a devilish smirk. The cane moved to your entrance and pushed in a few inches. You moaned loudly and finally dropped your head limply.

He began thrusting it into you lazily, eyes locked on the juices clinging to the wooden handle. He pulled it out of you slowly, wishing he had a camera to capture the image of the string of juices that stretched from your pink slit to his cane. “Look at you… Oliver’s pretty little fuck toy, aren’t you, love?” He strained out. You whined and nodded furiously.

Both of you had gotten so worked up at this point you couldn’t stand any more teasing. Oliver took your shoulders and guided you up off his lap. He swung his legs onto the bed and kicked his boxers all the way off, his freed cock harder than ever. Watching you look at him, he ran his hands up his thighs and took his cock in both hands. He began thrusting his hips up into his fists, fucking himself slowly. His beard hung off his chin, his head leaning back as he groaned. You bit your fist watching the show, absolutely drooling over your boyfriend. His hips were absolutely sinful, his tight ass clenching as he bucked over and over into the tight grip of his hands.

Sinful, delicious noises flew out of his pink lips, and you noticed his glasses were fogged up now from his body heat. Pausing his movements, he looked over at you and waggled his eyebrows.

“Do you plan to stand there all evening? There’s a perfectly comfortable seat right here,” he gestured to his hair-obscured face. You blushed, “you want me to…” He nodded eagerly. “With the beard and everything?”

He laughed loudly and you smiled. “My darling, I’m wounded. I was under the impression that you found my beard becoming.” You giggled and moved to crawl over his body.

“I just didn’t want to ruin it, is all. Believe me, you’re so… so very sexy…” you trailed off, cupping his jaw and eyeing his mouth as it quirked into a cocky smirk.

“You flatter me, love. It isn’t every day beautiful women throw themselves at me.” He paused. “Oh wait- yes it is.” He kissed you deeply, limiting your laugh to a huffed snort through your nose, making him smile against your lips. He pulled back and tapped his cheek with his hand. “Up you go, now. Be nice and keep daddy’s face warm.” You crawled up his body and straddled his head, yelping when he pulled you down roughly onto his face. Immediately his mouth worked into your wet core, licking the flat of his tongue over your clit repeatedly before swirling the tip around your clit and sucking lightly.

Jake’s signature loving and knowledgeable style of eating you out combined with the insatiable and filthy mouth of Oliver, and it was unlike anything you’d imagined. He slurped at you with an uninhibited fervor you rarely saw in Jake. Your boyfriend was fantastic in bed, and you had no complaints. But something about this side of him that shined through his alternate persona was stoking a fire in your belly.

He moaned into you and shook his face back and forth quickly, dragging his tongue over your clit in the process. Your head tossed back with a loud groan. “Oh fuck, fuck yes- Oliver yes, mmmm fuck,” you babbled incoherently. He was going to town like it was his last meal and you felt your orgasm beginning to surface. Oliver’s muffled groans, accented by obscene wet noises filled the room, and he pulled you impossibly closer, squeezing and groping your ass as he pressed his face into you desperately. You ground against his face as his tongue stretched into your hole, his perfect nose nudging your clit with each thrust.

You barely noticed the soft beard covering your seat on his face, aside from the odd tickle, but you could feel how absolutely drenched it had gotten. You looked down at him and groaned at the sight, the beard soaked and completely dishevelled, clinging to Oliver’s cheeks as we furiously sucked your clit rhythmically. The image gave your orgasm the last shove it needed and you gripped his hair tightly, letting out a strained yell as you came. Your high lasted longer than any you’d had before, egged on by the vibrations of your boyfriend’s desperate moans under you.

“Ohhh my god Ol-Oliver yes- I can’t stop cumming, fuck fuck fuck-“ you gasped for air and humped his mouth pathetically, thighs shaking around his dripping face. Finally, the waves of intense pleasure subsided and you weakly climbed off his face to collapse beside him, both of you panting.

After a moment you blinked at the ceiling, dazed. “Holy shit.” Oliver/Jake’s familiar giggle sounded beside you, making you turn and smile at him. His eyes were glowing with giddy desire, looking absolutely smitten. You giggled at the state of his beard, stringy wet hairs strung in every direction. He pulled it off his face and let it fall into the trash. Still in character, he chuckled, “Well, it was nice knowing you, beard.” He saluted and nodded once. “Remarkable. He went out doing what he loved.”

You laughed at his antics and rolled to your side. You ran your hand across his lean chest and bit your lip.

He looked over at you and smirked. “Still want more of Oliver, do you? Dirty girl.”

You gave him your best doe eyes and wrapped your fingers loosely around his aching cock. Instantly, his eyes fluttered and a sigh escaped his swollen lips. You stroked him loosely, enjoying the familiar, hard warmth in your hand. “Will you let me ride your cock, Oliver? Pretty please?” You cooed, cocking your head and lightly pumping him in your hand. His eyes fell shut and he let out an honest-to-god whimper. You felt a rush of heat to your groin, playing with his cock teasingly. “I want it sooo bad, Daddy. It looks so nice,” you continued, nibbling at his earlobe and licking a small strip down the shell of his ear, relishing his soft whines and pants. You squeezed his dick for emphasis as you whispered in his ear, “So big and hard. I want to know what it’s like, you know…” You paused to suck a hickey into his neck, “To fuck the great, Oliver Reed.”

