———
Word count: 1226
Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions)
Rating: Mature (For themes & language. No smut.)
Warnings: Slow burn; angst; references to drugs and death (inc death of a child); post-movie; AU, fix-it fic.
A/N: Also posted on Ao3
———
Champ had explained Jack had a wife. A pregnant wife, who was killed. She- they had been collateral damage in a store robbery gone wrong. The ones who had killed them had been high, addicts, and it had been a loss that had devastated Jack. It was after this, that he’d become an agent with Statesman. It had given him purpose, and he’d risen through the ranks. Champ had apologised too, for his part in missing the signs, even after all the years of Jack’s exemplary service. That reasoning you could understand more. The tragic and sudden loss of not one loved one but two? You could understand anger, resentment, rage, even revenge. But if Whiskey had given his reason as stock prices, was he simply lying to the English agents or to himself?
When you leave Champ’s office, the cowboy is waiting down the hall, sat on the floor, leaning back against the invisible barrier. He doesn’t reply when you ask him if he is okay, doesn’t acknowledge you at all beyond standing up when you get nearer. He simply follows when you walk past him, heading back out of the bottle shaped building.
You’re about to walk back to Ginger’s lab, but a tour group passes you, blocking your path. Honestly, you could do with a break right now, especially with the cowboy giving you the cold shoulder, so you go in the opposite direction and wait at the entrance to the distillery, the start point for the next tour that’s beginning in 20 minutes. It’s actually quite interesting, seeing some of the machinery involved with making bourbon, seeing the public façade of the Statesman company, knowing the hidden secrets that the tour guide herself may not even be aware of.
“Here’s where we leave the casks to age.” She says, pointing to a long wooden building to her left. “Unfortunately, we can’t go in, as it’s a temperature-controlled environment.” You smile. It also has a biometric lock and is the entrance point to the secure labs, including Ginger’s. Probably would be hard to explain why a big bourbon barrel easily disappears and reappears from the floor, carrying people inside of it. “So let’s move on to our world class stud farm and meet three of our Kentucky Derby winners.” Your group moves on past the buildings, towards the training barns, stables, and the pastures beyond. The group is thoroughly entertained by the various parts of the farm section, and the peace of the animals is a welcome balm to the turmoil of the last few days. Jack, still bound to you, has not spoken a word, not whispered any stories about the buildings, not made any jokes. It pains you, more than you expected, and it feels strange to remember that this was how life was just a few days before. Once he wakes up from his coma, it’ll be your life again, without the continual company of the denim-clad cowboy, and that hurt is heavy in your chest too. You’ll miss him once he’s gone, although, you think, you miss him right now too...
…
After the tour, including a brief tasting session of several bourbon whiskeys, and a trip to the gift shop where you pick up a postcard to send home to your roommate, you make your way back to the lab to sit with the stationary Whiskey, and ask if there are any interesting results from Ginger’s earlier brain scan.
An EEG, she explains, measures the electrical activity in Jack’s brain, and put simply, that the depth of the coma affects the results, particularly the response to stimuli. She also whispers that although usually shaving the hair isn’t absolutely necessary, the Statesman’s machine does work better with more contact to the skin, and the glue from the stickers can be a bother to get out. They shave the sections of his hair every time they do a scan, but it’s only now that they know about Jack’s objection to the razor. Ginger sits with you, and places some large pieces of paper down on the bed in front of you both. The first is a set of results from the start of Jack’s coma, the spiked lines meaning very little to you. The next set, taken after 3 months, are much the same, a set of spiked lines showing the brain activity happening despite the coma, and although she says they’re are slight differences, you cannot see it. The following set, the 6 month scan, shows spikes again, though obviously different than the first. She says that it means that he was less reactive that at the start, a deeper state of unconsciousness, which can mean less chance of full recovery.
“We aren’t due another EEG until next month,” Ginger explains, “but with you being here, and the apparition of Jack you’re seeing, I was curious.” Now she brings out the test results from today. There is a clear difference, and Ginger smiles at you as she continues, clearly excited, “today’s results show an increase in brain activity than the previous one. But what’s actually fascinating is the activity is greater than the first scan. He, or at least his brain, is more active now. Of course, we also need to do and MRI and some other tests too, but this shows that the Jack you’re seeing is likely affecting the Jack here in this bed.”
“And that’s good, right?” You ask, following her a little less once her speech sped up with the excitement.
“Yes, that’s very good. I think I may go tell Champ actually, this is very, very good.”
Once Ginger collects up the scan results, and left the room to inform her boss of the progress, you’re left again with the stillness of the room, the machines thankfully breaking the silence. Whiskey, the physical one, remains the same, though you are entertained by the unexpected makeover he’s received. You move your chair closer to the bedside and take his hand, brushing your thumb over the back of it. Just because the ghostly one isn’t speaking to you, doesn’t mean you can’t speak to him.
“Did you hear that, Cowboy? The scans look better than before. Maybe you’ll wake up soon, though I hope you aren’t still mad at me when you do…” You brush your hand along his cheekbone. The Jack in the next room raises his head at the slight tingling sensation on his own cheek. His hand too? He takes a few steps towards the doorway of room you’re in but doesn’t enter. It’s slightly ajar and he can just hear what you’re telling the other him.
“Your brain is getting a good workout with me. So you have to stop giving me the silent treatment or you’ll go backwards. Please, Cowboy, I don’t want you to go backwards.” He sighs as your voice cracks, but he’s still mad at what you did. When you kiss his hand, and lace your fingers between his own, he feels it, the ghost of the soft touch of your lips, the pressure of your hand in his. It remains with him when you talk to him more, when your head rests on the edge of the bed, when your eyes start to feel heavy and close. It remains as you fall asleep with your hands still entwined.
Everything I’m Going to Watch in April: *** SUPER QUARANTINE EDITION***
I mean.... here we all are then.
Usually in these blogs I try to keep the fantasy alive of like “oooh maybe I really am going to watch all of these shows!” But, let’s just cut to the chase - you’re bored, you need to fill the yawning void of time between now and when they let us back outside (June?), you clicked on this for cold hard content recs. I hear you, I see you, I adore you, I’d love to embrace you, but most importantly: I got you. This month, I’m listing everything that could even remotely be in the realm of watchability. I do it for you.
BUT FIRST - Let’s talk about QUIBI. Quibi (“Quick Bites”) has been a looming threat for a long time and its time is finally nigh. Designed for “people on the go” (lol remember them?), it’s tv, movies, and docs released in ten minute or less “bites” on your mobile device. I think it’s supposed to tap into the same part of your brain that wants to watch 100 Tik Toks when you are technically “in bed” but haven’t put your phone down yet. It launches April 6 and you can get a 90-day free trial! Just the length of the rest of our time indoors! And on that date Quibi is ready to absolutely blast you in the face with a shotgun of content and celebrities. Chrissy Teigen is a judge, Chance the Rapper is Ashton Kutcher, Liam Hemsworth is a dying task rabbit. We are flipping murder houses, break dancing, and learning how to become drag queens. Also turns out this is the final resting place of When the Streetlights Go On! Who knew. I can not do individual recs because I am just one girl, and Quibi is a vast, merciless ocean of bites. However you are welcome to drown in a full list of their offerings here: GOOD LUCK
Now in case Quibi doesn’t permanently disfigure the television industry and forever alter all of our viewing habits, here’s what’s on “real” TV:
Friday, April 3rd
Home Before Dark (Apple +)
A tiny child journalist solves a cold case in a small town! This is based on a true story (?!?!?) Adorable! Gritty!
