#new year's eve fic

[skyler10fic]

New Year’s Revelations: Ch. 1 - No Matter How Far Away You Roam

Summary:

Over Christmas and New Year's, Carol is moving back home to the LA area after years away in Houston. But she has a secret: she's been in love with her best friend and old college roommate, Daisy, for years. But Daisy has a secret of her own. :) From friends to getting snowed in with only one bed!

Read on Ao3

“Carol Danvers is coming home for Christmas this year,” Melinda casually remarked to her husband Phil, in strategic earshot of their grown daughter, Daisy, who was supposed to be on Christmas vacation but was still working on her laptop from her parents’ living room.

Daisy’s posture straightened, but she didn’t give any response. Her parents continued wrapping presents nearby.

“Yeah,” Phil confirmed, “I heard from her aunt that she’s got a job lined up back here—in Pasadena, actually. So she’ll be near Daisy.”

They paused. Daisy hadn’t typed a single keystroke since Carol’s name was mentioned, but she was still pretending not to hear.

“That will be nice for her family,” Melinda remarked, “and for her friends to have her closer. Daisy, you should get together with her while you’re off work.”

“Remember?” Phil hinted, “We all took off work to spend time together for the holidays?”

Daisy shut her laptop and called them out on their suspiciously flawed logic. “If you want to spend time together, wouldn’t me hanging out with Carol kinda defeat the purpose?”

Melinda kept wrapping. “She could come over here, then.”

“Ugh, Moooom,” Daisy whined like a teenager, “Carol hasn’t texted me in months. If she wanted to hang out, don’t you think she would have told me herself? She probably wants to make her own life with her super-cool rocket scientisty people, not hang out with us dorks.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Melinda scoffed. “Her aunt Wendy said your name comes up a lot.” But the accompanying pointed expression told Daisy that’s all the information her mother was willing to reveal.

Phil glanced up to catch Daisy’s face turning pink in a tell-tale blush. Daisy’s crush on Carol Danvers was still in full force. From casual friends in high school to best friends and eventual housemates in college, Daisy had been very bad at hiding her feelings for Carol from her parents. But between Daisy’s flings with boys who could never measure up and Carol’s humility to the point of missing what was clear as day to everyone else, Carol had somehow remained oblivious. She had gone far away to grad school and worked for a big space program, while Daisy had gotten a high-pressure cybersecurity job that took her to conferences around the world. They had gone years with only texts, occasional video calls, and quick dinners when they happened to be in the same place at the same time, and recently, those had all dwindled as they grew apart.

Daisy secretly wondered if any of the girls in Carol’s social media photos were dating her. If Carol had found someone who deserved her. If Daisy would have to sit through Carol’s wedding to someone else, nothing more than an “old college buddy” at a table in the back of a reception hall, just someone she used to know. The prospect of finding out this information face to face made Daisy ill just thinking about it. But then, not knowing was tearing her up inside too.

“You know she’d love that new pub with the karaoke and pinball and the old plane memorabilia,” Phil suggested, a knowledgable collector himself. He had always liked Carol from the moment she took an interest in his rare antique spy gear and airplane curios.

He was right. And Daisy knew Carol would probably text with a vague offer to get together anyway once she was bored of her family.

“Okay, I’ll see when she’s getting back and what her schedule looks like,” Daisy relented. “She’ll probably be busy, but at least I tried.”

Phil and Melinda remained unconvinced by Daisy’s pessimism. Even if Carol didn’t return Daisy’s specific feelings, they could tell from Carol’s aunt’s phrasing that Daisy being in the city was a significant factor in Carol’s decision to accept this new job. Third-hand is a tricky business for interpreting subtext, but what was clear was that Carol missed Daisy. Best to let poor Daisy hear it for herself, though, and not let her misunderstand or get her hopes up if the time-enduring crush wasn’t mutual.

“I’m sure she’ll be excited to hear from you,” Melinda ended the conversation as she finished her last gift wrapping. She neatly stacked her gifts under the tree, and Phil followed not long after, leaving Daisy to her choice: to continue working away at problems someone else in the office should be handling while she was home for the holidays … or sign off and text Carol.

She opted for the latter but went for the safest option of a group chat with their college friends who had also stayed in the L.A. area.

Daisy: My parents just told me the news!! Carol, are you really moving back?

Daisy paced the living room as she waited. Then the texts started to come in, making her heart skip a beat at the notification and then sink as she saw it was just their friends replying with their excitement and questions. Maybe a group chat wasn’t the best choice after all.

Eventually, Carol did reply with a big yes, that she’d only just officially accepted the offer yesterday, and answers to whens and wheres and whys and hows and what she’d be doing at her new job, only a few blocks away from Daisy’s company. Then someone came up with an idea: to welcome Carol back with a New Year’s ski trip to the mountains. The meteorologists said that while no white Christmas was on the horizon, a long look at the rest of the year might see fresh snow at the mountain resorts soon after, making for ideal skiing and snowboarding conditions. Fitz used his wealthy stepdad’s connections to book a big luxury cabin at a steep discount, and suddenly the conversation was on the New Year’s reunion trip and tales of ski incidents past.

Daisy texted Carol individually: I’m glad you’re coming home.

Carol responded simply: Me too :)

Daisy told her about the aviation-themed pub and they set a night for just the two of them to catch up the soonest they could get away from family: Dec. 26.

Daisy wondered if she was the only one in the world adding an extra day to all the countdowns. Her anticipation wasn’t for Santa Claus but for a visit from someone else far more special.

—------

Christmas with the Danvers/Lawson extended family was over, and no one had left the table in anger or shouted at each other this year. Carol should be feeling relieved. As she tied back her honey-blonde ponytail, she chastised herself for not being more grateful. The job offer was a dream realized, with a salary that would help her pay off her student loans in a few years. She’d be working in a city she knew, just half an hour (with no traffic, that is) from the suburbs she’d grown up in. She already had a few prospective apartments to check out, and now her friends from college all knew she’d be coming back.

Taking a moment to think about it as she applied her mascara, the stomachache wasn’t heaviness from disappointment that the surprise had been ruined, nor was she frustrated with her aunt for telling the whole town within a few hours. This familiar feeling was the pure anxiety that heightened every time Daisy crossed her mind.

She grabbed her keys and set all her stubbornness on driving to this themed pub for a very normal and casual dinner with Daisy. Just two old friends meeting up. Something they had done a thousand times with just the two of them, hanging out and catching up on each other’s lives. Still, Carol tried to focus on the road instead of her nerves at seeing Daisy again.

Carol had fallen for Daisy slowly but with equal parts grief and longing. There was one problem: Daisy was straight. At least, as far as Carol knew. Daisy had only ever dated guys. Well, one in high school and a few dates in college. Though Daisy hadn’t ever said explicitly that she was straight, Carol would know, of all people… surely? They weren’t as close anymore, but in all their time together, Daisy had never talked about crushes on girls or gone on a date with one. So Carol figured it was safe to assume her feelings were eternally unrequited, though Daisy had always been a vocal, proud, exceptional ally. Again, Carol should be grateful.

Her worst fear was accidentally crossing the line from best friends to flirting and pushing Daisy away. Her nightmares consisted of Daisy’s repulsed and pitying face if she found out the truth about the feelings Carol had been hiding all these years. Despite all of life’s griefs and heartaches, Daisy had been so open and trusting, so physically affectionate and quick to smile. Daisy made her feel like the only person in the room, the most special girl in the world. Carol had spent years trying to reciprocate without getting too attached or letting her heart run away with her. It wasn’t fair to Daisy, or to herself, to ruin that with her terrible secret.

Some days, Carol hated that she couldn’t just turn off her feelings by distance or time. So she drifted away. It would have been easy to blame on Daisy’s all-consuming career or Carol’s all-consuming graduate studies and work, but the cold, hard truth was that having to mourn what could never be while playing the supportive, chill, unattached best friend was harder and harder to do as their peers and friends got married, bought houses together, and started families. Carol knew one day it could be Daisy falling for Mr. Right, getting engaged, bragging about her hunky husband, celebrating a pregnancy announcement… And Carol would have to be thrilled. Which was easier to pretend to do through text. Though no Prince Charming had shown up on Daisy’s social media posts, it was only a matter of time before she became a walking Hallmark Christmas movie plot with a handsome love interest to lure her away from the intensity of the high-tech corporate rat race.

Carol had rehearsed this so often, she practically had the script written. She couldn’t play the Best Friend role, but she also couldn’t hurt Daisy, so it had been best to fade to a background character in Daisy’s life.

She took a deep breath and headed into the pub, leather jacket and scarf wrapped tightly around her to protect from the cold and any harsh realities that might be waiting for her inside.

—--------------

The pub was decorated for the holidays—all of the wintery ones, from Hanukkah to Christmas to Kwanzaa to Yule. There were kitschy knick-knacks and banners and table centerpieces from the world’s cultures among various movie references, Santa Mickey Mouses, and a giant inflatable Frosty the Snowman. The visual busyness stood out particularly on this quiet night for the pub. It was too early for the nightlife crowd, and most of the regulars were at home with family or on vacations away.

So Daisy sat in a booth anxiously waiting for Carol, heart leaping every time the door opened. Eventually, Carol appeared and waved, and Daisy couldn’t help but light up like a Christmas tree. The room felt warmer as Carol approached, and as Carol took in the sight of her, Carol seemed to glow too.

“Hi,” Daisy finally said when Carol was close enough.

“Hi.” Carol exhaled and sat down. The silence between them was broken by the waitress coming to take their drink order. Enticed by the special holiday cider on tap, they took a chance on something new and different.

“It’s been a while,” Daisy hinted, masking a bittersweet tone with a light smile. “Tell me about your life. What have you been up to?”

But Carol could still see right through Daisy’s facade, just like old times.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Carol sighed. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself. I…”

“Things get busy!” Daisy interrupted. “It’s okay.”

“No, no,” Carol rushed out and then paused. She couldn’t tell Daisy the real reason, but lying to her felt so wrong. “I was just jealous, I guess. You have an amazing life, and I don’t want to get in the way of that or mess anything up by coming back…”

Daisy snorted. “What are you talking about? You are the one with the impressive degree and stories about all these new places and people. I thought you just didn’t think we were cool enough for you—”

“Oh c’mon,” Carol interrupted back. “You know I’m still a total nerd and you’re…” Carol stopped herself and gestured to Daisy’s whole body with a wave of her hand. “You know.”

Daisy brushed off the implied compliment and leaned in, relaxing into the conversation. “No, you’re not getting in the way, ever. It’s not hearing from you that is the hard part.”

“I’m sorry.” Carol’s puppy dog eyes were all that Daisy needed to melt fully into forgiveness, at least for the moment. She couldn’t be mad when Carol was so sincere. Daisy’s hand found Carol’s on the table and squeezed, but then pulled away as the waitress returned with their hard ciders. She took their food orders (shepherd’s pie for both of them) and disappeared into the kitchen once more.

