#his jawline can cut me in half and I'd say thank you

[ariella-has-lost-her-mind]

hrithik roshan in war kept me alive in 2019

[reidgraygubler]

i would get beat to smithereens... (spencer reid/reader)

Title: i would get beat to smithereens Request: no Couple: Spencer Reid/Gen-Neutral!Reader Category: fluff w/ slight angst; song fic Content Warning: swearing, talks about psychical fights, descriptions of a flight, mentions of blood, talks about verbal arguments, mentions of alcohol,  Word Count: 4,544 Summary: Spencer Reid is in love with his best friend and would do anything for them… including getting into a fight with a stranger making Reader uncomfortable A/N: this is based on smithereens by twenty one pilots. i feel like it has spencer vibes, and i needed it in my life. thanks for the love! check out my masterlist :) 

{***}{***}{***}

“I'm not a profiler. I'm just a doctor," I groaned, looking over at Luke and JJ. They were both looking at me like they were disappointed I was making it sound like I was useless to the team. 

"If you weren't a profiler, you wouldn't be a part of the team!" JJ scoffed as she stirred her straw around in her glass of now mostly ice. I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. I could feel the teasing smile tug on my lips as I glanced at the man sitting beside me. Spencer was staring down at the table, bored out of his mind. Penelope was the one who dragged him along, really. Though, I was happy he was here. 

"Okay, that's true, but I'm not the best profiler. I'm like the worst profiler… above Spencer," I teased with a smile. Spencer gawked at me, about ready to shoot back. "I'm kidding, Pretty Boy." I winked at him. He glared at me as he returned his eyes back to the table. "Emily asked me to be a part of the team for injuries you fools get out on the field and to help injured victims before the ambulance gets to the scene. I hardly do any profiling. Just here to help you poor, injured souls," I beamed. JJ laughed and shook her head. 

"I'd say…" Luke looked over at me. He had gauze covering his arm, from where he got cut by an unsub. I looked over at him, mildly amused. “I’d take you over an ER nurse any day.” He smiled at me. I rolled my eyes. 

"I'm much nicer than ER nurses anyway. You know that, Lukey-Poo," I laughed lightly before sipping my drink. Luke looked at me momentarily before dropping his gaze to the tabletop.

“I still think you’re one of the best profilers and doctors on the team.” JJ smiled at me before glancing at Spencer. He was looking down at his water, no longer listening to our conversation. 

"I'm a medical doctor! I'm nothing like our resident genius!" I half exclaimed as I sipped my drink.  I lifted my other hand and placed it on Spencer’s shoulder. He tensed under my touch before shrugging my hand off his shoulder. I glanced at him before looking towards Emily. She smiled and shrugged.

"There is a reason why I asked you to be a part of the team, ya know." Emily looked at me. I shrugged as I stood up. Spencer looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh please, Em, you’re just flattering me.” I smiled as I sipped the rest of my drink. “I’m going to get another drink. Anyone want anything?” I pointed to each person. JJ and Emily passed, nursing their last drinks for the evening, Luke wanted another beer, Tara wanted whatever I was getting, and Penelope wanted another fruity cocktail. Spencer and Matt were pouring themselves another glass of water. “I’ll be right back.” I smiled at them all before grabbing my empty bottle by the neck.

I sauntered over towards the bar, swinging the bottle beside me. A few men were standing and sitting at the bar, laughing and talking amongst each other. I didn’t think much of it, people talking to each other. I mean, that’s what I was doing with all my friends. But there was something about these people that felt… off.

“Hey, there sexy.” A person leaned beside me on the counter. I flashed him a nervous smile before looking back down at my phone. The person stayed beside me, talking and thinking I was listening to him. “You wanna get outta here?” they asked, leaning closer to me. I glanced at him and shrugged.

“I’m actually going to watch a movie with my friends tonight,” I gestured back towards my friends, I would go as far as calling them family. The person looked towards them and shrugged. 

“Maybe you could come home with me instead,” they kept their voice low. The bartender placed a tray on the counter in front of me, the four drinks I ordered on it. I shoved my phone in my pocket before placing my hands on either side of the tray. The person lifted his hand and grasped my wrist, tight. 

“Can you let go of me?” I smiled at him. My smile was kind, yet stern. I was hoping they’d let me go with that, because I didn’t want to get any meaner. I had to be mean at work, and I didn’t want to be mean unless I had to. A dark smile grew on their lips as he stared at me.

“Let’s get outta here,” they whispered. I jerked my hand from their grasp and looked at them. 

“Maybe next time. Now let me go before I whip your ass,” I spat at them. They raised their hands away from me and watched as I grabbed for the tray again. “Because that will happen,” I glared at the person before turning and going towards my table. 

“Here we are, beer for Luke, beer for Tara, fruity cocktail for Penelope, and beer for me,” I smiled as I set each drink in front of each person. I returned to my seat beside Spencer. He seemed tense, he wasn’t this tense before I went to get drinks. 

I silently sipped my drink and joined back in their playful banter. But something about the way Spencer was sitting was starting to stress me out. I looked at him and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, placing my bottle back on the table. He was staring across the bar. People had begun crowding the place, so it was near impossible to know what he was exactly staring at. Spencer stayed silent and shrugged. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Listen, I know I just said I’m not the best profiler. But I know you well enough to know that something is wrong. Now, Reid, what’s wrong,” I whispered and rested a hand on his knee.

“Nothing’s wrong. Promise,” he whispered as he looked at me as he brushed my hand off his body. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. It was clear that something happened to change his mood, but I have no idea what it could have been. 

Instead of worrying about why Spencer was suddenly in a bad mood, I rejoined the interesting banter between the rest of the group. But, I couldn’t help but notice the way Spencer glared across the bar and at the other patrons instead of being in our conversations. I hope he isn’t mad that I didn’t get him a drink. He didn’t want another drink.

The night at the bar came to an end and everyone parted ways. I was more than happy to go home. The exhaustion from the day and the creeps at the bar made me even more tired and it hit me hard. Though I’d miss my friends, I’d see them in the morning at work.

A glass of red wine sat on the coffee table as the tv sat on with a random channel. I was sitting on the ground behind the coffee table with several different case files flipped open. I still needed to sign on some papers and help a few old colleagues with their mysterious health cases. 

I stretched my legs out in front of me as I grabbed for my wine glass. Just as the glass hit my lips, my phone started vibrating like crazy on the coffee table. I lowered my wine glass and picked up my phone.

“Hello?” I asked. I should have checked the caller ID to see who it was. I’m just so used to answering without looking. This time it would have prepared me for what was about to come.

“I need you to come pick me up,” Spencer’s tone was low as he spoke. I raised an eyebrow and looked towards the front door. “Right now if possible, please,” his tone sounded serious, yet incredibly panicked. I just saw him not even 2 hours ago. He was fine then. He should be at home, reading, or sleeping. Why is he so panicky? 

“Spencer, is everything okay?” I stood up and went towards the front door. He stayed silent for a moment, and shuffling came from his side of the call. I slipped my sweater and shoes on before grabbing my car keys to leave.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he sighed, clearly lying. I swallowed back my sarcastic comment and shook my head. 

“Where are you?” I asked as I got into my car. He stayed silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out what to tell me.

“The bar,” his voice was even lower. I dropped my shoulders and pressed my head into the headrest. 

“Didn’t you leave with everyone else? What happened?” I asked after a moment of silence. 

“I’ll tell you when you get here,” he whispered before hanging up. I let out a deep sigh before tossing my phone onto the passenger’s seat. I drove in silence, very annoyed that I had to go back out, even though I was already in my pajamas. Even though I was annoyed, I was more concerned about Spencer and why he was being so cryptic on the phone. 

When I finally pulled up to the bar, Spencer was sitting outside on the curb. His face was pressed into his hands, clearly, he regretted something. I pulled up just in front of him before I got out. 

“What happened, Spencer.” I looked down at him. A few of the patrons outside were looking at me and my pajamas (which consisted of sweatpants and a sweater). I glared at them as I stood in front of Spencer. 

He took a deep breath before looking up at me. Blood was trickling down his nose (which looked broken), and a cut was on his lower lip. On his jawline, there were a few more, slightly deeper, cuts. His left eye and cheekbone were already turning a deep blue/purple color. And the back of his hands and knuckles were black and blue and bloody. 

“Spencer,” I gasped as I looked at him. He pressed his lips together in a thin line as he looked up at me. “C’mon, I have stuff at home,” I whispered as I offered him my hand. He stared at it for a moment before taking it. He winced as I pulled him up. His nose was wrinkled as he placed a hand on his side. Please tell me this bastard doesn’t have broken ribs. 

Spencer silently got into my car and I looked at all the people outside. I glanced over my shoulder at the man in my car before booking back at the people outside.

