#jacktor x reader

18+ only | for @lichilly (thank you for being so sweet!)

author's note: if you liked this, please check out my ongoing pre-canon SDJ fic!

_

there was a knock at the door.

"it's open," joseph called as he looked at himself in the mirror, making sure to rub off a stray patch of paint the makeup team managed to miss.

after a moment, you slipped in, closing the door behind you with a click. you had one hand behind your back - a sure sign that you had some kind of surprise in mind.

"don't tell me it's another script revision," he groaned. it had taken him hours to memorize the newest song for the next episode and his fingers were sore from all the strumming. "i don't think i can handle any more."

but you simply smiled in that easy way that always made him want to turn away. it was just so gentle, that smile. it was softer than anything he had ever deserved.

"you didn't tell me it was your birthday today," you said. "i had to find out through dan."

goddamn daniel. his castmate was a good guy, but he had a big mouth.

"i'm not into parties." they were too loud. crowded. he had never been one to want to be the center of attention.

"i didn't say there had to be a party," you replied, taking your hand from behind your back to reveal what you had been hiding.

in your palm was a large cupcake topped with a fluffy white frosting and a smattering of sprinkles. a red candle had been stuck in the middle of it.

you pulled out a lighter and with a few quick flicks of your thumb, lit the short wick.

"it can be just us," you said, eyes glowing as the flame flickered in your palm.

joseph had never had anyone celebrate him for any reason at all, let alone the day he came into existence, but he was aware of what he had to do. "you want me to make a wish?"

"anything you want," you beamed.

"anything i want," he repeated, inhaling to loosen the tightness in his chest.

in truth, there was only one wish he had. it was a wish he would tell himself as he lied awake at night staring at the ceiling of his motel room, it was a wish he'd hum as he learned each new song, it was a wish that he only ever confessed he had in the quiet of his solitude.

and here you were, now. with him. as if all those days and nights had built up to this very moment.

joseph took in a breath. you were so beautiful. ever since he had met you, he never had the courage to tell you that.

tentatively, he placed his hands over yours, craned his neck lower so that his mouth was near the bright flame, and blew.

"what was the wish?" you asked as the smoke curled into the air. after a moment, you set the cupcake onto his desk.

he hesitated. "it's bad luck if i tell you, isn't it?"

"not if it's a secret," you said, a smile curling at the corner of your mouth. "but i really would like to know."

joseph swallowed. what could he say to that?

"do you really want to know?" he asked, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

"tell me."

he paused. "close your eyes, then."

you obeyed, clasping your hands behind your back.

thoughts raced through his head, a buzz of static that threatened to overwhelm him. he could stop this. he could turn you away. he could deny himself this moment, as he did with all of the others.

he inhaled, cool air filling his lungs, before he took your face in his hands and kissed you.

it was a soft kiss. a gentle kiss. a kiss that asked if all of this was okay, if he could want you like this.

and it was okay, because you brought your own hands to his face, ran your fingers through his hair as you pulled him towards you.

your lips were so warm, so soft. if he could, he would wish for this moment to never end.

"there," he said, face burning as he pulled away. "i told you."

when you smiled this time, it was full of so much affection that it made his heart swell.

"you dangle on the leash of your own longing, your need grows teeth." -- Margaret Atwood, The Animals in That Country; from ‘Speeches for Dr Frankenstein’

cw: wounds, implied violence, talk of blood, uhh me being mushy over werewolf Joseph, gender-neutral reader

The fire crackled softly, its glow spilling over the cabin walls, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow. Flecks of light flicked across the worn wooden beams, dancing along the edges where the dark gathered. He sat still, nestled in the warmth, the flames reflecting in the depths of his eyes. His pointed ears twitched at the occasional crack of the embers, but otherwise, he remained motionless—watchful, calm.

You approached from the doorway, your steps shifting against the creaking floorboards. Kneeling beside him, you set down the first aid kit, its zipper cutting through the stillness of the room.

His gaze shifted, tracking your hands as you laid out gauze and bandages with routined care. The faintest of huffs escaped his nose, his version of acknowledgment, as he extended his arm toward you. No words exchanged. There never were.

"Let’s get these changed," you murmured, your voice barely disturbing the air between you.

You took his arm in your hands, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, the rough texture of old scars mingling with fresh ones. The bandage unraveled slowly, each layer revealing the healing beneath. A faint tremor passed through him, so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t been so close.

