#new years fic

[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

[underthetree845]

His Lady

Chuuya/fem pm! Reader Cws: pm fem! reader, mutual pining, getting together, alcohol tw, jealous chuuya, fluff, pent up emotions, light angst (little argument), reader is high up in the port mafia, reader flirts to get information (briefly), new years party, let me know if I missed anything! About 3.5k words Summary: What was being built up finally spills over at the new years eve party all the higher ups in the port mafia have to attend. A/n: So happy late new years I guess! I don't know I wanted to try a little something. Chuuya is so hard to figure out how to write- I did my best though! Black hearts divider credit // Red hearts divider credit.

You strode up to the grand staircase clad in your pretty crimson dress, the one gifted to you exactly one week prior. He told you that the shade would match his suit lining and tie. You didn’t question why he thought the two of you should match, but it proved impossible to stop thinking about leading up to the event. The boss’s sudden calling for an end of the year bash at the most luxurious banquet hall in town was suspicious to say the least, but with how often every executive and subordinate in the port mafia felt overworked, no one could find it in themselves to care. 

As a high-ranking member yourself, Mori had you preview the profiles of some of the guests that would be attending. You were sure your superiors were swamped with even more. The presence of an executive alone provided a statement. Who they chose to mingle with, who they pointedly ignored. 

Just as you were about to head inside, a familiar voice sounded from behind you. The word fell from his lips before he could stop it. “Damn,” he murmured. You spun around on instinct, and were met with the stormy blue pair of eyes you had grown so fond of; somehow all the more dazzling under the light of the moon.

“Chuuya,” you breathed, taking the time to soak in his appearance. Just as promised, his tie, suit lining, and even the handkerchief peeking out of his pocket were a deep scarlet. The way his gray vest hugged his body complemented his frame in a way that made your stomach do backflips. For once, Chuuya decided to step out into the world without the familiar pork pie that usually sat atop his head. It was a true blessing whenever you got to admire the way his hair fell to frame his face so artfully; what you wouldn’t give to run your fingers through it. 

Your breath hitched when you noticed the way his eyes raked over your form, and you had to clear your throat once for the man to blink back to reality. You could have sworn that the faintest tint of red adorned his cheeks. “...Could you be any more gorgeous?” Chuuya let out a low chuckle and suddenly you felt your face go hot. “I- uh-” you stammered for a moment before clearing your throat a second time, “Come on, let’s head inside, people are expecting us.” you turned and approached the entryway. Chuuya followed closely behind you, sharing a nod with the servant who held the door open. The hall was littered with specs of gold; spotlights, balloons, and crystalline chandeliers distorting light and scattering it around the room. Round, black-clothed tables formed the perimeter, each with a warm oil lamp sitting comfortably at its center. Expensive-looking tapestries hung between tall marble pillars against every wall, only further complementing the gold-traced designs etched into the molding. Servers wearing black bow ties and suits fluttered from table to table like honey bees in a garden, eager to serve their purpose with a near endless list of tasks. Your heels tapped lightly against the polished floor as you made your way inside, trying not to gape at the extravagant orchestra that played in the far corner. 

A long balcony wrapped around the perimeter of the room above your head with doors along the outer wall. It hung over a portion of the tables, shrouding them in shadow and contrasting greatly with the way the center of the hall was illuminated to create a slightly elevated dance floor. Clear glass made up almost the entirety of the walls above the balcony, creating a translucent dome that surely made for a very pretty picture on such a night. You and Chuuya found your way to a vacant table and it wasn’t long before you were approached by a waiter who requested that you provide your drink and food orders for the evening. “This place is breathtaking,” you commented, eyes still scanning over the venue. “I wanna know how much of our goddamn budget the boss spent on this,” Chuuya clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. He leaned back in his seat and you gave him a sympathetic smile. He sighed as he felt his resolve crumble away. It didn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. “S’ there anything you were looking forward to tonight?” Chuuya asked lightly, swirling around the wine in his newly-acquired glass before taking a sip. You paused for a moment. “...You mean, other than the huge New Years Eve bash being thrown by the mafia in, like, literally the most high class place I’ve ever stepped foot in?” “I mean, what were you hoping to get out of the evening?” Chuuya mused, “How’re you hoping to end this year?” Well. 

“Oh… I’m not really sure. Honestly it’s pretty nice already to get to enjoy this place,” you smiled bashfully, bringing the rim of the wine glass to come into contact with your lips. Slowly, your head tilted back, allowing the chilled liquid to slide down your throat. The Dolcetto was rich and sweet, refreshing and left an herbal tang on your tongue. Appreciating the complexities of wine had gotten easier since meeting Chuuya. “I know of a few more places like this, if you’re interested,” Chuuya offered nonchalantly, “I could always use some company.” Your head snapped in his direction. “...Seriously? You would?” he couldn’t help but admire the small glimmer in your eyes. “Yeah, if it’d make you smile like that, I’d do it every week,” he replied with a grin. You leaned back in your seat with a new thrum of excitement in your chest. “What about you, Chu?” you inquired curiously, “Were you hoping for anything special tonight?” Now it was Chuuya’s turn to pause. The longer he looked at you, the harder it was to deny the growing ache in his chest. Being around you was one the thing he had always been waiting for yet he never knew he needed. He wanted to be able to come home to you after a long day. To show you how much you meant to him. To open his eyes and have you be the first thing coming into his focus on a Saturday morning, knowing that neither of you have to get out of bed. He would take you anywhere your heart desired, hand you the world on a silver platter if he could. “To be honest Y/n,” he started, “the best part of tonight is-” “Ah, to meet you at last, Mr. Nakahara!” a lively voice sounded from your left. It belonged to a stout man, maybe a few centimeters taller than Chuuya, who gripped onto the lapel of his suit with both thumbs and stood with one leg out. The executive looked over to study him for a moment. “Oh,” you saw Chuuya’s eyes flicker with recognition, “Mr. Penrod, I’ve heard a lot about you.” He put on one of his business smiles and stood from the table as you watched with intrigue. Atop Penrod’s head sat a suspiciously lopsided fluff of black hair, mostly brushed back in an effort to emulate elegance. Penrod’s eyes flickered from yours back to Chuuya’s and his expression changed. “Ah, forgive me madam,” he turned to you with a slight bow, “Would you allow me the pleasure of knowing your name?” “Ah, it’s L/n Y/n, and the pleasure is all mine,” you stood with a polite curve of your lips and shared a handshake with the man, which he prolonged for a moment longer than what would have been entirely comfortable. “Mr. Mori just sent me your way, Mr. Nakahara sir,” Penrod brought his hands together with an amiable grin, “I believe there are certain matters of due time for us to discuss.” It was clear who he intended to share the discussion with and who he did not. Not that it really bothered you; he wasn’t on the profile list Mori gave you anyway. “Would you mind if I stole you away from your lady for a brief time?” “‘Course not,” Chuuya replied, turning to you for a moment, “You don’t mind, do you, Y/n?” “I- no, not at all,” your voice wavered slightly. Chuuya nodded. Your eyes trailed the pair until they disappeared into the crowd, and you slumped back in your seat. The flutter in your chest was impossible to suppress. There was a single thought running through your mind: Why didn’t Chuuya correct him? 

-

One hour left. Lipstick stained the rim of your wine glass, and your second and your third. A plate of appetizers sat mockingly on the table, long since left to go cold. Taking one more glance at the empty seat to your right, you decided that waiting any longer would prove to be a waste of your time. You caught several stares as you made your way through the sea of people, eyes filtering the crowd for any face you could recognize. At last, you spotted a man standing at the bar with sharp blue eyes and blonde hair straight as a pin. It has been slicked back, and he appeared to have a habit of running his right hand through it every so often. You let out a sigh, put on your best sugary grin, and strode over to tap the shoulder of the man’s navy suit. He turned his head, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes studied the contours of your body and face before a suave smile settled on his lips. The feeling that formed in the pit of your stomach was so different from the one you got when Chuuya looked at you that way. The man’s name, as you pretended not to know as he introduced himself, was Yamamoto Taishi. He was twenty six years old, a recent graduate of the finest college of finance and business relations in the country, the youngest son of the chairman of banking relations in Japan, and, as you quickly discovered, stupidly easy to win over. All it took was a few feathery touches up his arm, batting your eyelashes, taking one step closer, and you had him on the barstool next to you, babbling away in intricate detail about all the deals he was to handle alongside his father with flushed cheeks and breath that reeked of whisky. Little did you know, a certain redhead across the room was having trouble not shattering his own whiskey glass to pieces at the sight. The way Yamamoto looked at you made his stomach turn unpleasantly. Calm down dammit, Chuuya told himself, It means nothing. You know that. “Isn’t that something, Mr. Nakahara?” a gentleman’s voice sounded from his left, and Chuuya snapped back to the conversation he no longer cared to be engaged in. “Without a doubt,” he voiced smoothly, “Actually, I wouldn’t mind hearing more. Do you think you could elaborate on the last part of what you said?” “Of course, back to-” Miyazaki started again. Or Minamoto, or Mitsuba, or whoever the hell the guy introduced himself as. 

Chuuya found himself unable to care as his gaze trailed back over to your form. He grit his teeth at the way the blonde man next to you seemed to be leaning closer and closer with every passing second. The moment the man decided to rest his hand on your thigh, what remained of Chuuya’s patience dissipated in a matter of seconds. Murmuring something about excusing himself to the restroom, Chuuya abandoned his glass on a nearby table and tried to calm the stinging feeling under his skin as he swiftly approached the scene. Thirty minutes left.  “Ah, there you are, Darlin’, I was looking for you,” you recognized his voice instantly; before you could even process what he said, you felt his gloved hand snake around your waist to rest low on your hip. Chuuya’s cologne invaded your senses when his form leaned into yours, your heart giving an involuntary stutter. He eyed down the man still sitting in front of you; you’d be embarrassed to admit that you forgot the blonde existed for a moment. Retracting his grip from your thigh, Yamamoto leaned one elbow on the bar and upturned his chin to give Chuuya a sneer. “And who are you supposed to be? You’re kind of intruding.” “Yeah, Chuuya, what exactly are you doing?” you questioned. He ignored the implication in your tone. “You shouldn’t be fooling around with guys like this,” Chuuya turned his head to look at you and you struggled to place the emotion in his eyes, “you’re out of their league.” Yamamoto’s frown deepened. “And just who are you to claim that? The way I see it everyone gets a fair shot,” he retorted. “I’d just rather have my lady not waste her time on…” Chuuya gave the man a once over, “a man so clearly lacking the ability to treat her the way she deserves.” “You didn’t answer my ques-” Yamamoto tried to object again but Chuuya cut him off. “Anyway, we’d better get going, don’t you think so, Gorgeous?” Chuuya grinned at you, and you found your protests weak as he slid his hand down to grasp yours and lead you somewhere the air was quieter.

The hidden staircase had been cut from a gray granite; it spiraled left as you ascended. You barely got to take in the view of the ball from above before Chuuya swung a door open that led you outside. Twenty minutes left. The cool air on your skin did little to quell the heat bubbling underneath. You swore to yourself that you would refuse to leave the balcony until the executive gave you some clear answers.

Chuuya released your hand from his grasp but kept walking until he reached the polished railing overlooking the city and port of Yokohama. He leaned against it with a sigh, looking out onto the horizon as a thick silence filled the air.

“So, will you explain, or do I have to ask?” you started slowly, stepping up to meet him. He turned to look at you, his eyes deep and filled with thought. “What’s there to explain?” he sighed, turning to face you and leaning his hip against the railing, “Last time I checked, you’re not an idiot.” “That’s-” you let out a breath, “that’s besides the point. It’s still something that should be said.” “What is?” Chuuya’s grip on the railing tightened. “Why you acted like that with Taishi back there,” you attempted to prod, “I was just trying to squeeze information out of him. You know that, you were doing the exact same thing.” “Oh, so you’re on a first name basis with the gentleman now?” Chuuya scoffed slightly and you rolled your eyes. “First of all he insisted that I call him that, and second of all, buttering him up was the easiest way to get him to start telling me what I needed to know. Which I would have found out a lot more of, by the way, if someone hadn’t interrupted.” “I’d hardly call what you and I were doing ‘the same thing,’” Chuuya murmured, and you furrowed your brow. “And why not? The boss gave you a list too, right?” you placed a hand on your hip, “Profiles, attendees, individuals in possession of valuable assets. Yamamoto is quite the blabbermouth when he’s eager to show off.” “Freakin’ hell, I wasn’t the one...” Chuuya gestured to nothing, “gettin’ handsy with some goddamn court brat! From what I could tell there was a lot more than just an informational exchange going on there.”  “Why does that bother you, Chuuya?” you took a step closer, “You still haven’t answered my question.” Lowering his eyebrows, Chuuya brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and let out a sigh before crossing his arms. “You want me to spell it out for you or somethin’?” he looked at you again, defensiveness subtle in his tone. “Yes, Chuuya! That’s what I’ve been asking,” you replied, your eyes steady. Ten minutes left. “You want me to explain why I hate seeing you flirt around with other guys like that?” he scoffed slightly, annoyance bleeding into his voice. You noted the way he said 'other.' “I wasn’t flirting, that wasn’t real, you know that!” you insisted, but the man just continued. “You want me to explain why I can’t bear to see you making eyes n’ shit like that? Why I wish I could just keep you close?” Chuuya’s voice raised in volume. “For someone so direct you sure are being elusive about this, Chuuya,” you implored the man. “You want me to explain why I wanted to make sure we would match tonight? Why I bought you that dress that you look so… goddamn perfect in…” Chuuya clenched his jaw. “It’s because I want you to myself. It kills me that I can't tell if you care, and it kills me that I can’t seem to control myself around you.” “Chu, you-” you were about to cut him off but his fuse reached a boiling point. “I can’t control the fact that I love you, okay, Y/n?” he shouted slightly, “I…” he trailed off, and a deafening silence hung in the air. The flush that creeped into Chuuya’s cheeks rivaled the red of his hair. Five minutes left. Muttering a few curses under his breath, Chuuya turned to face the city lights down below, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

Chuuya had been drawn to you like a moth to flame. It wasn't right, your relationship was supposed to be professional, with you technically being one of his subordinates and all. Murder and death were common in the field you both worked in. His affection for you scared him. After all, what good things are meant to last? He wanted to protect you, he'd never forgive himself if he let such a beautiful soul be ripped from the world. Chuuya found that you were strong, kind, and no matter how many times you insisted otherwise, so much braver than he could ever be. He adored the way you always fuss over his injuries after a mission, even if it was the tiniest bruise. You deserved all the good things the world had to offer, and a small selfish part of himself hoped you could find it in him.

The man glanced your way and let out a sigh to find that you hadn’t moved from your position. “Listen… Y/n,” his voice was steady and quiet, “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to…” “So…” you started, and Chuuya held his breath, “you were jealous?” Chuuya let out a few sputters and turned to face you again. Only then did he notice the tinted color of your cheeks. The way you clutched a fist to your chest and looked at him like no one and nothing else existed in the whole world. The smallest hint of hope flickered in your expression, and his heart did a backflip. “I… guess you could call it that,” he admitted with uncharacteristic hesitancy. It took a moment for you to voice your response. “...I would be jealous too,” you muttered, and although Chuuya caught what you said he asked you to repeat yourself. “What was that?” he took a step forward, blinking a few times. You took a deep breath. “If I saw someone flirting with you- or if I saw you ‘making eyes’ at someone else… I would get jealous too…” you felt heat crawl up your neck at your declaration. Chuuya looked at you like your head was on backwards. “And why is that?” his voice carried softly, neither of you taking notice of the muffled sound of voices counting down from inside. “Because I love you too Chu…” you spoke quietly but he still caught it. You could hear your heart pumping in your ears. Just as Chuuya was about to spill out a reply, a startling boom sounded from your left. You turned your head and sucked in a breath at the display. Eruptions of colored fire danced around each other in the night sky. They echoed through the air, creating ethereal reflections in the water off in the distance.