“Do you guys know what happened?” I asked as I folded my arms over my chest.

“You’re toothpick boyfriend there picked a fight with someone twice his size,” a guy spoke up. I looked in his direction and dropped my shoulders.

“Not my boyfriend. But thanks,” I muttered before getting back into my car. Spencer stayed silent as I sat, placing my hands low on the steering wheel. “You’re not going to tell me what happened?” I glanced at him as I started the car. He looked over at me and slightly shook his head. I let out a tired sigh before taking off and speeding towards my house. 

“I... I got into a fight with someone at the bar,” he kept his voice low as we entered my home. I gestured towards the couch, silently telling him to sit down. “Guy was a beefcake… Like Derek,” he muttered. I stared at him for a minute before disappearing into the kitchen. I grabbed my arsenal of a first aid kit, and a bag of frozen peas (and a dishrag to go around it). I handed him the peas as I sat beside him on the couch. 

"Spencer, you can’t just go up to a dude bigger than you like you're Captain America. You end up in my living room with a black eye and a bloody nose if you do that," I said as I popped open my first aid kit. Spencer looked at me as he adjusted the bag of frozen peas on his face. 

"You seem to forget, I'm a part of the FBI. I'm used to stepping up to dudes much bigger than me and getting beat up." He watched me as I pulled out a gauze pad and some sterile tape. 

"Okay, true. But you, Spencer Reid, weren't at work when I picked you up. You were at the bar," I pointed out as I grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "It's not like you to just beat up a guy for the hell of it. You're always calm, cool, and collected. What's gotten into you," I asked as I poured some of the hydrogen peroxide onto a paper towel.

"I don't know," he kept his voice low as I moved closer to him. He seethed slightly as I pressed the soaked paper towel to his cheekbone. "It's not like I was at that bar alone," he muttered once I finally moved away from him.

"Yeah, but, Spence, you stayed behind for a reason. No one knows why you stayed behind. Usually Luke, and JJ even, know why you do something. But you stayed behind at a bar for no reason. And then I get a call from you, asking to pick you up?" I whispered as I peeled open a butterfly band-aid and pressed it to the shallow cut on his cheekbone. 

"I guess I really don't know what came over me," he lied. It was clear that he lied. I dropped my hands to my lap and looked at him. "What?" 

"It doesn't take a profiler to know that you're lying, Spencer," I muttered as I moved my hand to his jaw. I wrinkled my nose at the gnarliness of the cut there. It was much deeper than the one on his lip. Blood wasn’t oozing out like a gusher, but it was bad enough to be fixed as soon as possible. "You'll need stitches on your jaw," I whispered before going back to my first aid kit. My voice broke slightly as I dug around for the stitch kit I kept here. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and down my nose, falling into the kit on my lap. I didn’t mean to cry, I didn’t want to. He’s my best friend and the fact that he isn’t telling me why he did what he did… kinda hurts. 

Spencer reached out to grab my hand. I looked back at him and shook my head. "Why did you get into a bar fight with a random guy?" I whispered as I wiped my cheeks. Spencer's nose twitched as he kept his eyes on my face.

"The way… the way he stepped up… to you… Words can't describe what I was feeling," he kept his voice low. His words were hesitant as he spoke them like he was sure that he was about to lose something. "And, you know… I never look for conflict for the thrill. But something about this guy just…" his tone got a little bit rough. The way his face twitched told me he was reliving the memories of the fight he just had nearly an hour and a half ago. I watched as he pulled the bag of peas from his face. He shook his head in frustration.

"What… what guy are you talking about, Spencer," I whispered as I stared at him. I should be preparing to stitch the gnarly wound on his jaw, but I can’t. He looked at me, something on his face was starting to scare me… And it wasn’t the black eye or bloody nose. It was the emotion he had that scared me. He wasn’t angry or annoyed, he seemed mildly frustrated and… There was something else, I just couldn’t name it.

“When you went to the bar, to get more drinks,” he swallowed roughly. I finally started to prepare the needle with the thread. I glanced up at him as I poured more hydrogen peroxide on a paper towel.

“This is gonna hurt a bit,” I whispered as I pressed the paper towel to his jaw. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut as I continued to clean. “I went to the bar more than once, Spence, you’ll have to be more specific.” I turned his head so I could get a better view of his wound. 

“There was this guy. He kept approaching you whenever you got more drinks. It was obvious he was making you uncomfortable,” he spoke before I started fixing him. He winced again. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling more than bad that I’m the one doing this. “That’s what you get for having me stitch you up instead of going to the ER where you could have lidocaine,” I chuckled lightly. Spencer glanced at me. “Because I don’t have any here, not even patches,” I smiled lightly. I probably would have been the one to stitch him up at the hospital too. I’m the only doctor he trusts, other than himself. That being said, I’m the only medical doctor he trusts.

“I’d rather go to my doctor friend to have stitches done,” he whispered. He flexed his fingers a bit. “I did it for you, you know,” he looked at me as I pulled my hands away from him, finishing the stitch work on his face. I grabbed a tube of antibiotic ointment and the gauze.

“You know I’m capable of saying no to men who make me uncomfortable, Spencer, I work for the FBI, too, you know,” I laughed, reminding him that we were in fact co-workers. He watched as I placed a small piece of gauze on the stitching. Spencer gave me a knowing look, causing me to smile at him. “Okay, for the most part, I can say no.”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I went up to this guy. Gave him a piece of my mind… And then he gave me a piece of his mind in the form of a swift punch to the face.” Spencer smiled softly at me. I shook my head as I began cleaning up. That sounded just like Spencer though. Trying to talk to a guy about not being kind to one of his friends, only to be punched in the face. 

“I think it was a little bit more than a swift punch to the face, Spencer,” I laughed as I pulled my gloves off. “How much do you even weigh?” I asked, trying to picture noodle boy Spencer Reid facing off a guy bigger than him. I’ve seen him go toe-to-toe with scary unsubs before, but this was different. Something about that image seemed fake.

“About 153,” he whispered as he placed the bag of peas back on his eye. I looked back at him as I stood up. The bag looked a little soggy and damp due to condensation and the warmth of his face.

“I’m going to get you a new bag of frozen peas and a glass of water,” I stuck out my hand to take the peas from him. He smiled as he handed the bag of melted peas. 

“I’d do it again, you know,” his voice followed behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see that he was, in fact, following me into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter as I got a new bag of something frozen for his eye. I needed to buy new ice packs, otherwise, I’d give him one of those.

“Really now?” I asked, handing the bag over to him. He gently placed it over his eye and nodded. “You would get so messed up, more than you already are to protect my honor. I mean, you said you weigh about 153. Would you really do that?” I pulled the fridge open and pulled a bottle of water out. I placed it on the counter beside him. The image of him fighting a buff guy came back to my mind and I had to refrain from laughing.

“For you,” he started speaking, causing me to look at him. For me? What does he mean for me? My heart started to beat faster with nerves and anxiety. “For you, I would get beat to smithereens,” he whispered as he reached out to hold my hand. I stared at him and furrowed my eyebrows. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, letting him take my hand into his. I should have cleaned his hands too, put ointment and bandages over them. I wrinkled my nose as I stared at his hand. Part of me wanted to pull my hand away and get the proper things to clean his hand, but I knew he wouldn’t allow that to happen. He knew that his hands needed the proper care, but I don’t think he 100% cares at the moment.

“What do you think it means?” Spencer asked, squeezing my hand lightly. I looked up at him, my shoulders dropping and tears slowly rolling down my cheeks. He looked back at me, his still expression frightened me a little bit. “I… I love you. That’s what it means,” he swallowed as he spoke. I stared at him before blinking. Tears started racing down my cheeks again, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. 

“You…” I took a deep breath before throwing my arms around his torso. Spencer let out a breath as he wrapped his free arm around my body and held me close to him. His scent calmed me in a strange way, but I was okay with it. “Next time you decide to get into a bar fight, you better make sure everyone else is there,” I whispered as I looked up at him. I pressed my chin into his chest as I stared at him. A small smile twitched onto his lips as he looked down at me.

“And have everyone place their bets on if I’ll get out of there alive? Why do you think I waited till everyone left?” Spencer asked, keeping his hands on the small of my back. I smiled and placed my hand on his uninjured cheek before going up on my toes to kiss his lips. 

“I love you too, you know,” I whispered as he pressed his forehead to mine. Spencer smiled knowingly and nodded.

“If I didn’t know I wouldn’t have gotten into a bar fight and called you to pick me up,” he whispered as he brought a hand to rest on the back of my head. I smiled before laughing lightly. 

“Let’s go lie down. I’ll get you something for the pain,” I whispered, my thumb lightly rubbing his cheekbone. Spencer swallowed roughly and shook his head.