Carol sipped on her cider in its tall glass etched with a snowflake and the brand name. “Mmm, that’s really good.”

Daisy almost forgot to drink her own, fully wrapped up in witnessing Carol’s reaction. Shaking herself out of her trance, Daisy took a sip of her own and agreed. Carol filled Daisy in on the details of the job and the plan for the move, and Daisy reciprocated with details about her own daily life here since they’d last talked. Their shepherd’s pies came, and they settled into their old familiar banter and gossip and teasing.

“You know what?” Carol said between final bites of her meal. “I’ve been to five weddings this year, but only one required heels. I was a bridesmaid for my cousin and she was NOT open to negotiation on that. Super formal.”

“Okay, I definitely have to see pictures of that.” Daisy laughed. “So many people getting married! You know Jemma and Fitz finally set a date for next fall.”

“Yeah, but she put a hard no on Halloween weekend?”

“Yes!” Daisy laughed. “Fitz’s friends would definitely have used that to prank them somehow. Anyway. How about you? Any special ladies in your life?”

The lighthearted tone between them faded, but they both pretended it hadn’t. Carol set down her fork and looked away, missing the glimmer of hope and fear in Daisy’s eyes.

“Nah, way too busy, you know how it goes.” Carol shrugged casually and met Daisy’s glance. “I mean, if I can’t even text you back, I definitely don’t have time for a girlfriend, and I knew I was moving away from there anyway after graduation…” Carol trailed off just as it started to sound like a list of excuses.

“Yeah, me too,” Daisy agreed. “With the job, way too crazy.”

Things fell silent again as the waitress came back for their dishes and offered another round of cider, but they refused. She left them with their check instead.

“I’ve got it,” Daisy offered, taking the check before Carol had a chance. “Consider it a Christmas gift. Or a welcome home present. Whichever you want.”

“Thanks. I should probably get going,” Carol said, but her voice and expression said the opposite.

“Tomorrow is family game night. Want to come and be my partner, make it an even four?”

“Yeah, okay.” Carol nodded and added, “Just like old times.”

Daisy’s phone buzzed. As she glanced down at it, Carol’s gaze followed. Daisy rolled her eyes at the name and number on the screen before she dismissed the call. “Work. Sorry, I should call them back. But tomorrow at 6. There will be chili!” Daisy grinned, knowing how much Carol loved Phil’s famous chili.

Carol sat processing the evening after Daisy left, but one final detail in particular. Daisy’s phone background was, unmistakably, a Christmas tree in bi Pride flag colors with the same indigo blue, purple, and pink in snowflakes around it and rainbow-flag-wrapped gifts under the tree.

It could be a coincidence. Perhaps Daisy just liked the colors. But Carol had taken her to plenty of Pride events in college and knew she knew enough to get the symbolism of those particular colors. Why hadn’t Daisy told her?

Unless. Oh. Of course. Daisy didn’t want Carol to think that by coming out, it meant that Daisy felt that way about her. Carol resolved to pretend she hadn’t seen it. If Daisy felt comfortable coming out to her, she would. And if it was all a big misunderstanding, just a festive graphic, no harm done in avoiding assumptions.

Still, that night in bed, a part of her, the part that dealt in dreams where her rational mind was helpless to stop it, dared to send her into a sleepworld where Daisy had run into her arms at the pub and kissed her like in the movies. In the dream, there was no waitress or staff or food, just the two of them and the tables at an unrealistically convenient height.

When she woke up in the morning, the harsh winter light was all the colder for the loss of the fantasy that clearly wasn’t meant to be.

—--------------------

“You’ve got…” Daisy reached up reflexively and wiped away a bit of hot cocoa and whipped cream from just above Carol’s upper lip. Phil and Melinda watched on in amusement but said nothing.

Carol blushed. “Your turn.”

It took Daisy a second to get her head back in the game.

Chili had been delicious but that was hours ago, and now they had moved on from Pictionary to charades to late-night hot cocoa and a final game involving strategic moves and countermoves: the epic battlefield of Scrabble.

It felt like every word Daisy could think of was entirely inappropriate or could be twisted to be dirty. She was far too distracted by Carol’s presence: her laugh, her genuine interest in Phil and Melinda’s lives, the way she fit right in here at family game night. Needless to say, Daisy’s score was significantly less competitive than normal. Phil won, with Carol in a close second. They all agreed to a rematch now that Carol was back.

“Where she belongs,” Daisy finished. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but there it was.

“Aww,” Phil smiled warmly at Carol.

“Thanks,” Carol replied in happiness. “I swear this with just the four of us feels more like family sometimes than my loud, big family with all my cousins and nephews and everyone.” She rolled her eyes, recounting the dysfunctional chaos of the past week.

“You always have a place here,” Melinda affirmed with a simple nod.

“Getting late,” Phil hinted to Melinda, “Why don’t we clean up here and let the girls say goodnight.”

With that, Daisy walked Carol to the door. They both lingered, wanting what they were convinced the other didn’t.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Carol asked finally.

“Oh, were we supposed to…?”

“No, no,” Carol rushed out. “I guess that was my way of asking if you wanted to hang out again tomorrow. Or another time. Whenever.”

Daisy tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “I would, but we’re going to see my grandparents tomorrow. I’ll text you, though. If you promise to text back.” She teased Carol with the last bit, her tongue peaking out of her smile.

“Yes, touché,” Carol laughed. “I promise. I’m never gonna leave you hanging like that again.”

“Good.” Daisy opened the door, as if she’d been waiting for those magic words to allow Carol to go.

“Goodnight.” Carol had to pull herself away like taffy, literally attracted to Daisy here in the low lighting of the entryway as if drawn in by a goodnight-kiss magnet.

Little did she know, Daisy felt it too, but responded in the opposite way: she drew Carol in for a hug.

“I’m really glad you’re back. Not just for Christmas, but for real.” Daisy let go and Carol backed away, out onto the stoop.

“Me too.” Carol smiled and turned to walk away. She noted when she reached her old truck that Daisy was still watching from the open front door, letting in the chill but refusing to take her eyes off Carol until Carol had waved and driven away into the night.

“I love you,” Daisy whispered to the fading taillights of Carol’s truck.

Inside the truck, Carol skipped Joni Mitchell’s “River” and turned up “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” too loud in an attempt to drown out her aching heart.

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

Read chapter two on Ao3

[kellanved-ammanas]

Dawning of the New Year

Summary: Demo returns to base early in hopes of celebrating New Year's Eve with Soldier.

Another instance of it would make more sense to upload this the night of New Year's Eve but I will be drinking then and thus won't be able to and thus am posting it the final day of the year instead. Happy New Year regardless though, I hope it's a good one.

~

Technically they weren’t due back on base until January first but flying back while hungover and sleep deprived after celebrating New Year’s Eve the only way Demo knew how to was an unappealing prospect. Besides there was someone he’d like to celebrate the dawning of the new year with if possible. Of course it was very likely said person wouldn’t be back or even think to look for him if he was but… it was worth a shot.

So upon arriving at the base on December thirty-first, Demo only took as much time as he needed to settle his stuff back into his room and workshop before pulling out the picnic basket. He loaded it up with alcohol, fancy expensive champagne because it was for a holiday celebration, containers of various kinds of finger foods, and of course the picnic blanket. It was a bit heavy but nothing he couldn’t handle. Hefting it up to carry more securely in his arms, he set off out of the base.

The sun was nearing the horizon, threatening to start setting. A threat it was following through on by the time he reached their meeting spot; a small hill with a scraggly tree atop it, west of the BLU and RED bases and approximately equidistant between them.

Alas, Solider wasn’t here. Demo laid out the picnic blanket anyway, weighing its corners down with rocks. Next, he put he bottles of champagne in the center and the food next to it. If Soldier didn’t show, he’d just celebrate by himself, no big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten drunk on New Year’s Eve alone. But still, he would sit and wait for a little while before resigning himself to that.

An hour or so passed. The sun had finished setting, the almost full moon rising to take its place, blanketing the New Mexico desert in moonlight. It was cold as the desert always was at night, especially in the winter. Demo should’ve brought a blanket or worn more layers. Maybe he should pack up and…

“You’re here!”

With a jolt, Demo looked up to see Soldier marching up the hill, stopping on the other side of the picnic blanket. He was smiling wide.

Demo stood to greet him. “Solly! I was hoping you’d show.”

“I was hoping you’d show. After the last two nights, I did not think you would but here you finally are.” Seems Solider had had the same idea as Demo but earlier. In that case, next year he’d have to make a point to return a few days earlier as well. It’d give them more time to spend together which was always a good thing.

“Well, sorry to have kept you waiting, mate. But c’mon, let’s celebrate the New Year, eh? I brought champagne, the good stuff.”

They settled down to eat and drink, sitting closer and touching more often than mere friends usually would, making the cold far less of an issue. Perhaps sometime in the new year Demo would find the courage to confess his feelings. … Something to consider later. For now, he was just going to enjoy Soldier’s company as they celebrated the dawning of the new year.

[justagalwhowrites]

Happy New Year's Eve, Joel is proposing to Beautiful later ❤️

New in Town - Ch. 9: Second New Year

Ringing in the New Year after you and Joel's first year together. The last chapter of New in Town, found in its entirety on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Smut :D. No use of Y/N. Age gap (reader is 35 Joel is 47, not a focus of the fic). Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 6.3k

AO3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter

“Sarah, if you don’t stop fucking with that it’s never going to stay,” you said, glaring at her in the mirror as you drew on eyeliner. 

“It’s driving me insane,” she groaned, leaning so close to the hotel bathroom mirror that she was fogging it with her breath, adjusting the false eyelashes for what had to be the millionth time. 

“Yeah, because you keep fucking with them,” you said. “You have to give yourself time to adjust to them. Or just take them off because I’m not spending half the night fixing them for you, drawing the line in the sand now.” 

“You are absolutely no fun,” she said but she smiled all the same. “It’s New Year’s Eve, I want to look extra good. Plus Nick thinks the long lashes are hot and I am ready for hotel room sex.” 

“I didn’t hear that,” Maria called from the bedroom where she was putting on her dress. 

“Hotel room sex, hotel room sex, hotel room sex!” Sarah called back. 

You laughed, picking up your mascara. 

“I don’t think it works like Beetlejuice where you say it enough times it just shows up.”

Sarah laughed back. 

“Fuck I hope not,” she said. “Really don’t want to manifest hotel room sex in front of my aunt and my mom.” 

She said the last word with a drawn out teasing edge and you had to pull the mascara wand away from your face so you didn’t end up with makeup in your eye from laughing so hard. 

