#as in they know it's requited AND THEY'RE STILL PINING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wardenparker · 9 months

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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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luxaofhesperides · 10 months

Note

Ghostlights cuddling for comfort, but also they're oblivious idiots who are pining over each other but thinks its unrequited

“Ugh,” Duke says, dropping down onto the bench besides Danny.

Danny nudges him with his shoulder. “Rough night?”

“Slept for like an hour,” Duke mutters, “This sucks. My head’s going to burst like balloon and my eyes are about to fall out.”

“Yikes. You know, you could have just canceled for today. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Duke sighs and presses the heel of his palms against his eyes. “Maybe, but I would have minded. We barely see each other anymore, man. I’ve missed you.”

“Oh.” Danny bites his lip, trying and failing to stop from smiling. Something soft in his chest glows at the words, a growing spark of happiness in knowing that for this, at least, the feeling is requited. It’s nice to hear that he was missed, and it would be even nicer if Duke wasn’t in pain, pushing himself just because he didn’t want to cancel. Carefully, Danny reaches for him and pulls his hands away from his face. “Here,” he says, “Let me.”

His hands are always cold. Most of him is cold, really — side effect of having an ice core. Sam told him once that his hands were better than an ice pack, and he’s hoping she’s right or this is going to be weird.

Danny gently presses his fingers against Duke’s temples, his hands cradling Duke’s face. Duke is tense for a few seconds, then abruptly relaxes, leaning into Danny’s hands.

“Is this helping?” he asks, voice hushed to keep from aggravating Duke’s migraine.

“Mhm. Yeah, it feels great. Thanks, Danny.”

Duke goes completely limp, leaning against Danny. They sit there for a minute in silence, the rest of the world feeling far away. As nice as it is to just exist together, he knows what Duke needs most right now is quiet and stillness. Gotham is very much not that, and every honking car that passes by makes Duke wince, trying to turn away from the road even more.

“Hey, let’s head back to my place. It’s close by, and a lot quieter than out here.”

“Are you sure? I know we planned to go to the arcade today…”

“The arcade can wait. You’re more important.”

Duke blinks open his eyes and looks at Danny with something soft in his gaze. Being so close together, barely any space between them, with Duke looking at him like that makes Danny’s cheeks flush red, unable to think anything but please kiss me.

Which is never going to happen. Duke is his friend, and just his friend, no matter how much Danny wishes they could be something more. It’s a pipe dream, something so impossible it’s almost laughable.

Duke likes being friends with normal human Danny. He doesn’t want to imagine how he would react if he found out about Danny being half ghost, assuming this imaginary reveal happens without Danny being hunted down and cut open by GIW agents.

He’s still in hiding, always waiting for the worst as he stays in the apartment his friends (living and dead) had set up for him. The building is for ghosts so it technically doesn’t exists, which means it’s the safest place for Danny while he’s actively being hunted by the US government.

He can’t be honest with Duke. Can’t be as close to him as he wants to be. Duke deserves more than to be dragged into Danny’s problems and put in danger.

Even so, Danny can’t help but want him around, pushing his luck each time they hang out.

“Come on,” Danny urges, standing up. He pulls his hands away and Duke’s brow immediately furrows, his pain returning. “It’s only a few streets away.”

Duke sighs, then visibly braces himself before he stands up. Danny tucks himself into Duke’s side, taking as much of his weight as he can as he walks them down the street. It’s times like these that he wishes he could reveal his powers safely and just fly them to his apartment. But even without the GIW gunning for his head, showing off powers in Gotham is a sure fire way to get a target painted on his back.

“Almost there,” he says as they turn a corner.

His apartment doesn’t have a fixed address. It doesn’t have a fixed location at all, drifting around, but it likes this street the most, so this is where it usually is. Danny takes them halfway down the street, then turns into an alley, following his ghost sense.

Where there’s usually a dead end is instead a building, looking as if it’s always been tucked away in this alley. Danny keeps a tight grip on Duke as they climb the front steps, silently asking for the building to let him stay while he’s with Danny. The door opens easily, which is as good as an agreement, and they’re inside without anything going wrong. The small entrance lobby is empty, with an area for packages filled with clearly magical artifacts carelessly wrapped in bubble wrap.

Danny drags them past that quickly, hoping Duke doesn’t notice, and calls the elevator down. It arrives silently, the doors opening to let another tenant out. Carefully, Danny positions himself in front of Duke, making sure he doesn’t see how the tenant, who nods at Danny, has a still bleeding wound in his stomach that has him nearly split in half.

“Alright,” he says, ushering Duke into the elevator, “Just a little ride up and then you can lay down.” He hits the button for the fourth floor and they ride up in silence, Duke dropping his head down to onto Danny’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his waist as he stands behind Danny. He’s glad Duke can’t see his face; there’s no doubt that he’s blushing like crazy and if that doesn’t give away his feelings, he doesn’t know what will.

Thankfully the elevator ride isn’t long. If Danny had to go for more than a minute with Duke breathing softly against his neck, his warm hands on his stomach, Danny would have collapsed into a pile of flustered goo.

He opens the door to his apartment and kicks his shoes off. Duke follows in suit, still plastered onto Danny’s back, refusing to let go.

“Come on,” Danny says, leading him to the couch, “Sit down and I’ll grad you some water and painkillers.”

Duke nods against his shoulder, then slowly detaches himself from Danny and makes his way to the couch. He drops onto it gracelessly, pressing his face into a cushion.

Danny winces. He must be feeling really bad. He knows how bad migraines can be with sleep deprivation, having suffered through high school with only a few hours of sleep at night, if he got to sleep at all. Frankly, it’s a testament to Duke’s strength that he lasted the entire walk to Danny’s apartment without complaint.

He returns to the living room with a full glass of water and a bottle of Advil, setting them on the coffee table to crouch next to the couch and place a cold hand on Duke’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly when Duke turns to look at him, “Is Advil alright? It’s all I had.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Danny.”

Duke sits up and shakes out three pills, then washes them down with water. He drains the rest of the cup quickly, then falls back against the couch with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

Duke immediately reaches a hand out for him.

“Um?”

“Sit next to me. I feel better when I’m next to you.”

“Oh! Alright. Bet you’re only saying that because my hands are cold.”

“You caught me,” Duke laughs, pulling Danny onto the couch. He goes easily, tucking his legs beneath himself, and places his hands on Duke’s temples again. “Man, I owe you my life.”

“I don’t think my cold hands are worth quite that much.”

Duke hums, but doesn’t say anything else, so Danny settles in and focuses on keeping his hands a little colder than normal.

The apartment is quiet. No sound from outside can reach them, one of the few ways the building looks after its tenants. Danny and Duke fall against each other, at ease with each other. There’s no need to fill in the silence, and with Duke’s eyes closed, Danny doesn’t have to carefully shove down his feelings and act normal. He indulges in the warmth of Duke’s body pressed against his, a hand on his knee and an arm around his waist.

He keeps his hands as steady as possible as he looks over Duke, adoring all the little details he can see; a small scar on his chin, the fullness of his lips, the way his hair falls into his face now that it’s long enough to keep in braids.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Duke murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

You’re cute, he thinks, I feel safe with you. I want to kiss you. I wish I could be brave enough to be honest.

I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave.

“Nothing,” he says. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I might fall asleep though.”

“That’s fine. You know I would never say no to a nap.”

“Come here, then,” Duke says, and before Danny can do anything, Duke gets a stronger grip on his waist and pulls Danny down on top of him as he falls back towards the arm rest and gets his legs on the couch.

“Duke!”

Duke laughs underneath him, and Danny can feel it roll through him. Okay! This is definitely something he’s going to think about… forever. Wow, he can feel Duke’s abs tense up as he laughs, and has he always been ripped? Unfair. Also unfairly hot.

“Is this alright?” Duke asks, voice soft and quiet. There’s a hesitancy around his words that Danny doesn’t like hearing, and he brings his hands down to sweep his thumbs soothingly over Duke’s cheeks.

“Of course it is, man. I’d never refuse cuddles.”

“Okay. I’m gonna pass out now. Wake me in an hour?”

Danny moves his hands back up to his temples and says, “Sure. Get some rest, Duke. You really need it.”

He feels Duke relax beneath him, breaths slowing down as he begins to fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet and Duke is warm in a way Danny never can be with his ice core. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but curled up on the couch with Duke in the safety of an apartment that only barely exists has him drifting off in no time at all.

. . .

(Duke wakes up before Danny. Their legs are tangled together and Duke has moved during his sleep, turning so Danny is held tightly to his chest, his back to the cushions, while Duke is balancing very carefully at the edge of the couch.

It’s been hours, and he should be heading home soon, but he stays as he is, enjoying this quiet moment for as long as he can have it. Danny is in his arms, safe and content with him, his head no longer hurts beyond a residual ache he can easily ignore, and he can admire how pretty Danny is without being worried about Danny catching his lingering stares.

These moments are precious to him, rare as they are, and he wants nothing more than to kiss Danny once he’s awake and let his feelings be known.

But the Signal has lots of dangerous people after him, and Gnomon has started causing problems in Gotham again. So he’ll bite his tongue and keep his less platonic feelings buried under lock and key until it’s safe enough for Danny to be around him more often.

And when that time comes, he can only hope that Danny will feel the same way.

That’s all far away from the stillness of Danny’s apartment. All that matters is that he has Danny in his arms. Everything else can wait.

For now, this is more than enough.)

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dpxdc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #once again unable to resist the urge to write abt living buildings #duke and danny are pining no stop bc they're both like 'this is a bad time for a relationship/i have to keep too many secrets' etc etc #while also cuddling and going on dates that they dont call dates out loud and sighing wistfully when they think of each other #taking what small things they can while trying to hide their feelings....#some other batfam member is going to stumble upon them in public and chat a bit w dukes friend #then walk away texting the group chat like 'hey duke and his friend are madly in love but too shy/stupid to do something abt it.#lets play cupid lol' and then theyre all trying to get duke and danny together #it gets to the point that every time they hang out it ends with them doing some nonsense to escape the batfam and their kind but unhinged #attempts to get them together #thanks for the prompt!!!

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 year

Note

I have request for Spencer Reid x Plus size fem!reader. Maybe her and Spencer are good friends and she gets stood up on a date or her date leaves after seeing her and Spencer swoops in and love confession.

p.s I love you work. <3

༉‧₊˚. 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

― pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

― summary: admitting that you got stood up on a date would be like admitting defeat, too bad spencer's too good of a best friend to let you go through this alone, even if he was the last person you wanted to see.

― warnings: best friends to lovers, getting stood up on dates, a red flag named chris (sorry to all the chris' out there), mutual pining, requited love, love confessions, and implied dates!

