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#eve’s fics
cosmonadarovicarts · 2 months
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just because I'm tired of drawing only Lucifer and Lilith ~ I want the villain's sad past
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bcyhoods · 16 days
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WITH FIREWORKS! STEVE
synopsis : after a date at the carnival, steve gives you your first kiss! (prompt: “was that your first kiss?”)
word count : 1.6k
author’s note : repost from my old blog! i fixed her up a little bit, endured changing past to present tense just for you so….
“Those games were totally rigged,” Steve huffs as he prods at the small teddy bear clutched in his hands.
You’re situated on the hood of his car, smiley lips tinged blue thanks to the half-eaten cone of cotton candy in your hands. Steve stands in between your legs with a pout as his free hand rests beside your thigh, finger itching to graze your skin as it taps the metal of his car. The summer sun has just dipped below the horizon, but his face is illuminated by the multicolored lights of the fair behind you. Even with a sullen attitude, he just looks so pretty.
It was only your third official date — excluding the weekly, hour-long visits to Family Video, which Robin made sure to tease him for — and Steve figured it was time to rattle his feathers, so to speak. He wanted to impress you by showing off his athleticism, and carnival games provided an exemplary opportunity to do just that.
He envisioned your arms full and occupied by the array of giant prizes he won for you. You’d watch with an endearing grin on your face every time he beat a game. The night would end with your arms thrown around his shoulders and the perfect kiss that had you both swooning.
With fireworks in the background, obviously.
But luck had strayed far away from Steve Harrington’s side. Far, far away.
“Oh, they were, were they?”
“Definitely. ‘You can only throw it with an underhand,’” Steve mocks the game attendant with a husky voice — a terrible impression, really, but he knew it’d make you laugh. “That’s a made up rule. For sure. I’ve never heard that rule before. Ridiculous.”
The boy sighs defeatedly, letting you take the bear from his hand before running his fingers through his, now disheveled hair. The brown locks had endured the torment throughout the night as he increasingly became more and more stressed. And he didn’t want to admit he was embarrassed, it felt entirely dramatic and silly. But he was, and the way he avoided your gaze while his teeth worried his bottom lip was enough of a tell.
He laughs meekly at himself and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I was trying so hard to win one of those gigantic bears — too hard.”
You hum as your eyes scan over the stuffie. It was no bigger than the length of your hand. Its body was stiff and straight and a tuft of cotton spilled out from under its right arm due to a couple frayed stitches. The ribbon around its neck was barely being held together with a glob of hot glue.
“I like this one, it’s cute.” At his scoff, you double down, “I’m serious! It’s got a lot of charm to it. It’s perfect.”
You move your attention from the bear to Steve only to find that he’s already looking at you. His gaze is incredibly soft, smile lines decorating the corners of his lips as his tongue is coyly tucked into his cheek. His eyes are brimming with love, you think you might burst the longer they’re on you. He finally lets himself graze the skin of your thighs as a subtle thank you. The attention was all-consuming, it made it hard for you to focus. It was hard to do much of anything really, with him looking at you like that.
Quickly, you clear your throat and look up into the sky in abrupt thought. “I think I’m going to name him…Eve.”
“Eve? Eve the bear?”
“Mmhmm,” you affirm with the wave of the cotton candy, “Eve ‘The Bear’ Bearington.”
A huff resembling a short laugh leaves his mouth as he drops his chin down. Lowly, he mutters, “You’re unbelievable,” before looking up at you again with a doting grin. He moves to shake the bear’s hand gingerly, holding it between his thumb and his index, and bowing his head.
“Nice to meet you, Eve. You’re looking a little rough, bud. Bad hangover?”
You scoff and protectively pull Eve into your chest as if it were a child. The chuckle that reverberates through his chest encourages your heart to dither as heat rises to the tips of your ears. “That was very rude, Harrington,” you reply, feigning shock while trying to fight off the smile creeping onto your lips. It doesn’t work.
“What? No, Eve didn’t think it was rude. I’ve been there before, I’m sure he appreciates my empathy,” Steve argues, eyes momentarily flitting to the cotton candy that sat untouched in your hand for the past few minutes. As he nonchalantly stretches his hand out to pull a piece of the sweet, you move your arm out of his reach.
He glares at you with a tilt of his head. You raise your eyebrows to challenge him.
“Bullies don’t get sweets.”
A small gasp emanates from him before his lips are twisting into an impish lopsided smile. He tsk’s and takes a small step back. “Well, that’s too bad…because it just tastes so,” he looks away innocently, “…much,” he pauses.
”…Better!” He lunges forward earning a yelp from you as one arm wraps around your waist while the other moves to grab at the cotton candy. His fingers curl into your sides, eliciting a fit of laughs and giggles to fall clumsily from your sugar-coated tongue which makes it that much harder to fight against him.
Albeit, you don’t cease, pushing against his shoulder and still trying to stretch your arm as far away from him as possible. But it was no use as he slightly lifted you up off the car for just a moment to pull you flush against him. Your legs reflexively wrap around his hips and once you drop the bear, your unoccupied hand grips a handful of his polo for stability. The action had taken you by surprise, being too distracted to push him away when he ducks his head down to take a bite of the candy floss.
“Yup, just as I thought. Ten times better,” he preaches, letting it dissolve on his tongue to savor the flavor.
You’re sure you look a mess. Your eyes must be glazed over complimented by your lips still parted in shock. Your chest is rising and falling in a quick, inconsistent pattern as you try to collect yourself. Again, Steve has thrown your train of thought completely off course.
“You suck,” you manage to say. It was a lame attempt at an insult. But the words were practically dripping with adoration, all he could do was smile.
“Yeah?”
You nod meekly.
You’re certain he can feel your heart thumping wildly against your ribcage, certain that even through the background carnival noises and both your uneven breaths, he could hear it, as well.
And despite being so sure of your dumbfounded expression, Steve thought you looked so beautiful like this. In disarray, your sweater fell off your shoulders to hang loosely on your arms and your hand is holding his shirt so tightly like it was a lifeline. His eyes dart to your lips to trace over your cupid’s bow before glancing back up to find your eyes.
And you thought he looked just as pretty. His nearness was entirely disorienting. You could smell the saccharine hint of stolen cotton candy mingled with his ever-prized Calvin Klein cologne. His hair had fallen handsomely over his forehead. The moles and freckles scattered across his face are more fascinating than ever as you count them until you reach his lips. How soft and inviting they looked.
You’re so completely enamored, you don’t even register when he leans in, brushing his lips against your own in a feather-light kiss. Your breath hitches in your throat and before you can even bring yourself back down to earth, he begins to pull away.
“Sorry, I thought…”
He moves to step away from you, but your legs tighten around him to keep him in place as your fingers wrap around the wrist on your waist.
“No! I’m sorry, I…it was nice, it’s just I haven’t…I mean, I’ve never…” You swallow down a lump in your throat as you feel your eyes start to water.
The second you glance up to gauge his reaction, you regret it. You watch his eyes widen in realization and feel his grip on your waist go slack. Hiding your face behind clammy hands, you groan and drop your head to his shoulder. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and you wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
“Was that your first kiss?”
You nod timidly, dragging your hands down to your lap to wring out your fingers, your gaze immediately following. And Steve is not malicious, he’d never laugh at you, but you feel just a little mortified that you froze up.
“Hey,” he cooed, delicately cupping your cheek and lifting your head. “It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.” The words are hushed and soft, a sweet reassurance that causes your insides to melt.
“Was it…was it good?” he asks.
The question makes you giggle, “I dunno, I didn’t really get a chance to return the favor.”
He nods, the beginnings of a wide smile slowly making its way onto his blushing face. “Right…do you maybe, wanna try again?”
You mirror his expression before you’re the one leaning in this time, a kiss that he reciprocates feverishly. His lips slot against your own as his arm tightens around your waist once more. Your fingers dip into hair and he hums against you at the feeling before pulling away.
You giggle at the dazed look on his face and his kiss-bitten lips.
“How was that one?” he asks, eyes shamelessly journeying over your face.
“It was perfect.”
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starry-eyes-love · 4 months
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Love Never Fails:  A New Year’s Eve Kiss
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Series Masterlist Main Masterlist
Pairing:  Joel Miller x F!Reader AU (no outbreak)
Summary | You have had a crush on Joel Miller, you know your father’s best friend, for a long time.  You’re now 20 (and Joel’s 35) and you’re home for the holidays. Tonight is New Year’s Eve and you decided to go to Bill and Frank’s New Year’s Eve party wearing a sexy black dress. You have one goal in mind, you want to kiss the man that you’ve had a crush on since you were 16. And you finally get your New Year’s kiss at midnight. Happy New Year!
Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI. Language, fluff, sexual tension, references to sexual encounters, slight grinding up against a wall, kissing, alcohol consumption…that’s it.
Word Count: 2.0K
A/N:  Welcome to my new series titled Love Never Fails, this one is the origin story of how the couple seen in my other series titled Marriage Dynamics became a couple. Enjoy and Happy New Year!
His hands were shaking and he felt his heart race. This is a bad fucking idea man, ya need to stop this before it goes too far, Joel thought. But the truth was, he wanted it to go too far. He wanted an excuse to taste you, to feel your soft lips against his. You were every forbidden fantasy from his goddamn dreams, sent from Heaven and Hell together to test him. You were like a siren, someone who called to him, to his soul. And he knew that with just one kiss you’d be his forever. So that's why he needed to stop this before it went any further.
It was New Year's Eve, and you were at a New Year's Eve party that was hosted by Frank and Bill, two of your father’s closest friends. Frank and Bill always had a tradition of giving you a small gift each time they threw parties. Your father always fussed and stated that you didn’t deserve any type of gift from them, but Frank didn’t care, he gave you a gift anyways.  Tonight was no exception. This time though the gift came early during Christmas. Frank had wrapped up and gave you a form fitting black dress that accented and hugged your curves just right. When you opened it in front of your father you almost gave your father a heart attack at seeing what the dress looked like. Frank encouraged you to try the dress on and when you came out to show everyone, Joel almost choked on his drink at the sight of seeing you wear it. When you asked Joel in private if he liked the dress, all he said was “fuck woman” and then excused himself to the bathroom. Frank bought the dress knowing what type of effect it would have on Joel, considering that Frank knew you had the biggest crush on Joel Miller. The only problem was that Joel was your father’s best friend, and you had babysat Joel’s daughter, Sarah, from the time you were 12 until you graduated high school two years ago.
Now tonight you were back in the dress over at Frank and Bill’s party, with your hair done up nicely, and a small amount of natural looking makeup on your face.  As you slowly approached Joel upstairs alone, he considered leaving and not sticking around to talk with you. Joel was trying to stay clear of you all night, unsure of how he would be able to keep his hands off of you.  Joel, being your father’s best friend, was seriously struggling in not fucking his best friend’s 20 year old daughter up against the wall tonight. God, this was torture for him, especially seeing you slowly saunter down the hall towards him, holding out a glass of alcohol for him to take. Seeing you like this tonight, in that tight dress with your hair done up nicely, made him feel like he had died and had gone to heaven. Or more like probably going to Hell considering all of the dirty thoughts that he was having tonight of what he wanted to do with you while you were wearing that dress.
“Evenin’ darlin,’” Joel said in a low Southern drawl as you approached him. 
“Hi, Mr. Miller” you said, smiling ever so slightly, handing him a glass of champagne.
Joel accepted the glass graciously from you while also gently brushing up against your fingers as he took it from you. He saw the slight blush that instantly hit your cheeks at the feeling of touching him. After a moment of holding his glass, and slowly looking you up and down, he said, “How many times do I have to tell ya to call me Joel?”
“I was always taught to be respectful to men, Mr. Miller. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea that I’m not a good girl or anything” you answered him in a sultry tone.
Yeah right. Ya ain’t a good girl wearing something like that, swaying that nice tight ass back and forth. God, how I’d love to grab that ass of yours and---Jesus Joel, get it together man, Joel scolded himself internally for thinking those dirty thoughts about his best friend’s daughter.  But when he glanced at your face he noticed that you also must have been having some dirty thoughts of your own because now you were pressing your thighs closely together, shifting your weight slightly back and forth in an attempt to relieve an ache deep inside of your core. Joel also watched you slowly look him up and down, and then stare at the prominent bulge that was forming in his pants at the thought of pushing you up against the wall. “If ya knew what calling me Mr. Miller did to me darlin’, ya wouldn't think it was respectful” he said to you.
Your breath hitched in your throat at his admission. Joel looked wrecked right now, and you assumed you looked no better. All night the electricity or sexual tension between the two of you was intense. You didn’t know what you wanted fully from this man before you tonight, you just knew that you craved him, and wanted to kiss him.  That was why you wore the dress that you did, you were hoping to ignite something primal in him that maybe with the mixture of a little alcohol would get him to relax and open up to you more, or at least open up to the possibility of kissing you at midnight. You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t realize that your back was now up against the wall behind you, and that one of Joel’s arms was now resting on the wall beside your head.  Joel was so impossibly close that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and the spicy hint of cinnamon flavor gum that he was chewing. 
“Ya know, that’s a pretty dress. But why’d you wear it tonight?” Joel asked while slowly nudging his leg in between your legs, looking you up and down with hungry eyes.
“It’s New Years” you said, swallowing hard at your reasoning.
“New Years” he repeated to you and tsked at the same time, not believing the reasoning you were giving him. “Darlin’, that dress ain’t something that should be worn to a party of your dad’s friends. What are ya doin’, trying to give Bill another heart attack?”
“No,” you said, breathless. 
Joel shifted his weight a little closer as he slowly ran his nose up the side of your cheek while he whispered in your ear “then tell me darlin’, who’s attention are you tryin’ to get in that dress?”
“F-fuck, y-you,” you said. “I’m tryin’ to get your attention.”  You found yourself giving out a soft moan when Joel slowly nipped your pulse point on your neck, a sensitive spot you had that usually turned you on even more.  
“Well, ya got my attention darlin’. I can’t fucking think straight with you in that dress. So distracting” he said, switching to the other side of your neck and giving that side the same attention as the previous one. 
“Joel, how much alcohol have you had tonight?” you said, not wanting him to stop. But you needed to make sure that he wasn’t totally intoxicated where he wouldn’t remember what he was doing, or who he was doing it with.
Joel paused and pulled back to look at you intently.  He tsked once again and said, “aw, look at you darlin’. All grown up and asking a grown man how much he’s had to drink-”
“I just want to make sure you’re not too drunk where you won’t remember this or who I am in the morning” you said, looking him stern in the eyes.   
Joel downed the glass of champagne that you had handed him and placed it on the table next to you.  He then placed both of his hands on the wall, one on each side of your head, while slotting his hips tight against your core. “Well, for your information, I’ve only had a total of 2 drinks all night, that includes counting the one I just downed. For the record little girl, I can clearly see who the fuck is in front of me” he growled while slowly grinding his hips into you.
“Ah-well Mr. Miller, I- shit- I’m- I’m just t-trying to be a good, ahh, a good girl and make sure you- fuck” you said as you felt Joel grab your hips and rotate them slightly, snapping his hips forward where you could feel that prominent bulge in his jeans grind deliciously against your core. God it felt good to feel him there, you thought.
Joel wasn’t a good man, that was for sure. A good man wouldn’t have his best friend’s daughter pinned up against the wall and grinding himself hard into her.  He kept trying to slow his heart rate down, and stop his actions that he was doing. Joel tried closing his eyes to will his body to calm down, but as soon as he heard you let out the softest moan, it caused him to grip your hips harder. He wasn’t drunk, hell he didn’t even feel tipsy. Yet here he was, grinding into you like he was a horny teenager who was two seconds away from unzipping himself and fucking you hard against the wall. You were trouble, with a capital T.  And the worst thing about it, you both knew it.
As you both stood there in silence, just enjoying the feel of one another, you heard people begin the last minute countdown to midnight downstairs. You pushed your head back against the wall with a little thud and said “shit” out loud. Joel slowly opened his eyes at hearing this and stared at you after stopping his movement. He was trying to figure out what you wanted, what you needed from him. After a moment you looked him in the eyes and whispered “please Joel.”  You wanted Joel to kiss you so bad, and for him to continue what he was doing, but you didn’t know how to ask him for it.  
Joel kept staring at you after you gave him that quiet plea. When 30 seconds was left of the countdown, he gently cupped your cheek and then said “please what honey? Come on, use your words f’me.” 
With a shaky breath you closed your eyes as you heard the countdown downstairs go from “5,4,3,2,1.” When you heard people say “Happy New Year” you softly whispered “kiss me Joel, please. I wanna feel you.” 
With that admittance you felt Joel crash his lips onto yours to finally give you what you both needed. You two have been teasing each other over the phone for the last few weeks leading up to Christmas, and then continuing that teasing for the week you’ve been here. Joel had no intention of deepening the kiss with you tonight, but when he felt you gently skim his lower lip with your tongue, caution went completely out the window and he granted you access into his mouth.  The next thing he knew his hand was in your hair and your legs were wrapped around his waist as he was slowly grinding and rocking his hips back and forth into you while you both made out with each other, with your back tightly placed against the wall. 