“Swear to God if you don’t stop calling me that I will marry your dad just to spite you,” you said once you calmed down again. 

“You’re basically already married anyway,” Sarah said. “For the record, I would be fine with it.” 

You paused for a second, putting more mascara on the wand and looking at her in the mirror. 

“Yeah?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” she smiled at you in her reflection. “But don’t expect Mother’s Day gifts from me if it ever happens.” 

You snorted, returning to your makeup. 

“Better get a bouquet, box of chocolates, the whole nine for holding your hair when you get drunk.” 

You couldn’t believe it was already New Year’s Eve again. The last year had gone by so fast it didn’t seem like it could have contained quite as much as it did. But you’d spent almost the entire time so blissfully happy that it made sense that the time felt so damn short. 

Things with Joel had been going so well before Sarah found out that it was hard to believe it could really get better, but it did. Not feeling like you were hiding from the most important person in both your lives was like losing a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying. Neither of you were dancing around talking about how you were spending your time now, not being careful about what pictures you sent her and not having to just pretend like a huge part of your life didn’t exist when talking with her. 

When she went back to Seattle after Thanksgiving, the three of you started having weekly FaceTime calls, you and Joel sometimes on your couch or at his kitchen table or even in a hotel room in New Orleans once when you decided to get away for your first trip together as a couple. 

That Christmas had been the best you’d ever had. Not that there was much competition but Joel and Sarah both had completely brought you into all their holiday traditions. The driving around to look at Christmas lights with a thermos of hot cocoa, the annual trip to Mi Tierra in San Antonio so you could properly appreciate the Christmas lights that apparently were up year round. When Sarah came back to town a few days before Christmas, she dragged you and Joel to the mall and made the three of you take a picture with Santa. You got some funny looks in line - three full blown adults with nary a kid in sight - but Sarah whispered something to woman getting ready to take the picture and she smiled and nodded, helping the three of you get arranged for the photo. You sat lightly on one of Santa’s knees, Sarah on the other, Joel leaning against the side of the large chair. Joel insisted on getting the actual printed photo and, when you picked it up, they also handed you a candy cane and a small Santa figurine. You frowned at it for a second.

“First Santa visits should be commemorated,” the woman behind the counter smiled. “Merry Christmas!” 

You looked at Sarah for a second, worried you might cry and she smiled. 

“You have a Christmas decoration now,” she said. “But if you really don’t want it at your place, we can add it to the Christmas village at Dad’s!” 

You just hugged her and she laughed, hugging you back. 

That Christmas, the figurine and the picture sat on the book shelf in your living room, right where you could see them from your couch. The perfect image of the kind of life you’d always wanted to have, one that was filled with people who loved you. 

This year, the figurine and picture were at Joel’s because you were, too. 

Your lease was up in the fall and, by that point, the two of you were having a hard time remembering the last time you’d slept apart. You were wondering how to broach the subject with Joel - did you just ask if you could move into his house? Was not quite a year of knowing each other too soon? Did you just find a new apartment and never mention it? - when he brought it up one night over dinner. 

“Your lease is comin’ up soon, right?” He asked and you froze for a second, a bite of enchilada on your fork half way to your mouth. 

“Yeah,” you said when you remembered how to move and respond again. “Six weeks I think? They want me to decide whether or not I’m staying within the next two…” 

“Have you thought about if you might want to move in with me?” He asked, his jaw tense but his eyes soft. “Only if… you know… you thought you were ready for that. Just figure I’m at yours or you’re at mine most nights anyway and…” 

“Joel,” you smiled, setting your fork down and leaning on the table with your arms crossed in front of you. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” 

“Only if you wanted,” he said quickly. “Not tryin’ to… I dunno… put pressure on you or something. Never tried to do this before so…” 

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. More at yourself than at Joel. Because of course he was thinking what you were thinking. Of course you were in the same place on this. Of course you were both nervous about bringing it up to each other. 

“I’d love to move in with you,” you said once you were sure you had yourself together. “As long as you’re offering because that’s what you really want and not because you think you should.” 

“Oh I want it,” he was smiling now and leaning toward you across the table. “Was considering just taking stuff from your place and moving it to mine, get you in the door before you even knew it was happening.” 

“That what happened to my sexy underwear?” You teased. 

“Nah,” he waved you off. “I stole those to jerk off with when you’re not there because you don’t live with me yet. Can have ‘em back when we unpack the moving truck.” 

You moved in a few weeks later. Joel cleared out most of his closet, his jeans and button downs taking up only a small corner of it to begin with, and built you shelving for your purses and shoes. He made space for your things throughout his home, for your favorite pots and pans in the kitchen, for your decorations in the living room. Setting aside the bits and pieces of his life to make sure it could hold yours, too. If he’d asked you to marry him in that moment, you’d have said yes in a heartbeat. 

“Oh shit,” you sighed, rifling through your makeup bag. “I think I left my fucking lipstick in my room…” 

You went to get your room key from your clutch but Sarah plopped a tube of lipstick in front of you first. 

“Use mine,” she said. “I’m almost ready and I don’t want to waste time with you up down three floors and all the way over to your room before we go to the party. I want cocktails, I want music and I want to flirt with my hot boyfriend while I wear a slutty dress.” 

“Maria is still getting dressed, I’ve got five minutes…” 

“No you don’t!” She called from the bedroom before coming to the bathroom door and turning around. “Zip me?” 

You laughed and obeyed, Maria adjusting the dress a bit before turning back around. 

“Hey sexy mama!” You whooped at her. “That looks like it was made for you.” 

“Right?” She flung her long braids over her shoulder before admiring herself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door. “My pregnancy boobs have shown up but the bump is still in hiding. It’s the perfect dress moment, had to take advantage of it.” 

“Hear that little one?” Sarah said, looking toward Maria’s lower stomach. “You’re making your mom look hot!” 

“Hotter,” you corrected. “They’re making their mom look hotter.” 

You settled for Sarah’s lipstick and the three of you headed for the elevator to go meet up with the guys. 

Your first New Year’s Eve with Joel had been far more low key. Sarah was in town and Joel invited Tommy and Maria over to watch the ball drop. You’d ordered pizza and gotten drunk and played charades with your boyfriend’s family and, at midnight, kissed Joel so deeply that you could taste the champagne on his tongue. 

This year, you had plenty to celebrate. It was Maria and Tommy’s last one before they became parents - you highly doubted they’d be up until midnight next year. Sarah had gotten promoted and you’d gotten her a job at the Austin branch in August. She had moved back to town just a few months before you moved in with Joel and the three of you had found a comfortable - if unusual - dynamic as a family. And it felt like you had finally found everything you’d ever truly wanted. 

Instead of staying home this New Year’s Eve, you all decided to go to a party at one of the nice hotels in Houston. You’d all gotten hotel rooms so no one had to drive and the boys had all gone on ahead to the rooftop bar to hold a table while the three of you got ready to go. 

“Crap, one sec,” Sarah said, frowning at her phone as the three of you went for the elevator. “Left something in the room, wait for me, OK? I don’t want to try to find them on my own!” 

You and Maria watched her run back to her room - where the three of you had been getting ready - and you frowned as she tottered on her high heels. 

“Is she acting weird?” You asked as Maria leaned against the wall. 

“Sarah?” Maria laughed. “She’s always weird.” 

She came back a few minutes later, tugging her dress down as she went and a little breathless when she got there. 

“OK,” she smiled and took a deep breath. “Now we’re good!” 

You were almost giddy as you rode the elevator up to the party, feeling the thud of music through the elevator doors before they opened. 

It was hard to say why you were just so excited. It wasn’t like you’d never been to a party before - you and Sarah had rung in the New Year at a party a lot like this one that your office had handled the advertising for in Seattle one year - but it felt like something new. Like you were stepping into the first year of your life where everything had finally fallen into place. 

“Hey!” Tommy yelled, standing and waving his arm over his head as he saw the three of you leave the elevator. You could barely hear him over the thud of the bass. “Over here!” 

“How many beers do you think he’s had?” Maria asked conspiratorially and you laughed. 

“Probably the same number mine has,” you replied, smiling at Joel as he craned his neck to get a better look at you. 

“Holy hell woman,” he said, getting out of the round booth as you got to the table. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and dropped his voice low. “Not sure I’m gonna take that dress off you later, might need to leave it on.” 

You smiled as he gave you a squeeze and you sat down, Joel sliding in beside you, one hand of his going below the table to the inside of your thigh. 

One thing that hadn’t changed in the last year was just how insatiable the two of you were for each other. You kept waiting for it to calm down a bit, to stop looking at him and immediately start thinking of how to get him alone and naked as quickly as possible. But Joel was still the single sexiest man you’d ever seen and was still far and away the best in bed. You couldn’t help but want to fuck him all day every day. You were just thankful he seemed to feel the same way about you. 

One of your favorite things about living with Joel was your after work routine. When you managed to make it so you left the office around the same time Joel left his job site, you’d join him in the shower, your hair in a knot on top of your head to keep from getting too soaked, Joel still a little sweaty and dirty from a hard day’s work. Sometimes, you just enjoyed each other. You loved the quiet intimacy of it, of being in such a private space together in just your skin, helping him wash the day from his body before he pulled you against him under the water. Other times, Joel pressed you against the cool tile and fucked into you, hard and fast and eager, making your back arch as your leg wrapped around him, the heat of his mouth and the steam filling you when you kissed him. 

The new routines had just given you more reasons and opportunities to fuck, it seemed, instead of sex getting lost in the monotony of daily life. Sometimes it was in the middle of late night TV when you were both getting tired on the couch. Sometimes it was when you were putting away laundry. Sometimes it was when you were making dinner. 

It was just that, sometimes, it required… additional boundaries. 

Sarah had a key to Joel’s place, of course, but she quickly learned that she needed to announce herself before just coming in the door when she wasn’t expected, her walking in the house without warning when he was deep inside of you while you were draped over the kitchen counter was a little too close for comfort for all three of you. 

“I have literally never wanted to know less about your sex life,” she shuddered a few hours later when you were sitting in Joel’s back yard, fully clothed with a beer in your hand. 

You laughed. 

“Never wanted you to know less about it so that works just fine for me.” 

You, Joel and Sarah all had dinner together at least once a week, another routine you’d come to love, and you got Sarah all to yourself most days over lunch, happy for the chance to laugh with your best friend.

You weren’t sure life could get much better. 

“Oh sweet!” Sarah said as the waitress came by the table, tray of drinks in hand, passing a cosmopolitan to Sarah. “Who knew this was just what I wanted?” 

“Happy to take credit for that,” Nick smiled, kissing her cheek and you smiled at him. He was a relatively new addition to Sarah’s life but he seemed promising. You’d never seen her quite so giddy over a guy before and you were trying not to mention it so you wouldn’t jinx it. 

