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reidmarieprentiss · 29 days

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Federal Beach Investigation

Summary: You are on spring break in Florida where the BAU is investigating a string of murders.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: talks of case, danger, slapping, fear, investigation

Word count: 4k

a/n: i can just imagine our poor baby wanting to help but scaring us so bad because he doesn't know how to not be serious

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The sun was setting over the Florida beach, casting a warm orange glow over the lively spring break crowd. Music pulsed through the air, the bass thumping in time with the waves crashing against the shore. You had been dancing for what felt like hours, your feet moving instinctively to the beat, your skin glistening with sweat and salt from the ocean breeze. Your friends were still lost in the music, but you decided it was time for a small break. You excused yourself with a laugh and made your way toward the bar, craving something cold and refreshing.

As you waited for the bartender to circle back to you, your eyes drifted over the lively scene. People were dancing, laughing, and soaking in the carefree vibe that only a spring break beach party could offer. The bartender was busy mixing drinks, his hands a blur as he catered to the rowdy crowd. You tapped your fingers on the bar, your thoughts a pleasant buzz from the music and the warm evening air.

Suddenly, you felt it—a hand on your bare waist, gentle but firm, like it belonged there. Your first instinct was to spin around and give whoever it was a piece of your mind. You didn’t need random people touching you, especially not some guy who probably thought he could flirt his way into your night. But just as your irritation started to build, a low voice spoke into your ear, calm but urgent.

“Don’t panic,” the voice said, his breath warm against your skin. “There’s a man who’s been following you. I’m an agent with the FBI. I need you to look and tell me if you know him.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the casual atmosphere of the beach party shattering in an instant. FBI? Following you? This had to be a joke, right? You slowly turned your head, trying to get a look at the person speaking to you. He was tall, with a lean build that seemed out of place amidst the carefree beachgoers. His eyes were serious, and there was a calm authority in his demeanor that made you believe he could be telling the truth. But your stomach churned with nerves, disbelief mingling with fear.

“Who?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You scanned the crowd behind him, your gaze darting over the masses of people dancing, drinking, and enjoying the night. It was a sea of faces, none of them standing out. “There’s so many people.”

The agent kept his hand on your waist, a grounding presence in the chaos. “He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. On the beach.”

You blinked, the description clicking in your mind. Who the hell wears jeans and a long-sleeve to a beach party? Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the crowd more carefully, searching for the oddity in the sea of swimsuits and sundresses. Then you saw him—a man standing a little too still, a little too focused. His dark jeans and long-sleeved shirt made him stick out like a sore thumb among the beachgoers. And his eyes... they were locked on you.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, I see him,” you said, your voice shaky. “No, I don’t know who that is.”

The agent’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reassurance. “Okay,” he said calmly, his tone professional. “Just stay with me. We’re going to move, casually, like nothing’s wrong. We’ll blend in with the crowd.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. The beach that had felt so full of life and fun now seemed filled with shadows and threats. You could feel your pulse quicken, but the agent’s steady presence kept you grounded. Together, you started to move through the crowd, his hand never leaving your waist, guiding you with a quiet confidence that made you believe that everything would be okay.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Why is the FBI here?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion and a touch of fear as the agent continued to guide you further away from the crowded beach. The music and laughter seemed distant now, replaced by the pounding of your heart and the seriousness of the situation.

The agent glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his tone reassuring. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as I know you’re safe.”

You hesitated but followed him, your mind racing with a million questions. Who was this guy? What was happening? Why did it have to involve you? The warm sand shifted beneath your feet as you walked, the noise of the party growing fainter until you finally reached an SUV parked away from the crowd. The agent moved swiftly, opening the door for you, his demeanor professional yet urgent. But as you looked at the open door, a nagging doubt crept into your mind.

“Um… can you show me your credentials?” you asked, your voice steady despite the rising tension. “I don’t want to just get in your car.”

The agent paused, his expression softening with understanding. “Yeah, sorry, of course.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a badge, flipping it open to reveal his identification. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI.”

You examined the badge, your eyes scanning the information quickly. The name, the title, the official seal—it all seemed legitimate. You nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “Okay, okay.” You slid into the car, the cool leather of the seat a stark contrast to the warmth of the beach. Spencer closed the door behind you before rounding the SUV to get in on the other side.

Once inside, he took a moment to glance at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “Thank you for coming with me,” he started, his voice gentle. “My team is here investigating a string of murders. I was canvassing the beach when I saw you.”

“Saw me?” you repeated, your confusion deepening. “I thought you said the man was following me.”

“Yeah, yes, he is… was,” Spencer corrected, fumbling slightly with his words. He seemed to take a breath before continuing, his tone more focused. “You fit the victimology of the women who have been kidnapped and assaulted. I was on my way to talk to you when I noticed him watching you.”

Your stomach dropped at his words, a cold shiver running down your spine. “So you just let him go?” you asked, the fear creeping back into your voice.

“Not exactly,” Spencer replied quickly, shaking his head. “My partner went after him.”

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Your mind was spinning with all the new information, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around what had just happened. “Okay… so now what? Are you going to take me back to my hotel?” you asked, hoping for some clarity, some direction.

“I can do that,” Spencer replied, his voice hesitant. “Or really, you could go back to the beach, I—I’m not entirely sure where to go from here.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his uncertainty. “Haven’t you done this before?”

“Well, yes. But I have never taken a potential victim to my car… I guess I got swept up,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly, as if embarrassed by his own confession.

“You said I can leave, right?” you pressed, your wariness growing.

“Yes, of course. Do you want me to check if my partner got the guy?” he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

“No, I’m good, thank you,” you replied quickly, the alarm bells in your mind growing louder.

Without another word, you jumped out of the car, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t look back as you sprinted away from the SUV, putting as much distance between you and the agent as possible. His nervous energy, his fumbling words, his uncertainty—it all made you question if he was really who he said he was. What if he was the one after you?

Spencer watched as you bolted from the car, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he slumped back in his seat. The realization hit him hard: he had been the one to creep you out. Emily always joked that his IQ dropped around pretty girls, but this time, it seemed like his entire common sense had taken a nosedive. Why did he take you to the car? He knew better than that. Now, he was left staring after you, hoping you wouldn’t be putting yourself into trouble by going back to the beach.

Spencer’s phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen before answering, “Spencer Reid.”

“Reid, that wasn’t our guy. He was just your garden variety pervert, creeping on girls in swimsuits,” Derek’s voice came through, casual but with a hint of annoyance.

“Seriously?” Spencer’s heart sank. “So he’s still out there?”

“Yeah, we didn’t have anything on him. What’s up?” Derek asked, sensing something was off.

Spencer hesitated before admitting, “That girl, she just went back to the beach.”

“Why?” Derek’s curiosity was evident.

“I… scared her,” Spencer confessed, feeling a twinge of guilt.

There was a pause, and then Derek chuckled, the amusement clear in his voice. “She thought you were the unsub, didn’t she?” Spencer could practically see Derek’s smirk through the phone.

“Shut up,” Spencer grumbled, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “...Yes.”

Derek’s laughter echoed through the phone. “Well, maybe you should find her, explain yourself. She did fit the victimology; maybe she knows our unsub.”

Spencer sighed, knowing Derek was right. “Great. Got it.”

“Good luck, pretty boy. Don’t scare her again,” Derek teased before hanging up.

Spencer pocketed his phone, feeling the weight of the situation settle on his shoulders. He had to find you and explain, not just for his sake, but because there was still a dangerous man out there—and you might be closer to him than anyone realized.

—

“You guys, it was so weird!” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of disbelief and lingering fear as you recounted the events to your friends. “He just grabbed me, and then there was this guy watching me, and then the agent or doctor or whoever he was took me to his car! I thought I was going to be kidnapped!”

Lynn’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s so scary! What did the guy look like?”

“He was tall, lanky, had shaggy hair, kind of a pretty boy, and he was wearing a button-up shirt. Like, come on, it’s hot out here!” you said, shaking your head in disbelief at the memory.

Jayce suddenly stiffened, their eyes darting past you. “Uhhh, I swear to God that guy is walking over here right now,” they said, their voice tinged with panic.

“What?” You whipped around, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Spencer approaching. “Oh, hell no. We gotta move.”

Without wasting another second, you and your friends started weaving through the groups of people on the beach, trying to put as much distance between you and the man who had just turned your evening upside down.

“Wait! I’m sorry! I need to talk to you!” Spencer called out, his voice strained as he picked up his pace, trying to catch up to you. But the crowded beach made it difficult for him to move quickly, the sea of partiers barely noticing his attempts to get through. Frustration and desperation colored his tone as he shouted, “FBI! Move!”

You heard him, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins wouldn’t let you stop. You pushed forward, determined to get away. However, Spencer’s long legs finally closed the distance, and you felt his hand grab your wrist, pulling you to a sudden halt.

“Hey! Let me go!” you shouted, spinning around in a flash of panic and anger. Without thinking, you lashed out, your hand connecting with his face in a sharp slap.

Spencer recoiled slightly, his eyes widening in shock, not expecting the slap. But he didn’t let go of your wrist, his grip firm yet gentle. “Please, just listen,” he said, his voice pleading, desperation lacing his words. “I’m not trying to hurt you—I just need to explain.”

But in that moment, all you could think about was getting free, getting away from the man who had scared you more than the potential threat he was supposedly protecting you from.

“Fuck you, let me go, man!” you yelled, twisting and struggling in Spencer’s grip. “This hurts!”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he immediately loosened his hold, his face a mix of concern and regret. “Okay, okay, what if I have another agent come and talk to you instead? A woman even?” he offered, his voice softening as he tried to calm you down.