The two of you heard cheering below as you both softly moaned into each other’s mouths from the friction of your hips, and the intensity of your kiss. A lot has happened in the past year of your life, most of it being the dramatic change with the relationship you had with your family, along with your feelings for Joel. You didn’t know what the future would bring with you two, and honestly right now you didn’t care.  All you knew was for the first time in a long time you felt safe in the arms of a man who was 15 years older than you. A man who was also your father’s best friend, and someone you were finally able to kiss after all these years of secretly wanting him. Truly, this was going to be the best New Year possible, and one that you’d never forget.
Happy New Years!
Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze @its-always-420-on-the-moon @kirsteng42 
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wardenparker · 4 months
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New Year's Surprise
Jack Daniels x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18.7k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots. Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work... Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨
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"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
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bamsara · 6 months
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one thing as an writer is that sometimes people will see 'references' in your writing that you have no idea what they're talking about. someone leaves a comment going 'i can see that homestuck reference lmao' and i have never read homestuck
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masterofiodine · 2 months
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capvers doodles yay
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hello-eeveev · 1 year
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Essek and Caleb both learn the Maze spell and cast it on each other as Wizard Enrichment™. They get sent into a labyrinth with the goal of ‘escape’, and if they can’t get out in 10 minutes, they just get popped back out. No harm, no foul.
It starts out as a fun little activity, but then they start getting competitive about it. First, it’s basic races—who can get the fastest time getting out of a maze. But then, they get into a discussion about how the mazes are generated. Is it random? Is there some pattern to the various layouts? And if so, is there a style of maze that is more advantageous? Does the maze creator have any influence over the design of the maze?
The thing is, Maze only requires a DC 20 Intelligence check to escape. That’s nothing to these guys, and they crack it open pretty quick. So then they ask themselves, can we make it harder?
Their previous toyings with Maze RNG become full on experiments and deep dives to see if they can add increased difficulty. They start adding multiple levels, doors that require you to solve a puzzle to unlock, fetch quests, etc. They come up with the most difficult maps and challenge each other to get their times lower and lower and lower.
They become Maze spell speedrunners and modders is what I’m saying.
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thisapplepielife · 4 months
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Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.
Go With This
Prompt Day 30: New Year's Eve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Underage Drinking, Weed, Off-Screen Sex While Under the Influence | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, New Year's Eve Party, All the Teens, Kissing at Midnight, Getting Together, Morning After, Eddie POV
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"Gareth, no!" Eddie screams, as he steps through the doorway, but it's too late. The bottle of champagne pops open, exploding all over Steve's kitchen.
"Oh, fuck!" Gareth says, trying to control the spray, but it's useless. He's making it worse instead of better. Gareth didn't shake it up on purpose, but Eddie watched him poking at the cork with his pocket knife and knew something bad was gonna happen.
Gareth is flailing around, shouting, "I'm sorry!"
Steve's already waving him off, grabbing a towel off the counter, then some paper towels, and finally the mop for good measure. It's going to be a goddamn sticky mess when it dries, that's for damn sure. 
"It's okay," Steve says, but Eddie can see that his jaw is tense, clenched. 
They didn't even ask if they could have New Year's Eve here at his house, they all just decided that's what they were doing, and made Steve go with it.
Eddie gets down and tries to help wipe it up, but he's pretty faded. Argyle brought the good shit, and Eddie's been going out back with him and Jonathan all night long.
But, Steve smiles at him, so maybe Eddie isn't on Steve's shit-list.
The ball drops, and it's 1987. He made it through 1986, thank fucking Christ. Eddie watches everyone take turns kissing each other. Weird. He thinks he could have lived without seeing Nancy kiss Jonathan, and then Steve, back-to-back. But then she kisses Argyle, and Argyle kisses Jonathan as Nancy kisses Robin. 
Is this an orgy? 
Was Eddie invited to an orgy and didn't know it? 
Or, do preppy kids have a version of key parties? Eddie looks for a fishbowl.
Gareth gawks at him, like, what the fuck and Eddie stares. He doesn't know either. Clearly not wanting to be left out, Gareth kisses Goodie, much to Goodie's chagrin. Jeff just laughs, and then kisses Eddie, and it's weird, but okay, he guesses.
Then, Nancy presses her lips to his.
He's kissed Nancy Wheeler now. In what world?
But, okay. That's okay, too, he supposes. 
It wasn't sexual. He's sure of that, and if he had any concerns, they'd have evaporated a second later, once he sees Robin kiss Steve. It's the weirdest thing he's seen yet, even if it's only a hard pucker of a kiss that nobody would ever mistake for being romantic. It looked more like a hostage situation, and Robin immediately wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, hard.
"Rude," Steve says, and Robin laughs.
Then, Steve looks at him, and Eddie falters.
Steve's gonna kiss him.
Eddie watches Steve lean in, and Eddie doesn't know if he needs to go with this, or flee the country. It's too late to choose, because Steve presses his lips to Eddie's, and Eddie's hand isn't connected to his brain anymore, because he lifts it, cupping Steve's neck. 
Steve startles, but only for a second, then opens his mouth over Eddie's, and now they're kissing kissing. Not just the friendly peck Steve offered everyone else. 
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
Eddie tries to extract himself from this, but Steve's fingers are digging into his back, and Eddie can feel everyone's eyes on them. They're never gonna live this down. 
Steve finally lets him go, and Eddie makes a move to step away, but Steve grabs his hand.
"Happy New Year," Steve says to the room, and heads for the staircase, dragging Eddie along behind him. 
Oh shit. 
But Eddie follows, willingly. Letting Steve pull him to his bedroom. Letting Steve yank his shirt over his head, letting Steve press kisses to his chest, his scars. Hands roaming, both of them pulling off clothes, grabbing at each other. 
This is really happening.
Eddie tries to toe off his Reeboks, but realizes he's wearing his boots, and almost falls over. Steve doesn't let him, and just squats down, and starts unlacing them. Pulling the long laces loose, in swift movements.
It's hot. It's so hot.
And Steve is eye level with his dick, and this is what dreams are made of, for sure.
Happy Fucking New Year.
In the morning, Eddie clomps across the kitchen floor in his unlaced boots, and the soles stick with every step. He gets a vaguely clean-looking glass from the countertop, and fills it with water. 
And drinks, and drinks, and drinks.
He looks out over the living room, and can see Gareth on the couch, with one eye barely open. Clearly hungover. Maybe Eddie fucked up letting Gareth join them. Gareth's not that old, not yet. He's still in that weird middle-ground. Eddie was drinking and smoking at his age. Steve, too. But maybe they shouldn't encourage it. Maybe Gareth should have been sent to Dustin's kiddie party, instead. But Gareth would've fought that.
Gareth whistles low, a mocking catcall.
Eddie looks down. He's wearing his boxers, and his boots. And that's it. Fuck. Yeah, he's hungover, too.
Eddie doesn't give Gareth the satisfaction, so he twirls, showing off. Acting like he meant to look exactly like this.
Then, Steve stumbles into the kitchen, taking the glass from Eddie's hand, gulping down the rest of the water, and he's in his briefs, and that's it. With a big-ass hickey on his neck, that Eddie is certain he's responsible for, even if he doesn't quite remember doing it. 
"Steve's hairy," Gareth mumbles, and Eddie laughs, even if it kills his head. 
They are all so hungover, it's ridiculous. Maybe he shouldn't have mixed champagne, beer and liquor with Argyle's weed.
But then Steve leans down, and puts his chin on Eddie's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist, hugging him from behind. No, Eddie thinks this is the best thing he's ever done, maybe. 
Eddie leans back into him, and Steve kisses him on the bare shoulder.
"Happy New Year," Eddie says, quietly.
Steve chuckles, hugging him tighter, "Well, it sure has been so far."
Yeah, 1987 is definitely going to be Eddie's year.
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Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked, commented on and reblogged all my entries for this month-long challenge. I really enjoyed participating in this event so damn much. Thank you for reading! ❤️
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!
If you want to see the rest of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!
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fanaticsnail · 4 months
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Interrogation
Headcanon: Interrogation at cross-guild doesn’t go the way they thought.
Warning: descriptions of violence.
My muse: @since-im-already-here. Thank you for allowing me to exploit your weakness.
Masterlist here.
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Prompt background: You are a hardened and seasoned individual. A tank, a solid unit that can handle literally any physical damage and recover. You have but one weakness, unknown to all close to you.
