Speed Is Key (Jacksepticeye x Reader)

Where am I?

I slowly opened my eyes, then shut them immediately as the feeling of a thousand tiny angry hornets stinging my skull appeared. I groaned and rolled over so I was face-first in the pillow. I inhaled in pain, and my eyes shot open. Why the hell does my pillow smell like a guy?! Ignoring the pain in my skull and the nausea in my stomach, I pushed myself off of the bed and staggered to a standing position. Looking around, I concluded that this room was definitely not mine, nor did I have a room like this in my apartment. I was most definitely not home.

I stumbled out of the room and headed down the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. I was incredibly hungover, thirsty, and starving. An amazing smell wafted towards my nose. I didn't care that I was in an unfamiliar place and that I was probably kidnapped, I wanted food. I followed my nose (for the fruity taste that shows!) to the kitchen, where I found an Irishman making pancakes.

"Jack?"

"Top 'o the marnin' to ya, lassie!" He shouted, not turning around. I mentally sighed with relief as I realized that I had not, in fact, been kidnapped.

"What am I doing here?" I asked, still confused as to why I was not at my own apartment. Jack laughed, getting out some apple juice and syrup.

"I realized that I don't know where you live right before you offered to strip for me, so I took you here," he smiled cheekily as he brought breakfast to the table. He looked me up and down and smirked.

"What?" I huffed, flushing and crossing my arms over my chest.

"YOU LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL STANDING THERE IN MY AMERICAN APPAREL UNDERWEAR," he sang off-key, then cracked up laughing. My eyes widened and I looked down at my clothes. I was indeed wearing a pair of red-and-blue checked boxers with a gray t-shirt. Blushing furiously, I began to stammer.

"W-where are m-my clothes?" I asked, hating that I sounded like the Creepypasta called Hoody. Jack grinned, pointing to the room I woke up in.

"They're in my room if you wanna change," he offered politely. I looked away and shrugged.

"I dunno. Your clothes are comfy," I muttered, looking anywhere except at him.

_______________________________


During breakfast, we laughed and talked about each other. He asked me about my life through mouthfuls of fluffy, pancake-y goodness.

"Well," I started, swallowing a bite of pancake with maple syrup. "I'm the youngest of five kids. I have four older brothers. Roman is the oldest, then Bobby, Scotty, and Sam. We grew up in a small town in Virginia on a farm.

"I haven't seen much of Roman lately. He's off somewhere with his best friends Ben and Connor, none of them having any idea what to do with their lives. He probably still works at Bravo!, knowing him. Bobby's a mechanic by day, street racer by night. He's got a really sick '69 Chevy Nova. Solid white with 430 horsepower. I swear, riding with him is a death sentence. Scotty's a year and a half older than me, and Sam's adopted. He's only a month older. Sam and I always used to fight, and Scotty was the peacekeeper. Sam's overseas, and Scotty's a psychiatrist.

Me, I'm a runner, as you already know. I enjoy long walks on the beach, knitting, and unicorns. In fact, I was once taking a seaside stroll and discovered a unicorn! Which I proceeded to stab in the throat with a crotchet needle."

Jack gave me a weird look that basically said "I don't understand that reference," and I sighed.

"Kidding, Jacky. I'm a med student. I'm actually big into hunting and racing. My dad took me hunting all the time, and Bobby taught me about cars. I guess you could call me a hard-ass. I love video games and alcohol. But I'm not exactly an alcoholic. I just like a few ales every now and again after a race. Nothing like whiskey or vodka. You couldn't catch me drinking a Martini or a Bloody Mary if my life depended on it, but I've been known to have a soft spot for Piña Coladas."

Jack smiled, mentally memorizing every fact. He was glad to know information about a girl he just met. He decided to go for simple information as well. "Cats or dogs?"

"Cats," I replied right away. "I hate dogs."

"Why?" Jack asked, thoroughly confused.

"Got mauled by a dog twice. Once when I was three or four by my damn Christmas present, a dog named Marie. God, that son of a bitch was all kinds of fucked up. Then when I was seven by my cousin's dog Sagwua. Damn dog crushed my fingers and almost blinded me. I have two scars on my right eye. Sagwua made the upper scar. Marie made the lower one. So yeah, cats are preferable." I told him, shuddering at the memories. Jack nodded and smiled.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out and gaming. Needless to say, it was a good day, minus my lingering hangover.