When she finally owned up to being hung up on the man, though, you were going to start teasing her as relentlessly as she’d been teasing you. You were getting double wedding jokes lined up and ready, waiting for the perfect moment to hit her with it. 

But it was a holiday. You’d take it easy on her for a little while longer. Assuming she stopped calling you Mom. 

Joel had been paying attention too, it seemed, and the server handed you a mojito. Appropriate, since you’d just been lamenting the fact that you didn’t have fresh mint at home just two nights before. 

“How often are you really gonna muddle mint for a drink?” Joel asked, barely contained smile on his face. 

“At least once in a while!” You laughed. “Come on, we could do a whole herb garden in the yard…” 

“You are not gonna keep a garden alive.” 

“Yes I will!” You protested. He raised his eyebrows at you, incredulous. “If I have the motivation of cocktails I will.” 

“Fine,” he sighed but still smiled, kissing your forehead. “In spring I’ll build you a garden and you can kill as many herbs as you want, Beautiful.”

“Is this supposed to bribe me into you not making me a garden?” You teased, taking a sip of the drink. 

“Baby, I will make you whatever makes you smile,” he kissed your exposed shoulder. “But if I’m saving the lives of some poor, innocent plants by ordering you a cocktail…” 

You laughed and kissed him, the scratch of his facial hair on your skin comforting and familiar. 

The party really picked up not long after you got there and you, Sarah and Maria went to dance while the guys hung back to talk for a bit. 

“You don’t think they’re being too hard on him do you?” Sarah asked, watching the table. 

“Oh I’m sure they’re being super nice,” you said. “Joel and Tommy have never been protective of you, not once.” 

“Oh God,” she groaned but she smiled. 

“Wouldn’t worry too much,” you laughed. “It looks like he’s weathering it well.” 

“Hold on,” Maria smiled and shook her head. “We can get him some help…” 

She started waving to Tommy, who clapped Nick on the shoulder and got out of the booth to join his wife on the dance floor. You looked at Joel, eyebrows raised, until he met your gaze and you saw him sigh and smile before heading your way. 

You put your arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing tightly to him and feeling every line of him through your clothes. His hands went to your waist, pulling you closer. 

“You tryin’ to distract me?” He asked when you pulled away. 

“Trying to get you to play nice,” you teased. 

“Always play nice,” he said as you turned around in his hold, your ass going back against his hardening length. He lowered his lips to your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Except when you ask me not to.” 

You resisted the urge to drag him back to your hotel room right that second. Instead, you pressed yourself harder against him, moving your body in time to the pulsing, thrumming rhythm. His hands slid to your hips and you couldn’t help but think of how they felt on your bare skin. 

But you managed to keep it together for a few songs, dancing until you were breathless and you really couldn’t take it anymore. You draped yourself around Joel again, pressing your lips to his ear. 

“Order me a water and another mojito,” you said, your hand sliding into his pocket, brushing his half hard cock through his jeans, as you grabbed your phone. “And check your texts.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, just meeting his wide eyes for a moment before slipping into the crowd. You went around to the pool area of the rooftop, far quieter than the bar and the dance floor, the lounge chairs all stacked up next to a storage space that looked like it would provide the perfect cover from the dance floor. You took a selfie with just a glimpse of the thudding party in the background and texted it to him. 

“Come find me.” 

It didn’t take him long, coming around the corner while glancing back over his shoulder, looking nervous. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him into you, your back against the storage room. 

“You are up to no good,” he said, pressing you back against the wall, his mouth covering yours, his body warm against the cool night air. “Tryin’ to get us kicked out of the damn hotel?” 

His hand went to your breast, anyway.

“We can keep our clothes on,” you panted against him. “Be very well behaved. Like that time in the bathroom.” 

“Fuck, Beautiful,” he groaned, putting his thigh between your legs, your skirt covering part of his jeans. He rocked his hips against you, his hands going to your waist, the outline of his hard cock against your stomach. “Wanna make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager?” 

“Don’t think we’re making it to midnight any other way,” you were needy, aching as you ground your pussy down on the straining muscle of his leg. 

“Still gonna let me fuck you later?” He kissed down your neck, rutting harder against you, your hands on his shoulders, grip tightening. 

“You think I’m starting a new year without you inside me as soon as possible you’re insane.” 

He laughed a little and nipped at your collarbone before pulling you tighter against his leg, making you moan. You started working yourself harder and faster against him, pulling him tighter to you, your wetness soaking your panties. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, Baby?” He asked, voice dark. Your motions stuttered but you nodded frantically against him. “Gonna come all over my fucking leg aren’t you? Come from just riding my fucking thigh?” 

You were close enough that you’d lost the ability to speak. You just nodded again and he kissed you, hard and messy and deep and you pressed yourself firmly against his leg as you fell apart, the tight coil inside yourself snapping as your clit throbbed against him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He gasped as he pressed his cock hard against you and you felt him throbbing there, spilling into his jeans before slumping against you. His nose brushed yours for a moment and you smiled, kissing him lightly. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he laughed a little breathlessly. “More than a year into this and you still want me to fuck you so bad you’re dragging me away from a party?” 

“That’s nothing,” you teased. “Wait until we’re really old and we’re finding ways to sneak around the nursing home.” 

He laughed and kissed you again. 

“Love you so fuckin’ much.” 

It was easier to focus on the party after that. Tommy gave Joel a look when you made it back to the table and Joel told him to mind his own business and you laughed and drank your mojito. 

By the time midnight rolled around, you’d been pleasantly tipsy for more than an hour, draping yourself over Joel at every opportunity when you weren’t dancing with Sarah and Maria. As the countdown started, the six of you crowded onto the dance floor with everyone else, champagne in hand, Joel’s arm around you as he held you to his side. 

“Three, two, one!” 

Joel turned you to him and kissed you before you’d even had a chance to yell happy New Year and you sank into him, almost forgetting about the drink in your hand until some of it dribbled down your wrist, making you laugh against his lips. 

“Couldn’t let a second of the year go by before I kissed you for the first time,” he said, his lips still close to yours. The knot of heat and wanting that had eased after your antics earlier was back with full force. 

“Good,” you said quietly, drinking in the hungry look in his eyes. 

“It’s supposed to be a toast, you insatiable weirdos,” Sarah laughed and you laughed back, separating from Joel far enough to raise your glasses and toast with your new found family. 

It wasn’t long before all of you made your way to the elevators, piling into one with a handful of strangers, you happy for the excuse to stay pressed tightly against Joel. 

“Good luck!” Tommy said, a teasing edge to his voice when the doors dinged open on your floor. 

You frowned at him, confused, as the doors closed and you laughed a little as Joel led you back to the room. 

“Why do you need luck? Is Tommy under the impression that you have to work to get sex out of me?” You teased. “Because it’s sweet that you’d protect my honor that way but we both know that’s a damn lie.” 

“Tommy’s just a dumbass,” Joel replied. “Ignore him, that’s what I do.” 

You laughed, the tail end of your buzz waning. 

“Thinking we should take full advantage of that jacuzzi tub,” you said as Joel unlocked the hotel room door. “And use it to research the investment of a hot tub in the back yard…” 

“You’re insatiable,” he teased, opening the door for you. 

You laughed and were so busy looking at him - his thick, dark hair that was flecked with gray; his plush lips; his soft eyes - that it took you a second to realize there were roses and petals all over the room, a bottle of wine chilled in a bucket on the small table. 

“Joel?” You looked back at him and he just shrugged, smiling. 

You went further into the room and realized that it wasn’t just flowers and wine. There were framed pictures of you and Joel from the last year of your lives together. One of the two of you on Bourbon Street, another from when you decided to actually take those wine tasting classes you’d talked about, one from your second Longhorn’s game. There were at least a dozen, each one making it look so, so obvious that you made each other happy. That you gave each other the lives you wanted. 

You picked up the picture by the bedside, the first selfie you’d ever taken together. You were hiking and you’d held your arm out far enough to try to capture some of the view behind you. You were smiling hugely at the camera, hair grimy with sweat, Joel’s arm around your shoulders. But he wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, he was looking at you. Looking at you like you were the only thing worth looking at. Looking at you like you made him happier than just about anything else on Earth. 

“What…” You trailed off, looking up from the picture to see Joel, on one knee with a box in his hands at the foot of the bed. 

You gasped and jumped, your hands covering your mouth on instinct, eyes wide. Your feet moved before you really realized what was happening and it seemed sudden that you were right in front of him.

“Joel,” you breathed, trembling hands slowly leaving your face. 

“For a very long time,” he said, his voice assured. “It felt like I’d gotten the only good thing I was going to get out of life. I had Sarah and seemed wrong to ask for more than that so I wasn’t lookin’ for it. Wasn’t lookin’ for you. But then I found you - or you found me, anyway - and I realized just how good life could be as long as I got to live it next to you. 

“You are the single best person I’ve ever met. You’re so smart and funny and creative and kind and the most fun I’ve ever had and I can’t imagine anything better than getting to live the rest of my life with you. Will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?” 

***

Joel wasn’t sure his heart had ever beat this fast. Maybe when Sarah was first born and there were the torturous few seconds of silence before she started crying, not sure how anything about pregnancy or babies worked. Definitely never since. 

But the silence between you seemed to drag on for an eternity even though he knew it could have only been a second or two. That didn’t stop his heart from racing. 

“Yes,” you nodded, your voice thick, tears in your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes, yes yes!” 

You damn near tackled him and he laughed, catching you and holding onto you as he lowered the two of you to the ground on a bed of rose petals. 

Joel, Tommy and Nick had been in here getting everything set up while Sarah and Maria kept you busy in Sarah’s room. There was a brief moment of panic when Sarah texted that the three of you were headed to the party and Joel had to ask her to buy at least two minutes because they were walking to the elevator themselves. 

“I’m so happy for you, man,” Tommy said, clapping Joel on the shoulder as they headed up to the party. “You deserve this, you really fuckin’ do.” 

“She ain’t said yes yet,” Joel said, feeling the nerves all sudden and hot under his skin. “Don’t jinx it.” 

“She’ll say yes,” Tommy said, sounding so confident. “Don’t ask me WHY but that woman adores you. She’s gonna love it.” 

He hoped you did. He hoped you loved the idea at all, that you loved the proposal, that you loved the ring. Sarah had helped pick that part out so he was more confident of that, finding a piece that was elegant without looking dated, something that he hoped you’d like wearing for the rest of your life. 

Because that’s what he wanted. He wanted you, wanted to make you happy, for the rest of your life. 

He slid the ring onto your finger, the diamond catching the light as he did. 

“Are you serious?” You asked, looking from the ring to him. 

“Serious about spending the rest of my life with you?” He asked. “Can’t think of anything better.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and kissed him, hard and needy. He leaned into it for a moment before he pulled back from you. 

“Should move to the bed,” he breathed. “Gotta treat my fiancee right.” 