“Happy New Years, Gorgeous,” Chuuya’s tender gaze never left your face. You turned back to look at him, and in that moment, with the way the moon and fireworks illuminated your form, he swore the sight before him was the most breathtaking view of his entire life. A light breeze blew by, the echoing explosions from the fireworks somehow fading into the distance. He glanced down at your lips and, even if ever so slightly began to lean in. A fuzzy feeling started in your chest as you closed the gap. His lips were warm, you’d never grow tired of the way he held you, kissed you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You murmured softly after you pulled away, gentleness laced in your expression. “Happy New Years, Chu.” 

A/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you can find many things that make you smile this year ^^

Tagging: @a-random-weeb @ringsofsaturnnnn

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty-nine // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 4.6k warnings for this chapter: p in v

banners by @cafekitsune

MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Nine:

The closet is dark, but there’s just enough light reflecting from the floor to ceiling mirror. I can see the white of Rodolphus’ eyes as they grow in shock. 

Then he grins.

“Well, well, well. Hello there, pet.” His wand presses into my cheek and my grip on the knife tightens, the sharp edge digging into his throat. The smug look on his face sours as his smile dips and his eyes narrow. “How did he do it?”

“How did he do it?” I growl. “You mean how did I ?”

“Get away from her,” Thomus snarls, popping in from around the edge of the door.

Rodolphus doesn’t move, but I ease the knife back a little. The movement draws Thomus’ eyes and he gapes at me. 

“ Alder ,” he hisses. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

“Back up,” I bark at both of them. I don’t like being cornered like this. Thomus glares, but listens, backing out of Rodolphus’ way when he finally moves. I follow, keeping the blade within stabbing distance. Out in the room, Thomus snatches Rodolphus’ wand from his grip, keeping his own pointed at him. 

I twist the knife, turning the pointy end to press up under his jaw. “Tell me how to break the curse.”

Thomus is standing just beyond Rodolphus’ shoulder, his expression hard as he shakes his head, warning me not to continue. Rageful frustration boils and bursts from my chest. “What other option is there!? One misfired spell and I’m right back to where I was - or worse ?”

“You’re scared ,” Rodolphus purrs, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. “As you should be, Mudblood. Whatever it is you’ve done, it won’t be enough.” 

I fight to keep my lower lip from trembling, but I twist my knife, pressing upwards. He looks me dead on and doesn’t flinch when his skin punctures from the pressure. A line of dark blood trickles down his neck, staining his white collar. 

“He’s not going to tell you,” Thomus says calmly, putting his hand on my raised arm. My gaze bounces from one man to the other before I latch onto Thomus’ eyes. They’re firm, indicating his emotions are under control, fully masked.

Meanwhile, I’m the complete opposite. My throat is tight and I know if I try to speak, my voice will wobble and I won’t be able to hold the tears back. Swallowing audibly, I start lowering the knife. 

Rodolphus chooses that moment to snicker. “That’s right, dog, listen to your master.”

Now that makes me snap. The rage in me spikes so strong, he’s lucky I only stun him. His knees give out from under him and he crumples to the floor. The decision was impulsive, but not one I regret.

“I was under the impression that your magic was keeping the curse contained. Is that not true?” he asks.

I take a few deep breaths, feeling a little better with Rodolphus knocked out. “It is,” I reply slowly, matching his tone. Finding it hard to meet his eyes, I inspect the skull handle of the knife in my hands. “But one day it might not be.”

He steps forward, cupping my cheek, and forcing eye contact. “I promise to find a solution. This won’t be forever.”

“Okay,” I whisper. My heart believes him, trusts him. I step back and look down at Rodolphus. “What’re we going to do now?”

Thomus sighs loudly and crouches down. “It’ll have to be something terribly clever or I’m knee deep in a pond of shit.”

An unexpected giggle escapes as I crouch down by the pile of broken lenses and bent metal that remains of my glasses. “You mean knee deep up shit creek?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Close.” My hand hovers over the pile as I try to keep a straight face and murmur. “ Oculus Reparo .”

A white light flashes over my glasses as the pieces come back together again. When I put them on, Thomus is still kneeling by Rodolphus, poking through his pockets.

“Do you rummage through pockets often?” I ask, a bit surprised. So far he’s pulled out a flask, a few galleons, mints, and a folded handkerchief. 

Thomus shrugs. “Easy to get information without so much as a word spoken.”

“Hm… Fair enough,” I sift through the small pile of things and pause at the heaviness of the handkerchief. Hoping not to find any boogers in there, I use only the tips of my fingers to shake it around. Thankfully, no boogers, but something golden and shiny with a distinct hourglass shape clatters to the floor. 

“Is that a bloody Time-Turner?” Thomus says with disbelief. “What’s he doing with that?”

I gasp. “This solves our problem, doesn’t it?” I ask excitedly. “We only need to go back to the last couple of minutes before he knocks. We just have to be ready.”

Thomus takes a sniff of whatever’s in the flask, raising a brow at me before taking a sip. “Ready with what?” he asks. “We were kind of in the middle of something there, if you care to recall.”

As I scramble for something clever to say, I glance up at him to find his eyes trailing down my body. I’d get to be right in the middle of that again? I swear my clit throbs at the thought. 

I clear my throat and change the subject. “Maybe you came up here because you were feeling sick? Drank too much? Does that sound plausible?” My hand stretches out toward the bottle of champagne he’d brought in earlier and it drifts soundlessly over the floor to me. I use magic to uncork it before taking a long sip. I pass it over to him as I continue to speak. “Because I’m thinking, you’re already gonna be sweaty and red-faced anyway, you know? And you might as well actually drink, it’ll make it more believable.”

“Right,” he nods after a moment’s consideration. He brings the bottle to his lips. “And where will you be?”

“Disillusioned. It’s what I should have done the first time,” I admit. “Have you used a Time-Turner before?”

“Only a few times. Yourself?”

I shake my head. “Never.”

He points his wand at Rodolphus’ wound and heals it, scourgifying his collar too. “Then we’ll need to be extra careful.”

After a surprisingly quick discussion, we agree on what needs to stay the same and what needs to change. We ready the scene and get into position. From Thomus’ explanation, if we’re relatively in the same spot, doing the same thing as our past selves at the time we’re traveling to, we should morph into our past selves.

“How much time do you think you’ll need before he knocks?” I ask, holding the turner up close to get a better look at the fine sands. 

Thomus sits on the window seat, loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket again. I’ve remained in my leggings and hoodie, having skipped the outfit change to save time. I run my hands over the sides of his face, fingers threading into his hair. His hands find my hips and he guides me closer in between his knees. His hands travel under the hoodie, roughly grabbing my breasts and squeezing. His fingers on my nipples are oh, so soft though.

“You’re sure we’re not gonna forget the first time around?” I ask, hearing the nervousness in my voice. 

“Darling, if we do, I’ll have no problem recreating that experience with you,” he promises.

His reassurance makes me feel better and I let my mouth find his. He kisses me like it’s the first time he’s done so all night. His tongue traces and savors the taste of my lips. I quickly become lost in the gentleness, my head beginning to swim with desire for him all over again.

His hands on my hips urge me to turn around, reminding me of our mission. When I hear the soft clicks of his belt being undone, I quickly thumb my pants and undies to my knees. His fingers spread across the curve of my butt, his palm caressing. I plant my hands on his thighs, just above his knees and push my hips backward.

Thomus chuckles and shoves the hem of my hoodie further up my waist, humming his approval. “Look at you, so needy, already?”

I bite my lip and silently laugh. My eyes are closed, trying to focus on how I feel. Every measured breath, the ache in my thighs, the thick head of his cock as it easily slides past my still-slick lips.

I take a sharp, full breath to speak, but I still sound breathless. “More like impatient.”

True to my word, I rock my hips back and he glides home in one go. The forceful, delicious impact of my body on his makes him release a deep groan. His fingers dig into my hips painfully, pulling me to him still. Short, desperate moans escape my throat as I adjust to his size and the tight fit. My thighs are already burning from this position and from earlier, but his cock just feels so fucking good. The muscles in his thighs flex beneath my hands as he grinds against my ass. 

Before we get carried away, I fumble for the Time-Turner hanging from its long chain around my neck. I twist my torso, slinging the chain around his neck too. 

His breath is on the edge of running away from him as he speaks. “Give the gear a half turn forward and a quarter turn back. That should put us where we need to be.”

I nod, unable to stop moving my hips as I turn the knob the specific way Thomus instructed. The moment I’m done, I hear the rapid ticking of a clock and gears turning as the hourglass begins to spin. 

We watch the room as time reverses. I see ourselves crouched over Rodolphus before he’s on his feet, backing up towards the hallway door. I see Past-Thomus undress and see myself backing out of the closet stark naked. At that sight, I quickly avert my gaze back to Thomus.

All too soon, our past and present selves join at the same place on the window seat. Our positions are different, but the act is the same. I refocus on rocking my body and feeling every drag of his cock in my pussy.

I can tell the exact moment when our past and present realign themselves. My pussy is pulsing and suddenly much wetter. My body feels like I’ve been getting thoroughly fucked for a bit longer than it does two breaths ago. The pleasure flowing through me skyrockets right to the beginnings of a mind-numbing orgasm. 

Thomus shudders behind me, releasing a guttural groan, having landed in the same predicament. Then without any warning, his hands are shoving me forward and pulling me back, fucking me like he just can’t help himself. His hips are somehow jerking up, too, making his cock hit just the right spot. My eyes roll into the back of my head as my orgasm takes over my body. I push him as deep as he can go, feeling my pussy squeeze and contract around his big cock.

“ Merlin’s beard ,” he hisses low as he cums, fingers digging bruises into my hips. His hips are twitching underneath me, shoving his spasming cock in and out the tiniest bit, milking every last ounce of pleasure from my cunt.

“Oh my god,” I say when I can breathe again.

Thomus lets out another tortured groan as I force myself to stand. His dick slips out with an audibly wet plop and I can’t hold back a shaky laugh at his words, shimmying up my pants on wobbly legs.

Pants on, I grab the champagne and shove it towards him. “Drink up.”

He stands, redoing his belt. He’d already opted to take his suit jacket off. I reach out to unbutton the top of his shirt, then up further to ruffle his hair a little. He takes the bottle from me and chugs just as Rodolphus announces his arrival with his fist against the back of the door. 

Of course we’d been expecting it, so this time we don’t immediately jump into panic mode. Thomus takes his time drinking, unbothered by the persistent asshole at the door. My eyes bounce around nervously, and I wave my hand towards the bathroom, making sure it’s lit as if he were just in there.

“Thomus!” Rodolphus barks. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been sent to fetch your ungrateful ass.”

Thomus pauses to burp before taking one last swig, then starts for the door. I grab the front of his shirt and plant a kiss on his cheek. He gives me one in return before I step back and Disillusion myself against the wall. 

Thomus opens the door just enough for his body to be shown. He slumps against the frame, and I can hear the faux exhaustion in his voice. “What do you want?”

Rodolphus’ words repeat. “You missed your brother’s toast. How could you have - “

“Not that it’s any of your bloody business,” Thomus interrupts, “but I’ve been quite unwell this evening.” He fakes a gag, but it sounds pretty convincing to me. 

“You can’t be serious,” Rodolphus scoffs. “Do you honestly expect me to believe - “

“Believe what you wish,” Thomus interrupts. 

The door Thomus is propping open jolts suddenly, but he’s quick to grab it and prevent it from opening more. “Is she in there?”

“Who?”

“You bloody know who.”

“Seeing as how it’s my bedroom in my family estate, the contents of it are none of your business,” Thomus says pointedly. “Don’t you have anything better to do on New Year’s Eve?”

“This isn’t the first event you’ve mysteriously disappeared from,” Rodolphus says. “Forgive me for wanting to know my wife’s whereabouts.”

“I don’t care about your wife’s whereabouts,” Thomus seethes. “My only concern is that she isn’t here.”

“That’s a first -”

“I retreated to my own toilet to vomit, and the evidence should still be there, Lestrange, if you so desire to look.”

“Ugh,” Rodolphus scoffs angrily. “You’re revolting. Your mudblood’s really rubbing off on you.”

“If that was your only reason to disturb me - “

“Yaxley wants you to join us,” Rodolphus says. “In that little drawing room off the stairs.”

I can see Thomus’ stance reluctantly shift as he straightens. His elbow pops in and out of view as he finger-combs his hair again. 

“If I must,” Thomus growls, then he steps out, shutting the door behind him.

I breathe a sigh of relief and sag against the wall. Thank god that’s over. We got everything done in time.

In … time.

With horror, I look down and see the Time-Turner still dangling from my neck.

Oh my fucking god, how the fuck could I forget?! I mean, since we rewound time, does that mean he has another copy of this Time-Turner and we have this one for free?

I don’t even want a Time-Turner. It’s too tempting of a problem solver. I’ve gotta put it back in Rodolphus’ pocket.

Keeping my Disillusionment charm up, I creep open the door. Thomus and Rodolphus are hardly down the hall, so I open and close the door slowly so as to not make any noise. I’m still in my socks, so I quickly and, more importantly, quietly glide down the hard wood floors after them. The good thing about the Disillusionment charm is that as long as no one’s looking for you or really at you, you’re practically invisible. Especially if you’re really good at it - which I am.

By the top of the stairs, we aren’t alone anymore. Thomus had stopped for some reason and I guess it’s because he sees his brother. I hear a man call out, “Lucius! Come join us. We were just discussing Geneva.”

Thomus peeks over the railing as he continues down. Lucius replies, “Of course. Give me a moment to put my pet to bed.” My eyes immediately start looking for a place to tuck myself in and hide.

“Bring her,” the other man continues. “I was just about to come looking for you as well. We have the other one in here too. And see? Here comes Rodolphus with your brother.”

Oh my god, the other one ? What the fuck does that mean? Hermione wasn’t the only Lot allowed to come?

Thomus and Rodolphus have disappeared from sight, so I creep forward until I’m able to see heads below. Yaxley is standing next to the stairs, looking up at the pair descending them. Between their bodies, I see Lucius’ blond head, Hermione’s curls and twinkling jewelry.

Lucius still hesitates, even as they move to accommodate Thomus and Rodolphus. Yaxley gets impatient. “Don’t be stingy. Your guests want to see the finest horses in the show.” He smirks. “Maybe we’ll let them wrestle.”

“Just for a few minutes, I suppose,” Lucius stiffly replies.

No more words are said as they all shuffle into the small sitting room below the stairs. I move down the stairs so quickly I’m practically flying - well, falling. But I’m holding onto the railing for dear life, just trying to get to that door before it closes.

The feat proves impossible though, because that’s exactly what it does. And now I’m fucking stuck in the main hall. I can clearly see the couple hundred people still partying in the ballroom. Back to my last plan, which was looking for a place to hide. 

There’s a promising spot across the room by the windows. I beeline for the dark curtains, swiftly turning into them. Tucked away, I’ll still be able to see when they open the door.

I stand there long enough for my feet and thighs to ache, and for at least ten songs to go by, until finally someone opens the door. It’s Lucius and Hermione. He’s taking her back to her room, and thank fuck he doesn’t close the door. 

I dart to it, but then slowly inch my way in. My eyes bore into all the faces I can see, making sure no one is looking at me. Thomus is just lowering into a chair near the front of the room and Rodolphus is deeper in, sitting on the armrest of his brother’s chair. I crouch walk to Thomus’ chair, hiding between the back of it and a liquor cart. 

“And where’s your Lot this evening, Thomus?” Nott Sr.’s old, scratchy voice skitters from another chair. “Why isn’t she being trotted out as part of the Malfoy parade?”

My poor thighs can’t handle crouching anymore, so I kneel next to the wall, my face by Thomus’ shoulder. At Nott’s question, I look up at Thomus for his response. 

Dolohov snickers. “Because that one’s not a trophy, is she?”

Rabastan smiles after his drink. “You got that right, mate.” 

“Can you believe what Witch Weekly wrote about her?” Mulciber jumps in. “There’s no way a mudblood did all that.”

A few voice their agreements and laugh, because it’s just so funny I guess. Then Thomus’ soft, sure voice silences them. “Yes, I believe it. Why don’t you?”

The question’s aimed at Mulciber, who looks taken aback by it. He smiles in disbelief and his eyes bounce around the room. “Because it’s obvious, isn’t it? A girl like her, beating all those Purebloods, it’s got to be fake. The tournament was stolen from them by a bloody charlatan.”

