#new year's eve fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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 🥂🍾✨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb

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wososcripts · 4 months

Text

I've Been Getting Lost in Translation (Part Two)

(these kits are god awful but you didn't hear that from me)

stina blackstenius x reader; part one can be found here

Summary: You finally get to meet your girlfriend’s parents, but you aren’t sure they’re aware the two of you are more than just friends.

A/N: Here's part two finally! I hope it's worth the wait for you all lol, make sure you read the first part as well as that author's note for clarity! As usual, nothing I write is intended to speculate or infringe upon player's personal lives, it's all 100% fiction and done in good fun.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings⚠️: very very slight mentions of anxiety and self-harm behaviors, but it really isn't featured here more than a passing mention

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You could feel Stina's eyes on you as you came down the stairs and joined the group in getting ready to go, you felt them on you in the car, and once you got to the skating rink. She never seemed to not be looking at you, sending worried little glances your way that you just couldn't interact with right now if you wanted to keep it together.

"Here are Linnéa's extra skates." Stina's mom held out a pair of ice skates for you to grab. "I'm not sure they'll fit, but Stina said you were around the same size as her sister… otherwise you can rent a pair here."

She gave you a warm smile and left you to try them on, already lacing up her own and taking off on the ice.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and cold with a thick layer of snow on the ground from a couple of days ago. And the rink was amazing. It was well maintained, but still had the feeling of a pond you'd have skated on as a child.

Stina's sister came to sit down next to you, explaining some of the quirks with the skates. You had to pull the laces hard to get them to fit in the clasps at the top before you could tie them, she showed you, yanking on your ankle a little roughly for your liking.

"Linnéa, be careful with her foot!" You heard Stina call from the ice.

Linnéa waved her off, turning to you.

"Does it hurt?"

You shook your head.

"That ankle is just a bit sensitive. I broke it in June."

"Well the laces being tight will make sure that doesn't happen again," she laughed, then glanced to make sure Stina wasn't looking at you two and said something lowly to you. "How is she doing in London? I mean she says everything is going well, but it's hard to know when we're not there to see her."

You smiled, genuinely for the first time in hours.

"She's doing great. Everyone loves her, she's been playing fantastic this season, she gets along well with the coach and the players. I really don't think there's anything for you to worry about."

"It's good that she has you and Amanda there. She seems reserved but without a few good people around her I know she gets lonely."

"What are you two slow pokes waiting for?" Stina's father skated by, gesturing for you to come on.

Linnéa followed him, starting a conversation with him in Swedish you could hardly grasp onto. How this family managed to speak so quickly, you were lost on.

You joined the rest of them on the ice, trying to ignore your poor mood from earlier. Moping around was no way to make a first impression. So you tried to suck it up and let the joy of the moment overtake you. You hadn't skated in years, having played in Italy for a bit before moving to London. There never seemed to be enough time, or good rinks close by. And when you were back in Germany you mostly wanted to see your family and Laura.

You ended up skating with Stina’s nephew, a boy around seven. He was already impressively steady on his skates, something you would not have been able to say at his age. But still, he held your hand and talked your ear off in Swedish you only partially understood.

"Did you come with aunt Stina?" He asked, to which you nodded.

"We play for the same football team in England." You explained in your slow Swedish.

"Did you come here on a plane?" You nodded again, smiling.

"We flew here yesterday, from London."

The boy considered you for a moment.

"You speak funny," he proclaimed, letting go of your hand, "watch what I can do!"

And with that he skated in front of you, circling around you playfully as you stood still. You grinned at him, giving a round of applause when he was done.

“Hey,” you heard Stina come up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as to not startle you.

You gave her a smile which she softly returned.

“What are you two up to?”

“He’s showing me his incredible skating skills,” You replied.

Stina’s nephew nodded and twirled around again, clearly looking for more praise.

Stina cheered him on, catching one of his hands and spinning him once more.

“Very impressive,” she praised, “Unfortunately we’ve got to go eat some lunch. It’s getting dark out.”

You looked up at the sky, having not realized that she was right, the sun was setting already. You checked your phone and saw it was barely one pm.

Stina’s nephew nodded and shot forward ahead of you two, rushing back to where his parents were.

“How are you doing?” Stina asked.

You could tell she was still unsettled by what had happened earlier in the bathroom by how careful she was with you, how she treated each interaction tentatively. You felt badly for making her worry, for turning this visit with her family into yet another stressful situation rather than the relaxing break you both needed.

“I’m doing all right.” You gave the hand on your shoulder a squeeze and started to skate in the direction of the exit, a little further away from her than you would normally.

You felt the distance seemingly in every stride you took, agonizing over your choice to move further from her. You were upset by the lack of any physical affection, and yet here you were removing even the chance that she might initiate it. It was self sabotage, you knew. Yet it was still difficult not to indulge in it. Whether she felt the distance as much as you did, you couldn’t know.

“Why does Aunt Stina’s friend speak so funny?” You heard Stina’s nephew ask his mother, to which you couldn’t help but chuckle as she scolded him lightly.

“She’s still learning Swedish, baby, she’s from Germany.”

“You’re from Germany?” The boy asked you once you were in front of him, skates in hand. He said it as if it were some far away land, not in the same continent.

You nodded and ruffled his hair a bit, giving him a smile. You sat down on the bench, unlacing your skates and indulging the boy as he asked you several questions about Germany and what it was like there. You noticed Stina had a firm watch on you as you started to take your left skate off—the one that Linnéa had tugged on. It was aching a bit, that was true. But you simply massaged it for a moment and stood up like you couldn't feel a thing.

“Thanks again for lending me the skates,” You said to Stina’s mother, giving them back carefully.

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The eight of you decided to eat at a small restaurant not far from the rink. Sunset was already in full force, vibrant orange and pink staining the sky around you.

Stina had borrowed her sister's car that morning, preferring not to be squished in the back seat all day. The drive over gave you a bit of privacy, which you spent in relative quiet, Stina's playlist playing softly through the car speakers. Her hand was on your thigh innocently, and every once in a while she glanced over. Maybe she expected you to say something. But you knew if you started now, you wouldn't be able to stop.

You were thankful for your sturdy sneakers as you stepped out of the car, a twinge in your ankle rippling up your leg. It was more sore than you would've expected, but nothing you were overly worried about. The doctor had warned you that some days might give you more trouble than others, and that was normal. You would just have to take care to ice it this evening before you went to bed.

And by the looks of it, Stina would be making sure you did anyway.

She was robbed of her chance to ask if it was bothering you by her nephew, who seemed to have taken a real liking to you. He came barreling at you, arms open for you to lift him up. You weren't all that tall, and he certainly had inherited his family's height, so lifting him was a bit complicated. Eventually the two of you decided on a piggy back after some awkward maneuvering.

"He likes you," Stina's brother commented, tickling his son lightly. "He's normally quite reserved around new adults."

You smiled at him, feeling your heart soar. This, this was what you wanted from the trip. You wanted Stina's family to love you, for her not to have to worry about you fitting in or being accepted.

"She's going to sit next to me!" The boy announced once the waiter had shown you to your booth.

"Do I need to be worried?" Stina joked, to which her nephew stuck out his tongue.

She returned the favor playfully.

"No need to fight, there's plenty of me to go around."

The booth wasn't all that big, which was how you explained Stina's closeness. Most of your right side was pressed right up against hers, something you initially tried to rectify, only to receive a strange look from her. You cursed yourself for how unsure you were being. You'd spent months like this before the two of you had started dating and it nearly drove you (and your teammates) crazy.

You let Stina order for you since she had been here before and she knew what you liked. The tiredness was beginning to hit you. It was dark outside now, and between skating for a few hours, entertaining a seven year old, and worrying over your relationship, you'd had quite the day. Thankfully you had ibuprofen in your bag in case of one of your headaches.

Whatever Stina had ordered you looked delicious when it came out. You dug in, realizing then how hungry you were. Usually you had a snack in between breakfast and lunch particularly on training days.

You were surprised to feel a hand on your knee a little while later. You were listening to a story her nephew was intently explaining to you as he colored in one of the books his mother brought for him, and suddenly it was there. It was something so completely normal you couldn't believe how much it shocked you. If anything, that was proof of how much you had gotten in your own head. Back home it would be impossible to imagine sitting next to Stina without her hand resting lightly on you somewhere. It helped ground her, she said.

But now, your thoughts were racing with every move she made. Stina's fingers drummed absentmindedly on your thigh, the rhythm of them distracting you slightly from her nephew. She didn't usually tap unless she was feeling fidgety, which meant she was anxious. Was Stina feeling something similar to what you were? Was it out of anxiety that she was keeping things secret? The idea of your relationship inspiring such emotions in your girlfriend made the lump in your throat that much bigger. Maybe she was picking up on your mood. Stina had always been very perceptive (because she spent so much time quietly watching, you often teased) and seemed to pick up on your moods without issue. But you’d been trying to hide this.

You caught her eye and sent her a quick smile. A piece of hair had fallen into her eyes and you wanted desperately to push it behind her ear as you normally would. But the gesture seemed too intimate now. It was as if you were in a glass cage, every move observed with the chance of exposing your feelings. But what was the problem in that, you asked yourself. You loved Stina, openly. Why were you letting this affect you so much?

Stina's sister declared that she wanted to do a bit of shopping after lunch, which the rest of the group was perfectly amicable to. It wasn’t all that late, and you’d get a chance to see the Christmas market all lit up. Stina's nephew certainly hadn't taken much convincing once Linnéa mentioned stopping at the toy store to look at something.

"Am I your favorite now?" Linnéa asked him, looking at you with a sly grin on her face.

"Yes!" The boy cried, smiling wide.

"You can't buy true connection, Linnéa," you teased, still helping to color.

"Can't buy connection." The boy repeated wisely. "I still like Stina's friend too."

You smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, suggesting quietly in his ear that you move to another page and make a drawing for Stina.