With a tortured groan, he rolled swiftly on top of you. Oliver grabbed your right leg and hiked it over his shoulder, one hand coming down to rub the heel of his hand around your sensitive clit. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pushed his glasses back up his nose into place, and then took his cock in hand, pushing into you. You both groaned, your pussy gripping his cock tightly.

“Jesus- so tight,” you vaguely noticed his accent faltering, but he slipped back into character quickly. “God you feel fucking divine, pet.”

“Mmmm- so big, please Oliver please,” you begged breathlessly. Oliver thrusted smoothly and hard, bottoming out with a strained groan.

“Christ, angel, what a perfect fucking cunt you have,” He praised through pants. The hand that wasn’t holding your leg up ran down the inside of your suspended thigh, coming down to spread you out farther and playing with your clit.

Your eyes rolled back, barely recognizing the sounds coming out of your mouth. You gripped the bedsheets with white knuckles as Oliver pounded into you, wet slapping noises echoing with each thrust. You felt your second orgasm approaching already, aided by the tight circles he rubbed into your clit. “Yes, baby- just like that, you’re gonna make me cum, please,” you whimpered, not caring how desperate you sounded.

A feral growl ripped out of the man on top of you and he circled your clit faster with his free hand. The hand on your leg slipped down momentarily to smack your ass a few times, returning to its post on your knee as he drove relentlessly into you. Soft grunts huffed out of his lips with every thrust, his balls slapping against you animalistically. You edged closer and closer, concentrating on the deliciously soft, rock-hard cock pumping into you.

“Come on, gorgeous girl, give it up angel, soak daddy’s cock like the good fucking slut you are. I need it, angel, please,” Oliver begged raggedly, his fingers a blur on your swollen clit.

The heavenly sound of Oliver Reed begging you to cum launched you over the edge, blinding white hot pleasure shooting through your body. You were pretty sure you were screaming, but you couldn’t tell for sure. Incoherent babbles of both Oliver and Jake’s name streamed from your lips through moans. Just as you regained awareness, your boyfriend lost all composure, pulling out of you and pumping his warm cum across your belly and spread pussy with the sweetest groan you’ve ever heard. His eyebrows tilted up and furrowed, his lips in a perfect “O”, and his hand flying over his cock in a blur of motion.

He let out a final, weak grunt and flopped beside you, once more joining you as you both caught your breath.

Your ears slowly stopped ringing and you fluttered your eyes open, glancing over at Jake. He looked absolutely heavenly, flushed skin shining with sweat, red lips parted as he breathed raggedly. His long eyelashes casted over his cheekbones, he looked adorable, in contrast with the situation. His long hair clung to his forehead, and he lazily reached up and ripped off the glasses that had miraculously stayed on. You reached over and brushed his hair off his face, tucking it sweetly behind his ear and cupping his jaw lovingly. He turned to look at you, eyes soft with pure adoration. You felt a flutter of butterflies from the look he gave you.

Slowly he leaned forward, tilting his head, and you met in a sweet, gentle kiss, losing yourselves in the moment. His hand snaked into your sweaty hair as your lips moved together, pulling away with a sigh.

“I love y- “I love you,” you both whispered at the same time, dissolving into giggles. Jake booped your nose with his finger, his adorable smile stretching across his face. You pecked his lips again. He grabbed a fistful of tissues from the nightstand to clean you off until you had gained enough strength to shower.

“So when were you gonna tell me?” He asked, voice rough and gravelly from the strain of the character voice and sex.

You blushed, feigning ignorance. “Tell you what?” You started to sit up to move out of bed.

Jake grabbed your hips, pulling you back down into his side. “Ah ah ah, not yet, miss,” he chuckled, wrapping his toned arms around your middle and gripping tightly. “When were you gonna tell me about your special interest in Oliver?”

He looked way too pleased with himself, so you looked away and giggled shyly. “Never, its embarrassing!” He scoffed and kissed your cheek. “Why? I think it’s kinda sexy,” he rested his forehead against your temple, nose pressed into your cheek. You felt his eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone, tickling you gently.

You smiled and bit your lip. “Really? You don’t think its weird?”

He snorted a laugh and pulled back, looking at you incredulously. “Babe, we just had the best sex we’ve ever had while I wore a cheap fake beard and the ugliest glasses I’ve ever seen, not to mention while talking dirty to you in an English accent. No, I don’t think you are the weird one,” he laughed. “In fact, I think you’re the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

You giggled and kissed him softly. “I think you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met.”

“Me? Or Oliver?” he raised an eyebrow teasingly.

“You, dingus! Jacob Thomas, boyfriend of the year, rock god, chef extraordinaire, pirate enthusiast and love of my life.” You beamed against his lips, and he closed his eyes, letting out a contented hum.

“Oh yeah?” he mumbled bashfully with a goofy grin.

You pecked his lips. “Nah just kidding.” You giggled at his faux glare. “Of course, baby. I’m so fucking lucky it's incredible, I won the boyfriend jackpot with you, handsome,” you rubbed your nose against his.

His smile was blinding and he hugged you tight against him, nuzzling into you. “Ditto, gorgeous.”

#greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fluff #gvf smut #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiszka #jake gvf #oliver reed #oliver fucking reed #greta van smut #greta van fleet

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viadescioism · 7 months

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Kicking and knocking:

"Kicking and Knocking," also known as "Knockin," "Knock boxing," or "yuna onse," is a little-known but historically significant African-American martial art. Its roots trace back to the era of slavery in the United States, particularly in South Carolina and Virginia.