“Mulciber,” Thomus says, sounding vaguely concerned at this man’s answer. “There’s thousands of eye-witnesses, first-hand photos, and official documentation of her achievements in those tournaments, and you believe they’re fake?”

All eyes swivel to Mulciber like the camera’s just zoomed in on his face. The embarrassment easily gets to him, because his face turns pink and he responds with anger. “Oh, right, like you’ve seen all this evidence.”

Surprisingly, Rodolphus is the first to Thomus’ defense. “The twat’s a bloody journalist,” he says, sounding appalled at his fellow Death Eater’s stupidity.

“So?”

“So yes, I’ve done plenty of proper research on her,” Thomus replies, a hard edge to his voice. “Is it really that hard to believe what they say is true?”

“Alright, fine, if she’s this big shot mudblood , what’s she doing with you then?” Rabastan asks. 

Before Thomus can even respond, Avery, who’s standing by the fireplace with Ginny tucked into his side, shoots out, “Would you ever consider selling her?”

“Why would you buy her ?” Mulciber asks, visibly disgusted. “You’ve already got the second most expensive cunt of the lot!”

“You should know by now that we all have different tastes, Mulciber,” Avery says, clearly referencing something. “Sometimes my pet is a bit too… fragile, if you catch my meaning.”

God, why are all of these men such sadistic fucks ? I’m glad I’m hidden so I can hide the disgust on my face.

“She isn’t on the market,” Thomus states, almost angrily. “I’m very aware of the value of my property and she’s worth far more than you think.”

Avery gives him a dubious look. “Surely it can’t be all that large of a sum. She isn’t even a virgin anymore.”

“You got that right,” Dolohov snickers. “Verified that myself.”

“And it was never any secret,” Rodolphus slides in. 

A lot of them kinda laugh at that. Not Thomus, though. Rodolphus winks at him from across the room, and Thomus’ hands clench tightly in his lap. Being this close to him means I can hear the deep, steadying breath he takes.

Avery heartily chuckles. “Well, it all feels the same in the dark. Doesn’t it, Thomus?”

“I… have to disagree,” Thomus says without the same humor. “With this war, all the long hours and hard days, a soft body to come home to is a welcoming respite.”

His honest confession silences the room before Dolohov cracks a joke. “Well, I need a nice tighter ass than that fat cow’s got.”

“Young man, watch your tongue!” one of the portraits hisses. Looks like one of Thomus’ grandmothers. 

Some snicker at the scolding, but Yaxley’s authoritative voice from the end of the couch speaks above it. “Did you hear they’re demanding her release?” 

They’re what? My eyes widen and the vibe of the room suddenly turns serious at the question. 

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Thomus answers.

“Who’s demanding her release?” Rodolphus asks.

“ Witch Weekly and their American associates The Witch’s Voice ,” Yaxley says. “Whether or not the mudblood actually possesses this preternatural wandless magical ability doesn’t matter - they certainly believe it. Of course her release is out of the question. She needs to remain under lock and key, not with the rebels fighting against us.” He looks around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes, settling on Thomus’ last. “How much of a threat do you believe she poses?”

“She does not pose a threat while she’s in my custody,” Thomus replies. “I’ve gone to great personal lengths to ensure that.”

My chest is painfully tight, an ache growing there at his words. What’s he talking about? 

“Excellent,” Yaxley says. “Expect the Dark Lord to demand an audience with you soon within the new year.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomus replies.

Yaxley stands, buttoning his jacket. “Now, I will rejoin my wife and daughter in the ballroom as I encourage you all to as well.”

Thus begins everyone’s exit. They mill about, taking their time, chatting over nothing that I really care about. Thomus doesn’t move immediately and I take this opportunity to place my hand on his forearm resting on the chair. Tension springs to his muscles at my touch and I slide my hand down to his. He subtly glances down at his hand to watch me slip the Time-Turner into it. I get on one knee, lifting my lips to his ear.

“Put this back in his pocket,” I whisper. “I’m gonna wait here until the coast is clear.”

I slink back into my corner, watching as he drops his chin, not looking in my direction. Rodolphus has already left the room, so I know Thomus is gonna have to follow him. Which he does when he realizes the few remaining in the room aren’t planning to leave yet. 

Of the three that remain, Mulciber and Rabastan say a few things I can’t hear before they’re snickering amongst themselves. Nott Sir. is passed out in his chair. The other two slowly make their way to the door, their conversation growing louder.

“Did you hear back from Montague’s uncle in France?” Mulciber asks.

Rabastan sighs heavily. “No, so that means there's another defector for Thomus to find.”

“I can’t believe the boy would leave, especially with his father’s health.”

They pause by the door. Rabastan scans the hallway and double checks that Nott is sleeping.

“Thomus is supposedly the last person to have seen him,” Rabastan says, “but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Mulciber agrees to keep quiet as they finally leave the room. 

I’m frozen while my brain struggles to process all of this new information until Nott’s snore reminds me my exit window is closing. Without being seen, I slip back upstairs to Thomus’ room.

~*~

I finally pass out for a bit after crawling into bed for the millionth time tonight. It’s still dark when he returns. When he sees that I’m awake, he gives me a gentle smile and kisses my forehead.

My heart thuds heavily in my chest, very awake now that I’m swooning over forehead kisses.

He pulls back the covers and I open my arms to him. He crawls right in, his head on my chest and my arms around his shoulders.

“How’d it go?” I ask. “With Rodolphus?”

“Bit underwhelming,” he answers. His voice is a little muffled because his face is half-buried in my boob. “I just waited until he was drunk enough. Didn’t take long.”

“That’s a relief,” I sigh. 

“What’s a relief is you not being seen,” he says, sounding irritated and impressed. “Had you been there the entire time?”

“I only came in when your brother and Hermione left.”

He exhales heavily and his head shakes a bit. “I’m sorry you had to hear all of that.”

I think for a second, then I chuckle. “I’ve definitely said way worse to myself, don’t worry. They can say all they want, but I did get absolutely railed tonight, so…”

His shoulders shake under my hands with silent laughter. “Yes, that’s true,” he says after he can take a breath. “I’m surprised you haven’t any questions regarding the articles about you.”

“The ones demanding my release?”

“Yes.”

“Well, isn’t it up to you? It’s not like the cops can come and take me away, right?”

His arms tighten over mine, his leg hiking over my thigh. “No one can take you from me,” he says darkly. “I won’t let them.”

I’m stunned by the intensity of his words. New year, new Thomus, I guess. My fingers start to comb through his hair, which does its job to calm both him and me. 

Tonight’s been a big night for us. The whole thing with Rodolphus, the meeting, and let's not forget he more or less admitted to having feelings for me, to caring about me more than he should.

The problem is that I want it so… so bad. The whole thing with Rodolphus could've went much worse if he didn't trust me to handle myself. He went to so much trouble to sneak me in here to be able to kiss me for New Years. He even defended me in front of a roomful of his peers and superiors. Like, how else am I supposed to feel? How am I not supposed to want more when I've been gifted a taste of what I've always wanted? This has to be the universe's form of punishing me.

For now, I kiss his temple and drape my arms over his shoulders to hold him tighter, dreading the day I can't.

[elmundodeflor]

If there's anything Levi Ackerman's learnt, is that things never go as expected.

He was born in a place where every day he was put up to challenge. He had lost his mom and friends.

He found it ironic— some kind of tragedy one almost wants to laugh at. Each time he thought he could finally sit back, get comfortable, relax, life showed him how wrong he was for it.

"Farlan and Isabel, right?", Hanji's voice makes him startle. Their words turn to drawings in the air— figments of ice that spiral through the night. "Were they your siblings?"

Levi shrugs it off. It's been a year since that day, but the memories still make his chest hurt. Like a wound that has yet to get closed.

"None of your business.", he says. Hanji looks at him through the corner of their eye, then lets out a soft giggle. He never understood them; — how they could still be light-hearted in a world so heavy. He was harsh and closed-off. They could have gotten offended at him for his distance— shouted at him for being this cold. But they hadn't. They hadn't and, instead, they could only graze him bright smiles in turn.

"You know...", they speak. They're in the headquarters' rooftop, watching the snow. It's New Years Eve; the first one where they can see the yard turn this pristine shade of white. "My father used to tell me that, upon celebrations, our big, big family table didn't start where he sat, nor ended where I was sitting."

Levi raises a brow. He can see their hair, poking out of their hat, dusted off with snowflakes. The slightest tinge of pink that burns on the bridge of their nose.

Hanji continues.

"He said that the table kept going, and going, and going, until it wrapped around the world and appeared right behind him.", they say. "That everyone we knew was sitting there besides us. Grandpa, my mom... even Farlan and Isabel could be there, too!"

Levi scoffs. He can frame the picture in his mind, actually; vivid, and wild, and colorful. He didn't know Hanji's family, but he imagines them, as well; all with their same brown eyes and glasses. The table's filled with food; warm rice, roast-beef, potatoe soup. He can taste the sweet and spice on his tongue, smell the veil of smoke that comes from the kitchen. His mom sits next to him, graceful as she's always been. She wears a white shirt, a silver necklace ducked underneath.

He turns to her and smiles; a small tug at his lips that resembles hers. He's dying to tell her something, to ask her questions, to introduce her to Hanji.

"It's nice, I guess...", they say, once more. They're leaning on the railings, staring over at the skies. "Dad used to say that, in order to meet everyone again, we had to pretend that we were little kids. That it was important for us to believe in magic..."

Levi stays silent; his eyes closed when the wirlwind blows. He had always expected for miracles, back when Kuchel would return home late. He had always hoped for some force to make her warm again. To fill the tiny holes that'd crack his heart.

Now, little there's left of that child he once was. But he can play pretend, as Hanji's father would say. He can see, instead of just look.

Farlan and Isabel bicker over who'll take the spot next to him. There's a bouquet of flowers, front and center, surrounded by dry leafs and candles. He can hear Erwin's voice, as he pours up some wine for him. He can watch over at his squad, who he's proud of, all passing down the plates and drinks.

It's a sight he grows fond of. An image that's warm and makes him bubble up with joy. He feels less alone, now that he's allowed himself to believe. That he's let kid-Levi have this one wish turn true.

"Hey", Hanji elbows him, almost as if to wake him from his daydream.

He blinks at them, still dizzy, and his breaths swirl into white clouds. Now, they'll go downstairs to have dinner with everyone else, and there won't be roast beef or potatoe soup. The table won't have fresh flowers. There probably won't even be wine. Still, he thinks, Erwin will be there. And Mike. And Nanaba. And his squad, too.

They'll light candles, and there will be a trail of smoke coming from the kitchen. And so, when the clock hits twelve and everyone cheers, he swears, he'll believe in magic. He'll be a child all over. He'll see, and not just look.

He'll sit next to his mother, and ask her the questions he'd been dying to. He'll let Farlan and Isabel take turns on the chair besides him. He'll have champagne with Hanji's dad.

It's okay with him, really— that he'll only get to have this, a small portion of them, for the rest of his life. He's finally come to terms with one's own, human fatality. Erwin's the big brother he's never had, Hanji has that same grace of his mother's.

"Beep-boop", they wave a hand in front of him. "Earth calling Levi?"

He rolls his eyes at them.

"What is it now?"

They pout, then drag him by the sleeves of his parka.

"Have you even been listening? We have to get going!"

Levi stares at them, — at how their glasses have almost frosted. Petra tells Oluo that his cravat's ridiculous. Moblit's rushing over with the food. There's the clink of porcelain and the smell of bread. It all floats up to the roof, where they both have been, then fades off with the snow.

He's aware, this year there won't be dessert, or champagne, or his mother, either. But he has this, instead— these people he considers family. A big, big group of misfits that somehow fit together.

He feels less alone, now that he's allowed himself to believe, that love can take shape in such cruel world. This is what kid-Levi would have wanted, he tells himself. The warmth. The company.

"Let's go, then.", he says, and Hanji laughs at him, dragging him further down the stairs.

Truth is, spending New Years like this— being a Scout— comes as a complete surprise to him. That this isn't at all how he expected things to be.

Then again, he figures, however, he's alright with it. This, — Hanji, the family he's found, being a Scout, even—, is the one choice he won't ever regret.

[thee-great-enigma]

A little New Year's drabble expect more

Lemme know if I should add onto this maybe with more characters or smth. Also, I'm trying out using [name] for reader instead of (?)

Also, @silkval I plan to get part two out soon for you I'm sorry I forgot it was in my drafts

Male reader x Lonely lil Kaeya :(

What about Kaeya who hasn't been able to celebrate holidays much because he doesn't have people to spend them with. He's not one for big party's and prefers to just sit at the bar trying to pick on his brother just to be able to talk to him.

But you're there.

And you wanna talk to him.

Not just because you also don't feel like socializing with anyone else, but because you find him interesting. The silver-tongued, charming, pretty, always smiling, and outgoing Cavalry Captain of Monstadt, not wanting to really party with anyone. You found it a little ironic.

So you a little awkwardly scooted over to the stool beside him, Diluc having long walked away to ignore Kaeya.

Kaeya raised an eyebrow and turned to face you, because he couldn't really see you well when you were sitting directly in the blind spot his eye patch provided.

"Oh? What are you doing here [name]? Shouldn't you be partying with the others, family and whatnot?" He said, taking a sip of his favorite drink.

"I could say the same thing for you. But I'm afraid I just don't have the energy for a party right now. Maybe later. Although, I like to entertain the idea that we could have a little party of our own."

"Is that so? What would we do at this little party?"

"Well, let me think. We could play some board games up on the roof of my humble abode, we could drink and eat sweats that we bake together, we could do little sparklers and draw pictures and countdown to midnight together. And we can squeeze in whatever else you want in there."

Kaeya took another sip of his drink as if considering your offer, but really he knew his answer before you even said what you'd do together.

"Alright then. Let's welcome the New Year together, dear [name]."

[ejzah]

A/N: Wishing everyone a Happy New Year! Can’t believe it’s the end of another year.

***

Until the End of Time

“Are they asleep?” Deeks whispered, creeping into the living room. Kensi nodded, speaking equally quiet.

“Just a minute ago.”

Peering over the couch, Deeks smiled down at the twins cradled on Kensi’s lap. At three days old, Caleb and Sophia were remarkably calm and settled into the family. Deeks wasn’t sure if it was just a honeymoon period, but he intended to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

“Come here,” Kensi said, patting the spare cushion. Deeks slid in next to her, carefully transferring Caleb into his arms. Caleb twitched slightly, one of his hands clenching and unclenching, but then settled again, turning his little face into Deeks’ chest.

“How was your meeting?”

“Good. I think we made some headway on the case. Sorry about skipping out on you,” Deeks apologized. Technically, he was supposed to be on maternity leave right now, but one of his clients had called in a state.

“It’s ok. I’m glad you were able to help.“ She leaned up to kiss him. “But now I get you all to myself for the rest of the holiday.”

“All yours,” he promised. Then reached out to tweak Sophia’s bare foot. “And these guys.”

“Not exactly a wild celebration,” Kensi observed wryly. “I think if I have anything to drink, I’ll pass out in two seconds.”

Deeks chuckled, feeling pretty much the same. Even with the twins sleeping well, they still were fairly exhausted.

“It may be a sedate night, but it’s certainly been a wild year,” Deeks said, caressing Kensi’s cheek in a soothing rhythm. “We started out the year with one kid, working for NCIS, to food poisoning turning into a surprise pregnancy—”

“Oh my god, you’re never going to let me live down the food poisoning thing, are you?” Kensi groaned, pressing her forehead into his chest.

“Oh, that story’s going to come up every time we talk about these two.” He chuckled, remembering Kensi’s ire aimed in his direction, followed by her immediate giddy apology when they found out she was pregnant. “You yelled at me for like a week straight and threw away my chicken parmigiana the day after I got it. And all the time it was our little Pastry Babies causing all the trouble.”

Kensi’s lips twisted in a grimace, then she allowed a sheepish smile. “It is kind of ridiculous that I thought I had food poisoning for two weeks and never once thought I could be pregnant.”