Harley Quinn Season 2 (DC Universe)
If you want to continue the high of Birds of Prey, I have heard the animated series is actually pretty good. No idea how to get DC Universe tho, you’re on your own there.
Money Heist Part 4 (Netflix)
La Casa De Papal! Never been a better time to learn to speak Spanish AND plan the perfect heist with your hot criminal friends!
Tales From The Loop (Amazon Prime)
A sci-fi show based on Simon Stålenhag’s paintings (see above). Its Swedish, its futuristic, Rebecca Hall is in it. Feels like more of a vibe than a show tbh, but the painting is cool!
Sunday, April 5th
Kim Kardashian West: The Justice Project (7pm on Oxygen)
I KNOW some of you want to watch this.
Thursday, April 9th
The Good Fight S4 (CBS All Access)
PSA: This is back for those who partake, and CBS All Access is doing one month free! Sir Patrick said so!
The Circle: France (Netflix)
Okay so I did watch all of The Circle, Netflix’s social media reality show. Am I proud? No. Am I going to watch it in French? Yes.
Sunday, April 12th AKA NATIONAL PWB DAY
Killing Eve Season 3 (9pm on BBC America / AMC)
Admittedly, I was underwhelmed by season 2 but that’s only because season 1 set the very highest bar imaginable. Our favorite murder girlfriends are back with a NEW lady show runner, so blank slate baby. Speaking of the perfect season 1, it is all on HULU.
Run (10:30pm on HBO)
After Killing Eve hop right on over to HBO where this show from PWB’s writing partner Vicky Jones premieres! What a day for us! Ex-lovers abandon their lives to RUN away together. Merritt Weaver! Phoebe is actually IN it! Romance! Intrigue! Also I have official confirmation: Domhnall Gleeson is doing his natural accent for those of us made nervous by the teaser.
Wednesday, April 15th
Mrs. America (FX but on Hulu)
Look, I’m just going to come out and say what we’re all thinking: Rose Byrne is the most underrated actress alive, every performances is a master class, and her American accent is a work of art. Anyway she plays Gloria Steinem in this and she’s going to absolutely crush it. This miniseries about the ERA could not be more on brand for me: fabulous actresses of today, playing feminist heroes of yesterday! Thank you FX, for this gift. And thank you Australia for Rose Byrne (and Cate Blanchett!)
What We Do in the Shadows Season 2 (10pm FX on FX and then on Hulu)
Season 1 also on Hulu to catch up! Maybe even I myself, your dearest blogger, will catch up. Anything is possible.
Thursday, April 23rd
We’re Here (9pm on HBO)
Shangela, Bob the Drag Queen, and Eureka travel the country and empower people by making them into drag queens! Like a hug for your heart (in case you never actually physically hug anyone ever again).
Friday, April 24th
Defending Jacob (Apple +)
Chris Evans has to defend his son, Jacob. Look, do you want to stare at Chris Evans or not?
Sunday, April 26th
Penny Dreadful: City of Angels (10pm on Showtime)
A sequel to the OG Penny Dreadful, the new series takes place in 1930s Los Angeles and Natalie Dormer in a leather dress, Natalie Dormer in a leather dress, Natalie Dormer in a leather dress, and um other supernatural chaos too I guess.
Vida Season 4 (9pm on Starz)
One of the shows most recommended to me I haven’t watched. I’ll say to you what my friends say to me: “Martha it’s only 30 minutes!”
Monday, April 27th
Never Have I Ever (Netflix)
A teen comedy by Mindy Kaling about an Indian-American girl growing up in the valley. There will be awkwardness and growth! I love teens!!!
I Know This Much Is True (9pm on HBO)
2 Mark Ruffalos.
Okay if you can’t find something here to whittle away the minutes unto freedom then idk how to help you. Please stay inside and watch tv, stay safe, I love you, I’m thinking of you <3
———
Word count: 1889
Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions)
Rating: Mature (For themes & language. No smut.)
Warnings: Slow burn; a lot of angst; violent descriptions (Whiskey vs the Galahads fight) & allusions to a gory death (how it ends in the film); post-movie; AU, fix-it fic.
A/N: I was worried about this one when writing it, but I think I did it came out okay… Also posted on Ao3.
———
You join Ginger, still speaking her thought processes to herself. You gently clear your throat to not surprise her too much before you speak.
“Ginger? How about some food?” Her shoulders relax a little, and she nods, as you begin on your way. Whiskey follows, but today spends the walk telling you some little facts about some of the rooms or people you pass on the way to the canteen. She smiles to herself when you laugh at one of the more… scandalous tidbits from your cowboy companion. She wonders how you are so okay with this, the (almost) ghost of an international spy chatting to you, so easily forgetting that to everyone else, there’s no one there. She’s not sure she’d be quite so accepting. She’s sure most people wouldn’t be.
You finally reach the canteen, grabbing a sandwich and drink, but taking your time looking at the desserts and easily picking out the one you’ll be coming back to get afterwards. Ginger and you settle down on two of the chairs at one of the round tables, placing your choices down and finally getting out of the lab headspace. She sees you push another chair out a bit with your foot, and when she looks questioningly at you, you simply shrug and tell her it’s so that Whiskey can sit down too. She doesn’t see how the gesture makes the ghostly Agent’s eyes soften, or the gentle tip of his hat he gives you in thanks.
…
After lunch (including a slice of one of the nicest chocolate fudge cakes you’ve ever had), the three of you return to Ginger’s lab, the air feeling much lighter than it did beforehand.
The remainder of the day includes more questions, Ginger trying to make some sort of connection between yourself and the stetson wearing secret agent, though she’s also looking over some of the previous test results so it’s not nearly as intensive for you as it was the previous day. Your book makes a short lived appearance, ending up closed on your lap as you think over and discuss the other possible connections with her. The cowboy doesn’t really add many thoughts, occasionally walking across the room and through the wall to look at himself in the hospital bed, machine beeps providing a strange soundtrack to his physical being, before walking back to join the two of you again. This last time, however, he returns to find you standing next to Ginger, hands covering your mouth, barely being able to contain your tears as she holds the tablet between you, screen clearly pointed in your direction, the video slightly highlighting parts of your face as it plays. One of her hands is on your back, rubbing up and down lightly in comfort, he realises, which means there’s really only one video you could be watching right now. You must hear something, he thinks, to make you become aware he’s walked back in, though he has no idea what, he’s just trying to figure out how you look so hurt about what happened to him. He’s still staring at your face as your head lifts and eyes meet.