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Linnéa joined you and Stina in the car on the way back to their parent’s house, adding to the tension that had been building since the eight of you had gone shopping. Stina had stuck close to your side, and you’d done your best to act normally while keeping some distance. You needed to sort your head out, and being close to her wasn’t helping. Thankfully her nephew provided a good excuse to be tugged in all sorts of directions—he had decided you were his favorite once more, leaving Linnéa to hang behind with her siblings.

Once you had reached the Christmas market, after a short detour in the toy store where you had agreed to get matching dragon plushies for you and the young boy, each of you wandered off on your own. You, Stina’s brother, and her nephew headed first for the big tree that had been decorated in the square while the rest went to get something hot to drink. You had managed to sneak off under the guise of having to find the toilet, Stina’s brother covering for you if you needed. You wanted to get a small gift for Stina, something in addition to what you’d already purchased. Most of it was back in London since bringing it all on the plane was a hassle.

You’d found a perfect gift at a small stall tucked away near the edge of the market where an older woman was selling vintage jewelry. You picked through it slowly at first, not sure you would find anything. Most of it was too gaudy for Stina, and too impractical. But then you found a simple pendant with two stones in the middle—an amethyst and an opal, each of your birth stones, set in a complex circular pattern that reminded you a bit of some of the celtic designs Katie had shown you. You had purchased it immediately, no matter that it was overpriced.

Now you were sat listening to Linnéa’s music quietly as the three of you drove, trying not to nod off. You were unsuccessful, because the next thing you remembered was being jolted awake by Linnéa’s door falling shut. You heard Stina chuckle next to you and put a hand on your shoulder, likely amused by how suddenly you had shot up. You chuckled along with her and patted her hand, putting your coat back on to brave the cold once more.

“Is your ankle bothering you?” Stina asked you quietly as you all began to walk back to the house for dinner preparations.

You thought that you had been hiding the slight limp in your walk well, certainly nobody else had noticed, but nothing escaped your girlfriend apparently.

“Only a bit. I’ll ice it later and it’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You should’ve said something if it was hurting, I told Linnea to be careful—” she was beginning to ramble, but you cut her off.

“Stina, it’s fine. I said I’m fine. I know what I can and cannot handle.”

It was a lie, and the both of you knew it. You were a stubborn bastard. Stina had been with you through your recovery, through every incident where you pushed yourself too hard only to have to face the consequences. She’d found you on the kitchen floor, comforted you after a physio session, seen you train with the team for the first time again. It was insulting to allege she didn’t know when too much was too much.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, already feeling bad for snapping at her. It wasn’t fair, she didn’t even know what was wrong and you were what? Punishing her?

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again. Do you know how horrible that was? To see you in that much pain?” Stina’s eyes were glossy with just the memory.

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You and Stina didn’t talk much about your injury and recovery. It was still too fresh, barely more than a couple months old. The crack of your ankle, the blood, her tears, her gentle shaking hands, it was all still at the front of your mind.

You were saved from having to formulate a response by Stina’s mother calling her to the kitchen. She left you, only looking back once to give you a slight smile, showing that the two of you were okay. But you knew the time to confront what was going on needed to come quickly.

You sat with Stina’s brother on the sofa and watched some Swedish Christmas program mindlessly. Mostly you were thinking about how to go about talking to Stina later. “Directness is key”, Laura's voice reminded you. You just had to say it, without blaming anyone. Just focus on yourself, your feelings.

It wasn't clear how long you sat there quietly before dozing off again, but Stina’s nephew was the one to wake you for dinner, doing so by climbing into your lap.

"It's dinner time." He said, poking at your shoulder.

You forced your eyes open, giving him a drowsy smile.

“Okay, Prinzi” you replied, picking him up off your lap so you could stand. He managed to hang on to your side though, and you ended up lifting him onto your hip anyway.

Fuck, you cursed silently as you noticed your ankle was even more tender than when you had fallen asleep. You’d have to check for bruising later and keep off it for the rest of the night. But still, you carried Stina’s nephew to the table with ease, setting him in his seat next to his mother who shot you a sheepish smile.

“Tired, aren’t you?” You heard a voice behind you, and then a gentle hand at your back.

It was Stina, who smelled of something sweet in the kitchen. You wanted to lean back into her and not move for the rest of the night. Instead you just nodded.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“You’ve been playing babysitter all day, that might be part of it.” She smiled.

You nodded in agreement, a smile on your face as well.

"You're so good with him," she whispered into your ear, "it's adorable."

You had caught her taking pictures of you with her nephew a couple times throughout the day, and now, as you briefly as her phone light up with notification, it seemed she had set one of them as her lockscreen.

"I try my best. He's a good kid."

"Well, he's in good hands."

Dinner was delicious, but relatively uneventful. After an entire day together everyone was happy to sit quietly and enjoy the food. Stina’s nephew joked with you a couple times, still wanting all of your attention, but even he seemed to be winding down for the night.

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After the table was cleared and the dishes had been washed (a task delegated to Stina’s brother this time), the group splintered off. Linnéa was going out to meet with a few friends, Stina’s brother and his family had to go home before it got too late, and Stina’s parents had settled in the living room. The two of you were welcome to join, they offered, for a nightcap. But it was clear that maybe you and Stina needed some alone time.

So you bid everyone good night, thanking them for a wonderful day, and giving Stina’s nephew a big hug goodbye (even though you would be seeing him the next day). You tried to prepare for what you knew was a difficult discussion coming your way. In and out, you tried to remind yourself.

“Go ahead, I’ll be in in a minute,” Stina told you when you reached the bedroom door.

You nodded, thankful for the extra minute to think. The room was quiet around you. You felt the quilt beneath your hands, taking another deep breath. You didn’t need to overthink this. It was simple. And Stina loved you, you reminded yourself.

There was a knock at the door, after which Stina slowly opened it and slipped inside. She had a bag of ice in her hands, presumably for your ankle. Already you felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Here, for your foot.”

She lifted your leg, grabbing a chair for you to prop it up on, and pressed the ice to it.

“So,” Stina paused, still standing before you, “What’s wrong?” You opened your mouth, but were cut off before you could say anything. “And don’t say it’s nothing, I can tell it isn’t. And I want to know, I want you to tell me, whatever it is.”

You chuckled internally at the similarity to Laura’s demand earlier. Stina knew you too well for you to hide from her either. That made your heart ache a little bit.

Your lack of response seemed to signal to Stina that you needed more convincing because she knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in hers.

“What were you doing in the bathroom earlier? Why did you look so upset? All day, I can see you trying to hide it, but I know you’re hiding something. It hurts me too, to see you like that. It’s like a thorn in my ribs.”

Your lip trembled, and you bit down hard on your cheek until you could feel blood in your mouth. It rushed onto your tongue, the metallic taste distracting you from the urge to cry. Stina had caught your gaze, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“Do your parents know we’re together?” Your voice held steady as you asked.

Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. Stina let out an airy chuckle, looking relieved. You brought your gaze to the floor, eyes wetting rapidly, which Stina quickly noticed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” She brought a hand up to your face, brushing the hair away from it. She sat next to you, moving up from where she was kneeling, and pulled you into her. “Look at me.” She put a finger under your chin, drawing your gaze to hers. The sight of your eyes nearly broke her heart. She hadn’t seen your face crumple in on itself like this since you were injured. The idea that something she had done could have caused you pain like that made her feel indescribably awful.

“Of course they know, of course they do.”

You let out a sigh of relief, putting your head in your hands. You felt a hand on the back of your neck, rubbing the skin there tenderly.

“Then why have you been so…distant all day? And yesterday? This morning at breakfast, I couldn’t even hold your hand. It seemed like you didn’t want your family to see us together. I thought maybe you… I don’t know, that you were unsure of us, or afraid, or—”

“That’s not it, I promise,” she said, wiping a tear away that had fallen from your eye. Fuck, you hated crying this much. “It’s just odd for me to be affectionate in front of my parents. They never were very touchy with each other in front of us, so it just feels like some unspoken rule. And then when my brother married his wife, they were the same way. But I promise, tomorrow I’ll try—”

You shook your head. You could tell Stina was upset too now, and you didn't want that. That wasn't the point of this. Tears continued to stream from your eyes, and you continued to swipe harshly at them.

“No, no. It’s all right. I don’t need you to be affectionate in front of them, I understand. It just seemed strange when I didn’t know the reason. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Stina seemed at a loss for a moment, truly shocked. She pulled you into a kiss, pressing her lips firmly against yours once, twice, three times before pulling back.

“You’re in this house too. And we’re a team: you don’t just have to do things the way we do. I’m supposed to meet you in the middle, okay? We’re in a relationship—if something hurts you, or is important to you, I want to know.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand as a small thanks. The taste of blood trickled through your mouth, reminding you of the wound. You did your best to swallow it down.

“Come on, let’s get you into something more comfortable,” Stina said, helping you up.

She opened the dresser, looking for some of the pants you had brought. When she turned around, in her hands were a pair of grey sweats and one of her long sleeve Swedish national team shirts.

“Sit,” she requested, pointing at the bed.

You followed, sitting and allowing her to help you undress. It was totally non-sexual, Stina was wholly concerned in caring for you. Once you were dressed in the casual clothes she had picked out, Stina returned to your side, your ankle in her lap as she massaged the skin gently.

“Was that what made you think I hadn’t told them?”

“It seems silly… but I also overheard them talking to your aunt in the kitchen last night.” You took a breath, trying to banish the tears for good. “I know my Swedish isn’t that good, but I was doing my best to keep up, and they kept referring to me as your friend, your friend, Stina’s friend.”

Stina looked at you, confused.

“They did? What did they say?”

You did your best to repeat the word, cringing at your own pronunciation.

“Väninna?” She repeated, and you nodded. “Who told you that means friend?”

“Amanda.” you replied, “She said it was like a female friend.”

Stina shook her head, laughing.

“What?” You asked, a bit indignant.

“It does mean that. But it also means girlfriend. I don’t think Amanda thought you’d ever run into the word. It’s a bit old fashioned.” Stina explained.

“Oh…” you said, feeling very stupid, and very relieved.