― wc: 1457

⋆ a/n: OH, MY GOODNESS IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE WRITTEN AN ACTUAL ONESHOT. i got hit with a random bout of inspiration out of nowhere and i have a bunch of fanfics that already have banners made but they're unwritten and rotting in my drafts so i'm trying to clean them out first. thank you for this and i hope you enjoy some best friend!spencer reid!!

masterlist | AO3

Leave it up to you to be stood up on a date you didn’t even want to go on.

You weren't even looking for anything serious with someone, you just needed a distraction, you needed anything that would help you move on from him. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault that you were in love with him – well, it actually kind of is – but that’s beside the point.

There was no way you could continue to sit there and allow yourself to wallow in self-pity over the fact that your feelings for your longtime best friend weren’t reciprocated. You were a grown woman for God’s sakes! And as a grown woman, it was up to you to make grown up decisions. One phone call to Derek was all it took for you to get hooked up with some dude that he knew.

“He’s a good guy,” He said.

Yeah, right. Good guy your ass.

Not only did you look stupid, but you were left stranded in a sports bar surrounded by a bunch of strangers – no, scratch that! Almost all of the patrons in this bar tonight were men, it was football season. You were practically asking to get murdered! What kind of FBI agent would you be if you allowed yourself to be murdered over the fact that some guy’s team lost.

With a sigh, you gazed at your chat between Chris and you. You had sent him a text thirty minutes ago asking where he was when he was ten minutes late, but even that message had been left unread.

The only reason why you were still here was because you were oh so painfully embarrassed, and you hoped that others around you couldn’t tell that there was supposed to be a second person joining you at your very barren booth that you had somehow managed to score.

Now that you think about it, how in the hell had you allowed this man to talk you into going to a sports bar instead of oh, I don’t know, a restraunt with a calm, and comfortable atmosphere?

Maybe it was the fact that the only person’s face you could see in your mind as you discussed where you were going to go together was Spencer’s. As ashamed as you were to admit, you mostly imagined a disappointed look on his face when he realized you were going out with someone else, but even you knew that was damn near impossible.

It wasn’t your failed date that was the shit show – even though it is a close second – it was you that was the main attraction. How could you have allowed yourself to be this childish? You weren’t in high school anymore, and you hadn’t been in some years, but old habits die hard, you guess?

It didn’t have to be common knowledge to tell that your romantic life when you were in school was very, very sad. You often found yourself alone on most weekends, ample amount of time to study right under your fingertips. You figured that when you had gotten older things would have gotten better but… nope.

You didn’t know who to call.

Would you call Derek and blame him? No, he couldn’t have known, but you could totally get him to beat Chris’ ass. The thought of your favorite and very muscular chocolate thunder roughing the piece of shit up helped to easy your nerves, badly enough. There was just one person you couldn’t bring yourself to call, and that was Spencer.

Calling Spencer meant that you were giving up, that you were waving the white flag, that you were still in love with him and no number of blind dates, good or bad, could change that.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought, at least you had dressed up in something comfortable.

“Can I sit here?” You heard someone ask over the bustling noise of the bar.

“Honestly, you can just have the thi–” You spoke without looking up, but when you did, your words died in your throat.

There Spencer stood in his full glory; tall, lanky, nerdy, and extremely uncomfortable, but nonetheless, he slid into the sticky seat across from you with an awkward smile.

“Spence? What are you doing here?” You asked in shock, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I uh- Morgan called me. He said that Chris told him to tell you something came up, but I uh- I figured that wasn’t true.” He explained sympathetically. You scoffed, your body slouching along with the noise. “Yeah, no shit.” Your words were bitter and harsh, which caused you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“Fuck, Spence. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to talk to you like that, I’m just… frustrated.”

He reached out his hand, albeit reluctantly seeing as though the table was in the same state as the seat, maybe even a bit worse. You looked down at it then at him before relenting, your full hand slipping into his lithe one perfectly, as if it belonged there.

The fact that this felt so right made your stomach twist sickeningly, fingerings twitching in desperation to pull away. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to stay. You did not have the mental compacity to dig yourself out of another hole.

“No, it’s okay. I understand.” He reassured, his thumb caressing the back of your knuckles gently. “I came as soon as he called,” He then looked around, “Especially after he told me where you were.” You laughed a bit at his concern, your body feeling lighter as it finally straightened.

A soft grin graced your features.

“Thank you, Spence. Really. I know how uncomfortable these kinds of places make you. I just- I really thought tonight was going to go differently.” I thought that things between us were going to go differently, is what you really meant.

“I’m sorry, I know you liked him.”

You grimaced at the word ‘liked.’

“I think ‘liked’ would be the last word I would use to describe how I feel for Chris.”

It was his turn for his eyebrows to furrow. “What do you mean.”

You huffed. “What I meant was that I didn’t even want to go on this stupid fucking date anyways, but I had too… I had too…” You allowed your words to trail off when you had caught yourself about to admit something you had fought years to keep under wraps.

“You had to what?”

Goddamn him and his never-ending curiosity.

“Just leave it alone, please?” You pleaded. You looked up at him from beneath your eyelashes, your gaze soft and vulnerable. “Okay.”

A silence – what was an equivalent to silence – settled over the both of you. The air was thick with unspoken words and feelings, an invisible line was drawn that the two of you were too scared to cross.

“I would’ve never stood you up, you know.” Spencer piped up quietly, his grip that had gone limp in yours tightening. “What?” Your breath hitched. “And I would’ve taken you to someplace nicer than this.” His voice was shaky and forceful, as if he was forcing himself speak in fear that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“What are you saying?” You were breathless, the butterflies that fluttered around in your gut making you nauseous. Hope bloomed at a dangerous rate in your chest.

“What I’m saying is that if I were to take you out on a date, it would be a lot better than this.” He had finally gotten the courage to raise his gaze instead of focusing on where your hands were interlaced. “I would take you anywhere you wanted to go, then I would try my best to make it memorable for you because I…” He gulped. “Because I love you.”

Your ears were ringing. There was sweat beginning to form on your hairline.

“You’re being serious?” The question sounded more like a plea. “Because if you’re saying this because you feel bad, I-” He cut you off. “I don’t feel bad.” He lowered his head to where yours was in an attempt to connect your gazes deeper.

“I really do love you. I- I have for a long time.” Spencer confessed.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” You said through a wobbly smile. His smile matched yours. You could feel the fact that both of your hands were extremely clammy with nerves, but none of you could find it within yourself to care.

“Can I cash in that date now?”

“Now?” He asked incredulously, lifting his free arm to check the time on his wrist. “It’s pretty late.”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m pretty sure we can figure that out.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @zippertwat @alixwriter

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just-j-really · 9 months

Text

While I'm on the subject of Dreamling-does-tropes-wrong:

Hanahaki au where Hob's the one with hanahaki. Because I think however you set it up Hob refuses to play by the rules of the genre and the potential there is like catnip to me.

"The cure is confessing your love" variant? Hob's just like "Well fuck this actually" and tells Dream he loves him the moment he starts coughing up flowers. And there's so much potential there!

-Poor Hob tries to confess to Dream every time they interact and something keeps getting in his way- he falls in love in 1689, in 1789 they get interrupted, in 1889 he gets halfway through a confession and Dream YOU DAREs him, in 1989 he gets stood up. In 2022 Dream shows up at his table in the New Inn and Hob just blurts out "I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU" before Dream has the chance to actually say anything.

-Modern day, post-reunion, Dream doesn't want to intrude on Hob's life but he does want to see him more so he decides to go for the totally rational move of using his Dream-powers to spy on Hob- which means he gets a front-row seat to Hob slowly succumbing to hanahaki the second their meeting ends. All of Hob's friends/coworkers/acquaintances are REAL worried for him, but he's just like "it's seriously nbd I'll just tell him next time I see him." Dream is also REAL worried while spying from afar, but eventually goes to Hob in person to beg him to confess to whoever he's in love with. (Could be very serious and emotional, could play like that one "just tell them you love them" "alright. hey, I love you." "yes, like that!" meme.)

-Hob blurts out a love confession at... literally any of their canonical meetings, and the rest of the fic is dealing with the fallout. I think the simplest way to do this is 1889, with the confession standing in for "I think you're lonely." I think the most interesting way to do this is 1489, because so much would change. I think the FUNNIEST way to do this is 1589, yes Hob is still married.

But then you can also do the "the cure is having your love requited" variant, where Hob suffers through several centuries with an incurable lung disease. One of his most treasured dreams is that someone will come up with a cure (but for Plot reasons it keeps just not happening, like someone does come up with a cure but the side effects just aren't worth it if you can technically survive having flowers in your lungs. And/or he's never found a doctor he trusted not to freak out if he died and came back on the operating table).

And then you've got options such as:

-Dream falls in love in 1689, and either they start up a relationship right then, or they spend several centuries where Hob thinks they're in a relationship (his feelings were returned, of course they are!) and Dream thinks he's pining hopelessly for Hob, who could never love him

-Dream Does Not realize that Hob is in love with him (and in fact thinks Hob just keeps getting hanahaki, over and over, for different people, and wonders why Death saddled him with the world's Messiest human). And then he falls in love with Hob.

-Dream DOES realize Hob is in love with him. Unfortunately, he falls in love with Hob (or more realizes that what he was feeling WAS love) while fishbowled. Fortunately, Hob notices the lack of flowers, gets worried about what that means (because if his Stranger returns his feelings then why isn't he here? the flowers can't be gone because he's dead, Hob refuses to believe it). Cue a fishbowl rescue!

-Dream falls in love with Hob post-fishbowl, but is in denial about his ow feelings and assumes Hob found a workable cure sometime while he was fishbowled, or got over him. He's VERY SAD about this and can't figure out why. Hob is busy googling 'how to ask out a guy who i empirically know likes me back but only looks at me mournfully when i try to flirt'

Like I want to write this fic so bad but there are so many directions i want to go with it...

#dreamling #my fic #hanahaki au

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fairykazu · 9 months

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MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: GETTING YOU UNDER THE MISTLETOE FT. XIAO contents // pining, friends to lovers, siblings! hutao & qiqi, requited love notes // this is mainly xiao's pov and he thinks you don't like him back. also, if it's not implied enough, you're aware that xiao likes you but you want him to make the first move. i kind of gave up at the end when i was building this up. baba - dad, gege - older brother & jiejie - older sister masterlist

it was nearly time for the christmas party xiao's family is throwing and of course, his best friend who he is not at all in love with, name is invited. name always have been coming to his family's celebrations but why does it feel different now?

maybe because his sisters are trying to insist him to finally confess the feelings, he has had harboring for 17 years. "xiao, you can't keep stumbling around and acting stupid around them because you like them. it's kind of hard to watch, right, qiqi?" hu tao said, turning to the 10 years old on the couch. she was about to answer until,

xiao rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, "don't answer that, qiqi."

qiqi closed her mouth as hu tao kept saying, "qiqi, you know i'm right. isn't it hard to see xiao kicking his legs and giggling after name leaves."

xiao's neutral bitch face morphed in fear, wallowing in self conciousness. is it really that bad?

the little lavender haired girl paused to think about it and sadly, to xiao's demise, "hmm... jiejie, i do think it's weird to see gege with cooties. i think uncle baizhu has medicine for it."

oh god, it really is that bad.

letting whatever qiqi said sink into xiao's shoulders, hu tao walked away to the closet, pulling out a white board stand. it squeaked, hu tao said, "exactly, which is why i made a plan." on the whiteboard, it said in bolded letters, "mission impossible: xianame christmas edition".

if you looked closely, you could see the faint words of previous "mission impossible"'s that xiao rejected and hu tao had to wipe off. xiao was nearly go along with the plan but skeptical of hu tao because usually, she's a trickster, there's always something up her sleeve.