“Fine, fine! Just stay away from me,” you demanded, your voice shaky but firm.

Spencer nodded, releasing your wrist and lifting his hands in surrender, showing you he meant no harm. He quickly pulled out his phone and made a call, his voice low as he spoke to someone on the other end. Within minutes, he managed to convince you and your friends to move toward the edge of the beach, away from the crowds, at least until the other agent arrived.

Soon, a blonde woman in a professional yet approachable demeanor approached, her expression warm and reassuring. “Hi, I’m Agent Jareau. I appreciate you speaking with us, and I’m really sorry about Doctor Reid here. He’s completely harmless, I promise. Pretty women and exposed skin tend to make his brain shut down,” she said with a playful smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hey!” Spencer protested, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness. “What do you guys want, Ms. Jareau?” you asked, your tone cautious but more relaxed now that someone else had taken over.

JJ smiled sympathetically. “Can you come back to the precinct with us? Please? We have some questions regarding the string of murders. You fit the victimology to a T, and we’re curious to know if you might know the unsub.”

You hesitated, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Okay… I’ll ride with you. But can we drop my friends off at the hotel first?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” JJ replied, her tone grateful. She then turned to Spencer, giving him a reassuring nod. “Spence, I got it from here.”

Spencer looked at you one last time, his expression apologetic, before stepping back to let JJ handle the rest. You watched him for a moment, still wary but starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario.

—

At the precinct, you found yourself seated in a quiet office with JJ and Emily. The atmosphere was serious, but both agents carried a sense of calm that put you slightly at ease. They began asking you questions about the man they were looking for, hoping that something you knew might help them catch the unsub.

As they described what they knew so far, you frowned, a memory stirring in the back of your mind. “Um… that kind of sounds like this guy that was hitting on me. His name was Adam,” you said, your voice tentative.

JJ and Emily exchanged a quick glance before Emily leaned forward. “Where is Adam?” she asked, her tone direct but not harsh.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shaking your head. “We met at one of the bars on the beachfront. He was weird.”

“Weird how?” JJ prompted gently, her eyes searching yours for any detail that might be important.

“He, um, he kept flirting with me, even though I was really clear that I wasn’t looking for anything. Not even a spring break fling,” you explained, the memory of the encounter making you shudder slightly.

Emily’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Did you get his phone number?”

“Yeah, he put it in my phone,” you replied, feeling a bit uneasy as you remembered how insistent he had been. “He was kind of… opposing. Like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

JJ nodded, her expression serious but understanding. “Okay, can you give us his number, please?”

“Of course,” you said, pulling out your phone and finding the contact information. You handed it over, hoping that this small detail could help them find whoever was responsible for the terrifying situation unfolding around you.

“Can you stay here until we find Adam? We want to make sure you’re safe,” Emily suggested, her tone warm but serious.

You nodded, still processing everything. “Uh, yeah.”

JJ’s expression softened with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm… I feel bad about hitting a federal agent,” you admitted, your voice quiet as the guilt settled in.

Emily’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who did you hit?”

JJ, unable to contain herself, snorted. “Did you hit Reid?”

“Is that the doctor?” you asked, unsure if you were following correctly.

“Yes,” JJ confirmed, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Then yes,” you replied, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Both women burst into laughter, the sound filling the office. You couldn’t help but crack a small smile, even if you still felt awkward about the whole situation.

After a moment, Emily, still chuckling, asked, “Why did you hit him?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “He grabbed my wrist, and I thought… I don’t know, I panicked. He seemed so nervous and awkward, and I was already on edge. I guess I just reacted.”

JJ shook her head, still smiling. “Don’t worry, Reid’s tougher than he looks. He’ll be fine.”

Emily nodded in agreement, a twinkle of humor in her eyes. “Yeah, he’s used to dealing with all sorts of things. I’m sure he’ll understand once we explain everything.”

“Who knows,” JJ said with a playful wiggle of her brows, “maybe he liked it. He couldn’t seem to keep it together around Y/N here.”

Emily burst into genuine laughter, the kind that made heads turn in the precinct. Her amusement was contagious, and you could see a few of the other agents glancing over with curious smiles. Despite still feeling a bit uncomfortable, you found yourself starting to relax, the tension in your shoulders easing as the humor lightened the atmosphere.

“Thank you both,” you said, your voice warm with sincerity. “You’re so nice.”

JJ smiled softly, her earlier teasing tone replaced by one of genuine care. “We’re just glad you’re okay. We’re here to help, and we’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Emily nodded in agreement, still grinning. “You’re in good hands, Y/N. We’ll get this sorted out, don’t worry.”

For the first time that night, you felt a real sense of reassurance. You watched as Emily left the room, her presence comforting, but now it was just you and JJ. As JJ stood up, ready to leave as well, you hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Um, miss?” you called out, your voice soft but steady.

JJ paused, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow, curiosity evident in her expression. “Yes?”

“Do you think I could apologize to the doctor?” you asked, feeling a small knot of guilt twist in your stomach.

JJ’s expression softened, her gentle smile returning. “Clear the air? I’m sure he would appreciate that. I can stay if you’d like,” she offered, her tone kind and understanding.

You shook your head, giving her a small, grateful smile. “No, you don’t have to stay. Thank you for offering.”

JJ nodded, her smile growing warmer. “Alright, I’ll go get him.”

As she left the room, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. You weren’t sure why it felt so important to apologize, but something about the way Spencer had handled everything, his awkward sincerity, made you want to make things right.

Moments later, the door opened again, and Spencer stepped in, looking a bit timid, his usual confidence tempered by the earlier events. “Hello,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling a mix of awkwardness and relief that this conversation was happening.

Spencer took a deep breath before speaking, his voice sincere. “I’m sorry, for today. Scaring you, grabbing you—I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, um, it’s okay,” you said, waving off the apology with a small, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

A faint smile tugged at Spencer’s lips. “That’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me on a case. I’ll get over it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at that, the tension between you easing with the shared humor.

“It’s nice to see you laughing instead of terrified,” Spencer said, his tone light, but with a genuine warmth.

“You’re a lot nicer to be around when I’m laughing instead of terrified,” you teased back, the playful remark slipping out before you could think twice.

Spencer’s smile grew, and for a moment, the stress of the night seemed to lift. “I know the other agents already asked you everything, but, uh, did you know the unsub?”

“I think so, yeah,” you replied, your tone still light but with a hint of frustration. “Some jerk who wouldn’t take no for an answer at a bar.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Spencer asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“What? Men being dicks? Yeah,” you laughed, but it was humorless, tinged with the weariness of too many similar experiences.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You don’t deserve that,” Spencer said earnestly, his gaze softening.

You looked at him curiously. “What do I deserve, Doctor?”

“Oh, sorry,” he stammered, realizing how his words might have come across. “Another man telling you what you need, huh?”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “Mmm, no. This time, I’m interested to hear what you have to say.”

Spencer blushed, clearly caught off guard. “Well, all women deserve to be treated with respect and kindness.”

“And me?” you pressed, leaning in just a little, curious to see how he’d respond.

“You, uh, I guess you deserve a man who will listen to you?” he suggested, his voice unsure but sincere.

“Smart boy,” you giggled, the compliment rolling off your tongue easily.

Spencer felt a warm rush at your words, enjoying the praise perhaps a little more than he should. “I’d—I’d say I could take you on a proper, gentlemanly date, but we’ll leave Florida as soon as we close the case.”

“Now that’s a bold statement,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you assuming I would want to go out with you?”

“No, I just—based on your body language and demeanor, not to mention your flirtatious tone and word choice, I suppose, yes, I did assume you would want to go out with me,” Spencer replied, his analytical nature slipping out.

You tilted your head, impressed. “What are you, some kind of genius?”

“Yes, actually. I have an IQ of 187,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“Wow.”

“Hah, yeah,” Spencer chuckled, still a bit shy under your gaze.

“You’re right, by the way. In your assumption,” you said with a playful smile.

“Good to know,” he replied, a touch of satisfaction in his voice.

“Tell me, Doctor, do you happen to work at the FBI bureau in Quantico?” you asked, your tone still teasing.

“I do,” he confirmed, curiosity piqued.

“Well then, in the event that you close this case by, say… next weekend, do you still want to take me out?”

“What? But I won’t be here,” Spencer said, clearly confused.

“I know, neither will I. Do the math, genius.”

Spencer stared at you for a moment, his face adorably concentrated as he processed your words. Then, realization dawned on him, and his eyebrows shot up. “You live in Virginia?”

“I live in Charlottesville, but I’m willing to let you travel two hours to see me,” you said with a teasing grin.

“How kind of you,” he laughed, feeling relief and excitement.

“Well, you did basically kidnap me, and you hurt my wrist,” you pouted playfully.

“Did I really?” Spencer asked, his concern immediate as he took your arm gently in his hands, examining your wrist.

“I still prefer you to the other guy,” you said softly, your voice sincere.

Spencer’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, everything else seemed to fade away. Despite the chaotic night, something good had come out of it—a connection neither of you had expected.