“No, no, it’s okay. I don’t need it. I’ll be fine,” he whispered, “Although, I would like to lie down. I’m exhausted.” He nodded. I smiled.

“Okay, suit yourself.” I shrugged before stepping away from him and leading him towards my bedroom. “You didn’t have to do that, Spencer, I hope you know that,” I whispered once we were both comfortable on the bed. Spencer rolled over to face me, pulling the blanket up to his face. 

“I know. But I think we wouldn’t be where we are if I didn’t. And I would do it again if it meant being here with you like this,” he whispered as he rested his hand on my face. I looked up at him and smiled.

“I’ll let you be the one to explain why we showed up to work together and why you were beaten up at work tomorrow,” I chuckled and moved closer to him. He laughed and nodded before pressing his lips to my forehead. 

“Glad to.” He looked down at me with a pleased smile. 

{***}{***}{***}

Spencer and I stood side by side in the elevator. Both his hands were now bandaged to protect the open wounds on his knuckles, but one of them was clasped around one of mine. I smiled and looked up at him.

“Do you know what you’re going to say to Emily when she asks about your new facial injuries?” I asked, bringing my hand to gently touch the stitches on his jaw. He hummed before shrugging. “Because you’re the least likely to get into a bar fight,” I laughed and retracted my hand when the door dinged open. We looked at each other one last time before stepping off the elevator, hand in hand. 

“I can get in fights,” Spencer scoffed as we walked into the bullpen. I held back my cackle and shook my head. People looked over at Spencer and me as we stopped at his desk.

“Sure, you can get in ‘fights’, Spencer. If those fights are about Doctor Who and Star Trek.” I smiled at him. Spencer smiled at me before resting his hands on my waist. “But not bar fights,” I added as looked up at him.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Luke’s voice came from the conference room door. Spencer and I both looked in that direction and saw Luke, JJ, Tara, and Matt standing at the door. I looked back at Spencer and smiled.

“Well, as you can see, I am checking up on my patient.” I lifted a hand and gestured at Spencer’s face. JJ looked at Spencer with wide eyes. “Our wonderful Boy Genuis got into a bar fight last night and called his trusted doctor friend.” I smiled as I rested a hand on his chest. 

“Wait,” Emily started as she stepped out of her office with David by her side, “Spencer got into a bar fight?” she looked at Spencer and me. I looked up at Spencer with an amused smile. 

“Yeah, sure, Spencer got into a bar fight… But are you not looking at the way his arms are arou-” Luke started but stopped when Penelope loudly entered the room.

“Are you guys finally together?!” She shouted as she came up to us. I turned away from Spencer and smiled. “Shoot! I owe JJ $10,” she pouted and looked towards JJ. She was still looking at Spencer with concern. 

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, keeping her eyes on Spencer. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Went to the best doctor I know,” he laughed as he wrapped his arms back around my waist. He pulled me so I was flush against his chest, making me laugh. “I’ll live. Just a mild disagreement last night at the bar.” 

“Yeah, which ended up in you losing a fistfight.” I rolled my eyes. Penelope was staring at us in awe, clearly enjoying the sudden cuteness that was Spencer and me. 

“I just can’t wrap my head around Spencer being in a bar fight,” Tara said as she looked at Spencer and then me. I laughed.

“I tried telling him he’s the least likely to get into a bar fight, and he didn’t believe me.” I looked up at all our friends and co-workers. They shared a light laugh and nodded.

“Okay, I’d love to hear the stories of how this came to be and this bar fight… But we got a case,” Emily spoke up as she looked at all of us. I pouted and looked up at Spencer. He grasped my hand and followed behind me towards the conference room. 

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[flappypineapples]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615143/chapters/58509889

Escapism Chapter 3

Matthew quickly swept Cordelia up into his arms and carried her into a side hallway leading into an ornately decorated retiring room.

Trying to grasp on to any control of the situation Matthew laid Cordelia out onto the nearrst loveseat and fell to his knees at her side.

He check first for a pulse; steady if not a little fast. And then he checked her temperature. She was sticky with sweat and flushed pink all over, radiating heat.

He couldn't drag her back out into the main room and drive home abandoning Anna and, subsequently causing a scene. He was on thin ice already for the last surprise Shadowhunter visit he didn't think an injured one on their hands would bode over well on anyone's side.

His mind was going a thousand miles a minute and none of the miles traveled were getting him anywhere. He cursed himself for not knowing what to do. He was usually reliable when push came to shove but here he was now.

Panicking. Helpless.

Matthew was debating going and looking for Anna when Cordelia started to stir. Startled Matthew jumped a little and pulled his hand back quickly from her forehead. However Cordelia's hand came up to grab his wrist before he could get too far.

Her glassy eyes peeled open slowly and gazed up at him through heavy lips.

"Matthew?"

"Oh thank goodness. Cordelia how are you feeling. Can you tell me where we are? How we got here?". Matthew contuned with every grounding question he could think up before noticing the far off look in her eyes.

"Cordelia can toy understand me? Cordelia." Matthew was starting to become more urgent but Cordelia just lazily shifted her gaze from the wallpaper to his face. She blinked slowly and let a lazy smile play at her lips and giggled.

Good god. She was drunk.

Matthew had spent so many hours with experienced drinkers and sturdy part goers who held their drink well he forgot what it was like for someone to be newly intoxicated. And, as he was starting to theorize, Cordelia did not hold her drink well on a good day. Especially not today where she had been keeping up if not beating Matthew to the bottle.

But that was just the thing. With her he felt almost no need to reach for the flask. To have that poisonous touch stone. He, was not as drunk as he was used to and this made him uneasy. It was not like him to be in the other person's shoes.

"You're much prettier than him". Cordelia mumbled low in her voice, letting her head sway back.

"Pardon?" Matthew said furrowing his brown

"When he change back and forth I was so delighted to see him wearing your face. I thought I would have to look at James forever."

This must've been what Cordelia saw in the shape changing man, him and James. But why?

His thoughts were inturpted by Cordelia lifting her hand to his head. She ran her fingers through his hair. Rough and callous; they were warrior hands. He had never thought of worked hands as more beautiful than in this moment.

Cordelia widened her eyes and gave Matthew an adorably serious gaze given the circumstances.

"Angel", she stated matter of factly.

Matthew chucked despite himself, "who? Me? Maybe one of the tiny mischievous cherubs painted on some clouds but no most certainly not an angel."

Cordelia was beginning to look frustrated with him now, scrunching up her nose at him.

"Your hair Matthew. Its like", another chuckle slipped in, "angel wings, golden and feathery."

Matthew was no stranger to observations about his hair. Most were either mocking remarks by the Merry Theives or a flirtatious coming on from a gentleman or lady at the bar.

But because it was her it all felt brand new.

Cordelia raised her other hand to his left cheek as her right hand came down from his hair to squeeze his cheeks in.

"It also looks very hard to maintain, like an angel. Can you imagine keeping all those feather untangled? I shudder at the thought of how many boars brushes I'd go through."

Matthew's face lit up and he laughed a short loud snort that was muffled and distorated dude to Cordelia still gripping his face.

"Matthew?"

"Hm?"

Cordelia relaxed her grib but didn't let her hands fall. "If I asked you to do me a favor would you do it?"

"Mhmm", he mustered out. Her string gaze was making him sweat like a soloist under a spot.

"Please kiss me Matthew. I'm so tired of being someone's second choice. I want to have one moment of my heart that is for myself and not stolen away from me by careless childish men and distant drunk fathers and whatever other battles iudt fight. For once I don't want to be a hero I just want to love and not be hurt." Her eyes were begining to fill with tears as Matthew gathered her into his arms.

He brought her down to the floor with his and rocked her back and forth while she cried. He didn't think he had ever seen her cry. Not even when her leg had been practically snapped in half after the battle with Belial.

But she cried now and Matthew would never let her feel weak for her. All true hero's cried, for the world is terrible and without tears theirs no expression of grief for what could've been.

Cordelia stopped shaking after a few minutes and stilled. Still gripping Matthew's shirt she looked up at him. All golden hair and golden skin. With the torch back lighting him one would think he really was an angel.

"Cordelia whatever you need from me to make this better. Say the world and I will bend heaven." His face searched hers frantically as he hesitantly reached up with his hand. His fingers brushing aside some stray curles that had stuck to her lips and cheeks in thr past couple minutes.

"Matthew I want to kiss you". Cordelia looked for sober than she had been moments before. Her eyes more level, like the crying rid her of her initial euphoria.

"Cordelia please-", Matthew began but was cut off

Cordelia began to draw back into herself. "Matthew if you don't wish to the we can simply pretend this never happened and blame it on the-"

Cordelia never got to finish her sentence.

Matthew gathered her up in his arms and leaned down to cover her lips with her own. Cordelia was quick to respond. She leaned in close to his chest tilting her head up to meet him.

