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[sweatersproducer]

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[soullessdianthus]

have you written anything for a perv!gromsko? he is my favorite and i would love to see you write for him!

A/N: I decided to write him in the most stereotypical way which is misogynistic (men in Poland are like this fr *COUGHS*). Just because I gave myself a pass to do that bc I'm Polish, okay? *Muah* to this anon for Polish reference! (づ￣ ³￣)づ

Warnings: misogyny, sabotage in workplace, nsfw (overstimulation, darcyphilia, cockwarming, throat training, dumbification maybe?)

✧°. Gromsko is a misogynistic kind of pervert. Born and raised in a traditional Polish family he grew unaware of his deepest, darkest desires. Until.

✧°. When you enrolled into the SpecGru forces, he couldn’t believe something as delicate as a girl found herself here, within the private military company. Of course Sobiesław knew women were stronger than it seemed, but not in a fucking battlefield. In his opinion they should worry about hearth and home not a bloodshed. 

✧°. Obviously he had been working with some scary women before, but never with someone like you – still young, perhaps naive even. Your pretty body untouched with little to no scars. You were definitely a description of a delicate flower in his eyes.

✧°. His mother and grandmother raised him well – he would never risk the life of a devoted woman in a place like this. So since the first day Kościuszko saw you enter the gym hall, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

✧°. Perv!Gromsko would stare from his spot, surrounded by his friends, yet it was you who got his full attention. How your body flexes and muscles stretch while working out or how your breasts bounce as you run on the treadmill. Dear God, don’t give him ideas.

✧°. He was already dreaming of you riding his cock into oblivion, naked while he was in full uniform. Sobiesław’s coarse hands pressing down onto your hips, making you sink further against him and his girl mewling from pleasure.

✧°. Sneaking behind everyone’s back Perv!Gromsko would do everything to be assigned with you while on a mission. Sobiesław very carefully sabotaged your work just for the superiors to punish you. 

✧°. Why? Because he would defend you in front of them, telling them you need another chance, that he would guide you. And since he was an honored soldier within the company, they made him your temporary superior as he had a higher rank than you. From now on, he was responsible for you and your doings. 

✧°. Gromsko had you where he wanted to since the very beginning – vulnerable and dependent. 

✧°. Perv!Sobiesław believed it was meant that way, because women should listen to their husbands, right? First thing he wanted to change in your training routine was cardio. 

✧°. Your comrade told you to show up at his dorm’s door in the evening. Without much thinking of it, you came straight to him, thinking he would take you to gym – how foolish.

✧°. A loud gasp escaped your mouth, when the man that was supposed to help you with your training session was pressing your face into the bedroom’s wall as his huge hands were groping your breasts! Perv!Gromsko would correct your stamina by relentlessly thrusting into your tight cunt, causing you to beg for a break with tears streaming down your eyes. 

✧°. Evening sessions with Sobiesław became an almost daily occurrence. The man would bend you in different positions on his bed, thrusting deep into your pretty pussy until you couldn’t cum anymore. Perv!Gromsko would mock your lack of stamina and threaten he would not allow you to go on a mission if you hadn’t tried harder.

✧°. So he began training your throat breath by telling you to keep his cock in your wet mouth for a good while, sucking gently from time to time. Of course your tears and sobs were causing him to feel pity for you, but Sobiesław was doing this to help you become better! :( 

✧°. He was reading a book, the one from his grandma, while you were laying between his toned legs, keeping his throbbing member warm. You would whine from time to time from the lack of enough oxygen. But then Gromsko would simply caress your pretty, silly head and tell you how good job you’re doing. <3

✧°. “Such a good girl f’me.”

✧°. “No dalej, dasz radę, Mała [pol.: Come on, you can do this, little one].”

[wandanatsgf]

Sugar, Sugar Part 1

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: After losing your job, you are desperate to come up with some money. Your best friend Kate signs you up for a sugar baby app where you meet Wanda and Natasha, who eventually become your sugar mommies.

Authors Note: I've been reading so many sugar mommy!wandanat x reader fics that I wanted to make one myself. I know the beginning is a bit rough, but I'm just trying to set everything up. I promise it will get better!!!! There will also be plenty of smut in the upcoming chapters, this is just a warning for that now. And I plan on making many parts to this. I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 2 Part 3

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you dramatically exclaim. You drape yourself across the old and slightly musty couch in your small two person apartment. Your work uniform rides up your body a little as you lay down, which you quickly pull down, covering yourself again. You pull your right arm over your eyes, trying to block out the light and the horrible day you just had.

Your best friend and roommate Kate laughs sympathetically at your dramatics. “I know getting fired sucks but there’s tons of ways to make money.” She moves your legs and sits down next to you, placing your legs on top of her.

“Like what?”

“Well you could mow lawns, dog sit, babysit, just until you find another job,” Kate suggests.

“I guess I could but I just don’t know if that would be able to cover my bills and let alone rent.”

“Well there is another thing you can try.” The tone in Kate's voice has you sitting up, removing your arm so you can look at her.

“You remember my friend Darcy that I told you about?”

“Yeah the super rich, successful one.”

“Well when she was in college she was a sugar baby,” Kate says before she cuts herself off to scold you.  “And y/n don’t give me that look just hear me out!”

“Ok fine, keep talking.”

“Well she got a whole bunch of money from it. She was able to pay off her student loans and she had some money leftover that she invested and y’know now she’s rich and super successful and hot and amazing. But that wasn’t the point.” Kate shakes her head at herself, scolding herself for getting off topic like she always does. “Anyway maybe you should try being a sugar baby.”

“I don’t know Kate.” Sure this would be a great opportunity for you, if you find someone that is, but do you really want to use your body to get money?

“You could just look and see what’s out there. You don’t have to accept any sugar daddy or sugar mommy proposals,” Kate says and you’ve got to admit that she’s got a good point.

“Ok what the hell,” you say, agreeing.

“Let me just get the sugar baby app name from Darcy and we can do this.”

A few minutes later the app is downloaded on your phone. You feel nervous but also excited. This could be a way for you to not have to worry about money, at least for a while. Maybe it would be nice to be taken care of.

“Ok it’s downloaded, let’s set it up.” The two of you create your profile and pretty soon you’re looking at sugar mommies and sugar daddies.

“What about this one?” You ask Kate. You pass her the phone, and from the look on her face you can tell that it’s a no go.

“Definitely not,” Kate says, her nose wrinkling up in disgust.

“Why not?”

“I know you, and that’s not what you want.” You have to admit she is right, you don’t really want some 50 year old with a penchant for “parading his girls around” as he called it, but you’re desperate and he is the best looking person on there so far.

You continue to scroll through the men and women, none of them really catching your eye until you see the profile of a beautiful red haired girl and an equally beautiful auburn haired girl. You would recognize their faces anywhere, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, the owners of the country's best security company.

“There’s no way this is real,” you say. “This has to be some sort of joke or something.” You pass her your phone and watch as her eyes go comically wide.

“There’s no way the Natasha Romanoff and the Wanda Maximoff are looking for a sugar baby,” you say. You practically scoff at the idea, but there’s still that little voice in your head that wonders if maybe the profile is real.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Kate says. She still has your phone in your hands and you watch as she types, until finally she stops.

“Katie what did you do?”

“I just messaged them,” Kate says innocently. You glance down at the message and it says, “Hi my name is y/n and I’d love to get to know you both and see if I’m what you’re looking for ;),”

“Did you have to add the wink Katie? They’re gonna think I’m like a whore or something now,” you whine.

“Oh relax you big baby. It’s fine. And besides maybe a whore is what they’re looking for,” Kate says, giving you a wink.

“Kate!” You exclaim. You lightly slap her on the arm.

“Owww y/n. You’re very feisty for such a tiny person.”

“Serves you right,” you mutter underneath your breath. The two of you continue to scroll through the app when you see a notification pop up.

Natasha and Wanda had replied to your message.

“Oh my god,” you say. You can feel yourself freaking out, even when you’re going into the texting part of the app and opening the message.

“Hi darling, we’d love to get to know you more too! We’re Natasha and Wanda, we’re both sugar mommies who are looking for a sugar baby to share. We work quite a bit, but we promise that we’ll still have time for you if things work out between us. Can’t wait to hear back from you,” the message reads. You show the message to Kate who responds with excitement.

But you can feel yourself freaking out on the inside even more now. However your doubts from earlier creep in and calm you down. There’s a big chance that this is just a catfish, but you still want to take the chance. Who wouldn’t want an opportunity to be with Natasha and Wanda?

“Help me come up with a response,” you tell the girl sitting next to you. After a few minutes of back and forth, the two of you come up with what you think is the perfect response.

“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’m y/n, a sugar baby who is currently in college trying to pay off my loans. I normally have plenty of time on my hands and would be able to be around whenever you need.”

You cringe at the last part of the message, which was all Kate’s idea, but clearly it worked because a few minutes later you have a text inviting you out to get some coffee tomorrow afternoon and you say yes.

“You have to come with me though, just in case it’s like a catfish or something,” you tell your best friend. 

“Of course, I’ll sit in the cafe and just text me if you need me,” Kate says reassuring you. 

The next day comes too quickly and before you know it you and Kate are sitting in the cafe waiting for Natasha and Wanda. You’re sitting at a table in the back, while Kate is sitting at a table across the room from you. The minutes seem to drag on forever, making you even more anxious than you already are. Everytime the bell above the door goes off, you glance up, hoping it’s one of the girls walking through. You’re just about to lose hope when you see Natasha and Wanda walk in. They look so breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Hi Y/n,” Wanda says, being the first to greet you. She towers over you as she envelopes you in a hug, which you gladly reciprocate.  

“Hi,” you say back. It comes out quieter than you meant it to. You can feel your cheeks heating up, but gladly both women ignore it. 

“And hi I’m Natasha,” the red haired girl says. She also towers over you, but you like that about the two women. She also envelopes you into a hug. She smells like vanilla and smoke and it gives you a sense of comfort. The three of you sit down and the two women get straight to the point. 

“So as you know we’re looking for a sugar baby,” Natasha says, her voice a low tone. “We just wanted to meet with you today to go over some things and see if we’d get along,” she explains. 

“Ok that sounds good,” you agree. 

“Have you ever been in a dynamic like this before?” 

“No I haven’t,” you say, your blush coming back. You can feel your nerves getting worse as well as you fidget with a ring on your hand. 

“It’s ok to be nervous baby, we won’t bite,” Wanda leans in to tell you. She places her hand on top of yours, stopping your fidgeting. She places her hand in yours, which you gladly hold. 

“That’s alright, we’re pretty new to this too. But there are a couple of things we wanted to go over today. First, when do you have class?”

“Well Tuesday and Thursday mornings I have class until 11am, but besides that my days are wide open.” This answer makes Natasha smile, which in turn makes you smile. 

“What is it that you need help with?” You appreciate that Natasha is getting straight to the point, it’s doing wonders at calming your nerves.

“Mostly rent and some bills. I, uh, just lost my job and it’s been hard to stay afloat.”

“Well that won’t be a problem now that we’re here,” Natasha tells you, sending you a wink. The action sends a blush across your face, turning it a shade of pink. 

"I know this isn't exactly normal," Natasha says, "But we promise if today works out, which I think it will, we'll take care of you darling." Natasha's words make you smile. Normally you were never so shy around people, but the two women next to you really bring it out in you.

“Do you have any questions for us honey?” Wanda asks. 

“Yes actually. What is it exactly that I would be doing?”

“You would keep us company, go to some company functions with us, and,” Natasha says, her voice dropping low as she says the next part, “have sex with us when we want it.”

“But obviously we would work up to that part,” Wanda adds cheerfully. 

“Ok,” you say, taking all of that information in. You knew going into this that sex would be on the table, but it shocks you that these two beautiful women are wanting to do it with you. 

“I’m sorry if this is a weird question, but aren’t the two of you together? What exactly do you need me for?”

“Yes we’re together sweetheart, but we’re not the most compatible in the bedroom.”

“What Wanda means is that we’re both pretty dominant and we need someone submissive to fulfill our needs,” Natasha says. Wanda slaps her on her arm and lightly scolds her, making you giggle. 

“I can do that,” you say, letting both of them know that you want this. The thought of being submissive for both of them stirs a longing within you. You can feel a slight dampness in your panties and you cross your legs, hoping Wanda, who is still holding your hand, doesn’t notice. But of course she does. 

“You already feeling a little needy, baby?” Wanda whispers, her cockiness coming out of nowhere, but god does it turn you on. Her lips ghost on the outer shell of your ear, causing your breathing to become ragged. 

“Mhm,” you manage to get out. 

“You’re so cute when you’re needy. I can’t wait to see just how needy I can make you,” Wanda says. She leans away from you, but not before leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, making you go pink.

“Don’t kill the poor girl Wanda,” Natasha scolds. 

“I can’t help it, she’s just so cute,” Wanda says, like you aren't there, which just turns you on even more. 

“Yeah she is,” Natasha agrees. 

You don’t know what to say, too absorbed in your own lust, when Natasha speaks again, snapping you out of it.

“Here are our phone numbers,” she says, slipping you a piece of paper. You take the pieces of paper and program their numbers into your phone and you give them your number and they do the same.

“We’ll text you tomorrow to work out the details and set up a contract, assuming you still want to do this?” Wanda questions. 

“I do,” you reassure her. 

“Then we’ll talk to you tomorrow, detka,” Wanda says. The two women get up, both hugging you goodbye. You watch the two women walk out, having forgotten that Kate was also at the cafe until she comes up to you. 

“Oh my god,” Kate says.

“I know,” is all you say.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get two sugar mommies.”

[coochiequeens]

I know this blog focuses on TIMs invading women’s sports and locker rooms but Saving Women’s Sports means more than that. Like calling out sexist bs when companies give men real clothes to compete in and women get basically underwear.

The Nike Air Innovation Summit in Paris on Thursday.Credit...Dominique Maitre/WWD, via Getty Images

By Vanessa Friedman April 12, 2024

Ever since the Norwegian women’s beach handball team turned the fact that they were required to wear teeny-tiny bikini bottoms for competition into a cause célèbre, a quiet revolution has been brewing throughout women’s sports. It’s one that questions received conventions about what female athletes do — or don’t — have to wear to perform at their very best.

It has touched women’s soccer (why white shorts?), gymnastics (why not a unitard rather than a leotard?), field hockey (why a low-cut tank top?) and many more, including running.

So it probably should not have come as a shock to Nike that when it offered a sneak peek of the Team U.S.A. track and field unies during a Nike Air event in Paris celebrating its Air technology on Thursday (which also included looks for other Olympic athletes, like Kenya’s track and field team, France’s basketball team and Korea’s break dancing delegation), they were met with some less-than-enthusiastic reactions.

See, the two uniforms Nike chose to single out on the mannequins included a men’s compression tank top and mid-thigh-length compression shorts and a woman’s bodysuit, cut notably high on the hip. It looked sort of like a sporty version of a 1980s workout leotard. As it was displayed, the bodysuit seemed as if it would demand some complicated intimate grooming.

Citius Mag, which focuses on running news, posted a photo of the uniforms on Instagram, and many of its followers were not amused.

“What man designed the woman’s cut?” wrote one.

“I hope U.S.A.T.F. is paying for the bikini waxes,” wrote another. So went most of the more than 1,900 comments.

The running comedian Laura Green posted an Instagram reel in which she pretended to be trying on the look (“We’re feeling pretty, um, breezy,” she said) and checking out the rest of the athlete’s kit bag, which turned out to include hair spray, lip gloss and a “hysterectomy kit,” so the women would not have to worry about periods.

When asked, Nike did not address the brouhaha directly, but according to John Hoke, the chief innovation officer, the woman’s bodysuit and the man’s shorts and top are only two of the options Nike will have for its Olympic runners. There are “nearly 50 unique pieces across men’s and women’s and a dozen competition styles fine-tuned for specific events,” Mr. Hoke said.

Sha’Carri Richardson

Women will be able to opt for compression shorts, a crop top or tank and a bodysuit with shorts rather than bikini bottoms. The full slate of looks was not on hand in Paris but more will be revealed next week at the U.S. Olympic Committee media summit in New York. The Paris reveal was meant to be a teaser.

