squeaky-reaper

[fortunatelycolorfulgay]

GUYS WTF I WAS LOOKING AT CHARACTERS AND THE TIMELINE. CAUSE A POST MADE ME DIVE INTO LORE AGAIN AND GING IS 9 YEARS??? OLDER THAN MITO?????? You guys do realize that means if he had Gon in his early 20s mito would’ve been a TEENAGER when he came back and dropped off Gon???? LIKE NO WONDER SHE WAS MAD ID BE PISSED TOO I thought they were like 4 years apart and it was like no big deal or something…. Wait SHE WAS 4 WHEN HE LEFT TO BE A HUNTER HOW DOES SHE REMEMBER THAT WHAT THe FU—— HUH????!??

[angel13xo]

the chimera ant arc is so fuckin long like omfg 😭💀😭 PLZ SPARE ME FROM THESE FREAKY ASS BUGS WHAT THE HELL IS TAKIN IT SO DAMN LONG IT ENDS AT episode 136?!?! IM ONLY ON EPSIODE 87 WHAT WHY IS IT SO LONG FOR ITS JUST SOME MURATED ANTS BRO

[boiohboii]

If she's around.

(Lando norris x leclerc!reader)

When lando decides to make a video along with two of his friends for their YouTube channel his girl of course had to make an appearance

or

In which ethan and ginge are always reminded of the fact that they are single.

Masterlist

N.b: just inspired by the new quadrant video, I loved it, obviously I have no idea if ginge or ethan are single or not, but for the purpose of this fic they don't... WARNINGS: not proof read, some swear words here and there (friends jokingly insulting each other), sexual implicantions?.... and I think that's it? If I missed anything else lmk please.

Ethan and Ginge did not think this through. They obviously got too excited about the idea and did not sit down to actually think about the consequences.

What are the consequences? That damn breakfast that Lando Norris is having them eat.

"This is criminal mate, I can see some good fucking food in there."

Ginge complained as he placed the cup underneath his nose, trying to see if the smell is as bad as the food looks.

"Ah no no, I can't give you that."

"Well, why not? It sure as hell doesn't look like you threw it up."

"That's the missus' breakfast, she'll kill me if I let you eat it."

Now, lando was just messing around. Yn was well aware of the fact that his friends were coming over and she prepared extra food in case they deviate from the video's plan.

"The missus?" Ginge asked as he took the spoon from the f1 driver "who is she? And why have I never seen her before?"

"What are you talking about, you've seen her before."

"I think I'd remember if I've seen a girlfriend of yours mate."

"You have ginge." Ethan answered as he looked at the red head "in one of the streams."

Farrowing his eyebrows ginge tried to remember, he was sure he had never seen lando with a girl before, he would definitely remember if- oh. oh. oh.

"No," ginge gasped as he looked at lando with uncertainty "no way mate. She is not your girlfriend."

"Umm, yes she is."

"No she's not."

"Yes, she is!"

"No, no she's not! She is too pretty for you."

Ethan chocked as he looked at Lando's disbelief of what his friend has said.

"Don't look at me like that! You know that she is too pretty for you"

Blinking, lando shrugged in agreement.

"Simp" ginge scoffed as he took a bite out of his breakfast.

"Well, i don't blame him man, have you seen yn."

"Looks like I will double the weights during training" lando has malice behind his smile, which made the two instantly shut up.

Interview room(ANGRYGINGE has a fear of flying)

" I'll be honest, I still believe that yn leclerc is way too pretty for lando. Like yeah sure he's an f1 driver but like aren't 2 of her brothers drivers as well. It would be so funny if they crashed into lando if he pissed her of or made her sad or something, a whole new meaning to the I will run you over threat."

"What time do you go to bed?"

"Ummm, depends."

"On?"

"If the missus is around, dirty bastard." Ginge answered "now, be honest, what time did you go to bed last night?"

"It was, um, it was early."

"You are lying through your teeth mate, I can see those dark circles."

"Hello boys."

"Dirty bastard." Ginge and ethan laughed harder at the coincidence.

"Hello love." Lando chuckled at her confused face as he pecked her forehead.

"What is going on?" Leaning onto his chest, yn looked at the two guests, wondering about their choice of words being the response to her greetings.

"Oh don't worry about it," wrapping his arm around her waist Lando rests his chin on her head " they were just asking if you being with me makes me go to bed at a later time than usual."

"Oh," yn giggled "i guess they're right? Sometimes we stay up reading a book or watching a movie, it depends on what's near us on the bedside table."

"Alright," lando started before taping yn's stomach and pointing to the firdge " you should have your breakfast and we should go back to what we were doing, yeah?"

Humming in agreement, yn turned around and leaned up to give lando a kiss on the cheek, but upon hearing ginge groan, the formula driver grabbed his girlfriend's neck from the front, redirecting her head so that their lips would meet.

"Oh come on mate, no need to rub it in!"

Being in the small makeshift home gym that lando has, the three brits started discussing what exercises they would be doing.

"First we'll start with a warm up, normally there's a few bands" looking around the room, lando tried to remember where he placed them last "they might be in our bedroom."

"How did the workout band made it into the bedroom?" Ethan asked as he started wiggling his eyebrows at ginge.

"Hey sweetheart," Lando's voice could be heard calling out "do you know where my exercise bands are?"

"They're in the bedroom," yn exclaimed "on your bedside table."

Ethan's eyebrows stopped mid movements while ginge's jaw dropped down "went to bed early lando, ehh, yeah yeah sure!"

Monitoring his friends' forms in a workout was not lando thought he would be doing on a day off where yn was with him without one of her brother's breathing down their necks. Speaking of his lovely girlfriend, lando saw her in one of his mclaren shirts and a short in the hallway, on her way to their bedroom he'd assume, with a bowl of what was either watermelons or strawberries.

"Sweetheart," lando spoke, ignoring the task at hand "can I have some please?"

"Of course mon soleil"

Entering the room, yn took a look at both boys before going straight to her boyfriend. Lando's friends were glaring daggers at him as he just placed his hand on the back of yn's hands as she placed a piece of watermelon in his mouth, making him hum pleasantly at the sweetness that filled his mouth.

"This is so unfair." Ginge complained

"I know mate, such bullshit, we should get to eat that as well."

"Yeah sure." lando agreed as yn placed another piece in his awaiting mouth.

"Well, now you're just being a dick. Come on yn, I want some as well."

"Are you asking my girl to feed you?"

"You're not letting me out of this workout anytime soon now, are you?"

"I think you should add weights onto their backs," yn stated as she smiled innocently at ginge and ethan "Charles, Arthur and Enzo always fo that to each other for the hell of it."

"Oh, you are evil miss leclerc, truly evil."

Ethan watched as lando told ginge to not lean with the weights pushing his neck, it was tough and they only had like a third of what lando usually does.

"So, who usually does this with you? Like you have to have someone to like push the weights, right?"

"Yeah yeah, usually it's my trainer, but then when something comes up or I just feel like training on my own it's yn who's helping."

"Oh look at him just rubbing it in that he has a girlfriend."

"Oh god," lando laughed in disbelief "you're the one who asked."

"The important question is," ginge started as he removed the equipment from his forehead "can yn do this? Like the neck training."

Lando stayed quite, thinking if he'd ever seen his girlfriend doing it or if her or her brothers ever mentioned that she does it. "No, I don't think so. Hold on."

Leaving the room, lando headed into the bedroom having a quick discussion away from the camera and the mics.

"So," lando said as he entered the room with yn behind him "yn will be doing the neck training, we'll go with 5 kilos."

"How about 10?" Yn asked as she took a seat on the bench

"What?"

"Well, for a while charles was convinced I'd get into a car crash and he took me training with him for like a year or something, it was insane."

"I'm sorry, what?"

[toppersjeep]

Landos Girl ~ Lando Norris X Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I got this idea while watching ginge’s and landos new video. so basically you show up to landos when he’s filming with ginge and you join in on the fun. you’ve been dating Lando for a while now. you work with him at McLaren as a pr manger. that’s how you two met!

(a little fluff, mentions of smut but no actual)

Your POV

I opened the door to Lando’s apartment with my key. I set my bag down and took my shoes off. Knowing I’d be staying for a while.

“Lan” I said. “In the kitchen” Lando said. “Oh hello are you filming” I said. “Yeah a quadrant video I meant to text you” Lando said. “All good I had a major McLaren meeting so” I said. “No way is that the Y/N in the flesh” Ginge said. “Ginge” I said.

“Guys I’m shaking Lando’s girl in person” Ginge said I laughed. “It’s nice to officially meet you” I said shaking his hand. “Don’t worry I won’t try to take your man yet” Ginge said. “Oh you won’t even get a try” I said. “Oh shit she is a bit scary huh” Ginge said.