As you worked, the fire’s glow bathed the two of you in warmth. He watched, eyes flicking between the fire and the slow movements of your fingers as they worked the fresh bandages into place.

It was routine now. He’d sit by the fire, you’d kneel beside him, tending to wounds that spoke of violence he never explained. You didn’t ask. Instead, you learned to listen to the small cues—the soft exhale, the shift of his posture, the way his eyes lingered on you before returning to the flames.

The old bandage crumpled in your palm as you set it aside, your thumb ghosting over the newly healed skin. The worst of the inflammation had faded, the edges of the wound knitting together. You took a moment, letting the quiet settle around you again before speaking.

"It’s healing well," you said, the words softer than you intended.

A low rumble stirred in his chest, vibrating through the space between you. His eyes flicked up, locking with yours for a heartbeat, then returned to the fire. You couldn’t help but smile.

"You’ve been a good patient," you added, your fingers resuming their work.

He didn’t answer, but the subtle way his body relaxed beneath your touch was enough.

The bandages on his arms were easy, but the deep gash in his side—still raw, still stubborn in its refusal to heal—was the one that troubled you most. You didn’t know what had caused these wounds, nor did he offer any explanation. His body bore the marks of bloodshed long fought and endured. Scars layered on scars, and yet, here he was.

You worked carefully, your fingers brushing over his side as you unraveled the last of the bandage. His breath hitched, just barely, but you felt it—a flicker of discomfort. The gash along his torso, though healing, was still raw, angry. You winced for him but kept your focus, your hands steady as you cleaned the wound with gentle, practiced movements.

He didn’t pull away, but his gaze slid to the floor, a subtle shift that made your stomach knot. It was in these moments, the ones where the silence between you felt more like a weight than a comfort, that you wished he’d let you in just a little more. But he never did.

“Almost done,” you whispered, though he didn’t need the reassurance. You weren't sure if it was for him or for yourself.

His chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if controlling the pain through breath alone. The firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips pressed into a thin line. His pointed ears twitched again, though you couldn’t read it yet—frustration? Agony?

You wrapped the fresh bandage around his torso, your hands brushing against his skin with each pass. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, though his body seemed to relax minutely with each passing moment.

You tied off the bandage, your fingers lingering for just a moment too long, the warmth of his body seeping into your palms. You cleared your throat, pulling your hands away, suddenly aware of the closeness between you.

“There,” you said softly, settling back onto your heels, giving him space again. "All done."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lingered on yours. Something hung in the air—like words he wasn’t ready to speak. You waited, your breath held tight in your chest, hoping for some sign, some crack in the silence.

Instead, he dipped his head in a slow, deliberate nod. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The quiet between you felt different now—less heavy.

You stood, the old bandages clutched in your hand, and moved to toss them into the fire. The flames licked at the fabric, devouring it in seconds, casting the scent of smoke into the air. You watched the embers rise, your back to him, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened, how the room felt smaller when you were both in it.

Behind you, you heard the softest shift of fabric, the weight of him rising to his feet. You turned just in time to see him step closer to the fire, his gaze fixed on the flames, expression unreadable. He stood just beside you, the space between you barely enough to call distance.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Without a word, he reached for a log by the hearth and placed it on the fire. The flames roared briefly before settling into their steady crackle, the warmth spreading further through the cabin.

“I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you.” — Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade

cw gender neutral reader, joseph being an exhausted lovesick puppy. they are in love your honor.

Joseph entered the apartment quietly, closing the door with a soft click. He leaned against the worn wood, letting out a deep, weary sigh.

“Joseph?” Your voice, still laced with sleep, called softly from the living room. A smile tugged at his lips as he turned and made his way toward you, his steps gentle.

You were nestled on the couch, wrapped in a cozy throw blanket, with the TV off and a side lamp casting a soft, golden glow. You rubbed your eyes, peeking out from under the blanket.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he whispered, moving to scoop you into his arms.

“I’m not even tired,” you yawned, sitting up and stretching your arms. “How was filming today?” You patted the couch cushion next to you, beckoning Joseph with a warm smile and droopy eyes.

Joseph trudged over, sinking into the plush cushion with a heavy sigh.