Anna Cockrell.Credit...Dominique Maitre/WWD, via Getty Images

Mr. Hoke also pointed out that Nike consults with a large number of athletes at every stage of the uniform design. Its track and field roster includes Sha’Carri Richardson, who happened to be wearing the compression shorts during the Paris presentation, and Athing Mu. And there are certainly runners who like the high-cut brief. (The British Olympic sprinter Dina Asher-Smith, another Nike athlete, told The New York Times last summer that while she opts to run in briefs, she also leans toward a leotard style, rather than a two-piece.)

What Nike missed, however, was that in choosing those two looks as the primary preview for Team U.S.A., rather than, say, the matching shorts and tanks that will be also available, it shored up a longstanding inequity in sports — one that puts the body of a female athlete on display in a way it does not for the male athlete.

“Why are we presenting this sexualized outfit as the standard of excellence?” said Lauren Fleshman, a U.S. national champion distance runner and the author of “Good for a Girl.” “In part because we think that’s what nets us the most financial gain from sponsors or NIL opportunities, most of which are handed out by powerful men or people looking at it through a male gaze. But women are breaking records with ratings in sports where you don’t have to wear essentially a bathing suit to perform.”

The problem such imagery creates is twofold. When Nike chose to reveal the high-cut bodysuit as the first Olympics outfit, purposefully or not, the implication for anyone watching is that “this is what excellence looks like,” Ms. Fleshman said.

That perception filters down to young athletes and becomes the model girls think they have to adopt, often at a developmental stage when their relationships with their bodies are particularly fraught.

And more broadly, given the current political debate around adjudicating women’s bodies, it reinforces the idea that they are public property.

Still, Ms. Fleshman said, “I’m glad Nike put this image out as the crown jewel of Olympic Team design,” because it may act as the catalyst for another conversation that has been long overdue.

“If you showed this outfit to someone from the W.N.B.A. or women’s soccer, they would laugh in your face,” she said. “We shouldn’t have to normalize it for track and field anymore. Time’s up on that.”

[justwinginglife]

High Score

Based off of the song "Good Graces" from Sabrina Carpenter's new album Short n Sweet (I told yall I was obsessed with it).

“It is literally not that hard to keep a girl happy.” 

After going on three different dates with three different Defense Force Officers, you’d huffed and puffed to Okonogi, to Mina, to Nakanoshima, to anyone who would listen, all morning about how men had no game, how they were disappointing, how they couldn’t keep a relationship alive if they had a gun to their heads. And you’d honestly considered holding your gun to their heads; you wondered if drilling the barrel through their temples would spur some semblance of romance from their dumb asses. 

The first man you’d gone out with had tried to compliment your date attire and failed miserably. He’d said that you should wear that dress more often because it made you look less fat than your usual officer’s uniform. You didn’t even sit down at the table, you were out the door in two seconds flat. 

The second man was great. His demeanor was pleasant, his humor was entertaining, and he was easy on the eyes. But about 25 minutes into the date, his girlfriend discovered his infidelity and came storming into the restaurant, murder and mayhem in her eyes. You’d almost rooted for her when she’d slapped him so hard she broke the sound barrier, and when she left him reeling in the shock of it all, you followed her right out the door. You even had drinks with her afterwards, enjoying -and encouraging- her furious ranting in between bitter shots. 

The third man made it a whole hour into the date before asking when you were going to stop being a tease and let him take you home. At this point in your dating career, you expected nothing but disappointment, so when he finally blurted out his demands, you were more amused than anything that he’d been silently suffering for a whole hour. And of course, you had your fun with him; you felt you were owed at least a good time if not a good date. For wasting your night, you repaid him by edging him on for another hour, coaxing his lust out with pretty words, purred in his ear, with your foot teasing its way up his leg, until he was engorged to the point of excruciating pain, then you left him alone with nothing more than his agony for company. 

It’d become well known among the men that you were hard to date, and well known among the women that the men of the Defense Force were hard to love. At least the ones you went out with. Every disastrous date turned into a word of warning for the women, and they eagerly awaited your updates, curious to know which men to avoid. The men began noticing their dwindling romantic prospects and, their pride on the line, they set out to prove you wrong. 

Soon, a line of suitors filed through your door, every man puffing out their chest, every man arrogantly claiming they could do better than the last. You hadn’t expected such a reception, but your amusement got the better of you, and one by one you agreed to go out with each man. Then, one by one, they all failed. 

Most made it a day or two, some a couple days, some a couple weeks; each one making mistake after mistake, each one more disappointing than the last. One man made it a whole 2 months and then he forgot your birthday and did little to make up for forgetting. You wondered if you should resign yourself to a life alone. You wondered if men were even capable of treating a girl right.

Then the buzz of your dating life reached the ears of the First Division’s Captain. And to your surprise, Gen Narumi, the man who hated to leave the cozy confines of his office, the man who was infamously uninterested in anything besides the latest video games, the man who was aloof, who was blunt, who was sometimes downright unpleasant, had decided to throw his hat into the ring. You were more fascinating than his electronics; the prize of your approval more enticing than any game. 

In no time at all, Narumi had claimed the highest score- you’d been his girlfriend for a whole 3 months, and it was the longest anyone had ever kept you. He’d spoil you with his salary, butter you up with compliments (it wasn’t hard; you kept pace with him on the battlefield well, he had much to praise), and tear the breath straight from your lungs with his devastating kisses. You wondered if this was the moment you would finally fall in love. He’d planned to keep his winning streak going, but then his old habits began slinking their way back into the relationship. He’d promise to take you out for dinner and then his games would consume him and he’d forget your existence. On joint missions, you’d advise him on the best course of action, and he’d blatantly ignore you, thoroughly embarrassing you in front of the whole division as he recklessly went off on his own yet again. You gave him time to clean up his act, still clinging to the first semblance of a good relationship you’d had in awhile. But then you couldn’t take it anymore- you dumped him when month 4 came around.

Vice Captain Hoshina, who had been more than entertained just watching this whole game play out, who had been more than content just watching from the sidelines, suddenly felt the urge to try his hand at your heart. He’d always found you interesting, found your spunk refreshing, found your skills impressive, found your looks enticing, but he was just never in the mood for a relationship. Watching your increasing frustration and Narumi’s increasing stupidity made him realize he wasn’t satisfied with his position on the bench anymore. He’d show Narumi, show all the other men, show the world how it was done. You deserved better and he was the best. 

When he first expressed interest in dating you, part of you was skeptical and reserved. You thought he might just be using you to piss off Narumi. You didn’t completely mind if he was, because you could admit that you’d used many men to get free food and free gifts, knowing it wasn’t going to last, but some part of you couldn’t bear the thought of that happening with him. You greatly respected him as your Vice Captain, and more than that, you enjoyed his company as a friend. You couldn’t stand it if your relationship with him went up in flames, if you had to stop looking for him in hallways, eager for your next training session, if you had to stop saving jokes for him that you thought he’d love, if you had to stop sharing earpods on the transport, listening to your favorite album together on the way to your next mission. 

But your caution quickly turned into curiosity, and before you knew it, you were dating the Vice Captain. You thought to yourself that even if he was just using you to get under Narumi’s skin, you were okay with that, as his little schemes amused you greatly. Once, you’d been out on a date at the mall when Hoshina spotted Narumi a couple aisles away. Of course, Hoshina remembered that Narumi would complain that all you would do was kiss him and nothing else, so Hoshina got it in his head that when Narumi finally turned around to find you on a date with him, he should be holding up lingerie for you to try. Narumi almost blew a gasket demanding to know why Hoshina was allowed to get to homebase with you within the first week of dating when it took him almost a month to even be allowed to hold your hand. Hoshina had looked at you, interested to hear your response, and he was extremely impressed (and amused) by your quick wit, when you simply shrugged, said Hoshina was bigger and walked up to checkout with the lingerie Hoshina had scrambled to find, not even bothering to check if he’d grabbed your size or not. Narumi was fuming the rest of the week and his Vice Captain even went so far as pleading with you to stop pissing him off because it was causing the First Division a lot of trouble. If Hoshina was amused before, now he was thoroughly entertained. 

The two of you got into all sorts of trouble together and it was the most fun you’d had in your entire life. You didn’t even have time to wonder if it was possible to fall for him, you were both in love before you knew it. 

And he always pulled out all the stops for you. 

If someone brought you a flower bouquet, Hoshina would fill your entire living room with them. If someone took you out to a nice dinner, Hoshina would reserve the entire restaurant for the two of you to enjoy. If someone complimented you, Hoshina would leave love letters and sticky notes all around your house for you to find, with things he loved about you written all over them. There was no end to his devotion and adoration of you. If you asked for the sun, you were sure he’d bring the moon and all the stars along with it. 

You’d fallen so in love with him, so quickly, so deeply, so desperately, that you were sure you could excuse any mistake he could ever or would ever make. If he stole something, you’d drive the getaway car. If he killed someone, you’d bring the shovel. Wherever he went, you’d follow. If he wanted to vacation in Hell, you’d bring ice packs and a fan. 

When you finally did get married to him, Hoshina sent Narumi a wedding invite with the words “Looks like I’ve got the high score now” written on the top and you fell in love with him all over again.

[wardenparker]

New Year's Surprise

Jack Daniels x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18.7k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots. Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work... Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨

"You're sure it's not too much, Ging?" Turning in front of the full-length mirror in Ginger's apartment, you inspect the glittering black cocktail dress that your friend helped you pick out at the mall during all those after-Christmas sales she promised you that you would find something at. She was right, like she always is, but now that the dress is on you, you're wondering if you haven't made a mistake. If it's not too revealing, or too short, or too tight.

Whoever in HR came up with this insane Cowboys and Flappers theme for the company New Year's Eve party deserved to have their head examined. You're not the femme fatale agent that gets sent out to seduce men and collect their secrets. Few men out there in the world are ever really seduced by the chubby girl in any given scenario, but it did tend to make you invisible. Invisible women can slip in and out of buildings in literally any kind of uniform and get through security without ever being harassed, and that works to your advantage on almost every case. Unfortunately, it also means that for the five years you've been a Statesman agent, you've also been fairly invisible to the man you've developed feelings for.

It’s perfect.” No matter how many times Ginger Ale tells you that you are sexy just the way you are, that insecurity gets the best of you. “I’m telling you, you will have every eye in the place.”

“I doubt it.” You sigh in the mirror and smooth your hands over the sequined dress one more time. “But that’s okay. I don’t want every set of eyes…”

“I know what set of eyes you want on you.” Your taste in men is your own, and Ginger won’t fault you for it, but she wonders why Jack. “It might do the man good to know that he’s got competition.” You don’t believe her when she says that it’s more telling that Jack doesn’t hit on you, but it’s the truth.

“He doesn’t, though.” Shrugging, you turn away from the mirror and decide to just go on with the night. Wishing won’t make it real and Jack Daniels barely looks at you. Even though you’ve partnered on cases, spend time together in and out of the office, and are arguably friends in every true sense? You’ve always wanted more with him. The only person who knows is Ginger, though, and you prefer to keep it that way since Jack will never return your affection. “And that’s…it is what it is. Even if you’re the only person I dance with tonight, it’ll still be fun.”

“Wearing that dress?” Ginger snorts as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the faith for both of us, how about that?” She knows that Jack won’t be able to resist you tonight, not when she’s lined up a few of the junior agents to dance with you already. It’s time that Jack settles down and finds some happiness, and what better time than the New Year?

******

While you easily could have had the party at Statesman considering the size of the grounds, Champ wouldn’t hear of it. He’s hosting the damn thing himself come hell or high water, in his favourite suit with his wife dressed to the 9’s in her flapper dress, and more caterers than you’ve ever seen in your life all making his early twentieth century coal baron’s mansion look as resplendent as the day it was built. The place is palatial, with a ballroom so big that the band he’s hired looks tiny in one corner despite being six-men strong. It’s music and liquor and appetizers passing by on trays when you and Ginger walk through the door, and you gasp at how nice it all looks.

“I know he does it every year,” you sigh to your best friend. “But the theme is always different and I swear somehow the house always looks better on new year’s.”

“Champ does know how to throw one hell of a party.” She agrees, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter as she walks by. Her own sleek flapper dress is a vivid purple, making her beautiful skin glow and for tonight, she’s wearing contacts. Her short hair is perfectly styled, a cap like illusion, highlighted with the crystal headband she’s picked. “To a New Year we will never forget.” She hands you one glass and adds, “or regret.”

“You’re certainly optimistic.” You flash her and grin and tap the rim of your glass against hers. “Finally going to talk to Alicia or is this just positive vibes?” It’s been two years since Ginger started crushing on the woman who supervises Statesman campus tours and visitor experience, but she hasn’t made a move yet. Being frozen in place with someone you care about is something the two of you have in common.

“Positive vibes.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and trying to change the subject. “Look! There’s Tequila!” She waves the younger agent over to where you are standing. “You made it! Didn’t think you were ever gonna get back from Brazil, or if you wanted to.” She adds with a grin.

“Those are two very different questions.” Tequila agrees with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Did he have to come back? Sure. But did he want to leave the comfort and luxury of that beautiful woman’s bed? Not at all. “But I would not have missed dancing with you ladies for the world,” he adds with a wink. He’s very much in on Ginger’s plan, after all, and is looking forward to the fireworks it will bring.

You fluster slightly at his words, but Ginger knows that you don’t have your cap set on Tequila. You just don’t handle compliments well. “You’ll have to get in line.” Ginger warns him with a smirk. “As good as Rye looks tonight, every man in here is going to want a dance. After I dance with her first.”

“Well I reckon I’ll have to be second, then.” Tequila puts in a playful pout. “But only because I would never deny Miss Ginger Ale gettin to be first.” He smiles again and tips his hat, having opted to wear his best Stetson with an elegant Kingsman suit. “You don’t have to,” you insist, knowing Tequila always has more choices of dance and bedroom partners than he could ever feasibly make his way through. “I’m sure you have other people you want to dance with tonight.”

“No one important.” Tequila smirks as he drags his eyes up and down your outfit and whistles slowly. “And no one nearly as pretty.” He promises.

“Liar.” Though you roll your eyes at him, you don’t protest anymore than that. He’s your friend, after all. And if he wants to waste his time dancing with you, you’ll just enjoy it. Tequila’s a fantastic dancer, after all.

“Never lie to you, honey.” Tequila croons, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips. “Lie about what?” The voice comes from your left and all eyes swing that way.

“Jack!” Normally you know he’s coming. The smell of earthy, expensive cologne and the tap-click-shuffle of his boots on polished floors. The soft humming he gets up to when he’s pleased with himself, not quite melodic but endearing because it means he’s happy. But you sensed none of that just now, too caught up in the band playing and the fragrant flowers and the tickle of bubbly in your nose and throat. “Nothing. We were just talking about dancing…” He looks like a dream, and it makes you sick to your stomach and elated all at once. Another night of watching him fawn over every woman but you is what you’ve resigned yourself to putting up with, but it’s just rude of him to look so damn handsome in that black velvet double breasted suit and sleek black Stetson while he does it.

“Dancing, hum?” His eyes narrow slightly at the grip Tequila has on your hand and he wants to reach out and slap it away, but he just shoots everyone an easy grin. “Ready to cut a rug tonight, eh?”

"I guess so." The shyness that threatens to shoot straight through you is knocked off kilter by Ginger, who hoots in response. "She's got her dance card all filled up already, Whiskey. Should've gotten here earlier," she tells him with a smirk.

His mustache ticks, it’s the only change to his facial expression. “I’m sure Rye can squeeze me in.” His dark amber eyes slide over to you and swipe up and down your body. “Can’t you, sugar?”

"Of course." You'd throw over the whole goddamn list for him. Besides, you have no idea what Ginger could possibly mean by saying your 'card' is full. One dance with her and one with Tequila isn't a full anything. "Of course I can."

“Good. Then how about I refresh you ladies’ drinks?” Jack asks, slapping Tequila on the back a little rougher than necessary. “Come help me with that.”

"Sure." Tequila grunts, throwing you a confused expression like he can't figure out why the hell Jack needs help getting champagne when waiters with trays are everywhere, but he shoots Ginger a secret smirk before following Jack into the next room where the open bar is set up.