“So.. I’ll let you guys film then because I am not eating whatever he eats for breakfast” I said. “What she doesn’t have to eat it” Ginge said. “She should” lando said. “No thanks I had a bagel earlier” I said going to sit on the couch.

“Damn and you couldn’t bring us any the hell” Ginge said. “Ooops” I said. “She doesn’t share her food you know” Lando said. “Well that’s rude” Ginge said.

A little while later…

I got up off the couch. I then saw Lando and Ginge working out. I stood in the doorway.

“Have her try the head pull thingy” Ethan said.“I think she does that with Lando off camera” Ginge said. “Oh my god” I said laughing. “Jeez mate” Lando said. “What we know you do” Ginge said.

“What’s next” I said. “Uhh landos turn” Ethan said. “I wanna see you guys pull him I’m intrigued” I said sitting on the floor. “As long as you do it too” Lando said. “Fine” I said. Ginge went first and pulled Lando. “My god he’s not even flinching” Ginge said.

“It feels quite nice” Lando said I laughed. “Really your weird mate” Ginge said. Ethan then did it. “Come on slow and hard” Ginge said. I laughed. “Oh be quiet over there with your dirty mind” Ethan said. “I didn’t say anything yet” I said.

“Keyword is yet” Lando said. Ethan the pulled the bands back. “What the heck so you even feel that” Ethan said. “It just feels nice” Lando said. “Alright your turn” Ethan said I got up. “Come on baby” Lando said. “I have like no muscles” I said. “You got it love” Lando said. I pulled it a little bit.

“No muscles my ass” Ginge said. “That’s good” Lando said. “Okay” I said stopping. “He’s flexing his jaw muscles now” Ethan said. “That’s so hot” Ginge said we all laughed.

We then went to eat some lunch.

“This is like rabbit food” Ginge said. “I just want some pizza” I said. “Don’t start pizza sounds good” Lando said. After we finished eating we went to show Ginge and Ethan around Monaco.

“I’m getting shotgun by the way” I said. “Ughhh fine” Ginge said getting in the backseat with Ethan. “So how long have you two been dating” Ethan asked. As Lando drove.

“Uhhh like a year almost two” I said. “Met her at McLaren well I kinda knew of her before” Lando said. “Oh really” Ginge said. “I worked at Willam’s with George but I wasn’t very social” I said. “Really you not social” Ethan said.

“Ughhh I guess I was just anxious about making friends” I said. “But then I did make friends and got a new job” I said. “I guess I brought out her fun side as she says” Lando said. “That’s nice” Ethan said. “Well you two do seem perfect but I’m still jealous” Ginge said.

“He’s mine Ginge” I said. “You win you win” Ginge said jokingly. “Hope everyone is hungry” Lando said. We all ate dinner and shared stories. I sat beside Lando. “Desert was so good” Ginge said. “You two go out every night or no” Ethan asked.

“Not too often it’s quite expensive” I said. Lando then licked the plate clean. “Oh my god” Ginge said. “Damn I really wish I was that plate right now” I said. Everyone laughed. “Oh my and she says she’s shy” Ethan said. Lando just looked at me all red.

“What” I said looking at Lando. “You got him all flustered” Ginge said. “You can be the plate later” Lando said. “Oh lord” Ethan said. “Get these two love birds a room” Ginge said. “Oh I’ll get one later on” Lando said. “Lord” I said.

“You two are perfect honestly with those out of pocket things” Ginge said. “Oh I know” Lando said. After we dropped them off we went back to our apartment. I kicked my shoes off and attempted to lay on the couch.

But Lando grabbed my arm.

“You wanted to be the plate so badly” Lando said. “I still do” I said. “So come on then” Lando said leading me to our room.

____

[vivwritesfics]

rn I'm thinking about lando streaming. more specifically him streaming with another chair beside him. his partner is in that chair, doing her own thing.

his stream with max or ginge is chaos and he's having the best time. it's loud and fun and lando is doing whatever the hell he wants. he had his headset on, so his partner can only hear the things coming out of his mouth.

most of it makes no sense out of context. his partner can't help but laugh as he shouts random things.

what is his partner doing, I hear you ask? well, this is a purely self indulgent blurb. they're sat there, knitting, crocheting, drawing. something crafty. a moment of peace on the stream, something his fans can look at when the chaos is too chaotic.

and you know he takes a moment and gets her to show what she's doing. the process on her drawing or her crafty project.

say she's knitting, whoever he's streaming with asks for a hat. this leads to her designing neon green ln4 beanies and bucket hats

anyway I'm thinking about a lando x streamee reader thing

[crusty-chronicles]

HxH Men Throwing Down with their S/O's Plushies

Synopsis: How hxh men react to your plushie collection, and if they'd fight them when you're not there.

An: I'm tired of all the fine men being ignored in the HxH fandom. Here's a Valentine's Day special of some of my favorites who are always overlooked for the most white bread, cardboard personality, toxic men.*cough cough* adult trio* cough cough*

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

Leorio 🩺

100% fights your plushies

Without a doubt he throws down with them when you're not there. Even when you're in the room he's throwing hands.

And it is personal 😤

You've caught him on several occasions saying- "Think you can sleep next to my girl/man and get away with it?!? You homewrecker!!!!”

It's honestly really funny to see him put one of your giant bears in a headlock.

But you have to stop him before he tears it because those things are expensive goddamit.

“Leave him alone. I've had him for about ten years and I doubt you could find me another one. So drop him,” you lecture.

And he begrudgingly drops your big teddy bear. But not before complaining that you love it more than him.

All pouty and upset until you kiss his cheek and reassure him.

“Babe, they're not alive. You have absolutely no competition for my heart.”

He knows that, but they're everywhere. Watching him with their beady little eyes from their place on your bed.

Which reminds me-

He piledrives your little plushies when you're not in the room.

If he had it his way, they'd all be locked away somewhere.

But because he loves you with his whole heart, he moves them away from your side of the bed to his.

What? Those little bastards thought they'd get to sleep next to you when he's home? Not a chance!

He hates them for the attention you give them, but he also contributes to your collection.

Whenever he's got funds to spare, he'll bring you home a new addition.

With the condition that you give him twice as many cuddles ☝️

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

Ging 🎣

He's a little less aggressive than Leorio, but he still fights your plushies.

And he fights with the intent to win.

Which more often than not leads them to getting ruined.

Tackles the absolute hell out of your big plushies. Then he'll jab it's stomach a few times.

“Getting a little too comfortable on my side, Jeremiah?”

If they're on the bed, they're on the floor when you get back.

Doesn't really do it for jealousy, but because he thinks your reaction is funny.

He'll throw one of the smaller ones off and you let out the most offended gasp.

“You stop that right now! You're gonna get him dirty! And I can't put him in the washer!”

He comes up with excuses too, just to see how much you'll let him get away with.

“That one was looking at me funny.” “You've got a place on your bed for each and every one of those little shittlings, but absolutely no room for me. It's not fair.” “I didn't get you that one, so it's under the bed where it belongs.”

The answer: you let him get away with a lot. You secretly think it's cute, but it's annoying how filthy he gets them.

He also steals them from time to time.

Totally not because he likes having something of you when he's away. What? You're crazy 🙄🙄🙄

He'll complain, but he'll always get you replacements for the ones he damages. He'll even get you the jumbo versions of the little ones.

Just because he loves you, despite his lackluster way of showing it.

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

Morel 🚬

He's pretty respectful about it

Does not fight them.

But, every man has his weakness.

So there are times when he'll pick one of the smaller ones up and inspect it. Right before he squeezes it completely in his hand.

Why does he do it? Just because.

They're like little stress balls

And it's during one of these moments of weakness that you catch him.

“You're choking out my poor frog! Let him go before his eye pops out!”

And he laughs. He thinks it's sweet how much you love these things.

Even if you've got them on shelves and they stare into his soul at night.

He makes it a habit not to smoke or use his ability in front of them.

They hold too much sentimental value to you. And the last thing he wants is for you to get upset.

But the squishing? It doesn't stop.

It's like they're begging to be smooshed.

And you never fail to get after him every time.

“Quit abusing my babies!” You scold before taking back your stuffed rabbit.

He lets you have another bed to put all your plushies on.

He's a big man 😤😤😤 He can't afford space to share with them. He also likes to sleep next to his partner undisturbed, thank you 😤.

Also contributes to your collection.

And we're not talking every once and a while.

He's got that hunter money, so if you see something you want, it's yours

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

Knov 👔

Arguably the most mature of the bunch

Your precious little babies are safe from him

It doesn't even cross his mind to fight them

That being said, your plushies aren't allowed on the bed at all ☹️

“I refuse to have my sleeping space occupied by that thing.” He said, gesturing to a very well loved seal plush. One of its eyes missing.