There was a slow and luxurious passion to the method in which Matthew kissed her. He did not take liberties or assume what she wanted. His kisses were long and hot, like lava rolling down an island.

They grew impatient with this careful passion however. Cordelia reached out and cupped the back of Matthew's necks, using this leverage to pull gersl further into his lap. Between kisses Matthew pulled back and dipped his head under her jaw and kisses lightly.

"Break my heart Cordelia", he kissed her jaw line, "strike my face", he feathered a kiss on her cheek bone. "You'll wish to forget me come morning but for now let me be yours in this world we've created."

Cordelia pulled back and looked Matthew with her eyebrows drawn. She looked as if she was going to make a reply but instead she cried out in pain gripping her stomach.

Matthew pulled back from her as he himself was pulled back violently into the cold water memories of his mom's illness.

Cordelia stumbled to her feet and met his gaze in a panic before she crumpled forward infront of him. He rushed to catch her as she fell but only succeeded in softening her fall as she took him down to the floor as well.

----

Anna had been having quiet the night of sideshow and talent. She had learned to juggle with one hand and mix a particularly strong cocktail from the new mixologist who had been entranced by her eyes and who Anna has thought in return had the most lovely monolid and sharp jawline.

Thought the night was getting slower and she too was starting to wish to retire to bed.

She set off quite some time ago to locate Matthew and Cordelia but was having a hell of a time wrangling them. She was now searching the east wing retiring rooms in a last ditch attempt to locate them. Even if it meant finding them in a surprising manor. Thought, Anna doubted, Matthew would ever have it in him to break Jamse's heart and confess his obvious infatuation with the girl.

Then again, love is a two way path.

What she didn't expect to find was a colapsing Cordelia and Matthew grabbing at her like a drowning man in rapids.

She watched as Cordelia's stumble three Matthew off his feet and into the ground cushioning her fall and landing him on his knees, practically crushing her in his grib.

Matthew looked like a young boy again. One who had just broke their favorite new toy and had come to terms with the fact that things break. It broke their hearts like this moment now broke Anna's.

She had no time to react before Matthew looked up at her, hair falling over his forehead in a drastically unfashionable way as his wide eyes bore into her. He looked 13 again.

He croaked out in a heart shatteringly desparate tone.

"Help me."

Notes: Hey guys! Thank you for your patience with me taking so long to get back on the horse. I took a one month legally blonde obsession break on accident. I've read about 418,786 words of legally blonde Fanfiction and I'm reading to get back in the grind 😤. This one's a little short but I plan on posting the next chapter soon (like actually soon) so stay tuned :-).

[goldenhour-goldenboy]

I will send you ask until I'm out of breath!! You're awesome! I think the number is 25? Anyway, the line is "You're so fucking hot when your mad" if I can, I'd like to ask that Will's S/O says it to him

Thank you bb! i’m terribly sorry that I took so long but I’m finally getting to the bottom of the asks and I just had this wonderful scenario popping into my head when I thought the prompt. I hope you love it as well! This got kinda long so I put the rest under the cut, also this is not proof read and I should probably wait until tomorrow to edit and post this but I’m just so excited! (guys, it’s 2:40 in the morning, I better get my ass to sleep, lol) ALSO: I hope there’s not an author named Joseph Clarke out there. If so, sorry! I just had to made up a name real quick, lol

You’re on your after-work-routine as you step through the door of your shared apartment. Get your shoes off that have been hurting you all day, drop the bag on the kitchen counter, put the tupperware with your lunch into the dishwasher, spot Will through the door on the couch, reading, ask what’s for dinner - spot Will on the couch reading? 

“Will?” You have to lean back, glancing through the opened door to see that his usual space is indeed empty. For a moment you’re puzzled. You swear you’ve heard him greet you back as you first stepped into the place.

“WILL?” 

“In here!” His voice echoes back to you, coming from the other end of the apartment and you pat out of the kitchen, dishwasher still open and bag only halfway unpacked, to go on the search for your lost boyfriend. Not only is it an unusual sign for Will not to be reading after getting home, it’s almost a worrying one. It’s his time to unwind, to relax and calm down and whenever he skips it, you’ve found him with raging thoughts and a racing heart. 

You round the corner to your bedroom almost carefully, stopping in the doorframe as Will comes into view, hunched over the small desk near the window with his back to you, typing away furiously on his laptop. Clearing your throat and making your presence in the room known, you approach him with caution, making your way into the room slowly, almost holding your breath. 

“Hey …”

You stop. Will’s brows are knitted together tightly, his jaw set as he barely looks up from typing out words, fingertips punching so hard you fear for the keyboard to actually come apart. The look he gives you through his glasses is one of restrained anger and you settle down next to him, your eyes skipping over the desk, trying to make out what has him this enraged. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

Will doesn’t stop writing until you muster up the courage to place a soothing hand on his shoulder. He pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard with his fingers clenching into fists before he sighs deeply, trying to gather his thoughts and then finally leans back against the office chair that seems to small for his bulky form. 

“I’m writing a letter.”

Whatever you’ve expected, this was not it. “Okay?”

“I’m writing a letter to Joseph Clarke.”

“Who?” You can only stare at him. Will heaves another sigh, eyes darting over to a book that lays open next to his laptop, worn out pages and faded colors. You spot his name on the cover. “An author?”

“The author.” Will corrects you and grabs the book, eyes glowing behind his reading glasses. “The one fucking author that - .. Look, I have supported him through everything! Miranda and Clarke breaking up in the second book? Fine, whatever. Him taking the job even though that means they have to move halfway across the country? Sure, have it your way. But after everything, everything that he’s put them through - and me, especially after everything he put me through - he just let’s him die? From the fucking plague?””

Will looks at you with wide eyes, holding up the book as if he’s presenting you a sacred texts and preaching to someone who knows who those characters are. You can only stare back at him, lips spreading into a smile slowly as your bad feeling seeps away and you realize this is the reason Will hasn’t been in his spot.

“So you’ve finished your book?”

“I finished the goddamn book alright.” Will almost slams it down on the desk. “Never would’ve picked it up if I knew it ended like this.” He glances over to his half typed email. “And Joseph fucking Clarke is going to know exactly what I think about it.”

A soft snort escapes your lips as you watch Will reading over the paragraphs he’s already written and you notice how attractive he looks, eyes glued to the screen with a concentrated look, his shoulders tense over his disappointment about the ending. He’s still ranting under his breath about the plot as you make your way into his lap, arms closing around you on instincts while both of you try to settle in a way where he’s still able to go over his ‘letter’.

“Really, what a fucking asshole …”

“A book … ” You laugh to yourself, resisting the itch to reach out and pick the glasses from his nose to prop it on your own. Curled up in his lap you have the perfect view of Will’s jawline, deliciously moving as he mouthes And although you know is very … emotionally invested in his email, you just have to lean forward and press your lips to his neck. Will’s response is a grunt, he doesn’t even move his eyes from the screen as you travel up to his ear, leaving small wet kisses along the way. It’s only when you start to suck on that one spot right beneath his jaw that you feel his leg jerk underneath you and his eyes dart down to you. 

“I’m trying to start a revolution here, Y/N. The people need to know about this injustice done to his readers!” 

You follow up with another kiss on the spot, teeth teasingly pulling at the soft skin and now you swear you can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest as his breath hitches in his throat.

“Can’t help it.” Your tongue darts over the spot you just nibbled on and this time you’re sure you hear Will let out a soft moan, although his eyes shoot laser beams as you blink up again. “You’re just so fucking hot when you’re mad.” 

Your hand grips Will’s shoulder to move yourself on his lap, swinging your legs over so you get much more comfortable straddling position and Will’s head slowly leans back as your lips connect with his neck again, your hands making their way into his hair, fingers tucking at little pieces gently as -

Will shoots forward, nearly knocking you into the desk as he spots another point he needs to elaborate on, finger’s already typing away eagerly. You wrap your arms and legs around his torso in the last second, clinging onto him in a desperate attempt not to fall from his lap as a string of curses leave your lips.

“WILLIAM MILLER!” 

[vickypoochoices]

ABC Fluffs.

Thank you to @krsnlove for requesting this. It’s been sat untouched in my drafts for a while, so I thought I’d finally get around to satisfying your needs!

I’ll make this ZigxLyla because she’s my most recent MC so I guess she’s still fresh in everyone’s mind. I'm gonna refer to events in Partner In Crime quite a lot so if you haven't read it and are confused, give it a read [HERE].

The L ove confession answer is a little segment taken from an NSFW chapter of PIC. I promise it's tame, I wanted to keep this clean, but consider this your warning. (I don't think it even counts but i just want to make sure no one gets upset at a slightly suggestive piece!) Apart from that, I think it's all cute and fluffy!