“Come here,” Stina said, leaning back against the headrest and gesturing for you to settle against her. She grabbed the bag of ice on your foot and shifted it to lie comfortably again. “I’m sorry you had to go through the day thinking I’d invited you here under friendly pretenses.”

You could tell she was making fun of you, just a little, but that there was sincerity in her voice too. One of her hands crept under your shirt, resting comfortingly on your stomach.

“I hope you don’t treat all your friends like you did yesterday morning.” You replied, snuggling closer to her. For the first time in days your head wasn’t full of doubts, and you could relax wholly. You just wanted to enjoy her warmth around you. You had faith that tomorrow would be great, that you could finally enjoy your time here the way you were meant to.

She chuckled, hugging you closer to her and pressing a kiss to your upward-turned lips.

“No, definitely not. I usually have better decision making skills around most people.”

“I guess I’m just special then, huh?”

#hope you all enjoy !#and happy new years eve-ish #arsenal x reader #stina blackstenius #stina blackstenius x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #laura freigang #stina blackstenius imagine #my writing

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sandwicz · 4 months

Text

Spiderzuha, Spiderzuha, Does whatever a spider can

Fluff, a tiny bit of angst in the end oop

Kazuha came to you injured, you treated his wounds

Note: I was planning to make an angsty plot, but i got very busy due to school and kinda lost motivation. (sorry ;-;)

✧-----------------------------------------✧

You just returned from your errand of delivering a package to your lovely neighbor in your apartment complex. You then went to the sink to wash your hands after arriving home and taking off your shoes.

As you went there, you realized that the sink had unwashed dishes, left by yourself when you didn’t have the motivation to wash them before. You’re sort of in the mood to be productive, so you decided to wash them.

You enjoyed your time washing the dishes as you hummed your favorite song. Suddenly, arms started to wrap around your waist. You were shocked by this, but your quick reflexes allowed you to take a metal ladle from the sink and quickly turn your head to see the intruder, relaxing a bit once you saw a glimpse of platinum blond hair from the corner of your eyes.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding out of relief, and you lowered the ladle you were holding back into the sink.

“Kazuha…” You exhaled, your voice a little bit exasperated. “You could’ve given me a heart attack, you know? I thought you were an intruder!”

You sighed again and went back to dishwashing.

“It’s partially the reason why I visited you this way,” he chuckled. “You left your balcony door unlocked; people can come into your house uninvited, you know?”

“Oh, please, Kazuha, I live in a 25-story apartment and live on the 19th floor. You think people would just come into people’s apartments this high up?”

“A firetruck and its ladder can reach this height. There might be a firefighter villain, you know?”

You chuckled at Kazuha’s response. You both then went quiet. Kazuha quietly watched you wash the dishes, with his head on your shoulder and arms by his sides. (BRO JUST IMAGINE THE COMFORTABLE SILENCE, IMAGINE HOW DOMESTIC IT IS, HIM JUST BEING THERE, HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDERS, AAAA NO I'M NOT DOWNBAD AT ALL.)

You finally finished washing the last dishes and let out a satisfied hum. Before turning back to see Kazuha fully, and realized-

“OH MY GOD, ARE YOU OKAY?” you shouted.

You turned your back to see Kazuha in his battered spider suit, with some holes in some areas of his body, like his arms, chest, and legs. He also had a lot of huge scratches and some patches of blood on the exposed skin of the ripped suit. It seemed like the blood had dried off, so it’s no wonder why you could barely smell any blood from him earlier when doing the dishes.

Kazuha chuckled at your reaction.

You shouted at him again, “KAZUHA, WHY ARE YOU CHUCKLING? YOU’RE HURT!”

You hurriedly wiped your hands on a towel placed near the sink and gestured for him to sit on a chair in the kitchen. You quickly took your medical kit from your room toward the living room.

After a few minutes, you returned to Kazuha, helped him up by putting one of his arms on your shoulders, and half-carried him to the bathroom. You washed his wounds with running tap water. Although Kazuha winced at the little stings of pain, he kept quiet, watching you clean his blood off his body. He smiled at how gentle you are with him. You were so caring to him, not hesitating to care for him even if it inconvenienced you.

You went out of the bathroom and sat Kazuha on the couch in the living room, where you carefully bandaged him. Carefully, wrapping his arm in bandages. The quiet yet serene atmosphere the both of you were having was something Kazuha cherished so much.

Even though you’ve bandaged and taken care of his wounds multiple times, he still can’t help but blush at the close contact both of you were having. He will never get tired of your nagging and lectures about taking care of himself and prioritizing himself above others while you gently treat his wounds.

"Kazuha… I've said this multiple times, and I don't know if you will actually listen," you whispered. You looked at Kazuha, your expression full of worry and melancholy.

You cupped one of his cheeks with your hand, and Kazuha reciprocated your affection by leaning into your touch.

"Please. Take care of yourself. It's okay to help others; I know you strive to help any person as much as you can, sometimes to the point where you almost risk your own life."

You sighed, "Let me rephrase this better." You paused for a few seconds, you dropped your hands that cupped his cheeks to you side. "The people need you; yes, I know that. I know you want to help and save a lot of people. I know you want to protect them all… But if you push yourself too much, if you get too hurt, if you're gone-"

You fought back the tears trying to come out of your eyes, keeping a stern expression on your face. Kazuha never left his gaze off of you. He too tried to show a serious expression to you, knowing the actions he did that caused you this sorrow.

"...Who's gonna save and protect them in the end?"

Kazuha's eyes widened at this.

“All I wanted to say is that it’s good to want to save people, but you need to always know your limits and know when to stop. I don’t want you to get too hurt,” you choked back a sob.

“I… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” you looked at Kazuha, tears in your eyes.

Kazuha softened his gaze towards you, eyebrows lowered. He cupped and caressed your cheek with his thumb as he frowned at the sight of your tears.

“I’m sorry…” he said, voice full of remorse, “I didn’t mean to hurt you at all, I want to become spiderman… So I can save everyone…”

Kazuha looked down, gaze averted to the floor.

“I- I guess… I forgot to include myself as everyone-”

He returned his gaze to your eyes, he smiled.

“Thank you, for always looking out for me. Thank you for always being the one return me back if I stray too far. You are the one who’d always stay by my side, through hell or high waters.”

“(Name), I know you’ve heard this a lot of times already, but-

I promise, I will keep myself save and alive, no matter how terrible the villain is, no matter how high the risk may go

... For I love you too much to not be with you until the end, in this life, or another.”

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

A/n: thx for reading until the end, it’s messy in the end. Sorry about that (⁠´⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠ω⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠｀⁠)

I've started this since the new ATSV movie came out but procrastinated due to school and laziness, so it's been in my drafts for SOO long ;-;

Ehe

#genshin impact #kaedehara kazuha #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin #kazuha kaedehara #kaedehara kazuha x reader #i just wanna say this fanfic has been rotting in my drafts for 6 MONTHS #i started this at the end of june and finished this at the end of december #wowee can't believe tomorrow is new year's eve #spiderman #spiderzuha #genshin impact x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #genshin fanfic

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amywritesthings · 1 year

Text

about you. (cassian x you)

Pairing: Cassian Andor x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: You are a rebel spy working as an escort at Canto Bight's cliffside casino. When Luthen cannot meet you for an intel exchange on New Year's Eve, he sends his best asset. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that meant you'd reunite with your former childhood best friend, Cassian Andor.

Warnings: New Year's Eve, Spy Thriller, Escort Service, Romantic Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Reunions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mentions of Sex Work, Wall Pinning, New Year's Eve Kiss

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I had a fun holiday one shot idea and wanted to try my hand at writing Cassian Andor. I am wishing you all a happy & healthy new year, and I can't wait to continue writing in 2023.

( Read on AO3 )

Canto Bight is always bustling at New Year’s Eve.

It’s why Luthen Rael has shown up on your doorstep for the first time in months. In his not-so subtle way, the man requests (see: demands) that you float back to your old haunt, the one within the glittering halls of their monument cliffside casino, and do what you do you best: entertain as a partner experience escort for the rich and powerful.

The partner experience operation has been your designation from the very beginning of this rebellious calling. Your contribution to the rebellion, as he claims, is valuable — because the whispers in the night by decorated Imperials that feel safe in your company are priceless.

Whispers bring intel, and not even gold is as priceless as Imperial intel.

Luthen claims he knew of your potential the moment he laid eyes on you in a seedy dive bar on an Outer Rim moon. The little lamb far from her home planet Ferrix, looking fearful yet enraged all the same; starved, but most importantly willing to do anything to take down the Empire one domino at a time.

It was the type of spunk the older man needed in a claustrophobic world.

So you struck a deal: under trained supervision, you would run the casino circuits and red districts — never quite getting close enough to sleeping with the enemy (who knew the Empire thrived on humiliation and edging?) but enough to drug them, learn from them, then report back to him for the next move.

Rinse and repeat for six successful years.

And right now, you were supposed to be done. Find a small shack in the middle of nowhere knowing you did your part in the small but mighty agenda. Perhaps, eventually, you would find a way to make peace with your past and your present.

Then Luthen fucking Rael shows up at the stoop of said shack only six months later with a new opportunity.

A new strategy on the chess board.

(The rebellion, as he so candidly puts it, is never final.)

“Did you hear about what’s going on with Life Day this year on Canto Bight?” Luthen grunts, opting to stand by the doorway rather than a seat at your makeshift kitchen table.

You drop down unceremoniously with your arms at your sides. You know — and you know he knows — there is a blaster taped on the belly of the steel table should this be an unpleasant visit.

“You mean the Wookie holiday?”

“Hmm,” Luthen sounds, caught between a yes and a no. “Supposed to be the Wookie holiday, but it seems the Empire has allowed the casino a profitable chance to participate until the new year.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” you muse in return, surveying him. “When you say profitable, you mean—”

“Everyone who is anyone will be visiting.” Luthen never makes any sudden movements; always trapped sounding bored with this life he leads. It’s also a tactic not to play his cards too far from his chest. “They’ll be running the gambit for paid time off.”

Smile bland, you nod once. “Which is code for… you need someone on the inside.”