“What’s wrong with Samuel?”

“Look at it. The poor thing's traumatized. And you're gonna end up choking on its stuffing.”

They aren't even allowed in the bedroom on shelves.

However☝️, he does end up doing something special for you because of how much you adore your plushies.

He lets you dedicate one entire room to your collection. Buy a little bed for you to put them on. Even gets special shelves installed for you.

That's their room and theirs alone.

Also encourages you to get more now that you have ample space for them.

Every trip/mission he leaves for, he always makes sure to bring you something back.

Whether it be one of the huge bears or a little keychain plush, he gets it for you.

Definitely not a man afraid to spend on his S/O and their interest.

He also doesn't bat an eye at the attention you give them.

They mean a lot to you, but so does he judging by the way you're always ready to compromise

That and the way you cuddle closer to him at night and say-

“You're a whole lot better than even my softest of plushies.”

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

Knuckle 🐕

On a bad day, it's on sight.

Always the bigger ones too

“What're you looking at?” And then he'll wrestle whatever poor plush caught his eye first.

But he feels incredibly bad about it afterwards

Picking up your little dinosaur nugget plush with tears in his eyes.

“I'm so sorry. You're mother's/father's gonna kill me for this.”

Even goes as far as to stitch up any little holes if he damaged them.

What can I say? He's a total softie

Like many of the men on here, he does contribute to your collection.

But you also inadvertently make him start his own 💀

You'll buy one for yourself and because it needs a friend, you buy another.

Only to gift it to him because ‘They’re dating like us.’ 🥺

That's how it starts.

You start buying plushies in pairs.

One for you and one for him.

It never fails to make Knuckle cry.

“Babe really? You didn't have to.”

And he's cradling the little dog plush you got him with such care. Like it's the most delicate thing in the world.

He, of course, makes sure to get another set to pay you back.

Plushies in the bed?

100%

No complaints here.

Even memorizes the names of all of them.

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

Kurapika ⛓️

He simply does not have the energy to fight your plushies

He comes home tired and drained, understandably. And the first thing he does is collapse on the bed, right on top of them.

Doesn't think twice about it. In fact, he likes the extra cushion they provide.

And you don't mind all that much either. Kurapika does a lot. He's been through a lot.

If he wants to rest right on top of your plushies, he's more than welcome.

However, when he's not completely exhausted, he's mean to them ☹️

He'll push off the ones on his side of the bed to make space for himself. And he will not pick them up

Or he'll hide the one you usually snuggle with at night so he can cuddle you himself.

He just wants your warmth after a long day. Is that so much to ask for?

“Kurapika, have you seen my octopus plush anywhere?”

And he'll look away guiltily before mumbling a ‘No. Can't say that I have.’

But he always puts it back when he knows he'll be gone for a while.

He knows it brings you comfort, and who is he to take that away from you.

He does get pouty when you give them extra attention.

“I've been gone for a month and you're too busy cleaning that thing to greet me.” He complains.

Only for you to get up and wrap your arms around him. Giving his cheek a smooch before saying-

“You know you're precious to me. But I wouldn't be so busy cleaning my baby if you'd stop leaving him on the floor.”

He makes it up to you everytime by getting you another one.

He always makes sure to pick you something up when he comes back from searching for his clan's eyes.

A little thank you for always waiting for him and giving endless patience.

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

Kite 🪁

Another man whom your plushies are safe from

He's supportive of your collection, but all he asks is that they don't take up the entire bed.

If they do, he's a little mean about it and organizes them all on your side.

That's about as far as he goes with messing with them.

He definitely builds you shelves to keep them in

Again, the less of them in the bed, the more space you two have.

He thinks it's cute how much you care about them, and likes to indulge you by asking how you got them.

He listens to each and every story you have and why each plush is special to you.

Safe to say, this man does not get jealous

A piece of fluff with stuffing is the last thing he's worried about

That being said, he contributes less frequently to your collection than the other men on this list

He limits them to special occasions like your birthday or an anniversary.

Why?

He wants to make sure each one is attached to a special moment so you hold them just as dear as your other ones.

An import memory that you're able to hold onto

He's also careful around your plushies.

He doesn't wanna get them dirty or accidentally tear them because of how much they mean to you.

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

Wing 👓

This man right here is a 10/10

The absolute sweetest man

The thought doesn't even cross his mind to throw down with your plushies

In fact, he prides himself on taking care of them while you're out

Dusting them off, reorganizing them, stitching up any little holes he sees

Also someone who goes out of his way to memorize all their names.

Knows each one by heart because he always listens intently when you talk about them

Your big dinosaur?

That's Chungus.

The little raccoon?

Sylvester.

You want the plushies in bed?

Of course! Each one has their own special place. And he makes sure there's enough space for the both of you.

If he's got money to spare, he's definitely gonna get you something.

You don't even have to ask, he's already bringing you home a little duck plush that Zushi thought you'd like. What can he say? The kid adores you

This man doesn't get jealous whatsoever

In fact, you're the one who ends up getting pouty because he's taking fantastic care of your plushies.

“Honey, I want cuddles.” You whine.

And he's cleaning off one of your bears with a damp rag.

“In a minute, dearest. You got him dirty last night.”

But as soon as he's done, you've got his full attention

He just knows how much you love those things and wants you to be able to cherish them for as long as possible.

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

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 💕💕💕💕

[wardenparker]

New Year's Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

[darklydeliciousdesires]

John Shelby Vs. Breakfast - A John Shelby/Reader Short.

I haven't written for any of my Peaky lads in a hot minute, so I thought I'd do a little fun, fluffy piece for my fave ginge <3 Enjoy!

Words - 792

Warnings - None, just John being John!

Clattering. Swearing. Burnt toast. Those are what greet you after descending the stairs, coming into the kitchen to see perhaps the most unnatural sight in the world; John cooking. Or rather attempting to.  

“Bastard, bloody thing!” Yes, the cast iron pan handle heats up while cooking eggs and bacon in it, not that he’d realise, being a man. Naturally, he’s had a woman perform these tasks for him all his life, so why would he know that? “Oh, shit, shit, shit, not again!”  

At least this time when he reaches for hot metal, he has the sense to cover the end of the toasting fork with a kitchen towel, pulling the slices of bread from in front of the fire. “Fuckin’ hell!” 

You stand and watch it, the sexy, ginger ball of stress whirling like an agitated tornado around the space, John much too predisposed by messing up the preparation of breakfast to notice you there, his entertained audience of one.  

“Alright, I can save that. Scrape the burnt bit off. Right, kettle’s almost done. Sodding hell! How the fuck do women do this and make it look so bloody easy?” 

“Because we’re magicians,” you finally speak, watching him jump before he spins around, pointing at you through the chaos of his own making. 

“You should be in bed, still!”  

Shrugging, you approach, stroking his bare forearms, his sleeves all rolled up. “I was wide awake, so I thought I’d get up.”  

He bustles, waving his arms. “No, no. Ain’t supposed to be like this. I had a plan! Bring you breakfast in bed and now it’s all bloody going wrong!” 

Casting your gaze over his shoulder, your eyebrow flutters upwards. “I don’t think that has anything to do with me coming down the stairs, John. The pan is smoking, by the way.”  

His face falls. “Fuckin’ hell!”  

“Do you want a hand?” you offer, watching him move it from atop the range, scraping the slightly overdone eggs and bacon out onto two plates. 

He waves his hand towards the table. “No, you sit down.” 

“I can do the teapot, at least?” 

More hand gestures are directed. “Sit down, bab!”  

He’s adamant to do this, so tucking your dress, you take a seat, picking up the morning paper as he butters the toast. Finishing plating up the breakfast and pouring the tea, he brings it to you, everything a little crispy and haphazardly presented, your new husband looking at you from under a few furrowed brow.  

“Don’t look nothing like when you make it, but I hope it tastes alright, at least.” 

Digging your fork in, you take a first mouthful. “It’s lovely, darling. Thank you. What made you want to cook for me in the first place, though? You always denounce it as woman’s work. Not that you should. We’re in the twenties now, us women are to have our equality.” 

“Oh, not you an’ all!” he groans, rolling his eyes. “You and bloody Pol and your women’s lib!” His little wink indicates he isn’t a hundred percent serious, picking up a slice of toast and taking a huge bite, crumbs collecting at the corners of his lips. “And I did it because I wanna make amends. Ain’t proper that we’re married and I can’t take you on honeymoon. Nah. Even a weekend up the seaside would have been nice. Got all this fuckin’ shit round me neck, though.” 