Crocodile: beats, kicks, hooks the skin from atop your shoulder blades and flays you against the ceiling by chains. He suffocates you with sand, taunts you by blowing cigar smoke against your face – you do not break
Mihawk: penetrates your skin with his cross blade all while degrading you, attempting to gather information to physically pry them out of you piece by piece. He wields Yoru, flourishing it and slicing you with the wind beneath his mighty blade pushing you from your feet – but, you still do not break.
Buggy: takes his middle finger between his teeth, removes his white glove and immediately places his pinky finger between his painted lips, removes the digit from his lips with a 'pop' and playfully begins wiggling it at you. Removing the finger from his hand with a small 'click', the littlest finger begins inching its way slowly against the polished floorboards; a slimy line of red-stained drool following behind it in a trail. As the digit climbs over your body and makes its way up to sit at your collarbone, it taunts you by waving the top phalanges at you in a pathetic wiggle - you break.
You: immediately wince, wiggle, scream, cry, blabber, “please no, please no, please no. I’ll tell you anything. If I don’t know the information, I will go out of my way to learn it for you. I will do anything you ask of me. I’m begging you. Please don’t put that in my ear.”
Stunned silence. This is what broke you. A wet willy from the clown.
Tag list @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @writingmysanity
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goatpaste · 1 month
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You ever think about how Keicho was 8 years old when it fell into his lap to figure out everything.
he makes me crazy and also @gncgang just wrote this fic and you need to look at it look at it look at it
[Commission Prices][Etsy][Buy me a Kofi]
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cosmonadarovicarts · 2 months
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In The Time of Eden
Fanfic Comic Hazbin Hotel
(Lucifer X Lilith / God / Adam / Eve)
Part 1
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These comics are pure fanfic, about what I imagine it would have been like in the Garden of Eden period with the characters from the Hazbin Hotel. Be welcome!
(I don't intend to put all the chapters at +18, as at most there could be some poorly drawn asses, but if I receive too much warning I will start censoring)
Links to chapters in order:
Part 1 (already in this publication)
Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 ; Part 5 ; Part 6 ; Part 7 ; Part 8 ; Part 9 ;
Part 10 ; Part 11 ; Part 12 ; Part 13 ; Part 14 ;
Part 15 ; Part 16 ; Part 17 ; Part 18 ; Part 19
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aro-in-danyl · 3 months
Text
Eve Reincarnation!AU
*He/she/they pronouns for Eve
Eve was bored. Heaven's wonders could only entertain her for so long. And she was sick of the pity and condescension.
For all that Lucifer was damned to the hell he created for his actions, he at least had Lilith with him to bare the burden.
She was not so lucky. Adam would sooner die a second death than take accountability. And the angels regarded her alone with mixed pity and suspicion.
Adam thrived in heaven, but it stifled her like nothing else. Eternal peace was stagnant; she missed Earth and eagerly watched the planet and her descendents antics with curiosity.
It was her who first put forth the idea of reincarnation. But Sera, bewildered by her desire to leave heaven and wary of having her alive after her first fuckup (honestly, eat one fruit and they never let you forget it!), dismissed her.
It was just her luck that Adam, who ran his mouth faster than his brain could keep up, bragged about getting the Seraphim to agree to his yearly hell extermination where her request had been rejected.
And wasn't it just grand that it was supposed to be a secret? Wouldn't it be a shame for that to get out, right, Sera?
Her reincarnation request was approved. She was the first and only soul to be granted this. Per her request, heaven would be barred from viewing or interfering with her new life.
And it was wonderful! They had a new life, a new name, a new gender! And no one to hold them back and say 'remember the apple, Eve?'
Then they died. And back to heaven they went, unknowing of their past life as Eve. Until Sera accousted them before they'd even made it through the gate.
Sera conjured a glowing white apple and offered it to them. Their curiosity had followed them to this next life so they accepted and the Seraphim smiled sardonically and said, 'Welcome back Eve.'
But they. weren't. EVE! Not anymore. Or at least they were not JUST eve.
But being the only soul to reincarnate, the angels just didn't understand that. Nor would Sera care to, she allowed Adam and Eve's requests only if she could ignore the consequences.
The human who once was Eve, decided to reincarnate again. Anything to escape their dreary eternity in heaven.
And then he died. And Sera offered him the apple, said, 'Welcome back Eve' and on and on the cycle continued.
He tried to lead his next few lifetimes into sin, maybe in hell they'd get at least some of the excitement she'd loved from Earth.
She had no clue how she kept getting into heaven. Over the course of several different lives, they'd committed all sorts of sins. And yet it never stuck.
So they struck a deal, and in his next life, she finally got what she'd been craving.
Eternal Entertainment.
Welcome to hell, Alastor.
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lees-chaotic-brain · 4 months
Note
i want to tell megumi hes the loml
Yes! Omg this is literally so cute I'm in love. @kasumitenbaz i'm willing to bet you'll like this :)
CW: None! fluff, mentions of past trauma I guess, comedic mentions of nudity, crack
Collab Guide | Collab Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation
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After everything that happened since you joined Jujutsu Tech, you finally had time to relax and enjoy spending time with Megumi. After all, it was New Year’s eve and there was nowhere you would rather be than cuddled up with your boyfriend in his dorm. 
Watching the snow fall outside his window, you contemplated the events of the past year, all the trauma and fear you had endured and overcome together.
Suddenly becoming emotional, you turned in his arms and buried your face in the crook of his neck.
“Mmph?”
Your sleepy boyfriend inquisitively lifted his head from the pillow and readjusted so the position was more comfortable for you.
“What’s up?”
You snuggle closer to him and smile against his neck.
“I was just thinking about how grateful I am that we can just cuddle like this together. That we made it through, and now we’re stronger than ever.”
Megumi was silent for a moment before responding.
“What made you think about that all of a sudden?”
You can feel the deep rumble of his voice against your cheek.
“I’m not sure. I guess I was just reminiscing about everything that happened this year. And I don’t know, I’m just really happy right now.”
You squirm in his grasp until you manage to pull away far enough to give him a cheesy grin.
His eyes soften as he tucks you firmly against him.
“‘M grateful too.”
He mumbles, before burying his face in your hair and tightening his hold on you. 
“Now stop being all cheesy and philosophical and let me nap. You know that Itadori, Nobara, and Gojo are going to make us stay up all night celebrating with them.”
You chuckle, and comply, letting him use you as his own personal teddy bear for a few minutes before you speak again.
“Hey Megs?”
“Hmm?”
He makes a vague grumpy sound.
“You know that you’re the love of my life, right?”
Silence. 
“Megs?”
Still no response.
“Did you hear me? I said that you were-”
“I heard you the first time!”
He bursts out, effectively cutting you off.
“Hey, what's wrong?”
You forcibly pry him off you to take a look at his face, and to your delight and his mortification, his face is cherry red.
“Babe! Are you blushing?!”
“NO.”
He denies it and covers his face with a pillow.
“Of course I’m not. But you can’t just say stuff like that out of the blue! Give me a little warning at least.”
Giggling you yank the pillow out of his grasp and cup his flaming cheeks in your hands.
“Don’t hide your face from me.”
You exaggeratedly plant loud kisses on each side of his crimson face and coo at him.
“Aw, look at how cute my boyfriend is. He’s getting all red just because I told him he’s the love of my life-”
“STOP.”
He grabs you and shoves your face against his chest, cutting your voice off. Tangling his legs with yours, he pulls you up a bit so he can press his face into the crook of his neck. Inhaling deeply, he takes deep calming breaths and enjoys your unique mix of scents that makes him feel at home.
You sit quietly, sensing that he needed a moment to process what you had just said. Sure enough, after about thirty seconds he speaks.
“You know, you’re the love of my life too.”
You can’t stop the massive grin that spreads across your face.
“Megs I-”
“WAKEY WAKEY!!”
Gojo, Nobara, and Itadori burst into the room screaming. Nobara flips on the lights, Gojo tears the blankets off the two of you, and Itadori bangs pots together.
“IT’S TIME TO WATCH FIREWORKS AND CELEBRATE!!!”
Spluttering, your boyfriend gives everyone in the room (other than you) death stares as he tries to protect you from the cold that seeped in in the absence of your blanket.
“Get out! What is wrong with you guys? What-What if we were naked?!”
He blurted, unable to come up with anything else. The room fell into silence.
Then everyone (including you this time) burst into laughter.
“Seriously Megs???”
You wheeze out between peals of laughter.
“What if we were naked?!”
He just sullenly retrieved the blankets and burrowed under them, yanking you under with him.