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javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months

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Growing

Summary: After a concerning phone call from his daughter's Principal, Javi goes to find out the true reason why she's really there in the first place.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Dad!Javi x Wife!reader (No use of y/n)

Warnings: Honestly this is all fluff 😭 Misogyny, dress codes being the dumbest thing in the world, Javi going full dad mode ™️, Javi being the best girl dad, Sappy Dad Javi loving his daughters so much

A/N: This story is inspired by this ask and what started as a short little snippet ended up being 4k long 🥴 I've written so much for Javi being a dad to his younger daughters, but I will fight anyone who says he isn't the best girl dad at every phase of life his daughters are in 🥺 Javi loves all his daughters equally, but I just know he and Lucy have such a special bond and it makes me wanna cry and scream all at once. I ain't gonna lie, ya girl shed a few tears with this one 🥲 oldest daughters with emotionally unavailable fathers gang rise

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“It should be fucking illegal to work when it’s this hot.”

“How long have you lived in Texas for, you fucking moron? Of course it’s hot. It’s Texas. Stop bitching, you baby.”

“Oh shut up. You’re telling me you're comfortable right now?”

“No, you idiot. It’s hot as Satan’s asshole in here. Of course I’m not. But whining isn’t gonna make it not hot.”

“I know it’s not. Just let me complain, okay? Fuck, I honestly may take Satan’s asshole over this…”

While no one at the Laredo Sheriff’s department was a stranger to the sweltering Texas heat, even Javi couldn’t argue with his fellow co-workers that for a morning in late May, there was no denying it was already miserably hot outside.

He had just finished getting an earful about the topic from his daughters this morning during school drop-off, complaining that they may actually die of heat stroke before the day is done, and that his youngest, Harper, may die from “smelly boy sweat”, since no boy in the 7th grade was wearing enough deodorant as they should be (and that, he couldn’t argue).

“Cater’s right, Miller. Complaining isn’t helping you get all your shit done, and I need that file by the end of the day.” Javi grumbled, surprising Agent Carter and Miller as he passed their desks on the way to his office, making the pair raise their hands in defense in justification of their weather woes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t worry, it’ll be done before the end of the day. If I don’t melt into a puddle first…” Agent Miller grumbled, sticking his face back into the piles of papers scattered across his desk.

While he would never give his co-workers the satisfaction of knowing he was just as irritated by the early onset heatwave as they were, Javi’s suit jacket was already shed and sleeves were rolled up past his elbows before he had barely made it through his office door.

As he took a seat at his desk, looking over his list of to-do’s for today, he was taken aback to hear the aggressive ringing of his phone this early, wondering what could have already gone so wrong that someone already needed to get a hold of him.

Ring, ring, ringggggg. Ring, ring, ringggg-

“Laredo Sheriff’s Department, this is Peña.”

“Hi Mr. Peña. This is Mr. Wilson, Assistant Principal over at United High School.”

Javi sat up just a little straighter in his desk chair, running his hand over the back of his neck, a jolt of nerves hitting his stomach like he was the one being called down to the principal’s office.

Javi had gotten plenty of phone calls from his daughter’s school throughout the years. Calls to pick one of them up and take them home because they were sick, forgotten lunchboxes and school projects, one justified elementary school fist fight- Javi had pretty much heard it all.

Now that your daughters had reached middle school and high school, the calls home now came few and far between, and most of the time, came from the girls themselves on their own phones, more often than not, in the form of your middle daughter, Elliot, asking if he would come pick her up because school was “the most boring place on earth”.

He took a moment to try and compose himself, knowing that if one of the girls was sick, they would have texted him, or would have gotten a call from an office secretary, and last time he checked, Assistant Principals weren’t calling parents in the middle of a work day just to sprinkle in some good news.

So what in the hell was he calling for?

“Uh, H-hi, Mr. Wilson. Can I ask, um, what uh- what’s the reason for the phone call? Is everything okay?”

“Well Mr. Peña, I’m calling because I’m here with your daughter. Unfortunately, she’s here after a teacher referral for disrespectful and defiant behavior.”

Javi could feel his brow furrow and face scrunch in genuine confusion, practically left speechless by Mr. Wilson’s statement. Sure, his daughter Elliot was going through a little bit of a “phase” right now, but even though she had come out of the womb with an iron will power and enough sass to fuel a small country, she knew better than to talk back to adults, especially her teachers.

“Are- Are you serious? I’m really sorry, Mr. Wilson. Could you um- What did Elliot do?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have clarified. While I have had the… pleasure…. of meeting your daughter, Elliot, she’s not the one I’m calling about. Mr. Peña, I’m calling about your daughter, Lucy.”

If the phone call itself wasn’t already enough to knock Javi on his ass, that statement sure as hell was.

“Lucy? There’s no fucking way.” He thought to himself.

In all 12 years Lucy had been in school, the worst thing any teacher had ever had to say about your oldest daughter was that she was an overachiever. Lucy was your classic, type-A oldest daughter- She was a straight A student, captain of her soccer team, a member of every club under the sun, and most importantly, was the kindest kid a parent could ask for. Lucy lived by the rules, so the fact that she went out of her way to break one, let alone be disrespectful about it? Something wasn’t adding up.

“I… Mr. Wilson, I’m sorry, I don’t wanna be rude, but- are you sure you’ve got the right kid?” Javi stammered, still in shock from what he had just heard, wondering when someone was going to walk in and tell him this was some sort of weird prank.

“Oh yes, I’m sure. Mr. Peña, I think it may be best if you and your wife just come down to the school to talk about this.”

“Um, my- my wife is out of town helping her dad out after surgery but uh- yeah, I’ll um, I’ll be there in the next uh- shit…” He muttered, looking down at his watch, quickly calculating in his brain, “the next 30 minutes?”

“Great. We’ll see you then, Mr. Peña. Goodbye.”

“B-bye.”

Javi sat there for a moment, phone still held to his ear as the dial tone rang, shooting in one ear and out the other as he tried to process what had just happened. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his confusion enough to let his nerves take over, frantically scrambling to grab his things before storming out of the office even faster than he had entered a few moments ago.

As soon as he was in the car, Javi was frantically dialing your number, backing out of his parking spot and pulling out onto the road like he was being called for some sort of life threatening emergency.

“C’mon, pick up, pick up, pick up…” Javi huffed, anxiously tapping his fingers against his steering wheel, waiting for you to answer.

“Hey, honey! What’s up? Hold on- yes, it’s Javi. Okay. I- yes, I will. All my family says hi and that we miss you! What’s going on?” You answered, an unsuspecting cheer in your tone, just happy to hear his voice.

“Uh- yeah, tell them, I- yeah, I say hi, too.” Javi responded, clearly frazzled and distracted as he sped down the road, wishing he would have taken a police squad car instead of his truck to get to Lucy’s school sooner.

“Javi, what’s going on? Are you okay?” You asked, clearly sensing the concern in his voice.

“I just got a call from the Assistant Principal that Lucy is down in the office because she got a referral for being defiant and disrespectful.”

“Wait, you mean Elliot?”

“No. Lucy.”

“Oh shit.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Did they tell you why? Or what happened? That doesn’t seem like her at all. She- she knows better than that? And how much trouble she’d be in?”

“No, I’m going down to the school right now. If I wasn’t already sweating bad enough because it’s hot as fuck here today, I sure fucking am now.” Javi grumbled, pushing up his sleeves further before wiping the sweat accumulating on his forehead, sticking his dark curls to his skin.

“Hey, hey, Jav. I’m sure it will be okay. I’m sure there’s gotta be a reason. Take a few deep breaths, okay? Please just keep me posted.”

“Okay. I-I will.”

“It’ll be okay, Papa Bear. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

With a quick beep on the other end of the phone, Javi set down his phone in his lap, wrapping his fingers around the wheel with an iron grip and clenching his jaw until it hurt, turning on the radio as loud as it could go to drown out the “what-if’s” dancing around his mind in what was going to be the world’s longest 10 minute drive to United High School.

Javi had found himself in plenty of stressful situations throughout his life. Hell, stress was a given working as a DEA agent in Colombia trying to take down the biggest drug lords of the 20th century. Yet somehow, Javi found himself just as nervous, if not more, as he walked into the main office of Lucy’s high school, trying to figure out what she had done that was worthy of a trip to the Assistant Principal.

After some directions from one of the secretaries, Javi found Mr. Wilson’s office door, giving it a few raps before it was answered by a short and stout older man, his poorly balding head adorned with a limited amount of scraggly gray hairs and face painted with an unamused half-smile.

“Mr. Peña? Please, come in and take a seat.” Mr. Wilson sighed, gesturing to an open chair next to his daughter, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and eyes peeled to the floor, seemingly trying to shrink herself as small as possible into her chair.

Before Javi could even ask Lucy what was going on or if she was okay, Mr. Wilson had already begun on his rant, promptly taking a seat behind his desk with a deep sigh, forcing the attention onto him.

“Well Mr. Peña, I’m sorry to have to call you in from your job, but I felt that this was something that more than warranted a parental visit. As if it wasn’t bad enough she is already deliberately breaking our school’s dress code, Lucy's already been one of several students down here today who have had the audacity to argue with both teachers and myself about the issue.”

Just as Javi was about to speak, he stopped himself in disbelief, trying to process what he had just heard, looking over at Lucy, trying to hold back her tears before turning back to Mr. Wilson.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I think I must be missing something. This is about what Lucy’s wearing?” Javi asked, scratching the back of his head in confusion.

“Yes.” Mr. Wilson replied, almost annoyed that Javi’s immediate response was shock, rather than anger. “Our dress code clearly states that girls may not wear shorts below fingertip length or tank tops that are less than 3 fingers thick across the strap. It’s a distraction for both male staff and students. As your daughter is a Junior, this rule should come as no surprise to her. On top of this, she and a few other girls in the hallway this morning were written up for resisting coming to the office after teachers on dress code duty had written them up.”