“But it made the surprise that much better,” Deeks said.

“Would you change anything?” Kensi asked unexpectedly. Deeks sensed there was more to the question, so he stayed silent, waiting for her to gather her thoughts

“This year is completely different that from what we expected. Obviously not the job part, because we were both pretty burnt out on fieldwork. Clearly.” She made a noise that perfectly encapsulated Deeks’ feelings on the matter. “But it probably would have been easier if we had more time to plan for these guys or to buy a bigger house.” Finishing, Kensi titled her head up towards Deeks.

“Would I change having the most beautiful twins in the world with the love of my life?” He said, shaking his head. “No. Not in a million years, Kens. This life we built with Rosa, we’re continuing to build with the twins, is everything, and I couldn’t think of anything that would make it better.”

Kensi wiped a tear away from her eye, laughing wetly. “Ok, you need to stop making such amazing speeches while I’m still coming down from pregnancy hormones,” she joked. She leaned forward until their lips met. “I love you, Marty Deeks, and I wouldn’t want to live this life with anyone but you.”

“I love you, Kensi Blye. Until the end of time,” Deeks whispered back.

[getmehighonmagic]

Last Line Written in 2023

Firstly, HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! ♥ I've had a very blessed evening by myself and celebrated the new year with my cat and blackcurrant flavoured cider, which is now my favourite. I hope everyone had a lovely evening with loved ones and good food!

Now, onto this thing. Thank you for the tags @kiwiana-writes @firenati0n @hgejfmw-hgejhsf ♥ I'm actually finishing up my New Year's fic, so the last line I wrote was from this one. If I can get my head in the game, this fic will be posted tomorrow!

“A tiny surprise for you?” Henry suggests, pulling his coat and one side of his shirt open to flash Alex the tiniest strip of baby blue lace. “Perhaps,” he says with a shrug. “I’m gonna die,” Alex whines, grabbing onto Henry’s hips when he turns around and starts walking back to the door. “Oh God, I’m going to die.”

I'm no pressure tagging @sparklepocalypse @clottedcreamfudge @congee4lunch @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @magicandarchery @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @winderlylandchime @happiness-of-the-pursuit @anincompletelist

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Ringing in the new year with three soldiers, an insurance agent, and a criminal who sucks at geography and spelling

Got a prompt for a New Year's fic in which Harley meets Rick's army buddies and they try to wrap their heads around the fact that their friend is dating THE Harley Quinn. Happy New Year, motherfuckers!

Rick’s sitting on the couch in a rented cabin in the woods—sipping a beer and catching up on life with his two closest army buddies that he hasn’t seen since his ill-fated reunion trip that was interrupted six months ago. Harley’s with him this time, so no chance of anything bad happening.

“Dude, you’re dating Harley Quinn?” His buddy, Kane, asks incredulously.

Apparently he hadn’t specified last time they hung out. Whoops.

“Isn’t she wanted in like seven countries?” His other friend, Ramirez, asks.

“Not anymore,” he replies. Actually, that might not be true, now that he thinks about it. They have immunity from Waller and her bullshit, but not necessarily any foreign governments. Best not to take any international trips, just to be on the safe side.

“Wasn’t she with the Joker for like, a really long time? How has he not killed you yet?”

“Oh, I don’t think Mistah J is gonna be a problem for us anymore,” Harley slurs as she makes her way into the living room—plastic glass of champagne in her hand. She plops down on his lap and pats his cheek. “Ain’t that right, baby?”

He chuckles and pulls her closer. “How many glasses of champagne have you had, Harls?”

“Um… I lost count?”

“How many bottles have you had?”

“Oh! Two!”

He grabs the glass out of her hand and downs the rest of it. “Okay, that’s enough of that for you.”

“They weren’t big bottles!” Harley whines.

“Wait wait wait,” Kane interjects. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not elaborate. Did she kill him, Flag?”

“Wasn’t me!”

“You killed him?”

Rick contemplates his answer very carefully. These are his ride or die best friends who have been through the worst with him so he’s pretty sure they won’t turn him into the cops.

“Seriously maimed him,” is what he ends up landing on.

“With his bare hands!” Harley says proudly, with a wet kiss to his cheek.

There’s awed silence for several moments as what he just revealed sinks in. He doesn’t see what’s so surprising about it. It’s not like he hasn’t killed before. He’s killed so many people, in fact, that he’s lost count. Besides, Joker isn’t really that scary.

Ramirez looks like he’s getting ready to say something about the whole thing when Kane’s wife, Rachel, makes an appearance. She has beer and a glass of champagne with her—the latter of which she offers to Harley, who makes grabby hands at it.

He grabs it before she can and sets it aside on an end table out of her reach. “Awww, you suck!”

He chuckles and kisses her temple. “You’ll thank me later when you’re not puking your guts out at midnight, Harls.”

That seems to satisfy her and she relaxes into his embrace.

“So,” Ramirez says. “This is the same Harley who almost burned the apartment down trying to make mac n cheese?”

“That was one time!”

“Three times, Harls. And then there was the time you set off the fire alarm making cookies.”

“That was one time!”

“And the time you—” she claps a hand over his mouth before he can finish his sentence.

“I think they get it! Now can we please change the subject?”

Rachel does the honors, as she comes back to the living room with her own glass of champagne. “So, Harley, what do you do for work?”

“Oh lots of stuff! Rob banks, murder dictators, yell at doctors. I have a card!”

She shoves her hand in her pocket and emerges with her handwritten business card. It’s covered in glitter and the ink is smudged. She hands it over to Rachel, who doesn’t really know what to make of the whole situation.

“Oh. I just… work in life insurance,” she says awkwardly, before attempting to read the card.

Rick snorts and tries to cover it up with a cough. People never quite know what to make of Harley when they first meet her.

“Does that say… ‘mercerany’?”

“It does,” he says with a laugh. It’s a running joke at this point. She’s in his phone under the name “Mercerany #4 (Harls)”.

“I was six margaritas and about five shots of tequila deep at that point, so sue me.”

“You also just suck at spelling even when you’re sober, Harls.”

“Fuck off!”

Rachel squints at the smudged handwriting. “Finder of lost things?”

“Oh! Yeah! I’m great at findin’ lost shit! If ya lose somethin’, I’m your gal!”

The alcohol keeps flowing as Harley launches into her story about her time with the Birds of Prey and Roman Sionis. Before Rick knows it, Rachel is lamenting about her asshole coworker who’s been making her life a living hell.

“And HR won’t do anything about it!”

“Oooh, want me to show up and set her desk on fire?”

Rachel laughs and almost chokes on her champagne.

“She’s serious, you know,” he feels the need to clarify. And then adds, “Maybe don’t go straight for arson, Harls? You’d probably get your point across just fine by yelling at her.”

“Can I at least use the giant hammer?”

“Sure, why not,” he says, before downing the rest of his beer.

“God, you are so cool!” Rachel gushes. She’s at least a full bottle of champagne deep at this point. “Can we be best friends?���

“Yes!” Harley agrees. “Ooooh! You should do roller derby with me!”

“Harls, they live in Montana.”

“Where the fuck is Montana?”

“Across the country, Harls. The state we’re in right now, in fact.”

“Oh. Well that sucks.”

The women settle for getting each other’s phone numbers and promising to text each other every single day.

Rick checks his watch once Harley starts losing steam—five minutes to midnight. He nudges her awake and tells her, “C’mon, wake up, you’re gonna miss it.”

She’s wide awake once the countdown starts.

Ten! Nine! Eight!

She quickly stands up and pulls him out the door to the front porch—where they’re surrounded by a blanket of snow.

“Happy New Year!” they hear from inside the house.

Harley rolls up on her toes and pulls him into a kiss. “Happy New Year, baby,” she says, forehead pressed against his.

“Happy New Year, Harls.”

They share another kiss as the snow starts falling again.

[tyfinn]

New Year's Kiss(es)

A little something to close out 2023, and to reach my personal goal of writing 300,000 words in the SC fandom. Read it here.

[kmomof4]

Stupid Questions... (And the Stupid Men Who Ask Them) A New Year’s Fic by @kmomof4

Slipping in one more fic on my most productive writing year yet! @iverna​ @caught-in-the-filter​ and @everything-person​ were discussing an EXTREMELY boneheaded Facebook/Twitter post the other day on the CS Movie Marathon Discord and I decided to write it. I truly hope I did the HYSTERICAL conversation between the ladies justice.

Thank you to @jrob64​ for her beta skills and her guidance on the fic as well as her assurance that the fic really is funny and to @hollyethecurious​ for being a sounding board about what direction to take it in. 

I really hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Neal is an idiot and really steps in it. CS gets together. Everyone’s happy.

Rating: T

Words: Almost 2900

Tags: New Years Eve, Neal is Clueless

On ao3

Tagging the usuals. 

@hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @wistfulcynic​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​ @jrob64​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @zaharadessert​ @elizabeethan​ @goforlaunchcee​ @gingerpolyglot​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @deckerstarblanche​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @batana54​ @purplehawkcaptain​ @k-leemac​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @apiratewhopines​ @killiansqueenofthejollyroger​ @onceuponahookandswan​ @meat-pie-with-sauce​ @cosette141​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @fleurdepetite​ @hookmecaptain​ @o-wild-west-wind​

*I am updating my tag list for ‘23, so if you want to remain on my list, or be added, please contact me either here or on discord and let me know.*

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

                                   Group Chat

                  Killian, David, Robin, Will, Liam,

                                Victor, Neal

N: hey guys. Do girls actually orgasm?

K: 🤨

L: are you kidding?

R: what???!!!

N: seriously hear me out do women actually orgasm? I mean maybe that’s why theres so many unsatisfied women… theyve been taught that they should, but they really cant

K: 🤦😱

D: …

                                      Killian

D: Is he serious? I mean, really?

                                                 K: I’m afraid he is 😳

D: OMG

                                                                                                         Group Chat

                  Killian, David, Robin, Will, Liam,

                                  Victor, Neal

V: I’ve actually wondered that too

N: THANK YOU VICTOR

W: What’d I miss?

😳

Ya might want to consider, lads, that you’re doing it wrong… Pun very much intended

~*~*~

New Year’s Eve

David and Mary Margaret’s farmhouse

“I think I’m gonna ask the ladies,” Neal said, leaning casually against the counter sipping his beer while Killian straightened up the kitchen.

“Ask the ladies what?” he asked.

“From the group chat the other day,” Neal explained.

Killian stopped what he was doing and stared at Neal.

“Are you kidding me? What purpose… WHY would you do that?”

“Who better to ask?” he said, sounding a bit indignant. “I mean, they would know, right?”

Killian rolled his eyes. The idiot was going to get his ass handed to him on a silver platter, and Killian had to admit, he’d enjoy watching it. He’d never liked the man. His general arrogance and superiority complex irritated him to no end. And especially when he was around Emma. To hear Neal talk, you’d think he was the greatest thing that’d ever happened to her and that he’d been the one to break it off with her over a year ago. When actually, Killian and a few others in their group knew that Neal was lousy in bed, so she’d broken it off with him after just a few months. But since she’d never raised an objection to him occasionally coming back around when she’d have the most reason to, he’d decided to keep his mouth shut. The alcohol had been flowing pretty freely all night, but he didn’t think Neal was drunk enough to think that asking this question was really a good idea.

Robin came in then to see Killian putting the rest of the trash in the garbage can, studiously avoiding Neal’s eyes and Neal looking seriously affronted.

“What’s going on, guys?”

“This Einstein wants to ask the ladies what he asked us in the group chat the other day.”

Robin couldn’t stop the bark laugh that burst from him at Killian’s statement. Neal’s face reddened even further.

“It’s your funeral,” Robin snickered and Neal left the kitchen with an angry huff. Robin brought himself under control and smirked at Killian. “This I’ve got to see. Come on, mate.”

The tiny curl of Killian’s mouth made Robin’s grin even wider. They pushed through the doors from the kitchen to the den. Neal had just settled back down in his chair and was looking around the room, obviously waiting for a lull in the various conversations happening. Mary Margaret sat on David’s lap, her arms looped around his neck and was conversing with Liam and his girlfriend, Elsa.

Whale was deep in conversation with Ruby, and Emma and Regina were talking animatedly near the window. Will and Belle were snuggled up in front of the fire.

The ladies by the window came back into the den, drawing everyone’s attention briefly. Neal saw his chance and took it.

“I saw a post on Twitter the other day and wanted to ask you ladies about it,” he said loudly, with a sideways glance at Killian and Robin. It was all Killian could do to not shake his head and roll his eyes at the man. He wondered if he should go pop some popcorn to eat while watching the show about to commence.

“What was it?” Mary Margaret asked. David’s eyes got big and shot over to Killian and Robin. Killian gave a short sharp nod and David shut his eyes in dismay.

“It asked if women really orgasm.” Silence met Neal’s statement.

Killian’s eyes darted around, taking in the expressions on all the different faces in the room. There was incredulity and embarrassment on the faces of the ladies and the men had a mixture of horror and resignation along with a bit of curiosity in Victor’s case.

“Do women really orgasm?” Regina repeated slowly and deliberately, with a roll of her eyes. “Only someone as boneheaded and clueless as you, Neal, would ask that question,” she snarked. Robin moved toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist, nuzzling her neck.

“I tried to tell him, babe.” He placed a kiss on her pulse point, making her shiver. Robin smirked at Neal before continuing. “But he wouldn’t listen.”

Regina turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck before turning her face back toward Neal. “I can assure you, women orgasm.”

“But how do you know?” Victor asked. “I mean, the evidence for men is indisputable, but for women, there’s no objective physiological evidence for it.”

“Yeah,” Neal agreed, obviously appreciating the support.

Killian burst out laughing at them, and Liam turned stunned eyes on his college roommate while Elsa’s cheeks flamed.

“Ya wouldn’t know a woman’s pleasure if it knocked you upside the head, mate,” Will shot at Victor over his shoulder.

“Neither would Neal,” Emma murmured under her breath, cutting her eyes toward the man in question and then at Killian. When she spotted him looking at her, her cheeks reddened.

“I knew there had to be a reason Whale was charming someone new every month,” David said. “Nobody would go for it more than once.”

“But maybe he has a point?”

Killian’s neck jerked so hard turning it toward Emma, he was amazed he didn’t pull something. “Swan. SWAN!” he repeated, absolutely horrified. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never…”

“No!” she exclaimed. “But… I mean…” she stammered, her cheeks as red as the leather jacket she favored, “just, you know, it’s different when it’s, uh, with a partner. As opposed to… something else. I mean, maybe some women really can’t… you know.”

“Whatever you’ve been told. Whatever you’ve experienced, Swan,” he couldn’t help cutting his eyes over at Neal at that point before meeting her own again, “I can guarantee you is incorrect.” He waggled his eyebrows at her trying to lighten the mood a bit. “And I’d be more than willing and happy to prove it to you anytime you wish.”

“Yeah, I bet you would,” smirked Liam, who was well aware of how his brother felt about Emma.

Regina rolled her eyes. “Surely there’s someone in this town willing to educate these two idiots.”

Ruby smirked and looped her arms around Whale’s neck. “I bet I could teach him a few things,” she purred.

Victor’s face looked absolutely delighted as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I am yours to command,” he said, earnestly.

“Don’t look at me,” Emma said, hands held up in a ‘stay back’ gesture. “I may be the only unattached female here, but I’ve had my fill of ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.’” She cut her eyes back toward Neal again. “Once was one time too many.”

Neal’s face was so red with embarrassment, it was nearly purple. Killian almost felt sorry for the man being outed like this. But then he thought about Neal’s treatment of Emma and smiled in approval. Before he could make his own smart comment, Neal surged to his feet and bolted for the front door, slamming it shut behind him. Killian thought he heard him muttering something along the lines of doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He could only hope that was the last they’d see of him.

He could see the tension release from Emma’s shoulders as soon as Neal left and he had to admit, he was relieved as well. Everyone else went back to their conversations and Killian approached Emma where she was standing by the Christmas tree.

“Are you alright there, love?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just ignore him most of the time. But that was…” she trailed away with a shake of her head.