“Tonight will be perfect.” Ginger predicts with a smug grin as she watches the two men walk towards the open bar. .

“What the hell are you doin’, flirtin’ with Rye?” Jack’s easy grin falls away and his brows knit together as soon as his back is turned to you. “You know that girl ain’t your type.”

"I can't be nice to my friend?" Tequila asks, pretending to be positively aghast that Jack would suggest he's up to anything else. One hand ever goes to his chest with a dramatic gasp.

Jack’s eyes cut towards the other agent, a frown on his face. “It’s one goddamn thing to be nice, it’s another to flirt.”

"When did I flirt?" The younger agent counters, knowing full well that's what he was doing but not about to admit it because he wants to make Jack stew.

“You were flirtin’ the second you can outta your momma, but you gotta learn there’s certain girls you don’t do that shit with.” Jack growls, stopping in front of the bar and holding up two fingers. “Double 62 Triple Barreled.” He orders, wanting one of the rare whiskeys that Champ had broken out tonight. “And two champagnes.”

"Now, why is that, Jack?" Tequila hums, looking down at his friend. Jack isn't too much shorter than him, but just enough to annoy the older agent on occasion. "Why is Rye one of those girls?"

“Because…” that’s where his argument ends, because there’s not really a reason beyond his own feelings. “It’s…unprofessional.” He decides. “She’s an agent for Christ’s sake.”

Tequila snorts at this string of logic, accepting his drink from the pretty bartender with a wink and sliding a large bill into the tip glass on the bar top before looking back at Jack. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it, Daniels. You fucking know it."

He does know it, but he snatches his own drink up and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He hates that his stomach twists and he wonders if you had been flirting back. Looking over his shoulder at where you are standing, he clenches his jaw at the tassels that are swaying every time you move. “Don’t get her damn hopes up.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “We both know you ain’t gonna fuck her.”

"Nor does she want me to." This is gonna be a hell of a lot easier than he and Ginger thought, if Jack is always so fuckin wound up over you and he only just arrived for the night. "I ain't the one she has her eye on and everybody with eyes knows it."

Jack ignores that, huffing to himself as he tries to hid the fucking jealousy that curls in his gut at whoever you do have your eye on. Lucky son of a bitch. “No fuckin’ talkin’ to you, hardheaded S.O.B.” The champagne glasses are in front of him and he downs the rest of the drink to slap the crystal glass down and snatch up the flutes. Turning around without another word and stalking across the room towards you and Ginger.

It's only one room he has to cross, but by the time he gets there, Agent Brandy has sidled up beside you and Ginger and has his fingers ever so subtly on your elbow while bends his head and puts all his focus directly on you.

Halfway across the room, Jack jerks to a halt and growls, shaking his head as he resumes the walk and forces a moderately friendly smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d be back from Korea, Don.” He interrupts as he arrives back at your group.

"Two days ago." Brandy flashes a smile in Jack's general direction but keeps his focus on you. "Glad I made it back in time, too. Champ throws a hell of a party."

His eye twitches but Jack nods. “Yeah he does. Shoulda brought that little gal you were seein’. Brandy. Brenda right? Or was it Bambi?” He shrugs. “Maybe all of them at once, knowin’ you.”

"Now don't be unkind, Jack." Brandy's eyes cut over to the older agent and Brandy offers what could be considered a modestly dramatic pout. "Or Rye might think the worst of me and throw me over for that dance I just got promised."

Jack seethes beneath the smile on his face. “Would hate for that to happen.” He lies, handing Ginger one of the glasses and then offers the other to you.

The glass is offered with a smile and you thank Jack, savoring even the tiniest moment of contact between brushing fingers as he hands it over. It's probably bordering on pathetic, how long you've carried this torch for Jack, and it seems like Ginger is really trying to encourage you tonight to come out of your shell tonight but you just don't know. As nice as everyone is being, it doesn't feel right. The only thing that feels right is when you're around Jack. It's just a damn shame that he doesn't feel the same.

It’s almost painful how the simple, innocent touch affects him. Now visceral his reaction is. Only the training that Statesman has given him keeps him from showing anything. “Well,” he hates to tear himself away, but he can’t be around you for too long. “I better go talk to Champ about some cases he wants worked tomorrow.” He offers.

"It's a party," you remind him, smile flickering as he steps back. Obviously the small touch that you'll be savoring for the rest of the night has had the opposite effect on him. But there's no need to show that. Not when it's fully expected that he doesn't want to be around you when there are plenty of other people to talk to and women to dance with. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

“Never do,” he nods at everyone and turns around and skedaddles over to Champ like his pants are on fire.

"Come on," Ginger loops her arm through yours and lends Brandy a smirk that you don't notice — you're too busy trying not to look after Jack. "Let's go dance, honey. The night is young and we are looking far too good not to show off."

Champ eyes Jack as he stops by his side. “Figured you’d have a gal in your arms by now.” He huffs as he reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. “Losing your touch?” Jack snorts. “When have I ever lost my touch?” He asks, pointedly refusing to look back over towards you. “Just surveying my prospects.”

"And how is Agent Rye this evening?" Champ doesn't even have to look to know that that's where Jack has just come from. He blew into the room so quickly that it's the only explanation for the fire in his heels.

“Don’t you start with me.” Jack groans, shaking Champ’s hand and huffing. “Far as I know, she’s dandy.”

"Why should I not start?" Champ knows damn well why not, but he enjoys riling up his friend. "Somebody beat me to the punch?"

“Every-goddamn-body here tonight is actin’ like they’ve never seen the woman in a dress.” He snorts, complaining about it even though he has already memorized the way the damned sequined dress clings to your curves and enhances them in ways that should be criminal. “It’s damned ridiculous and borderline workplace harassment.”

Smirking, Champ pours two glasses of his preferred Statesman 1972 Select, savoring the smoked cherry notes from that particular year. He hands one cut crystal glass over to Jack with his tongue set firmly in his cheek. "You know you'd be a hell of a lot less mad if you just asked the lady to dance your damn self."

The glare Jack cuts Champ is withering and he turns his head as he takes a sip, refusing to rebuff the remark. It seems like everyone is taking the piss with him tonight as Eggsy would say. (edited)

"She's allowed to have fun, ya know." Champ goes on, humming the thought as though the glare Jack just shot him wouldn't have struck a lesser man dead in his tracks. "Damn shame she hasn't set her cap on anyone. Big family dreams, that gal has. Always has. It'll be a damn shame when she finally decides to hang up her pistols and have a family, but I won't let her get farther than the training ring. Too good of an agent to just let her retire."

“Is there a point to your ramblings?” Jack grumbles. “Or are you just spouting shit tonight?”

"Do what I want in my own house." The older man chuckles heartily and claps Jack on one shoulder. "Got a couple of jobs to start the new year with. Come see me tomorrow and we'll figure out which one's yours."

He’s being dismissed and since Champ is also giving him hell, Jack quickly nods and walks off. Trying to walk around the ostentatious ballroom without looking at you. “Hello handsome.” A perfectly manicured hand drapes itself over his shoulder and the scent of gardenias and sandalwood fills his nostrils. “Tiffany.”

Like a bloodhound on a trail, you spot it from across the ballroom without even trying to. Twirling around with Ginger, your eyes catch sight of the gorgeous, skinny, leggy blonde who has let herself drape over Jack's side and you sigh. Deflate is probably the right word, but you remind yourself it was never going to happen anyway and just hold on to Ginger as the song comes to an end.

“What’s a tall, dark, handsome drink of water like you doin’ all by your lonesome?” She purrs, making him hide the wince he had at the put on accent of hers. She’s as southern as tofu and yet she tries to make it sound like she’s grown up around here. Still, she’s a distraction and the best part about it is that there’s no emotional strings. “Looks like I should be buyin’ you a drink, darlin’.”

"I wish you would," she puts on a too-high giggle and bats eyelashes heavy with mascara and augmented with false hairs. Laying it on thick, she pushes in even closer and lets her body fit against his with nothing left to the imagination.

Jack doesn’t feel anything but he paints a cocky smirk on his face as he turns to her. “Then let me go get something for you, what do you want, darlin’?”

“Champagne, of course,” she simpers, never once considering the fact that she’s at a party for a whiskey distillery. Hell, she hadn’t even dressed for the theme.

Tiffany hangs out at the bar Statesman regularly hangs out at. A groupie because she knows everyone there makes good money. He’d bet his bottom dollar she conned Scotch into bringing her.

“Some party.” Is her attempt at conversation, putting more effort into showing off her cleavage than completing sentences. “You distillery boys sure know how to treat your gals.”

“Of course we do.” Jack’s smile is wicked, but it’s a part of the persona he adopts when he is working a target, it’s not real. “Any gal of mine deserves to be treated right.”

“Is that an invitation?” She knows who Jack is. Knows the civilian job title he’s been at Statesman Distillery. Even if she knew what it was all a front for, she likely wouldn’t care. She might just try harder if she knew the real wealth being flung around between a lot of these people.

“Now sweetheart, I’m good for a night or two.” Jack drawls. “But I’ve got a lot of leavin’ left to do.” He hums, quoting the country song.

The pout on Tiffany’s face is both dramatic and pronounced, but seeing that he’s immovable in that point — and knowing his reputation — she makes a small sound of frustrated disgust before flouncing away. Apparently annoyed at having wasted her time on a line cowboy.

The huff that Jack lets out is one of pure relief. Happy that he won’t have to deal with her again for at least half the night. She might make her way back around depending on successful she is. It’s shameful to say, but most of the agents here have dallied with her, including Jack. However, he had only taken her home to satisfy a physical need. He slowly makes his way back to the bar to order another drink, not champagne.

His line of sight is unfortunate as he saunters back toward the open bar. Looking back out to the dance floor, he can see Tequila twirling you around and the two of you laughing as the younger man holds you close and mock-sings along with the band.

Jack’s frown is deep, furrowing his brow as he cuts his eyes away in a jealous huff.

It goes round and round like that for most of the night. One dance partner after the next sweeps you across the dance floor but never the partner you want. One beautiful woman after another sidles up to Jack and bats their eyelashes but none are the woman he actually wants at his side. It’s a three-ring-circus. A whirlwind. But you never seem to get close enough to each other to see that neither of you is actually having any fun.

It’s easy to have an arm around a woman, easy to smile and flirt. His eyes continuously find you on the dance floor. Ginger had been right apparently, you had a damn dance card that was slap full. He hisses under his breath, wondering how many of those men knew you bit your thumb when you were working out a problem or that your eyes changed to a lighter shade when you were feeling slightly bashful.

There isn’t a single night of your life where you’ve gotten this much attention from this many different men — or this many different people period — and while it’s fun in a whirlwind sort of way, you do find yourself clock-watching. Wondering why your fellow agents all seem to be paying you so many compliments tonight and why you sort of feel like Cinderella at the ball without a hint of the real Prince Charming, the closer it gets to midnight the more you’re thinking of just going home. The last thing you want is to glance across the ballroom at midnight and see Jack tangled up in a midnight kiss with some petite redhead or statuesque model with perfect curls. You’ll be happier skipping out early and being in your pjs with a book at midnight than you will be witnessing that.

It’s fucking infuriating to have so many people come between him and you. Every dang time he untangles himself to break in on your dance with some partner, Ginger, Tequila or Champ waylay him. He’s never had such a hard time getting to chat with you and it’s making him slowly unravel his temper. “Ah Jack, there you are.” He sighs and paints on a smile when Champ claps his back and shoves a drink in his hand. “Forgot to mention somethin’….” His eyes slide away from you laughing as you are spun around, bitter to be stonewalled again.

“Well if it ain’t the gol’dern Belle of the Ball.” The voice you hear behind you is the one person you were hoping to avoid tonight, and as you’ve just finished dancing with one of the guys from the technology department who you didn’t even think knew your name, there’s no escaping. Agent Vodka is one of those older men who doesn’t realize that James Bond is just a character and that no one drags that persona into their everyday life. He routinely ‘flirts’ with you like he’s bestowing you a huge goddamn favor for even looking in your direction, and you were genuinely hoping to avoid him tonight.

Vodka is handsome in a classical sense, some would say a silver fox, if he had a better attitude. As it stands, there’s a confused tilt to his Stetson adorned head and he rakes his eyes up and down your body in a very calculated gaze. “You musta cleaned up for hours. Getting ready for a good night.”

“Sure. I guess so.” You nod, tone polite but dismissive. Vodka has a tendency to interpret friendly as begging for hands to be put on you, and the last thing you want to do is encourage him. “Happy new year, Vodka.”

“Seems like Whiskey and I have been the only ones not with you tonight.” He intones, smirking slightly. “Guess you was savin’ the best for last, huh? Since Jack’s hangin’ all over the ladies, I’ll step in and claim this dance.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just stepping up to you and grabbing your waist.

“That’s really okay.” Reeling backward, Vodka is strong but your self-defense training is a hell of a lot better, and you twist in his grip to make sure he can’t get a solid hold on you no matter how hard he tries. “Appreciate the offer,” you huff, trying to push him away. “But I was just heading home.”

“Oh don’t be that way.” Vodka huffs and manages to pull you close. “Believe me, dancin’ ‘s just a prelude to what we can do later.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to dance with you.” You push back against him again, leveraging your elbow against his side to loosen his grip with a sharp shot to his liver. This has gone too far and is hovering on ruining the night — which has been fairly fun despite its lack of your favorite cowboy and coworker.

“Jack-“ Ginger doesn’t bother apologizing as she taps his shoulder and points out to the dance floor. “Why don’t you go save Rye?” She huffs.

At this point it’s obvious that it’s a struggle. People are giving you extra space on the dance floor as they realize what’s happening but for whatever godforsaken reason, no one has stepped in yet. Probably because they’re too shocked that Vodka has finally crossed the line into being physically inappropriate instead of just saying uncomfortable things.

“Sugar, I’m sorry I’m late for our dance.” Jack slaps his hand down on Vodka’s shoulder and digs his fingers into the fleshy muscle. Getting satisfaction from the immediate change in the man’s stance. “Don’t mind if I interrupt, do ya?” His tone is friendly, but there’s a warning woven in the words. Dark eyes turn towards you as you quickly step back from the other man’s grasp.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a dame waitin’.” Vodka mumbles, all sheepishness and apology now that he realizes he’s infringed on another man’s territory.

Jack doesn’t rip into the man like he wants to, everyone else is starting to relax and resume the party. “You probably need to lay off the liquor.” He tells the other agent, not really caring for the man either.

“You forget who we work for, Daniels?” Vodka huffs, giving Jack the stink eye. “Not like you go easy, either.”

“Last time I checked, I took no for an answer, Robbins.” Jack turns his back after letting Vodka go and sweeps you into his arms, effectively dismissing him.

The room damn near erupts into applause, chattering all around you erupting out of uncomfortable silence, but you don’t hear it. You don’t even see Tonic and Champ escorting Vodka out of the ballroom with the utmost immediacy so the dressing-down can be vocal and private. All you see is Jack, and all you hear is Jack. Even as quiet as he is, the huff he gives as he scoops you up and twirls you away speaks volumes. “Jack, you—you didn’t have to—” Of course, if he hadn’t, you’re not sure you could’ve gotten away so cleanly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think a thing of it, sugar.” Although he has a few harsh words rolling around for everyone who didn’t step in. It’s like they were waiting for something. Alcohol’s done made their brains addled. “Although my own apologies for manhandling you to get you outta that sticky situation.” Even though he’s apologizing, he starts to lead you in a dance.

“I really don’t mind.” And that is the understatement of the goddamn year, as you instinctively melt against Jack the second he starts to move.

“Still…..” There’s finally a bit of happiness to the evening and he smirks down at you. “Now you can say your dance card has been filled.”

“Could’ve left Vodka off it completely,” you grumble lightly, but you still end up smiling. When Jack looks at you in almost any way you just light up from the inside. It’s instinctual.

“Don’t know what got into him.” Jack huffs, even though he’s saved you from encounters like that before.