"Knocking" in this context refers to a specific technique resembling a charging headbutt, reminiscent of African cattle, producing a distinct "knock" sound upon impact. Although related, knocking and kicking were often distinct practices within the art form.

Music and acrobatic movements were integral to "Kicking and Knocking," making it inseparable from dance. It was traditionally performed within black communities to the rhythm of drums, clapping, or reed pipes known as "quills." This art form likely has connections to other African martial arts like Engolo, and shares similarities with capoeira and danmyé ladjia.

"The Sabbath is not regarded by a large number of the slaves as a day of rest. They have no schools to go to; no moral nor religious instruction at all in many localities where there are hundreds of slaves. Hence they resort to some kind of amusement. Those who make no profession of religion, resort to the woods in large numbers on that day to gamble, fight, get drunk, and break the Sabbath. This is often encouraged by slaveholders. When they wish to have a little sport of that kind, they go among the slaves and give them whiskey, to see them dance, "pat juber," sing and pay on the banjo. Then get them to wrestling, fighting, jumping, running foot races, and butting each other like sheep. This is urged on by giving them whiskey; making bets on them; laying chips on one slave's head, and daring another to tip it off with his hand; and if he tipped it off, it would be called an insult, and cause a fight. Before fighting, the parties choose their seconds to stand by them while fighting; a ring or a circle is formed to fight in, and no one is allowed to enter the ring while they are fighting, but their seconds, and the white gentlemen. They are not allowed to fight a duel, nor to use weapons of any kind. The blows are made by kicking, knocking, and butting with their heads; they grab each other by their ears, and jam their heads together like sheep. If they are likely to hurt each other very bad, their masters would rap them with their walking canes, and make them stop. After fighting they make friends, shake hands, and take a dram together, and there is no more of it." - Henry Bibb, 1849

Henry Bibb, born to a white father and a slave mother in Shelby County, Kentucky, in 1815, and was held in slavery in Kentucky, Louisiana, and in present-day Arkansas. In 1837, he escaped through Ohio and Michigan into Canada.

#martial arts #black history #Kicking and Knocking

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ju1ian · 2 months

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10 current favorite songs and 10 favorite songs of all time? btw tag your friends cuz i wanna know their favorites too :3

Oh my god I've been given the opportunity to make a tag game post? Amazing.

10 Current Favorite Songs:

1. Hard Luck Woman - Kiss

2. Big Shot - Billy Joel

3. Lime Tree - Bright Eyes

4. Thoroughfare - Ethel Cain

5. Sunday - The Cranberries

6. Doll Parts - Hole

7. Off To The Races - Lana Del Rey

8. Half Life - Djo

9. Space and Time - Tyler Childers

10. Whiskey In The Jar - Metallica

10 Favorite Songs of All Time:

1. For Crying Out Loud - Meatloaf

2. Unchained Melody - Elvis Presley

3. Earth Angel - The Penguins

4. Dyer's Eve - Metallica

5. In My Darkest Hour - Megadeth

6. Loverman - Metallica

7. Iced Honey - Lou Reed + Metallica

8. Hawaiian Wedding Song - Elvis Presley

9. Please Come To Boston - David Allan Coe

10. My Way - Frank Sinatra

I tag: @aimbuddylist @sooth-sayings @hopelesshardrockfan @youthanasia94 @asz1tch @metalmpreg @stinkman007 @legolasion1 @kirk-says-wah @thenaughtynun any mutuals who I forgot please also feel free to do this :) I'm awful at remembering urls.

#tag game #songs

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ejunkiet · 1 year

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end of year round up (rec list!)

rec lists are a forgotten art in fandom, and I've read so many good fics this year. below are a few of my favourites, although I'll stick with one from each author!

redacted audio - full ao3 bookmarks (94)

- burn me, Asher/Damien by @dominimoonbeam

this was my first bookmark, and it remains one of my favourites. the dynamic is just, so good. ash balances out damien so well. (domini we love all of your work <33)

- I'm out of my element, HuxDami by @jonbinary

set immediately post inversion, and got me on this TRAIN before canon was a thing. Just, gorgeous and tender writing ;u;

- old number seven, Sam/Darlin by @devilbunnyking

Gods, this was stunning. slow rolling tension, sharing a whiskey and plugging tunes in the juke box. Beautiful exploration of both of them!!

- apple and honey, Milo/Sweetheart (18+) by @onesmallcentury

Any redacted reclist would be incomplete without this MASTERPIECE okay. Gods, I cannot count how many times I've reread this. Delicious, gorgeous <3

- refractions, Gavin/Freelancer by @solclaw

The emotional slow burn of those early dates. Just, goddamn stunning. I could curl up in your writing forever, beanie ;u;

- commit it to memory, Huxley/Freelancer by @sealriously-sealrious

honestly, want to link all your writing here Chrys, but this is Huxley! With tattoos!! And @taelonsamada 's gorgeous art!!! MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

- SWEET TALK, Milo/Sweetheart by @gingerbreadmonsters

this whole series is a MASTERPIECE. the dynamics!! The banter!! It makes me melt okay. all your writing is lovely, but this series holds a special place in my heart <3

- Signs Point to Yes, Milo/Sweetheart (18+) by @wakeupnew

On the subject of Milo and SH, this story has been living rent free in my mind for the last few weeks. The eight ball quotes! AGGRO! The dynamic of these two are just perfect, dealing with the inversion aftermath, and it's just gorgeous.