Also, I started writing this from Zig's perspective and it just kind of stuck.

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @littlegreenmoo (I fear the fluff may kill you off, but it feels wrong not tagging you!) @krsnlove @itsalliepg @choicesthot @hustacks

If you want to be tagged/untagged in any of my future stuff, let me know.

[MASTERLIST.]

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them? We literally spend every spare second of the day together! I guess things aren't too different to how they were before. As best friends (and roomies) we always used to be around each other the majority of the time anyway, and as we share the same friend group, hanging out with them has always been something we've done together. We're still the same excitable big kids that chase each other around the apartment half naked. But I have somehow managed to persuade Lyla to join me at this new dance class once a week. She's got two left feet and hates every second of it, but my girl drives a hard bargain. I'm stuck with all the jobs she hates doing taking the garbage out and she's demanding a full body massage as well. I know she loves to moan about it, but I'm sure deep down she's happy to be doing it with me. Maybe.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them? Everything! Every single inch of her is perfect. From her fluffy bedhead hair first thing in the morning to the tiny little scar on her ankle left from when she had chicken pox as a kid. I think what has always drawn me to Lyla though is her sense of humour. We have this banter together that I've never really experienced with anyone else and it's kind of a huge turn on for me.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.? I'm not exactly an extravagant person, and it's not like I have the money to do anything over the top. For me, it's all about the little things. I know Lyla well enough by now to determine what's going to cut it, and whatever it is, I'll do it. I'll run a hot bubble bath or make a last minute dash to the shop for chocolate/ice cream/wine. And making her favourite meal is always going to be a winner. But sometimes patience and understanding is all you need. If that means holding my girl for an hour whilst she smears make up all over my top and let's it all out, then that's what I'll do.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o? In a slightly bigger apartment for starters! Don't get me wrong, we both love our little space, but I guess we both know one day in the future it's not going to be the most practical. Obviously both our mothers have already brought up the subject of grandchildren daily. I'm sure that will all come one day, but for now our dreams have only stretched to getting a pet together. Apparently Lyla is a hundred percent a cat person, but I'm hoping I can work some magic and persuade her that dogs are awesome too. I think that basically sums us up. We haven't planned out what we want to do with our lives or what career paths to take, but our biggest goal is to have a dog pet together!

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive? I wouldn't say either of us are like overbearingly dominant or anything, but if I had to give you a name, i'd say Lyla just about has the edge over me. I'm not saying she walks all over me or that she wears the trousers or anything like that. But sometimes I'll just go along with something for an easy life.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting? If you ignore the little disagreement about what pet we should get and all the shit that went down with Dean, we really don't ever fight. Don't get me wrong, Lyla is stubborn as hell! But I learnt a few things growing up with a house full of sisters, so I'm more likely to let things slide. The only thing I struggle with is when the green eyed monster comes out in Lyla.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them? I know this is so cliche and people always say how lucky they are to call their other half their best friend, but I genuinely can say that. Everything is just so easy with us and Lyla knows me like the back of her hand. There's this other side to her that no one else ever gets to see and I love that it's reserved for me. Just doing simple things like walking around holding hands, showing my girl off to the world, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world that she feels the same way about me. Author's Note: We all know Lyla has every reason to be grateful for the absolute sweetheart that she's bagged herself, despite fucking him in a closet and then running away to her controlling fiance, then telling him to stay away. You sure you're grateful Zig?

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything? I'm making a point now of not keeping anything from Lyla after that spectacularly backfired on me with the whole Cherry thing! Safe to say I've learnt my lesson! I want to protect her with every fiber or my being, but I know a relationship is nothing without honesty and trust.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems? I guess you'd have to ask Lyla about this one for her. I know things were a little crazy with Dick Dean, and I'd like to think I helped her as best I could through all of that during the aftermath. For me though, going through it all pushed me to realise just how much I need Lyla. I depend on her more than I ever thought possible. I was this empty shell of a man that didn't want to get out of bed when she left. I know, I know. It sounds a bit over the top, but it really is true what they say; You don't know what you have until it's gone. And I plan on holding on tight to my girl from now on, and never letting go.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it? I'm not gonna lie, it sucks when I catch a guy checking Lyla out. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna be a dick about it. Knowing I'm the one that gets to take her home to our apartment to sleep in our bed makes things a little easier too. I think she's completely oblivious to any male attention anyway. And as for Lyla, she does have a touch of the green eyed monster from time to time. It's difficult sometimes, especially knowing how strongly I feel for her, and I hope I do a good job of showing her that on a daily basis. But I know that's the kind of thing we have to talk about, instead of letting it blow out of proportion like last time.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like? A reminder of how their first kiss went;

And then their lips collided in a frenzy, neither of them sure who made the first move, past the point of caring. Zig’s nose squished against hers repeatedly as their lips smacked together messily, Lyla’s kisses quickly intensifying, her tongue insistently pleading with his, desperate for permission to continue.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o? Again, a reminder of how that went down;

“I can’t do this when you’ve been drinking. I can’t take advantage.”

“Take advantage? It makes no difference if i’ve had a drink or not. I’ll still love you when I wake up in the morning.”

Zig shook his head sadly, hating the stab of hope he felt inside at the words she’d just said. “And I’ll still love you. Partner in crime, right?”

Lyla pulled back, tearing herself away from his neck. She looked him straight in the eye, hers wide and serious as she spoke. “You’re not listening to me. I’m in love with you Zig. And I’ll be in love with you even when the bubbles are gone and the hangover wears off. I...”

He crushes his lips against hers, walking her backwards and pinning her against the wall, his hands tangling in her hair which had come loose at some point. He pressed his body firmly against her, letting Lyla feel the full affect she had on him. Her hand drifted downwards, fingers stroking his full length through his suit trousers. Zig groaned, before slamming his lips against hers once more, leaving her breathless.

“Tell me again.” He hissed, pressing sloppy kisses down her jawline.

"I’m in love with you Zig.”

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like? It's not something we've talked about but there's no doubt in my mind, Lyla is the love of my life and there's nothing I want more than for her to become Mrs Ortega. One day though. There's no rush right now, despite what our Mum's might want from us. I want to do it right. After all that shit with that sham of a wedding to Dean, Lyla deserves to have the perfect day. I'm not saying i've thought much about how exactly I'd propose, but I do know it would be in the apartment. Regardless of if we still live there or not, that's where it's happening. Candles can make anything look beautiful right? As for the wedding, it can be whatever Lyla wants. We could get married in a castle, church, hotel, barn, even the middle of a mall if thats what makes her happy. As long as our friends and family are there and it's Lyla saying 'I Do', that's all I need.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o? Damn Aaron and his catchy nicknames! Lyla has taken to calling me Ziggypop since I let slip how much I kinda actually hate it. And she's a fan of rolling out my full name from time to time. As for me, I guess I'm kind of boring. I stick to babe/baby. And let's not forget beautiful, because I love how that still makes her smile every time I say it.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings? Well judging by how I reacted after our brief time apart, I'm a miserable prick without Lyla, so I'd say it was pretty obvious for others just how much I love her. I don't really know how to answer that one about what I'm like when I'm in love because it feels like I fell hard for Lyla the minute I laid eyes on her. I've spent years clutching on to those feelings, and hoping people didn't cotton on. We're both guilty of expressing those pent up feelings freely, now that we can.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching? We're definitely that couple that everyone hates. I love Lyla, and I don't care if we're in a room alone or surrounded by people. If I want to kiss my girl then nothing and no one will stop me. And it's not like Lyla holds back either!

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship. I think I'm quite good at reading people, females in particular. Definitely a benefit from growing up in a house full of girls! Nothing really scares me or surprises me now with the opposite sex.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative? What wouldn't I do to make Lyla happy? I've sat through every soppy chick flick known to man with Lyla and I know I'd do the lot. Kissing in the rain, the iconic lift in the water, some sexy pottery making...Seriously though, I know I might joke about it, but all I really want is to see my girl smile, and to be the one making her smile. Whatever she wants, it's done. I might not be full of amazing romantic gestures, but I'll still try my hardest all the same.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them? Lyla will rule the world one day I'm sure of it. I mean, if that's what she wants to do. She's been stressing out recently because she doesn't have her whole life figured out yet, but I'm doing my best to convince her she doesn't have to. She's amazingly smart, and she can pick things up quickly. Whatever she eventually decides on, I'll be there to support her the whole way. Lyla has this awful saying that apparently all of the cool kids say 'Live your best life' that she constantly says to wind me up. And annoyingly it seems to do the trick. I'm planning a few more dance classes just for starters, so she might end up regretting those words of encouragement.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine? Spice up our relationship? That makes me cringe, I hope we never get to that point! Lyla is all about routine in everything. I've watched her do the same things day in, day out for the last three years. And now we're together I'm here to shake things up a little bit. I said shake, not spice! I'm not really making her try out new things forget about those dance classes. I just think life could still be fun if instead of getting up an hour early for work to eat breakfast and slap make up on, she spent that time in bed with me instead. She's too beautiful to hide behind make up, and obviously I wouldn't say no to an extra hour in bed with my girl.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic? Pretty good. I know that Lyla's favourite coffee is a salted caramel machiato with a heart drizzle on top but she doesn't even know that herself. I know she bought a load of cakes in the first time she met my Mum because she wanted to make a good impression, and ended up telling her she'd baked them all herself. The lie still lives on, and Lyla has to fill the sink with dishes everytime Mum visits! And I know that she got her stubborn streak from her father, which explains a lot!