Javi had to visibly shake his head, trying to make sure he had really understood what he had just heard as his jaw hung open in disbelief. He took a deep breath, trying not to laugh to himself out of shock and building anger, asking one more time to make sure he truly comprehended this was the reason for the phone call this morning.

“I’m sorry, I really think I must not be understanding this.”

“That’s not what happened…” Lucy quietly piped in, eyes still glued to the floor.

“Please, Ms. Peña, why don’t you enlighten us, then?” Mr. Wilson replied, a sarcastic delight in his tone.

“I was on my way to second period when I got stopped by one of the teachers in the hallway. She told me that she needed to measure my tank top and shorts to make sure they were up to dress code. I knew they were kinda short but it’s like, a million degrees outside today and everyone is miserable because the air conditioning doesn’t work in half the rooms on the second floor.” Lucy paused, sitting up a little taller in her chair, looking over at her dad, her face filled riddled with guilt. Javi looked back at her, quietly nodding in reassurance for her to keep going.

“But um, the teacher said that my shorts were too short, and that I needed to go to the office so they could write me a dress code referral. But I had a huge presentation that I’ve been working on that I was supposed to give today for my second period science class, and Ms. Feltmate told us that if we miss the presentation portion of our project, we get an automatic 20% reduction in our grade. I’ve worked so hard on that project, and I told the teacher in the hallway I couldn’t go because I’d miss my presentation. She told me she didn’t care, and that I should have known better, and then I told her it wasn’t fair that she’s going to ruin my grade on this project because of my shorts when literally everyone in the school is breaking dress code today because it’s so hot out. I tried to tell her I’d even go before 3rd period so I didn’t have to miss my presentation but she told me she didn’t believe me and that she was going to write me up. So, I’ve been down here until you came. I’m- I’m sorry, Dad.”

At this point, tears were welling in Lucy’s eyes, her voice quivering and bottom lip trembling, trying to keep from completely sobbing in front of her Dad and Assistant Principal, looking up at Javi with regret and shame for what she’d done.

If Javi wasn’t upset before his daughter’s testimony, now, he was absolutely fuming. Javi was using every ounce of composure he had left to keep from completely exploding as he readjusted himself in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he locked eyes with Mr. Wilson.

“Mr. Wilson, what period should Lucy be in right now?” Javi asked, trying to keep as calm as possible while he waited for Mr. Wilson’s surprised response.

“Uh- I believe 4th period just started? Why?”

“So you mean to tell me, Mr. Wilson, that not only has my daughter missed out on a huge presentation that she has spent countless hours working on, she’s also missed out on two other classes because you think that keeping her here in your office because of her shorts is more important than her learning?”

Mr. Wilson stared back at Javi in a silent shock, taken aback that he was in fact, not on his side at all, and was seconds away from absolutely ripping him a new one for what he had done to his daughter.

“Well, y-yes, but-” Mr. Wilson stammered, trying to rebuttal.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, but this is the goddamn stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Lucy is a straight A student. She cares more about school than any kid I’ve ever met. She is smart, and hard working, and the fact that you wanna actively punish her for that just because she’s wearing shorts when it’s the hottest damn day of the year is absolutely fucking ridiculous. Second of all, if playing dress code police is more important to you than girls going to class because some teenage creeps, better yet, staff members can’t keep it in their pants, you’ve got a way bigger issue on your hands than what my daughter chooses to wear to school.”

A stark silence hung in the air for a moment filled with mixture of Javi’s fumes, Lucy’s shock and surprise, and Mr. Wilson’s overwhelming embarrassment at the situation he had brought upon himself. Before Mr. Wilson could even try to muster out some sort of defense, Javi was already standing up out of his chair, nudging Lucy to do the same.

“Grab your stuff, Lu, we’re going.”

“Mr. Peña, let me assure you that-”

“Mr. Wilson, the only thing you need to assure me is that you’re going to explain to her teacher where Lucy was wasting her time this morning so she can give her presentation for full credit, and that I’m not gonna hear from you again in regards to what my kid wears to school when it’s 105 degrees outside. Have a nice day.”

Without another word, Javi was already halfway out the door, Lucy quickly following behind him as he signed her out for the rest of the day before silently storming out to his truck slamming the door behind him as Lucy sheepishly crawled into the passenger side, setting her backpack between her feet.

“Dad, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Lu, I’m not mad at you. You have nothing to apologize for. You think I’d be upset with you because of that?”

“Well, I don’t know, I mean, I did technically break the rules, and you had to leave work to come here, and-”

“Hey.” Javi paused, putting a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, getting her to take her eyes out of her lap and look at him, “Lucy, I’m proud of you. You stood up for yourself for something that was clearly important to you when you knew what other people were doing wasn’t right. I could never be mad at you for that.”

Finally, a small smile pursed the edges of Lucy’s lips, shrugging her shoulders to try and play off her dad’s compliment, even though they both knew Javi was more than right to be proud of what his daughter had done.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course, Lu. I’m being serious though, what you did takes a lotta balls. You should be proud of yourself.” Javi smiled, giving Lucy a little nudge with the hand still placed on her shoulder.

“Ew, Dad, gross.” Lucy sighed, rolling her eyes as she playfully shoved her Dad’s arm off her, the pair quietly laughing to themselves.

“You promise I’m not in trouble?” Lucy asked again, raising an eyebrow at her dad.

“The only punishment I’m making you endure is forcing you to spend some time with your old man for the rest of the day.” Javi smirked, fastening his seatbelt before looking over his shoulder to back out of his haphazard park job.

“Could be worse.�� Lucy teased, giving her Dad a little shrug, secretly excited that not only had her Dad stood up for her without a second thought, but was letting her ditch school to spend time together. While at the ripe age of 17, she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Lucy knew how lucky she was to have a dad like hers. “Do we have to listen to your old man music while we drive, or is that also part of the punishment?”

“Yup. No Jonas Brothers for this drive, Lucy Lu.”

“Dad, I haven’t listened to the Jonas Brothers in years. I don’t even like them anymore.” Lucy laughed, cringing at Javi’s presumed music interests for her. “That’s okay, I don’t mind your old man music. You’re better than Mom. She’s been on a huge ABBA kick every time we drive to soccer practice, and if I hear “Gimmie, Gimmie, Gimmie” one more time, my ears may bleed.”

Reaching over the center console Lucy grabbed the aux cord, plugging in her phone, scrunching her face in concentration as she scrolled through a few different playlists until landing on something that seemed to fit the bill, setting her phone in her lap while turning up the volume.

Dun.

Dunnnadnun.

Dunanun.

Javi couldn’t help but smile at Lucy’s pick of “Back in Black” by AC/DC, one of Lucy’s favorite songs her and Javi would listen to on her drives hockey practices and games when she was little, claiming the song gave her special powers to “kick boys butts” when she played.

“Damn, you must really want me to kick your ass in putt putt, huh?” Javi teased, hinting at his makeshift plans for the rest of the afternoon.

“Really? That's what we're doing? Dad, no offense, but you suck at putt putt. Are you trying to make this easy for me? Because if that’s the case, then I’ll start planning my flavor choice for my extra scoop of winner’s ice cream now.”

“Whatever you say, smartass.”

After 18 holes of mini-golf, Javi couldn’t even pretend that he put up a fight against Lucy, admitting in defeat that he didn’t even stand a chance against her, not even foregoing bribery to get her to throw away his embarrassingly high score card as proof of his loss.

Per tradition in the Peña household, Lucy rightfully earned her extra scoop of ice cream at Eva’s Dairy Barn for her impressive putt putt victory, her and Javi settling in on their favorite bench by the little stream that ran behind the ice cream shop, where their family had spend more than their fair share of time enjoying their favorite treats while stomping and splashing in the creek.

“Victory sure does taste sweet.” Lucy joked, sticking her tongue out at Javi as she bit into her ice cream, Javi rolling his eyes at her even though she had every right to give him shit after his terrible performance.

“Well if you can find a college with a putt putt scholarship, that’s the place to go.” Javi smiled before the pair went quiet, the reality of knowing Lucy would be seriously starting to look at colleges soon weighing heavy in his throat and deep in his chest. “Have you uh, thought anymore about schools you like?” He asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, rather than the complete and utter terror he really felt.

“I don’t know… a lot of people from school are talking about going to Texas Tech or Texas A&M… I think I like Texas A&M but, I don’t know, it’s just….” Lucy paused, taking a deep breath, anxiously twiddling with her fingers.

“Just what, Lu?”

“It’s almost 6 hours away. I know it’s not really that far but, I don’t know… I’m just really worried that I’ll miss you guys. Don’t tell Elliot and Harper I said that.”

It took everything in Javi not to melt into a weepy, sobbing mess right then and there on that bench, wondering how yesterday, he was bringing Lucy home from the hospital, scared shitless on how in the world he was going to be a father, let alone a half decent one, and now, here Lucy was, nearly an adult who had blossomed into the most wonderful daughter he could have asked for, and was getting ready to leave for college.

Wrapping his arm over Lucy’s shoulder, she let her head fall next to his, sitting for a moment in a thoughtful silence before Javi spoke.

“No matter where you go or what you do, you know that we’ll always be there for you, right? Even when you’re sick of us. You’re an amazing kid, Lu. We’re all so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. We’ll be there for you even if you’re on the other end of the earth if that’s where you wanna go. I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Javi couldn’t help but reach up to wipe the tears welling in his eyes with the back of his hand after a quick kiss on Lucy's forehead, making Lucy laugh as she tried to hide the tears of her own.