As he valiantly fought off the three lunatics from ripping the two of you out of your blanket cocoon, you couldn’t help but laugh.
Yes, he truly was the love of your life.
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haddonfieldwhore · 4 months
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winter things - matthew tkachuk
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matthew tkachuk x gn!reader
summary: your best friend matthew brings you home to celebrate the holidays with his family. their only christmas wish is for the two of you to finally get together
warnings: mentions of drinking, use of y/n like twice? (this is my first time including the whole tkachuk fam in a fic and i’m not super confident with it so please take it easy on me)
i hope you all enjoy the fic! happy holidays🌲♥️❄️
word count: 2.8k
you smiled at the familiar house that came into view as matthew pulled the car into the driveway. you had spent so much time here growing up with the tkachuks that it was almost a second home, welcoming you back with open arms as you stepped out of the car, a thin crust of snow crunching beneath your boots. matthew sniffled as he walked up the driveway next to you, and you laughed, watching as he struggled to carry all of the gifts that he insisted to bring all in one trip from the car.
“calm down, florida. it’s not that cold,” you laughed, careful not to drop the tin of christmas cookies your mitten covered hands held tightly. you and matthew had traveled from the sunshine-state to st.louis, where you had grown up together. whenever you came back to visit, despite all the years he spent living in calgary, it always took him a day to get used to the snow again.
“shut up,” he pouted, but even he couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his lips. even with his hands full of gifts, matthew held the outside door for you, and before you could even raise a hand to knock the inside door opened, revealing taryns smiling face.
“hey! took you guys long enough to get here,” she laughed, and matt sent her a mocking glare. “let me take that from you”, she offered, grabbing the cookie tin from your hands as you and matthew walked inside. you shook off the light dusting of snow that had gathered on your shoulders, before you felt matthews hands slide your jacket off your arms, hanging it up in the closet for you. keith stood up from the couch and walked over to greet the two of you as you dusted a few snowflakes out of matt’s hair. keith embraced his eldest son in a hug, which matthew happily returned, before he gave you one as well.
“we almost thought you two weren’t coming. did matthew forget how to drive in snow?” keith asked, causing you and taryn to laugh, and matthew to roll his eyes.
“i haven’t been here 2 minutes and that’s two florida jokes,” he raised his hands in disbelief.
“i didn’t hear dad say that word, did you?” taryn asked you, and you shook your head, and matthew narrowed his eyes at you playfully.
“why is avery one ganging up on me?” he asked, and you heard the thump of footsteps coming down the stairs behind him, as brady and his wife emma appeared.
“that’s what happens when you show up late, buddy,” the younger tkachuk brother teased, and matthew grabbed him in a headlock in response, but it quickly turned into a friendly hug.
“y/n got here at the same time as me,” matt argued, and you raised your hands in mock surrender, as chantal walked into the living room to see what all the commotion was.
“we don’t pick on our guests, that’s the rule. it’s so nice to see you!” she smiled, and gave you a warm hug.
“mom!” matt protested, and she walked over to hug him too.
“oh, relax. come here,” she pulled him into her arms.
taryn brought you into the kitchen, and after each of you washed your hands, she helped you take the cookies out of the tin and put them out into a festive plate.
“have you been home from school very long?” you asked, and taryn shook her head.
“just a few days. how was the drive from the airport?” she asked.
“it was pretty good,” you said. there wasn’t too much snow this year so driving conditions were good. “my driver wasn’t great, but he was cheap so i can’t complain-“ you teased as matthew walked into the kitchen and within earshot.
“i heard that,” he smiled.
“good,” you smiled back, scrunching your nose up as he stuck his tongue out at you.
“you two should take your bags upstairs to matthews room. there’s a little early christmas present for each of you up there,” chantal instructed, and you smiled, laughing as matthew stole a cookie off the plate on his way past. you followed after him, protesting as he grabbed both his bag and yours from by the front door, before heading up the stairs.
you knew this house like the back of your hand, and you smiled as the familiar scent of the tkachuk family home mixing with the smell of christmas cooking and baking filling your nose. you turned the corner and saw matt already sitting in his bed, your bags placed on the floor neatly as he read the tags on two gift bags that sat next to him on the bed.
“this one is for you,” he said, holding out the green gift bag to you, keeping the red one for himself. you opened them together, each pulling out flannel pyjama pants, yours green with a plaid pattern and his red, just like the bags had been. it had become a tradition for chantal and keith to buy christmas pyjamas for each of their kids every year, and then for emma as well, and you felt honoured each time you were included.
“we get to match this year,” he smiled, and you set the pants on top of your bag to wear later, and looked around matthews room. while his decorating had changed since you were younger, there were things that remained the same; the small dent in the ceiling from when matthew and brady had decided to play hockey inside and sent a puck flying up into the plaster. there were pencil marks on the door frame with the three siblings initials next to them, even a few with yours.
you walked over to desk and admired the bulletin board with pictures push-pinned to it, most of them containing the two of you, ranging from when you were kids until last time you had visited his parents with him for his birthday a few years ago.
“is it weird being back here?” matthew asked, coming over to look at the pictures with you. his hand rested half on top of your as you leaned on the desk, and you smiled, shaking your head.
“no,” you answered. “it kinda takes you back in time though, doesn’t it? like nothings changed?” you asked, and he turned his head to look at you.
“yeah. i feel like i’m a kid again whenever i’m here with everyone.”
“thank you for inviting me,” you leaned against his shoulder, and you felt him rest his head on yours.
“of course. it wouldn’t be the same without you here,” he replied, and you hummed contently in response.
“hey, dinners almost ready,” you heard taryn’s voice from the doorway, neither of you having noticed her come up the stairs to find you. you turned towards her, a smile on her face as she looked at you and matthew standing together. it had come up a few times between her and matt’s family if the two of you were ever going to realize you were in love with eachother, and as the years went by, taryn was convinced the two of you would never figure it out.
“okay, we’ll be right there,” matthews arm had snaked around your waist at some point, and he pushed you towards the door after taryn, following his younger sister downstairs to eat.
-🧣🧦🌲❄️-
after dinner, keith and chantal watched as ‘the kids’, meaning the three tkachuk siblings along with you and emma, decorated the tree. the lights had already been strung a few weeks before, but it was a family tradition to hang the ornaments on christmas eve. chantel had requested everyone get changed into their pyjamas for pictures, and you noticed that the pattern on brady and emma’s matched, as well as hers and keith’s having a matching design. still, neither you or your best friend figured out that they were in fact meant to be couples pyjamas.
“this one’s yours, brady,” matthew said, handing his brother an ornament with his name on it.
“what movie are we thinking this year?” keith asked from his recliner, holding a few dvds in his hand. “home alone, the grinch, elf…”
“i like home alone,” emma offered, and brady and taryn agreed.
“any of those are fine with me,” you smiled, choosing an ornament and hanging it on the tree.
“sweetheart, why don’t you put the star on the tree this year,” chantal suggested, passing you the tree topper. “you’re the guest after all.”
“are you sure?” you asked, and she nodded with a warm smile. carefully, you stepped up onto the small wooden stool next to the tree so you could reach the top, and you were relieved to feel matthews hands on your waist, gently steadying you so you wouldn’t fall. keith looked at chantal with a knowing glance, watching matt take your hand to help you down from the stool after you had successfully placed the star on top of the tree.
“okay, i want a picture of all you kids by the tree, while it’s still snowing outside. it will look really pretty in the window behind everyone,” chantal said, getting her phone camera ready.
taryn stood in the middle, while brady had one arm over her shoulder and the other arm holding emma close to his side. matt stood behind you with his arms hugging you and his chin on your shoulder as you all smiled for the photo. you and emma made the siblings and their parents take a photo together as well, before taryn put the movie in, home alone winning the vote. keith was sat in his recliner, while taryn and chantal sat on the loveseat. emma and brady sat on one end of the large couch while you sat in the middle of it and matthew leaned against the armrest at the other end.
maybe it was the flight from florida, or the spiked eggnog you’d had after dinner, but you began to feel sleepy about an hour in to the movie, and tried not to make it too obvious that you were yawning as not to be rude. matthew still noticed however, and he gently placed a blanket over your legs, stealing some of it for himself as you curled up under the warm material. while you appreciated the gesture, the added warmth only made you more tired, and you soon drifted off, matthew catching your head just in time as it fell to the side. he rested it safely in his shoulder, and smiled down at you as you snuggled into him.
emma elbowed brady in the side gently, pointing at the two of you, completely in your own little world. chantal glanced over, her eyes meeting emma’s with a quiet laugh before she watched her eldest son place a gentle kiss on the top of your head, oblivious to the two women watching him. the movie ended with you still fast asleep, and as it neared midnight, everyone said goodnight and went off to bed, leaving you and matthew alone on the couch.