“Have to agree with you,” he said, taking a sip of his water. There was almost an hour before the ball dropped and if he wanted to be able to drive home tonight, it was time to switch.

Emma took a sip of her own and cleared her throat nervously, her eyes darting around the room at all the couples. Following her gaze, he saw several couples he wasn’t sure would make it to the ball drop.

“Some people need to get a room,” she muttered.

Killian snorted into his glass, thankful he’d already swallowed. “They won’t make it much longer, I don’t think,” he assured her.

And sure enough. It wasn’t fifteen minutes later when Ruby and Whale were saying their goodbyes. Robin, Regina, Will, and Belle had all already left.

“Don’t forget brunch tomorrow, Emma,” Ruby said.

Emma raised her eyebrow at her friend. “Uh huh, like I’m the one who’ll have to leave a man in my bed to get there.”

Ruby grinned wolfishly. “I’ll text you if I’m not going to make it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Emma dismissed. “Have fun. Be safe.”

“Always,” she said with a wink, turning toward the door where Victor was saying goodbye to David, Killian, and Liam.

Elsa shot Emma a look. “That’s not necessarily true, you know.”

“What?” Emma asked.

“That you wouldn’t need to leave a man in your bed to make brunch with Ruby tomorrow.”

“Are you talking about Killian?” she asked. “He wasn’t serious,” she continued, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure about that, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked. “He has mooned over you forever.”

Elsa nodded in agreement. “It’s obvious to everyone but you, Emma. That man is crazy about you. Why do you think he hasn’t dated since you and Neal broke up?”

Emma looked sheepish, cutting her eyes toward the door and shrugged her shoulders.

“You should go for it, Emma,” Mary Margaret urged her. “He’s made the offer, the ball is in your court. You have to be the one to act. He’s not going to say anymore about it. He’ll wait for you and whatever you’re willing to give.”

Emma looked over at the door again as Killian laughed loudly at something Liam just said. His eyes caught hers and his mirth disappeared as he smiled gently at her. Just that small interaction was enough to send her heart racing. Of course, she’d always been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? With his gentleman tendencies, crystal blue eyes, dark brown hair and dark scruff with just a hint of ginger, the man was undeniably gorgeous. And a massive flirt. He’d never given her any indication that he’d be interested in anything more than just one night. And Emma wasn’t willing to risk the friendship she had with him on one night. But what her friends were telling her now was making her head spin. And she didn’t know what she should do about that.

Once Ruby and Victor were gone, the other three couples turned off all the lights, save the TV and Christmas tree, and settled in the den to watch the live coverage of the ball drop. Emma sat next to Killian on the sofa, but wouldn’t let herself get too comfortable with him. His arm was slung across the back of the sofa and it was incredibly tempting to snuggle into his side and let him wrap his arm around her shoulder. But given her vacillation on the pertinent question, she didn’t want to send mixed signals. And what if she was right and he really wasn’t serious? She didn’t think she’d be able to stand it if she succumbed to temptation and he rejected her. As midnight approached, her nerves increased.

Emma turned slightly to look at Elsa. Bathed in the light from the fire, she couldn’t see her friend’s expression very well, but she gave Emma a slight nod and smile of encouragement. Emma smiled back and turned to look at Killian. The darkness of the room wrapped itself around them until Emma was aware of nothing but Killian looking right back at her. Emma caught her breath at what she saw in his eyes. Desire, devotion, love. She could hear the countdown from the flatscreen in the background, but it was nothing more than an unimportant nuisance to what was happening between her and Killian.

Before she could second guess herself, she moved toward him and brushed her lips against his.

That was all it took. It was like a dam broke. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her back to him, capturing her lips with his. His hands plunged into her hair, as he requested entrance with his tongue.

 Emma moaned at the back of her throat as she eagerly granted his request. He pillaged and plundered like a pirate of old and Emma felt a shiver of pleasure cascade down her spine. She gasped as his arms tightened around her, her breasts flattening against the hard planes of his chest.

Pulling back with a soft whimper of disappointment, she gazed into his eyes. They were blown with arousal and she could feel his hardened length against her hip where she all but laid across his torso.

“You know,” he whispered, “I’ve heard it said that whatever you’re doing at midnight on New Years, is what you can expect for the coming year. Or something along those lines anyway.”

“Hmmm,” she replied. “You know, I’ve heard that too.” Emma couldn’t miss the white of his teeth as he grinned widely at her statement. She responded in kind. “So are you ok with that? With this? Us?”

His arms tightened around her and he bent down and kissed the end of her nose. Emma didn’t think anyone had ever done anything that cute to her before and it made her grin even wider.

“I am very much ok with it, Swan. As long as you are.”

“I am.” She looked around the room at the other couples, still caught up in their own embraces, feeling her cheeks heat. “You want to get out of here?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked at him. He squeezed her hip slightly and released a quiet groan at her question.

Emma jumped up from the sofa, Killian following her, drawing the attention of everyone else.

“This was fun, M’s,” she gushed. If she wasn’t so flustered, she’d likely laugh at the lustful haze and bewildered look on David and Mary Margaret’s faces at being interrupted.

“Huh?” she asked, shaking her head, trying to put her hostess hat back on. “Oh, right! Thanks for coming,” she exclaimed, standing and pulling Emma into a tight embrace.

David, Liam, and Elsa also rose, David holding his hand out to shake. “Thanks for coming, guys.” He was more collected than Mary Margaret and gave Killian a significant look. Liam, too, raised his eyebrows at Killian, noticing how closely he stood to Emma, his hand resting lightly on her waist.

“Is this what I think it is,” Liam asked softly, where the ladies wouldn’t hear.

Killian’s cheeks flamed and he had to struggle not to scratch at the place behind his ear that always itched when he was nervous or embarrassed.

“Yes, brother. And you have my assurance,” he continued, glancing at David, “I won’t do anything to hurt her. I’m in this for the long haul.”

David put his hand on Killian’s shoulder. “Good. It’s about damn time.”

“Agreed,” Liam said.

Everyone took their leave, and Killian escorted Emma back to her apartment where he proceeded to show her, in exquisite detail and for many hours, just how in this for the long haul he was.

~*~*~

January 3

Granny’s Diner

Emma made her way into Granny’s to finally meet up with Ruby for their annual New Years Brunch. It had been postponed and postponed again when they both couldn’t be bothered to leave their respective men to meet up.

Ruby’s grin was wide and wolfish as she sat down.

“A little sore are we?” she asked.

Emma licked her lips nervously. “Maybe just a little.”

Ruby howled. “I always knew Jones would be good in the sack.” She leaned forward eagerly. “How many times? Not total, but the first night.”

Emma bit her lip before replying. “Four.”

Ruby threw her head back as she laughed. She got herself under control, her eyes twinkling. “It was a little slow going at first, but Victor’s a quick study. He’ll be fine.” Ruby’s grin was all teeth and Emma grinned back before her attention was drawn to the back of the diner, where Neal rose from his seat, violently throwing his fork down on the table and bolting for the door. His face was thunderous and it wasn’t hard to figure out that he’d overheard their conversation.

Emma rolled her eyes as Ruby giggled.

“Stupid men…” she said before joining Ruby in joyous laughter, expressing all the happiness in her heart for the new year before them.

~*~*~

Happy New Year, everyone!! Thank you for reading and sharing! I’d love to know what you think!

[dixonlvr-online]

Day 10: Confession

Day 10/29

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Glenn Rhee x Reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff, pining

Summary: Daryl and Reader confess their feelings on New Year’s Eve.

A/N: End of the prison era and end of their silly pining!! I literally said 'fuck yes!' when I finished writing this. Excited for the next parts.

advent calendar masterlist

Nearly a week had passed since Christmas Day, marking today’s date as January 31. New Year’s Eve. A day for celebrating the passing of another year, made much more important by the current world climate. Everyone was grateful to have made it another year when the odds now were so low.

There were other things to be grateful for as well. Newfound family, people who never would’ve met each other coming together as one. Being so ingrained in each other’s lives that it was impossible to remember a time without them. That’s how you felt about everyone in your little group, but the feeling intensified when thinking about one individual in particular. 

Not only had it been a week since Christmas, but a week since Daryl and you almost kissed. It had taken a few days for that information to settle. Almost kissed. Because that’s what it would have been, right? He wasn’t leaning in for nothing.

The garlands were starting to scrape your hands with how tight you were gripping them. You pulled your eyes away from your distraction: the alluring man who held all your attention. His hands were what drew you in the first place; strong and skilled as always, but now adorned with a new accessory: the gloves you’d gifted him. Daryl was across the room, helping you take down the remaining decorations. He’d volunteered immediately when you asked, the thrill of being alone with him again like a lit match down your spine. And then Glenn had volunteered, too.

Speak of the devil, the younger man was walking into the room after clearing the hallway of stray decor, a mischievous smile on his face. His fist was closed around something you couldn’t see.

“Hey guys, you know it’s not too late…want me to hold this over your heads?” Daryl turned just in time to see you flinch, Glenn’s palm opening to reveal his secret: mistletoe. You and the archer turned identical shades of red, both shaking your heads and averting your eyes away from each other. Glenn, on the other hand, was laughing his ass off.

“Shut up,” you muttered, shooting Daryl an apologetic look. His hands were in knots at his waist, his bottom lip between his teeth. You’d seen him nervous more times than he’d like to admit, but never this nervous.

“Oh come on! I can’t throw it away until we get some more use out of it!” Glenn chimed. Daryl regained some of his composure and glared at him.

“They’re right. Shut up.”

Glenn waved you off and left the room, taking his mistletoe and comments of “Would’ve been the perfect opportunity” and “Wait til Maggie hears” with him.

You faced Daryl again, grimacing at your mutual friend’s teasing. “I think I know what my New Year’s resolution is. Make Glenn’s life a living Hell.”

He laughed, a deep and genuine sound you’d only pulled from him a few times. Your chest warmed at the sound. Settling back into the rhythm, you both continued your work of pulling things from the walls and railings, though the tension had risen a little. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“Ya don’t believe in that stuff, do ya? Resolutions and shit?”

You furrowed your brows at him, the question confusing you. He saw your reaction and hurried to explain. “Like, if ya want to make a big life change, just do it. Don’t wait ‘til a new year starts and then forget about the goal anyway. Those things never worked for anybody I knew, sure as Hell not me.”

Suppressing a smile, you eyed the man as he spoke, his posture high and his arms waving. It was rare to hear him string so many words together, much less as passionately as he was now.

“I get that. They never really worked for me either. I guess it’s just a nice thing to do, you know? Start the new year believing you’re going to improve your life,” you replied. He nodded, your words ringing true.

“Yeah, I guess. So what’s yer actual resolution then?”

His words sent a jolt through you, your chest tightening. Looking at him now, his eyes intensely focused on you, his hair uncut and tousled just the way you loved, you knew exactly what life change you wanted to make. But you couldn’t tell him that, could you?

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Hours later, it was nearly midnight. The prison was in full celebration mode; champagne had been scavenged and opened, glasses filled and drunk from without pause. You’d enjoyed your own serving earlier, engaging in excited conversation as long as you could stomach before finding yourself here: walking up the guard tower steps.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the company. You loved your friends and family dearly, and any amount of time with them was never enough. But, as midnight drew nearer and everyone was pairing up for that special moment, the reminder of your aloneness was too heavy. 

Darkness clouded your vision as you climbed up, looking forward to the cold quiet of the platform. Hopefully there your thoughts would be clearer, less skewed by the chatter of friends and alcohol. When you opened the door, however, a large figure caught your attention.

Of course he was here. On this night, when you wanted nothing more than to be with him, but be with him. Daryl turned when he heard you, your own surprise reflected back to you. Clearly you’d had the same idea about seeking some alone time.

Still, when he gestured to the open space next to him, you didn’t hesitate to take it. You let the quiet rest between you, the distant sound of voices and glasses clinking the only company you needed. He was warm beside you; you could feel it radiating from his body. You were reminded of this time last year, when he held you close each night to protect you from the winter chill on the road. It had been a long time since you felt him, even in such an innocent way. You yearned to reach out and touch him.

“Did ya make yer resolution?” he asked, snapping you back to the present. When you didn’t respond, unsure of what to say, he faced you. 

Suddenly it was a week ago, the last time you two sat here, looking at each other like this. The glow of a cheery day still shining across your faces, the pleasure of warm company making everything feel easy. A week ago, when he’d looked at you like that, and then right after…

“Yeah, I did,” you said, keeping your voice low and even. He leaned in, ever so slightly, but you noticed.

“Let’s hear it then.”

Clearing your throat, you matched his body language by leaning in yourself, lowering your voice to a whisper as if it was a dear secret. “I’m resolving to go after the things I want. Life’s too short, especially now. You never know when your time is up.”

He shook his head, expression serious. “Nah. Yer gonna live a long time. I’ll make sure of it,” he said, words firm. “Hell, that’s my resolution. To keep ya alive and help ya get what you want.”

As if on cue, a crowd of voices started counting down. 10…you leaned in. 9…he leaned in. 

8…“Oh yeah?” 7…his eyes fell to your lips. 6…yours fell to his.

5…”Yeah. Whatever ya want.” 4…closer. 3…closer. 2…his hand on your face. 1…

Fireworks went off, at least that’s what you assumed. It was the only explanation for the ringing in your ears, the booming in your heart. Daryl’s lips were on yours, pushing forward while his hands pulled you closer. You leaned into him, drinking him in. Touching him, feeling him, electricity coursing through your veins. 

When you opened your eyes, it was a new year. When you opened your eyes, he was right in front of you, a real person, a real moment. When you opened your eyes, you saw your future, and it was beautiful.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty-eight // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this fic: 6.7k warnings for this chapter: p in v, fingering, dirty talk

a million boops to my beta reader banners by @cafekitsune

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Eight:

Cliveden’s gardens at night in the winter are beautiful. They’re vast and eerily empty, though that could just be the stillness of the night. Victorian lamp posts light the way and with the gently falling snow, kinda gives me Narnia vibes.

 I wander around, careful to stick to the crunchy gravel paths and keep the main house in sight. This isn’t the first time I’ve had such an opportunity for escape. Yeah, I could Apparate anywhere, but why? Now that a plan will be in place, what’s the point? It’s exactly what I wanted. 

Movement draws my eye and I catch Diana’s head above the shrubbery, heading in my direction. I’m not ready to go inside yet, so I sit on a nearby bench and wait for her to join me.

“Did they send you to make sure I was still here?” I ask, mostly teasing.

“Kyle did,” she admits as she sits next to me. She’s all bundled up in a stylish thick wool coat while I’m just fine in my Ilvermorny sweater and Thomus’ scarf. “But that’s alright, I’d much rather talk to you.”

Instantly my guard's up. “About what?”

She hesitates for a moment, but I give her my best encouraging expression, despite my raging nerves. 

“Well, I wanted to ask how you feel about Thomus.”

I blink, my eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, um, well, I -”

“It’s just that Jake seems to think you genuinely care about him because of how adamant you are about his safety,” she says. “Now that I’ve met you and I’ve seen you two together, I think he’s right, but I wonder if it’s more than that.”

I think about my answer for a few moments, but respond with a question instead. “Is this because you two used to date?”

She immediately shakes her head and chuckles. “Definitely not. It didn’t last longer than a month or two and it was a long time ago.”

“Did-did he break up with you?” I ask with some hesitation.

“I dumped him actually,” she says. “He just… When we hung out or went on dates, his mind always seemed like it was elsewhere.  The only time he seemed fully present and invested was when we…” she trails off. 

“When what?” I prompt.

She gives me a sheepish expression. “Sorry, it might be a bit TMI.”

I shrug and shake my head. “Don’t worry. There’s no such thing as TMI for me. I need everything.” Even if that information guts me. I’d always rather know.

“When we were sleeping together,” she says all in one breath.

I don’t say anything, waiting to hear more. “Oh, is that it?”

Her eyebrows tilt up in sympathy. “I suppose if I were in your situation I wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking down. “I can see that. Do you know what he was so focused on?”

“Well, I know his mother had passed away a few months before and then there was… her .”

“Bellatrix,” I sigh knowingly.