“For the season,” he agrees, shifting his weight. “A gift to the faces who may have missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“I hear about the Diamond quite a lot.”

Their precious Diamond.

Maker, that nickname always made your skin crawl.

You huff, rubbing your nose with the back of your thumb. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Luthen, you know that.”

He takes a pause, small eyes observing everything that you do. Updating a mental database logging your quirks and your discomfort to cipher for a later date — that’s all he’s ever done, study and download people, and he’s done so without error yet.

(It’s why he’s never been caught.)

“It isn’t flattery,” he finally says. “It’s an opportunity.”

To do everything we couldn’t the first time, is what he really implies.

It’s feeding an addiction no amount of dead fascists will be able to quench.

“And how do I tell them why I want the job back after I quit?”

“Your mother was very ill. You needed to help with her expenses,” Luthen fabricates from thin air. “It was easiest to part ways without the low note on your record. But the credits have dried up, and their clientele will be thankful of the casino’s decision to allow you back on the floor.”

It’s your turn to pause — to study. He gives away nothing. You lean forward to rest your elbows on the tops of your thighs.

“You think that’ll work?”

“You’ll sell it,” is all he gives back like you’ve already said yes.

You’re supposed to be out.

(Do you want to be out?)

No.

No, you don’t.

Getting the job back at the casino as a specialized escort is easy. The difficulty lies in remembering how to fall into old, subtle habits when all you want to do is cause chaos. Staying engaged while chatting up Imperial scum as they spittle in their expensive liquors and moan about the woes of their occupations and agenda can only go on for so long.

Yet you laugh with the rest of them once they’re kissing your feet and your hands, because everyone in this rebellion has a part to play.

(Our loveliest of diamonds, back to see us once again.)

Luthen, of course, never leaves you to your own devices for long. Gifting a hefty sum of credits and a bag of dissolvable sedatives every time he passes through Canto Bight as his alter ego is about as noble as the illusive man gets.

You fill small briefcases with voice memos and holovideos of nightly conversations, drunken manifestos and slippery plans.

It works.

By some miracle, you have never been caught.

New Year’s Eve is filled to the brim with Imperial guards enjoying time off from their grueling schedules. Some of the higher commanding officers already have their arms draped over people inviting them to a great time. Others chase after the debauchery promised by scantily clad creatures inviting them into the halls and out of their money.

You? Have a booking in advance: a high-ranking officer, but not within the Inner Circle.

According to Luther, he’s a valuable asset double-crossing their superiors.

A plant.

You are to deliver the intel to him under Luthen’s command and trust.

(Ironic. You always believed Luthen trusted no one.)

At the final half hour of the year’s end, you round the corner from the main entertainment room and down the hallway towards the private event spaces. A multitude of sounds are muffled by the doors — some good, some not so. Your focus is set on the twelfth door where your officer awaits, and suddenly you feel nervous all over again.

Meeting one of Luthen’s other operatives feels all too daunting.

After a moment, you place your code into the code box by the door and wait for the durasteel to slide, revealing the plush crimson meeting space. It's staged with a convenient king-sized bed and a vanity for refreshment, inviting comfort and suggesting the obvious.

What greets you as the door opens — a silhouette at the edge of the bed, dressed in Imperial formals — is not what you envisioned.

The man’s hair is what you notice first: disheveled brown locks are combed back neatly, smoothed by gel to keep the unruliness at bay. The jacket’s shoulders are a little too pointed, as if he’s not grown into his uniform quite yet — or like he’d stolen it on his way into the venue. The lines on his faces aren’t new, but aren’t old. He’s tired — so fucking tired, but he sits taller the second the door opens.

The blank expression on his face is purposeful, almost doe-eyed, with a feigned, smug-like innocence only an Imperial officer would wear.

Then his gaze travels from your open-toed shoes, up your bodysuit dress of sequins, and locks onto your face.

Just like that, the façade is broken.

What once was blank now hardens, wholly confused, before the lines on his prominent brow smooth with recognition.

Cassian.

Of all the idiots in all the galaxy, Cassian Andor is dressed as an Imp in your meeting space on the eve of the new year.

And you thought, with this rebellion, that you’d seen everything.

While the officer in disguise is much older than what your memory recalls, you could never forget that face even if the Empire tried. The feeling of dirt under your fingernails, the scent of rubber burning, the spark of an electric charge from a stolen piece of property — it all floods back in a tidal wave, almost knocking you a step back into the hallway.

On Ferrix, Cassian Andor always ran around with different people — sometimes it was Bix when she wasn’t punished for entertaining teen scoundrels; sometimes it was other boys in scrappy brawls and mended machinery; most of the time, however, it was you.

Hand and hand, causing mayhem in the bright suns and the full moons. He'd shown you what it meant to stand up for yourself. To want what you want and not apologize for it. To be bold, even at the expense of disruption.

And then he’d pummel whatever wayward eye looked at you the wrong way.

Trouble.

Cassian Andor was so much trouble, and you were mad for it.

Your last memory of him is as vivid as the neon lights lining the ceiling: you're both sixteen years old and shoulder-to-shoulder on an inclined metal slab, staring up at the stars. He's wearing that jacket from his father and hasn't combed his hair in days. You're lost in telling him about your dreams of a better tomorrow, of one day leaving Ferrix for good and making a difference in the vastness of the galaxy despite how small you feel. He laughs, a hum more than anything else, and takes your hand in his.

You're too afraid to squeeze back.

Having Cassian poke fun of the idea of doing much of anything in the galaxy never felt like he mocked you for wanting to try. More than anything, his laugh was one of envy: he couldn’t afford dreams, so you dreamt for the both of you. He couldn’t handle intimacy, so you were satisfied with resting your hand in his the entire night.

Nothing was said. Nothing had changed.

He gave what he could, and you understood.

Childhood friendship has a funny way of feeling that simple.

Cassian, however, never truly chose to change with you. He never truly chose anyone, not really, not when he had so much to give — to his mother, to his scrapyard confidantes, to Bix.

You fit somewhere in the chapters of his life, but Cassian Andor could never tell you which ones. He could not, and would not, promise someone tomorrow.

An unfinished book.

You never did tell him where you were going after hitching a ride on that stock transport to get the hell out of Ferrix for good. Not a single holocard or a note.

Just… gone, into the galaxy, to dream.

Now he sits in front of you at the edge of your meeting space bed, threatening to ruin your calculated cover in one-fell swoop.

Before Cassian can implode your operation, you turn on the mask: with a bright smile and squared shoulders, you gesture to the plush furniture of the room. “Is it to your liking, Mr. —?”

You trail off on your question to give him a chance to speak.

Cassian blinks a few times, only to remember himself.

“Raoul,” he blurts without dismissing his accent, eyes widening with an unspoken question: what are you doing here? “Sargeant Murl Raoul.”

Maker, you haven’t heard that voice in so long.

It’s deeper now. Rusty. Scratched.

“Sargeant,” you correct pleasantly, taking a step into the bedroom to toe the perimeter. Cassian pulls the geometric gray hat clear from his head, balling it in his fist, but you raise a palm at the hip when his mouth opens: don’t.

He listens, pressing his lips together with purpose.

“I asked if this room was to your liking," you repeat.

Cassian struggles with an answer, studying you with concern. You hate it. You hated it back on Ferrix when he tried to play protector, and a decade and a half apart doesn’t dilute the emotion.

Your brows rise, and he clears his throat. “I— yes, I am quite comfortable.”

“Good,” you conclude with a small nod. “Now before I join you and get more comfortable, do you have any questions for me?”

“More comfortable?” he asks a little too fast, so you recover with a glide of your hand along your sparkling thigh.

“Can’t do much when I’m in this old thing,” you coo, that stage performer voice now sounding so phony to your ears with a known audience. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Cassian runs the tip of his tongue along the seam off his lips, shifting his seat on the mattress. “I suppose I could ask how… uh, how long have you been doing… this?”

You don’t know if he’s asking about the escort arrangement or the Informant position, which further complicates the game. The odds of Cassian showing up on Canto Bight should be slim. Cassian wearing an Imperial outfit on his own ought to be slim to none.

But appearing in your private meeting space, fake alias and all?

Your blood runs cold with truth between the lines.

(Luthen never does anything by accident.)

This meeting — reuniting Cassian and yourself — is his test, a judgment call, but you refuse to let Luthen win the game with this surprise hand.

“Years,” you answer honestly, to both.

You continue to face him as you skirt around the left side of the sparkling vanity, not taking any chances with your former friend. Your manicured fingers glide along the mirror’s back, searching for the planted Imperial wire.

(Not only are they cruel, but perverted in their efforts to catch spies.)

“So then you are... experienced?” The question comes out rougher than you believe he intends. Gruff, like he’s embarrassed to even ask.

(The question almost — almost — makes your face burn.)

“If you’re worried that you won’t have a good time, Sergeant, then I promise they sent you to me for a reason. I’m going to take great care of you.”

Cassian’s expression darkens at this as he rises to his feet with purpose.

You rip the microphone from the back of the mirror, holding the device between your index and middle finger for show.

This stops him from moving ahead, eyes locked on the microphone before flickering back to you. You shake your head.

I said don’t.

He nods once, and you take the microphone between your hands. With two clicks, the wire cover pops open, displaying a multitude of tiny wires. You fidget between two, pulling, until the red eye at the center of the device dissolves into black.

The room is blanketed with silence.

Now it’s just you and a ghost here.

“We’re clear,” you tell him after another beat, dropping the seductive aloofness in your tone.

Cassian’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. “That was fast.”

Your brow picks up that fraction, raising high. “You have to dismantle them fast."

“Let me take a look at it,” Cassian replies, tossing the hat twisted in his hands to the mattress. "Are you certain it's off?"

“Positive,” you say, sheltering the item closer to your chest. “You don't need to look at it. Easy to disable and reassemble at a moment’s notice, so I’ll turn it back on when you depart.”

“What about lost footage?”

“Chalk it up as faulty equipment they’re too stubborn to replace in a shithole like this.”