Indeed, he has. You know well who you married, and the life of a prolific gangster is seldom easy. Or, in this case, flexible enough to allow for time away from Birmingham with his new bride.  

Reaching for his hand, you stroke the freckled flesh, cocking your head. “You’ve no amends here to make, love. I know, I understand. It is what it is.” 

“Yeah, but it bloody shouldn’t be, cos’ you deserve more!” he fumes, forehead creasing. “And I can’t give it to ya right now. Feel like a right bloody joke of a husband, I do.” 

“You know what you can give me, though?” you tease, John not immediately picking up on the connotations. “A bloody good seeing to.” 

He pauses his chewing, an eyebrow arching. “Get that scran down your neck sharpish, bab. I might not be able to take you away even for a weekend, but I can take you to bed instead.”  

To be honest, is seeing a lot of time pressed against a mattress beneath your new husband not the point of a honeymoon? You’ve always thought so, at least, therefore it matters not where that mattress happens to be. Whether further afield or Birmingham, as long as John is there, it’s all the honeymoon you need.  

A slightly cremated breakfast is an added bonus, too.  

[ging-pegger]

Pls can u do ging x reader and reader is gon mother?

THANK YOU - ging x reader

a/n: this prompt is almost two years old. i apologize for the wait and hope it was worth it. warnings: spoilers (chimera ant and election arcs)

summary: after hearing about gon's injuries, you rush to swardani city to see your son, and confront his father. word count: 1,133

the air conditioning system hummed loudly as you sat across from ging in an empty meeting room inside the headquarters of the hunter's association.

there was a feeling of uneasiness, and anxiety that plagued you. it had been years since you had last seen ging. thirteen to be exact.

you had made a heartbreaking departure from him and your son many years ago, due to circumstances outside your control. and now you sat here, heartbroken, looking the man you once loved unconditionally in the eye, now filled with anger and hatred.

how. how could he have let this happen? how could he be so irresponsible? how could he be so immature?

your son, gon, was currently in the hospital. not only was he beyond recognition, he was also in critical condition, facing death every moment with no one having any clue how to bring him back. the moment you heard, you left everything behind and rushed to swardani city, fearful that your son may die before you ever got to tell him how sorry you were for leaving.

you had spent almost every waking hour at his bedside, sobbing. sobbing so hard you thought your lungs would collapse, so hard that you had to gasp for air. crying until you were numb, and the hospital staff gingerly escorted you out of his room, explaining to you that visiting hours had came to a close.

"you have a hell of alot to explain to me, ging." your eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles underneath. it was clear that sleep wasn't something you had been familiar with the past few weeks.

"i dont know what there is to explain. i don't know much more than you do, and frankly i don't appreciate you pinning this on me." he hissed, clearly bitter. after so many years the only time you had made an effort to see him was now. and it was to scold him.

"how could you leave him?" you asked, your voice shaking, the tears began to well in your eyes, burning them.

"hey, i could ask you the exact same thing." ging took no time to remind you that you had also left.

"i left with confidence you would take care of him-"

"but you left so really what right do you have to turn up after all this time and ride my ass about things outside of my control!?" he snapped, his brown eyes were fixed on you, burning a hole right through you.

"at least i came to visit him, that's more than you're doing asshole!"

"did it ever occur to you that i CAN'T go see him." ging replied curtly. he wasn't one to outwardly express emotions frequently, but you could tell something was different this time.

once more the room fell to silence, the air conditioning unit the only sound to be heard, were you not in the middle of the concrete jungle that is swardani city, you likely would have heard crickets chirping.

"what do you mean you can't?? of course you can he's practically right next door!" you angirly hissed back in response. how dare he insinuate hes too busy to see his own son who was barely holding on to life as you spoke.

"that's not what i mean and you know it." his expressionless facade was fading, you were cracking through the mask he paraded around with to look tough. you were seeing a part of him nobody had ever seen, except for you.

you stayed silent, eyes trailing down to the faux wood grain table. waiting for him to elaborate. you knew from past experience this could take a matter of minutes or more. but you waited nonetheless for him to finally speak.

"i don't think you understand the guilt i harbor, ___." ging finally spoke up, his eyes locked onto yours the moment you looked up, not allowing you to escape his gaze of honesty.

"mito knew. . . she knew I'd always be the same guy. she filed for custody of gon, she said my line of work was too dangerous, and that i wouldn't be able to take care of him properly. and to my surprise, I sit here today and admit, she was right." ging spoke, his voice remained level headed and cool, he didnt allow the emotions to play part in how he spoke.

he took a deep breath in, eyes flickering to the ceiling. "despite all the training and trials i laid out meticulously for him to get stronger..." he trailed off.

"i don't know what i would do differently... had he been with me would this still have happened or worse? or would it have been avoided all together." he rambled on a bit longer.

"why didn't you just say all this before, ging?" you asked, brows furrowing, tears still falling softly from your cheeks.

"psh.." he made a face, one lined with disgust, a rare change in emotion.

"ging. it's not your fault."

his eyes darted back to you. "since when do you have a sudden change in opinion?"

"since we've made it to this point in the conversation. " you replied curtly, following suit of his answers prior.

ging mumbled under his breath. "from what i hear he's a lot like you. he's got your optimism." ging responded blankly, a pang sent through your heart as you were brought back into the blinding reality of why you were there with him.

"are you going to do anything to address the issue at hand amongst the zodiacs?" you questioned, checking the clock in the wall. the others could burst in at any moment. "you know its causing a lot of pressure on their backs during the election. many of the hunters are well aquainted with or know of gon, they expect answers and they expect you visiting him.

"it's none of their business to be frank. that's the problem with this whole association, ___. everyone believes theyre entitled to a slice of other people's lives. especially pariston. i'm sick of him being up my ass about this whole situation. " ging rambled on and on about his hatred for pariston but love for the hunt for a few solid minutes before switching back to the current topic.

"look, what i mean to say is, they can spread all the rumors they want, i'm not changing. and i'm not inviting them into our life."

oh ging... still as shy and stubborn as he ever was.

"wait. ___, before you go..." ging spoke, his face flushing and his nerves beginning to tie his vocabulary up in knots. "thank you." he said loudly, though the distance between you and him was nowhere near needing of such volume.

the air conditioning finally kicked off, leaving you in a room of dead air and space. you checked the clock again, the rythmic ticking began to inidicate the nearing of the next hour, when ging would be expected to meet with other zodiacs.

you stood up, pushing the chair you had been previously occupying in and gathering your personal effects. "i suppose it should be time for me to drop back in at the hospital. i hate being away for so long." you turned, reafhing for the door.

"for what.....?"

"coming back."

[samcat71470558]

Sick day

A short story about Dwight getting sick, based on this post by @the-great-old-grump (sorry if u didn't wanna be tagged) :3 (there's also my headcanons and those are here :33)

1275 words under the cut, enjoy <3

Echo snapped awake, flaps wiggling nervously. He didn't know what shook him out of his sleep, but he feels his pistons pumping harder than normal. Everything seems quiet, the sounds of Dwight's breath and engine rumbling through Echo's little hangar/quarters. He sighs softly, listening to the steady beat of Dwight's pistons. It's a sound he grew quite fond of over the few weeks he was stuck in his room, after... what happened... He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing down the mental image of Delta's drowning face. C'mon, Echo... Focus... count his pistons... One... two... three...

As Echo started counting the beats of Dwight's engines, he slowly calmed down from the panic threatening to overtake him. And that's when he noticed it. Dwight's breaths getting lower, harsher. His pistons pump a little harder than normal. Maybe there's rough sea? He'd have to ask tomorrow...

⫷▣⫸

The next morning, Dwight woke up with a loud yawn and a splash of water flooding over the deck. He always did that to help him wake up, but he hadn't expected his crew to scream and run. "Dwight! What on Earth are you doing?!"

His captain, a forklift called August, snapped him out of his confusion.

"You shoulda' been awake for an hour! There's no place for lazy asses in the Navy, damnit, and you know that! Now, get on with it! We've gotta get two in the air stat!"

Dwight couldn't answer, instead sighing with a "aye, cap'n." before activating his catapults so the deck crew can start loading them up. His head feels weird, the sun stinging his eyes painfully. Despite that, he keeps a stoic expression plastered on his features, and moves on with the day.

⫷▣⫸

By the time his crew's asleep, Dwight's head feels like it's filled with angry choppers. A throbbing pain that doesn't go away, whatever he does. He can't sleep either, because his hull feels cold. Or hot? He doesn't know, it fluctuates between them constantly. He sighs softly, engine rumbling a little faster than normal despite going the same speed as usual.

"...'S nothin'..."