“His namesake, most likely.” He had smelled like it, at least. A fact which added no charm whatsoever to your encounter. “Really, Jack. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Jack nods. “Sugar, you know that I know you are a capable agent. You coulda mopped the floor with him, but I’ll always give you whatever help you need.”

“I prefer not to bring hand-to-hand combat to Champ’s front door if I can help it.” If you let yourself really chew on the fancy, you could imagine Jack as rescuing you like a knight in armor. Like you were his to protect. “Not sure how much he’d appreciate that, regardless of how capable I am.”

“I think you’d find Champ more forgivin’ than you think.” He snorts, reminding himself of his own major fuck up just a few years prior. Champ had forgiven him and allowed him to regain the trust and confidence that he had destroyed through his own bling grief and rage.

“Maybe.” Jack certainly knows your boss better than you do even after several years with the agency, so you’ll differ from him. “But I’m glad to not have to find out. And…” The rest of the thought gets swallowed, and you cut your eyes away from him in embarrassment. There are some things better left unsaid and normally you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut.

“And?” Jack frowns slightly, not liking that you are holding back with him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise him, shaking your head and acting like it isn’t the biggest, most honest confession in the world from you that sets your cheeks on fire and makes you even more bashful around him. “I’m just…glad I got to dance with you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t think you were going to dance out the old year without ole Jack now, did ya?” He sounds pouty that you would even think that.

"Honestly?" Shrugging slightly even with one of his hands splayed across your back and the other holding yours tenderly against his chest, you wonder how ever you ever manage to keep a damn thing to yourself with him around when your mind just sort of seems to melt in his presence. "I was going to split and ring in the new year in my bed with the book I've been reading."

Jack frowns and shakes his head, not agreeing with your plans in the slightest. “Now that seems like a waste.” He draws. “Mighty fine night to spend readin’ a book. You should be doin’ other things.”

"Not a lot of other options to pick from," you mumble, trying to force your mind away from immediately conjuring the mental images and repeated daydreams of doing just about everything under the sun with — and to — him.

Jack wants to protest that, but the song starts to close out and you almost stop in your tracks. Obviously believing that he will end the dance now that Vodka is gone and the set is done. Instead of dropping your hands, he pulls you tighter against him. “Is that why you wore a dress like that, sugar? ‘Cause you didn’t have any options?”

"Ginger picked it out." Wrongly assuming it to be an indictment of the choice, you frown reflexively and wonder why he's still holding on to you. The trouble is over and the song is done. Shouldn't he be finding someone better to spend his time with? "I know it's...it's not right. Flapper dresses are designed for women who look the opposite of me. But she insisted on sticking to the theme."

“Opposite of you?” He makes a face of utter confusion. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Dress looks good, fits you.” Maybe you have a shit ton of pins in the dress? His sweet wife would always have to pin her dresses to get them to fit right. Nearly every night they went out, he was helping her pin it just so.

Skinny is what you meant, but instead of saying so you just chew your lip and shake your head. Voicing that out loud would really just cement the ruination of the night and you don't want to do that. "Never mind," you insist instead. "I'm glad you like it." Even if he's just saying it to be nice, which you're sure he is, it's still nice to hear.

There’s something bugging him about the way you continuously quit talking and get around what you mean. The next song starts to play and Jack moves to that slightly faster tempo. “No one’s breakin’ in yet, sugar. So I’m keepin’ you unless you need a break?”

"No." Not from him. You would never, ever ask for a break from him. "No, I'm good." In fact, you've been so distracted by the rescue that you haven't noticed midnight creeping ever-closer. "I don't want a break."

Jack smiles, not the cocky smirk he adopts or the charming playboy facade that he uses on women like Tiffany. This is a genuine smile, one that makes his dimple show with a flash of white teeth and the crow’s feet around his eyes appear. “Then let’s dance, sugar.”

Champ chuckles when he sidles up beside Ginger with a fresh glass of champagne for each of them and his wife on his other arm, all ready to lead the midnight countdown after this song is over. "Took all damn night," he laughs to his co-conspirator. "And ya had to pull out the big gun with Vodka. But look at 'em."

“Man huffed and puffed at being used.” Ginger rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “But I promised him the Antarctic assignment. It will seem like punishment to everyone else and apparently he’s romancing one of the scientists down there.” Personally, she doesn’t see why anyone would be romanced by Vodka, but to each their own.

"It's for a damn good cause." Champ stifles a guffaw and even his wife looks amused at the way everything went down. "Everybody deserves to be happy, don't they? Even Vodka." It earns another snort from the older man and he aims a smirk at Ginger. "So what's the plan from here, Ging?"

“If Jack will get off his ass, there should be a kiss at midnight.” Ginger grins. “And maybe, just maybe, the dumbass will realize that it’s okay to want her. She wants him too.”

"Of course she does." Everybody knows that. Everybody with eyes and sense in their head, anyway. "He's just been stuck in the whole of his own grief for far too damn long. It's about time he broke free. Which is exactly why I went along with this plan of yours."

“I’m glad you did. Jack’s felt so guilty about actually developing feelings for Rye that he’s convinced himself that it’s wrong to flirt with her.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “When he breaks, it’ll be entertaining.”

"Entertaining for all of us." Grinning, Champ holds his glass out to his partner in crime in salute. "I sure as hell hope it happens right here for all of us to see."

Unaware that he’s being plotted against, Jack continues to hold you in his arms, taking you around the dance floor and trying to keep from asking too many questions that would potentially ruin his easy relationship with you. “Have you had fun? Other than Vodka? Your feet have to be killin’ you, all the dances you’ve been movin’ to.”

“It’s alright, I’ll have a hot bath and soak them. Aside from the one little interruption, everything’s been so nice.” This is the best part, without a doubt. Attention from other people is a novelty, the compliments and laughter a kind change of pace. But any time spent with Jack will always out do any other experience.

“A nice hot soak and a drink is always good to unwind.” Jack hums. “If other activities aren’t available.” The comment is warm, almost suggestive as he twists you around and then pulls you close again, feeling your softness against him and enjoying it.

It’s the worst kind of gut punch, hearing a comment like that from Jack, and your eyes are downcast when you curl back into his arms. It’s too unkind to be deliberate, but at the same time it’s such a careless comment that you just want to scream. He would never be intentionally cruel to you but the flirtatious tone of the comment is too much. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Vodka, then.”

Jack stiffens, frowning immediately and his blood pressure rises in anger. “What the fuck?” He hisses, the moment making him grip you tighter, almost the point of hurting you. “Why- you?” He’s at a loss for words right now.

“Well it’s the only offer I’ve gotten in…a year? Maybe more?” You shrug dismissively but his grip on you doesn’t allow for it, making your tone turn even more bitter in the process. He doesn’t get to get mad about who offers when he has no interest in himself. “Definitely more than a year, now that I think about it.”

“That wasn’t a goddamn offer.” He snorts. “It was a cowboy playin’ grab ass when his partner wasn’t willing.” He reminds you, dark eyes flashing angrily. “Otherwise known as assault.”

“And yet it’s still the only time any man has looked at me twice in more than a calendar year,” you hit back, practically hissing under your breath as embarrassed tears sting at your eyes. “Nobody’s exactly lining up to spend time with the fat girl except tonight which is Ginger’s doing. I know it is.” (edited)

The two of you are hissing back and forth, so preoccupied with your emotions that neither one of you are aware of the fact that the countdown for midnight has begun. The crowd around you starts to chant down from ten but Jack's too busy growling at you in anger. "Why are you so fuckin' quick to insult every goddamn person who decided to dance with you?"

“Because I know I’m right.” The two of you have never once torn into each other like this and while it breaks you’re heart, you’re so angry that lashing out is happening by instinct. It hurts so much more to be doubted by him and you can’t even express why. It’s devastating. “Do you even know what assignments they give me, Jack?” You hiss back, not hearing the shouts around you. “The ones where they need someone to be invisible! If they need someone plain and ignorable, they come straight to me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? Because I’m good at it and that’s even worse than them just assuming. I’m excellent at not being noticed. At not being desired. It’s my fucking superpower. So no, I don’t think for a second that any of these dances were genuine moments of interest or offers for literally anything else. Because why would they be?”

His heart breaks and he's simultaneously enraged that you view yourself that way. "Five! Four! Thr—" He reaches up and grabs the back of your neck to yank you forward so your nose is less than an inch from his own. "You want a goddamn offer?" He snarls, losing all sense of reason when it comes to you and ready to prove how wrong you are. "Here's your fuckin' offer." Without another word, he drags you forward to plaster his lips against yours in an angry kiss.

It should feel terrible. It should make you so angry you slap him. It should make you feel a hell of a lot of nasty things, but instead what you feel is the undeniable melting of your own self against him, finally getting the only thing you’ve wanted since the day this infuriating cowboy sauntered into your life. Jack is firm under your hands, burning hot and intoxicatingly inviting in the way he does not pull away. You must have gotten so mad you blacked out, because this is impossible.

When you don’t push him away, when you don’t slap him, Jack growls. Using the soft sigh that you give to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with another groan as the cheers and sing of Auld Lang Syne happens all around the two of you.

Either you’ve burst a blood vessel from being so angry and ashamed or this is the best dream you’ve ever had. Jack wraps both of his arms tight around you and you cling to him, fists dig into the arm of his suit jacket and the hair on the nape of his neck as you silently beg this hallucination never to end. You can live and die in this moment and tell yourself that it was more than a dream. You can imagine this is exactly how fiercely Jack kisses when he really wants to. When he wants someone.

The kiss has turned from an angry mashing of his lips against yours to a passionate mingling of your breath and tongues. You whimper and his entire body tighten with need. Overriding the portion of his brain that is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he is bad for you and continuing to kiss you as everyone else has moved into dancing now.

Neither one of you has realized that his hat has been knocked off, or that he’s drawn you so close your back has bowed, or even that you’ve entirely given up on needing to breathe in order to never have to stop kissing him. Years of repressed desire and soul-crushingly unrequited love are just being poured into every second you spend drowning in this impossible fantasy.

“Well damn.” Champ chuckles from his position on the dance floor with his lovely wife. “Didn’t expect that long of a show. Boy don’t stop soon, he’s gonna devour her right there in the middle of the floor.”

“That’s what happens when you repress your feelings for six goddamn years,” Ginger snorts in amusement. “Should I go interrupt them?”

“No.” Champ decides with a shake of his silvery head. “Leave ‘em. Don’t want the boy to get spooked before he makes up his mind what’s gonna happen next.”

“And he will.” Ginger agrees with that completely. Jack spooks faster than a newborn foal.

“He would, where she’s concerned. Boy has his heart in it and he’s been fightin’ it.” Champ agrees as his wife chuckles. “He will figure it out.” She promises. “Rye won’t let him walk away from this with a smile and a handshake.”

“I think she’d rather die than let him go, at this rate.” The smile on Ginger’s face is soft. Glad that her friend is finally getting everything she — you — have ever wanted. It really is only oxygen that makes the two of you pull apart, panting for breath with fingers curled into each other’s flesh and clothes like you’re hanging on for dear life.

Jack’s eyes are dark and searching as he looks at you. Looking for the answer to a question and when he finds what he’s looking for, he grabs your hand and starts to drag you off the dance floor.

“Jack?” The realization that that really just happened ignites a small panic in your chest and a riot in your mind, and the fact that Jack hasn’t let go of you or run off in disgust is only confusing you more.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t speak right now. The people on the floor just seem to part, moving out of his way as he guides you off the floor. He does squeeze your hand though.

“Jack?” The longer he goes without saying anything the higher the panic rises, but you cling to his hand all the way to the front door of Champ’s house where the front room has been transformed into a coat closet.

Jack doesn’t answer and spins you around to press you up against the wall, kissing you again. “Get your fuckin’ coat.” He demands roughly.

It’s a much briefer kiss but it leaves you breathless all the same, and the determination in his eyes makes you shiver and rush to obey. If this is what you’re going to get with him — just a few demanding kisses before he decides it was a mistake and turns you away? Then you’ll take it.

His hat is missing, Jack realizes when he goes to readjust it and frowns. Patting his head and looking around to see if it fell off around here, but it’s nowhere in sight. It’s a small price to pay, but he runs his hand through his hair as you rush back to his side. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t seem angry, but for the life of you there is no version of tonight that goes any further. Not in your mind. A conversation about how you shouldn’t have kissed him — or at least kissed him back, since you have a dim memory of his hand pulling you to him right before your mind went blank — or at least about how it was a mistake is bound to follow.

The second your hand is in his again, Jack is dragging you through the doors and down the stairs of the house to his Bronco. He’s parked close, thank god and he can barely get the door open before he’s grabbing your waist and practically throwing you up into the seat.

It shouldn't be a thrill to be lifted up and tossed around as though you weigh next to nothing, but there is something in Jack's singular determination and focus that tells you not to question or fight it. If he wants to manhandle you a little before whatever uncomfortable confrontation is bound to happen? Well, it's not as though you haven't literally fantasized about that scenario. At least now you have a frame of reference.

He’s holding onto his control, barely. Racing around the front of the vehicle and jumping in beside you. He can’t even talk to you as he starts the engine. Thankful that his place isn’t too far away as he throws the Bronco into gear and slings gravel as he spins out.

The most surprising part might be that he reaches for your hand as he drives. His fingers curl through yours and hold onto you on top of the gear shift, not letting you do your usual thing of shifting away or curling in on yourself in uncertainty.

There’s only two miles left to go. He grunts as he slows down to make the turn and your hand moves the shifter with him, making sure that he doesn’t squeeze it too hard as he goes through the gears.

He's driving to his own house. You've done this route yourself more times than you can count for a thousand different reasons. The apartment that you rent with your ample Statesman salary is well on the other side of Louisville and Ginger lives closer to you than to Jack, so it's not like you have any doubt where he's headed. When he pulls the Bronco down his long and winding driveway toward the large farmhouse he's called home for a decade already, your hand tightens slightly in his, nervous and wondering what will come next.

When he cuts the engine, there’s a half a second before he opens the door. Almost speaking but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s climbing out to walk around the truck to open the door.

"I wish you would say something." Even if he's helping you out of the car and holding onto your hand, you can't figure out what's going on in his head. Not having any clue is making you a little panicky the longer it goes on.

Jack stops, two steps away from the path to the front door. “Do you want to come inside?” There’s a fear that you don’t want this. That you are not on the same page as he is.

He's not angry. Or upset anymore, that you can tell. But the determination in his gaze is still there for something that you can't quite put your finger on. "Yes," you decide, nodding as you step toward both him and the house. "I do." Whatever happens, you're hopeful it won't be bad.

You said yes. Your words spur him on again and he’s off like a shot, dragging you behind him. The biometric lock is a godsend. There’s no fumbling for a key at the door as he hustles you inside and slams it behind you both, pressing you against it as he attempts to devour your mouth once more.

This was not the reaction you expected. Not in any way. Not even when he had kissed you twice at Champ’s house before hauling you over to his place with the fires of hell scorching his toes. Anybody else might have read the signals, but not you. Not with the surprised squeal you let out or the soft moan that follows it — both completely outside of your control.

You’re alone now and this time, Jack doesn’t keep his hands on your waist. Both hands grab firm handfuls of your delightful round ass and squeezes as he presses into you. His painfully hard cock grinding into the soft pouches of your hips.

Because of the complete blanket of disbelief you're living under, it takes you longer than you're proud of or will ever admit to realize what is pressing against your hip. It's the first throbbing twitch from under his perfectly tailored suit that has your eyes flying open and both of your hands pressing firmly on his shoulders, breaking the kiss as you gasp in surprise.

“What- I thought-“ Jack’s frown is one of utter confusion as he drops his hands and steps back from you. Hating the feeling of rejection and suddenly wondering if he’s made a fucking fool of himself by getting twisted in knots by a woman who doesn’t actually want him. “‘m sorry.”

"Why?" The incredulous question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and the confusion marring both of your faces makes you suck in a deep breath. "I—I just—I'm surprised," you admit, as damned foolish as that makes you sound. Fucking shocked is what you are, but you don't want to be labor the point and ruin whatever is happening.

He feels foolish and embarrassed, like he’s been caught with his hand in a candy jar. Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “You said you wanted to come in.” He reasons. “I- what did you think would happen?”