“hey, sleepyhead. time to get up,” he shook you gently, and you mumbled incoherently in protest, your fingers digging into the material of his hoodie as you snuggled impossibly closer. “unless you want to sleep down here, but i warn you - dad wakes up at like 6 am,” he laughed, and the sound pulled you out of your slumber.
“why didn’t you wake me up sooner? i feel bad for falling asleep.”
“don’t feel bad,” he laughed again. “you could probably set the house on fire and my family would forgive you, they love you so much. but maybe don’t- i kinda like it here,” he teased.
“i promise not to set the house on fire,” you mocked him playfully, and his hands tickled your ribs, causing you to fall backwards onto the couch with him on top of you. “please, i’m sorry, please stop-“ you pleased through tears of laughter.
“fine, but only because it’s christmas and you asked nicely. lets go up to bed, mom will want us up early to open presents,” he surrendered, getting up off the couch and extending a hand to help you up.
matthew didn’t let go of your hand as you both walked into his room, only letting go of it to go into the attached bathroom to brush his teeth. you did the same after him, walking out to see him already under the blankets.
“come here,” he held his arms open for you to crawl into, his hoodie discarded in a pile on the floor, leaving him in just the flannel pyjama pants. it wasn’t an unusual sleeping arrangement; having shared a bed with him many times when you were kids, and anytime you came to visit his family. you switched off the bathroom light and laid down, curling up next to him as his arms pulled you close, tucking you securely under his chin. the soft facial hair on his chin tickled your forehead as you wrapped your arms around him, his body invitingly warm as you felt yourself getting sleepy again.
matt squinted his eyes, looking at the clock on the nightstand that read 12:03am.
“merry christmas, bug,” he mumbled softly, and you hummed in response.
“merry christmas matty.”
-🧣🧦🌲❄️-
you woke up to the sound of the alarm matthew had set on his phone going off at 8am, the time chantal had requested everyone be up for presents and then breakfast. you tried to get out of bed but matt refused to let go of you, his arms holding you tight as you tried to squirm out of his grip.
“come on, before brady eats all the cookies,” you argued, and that woke matt up, but he still grumbled and groaned as he finally let you of you and rolled out of bed. he pulled a t-shirt over his head, tossing you one from his dresser to throw over your tank-top. running a hand through his messy curls to tame them as best he could, and you rubbed your eyes as you followed him towards the hallway. you bumped into his muscular frame, not realizing he had stopped in the doorway, and you looked at him with confusion, realization flooding over you as he pointed upwards.
“oh-“ you breathed, looking at the small green bundle of mistletoe that had been hung from the doorframe while you were sleeping.
“that wasn’t there before, was it?” matt asked, looking down at you, and you shook your head, your eyes meeting his.
“why would someone hang it there?” you asked, and he laughed, finally getting it.
“i think maybe my family is trying to tell us something,” he said, reaching for your hand with his.
“matty-“ you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked at your lips, and then up to your eyes again.
“can i kiss you?” he whispered, stepping closer in the small doorway, leaving almost no space between your bodies. you mind was racing a mile a minute, unable to form words as you nodded, and he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours so softly, his lips only ghosting yours before he pulled back, waiting for a reaction.
“do that again,” you smiled, and his hands went to your hips this time to pull your body flush against his, as he kissed you again. his lips lingered on yours longer this time, and your hands rested against his broad chest as you kissed him back, never wanting to let go.
like all good things, the moment had to end, as you heard taryn call from downstairs.
“are you guys awake?”
“yeah, be right there,” matt called back, his eyes never leaving you as you stared up at him, everything making sense as you both put the pieces together.
“i love you, matthew.”
he smiled warmly, and kissed you once more, like he was making up for all the times he should have done it before.
“i love you.”
“i think we’re the last to know,” you admitted, looking down at the matching pyjamas, and up at the mistletoe, before looking back at him, a smile permanently plastered on his face.
“i think you’re right,” he laughed. “come on, before they send a search party.” he dragged you gently by your hand down the stairs, taking a seat on the couch and pulling you to sit in his lap.
taryn and chantal each looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you had a sneaking suspicion they were behind the mistletoe. taryn watched matty place a kiss on your cheek, and she sent you a wink.
maybe it was the warmth from the fireplace, or matthews arms around your waist holding you close to him, but your heart felt warmer than you could ever remember. brady and emma began passing out the gifts, and you took one for matt from her hands.
“you go first,” he said, gesturing with a nod for you to set it on the coffee table. emma placed a present with your name on the tag in your hands, as matthew whispered in your ear.
“i already have everything i want.”
disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned
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devildomcrybaby · 4 months
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𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖒𝖊. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖔
▸Astarion x Reader
Remember when Astarion asked Gale how was his sad, hopeless pining was going? Here we'll see how his pining went. For this purpose you and Astarion get stuck in a cave. Such a cliche.
Minors do not interact. 18+ only Warnings: explicit, blood, some little spoilers, Astarion and reader are so down bad for each other but also kind of rough, pain, blood drinking, piv, mentions of religious themes/gods.
Cold and dark. Everything is cold and dark. Everything except for you. You’re feverish, sweating and shivering at the same time. The only sound you can hear is the rhythmic drip of single drops of water sliding down the stalagmites above your head. Astarion pretends to miss the gulp you try to stifle. The air is thick with humidity, but that’s not the reason you feel like it’s hard to breathe. You throw your head back slightly, resting it against the coarse surface behind you, sighing heavily, eyes purposelessly fixed on the first flare they encounter.
Proper pronunciation is the key to successful spellcasting. It is indeed. Fucking hell. You huff, cursing Gale under your breath. Have a wizard misspell a single Latin word and find yourself stuck in a grim, slimy hole, almost as narrow as a coffin and not even as comfortable. Yes, I’m aware a wooden surface is not comfortable at all, I’ll leave to your imagination how comfortable can a spiky craggy wall be. Let’s be honest, you’d be complaining half as much if you were stuck in that hole alone. Of course your pale vampire companion would get caught in the spell as well. There’d be barely any room for one person to stand in that tight space, let alone two. However, it’s not the lack of space or freedom of movement that bothers you the most, ironically.
Astarion has always made you feel somewhat uneasy, like you want to crawl away from him, crawl away from your own skin too. But you always got the chance to do so before. You could always avert your eyes when he stared at you too openly, always walk a little faster when you could feel the faint warmth of his body as he shuffled too close to you, always pretend you had something else to do, someone else to talk to when his words sounded too sharp, too violent, even. Maybe the only violent thing was the feeling burning in your stomach each time his fingers lingered on your skin a bit too long, each time his usually biting words sounded a bit too sweet.
You felt like a little child trying to get the stern teacher’s attention and miserably failing every single time. And you know he notices. Notices how you go against yourself giving attitude to a deep gnome you just saved from goblins when you wanted to ask him how he was instead, how sad your eyes are when you tell the tieflings you seek to help to get to digging their own graves just to humor him. But he also notices the smirk you fail to disguise when teasing Laezel, keeping her caged a little longer asking her to say ‘please’ before setting her free, even though you already decided you wanted her along, notices the look of satisfaction on your face when you thrust your blade in Fezzerk’s stomach after he shot an arrow in Karlach’s leg. Maybe you’re not so different from his sordid broken self, after all. And he notices how itchy and restless you are now despite being impossibly still, spreading your legs to put some distance between the two of you when your thigh meets his knee for a moment too long, pressing your back against the wall behind you when your chest grazes his. You’re too caught in your own feelings, trapped in the thoughts crowding your mind to pay attention to the man in front of you.
You have no clue, but Astarion too tries to distract himself. He uses a different strategy than yours though.
You are both nuisance and entertainment as you try to avoid him at all costs. So he does the opposite, challenging you in his mind, thinking he’d succeed in a task you’re fumbling egregiously. He fixes his gaze on every little detail his eyes can catch in the dim torch light leaking out the small openings in the slab. The little crease between your eyebrows when you frown and sigh in frustration. The way your hair waves when meeting your shoulders. His fingers twitch as he suppresses the impulse to move the locks away from your face to expose more of your neck and shoulders. The reddening tip of your nose. How the Wavemother's Robe reveals your clavicles and reflects the poor light allowing him to see this little of you. But then, then he notices the dark shade of red of your cheeks. How you purse your lips when you glower. If only he could he’d bite them and make you bleed. The curve of your hips and the shape of your breasts. Your bare thighs. Should have worn the Blazer of Benevolence damn you and damned be the dead Water Queen. Had he always failed to catch how your armor perfectly traces your body, letting him, letting anyone see you as if you were disrobed, until now?