He mutters softly, before closing his eyes to rest a little.

⫷▣⫸

He wakes up in a cold sweat, his entire body aching. What the hell is ging on... He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a second after making sure no one's on the deck yet. It hurts...

He stays awake until the crew comes out, doing his tasks a little slower than normal. Talking hurts, his voice a little hoarser than normal, but hey, who cares. He probably swallowed a bit too much sea water in his sleep again. Up until he has to call the ball for the jets, he's doing fine. Sure, he coughed a few times, but it's probably just a little wave going into his mouth again.

It's only when a few crewmembers enter the tower that they realise something's wrong. It's hot in there, like his heating's completely through the roof. And his instruments and readings show problems with his engines and tanks, and basically every single part of him. Dwight swallows softly, but doesn't admit anything when they ask him about it. After all, he doesn't feel that bad, right?

...Right..?

Wrong.

That night, when his crew is all asleep, Dwight wakes up with a painful jab in his head. It feels like he's getting shot all over, his eyes bleary and unfocussed as he tries to see what's attacking him. He can't see anything...

"Alarm! E-everyone to their posts, w-we're under attack!"

His voice cracks weirdly, and he lets out a choked noise. There's a ring in his ears, drowning out the sounds of potential gunshots. Why isn't anyone here to protect him? He's blinded, for Pete's sake!

"...M-mayday..!"

He coughs, gritting his teeth. he looks around, activating his canons and shooting a few rounds into the air. He hits nothing, obviously, and the pain only gets worse.

"August!"

⫷▣⫸

Everyone's worried. Stoic, no-nonsense Dwight is shivering with a thick grimace plastered over his features, eyes squeezed shut. Some brave volunteers went down on ropes to stuff a few painkillers into his mouth, but they don't seem to help. Dwight's miserable, teeth clattering as a little club of forklifts checks his engines on damage. They find nothing, and neither do the ones inspecting his electrical systems.

They all woke up from Dwight's pleas for help, rushing out at the sound of his canons going off. He didn't sound scared, more... desperate for help. He'd been shaky, certain something was shooting at his hull. There were no dents, no scratches, nothing, but he insisted he was hit. That was the first red flag. The night that followed was the second.

The highest ranking officers had taken turns to keep Dwight company, feeling him tremble with fever under their wheels as they talked to him. The entire fleet swarmed around him, the smaller boats pressed against his hull to keep him warm. He was delirious, not crying but he sounded pretty close to it. When the sun came up he whimpered. He whimpered from the pain as the light hit his sensitive eyes, and his crew got more worried. That's the moment August realised his ship was sick.

Now, Bravo and Echo are getting ready to use the catapult, the loud blasts of their engines drawing a shuddering breath from Dwight's mouth. The pain in his head is getting worse, the high tone in the jets' engines striking him right where it's worst. His tanks churn, and he shudders.

Bravo's shot off, flying off the deck with a loud "WOOHOO!". Dwight squeezes his eyes shut, tanks lurching. Is that nausea? Is he gonna throw up? Can he even throw up? What'll ha-

"...H-hh... hu-uhg... ughu-URK-"

A wave of oil splashes into the waves, and Dwight's eyes snap open. His breathing's raspy, engines hammering in his ears. A second wave comes out, leaving him panting. Echo immediately gets off the catapult, shutting off his engines and rolling back.

"...That's... not good."

Bravo lands again, skidding to a stop next to Echo. Deck crew come rushing out, a few choppers quickly swooping down to stop the oil from spreading too much. The noise is enough to draw a laboured whimper from Dwight's trembling lips, warning lights flickering in his cabin right before he passes out from exhaustion and pain.

⫷▣⫸

Dwight opens his eyes with a soft groan, the pain finally subsiding a little. He shudders a little, then focusses on the soft pats against the side of his head. It's August, smiling softly.

"...There you are... You know the Jolly Wrenches motto, right, Dwight?"

Dwight lets out a soft noise, throat still raw.

"...Yeah... V-volo pro- p-pro veritas, I f-fly for truth..."

August nods, stopping his soft pats. It's quiet for a bit, the only sounds the jets quietly chatting with each other on Dwight's deck. Finally the forklift speaks again.

"...You shouldn't lie about illness, Dwight. We're both grown men here, you should know hiding injuries is a major violation in the Navy."

Dwight's eyelids droop, glancing away.

"...Yes, sir... I know, sir..."

August sighs, and starts patting again.

"...Stupid idiot..."

The last part didn't reach the carrier's ears, as he'd already fallen asleep again.

⫷▣⫸

This time when he woke up, he felt better. His body didn't ache, his engines ran normally, and his head didn't throb when he opened his eyes fully while in the sun.

"Hm-hmm... Much better."

He threw a wave water over his deck, and started activating his systems. The jets smiled up at him as they got up to the deck, the other crew cheering softly.

And Dwight? He held a small, stoic smile, ready to start working another day.

[oonajaeadira]

This Will Be The Day That I Spy - Part 1: Blindsided

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Reader: Bold, smart female, not easily fazed, always open for an adventure. Has a chemistry degree and is a spirits distiller by trade. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: darkness, enclosed spaces, and Jack Daniels being a flirt.

Summary: A blind date with Jack Daniels does not go according to anyone’s plan…and that’s what makes it interesting.

A/N: For my March entry for Year of Tropes  as part of @yearofcreation2023​ we’re going for BLIND DATE+. The + is there because I couldn’t decide between two tropes for this fic, so there will be another one tackled in part two.

It was the construction that pushed you in the door to the swanky Manhattan high-rise. Ginger wasn’t kidding, this guy must be loaded. Not your usual fare, rich guys, but Ginger assured you he was a sweet, Southern gentleman…if you could get past the hokey name. And the corny compliments. And something about a belt buckle….?

“I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, Ginge,” you’d pleaded over the video call. “If that’s what he’s expecting–”

“It’s not. Believe me. I only suggested he meet with you to springboard your network in New York and look over your portfolio. He’s impressed with your background and your work at Herlot Watt, but…” your old friend’s lips pressed together in an otherwise controlled flickered moment of frustration, “then he saw your picture and asked me what you were like when we were in college and I figured I’d just cut to the chase and set you up. One thing you should know about Jack is that he thinks he’s being subtle. But that man is never subtle.”

“So you’re saying he’s rich but tedious and you think that’s a good match for me.”

“No! I’m sorry. No.” She adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses, doing her best to hide a knowing smile. “Jack is…he tries. He’s a romantic at heart. He really is. But he’s been alone too long and I think he knows it.”

“Wait. Is this that CEO that flirts with every woman he sees? That one boss that irritates you to hell???”

Ginger let out a long, measured breath. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“You forget that I was trained in a multitude of forensics. And I know when you’re lying.”

“You know when I’m lying because we shared an apartment and you’ve held my hair while I was puking.”

“That too.” Ginger was never known for having a tender heart, but every once in a while, she’d let you see it. “Listen, dearest. I promise you, his personality fills up a room. But I’ve known him long enough to see that it’s a diversionary tactic. He’s got a deep core of honor in him. And if you meet him and sparks don’t fly, he will still open doors for you in the distilling biz, I promise.”

“This is the Manners Maketh Man guy, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t realize I’d told you so much about him.”

“Less told and more complained. You’re throwing me to the wolves here, Ginge. At least tell me he’s good looking.”

One sly corner of her mouth raised. “He does alright. I think you’ll find him acceptable to your tastes.”

“What’s that look for??”

“Nothing,” she cooly mused, “I’m just curious to see if my hypothesis is correct. Friday night, 7pm, rooftop restaurant of the Calgary Suites. I’ll send you the coordinates. Enjoy.”

As she leaned forward to end the call you told her to “wait–I’m not one of your experiments!” but with a click she was gone, nothing but a white afterimage on a black screen in glorious negative relief.

Well. If nothing else, he sounded like a challenge. And you like a good challenge.

So on a balmy Friday night you found yourself gaping up up up the reach of the Calgary against the twilit sky, towering over Central Park at your back, smelling the reek of a life too expensive for your tastes and instinctively turning on your heel to walk away.

What stopped you was the restoration scaffolding enclosing the building under which you were standing. Or rather, the way it shuddered. And the way a large pole fell on its end with a clang to the sidewalk where you’d just passed a moment ago, tipping slowly out into the street. Nobody was hurt but the screams and concrete crack and sudden blaring of horns spelled out a true disaster in front of you.

Where someone else might have been rattled and shocked, all it did was give you perspective.

Fuck it. Let’s do this. Can’t be a worse disaster than this, right?

“I can call up for you, ma’am. What suite?” The doorman at your elbow brings you back to the moment.