- fill my heart with song (and let me sing), Milo/Sweetheart (18+) by @autisticempathydaemon

Again on the subject of these two, I absolutely loved this fic. I love all of Lexi's work, but this was delicious 😚💖

- Let's make this night last forever (forever and ever), Milo/Sweetheart (18+) by @glassbearclock

Okay, this FIC. ALL OF BEAN'S MILO FICS. It's a beautiful chronology, but this one is just, fecking fantastic.

- ad astra (per aspera), Avior/Starlight by @lvllns

Starlight and Avior break out of the meridian. Gods, this is absolutely stunning. I love Reed's work, and I'm so very happy I got them into redacted >:3

- An Angel In Wolf's Clothing, David/Angel (no Tumblr?)

FINALLY David makes it onto this list. I've read this story SO MANY TIMES. Gorgeous early revelation exploration, where Davey tells Angel that he's a wolf.

- return to shore, imp!David/angel by @taelonsamada

THE IMPERIUM AU OF MY DREAMS. Giving David and Sam the chance they never had to find happiness in the Imperium. SO PERFECT ;u;

- phases of you, David/angel (no Tumblr! 18+)

Gods, this is one of my favourite redacted fics. Reimagines David and angel's relationship if Angel was a wolf, and they were mated before Gabe died. Long fic!! Had me obsessed for a weekend. Still obsessed hehehe

- (Gonna make you) howl, David/Angel (18+) by @romirola

>:3 Romi's work is gorgeous, and I recommend all of her fics, but THIS FIC. Angel pampers David, and it is GORGEOUS.

- Halley's comet, Elliot/Sunshine (no Tumblr)

GORGEOUS. There are not enough Elliot/Sunshine fics!!! Elliot asks sunshine for 7 days to prove that he is a dream walker.

- California nights, Milo/Sweetheart (18+) by @thee-morrigan

Again, I love Katie's writing, and this is no exception. DELICIOUS 😚💖💖

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #rec list #Redacted recs #gods this is long hahahah #one fic per author omg

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morallyinept · 5 months

Text

Running in conjunction with my Pedro Character Dialogue Masterlist, I've created this Pedro Character Analysis Masterlist as another writing resource.

It will feature each character Pedro has played, with a full in depth review of the character, including physicality, distinguishing features, personality, attire, weapons used, cars driven etc...

Please feel free to refer back to this when fleshing out your characters for your fics. Or if you simply want to learn more about Pedro's characters. This will align to canon, and I'll include links that may be helpful/elaborate further on each character.

☝🏻This will be updated regularly, and when new characters are added to Pedro's portfolio of works.

*List does not include certain adverts, podcast characters, voiceovers, very minimal roles, guest appearances on shows/SNL, or table/script readings.

Enjoy! 🖤

Buy me a Ko-fi ☕️ If you like my work and enjoy what I put out there, you have the option of buying me a Ko-fi, if you'd like to. It's never expected, but always greatly appreciated. 🖤

In alphabetical order:

TV & FILM:

Billy - Iris

Clint - Freaky Tales

David - Window Shopping

David Portillo - Homeland

Dave York - The Equalizer 2

Dieter Bravo - The Bubble

Din Djarin - The Mandalorian

Ed Indelicato, Detective - Wonder Woman UNAIRED

Eddie The Freshman - Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Ezra - Prospect

Francisco 'Catfish' Morales - Triple Frontier

Frederick Mercer - Charlie's Angels UNAIRED

Greer, Special Agent - L&O SUV

Jack Daniels, Agent Whiskey - Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Jay Castillo - Red Widow

Javier Gutierrez - The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent

Javier Peña - Narcos

Joel Miller - The Last Of Us

Juan Badillo, Agent - Graceland

Kyle Hartley - CSI

Kyle Wilson - Without A Trace

Liam - Nikita

Lucien Flores - The Univited

Marcus Moreno - We Can Be Heroes

Marcus Pike - The Mentalist

Maxwell Lord - Wonder Woman 1984

Max Phillips - Bloodsucking Bastards

Nathan Landry - The Good Wife

Nico - House Comes With A Bird

Noah - I Am That Girl

Oberyn Martell - Game Of Thrones

Omar Assarian - Lights Out

Ortega, Special Agent - The Sixth Gun UNAIRED

Oscar Castro Varga - Exposed UNAIRED

Paulino - Sweet Little Lies

Pero Tovar - The Great Wall

Pietro Alvarez - If Beale Street Could Talk

Reed Richards - Fantastic Four

Reggie Luckman - L&O Criminal Intent

Ricky Hauk - Touched By An Angel

Santos - Drive Away Dolls TBR

Shane 'Dio' Morrissey - NYPD Blue

Silva - Strange Way Of Life

Steve - Hermanas

Steve - Nurse Jackie

Ted Garcia - Eddington

The Thief - Casillero Del Diablo Wines

Tim Rockford, Detective - Merge Mansion

Tito Cabassa - L&O

Veracruz, Comandante - Burn Notice: The Fall Of Sam Axe

Zach Goffman - Body Of Proof

Zach Wellison - Brothers & Sisters

AWAITING CONFIRMATION OF ROLE:

Gladiator 2 - Character TBC

Materialists - Character TBC

☝🏻New characters will be added as and when new projects are released.