“He visited her every couple weeks - no matter what. I didn’t even know he was still going after we started dating. When I confronted him, he insisted there was nothing physical going on between them, but I… had my doubts. He told me he stopped going after that, but I know he went back after it ended,” she explains. “Does he still see her often?”

“I… have no idea honestly.”

“Have you not asked?”

I shake my head. “Why would I?”

“Because you two are…” she sighs. “It’s complicated, I know.”

“There’s a massive power imbalance between us and I’m not going to let myself forget that, regardless of how I feel.”

“What about how he feels?” she asks gently.

“If anything he feels is real, then why am I still his prisoner?” I answer a little too quickly. “He doesn’t see me as his equal. I don’t want to belong to him like I’m some kind of possession. I want a partner willing to rely on me as I want to rely on them in return. How can anyone be devoted to an object?” I finish by inhaling sharply, having taken short breaths during my lament. 

Her lips press together as she regards me with a cautious look. “The world has really changed since Harry Potter died,” she says. “No one is doing well - especially muggleborns. No one has been able to fly under the radar since they started implementing some kind of forced registry.” She pauses and then chuckles. “And you would not be able to go unnoticed.”

I sigh. “It’s the hair isn’t it?”

“Actually, no,” she says. “You’d be surprised how popular some of these articles about you have been.”

Now this, I’m taken aback. "Articles? As in more than one?"

"I'm afraid so. The best one is from the New York Ghost , but Witch Weekly's was pretty nice. Does someone have it out for you at The Daily Prophet , by any chance?"

"Probably Rita Skeeter," I grumble. I want to know what they've been saying about me. "Though I'm surprised I was interesting enough for one article, let alone multiple."

"I disagree," she says. "I think what you're doing is very brave. You haven't given up despite all these odds stacked against you. Honestly, I was really excited to meet you when I heard you were coming."

I blush, laughing awkwardly. "I, um, I'm sorry, I definitely had no idea you existed until tonight. Thank you for inviting me to that thing on New Years Eve, even though I can't go. It reminded me of what being normal was like."

"No problem!" she smiles. "I would've been glad to have you. You’re super cool and totally normal.” She winks at me and quietly laughs to herself. “But seriously, you should consider thinking that he might just want to keep you safe, where he can protect you.”

“But I can protect myself ,” I gently protest. “It’s because I’ve been under his ‘care’ that I’ve been vulnerable! He has to realize that.”

Her eyes soften with sympathy. “I think he does, because there was one weekend Jake told me about. He’d just met you and Thomus in Edinburgh and you’d been… assaulted while they’d all just been standing there, unknowing. He said he’d never seen Thomus be that violent before - violent without using magic that is.”

I stare at her eye-wided, enthralled with this story. This change in perspective. 

“And then the next night, there’d been this party Thomus got drunk at and Jake said he could tell something was really bothering him. Apparently, he was really reluctant to talk about it, too.”

I scoff. “I hope he got over himself and opened up so you can share this information with me now.”

“Yeah, so he finally said he blamed himself for being an idiot and not paying better attention. Like, it really hit him that your safety was in his hands.”

I… don’t know what I’m allowed to feel. My heart wants to swoon and my mind wants to roll its eyes. Except, if he’s not as terrible as I thought, am I allowed to hope? 

“I think I remember when he came home,” I admit. “We continued drinking and he asked me how I felt - which was very new for us at the time.”

Diana smiles ruefully. “Does he get points for trying, at least?”

“We’ll see,” I say. “I’m definitely nervous that it could all just be a… fling to him.”

Diana startles me by releasing a loud cackle.

“A fling?!” she bellows, struggling to catch her breath. “Oh honey, you’re delusional.”

“What? No!” I protest. “I’m being realistic.”

“Oh Lady Morgana,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes and standing. “Come on, let’s go inside before my fingers fall off.”

~*~

By the early hours of the morning, I’m utterly exhausted. 

Kyle had changed his mind and decided to tell me his roughly outlined plan. It’s not terrible, but luckily the rough bits still have time to be hammered out. I should have plenty of notice before I have to leave, plenty of time for contingencies.

Thomus is out like a light, still snoring softly, when I return. I try to be as quiet as possible as I strip down to my undies and crawl into the massive four-poster bed with him. 

It must not be massive enough, though, because just me softly rolling into position beneath the covers is enough to rouse a few sleepy words from him.

“Darling?” he rasps and I feel his hands reach for me in the dark.

“Hi,” I whisper. “Sorry I woke you.”

He hums and pulls himself closer, resting his head on my chest. “How did we get back to the cottage?” he says sleepily, curling himself against me.

“We didn’t,” I say, running a hand through his hair and the other over his shoulders. “We’re still at Cliveden.”

“Hm, I don’t remember getting here.”

His tone isn’t setting off any alarm bells. It’s low and gravelly, like he’s not entirely awake yet.  He’s just mindlessly chatting and I just have to be casual.

“Well, you were very drunk,” I say. “You passed out playing Exploding Snap. Jake had to levitate you up here.”

His arm around my waist tightens, pulling me tighter against him. “You didn’t leave.”

I don’t say anything, panic instantly spiking my heart rate, and I hope he’s not awake enough to pay attention.

“You could have, but you didn’t,” he continues. “Not that I’d blame you if you did.”

I stay silent, trying to convince myself that his calm demeanor is because whatever he’s talking about, couldn’t be about the drama of the night. There's no way he was awake enough to hear what we said. 

“No,” I murmur. “I didn’t.”

“What room did he put us in?” he murmurs.

I let out a sudden strained laugh. “You’d never guess.”

~*~

On New Year’s Eve, Thomus leaves again. He says it’s to finish last minute tasks for the Gala and whatnot and I feel… depressed… again. I’m mostly uninterested in eating - I ate a bologna and cheese sandwich for dinner. I’m not in the mood to read, listen to music or watch any movies, but I’ve had The Nanny on all day - just to make the house less quiet.

So I just go to bed at the blessed hour of 8pm. 

I’ve barely been in bed for longer than fifteen minutes when the easily recognizable sound of the Floo roaring to life drifts up the stairs. I’ve sat up by the time Thomus finds me.

“In bed already?” he asks, surprised. “On New Year's Eve?”

I shrug, holding the blanket up to my naked chest. “It’s not the easiest holiday to spend by yourself.”

Thomus sits on the edge of the bed, swiftly leaning in to kiss my cheek. “And I don’t intend for you to, I agree completely.” He jumps up, taking long strides through the bathroom to my room, where I hear him opening the wardrobe. I sigh, scooting to the edge to throw my legs over it. It’s just my luck I was already in bed.

“A little warning might have been nice,” I say when he returns, arm cradling a black hoodie and black leggings. 

He takes one look at me and the next moment he’s tossing my clothes on the bed and crowding into my space. His large hands cradle my head as he braces me for his lips on mine. He leans in and I have to prop my arms behind me so we don’t fall backward. Of course this causes the blanket to fall and his hand swoops down to cup and grope my chest, the attention causing my nipples to harden. 

His kisses take my breath away and my thighs are quick to part for him. His hips slide right into the space provided, grinding his hard-on against me. My kisses slacken because all of my attention goes right to my throbbing clit and I desperately whimper.  

His hips rock against me one more time before he pulls away, both of us breathless. His eyes trail down my body as he speaks. “We don’t have much time,” he says. “I will have to savor you later.”

When he steps completely away from me, I’m left cold, so I quickly slide on the oversized hoodie as he adjusts himself in his pants.

“Savor me?” I ask when I stand, stepping into the pants one leg at a time.

He chuckles, watching me wiggle the waistband up over my hips and stomach. “I thought it was a bit more romantic than fuck.”

Ping . There goes the tiniest fracture in my heart for him. I scramble for something clever or funny to say. 

“I suppose it could’ve been worse,” I say, popping in a British accent for the last word. “You could’ve said shag .”

“Cute,” he smirks.

I follow him downstairs, sliding on my socks before I stop at the door for my sneakers and turn for the fireplace.

He clicks his tongue. “Not that way.”

I narrow my eyes and follow him out the door. He takes me to the spot beyond the fence and touches the tattoo before Apparating us to the Manor. The front gates are open and he swiftly takes hold of my tattoo again to get me over the barrier. 

We walk down the entrance path, under gilded arches and golden fairy lights crossing overhead from the tall hedges. Holding my hand, he pulls me around the building along the back toward a door being held open by an elf.

“Miss,” Remmy says to me in a disinterested greeting and drops his voice to a whisper. “Master Thomus, Mistress expects you in fifteen minutes. Master isn’t even dressed -”

“Don’t worry, Remmy, I will be there,” Thomus reassures them as we pass. “Mums the word about Miss Alder, remember?”

“Yes, yes, Remmy remembers,” the elf dismisses. 

Thomus leads me to his room, making sure to use hallways noticeably absent of chatty portraits. A familiar route because of the many times I'd avoided them myself. The moment we’re in his room, he heads for the bathroom, already stripping. There’s a black robed suit hanging from a hook on the door. 

“Please tell me you're not gonna surprise me with a ball gown, are you?” I ask, hopping up onto the bed and toeing my shoes off. 

“I value my neck, thanks,” he remarks, pulling on first his suit pants, then the black button up shirt. “Would you grab me a pair of cufflinks from the closet?”

“Does it matter which one?” I ask, knowing he's got a variety. 

“No.”

By the time I emerge from the closet, elegant silver M stamped cufflinks in hand, he’s already dressed. He smiles at me as I pass him the tiny pieces of metal. 

“All you have to do is wait for a few hours,” he says, his mood curiously… cheerful? “Go back to sleep if you'd like - just don't leave this room. Only Remmy knows you're here.” 

“Why all the fuss?” I ask, my eyes greedily taking his suited form in. I suppress the desire to pull him close by his silk tie for a kiss. He looks too suave and sophisticated and… way out of my league.

“For the simple reason that I don’t want certain guests to know you’re here,” he explains, stepping into the bathroom once again. I hear him spritz a bottle of something.

“And why is that again?” 

He glides out of the bathroom, passing me by with a quick peck to my cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I completely ignore the fact he didn’t answer my question, because I’m way too distracted by his suddenly fragrant cologne. I breathe in lung-fulls of cedar and pine, trying not to swoon in his wake as he pulls out his wand to light the fireplace. 

Then he’s gone, the door audibly locking behind him.

~*~

Well, I definitely try to sleep. Except I wasn’t even tired when I climbed into bed the first time.

First I change into a purple wispy nightgown with a deep vee in the neck that stops at my thighs. Then I change out of it when the frills around the short sleeves become too itchy under the covers, opting instead for a simpler one with long sleeves and a hem that falls around my ankles. 

All this, just to be uncomfortable in every position I try. Nevermind the fact my mind keeps doing laps of worrying, wondering who exactly Thomus doesn’t want to know I’m here. Rodolphus? Bellatrix? Is he dancing and flirting with her while her husband tracks me down this very moment? 

Finally I give up and decide to grab a handful of Thomus’ old Daily Prophets and settle on the cushioned bench in the alcove of one of his windows. I sit sideways on it, my back against the wall with the door in my line of sight. 

I’m about to cast a subtle illumination spell to help my poor eyesight in this dim lighting when movement out the window catches my eye. It’s the curtains billowing out of the open doors to the ball room - or the large drawing room as Narcissa calls it. Golden light spills from windows and the doorway  as the guests' shadows and silhouettes move within. Some are moving swiftly as if dancing while some are mingling. Before I can think better of it, I’m pushing open the French window closest to me.

I hear boisterous laughter and the low hum of chatter, and best of all, music drifts up to me like a leaf in the breeze. It’s the exact kind of music I’d imagine would play at a ball like this, and I can’t help but picture myself down there, in some pretty dress twirling around the room with Thomus.

I sit there, content to listen to the string quartet and people watch. Some come outside for the cool air, others to have a private word alone with each other. 

Hermione is relatively easy to spot. Her black gown is ridiculously puffy around the skirt, but synched skin-tight in the bodice, and even from here I can see the jewels glittering on her chest. I’m surprised to see Draco by her side, dressed head to toe in white. They linger by the door, always surrounded by ladies vying for his attention. I can’t help but notice how his hand slowly caresses her back, almost… lovingly from her waist up to her shoulders and nape when he thinks no one is watching.

Thankfully, I don’t see Bellatrix, but I also don’t see Thomus, either. An inconsequential fact I try not to linger on.

I don’t know how long I sit like that, but eventually Thomus returns, quietly stepping into the room with two empty champagne glasses and a bottle.

“I kinda feel like Cinderella wanting to go to the ball,” I say softly as he approaches. He looks politely puzzled and before he can ask, I explain, “It’s just a No-Maj fairytale.”

“Ah,” he hums. He takes hold of the forgotten newspapers on the other side of the bench and raises an eyebrow.

I feel a blush creep up my throat and try to keep my tone nonchalant. “I… maybe like to read your articles,” I say. “It’s crazy to think we both spent time at The Daily Prophet , but at different times so we never ran into each other.”

I feel like I’m rambling, but how could I not? He looks and smells far too dashing for me to think clearly. 

“It is a bit ironic,” he says, replacing his papers where I’d gotten them from before returning. He takes up the rest of the bench, his back to the window, and places the glasses and bottle on the floor next to him.

“Do you think things might’ve been different if we’d met there instead?” I ask hesitantly, knowing all too well his opinions on ‘what if’s. “Before?”

Thomus sighs heavily and the air puffs out his cheeks. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a sideways look. “Honestly?”

I nod. “Yeah, always.”

“Hm, I think…” his mouth downturns as he speaks, his voice betraying his amusement. “I’d find you the most annoying person on the planet.”

A disbelieving laugh bursts out. “What?!”

He nods, completely solemn. “Oh yeah, always asking questions, always bothering me.”

“Oh no, I’d have to talk to you about our job ,” I say with dramatic sarcasm, trying and failing to keep the smile off my face. “Oh no, what a nightmare.”

Thomus grabs my ankle, lifting my foot so he can shift closer, until my calf rests on his opposite thigh. That hand slides from my ankle all the way up my leg, and I’m disappointed it’s not under my nightgown. “It would have been an absolute nightmare to have you prance into my office every bloody day,” he continues as his fingers meet the crease at my hip and wedge themselves in. Then they keep traveling and grip all the plentiful flesh there. “I’d never be able to get any work done because I’d constantly be thinking about bending you over my desk.”

My eyes run laps over the sharp lines of his face, trying to determine if he’s serious. “Is that so?”

Thomus’ eyes drop to my mouth, his free hand brings his thumb to brush my lower lip. “These would be the worst. With every meddlesome question you ask, I’d only be able to think about how they’d taste.”

I’m holding my breath - my heart thudding, my ears burning. I’m suddenly very unnecessarily conscious of how far my glasses have slipped down my nose, the cool breeze from the window across my chest, and how heavy I’m breathing over his thumb. And for some reason his accent is doing funny things to my insides right now, of all times. 

His voice is low, husky, and oh, so hot. “I’d be thinking about how you’d sound when I touched you. And yes, I say when . I could only endure such torture for so long before I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

I snort, a disbelieving smile breaking out under his thumb. “You make me sound like some kind of irresistible vixen.” A chuckle rumbles out of his chest, but I keep going. “Well, I have good news for you - I wouldn’t object to any of that.”

“Is that so?” His hand caresses from my jaw to my neck. 

I bite my lip to control my grin. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I’d be bothering you so much in the first place?”

Thomus lets out a breathy chuckle and sits back, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I can only stare, mesmerized by seeing genuine happiness on his face.

“So,” I say brightly. “Are you enjoying this party you put so much effort into preparing?”

His smile fades. “Not as much as I ought to, I suppose.”

“Oh, why not?” I ask, placing my hand over his one on my neck, feeling along the lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“The people down there…” he starts, eyes gazing out the window, “the only thing I’ve ever been to them is a source for gossip and scandal. And then the few who look past all that see the Malfoy name and nothing else.”

I let that process. “So what you’re saying is you’re a real catch?”

He bursts out laughing, the hand from my hip reaching up to scratch his chin. “Yeah, for those desperate to social climb.”

“So you’re a desperately eligible bachelor ?” I tease with a bit more drama to my tone. “How interesting. All the finest debutantes must be lining up down there, so what ever are you doing up here with me?”