“Dad, are you crying?”

“No… A little… I’m just really pissed you beat me at mini golf, okay?” Javi joked, trying to use a little humor before he became a total sap. “Alright, we should probably head home before Elliot and Harper get too suspicious.”

“Not looking forward to the 10 pounds of shit they’re gonna give me when I found out I got called down to the principal's office.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Elliot will happily triple your visits by the time she’s your age. As for Harper, God, I honestly worry she’s gonna be calling the principal down to see her.”

“Is this your subtle way of telling me I’m your favorite child?”

“No, this is my subtle way of thanking you that despite your run in with the pants police today, you’re the one I’m least worried about having to bail out of jail one day. Don’t tell them I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Dad.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 days

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Hello Miss Raven!! So it’s unfortunately a pretty well known fact that the TWST English translation has a bad habit of botching important dialogue and lore, and even removing lines altogether, and I saw a reblog a day ago regarding that.

The original post was a fact sheet on Leona & how he interacts with women (alongside other stuff but that’s besides the point). And the reblog I was looking at was saying that the English translation just makes it sound like he’s a feminist, when it’s implied in the original JP game that the beastwomen tend to be more aggressive, giving Leona a reason to be afraid of them. And that reminded me that on the TWST fandom wiki under Leona’s trivia he said he’s intimidated by them, and every time I see that I remember that just can’t seem to find that detail at all anywhere in the English game.

So I wanted to ask you what did the original JP game say about how male and female beastmen interact with each other and why Leona would be cautious around them? Because this is a piece of info that I really would have liked to see in ENG, and I’m kind of annoyed I didn’t know about this before.

I believe this is the Leona lore post you’re referring to? Both TWST wikis (the fandom one and the .gg one) state the same trivia point about Leona being “intimidated” by beastwoman. I’m assuming this is where the reblogger picked up the idea of beastwomen being more “aggressive”, and this being Leona’s reasoning for being “intimidated” by them.

In a nutshell, the claims of Leona being a feminist only in EN + beastwomen aggression and Leona being intimidated by that is not true. The “Leona is a feminist” take was around long before the official English localization, and that’s because the Japanese text also has Ruggie (Leona Ceremonial Robes vignettes) and Cater (Cater’s School Uniform vignette) commenting that Leona is “nice” and “respectful” to women. To claim that they made Leona feminist in the localization is false. They never use the word “feminist” in JP or EN though; the label came from the fandom interpreting this bit of lore as Leona being more considerate of women.

As for the reasoning! Leona states in his Ceremonial Robes vignettes that “[Beastwomen are] already way stronger than us. Goin’ against them only brings more trouble.” I believe that someone probably misunderstood that second line of dialogue as Leona fearing the strength/aggression of beastwomen. He never actually indicates or implies that he feels that way. However, these vignettes being cited for the trivia on the wiki likely led to some confusion.

So if Leona isn’t afraid of beastwomen and their physical fitness, how is that second line supposed to be interpreted? Well, let’s think about his character. Leona is a smart guy. He dislikes having to put forth effort into pointless things, especially if he can plan ahead and avoid it. As I tend to say whenever I talk about his Big Brain Cells, Leona likes to work smarter, not harder. Again, look at this line:

“Goin’ against them only brings more trouble.”

It’s likely Leona just wanting to appease his sister-in-law to avoid having to deal with the fallout of not fulfilling her request. It would otherwise be a pain to deal with—and we’ve seen Leona act in various ways to avoid such pains. For example, he goes to Playful Land with Jack to make sure his dorm member comes back alright (or else Leona is responsible for the consequences), purposefully not choosing a vice dorm leader so he doesn’t have someone to challenge his authority, and generally has convenient excuses prepared to get out of things he doesn’t want to do.

If we want to think of it from another angle, this better fits what we already know of Leona’s cunning. He knows when to call it quits and make a strategic surrender. The most notable example of this occurs early in book 6, when he stops fighting Styx agents and willingly gives himself up to them. He also throws in the towel in book 2 and refuses to play because he already knows that his team is destined to lose to Malleus since they didn’t succeed in eliminating him beforehand. In the situation with Leona’s sister-in-law asking for a picture of him in his robes, Leona is acquiescing because that’s just the smart thing to do. Why even argue if he knows it won’t be fruitful? It’s wasted effort.

I would like to add that physical strength isn’t even the only factor here. Ruggie points out in one of his Chats that “Girls have both the grit and the camaraderie to triumph when the goin’ gets tough.” Grit refers to courage or resolve. The latter, resolve, lends credence to the idea that beastwomen are also determined or strong-willed. In which case… yeah, I don’t think they’d back down from an argument/verbal fight or a physical one.

If we circle back to the previous paragraph, it supports the interpretation that Leona giving in to what his sister-in-law wants is the result of him wanting to avoid a pointless and prolonged fight if he refuses. Cuz like… why waste that time and energy to come out of it with nothing, right?

If it was true that Leona listens to what women day only because he’s actually scared of beastwomen, then that doesn’t explain his interactions with non-beastwomen. Why would he agree to attend a party for an enchanted portrait (Rosaria), which has no means of harming him? He agreed to the proposition as soon as he heard Rosaria is a lady; there didn’t need to be a threat or significant verbal pushback for him to go. As Leona states in Cater’s School Uniform vignette, “Portrait or not, I respect ladies and Rosaria is a lady.” (I think the reblogger may have been confused and was actually referring to THIS line being made “more feminist” in EN. In JP, Leona says something closer to, “Even if it’s a portrait, a woman is a woman.” JP does not have the “I respect ladies” portion.)

Sooo, in conclusion… Leona agreeing to do as his sister-in-law says does not necessarily mean he is intimidated by beastwomen; as I’ve explained, there is an alternate explanation with evidence in canon: he wants to avoid pointless hassle.

I hope this helps to clear things up ^^ I know the localization isn’t exactly perfect, but let’s take care to not assume changes or mistranslations!

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #twst en #twisted wonderland en #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #Cater school uniform vignette spoilers #twst jp #twisted wonderland jp #advice

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ghost-bison · 29 days

Text

things that happened today on the sims to the Doctor Who characters I made:

-River tried to fuck Donna and almost succeeded

-Nine got an addiction to the violin

-Ten caught fire because of the barbecue but Nine got the extinguisher in time (thank you Nine)

-Eleven got embarrassed because Ten entered the bathroom while he was taking a wee

-Amy threw a temper tantrum because Donna was playing the piano (badly)

-Nine and Donna fucked and she's pregnant

-then they got married

-Ten laughs a lot in his sleep and it's kind of adorable

-Twelve got rejected by Nine and Donna's wedding caterer and cried himself to sleep

-Sylvia fell asleep at the wedding on a bench (twice)

-Nine keeps doing this weird gremlin thing I think something might be wrong with him

-Donna kept throwing the trash to the ground savagely (there was an empty bin right fucking there)

-Twelve worked at a café but he kept coming home with his lil outfit and his lil hat and it made me laugh too much so I made him a secret agent instead (also because he was miserable and would cry everyday on cue after coming home from his 2 hours shift)

-Ten makes autistic little stimming noises as he walks around the house

-Eleven tried to learn the guitar but he was terrible at it because he "didn't have flexible joints"

#dw #doctor who #doctor who sims #sims 4 #ninth doctor #9th doctor #donna noble #tenth doctor #10th doctor #eleventh doctor #11th doctor #twelfth doctor #12th doctor #river song #amy pond #sylvia noble #is this funny #i'll update this if anything else happens

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wardenparker · 9 months

Text

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

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb

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toskarin · 8 months

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sorry if you've already answered this before but I'm new to your blog, what did you not like about gwitch? I haven't watched it myself, but I know friends who liked it and was just curious about a different perspective :] hope you're having a nice day!

these are like my sleeper agent activation words, but I'll make my rant about as short as I can. that being said, I am very much a hater about that series and would probably have more restraint normally LMAO

a lot of my problems with gwitch are intrinsically tied into the handling of the second half of the series and the tonal shift around it. the first cour was really good and there is a really jarring change of series direction after it

in what was seemingly an effort to cater the show more towards the largest fanbase possible, it drops a lot of its plot threads and muddles its more complicated themes by trying to tie them up into a simpler story of forgiveness. in pulling its punches and lightening the tone towards that second half, gwitch ends up relying a lot on fan content and shipping to achieve a satisfying ending

which, of course, means that if you weren't deeply invested in that side of things, you're left turning over some uncomfortable implications in your head that the show almost certainly didn't expect you to linger on

the first season opens by lampshading differences in social norms around homosexuality between planets, but when the show decides that there should only be one (deniable) gay pairing and everyone else should be straight, this never comes up again

beyond that, was the ending of the story really supposed to imply that you should reckon with how abusive parents only harm their children out of misguided love? surely not, right? that's a deeply conservative moral, and it only really feels that pronounced because of how the series doesn't engage with its own concepts

that's not really a generous way to look at things, and taking the second cour in isolation, that's absolutely not what it's saying. the problem here is that it still has to answer the questions it left open in the first cour, and if you were taking the writing seriously, it's hard not to feel that the change in story direction accidentally gave those answers

at the end of the day, gwitch feels cynically-made, like a creative vision was leading it towards saying something that old men in suits might've seen as complicating toy sales, and so its wings were clipped to keep it from doing so