"another plan?" xiao replied, furrowing a brow. hu tao skipped around, chirping,

"yep! this time it would work, i swear." hu tao's hand resting on the board's shelf.

"you swear? you said this last time on halloween last year and scared name nearly to death."

"i didn't scare them to death..." hu tao trailed off. "they only fainted."

"isn't it the same?" xiao asked. hu tao could tell that he was growing even more skeptical of the plan. as his sister, she knew that she needed to swerve away from that and push him into confessing. it's really embarrassing to see him try to make a move only to get rejected or mid-way change the plan.

"no! anyway, my new and foolproof plan is that since it's christmas," hu tao flipped the board with her other hand. "we can use the mistletoe as our advantage and use it for a romantic moment where you confess your feelings to name. i even asked dad about this and he agreed to it."

mistletoe? isn't that kissing?

"really, you got dad to agree to this."

"yes, and sure you might catch cooties." behind them, qiqi winced out of ickiness. "but better than nothing right?"

xiao stood there for a moment, rethinking about this. "are you sure it would happen perfectly? we don't even know if name likes me back."

"ummm, maybe the christmas spirit would enchant them." hu tao shrugged as xiao's eyes narrowed.

"i don't want a spirit to enchant them. that's not ethinical."

"xiao, don't shame on the spirits. they're very kind, y'know. anyway, the offer still stands but for a priceeeeee." hu tao replied, smiling. smiling like the devil, xiao knew something was up.

"what is it?"

"invite your second bestest friend ever over." hu tao chirped, hands together in a ball across her chest. she patted her eyes, coming closer to xiao, as xiao extended his hand out, creating a distance between himself and his sister.

"who?"

"yanfei!"

xiao tilted his head, hands still crossed. "yanfei? im not friends with yanfei."

"but if you want this plan to really work..." hu tao trailed off, hoping the bait she laid would catch her older brother. until qiqi said, "gege, i think jiejie has caught cooties too."

hu tao nervously laughed, "qiqi, i don't think-"

"ok, ill invite yanfei to the party but if this little christmas plan doesn't work, you're not allowed to make any more, got it?"

"oh my god, thank you sooo much, gege!! you're the bestest older brother anyone could ever have."

---

it was almost time for the party, the house was decked out with decorations. although the usual red and green theme is what christmas is, xiao's family preferred the gold and red theme. in the kitchen, gingerbread houses were prepped to be put together. as dad helped hu tao place mistletoes around the house, giggling each time. "dad, isn't this bow kind of off centered?"

"hm, i do think it is off centered. do you want me to fix it?" he asked, holding onto the ladder. hu tao replied with a no.

if you looked around you would see the each archway of a room would have a mistletoe, although, none of them are upstairs in their rooms. qiqi asked if she wouldn't be kissed because she didn't want to go to uncle baizhu's home for the vaccine for cooties. xiao made a mental note to tell baizhu to stop telling her that cooties exist when in reality, they are not.

xiao was pacing around the living room again, qiqi was following him like a little duckling. "gege, are you worried about the plan? i think i have vaccines for the cooties. i think though."

"no, it's fine, qiqi." he picked her up, holding her. "do you think it would go wrong?"

qiqi huffed, "no. i see name and they like you. i think i saw them-"

xiao tilted his head, "saw them what?"

"ah, i forgot."

xiao wilted a little.

---

as the house is fully decorated and hu tao busted her ass off to make it as romantic and christmasy as possible. the door rang, alerting everyone in the family to turn around. is it who xiao thinks it would be? name isn't late but they're not always super early. just before xiao reached for the door, hu tao squealed in delight, racing towards the door.

"hii name!!! and yanfei??? woah, did xiao invite you?" hu tao said, acting all coy as if she didn't try to puppeteer the whole situation. xiao noticed that yanfei's face was flustered. as he thought, huh, it is requited.

"ah, yes, i think so. i mean! yes, he did." yanfei yelped, clearly nervous but hu tao most likely saw her as perfect. xiao averted his eyes to you and god, he thinks you just killed him. from your sparking eyes to your bright smile, your little wave and he can't compute.

xiao.chr ran into an unexpected error 404

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

you walked towards xiao, confused as to why he's just dazing off into nothingness. hu tao's conversation with yanfei blurring to the sound of christmas music. you poked his cheek, "xiaoo...?" seeing him go from reality from dreamland, which is strange, it's more like the opposite for the two of you. "are you there?"

"ah!" xiao yelped, blinking. huh, you never noticed how long his lashes were. "sorry, i was thinking about something."

"i could tell. what were you thinking about so hard?"

"gege has cooo-" xiao covered qiqi's mouth, "i was thinking of my grades after finals." as qiqi kept trying to talk, he made qiqi walk to hu tao and yanfei. "qiqi has a weird phase of saying cooties. sorry about that."

"no, it's kind of endearing." you replied, walking into the kitchen. xiao saw the little mistletoe above the kitchen's archway, afraid of kissing you in the moment, he redirected you to his room. "my dad's preparing something to snack on and he doesn't like being disturbed. um, lets go to my room instead."

"huh? but your dad loves when people watch him cook so he's not lonely in there." oblivious to the fact that the mistletoes were hung everywhere, xiao knew that hu tao had forgotten his own room. "he changed his rules."

you quirked a brow, "don't lie?"

"i promise i'm not lying." xiao said, trying to make himself sound not lying at all. until qiqi's voice replied, "gege, why are you a liar? i can see from jiejie's room that your pants are on fire. baba loves when people watch him cook."

"see, xiao, i can see what you're trying to pull here." you said. ypu're getting too close. very much to xiao's liking but to make a move? nah, he's good. seeing and loving you from a distance is good for him too.

"what are you talking about?" xiao said, pretending to be oblivious to what you're saying. you sighed and pulled him closer to you. he could feel the warmth from your face. he knows he's flustered by now. "you know what you're doing."

what?? i dont understand.

"what??"

"aw man, i thought this would bait you into telling me." xiao laughed mostly out of fear and anxiety. "you're just as mischievous as hu tao."

why did he compare you to his sister. it's over.

"ha! if i really was, you would've died by now."

he exhaled, "you're right."

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

xiao was too caught up in the conversation he's having with you, he didn't know that he was right under a trap, the infamous mistletoe. you began to whisper, "look up."

when he did, his face paled as if he didn't agree with hu tao's plan to begin with. but unbeknownst to xiao, you set up this plan with hu tao. you always had even though you had every other chance to make a move on him, he always took it as platonic.

"oh." you pulled him closer,

"ready?" even though he was about to answer, you interrupted him with a kiss. wow you could've saved yourself 17 years of this but you liked to play the long game. xiao just stood there for a moment just before he returned the kiss.

the kiss moment was broken up by a loud flash sound and qiqi crying about how you two would catch cooties. "we need this for memories, can you kiss again for the family album?" hu tao asked as xiao pulled away from your embrace to yell at her. you laughed, winking at hu tao, pulling her brother away from her.

bonus:

zhongli started to console qiqi, cradling her into his arms, "cooties don't exist, qiqi."

"but, baba, uncle baizhu said, 'cooties are very contagious. to cure it i have to get the vaccine from his house.'" qiqi began to cry as zhongli wiped a tear from her face.

"baizhu likes to tease you since you are little-"

"baba! i am not little. i have two digits, i am older now."

"of course, you are a big girl now." zhongli comforting his daughter again, grabbing a gingerbread cookie from the counter. she takes it and cries,

"yes, baba! im a big girl and uncle wouldn't lie to me wouldn't he?" zhongli placed her on his lap, sitting on the couch. "well, no, of course he wouldn't. this is like how jiejie treats gege."

"ohhh."

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aislinrayne · 6 months

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[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone. In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

“I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.

The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.

Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling. His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co.. For one, they’d gained quite the reputation. Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s. He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

Well, you get the point. It hadn’t looked promising.

Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. Those days had been filled with anxiety. Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on. How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See? He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name. It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight. And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

George was the next oldest. Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once. He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident. In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself. With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases. If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade. The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her. They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down. She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date. In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation. George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling. Anthony felt like he might be sick. By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five. Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often. Then, another article in a larger paper. Followed by another, then several more.

Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps. The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time. In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach. Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life. How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field? Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again? Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss. Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay. Though, had he known–

A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey. The old building slumps under the weight of time. Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons. Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London. The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

“Ah, Mr. Lockwood! A pleasure, as always. How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.

“Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine! I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently? I’m here to pick up for her.”

After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from. When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.

“It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent. I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.

“Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet. We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening. I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

“Of course, I understand completely. Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”

It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept. He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.

Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed. Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room. Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents. What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs. Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on. It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge. When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house. Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.

When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone. Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down. As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention. At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds. It feels like someone’s watching him. Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing. Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings. The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.

Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper. All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab. Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud. He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind. Just… most of it. Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.

Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic. If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore. The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall. Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good. He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window. There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day. He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness. But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed. He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed. With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair. The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before. Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.

The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful. While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house. Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation? For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to. Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time. There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future. It’s nearly thirty minutes past six. She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.

Bloody hell, that is the final straw. He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour. If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy. He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger. Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy. However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn. Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–

An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path. The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene. If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated. He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn. Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage. The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved. When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns. Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right. His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open. He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house. Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space. To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls. Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter. Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control. Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside. And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance. He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

“Sorry it took me so long, darling. Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him. Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold. A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath. In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf. There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier. It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

“Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole! The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it. He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

“Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with? Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.

He knew this routine like the back of his hand. She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind. The silence is deafening. Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder. He’d been right about the look, at least. The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day. But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

Shit. He’s really fucked up this time.

“Y’know what? Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.” Time comes shuddering to a halt. His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears. If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

“What do you mean? What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury. The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him. He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length. So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

That was the plan, at least. But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances. He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison. Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs. He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

Then, it stops. It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.

“You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light. There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own. It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later. He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition. She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up. When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates. Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.

A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender. His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand. She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist. The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety. Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him. As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him. He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation. Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view. A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away. Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

“Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.

She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze. After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.

“Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom. Husband’s name was Harold Roland. There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen. Twenty quid says that’s the Source,” she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh! And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

“Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from. In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang. He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger. The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling. As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time. He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field. Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan. All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck. He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls. She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy. As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

“Follow my lead,” she says. It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment. He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him. So that’s what she’d been up to.

She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other room. In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something. Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them. He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls. A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth. She immediately dives for the floor and–

He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot. The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom. He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

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mrghostrat · 10 months

Note

okay you may have answered this before, i have a memory of it but im not sure if it applied to the streamer au, but what are their ages?? cuz everything here would apply to young 20 year olds (roommates, unknown requited pining, content creation in general, etc) but it's hilarioooous to think that they're in their 50s and this still all applies.

i can imagine chat being FURIOUS that neither of them are noticing these things/knows about it/can see what's happening etc if they're older LMAO

THEY'RE ABSOLUTELY 50 COME ONNNNNN

if a 6,000+ year old angel can be this stupid then a 54 year old man dont stand a chance

#ineffable streamers #ask a rat

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qe-podfic · 7 months

Text

Want To Voice Act In A Massive Multivoice Podfic?

Characters That Still Need To Be Voiced:

AZIRAPHALE

CROWLEY

ANATHEMA

NEWTON

BEELZEBUB

GABRIEL

MURIEL

SANDALPHON

WARLOCK

Quantum Entangled

Fic Summary:

They fit together like the answer to a question they didn’t know they were asking. Two jigsaw puzzles made by the same cosmic company. Each, a distinct picture on its own, but cut from the same lithographic template so that the pieces could be intermingled into amalgam artworks. Monochrome individually, but a beautifully stark contrast together. Contradictive in their antithetical sameness. Crowley was fucked. Oh, he was so utterly fucked. --- AKA the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper.

Rating: Mature

Words: 51,266

Relationships:

Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Crowley & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens)

Characters:

Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Muriel (Good Omens), Shax (Good Omens), Sandalphon (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Human, Pining, Mutual Pining, academic!au, sloooooooow buuuuurn, the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper, Schrodinger - Freeform, Quantum Mechanics, Matchmaking, matchmaking the matchmakers, most of the characters are from GO, but there is one friendly Ukrainian grandma OC, Fluff, Miscommunication, Light Angst, Banter, Humor, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is somehow Worse at Feelings (Good Omens), Requited Unrequited Love, they're so stupid, They're literally scientists but they're so STUPID, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), There Was Only One Bed

Language: English

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inevitably-johnlocked · 11 months

Note

hey steph!! would you happen to have any 'medium burn' (slow burn for the impatient) Johnlock fics? preferably minimal to no spice and a happy ending is a must! my weak heart can not bear an angsty ending :<

Thank you for all you do here <3

Hey Nonny!

HAHAHAH AHHHHH YES. The Medium Burn, huh. I never thought of calling my shorter "slow burn" fic lists Medium burn, but like... that's a good thing to call it! Because you don't have to wait too long to get it, hahha!

Ah, let me collect all the shorter fics on my Slow Burn Fics Lists and compile them here! I provide ratings for all of them, and chose to keep under.... 25K, let's say! If you're here on my blog, I'm guessing you can read through my lists like eating candy, so 25K is nothing hee hee.

I tag all my fics, so feel free to ignore the Ratings and Sad tags that you don't want to read <3

MEDIUM BURN FICS (Slow Burn Under 25K w.)

New Year, New Beginning by DaisyFairy (T, 810 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, New Year’s Eve, John POV, Friends to Lovers) – New Year at a crime scene and John makes a decision.

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

In Dreams by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 1,340 w., 1 Ch. || Falling in Love, Accidental Cuddling, Snuggling, Fluff, Romance, Domestic Fluff) – Every once in a while, the dark makes it easier to see.

There's Always Three of Us by Itsallfine (T, 1,765 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic/Post TFP, Parentlock / Rosie, Angelo’s, First Kiss, January 29, Love Declarations) – Sherlock takes John and Rosie out to Angelo's and gets a chance to correct the biggest mistake of his life.

Want by siennna (T, 1,806 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Pining, First Kiss Requited, Second Person POV Sherlock) – When John speaks, you hear more than words. You hear the rise and fall of his tone, the comfortable quake of his laughter, the warm pauses of silence in between. When John laughs, there are stars glittering on his tongue and galaxies resting just behind his teeth, and you wish you could press your lips there and burrow into the warm sound. Part 6 of sienna’s favorites

100 ways to say 'I love you' by Teatrolley (NR, 2,143 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Fluff, Domestics) – Sherlock sleeps with John’s body next to him, and wakes up to find him making them both toast in the kitchen with sleep still sitting in the corner of his eye, and he holds on tight to every little intimacy that John gives him; every little small moment, every little fond smile. It could be enough. Still, he’d like more. But Sherlock Holmes doesn’t know how to ask for things. Luckily, John does. In which there are a hundred phrases and none of them are “I love you.” Until they are.

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2,161 w., 1 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Possessive Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Post Mary) – Sherlock hasn't ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn't bother him to propose to John even though they're not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious.

Rooftop Confession by Random_Nexus (T, 2,514 w., 1 Ch. || Ace Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Friendship / Love, Angsty Fluff) – Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.

BBCSH 'How To Save A Life' by tigersilver (T, 2,784 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Angsty Schmoop, Requited Love) – Pining, requited, and unabated spates of 'first kiss' fluff. Post Mary, AU, mildly cracky. John lays a smooch on Sherlock's nape in passing. The world does that thing it does when it wobbles and Sherlock practically falls off his own pins. Part 1 of 'How To...'

What He's Like by magikspell (E, 2,919 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, First Time, Inexperienced Sherlock) – Realistic first time. They love each other so much.

Once is Enough by Jominerva (T, 3,030 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Whump) – Just as the earth rises to meet the sun at every mountain crest, John reaches out for Sherlock and takes his hand in his own."Tell me it won't end like this," he says, blue eyes holding grey while he laces their fingers together. Sherlock lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "I wish I could."

A Bit of Indulgence by beltainefaerie (NR, 3,364 w. || Fake Relationship, Pride Parade, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – A case leads John and Sherlock to fake being boyfriends and John runs into an old acquaintance.

Hope Springs Eternal by QuinnAnderson (T, 4,054 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Pining Sherlock, Vacation, Anxious Sherlock, Love Confessions, Fluff, Requited Love) – John Watson and Sherlock Holmes go on holiday, and Sherlock has romance on the brain.

How Will I Know? by eragon19 (E, 4,895 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, POV Sherlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Papa Lestrade, Masturbation) – Here was the problem: Sherlock Holmes was completely and irrevocably in love with John Watson, and he had absolutely no idea how to tell him.

changing tides by simplyclockwork (M, 5,983 w., 1 Ch. || Substance Use, Drug Relapse, High Sherlock, Sherlock Falls Down Stairs / Injury, Caring John, Drugs, Oblivious John, Hurt/Comfort, Angst With Happy Ending, Acceptance, Pre-Relationship, Addiction, Starting Over, Self-Destructive Behaviour, Drugged Hallucinations, Forehead Touching, Sherlock POV) – If Sherlock were to stop to think about it, he might wonder if he’s simply lonely. He doesn’t stop to think about it.

Closeted by sussexbound (T, 6,115 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confession, First Kiss, Games, Trapped in a Closet) – Sherlock and John get trapped in a closet while on a case. Some revelations are made while they play a game to pass the time. Part 1 of Intimacy

Full Disclosure by Itsallfine (E, 7,032 w., 1 Ch. || Bars & Pubs, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, John’s Army Mates, Three Continents Watson, Semi-Public Sex) – John’s army mates get together for the first time post-discharge and invite John “Three Continents” Watson to join them. If John shows up alone, he knows he’ll be the object of non-stop ridicule all night. Sherlock plays along. John tests the waters.

A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

I See You Through by belovedmuerto (T, 12,078 w., 8 Ch. || Psychic AU || Empath John, Alternate TGG, Whump, Nightmares, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Pre-Slash) – John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to. Part 2 of An Experiment in Empathy

The Slow Burn by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,097 w., 4 Ch. || Romance, Emotional Infidelity, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Fix-It) – John smiles, something small and private and for him alone, and Sherlock just...he knows. With a heart-stopping certainty, Sherlock suddenly knows. It feels like falling off the edge of a cliff. It feels like falling off the edge of the world. It feels like flying.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

Speaker for the Bees by antietamfalls (M, 14,649 w., 3 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Sign Language) – It isn't always easy assisting a deaf detective. Luckily for John, they make a pretty good team.

Merlot by Itsallfine (E, 14,844 w., 17 Ch. || Christmas, Pining Sherlock, Wine, Slow Burn, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, Wine, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays. Part of 25 Days of Fic-Mas 2015.

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Pleasure to Burn by scullyseviltwin (E, 17,863 w., 1 Ch. || Firefighter AU || Firefighter John / Arson Investigator Sherlock, Slow Burn, Pining, Case Fic-ish) – “If you’d kindly stop knocking about in there and destroying all of my evidence, it would be most appreciated!” John groaned and for a moment rested his head against the side of the truck. Of course he was the only captain left on the scene, which meant he would have to be the one to deal with the arson investigator.

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

#johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #slow burn fics #under 25k fics #long post #medium burn fics

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wardenparker · 3 months

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Mitch Keller + "Dance with me", pls? Love the TF boys in other things 2!!!

Mitch Keller. 1,665 words. "Dance with me." Co-written with @absurdthirst

Light undertones of dom!Mitch. Boss/employee dynamic. Mutual pining. The love is requited, they're just idiots. Garrett Hedlund as Mitch Keller is desperately underrated and I can't wait for season 2 of Tulsa King.

The bar is like a whole different place after closing. Every single night, without fail, the place goes from noisy and energetic to just being the two of you. Loud and buzzing becomes quiet and comfortable as soon as you cross the threshold after closing time. Two in the morning would be a lonely time for most people. Maybe it ought to be. Maybe it even is for Mitch Keller. You can’t be sure. But for you, two in the morning is the time you like most. When you get to be alone with the man you’ve been in love with for years.

Despite wiping down the bar top countless times during the night, there’s still a sticky film to be cleaned. Spilled liquor and beer from varying degrees of coordinated hands. Mitch knows you are watching him as the old jukebox plays and he wonders what you are thinking.

You really have to stop staring at your boss. Shit’s gonna get your fired for harassment one of these days. The music clicks over, jolting you out of your head and reminding you to clean. The floor isn’t going to sweep itself and it doesn’t matter how good Mitch’s ass look in those jeans. You’ll think about it later like you always do. But not here. Not now.

Despite the patrons paying for the songs that come over the old stereo. Mitch has a key that lets the two of you listen for free. Programming at least an hour’s worth of songs while you decompress and clean up. It had been a good night, but there’s this electric tension in the air.

