Tag: text

Petshop Boys- What have I done to deserve this? Jackothy :3

Jack can’t wait to see the bastard who thought he could kidnap the likes of the CEO of Hyperion. 

Even with his arms bound behind him in something definitely stronger than regular rope, he sits up straight and confident, anger and defiance burning in his face as he glares into his darkened surroundings. 

The tracker embedded in his mask must have already detected his stress levels and sent out a beacon to his army to come and get him. He only hopes that he gets to see the guy who masterminded this before his men decimate the entire complex. Hopefully they would take the fucker hostage first, so Jack could shoot him in the face for his insolence. 

Or maybe let Tim do it, once they sprung him from wherever these assholes were holding him. 

Jack’s thoughts of gruesome revenge are shorn as the main door scrapes open with a metallic crunch, revealing two men. Jack squints against the darkness, making out the large, stereotypical shape of a man dressed in the usual, hodgepodge mercenary attire. But the man next to him is smaller, slighter, with a criss-cross of bandages covering his face. Jack can see green eyes peaking out from the covering, as well as the slightest patch of freckled skin. 

He laughs at the both of them as they shut the door. 

“You people are so frikkin’ stupid. This is like, the most boring kidnapping ever. At least throw in a twist or an interesting motive or something somewhere before my army blows your little operation apart and gets me n’ Timmy outta here and back up in Helios drinking champagne and sucking each other’s dicks.”

Neither men move or even respond to Jack’s statement, which is annoying. Tough crowd. 

“Hello? You two just gonna stand around slack-jawed until my men’s guns rip you apart? Cause I–”

“Jack…”

The CEO freezes, heart cold as his own voice comes from the bandaged man. 

“What…what did you say? Hey, you freak, say that shit again,” Jack’s voice grows louder, fear suddenly sprouting up inside of him as he searches the man’s concealed face. His eyes flit away, shyly, hand grabbing the opposite wrist in an all-too-familiar gesture. 

“Hey! Hey hey talk to me! Say something!” Jack roars, writhing against his bonds only for the larger man’s gun to smack across his temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Jack spits out blood, the skin around his eye starting to throb and swell up as he squints through the pain. He can vaguely see the bandaged man bury his head in his hands, turning away from him as the large mercenary places a hand on his shoulder, leading them back out the door. Jack hisses, trying to sit up, voice straining as he calls out to the man he never truly knew. 

“Tim!”

OOOH okay- rhack while listening to New Perspective by Panic! At the Disco, song’s been stuck in my head for like a week

idk what kind of AU this is? but maybe some kind of college-age “rhys experiments with his sexuality” thing. 

It’s not that kissing girls is bad, no. Rhys really likes it, honest, they usually have nice soft lips and smell like nice shampoo and all around it is just. Very. Nice. 

But there’s nothing nice about the way Jack kisses him, and Rhys isn’t sure if this is a guy thing or a Jack thing but whatever kind of thing it is Rhys really, really likes it. Jack bites his lower lip and draws it back with a look on his face that makes it seems like he knows just how hot the sudden fire inside of Rhys is starting to burn. His eyes are predatory, stalking under the hood of his eyelids as he leans in to push his tongue inside of Rhys’ mouth again, pupils dilated and fixed upon the young man’s face. 

Rhys distantly feels his fingers clench into the thin fabric of Jack’s shirt, his lungs tightening at the lack of air as Jack practically sucks it out of his throat, only breaking their lips apart when Rhys starts to go limp. Thankfully, Jack’s broad hands move from his waist to his upper back, supporting him as he pulls back to look into Rhys’ stunned, glassy eyes. 

“That help you forget about Stacy, pumpkin?”

No me Ames Timothy and Jack

This time, it’s Timothy that storms out as soon as they’re done fighting. 

It’s almost shocking, to see Timothy’s passive anger–his cold annoyance in the face of sweltering fury Jack usually radiates–suddenly shatter as he shouts right into Jack’s face. The older man had froze, stunned as Timothy had stormed out, knocking the coat rack over across the threshold as he’d grabbed his jacket, throwing it across his shoulders before slamming the door behind him. Jack had stayed in place, eyes wide and misty as he looked where Tim had been moments before, his arms still frozen in a tight cross over his chest. 

The sound of Timothy’s car starting up, stuttering through the old engine they kept meaning to replace, finally snaps Jack out of it, and as the lights from the headlights tear through the darkness outside the living room window Jack snarls, slamming the door to his bedroom even harder as he jumps onto the bed and suffocates himself into Timothy’s pillow. 

Despite his burning anger and frustration, Jack must have fallen asleep at some point, because he’s suddenly being awaken by a weight above him. He jolts at the touch, trying to turn around only for the weight to sit on his thighs. Harsh, hot breath pants against his ear.

“I’m still pissed at you,” a voice from the darkness growls as a hand pressed hard against his lower back, another palm rooting his throat against the sheets. Teeth nip sharply at the shell of his ear, earning a groan from Jack’s lips.

“But I’m hoping once I’m done here I won’t be, so…” the hand at his lower back moves to the waistband of his pants, pulling them down his ass without even bothering to remove his belt.

“You better scream pretty damn loud if you want me to forgive you.”

Rhysothy, Shape of you by Ed Sheeran.

The similarity in Timothy’s face is striking. 

It’s easy to fall into that familiar pattern, to stroke the same sharp cheekbones and prominent chin and lips that curl up ever so slightly at the corners. The heavy eyebrows and bright, round eyes move and shift in the same expressions, but behind the mismatched irises and enlarged pupils there is love and affection there that runs deep, instead of flashing superficial on the surface. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Timothy whispers, letting his head rest into Rhys’ palm. The younger man’s forefinger brushes lightly against his boyfriend’s cheek as he kisses his nose. 

“Your freckles are starting to come back.”