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zoropookie · 4 months

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SWEET MELODY

☆ characters — balladeer and the cult

wanderer: the main vocalist and guitarist of the group, 'balladeer and the cult', usually shortened to balladeer or the balladeers. it used to just be a garage band when they were in high school, until aether's sister got them a contract under teyvat entertainment. him and his band blew up on tiktok just recently because she got them a gig to perform on saturday night live. 'murder on the dance floor' by sophie-ellis bextor was their choice, and a week later, teenage girls were flooding all their socials demanding a tour. it was a shitstorm, even for him, having never been good with attention.

venti: background vocals and keyboardist for the band, but he usually alternates depending on the song. he was ironically a recent addition to their band, as they needed someone else who was able to keep up with their hectic schedule. he auditioned with a harmonica, two mora in his name, and a dream. lumine felt bad for him for a little bit before realizing he was actually really good.

xiao: the bassist and sometimes background vocals for the band. for some reason, their fans was always very comfortable simping for xiao in particular. mainly because he doesn't say anything to protest it, he just ignores the comments and goes about his day. but then they started getting really feral? to the point where the ceo had to make a statement discouraging inappropriate comments regarding their artists. safe to say, he and scaramouche were the golden boys.

heizou: drummer for the band. he initially wanted to go to college, but that plan never stuck with him. he started causing a lot of trouble when he met wanderer. but he realized that he was indebted to him when wanderer took the fall for him when he crashed into another vehicle one night, and he got off clean from the entertainment staff. he knew he owed it to him to stick by his side, even though he wasn't the nicest person to be around.

aether: he was background vocals that slowly turned into second guitarist. he was one of the first people in the band, having even been there for all of the logo changes they went through. he wasn't good at guitar at first, so he offered minimal, but wanderer was willing to teach him. he's actually a pretty good teacher, even though sometimes he walked out when he lost his patience. he never yelled at him, though, so there was that.

lumine: manager and agent for balladeer and the cult. she saw a lot of potential in them when she was in high school and watched their practices after school. she immediately knew what profession she was going to pursue, and that kickstarted her majoring in communications. she was technically only fit for public relations, but she wouldn't accept anyone else being their manager except for her. so she kind of paid teyvat entertainment to get them in, but you can't tell anyone.

prev ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "accident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @mi2ukis @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

@vamxpi @theyluvkatt @kyon-cherri @suzydarling @mimi3lover

@auroratumbles @vxcmx @yourfavoritefreakyhan @kunimylovee

@czerwka @little-honey-the-third @featuredtofu

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redroomreflections · 4 months

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Not Easily Broken Chapter 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

3/10

Note: Yes, it's getting finished besties.

W/c: 6k (whew!)

TW: Mention of miscarriage

Natasha wasn’t your first kiss but she’s the first kiss that mattered. You can remember that moment like it was yesterday. The first time she placed her lips on yours. Eleven years ago if you remember it correctly. You had recently been appointed the Creative Director at Stark Industries. Besides Pepper Potts, you were Tony's, right-hand man. You were the woman in charge of overseeing every single creative process dealing with the multibillion-dollar company. You spent more time traveling and in the office than you liked but it came with its perks. With a great salary and good benefits package you wouldn’t complain at all even if most of your time was spent rolling your eyes at the ideas Tony would come up with.

You would see Natasha briefly during your time at the tower. She would be in the room one second and gone the next. It was only after getting to know her you realized that Natasha purposely distanced herself from everyone and everything. There were only three women in the world who could scare Tony Stark. Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanoff, and you. You’d giggle at every snide remark Tony would make only after Natasha had left the room. You would agree with her on many of the times she put him in his place. The more you saw Natasha the more you wanted to know the woman behind the moniker Black Widow. Without knowing why you made it a mission to see more of her. So, you dropped in on Tony more. You’d ask for Natasha’s input, always remembering to include her. She tried to hide the look of surprise when you would ask her what she thought. As if her expertise was only in the field of battle.

You made her laugh on every occasion. Your thoughts were consumed by the redheaded woman with the gorgeous smile.

As Tony’s employee, you were invited to his parties. Boy, did he throw a lot of them. Many of them you would skip. No one would miss you there. At least not that you noticed. It wasn’t until the night of Tony’s New Year’s Eve party that things changed for you.

You were dressed in a sparkly black number. The dress was short and backless. It hugged your curves in all of the right places and you looked damn good. You felt sexy and ready for the new year to come. There were a few men and women eyeing you all night. Some had even dared to approach you. You didn’t care about their advances. None of them interested you when the one you truly wanted was in the very same room.

Natasha commanded the room with her presence. Every click of her heels and sway of her hips left all eyes on her. She charmed the room. She chatted, made jokes, and even kissed Rhodey on the cheek under the mistletoe leftover from Christmas. Natasha was breathtaking and yet you could tell she wasn’t having a good time. She seemed stiff and on guard. There was a certain air about her that you weren’t sure if other people picked up on. Natasha was a spy after all so she always had to be alert. You could see the way she tensed when Richard Matthews, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, placed his hand on her forearm as he flirted with her. Her eyes quickly cut to his hand before they flew back up to his face. She seemed to be analyzing his flirting but enjoying herself. She flirted back with him just as hard and for a moment you wondered if she would sleep with him that night. Natasha wasn’t yours. You were barely friends and yet the thought of her and that man being together made you sick. You felt the nausea roll over you and you excused yourself to the kitchen. Only a few of the catering staff remained as they packed up for the night. A cleaning crew would come to clean in the morning.

You waited for them to exit the kitchen before clutching the counter. You leaned your weight against it taking deep breaths as you tried to reel yourself in. You were in love with Natasha. You were in love with the Black Widow. A startling truth that had sent you spiraling. Before you could think any further on what this meant the sound of her honey-smooth voice caressed every inch of your body.

“Fancy seeing you here,” You could picture the smirk on her face as she spoke. You took another deep breath before turning to Natasha. She glanced behind her as the swinging door stood still again. Her eyes never left yours as her brows knit in concern. “Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You frowned. “I just..” Natasha waited expectantly for you to say something. She waited for you to tell her what was on your mind. You could come up with a lie and say you had too much to drink but nothing came out of your mouth. Before you could stop yourself you closed the distance between the two of you to hold Natasha’s face between your hands. You searched her eyes for any resistance, you waited for her to say no, but nothing came. Her breath caught in her chest as she waited for you to kiss her.

“Do it.” She dared you. You pounced with a fierce press of your lips to her. Your senses were overwhelmed with Natasha. She smelled delicious, tasted divine, and the feel of her pressed against you was heavenly. You were pretty sure you had died and gone to heaven as you lowered your hands to wrap around her waist. You pulled Natasha closer so that you were pressed chest to chest. The stilettos she was wearing worked to her advantage as she wrapped her arms around your neck. The sounds of the party fell on deaf ears as your tongue explore her mouth. Only when a moan left her lips did you pull back. Your eyes widened and you moved with an apology at the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t,” Natasha spoke softly. She tilted her head to kiss you again. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” She whispered.

“Really?” You asked.

“Since the day I met you.” She shrugged.

“Well, why didn’t you say anything? Or do anything?” You asked incredulously.

“I dropped hints but you’re a tough nut to crack.” Natasha reminded you. Suddenly you were pulled back to all of the times Natasha dropped by your office. She was always around whenever you had a meeting with Tony. She even texted you to ask for your coffee order a few times. Now that you think about it, it didn’t seem like she did any of the stuff she did for you for anyone else.

“Oh.” It dawned on you. Natasha’s way of flirting was different from the Black Widow’s. Her display out there with Richard was vastly different from the way she handled you.

“Yeah,” Natasha half-smiled. You could see the slight nervousness in her expression. “I’ve never done this before.” She dropped her arms to her side. You immediately missed the contact. You wanted to have her close all the time if you could. “Dated without the expectation of sex. Most of my relationships were curated for work. I-I don’t know how to be someone’s anything. For you, I’m willing to try.” The vulnerability Natasha was showing at that moment made your heart soar.

“I’m willing to try too.” You told her. You reached out your hand and she took it. You pulled her back into you. You took the lead and wrapped her arms around your neck again. It was that night you knew you were a goner. The next few months you and Natasha were inseparable. You were on cloud nine when it came to Natasha.

Everything was easier with her. The two of you had your own traumas and insecurities to work through but it was easy. Loving Natasha was easy despite how much she insisted she wasn’t made for it. As your love for her grew so did your desire to marry her. Two years into your relationship you tied the knot. You bought the very same home you grew your family in. Five bedrooms, three baths, a nice backyard for your future children to play in. Life with Natasha was everything you ever wanted. You welcomed Ryan into the world two years into your marriage. Then Emma. Life with Natasha was magical until it wasn’t.

You don’t want to dwell on the ugly too much. At least not when you’re in the arrival line of Orlando International Airport. You do focus on how the rental you’re in smells “new car fresh”. You tap your fingers against the steering wheel hoping to stave off some of your boredom. You glance around at the moving cars weaving in and out of the line when you spot them. Your family. They’re a few feet away and it’s clear they don’t notice you. You can see Natasha instruct the children to wait there as she reaches behind her in search of her carry-on. She pulls out her phone to check what you assume is her Imessage app. She checks the phone and tucks it back into her pocket. She thinks you’re not going to show. When it’s your turn you honk the horn and pull in front of them. You unbuckle your seatbelt and park the car all within a few seconds. You make sure it’s safe to open your door before exiting the car.

Natasha’s look of surprise is quickly masked by something else. She thought you would send a car for them instead. There’s a cheer from Emma as she spots you. She jumps up and down in place as she hugs her blanket to her chest.