“Uh, no, uh, I’m sorry. Daniels? I’m actually meeting him at the rooftop restaurant.”

“This way, ma’am. So sorry about all of this.” He seems nervous, a little shaken by the victimless accident outside, anxious to put all to rights and it looks like you’re something he can fix. You follow him to the elevator bank, letting the sleek extravagance of the lobby wash over you.

Once an elevator arrives, there’s a swipe of a key card, a little door opens to a small button that gets tapped, a friendly nod, and the doorman backs out of the elevator, smiling as the door quietly slides shut.

Well. That decides that then. Might as well just ride this out.

Looking at your reflection in the polished doors, you try to see yourself for the first time. Are you shoddy looking? At least clean and tidy? Would you ever find yourself really fitting in at a place like this? A little lip tint might help, if for nothing than confidence…

In an attempt to look at anything but yourself, you reach into your purse to find a gloss or lipstick or balm, something with some color, and are so occupied that when the elevator stops and the doors open, you simply step back and to the side to let the new passenger in.

Once you’re in upward motion again, you find what you’re looking for, turning to apply it in the reflection of the polished wall. Finishing and taking in the final effect, a smooth baritone rolls from behind you.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but are you–”

You just start to turn–just enough time to catch a black Stetson and tie, a charcoal blazer and painted-on denim, just enough time to register the deep chestnut hair and mustache, just a fleeting twinkle of a dark eye and a silver buckle–before the world goes black.

A jolt shakes the box you’re in and it comes to a rude halt, then another harsher one as the generator initially kicks in but fails before it’s begun, and you feel yourself stumbling backward through a pitch black void, banging your shoulder and then head against a polished metal wall.

“Owwwwww.” A bright light pierces the blackout; not from the spark of pain but rather a phone flashlight. “Hey!”

“My apologies,” your fellow passenger says and the light swings out of your eyeline. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…surprised.”

“Okay, that’s good. Hold on a minute, sugar.” The light goes out, replaced by the display backlight shining onto the man. It’s dimmer, but you can make out his thumb tapping out a few numbers and the line of a strong jaw as he lifts the phone up to his ear. “We’ll see what’s spooked the horses.” A few distant rings. A few more.

Sugar? Sugar?? Excuse him??? Wait. No. Wait. Is he–

A distant answer through the phone. “Sir?”

The man is calm and steady, respectful and patient. “Howdy, Jones. I’m in elevator 3 with another passenger and we’re in a stall and blackout. What’s the situation?”

“I’m so sorry, sir! We think it might be the construction outside, perhaps a wiring issue. There was an accident. We’re working to get it fixed as soon as we can. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, we’re fine. No worries. You wanna call up top and let them know I’m going to be late for my reservation?”

“Of course Mr. Daniels. Although, they’ll be in blackout too; the whole building is… Oh! Your guest was just–”

“Yes, she’s in here with me. I believe…” He turns to face you in the shadows as if he can see you past the light of his phone.

The silence that follows is a bit too long and fills itself with the collection of regrets–the outside accident, the elevator stop, the darkness, being stuck in a box with the potential employer slash begrudgingly blind date that you’d rather meet under literally any other circumstance. What a disaster.

And then you realize that the silence is too long and it’s your fault, that he’s waiting for you to confirm who you are and you stutter out a “Yes. Yes, it’s me, I’m…I’m your–” just as he is about to ask you again.

“Yeah, it’s her, Jones. I got ‘er.”

“I guess that’s both a good and bad thing, sir. But at least you both have company, right?”

“Jones.”

“Sorry, Mr. Daniels. Just trying to make light. Ha! No pun intended!” The doorman’s laugh roars and then awkwardly fades through the receiver. “We’ll do our best to get you up and running again, sir.”

An abrupt return to absolute blackness comes when the call ends and you hear a small shuffle as he puts his phone back into his blazer pocket. Then there’s a beep--like a notification--but he doesn’t answer it. “Well shit, you went through the effort to put the last shine on the boot and I don’t even get to enjoy it.”

“The…boot?”

“The lipstick? Your face.”

“Excuse me?” Ooof. This guy really has some kind of cowboy schtick going on. 

A chuckle in the darkness. “I’m Jack. Ginger’s told me a lot about you. Said you had some bite.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Daniels,” you say, hoping your voice carries a smile rather than the tingle in your spine. “I assure you I’m harmless. If there was light, I’d shake your hand.”

“I prefer Jack. And if there was light, I’d most likely kiss your cheek in a gentlemanly manner.”

Wow. Wasting no time in the flirtation then. From any other strange man in close proximity, this should be too forward. But incredibly, intuitively, you know he means no harm. Ginger wouldn’t hook you up with anyone who was a threat, and obviously he knows that any bad step on his part would be reported.

But it is his voice that gives you calm. His voice in the dark. Deep. Mannerly. Steady. With a twang that is on track to becoming a big distraction.

You’re self aware enough to realize you made a mistake on your way here. You had already decided that the date was a minor hurdle to get through in order to meet your networking goal, that these business types weren’t your style and that you’d shake hands and leave with nothing more than a little professional support.

It had been a subliminal, foregone conclusion. At no point had you seriously expected to have your head turned.

But he’s said all of a few sentences to you–all of them polite, gentle, and smoothly southern…

…And it’s working on you.

You can feel your face start to burn and even though it’s impossible to see anything in any direction, you still smile hard in the direction of your shoes. It would be nice to be kissed on the cheek by a man with that voice. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all?

“You still with me, darlin’?” It’s smooth and sweet, a perfect balance of charm and attempting not to be a threat or take up the whole room, even as tiny as it is.

“Hmm? Oh, yes… I was just wondering,” you peer in his direction out of habit, trying to find him in the void, “what brought you here.”

The careful calm cracks and a little cornball shows through. “Well you did, sugar. I believe we had a blind date. Although, this is awfully literal.”

You can feel your face squinching up, suppressing a laugh–a hopeless endeavor that fails–and it’s pleasantly surprising at how instantly you are won over. “I meant Manhattan! I assume you’re not from here…your accent…”

“Ah that,” he purrs, laying it on thicker for your benefit. “I am a Southern boy born and bred. But someone had to run Statesman’s New York branch, so I slung myself into the saddle, and here I ride.”

“I suppose the cowboy act is helpful for the brand….charming investors…subliminal suggestion of authenticity…”

There’s a sharp intake from his corner. “Sweetheart! I can assure you there is no act. I grew up on a fair few ranches and have one myself.”

“Really? With the horses and everything.”

“With the horses and everything. Did you say ‘charming?’”

There’s something so freeing about knowing your expressions are masked. But no doubt the delight comes through. “Can you do lasso tricks?”

“I might know a few.”

How does he do sincere and suggestive at the same time? Ginger said he wasn’t subtle, but he certainly has nuance.

The sudden image of a tall, dark, handsome cowboy and his lasso running around New York sends your imagination rolling though. Clapping a hand over your mouth to hide your sudden smile isn’t necessary, just a reflex. Thank god he can’t see what a giggling mess he’s making of you.

He’s ridiculous.

And you love it.

What on earth has gotten into you?

Too fast. Too fast. Calm down.

“So..has this happened before?”

Your question hangs in the darkness.

And then....keeps hanging.

He’s been quick to respond up until now. Did you say something wrong? Is he thinking back? It’s hard to say why, but his pause raises the hair on the back of your neck.

But it’s only a matter of seconds before he gently eases the silence open. “What do you mean by that, sugar?”

“Ah…the elevator? Does it break down like this often? You don’t seem particularly stressed out by it.”

“I would point out that you seem pretty calm yourself.”

You shrug needlessly. “There’s no reason not to be. There’s ventilation. Standard codes will have a secondary cable system in place and there’s no way we can fall unless the cords are severed, which is unlikely. Worst case scenario is that we have to hand pry the door open and either crawl up or drop down… I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, but I’m sure the both of us could handle it. The only reason I’d have to be afraid is because I’m trapped in a lightless box with a man I don’t know and might need to defend myself.”

“And I bet you could defend yourself.” His drawl deepens when he’s delighted.

Noted.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to have to.”

“No, ma’am.” There’s a shared, sweet and nervous laugh between you and you have a distinct image in your mind of those dark eyes crinkling at the edges. You’d wager he has a beautiful smile. You’d wager more that he has a cowboy grin–lopsided and dopey, but somehow just as charming as that twang. And just as you’re reminding yourself to slow down your flirting again, it seems he’s had the same thought. “These old buildings do have their quirks. A breakdown isn’t unheard of. So...how does a master distiller know so much about elevator mechanics?”