“I’m a little old for debutantes.” He settles toward me into a more relaxing position, pulling his knee up and pressing his calf onto the bench under my thighs. With his face closer to mine now, his softly spoken words are loud and clear. “And besides, your company is vastly preferable over theirs.”

My face floods with heat and I crumble under his direct eye contact. My mouth suddenly feels as dry as the desert while I’m forced to figure out some kind of intelligent reply. “Quite shocking, really,” I say, my voice a whisper until I clear my throat, swallowing down some nerves. “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with the wizarding world’s most crankiest?”

He laughs again. “Are you talking about me or them?”

I’m about to answer, but a dull tapping sound coming from the party draws my attention. The guests are returning inside, tapping their wands against their champagne glasses. 

“Ten minutes to midnight,” Thomus explains. “Lucius and Narcissa are about to make their toast.”

I slip my other hand around the one he has at my neck, both of mine cradling it near my chest as I glance at the clock on his mantle. “I guess that means you have to go?”

“Probably,” he admits slowly. “But I’m here.”

“Hold on, speaking of being here, isn’t Draco supposed to be in Switzerland?” I jut in, my eyes easily finding him and Hermione on the edge of the crowd. 

“He is and Lucius is absolutely furious,” he sighs. “I can’t believe he’d be so foolish.”

“Well, it's obvious, right?” I ask, side-eying him, unsure if this is something I could even talk about. “He’s like, really into Hermione.”

A few moments tick by in silence as I stare at the crowd below. I glance at him to see his eyes had been on me the whole time, his expression pensive. When our eyes meet, he holds them for a moment before his gaze follows his hand as both of his gently hold mine instead. He pulls back my left sleeve, his fingers lightly tracing his name inked on my skin. Then he goes further, tracing the white puckered lines of the scar Bellatrix left me. 

“What’re you thinking about?” I whisper.

His lips curl ruefully. “I’m thinking about how much of a hypocrite I am. I’ve called him foolish when here I am,” he says. “Unable to stay away.”

“From what?” I breathe, feeling stupid the moment I finish. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if he can feel my pulse where he holds my arm.

Thomus’ eyes hold on my arm, avoidant of my own. His voice is soft like he's telling me a secret. “I snuck you in tonight because I couldn’t bear not spending it with you.”

My eyebrows come together and I feel my head shake. “It’s just another year.”

“No,” he says, his eyes flashing up to mine, adamant. “Moments like these are important, to spend with those who are important. That’s why they’re all gathered down there, isn’t it? To go into the New Year praising the Dark Lord’s reign, congratulating themselves for their accomplishments this year.” He looks back down at our hands, at his name. “I know I don’t have much to celebrate in that regard, but I do know that you’re important to me… and frankly I'm tired of pretending otherwise.”

I can only stare at him. Unable to think, unable to breathe . How could he say something like that? 

When I finally have to draw breath after what feels like an eternity, I only get to say his name. “Thomus -”

The loud popping of fireworks bursts from below, along with some cheer that has me turning my gaze away only briefly. I turn back and Thomus’ mouth descends on mine. 

The kiss is full and wonderful, but short. He pulls back inches away to search into my gaze, like he’s asking for permission, like he’s making sure what he just said was okay. 

It was more than okay. It’s exactly what my heart wants to hear, even though my own stubborn insecurities push doubt into my mind. 

I can’t say anything back. I can’t tell him how I feel.

But I can show him.

Our lips meet again in a rush. At least it feels like that to me, like we just can’t bare being apart anymore. I pour my heart and soul into this kiss. My hands find their way into his hair, his caress and grip every part of my body he can reach. 

Soon I’m pushing him back so I can climb onto his lap. He’s pulled up my nightgown and the cool air feels amazing on my bare legs. I’ve got one foot on the floor and the other is bent at the knee, helping control my balance while I’m grinding on him. 

He keeps pulling me to him, my weight rocking into him, and I brace a hand on the wall in the bay window as he falls further back, keeping me upright. His hands slip under my nightgown, roaming my thighs. I adjust my hips, feeling brave enough to put both hands on his chest to steady me. His suit pants can’t hide how hard he is. I try to use that as a reminder he’s genuinely into me. No matter how many times I’m in his lap, it’s still hard to believe he wants me here. 

“How long till you have to go back?” I ask with controlled breaths. 

He growls. “Just fuck me, baby.” His fingers painfully dig into my hips as he pulls me down, undulating his hips against me. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

There are things I want to blurt out, simple little words swelling in my chest that threaten to ruin everything. 

But if I confess how I feel, it wouldn’t change anything. I’ll still be his prisoner. His possession.

I don’t wanna be an object. I long to be more .

My hands slide up his chest to meet at his neckline, shoving my fingers into the knot on his tie. I don’t bother pulling it all the way off before I go at his buttons, not stopping until his muscled chest and abdomen are revealed. My hips rock, rubbing my pussy over his cock straining to be let free. 

Then I jump up, standing to shimmy my undies to the floor. Thomus sits up and shrugs off his suit jacket, pulling off his tie completely. I pause, waiting to return to my seat, but then he looks at me, his eyes raking me up and down. 

“I want that off,” he says, referring to the only article of clothing I have left. 

I struggle not to make a face, because I still have a hard time being completely naked in front of him. If we were in bed, that would be different. This just feels too exposed.

I grip the material around my hips and step toward him. “Take it off for me?” I ask.

Lust-filled eyes lock on mine and his hands go to my thighs, sliding them up my sides, taking the gown with them. I raise my arms to help him pull it off the rest of the way and a blast of cool air from the window makes goosebumps rise all over me. It sends a shiver through my body and my nipples harden.

When my arms are free, I step even closer and cup his face, pressing my lips to his. I kiss him softly, from one corner of his mouth to the other. While I distract his mouth with sweet kisses, one hand takes off my glasses and the other goes to his belt.

Of course, I can only use one brain cell at a time, so my mouth becomes distracted when I struggle with undoing his belt. I just pull my mouth away all together so I can get a visual on my hands. I glance up at Thomus’ face to find his heated gaze focused on mine. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, looking down at the matter at hand. “Not very sexy, I know.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” he says and inhales sharply when my hands finally wrap around his swollen cock. My palms glide up and down gently before giving it a firm squeeze. My thumb circles his head, spreading a bead of pre-cum, and he leans forward, lips and tongue tracing a path from my neck to my breasts. One of his big hands cups my breast and when he immediately bites down on my nipple, I gasp and whimper. His tongue soothes away the pain, swirling around the stiff peak. 

His other hand slides down my thigh, fingers feeling the dimples and divots until they hook behind my knee. My hands go to his shoulders for balance as he lifts my foot until it’s on the bench. His fingers quickly glide back up my thigh, this time underneath it to where it’s most sensitive and softest. 

Thomus’ lips release my nipple and he pulls back enough to see my face. “I think you’re very sexy,” he murmurs. “From this pretty little pussy of yours” - his fingers glide through my folds, teasingly spreading the slipperiness from the center to my clit - “to those lips I just can’t seem to get enough of.”

His thumb presses in on my clit and my train of thought struggles to stay on track. “You’re pretty hot too,” I say breathily. “You’ve got these shoulders and thighs and hands that just -” My words are cut off by a moan when he slips two fingers inside me.

“That just what?” he teases, unmistakably smug. 

It takes me a moment to answer because his thumb in combination with his fingers curling against my g-spot have my hips rocking and my brain turning to mush. My breaths come in short pants and my eyes are pinched closed, focused on riding the pleasurable waves his fingers are orchestrating. 

“Concentrate, darling,” he presses. “Answer me.”

“Hands,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, “hands that do terrible… awful things to me.”

His fingers turn aggressive, pressing harder and rhythmic as he hums in approval. “That’s a good girl.”

His lips return to my nipple and that pushes me past the point of no return. A stream of curses and Thomus’ name tumble from my mouth. My toes curl and my body goes stiff as my orgasm washes over me. Thomus slows his long fingers, but still presses in hard on my g-spot as my pussy pulses around him.

When I can finally breathe again, I push at Thomus’ shoulders and he leans back, bringing his drenched digits up to his mouth. He groans at my taste and resituates himself on the bench, pushing his pants and briefs past his thighs. I’m still dazed from my orgasm when Thomus pulls me on top of him. He holds his cock at the base and guides me until he’s sliding home, deep inside my pussy. 

“Oh fuck,” I moan, my eyes closing. This position never fails to put him as deep inside as possible, and if I really sit on his lap, he’s hitting my cervix. But that would be painful, so instead I move my hips around slowly, figuring out what angle works best and won’t kill my thighs. One particular move makes him groan and my eyes flutter open to find his locked intently on me, watching my body move. I definitely found the right one.

I start to go a little faster, a little harder. I have a hand on a window pane and the other grasping his shoulder to stabilize me. My thighs are burning, but the pain isn’t enough to make me stop. He’s inside me, and I love being connected like this. What I feel for him never feels more real than it does in moments like this. When I can’t be in denial.

With the increasing intensity of my hips, little whimpers start to tumble from my mouth alongside my panting. My bottom lip is nailed between my teeth and as I can feel my orgasm hurtling towards me, fuck is the only word coming out of my mouth. 

Whenever he feels they could use more attention, his hands never fail to stray to my breasts. Supporting them as they bounce and sway, leaning forward to kiss and nibble at my nipples. 

“So fucking beautiful,” I hear him grind out above the steady and erotic sound of our bodies joining. 

My orgasm is close - so, so close. I’m starting to go crazed, desperate to cum again. Thomus is, too. I can hear it in his voice as he groans.

“Baby, I need you to cum on me.” His voice is strained like he’s in utter agony. 

I let out a frustrated whimper as I pause to grind on his lap, hoping for an angle that hits my clit. 

“I need - can you - ?” I gasp out. 

I don’t even have to finish my sentence before his fingers wiggle in under my belly. My pussy’s so slippery, the pads of his fingers find the hood of my clit and press in, rubbing it in circles. My hips jerk, bouncing up and down on his cock, continuing even as my orgasm finally crashes over my body. I throw my head back as my back arches. His body stiffens below me as he cums, groaning out his pleasure.

“Beautiful darling, well done,” he pants with praise after we both have a chance to breathe, his voice shaking. “I lov-”

Thomus is abruptly cut off by loud banging on his door.

We both jump like we’ve been hit. There’s a moment where our eyes meet and I see panic cross his face just as it does on mine. 

“Thomus!” a familiar man’s voice calls from beyond the door. 

Thomus blinks, his expression hardening. He brings a finger up to his lips, warning me to be quiet. “Closet,” he whispers. “Go. Now.”

Nodding, my legs are like jelly as I push myself off of him. He’s hastily throwing on his suit as I bend to scoop up my nightgown and undies. I dash for the closet. It’s dark enough I can just hide behind the open door. Instead of the nightgown though, I opt for my pants and hoodie. Plus a pair of Thomus’ socks while I’m at it because mine are lost in the sheets somewhere.

While I’m desperately dressing, the man at the door calls for Thomus again. “Where have you been, Thomus? I’ve been sent to fetch your ungrateful ass.”

I squeeze behind the closet door to peek through the crack between the hinges just as Thomus strides to the door. He’s fully dressed and smoothing back his hair with his fingers. He pauses to take a deep breath before opening the door. 

It’s Rodolphus. 

“What do you want,” Thomus demands, sounding amazingly composed.

Rodolphus leans a hand on the doorframe. “You missed your brother’s toast,” he says, a mocking lilt to his tone. His hair is disheveled, the tie to his tux hangs loose around his neck. “How could you have missed this moment to show support for the Dark Lord? Your family? ”

“I don’t answer to you,” Thomus says. He keeps his back straight and his chin up.

Rodolphus puts a finger to his chin, tapping it. “And then I remembered a few other times you’ve mysteriously disappeared from similar events,” Rodolphus continues before abruptly shoving past Thomus into the room. Thomus tries grabbing his coat tails, but he somehow avoids him.

Rodolphus stops in the middle of the room, eyeing it while slowly turning back to Thomus. He inhales heavily through his nose and steps back towards the window with the bench. “A moment ago, I was convinced you were up here fucking my wife,” he says casually. He reaches for something on it and my anxiety explodes in my chest the moment I see him pick up my glasses. “Of course, I was only half-right. This room reeks of sex, but my wife has never hid.”

Rodolphus drops my glasses and stomps on them with his shoe, crushing my lenses under his sole. The glass crunches as he turns, backing up towards the closet. Thomus watches him with furious eyes. His hands are empty, but I know in the blink of an eye he’d have his wand.

“I’m surprised you can still get it up for her since her… accident ,” Rodolphus taunts. “She’s utterly repulsing if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Thomus bites.

He’s so close to the closet. My fingers feel for anything on the shelf behind me and immediately feel the unmistakable smooth metal of Thomus’ shoehorn, the very one I tried to pummel him with. 

Maybe New Year’s Eve kisses are good luck.

I raise it over my head as he steps to the doorway.

“Your silence is very telling,” Rodolphus chuckles as he slowly steps into the closet. I hear his footsteps on the wood floor as he disappears on the other side of the door.

I’ve shoved my anxiety down enough so I don’t panic as he reappears, wand scanning the room.

Just as he turns to me, I transfigure the shoehorn into a dagger, and hold it up to his throat.

[bluebellhairpin]

A/N: This is all me. I'm shipping you with me, but also I'm married to Erwin. But we could kiss if you wanted us to. (I have no idea what this is but its over 3k long and I put my heart and soul into it, and I just wanted it posted as soon as I could because I love it THAT MUCH.) - Nemo

Summary: Somehow you - a nobody college student- have found yourself invited to the most prestigious New Years parties in the country, and the hostess takes a liking to you.

Warnings: Some bitchy guests and a cry in the bathroom.

Masterlist || art <3

Invitations to the Smith’s New Years Parties were unspeakably converted. 

Getting an invitation was like getting a ticket to the Wonka factory. Everyone was jealous, but some respect was given to you because you’d done something worth being invited to the Smiths. Them being the most prestigious and known couple in the whole city - sweethearts by any name and with enough combined wealth to have their generosity make a difference - everyone loved them.

Everyone wanted to be them. Or be with them. 

Erwin - the husband whose charisma left anyones knees weak, and a quick thinking mind that never had him clutching at straws for what to say. He was surely his parents pride and joy, handsomely picturesque and with a kind smile to boot. 

His wife, though, was more than just a pretty face to hang off his accomplishments. She was truly the heart and soul of their kindness. Erwin wasn’t half as ready to spend a few ten thousand dollars on charities every few months, but his wife? She threw cash around to those who needed it as much as she could. And he’d let her, he’d do anything for her. 

She had him wrapped around her little finger like a teenage fool in love - even though they’d been married for close to ten years - and anyone could tell she was just as head over heels for him too. 

The Smith’s never held parties at their home - parties were to meet new acquaintances, the home was where you had friends - and each New Years Eve celebration was at someplace new. Someplace glamorous and glittering like the stars, photos of it splashed over social media the next day. Last year it was at a garden near a lake - further out from the city and done up like some storybook wonderland. 

And they never went to the same place twice.

You’d been dropped off in front of the building by a cab - a sprawling red carpet lined the footpath up to where the doorman stood by a revolving door.

You could see people chatting inside the foyer - all dressed to the nines. One had a glittering yellow dress with her hair done back in intricate braids and a man on each arm who were decked out with just as much glamour - one in red with a thick mane of hair, the other in orange with a blond undercut. They looked like they’d been before. 

Remembering how you’d started looking for an outfit as soon as the gold envelope came through your mail, and how you’d looked at yourself in the mirror thinking you looked really nice. Even your roommate said you looked the part. Simple, and the earrings really pulled it all together, you’d thought. Thinking now, though, maybe at least you shouldn’t have found your clothes at a second-hand store. 

Gripping your clutch, you approached the doorman - a little unsure about what to do. He smiled kindly, and you offered a shy one in return and fished out your invitation. He instantly recognised it with a nod and instructed you to take an elevator to the eleventh floor. 

And if you were feeling intimidated in the foyer - simply passing everyone by to get to the lift that would take you to the party - it was nothing compared to how you felt stepping out of the elevator. 