"I—I don't know," you admit, feeling even more ridiculous than he does. Your back is still against his front door, crying out loud. "I ruled out you still being mad at me after you kissed me again but I didn't think..." Gesturing at him lamely, you blow out a breath and rub at the back of your neck. "I'm not saying I want to stop, I was just surprised." If this is the only chance you're going to get with him? You're going to take it and run with it as long as it lasts.

He frowns again, wondering how you could want him and yet be surprised when he wants to take you to bed. “So what do you want, sugar? Because I’m feeling like a penny at the bottom of a pan, rattled.”

The expression cracks the tension, at least for you, and an unexpectedly bright and beaming smile graces your lips as you reach for him boldly and find to your own delight and continued surprise that he doesn't draw away. "What I want is...a long shot." It's more than that, but you're downplaying your own fears to a rather extreme degree right now. Trying to be brave. "But...what are the odds you were thinkin' about taking me upstairs?"

“House odds.” Jack rasps out, knowing that the odds are always in the house’s favor when playing at a casino. “Pondered the idea of strippin’ you down right here and making you squeal against the door, but then tossin’ you over my shoulder and haulin’ you to my large, luxurious bed also has its merits.”

You genuinely have to shut your eyes to steady yourself, exhaling long and deep and praying you aren't actually moaning out loud like you are in your head. As it stands, both images he paints have your knees weak and your body shivering. "Eith—um—either one," you manage to stammer out, eyelashes parting so hesitantly that they flutter like wings. "Either one is good."

“Sexy as you look, sugar….” Now that he knows that you are on the same page as him, a little bit of the cocky swagger is back. “Thinkin’ it’d be a goddamn shame not to spread you out.” Despite your stature, Jack tucks his shoulder and scoops you up over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, bolting for the stairs.

"Holy hell, Jack!" A nervous shout and a squeak escape you when he picks you up, and you cling to his jacket as he carries you through the house you've visited innumerable times before.

Chuckling, Jack slaps your ass with his free hand as he ambles up the stairs easily. “Don’t be nervous, sugar, I won’t drop you.”

This time you definitely do moan out loud, too taken by surprise to stop the sound or swallow it before it can come out of your mouth and you know Jack heard.

He grins to himself, slapping your ass again and is rewarded with another moan. “Mmmmhm.” He chuckles. “Rye likes a little bit of light spanking. Noted.”

"Pretty sure I'll like anything you do," you admit ruefully, though you're quickly feeling the constraints of embarrassment fall away as he reaches his bedroom door. This is real. This is really happening.

"I'll keep that in mind when I hogtie you to the bed and lick whipped cream off your body." He teases, kicking open the slightly ajar door and striding into the room to toss you down on the bed like a character in a romance novel. Right now, he doesn't know if he's supposed to be the hero or the villain, feeling a bit like both as his rough handling of you as him immediately reaching for your ankles to pull off your shoes in his eagerness to see you naked in his bed.

“See?” You huff at him, heavy breathing coming from nothing but an undeniable surplus of desire. “That actually sounds sexy coming from you.” Everything does, but his quick fingers are divesting you of your shoes and that reminds you how your Spanx is part of this undressing process — which is the single least sexy thing in the world.

Jack rips off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it down on the floor. Climbing up onto the bed and over you to press against you fully, pinning you down to the bed with a groan. Quickly capturing your lips again in a frenzied kiss.

It makes no damn sense to you, but you’re not going to question it anymore. If Jack could have literally anyone in the world but for tonight he chooses you, then you’re just going to make sure he doesn’t regret it. That decision on your part sort of pulls you out of your nervous shock, and all at once your hands are pulling open his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt with enthusiasm.

“There we go.” Jack groans when you stop acting shocked and start acting. Your hands on his body makes him shake and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “Sugar.”

He could probably call you whatever he wanted and you would just go with it, but hearing him call you Sugar — that sickly sweet name he favors so much yet seems to bestow on you so rarely? It feels like you might melt so deeply into his plush mattress that you will never get up again.

Moving from your lips takes sheer willpower but he wants to explore more of you. One hand bracing on the bed and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast as he kisses down your chin and to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat. “Driving me crazy, baby girl.” He coos, voice rough and lusty. “So goddamn pretty.”

No one who has ever met Jack would be surprised to learn how mouthy the cowboy is in bed. He’s mouthy in every other aspect of his life so frankly it would be pretty strange if this was the exception. Still, to hear those words said to you is beyond your wildest dreams. It’s surreal in the most sensational of ways. Even when you had dreamed of being with Jack, you had never dreamed of him praising you.

He groans when your fingernails bite into the skin on his chest as you hastily push the shirt opened. “Tigress, huh?” He growls, squeezing your tit again, a little harder this time and his hard cock pulses against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’m just as goddamn eager as you. But ‘ole Jack likes a bit of wildness.” He bites down on your shoulder as he chuckles. “We’ll have ourselves one hell of a rodeo tonight.”

If you even knew where half this boldness came from, you might be a little embarrassed. But given the fact that you never thought this would happen, it mostly just feels like you're telling yourself not to waste the chance. Lightning never strikes the same place twice and this is your lightning strike, so you're going to lean into the whole thing if that's what he really wants. Your nails strike a path down his chest but get caught in his undershirt, a fact which makes you huff in frustration and search blindly for the hem to tear off that layer of clothing as well.

Jack groans and finally decides to give you what you want. Pulling back long enough to finish pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves, he tears the undershirt off and throws it off the side of the bed to reveal his chest. Unable to resist pulling your dress down to pop your breast out and diving back down to wrap his mouth around a nipple.

"Oh fuck." It's a move you weren't expecting, but your back arches off the mattress instinctively to push your chest up and invite him to take and take and take — just as much as he wants to. If you were coherent enough to suggest it you would try to start wiggling out of your dress but as it is the only thing you can focus on is the heat of him surrounding you and the way every place he kisses you seems to catch on fire immediately at the press of his lips.

He suckles, bites and then licks the hard nub in his mouth like he’s gorging himself on you. Because he is. Hands searching for the zipper to your gorgeous dress. It’s beautiful, but it needs to be beautiful on his floor.

"If you want it off, you have to let me sit up," you manage to huff out, barely able to do more than pant at the way he's clearly trying to devour your tits first.

Groaning in protest, his lips are twisting in a pout as he pulls away. Panting breathlessly as he itches to launch himself at you again. “Hurry up, sugar.”

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the zipper, pulling it down and carefully undoing the clasp at the top before letting the heavily sequined cocktail dress slip off of your arms so you can maneuver it over your head. Half-naked in Jack's bed with panties so soaked you could probably wring them out is not how you expected to end this night, but here you are.

“Fuck.” Jack frowns at the tight shapewear he’s met with. “My present’s a little too wrapped for my liking, baby girl.” He hisses, curling his fingers under the layer to start stripping it off of you. “Want you naked.”

"It was the only way that dress was gonna look halfway decent," you mumble, shifting under him and definitely avoiding looking him in the face while he peels the Spanx off of you. It's a little bit too intimate even for the man you've wanted to be intimate with for years — to the point of making you feel completely naked even when you still have your bra and panties on.

He scoffs, nearly ready to whip his knife out and start slicing the material. “Bullshit.” He huffs, happy there’s just the bra and he uses two fingers to flick the four hooks open. “You don’t need nothin’.” Instead of explaining, he’s diving back into your tits while one hand dips into your panties.

“Fuck, Jack!” Instead of a tight reaction of shock, this time he’s rewarded with a moan and your legs falling open for him as the fingers of one hand dig through his thick hair to scratch along the base of his scalp. If he wants you to be bold, you’ll be bold. You’ll be whatever Jack wants as long as you just get to be in his bed for one night.

Jack moans against your tits, incredibly turned on by the pure moxy he’s always loved in you. Despite your utterly untrue view on yourself, you are sassy, sweet and sexy. That’s why he’s unable to resist now that he’s tasted you. Once he’s teased one breast enough, he switches to the other. “Gonna eat you up, sugar. Devour you whole.”

"All yours." It's sort of unintentional, the vow-like nature of the thing, but you're just being honest. You've really been Jack's since the day you met him. Even if it's taken so many damn years to get the two of you into this situation together, it's still the truth. "Whatever you want, handsome."

He groans, fingers sliding through the sweet slick that is covering your folds. “Want you.” He mumbles as he starts to slide his finger deeper, pressing against your entrance.

It's not even in your mind to ask why when he's splitting you open on two thick fingers like that, and you swear if that's how this night is starting you might actually ascend directly to some higher plain if you get to actual sex. "Ha—fuck— you have me."

“Mmmmmm.” He licks your nipple “Not yet.” He pouts, pulling his fingers back out of you to plunge them in again. “But I will, sugar. Cum for me and then I’ll have you like I’ve been dreamin’.”

The curse you groan out is nearly incoherent, more of an agreement than anything else but you'll be damned if you let this moment be anything less than memorable for both of you. Jack hovers over you and you wind your arms around him to encourage him to continue sucking on your tits while his fingers piston in and out of your pussy with determination. You know it won't take too much longer before your legs start to shake, and as if Jack knows it just as intuitively, he curls his fingers inside you and you gasp out a moan of his name.

His teeth nip at your sensitive flesh as he hisses. Feeling how tight your pussy squeezes his fingers and imagines his cock inside you. Tight and fucking scorching hot, just like he had imagined with his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower. “That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos before he sucks on your nipple again. Moaning when you arch up, writhing under him and making the prettiest, most desperate sounds he’s heard in a long time.

No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.

You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.

“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.

Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.

“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”

Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”

“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.

He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”

The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.

“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”

“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”

“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”

“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.

Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”

The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”

“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”

“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”

His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”

You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”

As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”

"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.

Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”

As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.

He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”

“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.

His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.

The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”

Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”

“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”

“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.

“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.

He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.

If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.

It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)

His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”

“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.

Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”

"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."

“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”

A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.

Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”

You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.

Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.

There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.

The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”

He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."

His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.

That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.

It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”

There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.

“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.

"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.

******

"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.

"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.

“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”

"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."

Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.

"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."

There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”

The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."

“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.

"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.

“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”

“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.

******

Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.

Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.

“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.

“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.

Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”

“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”

“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”

“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.

His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”

“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”

Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.

******

It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.

He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.

“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”

Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.

“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”

“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”

Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.

Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.

It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”

“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.

“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”

“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”

“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.

“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.

The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.

“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.

He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”

Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”

“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”

Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”

“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”

“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”

“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”

“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”

“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”

“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”

“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”

“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”

“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”

Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.

Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”

Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”

“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”

Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.

“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”

“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”

“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”

“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”

He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”

“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.

Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”

“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.

“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”

“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”

“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”

“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”

“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”

“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”

“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”

“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”

“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”

“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

[agoofyannoyancetolaw]

♱ repressed ♱

a/n: this is- a blurb at its finest :). Also I don’t proof-read anything so my grammar and spelling are horrid

TW: religious trauma

minors DNI

Graves grew up with his mother being the exact definition of a Christian mother, and his father a perfect hard working father on a small area in Texas. perfect. Straight. Christian.

he got out of there as soon as he could, but couldn’t ever shake that feeling of guilt whenever he glanced at another soldier or when he tried to jerk off his mind shifted to fantasies of men instead of women..

He always pushed it down in the end, keeping it to himself. The golden cross around his neck like a badge of guilt hung around his neck as if it weighed him down.

and god it got worse when you joined shadow company, your clearly open liking of men, your politeness, your voice.. your tight uniform- he was so close to just taking you to his office and begging and pleading for you to give him relief- but his upbringing always pulled him away from it

He wanted you so bad, and you wanted him.. drunken bar-nights leading to soft touches and loving kisses, to the barrack matress of his room and the welcomed stretch of your length sliding into him and opening him up. It almost felt like as if he was being split open when you bottomed out.

the slow pace you started calmed him down, but the biting feeling of his guilt haunting him even as whimpers and moans tumbled out of his mouth- begging for more.

it took only a few minutes for him to cum all over his stomach, soft tears running down his face from overstimulation as you finished a good time after, painting his insides white with a shaky breath.

he felt sore all over when he finally came to his senses, letting you clean him up as he tried to focus on your voice and strong calloused hands holding him softly instead of the aching feeling of regret and guilt seeping into him. His cross still around his neck..

his mind was racing and tears started streaming out of his eyes as he held onto you tightly, wanting so badly to be close to you and to feel normal. To feel okay. To feel perfect again

but at least he now had you.

[room-surprise]

Shuro's Ninja Girl Squad: Why do they have code names? Does Toshiro have a code name????

(WARNING FOR GENERAL SPOILERS!) The culture of Wa Island appears to be inspired exclusively by historic Japan, since all of the characters that come from Wa have Japanese names, clothing, weapons, and magic, they eat Japanese food, imagine traditional Japanese-style artwork, and obey Japanese social norms.

THE NINJA GIRL SQUAD

Maizuru, Hein, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi are servants that work for the Nakamoto family, and they have been assigned to travel with Toshiro, serve and protect him. In some translations they have been called retainers. I’m not sure what the original Japanese calls them, but most likely some form of servant or vassal, such as 家臣 or 家来.

A retainer is a part of a retinue, which is a group of people who are "retained" (employed) in the service of nobility, royalty or a dignitary.

Retainers can have many varied functions, such as domestic servants, personal attendants, bodyguards, porters, musicians, tutors, translators, guides, etc. Retainers often wear some kind of uniform, possibly bearing the colors or insignia of their lord. They serve their master, but they also expect to be protected and cared for by their master as a part of his household.

HISTORIC JAPANESE NAMING CONVENTIONS

Japanese personal names were fluid in the pre-modern era. Men changed their names for a variety of reasons: to signify that they had attained a higher social status, to demonstrate their allegiance to a house or clan, to show that they had succeeded to the headship of a family or company, to shed bad luck that was attached to an inauspicious name, or simply to avoid being mistaken for a neighbor with a similar name.

Changes in women's personal names were recorded less often, so they may not have changed their names as frequently as men did, but women who took jobs (such as maids or entertainers) frequently changed their names for the duration of their service. During their employment, their temporary names were treated as their legal names.

THE NAKAMOTO CLAN’S NAMING PRACTICES

All of Toshiro’s servants, Maizuru, Hien, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi, have real names and work-issued code-names, similar to the Japanese practice I just described. Only Izutsumi seems to mind this, the rest of the characters use their aliases all the time.

All of the ninja code-names are plant-based, and Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori’s names also have a bird theme, something they do not share with Izutsumi and Inutade. All of the birds they are named after have been popular in Japan since ancient times and are considered lucky symbols. The plants Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori are named after are also all beautiful flowers, while Izutsumi’s is a toxic shrub and Inutade’s is a weed.

This may be meant to show how Izutsumi and Inutade’s status is separate and lower from the other three.

Interestingly, although Toshiro is their master, he also has a nickname, given to him by Laios, that sounds like a plant, which matches his subordinates!

Perhaps the way Toshiro endures this nickname and doesn't protest it, is a hint that Toshiro does not want to enforce his position as a superior to his subordinates, but wants to treat them with compassion and empathy, because he does not consider himself better than them. He demonstrates this when he gets down on his knees and begs Maizuru and the others to help him save Falin, since this is going outside of their standard duties.

This unusual humility and kindness is probably why the World Guide says Maizuru thinks Toshiro will be a better leader than his father.

If you want more details, and to read a full analysis of all of their names and code-names, be sure to check out Chapter 6 of my essay!

BONUS: TOSHIRO’S SECRET NICKNAME???

Laios, mishearing Toshiro’s name during their first meeting, started calling him シュロー (Shurow), and told everyone they met that his name was Shuro. Toshiro, too embarrassed to correct him, has allowed this to continue for the three years that they’ve known each other.

Shuro (棕櫚 or シュロ) is Trachycarpus fortunei, the Chinese windmill palm or Chusan palm. It is a species of evergreen palm tree in the family Arecaceae, native to parts of China, Japan, Myanmar and India.

Windmill palm is one of the hardiest palms. They tolerate cool, moist summers as well as cold winters. Trachycarpus fortunei has been cultivated in China and Japan for thousands of years, for its coarse but very strong leaf sheath fiber, used for making rope, sacks, and other coarse cloth where great strength is important.