Sometimes you share a single drink while you clean. Sometimes you chat about the day or about Mitch’s dad, who is the kindest landlord in the world and the reason you have this job. Sometimes you joke or bitch or play around. Tonight it seems like wanting him has you in a strangle-hold, though, so when Patsy Cline comes on the jukebox, you almost groan for the irony.

“You doing alright over there?” Mitch asks, tossing the rag into a bin and propping his hands on his trim hips.

“What?” You were staring again. Into space this time, but staring nonetheless. “Uh—yeah. Fine. Totally fine,” you lie, shaking your head and shoulders and starting to sweep again. Daydreaming — middle of the night dreaming? — about your boss needs to wait until you get home.

He chuckles and shakes his head, amazed that you don’t just give in and tell him already. The hooded glances and yearning looks only go so far and if he were a betting man – which he is – he would say you were daydreaming again. “Let’s get finished early.” He tells you. “Got something I want to do.”

“Oh—oh sure.” Something to do in the wee hours of the morning? You try not to wonder if that ex-girlfriend of his has come crawling back again, knowing that it isn’t any of your business and you have no right to be jealous even if she is. Instead you pick up the pace with an unnerved and slightly anxious energy, determined not to think about it.

Mitch caps off the beer taps and groans. “I’ve got to restock the coolers.” He tells you. “You okay to mop?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” After years in this job you could probably close the whole bar down with your eyes closed, and you nod rather than look him in the eyes, afraid to give yourself away. “If you need to go, I can finish up alone.”

“No, I’m just going to be in the back for a few minutes.” He clarifies and tosses you a grin. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. You know that.”

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Without him standing there distracting you, you’ll probably work three times faster, but it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault you’re a grown woman with a completely impossible crush — it’s more than that but you can’t deal with that right now — on a man who’s so far out of your league that it’s remarkable he even remembers your name.

Mitch disappears into the back, not quite telling the truth about why he had to go back there, but he needs to bide his time. To get you finished up before he came back out.

It doesn't take you long to actually get things sorted out up front. When you had thought that you could clean this place with your eyes closed, you meant it. The jukebox turns to more upbeat songs and you work through it, reminding yourself to just get the hell through the night so you can go home and get him out of your head for a few hours. At least until you have to be back here tomorrow night. Just breathe, and sing along with Leann Rimes on the jukebox to keep yourself amused. That's what you'll do.

In the back, Mitch has basically made himself a little apartment. He doesn't need much and the bar is literally his baby, so he cleans up quickly, wanting to freshen up. When he comes back out, you have just put everything away and are obviously waiting on him to return. The song fades out and slower one starts to pour out of the speakers. "You're done." He hums quietly.

"I've had practice." It's the closest you can get to teasing him tonight, with your head swimming and your palms a little sweaty. You're not your normally boisterous self.

"You do a good job." He praises, walking closer to you and when he's right in front of you, he stops. "So I was wondering if you would do something for me." He ventures softly.

"Of course." No hesitation, no consideration. You would do anything for him.

Smiling, he holds out his hand. “Dance with me.” He orders softly, stepping closer for you to accept his offer.

“I—what?” Somehow your hand has gone up on its own, hovering over his before you even manage to process what he’s asked.

“Dance with me.” He repeats, an amused twinkle in his eyes and a curve of his lips making him appear boyish.

It’s like your brain short circuits even while your body obeys, hand settling lightly in his and feet stepping forward while your mind works in overdrive to understand. You can’t stop yourself from blurting out “Why?” despite the moment being your literal dream come true.

“Because you never ask.” He reasons easily. “And how can I kiss you without a dance first?”

Thankfully the noise that strangles in your throat is more of a squeak than a squawk, and you swallow it before it can become anything absurd or humiliating. From somewhere in the background you can hear Trisha Yearwood on the jukebox and you might be shaking a little, but your other hand finds Mitch’s shoulder just well enough that you don’t stumble. “You…” You start to catch up to the moment as he starts to move to the music, and the surprise on your face is as obvious as your breathlessness. “You…want to kiss me?”

“Been thinking about how you taste.” He admits as he moves you around the open area of the bar. Skirting the tables that now have chairs flipped up on their tops. “Have for a while.”

“I’m…” Embarrassed heat floods your cheeks, warming your entire face right down your neck and chest. “I’m even less subtle than I think I am…aren’t I?”

“‘Bout as subtle as a rattler warning off a poor bastard walkin’ barefoot.” Mitch grins at you.

“Super.” You huff at yourself, sarcasm dripping from both syllables like honey. “Thank you for bein’ nice to my dumb ass, then.”

“Wondered why you took so long.” Mitch admits. “Got impatient, so I decided to make the move.”

“Sort of thought I was invisible to you,” you admit quietly, letting him lead you through basic steps even though you know damn well the man has moves. It’s you who can’t dance for shit, so he’s being nice again.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Dead wrong.” He tells you. “Just didn’t want you to think I was a creepy boss.”

“I was the creepy employee instead, I guess,” you huff, needing to laugh so that you don’t let your cheeks get as hot as a volcano.

“Thought it was kind of cute, myself.” Mitch drawls. “But….” He lifts a brow at you teasingly. “If we’re gonna do this—” he pulls his hand off your waist to motion between the two of you, “you gotta initiate sometimes. Can’t just be me chasin’ you.” He winks. “You gotta chase back.”

Being thoroughly embarrassed but elated are apparently two sides of the same coin for you, as there is no competition between expressions on your face — just one bright, disbelieving smile that makes you feel lighter than air. “If I had known you felt this way, I would’ve said something a long time ago.”

“It all works out in the end.” He promises, smirking at you softly. The music plays and the two of you sway around the bar, getting comfortable with the closeness of your bodies pressed together.

“Suppose so.” It’s whole actual years of yearning on your part, but you’re not about to second guess this moment. Not by a long shot. Not when he fits even more perfectly against you than you’d dreamed. “Suppose it’s all about what happens next.”

“Yeah.” The songs slowly starts to fade out and he comes to a stop with you still in his arms. “So.” He murmurs, lifting a brow. “What do you want to happen next?”

“I believe…” You quirk your head at him and feel your cheeks heat up all over again. “A kiss was mentioned?”

“Yes it was.” He flashes you a roguish grin and leans on, nudging your nose with his. “So, sweetheart…dance with me.” He orders right before he presses his lips to yours.

______

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 @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 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

#Garrett Hedlund #Garrett Hedlund fanfic #Garrett Hedlund character fanfiction #Mitch Keller #Mitch Keller x you #Mitch Keller x reader #Mitch Keller x female reader #Mitch Keller x f!reader #Tulsa King #microfic #Tulsa King fanfic

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fabaceous · 1 year

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do you think jackieshauna could've gotten together eventually if the plane didn't crash/if jackie hadn't died or were they doomed from the start?

hi anon i know this took a while (sorry) but it's because this is one of my favorite cans of worms to open and i had a lot to say. so thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about it ;)

my answer, depending on the day and my mood, ranges from NO to YES, BUT to NO, BUT.

NO, because i think that even on a pure friendship level they are doomed. their flaws were like, designed in a lab (or a writer's room lol) to tear them apart. jackie is insecure and holds on too tightly to shauna. shauna quietly resents jackie for it and fucks around behind her back. as long as they have these traits, their relationship is a ticking time bomb. they will never make it within ten miles of a romantic relationship because even their friendship is doomed.

NO, because even if their friendship doesn't implode, they are both simply too damn repressed to ever make a move. im not even saying this as a cop-out, like, i truly believe in my heart and soul that they both have latent romantic feelings for each other but they tie themselves in all sorts of pretzels to avoid it and i'll go even further and say they are both REALLY FUCKING GOOD AT IT. like more so than most people. given my own experiences denying my (in hindsight incredibly obvious) feelings for girls (and i SUCK at repressing things) i have no doubt at all that they could go the rest of their lives convincing themselves that some girlfriendships are Just Like That. the human mind is a very powerful thing and the human mind on comphet and repression? nearly unstoppable. and even if they dont have some world-shattering blowout, and their friendship just sort of fizzles out for some nebulous and ambiguous (read: gay yearning related) reason, years later they'll still be looking back at their relationship saying Huh. Wasnt That Weird...Well...Nevertheless...I'm Sure It Was Nothing To Worry About...

like, okay, im gonna spend a little more time with this one because i think their repression is so key to their dynamic. jackie is obviously unable to face any aspect of herself that is even remotely imperfect. gay feelings for shauna would definitely fall into that category given what i assume she has internalized from her parents and her peers and it being the 1990s. shauna, while more willing to accept her dark side, cant bear the thought of wanting jackie like that. its the one bridge she cant cross. she'll literally fuck jeff. fucking JEFF!!! before she lets herself act on desire for jackie (at least not in a straightforward/normal way lol)

i think both of them on some level must feel that they have a desire for each other, or else they wouldn't be so desperate to avoid it. but they are SO desperate to avoid it, and i don't really have anything to back this up other than my gut feeling but i just can't imagine them ever overcoming their respective hurdles of repression, and definitely not under normal high-school circumstances. MAYBE in the wilderness they would've had a chance IF THINGS HAD GONE VERY DIFFERENTLY because they would be free from societal expectations or whatever, and maybe a life or death situation could've given them enough of a shock that they'd finally own up to their feelings. but EVEN THEN, personally, i think it's still questionable. i think this is just so deeply rooted that it would be anywhere from incredibly difficult to impossible for both of them to get past it. (it's no good if only one of them overcomes the repression, btw. then you just have unrequited pining (but secretly actually requited but the other person won't admit that they're requiting it so it's effectively unrequited which would be perhaps even worse and more painful. btw. if you even care))

now on to the other options...