Cassian mulls over your answer, taking a cautious few steps forward to observe the small device in your hand. “Imperial-grade wires are tough to work with. A five-second warning doesn’t give many people time to disable the alarm,” he informs in a whispered afterthought. “Where did you learn to do that?”

In your bones, you know it’s a trick question.

Fifteen-something years of reuniting in a moment like this comes with immense drawbacks. When he asks, it is not out of curiosity — it is out of the desire to see if you are truly you.

(Because he remembers your face, too.)

“On Ferrix,” you reply.

He gives no reaction, continuing to deadpan. “Where on Ferrix?”

“You want me to remember from that long ago?” you laugh, placing the microphone on the vanity’s surface and following up with a thick blue cloth to drape over top of it.

“Humor me,” he reasons, flexing his leather-clad fingers at his sides. Now that he doesn’t have a distraction, Cassian doesn’t stop looking at your face.

(The same intensity as the boy without dreams.)

“The old Slavyard. There was that one incredibly rainy month when those prim and proper freaks—”

“—installed the spyware on the back door in the middle of the night,” he interrupts, finishing the story with a misplaced awe under his breath. “You played lookout while I disabled the devices.”

You don’t answer, not really, as you offer a half-hearted smile. “Say what you want about that place, but you learn a lot of things when you watch restless boys who never know when to stop getting in trouble.”

The return smile is small and fleeting, but the corner of Cassian’s lip upticks. His brows knit together, contemplating before a huff of a laugh exits. “Not a very good lookout, then, if you were so busy watching me.”

“You never got caught, though, did you?” you joke.

You swear he almost laughs.

The silence settles at your ankles and rises with each passing second, encompassing you both in a shroud of possibilities: pleasantries are nice, but the popping of bottles and shouts of celebration passing by your room brings you both back to a reality where you’re playing pretend.

Cassian huffs once more, running a hand down his face and around his neck before dropping it in a gesture towards you. “He cannot be serious.”

He.

You catch that pronoun with intrigue and tilt your chin.

“Serious about what? Who’s ‘he’?”

His voice softens, shrinking in size, as he nears half a step closer and into your bubble. “Don’t tell me it’s you.” You maintain eye contact — maintain dominance of this situation — and stay in place. “When he said to wait…”

“...for the Informer, you didn’t think you’d run into a ghost?” you finish, and he’s polite enough not to nod. “He only told me the person he was sending in his stead was one of his best assets. This reunion isn’t my doing.”

“No,” Cassian agrees, low and certain. “It isn’t.”

Because Luthen knows.

Luthen knows, and that’s dangerous in and of itself: his little lamb on Ferrix knew his most trusted asset long before the mastermind was in the picture, and this sabotage is meant to figure you out.

(To figure you both out for his own gain: to make sure you were both up for the task, history aside.)

Your jaw clenches as you nod with assertion, mindful of the train of your body-tight dress when you shift around Cassian to create some space. He turns his torso, following.

“Did he force you to do this?” When you pause in your steps to quirk a brow, he struggles with verbalizing what this means. “Entertaining these low lives while they piss their credits away.”

“Very strong words for someone dressed as an Imp.”

He completely ignores you, hyper in his budding rage. “Because if anyone has touched you—”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything, Cass,” you reply, hateful that the former nickname leaves your lips so fluidly; as if no time has passed. “We’re all cogs working for the same machine.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be having you do this on your own,” the man argues. “He’s not even on the planet, for fuck’s sake. This is dangerous work.”

“You keep saying this or that, but you’re not really asking the real question.” Your nose scrunches, maliciously playful. “I don’t fuck them. It’s pretend, Cassian. My honor is intact.”

Cassian squints with a scoff. “That isn’t what I meant—”

“It isn’t?” you challenge.

“No,” he responds just as fast and just as intense. A smirk plays on your lips, slow and growing. “Fuck whoever you’d like to fuck. One or a dozen, I don’t care, but not them. They don’t deserve you.”

“And who does?”

“I don’t know, but not Luthen or the pieces of shit out there or anyone on this planet.”

“Not even you, right?”

He stares down at you, hard. You snort in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Cassian Andor is jealous of a body count, but I guess stranger things have happened for both of us.”

Cassian’s jaw sets, nostrils flaring with an anger he refuses to bury completely. He searches your face, lost on a response, before sharply inhaling through his nose.

“I need information on your regulars.”

Ah.

No more games.

You roll your eyes, absently waving him off as you turn to walk towards the crate-like nightstand. “I have the files on a drive.”

No more games, or so you thought — Cassian follows close behind. “Drives are easily corruptible or lost or stolen. You could just tell me.”

Your hand hovers on the drawer when you turn your chin to look at him. “Yeah, sure, let me just… tell you about a mission I’ve spent years finessing so you can get the details wrong when you relay with Luthen.”

“Do you think so little of my memory skills?” he says and it’s a joke, but it teeters on the edge of an argument.

Just like old times.

You don’t need this type of deja vu before the new year.

“Whisper down the lane only goes so far,” you answer, turning back to the drawer in front of you. Your hand lifts the edge of the bottom plate, removing a small box from the center of the hidden compartment.

You only pause when you feel his presence right behind you as soft puffs of air tickle the back of your exposed neck.

He says nothing, not at first, in this proximity. Then a syllable sounds:

“Why?”

The question is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it whisper. His voice flutters along your skin, causing a shiver down your spine. Deep down you know he’s not asking about the drive or your distaste for his preferred method of relay. Why — the one word you hoped to never face.

If you concentrate hard enough, you can smell the scent of his cologne.

It smells nothing like Cassian.

You stay focused on a miniscule dot on the wall, too afraid to turn around.

“We can’t do this here,” you murmur, barely audible in return.

“I paid for the hour,” he replies. “If I were to leave ten minutes into your company, then there would be questions.”

(He’s right. As much as you hate it, your former friend is right.)

You raise your chin to the ceiling, closing your eyes. Contemplating. Seeking anything, everything, to say to avoid what’s to come.

You open your mouth to speak, but Cassian gets there first.

“I looked for you.” A vulnerable statement from an impenetrable man. His chin leans forward, the warmth of him spreading to your aura. “In dozens of quadrants—”

“Cassian.”

“—and about a hundred planets—”

“Stop.”

“—but you left nothing.” The final word emphasizes with raw emotion, causing your throat to swell. His gloved hand rests on your tricep, but you turn to finally face him. The closeness of him is a surprise — piercing brown eyes meet yours with mere centimeters between noses. “No note, no goodbye, no telling where you might have headed. Nothing.”

Frowning, you don’t realize that you’re shaking your head. The lines on his face are too distracting. He is distracting.

“You were never supposed to see me again.”

“And I never understood why.” He steps forward. You step back. When you think he won’t advance, he continues to step once, twice, until the third lands your back to the corner of the room. “So I am asking — now — while I can still have you: why?”

While I can still have you. You know the implication isn’t there, not truly, but your heart aches for it. The tension makes you feel so small, as if you’re eighteen and flying all over again.

You’re supposed to be over this; over him.

“I had to start new,” you answer after a considerable pause, forcing yourself to look him in the eye in what little space is held between you. “I was always going to leave Ferrix.”

“I knew that,” he argues softly. “I was never going to deter you from—”

“No. No, you were never going to,” you agree, nodding. “But you were always off and on the planet, doing what you had to for everyone else. If I didn’t cut Ferrix out of my life, then I wonder if I would have had the same fate as my parents or my friends: getting stuck there. And not just getting stuck, but waiting.”

“Waiting?” Cassian asks with confusion, brows knit.

You relax against the wall with a humorless laugh. “How did you not see it? The way I always waited for you.” Anxious, you turn your cheek to check the main door as you mull over your next few words. “I would have waited my whole life for you.”

The air in the room shifts.

Although he remains in your peripheral vision, the man stays staring at you without a discernible expression. The gravity of what you’re admitting drags lower, lower, until he says something that forces you to look at him head-on:

“I thought you were indifferent to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Indifferent?”

Cassian nods, short and quick. “You had all these big plans. I listened for hours. Not one of them involved me.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to be a part of those plans.”

“Maybe I didn’t think I couldn’t make a difference, not in a… rebellion, though the irony is not lost on me now,” he admits with a huff of a laugh, “but I wanted to be a part of you. I didn’t care what it was, so long as I still had you.”

You stare at him as he stares back at you, totally dumbfounded with this brand new information. Cassian swallows thickly, shifting his weight yet again from one leg to another. The loud party continues outside of your room, drowning these confessions in the excitement for a nearing midnight.

You had all these big plans.

Memories warp at a second’s notice as your brain tries to understand what he’s laid at your altar.

Not one of them involved me.

He shouldn’t be saying this.

He shouldn’t be saying any of this.

Closing your eyes to find a pause in your racing thoughts, you try — try to find where perhaps this is fabricated, designed to see if you’re easily swayed by the past that you so desperately let die in this rebellion.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Cassian is watching with something close to concern.

(Something, maybe, closer to fear.)

You gently shake your head. “This is a test.”

“I know.”

“Luthen did this—”

“Fuck Luthen,” he breathes out, eyes dropping to stare at your lips, and your heartbeat quickens.

His brows meet in the middle, concentrated yet lost — as if he’s back on Ferrix, scrawny and scrappy and calculating the gravity of the risk should he decide to steal or trespass —

Or do something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Cassian.”

Your voice is gentle with a warning. His eyes do not raise, but he does answer.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“I have a look?”

“When you’re contemplating doing something stupid? Yes.”

He snorts, amused. “You remember what that looks like after fifteen years?”

“It's very hard to forget it.”

He mulls the moment over, flickering his attention back up to your eyes and nodding.

“You’re right. I am thinking of doing something stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Incredibly.”

A beat passes.

Finally he blinks up to your eyes, searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet. You wait, just as you’ve always waited, to hear his voice.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says, flexing the leather gloved hand at his side. “I should go.”

Everything sinks.

The crowd outside grows louder as people depart from their private rooms to celebrate in the middle of the casino. Everyone begins the unison countdown of the final minute until the new year rings out.