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life? There is no comparison. Aside from my family, Lyla is the single most important thing to me. That question is like asking a fish how important water is to them, that's what she is for me. I don't just love her, I need her.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

"Babe, have you seen my jacket?"

Zig stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening in disbelief as he drank in the sight of Lyla.

The shiny black leather was a stark contrast against her pale skin, a touch of pink barely visible as it crept along the exposed flesh of her neck, her long hair twisted to one side.

She stood with her back to him, head cocked to the side as she peered at him from over one shoulder. Her teeth sank in to her full bottom lip in an attempt to suppress a giggle.

Zig swallowed hard as his eyes slowly lowered. Past her small shoulders, the excess material bunching up and hanging off of her. His tongue slowly traced around his lips as his gaze lowered further still, finding her hands bunching up a fistful of leather, the curve of her bare ass now visible. Her hips swayed seductively from side to side, her voice vibrating in her throat as she let out a low purr "This one?"

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle? I think the problem with us has always been that we're too affectionate. Not that I'm complaining! When I hold Lyla it's like I've got the whole entire world just sat there in my arms and I never want to let go. The fact that I can hold her all night long and kiss her sweet lips until we need to come up for air is just an added bonus! So glad we're out of the friend zone!

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of? Something like spending close to every waking minute of the day for weeks on end trying to find a way out of an unwanted marriage for her? Or is that too specific? I would do anything and everything for Lyla. Nothing is too much for the woman I love.

[guiltypleasure-girl]

Just been sitting here, staring at the wall, feeling mesmerised and giddy and OH so warm and fuzzy and horny. You, my dear Cee, have blessed us all with a true Christmas miracle and it is just mwah *chefs kiss* - absolutely decadent, scrumptious, delectable and delicious - I am so well fed, so very full of cowboy festive cheer that I no longer need to celebrate on the 25th. Nothing can top this gift and if you don't mind, I shall proceed to lose my mind over it under the cut...

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I’m so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don’t already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart. 

First of all, ma'am, how dare you be so DAMN SWEET TO ME!!! A Palomino Christmas dedicated to me?? I am still in disbelief!!!! I am so happy that this story was able to bring us together and if my Jack art is the best it is only because you provide me with such inspiring and beautiful imagery as source material. I would be nothing without you and your brilliant cowboy Jack! Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Cee!! Truly the best gift ever! 🥹💖

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

Okay, right off the bat, I AM OBSESSED! God, you know our boy is in trouble when Tequila has more sense in his brain!! As much as I love a put-together, confident Jack, I ADORE a nervous, love-sick Jack. He just wants it all to go well and that means he really does care for you (a.k.a. love you) and for that reason I am already deceased - cause of death: fatal levels of yearning. 

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

This whole section - what can I say? You've totally nailed the banter again! It was such a treat to see some interaction with the group and I LOVE LOVE LOVE the dynamic of teasing someone for being so obviously in love when it’s so out of character for them. I hereby deem you the master of banter (to be listed on your resume next to bulgetologist, of course). 

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Stop. I can't handle any more yearning. I'm already deceased and now you are attacking me with softness and sexiness in my grave.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,’ you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

How did you know I just watched this last night?? Talk about an immersive reading experience!!! And, of course, I'd sit through any sort of dinner, no matter the level of chaos, if it meant sitting cozied up to a broad, sexy cowboy and giving him smooches. *eternal sigh*

Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

Cee!! Seriously stop!!! I can't handle the cuteness I need to punch a wall omg!!!! The hat is perfect but the necklace is PERFECT with a cherry on top! There better be a cowboy in my bed ready to clasp a matching necklace around my neck on Christmas Eve or I riot!!

for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

The absolute pièce de résistance, the timeless Cee signature, a magnificent and instant blush-inducing bulge description. Thank you, my friend, I will never get this glorious image of snowsuit Jack out of my head (and you know what that means... whips out my ipad and furiously starts sketching). 

‘That’s it, you’re ridin’ me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

GOOD GAAAWWDDD I AM CONVULSING.

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear

No but I really wouldn't. I'm all for feminism but this man OWNS me.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

BRILLIANT. SHOWSTOPPING. STANDING OVATION. I AM RUINED FOREVER AND I DON'T EVEN CARE.

Cee, this was truly a delight from start to finish and I can't thank you enough for bringing it into the world for all to enjoy. I never wanted it to end but at least I know there is more to come next year and I'm already giddy with excitement for what your brilliant mind will create!!!

A Palomino Christmas

Jack Daniels x f!reader

|| Palomino universe oneshot, out of chronological order as I haven't finished the series yet. Can be read as a stand-alone. ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You spend Christmas at the ranch with Jack. You thought the present you got him was inspired until you see him wearing it - the cowboy way.

Inspired by snowsuit anon and this adorable post (and a super cute nickname for a pony) sent to me by @aynsleywalker.

Warnings: !Ski suit action!, drinking, mention of food, gratuitous descriptions of the male bulge body, dirty talk, safe unprotected sex, feelings so fluffy. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.5k

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I'm so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don't already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart ❤️

It’s always busy in the Stateman’s main kitchen on Christmas morning. The smokey burn of firewood warms the cozy space as the radio blares holiday tunes. Poppy presides over the operations at the head of the table - everything is planned down to the T and everyone has a role.

On any other Christmas day, Jack would be her sous-chef, the one she relies on to keep everyone on schedule and in their place.

But alas, today is not any other Christmas day.

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

He turns off the tap that Jack’s left pouring into the already full kettle, draining the excess water and putting it on the boil.

There’s one slice of bread in the toaster, while another lies forgotten on the table, which Teak slides into the free slot and pushes down the lever.

Jack pulls a jar of pickles from the fridge unseeingly, putting it on the table and walking away in search of a mug under three sets of watching, worried eyes. Teak replaces it with his friend’s favourite strawberry jam without a word.

While the oblivious cowboy’s back is turned, Teak motions his hand and forth across his neck in a slicing motion, mouthing nope emphatically at the occupants of the kitchen table.

On his cue, Poppy clears her throat and speaks up, ‘Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go check on the horses after your toast? The stable boys want to leave work early today after doing their morning rounds.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he answers absent-mindedly, staring down into the empty mug in his grasp as if he’s lost his train of thought.

At that very moment, the toaster pops and Jack practically jumps out of his skin, stepping on Jameson’s paw where he’s lying on his rug in front of the fire, prompting an indignant yelp from the border collie and winces from around the table.

‘Sorry boy,’ he apologises and picks up his toast - burning his fingers - and stumbling over his feet to set his plate down. ‘Mornin’,’ he nods to the others without really registering who’s there.

Jack proceeds to butter his toast with such singular focus that he doesn’t notice when Tequila fills his still empty cup with coffee, only to knock it over immediately when a phone buzzes and his hand flies out to grab his. Ginger and Poppy trade concerned looks as he jumps onto his feet with another apology, snatching a tea towel to clean up the mess.

Eggsy, on potato peeling duty on the other side of the table, isn’t so diplomatic. ‘You’re jumpier than Bambi this morning, cowboy.’

Jack grunts noncommittally and chews on his toast, not rising to the bait.

‘Don’t be so nervous mate, we promise we’ll be on our best behaviour.’

Teak snorts from the kitchen counter where he’s making his PBJ. ‘I don’t know about England, but around these parts, lying on Christmas day is frowned upon.’

Eggsy replies high-handedly, ‘Can’t speak for you, Tequila, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

Ginger chuckles as Teak sits down at the table with his sandwich. ‘Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Jack points a forceful finger at the boys, one after the other. ‘I swear to the baby Jesus Christ, if you two don’t behave yourselves, there will be hell to pay.’

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

Ignoring the ruckus, Jack dusts the crumbs from his hands and shrugs on his jacket, grabbing a thermos and filling it up with fresh coffee. With a hurried later, he strides out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the frigid morning air.