“Mommy, you’re in Florida too?” Emma asks as you plant a kiss on the top of her head. You give Ryan a kiss on his head before grabbing at their luggage.

“Yes, I am.” You smile down at her.

“You didn’t give Mommy a kiss,” Emma points out as you place their things gently into the trunk of the car.

“Oh, it’s okay, she doesn’t need to.” Natasha dismisses but Emma’s pout grows. You realized that you two should have talked about how you were going to handle things with the kids before now.

“But Mommy always kisses hello?” Emma reminds you. She’s confused. If you both were here in the same place it must mean you were going to be together again. That meant her mommies could kiss each other again. Right?

“Emma, remember what we talked about?” You’re not seriously going to lecture her about consent in the middle of the airport but she might need a reminder.

“It’s fine,” Natasha leans over to you, placing her hand on your forearm, as she moves to kiss your cheek. She leans back with fluttering lashes as she crosses her eyes to the kids. This was not a conversation you needed to have right now. You nod and she turns to them. “Mommy is going to show us around Florida. We’re going to be staying with her on our vacation. I wanted it to be a surprise for you.” She’s lying. If you know Natasha and you do, she didn’t tell the kids to protect their hearts if you changed your mind. You didn’t blame her.

“Yeah, I’m going to show you so many cool places,” You tell them.

“Disney World?” Ryan questions.

“Whatever you want.” You tap his nose. “Now what do you say we get this show on the road before Mommy gets a ticket?” You gesture over your shoulder to the airport police hovering a few feet away. You help Emma into her booster seat while Natasha helps Ryan into his. Soon enough you’re on the road and on your way to your hotel. The car ride is relatively silent. Ryan and Emma seem to be holding their own conversation about who they’re going to see when they go to DisneyWorld. You glance over to Natasha to see that she’s watching you.

“I’m really glad you came,” You inform her. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. Again.”

She shrugs half-heartedly. What is she supposed to say? Everything she wants to say would probably be best told when the children are asleep. When you’re alone. You turn back to the road to drive as you both listen to the kids and their stories.

There’s a bit of a problem when you arrive at the hotel. The rooms you got were connected by one door. No big deal. The first room was the one you’d been sleeping in since you arrived two days ago. It was equipped with a king-sized bed, flat-screen tv, and a very impressive mini-fridge. The second bedroom had two double beds and many of the same amenities. The rooms themselves were impressive. It was the kids who made things a bit more difficult for you.

“I want my own bed.” Ryan declared as he tossed his shoes somewhere in the corner. Natasha sighed from behind him as she grabbed the offending items to place them inside the closet. Emma followed after her brother as she plopped onto the second bed.

“I want my own too.” She smiled sweetly up at you.

“Um, one of these was for your mom,” You scratch the back of your head. Natasha’s eyes fly to yours. “I just didn’t want to assume that you wanted to sleep in bed with me.” You try to mumble but by the mischievous smirk on Emma’s face, she’s heard you. What was with her and this matchmaking thing she has going on? Ryan seems to be in on it too as he looks between the two of you.

“We think the kids should have their own room. No mommies allowed.” Ryan shrugs as though he’s not trying to hurt your feelings.

“I’m being kicked out by my own kids.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “I am fine sleeping there. With you.” Natasha tries to appear nonchalant.

“Okay, well let’s take your bags right in here,” You grab for one of Natasha’s suitcases and she follows you into the next room. The door is still open when you hear Emma’s little voice trail into your room.

“Do you think they’re going to make a baby?”

“You need a penis to do that,” Ryan tells her as if it’s obvious.

Your eyes widen and look to Natasha for answers.

“There was a kid, Connie Clark, in Ryan’s class who apparently had ‘the talk’ with her parents so naturally she came to school and told everyone.” Natasha wheeled her bag to the closet. “Which means Ryan told Emma which also means I had to have a very awkward conversation with them about their bodies, autonomy, and the very, very basic parts of where babies come from.” Right. Another thing you missed. While you did find it a bit funny it was only a reminder that you were missing out on a lot. Natasha and you have always had those conversations with the kids together.

“Seems there still may be a few things we have to discuss.” Natasha shook her head. She looks at the bed and the side you’ve taken.

“I can sleep on the pull-out couch they have,” You tell her, and she holds up a hand to stop you from speaking.

“Is sleeping with me going to upset you?”

“No, no, I just don’t want to move too fast with you and mess things up.”

“Well if all we’re doing is sleeping you can’t mess things up,” Natasha assures you. She moves to pull you to sit on the bed. “I came because I wanted to. I came because I want this to work.”

“Me too,” You confess. You find yourself focusing on her lips.

“You know I never did get a proper hello kiss,” Natasha says. She leans over to caress your cheek just as you turn to her. You don’t hesitate this time. Kissing Natasha was all you ever wanted to do. It’s the first time your lips have been on hers since the day in the kitchen. On Emma’s birthday. It lasts longer than you anticipated as you allowed yourself to get lost in Natasha. It’s the sneaky giggling from behind you that causes you to pull away. You can’t tell which one of them has made those obscene kissing noises but you’re sure you can take a guess. “Our kids are assholes.” Natasha opens her eyes slightly. There’s that glint of happiness in her eyes you haven’t seen in a while. Her guard is down.

“That they are,” You bring your hand up to Natasha’s lip to wipe your gloss from a corner of her mouth. Her eyes darken in lust and for a second you wonder if you’re going to survive the night with her in the same bed. You clear your throat and look over to the open door that connects your room. “Okay, you two, let’s get you fed. Where are we going to eat today?” You stand from the bed. You leave Natasha sitting there with her thoughts as you wrangle the kids.

******************

Lunch with the family is fun. It’s amazing how easily you’re able to slip back into your roles with them. Ryan talks to you about his new leggo set while Emma pretends she’s a queen as she sips her lemonade. Natasha is content to watch you interact with them both. They’ve missed you it’s clear and you’ve missed them just as much. There’s a message on your phone that chimes and you tuck it away for later. Whoever it is can wait. You took your meetings earlier this morning with the sole purpose of spending time with your family. Nothing would ruin this for you.

******************

The next destination on your list is the Sea Life Orlando Aquarium. You want to say you bought the tickets for the kids but you can feel Natasha vibrating with excitement as she grips your hand. Sometime during your entry into the aquarium, her hand slipped into yours and she never let go. The kids walked ahead of you as you entered the first hall. Seeing the kids happy with the sea life was amazing, seeing Natasha excited was an entirely different feeling. She didn’t have much of a childhood to go and do all of this. During the time you dated and throughout your marriage, there were times when you’d take her to experience things for the first time. The aquarium was her favorite. Despite how much she protested the idea of an animal she loved them. Especially sea animals.

The 360 aquarium proved to be the most fun as Natasha crouched down with the kids to point out the different types of fish. She smiled widely turning to see if you were paying attention as Ryan read from the information slate. It looks beautiful on her. Happiness. Her smile stops you in your tracks as you watch the way she interacts with them. The way she loves them. She guides them while reading about the fish whenever she gets a chance. You didn’t doubt that a lot of it she already knew. As you continued through the aquarium you almost expected Natasha to take your hand again and she did. It all felt right.

******************* It’s later that night that you feel the awkwardness of your situation. How even after nine years of marriage you’ve gone through a divorce that has changed the both of you. After helping Natasha put the children to bed you both go through your night routines separately. While Natasha is in the shower you check emails and answer back any that you find pressing. You roll your eyes when you find that Tony wants to put a real shark tank in one of his hotels. Totally not your problem right now. You send him a quick text before plugging your phone up for the night. You didn’t hear the shower shut off or Natasha exit the bathroom until she was sitting on the bed in a silk pajama set. It’s a plain shirt and shorts but it does manage to turn you on with the amount of skin you’re seeing. Natasha dries her hair with a towel and it’s then you notice her arms are more defined than you last remember them.

You move to sit next to her and she stops her towel drying to look at you. You take the towel into your hands to help her. She melts into you as she allows you to take on the task.

“Today was fun,” Her voice is raspy and filled with exhaustion. The activities of today are catching up to her.

“Yeah,” You say. When you’re done you toss the towel onto a nearby chair. You could deal with it later. You lower your arms to rest them at Natasha’s waist as you try to keep your composure. She smells like vanilla and coconuts. It’s only recently that she’s used a soap that has a scent. Being a spy she was always very diligent in not making herself noticeable in any way.

She stiffens in your arms just before she allows you to continue. With your left hand, you sweep her hair to her other shoulder to expose her neck. You press a tentative kiss against the flesh before trailing more down her shoulder. Natasha sighs as your touches become more firm. Your hands rub her sides and move down to the top of her thighs. You massage her skin as she leans further into you. It’s not inherently sexual but you can feel yourself becoming wetter just at the feel of Natasha. You dare to run your fingers up the leg of her shorts. Natasha allows you to. Her skin is smooth and soft under your fingers. At least until you feel the raised skin a little higher on her thigh. It’s at an awkward angle and it would be hidden behind her shorts but probably noticeable in a bikini. It’s higher up on her thigh. You feel around it feeling her once again stiffen as you try to assess the freshness of this wound.

“It was four months ago.” Natasha’s voice is devoid of any emotion. You furrow your brows. “I was in Madripoor with Steve and we took down a few guys interfering with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database. Stabbed me right in the leg before he got away.” How didn’t you know this? Where were the kids at the time? Did she take care of herself while tending to them? “It’s old news. Seriously.”

“I’m sorry, Natasha.” You distance yourself more for her than you. “I’m so sorry.” You say for really no reason at all. You’re not the one that stabbed her or sent her on the mission. Natasha could take care of herself.