The device in your hand grows heavy — a reminder of why he’s here in the first place, what Luthen will be looking for, yet your arm cannot rise to give it over.

(A few more minutes and he’ll be gone.)

To find a reason to keep him here with you would be selfish.

Instead of protesting, you nod.

“Yeah. You should go.”

He nods, too, and his throat bobs with a swallow.

Outside your door, their laughter and shouts reach a collective ten, nine, eight, seven…

Yet he doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

Six, five, four, three…

“Cass?”

Two.

Cassian speaks with broken finality, rushed and wanting. “I can't go without—”

You beat him to it.

Canto Bight’s cliffside casino roars with excitement of the new year while you grab the lapel of his Imperial uniform, dragging him in as he simultaneously launches his lips to yours.

The force of him smacks your head into the wall, but the stars behind your eyes aren’t from impact. It’s from the way he presses his mouth to yours, desperate to pour years of frustration and wonder into a long-awaited kiss. You whimper into it, eager to dissolve any space between you.

Cassian Andor cages your head into the palms of his gloved hands, holding you with a tenderness and strength only he can have. He groans into your mouth when he tastes you, tongue dragging along your lower lip — the neediness of it is enough to make your knees give out.

Except he drops his hands to your shoulders and spins you, pressing your chest into the wall. Using your hands to balance yourself, Cassian wastes not a second more to place his hands over yours, pinning you in place.

“We should have — opened with a fight,” he murmurs breathlessly into your ear, kissing your earlobe before bringing it into his mouth.

You bite back a moan, dropping your forehead to the wall. “If I'd known you wanted to kiss me after all this time, Cass, then I would have — gone straight past a fight and went for it.”

He chuckles behind you, letting go of your earlobe to travel kisses down the side of your neck.

“There is a lot I wanted to do back then, but I was too chickenshit to try it.”

The imagery of a lot burns into the back of your skull.

“And now?” you ask, but it’s wavered.

Cassian slows down, but his lips remain against the crook of your neck. You mourn the loss of speed, pushing your hips back to connect with his.

A hand shoots down to still your waist as his thumb runs soothing strokes into the skintight dress.

“Not here,” he decides, but it isn’t regretful. It’s determined. “When I see you again—”

“When?” you interrupt.

“When,” he enforces, squeezing your waist, “I see you again, I’ll do what I’ve been too chickenshit to do and it won’t be under a watchful eye.”

When I see you again.

You smile small, delirious in the haze of him.

“Is that a promise?”

“As good as I can make one,” he responds in earnest, turning to leave a small kiss on your cheek. “You’re not losing me so easily this time.”

And you believe him.

Misunderstandings, miscommunications — all of that hardship to end up here, of all places.

You have so much to learn.

(He has so much to hear.)

Even if this was Luthen’s doing, even if this was a test of faith, you cannot find a reason to care. Not when your lips still tingle with the kiss you’d only dreamt about your entire life.

Reaching for his arm, you gently bring his free hand to yours and place the small drive in the middle of his palm. Cassian’s chin drops to observe the tiny metal, jaw setting to its unreadable clench.

Because at the end of the night, you both still have jobs to do.

A new year.

(A new horizon.)

“Until next time,” you say, removing your hand from his.

Cassian curls his fingers over the drive, shoving the small device in his coat pocket. He flexes and raises his hand to bring it up to your cheek, cradling your face once more as he leans in for one final kiss. This time it’s softer. Timid.

The closest Cassian Andor can ever get to a promise.

He pulls away, nose to nose, and mirrors in reply.

“Until next time.”

#andor #cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x female reader #cassian andor x f!reader #andor tv #andor tv series #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfiction #luthen rael #female reader #reader insert #new years eve #about you #amywritesthings

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randomdork-artdump · 1 year

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🎊HAPPY NEW YEAR,EVERYONE 🎊

Hope everyone is doing good. 😊

To celebrate the coming of the new year, I decided to redraw my first Hazbin fanart from 6 months ago.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #fanfic fanart #to more fanarts this 2023 🍸#hope everyone has a lovely new years eve #my art

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makeitastrength · 4 months

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“So what you’re saying,” Harper clarifies, “is that they’re both here, single, on New Year’s Eve, in need of someone to kiss at midnight?”

“Exactly.”

-OR-

It's New Year's Eve, Angela's hosting a party, and the gang is on a mission to make Tim and Lucy come clean by midnight ("secret" relationship era!)

Chenford Secret Santa 2023

For @queseraone

#chenfordsecretsanta23 #chenford #chenford fanfic #the rookie #the rookie fanfic #lucy chen #tim bradford #secret relationship #new years eve

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lonesome-witching · 4 months

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New Year's Eve

Not promted by anyone but I had to write something for New Year's Eve this year. So here is a short ronance story surrounding New Year's Eve. Does this make sense? Who knows? Is it cute? I think so. Am I overtly obsessed with these two? Most definitely and I will remain so in 2024. Happy New Year (it's still a few hours for me but well, time is an illusion anyway).

Jonathan had brought a new girl. Nancy didn’t really care. She wondered how he had met her. She seemed nice enough. Pretty as well. Not that Nancy was staring.

Steve had brought a new girl as well. Not Robin, although she had been hanging of his other arm. No, a brown-haired girl with brown eyes. She had smiled sheepishly in Nancy’s direction and whispered something in Steve’s ear. He had waved and she had nodded her head in acknowledgement. Robin has parted from him to actually say hi and Nancy had felt her heart speed up.

But now Robin was sitting next to Steve’s new girlfriend and she could feel the jealousy creep up her body. It wasn’t Steve or Jonathan that she wanted. It was Robin. Robin who was laughing with a joke that this other girl had said. Nancy decided she didn’t like Steve’s new girlfriend.

“What are we thinking about?” Max leaned against the kitchen counter.

Nancy shook her head. “Nothing, are you ready for 1987?”

“Can’t be worse than ’86.” Max took a sip of her drink. “So, will you be kissing Robin at midnight?”

Nancy nearly choked on her own saliva. “I— I don’t think I’ll be kissing anyone at midnight.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Her eyes returned to where Robin sat. She regretted throwing this thing. But her mom thought she should live a little. And now she was sipping a lukewarm beer that she never wanted to drink in the first place while staring at a girl who was clearly not interested. She could have been in bed already, staring at her ceiling and dreaming of Robin’s lips. Somehow that sounded better than standing here.

“You should go for it, you know,” Max said. Her fingers were circling the top of the glass.

“Will you be kissing Lucas at midnight?” Nancy shot back. She wasn’t entirely sure if the two were back together or not. She thought they were.

Max lifted her shoulders. “Probably.”

Nancy smiled at her. She put her glass down and sighed. “Is it obvious?”

“Your crush on Robin? Not really. You just have a look in your eyes.”

“A look?”

“Yeah, like you’re trying to will her to make a move. She’s not going to. And it’s not because she doesn’t want to but it’s because you always look away when she looks at you.”

“Excuse me.” Nancy already made a move for the stairs. She didn’t care enough about the amount of people in her basement, she needed to be alone.

“Where are you going? It’s nearly midnight,” Max called out. Nancy ignored her and ran to her room.

She didn’t bother closing the door. Instead dropping face first on her mattress. Who cared about New Year’s Eve anyway? It was overrated. A New Year’s kiss was overrated too. She remembered the ones she shared with Steve and later Jonathan. A quick peck on the lips in a crowded room and then the shouts of people wishing you a happy new year. She didn’t need that tonight. She’d be fine.

“Are you alright?”

Nancy shot up from the bed, turning around with a soft blush on her cheeks. Robin was looking at her.

“I’m fine. It was just a bit crowded down there. I needed a minute,” Nancy replied. She hoped it sounded believable.

“It’s nearly midnight.” Robin walked into the room, closing the door behind her. Maybe she would make the first move. Maybe Max was wrong.

“Yes, but that’s all it is, isn’t it? Just another midnight.”

Robin smiled at her. “It is the start of a new year.”

“And a year is just a year.” Nancy shuffled out of the way, offering Robin a seat on the bed. Robin took it. Her knee bumped into Nancy’s leg.

“I disagree. ’87 will be different.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I have decided it will be my year.” Robin fell down on the bed.

Nancy hesitated before laying down as well. “Is that your New Year’s resolution?”

“No, my New Year’s resolution is to kiss this girl I like. I got 365 days to make it happen.”

The blush on Nancy’s cheeks got a bit redder. She was hopeful. Robin didn’t know all that many people. But neither did Jonathan and he had a new girlfriend. So, maybe there was someone else for Robin too. Another girl that Robin wanted to kiss at midnight.

“What about you?” Robin asked, poking her finger into the bare skin of Nancy’s arm.

“Not dying maybe.”

“That’s a great start. Can’t have you dying on me, Nance. What else?”

Nancy smiled. “You only have one thing.”

“Mine is already unrealistic enough.”

“I don’t think it is.”

Downstairs people started shouting. It sounded muffled and was overpowered by the melodic sound of Robin’s laugh. It was magical.

Nancy leaned in slowly. Her heart was beating fast. The rest of the world vanished around her as Robin’s eyes widened and then fell shut. Nancy stalled, feeling Robin’s breath on her lips. She should pull back. She couldn’t. She held her breath as she pressed her lips against Robin’s. Robin’s hands reached up to hold Nancy’s face close as she started moving her lips. Her thumb stroking over Nancy’s cheek.

Nancy could feel the heat spread through her body. She could see fireworks behind her eyelids. Her skin tingled where Robin touched her.

Robin pushed up, keeping their lips connected for one more second before pulling away. Outside bright red fireworks went off. “Happy New Year, Nance.”

“Happy New Year,” Nancy replied, still slightly dazed.

Robin leaned in to peck Nancy’s lips again. And again. And again. “It seems I’ve already achieved my resolution.”

“Yeah? Looks like it really will be your year then.”

“Hell yes.” Robin pecked Nancy’s lips again and this time Nancy held her there. Her hands reaching up into Robin’s hair to keep her from pulling away. She wasn’t ready for the kiss to end.

“Actually,” Nancy started as she finally pulled away, “I think it will be my year too.”