“Hm, that doesn’t sound good,” you laughed, gently brushing curls from his forehead. He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That obvious, huh?” he asked, opening his eyes to meet yours, savoring the feeling of your fingertips tracing soothing patterns along his scalp.

You hummed in agreement, the room falling into a comfortable silence, filled only with the soft symphony of your intertwined breathing and the hum of the refrigerator.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Joseph whispered, guilt pooling in his eyes as he traced a thumb beneath yours. “The couch isn’t for sleeping, y’know.”

You wrapped your hand around his wrist, nuzzling your cheek into his palm. “I know, but I wanted to see you.”

Joseph’s heart ached at the sight of you bathed in the evening glow, the lamp casting a warm halo around you, making you look angelic.

“What am I going to do with you…” His words lost their teasing edge, his mind too fogged with exhaustion to care.

“You getting tired on me, big guy?” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before tracing delicate shapes and swirls down his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, head lolling to the side as a muffled groan of pleasure escaped his chest.

You scooted closer, tucking into his side. “The couch isn’t for sleeping, y’know,” you echoed, your laughter a soft melody.

He pinched your side, making you yelp and grab at his mischievous hand. It slipped from your grasp and found its way under your shirt, his fingers grazing your side. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, sending a blissful shiver up your spine.

Joseph opened his eyes, his hand gently petting the curve of your waist. “You gonna carry me to bed, then?” he teased, a dopily contented smile spreading across his face as he relished your reaction.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’d both end up with broken backs and sprained muscles before we even made it off the couch.” You patted his chest, your smile knowing and warm.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking as he sat up, pulling you into his lap. With the blanket still wrapped around you, he stood, effortlessly lifting you. “Time for bed.”

As if on cue, your eyes began to droop once more, a yawn rising from your chest. “Great idea.”

cw one (1) mention of religion, gender neutral reader, kiss scene, Joseph yearns for you a whole lot !!

Joseph groaned as he trudged up the stone steps of the apartment complex. Each step sent a jolt of pain through his sore feet and aching back, reminders of the endless hours of rehearsals and script reading. All he yearned for was the sweet, cool embrace of water washing away the day’s aches and the comforting presence of you, curled into his side, tracing shapes into his palm as you both watched TV. The thought brought a soft smile to his lips, and he quickened his pace, muscles protesting but ignored as he reached your apartment floor.

He opened the apartment door, eyes widening in surprise.

Streamers?

Red ones, twirling around his face from the doorframe, attached with scotch tape. He gently brushed them aside, blinking as he adjusted to the scene before him.

Red monochromatic confetti littered the entryway, creating a whimsical path that wound toward the kitchen. Balloons, plump with helium, floated near the ceiling, their strings dangling at eye level. He closed the door and followed the confetti trail into the kitchen.

“Happy birthday!” you shouted, arms waving energetically, nearly hitting the banner above your head. Big, cartoon letters spelled out ‘Happy Birthday!’ with confetti illustrations around them. On the table, a two-tiered cake adorned with frosting roses and red piping stood proudly. ‘Happy Birthday Joseph’ was written in elegant black cursive. The candles awaited his arrival, unlit.

He stood still, mouth agape, absorbing the scene. You watched him intently, a bright smile lighting up your face.

“I,” he began, stepping deeper into the kitchen, struggling to find words.

Joseph was speechless, his heart pounding in his ears, overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling. He's never had someone remember his birthday before, let alone decorate for him.

“Jesus,” he laughed softly, “how long did it take you to do all this?”

“Oh, not long! Decorating probably took the longest.” You gestured toward the banner and streamers. “Although, the lady at the bakery took her sweet time writing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

You rounded the table, walking toward Joseph with your arms open. A hug. Your arms wrapped around his middle, squeezing him comfortingly. You laid your head on his chest, nuzzling into him. His bounding heart was loud in your ears, and you looked up at him, eyes sparkling with concern.

“I hope it’s not too much,” you blushed bashfully, “you said you’re not one for parties, but I thought I’d at least do something for your special day!”

Joseph gazed down at you, unable to look away from your eyes. He got lost in them, emotions swelling as he sank into your embrace. He leaned his body into yours, pulling you tighter, face tucked into your neck, sighing deeply. You wheezed out a giggle, his body weight making your knees weak.

“You mean so much to me, y’know that?” he mumbled into your skin, more to himself than you, his hands gripping your shirt, yearning for more of you against him.