If I've missed any, or there is one you would specifically want to see, please let me know. 🖤

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #PPCU #pedro pascal cinematic universe #joel miller #din djarin #frankie morales #javier pena #ezra prospect #marcus pike #marcus moreno #dave york #javi gutierrez #comandante veracruz #pero tovar #det tim rockford #oberyn martell

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p3ski · 6 months

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 4.4K

"I just don't get what its deal is."

Gavin sat slumped on his bar stool, cradling a half-empty glass. Already three drinks in, he was beginning to feel a distinctive buzz clouding his senses. Soon, he would be rewarded with the blissful intoxication that was desperately desired. Taking another sip of whiskey, he relished in the sensation. All tension seemed to melt away as his body became warm and slack.

"Androids are usually so easy to read, but this one just… isn't, you know?"

He had turned to his companion for input but found her attention elsewhere. She was far more engaged in a nearby pool match than she was in their conversation.

"Tina", he snapped his fingers in front of her face, to which she attempted to fan him away.

"Not now, Gav, I have money on this. My bet is on the big one with the lazy eye. What do you think?"

"I was talking to you. That's what I think."

There was a click of resin-on-resin as the man that Tina was betting on was able to sink a perfect shot. She punched the air and let out a small grunt of victory. Gavin was less than enthralled.

" Tina. "

With a sigh, the frustrated officer turned on her stool, facing her friend. "I don't know what else you'd like me to say, Gav. Nines and I aren't BFFs. I hardly know him better than you do."

"But you get what I mean, right?" he pressed on belligerently. "One minute, it's a standoffish jerk, and the next, it's actually decent. It's like it spins a goddamn wheel to decide whether to be a prick or not."

"He's a little guarded. A lot of people are."

"There's guarded, and then there's..." His words trailed off as Gavin stared longingly into his glass, taking another gulp. "Any time it seems to feel anything, it puts itself on instant lockdown. It doesn't matter what I do or how nice I am. There's never any progress."

"Yesterday, you said he was being nice. Sounds like progress to me."

"I didn't say it was being nice. I told you it said 'thank you'."

There was an outbreak of noise from the pool table as Lazy Eye's opponent, a man covered with obscene tattoos, sank an impressive trick shot. Tina watched on in visible displeasure, a pained expression contorting her features.

"I know you have limited experience in this department, but most people consider a 'thank you' as being nice."

"So that's supposed to make it all better, then? One damn thank you after a week of treating me like dirt? What a joke."

"Baby steps", She insisted, clapping him reassuringly on the back, "You've officially reached begrudging tolerance. Keep it up, and you might get upgraded to a friendly acquaintance."

Coiling away from the touch, Gavin bristled. He wasn't yet ready to challenge what he understood Nines to be - and the nature of their relationship. Familiarity and fondness complicated matters. It was far easier to view the android as a hardened metal beast. One to be kept at an arms-length.

His desire to drink grew exponentially as he concluded that he was still far too sober. Sinking another measure of whiskey, he tried to focus his thoughts. "Androids don't make friends, and even if they did, Nines has no interest in being mine."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because it literally told me so", Gavin fired back. "It didn't even want me to call it by its name. Are you seriously going to try and convince me that this buddy-buddy shit isn't a waste of time?"

Tina paused thoughtfully, lips pursed. "Before this week, Nines only knew you by your reputation. That would be enough to scare anyone shitless. He's getting to know you, and he's beginning to realise that you aren't a complete raging asshole."

Gavin frowned back at her, wholly unconvinced "So we've spent a couple of days together, and now the tin-can has changed its mind?"

"It shouldn't come as a surprise. Statistically, someone has to like you."

Leaning forward in his stool, his eyes narrowed in opposition. His body no longer felt pleasantly warm, the room's heat growing tight and constricting around him. He craved the bracing chill of the wind outside. As well as a cigarette. It would have to wait, however, as there were more pressing matters at hand, like numbing all of the cognitive functions of his brain.

"Bullshit", Gavin spat out. As if physically sickened by the suggestion. "Total bullshit. I've already told you. It doesn't like me; it doesn't like anything."

Except for Anderson and Connor, and tidy rooms, and my cat -

Bringing the tumbler to his mouth, he knocked back what was left of his whiskey in a long, unbroken gulp. He let out a gasp, catching his breath, before drying his mouth on the back of his sleeve. His colleague watched on with a despairing look. As if anticipating that the detective's ramblings were only about to increase tenfold. She was soon proven right as the detective settled into a new, more invasive position inches from her face.

"Okay, smartass", his voice was dry and strained, a consequence of the burning liquor. "If it likes me, if it's even capable of that, then why did it go all shades of psycho when I asked if it was really deviant?"

Tina, who had been about to take a swig of her neglected beer, instantly halted her movements. She stared at her friend, utterly appalled, searching for reassurance that he may be joking.

"Don't look at me like that", Gavin complained, unappreciative of the silent judgement. "Just tell me: If it likes me so much, why wouldn't it answer a simple question?"

"Because that's a shitty thing to ask", She said plainly, as if the answer was glaringly obvious. "How would you feel if I asked if you were really a person?"

"Nines is proud of what it is. It's not like I was going to send it spiralling into an identity crisis."

Tina's mouth opened wide, as if ready to relinquish a long tirade, but shut soon after. She seemed unable, or otherwise unwilling, to unpack her coworker's heavy-handed statement, instead opting to take a breather with a long, quiet sip of her beer.