This is very funny, since we know that Toshiro is one of the strongest characters in the story, due to his skill with the blade... But we also know he's insanely patient (tolerates everything, just like the palm!), because he puts up with Laios bothering him for years before finally snapping and asserting his boundaries.

Plus, a palm tree used to make humble but strong items such as rope, sacks and coarse cloth, really shows Toshiro's true nature (a strong but humble man) versus his aristocratic status.

THREE TYPES OF BROOM

A Shuro Houki (棕櫚箒) is a traditional Japanese hemp-palm broom made from the Trachycarpus fortunei palm.

There are three distinct subtypes of this broom, the first two of which are considered very durable and the last one which is considered expendable. The Hon-onike Houki will last for 1/3rd of a person’s life, a Onike Houki you’ll need to replace every 15 years, and a Kawa Houki can be thrown away after 2 years of use.

Toshiro is the oldest of three brothers, and they are competing for their father’s favor to see who will become the heir of the household… Their father is testing them to see which of them is disposable, and which of them is strong enough to lead the family. Which type of broom are they?

SHURO THE HUMAN NAME

It should also be noted that Shuro is a Japanese name, it just isn't a nickname for Toshiro. The correct nicknames for Toshiro would be Toshi, or Shiro. Shuro sounds similar to Shiro, but it would be like calling someone named Robert the nickname Bart instead of Bert, or calling Matthew Pat.

Depending on the kanji used Shuro can mean several things. I think the most appropriate kanji is 修郎.

修 means to make right, to be in shape, to become correct, to put things together, to learn, to acquire learning or skills, to decorate, to harmonize, to fix, to mend, to put together in a book, good, excellent, beautiful, splendid.

郎 means male, men, young men, boy.

While Toshiro’s actual name describes him very well, his nickname, given to him by Laios, is also extremely accurate. Laios’ name means “left” and “wrong”, so Toshiro’s name potentially meaning things like “right”, “correct” and “to fix” is extremely funny and appropriate!

They can fix their friendship!

[kalisbaby]

Taemin used Guilty to talk about his own trauma in and out of the industry in regards to his debuting young, being around inappropriate elders of all genders who could not keep their hands off him, his sexual and gender identity (in regards to expressing that artistically) and took back his power while doing it. And the fact that it not only went over so many people's heads (fans and casual viewers alike) but then have Hybe equate that, frankly CLEAR, message with some kind of perversion??? To place him in the same league as the people who traumatized him in the industry is a whole new level of insidious.

Also I genuinely cannot take anything said by a K-pop company or even fans in regards to the whole schoolboy attire Taemin used in his video or the soft aesthetic he used in his promotions/album to get said message across when I have to suffer with seeing teen and adult idols perform songs in school uniforms. Sometimes to songs or choreo that are suggestive (especially with the teen idols). Like be so fucking for real.

I also can't take them seriously when they act like they care so much about the well-being of children while also debuting kids who they often put in suggestive clothing for sexy concepts when the idols are freshly 16 at most. Or when they got them in variety shows with MCs who should probably never be around children at all. Like I've seen episodes and clips of Weekly Idol and/interviews both past and presently of idols being asked shit that should get these people locked up on sight. Like, again, be so fucking for real please.

And, bringing it back to Taemin, I've seen way too many people grab, fondle, and caress that 14/15 y.o. kid and the only help for him was his members--who were also teenagers! I've seen grown ass men sit on his lap and flirt with him, grown ass women touch his chest, people put their arms around him in non-platonic/friendly manners; meanwhile he beared it all with a smile because what else was he supposed to do? Idols don't have bodily autonomy, don't you know? They belong to the companies and the public; and anything less than a placid smile won't do.

So, yeah, fuck Hybe in general but specifically for their audacity.

[darylas]

Chapter 1 - Blue Skies

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader ♫ next ♫ ao3

When Bucky hears his favorite song begin to play, he does not expect to see a new Red Cross volunteer walk up to the microphone.

1.6k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: This was my first time writing in several years! It's short and the pacing is interesting, but gosh darn it I had fun writing this. Special shoutout to @blurredcolour for inspiring me to pick up the pen. Go read their work, it's fantastic.

Bucky sat cross-legged in a chair next to Buck, not-so-slowly nursing his second whiskey. Men and women danced in the center of the officers club as the military band played an obviously well-rehearsed rendition of Glenn Miller’s A String of Pearls. Bucky tapped two fingers on his knee in time to the beat while he watched the dancers. He had already spent three songs dancing with three different women and was now taking a break to sit and enjoy his best friend’s company.

“That girl you were dancing with before, she was pretty,” said Buck before taking a sip of his coke. “She works in the Clubmobile, right?”

“Yeah, Helen. Good dancer, too.” Bucky spotted her on the other side of the room, chatting with Tatty Spaatz. 

Buck took another sip as he watched the band play. “Got a letter from Marge today.”

“She dump you yet?”

“Not if I read the letter right.” Buck smiled and looked down. After a moment, he looked back at Bucky. “She said Peggy was not too happy she hasn’t gotten a letter from you.”

Bucky responded with a puzzled look. “We went on one date. A double date. I swear I didn’t give her any ideas that she’d be expecting mail from me. Buck, I swear. I don’t play like that.” 

Buck gave a soft exhale through his nose. “I know you don’t. I was just passing along the message.” A String of Pearls began to come to a close. “Not sure why it’d be such a bad idea to write her, though.”

“Aww, c’mon, Buck, I’m trying to have a nice evening here.” Bucky’s eyes lit up as the band initiated the next song, loud trumpets and melodic saxophones blaring out the snappy intro to Blue Skies. He broke into a grin. “Now we’re talkin’.”

Buck and at least three other men couldn’t hold in their groans as they too heard the familiar notes. They knew exactly what this song did to Bucky, especially after a few drinks. 

Bucky leaned over to address one of the protestors, Major Jack Kidd. “It’s my song! It needs vocals! You can’t expect me to just sit here in silence.”

“I think you’re gonna have to, John,” said Buck. “Looks like your act’s been booted.” 

Bucky whipped his head around to look at the makeshift stage where the band was playing. He watched in disbelief as a woman wearing a Red Cross uniform strolled up to the microphone in front of the band and began to sing.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Several of the men whooped and whistled appreciatively, and Bucky saw you smile and wink at the crowd as you continued to sing. Every note was sung with confidence and precision, and you continued to smile brightly as you got to the chorus. Everyone in the room seemed to be under the spell of your voice and stage presence.

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you’re in love, my how they fly

Buck hadn’t realized how right he’d been. Bucky had gone completely silent.

He rubbed the lower half of his face to cover his growing smile. He hoped you’d glance his way but so far no luck. He found himself in a strange quandary as he was torn between closing his eyes to listen to your voice and keeping them open to stare at your face. He wasn't sure if it was the whisky, the humidity of the packed room, your performance, or a strange combination of all three, but he was beginning to feel dizzy.

Far too soon for his liking, the song ended, with you hitting the final high note right on the head. The crowd applauded as you stepped back and gestured to the band behind you in appreciation. You stepped back up to the microphone.

“Thank you very much. Let’s hear it one more time for our Air Force Band! Aren’t they wonderful?” The crowd cheered, Buck and Bucky clapping along with them. “While I’m up here, I just wanted to remind you all that this Saturday, the Red Cross will be hosting bingo night in the Aeroclub at 1900. I don’t want to spoil anything but I will tell you that we’ve got some pretty terrific prizes for the winners. Thank you again, ladies and gentlemen.” 

As you departed the stage, several men in the crowd let out cries of disappointment. The band director spoke into the microphone, “Don’t worry, ladies and gents, she’ll be back! Now if you feel so inclined, grab a partner and get back on the dance floor!” He signaled the band to start playing a new song with a count of "one, two, three, four.”

Bucky slapped both hands on his thighs and stood. He quickly downed the rest of his whisky, put down the glass, and straightened his tie. “I do believe I feel so inclined,” he said to Buck. 

“Yeah, I figured you might,” replied Buck with a smirk. 

As Bucky made his way toward where you were seated with another Red Cross Girl, he smirked as he noticed that other officers who had the same idea begrudgingly backed off. As Buck was known to say, rank had its privileges. When you looked up, Bucky greeted you with his most charming grin. “Quite the performance up there; you do autographs?”

You looked at his hands and quirked your brow. “I don’t see anything to sign.” 

Bucky looked down at his hands as well and flipped them over a couple of times. “Damn, you’re right.” He looked back at you. “How ‘bout a dance instead, then?” 

You smiled politely at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t dance.” You motioned to the girl sitting next to you. “Rachel here is a marvelous dancer, though.” 

“Oh, I know.” Bucky nodded at Rachel. “How ya doin’, Rach?” 

With a mischievous smile and her chin resting on her fist, the blonde replied, "I'm just swell, Bucky." 

He smiled back at her. “That’s great.” He looked back at you skeptically. “You sure? I promise to keep you on your feet, Miss…”

You gave him your name then said, “I’m sure. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Major, and don’t forget about bingo night on Saturday.”

Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips together, nodding. “Right, right. Bingo night. Alright then, I’ll see you around.” He began to walk away then turned back around. “I don’t know if the band said anything to you, but Blue Skies is sorta my signature song. S’okay, though. You did alright. Little different than my rendition, but you sounded great.” 

You gave him that same damn polite smile that he couldn’t decipher and said, “Glad you liked it.”

Bucky nodded once and headed back to his seat. He cleared his dry throat after sitting down next to Buck. After picking up his whisky glass, he frowned upon realizing that it was empty. Buck looked over at him. “What happened?”

“Turns out she’s more your type. Said she doesn’t dance.” 

“What’s ‘a matter, Bucky?” He turned to see Blakely and Douglass grinning at him. “The jazz cat have claws?” Both burst out laughing at the terrible joke. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and gave them an exasperated look.

Buck smiled good-naturedly and clapped him on the back. “Had to happen sometime, pal. Maybe getting shot down for once will help fix that king-size ego of yours,” he joked. 

“I didn’t get shot down, she said she didn’t dance.” Bucky pulled on one of his sleeves. “There’s a difference.” Once again, he began tapping two fingers against his knee to the music, trying his damndest not to look at you.

═════ ♫ ═════

Later in the evening, Bucky, Buck, and Curt Biddick were all standing at the bar. Curt and Bucky were animatedly discussing the Yankees for what had to be the hundredth time, leaving poor Buck to his coke and people-watching for a few minutes. 

Bucky saw his friend look quizzically at the dance floor then quickly avert his eyes and take a long sip. Bucky looked back in the same direction and immediately saw what Buck had been hoping he wouldn’t. At the far edge of the dance floor, you were dancing with Lt. “Bubbles” Payne, smiling and laughing. 

“I’m telling you, DiMaggio would never…what the hell are you looking at?” Curt, who was more than a little drunk, turned around and saw you and Bubbles. “That the girl who was singing earlier? The one that gave you the brush-off? I thought you said she didn’t dance. I guess she meant she doesn’t dance with-” He was cut off by Buck smacking him on the arm. “What?”

Bucky was still watching you with your arms around Bubbles, laughing at something else he said. Bubbles. He was a great guy, but what about him made you change your mind about dancing? Or was dancing not the problem at all?

Curt, unaware of Bucky’s worsening mood, casually slung his arm over his shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, don’t feel bad. I’ll dance with you, Bucky. C’mere, they’re playing our song.” 

Bucky shoved the drunk lieutenant off of him and smiled bitterly. “Yeah, cause spinning and shaking is exactly what your body needs right now, Curt.” 

He felt Buck nudge his shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, John. C’mon, I’m beat. Let’s head to the barracks.” 

As they began the walk back and the music behind them faded, Curt appeared deep in thought. Eventually, he said, very seriously, “Maybe she likes his mustache better than yours.” Buck coughed to cover a laugh. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t care that you had rejected him. Not even a little.

He wouldn’t spare you a second thought. No sir.

And he absolutely did not hear you singing Blue Skies over and over in his head as he lay in bed that night.

—

♫ next ♫

[frankthesnek]

✨️ New Story ✨️

(More Than) Just a Pretty Face (rated E)

Stony (Tony Stark/Steve Rogers)

No powers AU, tit fucking, hook ups, catching feels, hopeful ending

6.7k words

Inspiered by this post, cover art manip by @fohatic

Whoever it was at the Hooters company that had decided to let men work as servers and dress them in the exact same uniform as the women was a genius, and surely they’d had men just like Steve in mind when they had made this decision. Steve, who had walked up in his tiny orange shorts and white tank top stretched tight across bulging pectorals, and said with the sweetest smile possible, “Hi, I’ll be serving you today.” Tony had been smitten before their drinks had even arrived.

[its-the-pilot]

Waves | Rooster x Reader

| Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

My first Top Gun fic, please be nice and enjoy!

Summary: Fourteen years after leaving without saying goodbye, Bradley Bradshaw comes back into your life. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: swearing, adult banter

Length: 2k words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Working on this as a series, let me know what you think and if you want to see more!

Message or comment to join the taglist!

Chapter One

“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.”

Bradley immediately recognized the voice behind him without needing to turn around. He shook his head before downing the shot of bourbon in his hand and throwing his next dart, scoring 13. He’d never claimed to be good, but the unwelcome distraction didn’t help. “Hangman. You look… good,” he replied flatly, turning to face his fellow aviator.

Both men were wearing their service whites, customary for the mixer held for TOP GUN students the night before beginning training. “Well, I am good, Rooster. I'm very good. In fact, I am too good to be true,” Hangman gave his usual smirk as he picked up Rooster’s last dart from the table and threw it, hitting the bullseye without even looking. “Didn’t think they let old timers in.”

They had met a few years earlier in flight school, and they instantly had a rivalry of sorts. Bradley had been several years older than the rest of the pilots in the program, due to not being able to attend the Naval Academy like he wanted. It took him years longer than it should have to become an aviator, and there was a bit of a chip on his shoulder because of it. Hangman, cocksure as ever, had instantly picked up on that weakness and exploited it to the best of his ability, pointing it out every chance he got. Some things never changed.

“Didn’t think they let assholes in either, but here you are,” Rooster shot back, taking a long pull from the beer on the table beside him before moving to gather his darts off the board.

The younger man chuckled, the insult seeming to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. “C’mon now, Rooster, we’re old buddies! Some older than others,” He smirked, sneaking in another jab as he patted him on the back. “Don’t take it so personal.” Hangman did a quick once over of the bar, his grin still firmly affixed to his face as he noted the number of women in attendance for the evening. “Plenty of delectable dessert options tonight, why are you holed up over here all by your lonesome?”

“I’m here to fly, not fuck my way through Coronado.”

A boisterous laugh escaped the tall blonde’s mouth. “Someone doesn’t know how to take advantage of a situation when it presents itself. Your callsign really is fitting.” Straightening his uniform, Hangman’s eyes locked on to a pretty woman approaching the bar. “If you can’t get laid in Whites, you just don’t know what you’re doing. Watch and learn, Rooster.”

Bradley rolled his eyes and turned back to his dart game, draining his beer as Hangman walked away. As fun as it might be, he had no desire to watch him make a fool of himself in front of an entire bar with his cocky attitude.

-------------------------

You recited the drink order for your table a few times in your head as you walked up to the bar, raising your hand to get the bartender’s attention. Your coworkers Kendra and Hazel had wanted to come out tonight, knowing that the new crop of TOP GUN candidates would be here, dressed to the nines. You hadn’t been interested but they wore you down, telling you they would pay for your drinks if you just kept them company for a few hours. You secretly hoped it wouldn't take them long to find a couple guys to take home, so you could get on with your uneventful evening of laundry and prepping for work.

“3 beers, 3 vodka shots,” you ordered, passing a $5 tip across the bar. Sliding onto a barstool as you waited, you made a cursory glance around the bar and groaned to yourself, shaking your head. You couldn’t understand what the appeal was, most aviators had more balls than brains and were just looking for a quick lay.

It only took a minute of waiting for your drinks before you felt a warm, solid presence accompanied by a pair of hands resting on the bar top on either side of you, covered in white sleeves. “Not interested,” you said in a sing-songy voice, not even needing to look up to know it was a new TOP GUN aviator standing with his chest pressed gently against your back.