You just nodded quickly and Joel got up before helping you to your feet. 

He tugged your dress up and over your head - as much as he wanted to fuck you in the sexy little thing you’d been tempting him with all night, the need to feel your skin was too great - and eased you down onto the bed. 

You moved to the middle of it and Joel got undressed, his eyes watching you hungrily, the glint of his ring on your finger making him somehow even harder. You removed your bra and cast it aside before you slipped your panties down your legs and tossed them to the side, leaving you exposed and bare. You were everything it seemed like he’d ever wanted and you were his, the proof of it right there on your hand. He fisted his cock, pumping himself once, twice, as he climbed between your legs. 

He wanted to make this last. He wanted to go down on you and swallow your pleasure until you were screaming with it. He wanted to kiss every inch of your skin. He wanted to tease you with his fingers until you were begging for his cock. But he wasn’t sure he could, not that moment. He had a feeling you wouldn’t be leaving the bed for a few days after this.

“Joel,” you panted, watching him, pupils blown and back arched. He smiled. For some reason, you wanted him like he wanted you. 

“Yes, Mrs. Miller?” He breathed, settling between your open legs, the apex of your thighs hot against his skin. You moaned and rocked your hips up against him, your needy little clit pressing into his skin. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, closing your eyes, fingers gripping his bicep tightly. “Love the sound of that…” 

“You have no idea, Beautiful,” he said, kissing you, grinding his cock against your dripping slit. You moaned, the movement of your hips stuttering for a moment before you adjusted the angle so the tip of him was catching on your entrance with ever pass, just enough for the most sensitive part of him to be enveloped in your tight, wet heat. 

“Need you,” you were almost gasping with it, desperate and wanting. “Please, please, need to feel you, I need…” 

“Always going to give you what you need, Baby,” he said, his cock dipping further into you this time before he pulled back and pushed himself against your clit again. “Always gonna take care of you, always.” 

He pushed into you then, firm but not to fast, your breath catching on your throat as he did. Joel kissed you, trying not to think about how damn good you felt, how it seemed like he belonged right there, deep inside you. 

“Fuck,” your nails dug into him but he held on. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good how do you feel this fucking good?” 

He could only moan in response, fucking into you, feeling you open up to him, your walls gripping him tight. He stayed still inside you for a moment, savoring it, the feeling of you around him while he was over you, the way you held onto him. 

But he couldn’t last that way for long. You - his fiancee. His fiancee, no one else’s, you belonged to no one but him - felt too damn good for him to last too long inside of you and he had to move, he had to. 

So he did, starting a little slower but still firm, pressing his hips into you so your hot little clit was against his skin. 

He could feel you starting to tighten around him, like your body was trying to pull him deeper somehow, your lips messy and desperate when they found his, trialing little kisses over his body when they don’t. 

“That’s it, Beautiful,” he panted into you. “Come for me, can feel how close you are, just let go for me, let me feel you. Need to feel you…” 

You gasped his name and pressed your whole body tight against him as you came around him, your pussy fluttering around him, working his cock, all warm and soft trying to pull him as deep as you could take him. He fucked you through it, hardly able to hold off his own orgasm, the aftershocks of yours still rippling through your tight channel when he emptied himself into you until he didn’t even have the strength to hold himself up anymore, collapsing on you, his head over your shoulder so he could smell your skin and your hair. Fuck, he loved that smell. Fuck, he loved you. 

After a minute, he adjusted the two of you so you were draped over his chest, your arms all soft and pliant, close enough that he could feel your heartbeat on his skin, feel your soft, little breaths on him. You held up your left hand, turning the ring back and forth in the light. 

“You’re sure about this?” You asked, glancing up at him as you fidgeted with the ring. 

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything,” he said. “Would make you Mrs. Miller tomorrow if you’d let me.” 

You laughed a little at that, putting your hand down on his chest and taking a deep breath. 

“Doesn’t seem fair,” you said softly. 

“What doesn’t?” 

“You’ve given me so much,” you said. “You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted - everything. Feels like I’m not holding up my end.” 

“You kiddin’ me?” He scoffed. “You’re so perfect I have to remind myself that you’re real sometimes, that I’m not just imagining you. You make me the luckiest man on Earth every damn day by just breathing in the same room as me. If anything’s not fair, it’s that I got too greedy asking you to marry me. Should know to quit when I’m this far ahead.” 

You laughed and pressed your lips into his chest, looking at the ring again, twisting it this way and that with your thumb. 

“Make you a deal,” you said, adjusting your head so you were looking at him. 

“What’s your proposal?” He asked, teasing. 

“You take care of me,” you said. “Make sure I’m not getting too overwhelmed or overdoing it at work or just getting too in my own head. I’ll take care of you, make sure you take time for yourself, make sure you relax, make sure you know how great you are. Deal?” 

He smiled a little. 

“Deal, Mrs. Miller.” 

You smiled bigger. 

“Excellent, Mr. Miller.” 

He kissed your forehead. 

“Don’t have to change your last name, you know,” he said, giving you a squeeze. “I can always just call you that for my own damn enjoyment without making it official.” 

You laughed a little. 

“No, I want to change it,” you said. “Sarah was right all along. I think I’m going to make a great Miller.” 

A/N: Ahhh! I hope you all loved reading the story of Joel and Sarah's best friend as much as I loved sharing it! These two are so fun and so sweet, I'm so glad I got to give them the happy ending they deserved.

Thank you so so much for being here, for following along with this little story that started as a one shot based on a request that came in after I wrote another one shot as a request. I so appreciate that you're here, that you've spent your time with this fic and these characters and all of your support. This corner of the internet means everything to me and it's because you're a part of it <3 Love you!

Taglist: @fanficismydrug

[masterofiodine]

capvers doodles yay

[wardenparker]

New Year's Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

[starry-eyes-love]

Love Never Fails:  A New Year’s Eve Kiss

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Pairing:  Joel Miller x F!Reader AU (no outbreak)

Summary | You have had a crush on Joel Miller, you know your father’s best friend, for a long time.  You’re now 20 (and Joel’s 35) and you’re home for the holidays. Tonight is New Year’s Eve and you decided to go to Bill and Frank’s New Year’s Eve party wearing a sexy black dress. You have one goal in mind, you want to kiss the man that you’ve had a crush on since you were 16. And you finally get your New Year’s kiss at midnight. Happy New Year!

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI. Language, fluff, sexual tension, references to sexual encounters, slight grinding up against a wall, kissing, alcohol consumption…that’s it.

Word Count: 2.0K

A/N:  Welcome to my new series titled Love Never Fails, this one is the origin story of how the couple seen in my other series titled Marriage Dynamics became a couple. Enjoy and Happy New Year!

His hands were shaking and he felt his heart race. This is a bad fucking idea man, ya need to stop this before it goes too far, Joel thought. But the truth was, he wanted it to go too far. He wanted an excuse to taste you, to feel your soft lips against his. You were every forbidden fantasy from his goddamn dreams, sent from Heaven and Hell together to test him. You were like a siren, someone who called to him, to his soul. And he knew that with just one kiss you’d be his forever. So that's why he needed to stop this before it went any further.

It was New Year's Eve, and you were at a New Year's Eve party that was hosted by Frank and Bill, two of your father’s closest friends. Frank and Bill always had a tradition of giving you a small gift each time they threw parties. Your father always fussed and stated that you didn’t deserve any type of gift from them, but Frank didn’t care, he gave you a gift anyways.  Tonight was no exception. This time though the gift came early during Christmas. Frank had wrapped up and gave you a form fitting black dress that accented and hugged your curves just right. When you opened it in front of your father you almost gave your father a heart attack at seeing what the dress looked like. Frank encouraged you to try the dress on and when you came out to show everyone, Joel almost choked on his drink at the sight of seeing you wear it. When you asked Joel in private if he liked the dress, all he said was “fuck woman” and then excused himself to the bathroom. Frank bought the dress knowing what type of effect it would have on Joel, considering that Frank knew you had the biggest crush on Joel Miller. The only problem was that Joel was your father’s best friend, and you had babysat Joel’s daughter, Sarah, from the time you were 12 until you graduated high school two years ago.

Now tonight you were back in the dress over at Frank and Bill’s party, with your hair done up nicely, and a small amount of natural looking makeup on your face.  As you slowly approached Joel upstairs alone, he considered leaving and not sticking around to talk with you. Joel was trying to stay clear of you all night, unsure of how he would be able to keep his hands off of you.  Joel, being your father’s best friend, was seriously struggling in not fucking his best friend’s 20 year old daughter up against the wall tonight. God, this was torture for him, especially seeing you slowly saunter down the hall towards him, holding out a glass of alcohol for him to take. Seeing you like this tonight, in that tight dress with your hair done up nicely, made him feel like he had died and had gone to heaven. Or more like probably going to Hell considering all of the dirty thoughts that he was having tonight of what he wanted to do with you while you were wearing that dress.

“Evenin’ darlin,’” Joel said in a low Southern drawl as you approached him. 

“Hi, Mr. Miller” you said, smiling ever so slightly, handing him a glass of champagne.

Joel accepted the glass graciously from you while also gently brushing up against your fingers as he took it from you. He saw the slight blush that instantly hit your cheeks at the feeling of touching him. After a moment of holding his glass, and slowly looking you up and down, he said, “How many times do I have to tell ya to call me Joel?”

“I was always taught to be respectful to men, Mr. Miller. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea that I’m not a good girl or anything” you answered him in a sultry tone.

Yeah right. Ya ain’t a good girl wearing something like that, swaying that nice tight ass back and forth. God, how I’d love to grab that ass of yours and---Jesus Joel, get it together man, Joel scolded himself internally for thinking those dirty thoughts about his best friend’s daughter.  But when he glanced at your face he noticed that you also must have been having some dirty thoughts of your own because now you were pressing your thighs closely together, shifting your weight slightly back and forth in an attempt to relieve an ache deep inside of your core. Joel also watched you slowly look him up and down, and then stare at the prominent bulge that was forming in his pants at the thought of pushing you up against the wall. “If ya knew what calling me Mr. Miller did to me darlin’, ya wouldn't think it was respectful” he said to you.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his admission. Joel looked wrecked right now, and you assumed you looked no better. All night the electricity or sexual tension between the two of you was intense. You didn’t know what you wanted fully from this man before you tonight, you just knew that you craved him, and wanted to kiss him.  That was why you wore the dress that you did, you were hoping to ignite something primal in him that maybe with the mixture of a little alcohol would get him to relax and open up to you more, or at least open up to the possibility of kissing you at midnight. You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t realize that your back was now up against the wall behind you, and that one of Joel’s arms was now resting on the wall beside your head.  Joel was so impossibly close that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and the spicy hint of cinnamon flavor gum that he was chewing. 