Thermos tucked under his arm, Jack rubs his palms together, warming his fingertips with his breath as snow crunches beneath his well-worn boots. The ranch is blanketed in thick snow, a picture-perfect postcard landscape as it is every Christmas. The morning mist has yet to burn off, but he can tell by the peek of blue through the clouds that it will be a fine day.

If your flight is on time, you should be on your way by now. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you insisted that there’s no point in him driving all the way there when you already know the way. Depending on the conditions, it shouldn’t be long until you arrive.

His list of chores isn’t long this morning - the stable boys will be on duty until lunchtime - but still, he wants to tick all the boxes before you get here. Striding into the heated stables, he says howdy to the grooms and whistles, smiling as dozens of faces appear at the doors, ears pointed forwards in attention, snickering and whinnying at him.

This never gets old.

‘Mornin’ ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out, wandering down the stalls, rubbing a velvety nose here and pulling on a furry ear there. ‘Who’s ready to stretch their legs this fine mornin’, huh?’

Starting at the end of the stables, he unlatches Bourbon’s door and ushers him out of the stall, then crosses the aisle to let out Tanqueray, Champ’s elderly but still supremely poised Friesian, who clops leisurely towards the exit. Zig-zagging back and forth, Jack whistles, jostles and chats to the horses, all smartly dressed in warm rugs, as they file out down the corridor and into the courtyard for a bit of morning exercise while the stable boys mucked out their stalls.

‘No loitering, ma’am,’ says Jack sternly when Poppy’s mare, Pie, idles in the middle of the building. He gives her a firm pat on the rump to get her moving and whistles at one of the cheeky Shetland ponies who’s snuck into someone else’s stall. ‘Half-Pint! What did I say about stealing your friends’ treats? Shoo, now!’

The stables empty, the echoes of hooves on the concrete ground fading, with Scotch being one of the last to exit. Looping back to make sure there are no dilly-dalliers, Jack’s surprised to find the palomino, who would normally be leading the charge towards the grazing fields, still lingering at the barn doors.

‘Whatcha doin’, boy?’ he calls out.

Scotch tosses his head and steps to the side -

And you appear.

With the biggest grin, you run towards him and fly into his arms.

Your cheeks are wet, the spray of snow powder melting when it hits your skin. It drifts all around you as Scotch eats up the white ground, the thundering hooves muted by the soft cushion of the untouched, overnight snow. The mountain air is sweet and pure and stingingly cold, you can barely feel your face anymore - but it might just be from how hard you’ve been smiling.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a Christmas movie. The lush, green landscape you remember so well from your trip months ago is now all coated in wintry glory, but you still recognise the contours of the land and the mountains. It’s your first time in the saddle since - the whistle of the winds in your ear is a song you remember all the words to, the burn in your out-of-practice muscles all over a familiar old friend.

And you’re happy.

Slowing Scotch to an easy trot as you approach the end of the trail, your breath mists in front of your face as you look down over the ranch, a scene straight out of a classic snow globe, thin wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the wooden lodges dotted across the property.

Gently manoeuvring the palomino to a halt and giving him a pat on the neck, you turn to smile at Jack as he walks up beside you on Whiskey. ‘I’ve missed this so much.’

‘Me too,’ he answers, warm eyes on you.

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been here the whole time, cowboy.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Later. There will be time for all that later, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace.

You break the moment with an eyebrow arched in a challenge. ‘Race you to the stables?’

Jack grins. ‘You’re on, darlin’.’

Christmas dinner is in the main lodge, which you didn’t use during your trip in the summer. The intimate space is exuberantly decorated in red and gold, a huge, freshly cut pine tree stands proudly by the antique fireplace, a merry fire burning. The table is beautifully laid, silverware immaculately polished and fine china sit alongside holidays-themed napkins. A magnificent feast lines the length of the mahogany dining table comfortably seating eight.

But any kind of decorum stops there.

As the hours tick by and bottles of wine and sherry are emptied, the meal has descended into what Jack warned you in advance as ‘typical Kingsman chaos’. According to the cowboy, the whole Kingsman team comes to the ranch every summer for their annual company retreat, but only Merlin, Eggsy and Harry fly over for Christmas. And while their contingent is small, havoc is an inevitable conclusion where any number of the Kingsman are involved.

Desserts are still being passed around the table - sticky toffee pudding, pecan pie and Yule log - when Teak and Eggsy start to raise their voices and slap the table about British and American Christmas songs. They’re currently yelling - not singing - carols at each other, with Jameson barking excitedly in the background.

Tequila throws his hands up in frustration at Eggsy’s rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. ‘Why is there a partridge in a pear tree? What the fuck is a partridge?’

Champ and Merlin are having a more civilised but no less intense debate about pies - specifically mince pies versus pumpkin pie as a holiday dessert.

‘Next year, old chap,’ declares Merlin. ‘I’ll bring mince pies with me and you’ll be eating your words, just you wait.’

Jack whispers in your ear. ‘He says that every year, but never does.’

You chuckle and turn your attention to Harry, who’s now insisting that they should put Love Actually up on the big projector screen after dinner, whereas Ginger and Poppy are lobbying for Elf.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,' you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

Jack mumbles under his breath. ‘Because they’re idiots and pointless, festive arguing is a winter sport around here.’

His arm is warm around your shoulders as you giggle into your mulled wine. ‘Is it like this every year?’

‘Yup,’ he answers, really popping the P. With a mild touch of embarrassment, he holds your amused gaze and asks, ‘Too much?’

Tipping your face upwards, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

‘Just enough,’ you assure him as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the warmest smile.

You didn’t have time to drop off your suitcase at Jack’s cottage, which is a short drive from the ranch, when you arrived in the morning. Instead, with Champ’s blessing, you commandeered one of the guest cabins, all empty in the off-season - which is just as well. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s clear that no one is in any state to make their way back to their respective off-site houses.

Harry and the ladies retired to their borrowed rooms a little while ago, leaving you and Jack to round up the stragglers. You check on Teak, lying face down on the sofa, bundled up in his winter quilts in an aborted attempt to leave. A few steps over, you drape a blanket on Champ and another one on Merlin, who are passed out on armchairs which look comfortable enough to sleep in, socked feet up on matching ottomans. Eggsy is cuddling with Jameson in front of the fire, and Jack feeds the logs to make sure it burns till morning.

It’s bleak outside. Jack shields you from the worst of the winds, tucking you into his side as you trudge across the snow, the early start you’ve had catching up on you. Thankfully, the heating is already on in the cabin when you get there, and he starts a fire as well while you get ready for bed.

When you pad into the bedroom in your pyjamas, teeth brushed and makeup washed off, Jack looks up to see you holding a neatly-wrapped present, a shy smile on your lips.

Standing up from the fireplace, he dusts his hands and reaches for you, palms settling on the small of your back, leaning down to graze his still cold nose against yours. ‘Is that for me, darlin’?’

‘Maybe,’ you reply coyly. ‘Do you want to do presents now or tomorrow morning?’

‘Let’s do it now, I have to feed the horses early tomorrow,’ answers Jack, pecking you on the cheek. ‘Give me five minutes.’

The bed is cold, and you have to steel yourself to burrow into the icy cocoon of the thick covers, missing Jack’s warmth. He doesn’t make you wait long, re-appearing in just boxers, and a big box in hand, switching off all but the bedside lights.

Sliding under the duvet, he yelps when your icy feet tangle into his longer legs, making you laugh. His bare skin heats you up instantly as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his broad chest. You feel him hum when he asks, ‘You want to go first, darlin’?’

Blinking up at him, you answer nervously, ‘No - you first.’

He pushes the box your way and you sit up, pretending to shake the package to gauge what’s inside. Jack chuckles, his strong forearms dark against the beige quilt wrapped around his middle. Only his fingers give away his nerves, picking at loose threads in the fabric as you carefully unravel the wrapping paper.

Lifting the lid of the box, your lips part and you stare wordlessly at what’s inside.

‘Jack,’ you breathe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Gently, you pull out the cowboy hat in tan suede, the smell of fresh leather comforting as you turn it over in your grasp, marvelling at the craftsmanship in the dips and swells of the construction.

‘Try it on, darlin’,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing in relief at your reaction.

You do, and of course, it fits perfectly. Shuffling onto your knees, you crawl closer to kiss him fully on the lips, tilting your head to the side so that his face fits under the brim of your hat. ‘Thank you, I love it.’

Jack arches an eyebrow. ‘You might want to check the box again, darlin’.’

Sitting back on your haunches, you send him an almost accusatory look. ‘You can’t give me two presents, cowboy.’

He shrugs with an insolent grin. ‘I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I like. ‘

Your eyes alight on the black velvet case at the bottom of the box, and you draw it out with careful fingers as if it will break. With one last glance at Jack, you gingerly lift the lid, feeling the hinges creak.