“Jack.”
It’s the only thing you can rasp out before you break into sobbing. It’s the first time you’ve properly addressed him with his name. And oh, how he wishes it wasn’t said like that.
Ginger guides you to sit in a chair as you continue to cry over the video. The cowboy squats down in front of you, wanting nothing more than to hold your hand and comfort you, just like Ginger was trying to.
“Darlin’, it’s okay, I’m okay.” He whispers to you. You shake your head, hands still over your face. He can’t do anything but wait, quietly repeating to you that he’s fine.
Several quiet minutes pass, you only moving to occasionally wipe the flowing tears off your cheeks. The cowboy watches your face, eyes closed, cheeks irritated by the repeated rub of your hands. You breathe slowly and deeply, opening your eyes and letting them land on his face. Whiskey’s eyebrows pulled up and together in concern. He is still repeating that you don’t have to worry about him, so you give a small smile and slight nod to tell him you’re feeling a bit better now.
He exhales, you doing the same after another deep breath. He places his hand flat on your knee, palm up, so you place yours palm down on it. It goes straight through, of course, and your smile widens and warms as you watch how your hands share the space together.
“What can I do, sugar?” He asks, smiling back.
You shrug, losing some of your smile, and simply reply, “wake up?”
…
Later, you sit with both versions of the cowboy, reassuring yourself that no matter how much it looks like he is going to land inside the meat grinder, that no matter how terrifyingly close he gets, he does not actually go in. You had watched the video again, after you had stopped crying. After that viewing, you had cried a bit more, and moved rooms to sit among the machines that continue to beep around the comatose Agent Whiskey, one of the few signals that the cowboy is, in fact, still alive and not a ghost.
Despite the man’s disapproval, and intense glare, you are watching the video for a third and final time. You watch as the cowboy talks to the other two men, the ‘English business connections’ he had mentioned, across the checkered floor, them with a metal case, him with a lasso in one hand, a gun in the other. You watch as a bright light covers the screen briefly, and they begin to fight, the cowboy’s lasso, electrified according to Ginger, swinging around the room, cutting apart seats and almost cutting apart people. You watch him be hit and kicked around, lose his knife into the meat grinder, causing sparks to fly as the teeth do their damage. More fighting, and then it comes around again. The moment one of the suited men lifts him up and over, the other pushing his chest down to guide him, planning to send him head first into the grinder…
You pause the video. You know he doesn’t go in but it still looks like he will, that it’s the only outcome of the men’s movements that could possibly happen, that it was the inevitable end. You take a deep breath in, look at ghostly Whiskey’s concerned face, look at solid Whiskey’s peaceful one, exhale, and press play. He’s no longer centred, he’s to the side, still in motion, before the top of his head hits the corner of the funnelled metal, stopping its path, and the rest of the cowboy’s body flips over and falls, leaving him laying on the floor.
You suppose, really, that you should somehow be grateful. Grateful that the men didn’t lift him up and put him into the grinder after all. Grateful that they didn’t simply shoot him in the head before going on with their previous case-related mission. Whether the reason they did not was that Whiskey being neutralised due to unconsciousness was enough, whether it was crossing the line of self-defence to murder, or if they simply didn’t think he was worth the effort or the bullet, was unknown. You suppose you should feel grateful that they left him, injured, unconscious, and bleeding on the floor, but you just can’t seem to feel that particular emotion.
You lock the tablet screen and place it down on the bed. You aren’t crying this time, but you are so very tired from doing so earlier. Leaning back in the chair, you yawn, causing the cowboy to come closer.
“You alright there, darlin’?” He asks, and you take another look at his face. It’s filled with concern still, some guilt for the pain the video has caused, and something else. Regret maybe? You’re wondering if it’s a strange combination of sadness and annoyance at the fact he’s still an apparition that only you can see, mere inches from a body he should be inhabiting.
You nod, giving him a weak smile to try and calm some of his conflicting emotions. “Fine, thank you, just tired. Feel like going back to the hotel for a nap before dinner.”
“Okay then darlin’, let’s go.” He’s half way through the door before you even reach for the tablet. Returning it to Ginger, you tell her that you’re done for the day, the emotional labour has wiped you out and you’re going back to the hotel. She hands you a card with the Statesman logo and a phone number on it.
“It’s direct to the transport services, so you can come and go a bit more freely. You won’t have to be ready at a certain time, or meet me outside anymore, you know where you’re going. Champ okayed it. And you already have your ID, your biometrics are in the system, plus you have my direct number, so if you get turned around, call.”
“Thanks. I’ll do my best, don’t want to interrupt you.” You give her a warm and friendly smile, but it’s a surprise to her when you also give her a hug. “Thank you for your help. For me, and for Cowboy.” She hugs you back but doesn’t say anything before you let her go, saying goodbye and leaving her lab for the day.
…
Arriving back at the hotel, you try your best to get to sleep. You really try. An alarm is set, you’re comfortable in the bed, and you do feel tired. You’ve been there for 20 minutes, but you’re still very awake. Very awake and wondering how the cowboy ended up in your life, replaying how close he got to being minced, and what had caused the fight that almost killed him.
Ugh.
You climb out of the bed, walk over to the sofa, and drop down heavily next to Whiskey. His stetson is over his eyes again and he barely reacts to your arrival.
“What caused the fight?” You ask. “You said that you wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d have killed you? What could have possibly happened to do that?”
“Let’s just say we had a… difference of opinion.”
“Were they spies too?”
“Yes.” The man’s tone is short, and he clearly (still) doesn’t want to talk about this.
“But why-“
“It don’t fuckin’ matter now, does it? It was months ago, darlin’. Everyone was saved, so none of it fuckin’ matters.” He’s loud, not shouting, but loud and his tone is rough. You stare at him, and when he finally turns his head to look at you, it’s not anger in his eyes. Not only anger, anyway. It’s pain. It’s grief.
“Did you not want everyone saved, Jack?” You wish your voice didn’t break, you wish your heart didn’t either at the thought that this man, this ridiculous cowboy that you care about despite only knowing him a few days, could have possibly fought against the cure being released. He doesn’t say anything. That’s an answer too, you think, and not the one you want. You sigh as you stand, and walk back towards the bed. You cry again, this time only stopping when you finally fall asleep.
———
Word count: 1533
Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions)
Rating: Mature (For themes & language. No smut.)
Warnings: Slow burn; angst; references to death; post-movie; AU, fix-it fic.
A/N: Also posted on Ao3.
———
Jack knows when Ginger returns to the medical room and wakes you up. He feels it. He loses the sensation in his hand as you let go to eat the food she brought. The rest of the day is much of the same, sitting with the comatose cowboy while the other ignores you. He sometimes wanders off, but each time he returns, the silence continues.
You leave the distillery sometime in the afternoon, spending the rest of the day in your hotel room, watching the TV, reading, and looking at the view of Louisville from your window.