YES, BUT, even if by some miracle they were able to get past their repression and date each other, i guarantee you all their toxic habits would be not only repeated but MAGNIFIED by being in a romantic relationship. like, ok, the good news is, they would finally be free to be openly obsessed with each other lol. but... imagine jackie gets EVEN MORE insecure about shauna leaving her because now she actually feels like she has a legit claim on shauna being "hers". before, her possessiveness (for lack of a more nuanced term) was tempered by the fact that they are just friends, and shauna should theoretically be allowed to have other friends, even if jackie doesn't like it. but shauna should NOT be having other girlfriends. so jackie would likely be reaching new levels of terrified of shauna leaving her. shauna would still be unable to address conflict directly. rinse and repeat this whooooole vicious cycle until it blows up in their faces like laura le--[gunshot]

finally, NO, BUT, and this one may be controversial & a bit more far fetched than the others, but i do think that under the right circumstances they could kiss or even fuck without it compromising their repression. i actually even think they could have a sort of sneaky situationship while still repressing their bigscaryfeelings for each other. HEAR ME OUT. they are both very careful about compartmentalizing their desire for each other and keeping it hidden FROM THEMSELVES. they often fail and it boils over despite their best efforts, but the more important thing is that they think they're succeeding at keeping their desire from breaching containment. and as long as they have that plausible deniability where they are hiding it from themselves, even if they don't manage to hide it from the rest of us (or even each other), i dont think its impossible for them to act on the desire, like, on pure instinct, but without actually intellectually or emotionally acknowledging the larger implications that that brings. and even if the desire breaches containment, they could still find a way to write it off as just desire in general and not desire for each other specifically. especially when they also still have the excuse of being horny teenagers with no impulse control, they could easily brush it off as, oh, we were just drunk, we were just experimenting. or even, oh, it was just shauna, it's not like i actually LIKE-like her, i just made out with her, but its shauna, so it obviously doesnt mean anything.

and i think they could even do this consistently for weeks months MAYBE up to a year or so, while deluding themselves into thinking this is somehow normal or not a big deal. because they have already proven they are masters of doublethink and repression, otherwise we wouldn't have gotten this far lol. but it would 100% also blow up in their faces. the question is, who would crack first? who would want something real? or who would walk away because it got too real? theres sooo much to ponder with this particular scenario and it's all very juicy and compelling (and GOD would i love to see it unfold with my own two eyeballs, can bart and ashley please write and film an AU of their own tv show?!) but i dont think it would ever lead them anywhere good or healthy.

so long story short (lol. conciseness has never been my strong suit as is probably abundantly clear by now) i personally do not think there is any possibility of a satisfying happy-ending scenario for these two. and i personally am perfectly okay with that because so much about them would have to change in order for them to get a happy ending that at that point, they would no longer be the jackie and shauna that i know and love.

#anon did this answer your question. lol. sorry or you're welcome #also if anyone has anything to add. PLEASE i beg #whether its backing me up or refuting me id be curious to hear #esp about the last one lol i have no idea if that made sense or not the way i explained it #yellowjackets #yj asks

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deepspacedukat · 9 months

Text

Misfit Toys - Part 3

Alright! Here's the conclusion! I hope you all enjoyed reading this little fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💖 There are a few unintended side things that happen in this chapter, but I hope y'all will enjoy it anyway!! By that I mean whoops I accidentally created yet another OC.

Part 1 here. Part 2 here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Tokath (ST:TNG) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut adjacent, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies romance, Human/Romulan romance, implied interspecies sex, implied Human/Romulan sex, mutual pining, they're idiots who think it's unrequited, it's VERY requited, flirting, some almost kisses, getting lokblocked, literally everyone can tell they're in love except them, they are the last people to find out about each other's feelings.

~*~

I hadn't needed Tokath's crutch in nearly a month, but it had earned a place of honor. Resting lovingly on a bookshelf in my bedroom, it served as a reminder of the progress I'd made...and of the fact that I now had somewhere that I belonged.

After all this time, it still felt strange to know that I had a home this amazing. The reaction to the news that I'd decided to stay instead of boarding the transport and leaving the Carraya system had been so joyful on the part of my new friends that I'd been moved to tears. None of them had been irritated that I'd chosen to remain with them.

Ta'lana even clapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned as she offered me a permanent position helping her concoct her salves. I accepted, of course. How could I not? Her companionship was so easy and natural that I'd have been a fool to refuse. Not to mention I owed her and Tokath my life for healing me after the crash.

Speaking of Tokath, as soon as he gave me permission to stay, I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. There was no longer a lingering feeling of guilt and selfishness resonating through me every time I stole a glance at him. Oh sure, I was still on the verge of berating myself for behaving like a schoolgirl with a crush, but I'd realized that since I was now a permanent resident in this settlement, I had every right to live however I chose. If I wanted to bask in the warmth of the Romulan Commander's smiles, then that was exactly what I'd do.

I was afforded that opportunity quite often. More often than not, we managed to sneak in a little time together in the mornings before the day truly got started. Even if it was just enough time for us to share a cup of tea and breakfast, Tokath and I always seemed to gravitate toward each other.

There were still plenty of mornings where we woke up in each other's arms on the sofa in his study, and those were admittedly my favorites. He was nearly always awake before I was, but he never moved to get up first. The lingering caresses left on my skin before the break of dawn made me wish that I was a more courageous person. More than once I came incredibly close to blurting out my feelings for him in those slow, gentle morning hours. It was a wonder that he hadn't yet noticed.

There was definitely a slight shift in our relationship when I begged him to allow me to stay, though I couldn't define what it was. Our interactions were just as they were before but the burden on his shoulders seemed...lighter, somehow, despite the addition of a new member of the community. Maybe he just liked having a friend with a new perspective to discuss...

If only he knew how much that new friend wanted to kiss him when the morning sunlight poured in through the study window and glittered in his eyes. Resting atop his sturdy chest, half-dazed and half-witted from having just woken up, the temptation was almost overwhelming most mornings. Instead, I would simply nuzzle farther into his chest or the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent until I was certain I could trust myself to look into his eyes again.

One of those mornings, the rain cascaded down, splattering against the windows and creating a soothing rhythm against the roof. I was loathe to get up, and Tokath seemed even less inclined to do so, until a knock sounded at the door.

With matching pair of begrudging sounds, the two of us sat up, and Tokath called for whoever it was to come in. Belatedly, I realized how bedraggled we must look. M'Ven took a single step inside, saw our mussed hair and state of dress, and blushed as he delivered his message.

"My apologies for the intrusion, sir, but I thought you might like to know that your daughter's shuttle has just entered sensor range. She should be here within the hour." Almost as soon as he'd finished speaking, M'Ven tossed me a friendly wink and left us to our own devices.

A joyful smile spread across the Commander's lips as he turned to me.

"You and Ba'el would get along so well! Would you like to come with me to greet her?" He looked so hopeful. How could I possibly refuse? Without a single thought, I reached up and brushed a few errant strands of hair behind his ear. When his hand covered mine against the side of his face, I realized how close we still were to each other.

Oh, the urge to kiss him was back stronger than ever!

"I wouldn't want to intrude on your time with her–"

"Hush, e'lev. You could never intrude," he said, "and if you're not uncomfortable with the notion, I'd love for you to be there."

Tokath's hand kept mine firmly in place while I took a deep breath.

"I'd be honored." If I thought his smiles had been beautiful before, I'd clearly never seen him this utterly filled with joy. Tugging me into a crushing hug, the Commander let out a relieved breath. Did he really think I'd refuse?

After having bathed and changed into clean clothes, we arrived at a clearing in the woods that Tokath called the 'landing strip' just in time to see his daughter's shuttle touch down. The rain had stopped just a few minutes before, giving way to a thick, murky fog. Almost as soon as the shuttle's engines cut off, he was striding toward the door of the small craft.

This must've been something of a routine for them, because the young woman practically threw herself into his arms, sending the pair into a fit of giggles. I hung back just a bit to give them space. Despite Tokath's earlier protests, I was determined not to intrude on their reunion.

"You should've told me you were coming! I'd have prepared a welcome party," he said, and at her protests, I turned my attention to Ba'el's ship, trying to give them some semblance of privacy. The vessel seemed to be Klingon in design, so I assumed she'd acquired it or borrowed it while on the homeworld that she'd gone to explore - Tokath told me all about the incident with a Starfleet officer and the minor revolt that led to some of the younger members of the colony striking out on their own. More power to them. It took a lot to leave the only place you'd ever known in search of entirely new places.

"Oh, hi!" Ba'el's cheerful voice sounded, and I turned my head to meet her smile with one of my own. I gave a little wave as the pair walked over.

"Ah, this is our newest resident," Tokath said introducing me. Rather than a more subdued greeting as I'd expected, Ba'el glanced between her father and myself, then wrapped me in a tight hug. I'd expected apprehension or maybe something a bit more confrontational, but, really, that was silly. She was Tokath's daughter, and he was one of the kindest people I'd ever met. It only stood to reason that his daughter would be at least partially similar in temperament.

"This place is so secluded! How in the stars did you end up here?" She asked as she pulled back and grasped my shoulders.

"Well, it's a long story–"

"One that even I have not yet managed to coax from her," Tokath cut in as he wrapped an arm around my waist and smiled playfully down at me.

"–but it's not a terribly interesting one. I boarded the wrong transport at the wrong time, that's all," I finished with a shrug, ducking my head to escape the warmth of his gaze before I combusted completely.

"Oh, the 'wrong time' was it? And here I thought you liked it here, e'lev." He was teasing me, I knew he was, but I still didn't want him to have the wrong impression.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I love living here! This place is the best thing that ever happened to me. I-I just–" Tokath's gentle, rolling laughter engulfed me just as his arms did, cutting off my rambling protests.

"Do you really think I don't know how you feel about that by now?" When I simply buried my face in his tunic and made a noncommittal sound, he gave me a nice, big squeeze. "Come on. Let's all get back to the compound before we freeze in this dreary weather."

Dinner that night was a joyful affair. Stepped up from the usual fare into something more celebratory, the whole colony was ecstatic to welcome back one of their own, even if it was only for a short time. Though she was only planning on staying for a couple of weeks, Ba'el's presence brought a sparkle into the hall. Her lightheartedness and genuine wonder about the things she'd seen in her travels brought smiles to everyone's faces - including a rather pointed attentiveness from Centurion M'Ven that I noticed.

Eventually, the meal drew to a close, but before Tokath could protest, his daughter looped her arm around mine and stole me away into the quiet evening air. Stopping at the same little pond where her father had first told me of the transport, Ba'el tugged me down next to her on the bench to sit with her. We were both silent for a few moments, watching the water ripple in the bond as a slight breeze caressed its surface. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that it almost slipped away amidst the trees' rustling leaves.

"When I was little, my parents used to bring me here every day. I'd run around and play, and they'd sit here together on this bench. On the days when I didn't need others for the silly games I played, they kept their own company. Sometimes they talked, sometimes my father would read her a book, and sometimes, if the atmosphere was right, they'd end up roaring with laughter over some joke they'd shared," she murmured. A nostalgic little smile stretched her lips, and a far away sort of look settled itself firmly onto her face. "When I got older, they trusted me to come here alone, and I took to exploring the gardens. I knew every rock and tree - they were my friends, as silly as that sounds. I miss this place more than any other when I'm off exploring the galaxy."

I listened carefully, and a wave of gratitude washed through me for the glimpse she was giving me into both her past and her father's. It must've taken a lot for her to share something so personal with me.

"The last time I was home, M'Ven saw me come here. He followed me one night...gave me a bouquet of his own hybrid flowers - he tends them religiously, so you couldn't have missed them," she said, and with a conspiratorial lean in, she continued. "He's asked me to be his mate."

I wasn't exactly surprised. The glowing smiles he gave her at dinner and his near constant blushing sort of gave it away.

"Does your father know?"