“Me too.” She whispers before she climbs into the bed. Your moment of intimacy is over and you know the both of you are too tired to discuss the implications of that. You hate that this even needed to be discussed. You felt like a stranger when it came to Natasha. She’s been through so much these past few years and you have a feeling you’re only scratching the surface. You climb onto your side of the bed, reaching for the string of the lamp to turn it off, as you think about just how much you’ve missed.

******************

The next day proves to be different for all of you. Work has you swamped with meetings that run over more than usual. There are only a few more days you have left here in Florida and you’d rather be spending them with your family. Disney World was supposed to be today. You promised them. Again. Yet you have to shoot a quick text to Natasha informing her to take them on her own as you don’t see yourself getting out of here any time soon. You don’t want to imagine how pissed she would be and how disappointed they would be.

You notice your phone go off throughout the day but you’re too busy to get into it. You know it’s Natasha keeping you updated. She’s probably sent you so many pictures and videos of the kids. Hopefully, you’ll be done with your last meeting in time for dinner. As a creative director, you can’t leave things to the other employees. Not like this. So you hunker down and keep pushing through in hopes of getting back to the hotel with your family.

It’s dark when you enter the hotel room. You cross the room to kick off your shoes before tiptoeing to Emma and Ryan’s bedroom. They’re fast asleep. Emma with her blanket tucked into her and Ryan with a new toy by his side. You kiss both of their heads before returning to your room.

You notice the balcony door is open and the cool breeze from there. Natasha is sitting in one of the chairs peering out at the pool below you. You’re on the third floor so not too high up but it’s still an impressive view. You decide to join her.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would take so long. We had to go over contracts, marketing, things with legal.” You tell her as you move to give her a kiss on her forehead. You sit down in the chair beside her. Natasha glances at you for a second before returning her gaze back to the view. There’s a silence that sits between the two of you before she speaks.

“Did I make a mistake coming here?” Natasha asks. She picks up her glass of red wine to sip from it.

“What, Nat, no.” You tell her.

“Hmm,” She swallows the wine. She sets down her cup and looks over to you. “It shouldn’t hurt. I should be used to it by now. You are too busy for us. We don’t fit into this new life you’ve made and no matter how much you’re trying it’s just not working.” Your heart drops as you realize you really did mess up.

“I’m-”

“You’re sorry.” Natasha finishes for you. “I know. I think we would have been fine if you’d bothered to answer any of the texts I sent you. If you bothered to reply at all. I’m not pushy and I’m not clingy. You know this. I couldn’t help but feel I was back in that same space of being the doting and loving housewife who waits and waits and begs for their spouse to love them.”

“You don’t have to beg with me, Natasha.” You assure her. “I didn’t think it would bother you for me to give this one day. I mean this is a work trip.”

“That you invited us to.” She reminds you.

Right.

“I changed all of my schedules. The rest of the week is open to be with you guys.” You inform her. Natasha tilts her head to see if you’re telling the truth. You are.

“Can I ask you what changed?” Natasha suddenly asks. “What shifted for you? You had been creative director when we started dating. The past few years you’ve been distant. You can’t just say you’re busy. We’ve both always been busy.”

“Nat,” You sigh. You really didn’t want to get into this. At her look you know it’s now or never. “I don’t know.” It’s the truth. “After we had Emma I began to feel lost. I felt like I lost who I was and the only way to salvage that was work. I felt weighed down by something and I couldn’t quite tell what it was. We had opposite schedules and it all was just so easier to be at work and know my role there.”

“You felt like we weighed you down?”

“Nat, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” You shake your head. “I felt the opposite. I felt happy. I felt loved but I was afraid. That eventually I’d become the imposter that I felt since I was a little girl. Eventually, it would all blow up in my face. But it’s not so black and white. We grew apart for a bit. We distanced ourselves in more ways than one.”

“Right,” Natasha says.

“Natasha, you have to understand that while I take the blame for everything I’ve done you’re not as innocent as you think.” You want to take it back before you fully said it. It could have been worded differently. The look in her eyes tells you that much. Too late.

“What did I do? Please tell me.” Natasha sits up a bit straighter.

“Nat, I’m not trying to be combative.” You glance behind you to make sure the children aren’t coming. “I meant that both of us have had times where we were less than nice to each other. I remember that day a few years ago you came home and started arguments for no real reason at all.”

“There was always a reason.” Natasha frowned.

“So tell me what!” You say a bit louder than necessary. “Everything I did to apologize and make better it never happened. As much as you’d like to think that you were being the perfect wife there are moments where I just couldn’t make you happy. We didn’t know how to work through our problems. That much is clear. The entire reason for the divorce was to give us both that breath of air.”

“As if you didn’t have it before,” Natasha mutters.

“Fuck, Nat,” You cry out. “This is exactly what happens. You beat around the bush. You don’t say what you mean until you’re angry and ready to throw it in my face. Do you want me to say I was busy? Yes, I’ll admit that. Do you want me to say how I’ve disappointed our kids? I’ll admit that too. Do you want me to say that I’m the sole reason our marriage went to shit? Not going to happen.”

“That’s not what I want.” Natasha looks down at her hands.

“Then tell me, I’m not Wanda, I don’t. I can’t read minds.” You wave your hand for her to look at you. “If I did it would save me a lot of trouble let me tell you. What is it that you want from me, Nat?”

“I wanted you to be there,” Natasha shouts over you. “I wanted you to be there. Okay.” She’s speaking past tense.

“What, Nat, be there for what?” Your voice is lower and more hushed as you realize how broken she sounds. Her tears are falling quicker this time and it startles you. “Nat?”

She looks down at her hands avoiding your gaze as she speaks. “Do you remember November 5th a few years ago? I kept nagging you about an appointment we had.” You shake your head in the negative. “Well, I do because I programmed it into both of our calendars.” At your look of confusion, she continues. “You had an impromptu work trip and I figured you just forgot about the day and that I could just reschedule. But I had this bright idea and I went to the doctor’s alone.” Natasha rolls her eyes at herself. “So I went. I wanted to know for myself. Whether I could.” Natasha isn’t speaking in complete sentences which still leaves you a bit confused and you’re catching on quickly. Your eyes widen. You’re putting two and two together. You remember it now. The trip had been a month-long and had taken up all of your energy. You remember her calling you and you being excited about finally making progress with work. It takes everything in you to recall the way she sounded. Over the phone, Natasha sounded different but you thought she was just missing you. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“No, no, no,” You shake your head. You don’t know if it’s possible but your brain is thinking before you can stop it. “Please, Natasha.” You move from your chair to sit on your knees in front of her. Had she been pregnant? Did she miscarry? How could you not have noticed? You want to puke with the thought of Natasha clutching her stomach in pain as she lost her baby. Your baby. Alone. She can see the wheels turning in your head.

“It never happened.” She reveals. “Even after the reversal of the tubal ligation that the Red Room gave me, it didn’t happen. The doctor said that with my line of work and how much trauma I’ve taken to my abdomen even with IVF, the chances of it happening were slim to none.” She lowers her eyes to her lap. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen Natasha and you know it’s taking a lot out of her to tell you this. “I just… I wanted to give you a baby.” Natasha blinks back the tears and your heart shatters instantly. “I wanted to feel them inside of me. I wanted my belly to grow too. I wanted that for myself and I know it’s stupid that I ever thought I could.” Natasha’s bottom lip trembles and you know she’s trying to keep herself from crying any further.

“You’re not stupid for wanting that, Tasha.” You reach your hand up to take hers in yours.

“Aren’t I? I mean, before I met you, I knew it could never happen and I was fine with it.” Natasha shakes her head. “I was fine with never having that. I resented you for giving me hope. I resented you for being what I couldn’t. That’s when the fighting continued. You didn’t notice and all I wanted for you was for you to hold me and tell me things were going to be okay.”

“And I just worked and worked and assumed that you weren’t happy because I wasn’t making you happy.” You summarize. Fuck.

“Please don’t blame yourself for what I just told you.” Natasha frowns. “ I didn’t lie. I was still happy with you. I still wanted you. I wanted that depression to go away and I wanted to forget I ever even tried. I wanted us to push forward.”

“Instead we became something entirely different.” You say. Natasha nods in agreement. “We were too many things at once without ever really being together at the time. We grew into something ugly and we never addressed it healthily. I became distant because I thought I couldn’t make you happy and then you thought the same. I just want to make it clear you’re not less of a woman than me because of this. I wanted you and still want you despite all of it. I love you, Natasha. I love you and I always have.”

“How do we fix this?” Natasha peers out over the balcony. “How do we fix us without falling into the same pattern?”

“We take it one day at a time.” You say. “We do the work. We stay honest. And I- I take off of work for a while.”

“What, y/n, you don’t have to do that.” Natasha looks at you again.

“No, I think I do,” You assure her. “At least for now. My family needs me. I want to be there for you.”

Natasha’s green eyes show just how much she’s hurt and heartbroken all at once.

“Okay,” She says finally. You stand to lead her back to the bed. She follows and waits for you to crawl under the covers. You raise the cover for her to climb in and you take her into your arms. She turns so that she’s the small spoon to your big one. She’s pressed so close to you and you never want to let her go. You can feel the sobs rack her body as she silently cries. You can feel your own tears drenching your pillow as you kiss the back of her head.

Marriage was hard. Marriage was tough. But so were you.

You and Natasha would work on things together. You would take it one day at a time just like you said.

---> next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #angst #trigger warning

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