“Ya know, that’s a pretty dress. But why’d you wear it tonight?” Joel asked while slowly nudging his leg in between your legs, looking you up and down with hungry eyes.

“It’s New Years” you said, swallowing hard at your reasoning.

“New Years” he repeated to you and tsked at the same time, not believing the reasoning you were giving him. “Darlin’, that dress ain’t something that should be worn to a party of your dad’s friends. What are ya doin’, trying to give Bill another heart attack?”

“No,” you said, breathless. 

Joel shifted his weight a little closer as he slowly ran his nose up the side of your cheek while he whispered in your ear “then tell me darlin’, who’s attention are you tryin’ to get in that dress?”

“F-fuck, y-you,” you said. “I’m tryin’ to get your attention.”  You found yourself giving out a soft moan when Joel slowly nipped your pulse point on your neck, a sensitive spot you had that usually turned you on even more.  

“Well, ya got my attention darlin’. I can’t fucking think straight with you in that dress. So distracting” he said, switching to the other side of your neck and giving that side the same attention as the previous one. 

“Joel, how much alcohol have you had tonight?” you said, not wanting him to stop. But you needed to make sure that he wasn’t totally intoxicated where he wouldn’t remember what he was doing, or who he was doing it with.

Joel paused and pulled back to look at you intently.  He tsked once again and said, “aw, look at you darlin’. All grown up and asking a grown man how much he’s had to drink-”

“I just want to make sure you’re not too drunk where you won’t remember this or who I am in the morning” you said, looking him stern in the eyes.   

Joel downed the glass of champagne that you had handed him and placed it on the table next to you.  He then placed both of his hands on the wall, one on each side of your head, while slotting his hips tight against your core. “Well, for your information, I’ve only had a total of 2 drinks all night, that includes counting the one I just downed. For the record little girl, I can clearly see who the fuck is in front of me” he growled while slowly grinding his hips into you.

“Ah-well Mr. Miller, I- shit- I’m- I’m just t-trying to be a good, ahh, a good girl and make sure you- fuck” you said as you felt Joel grab your hips and rotate them slightly, snapping his hips forward where you could feel that prominent bulge in his jeans grind deliciously against your core. God it felt good to feel him there, you thought.

Joel wasn’t a good man, that was for sure. A good man wouldn’t have his best friend’s daughter pinned up against the wall and grinding himself hard into her.  He kept trying to slow his heart rate down, and stop his actions that he was doing. Joel tried closing his eyes to will his body to calm down, but as soon as he heard you let out the softest moan, it caused him to grip your hips harder. He wasn’t drunk, hell he didn’t even feel tipsy. Yet here he was, grinding into you like he was a horny teenager who was two seconds away from unzipping himself and fucking you hard against the wall. You were trouble, with a capital T.  And the worst thing about it, you both knew it.

As you both stood there in silence, just enjoying the feel of one another, you heard people begin the last minute countdown to midnight downstairs. You pushed your head back against the wall with a little thud and said “shit” out loud. Joel slowly opened his eyes at hearing this and stared at you after stopping his movement. He was trying to figure out what you wanted, what you needed from him. After a moment you looked him in the eyes and whispered “please Joel.”  You wanted Joel to kiss you so bad, and for him to continue what he was doing, but you didn’t know how to ask him for it.  

Joel kept staring at you after you gave him that quiet plea. When 30 seconds was left of the countdown, he gently cupped your cheek and then said “please what honey? Come on, use your words f’me.” 

With a shaky breath you closed your eyes as you heard the countdown downstairs go from “5,4,3,2,1.” When you heard people say “Happy New Year” you softly whispered “kiss me Joel, please. I wanna feel you.” 

With that admittance you felt Joel crash his lips onto yours to finally give you what you both needed. You two have been teasing each other over the phone for the last few weeks leading up to Christmas, and then continuing that teasing for the week you’ve been here. Joel had no intention of deepening the kiss with you tonight, but when he felt you gently skim his lower lip with your tongue, caution went completely out the window and he granted you access into his mouth.  The next thing he knew his hand was in your hair and your legs were wrapped around his waist as he was slowly grinding and rocking his hips back and forth into you while you both made out with each other, with your back tightly placed against the wall. 

The two of you heard cheering below as you both softly moaned into each other’s mouths from the friction of your hips, and the intensity of your kiss. A lot has happened in the past year of your life, most of it being the dramatic change with the relationship you had with your family, along with your feelings for Joel. You didn’t know what the future would bring with you two, and honestly right now you didn’t care.  All you knew was for the first time in a long time you felt safe in the arms of a man who was 15 years older than you. A man who was also your father’s best friend, and someone you were finally able to kiss after all these years of secretly wanting him. Truly, this was going to be the best New Year possible, and one that you’d never forget.

Happy New Years!

Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze @its-always-420-on-the-moon @kirsteng42 

[fanaticsnail]

Interrogation

Headcanon: Interrogation at cross-guild doesn’t go the way they thought.

Warning: descriptions of violence.

My muse: @since-im-already-here. Thank you for allowing me to exploit your weakness.

Masterlist here.

Prompt background: You are a hardened and seasoned individual. A tank, a solid unit that can handle literally any physical damage and recover. You have but one weakness, unknown to all close to you.

Crocodile: beats, kicks, hooks the skin from atop your shoulder blades and flays you against the ceiling by chains. He suffocates you with sand, taunts you by blowing cigar smoke against your face – you do not break

Mihawk: penetrates your skin with his cross blade all while degrading you, attempting to gather information to physically pry them out of you piece by piece. He wields Yoru, flourishing it and slicing you with the wind beneath his mighty blade pushing you from your feet – but, you still do not break.

Buggy: takes his middle finger between his teeth, removes his white glove and immediately places his pinky finger between his painted lips, removes the digit from his lips with a 'pop' and playfully begins wiggling it at you. Removing the finger from his hand with a small 'click', the littlest finger begins inching its way slowly against the polished floorboards; a slimy line of red-stained drool following behind it in a trail. As the digit climbs over your body and makes its way up to sit at your collarbone, it taunts you by waving the top phalanges at you in a pathetic wiggle - you break.

You: immediately wince, wiggle, scream, cry, blabber, “please no, please no, please no. I’ll tell you anything. If I don’t know the information, I will go out of my way to learn it for you. I will do anything you ask of me. I’m begging you. Please don’t put that in my ear.”

Stunned silence. This is what broke you. A wet willy from the clown.

Tag list @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @writingmysanity

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Go With This

Prompt Day 30: New Year's Eve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Underage Drinking, Weed, Off-Screen Sex While Under the Influence | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, New Year's Eve Party, All the Teens, Kissing at Midnight, Getting Together, Morning After, Eddie POV

"Gareth, no!" Eddie screams, as he steps through the doorway, but it's too late. The bottle of champagne pops open, exploding all over Steve's kitchen.

"Oh, fuck!" Gareth says, trying to control the spray, but it's useless. He's making it worse instead of better. Gareth didn't shake it up on purpose, but Eddie watched him poking at the cork with his pocket knife and knew something bad was gonna happen.

Gareth is flailing around, shouting, "I'm sorry!"

Steve's already waving him off, grabbing a towel off the counter, then some paper towels, and finally the mop for good measure. It's going to be a goddamn sticky mess when it dries, that's for damn sure. 

"It's okay," Steve says, but Eddie can see that his jaw is tense, clenched. 

They didn't even ask if they could have New Year's Eve here at his house, they all just decided that's what they were doing, and made Steve go with it.

Eddie gets down and tries to help wipe it up, but he's pretty faded. Argyle brought the good shit, and Eddie's been going out back with him and Jonathan all night long.

But, Steve smiles at him, so maybe Eddie isn't on Steve's shit-list.

The ball drops, and it's 1987. He made it through 1986, thank fucking Christ. Eddie watches everyone take turns kissing each other. Weird. He thinks he could have lived without seeing Nancy kiss Jonathan, and then Steve, back-to-back. But then she kisses Argyle, and Argyle kisses Jonathan as Nancy kisses Robin. 

Is this an orgy? 

Was Eddie invited to an orgy and didn't know it? 

Or, do preppy kids have a version of key parties? Eddie looks for a fishbowl.

Gareth gawks at him, like, what the fuck and Eddie stares. He doesn't know either. Clearly not wanting to be left out, Gareth kisses Goodie, much to Goodie's chagrin. Jeff just laughs, and then kisses Eddie, and it's weird, but okay, he guesses.

Then, Nancy presses her lips to his.

He's kissed Nancy Wheeler now. In what world?

But, okay. That's okay, too, he supposes. 

It wasn't sexual. He's sure of that, and if he had any concerns, they'd have evaporated a second later, once he sees Robin kiss Steve. It's the weirdest thing he's seen yet, even if it's only a hard pucker of a kiss that nobody would ever mistake for being romantic. It looked more like a hostage situation, and Robin immediately wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, hard.

"Rude," Steve says, and Robin laughs.

Then, Steve looks at him, and Eddie falters.

Steve's gonna kiss him.

Eddie watches Steve lean in, and Eddie doesn't know if he needs to go with this, or flee the country. It's too late to choose, because Steve presses his lips to Eddie's, and Eddie's hand isn't connected to his brain anymore, because he lifts it, cupping Steve's neck. 

Steve startles, but only for a second, then opens his mouth over Eddie's, and now they're kissing kissing. Not just the friendly peck Steve offered everyone else. 

Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Eddie tries to extract himself from this, but Steve's fingers are digging into his back, and Eddie can feel everyone's eyes on them. They're never gonna live this down. 

Steve finally lets him go, and Eddie makes a move to step away, but Steve grabs his hand.

"Happy New Year," Steve says to the room, and heads for the staircase, dragging Eddie along behind him. 

Oh shit. 

But Eddie follows, willingly. Letting Steve pull him to his bedroom. Letting Steve yank his shirt over his head, letting Steve press kisses to his chest, his scars. Hands roaming, both of them pulling off clothes, grabbing at each other. 

This is really happening.

Eddie tries to toe off his Reeboks, but realizes he's wearing his boots, and almost falls over. Steve doesn't let him, and just squats down, and starts unlacing them. Pulling the long laces loose, in swift movements.

It's hot. It's so hot.

And Steve is eye level with his dick, and this is what dreams are made of, for sure.

Happy Fucking New Year.

In the morning, Eddie clomps across the kitchen floor in his unlaced boots, and the soles stick with every step. He gets a vaguely clean-looking glass from the countertop, and fills it with water. 

And drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

He looks out over the living room, and can see Gareth on the couch, with one eye barely open. Clearly hungover. Maybe Eddie fucked up letting Gareth join them. Gareth's not that old, not yet. He's still in that weird middle-ground. Eddie was drinking and smoking at his age. Steve, too. But maybe they shouldn't encourage it. Maybe Gareth should have been sent to Dustin's kiddie party, instead. But Gareth would've fought that.