You let out a huffy laugh, trying not to collapse as your lower back pressed against the counter.

“You mean a lot—to me too—!” you stammered, trying not to focus on Joseph’s mouth against your neck. He wasn’t even doing anything, just breathing. And yet, his clinginess made you want to melt.

“I mean it,” He pulled back, and you swallowed a whine. “I’m not religious, but every day I thank God that I met you.” His eyes were magnetic, fiery as the confession left his lips.

You inhaled sharply, at a loss for words. Your mind fogged over, skin tingling at the spot his lips had brushed. The energy between you shifted into something more heated, more intense.

His lips hovered so close, breaths mingling in the space between you. You couldn’t help but stare at them, your heart racing as they drew nearer and nearer.

His lips captured yours gently, hands moving to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. He deepened the kiss slightly, the intensity of it making your knees weak, your body pressed firmly against the counter. You reached a hand into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands.

The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you, breathless and entwined. Each movement, each touch, ignited a fire that burned obsessively. His lips moved with a passionate tenderness, the need and desire in every kiss palpable and intoxicating.

When you finally pulled back for air, your chest heaved, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. His eyes, dark with longing, met yours, and for a moment, neither of you could speak, the intensity of the moment holding you both captive.

“So, I take it you like it?” you whispered between breaths, smiling shyly.

He laughed, shoulders shaking as he brushed his nose against yours. He tightened his arms around you, swaying you gently.

“I love it,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for making my birthday so special.”

cw so fluffy i keeled over and died, gender-neutral reader

You hold the scissors with your middle finger and thumb, snipping the air with trembling fingers. The metal gleams brightly, reflecting rays of yellow and white into your eyes from the sun streaming through the kitchen window. The kitchen smells of fresh coffee and the lingering scent of breakfast, a comforting backdrop.

You take a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. "I've never cut hair before."

Joseph sits patiently in front of you, the wooden chair groaning under his weight as he shifts to get more comfortable. His hair, slightly longer since you first met, curls gently at the ends. With the summer heat rising each day, he had asked you for a trim.

He chuckles softly, "Really? Should I be worried then?"

"I mean," you swallow, trying to steady your nerves, "I wouldn't blame you if you were."

"I trust you." His voice is soft, filled with an unspoken reassurance that makes your heart swell. His words give you a shot of confidence.

"Okay." You set your eyebrows, take another deep breath, and steady your hand as you pull a brown strand between your pointer and middle finger. "Here we go."

With a quick snip, an inch of hair twirls to the ground, catching the sunlight like tiny dancers.

"Feeling cooler already," he sighs jokingly, his shoulders rolling as you prepare to cut another strand. The warmth of his voice makes you feel more at ease.

A comfortable silence envelops you both as you work, snipping here and there, checking the evenness between strands. The sound of the scissors cutting through hair is rhythmic, almost soothing. You make your way to the front, where his bangs, overgrown and nearly covering his left eye, require attention. You comb the hair down flat over his eyes, the strands silky under your fingers. You carefully cut the long pieces, cautious not to cut too close to his face.

"You sure you've never cut hair before?" he asks, his eyes closed in bliss. "You seem like a natural."

You hum, your cheeks warming. "I'm just great at faking confidence. For all you know, I could be giving you a bowl cut."

He laughs, his nose crinkling, a sound that makes your heart skip. "Is that why my head feels lighter?"

You finish with his bangs, fluffing them up and snipping off any stray strands. "Well, now's the time to see for yourself. I'm all done!"

You take the towel off his shoulders, brushing off the cut hair onto the kitchen tile, and hand him a handheld mirror. He examines his hair in the tiny mirror, turning his face from side to side. You bite your thumbnail, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for his reaction.

With a laugh, he runs a hand through his hair, his touch gentle. "Holy shit."

"So," you begin shyly, "you like it?"

He gently tosses the mirror onto the counter beside you and stands up suddenly, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrap around you, the warmth of his body radiating into yours. Your eyes widen, and you inhale sharply, the scent of his cologne mingling with the scent of freshly cut hair.

"I love it," he coos in your ear, his voice a tender whisper as he tucks his nose into your hair. "Thank you."

You sigh, smiling into his chest as you wrap your arms around his middle, feeling the steady beat of his heart against you. "I'm glad you like it."