Jack watches you closely, his own breathing suspended as you stare down into your hands, thoughts whirring in his head. Is it too much, too soon? Is he comin’ on too strong? Would you even like it?

After the longest ten seconds of his life, you look up at him with soft eyes and brows drawn, a crack in your voice. ‘Jack.’

He gives you a lopsided smile and reaches for the box. ‘I went back to the same silversmith who made my belt buckle and asked him to make this.’

The chain is delicate in his big, weathered hands. It takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually manages to pry open the hinge of the clasp and holds out the necklace towards you in a question. ‘May I, darlin’?’

Turning around, the bed dips behind you as Jack shifts closer, cool silver kissing your décolletage as he fastens the clasp behind your neck. Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

His words draw you out of your thoughts. ‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ you correct him, twisting around to tackle him into the mattress, your knees around his waist as you loom over him, knocking off your hat so you can kiss him properly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

The pendant dangles from your neck, tickling him on the chin as he winds one big hand into your hair, his eyes following as it sways. ‘It looks good on you, darlin’.’

The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest starts to recede as your eyes land on the present you got for him on the bed. The giddiness you felt when you found it is a distant dream, instead, anxiety threatens to take root deep in your head. If you got something from Amazon tonight, is there any chance that they could deliver tomorrow -

‘Darlin’. You’re thinking too loudly,’ says Jack soothingly, chucking you gently under your chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

You shake your head. ‘I got you a really stupid present. Let’s forget about it - I’ll get you something else.’

His brows draw together in concern as he grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against his chest so that there’s nowhere else to look but at him. ‘Don’t say that, there’s no such thing as a stupid present. Whatever you got me, I’m sure I’ll love it.’

You inhale deeply, chewing your bottom lip. ‘You mentioned a few weeks ago that your leather jacket and fleeces are too bulky and it’s hard to move around in all the layers when it's cold.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘That I did.’

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach out and drag the package towards him. ‘Well, I saw this at my local shop, and thought it might help.’

Jack gives you a reassuring smile and leans back into the pillows, grabbing the present excitedly. He pulls you against his side, as if he’s trying to squeeze all the self-doubt out of you, the gift draped across your laps as he starts to unwrap it.

You’re a bundle of jitters when he rips off the wrapping paper with impatient fingers, and the lightweight and puffy blue fabric comes into view.

Jack shakes out the neatly folded one-piece. ‘Is it - a ski suit?’

You nod and point out the black contrasting detailing on the front of the suit. ‘It's light and it's warm. Look at the western design with the single point pockets - I couldn’t not get it for you.’

Jack chuckles, the sound warming you as his arm tightens around your shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So simple, yet so clever.’

‘You like it?’ you ask in the smallest voice.

‘I love it,’ he grins, drawing you in for another kiss. ‘Thank you, darlin’.’

Finally assuaged, you sag against him, a yawn creeping up on you as the tension in your body recedes. ‘You want to try it on now?’

Tucking you in, he says, ‘I’ll try it tomorrow, it’s been a long day for you, darlin’.

Putting your hat and his ski suit on the bedside table, Jack turns off the light, his body immediately seeking out yours under the sheets, claiming every inch of you with a leg between your thighs, front plastered to your back, palms under your ratty pyjamas top, splayed across your naked skin.

It’s been too long.

Nose tucked behind your ear, his arms full of you - finally here after months of feeling your phantom weight in his embrace - the night slips away as the snow falls outside.

It’s too warm under the covers when you wake up, even though Jack’s side of the bed is empty. You stretch lazily, the clock reads 8am but the fire is still going strong, he must have stoked it when he got up.

You decide to make some coffee and wait for him to come back before venturing to the communal kitchen for breakfast. While the water boils, you smile as you fiddle with the necklace sitting on your chest, warm and reassuring against your skin.

The smell of caffeine fills the cabin as you sip from your mug, and before long, you hear Jack stomping up the stairs, humming a country tune in his raspy baritone as he approaches the door.

Pouring him a steaming cup, you say, ‘Hey, I made you some coffee -’

You trail off when you turn around.

Your morning brain can’t quite grasp the picture in front of you. Jack’s still wearing his cowboy hat, his nose red from the cold. Vaguely, you realise he’s wearing the present you gifted him - and you congratulate yourself on the fact that it fits him like a damn glove.

The ski suit accentuates his broad shoulders and tapers in at his waist in a flattering cut, the zipper drawn all the way up to the hollow of his throat. He’s replaced the detachable belt that came with the ski suit with his own, the flask bottle buckle popping against the blue.

But the bottom half - that you have trouble comprehending. It takes you a beat longer to realise why.

He’s wearing full-length cowboy chaps over it.

Chaps are essentially leather trousers with the seat cut out, and Jack's wearing them with his belt looped through the straps. You know he only uses them when it’s muddy, to keep his jeans clean. He didn’t wear them at all on your pack trip, but you’ve seen a peek on Facetime in the rainy months in between. And now that you're seeing them in person, you decide that like them - a lot.

Your gaze, slow as molasses despite being completely unburdened by shame, slides all the way down to the triangle of blue framed by the negative space in the brown chaps where - for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

Jesus H. Christ. It’s too fucking early to be sinning.

When Jack realises that you’re staring, he says somewhat apologetically, clearly oblivious to the merry tangent your mind has gone off on. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not meant to wear it this way, but I didn’t want to get it dirty -’

You shake your head hastily. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s - perfect.’

Something breathless in your tone catches his ear, and he tilts his head to the side, one large hand coming to rest on his hip, thick fingers spread obnoxiously wide over the side of the chaps. The beginning of a cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, darlin’? You like it?’

Leaving your mug on the counter top, you bite your lip and give him your best teasing grin. ‘Why don’t you turn around so I can take a better look, cowboy?’

He arches an eyebrow at your boldness, but decides to indulge you. Voice dropping an octave, he rasps, ‘Better take a seat for this, darlin’.’

You grin and do as you’re told, turning the kitchen chair around so that you’re facing him, running your eyes up and down his frame as he steps into your space, narrow hips swaying to a beat you can’t hear. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he suddenly turns with a dramatic flourish and arches his back, granting you an unrivalled view of his behind framed by the chaps cut off at the top of his thighs, the ski suit tight against his pert bottom.

‘Enjoy the view, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning over his shoulder at you.

You swat him on one cheek playfully, and when he swoops suddenly into your lap in a classic burlesque move, you squeal, ‘Jack!’

Bending his knees, he grinds into your thighs as you laugh, the ski suit soft on your skin while the leather chaps scrape against your bare shins. Turning around, he reaches up to tug the suit’s zipper downwards in a slow, deliberate course, and he purrs, ‘What say you if ol’ cowboy Jack gives you a proper show, hmm?’

You inhale sharply as the white wife beater underneath comes into view, and you reach up to help him push one side of the ski suit off his shoulder, revealing the firm line of his left arm.

‘Thought that was more of Teak’s thing,’ you quip, licking your lips as your eyes skim down his front to settle on the weighty bulge now straining against the front of the suit, your eager fingers pulling him closer by his belt buckle.

Gripping the edge of the table, he traps you into your seat, his stare dropping to the matching pendant resting on your now heaving bosom, taking in your blown pupils as he grins. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

‘Aren’t I the luckiest girl,’ you muse, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the table, his hungry stare alone pinning you in place when you drag him down to you by his lapels.

Warm lips part yours and he delves into your mouth, kissing you deeply. The promise of more leaves you chasing him as he draws back with a drawl. ‘You’re about to get a whole lot luckier, darlin’.’

The thick material of the ski suit is almost pillowy as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. It rubs gently on your nipples as you rock against Jack, arms wound around his neck while his desperate hands cup and knead the plump swell of your ass, dragging you up and down his hard cock.

‘That’s it, you’re ridin' me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

His chaps are slippery under your bare thighs from your slick, and you clench at the sensation of being completely naked on top of him when he’s still fully clothed, only his belt and zipper undone so that he can fuck up into you, the rickety kitchen chair groaning under the weight of the two of you.

‘Missed you too,’ you whisper against his lips, crying out when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. ‘Yes, yes, harder, Jack.’

Leaning forward, he takes one breast into his hot mouth, one eye on your necklace that’s sticking to your sweaty skin before licking you between your tits and over the silver pendant, the salt sharp on his tongue. He hums, ‘You wear it so well.’

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear, throwing your head back when he scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, so full of him that your knees quake.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

Notes: Am I allowed to pick favourites? I'm not? I'm doing it anyway -- this is my favourite out of all the holiday fics, no question! I'm so soft for cowboy Jack and his darlin' 🥹 We've been spending time with just the two of them so far in the series, so it was really fun to explore the group situations, especially with the Kingsman involved!

I hope you enjoyed this fluffy interlude. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and thank you so much for reading ❤️