Gareth whistles low, a mocking catcall.

Eddie looks down. He's wearing his boxers, and his boots. And that's it. Fuck. Yeah, he's hungover, too.

Eddie doesn't give Gareth the satisfaction, so he twirls, showing off. Acting like he meant to look exactly like this.

Then, Steve stumbles into the kitchen, taking the glass from Eddie's hand, gulping down the rest of the water, and he's in his briefs, and that's it. With a big-ass hickey on his neck, that Eddie is certain he's responsible for, even if he doesn't quite remember doing it. 

"Steve's hairy," Gareth mumbles, and Eddie laughs, even if it kills his head. 

They are all so hungover, it's ridiculous. Maybe he shouldn't have mixed champagne, beer and liquor with Argyle's weed.

But then Steve leans down, and puts his chin on Eddie's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist, hugging him from behind. No, Eddie thinks this is the best thing he's ever done, maybe. 

Eddie leans back into him, and Steve kisses him on the bare shoulder.

"Happy New Year," Eddie says, quietly.

Steve chuckles, hugging him tighter, "Well, it sure has been so far."

Yeah, 1987 is definitely going to be Eddie's year.

Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked, commented on and reblogged all my entries for this month-long challenge. I really enjoyed participating in this event so damn much. Thank you for reading! ❤️

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see the rest of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[lees-chaotic-brain]

i want to tell megumi hes the loml

Yes! Omg this is literally so cute I'm in love. @kasumitenbaz i'm willing to bet you'll like this :)

CW: None! fluff, mentions of past trauma I guess, comedic mentions of nudity, crack

Collab Guide | Collab Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

After everything that happened since you joined Jujutsu Tech, you finally had time to relax and enjoy spending time with Megumi. After all, it was New Year’s eve and there was nowhere you would rather be than cuddled up with your boyfriend in his dorm. 

Watching the snow fall outside his window, you contemplated the events of the past year, all the trauma and fear you had endured and overcome together.

Suddenly becoming emotional, you turned in his arms and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“Mmph?”

Your sleepy boyfriend inquisitively lifted his head from the pillow and readjusted so the position was more comfortable for you.

“What’s up?”

You snuggle closer to him and smile against his neck.

“I was just thinking about how grateful I am that we can just cuddle like this together. That we made it through, and now we’re stronger than ever.”

Megumi was silent for a moment before responding.

“What made you think about that all of a sudden?”

You can feel the deep rumble of his voice against your cheek.

“I’m not sure. I guess I was just reminiscing about everything that happened this year. And I don’t know, I’m just really happy right now.”

You squirm in his grasp until you manage to pull away far enough to give him a cheesy grin.

His eyes soften as he tucks you firmly against him.

“‘M grateful too.”

He mumbles, before burying his face in your hair and tightening his hold on you. 

“Now stop being all cheesy and philosophical and let me nap. You know that Itadori, Nobara, and Gojo are going to make us stay up all night celebrating with them.”

You chuckle, and comply, letting him use you as his own personal teddy bear for a few minutes before you speak again.

“Hey Megs?”

“Hmm?”

He makes a vague grumpy sound.

“You know that you’re the love of my life, right?”

Silence. 

“Megs?”

Still no response.

“Did you hear me? I said that you were-”

“I heard you the first time!”

He bursts out, effectively cutting you off.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

You forcibly pry him off you to take a look at his face, and to your delight and his mortification, his face is cherry red.

“Babe! Are you blushing?!”

“NO.”

He denies it and covers his face with a pillow.

“Of course I’m not. But you can’t just say stuff like that out of the blue! Give me a little warning at least.”

Giggling you yank the pillow out of his grasp and cup his flaming cheeks in your hands.

“Don’t hide your face from me.”

You exaggeratedly plant loud kisses on each side of his crimson face and coo at him.

“Aw, look at how cute my boyfriend is. He’s getting all red just because I told him he’s the love of my life-”

“STOP.”

He grabs you and shoves your face against his chest, cutting your voice off. Tangling his legs with yours, he pulls you up a bit so he can press his face into the crook of his neck. Inhaling deeply, he takes deep calming breaths and enjoys your unique mix of scents that makes him feel at home.

You sit quietly, sensing that he needed a moment to process what you had just said. Sure enough, after about thirty seconds he speaks.

“You know, you’re the love of my life too.”

You can’t stop the massive grin that spreads across your face.

“Megs I-”

“WAKEY WAKEY!!”

Gojo, Nobara, and Itadori burst into the room screaming. Nobara flips on the lights, Gojo tears the blankets off the two of you, and Itadori bangs pots together.

“IT’S TIME TO WATCH FIREWORKS AND CELEBRATE!!!”

Spluttering, your boyfriend gives everyone in the room (other than you) death stares as he tries to protect you from the cold that seeped in in the absence of your blanket.

“Get out! What is wrong with you guys? What-What if we were naked?!”

He blurted, unable to come up with anything else. The room fell into silence.

Then everyone (including you this time) burst into laughter.

“Seriously Megs???”

You wheeze out between peals of laughter.

“What if we were naked?!”

He just sullenly retrieved the blankets and burrowed under them, yanking you under with him.

As he valiantly fought off the three lunatics from ripping the two of you out of your blanket cocoon, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Yes, he truly was the love of your life.

[manchesterau]

ok so basically i recreated 2010 dnp in the sims

[umgeorge]

op is including the original purely bc they're proud of their edit

[skyler10fic]

Countdown

By Skyler10

Summary: Daisy and Carol countdown to the new year in the smuttiest way.

Notes: Just sapphic sexy times, following up from the Home for the Holidays fic, but no plot or prior knowledge of that necessary. Just pwp is all there is here.

Read on Ao3

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

The noises from outside were muffled up in the tower of the beachside hotel. Explosions in the sky drowned out the whooshing of the inky black ocean waves, and the cheers of revealers at the beach party blended with the thump thump of the bass in the music.

The newly engaged Daisy and Carol had left the party early, however. The later it got, their dancing turned to kissing and kissing to touching more and more sensually. Buzzed on the free-flowing champagne, they decided to return to their room early (before hotel management asked them to leave). 

The elevator was crowded, and Carol was pressed up against Daisy’s backside. It was all Carol could do to keep her hand from wandering so she kept it firmly planted against Daisy’s stomach. As the guests in front of them exited and more got on to replace them on their way up, a woman about their age with a wine glass in one hand and a bottle in the other caught sight of the shiny ring on Carol’s hand that was holding Daisy close. 

“Congratulations.” The woman winked and nodded to Carol’s ring. 

“Thanks,” Daisy answered for them both and beamed. She subtly brought her left hand up to brush her hair back and show off her ring as well. 

“Honeymoon?” The woman noticed the tell-tale mark on Daisy’s neck her strapless dress failed to hide now that her long, dark, loose waves weren’t in the way.  

Carol thrilled at the thought of being newlyweds soon enough but corrected her, “Christmas engagement and just a little New Year’s trip to celebrate.” 

As the elevator door opened on their floor and they moved to exit, Daisy added, “Happy New Year!” and the woman responded, “To you too!” She raised her glass of white wine, toasting their happiness. 

As Carol opened their door with the keycard, she mused, “I was tempted to say, ‘Not our honeymoon yet, just practice.’” 

“As if we need practice,” Daisy scoffed. “Please.” 

Once they were fully inside with the door locked behind them, Carol grabbed Daisy’s hips and pressed her against the wall.

“Wait, heels off first,” Daisy requested. 

“Absolutely.”

They removed their shoes and Carol began on the clothing, taking off her black trousers and reaching for the zipper on Daisy’s back. She slowed down and kissed Daisy’s neck as she lowered the sparkling dress. Daisy stepped out of it and threw it on top of the closed suitcase, along with Carol’s trousers. 

“My turn,” Daisy stated simply as she untied the halter strap of Carol’s top from around her neck and slipped her hands under the hem at Carol’s stomach to take it off completely. She appreciated the way the low cut of the neckline drew her attention, but it was time for it to go in the pile on the luggage as well. 

The halter top had included bra padding, so Carol was already a step ahead. It was Daisy’s strapless bra’s turn to go. Daisy breathed a sigh of relief with it gone and kissed Carol in gratitude. Carol’s tongue pressed past Daisy’s lips and Daisy melted into her. Neither of them remembered later how their underwear came off or climbing onto the bed, but all Carol knew was suddenly Daisy was grinding down on her thigh to the rhythm of the music outside.

Carol could feel Daisy’s desperation against her and grabbed her ass with one hand while palming her breast with the other. Daisy alternated between panting and deep kisses and soft moans, especially as Carol writhed up to meet her hips. Carol moved her hand from Daisy’s ass to between her legs from behind, stroking her fingers through Daisy’s wetness up to her clit and back down inside. 

“Fuck,” Daisy gasped. Carol teased one of Daisy’s nipples into a peak and felt her own getting harder. Daisy noticed too and moved to suck and lick them each in turn. Now dislodged from its position, Carol’s hand moved to circle Daisy’s clit from the front, though her movements were erratic by now with the attention her breasts were receiving. Daisy whined and grinded down harder on Carol’s fingers, reminding her to stay focused. 

Carol couldn’t see the clock from this position, but Daisy could. She pushed herself up on her hands on either side of Carol, pressing her breasts out temptingly. 

“I’m close,” she panted. “Finish me and I promise you’ll have a midnight countdown to remember.” 

Carol knew exactly what that meant. She flipped them over and set to work with more control on top. It was her turn to grind down on Daisy’s leg as her fingers worked Daisy to the edge. It was a dance that Carol knew every step of by heart, but she always managed to learn something new in the process. On a more ordinary night at home, she would studiously explore each nerve-ending’s reaction, memorizing every inch and gasp of her future bride. But tonight, there was a countdown and a promise and a heat that drove them faster, so Carol focused on stoking that fire into an explosion to rival the show outside. 

Daisy arched and moaned, and Carol could feel her muscles tense and flutter as she worked Daisy down from the high. 

“How much time do we have?” Daisy panted as Carol rocked her hips against her. 

“Two minutes to midnight,” Carol answered, with the strain of desire in her voice.

“Plenty of time,” Daisy hummed and pushed Carol back on the bed so she could be on top with a devilish smile that sent a wave of warmth and wetness to Carol’s core. Daisy felt it as she lightly brushed her fingertips through Carol’s folds and kissed her in response.

“I need you,” Carol begged against Daisy’s lips. “Please.” 