“Well, first of all, just ‘distiller.’ I’d like to be a master someday. Furthest I’ve been is head distiller. Secondly, I’m sure Ginger told you that we were undergrad together, started off on the same track, but I stuck with the chemistry and she went into the physics… we kind of learned a lot from each other. I don’t remember talking about elevators specifically? But it’s funny what just happens to stick in the memory banks.”

“I see.” Strange. He seems slightly perplexed with that answer and lets his reaction drag as if he’s formulating his follow up question. “And then you took off for Herlot Watt.”

“That’s right.”

“What sticks in your memory banks about that?”

Ah. He’s switched to the more professional side of the questions. That can be appreciated. After all, Ginger did say that he could help you along even if the date didn’t go well. And since it seemed almost certain to go well, it’s gentlemanly for him to save it for better lighting–with a table and a meal between you--and spend this trapped time getting the dryer and safer questions out of the way.

“Well, my postgraduate studies were–”

“Oh I know about your studies. I’ve read. I’m talking about your time in Ed-in-burrow. Did you enjoy it there? What’s something you learned that wasn’t taught in their books?”

“Edinburgh is beautiful. The history, the shadows and light…I can still smell the bitter florals of the old perfumery from the little side street I lived on…I guess I learned… well, I mean, the air is in the whiskey there. And I learned that you can’t force a spirit to be what it’s not. Every spirit you distill will have its history in it–the local water in the wash, the particular ions in the soil that grow the barley in your mash, the sweetness or bitterness of the wood used for the barrels…even those change from forest to forest in the same region. If you pay enough attention, you can see the thread of the chemical makeup in each spirit as you drink it, each one unique, even if you don’t have the knowledge of its path to the present, you still know there’s a signature experience there…”

Another long silence.

“Sounds like you’re pretty perceptive to your senses and your surroundings.”

“Your cologne has cedar and tonka in it, I can tell you that.”

An amused chuckle that ends in a drawn out note, “Well shit. Thus ends the interview section of our meeting. I’m sure Statesman can put your talents to good use.”

“Oh, I’d love that–”

“But tell me. Did you ever get out of the city? Go exploring the countryside?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. If I was too wound up in studies, I’d pick the closest castle on the map I hadn’t gone to yet and go take a drive out to the country. It was gorgeous. That became like my little pastime and reward all wrapped up in one.”

“You ever visit the North Berwick area?”

It takes you a moment to scan your mental map. “On the coast? Yes, actually, Tantallon Castle was kind of a go-to place when I needed to get out of the city and spend some time by the sea. Do you know it?”

“I do, actually. So you’re familiar with the area.”

“Oh yeah. There’s a little abbey hotel I booked a few long weekends in that had the best meat pies I’ve ever had. The woman who ran the place had this little Westie she’d dress in a tartan that she’d allow me to walk in the mornings on my roamings…” It’s a happy memory, one you wish had more time to pour over, but don’t have the advantage of reading his expression to know if it would be boring or not. “Wow. I haven’t thought about that place in a while.”

“You think you still know how to get around?”

You blink in the dark. An odd question. “I…think so?”

“Would you like to go back?”

Something’s wrong, and your eyebrows know it as surely as you do, pulling together as you try to keep your voice casual and innocent. “I…guess I wouldn’t mind a visit? Why? Would Statesman Distillery require me to have more training?”

Tilting an ear to him, you listen hard. A shift of feet or a shallow breath or a change in speaking tempo can belie a lot and he’s suddenly being strangely persistent in this questioning line.

“Not exactly. Ginger said you were pretty good with the dialect in that area.”

“It’s thick, but it’s not like it’s Glaswegian.”

“But she said you were a good mimic.”

“That’s…weird. Why would she tell you that?” Your senses go on full alert.

“You ever ramble on through the caves in the cliffside there?”

“I heard there were caves, but I’d never gone, don’t want to get sucked in by high tide.” What the hell kind of questions are these?

“You ever meet a man at the University name of Barclay–”

“What?”

“No. You stop! I’m ending this.”

The sharp retort is an abrupt change in character from the urban cowboy you’ve just started to get to know, and you naturally step back and put your hands up in a defensive stance. “I…what? Did I say something–”

Your companion’s voice suddenly gains an edge, authoritative, impatient, an irritation gradually salting the earth. “Yes, I can see that. Listen, I can trust your word on this but you know patience is not my main quality and she’s not dumb. Look at her. She’s seein’ through all of this already so I would appreciate the opportunity not to beat around the bush this one time. Yes, I know! But this is my assignment now and drawing this out is not the way to build trust–”

“Ah…excuse me? You can see what, exactly?”

“--no signs of stress, high perception, the skills are there! I know what I’m about and the damage is done. Turn on the damn lights, Ginger.”

Squinting against the sudden brightness as the elevator lights flicker on, you catch sight of Jack Daniels across from you in full for the first time. You weren’t mistaken, he is decidedly handsome and well-kempt, big hands on slim hips, head tilted back and watching you intently with dark eyes through the bottom of his glasses…

You don’t remember seeing the glasses.

“Over speaker, Ginger. She can’t hear you though the tech.”

Your friend’s tense voice reverberates from above. “Yes, thank you I know.”

“Ginge?” you ask into the air. “What the hell.”

“My old friend…I’m so so sorry about this. This isn’t really how I wanted this to go. I promise you there’s an explanation. I need you to breathe. And relax. You’re going to break that railing, sweetie.”

You suddenly take stock of your back pressed against the metal walls of the elevator, hands gripping the brass railing that runs along at waist height like you need to brace yourself, a contradiction to a fight or flight response. “Wait.” Your gaze bounces to the four corners of the ceiling searching for a camera. “You can see me?”

Jack taps the frame of his glasses and the notification sound you’d heard earlier in the dark pings again. Sliding them off his face, folding them in a huff and jamming them in his breast pocket he smirks, “Not anymore, she can’t.”

“Whiskey–”

“Dammit, Ginger… You gonna do this, or am I?”

There’s a tense moment as Jack glares you down and your friend heaves an audible sigh.

“Jack is going to explain some things. It’s going to be a lot, but I’m going to need you to trust him. Like you trust me.”

“I don’t understand–”

“I know, dearest. But you will.”

Turning to Jack Daniels, you find him easy, smiling, and extending a hand across the small space toward you, putting on all the charm. “Let’s start over. Howdy. I’m Jack Daniels, CEO of the New York branch of Statesman Distilling, and high-ranking operative for the covert espionage agency it covers. Code name: Whiskey.”

You find yourself reaching for him through your shock, propelled by Ginger’s assurance, Jack’s return to confidence and warmth, and your own curiosity kicking in. “Espionage…. You’re a spy?”

“Yes ma’am,” he winks as his fingers curl around yours. “Ginger too, if you can believe it. And–wouldn’t you know it–we’re recruiting.”

“They just called in a reboot of the whole building system,” Ginger warns. “It will probably be fifteen minutes before that takes. I can reliably give you ten. Without interruption, Jack should be able to tell you what you need to know, so keep your questions for the dinner table. I’ll scramble the mics and be back right before go.”

Dropping your hand to tap a button on his overlarge watch, Jack nods. “In ten, copy. Now then, sugar,” he hums at you, “let’s begin with Statesman.”

Over the following ten minutes, Jack explains the agency that coexists with the whiskey business, as well as its several fraternal organizations throughout the world, how Ginger came to be a part of it, why she had to keep it a secret from you, and will continue to do so if you decline the invitation to join–memory wipe, painless, no big deal, done right here in the elevator and the date continues as if none of this happened. But the background checks and paperwork are all done, you’ll need minimal training, and there’s time for that before you depart for your mission in Edinburgh–

“Mission? Wait. What? I thought you wanted me to work in the distillery–”

“Of course,” Jack explains, “there’s that too, but we need your skills and expertise and boots on the ground for this one. You know the area, as an alum you have an in at the University. You don’t have to do anything tactical. Not to worry, that’s my department and I’ll be right there with you–”

“So this was all some elaborate set up for what? To feel me out? Some kind of stress test?”

His thumbs hook into his belt loops as he settles into one hip, his chin chasing a raised eyebrow. “Why? Do I cause you stress, darlin’?”

Oh shit. That pulls your reins up short. You have no answer to this. Well. None that you’d like to admit out loud anyway. His chest is so broad. And it’s right there. And his shirt pulls against it when he stands like that…

Beside the point. Focus.

“But…why on earth would you want a spirits chemist on a spy mission?”

A wry smile pulls at one corner of his mustache as he catches you looking. “You said so yourself; there’s a lot of useful stuff in that memory bank of yours.”

“Yes, but–”

“Are you seriously underestimating the importance of chemistry?”