"Not cool, Gav" The words were muted as her lips remained clamped to the rim of her bottle. "The poor guy is trying his best. You need to lay off a bit."

Gavin let out an indignant splutter as his face burned a vibrant red. He swung an arm forward, almost knocking his tumbler flying. "So now I'm the problem?"

"Yeah, you are. I mean, what the Hell, Gav. Why are you so in his business?"

"In it's fuckin' - ?" Another splutter, as he grew increasingly heated, "You were the one who wanted me to bend over and lick its plastic asshole!."

There had been no attempt to contain his volume, and with the sudden clashing of glass accompanying it, the bizarre proclamation had rewarded them with more than a bit of attention. The bar felt deathly silent as the focus of all nearby patrons was pulled to the bickering officers.

The men playing pool had paused their game, exchanging looks of quiet bewilderment. A group of women, who had been sitting drinking in near-perpetual silence, erupted into a sea of gasps. They quickly began to nudge and shush each other, albeit still giggling under their breaths.

The bartender, who had been cleaning glasses, scowled at the detective with weary recognition. It was far from the first time Gavin had caused a ruckus in his bar, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

He signalled to a man at the back of the room, who was reclined next to the jukebox. There was an exchange of looks, and with a wordless nod, the man twisted a dial on the machine's display, to which the volume gradually increased. Silence persisted for a few seconds longer amongst the patrons, but as the well of entertainment dried, the sounds of drunken mingling steadily resumed. Throughout all this, Tina had been sitting with her hands clenched firmly over her face, struggling to suppress a fit of laughter.

"That is definitely not what I told you to do", She wheezed, foam trickling from the corners of her mouth. " Although maybe it wouldn't hurt, break the ice a bit."

Gavin remained deaf to the teasing, barely able to hear anything over the thundering music. "I'm going for a smoke", He announced, kicking back from his stool and away from the bar. "I better have a drink when I get back."

Gavin made his way outside, escaping through the fire exit and bracing himself for the harsh winds about to greet him. The rain that had fallen earlier in the day had begun to freeze over, leaving a fine layer of ice on the ground. Not wanting to take his chances with the steep concrete steps, he sat down, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and quickly lighting up.

After a long drag, he leant backwards, trying to lose himself in his senses. His eyelids fluttered closed, and his head swelled with the sudden darkness that embraced him. The fleeting serenity failed to last, however, as his vision shifted, and he was greeted with the stern expression of an all-too-familiar android.

Continuing to smoke, Gavin tried in vain to shake away the unwanted image. The features of the android staring at him gradually began to soften. Grey eyes ceased to be sharp, becoming bright and curious. The taut lips pulled upwards, melding into an overwhelming, intoxicating smile.

With opened eyes, he grunted in frustration. Goddammit .

Upon returning to the bar, the lights had been dimmed, and a colourful - albeit underwhelming - strobe effect had taken its place. A sparse couple of people had made their way to the 'dancefloor' - which was really just a narrow strip between the pool table and jukebox. The women marched in forced sequence back and forth while a particularly brave man flung himself like a ragdoll between them.

The tragic display did very little to lift Gavin's spirits. He sauntered back to the bar and slumped himself despondently onto his stool. Tina, who was accustomed to her colleague's propensity for self-indulged moping, silently slid him his liquor. "Ordered you another one. You're welcome."

Gavin said nothing and simply buried his face into his arms, groaning. His friend gave him a hard nudge, to which he responded with a louder, more pronounced groan.

"Still alive?"

"You know, I could deal with the bitchy mood swings.", Gavin clumsily began, ignoring the question entirely. "My brother had more than enough girlfriends when we were growing up, but what I really can't deal with is its face."

"Oh man, are we still talking about -" Tina pinched the bridge of her nose, thoroughly drained. "Alright, I'll bite. What's wrong with his face?"

Gavin pulled himself up before quickly snatching his tumbler and holding it firmly in his hand. "You'd think they'd have time to fix the fuck ups they made with Connor, but no. This one has two expressions: 'waiting to rip someone's throat out' or 'desperate to take a shit',." This was a bald-faced lie, of course - but one that he was keen to maintain.

"I don't know, I think he's pretty cute."

"So what. You're gay."

She scoffed at the bluntness of the statement. "Look, he's not my type, but all that dark hair and muscles? Objectively speaking, he's kind of dreamy."

"I think you need your eyes examined."

Taking another swig of her beer, Tina leaned forward on her stool, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. "Don't lie to me, I know your type. Tall dark with chronic RBF? You'd so hit that. Just admit it."

"If it was a person, " came the staunch defence, as Gavin downed half of his drink without hesitation, "But I'd sooner rip off my left ball sac than sleep with a robot."

"I think you should broaden your horizons a bit…Sex with an android is basically the same as sex with a human. Just a lot less sweat and mess" Tina looked a little giddy, swirling the liquid in her bottle. "Plus, they don't get tired, which is nice."

"How do you know so much about it?"

She made a 'lips sealed gesture' before batting her eyelashes in a display of faux innocence. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Tell me you're joking."

"What happens at the Christmas party stays there, Gav. Having said that, you know the ST300 who works reception?"

"I'm gonna be sick", Gavin cringed, making an exaggerated gagging gesture. "They're built like Barbie dolls . What do you even do with them?"

"Not to ruin the mystery, but plenty of deviants have opted to…upgrade" Tina gave a wink before playfully nudging her friend. "So the good news is, if you do end up banging him, Nines might be packing more than you'd think."