"Not yet, no. I'm going to tell him in a couple of days, though, I promise. M'Ven was the first born here. I think his mother was in the early stages of pregnancy before the battle and just didn't know it yet," Ba'el explained. "He's not officially a Centurion, of course. He wears the uniform, and he was trained by the officers here, but the Romulan government doesn't know anything about him."

She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words wash over me.

"We agreed that this year when I came home, if I still felt the same for him, he'd come with me on my next trip. It'll be a little more risky traveling together, but we'll manage. After that, when we come home next year, we're going to stay and build a life together," she said letting out a giggle that was so infectious that I couldn't help but join her. "So what about you? I assume that you and Papa are going to stop dancing around each other sometime this decade...?"

"I-I don't know what you mean." Stammering certainly didn't help my case, but the laugh that left her throat told me that she wouldn't have believed me even if I'd sounded perfectly confident. "Ba'el, I...I do love your father, but I don't want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable–"

"What are you talking about? I haven't seen him this happy in years! Last year I was so worried about him that I stayed for a month instead of my usual couple of weeks. He practically had to kick me out." She gripped my forearms gently and looked into my eyes. "I'm happy for you. When one of you finally works up the courage to talk about your feelings, I'll be the first person to celebrate. You're good for him, and, from what I can see, he's good for you."

Relief, palpable and potent, rushed through me, and I hugged Ba'el to hide the tears that had gathered in my eyes. We sat by the pond, talking and joking until the unmistakable sound of footsteps met our ears. We both turned in time to see M'Ven rounding one of the larger trees with a bouquet in hand. He caught sight of us and froze - he'd clearly been coming to meet Ba'el, but my presence startled him, the poor lad.

Ba'el beckoned him over, and the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat as he swallowed betrayed the confident air he'd clearly been trying to exude.

"Calm down, she knows. I told her," Ba'el said as I smiled and got to my feet.

"I also know when it's my cue to leave." Giving poor, startled M'Ven a wink, I started to walk away and give them some privacy. Before I got out of earshot, though, I turned back and called his name. "I think it goes without saying that you'd better be good to her."

Resolve straightened his back and lifted his chin.

"I will, lhhei, you have my word." With that promise obtained, I left them to their own devices, and, though I'd intended to go to my room and sleep, my feet carried me to Tokath's study seemingly of their own volition.

The door was already open, revealing the man in question sitting at his desk and staring into a cup of tea as if it held the answers to life itself. I wanted so badly to kiss the little furrow between his eyebrows and the lines on either side of his mouth...

As if my gaze had called out to him, his eyes lifted from the depths of his tea and caught me hovering in the doorway. His features melted seamlessly from from surprised to relieved to elated in barely a flash.

"Ah, so I haven't been abandoned for the evening, then," he teased as I closed the door behind me. Tokath leaned back in his chair, and I noticed for that there was a second cup of tea sitting on the desk.

"As if I could stay away from you, Commander." Walking over to his desk, I leaned against the polished surface and glanced at his bookshelves for the thousandth time. I knew very well which titles sat on the shelves - even the Klingon ones - but I needed somewhere to look other than at his gorgeous face. "Forgive me for being late. Ba'el and I were talking."

"So that's where you were! I turned to speak with L'Kor for barely a moment after dinner, but when I turned back, my two favorite ladies were nowhere to be found," he said placing a hand over his heart and pouting as if he was deeply wounded. "I thought for a moment you'd been stolen away. I noticed that M'Ven disappeared after a while, as well. I couldn't help but wonder..."

As he trailed off, I felt a brief surge of hope. L'Kor's words and Ba'el's floated into my brain. Maybe they were right. Maybe I did have a chance, after all.

"M'Ven is kind, and he is a friend of mine, but I wouldn't give up your company for his." With my reassurance putting his mind at ease, Tokath grasped my hands and smiled up at me.

"Forgive me, e'lev, I shouldn't be this greedy with you."

Freeing one of my hands, I rested it lightly on his chest.

"There's nothing to forgive. You can be as greedy with me as you want, Tokath," I murmured, and just like that I found myself lost in his gaze. There was a softness in his features when he looked at me, a vulnerability that made me want to wrap him in my arms and never let go. It went through my mind that I could tell him. I could kiss him there, right then, while that gentle trance had us so firmly in its grip, but I couldn't seem to make my mouth move.

"The tea...I'm sorry, it's probably cold by now." His voice was so rough when he spoke that he sounded as though there was gravel in his throat. I could hardly blame him, though. When I spoke, I sounded just as destroyed.

"It's okay. How many evenings have we talked so long that we forgot we even had tea to begin with?" He let out a quiet laugh at my question, and we fell into our usual rhythm of conversation. Before we drifted off together, though, I promised myself that before his daughter left with her own lover, I'd tell Tokath how I felt. If shy, reserved, dutiful M'Ven could ask the woman he loved to be with him, I could tell Tokath how much I adored him.

"She matches this little community of misfits well, doesn't she?" The rough voice of his co-leader sounded from just behind Tokath's right shoulder. L'Kor was observing the group of small children on the other side of the courtyard that were listening intently to a story that the Human woman was telling them. "The children like her, their parents trust her...she has even befriended Ta'lana. It's as if she's been here all her life."

"She did say that she felt more at home here than anywhere else," Tokath mused as he watched one of the youngest - a brave Klingon girl of no more than three - climb onto her lap. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at the ease with which she handled life in the colony.

The Klingon leader hummed quietly and they watched as the children begged her to show them a Human game.

"You see it now, do you not, old friend?" L'Kor asked as he and Tokath watched her explain how to play game. She said that it was one that children of her species played called 'hide and seek.' As soon as she turned her back on the giggling group of little ones, they promptly scurried away as she began to count.

"I don't know what you mean," Tokath murmured, but the aged Klingon let out a rough, disbelieving laugh.

"Yes, you do. Whether you wish to admit it or not, you look at that kyamo Human woman, and you feel young again," he rasped as a tiny Romulan boy sped past their feet. "You cannot hide it from me, Tokath. I know you too well. Since she crashed into our lives, you have become more like your old self. You should tell her how you feel."

The Commander shook his head quickly as she turned back toward the courtyard.

"Ready or not, here I come," she called, and a few poorly-suppressed giggles echoed from various not-so-clandestine spots.

"I couldn't. She chose to stay here in this isolated place without a single other member of her species being present. She believed that I alone had the power to banish her. She begged me to stay. I will not jeopardize her newfound happiness by making her feel trapped by an old man's unwelcome attentions," Tokath protested to his old friend.

"'Trapped'? 'Unwanted'? Commander, she seeks out your attention on a daily basis," L'Kor stated as he looked at his friend incredulously. "Have you not noticed how differently she behaves around you than everyone else here? Can you not see the light in her eyes when you give her a reason to smile? My friend, if such a woman looked at me with as much love as that Human lady looks at you, I would have made my interest known long ago."

That made Tokath pause. There had been moments where he believed - where he hoped - that he saw something beyond simple gratitude and friendship in her eyes, but he'd dismissed it, believing that those moments were a product of his own wishful thinking. Even a few nights ago when she still came to him after speaking with Ba'el for so long, there was a charged moment when he felt as thought might have a chance.

He did love her. She was a ray of light in a world that had grown gray and stagnant. He'd sacrificed so much over the years - his home, his career...he'd given everything to ensure that the families of the Klingons living here would not be dishonored. He'd even been forced to surrender his wife to the ravages of time. Did he not deserve to have a moment's pleasure of his own? Did he not have the right to cling to this bright spot and bask in her presence now that he'd found her?

Tokath relished how easily she made him smile...how effortlessly she made him laugh. Her quick wit and warmth had brought so much color to his life. He'd narrowly managed to avoid losing her to the transport, but only just. Had she not come to him and pleaded for a place in the Carraya colony, she would be lightyears from him by now. How long would it be before someone else here - someone younger and more willing to be forthright about their feelings - caught her eye?

He thought he'd revealed too much when he made that offhanded comment about M'Ven, but neither of them had been brave enough to make a move afterward. He cursed his cowardice yet again. He should've kissed her that night.

Taking a deep breath, Tokath nodded his head and mentally acknowledged how fortunate he'd been thus far. He might not be for much longer if he didn't gather his courage. Would his daughter approve now that she'd had a chance to meet her?

A few feet away, she found a Klingon child hiding behind a set of supply crates, and when she looked up Tokath's eyes met hers. His lips stretched into a warm smile reflexively, and she gave him a little wave as she went to look for more of hiding children.

Oh, Elements, he couldn't deny it any longer.

"You've made your point, L'Kor."

"And what are you going to do now that you see your situation more clearly?" Tokath bristled slightly as he turned to look at his friend. "Oh, come now. You cannot tell me that you have not given any thought to the possibilities. Surely, you've at least imagined what you might say if you were to tell her how you feel?"

He had, but most of those daydreams ended in him dejectedly acknowledging that she would likely never be able to return his affections.

Tokath's expression must've said it all, because L'Kor sighed heavily.

"Oh, my friend, do you truly think so little of yourself that you cannot even imagine a happy ending? Take it from me: it was far more difficult for my wife to give me a chance than it will be for that lovely girl to give you one," he said before patting the Commander's shoulder and ambling off.

Perhaps L'Kor was right. Maybe he simply needed to allow himself to consider the possibility that she might react favorably to the fondness, no, love - that was the emotion and he should call it by its name - that he'd developed for her.

A joyful squeal from one of the little ones drew his attention, and he saw his lady being hugged so enthusiastically by the children that she was practically drowning in their affections. She sank to the ground, surrendering good-naturedly to their embraces with a giggle. Tokath couldn't suppress his laughter at the sight of her trying to hug as many of the children in return as her arms could accommodate.

Her eyes found him through the clamor of the group, and his heart thudded alarmingly. Oh, the things she did to him!

One of the children whispered something in her ear, and when she nodded her head, the little girl broke away from the group and ran up to Tokath, looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes as she spoke.

"Mister Tokath, sir? Will you come play with us?" She asked as the rest of the children and his Human watched their interaction.

How could he say no to such a polite request?

Later that evening as he walked to his quarters to get ready for dinner, Tokath thought to himself that the afternoon spent playing with the children along with the woman he loved was one of the most enjoyable days he'd had in quite some time. The joy of simply being with her was enough to make him feel like the luckiest Romulan alive.

"When are you going to marry her, Papa?" Ba'el appeared at his side smiling up at his as she looped her arm with his. Had he truly been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard her approach?

"Marry? What are you talking about?" He asked as innocently as he could, but all that earned him was a scoff from his daughter.

"Oh, please. The entire colony knows how you feel about your newest resident," she said, and his cheeks heated up as she continued. "So when are you going to ask her?"

"Ba'el, I...I don't even know if she'll have me–"

"Are we talking about the same woman? When you joined her and the children today, she looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky," his daughter said. "You haven't been this happy since..."

She didn't have to finish her sentence. He knew what she meant. They both know the significance.