“The magic word,” Daisy teased, verbally and physically. She inserted her middle and pointer fingers more fully into Carol and curled them with light pressure, then pulled them out and pushed back in, repeating faster and harder until she was finger-fucking her and teasing her clit with her thumb in rhythm with Carol’s bucking hips. The fireworks outside grow louder and brighter, but Carol hardly noticed as her pleasure built. Daisy’s thumb worked her harder and with more intentionality. They just might make it…

The 10-second countdown had begun down at the beach party, and Daisy sped up her movements, making Carol cry out in an involuntary moan of pleasure. 3… 2… 1… Carol’s orgasm swept over her, throughout her whole body, as the crowd outside cheered and the music grew louder and the fireworks ended in a grand finale. 

“Happy new year,” Daisy purred, smugly satisfied at her accomplishment. She stretched out next to Carol, who rewarded her with a New Year’s midnight kiss. Daisy’s tongue caressed Carol’s until they were ready for a slower round two, using the friction of each other’s thighs, and then round three found a different use for their tongues altogether. In the end, they confessed to each other that wearing only their engagement rings and nothing else was a powerful turn-on, both visually and feeling the metal of each other’s ring’s inner band against their skin. 

Satiated and exhausted, they showered, got ready for bed, and cuddled under the covers, falling into dreamless contented sleep. Their romantic beach vacation was only just beginning, as was the new year, but they were already off to a passionate start. 

[mostlymaudlin]

neil is standing in the corner of the party with kevin when a very drunk nicky wraps his arm around his shoulders

“neil!” nicky cries. “you have to find andrew!”

“is he missing?” neil asks, eyes still on the game footage playing on kevin’s phone. 

“it’s one minute till midnight!” he says. “if i can’t get my new years kiss from erik, then i need to at least live vicariously through you!”

“okay, just give me a second…” neil says. they’ve watched this game before, but neil and kevin are trying to pay better attention this time to the umaine backliner who has been an absolute wall this season. 

“did you not hear me?” nicky says. “we’re down to seconds. we have to move!”

“fine,” neil says, letting nicky drag him away even as kevin grumbles his dissent. andrew is, surprisingly, still at the party — neil had not expected him to make it until midnight. he’s sitting on a sofa with renee, matt, and dan. the others talk as andrew stares at his phone. (he’s probably playing snake. he’s having a Moment with snake right now.)

nicky manages to surprise neil, pushing him at andrew so that he stumbles and half-falls into his lap. andrew reacts quickly, moving his phone out of the way and grabbing neil’s shirt so that he doesn’t slide to the floor.

“hi,” neil says breathlessly. andrew raises an eyebrow. he doesn’t push neil off, so neil readjusts in his lap instead. andrew wraps a secure arm around neil’s waist. 

“twenty seconds!” nicky shouts to the room. “hey, kevin, since we’re both in this whole LDR situation…”

neil tries to tune the room out as it dissolves into a loud countdown.

10, 9…

“nicky says i have to kiss you at midnight,” neil says, just loud enough for andrew to hear. 

7, 6…

andrew blinks. “that’s stupid.”

4, 3…

“i thought so too, but—“

happy new year!!!

andrew cuts neil off by grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. it’s nothing fancy. it’s not particularly hot or meaningful — a dry press of lips surrounded by other people. 

but still. neil smiles against andrew’s mouth. 

it feels like making a wish.

[neontoad]

“There is nothing in this life that makes it…”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette, turning a deaf ear to Dazai’s yapping. He leans his back against the crane frame and squints his eyes at the lights of boats peppering Yokohama Bay like stars. Their little hiding point on the top of the port crane provides a perfect view of the vast and mighty sea they both adore but still… The night is cold and not particularly pleasant. Especially with Dazai babbling away about the meaninglessness of life, a pesky mosquito clad in black he has the misfortune to call his almost-friend. 

Pathetic. 

Still, even that is better than spending New Year’s Eve alone. 

He glances at his watch. Just a few more minutes until midnight. Until the date changes — and nothing else, really.

New Year is not a big deal.

Then why does it feel like it should be?

“If I were to jump off- oh!”

The genuine surprise in Dazai’s voice makes Chuuya’s head snap. He has to do a double take — Dazai looks ridiculous and almost human with his eyes crossed as he’s looking at a… large snowflake resting on the tip of his nose.

The snowflake melts almost instantly, leaving just a wet spot behind.

In unison, the boys raise their heads as they watch thousands of snowflakes descend on the city in an intricate waltz, the first snow deciding to grace the city in the last moments of the old year. 

Chuuya’s wristwatch beeps. 

And… it all changes.

As the snow continues to fall, Chuuya can’t get enough of the way little snowflakes stay on Dazai’s eyelashes, diamonds on the dark backdrop dissolving into nothing and quickly replaced by new, somehow even shinier ones. Dazai keeps grunting and trying to sweep the snow off the top of his head, and Chuuya has to resist the urge to grab his wrist and let the snowflakes linger on the dark brown strands for a bit longer. On the other hand… there is something precious in such fleeting, momentary beauty. 

The stray snowflakes on Dazai’s fringe twinkle under the crane lights, and it’s such a mesmerising sight, that Chuuya feels like his gravity is reduced to nothing as he floats in the galaxy of shimmering stars, lost in the shine so bright, he never wants to be found.  

Chuuya is brought back to reality when Dazai, ridiculously red-faced, lightly punches his shoulder and hands him a wrinkled plastic cup of o-toso sake. Their fingers brush when Chuuya takes the cup from Dazai’s hand, and he can swear that Dazai’s usually cold fingers are almost scorching hot — the fire Chuuya’d gladly embrace.

They clink their cups and Chuuya’s heart skips a beat at Dazai’s faint, sincere smile. 

“Happy New Year, Chuuya.”

“Happy New Year… Osamu.”

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)

“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” 

Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can. 

But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality. 

“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in. 

“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”

And he’s right. 

You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved. 

Punishment, you convince yourself. 

Comfort, your better mind argues.

Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense. 

Even though he does.

“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”

And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive. 

“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”

You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.

And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down. 

But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.

Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself. 

“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will. 

Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights. 

Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite. 

Again— he likes being held down.

And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.

This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.

He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild. 

Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same: 

You always have an ulterior motive.

“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.

Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.

And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either. 

You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square. 

He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.

His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.

“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon. 

Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this. 

“Crap, that felt so fucking good.” 

Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it. 

But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling. 

This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.

But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:

“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

Oh god.

The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea. 

He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.

But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!

But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.

When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it. 

Because it’s fucking electric. 

…

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips. 

It was good. It was a good kiss. 

Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss. 

And he fucking noticed.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’

But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.

Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. 

But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried). 

“...One more?”

You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.

There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.

But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.

“I’m just messing with you.”

And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling. 

The feeling is relief. 

Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder. 

Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.

You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.

“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”

“Aww, don’t say that…”

His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet. 

“I know I will.”

…Fucking brat. 

Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.

But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?

And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:

“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan. 

…

I won’t.

⭑⭑⭑

The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it. 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too. 

…But for who? 

A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.

He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?

But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches. 

…Huh. 

That’s weird.

Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded. 

He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder. 

…What the fuck?

It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it. 

Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!

Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?

But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops. 

And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.

Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.

A mark of your own.

“ ...Shit.”

⭑⭑⭑

[redislazy]

[minors dni] [cw: dubcon, choking]

ghost x afab!reader

red's ghost collection, no. 2

crossing the line with ghost.

┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your latest argument had reached an all-time high, fueled by ego and pent-up desire. You found yourselves cornered against opposite walls of an abandoned warehouse after a mission, trading insults and threats that were becoming increasingly shrewder and aggressive. It was as if something primal took over you both, unable to resist any longer despite knowing it would lead to disaster. As your words escalated, so did your physical actions; fists clenched and bodies tensed, prepared for the impending showdown. Neither of you wanted to back down from this struggle of dominance, even if it meant crossing a line you two swore never to cross.

Finally, fed up with your constant provocation, Ghost lunges forward with all his might. His hand wraps around your neck, choking you while pinning you against the wall. Your struggles only serve to excite him further as he feels himself grow harder under his clothes. His free hand roams your body roughly, groping your tits through your shirt before pulling it off entirely, revealing your perky nipples straining for attention. You moan into his grasp despite yourself, adding fuel to his desire. With a surge of strength, he lifts you off the ground with a grunt and slams you against the nearby crates, making sure you knew who held the upper hand.

Panting heavily, Ghost presses his hips against yours, grinding his erection. "You like this, don't you?" He whispers darkly into your ear, his voice dripping with ferocity.

"You want me to take control, make you mine." With each press of his body, he grows more forceful, leaving no doubt about what he desires from you. His hands roam freely over your body, tearing at your clothes until you're bare before him except for your panties.

"What've I done to deserve this? A stubborn little thing like you getting under my skin," He bites out between gritted teeth, his eyes locking onto yours as they gleam dangerously. "But maybe I shouldn't complain… seems I get what I want anyway."

With one swift motion, he pushes your panties aside and slides his cock into you, your own wetness providing convenient lubrication. You cry out in surprise as he forces his way inside, stretching you uncomfortably. Ghost lets out a low groan, relishing the feeling of being buried inside you. His grip on your neck loosens slightly, giving you enough air to breathe but not enough to defy him. "This is how it should be, ain't it?"

Feeling your body tremble underneath him, Ghost smirks darkly. "Like that, don't you? Reduced to nothing but a moaning mess beneath me," He moves his hips faster, thrusting deeper into you with each stroke. The sound of your bodies slapping together fills the air along with your gasps and moans. His hold on your neck remains firm, ensuring you stay quiet but also causing your face to turn red from lack of oxygen.

The sensations are overwhelming, both painful and pleasurable at the same time. Despite the situation, there's no denying the chemistry between you – it's undeniable even as Ghost continues to brutalize you against the crates.

Unable to resist any longer, Ghost releases himself inside you, filling you completely. It didn't take long for you to follow suit, your body quivering as you cum with him still throbbing inside you as he shoots each remaining drop left. His grip on your neck relaxes, allowing you to suck in a much-needed breath. As he regains his composure, he pulls out of you and drops you down the crates, standing over you with a satisfied look on his face. "There now," he says mockingly, brushing dirt off his hands. "Aren't we better behaved after a nice fuck?"

You stare up at him, trying to catch your breath and process everything that just happened. A part of you wants to hate him for treating you like this, yet another part revels in the intensity of your encounter. "What… was that for?" You manage to ask, your voice trembling.

His gaze meets yours coldly. "For me," he replies simply, stepping closer to you again. "To remind us both of who's in charge here." His hand reaches out, trailing along your cheek before cupping your jaw firmly. "And perhaps… because I couldn't resist you anymore."

As he speaks, the darkness in his eyes softens ever so slightly, betraying some hint of emotion that he tries desperately to hide. But then, just as quickly, it hardens once more. This man is a mystery even to himself, constantly wrestling with demons both literally and figuratively. Yet despite his efforts to maintain control, there's no denying the pull he feels toward you - however twisted or unwanted it may be.