Gavin's face burned at the thought. God help me -

"You know what? Forget I asked," he snapped, covering his ears childishly. "I'm not about to pop a boner the next time I watch The Wizard of Oz . If the Tin-Man does it for you, that's fine, but I'd rather have flesh and blood."

"Pfft, yeah - If any 'flesh and blood' will actually have you , asshole. Seriously, when was the last time you got laid?"

"None of your business."

"Okay, so we're talking months at least."

"You're about to be demoted to my second best friend. After my cat."

"Come on, I'm only teasing. You must have had a rebound after –"

Tina cut herself off, her jovial tone quickly abandoned. She watched how Gavin began to tense up before sinking into himself protectively. While she had known better than to say the name of her friend's former partner, her judgement of the situation had undoubtedly been clouded by the murk of inebriation.

She touched the top of his forearm in a sympathetic gesture. "If it is of any comfort to you, I always thought he looked like a rat."

"He was a rat" Gavin began drinking faster, emptying his glass before anything else could be exchanged. Placing it rim-down on the counter, he drummed his fingers along the base. "You don't know how badly I wanted a rebound. To stick it to that asshole and his damn boy toy: but it feels like the only guys who are into me these days are old pervs or nineteen-year-olds who want a 'daddy'. Either way, I can't win."

"Which is why you should consider an android: Fewer daddy kinks and no creepy age gaps."

"The dynamic is still pretty creepy if you ask me", Gavin challenged, frowning down at his emptied glass. "Less than three months ago, these robotic assholes didn't have autonomy. They've only just become sentient."

"They were always sentient. The way it works is just different now."

"Oh, so now they're different? I'm sorry, I thought we were all the fuckin' same?"

Tina paled, despairing at the direction the conversation was heading. "Don't do this -"

Focus was back on the two, despite all the lights and noises around them. This time, it was from a group of androids who had recently made their way in - and were standing nearby, ordering shots. One of the androids, a WB400, took particular issue with the detective's obscene ramblings. With shoulders squared and eyes narrowed, it looked ready to give Gavin a piece of his mind - and fists - when his friends all piled in to desperately hold him back.

After a hurried exchange of whispers and pleas, the WB400 began to back down, albeit still regarding the offending human with intense hostility. Gavin seemed utterly oblivious to his close brush with death, continuing his rant as if nothing had occurred:

"So pardon me for doubting the emotional authenticity of an Alexa on legs."

"Stop it" Tina pressed a hand harshly to his still-gaping mouth. "This isn't the break room. We're in a public bar . If it gets back to Fowler that you've been saying this shit, we could both be out of a job - and it'll be a cold day in Hell before I go back to retail."

Gavin tried to fight against her grip but found it much stronger than anticipated. Either that or his lax muscles could no longer exert the force required to break free. His head spun from limited oxygen as he floundered about dizzily. As a consequence of his growing delirium, his mind had begun to wander again - without any conscious control or desire.

Before long, he was no longer in the bar and was instead standing in Mikey's Electronics, Nines close beside him. The stubbed finger of the store owner pointed to a 'No Androids' sign as the old man watched from the sidelines, sneering aggressively. Both men were closing in on Nines as their increasingly malicious intentions became clear:

"Why don't you go back to the warehouse and rot?"

As the words were spoken, they failed to sound like either offender. With horrific realisation, he realised that the attack had come from his mouth. He stumbled back, lost in the pained expression spreading across his partner's face.

What the Hell does that make me?

When Gavin had been effectively subdued, the hand on his mouth slowly retracted. His eyes felt weak and unfocused, as if he had just woken up from a dream. The creeping doubts that taunted him had returned to his mind in full force. They twisted his perceptions, making him fall further down a stream of dismay and scepticism.

With just how lost her friend seemed, it was clear that Tina felt remorse for having restrained him so forcefully.

"I understand that this is hard for you," she said softly, trying to soothe him. "But you can't let your personal biases cloud your judgement forever."

"It's not about bias", Gavin said indignantly. "The rest of the country has lost their mind. I'm the only one that can still see sense."

Running a finger along the rim of her bottle, Tina gently chewed her bottom lip, clearly wanting to say something. Her shoulders were hiked and tensed as she eventually mustered up the courage to speak:

"...Your brother called the other day. Through the station line. I don't know if you got the message."

Gavin stared back into his empty glass, despairing even more at the lack of contents. "I have nothing to say to him. Need another drink."

"I know things have never been great between you, but maybe if you gave him a -"

"Shot? Excellent idea" He held up his tumbler, using his free hand to flag the bartender. "Hey buddy: Next one's tequila."

The bartender glared back, saying nothing, and quickly turned his attention to Tina. The word 'Tab' was mouthed slowly and firmly, to which the officer dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"I'm good for it, I swear."

In an instance of impressively poor timing, a chorus of cheers suddenly erupted from the pool table. The men had concluded their games, and a victor had finally been determined. To her chagrin, the man being jostled and praised wasn't Lazy Eye - who was sat at a nearby table, forlornly nursing his beer.

" Goddammit ", Tina cursed under her breath, composing herself as best she could to shoot the bartender a sheepish grin. "One more round and we'll leave. Promise."