…
When you wake Friday morning, the ache in your chest remains. You wonder if today will be more of the same - the heavy feeling of the ghostly cowboy’s silent presence - or if he’ll maybe talk to you today. You feel disappointed when, again, he doesn’t say good morning to you, or makes any comments on the way to the distillery.
There are three extra people surrounding the cowboy’s bed when you arrive, Ginger speaking to one of them before waving hello. A few machines have also been brought in, you figure that they’re there for some of the other tests Ginger had mentioned. You quickly let her know that you’ll be with the horses, so you won’t get in their way, and you’ll be back soon.
Once you arrive at the stables, you watch the horses being brushed down, fed, and let out to enjoy the day. Leaning against one of the wooden fences, you sigh, enjoying the fresh Kentucky air and the stillness that the labs lack.
“I’m guessing you know about horses, Cowboy? I know nothing…” You chuckle under your breath, not even sure Whiskey is listening to you. “What’s that phrase? Save a horse, ride a cowboy? If I ride one of these horses, would I save you, do you think?” You keep your eyes on the horses, trying not to let the tears well up, and definitely not looking at Jack. He stands a little behind you, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying his best not to reply some flirty response. “You may need to demonstrate some of your special cowboy skills, prove that you’re not all stetson and no lasso.” You voice is less confident the longer that sentence goes on, and he sees you shake your head, “or… whatever, you know what I mean.”
Jack takes a few steps forward and leans on the fence next to you, keeping his eyes forward the same as you. You shrug, and laugh to yourself again, “maybe even find a mechanical bull, you can watch me humiliate myself, Cowboy.” You see Jack smile in your peripheral vision before he manages to hide it - he’s still mad at you, so even if he misses you too, he can’t show it.
…
After some time watching the horses, in silence with your ghostly companion, you make your way to Champ’s office, not being able to stop thoughts of your previous argument with the moustached man from rising. You ask if Champ’s available, and the lady behind the desk again buzzes through to check. Her name is Kelly, you had made a point to ask Ginger, and though she is the assistant to Champ for his public role as head of Statesman Distillery, she’s also rather well trained in hand to hand combat and a range of weapons, should she ever need to help Champ defend the offices. She lets you know you can enter, and you thank her before letting yourself in.
Champ’s standing at the large window, so you join him there rather than sitting at the table.
“Jack’s still giving me the silent treatment, don’t know if Ginger mentioned it to you.”
Champ nods, “he’s stubborn like that. Been on the receiving end of it myself, once or twice, over the years. He’ll come around if he knows what’s good for him.” He turns to the empty room, addressing the invisible senior agent directly, “you know that, Jack, you stubborn ass.”
“…Did that stubbornness stop him from talking to someone about his loss, or was it never brought up?” You ask him.
“There’s a yearly psych evaluation, and people are always available to agents who need it.”
“It’s not enough though, clearly. He needs to talk to someone, to work through the pain and grief, to let go of the resentment. Or else it’ll just happen again.”
“Yeah, you’re right. If he- I mean, when he wakes up, it’ll be arranged, even if he doesn’t want it. Part of his recovery and probation, before we can consider him being back in the field.”
“Thanks. I know he’s mad at me still, thinks I was interfering in his business, but,” you sigh, “I care that he heals fully, you know? I can understand his pain, his anger, but he’ll be the one hurting in the end.” You sigh again, looking over your shoulder briefly to see if the cowboy is listening in. You don’t think he is, even though he’s only perched on the edge of the table. “…I miss him,” you say quietly to Champ, “is that ridiculous? I barely know him.”
“No, it’s not ridiculous” he replies, “I’d bet he misses you too. Not that he’d admit it.” He sighs, and takes a step towards the door. “I’m gonna give y’all some privacy, I reckon you need it. Stay as long as you need, I’ll be with Ginger in her lab, seeing what those doctors are sayin’.”
You nod, and he starts to leave. He pauses at the door, and says loudly to the room, “a word of advice, Jack?” He turns back to you, and asks “is he listening?” The ghostly agent joins the older man by the door, and gives you a subtle nod. You tell Champ that Jack is there and listening, before Champ speaks. You don’t hear whatever it is that Jack is being told, but you instead enjoy the view for a few minutes, until you hear the door open and close, signalling Champ’s exit.
…
Now that Champ has left, you turn fully to look at Jack, but you’re at a loss of what to say to him. You watch him as he walks slowly back towards you in silence, trying to work out what to say to him. You settle on the truth, plain and simple.
“I can’t do this any more, Whiskey. I can’t have you hating me.” You’re quiet, and Jack shakes his head at the pain in your voice. “This whole Poppy thing, with the drugs and the fight, all of it, I just- …I miss you.”
He stops, a few feet away but you just look at each other, the weight of the last few days hanging in the air. Jack opens his mouth several times to speak, although only huffs and frowns.
“Cowboy? Please just talk to me?”
“…You told me it didn’t matter.”
“Your side of the argument?” He nods once in response. “I did. I said that it didn’t matter at that point, and it didn’t, until it did.” You sigh, frustrated that that was really the only way to put it. “Of course which side you were on mattered, Whiskey. I needed to know, and I had hoped to be told about it by you. So that I could fully understand why you chose what you did, why exactly you almost died. But you just… wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, looking down, still resistant to talk about it. “So, yeah, I asked other people, because the one person I wanted to talk to about it made me feel like shit for even asking, for being interested about how the most important thing in my life came about.” The cowboy looks up at you again then, studies your face, and sighs. You continue, “how do you not know that? I care about you, you annoying cowboy, and the fight? How could I not want to know everything about that fight?” The two of you look at each other, before you take a deep breath and take a step towards him. “But, I shouldn’t have gone behind your back about it. I should have spoken to you. I should have said how important it was to me, how important you are to me, and that if you weren’t ready to tell me, I could ask someone else. I’m sorry, Cowboy, I went about it wrong.”
Whiskey took a moment to think about what you’d said, the fact that it had all come from a place of concern, the pain he had caused you by ignoring you for the last day or so. He still wasn’t happy, it had, after all, been his life that had been discussed, but he believed you are sorry too. And, in some small way, he’s glad he wasn’t the one to have to tell you about his motives for wanting millions dead, and the darkest point in his life that fuelled them.
“I accept your apology, English. But next time, darlin’, talk to me?” You nod, a faint smile on your face. The heaviness in the air resolves, both of you feeling better already.
———
Word count: 1168
Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions)
Rating: Mature (For themes. No smut.)
Warnings: Slow burn; minor angst; post-movie; AU, fix-it fic.
A/N: I’m REALLY sorry for the long hiatus. I’m going to try my best to be more regular with updates (possibly a new chapter every 2 weeks?) Also posted on Ao3
———
“So, why me?” You ask Ginger when you get back into her lab.
“No idea about that. You ever been to Kentucky before?”
“No.”
“Ever visited any of the Statesman offices before?”
“No.” You pause, thinking of another question that’s just as important. “What about why now? I mean, it’s been 8 months since the whole Poppy thing, why not then?”