Robin’s lips curved into a bright smile.

#ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #my work #stranger things #fanfic #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #ficlet #new year's eve

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finkinthisfrew · 7 months

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New Years Eve (Pt.1)

New Years Eve

Part 1 - Last Year

Sitting in the car with the radio playing, you listen to the soft folk music coming from the stereo alone, accompanied only by your slow deep breaths in and out, and the occasional heavy gust of wind that whipped the falling snow against your windshield. You sit with your eyes closed, absentmindedly flipping your phone over and over in your lap as you try to prepare yourself for the evening ahead.

You’re parked outside of the restaurant, and the absolute last thing you want to do is go inside. The last time you checked the bookings for tonight, you wanted to find the nearest toilet and throw up, and knowing how busy the place normally gets, and considering it's New Years Eve, you know that it’s only going to be worse tonight. You wanted to take the night off to avoid the shit-storm that was inevitably about to happen and instead spend your first New Years Eve as a couple together with Matty on the couch watching old movies and cuddling while hiding away from the snowstorm. You definitely could have had the night off if you’d asked- you’d worked as a server and bartender at the restaurant for years now and the owners adored you. You could pretty much request whatever days off you wanted, but you were trying to save up money for an anniversary gift for Matty, and you were still short by quite a bit.

The tips… focus on the tips…

You meditated to yourself over and over.

The last time you worked New Year's Eve at the restaurant, you walked home with more than a week's worth of tips in your purse. You also remembered breaking down and crying multiple times during that shift, so the tips weren’t exactly enough to distract you from the nightmare of tonight's shift. Not to mention, that was all before the big article listing it as the best restaurant in the city was published, making it more popular this year than it's ever been.

The feeling of your phone vibrating in your lap shakes you out of your trance and you quickly pick it up to read the text.

Matty❤️Baby: Good luck tonight petal- I love you❤️

Your stomach flips and you sigh with happiness at his words as you begin to reminisce about how you met...

You and Matty started dating almost a year ago- you’d met at a New Year's Eve party that you almost hadn’t attended. Your very rich entrepreneur socialite influencer friend, Mia, who you’d known since high school, was throwing a big, fancy invitation-only party at her penthouse downtown. The dress code was formal, and though you thought you looked quite nice in your outfit- a simple champagne-coloured silk dress- you couldn’t help but feel underdressed when you and your friend walked into a giant living room full of suits and borderline gowns.

“Oh god, this was a bad idea…” you said to Bri, clutching her arm anxiously as you scanned the room.

“Don’t start with me,” she scolded you. "You promised we'd stay until midnight!" She reminded you, so you shut your mouth and let her pull you further into the massive apartment. You walked down the steps hand in hand and into the sunken living room the size of what felt like it could be an airplane hangar.

“This place is insane, I can’t believe you know someone this rich. Jesus Mary and Joseph, look at the size of that couch!" she said as she finally tore her eyes from the view, dragging you towards the centre of the room where an enormous couch the size of your entire apartment sat against the backdrop of a giant wall of windows that looked out on the city lights. You couldn't help but laugh as Bri bent over to feel the plushness of the rug with her hands. "We need to hang out with this girl more often,” she said in awe as she studied the luxurious apartment.

“Maybe we should go…” You began again, realizing how few people you recognized at the party.

“Oh, we can’t go-” she said a matter of factly, her tone catching you off guard. “That guy across the room has been eye-fucking you since we left the elevator.”

And she was right. He hadn’t take his eyes off of you though from the moment you entered the room. You looked over at him, but immediately looked away. You were instantly intimidated by him- he was too handsome in his suit- the most charming bowtie tied round his neck, his hair slicked back casually and a single silver hoop hanging from his ear, all accompanied by the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful tentative smile directed solely at you.

Luckily, right at that moment, Mia swooped in, thrilled you made it and immediately began gabbing your ear off about the attendees.

Much to your shaken heart’s detriment, the person she was most eager to gab about was none other than Mr. Eye-Fucker himself.

Mia gushed to you for a solid half-hour about how hot and talented he was- apparently he was in a pretty accomplished band. He was a rockstar too? As if you had a real shot with him... This stuff only happened in movies- it was too good to be true. Naturally, you spent the evening avoiding his frequent glances and convincing yourself he wasn’t looking at you.

Several rounds of tequila shots later, Mia eagerly rounded everyone up for a game.

“Everyone, come, come! Sit down in a circle- yes, you too George, don't be such a baby!” She pointed accusingly at the tall handsome man sitting on the couch rolling his eyes. As you looked over at George, you could see, from the corner of your eye, his face pointed directly at you. His stare felt like fire on your skin, and you burned with curiosity.

Finally, you let yourself look. You regretted looking immediately- the bright red that adorned your face once you finally saw his warm brown eyes pouring into your soul was mortifying- though you found out only a few weeks later that your blushing face was what properly pushed him from being interested to completely falling for you.

Everyone sat down in a large circle under the guiding eye of Mia. Some people were focused on trying to look casual instead of incredibly awkward due to their restrictive formal attire keeping them from sitting comfortably, but almost everyone looked intrigued and curious about what was going to happen next. Mia disappeared, running into the kitchen before skipping giddily back into the room with a wide grin on her face, hiding something behind her back.

“So,” she began smugly, “As we all know, it’s New Years Eve, and you all received personal invitations to this party. What you don’t know…” she paused dramatically, “Is that everyone in this room… is single!”

The room fell silent.

This was so typical of Mia. There’s nothing that girl loved more than romance and gossip, and what better way to experience both than to invite a bunch of singles to snog at her house? You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

Everyone’s faces turned to look at you, and suddenly you realized you hadn’t laughed in your head- you had laughed out loud. But the only face you noticed was the one that hadn’t turned- because he had already been looking at you.

A couple people joined in with nervous laughter, and you were grateful for them, but he continued to watch you.

“I thought,” Mia continued, grabbing everyone's attention again, “That it might be fun to make sure that everyone has a midnight kiss. So, I propose,” she said as she pulled a bottle of Champagne out from behind her back, “that we play a game of spin the bottle to help us choose our partners!” Mia scanned the circle with excitement, but all she got in return was nervous silence. When her eyes met yours, begging you to join in on her enthusiasm, a voice across from you broke the silence.

“That sounds fun”

It was your turn to stare at him. He said it so earnestly, so softly, offering Mia a kind smile- one that you think you would have fainted from if you’d been on the receiving end. He was so unfathomably handsome.

“Exactly, Matty. Thank you!” Mia replied approvingly, sending him back an overly flirtatious smile, but he’d already looked away, reaching for a glass of wine he’d rested on the end table beside him.

Matty. What a cute name.

You thought to yourself.

As people began to tentatively voice their willingness to participate, you watched as Matty sipped his wine. Suddenly flickering up from the glass, his eyes caught yours. You could feel him take hold of your gut, yanking it towards him where he sat across from you, holding you close to him- tightly. It was visceral.

“Alright,” Mia said loudly, shaking you from the tense exchange and causing you to look away. You could still feel his eyes on you as she spoke, “I’ve gone ahead and put everyone’s names in a hat- when I draw your name, spin the bottle. Whoever it lands on, introduce yourself, get to know each other, and they’ll be your kiss when the clock strikes midnight!”

You were terrified of the thought of being paired up with Matty, yet every time Mia pulled out a new name from the hat, you caught yourself hoping it would be his, and every time someone else spun the bottle, you found yourself praying it didn’t land on you.

As new couples paired up, one after the other eagerly slinking away to find a quiet corner to introduce themselves, the numbers around the circle dwindled. Suddenly there were only four of you left. Mia finally pulled her name from the hat, excitedly spinning the bottle and sneaking glances up at Matty as it spun. You held your breath and watched in slow motion as it slowed to a stop. It pointed at the boy sat next to Matty- a plainly handsome blonde with bright blue eyes. You watched Mia shrug to herself and smile as she skipped over to the boy (who looked a bit scared, to be quite honest), introducing herself boldly as they walked off.

You realized then as you watched the train of Mia’s long sparkling gown finally disappear around the corner that you were alone with him.

His energy filled the entire room, snapping around you with electricity. The silence screamed at you, magnifying the intensity of his gaze which you felt nuzzling against the cheek of your turned face. You couldn’t avoid the pull of his eyes any longer. You let yours travel over to him slowly, easing into his stare like wading into the shallow end of the pool. Of course, you fell right in any way, your heart immediately drowning in his warmth, his smile pulling you in like a warm hug.

“Hello, love,” he said warmly.

“Hi,” you managed to squeak out. You cursed yourself internally for sounding so timid and weak, but you were too overwhelmed to act any other way.

“I guess Mia didn’t account for the awkwardness when pairing up strangers with the expectation to kiss,” Matty said with a bashful chuckle as he scratched the back of his head.

“No, she definitely didn’t,” you laughed as you rolled your eyes in agreeance. “She’s not one to really care, though. She’s always been fearless like that,” you continued thoughtfully.

“How do you know Mia?” Matty asked curiously, crossing his arms over his knee as he looked at you attentively from across the now invisible circle.

“Well we met back in - Oh fuck it, this distance is absurd…” You grumbled, gesturing to the good 20 or so feet between the two of you, causing Matty to laugh. You sighed as you stood up, and were happy to see Matty’s face of pleasant surprise when you came over to sit next to him. “We went to high school together. We’ve drifted in and out of friendship since then, but she always invites me to all her parties. She’s really great like that- getting me out of the house,” you explained as you sat down.

“So you’re a bit of a homebody then?” He probed further, leaning towards you subconsciously as he listened.

You chatted for a bit about your lives, and you learned from him he was in a band that toured often, but that he also was a homebody just like you.

“…but if it’s up to me, I prefer spending my free time at home… I’m always traveling, so any chance I get to be home, I take it. I actually wanted to stay home tonight originally but my friend George dragged me here instead- I can’t remember how he knows Mia. I think they met at some event? Or another party? He was telling me this yesterday but I was too busy trying to come up with an excuse not to come… Anyways… doesn’t matter…” he trailed off in a frown, seemingly catching himself in his rambling and scolding himself inwardly.