“I’m getting bored”. You’re almost startled when the silence is broken. “Aren’t you?” he adds, his voice lowers asking the question, in that bewitching way you know he got to master through the centuries. The words are simple, trivial, yet you wonder if this is the voice Ulysses heard as he got inside Circe’s lair, maybe the voice that lured sailors to their deaths in the Mediterranean Sea. You falter, his words not quite registering in your brain. He slips a hand between your hair and your neck, then slides his thumb over your pulse point. He doesn’t get that much closer yet, just enough so that his chest brushes yours. Time slows to a crawl, you hear your heart thumping in your ears, your vision is blurred for a second. You blink twice and you see him. In the umbral tangerine light, his features look even more graceful. Or have you already forgotten what he looks like, in your steady effort of avoiding to even glance at him at all costs? Since when have you been stuck in that bleak hollow? Was it minutes? Hours? Had the sun set already? “And I thought my presence would be enough to occupy you” you attempt a joke, keeping your voice as firm and emotionless as you manage. “It is”. His tone is serious, he lowers his face towards yours and his breath hits your parted lips. It’s been for a while, he thinks. Astarion isn’t honest with others, not most of the time at least, but he’s honest with himself. He doesn’t care for sex. He never did, at least since he has memory of. Maybe he did once, at a time when he was just any other elf free to make his own nasty choices. He doesn’t really know, come to think of it. The shadows of his former self getting blurrier day after day, until the days became months, years, centuries. He didn’t care since it became merely any other act he had to perform, exactly like the soothing smile he perfected to persuade his targets to follow him back at the palace, neatly crafted to conceal his embellished lies. Even his mannerism was devised to convey the mask embroidered on his skin. He did feel the atavic impulse, of course he did. Albeit that’s where it ended, at a physical urge. No true desire guided his hand as he undid his breeches. He wasn’t really allowed to desire anything at all, even his body got accustomed to that by then. It’s entirely new to him, this yearning to get close to another individual, to seek the comfort of the warmth of another.
“Allow me”. Not even for a moment does he entertain the thought that you might find it inopportune how close he is all of a sudden when you never even dared to hold his hand before. He fundamentally doesn’t care right now. He just feels and it’s devastating. Adventure after adventure, a long forgotten, perhaps unknown, feeling sneaked inside his rotting heart. His hand slides up to your jaw as he brings his lips to yours. You don’t question it for a second, still dizzy, your lips move against his of their own accord. It’s slow, tentative, like he forgot how to do it. But he hasn’t. You just leave him a small opening, tongue meeting his slightly more emphatically and he’s devouring you. His fingers grab your hair at the root, his tongue demands that you surrender and follow. He pushes his body against yours, your back pressed against the cold scratchy wall. His knee demands access between your thighs until your crotch is right above it. You break the kiss gasping against his mouth when the cool chainmail is pressed to your core. Maybe he took it as an attempt to get away from him, maybe he just followed a deep-seated instinct to have you against him. He pulls your hair hard, his other hand on your thigh, his fingers dig painfully in the bare flesh. His mouth is quickly against yours once more. It’s harsh, raw, and desperate. He’s not playing a part, he’s not kissing you to get you on his side, to have someone protect him from the harsh judgement (and he’d be lucky if it was just ugly glares and a few wisecracks and not a stake through his heart as he sleeps) of those who now know he’s a creature of the night. He’s not bribing the oh so powerful leader with his swift fingers and perfectly refined technique. This isn’t for you, nor for a master waiting for him in a place he's forced to call home, nor for a prying audience he has to entertain. This is for him. He doesn’t know why he needs it, needs your yielding body pressed to his. He only knows he does. He kisses you again and again. He doesn’t get bold, doesn’t need to. Kissing you, having you pressed against him in a cramped space where no one can interrupt the two of you, where no ally or foe can take you away from his merciless grasp, is enough.
But that’s when it hits him that Karlach and Laezel are still out there in the sewers trying to find a crack in the stones they can exploit, to crash them all and set you free. And Sorcerous Sundries where Gale is trying to find a way to undo his disastrous spell is only a few miles away. It’s not true that he has all the time in the world, that he has you at all. Such a ludicrous thought that no one could take you from him if even for this moment.
He gives you one last heated kiss before pulling away, his hands holding your face. As he sees your swollen lips and heated cheeks, he feels the need to kiss you until it hurts. He’s searching for something in your eyes, and you really hope he finds it. You’d show him, if only you knew what that was. Please, you think. And then he sees it. Or maybe it’s all a figment of his imagination bending reality to his own desires.
“I spent two hundred years using my body for the pleasure of others. It never belonged to me, you know”. He says it so simply, as if he was telling you it was windy today. “It was only one of the many means to achieve my master’s ends. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. I didn’t have wants for so long I forgot I could have any at all. Each and all of my needs…disregarded, every time”. He sounds so exasperated when uttering the last two words, dry voice, and bitter stare. For a moment he's not really looking at you, his eyes hollow, torrid shadows unknown to you riveting him. Then his look clears, and he sees you again. “But now, now I’m allowed to want again. And I can take what I need”.
You get a pit in your stomach hearing his words, a pull you don’t quite know how to name makes you want to hold him, thread your fingers through his hair, kiss his cheek and tell him that it’s never going to be like that again, that you won’t allow it to be like that again. Pathetic! hisses a voice in your mind. You’re not used to intimacy, to showing affection without feeling shame. Certainly not to Astarion no less. Then the rest of his words sink in as he slides two fingers in the neckline of your robe, slowly, his gaze lowering on his hand touching your skin. Time slows down once more, your heart is pounding in your chest. You shiver when his cold fingers slip further in your armor, circling your hardened nipple again and again until you give up on acting unaffected and he hears your little gasps and strangled whines.
“A-Astarion, what are you…?”
“What am I doing, dear?” he finishes the sentence for you. You’re a little…incapacitated at the moment, it seems. “I think you know it very well”. His voice dangerously mellow.
You’d widen your eyes hadn’t pleasure made you dozy. You blink a few times, but your eyelids drop, heavy. You part your lips, the sigh you exhale reaches your ears muffled. You don’t argue for a little while, your arm reaches above your head, your fingers gripping the coarse crags that grates your skin as soon as you touch them, wetting the already dump surface with little droplets of blood. Your chest raises and falls with each ragged breath, your toes curl in your dank boots. You raise a leg, hooking it on his thigh so that you can – in your opinion unnoticeably – grind against it, chasing more and more of the sensations he was so graciously extending you. A sly smirk creeps on his face seeing you falling apart because of such a trifling contact. Aren’t you precious, acting like you’ve never been touched before. He delights in the idea for a moment, that his hands are the only ones that ever grazed your bare skin (not for slicing it, burning it and freezing it of course, or he’d have the competition of quite a few goblins, drows and Dark Gods’ favorites). He grabs the neckline of the robe pulling it down further. The tip of his tongue slides up your breast stopping on your nipple to circle and suck it. You swallow, trying to clench your thighs but only ending up squeezing his. Astarion casually bites your nipple before continuing his ascent licking your chest, your neck, your chin and your parted lips. His hand grabs your hip tightly, pressing you against him further, then his fingers find your chest again. He pulls back to look at your face, your half-lidded eyes slowly opening to meet his.
“Your hands are really pretty. Your fingers…” you pause, your voice soft, barely a whisper “…feel nice.”
“I had a feeling you liked them”. Astarion’s tone is amused, smug. Of course it is. He kisses your cheek, your temple, he’s almost nuzzling into you. “Would you like me to touch you a little further?” he thumbs your nipple, squeezes your breast a little, then presses his hand against it, slides it down your body until his fingers find the slit of your armor. You gasp as soon as they graze your inner thigh. The corner of his mouth twitches before stretching in a smirk.
“Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think? I haven’t even touched you yet”. His voice is affectionate, but it’s evident how presumptuous he is. You feel your cheeks heating up, you scoff and turn your head to the side.
“Ain’t nothing special, you know? Been done a thousand times before you, vampire” you glare, your lips pursed.
“Oh? Do you come undone this easily at any hand’s touch? How disappointing”.
“No! I…” you turn to face him again, more flustered than ever, concern evident on your face. Have you offended him? Does he think you don’t like him, that you’d like just anyone doing this to you? That he’s just a tool for your own enjoyment? Couldn’t be any further from the truth.