“Not even gonna give me a chance?” He asked, his southern drawl coming out as he leaned close to your ear.

You turned as much as you were able with his body so close and gave him a look, your eyebrow raised. He was handsome, tall and blonde, with striking green eyes, but his uniform was enough to turn you off. “Nope. I don’t date aviators.” Lord knew you had a lifetime’s worth of experience with them.

Your uncle Pete “Maverick” Mitchell had raised you from the time you were eight years old, after your parents died in a car accident. Growing up around Navy pilots gave you an aversion to them, and in your line of work, that was more helpful than you could imagine. You worked with aviators day in and day out in your job as an Aerospace Psychologist, and getting personally invested with the pilots would have consequences.

He chuckled, leaning back only slightly to allow your movement as his eyes traveled over your body. You wore a cabernet colored maxi dress with wedge sandals tied to your feet with white ribbons, like pointe shoes, and you had never felt more exposed than you did right then as he licked his lips, looking at you like prey. “You’re in the wrong place then, darlin’. We’re all aviators around here.”

“Well aware,” you sighed, turning back to the bar and waiting for your drinks. When the bartender approached and set your drinks down, you smiled warmly at her. “Thank you, Penny.”

The older woman grinned back, always happy to see you. She’d known you most of your life, though she was in and out of it at the will of your uncle, a typical flyboy incapable of settling down. You would never understand why she kept coming back to him after he broke her heart so many times. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, looking him over briefly. Penny knew how you felt about Navy guys, but she enjoyed teasing you.

“Not my--”

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin, ma’am. Callsign Hangman.” He offered his most charming smile as he cut you off and lifted his right hand from the bar to offer it to Penny.

You immediately took the opportunity to duck under his arm, grabbing the drinks on the bar in front of you. Penny laughed as Jake watched you slide away from him and head back to the table with your coworkers. “Better behave, she’s the owner,” you called back, your hands full of glasses.

“A pleasure, Lieutenant,” she took his hand and shook it before wiping down the bar where your drinks had just been. His eyes followed you across the bar, and she snapped the back of his hand with the towel. “You won’t wear her down. She’s got a million reasons not to go anywhere near Navy guys. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

When you got back to your table, you snuck a glance back toward the bar, watching Penny give Jake what she was sure was a warning about you. He didn’t look phased though, and within minutes he had moved on to another girl a few seats away at the bar, repeating the same move he had done with you.

“Predictable,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as your coworkers chatted, rating the various aviators in the bar. You largely ignored them as you took a long drink from your beer, looking out the window at the sun setting over the ocean when you heard the tinkle of piano keys interrupting your thoughts. The old upright in the bar hadn’t been played in as long as you could remember, usually the only time you heard it at all was when someone got too drunk and fell into it.

From your seat you could only see the back of the man playing, but you could tell he was an aviator. Dressed in his service whites, his broad shoulders were pulled back with perfect posture as he tapped away at the keys, getting the feel for the instrument before he started playing an all too familiar song.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, Too much love drives a man insane…”

The sound of his voice made your stomach flip as if you were in a F/A-18. “No fucking way…” you breathed, not taking your eyes off of the back of the man’s head as he played.

“What?” Kendra asked, stopping her conversation with Hazel to turn in the direction of the piano player, then back to you, confused as to your reaction.

You didn’t answer as you stood, your steps cautious as you made your way across the bar in his direction. It couldn’t be. It had been nearly fifteen years since you last heard from him, the night he left for the last time.

Without saying goodbye.

“Jesus, Bradshaw! Not this song again! Is it the only one you know?” Hangman complained, not far from the piano and chatting up what was probably his fourth girl of the evening. Hearing his name was all the confirmation you needed.

Bradley wasn’t deterred by Hangman’s whining, instead he just continued singing, the bar joining in. He had always been good at being the center of attention when he wanted to be.

“You broke my will, but what a thrill, Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Moving closer, you slipped into his line of sight without a word, a combination of emotions you didn’t understand bubbling up inside of you. He looked just like his father from the pictures you had seen, but at the same time he was still the teenager you had known so long ago.

“I laughed at love ‘cause I thought it was funny, You came along and…”

Looking up, his voice trailed off and his fingers faltered on the keys, making a sour note as he made eye contact with you. There was a long, awkward moment of silence as the entire bar watched on, curious as to what was happening.

He couldn't believe you were standing in front of him. The last place he had expected to find you was anywhere near anything having to do with the Navy, even if it was just a bar. And now here you were, staring at him as if you were seeing a ghost. Though he supposed he didn't look too much different. “You look good, Dimples.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the nickname, and before you knew what you were doing, your hand reached out and slapped him across the face as hard as you could. The same hand flew to cover your mouth as you gasped at the realization of what you did. He didn’t immediately turn his head back to face you, and it made you feel even more nauseous.

It was so quiet a pin could drop. Embarrassment flooded over you and your eyes moved around the bar frantically before landing back on Bradley. When you realized his eyes were still on you, a sob only muffled by your hand escaped before you turned and ran out the back doors to the beach, barely stopping to get your purse and tell your friends you were going home on your way out.

There was no way this wouldn't be the talk of North Island tomorrow.

It remained silent until the door to the deck slammed shut behind you, then people started whispering amongst themselves, stealing glances at Bradley. Hangman had a smug grin on his lips as he stepped up behind his fellow aviator, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he leaned down to speak quietly.

“Damn, Rooster. I thought I was the only one who could earn that level of ire from women. Kinda hot, right?”

He shoved Jake’s hand away and stood, grabbing his cover off the top of the piano before heading toward the door you had exited from. “Fuck off, Bagman,” he snapped, hoping you hadn’t gotten too far.

Chapter Two

[mollysunder]

It seems like Margot and Chross' gangs are in a turf war. I can guess the tall women in leather and heels are under Margot's Vyx, while the older men in the brimmed hats work for Chross' Hush Company.

I guess it isn't just Smeech that has his members dress like him.

+10 pts to Silco for now making his employees dress in uniform.

[beautifulbluejay]

Three Moments

Band of Brothers

Richard ‘Dick’ Winters x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sobel Being a Jerk

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵.

Summary — Winters recalls the three moments that made him fall in love with you.

Three moments. All it took was three moments and Dick Winters knew he was a goner. If Winters was honest with himself, he was gone from the very first moment, the moment he saw her.

It was 1942 at Camp Toccoa and Easy Company had just finished their basic military training. They were in the mess hall, celebrating, Winters standing off in a corner speaking to Nix, taking sips of his non-alcoholic drink and watching the boys that made up the 2nd Battalion. He allowed the corners of his mouth to turn upwards as his eyes lingered on the faces of the friends he had made, each of them getting progressively drunker and, in turn, the hall getting louder. But the moment she walked into the large room, everyone fell silent.

It was a shock to see a woman standing in the middle of Toccoa, but not shocking enough to be able to hear crickets chirping. If she had been dressed as a secretary or a nurse, perhaps the hollars of the drunk men would have simply quieted for a moment before rousing again. No, the silence was because she was wearing an airborne uniform.

Winters was awestruck, not just because she was a woman standing in a sea of men wearing a uniform with the insignia of Easy Company on it, but because she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon. Sure, her physical features were attractive, but the aura that seemed to surround her is what truly made the woman stand out. The way she stood with the strength and assertiveness of any man in this room, but also how her eyes moved across the hall, kind and analytical. However, she beamed with excitement and energy.

It was when Sobel stepped up in front of her that her eyes finally reached Dick, pausing on him for a split second longer than they had on anyone else. A hint of a shy smile graced her perfect features, making Dick’s eyes only grow wider before he began to blink rapidly, as if he imagined it. Her eyes moved away from him, her attention returning to the room.

Winters cleared his throat, swallowing hard and looking down at his drink as to attempt to calm the heat that had risen to his cheeks. He could feel Nix smirking in amusement from beside him, surely having noticed the bashful look on his friend’s face, hiding his smile with a sip of his drink. Dick lightly elbowed him in the ribs, but this only made Nixon smirk wider.

“This is Sergeant (Y/L/N) and she will be joining Easy Company under my direction as we move into jump school. I expect you all to treat her with the same respect and camaraderie that you treat your fellow soldiers,” Sobel finished speaking, leaving the girl to the wolves.

Winters expected her to be terrified, to freeze with the eyes of a mess hall of men on her, but she didn’t. She smiled brightly, finding her seat amongst her new company soldiers, and the sound once again returned to the room, with one more voice joining the chorus.

In the following days, Winters found out where she came from. Apparently, she had completed basic training in an experimental task force of female soldiers, specializing in sharpshooting and snipers. However, it seemed that some of the male higher-ups did not believe that a group of all-female soldiers would fare well on their own, so the group had been disbanded and the women sporadically placed in different companies that did not have sniper specialized members. In a way, coming to Easy Company was a demotion as she had been a Second Lieutenant in her old group. She still holds that title, but is being referred to as a Sergeant as to not ‘confuse’ anyone, or so Sobel put it.

While Sobel had been the one to say he expected his men to treat her the same as any other soldier, he was the only one who refused to follow his own rules. He picked on her incessantly, doing his best to make her resign or find something he could court marshall her for, but she was resilient and determined. Sobel couldn’t crack her, no matter how hard he tried. Every attempt he made at breaking her down only seemed to strengthen her resolve.

It was the day that Sobel had finally had enough of Y/N’s lack of reaction that the second moment took place. Sobel seemed extra angry that day, lining up the company and yelling in each soldier’s face one at a time. When he came up to Y/N, his face seemed to darken even more, almost twitching in excitement at the thought that this was the day he would break her.

His screaming started off as it does with every soldier in his company, the topic being nothing in particular. However, it suddenly got very personal and revealed Sobel’s very obvious true feelings on the matter of a woman being assigned to his company. He screamed about how she was a weak casualty, slowing the company down and only waiting to be killed. He yelled at her that she needed to return home to her womanly duties and that she was a waste of space and air in this camp.

Winters nearly stepped in at this point, his jaw clenched and his hands balling at his side. He convinced himself that the anger he felt building in his chest he would feel for any of his men that were being chewed out in the same way. Perhaps this was true, but perhaps not.

He did not have the chance to react, however, as Sobel finally got his reaction. Although, it was not one that he wanted.

“You are completely and utterly useless!” He finished screaming, the entire world around them falling silent. Y/N’s eyes shifted, staring right at Sobel.

An amused smirk found its way on her lips and she almost looked like she was having trouble holding in laughter. Sobel’s face began to grow even redder, giving her enough satisfaction to shift her eyes away from him and ahead once again, at attention.

“You are nothing,” Sobel spoke, his tone deep and filled with venom. He turned away from her, mumbling to himself as he began to walk back up to Winters, who was standing in front of the group. “Couldn’t even shoot a target ten feet in front of her,” Sobel muttered.

“You wanna bet on it?” Her voice rang out, causing Sobel to stop in his tracks. He spun around on his heel, glaring daggers at the girl, who was staring back at him.

“What was that, Lieutenant?” He spat, marching back up to her, expecting her to return to attention and stay silent. She didn’t.

“You said I can’t even shoot a target ten feet in front of me,” she spoke, her voice steady and sure. “How about we test that? You and I both take three shots at three targets from four hundred yards, just to make it easy,” she grinned. “Whoever shoots the most targets with the most accuracy wins.”

Sobel was silent for a split second, clenching and unclenching his jaw, the gears in his mind turning. He began to shake his head, knowing that humiliation was too great of a possibility.

“I’ll do you one better. I win and you clean the latrines for a month,” she said, all eyes on her. Winters stared at the girl in a state of both atonishment and amusement. Normally he would not condone insulting superiors, but this was a different case. “And if you win, I’ll leave Easy Company.” Winters could see the glint in her eye. She knew that Sobel wouldn’t pass that chance up.

The targets had been set up and Sobel took his place, a rifle in hand. He raised his rifle, aiming at the first target, his hands shaking. He missed the first target entirely, skimmed the second, and just barely hit the corner of the third. Obviously irritated, Sobel stepped away from his spot, shoving the rifle into Y/N’s hands as she stepped up to the plate. It took her seconds to line up and take her shot, her posture tall and her breathing steady, moving the gun swiftly to shoot at the second and third targets. She hit all three targets, dead in the middle.

Unfortunately, Sobel didn’t end up cleaning the latrines, but everyone knew that would never happen. He did, however, leave Y/N alone after that and she only became more respected and revered by the men of Easy Company.

The third moment occurred the night the company had earned their jump wings, graduating from training and preparing to move on to England. Winters had left the rowdy group of soldiers in the main hall of the camp to get a breath of fresh air, walking along the gravel pathways with his hands in his pockets. He found himself wandering over to the grassy field at the edge of the camp, some invisible tether drawing him to it.

As he came up to the edge of the field, Winters realized what had drawn him to it. In the middle of the grass, sitting in a patch of wildflowers, he saw the figure of Y/N. Her face was pointed up towards the sun, her eyes closed and a soft smile resting on her face.

Dick considered turning around and walking away, not wanting to disturb the girl’s comfortable solitude. He stood there for a moment, admiring her from afar as he debated his options in his mind. Finally deciding he didn’t want to bother her, he took a step away from her, his foot pressing upon a stick, the snapping sound alerting Y/N to his presence.

She opened her eyes and turned her head, smiling at Dick’s warming face as he chuckled nervously. She waved him over, inviting him to join her. Winters ignored the twisting in his stomach, slowly making his way towards her.

“Sorry to disturb you,” He apologized as he reached her, standing a few paces behind her with his hands still in his pockets.

“You didn’t,” She shook her head, turning to smile at him once again.

She has the most beautiful smile, he thought to himself, allowing a split second of indulgence. Winters wanted to stop his mind there, before he allowed it to run free with thoughts of her, but he couldn’t stop it as he took in the scene in front of him. She sat in the soft grass, her fingers fiddling with picked wildflowers, the calming landscape of the meadow laid out at her feet. Her hair was loose and fell in soft waves down her back, a few strands tucked behind her ear. The setting sun illuminated her face, the rays mirroring a halo around her head as she looked at him, making Winters wonder if she had been an angel sent by God.

“You can join me, if you’d like,” she spoke, snapping Dick out of his thoughts. He watched as she turned back around to continue fiddling with the flowers in her hands, a soft breeze making the grass around them sway. He smiled warmly to himself, taking a seat beside her on the ground.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked her, doing his best to focus his eyes on the serene in front of him and not the girl by his side.

“I’m hiding,” she spoke with an amused smile. “I’ve never really been one for big parties.”

“So, you’ve never been dancing?” Winters asked, mentally smacking himself in the forehead. What kind of question was that?

“I’ve been dancing. I love it, in fact, but typically the testosterone is evened out a bit,” she joked, making Dick laugh. “I can’t believe it,” she continued, setting the wild flowers down and focusing on him. “I just made the eternally poised and professional Second Lieutenant Winters laugh and it wasn’t even a good joke!”

“Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad,” he smiled at her, watching as she shook her head with a laugh.

“Please, if I had tried that one on Nixon, he would’ve just stared at me and walked away.”

“Well lucky you that I’m not Nixon,” Winters turned his head, staring straight out at the field ahead. Y/N and Nixon had become close friends over the past few weeks while Winters tried to avoid being alone with Y/N as much as possible. He couldn’t afford any distractions and anytime he was with her he was distracted, but he chose to forget that fact at the moment.

“Trust me, I feel very lucky,” she smiled at him without any hint of sarcasm. She was being completely honest.

“So is that what you’ll do when you get home?” Winters changed the subject before he lost himself in her eyes completely. “Go dancing, I mean?”

“Among other things,” she spoke, with a soft smile, her gaze focusing on her lap.

“What other things?” He pried.

She bit her lip, his eyes darting down to her mouth to watch the action before forcing them on something else.

She let out a long breath lifting her head. “I’m going to continue college and earn my degree,” she began. Winters hid his surprise, learning that she was a collegiately educated woman, something very uncommon in their day and age. “I want to watch my younger siblings grow up and my parents grow old. I want to get married to a man who loves me and raise a family on a plot of land like this,” she motioned towards the field around them. “I want to watch my children grow up and make families of their own. And then, when God has decided it’s my time, I want to pass away just as everyone should: old in age and surrounded by those they love.”