“Oh, I’m the same way! I’d much rather be at home than at this party,” you said in enthusiastic agreement. You watched in horror as his face fell, his smile faltering as your words stung him. You felt his heart break- its crack reverberating through yours as if it were your own. You quickly corrected yourself. “Or- I did. I did feel that way about tonight- until we started talking,” you stumbled through your words, correcting yourself desperately. “I’m having a nice time now... A really nice time,” you finished, cutting yourself off quickly before you could say anything else too cheesy. The only thing that scared you more than talking to him right now was the thought of the conversation ending. You didn’t have to worry though- Matty wasn’t going anywhere. He'd stay as you as long as you let him- he was entirely captivated by you.

You were rewarded generously for your words, Matty’s face beaming at you with adoration. The arms you leaned back on nearly buckled as his smile took your breath away, his eyes crinkling sweetly at you.

“I’m having a nice time too. I’m really glad I came,” he said earnestly, glancing you up and down, making your skin tingle with flattery.

You sat in silence together smiling bashfully at each other for a bit. Somehow the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable.

“Sorry you got stuck with me,” you finally mumbled, almost to yourself.

“What?” Matty asked with a frown.

“You didn’t even get to spin the bottle,” you explained. “You technically didn’t even choose me- that’s a bit gutting, don’t you think? That you kind of got stuck with me,” you finished with a shrug. Matty only shook his head, a small smile dancing on his lips.

“That’s not true at all. You could argue that being the only ones to not have our names drawn or the bottle landed on is an even better way of being chosen. We didn’t get a bottle- we got fate,” he offered sweetly with a charming grin. You swooned internally, but fought to keep your head screwed on right, unwilling to let yourself believe he was being anything other than kind. Especially not romantic. Being romantic would mean he was actually interested in you, and that couldn’t possibly be the case… could it?

“You don’t have to kiss me, by the way,” he said lightly, breaking the silence that had resurfaced after you didn’t respond to his comment about fate.

There we go. This makes much more sense.

You thought to yourself confidently, realizing he didn’t want to kiss you. The pang of sadness that hit you was excruciating, and you couldn’t fathom coming up with a reasonable response, so you instead stared at the carpet under his feet.

“Just to be clear,” he began slowly, speaking evenly, treading lightly around your shattered heart, “I’d love to kiss you. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to because of a game,” he clarified.

And suddenly, your heart was whole again. In fact, it felt even better than before. Actually, better than it ever had. You didn’t know what to say. You were too shocked by… everything. By his kindness, by how gentlemanly he was, by how sweet he was, by how handsome he looked, but above all, by those five words.

I’d love to kiss you.

You would’ve kissed him then and there- if you had any balls whatsoever. But you didn’t, so instead you sat there looking dumbstruck as you frantically tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t give away the complete meltdown you were suffering from internally.

“Same goes for you…” you manage to say. It took everything in you to keep yourself from smacking your hand to your forehead in embarrassment as Matty cocked an eyebrow up at you in intrigued confusion.

He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself when multiple voices entered the room.

The evening continued as the various partners reentered the living room, once again mingling with each other, some even starting a dance floor as the music was slowly turned up throughout the night. But you and Matty stayed there at the foot of the couch chatting. You chatted effortlessly for hours, yet it felt like no time passed. The more you spoke, the more natural it felt- though the knot of desire inside your chest never lessened. It only grew as you got to know him, his kind and giving nature so clear as he asked you thoughtful questions, answering your own questions just as thoughtfully. He was funny, charming, interesting, and incredibly sweet. You never wanted it to end.

You were in the midst of listening to Matty explain the new song he’d been writing when Bri shocked you back into the real world.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you slag!” she said drunkenly, crashing you back to reality as she took both of your hands and pulled you up. You looked back at Matty apologetically, but he only smiled and offered a little understanding wave goodbye as Bri dragged you off to tell you all about her new midnight kiss partner, Robbie.

As you lit your second cigarette, Bri finally came up for air from her story about Robbie, stubbing out her own cigarette butt on the terrace of the giant patio that overlooked the city lights. It was just the two of you out there, the faint thud of the bass drifting over to the loveseat you’d snuggled up on.

“So,” your best friend began as she plucked your lighter from your hand, lighting up her own second cigarette of the evening before throwing her arm back around your shoulders. “You got paired up with that musician guy who was looking at you. What was his name again?”

“Matty,” you said softly, your eyes glazing over as you remembered his face. Well, that was a lie. You didn’t need to remember his face because it had been etched into your heart from the moment he’d spoken to you. It was all you could think about while Bri had been telling you about her new boy.

“Yeah, Matty, thanks,” Bri said as she took another puff from her cigarette. “Sooo,” she nudged you playfully, “what do you think of him?”

“He’s really nice. He asked a lot of thoughtful questions. He seems like a nice person…” you said, a little too swept away in it all to expand just yet.

“Aaaaaand…?” Bri prodded, wiggling her eyebrows at you knowingly. You knew she wouldn’t stop until you told her what she wanted to hear.

“Well, he’s quite handsome…” you admitted.

“Well that’s very kind of you to say,” you heard him say behind you.

You froze, locking your eyes on a skyscraper ahead of you as Bri whipped her head round to see who had spoken, but you already knew. You didn’t need to look.

“Hi there, I’m Matty,” he offered his hand kindly, stepping closer to where you sat. You couldn’t look at him- you were too mortified.

“I’m Brianna,” Bri responded, trying to stifle her laugh as she shook his hand. She failed pretty miserably. You shoved her, momentarily satisfied by her yelp of protest, but were soon dissatisfied when Matty caught your eye. He was too far from you. You knew then that any distance between you two, no matter how small, would leave you wholly dissatisfied- forever.

“There’s only a few minutes left until midnight- Mia’s been gathering everyone in the living room for the big moment…” he said bashfully, gesturing behind him at the party with his thumb, then ran his fingers through his hair. You remembered how he did it earlier and how the flip-flop in your stomach was only stronger the second time. Pitiful, how obsessed you were with this stranger you barely knew.

“A few minutes?!” Bri exclaimed, hopping up in shock. “I need to go find Robbie!”

You both watched as Bri trotted off the patio and back into the depths of the party to find Robbie.

Once again you were enveloped in silence, the presence of Matty turning the air around you electric.

“Can I join you?” Matty asked, pointing at the now empty seat beside you, “-unless you’d rather go back to the party?”

“No, no,” you said, shuffling yourself to the side to make room for him where you’d sat up against Bri previously. “Sit,” you offered.

Matty sat down next to you, your legs almost touching, and you could tell by the look on his face he was mulling something over.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you and Brianna,” he said, his eyes sincere with apology.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you said as you offered him your cigarette. He accepted it gladly, and you tried not to let his hollowing cheeks and furrowing brow distract you too much as you spoke, “Bri would have killed me if she missed this midnight kiss thing. She seems a bit obsessed with her partner.”

“And you?” Matty asked suddenly, his lips parting softly, their pinkness framed gloriously by the smoke that trailed out of his perfect mouth. You froze, hoping dearly that it was dark enough for your now blushing cheeks to go unnoticed.

“I’m… happy,” you managed to say, internally relieved you didn’t say what you actually wanted to say which was that obsessed wasn’t a strong enough word for the infatuation you felt towards him from the moment you met.

“Happy? Oof, well I’m definitely convinced now…” he said teasingly with a chuckle as he handed you back the cigarette.

“No, no! I’m very happy, genuinely! I’m sorry, I can be so thick sometimes…” you said as you shook your head, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“It’s okay, I’m happy too,” he said with a breathtaking smile, leaning closer to you. You were surprised you had anything in your lungs to exhale. “I’m… I came out here to confess something to you actually,” he said timidly.

“And what was that?” You gulped, offering him the cigarette again. He reached to take it from you, but as he took the cigarette with one hand, his other cupped yours, his fingers closing around your palm.

“I was hoping it would land on you,” he said, his eyes looking down at your hands. “The bottle, I mean. I wanted it to be you,” he said as his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours.

Your head spun, but you knew it wasn’t a head rush. It was love. And how stupid could you be, thinking that what you felt with this handsome rockstar who'd spent the entire evening being devoured by everyone's hungry eyes, who couldn't possibly be as besotted as you, was love?

But, to hell with it. It was New Year's Eve and you hadn’t kissed anyone in ages and this boy was here by choice, saying kind things to you. Who were you to say no to a little holiday romance, even if it meant you were certain to be left with a broken heart.

You leaned into him, just slightly, but that was all he needed. He smiled as he put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

“15… 14…” you heard people chanting from the living room, the numbers growing in volume as midnight came closer and closer.

“Matty,” you said quietly. His eyes turned to meet yours as he nodded, squeezing your hand with attentiveness.

“I’m glad we got stuck with each other,” you whispered, leaning deeper into him.

He utterly beamed at your words, slowly lowering his face towards yours.

“I’m glad we didn’t get chosen,” he said, his breath lapping delicately at your lips, less than an inch away now as they hovered close to your skin. His lips brushed against yours, and he whispered, “I much prefer fate.”

“Happy New Year!” Everyone yelled in chorus as midnight struck, but neither of you heard them. You’d been swept away to another dimension, the moon, sun and stars all swirling around you as you kissed, your lips like long-lost lovers from a past life, pressing confession after confession into each other. Your arms wrapped around one another, the feeling of relief sweeping through your body.

Finally.

You could feel your body sigh. It felt like you were meant to do this all along. And somehow, weeks before Matty would confirm this himself, you could tell that he felt the same way as you.

Now, almost exactly one year later, you sat in Matty’s car you'd driven over alone to your works parking lot, reminiscing about last year as you were about to walk into what was bound to be a nightmare.

The tips… The tips…

You remind yourself as you ask yourself for the billionth time why oh why you’re opting to miss your first New Years Eve together with Matty as a couple.

You inhale deeply, then exhale, watching your breath dissipate in the cold air as you grab your bag and walk out into the snow covered parking lot.

This better be worth it…

You grumble to yourself internally.

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