Pulling her to a stop in the hallway, Tokath grasped his daughter's shoulders lightly and looked into her eyes.

"Could you handle that? Could you live with the knowledge that you have a stepmother who is neither Klingon nor Romulan?" Ba'el's opinion of her was important to him - it was the only one that mattered outside of his own on this. He didn't want her to feel as though he was actively attempting to replace her mother. Gi'ral had been unique and he would never wish to disrespect her memory.

But he also didn't wish to be alone for the rest of his life. He adored this Human lady, and he...well, he would dearly love to be her mate.

"Father, I want you to live. I've been worried about you for the last few years, but now...seeing you this happy...I'm so relieved that you've found someone who makes you feel like yourself again. How could I ever object to you finding love?"

Overcome with emotion, Tokath pulled his daughter into a tight hug, nearly sobbing in relief.

"I...have some news, too...about M'Ven and I." She sounded nervous, but in truth, she had no reason to be. Pulling back slightly, Tokath looked at his daughter.

"Ba'el, if you believe that I know nothing of your affections for him or his for you, then you have clearly forgotten that I used to be young, too," he said looking into her eyes. "I wish the both of you every happiness, and if he hurts you, you tell me how much he screams when you tear his head off. And I know you're imminently capable, but if you need help, I'm here for you."

His daughter was right. He needed this. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

Tokath's daughter had been on the colony for nearly a week and a half when it happened. I stopped by his quarters to pass along a message from Ta'lana before dinner, but when I reached his doorway, I froze. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, in his full uniform, tugging it gently in various directions presumably to straighten it. The poses he struck might have looked silly to anyone else, but to me, the imposing figure he made when he puffed up his chest and gave a harsh glare to his reflection made me bite my lip.

Realizing how long I'd been standing there, I knocked on the doorframe and acted as though I'd only just arrived when he turned his head.

"Just the woman I wanted to see," he exclaimed as he turned to face me. "I dug out one of my older uniforms and thought I'd wear it to dinner tonight. What do you think?"

He puffed out his chest once more as I stepped into the room, looking very much like the proud Commanding officer that he was.

"Very handsome...commanding..." I paused when I was right in front of him, itching to touch any part of him that I could. "...Perhaps a little rigid, though."

His smile fell a bit.

"Rigid?"

"Only a little," I answered, and he raised a curious eyebrow.

"How would you fix this...rigidity?" He asked, and I walked a slow circle around him before reaching up to finger the front of the ghastly leather collar at the top of his uniform.

"Does this part come off separately?" Tokath swallowed slightly before letting out a quiet confirmation. "May I?"

The Commander caught both my hands carefully in his and slid them around to the back of his neck where the collar's clasps lay.

"Do what you will with me." His voice had lowered, both in volume and in pitch to something husky...something that made me want to remove more than just this hideous strip of leather. After a moment's pause, I managed to unfasten the clasps and pull the collar away from his throat.

My next movement proved that I wasn't thinking. Once I'd tossed away the unnecessary accessory, I skimmed my fingertips over his neck, savoring the feeling of his pulse thrumming beneath my touch. Tokath's hands grasping my waist made me aware of what I'd done, pulling me out of whatever trance I'd been in and forcing my eyes to meet his.

Anything I'd been preparing to say was obliterated by the hunger in his eyes. Was I imagining it? I could simply have been seeing my own emotions reflected back at me.

Then he took a slow step toward me, and I stopped thinking about anything but how badly I wanted to kiss him. I took a breath and leaned in–

Only to be startled by a call of his name from the hallway. We both took a hasty step back and averted our eyes as Ta'lana appeared in his doorway.

"There you are. I tried to catch up with you, but it turns out you didn't need to deliver your message. I found the extra crates from our last shipment, after all," she said, then she turned her attention to Tokath. "My apologies for the disturbance, Commander. I hope this hasn't been too much of an inconvenience."

Tokath caught my hand and gave me a little wink.

"No, not at all," he said catching my eye. "I always welcome your company, lhhei."

A long, charged pause stretched between us, and my cheeks heated up under his gaze, but finally Ta'lana called my name.

"Come, come. We've taken enough of the Commander's time," she called, and I started toward the doorway.

"See you at dinner," I called over my shoulder, hoping neither of them could hear how unsteady I sounded. His response barely registered as Ta'lana closed the door behind us.

"I'm looking forward to it, e'lev."

The atmosphere in the dining hall that evening was different. It felt as though everyone was waiting for something to happen. They seemed nervous, yet...excited? How odd. When Tokath arrived, he took a seat beside me as usual and caught my hand in his. Before I could ask what he was doing, he'd tucked a flower securely in my hair just above my ear. The delicate petals tickled a bit, but I didn't dare risk dislodging it after he'd placed it there so carefully.

I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, but the words just wouldn't come out. He seemed to understand my dilemma, though, because he brushed the back of his knuckles down the the side of my face and swallowed heavily.

The heat that suffused my cheeks when we were alone in his quarters earlier made a spectacularly rapid return, even as dinner was served.

Conversation was hushed, but weighty that night from all sides. People were happy for M'Ven and Ba'el - news had already made its way through the colony like wildfire, sparking surprised exclamations and boastful assertions that people had seen it coming years ago.

But there was something else, as well. Given how peoples' eyes kept straying up to the head table where Tokath and I sat, I guessed that people were wondering how he was taking the news. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that he'd be emotional about his daughter finally choosing a partner. If that was the case, though, why were so many gazes landing on me? Was it the flower? I supposed that I couldn't blame them. After all, I'd been surprised, too.

The Commander offered me his arm when the meal ended and I took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead me out into the gardens. This particular route was one we'd never taken before, and we only stopped when we reached a footpath leading into the forest.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he guided me down it expertly, pushing small branches aside and helping me over a fallen log.

"A secret place I found years ago. As far as I'm aware, nobody else even knows it exists," he said with a wink. After a few more minutes, we reached a curtain of vines. Thinking we'd reached a dead end, I looked around in confusion, but Tokath walked me right up to it with his arm wrapped comfortably around my waist. I looked up at him, and he winked as he parted the vine stems.

Moonlight sparkled and gleamed as it bounced off the surface of a placid lake. A swarm of glowing insects slightly larger than Earth fireflies swirled and played above the water, reminding me of a flock of birds.

"Oh, Tokath, this is beautiful," I murmured. I was almost afraid of speaking too loudly, lest I disrupt the peace that permeated this little place. The branches of the trees surrounding the lake's edge seemed to almost wrap around the clearing like gentle, protective arms.

"I thought you might like this place. I've been waiting for the right moment to share it with you," he whispered against the shell of my ear as his hands rested on my shoulders. Gently, so carefully, he grasped my chin and turned my head toward the left shore. A few feet from the water's edge was a blanket with plush pillows, fluffy towels, and a lantern resting atop it.

That was it. Afraid or not, I was going to kiss Tokath tonight, no matter what. I turned in his grasp only to find the lantern's warm, yellowish glow caressing the adoring smile that stretched his lips.

"Thank you for trusting me with this," I said resting my hands on his chest. It was now or never. Lifting my hand to cup his cheek like I had in his room, I looked into his eyes. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Is everything alright?"

That damned smile got wider and he let out a quiet laugh.

"Oh, yes, lhhei. Forgive me," he said drawing me into a hug. "I'm afraid I've been lost in thought."

"Oh? And what has occupied your mind so thoroughly?" I punctuated the question with a quick kiss above his fluttering pulse. The Commander's breath caught in his throat, and I realized that maybe I hadn't imagined the hunger I'd seen in him earlier after all.

His grip on me tightened and he hummed at the question.

"You have, dear lady," he muttered, his voice low and rough. That tone had caused me so much frustration since the first time I heard it. I must've let out a gasp or some other surprised sound, because he nodded his head against my scalp. "Yes, you have been a very prominent element of my thoughts since the day you arrived here, but, lately, I find myself contemplating something that...truthfully, I have no right to even consider."

Feeling his proximity even more than usual, I looked up at him curiously. He didn't relinquish his grip on me one iota, but that suited me just fine. I never wanted to stop touching him.

"Maybe talking about it would help ease your mind? Usually confiding in someone close to me helps when there's something bothering me," I suggested, hoping that he didn't notice how shaky my voice had become.

"I will, but only if you don't mind being the one who listens to me ramble. You see, you're the only one who can help me with this particular problem, but I promise I won't ask you if you're not willing." His voice was low and heavy as he spoke, carrying the same weight I'd noticed more and more lately.

"I'll do anything I can to help, Tokath. You know that," I said offering him a reassuring smile.

"You see, I've been asking myself several very specific questions...ones to which I do not have the answers. If the answers are too personal or if you do not wish to engage in that conversation, you need only tell me, and I will drop the topic. Everything can return to the way it was before. I have no desire to make you feel trapped or to change how you see me."

After his little speech, I felt certain that I knew where this might be going, and anticipation flooded through me. Butterflies beat their wings unceasingly in my abdomen.

"Questions could never change the way I look at you." He shook his head at my assertion.

"These might," he breathed as he averted his gaze. "I haven't spent much time around Humans, as you may have guessed, so I...don't exactly know how someone in your culture might approach something of this nature."

I nodded my head in encouragement as his thumbs began to rub slow circles where they rested on my waist.

"I...You see, I wish to...to..." He trailed off and took a deep breath. "When...Well, with Klingons, the men write poetry, the women throw things at each other. It's rather straightforward. Romulans are more varied in their approaches, and...I suppose what I want to ask is is this: How do I...? I mean, what would you expect of...of a...?"

Tokath let out a frustrated huff and shut his eyes. A blush so vibrant that I could see it in the lantern light darkened his cheeks and spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Oh, fvadt, I'll never say it at this rate. What I'm trying to tell you is that you are beautiful and kind and the part of myself I never thought I'd find," he said sounding much more resolute. "I doubt this is the way a Human would go about it - much less subtlety to it even though you deserve subtlety and romance - but I need you to know that I love you. That I...would like to be your mate. Hell, I don't even know if Humans call their bound partners 'mates' as we do, but that's neither here nor there. I'd, of course, be happy to call us anything that you wish if–"

A surge of courage tore through me, and I cut off the rest of what he was going to say with a kiss. My lips met Tokath's, and he tensed up for a moment before relaxing into it and kissing me back. One of his hands came up and cupped the back of my head, holding me as close to him as was physically possible.

"I love you, too," I blurted as soon as we separated for air. He looked as dazed as I felt, but he still managed to lift me into his arms and carry me to the blanket as his mouth met mine again.

We didn't make it back to the compound until the next morning. With our hands clasped and rather obvious marks marring the skin of our necks, it was obvious to anyone who looked our way that we were both finally whole.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

#deepspacedukat fic #Tokath x Reader #Commander Tokath of Carraya IV #Human x Romulan romance

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