This was the third moment, the moment that Dick Winters knew that he was completely and eternally in love. Staring at her now, watching the way she smiled softly as she watched the grass and flowers sway in the wind, the breeze pushing back her hair and the sun casting an ethereal glow on her face, Dick Winters knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her.

[3liza]

saw a youtube sponsorship for a brand that markets itself as "masculine shoes in small sizes, for trans men" and if the entire idea wasn't already preposterous (this is part of a large scale marketing push to convince trans people that clothing that has been available on the normal heterosexual market for generations is "hard to find" so they can charge you hundreds of dollars for it), it's also ugly, and they have chosen to call their company "Tomboy Toes". if you said those two words to my face in a shoe store i would slap you

$120 for a black or brown version of the standard school uniform brogue which has been available all the way down to toddler sizes since uhhhhhhh approximately 1820.

just to double check my sense of reality i went to the largest single online shoe market on earth besides Amazon (zappos) and typed in "women's brogues" and selected size 5 which would be pushing the lower limit on the larger part of the bell curve of adult AFAB people on earth, or at least the northern hemisphere, and there are many options in approximately the same price range depending on brand name, with sales regularly down to much less, on similar or identical styles. ebay also. Tomboy Toes carries down to size EU33 which is around 3.5 US Women's and again, that's just in the children's section if you need Picture Day/uniform (children)/ Office Whatever (adult) Shoes and they are on eBay lightly used in great numbers because kids grow out of them in 6-10 months.

is it annoying to be shopping in "women's section" or "kids section" for these things when you are an adult man. yes. so i dont understand the marketing impetus to replicate that exact scenario by naming your company for adult trans men something i would assume was a sassy yet misguided terf brand if i found it on a label in a generic wingtip at Goodwill. cis men who are very small also have to shop in the small sections for their small clothes. i am wearing a t-shirt meant for a 7 year old right now, it says so on the label. it fits me better than any of the shirts i own that are made for the standard american adult. i literally have bigger things to worry about

naturally their "vegan leather" selection is much larger but again, it's ugly Trendy Booties that will fall apart in a year and are, i cant emphasize this enough, made of plastic, nothing special, and in standard women and children's sizes which are already plentiful at every shoe retailer. why are we letting these "trans brands" charge us a $100 tax to pretend to take us seriously (while at the same time calling us "tomboys")? does anyone know

i do, its actually because of the learned helplessness issue again. the accepted wisdom at the tumblr layer of transness is 'its so hard to find [item of clothing that is suitable for trans people]" because the knowledge of how to shop for these items in the actual market has completely evaporated within the last ten years, i watched it happen right in front of me. but it's a complete fallacy, you can find this stuff easily. you can find large women's shoes, small men's shoes, women's clothing with wide shoulders or long torsos, there are entire stores for this already and measurements and sectiions within "department stores" (such as they are) and then after that there are one million billion foam inserts and seams and button placements and belts and scarves and gloves and hem lengths and blah blah blah that trans people and also cis people who are not standard-shaped or who just want their shoes or bras or shirts to fit have already been using for thousands of years so ive been mad about this all day. TOMBOY TOES. they are having us for absolute fools. just call me a slur at this point

i already know some nincompoop is going to match me paragraph for paragraph in a heated defense of the hundred dollar jingle keys boring shoes so i just want them to know in advance: we are not the same. i have so many cool shoes it is unbelievable. in every gender imaginable. and i didn't pay more than like $50 for any of them. also no theres no cheat sheet to learning to buy clothing for your body, i do not say this with any rancor either, its just hard, it takes a long time, and i dont have a cheatsheet for it because there isnt one. except rule #1: dont buy $120 boring ugly shoes from someone jingling their keys in front of your face and calling it Queer Fashion when you can get them for a lot less basically anywhere $120 isnt even a lot for a GOOD pair for mid-range, non-designer leather dress shoes. if you know they will last for ten years and stand up to resoling, it's completely fine. but not for thooooooose

[liilaccc]

۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹︶︶ ♡ ︶︶ ۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹︶︶ ♡ ︶︶ ۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪

Giyuu Tomioka!

ᡣ𐭩 ⊹˚. * ── ✿ ── . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Y/N x Trainer!Giyuu

tw; adult reader, fluff, no suggestive

word count; 2692

Not proofread in the slightest

author's note: you're reluctantly taken under Giyuu's care for training, but you're snowed in. could have a continuation perhaps

۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹︶︶ ♡ ︶︶ ۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹︶︶ ♡ ︶︶ ۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪ ⊹۫   ּ ֗ ִ    ۪

You head your way silently as you hear the soft and slow footsteps of the petite woman you walk beside. You can't recall whether she introduced yourself and you would never forgive yourself for asking.

After all she would be the person to somehow get you into Hashira training to finally exceed to the next rank.

"My name is Amane Ubuyashiki." She informs you as she walks with her hands tucked into her kimono's sleeves.

You take note and look up at the now flowering wisteria surrounding you as you walk on a hardly visible path. Your vision is obscured by pure lilac colors.

"Y/N. I know you know me already though. My master must have told you." You inform without real reason, you just felt rude not to humor her conversation despite the feeling that she knew just about everything about you. *Except for one thing*.

"Yes, I did speak with Urokodaki about you. He said you've exceeded well and always found yourself back in his company. I have heard good things." She flashes you a soft smile and you can't help but feel a fuzzy warmth in your chest as your gaze falls upon a large mansion.

Ubuyashiki Mansion.

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Once she led you inside you were met by a tall, silver haired man flashing a smile at you as you bowed, promptly recognizing him as a Hashira.

"Is she the new trainee? Oh, I'd love to train you but unfortunately my breathing technique is of no use to you. What a shame, I've never gotten to train a student of my own." He practically yelled howling of laughter at the last part as he guided Mrs. Ubuyashiki to a room as you followed behind.

The adrenaline in you burst into your veins in small rushes as you fell into a room that had such a powerful atmosphere you felt your knees buckle. The room was filled with men and women bearing the same uniform that shared a word in common, 'Destroy'.

"Good evening, Hashira. As of this time I would like to inform you that the master will not be attending this meeting. I will stand in place. Please sit and discuss our new trainee, Y/N L/N." The kind woman, Amane spoke, sitting down promptly and looking to the other settling conversation as the room buzzed down and left you sitting on a practical pedestal.

To you, it felt like an examination, they were deciding your fate, and it was the strangest feeling. Though after some time a tall man with broad shoulders beads wrapped around his calloused hands spoke almost too softly for his looks.

"What breathing technique do you use, young one?" He questioned in a low voice as the room filled with silence again waiting for your reply.

Your hands bunched at your uniform pants as you felt nervous with so many eyes but knew, this is what you wanted so desperately. So, stand up to the challenge.

"Water breathing, I trained in water breathing and have been considered to have mastered the technique." You reply, almost too meekly for your intents but soon that mental note left your mind as the room started to buzz with small conversation.

"Well, there is no way I could take you under my wing, I'm afraid." A man with a contagious smile and burning red hair commented.

"I'm not taking students." A smaller frame with bandages wrapped around his cheeks and mouth said shortly after, he didn't seem adapted to conversation.

"Giyuu, you haven't even acknowledged her yet. Wouldn't you think that *you* would be a better trainer?" A lady with purple shining hair said with a small smile referring to- Oh god.

You knew him, you knew that face, that hair, those eyes were different now but so very undoubtedly his. The boy left into your care during your final selection trial. The boy whose eye you made sure didn't perish that night. The boy who had lashed at you in anger after discovering his friend never made it.

"I'm not taking students either." He says shortly, snapping you out of your recognition as you look away. He most likely didn't recognize you after all these years anyways.

"None of us can afford students, you know that. We have important things we are doing currently so Giyuu-" The lady spoke again trying to persuade him

"I said no, I won't be taking her. I do not take students and never have." He snapped sharply getting up as he turned to leave, fixing his haori.

The silence was heavy as you nervously coughed looking out the window as a distraction from the oh so thick atmosphere.

"The master requested you teach her for three months, Tomioka." Amane spoke softly stopping him in his tracks as he processed before tightening his hand on the hilt on his hip before turning slightly

"She can stay for three months and if she requires more, send her to a different Hashira." He spoke as his words felt onto your head like icicles that formed on the roofs of your old home.

You felt like your fate was sealed, if you had an inch of self-respect, you would have either left or asked for a different trainer, but you suspected you were trapped.

You were now sitting on the floor of your room for the next three months in his rather small estate. The walls were barren and only a desk, futon, and fire stove were in the room. You did note the rack to rest your haori onto with a prepared kimono, you haven't a clue what for, resting on it.

You heard a knock before the door slid open with a small girl walking in, dressed in a uniform with the hood covering her face as she sat down beside you.

"It's good to see he's still accepting students. He had one once, but he left soon after out of...well. I think you will make for a better student for Giyuu-sensei." She spoke preparing your bedding as she paused between her sentences before returning.

You just hummed in response looking out the window at the moon.

"Dinner is late, he tends to eat in the night. You should join him tonight; he'll be eating soon." She commented, gesturing to the door fluffing your bedding.

You nodded thanking her shortly, taking you haori and resting it on the kimono before bowing and leaving your room and roaming hallways before finding a room dimly lit

You walked into it quietly looking towards the fire with Giyuu sitting next to it, eating quietly. You walked in and sat down across the fire as you dished yourself up.

The quiet was sickening, the only thing you could hear was the wind whipping the branches outside and at that moment you wanted to perish as your tongue felt swollen in your mouth and you couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

"I do not owe you anything." He said swallowing his food before taking another bite and it left you dumbfounded. What did that mean?

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." you responded plating rice

"You may think that I owe you something for fixing my eye that night, but I don't. I did my favors years ago." He chewed after he explained.

You snorted, disrespectfully even. He just glared at you with a hint of confusion in the eyes that carried the dark sea.

"What you're doing for me is a considerate thing, I'm lucky Mrs. Ubuyashiki told you that otherwise I'd have to spend another few months looking for a trainer. If anything *I* owe you." You stated taking your first bite and smiling softly at the savory taste on your tongue.

He stayed quiet as he finished his bowl and got up setting it down as he headed towards the doorway before stopping and fixing his haori

"You won't start training till next week, get acclimated to the new estate, my kakushi will help you with anything you need. Please refrain from seeking me out for anything, I'm busy." He spoke before exiting the room, leaving you alone as the fire crackled and popped.

You sighed finishing your food before setting your bowl down and laying down staring up at the moon through the window as you felt your eyelids started to weigh down and you drifted off slowly.

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You were still soundly asleep as Giyuu walked in before the sun rose and caught your soft breathing coursing through the room as he put the smoke from the hardly living fire before sitting next to you. He examined your expression before feeling his eyebrow twitch.

You were so careless; the room was cold enough to drop your body temperature and yet you still decided to sleep here?

He thought long and hard before rolling his eyes and picking you up and holding you on his shoulder, he was awkward with his movements, afraid of being disrespectful to your boundaries. He carried you to the room he designated to your stay and clicked his tongue at the dying embers of the fire before turning and heading to where he slept most nights he could.

He laid you down on the futon and checked to make sure the fire was hot enough to last till your wake before sliding the door closed and heading off.

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You stirred awake as you felt the presence of the sun around you, filling your face with illumination. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes before shaking your head and getting up roaming out of the room you were sleeping in. You wandered to the entrance of the mansion and your eyes widened as you slid the door opened and were hit with 3 feet of snow collapsing in as you quickly shut the door and looked out the near window and sighed seeing that you were snowed in, it was obviously soft given the deep footprints in the snow you concluded to be the water pillar's prints.

"I'm sorry, I live in mountains, so my estate gets snowed in often during the cold months." The sudden break of silence startled you as you looked back and nodded at Giyuu's words.

"I take it that leaving isn't much of an option?" You asked wiping the melting snow off the ground

Giyuu pulled your arm away gently finishing the job before nodding

"Yes, my kakushi will be back soon, we ran out of coal. She's insisted on going out, but I wouldn't recommend it." He said as he threw the towel to the small bin and walked to the window and sat in front of it.

You sat next to him silently, too nervous to even ask a question.

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You kept doing your own thing for the day but the inevitable cold crept onto you and you groaned as you let hot air warm your hands, you were curled under your bedding as you fiddled with your hands. It was probably 21 degrees inside; you were starting to get a headache from the cold. You heard a slide of a stiff door before looking over at Giyuu, wrapped in a kimono instead of his usual uniform as he leaned to sit in front of you.

"The crows tell me my kakushi has decided to stay at the bottom of the mountain where the village is, the snow has gotten worse and it's too difficult to make the trip back to us at the moment." He whispered, his voice soft and almost silky.

You nodded taking yourself out of the bedding and sitting up yawning as the cold nipped at your nose, you caught an apologetical glimpse of expression from Giyuu before sighing.

"Anything I can do? You're so cold, your knuckles are turning white." He whispered again frowning slightly.

"At this rate we'll freeze." You whispered looking at your breath disappear into the air and huffed again in frustration.

"It's nightfall, the temperature is dropping, if you're okay with it we can share a futon to trap our body heat together, it'll keep us warm enough to sleep." And although the very suggestion was so warming to your cheeks, he didn't even twitch an expression different from his slightly concerned but casual stare.

You nodded slowly moving slightly allowing him room to squeeze in. And he did as he took the hair tie out of his hair letting his hair fall over his shoulders before snaking in the bedding tucking it under his arm as he face opposite to you, your backs touched, and you felt his warmth compared to your chill and your cheeks felt so utterly hot that it suddenly didn't feel cold in the room anymore.

You tried so hard to sleep but your face wasn't flushed anymore, and your body shook from the cold as you desperately tried to stay still. You were pretty sure Giyuu was asleep now but if he wasn't, he'd probably leave due to fact you just couldn't stay still. It had probably been hours now and the night was colder and darker as you couldn't see a thing in the room now.

"You're shivering, still freezing over there?" He whispered, his voice hoarse. And you felt your heart drop as he was in fact still awake.

"Sorry." Was all you could mutter as you felt your face heat again in embarrassment as your mind raced with inconveniences you caused him these past few hours.

"Can I turn around?" He whispered hesitantly and you nodded shortly against his back before you felt him shuffle himself around to face your back and felt him press against you, attempting to warm you and he paused as he felt your chilling figure.

"You're freezing, jeez- Can I hug you? It might help."

You had to imagine that. That was just not something that he would say, ever. But you nod just to risk the fact you might not be imagining it and you stopped breathing when he held you closer pressing you flat against his chest.

"Sorry if this is uncomfortable, I just want to make sure you don't freeze anymore" he whispered against the nape of your neck, the hot air sending shivers down your spine as you nodded slowly

The position was awkward, and you didn't know what to do, you should sleep but it was all too much, how could you? After what felt like hours, you were sure he was asleep, and you felt your tensed muscles loosen as you leaned back slowly. His black locks slipped over your neck, and you smiled softly as it tickled slightly. It was so strange how you had hardly known him but still felt so comfortable in that grasp. Maybe it was the cold?

You felt him tighten his grip around your waist that was previously a lazy wrap. He pressed his forehead against the back of your head, and you felt the soft and slow breaths. You smiled faintly at that and decided on impulse to turn around. You slowly and gently turn your body and press against his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso.

"Cold? That's okay..." He whispered placing a hand in your hair scratching at your scalp gently making sure to not tangle your hair. His other hand moved from your waist to your lower back, and you felt his rough palms rub gentle circles as if to create heat for you.

"You'll be alright, I've got you." He whispered in your ear and your body felt weak as you felt butterflies flutter deep in your stomach and you just couldn't help but bury your face into his kimono.

"Get some sleep." He instructed and you could hear the small grin in the way he talked and despite everything you felt your eyes flutter shut as sleep drifted into your distracted head.

Leaving you alone with Giyuu Tomioka, the water pillar, coldest Hashira grinning as he held you close enough you two could melt into each other.

Maybe training with him for three months isn't going to be that bad after all.

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author's note: hope yall liked it :D