You looked to your left and knew exactly where you were supposed to go. 

A huge dining room lay beyond two propped-open glass doors. Twinkling lights of gold and yellow lined the ceiling, and round tables were decked out with fancy dinner sets and cheese boards of food. Across the far wall was glass, and a balcony looking across the cityscape - perfect for firework viewing, even if you stayed indoors. Another wall had a stage with a wooden floor in front of it, where a band had been put together and was currently playing upbeat jazz, while the opposite wall across the tables was more food - and no doubt the kitchen. 

You could tell - while it was a big room, and probably wouldn’t be chocked full of people - that only about half the guests had even arrived yet and it was only just past 9pm. 

You worried momentarily that you’d have trouble finding a seat, but a table plan came into view as you walked through the doors. Finding your name, you felt your palms get sweaty. Surely these were randomly assigned - why else would you not only be sitting on their table, but also right next to Mrs Smith herself? 

You felt a great need to sit - anywhere at all really - because of a wave of lightheadedness, but luckily your table was close by, near the centre of the room. Of course it was. 

Once seated, a waiter passed by with a tray of various drinks. You picked one and gulped down half its contents in one go - to cool your insides down more than anything else. A cheerful eruption of greeting had you turn your direction back to the balcony - and there they were, enthusiastically greeting the trio you saw below in the foyer. 

Erwin stood with an arm around his wife. He was in a deep gold three piece suit with the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone. He looked like he’d stepped off one of those business magazines you’d see in a corner store display. His wife looked just as photo-worthy. 

Her hair was styled back and her dress had a red velvet corset with a flowy silk skirt - a slit up one side with shining silver stones around her neck and wrist, and a shimmer of more around her exposed thigh. 

They were, admittedly, less flashy than some of their guests, but it was obvious that they held the attention of those around them as they greeted everyone with shaken hands and kissed cheeks.

As the minutes ticked by and they greeted more guests, you started noticing things. 

You’d never been so close to them before - mostly seen on social media clips or tabloid news - but they kept sending looks to each other back and forth. Softer, or harsher, knowing and less so - all depending on who they were talking to. Something about it made you think they were telepathically linked - after so long together people would start to think the same way. 

You didn’t know at that point in the night, but it meant they weren’t as kind as they looked. 

It meant Mr and Mrs Smith could be cruel, and mean, and they could shun whoever they wanted - and with how everyone liked them, and how powerful they were, meant they could get away with it. It meant everyone would follow.

Socialites were like that - people came and went just like trends, no matter how big your impact is. But the ones that stayed, by some soul-selling miracle, stayed for good. And those that stayed had the biggest say in who else was able to stay too.

Luckily, more often than not, the Smith’s kindness outweighed their darker side. And luckily, others in their circle were more than content following. 

Bottom line; whatever they say goes. 

The night went on, and eventually - despite your inner turmoil about how you should go and approach them yourself - the couple made their way to your joined table. By now they’d begun nursing drink glasses of their own, and an arm reached beside you to place a champagne flute down.

Then a silk red dress slid into the seat next to yours. 

“Hi,” she said, and you had trouble meeting her eyes, “You must be -”

You blurted out your name before she could continue, sticking your hand out to shake. She took it, wrapping her fingers around your palm and shaking slowly. 

“Nice to meet you, officially. I’m really glad you were able to make it tonight.” she softly said, letting go of your hand and grabbing her glass again as she got comfortable in her seat. “I was a little worried you’d get scared.”

You met her eyes for a moment - some shade of brown, or honey, maybe green? - then turned to the platter of food, distracting yourself by choosing a grape. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Most college students we invite don't even RSVP.” You gawked a little at that.

“How’d you know I was in college?” 

“We try to invite a variety of people to our parties,” she said as if you hadn’t noticed - which you hadn’t. “We request looks at the more promising non-scholarship students in a few colleges - there's a lot of job openings that can come from simply meeting people - so we give them a chance to get their feelers out on some more upper-class opportunities.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, trying to meet your eyes. When you did, she smiled - there you are, they said. 

“Not everyone needs scholarships, what they need is a chance to prove themselves to the right people.” You knew she wasn't necessarily wrong. 

You still would’ve liked a scholarship though. 

“So don’t drink too much, and go say hi to some people.” she said, leaning a little closer to give a reassuring pat on your shoulder. “If you need anything, come interrupt me. I’d love an excuse to get away from some of the people here.” She turned away from you with a wink, giving her attention back to her husband - who you noticed as he did you, and raised his glass in brief greeting. 

You looked around the room - indeed there were a few people here you recognized - there were people who matched with both your major and interests. If only you didn’t feel so much like you were thrust into the deep end of a swimming pool with no floaters on.

It was ten minutes until midnight. 

So far, you've done better than you’d thought you would’ve when it comes to introducing yourself. Quite a few people were rather friendly, and the ones who were less so still had made conversations short and sweet. Though one thing had been bothering you most the night. 

You’d guess from their age, and how they all lingered together that they were college students like you - invited for their promise in whatever major they studied - but unlike the two or so students you had met, they stuck out like sore thumbs. 

You did too, in a dull kind of way, but they did in a way that was worse. Like the gaggle of popular girls at prom who were spoiled and entitled and did themselves up too much. Or like they didn’t belong because they snuck in. 

They kept looking around the room, giggling and pointing and talking behind their hands. Surely more than just you had noticed how clique-y they were being. Most gossip was pointed at other guests - as if any self-respecting person would dare to do that to the Smith’s guests - but as you walked past their table back towards your seat, you heard them talking about you. 

“Look at their fit, it belongs in a dumpster.”

“Been busy kissing ass all evening, hope they know a New Years kiss is meant to be on the lips.” 

How had they even been let in, you wondered, as you tried to ignore them. You looked fine, and you were doing what you were told to do. They arrived after you, and you knew that they hadn’t been given the attention or time of Mrs Smith like you had. 

You were sitting on the Smith table, you reminded yourself, they weren’t. 

But somehow that only made you feel worse. 

Most of the guests were inside the dining hall or out on the balcony, leaving the foyer sparse - you hopped the bathroom would be empty. Because you were washed with a wave of sadness - you should be in bed, you shouldn’t be here. You didn’t fit in here. You needed a little cry as the clock struck midnight. 

The bathroom was just as fancy as the rest of the building, but you didn’t think about that too much as you ripped some paper towel from around near the sinks, and practically fell on one of the ottomans. You heard the door Swing open behind you and tried to fix yourself enough for whoever it was to pass by without asking anything. 

But then they sat down behind you, and a hand brushed your shoulder before running away again. 

“What happened?” Of course it was her - someone ran from her party crying, she’d need to know what to fix so it wouldn’t happen again.

“It’s nothing.” She leaned back on one hand, sitting far enough away not to push the subject, but close enough to know she wanted to know. You sighed. 

“I don’t really fit here.” you mumbled, picking at the paper in your hand. “It’s nice, and it looks really pretty, and I do really like it here, but it’s… I’m not…”

“It’s intimidating, I know.” she said, quietly nodding. For once, when you looked up at her, she wasn’t looking at you first. “It took Erwin half of our marriage for him to stop having to convince me to come to these parties - and they’re mostly my idea.” 

She looked at you, and crossed one leg over the other. 

“I know how you feel. I swear it.” She said, “And I also know that you’re very brave. I didn’t last half as long as you have at my first New Years party, and you don’t even have a husband to hide behind.” She tapped her fingers against the fabric of the seat, and you had half a mind to believe what she said - that someone so at ease now used to be as skittish and unsure as you. 

“Thank you.” you breathed, feeling a little better, and using the paper to wipe away your ruined make-up. She watched as you composed yourself, smoothing down the front of your clothes and fixing your hair a little. You stood near one of the large mirrors, feeling a little overwhelmed still. 

Her nose scrunched, and she tutted as she shook her head. 

“Here,” she said, turning and reaching behind her neck, unclasping her necklace, “Try this on. Sometimes you need something flashy to hide behind.” 

“Oh no, I -” But despite your protests she ignored you and pulled the shining crystals across your neck. They were still warm from where they once were on her. Shining against your skin, and you had to admit they looked even better when they were this close.

“They look like part of that Cartier necklace from the movie.” Your comment made her let out a breathy laugh.

“This is Swarovski, actually. Quite different.” She said, adjusting the gems so they sat flat. “They suit you.” 

“I can’t wear it.” you protested. She shook her head, standing behind you in the mirror. 

“You can keep it.” she said, insistent and stubborn, “It suits you. We’re supposed to all look fabulous in crystals - but I look better wearing pearls, you’d be doing me a favour.” Of course you would be. 

You reached a hand up to graze the crystals - they did suit you, and somehow matched your outfit down to your earrings. You looked back at her, still stunning even without a centrepiece of her jewellery. 

“What about you?” She raised an eye. What about me? ”You don’t have one anymore.” You explained, fiddling with one of the gems resting on your collarbone. She smiled, a smug cheekiness reached her eyes.

“It won’t matter, my husband will be quick to remedy the situation if it does.” 

She’d let you through the door first, after you’d finished making yourself properly presentable again. What superied you - more than the rest of what had happened so far tonight - was how easily her hand slipped through to rest in the crook of your elbow. You found yourself not minding as much as you probably should have. 

It was like she belonged there. 

You could see in the eyes of the guests as you walked back into the room. They took you both in and waves passed over their faces. 

It wasn’t pity or shock as they registered the fact you now had a necklace, and that she was missing hers. It was recognition, and for some certain ones - ones who knew they’d made some awful mistake in making you feel bad - dread. 

It told everyone that you had someone watching your back - someone they didn’t want to have to find themselves facing if they were to try and get to you. It told you that you were going to be okay, that you had a friend - one that could be the best one to have on a night like this.

It helped you. Made you feel a little more important. A little more pretty. You guessed, from what she said, that half of belonging was looking the part. 

The necklace wasn’t diamonds - they were crystals - but on the neck of someone so important it didn’t matter what they weren’t. It mattered what they looked like, what everyone would assume they would be. 

No one would look twice at a string of gems on the neck of Mrs Smith, thinking they weren’t the Best. No one would look at you wearing her necklace thinking they were fake either.

She was right in saying that what you needed was something flashy to hide behind.

As the timer changed from minutes until seconds, you found yourself in a pleasant position. One you would’ve never guessed you’d be in. Ever. 

You were still in the dining room - technically - but the windows separating it from the balcony had been pulled back and bunched together so you couldn’t tell when it started or stopped. A cool breeze cut through the room, diminishing the stuffy atmosphere and making way for a clean slate - a fresh start to a midnight new year. 

Five. 

Mrs Smith still had her fingers curled around your arm, but she’d latched onto Erwin on her other side. With all the people in the room, standing and sitting and dancing, you fit right by their side like a always-been-there friend. Like you belonged there. 

Four. 

You looked across at the groups of people, eyes catching on the same trio from before readying themselves for kisses and cheers. Them and others preparing to welcome a new start with every stereotype imaginable under the sun. 

Three. 

You watched Erwin lean down to whisper into his wife’s ear, she reflexively gripped you tighter as she giggled at his unknown words. You smiled even though you didn’t know what it was about, because it felt like the right thing to do.

Two.

2023 would come to an end with a cheer and flash of lights. With kisses and new beginnings. You knew, deep down, that this would be a better year. For the first time in a long time you felt that this year would be better.

One.

[elmundodeflor]

This is routine. The old ABBA album playing on the tv. The smell of lavender detergent seeping through every corner of their living room.

Hanji sings, as they cook dinner for Erwin and the rest, and he helps in every now and again: tasting the handmade tomatoe sauce for experimentation, telling them if they'd gone overboard with salt or pepper, too.

They've been living together for a little over two years now: his stuff all neatly placed next to messy paperwork and crumpled lab reports, their laundry room huddled with medic white coats and wrinkled colored socks.

Hanji always tells him it's an eclectic clash of styles, indeed: the opposites-attract making an authentic work of art out of their small, shared apartment. And he agrees, nevertheless, though: toothbrushes green and purple sitting together atop the sink, black dress-shoes combined with yellow Crocs on their closet-shelves.

He smiles, and takes a quick look at them over his shoulder. It seems now, that a tropical hurricane has howled through their kitchen, turned the furniture upside-down.

"I pomise I'll be cleaning things up soon!", Hanji rushes to say, shouting over the music, almost as if they'd just read right through his stare. And he can only thank them for it, really, even when they don't do enough to reach his awfully-high hygene standards:

That they've been steadily patient to study the parts of his heart that hurt. That they've learnt how to love him from dusk to sunrise, constant and in spite of it all.

He nods, and turns back to mopping the wood floors a second time, just in case one wasn't ever good enough. He knows he'll probably have to do it over again once Hanji is done with the meal, but he doesn't mind much.

This is routine, he tells himself. And, as he hears their voice invade their newly-called home with yet another melody, he's sure:

He wouldn't trade it for the world.

[andthebubbles]

Pairing: Seb/Kimi

Summary: At twenty-seven, Seb has never seen fireworks before in his life.

Warning: character death (sort of/entirely yes… but also sort of no, but yes…)

A/N: robot Seb!

[zerolostwalks]

Christmas dialogue prompt! "Will you be my new year's kiss?" Rulie

Reggie exhaled a sigh of relief as the cooler night air hit him. The fact that this club had an outdoor patio area on their roof was severely underutilized. It was nice to get a break from the crowds.

Sure he could have probably taken his jacket off while he was inside but that wouldn’t change how close everyone was to each other. Or remove the overwhelming smell of alcohol that permeated the air. 

Plus it was quickly approaching midnight and he’d rather not be surrounded by couples at the moment. He had tried flirting with a few people earlier but that hadn’t really gone anywhere

He’d found a good spot leaning against the railing of the patio area, attempting to see any form of starlight in the sky above. His search was interrupted, “this spot taken?”

He turned to see a curly haired young woman about his age. Her dark eyes shined bright like the stars he couldn’t find. 

She looked vaguely familiar but Reggie wasn’t quite sure why. 

“It’s all yours,” he gestured to the open patch of railing beside him.

“You were in the band that played earlier, right?”  She smiled-a beautifully breathtaking smile that showed off an adorable gap between her front teeth-as she leaned against the handrail. “You guys were really good.”

He stood a little taller at her praise. “Tell your friends,” he echoed himself from on stage earlier with a wink, his crooked smirk a little cheekier than before.

“Right, I’ll tell all my friends about you guys,” she said with a nod. “Sunset Swerve, right?”

“Sunset Curve,” he pouted as he mimed drawing a crescent shape in the air. Then he caught the way she was biting her lower lip, shoulders subtly shaking. Wait, had she done that on purpose?

It’s in this moment of shocked confusion and her stifling giggles that he remembered why she looked familiar. “Oh!” his shout caused her to furrow her brows, “You were in my intro to Psych class.”  

“What?” She laughed out, nose wrinkling.

“Yeah, Psych 101 with Hidgens.” He tried his best to not shout in his excited explanation, “You normally sat up front near the lectern, your laptop has some purple flowers decorating it.”

Her bewildered smile was overtaken by an excited look of recognition, “Were you the guy who fell out of his chair because he fell asleep?”

“God, remind me to never take another 8 am class.” He groaned as he hid his face, or more specifically tried to hide the blush setting his face aflame. 

“That’d be easier if I actually knew your name.” She laughed as she nudged him with her shoulder. For some reason his neck and ears caught the wildfire that was his blush. 

“It's Reggie.”

“I’m Julie.” she said, her smile unwavering as someone's muffled shout came from inside announcing five minutes until midnight.  “You got anybody you need to get back to?”

“No,” Reggie admitted. He swallowed hard around the sudden nest of butterflies settling in his chest at the glimmer in her eyes before he asked, “you?”

She shook her head with a soft no of her own, then leaned a little closer. “Will you be my new year’s kiss?”

“Sure,” Reggie squeaked with an emphatic nod.

Neither of them returned to the party, enjoying the rest of their new year on the roof. Reggie even let Julie borrow his jacket when she began to shiver slightly. Even if the kiss they exchanged to ring in the new year was only a brief chaste press of lips it wasn’t the last kiss they shared that night.