Ginger sighs, and places her tablet down on the desk next to her. “Jack can hear me, right?” You nod. “It may have had something to do with him dying.”
Both you and Jack respond at the same time. “What?”
“Only for about a minute.” Ginger quickly adds on, holding her hands up in defence. “…But you died, Whiskey.” The cowboy’s jaw is slack, and he looks a little like he did when you first saw him in your kitchen. It feels like a lifetime ago. Ginger continues to speak to the air, “when you were on the flight back from Cambodia, there were some complications from transport. The effects of those complications made you crash the other day, and you died. I’m sorry.”
You jerk your head up suddenly, “Wait, did you say Cambodia?”
“Yeah, that’s where Whiskey… got hurt,” Ginger answers.
“Shit.” You mumble, and clutch onto your necklace.
“What is it, darlin’?” Jack whispers to you.
“My necklace. My roommate visited Cambodia a while back, she bought me this necklace.” You hold onto the pendant. “Could it be coincidental, or have we figured something out?”
“When Poppy died, her entire place was emptied, demolished and parts were recycled. It’s possible, I imagine that it could be some of that metal?”
“So, some of the metal could have been melted down and made into my necklace?”
“Still don’t explain why me though, darlin’” Jack says, frowning.
“Um, Jack still doesn’t get the connection, and to be honest, neither do I?”
“Is it possible that it just happened to be something that belonged to him?” Ginger says softly.
Jack sighs, patting his hip. “My gun? It’d be one of the only things left behind?”
You repeat it to Ginger, and she taps a tablet screen, watches something, and looks back up. “Jack’s knife was put through the meat grinder. If the metal was used for the necklace, it could be acting like some sort of talisman.”
You look up to the cowboy standing next to you, him looking as dumbfounded as you feel. “So then, when you died, it brought you to me?” You whisper, as Jack looks at you, brows furrowed, and gives you a small nod.
A talisman, conduit, a lightning rod, for his what? Spirit? Soul? Consciousness? Your hand is still wrapped around the pendant, holding on to the necklace like an anchor, grounding yourself. This little thing, the smallest impossible chances, has connected the two of you together.
“I need a minute.” You say, and Ginger simply nods as you turn towards the door. You leave her lab, and return to the small room with Whiskey’s unconscious form within, Jack close behind.
“Darlin’?” whispers the cowboy, just a head through the wall, as if mounted on it, as you lean back against the door. Jack finishes walking through the wall, settling next to you, leaning back against it. Stupid metaphysical contradictions. “You alright, sugar?”
“It’s stupid.” You whisper as you turn to face him, a shoulder now supporting you. He mirrors you, leaving you face to face with barely a foot between you. “If I didn’t have this necklace, or if you hadn’t lost your knife, or if the stupid building hadn’t been demolished and recycled, then what? You’d just be there,” you gesture towards the bed, “and that’s it?”
“You could have gotten on with your life, sugar.”
“Oh come on, Cowboy.” You shake your head at him, and lean it back against the wall, a smile spread on your face. “This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. If I had a choice, I’d pick your moustache and stetson following me around, any day.” A faint smirk pulls at his lips, and a low chuckle escapes him.
“Well, thanks sugar. I’d pick the same.” He watches you blush a little, and you try to hide it from him, looking over to his physical form across the room.
“Are you alright with all this? Being here, seeing yourself like that? You’d tell me right, if you wanted to go?” He looks at your face, the concern written on it, your brows pulled together, and your lips pulled to a thin line. He opens his mouth to speak, when a knock on the door interrupts, breaking through the moment. Ginger slowly appears through the doorway to check on you. “Let me guess, more tests?” You ask her, and she nods, smiling softly.
“I’ve updated Champ, he said he might come down in a bit too, see our progress.”
“I imagine you want me to take the necklace off, right?” You ask Ginger back in the lab, though you’re sure of the answer already.
“It’s just to see if it is that that’s connecting the two of you.”
“But what happens if he disappears and doesn’t come back? What then?”
“It’s… just a risk we’re going to have to take.”
“But what if it’s one I don’t want to take?” You reply, accidentally snapping at Ginger. Jack chuckles lightly, touched at your concern.
“Darlin’, I’ll be fine. I’m already in a coma, what else could go wrong?”
“Well done for jinxing yourself there, Cowboy.” You look between the two, and sigh dramatically when you accept what needs to be done. “Fine. But I will say ‘I told you so’ if this goes badly.”
“Sure thing, sugar.” You reach behind your neck, undoing the latch of the chain, and breathe out when you take it off, keeping your eyes on the man in front of you. You place it into Ginger’s hand, breaking contact with the metal.
Nothing happens. Jack doesn’t vanish, fade or become blurry. “He’s still there,” you breathe out, a smile appearing on your face.
Ginger watches your reaction, a small sad smile on her own lips too. “Okay, um, let me…” she says as she puts it on herself. She waits a moment. “Nothing. I don’t see him…” she shrugs, murmuring to herself, “must have been wrong, I guess.”
She takes it off and passes the necklace back to you, still mumbling things to herself as she walks off to the other side of the room. You secure the necklace back in its rightful place as quickly as possible. Your shoulders relax a little, and you sigh, placing your hand over it in comfort. You look up at Jack again, and give the man a sad smile.
“For what it’s worth Whiskey Cowboy, I’m sorry you’re stuck following me around.”
You turn and start walking towards where Ginger’s stood, and Jack pauses for a moment before whispering to himself, “oh, English, I’m right where I wanna be.”
———
Word count: 1894
Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions)
Rating: Mature (For themes & language. No smut.)
Warnings: Slow burn; so much angst; references to drugs and death; post-movie; AU, fix-it fic.
———
Wednesday morning, you awaken with a heavy feeling in your chest. Yesterday’s talk with the cowboy plays in your minds over. The vague answers, the dismissal, the pain in his eyes.
“Everyone was saved, so none of it fuckin’ matters.”
You sigh, having to accept that the inference is the same this morning as it was yesterday.
Standing, you look over at the sofa, at the cowboy who hasn’t moved from his spot, whose hat still covers his eyes in what you assume is the closest thing to sleep he can get. You again drop heavily to sit next to him. He tips back his hat and looks at you.
“Okay Cowboy, it doesn’t matter.” You turn too, so you’re facing each other, and look him in the eyes. “Right now…” You pause, “it doesn’t matter right now. But I want to talk about it at some point.” You get a single nod from the man, and you leave him again to get ready.
…
When you arrive at Ginger’s lab, she’s with the physical Jack, looking at the various monitors, placing stickers on his forehead. She has a razor to her side.
“Are you the one keeping the moustache in such pristine condition?” You ask with a smile.
“No, the night carer does that. This is for the sensors.” She lifts the razor and shaves a patch in the cowboy’s hair.
“No. Now wait a second, dammit.” Jack protests, even though Ginger can’t hear him.