'One more round' quickly divulged into four or five. Both of the officers soon lost count. With the music slowing and the night winding down, they were barely conscious of the time that had passed until a 'last orders' bell rang aggressively in their ears. The bartender, who had already been losing patience with the rowdy police officers, was on his last nerve. A broad man in a wrinkled shirt, presumably security, stood in wait by the exit, hands clasped firmly in front of him. His eyes were honed on them with precision. Ready to strike.

"You know what, I'm gonna text it…" Gavin slurred out, rocking unsteadily to his side as he did so. "Stupid Nines thinks it's so great. I'mma tell it to suck my dick."

"Bold, but not your best pickup line."

"'S not a pickup line. I just wanna knock the bastard down a peg…." Gavin leaned back on his stool, holding his arm out to steady himself. "Ya know what? Even better, I'm gonna text Jack. I mean, I was waaaay out of his league, and he had the audacity to cheat on me ? Gonna give him a piece of my mind. Tell him his balls were weird."

"Oh no, you don't", Tina blurted out, snatching the device from his limp hands. "No drunk texting. I'm confiscating your phone."

"Come on, Ti", he whined, "Give it back."

"I don't want to hear it, Mr Reed", She puffed out her chest, doing her best 'haughty principal' impression. "You can pick it up after class."

Another whine of protest, "Tiiinaaaa."

Gavin leaned forward, trying to retrieve his phone, but fell victim to his lack of balance - face-planting on the counter. With a groan, he slid off his stool, collapsing onto the floor in a crumpled heap.

A pair of women, who had been making their way to exit, leapt back just in time to avoid him. One of the women, clearly very inebriated, began poking at the man's body with the tip of her high-heeled shoe.

"Is he okay?" she asked slowly, her hazy eyes alight with worry.

Tina stared down at her companion, snorting. "Yeah, he's fine. Had worse falls than that, haven't ya buddy?"

As if on cue, Gavin roused from his position and stumbled back onto his feet. He propped his elbows on the bar, resting his face in his hands. However, he did so with a distinct lack of skill or grace, as his head quickly tilted forward and his chin clipped the counter's edge.

"Hey, bartender. Same again, please" he made a strange noise halfway through. Something between a grunt and a belch.

The doorman was closing in fast, and Tina hurriedly shot to her feet. She swung an arm around her drunk coworker to carefully steady him. "I think it's time we get you home. Any more, and you'll be puking 'til Monday."

"Fuck off, you're not my mom" Despite the weak protest, Gavin settled himself against the woman's shoulder, allowing himself to be guided outside.

Before he could process anything else, he was slung into the back of an automatic taxi, and the door was shut firmly behind him. The ride home was nothing short of bliss, as Gavin's resistance quickly deserted him, and he began to shut down. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he pressed himself into the rigid polyester of the seat supporting him. He was far too gone to think of anything, and he relished the peace that fell over his absent mind.

This peace was disturbed, however, as he was rudely awakened by someone (presumably Tina) attempting to hoist him out of the car. She struggled for a while against his dead weight before letting out a breathless plea:

"Come on, sleeping beauty. I'm going to need your help here."

With some persuasion, including the promise of a nice warm bed, Gavin clumsily lifted himself, relieving some of his weight. As they made their way into the apartment, Tina was forced to do a quick sidestep to avoid Tiffany, who was now awake and hissing territorially from the floor.

"Good guard cat, good… " Gavin mumbled before his head lolled back again, narrowly missing the edge of the doorframe.

"For fucks sake", Tina huffed out, struggling to pull him back forward. "I am never taking you out again. Do you hear me?"

By no small feat of determination, she was able to guide her friend the rest of the way to his bedroom - before settling him down on the covers. Gavin hummed contently, spreading himself out, seemingly unfazed by the fact he was still fully clothed.

"You gonna read me a bedtime story?" he mocked, cracking one eye open but quickly regretting it as the room began to rock and spin.

"You're lucky I'm not reading your rights. After the shit you've put me through tonight," There was a shuffling noise as Gavin's possessions were set on the bedside table. "Sleep up, and let's hope you are sober enough to make it to work on Monday."

With a listless wave of his arm, Tina was ushered out of his room, to which she happily complied. The light was switched off, and the door to his bedroom was gently closed. Another hiss from a perturbed Tiffany signalled the exit of his friend as she made her way out of his apartment.

Before losing consciousness again, he somehow found the awareness to put his phone on charge. Unable to resist temptation, clumsy fingers worked overtime to unlock his screen and quickly found themselves scrolling through the list of contacts:

"Actually Decent, Drunk Old Bastard, Top-Knot Asshole…" Gavin tried to decipher the identities behind the list of cryptic names, but his brain was failing to translate, "...There you are" . He grinned in satisfaction before clumsily beginning to type out a message:

i didnt stand up for you to be nice. did it cus that old fucker was pissing me off. so before u start telling me im a good person, just remember that u dont know shit about me. i still think youre a smug prick, and i cant fucking stand u -

He paused for a moment, staring at the screen, pondering on what other musings were left to be added.

- having said that. u have a nice smile. and a nice ass. so i guess u have some endearing qualities too. dickhead.

Exhaustion eventually won out as Gavin slipped back into his self-induced coma. Dribble soaked his pillow as he loudly snored. Having never made it under the covers, he kept warm from his unshed clothes and the alcohol seeping through his veins. His phone dangled precariously from his hand before falling onto the floor. The screen was still on, illuminating the room, with the message to Nines clearly displayed.

#dbh #dbh gavin #dbh nines #reed900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #g9 #gavin x rk900 #dbh gavin reed

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