Since you met him, you basically made a purity pledge, damn spawn. And not by your will, for certain. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but at some point, in this disgraced journey of yours, any other creature’s touch almost disgusted you. Elf, drow, human, tiefling, man or woman, tall or short, fair or dark, shy or outgoing, it didn’t matter, if it wasn’t him. You eluded any other’s touch to preserve yourself for a caress that was forbidden to you. Forbidden by who, you might ask? By yourself, by the circumstances, by the gods, even. The more you craved, the less deserving of attaining you felt.
“I know you don’t” he whispers back. Astarion presses his lips to yours once again, his kiss lazy and deep. His fingers find your underwear, the fancy one you just got from Figaro’s Facemaker’s Boutique that you find rather uncomfortable when fighting.
Astarion’s index and middle finger graze your panties a few times, tentatively?, you wonder. No, he doesn’t need to attempt. He knows. Tauntingly is more like it. You hold your breath until he moves your panties aside to rub his fingers up and down your clit. You almost hiss at the contact, his fingers are cold and it feels better than it should. He begins to rub lazy circles around it, relishing the sight of you at his mercy and the little sounds you try to choke back down your throat.
“S-shouldn’t do that” you say, and you grip his wrist tightly, nails digging in his skin. “Stop, I’ll…” he doesn’t move a fraction of an inch, still touching you deliberately as you squirm in his arms.
“Cumming already? You’re so easy. Doesn’t quite suit a leader”. He mocks, his other hand reaches for your breasts again. You hiccup and throw your head back so ungraciously that you hurt yourself. “Shouldn’t you be unswerving, aloof, unresponsive? As unmoved as possible by…extraordinary circumstances?”
“I detest you” you breathe out, ignominious sounds of pleasure leaving your lips.
“Doesn’t really sound like you do, darling”. Astarion hisses when your nails sink so deep in his wrist they draw blood. He refrains from grousing about it though, too engrossed with the sense of power of having rendered his revered leader a whimpering mess, chasing these little moments of weakness of yours. They never last long. You grab his shirt tightly and drag him towards you. His eyes widen, he’s almost startled. You let out a strangled scream before sinking your teeth in his shoulder. You come undone and the taste of his blood fills your mouth, your lips close around the wound, and you suck like he’s done to you many times before. You always liked to cut up pretty things after all. To have your mouth dirty with blood. Each time it left you wonder whether a heaven exists and if it does, whether its gates already banished you once and for all. And if you were indeed banished, was it the last kill or the one before that, that condemned you for eternity? Lost in thought you cling to him, your hands find his shoulders. Your breathing is still quickened, your heart beats so frantically that Astarion can feel it against his ribcage. He knows that you’re not gentle or delicate always. He doesn’t need you to be. He holds you close and kisses your head, a hand comes up to caress your hair. He twists it around his fingers, handling it like he would a precious piece of fabric. And when he’s satisfied, he pulls, hard. Your head is yanked back. You’re met with glistening red eyes. He looks like a mad man, and you know that so do you.
“You’re hideous” he says, and it’s not mean. He’s smiling as he speaks, he licks his blood off your lips, then his tongue demands for yours. He undoes his pants, and you can feel it, hard and wet against your thigh. “I know you want to hurt me. And hurt yourself on me too”. He kisses the corner of your lips and grabs his dick to rub the tip up and down your drenched pussy. Your body twitches each time he brushes your sensitive clit. “May I?”.
You nod and the next thing you hear is your own scream of pain before actually sensing the familiar burning feeling. Astarion grabbed your hips tightly and pushed them down harshly, entering you in one swift motion. You hold onto his shoulders, nails digging in your freshly made wound. He groans and you hiss. You catch your breath adjusting to his size and whisper in his ear.
“That was evil” you utter, your breathing accelerated. You clench around him, more because of the not so pleasant feeling rather than to tease him and he grunts.
“Forgive me, I might have gotten the idea that it was gonna slide in nice and easy”. With a sardonic smile on his face, he delicately grabs your jaw wetting your cheek with his glistening fingers.
You scrunch up your face. “You’re disgusting”.
He chuckles and rubs his nose on your cheek. “Want me to be gentle?”. He doesn’t move yet, an arm sliding around your middle. When he finally does his movements are slow and deep. You sigh in pleasure and put a hand behind his neck, cheek pressed to his.
“I want...I need you inside me like this. Need you to take and take until there’s nothing left. You don’t understand how much I ache for…” destruction. Destroy and be destroyed. That’s why you never dared to lay a hand on him before, terrified he’d crumble between your bloody fingers. But it’s different now. He’s hurting you too. Blood for blood, flesh for flesh. You look in his eyes, a wry smile looming on your chapped lips. He puts a finger under your chin, lifting your face to take a better look at your expression as if to make sure he heard you right.
“As you wish, lover”. He rests a hand against the rocks near your head, his other arm guiding your hips in a ruthless pace. You both grunt and whine and hiss, clawing at each other like one could escape the other’s grasp at any moment. Astarion’s head is dizzy due to the long-awaited pleasure, but still clear enough to ask if he could sink his teeth in you.
“You already sunk something way bigger inside me, do you really need to ask?”
“Naturally, I always ask first. I'm civilised, unlike you”. You don’t have time to reply, soon lost in the disorienting feeling of the pleasure building inside you and the familiar sting of his bite. The more of your blood flows down Astarion’s throat the closer to his orgasm he gets. His grip on you bruising at this point. As the familiar warmth spreads through your core, you cry out his name and it comes out as a prayer spilled from quivering lips. He screams the name of a god he knows quite well as he loses himself in you. Desperation and fury dripping from each syllable. You press your lips to his, as if it’d soothe his agony. His kiss lecherous and vicious just like his movements. But what you hear is not the wail of a martyr. It’s the cry of sore wrists tearing the rope that held them bound, the liberating cry of receiving a caress after only having known violent touches. You hold him close as a wordless scream leaves your lips and you cum together, hot liquid filling your insides and dripping down your things. Soon you’re left there, cold and sweaty against the slimy wall, staring at your vampire companion the same way Peter would have looked at Jesus, had he the chance of seeing his face once again after having denied him.
“It felt lonely, you know” Astarion says quietly after a while. To be treated like a ghost. The metaphor forming in his mind is not that far from the truth. You acted like a psychic child looking the other way at the sight of an unwanted presence as if obstinate neglect could make it disappear. Just like at the sight of a spirit, you got startled whenever you couldn’t avoid his sight, his touch. “To have you so close all the time…” he raises a hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear “…only for you to flee away as soon as I deluded myself that I could reach you”. You grab Astarion’s hand not to let him take it away from your face, pressing your cheek to his palm and closing your eyes. “It’s always been a terrible affair to me. To want. It petrifies me”. You pause. “As long as I crave nothing, nothing can mislead me. Nor be taken away from me. If I don’t cherish nor desire anything, what can be stolen from me? I’d replace it with something else anyway”. Your look is open and sincere, he doesn’t doubt you. “You…I knew I wouldn’t find you in someone else. I always kept you at a distance so I would have never known what I could have lost and now…”
“Such a silly little thing you are. Should have told me to part ways instead of ever guarding my side. I won’t forget it” he grazes your lips, then puts his arms around you and holds you close.
Despite his grip you soon feel that…something is missing. The wall behind your back crumbles and you slip from his arms, falling on your knees.
“Tch. I hate happy endings”. You grunt at the sudden pain of the bump and the scratches, before lifting your head and meeting Laezel’s repulsed grimace.
“There were quite a few…happy endings, it appears to me”. Soon follows Gale’s comment. “That does not strike me as a ‘need of saving situation’…would you perhaps like me to restore that side of the wall, leave you a few more minutes in heaven, as they say?”
“Given your record, Gale, I’ll pass” you get up and shake off the dust.
“How considerate. However, I’d like to inform you that we don’t really need a cave to set the mood”, retorts Astarion.
“Suit yourselves”.
“You better not set any mood anymore, Astarion” warns Laezel.
“Well, I didn’t really mind. That was a hell of a show”. Karlach stops in thought before adding “…which can be taken in two ways considering my opinion of the Hells”.
“I would have gladly missed it” sighs Shadowheart, as you all approach the stinky gooey hole that leads outside the sewers.
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gillanfryingpan · 11 months
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I didn’t get to finish these sketches in time for their Ink Tournament face off but have some more Empireverse x FTFO bc I think they would have a silly dynamic
Ink Tournament by nashdoestournaments
FTFO!Ink by Im_Sorry_Buddy
Empireverse!Ink by lunnar-chan
Ink!Sans by comyet
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