“Jack’s not happy, by the way.” You say to her, she simply replying with a shrug. You look at the man himself, who is trying to knock the razor out of her hand, “look,” you sigh, “if it’ll help to get you to wake up, you may just have to have a bit of a haircut, Cowboy. We can cover it up with your Stetson if you like. Or I’ll knit you a cute little hat.”
“Yes, thank you English, one with flowers and bunny ears attached. I’ll be the envy of the coma ward, won’t I?” You can’t help but chuckle, imagining the glaring man with the exact hat he described.
“Your wish is my command, Cowboy.” You reply with a wink, and are met with nothing more than a huff before he walks out of the room to avoid seeing the continued makeover.
Now that he’s not listening in on the conversation, your mind moves to more important questions, and the answers that have so far been avoided.
“Ginger,” you ask, quietly so it won’t alert Jack to come back in, “I asked him about the fight yesterday, but he shut it down. He won’t tell me anything when I bring it up. Did Jack- I mean, did Agent Whiskey-“ You rub your eyes, and Ginger meets your eyes with a sympathetic look. “Did he want everyone affected by the poisoned drugs to die?” You look down at the peaceful body in the bed as Ginger’s hands stop shaving off the patches of hair. She lifts her gaze to meet yours and shakes her head a little.
“I can’t talk about the specifics of the mission, or any details that we found out during debrief. Champ was in two minds about you even seeing the video of the fight.” She leans forward a little, speaking softly, “but if you want to know and Whiskey won’t tell you, talk to Champ. Do you remember where his office is?”
“Vaguely. The top of the bottle, right?” She nods quickly. “Thanks, Ginger.” You give one last look to the peaceful version of your cowboy, before walking off to find the head of Statesman for some answers.
Champ’s office, you think, is surprisingly well signposted. Despite the buildings and staff using the cover of a distillery, the easiness of locating the boss’ office must still be some sort of security problem. Then again, the biometric locks and surveillance is probably off putting enough for any unsavoury thoughts.
You’re being followed by the cowboy as usual, and as he realises where your destination is, he’s questioning why it is you’re heading there. You’re trying your best to keep your focus, but stop once you reach the desk outside of his doors.
“Is Champ in? Can I talk to him please?” You ask the kind faced lady behind the desk. You’d previously seen her the first day you’d arrived, and there’s no doubt she (and quite possibly a lot of the agents) know who you are, and who the invisible presence is that you talk to. She presses a button on the intercom to check, when the grumpy looking cowboy stands in front of you, sick of being ignored.
“Why do you need to talk to Champ, sugar? Is it about me?”
You look up at his face, hoping that you’re mistaken about him, “I just need to know. If it’s not important, or if Champ doesn’t want me to know, then he can tell me that. But I just need to know, I can’t stop thinking about it now. And maybe it’ll somehow help figure this out.”
The door opens, and Champ welcomes you into the office, inviting you to sit at the table as he settles at the head of it. Ginger probably called ahead to warn him. That would make sense, in an intelligence agency. If Champ does know anything, however, he doesn’t mention it. He just looks at you, waiting for you to explain why you’re there.
“The fight. Jack- I mean, Agent Whiskey, he won’t tell me anything. And okay, so maybe it won’t make any difference figuring out why I can see him, or how to help him wake up, but I feel like I need to know. So please, just tell me if he wanted to help the ones with the blue rash or he wanted to let them die.” You feel small, not just because the office is big and the landscape outside is even bigger. “He’s… part of my life, at least for now. I just… Please?”
Champ sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Usually, we wouldn’t tell civilians a thing. They go about their lives, never knowing what we do. But you, darlin’, are… unprecedented. And, I guess, that connection to him earns you a little latitude.” He pauses, considering how best to tell you something you already know. “After Cambodia, during the debriefing with the English agents, and in reviewing the video, yes, Agent Whiskey - Jack - was trying to stop the cure from being released to the world. Jack had been working against his mission from Statesman, and had not only destroyed a sample of the cure we were going to replicate, but actively tried to prevent the other agency’s men from triggering the distribution protocol. That was the fight you saw.”
You nod as he explains, and finally look at your unwilling companion, tears collecting in your eyes. “You wanted everyone to die?”
Jack looks back at you, and gives you a single nod. “So now you know. And now you know why it doesn’t matter.” He sees a tear roll down your cheek as you blink, your eyes searching the room for a better answer.
“Why?” The cowboy almost misses you speak. You’re so quiet, until you look directly at him and ask again, much firmer than before. “Why?”
“I had my reasons, sugar.”
“Reasons? What possible reasons could you have to let millions of people die?” He doesn’t reply. Turning to Champ, you ask him. “Did they say why? Did he mention any reasons when they spoke before the fight?”
Champ sighs again, hesitant to tell you what the reason Jack had reportedly said to the English agents. “They said he did it to raise Statesman stock prices.”
Of all the responses he thought you’d have, Champ isn’t expecting you to laugh.
“I’m sorry. That’s stupid. Stock prices. Money?” You laugh again, shaking your head. “No, I don’t believe that.” You huff, and shake your head, faster and firmer this time. You look Champ him the eyes. “Since he won’t tell me, why do you think he did it?”
“What are you doing? Hey, what the fuck?” Whiskey’s voice is raised, face frowning as he’s realising that Champ, his boss, is probably going to tell you about the worst time of his life. “I told you it didn’t fuckin’ matter, and besides, you got a reason, why are you asking him that?”
Huffing, you excuse yourself, “sorry, Champ, please just give me a second?” The older man nods, already knowing that Whiskey won’t be happy about the conversation. Turning to the moustached cowboy, you continue, “I’m asking because you won’t talk to me. Since the moment you turned up in my home, I have been asking questions and not getting any answers. All I am trying to do, Cowboy, is figure out how to help you, but you - for whatever reason - are not trying to help yourself.”
“I told you it don’t matter, why is my business, yours too?”
“Because like it or not, you’re stuck with me as much as I’m stuck with you!”
You’re basically just constantly talking over each other now, not even listening to what the other is saying. Champ is grateful he can only hear you speak, and not both of you. It must be confusing for you sometimes, he thinks, like with that first phone call. Though, as he watches you having (what appears to him) an argument with no one, he has to admire your ability to give as good as he assumes you’re getting. He wasn’t lying when he told you that Whiskey was one of the best agents at Statesman, and with that usually comes an attitude when their judgement is questioned.
Champ hadn’t realised, unfortunately, that even after all these years, that the mission involving Poppy would be such a trigger point for Agent Whiskey. That the loss of his wife had grown and turned into such a hatred for those who took drugs. He should have known when Jack had first argued about the plan, under the guise of ‘not making it personal’. That should have warned him, and he should have done something, but he hadn’t and he can’t change it now. As Champ’s thoughts return to the room, he sees that you’re still apparently shouting at each other…
“You know the reason now, are you happy, darlin’?”
“Happy? Did you just ask if I’m happy?”
“Well, now you know, why does it matter to you?”
“Because I thought you were a better person than that, Jack!” That stops the cowboy’s yells entirely, as you quieten again. “I- I thought that you weren’t the kind of person to allow, no, actually act to ensure, the deaths of millions of people. But I don’t know you, do I? Okay, fine. You’re willing to kill millions, but for money? Are you fucking kidding me? Millions of lives, children’s lives, gone, for profit?” You’re crying, again, “I thought- How can I-“, you sit, turning in on yourself as you rub your tear covered cheeks. Champ passes you a handkerchief, embroidered with the Statesman logo, you’ll realise later.
The ghostly cowboy leaves the room, walks as far away from you that the invisible barrier will allow, and doesn’t hear Champ explain to you the most painful thing Jack has ever experienced…
Word count: 1222
Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions)
Rating: Mature (For themes. Might become explicit at some point)
Warnings: Slow burn; minor angst; post-movie; AU, fix-it fic.
A/N: Super sorry for the long break. Family dramas…
———
“We’re an independent intelligence agency. Jack Daniels is an Agent of ours. A good one. Agent Whiskey.” He says.
You turn and look up to Jack’s face. He’s frowning, but it lessens when he sees you smiling. “I knew it! I knew you were keeping something from me, Cowboy!” You laugh to yourself as you process the new information. The lies, the secrets, the implications of what Jack has already told you. You aren’t mad, but you’re glad you weren’t just being paranoid or over dramatic about the weirdness and secrecy. Ginger and Champ watch as you have a quiet but passionate conversation with the invisible agent.
The relief from your thoughts and suspicions being vindicated washes over you, and you realise just how tired you actually are. With the sudden packing, multiple car journeys, the long flight, the jet lag, and the continued stress of being haunted by a not-ghost cowboy spy, you can’t stop the yawn that escapes from you. At least the others in the room have the decency look apologetic for everything they’re realising you’re going through.
“We’ve probably asked enough of you today.” Ginger says, “we can carry on tomorrow. You should rest, and it’s pretty clear Agent Whiskey isn’t going anywhere.”
You only nod in response to her, and she escorts you from the office, outside to another waiting car. You and your bag are taken to the (very nice) hotel they’ve arranged for the trip. You barely have time to admire the view from your window, before kicking off your shoes, collapsing onto the very soft bed, and falling straight to a much needed sleep, the vague shape of a stetson wearing man staying just in your eyeline.
…
You wake early the next day refreshed, but still dressed in your clothes. You drag yourself from the bed, have a long, hot shower, and get dressed as slowly as possible to waste time. Luckily the sleep had taken care of the exhaustion, and you ordered a large room service breakfast, after you realise that the snacks from the flight were the only food you’d eaten all yesterday afternoon. Jack stays out of your way for the most part, allowing you your privacy, and the chance to wake up in your own time. After breakfast, you call Ginger, satisfied it’s a less ridiculous time of the morning. You talk with him about what he thinks her next steps will be, before another car with yet another driver takes you back to the ‘distillery’. Ginger meets you at the entrance, with a temporary security pass in hand for you to wear. It has your face on it, a still from one of the many high tech security cameras they must have all around this place. You attach it to the waistband of your jeans, and follow Ginger, ending up in a different part of the building to yesterday. Jack informs you as you enter that it’s Ginger’s lab, and you look around the room, seeing it filled with equipment and technology you don’t recognise.
“No boss man today?” You ask, after looking at each one of the other people in the room.
“No, not today. Champ is a busy man”
“I can only imagine. Spy stuff, bourbon business. Lots to do…” You smile as a tech hands Ginger a clipboard. After she checks that the cowboy is still with you, you’re placed in a tube and scanned. You’re then directed in front of a screen, and Jack stand next to you while you’re scanned again. This goes on for some time, and Ginger frowns at each reading showing nothing special.
After a quick break for lunch, a somewhat exciting trip to the cafeteria, Ginger reviews the reports collated from the morning.
“There’s nothing.” She mumbles to herself. She looks at you properly and continues, louder and clearer, “I was hoping there might be something to suggest Jack’s connection to you, but the scans and tests? There’s just nothing. Like…”
“Like he’s a ghost?” You finish for her, earning a huff from the cowboy.
“I ain’t a ghost if I ain’t fuckin’ dead.” He sighs. You look at him, glaring at the attitude radiating off of him. He shrugs a possible apology at you, but puts his hands on his hips in defiance.
“Can I-, I mean, would it be okay…” You stammer out, before you take a deep breath. “Can I see him?” You’re quiet, looking at the floor, brows furrowing. Ginger is surprised at the request, though not as much as Jack himself.
“Darlin’…” He whispers to you, taking a step forwards, and moving his hand towards your shoulder in comfort. He’s disappointed when it passes through you, a feeling that surprises him a little. Ginger just nods, gesturing for you to follow her to an attached room.
Jack follows the two of you, but can’t will himself to go through the door when you hold it open for him. He shakes his head at you, and you nod at him, mouthing a silent ‘it’s okay’. When you enter it fully, the room is all white, clinical, and the only noises are beeps from the monitors and machines that are hooked up to the body in the bed. Ginger whispers ‘I’ll give you a minute’ to you, and waits outside. It feels cold, not like the way the apparition version of Jack feels at all, even when he’s being short or is annoyed at you.
You walk up to the bed, and are met with that stupid, moustached, handsome face.
“Hey there, Cowboy.” You whisper to him, stroking a strand of hair by his temple. “Nice to see you actually exist,” you chuckle, but it feels hollow and leads into a sigh…
As much as Whiskey doesn’t want to be in that room, he wants to know you’re okay. It’s the least he can do, after you’ve basically put your life on hold for him. From the moment he first appeared in your kitchen, you’d listened, you’d tried, you’d actually helped. So when he slips through the wall and into the room with his own self in it, his heart nearly breaks at the sight before him. You’re holding his hand, and as he takes a step forward, he see the tear tracks on your cheek. If anyone ever asked him why he did it, he wouldn’t have an answer, but in the moment it felt right to him, to reach out and try to catch another tear as it falls from your closed eye.
Your eyes shoot open and you gasp when the electric shock catches you off guard. It’s sharp, a sudden flash of pain from the static, built up in the blankets by your hand, you guess. You’re alone in the room, and you let go of Cowboy Jack’s hand, using it to wipe your cheeks clean and dry, taking a deep breath and slow exhale before walking towards the door. You find Jack waiting outside, still looking away from the medical room, frowning and silent. You tried to catch his eye to ask him how he’s doing, but you can’t. All Jack can think about was that for the smallest fraction of a second, he had felt the cold wetness of your teardrop, and the warmth of your hand in his own…
Word count: 1445
Pairing: Dave York x gn!reader (no y/n, no descriptions of reader, no pronouns)
Rating: 18+
Warnings: smut, D/s, sub!Dave, swearing, ass play, butt plug use, vibrator use, remote control toy, edging, orgasm delay, handjob, public play, explicit descriptions, AU (no Carol or kids), soft!Dave.
A/N: sub!Dave York lives in my brain, and heart, rent free.
All BDSM activities should be safe, sane, and consensual between 2 (or more) adults. I have written this as if it were a real situation, within a long term relationship where non verbal cues are known and are recognised.
Please note: A Dominant has a responsibility to look after a submissive, including paying attention to signs that something in play is too much, even when a sub does not use their safe words. I also wrote and rewrote the debrief section multiple times, and in reality it would be more in depth. I feel it’s a little bit clunky, but it’s important to be there, which is why it’s left in even with me not being perfectly happy with it.
Don’t take this fic as a guide or gospel.
However, if someone ignores your limits and/or use of a safe word, that is always abuse.
And, of course, don’t steal my work, repost it, or claim it as your own.
Dave squirms in his seat. He frowns, and clenches his fist, the tension turning his knuckles pale. You turn the toy down, and watch him relax again...
...
“You like it Dave? I got it just for you.” He stares at it. It looks like a plug, albeit a slightly different shape than the ones you already have, but it has an extra curved part to it that leaves him wondering.
“I... it’s a plug, but. What is this part?” He asks, pointing.
“Oh. So, you’re right, this goes inside you, and this,” you run a finger over the part he pointed at, “this sits against the taint. The very base of your balls.” He nods, humming to himself in understanding. “But if you don’t like it, we don’t have to use it-”
“No. No, I do.” He blushes. You lift yourself up onto your toes, lean close to his ear and whisper.
“It vibrates.” You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. You continue, “I can control it from my phone. I don’t even have to touch you to make you cum.” His eyes widen before squeezing shut, the blush dusting his cheeks deepening in colour, and letting out a small whimper.
You move yourself back down, feet flattening onto the floor again. One of your hands raise to jaw, your thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I was wondering, and you can say no, if you might want to have some fun with it out...” His eyes open suddenly, brows pulling together, creasing in the middle.
“Out, like out in public?” You nod in reply, trying to decide if it’s a little too far. You love each other, trust each other absolutely, but Dave is usually the one that asks to take things further. You worry if you ask too much of him, it’ll push him away.
It wasn’t a limit for either of you. Public play had been a curiosity of his from the start of your relationship, even before he told you his submissive desires. You’d tease each other in public, he once made you cum on his fingers in a cafe. But this? Was it too much? You were so in your thoughts you almost missed him say “okay. Where? When?”
Shit. You hadn’t figured that out yet, you’d only thought of it within the house. Dave wearing nothing but this in bed. Dave wearing it under clothes watching a movie on the sofa. “I haven’t thought about that. Maybe we can talk about it together?”
...
You’re sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant with Dave. You haven’t turned the vibration on yet, letting him get used to the fullness first. His hand is on your knee, rubbing circles with his thumb. You’re looking at the menu, deciding on what you’re each going to have when you place your chin on his shoulder. “You ready, baby?” You ask him, placing your phone on the table. “Remember what we talked about?” He nods, and squeezes your knee once to signal he’s ready. You smile, raise a brow, and kiss his cheek. A quick wink, and you reach for your phone, turning it on to the lowest level. He sucks a breath in, and your smile spreads further across your face. “I love you, honey,” you tell him as you look back at the menu.
You had talked it all through, once he’d expressed his interest in wearing it in public. Discussed where was or wasn’t suitable, how many people he’d be okay with being around, who exactly were no-gos. You already knew you would never embarrass or humiliate him, and you wouldn’t do anything that may affect his work in any way. The two of you had agreed that you’d use your judgement for levels once you knew how loud it was, or how affected Dave would be. That if he got hard, you’d stop and allow him to soften again before restarting, and as always, safe words could be used by either of you, if needed. You’d shown him the plug’s different vibration levels (5 in total) and the ease which you could move from high to low, or stop it completely if necessary.
While looking through the menu, you turn up the level a step. He blinks, moving a little before relaxing again. It can’t be heard over the chattering of everyone. Once you see that your waiter is about to come over, you stop it. The waiter comes, takes your orders, and as he goes, you return the vibration straight back to level 2. Dave bites his lip to prevent a moan, and you kiss his cheek again, whispering words of praise and encouragement to him. You lower it as your drinks arrive, checking in on how he’s feeling before increasing it back up again. He moans softly, and you rub up and down his thigh. “You sound like you’re having fun, Dave. Such a good boy, making such sweet sounds.” He nods his head softly, whimpering, and gives you a small smile.
The level is reduced again when the food arrives. Once it’s just you and Dave again, you increase it again for a while you eat and chat. Next, you start to alternate back and forth between 2 and 3, before settling at the latter. Dave sighs, but continues eating, though a little slower.
You move the plug’s level up to 4. Dave squirms in his seat. He frowns, and clenches his fist, the tension turning his knuckles pale. You turn the toy back down to level 2, and watch him relax again in his seat. “David, is this still fun?” He nods, but you’re not sure, “do you want me to stop until after dinner?” He doesn’t nod, but doesn’t shake his head either. “David, baby.” He looks up, and meets your gaze. “I’m going to turn it back to the lowest level and keep it there until we leave.”
He frowns again, but nods without protest. “Thank you, honey,” he whispers, lifting your hand to his mouth and kissing it softly.
...
The vibration stays at the lowest level while you both eat dinner, and continue the date. Once the bill is paid, and walk through the restaurant doors, you put the level up. Dave grabs your hand and squeezes, pulling you back close to him. You smile, walk to the car, opening the passenger door for him, and then get into the drivers seat yourself. The second you pull the door to, he leans across to you, holding your face firmly as he kisses you.
“David. Sit back.” You say when you part, and he does so immediately. “Poor baby.” You unbuckle his belt, undo the button and unzip his trousers, “was it too difficult?” You reach your hand into his underwear, pull his hardened cock out, and grip it. You arch a brow, and whisper with a smile, “was I too mean?” You lick a stripe up his neck, and he bucks his hips upwards as his eyes squeeze shut and he groans deeply. “Oh, baby. You did so well, David. You deserve a reward.” You turn the level up again, and stroke his cock slowly.
Eyes still closed, Dave whimpers, breathing out your name like a prayer. “Please, honey. Shit, shit.” Speeding your strokes and raising the vibration level one final time makes Dave cry out “please, fuck, please?” The moment he is given permission, he cums over your hand, panting hard, clenching his fists tightly. You turn the plug off, still stroking his cock until his high is over, and his breath begins to even out and slow. He pants out, “thank you, honey, fuck.” He takes your cum-covered hand and cleans it with his pocket square before resting his forehead on yours, “thank you.”
Once the two of you got home, Dave pulls you to him, wraps his arms around you, holding your back to his chest, and walks you upstairs to bed. You get ready for bed and spend the night content in each other’s arms.
…
You talked it through with Dave the next morning. He assured you he had been having fun, it wasn’t too much. But concentrating on not moaning loudly had taken up more of his thought processes than he had imagined, and so trying to answer questions became difficult at the higher levels.
He really loved it in the car though, when he didn’t have to hold back, and explained how eager he was to fuck you wearing it, or be tied up and edged over and over with it. Just not in public again until after a bit more training…