You might have protested further, made him understand that chemistry is noble but that you can’t wield it like a weapon; you use it for mixing compounds not for unveiling secrets. But the gentle swagger with which he closes the gap between you stops the words from coming. And the smooth and measured way he pulls you  into the circle of his arms stops your head from thinking. All this just before he presses his lips to your cheek….

In a gentlemanly manner.

Ah. That chemistry.

“Is this…still a date?” You don’t mean to whisper, but your voice seems to be on an inconvenient hiatus. 

His cheek hums next to yours, honeyed twang circling your ear. “Seems a shame to waste a good dinner reservation. And good company. You disapprove?”

“No. But,” pulling back an inch or two, you swallow and do your best not to look him in the eye at this close proximity. Somehow, that’s supposed to keep him from hearing your heart booming. “I thought you said you’d wipe my memory before this continues as a date.”

“I never said the two scenarios were mutually exclusive. There’s no rule says agents can’t co-mingle. And if there were such rules…well, shit,” tipping his head down to hook your eye, “They’ve never built a fence this buck can’t jump.”

“Seems unprofessional.”

“That’s what makes it fun, sugar.”

“Jack! I leave you alone for ten minutes–” Ginger’s chiding echoes from the speaker above. “You’re deviating from the plan.”

He steps back to assess your bemused smile. “I beg to differ. I told you I’d be flirtin’ to get what I want. Never specified that ‘what I want’ stopped at information.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea so soon–”

“I do, Ginge,” you call into the air while holding Jack’s steady gaze. “How did you put it? ‘Acceptable to my tastes?’ You know me better than anyone. I find it hard to believe that you’d trap me in a box with a sturdy, handsome man of mystery and expect me not to rise to the challenge.”

In the short silence that follows, you can almost hear Ginger fume. You can certainly see Jack grin.

“Jack. If you mess this up or hurt her, I will replace your entire glandular system with a colony of pigeon ticks.”

He gives a stoic nod, mostly for your benefit. “Odd choice of pest, but copy that. In the meantime–”

He makes it official by stepping forward and offering an elbow.

And you seal the deal by looping your arm through it.

“--order up. One box of Whiskey and Rye to the rooftop patio.”

You can’t recall the last time you gave over to the power of “well hell why not” like this. There’s something about him that is instantly trustworthy and you can’t wait to find out what it is. In the meantime, the reflection that you two make in the elevator doors tells you all you need to know; it’s a story in itself, an epic meet cute, an adventure in the making.

There’s a lurch as the elevator begins to climb, but this time you stay steady on your feet; he makes sure of that.

As the doors slide open, the picture of you on the arm of this new challenge splits to reveal a quiet patio restaurant under the stars. All the tables are empty but for the one in the center–a lone candle burning, and a setting for two.

“An arranged elevator stall. A fully reserved restaurant. The offer of a job and possible espionage. What else do you have up your sleeve, cowboy?”

As an answer, he flexes slightly, his bicep pushing at the blazer fabric under your hand. “Possible espionage? You still havin’ doubts? You hold onto these guns, sugar, and follow my lead. I will happily persuade you.”

Stepping out into the night together, you close your eyes and let him guide you to the table. “You know what, cowboy? I think I might happily allow you to.”

A chuckle. “What do you reckon? Best blind date ever?”

“Best blind date ever.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[i-heart-hxh]

Gon wakes up, and the transition from dream to reality confuses him. He sits up in bed for a moment, feeling cool air wash over his skin, and takes a deep breath. He tries to remember where he is exactly; space and time both seem a bit warped to him as the dream slowly ebbs out of focus.

"You okay?" A voice asks in a mumble next to him. "Another nightmare?"

Gon turns to the source of the voice, and touches the shoulder of the person next to him.

"What's up?" The voice says.

"Oh! I'm just glad it's you, Killua. I had a weird dream and got confused."

Killua sits up too with a quiet yawn, leaning his shoulder against Gon's. "What kind of dream?"

"Hmmm... It's a little hard to remember already. But in the dream, I guess I had a grandchild, because I had gotten married to Noko at some point many years before."

"Who's Noko, again? The name sounds familiar, but..."

"The only other kid on the island when I was younger. I think you met her once or twice when we were on Whale Island?"

"Oh yeah, I kinda remember that. Why would you have married her, of all people?" Killua sounds vaguely offended, which makes Gon chuckle a bit.

"I don't know! It was just a dream! Anyway, I guess my grandchild was fishing, and she caught the Lord of the Lake. And they cooked and ate him!"

"Seriously, where the hell did this come from..."

"You know, I caught the Lord of the Lake, too, as a challenge before I became a Hunter. That was in real life, though. Anyway, the girl decided not to be a Hunter because I guess she didn't like that I left Noko all the time, or something. She just wanted to stay on Whale Island forever. And a bird flew over, and it showed some of my friends' relatives or grandchildren in other places, too."

"What a random dream," Killua says, then pauses. "So, are you going to run off on me and marry Noko so you can make this a reality? You want to be like Ging or something?" Killua asks. Gon can't see that well in the darkness, but he can tell Killua has a mischievous look on his face from his voice.

"No way!" Gon says. "I don't even know where that came from."

"Well, good, because you're the one who said you want to be together forever," Killua says, teasingly.

"Yeah... Of course I mean it, you know. I was relieved to realize you were next to me when I woke up, I wasn't sure what was real and not at first."

"I wasn't even in the dream?"

"No."

"That's weird."

"Yeah... I don't know what it means or anything. But someone in the dream said something like, 'I always want to be with the person I want to be with. Together always!' and it's hard to describe, but even though you weren't in the dream and I don't know where you were, I still thought of you."

"Well... Thanks," Killua says, much more softly than any of the things he said previously. Killua pauses, then kisses Gon on the forehead. "Can we go back to bed now?"

"Yeah," Gon says, "It's already getting hard to remember the dream."

"That's good, just forget about it."

"It has to be you, Killua. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, just to go back to bed. I love you, too."

[merriclo]

tumblr in the bsd-universe simulation

🐈 mii-chan-pics Follow

mii-chan photo part 409 <3

🐱 pussycatenthusiast Follow

yo i’m pretty sure k saw this exact cat outside my favorite bar!! what a cutie

🐈 mii-chan-pics Follow

yeah haha that makes sense! he likes to wander. he’s very friendly too, so if you’d like to pet him he’ll totally let you!!! <3

🕯️ cuntyterror Follow

what the fuck is wrong with you!!?? letting your cat wander around a big ass city full of cars and illnesses is animal abuse. can’t believe you’re even encouraging strangers with dubious intentions to approach and touch them too. you should keep your cat indoors and know where they are at all times, or else they’ll get fucking run over or starve to death or a myriad of other things. you’re a demented human being, and an awful cat owner. i hope someone in your life has the sense to save mii-chan from your abusive hands.

🌸 the-cutie-n-tani Follow

hi yeah i’m op’s irl bestie and i’d love to see you try and keep that cat inside an apartment. the motherfucker has opened childproofed, locked windows before. he’s been gone for days and then come back noticeably fatter. he is an unstoppable beast of a little guy. fuck off and leave her alone

( 147 notes )

☠️ mybones-aredry Follow

just shared a cig with the hottest ginge i’ve ever seen in my entire life yall i can’t get him out of my head

( 7 notes )

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 ilovewomenmorethanyou Follow

yall are never gonna believe me but i swear i just saw that blond american terrorist guy in the clearance isle of the supermarket what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck i swear he died in the harbor

⚽️ going-loco Follow

y’all will see any tall, blond white guy and assume it’s the same guy 🙄 quit accusing some random dude of being a terrorist

🪷 little-women Follow

did you see him at around 3 pm? and if so, was he wearing a brown suit with a white tie?

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 ilovewomenmorethanyou Follow

…….yes

🪷 little-women Follow

yup that was Francis!! if you compliment his suit he might give you ≈$500

🪷 little-women Follow

oh i’m so sorry i forgot to translate it into yen i’m so sorry. he might give you ≈¥73,000

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 ilovewomenmorethanyou Follow

oh hell yeah thank you!!!! <3

⚽️ going-loco Follow

FRANCIS SCOTT FITZGERALD IS ALIVE !!???

( 89,765 notes )

🍶 cup-of-sake Follow

ngl the ADA’s director is kinda…

😴 dream-on-slut Follow

the ADA just won an award for saving Yokohama from a terrorist attack and you’re focusing on how hot Director Fukuzawa is??

🍶 cup-of-sake Follow

yeah lol

( 12,567 notes )

😈 dateafreakyfreakster Follow

some freak just got caught in my dad’s fishing net and he’s hella unserious and wrapped in bandages and i fear i want him bad…

🧥 no-longer-human Follow

hey

😈 dateafreakyfreakster Follow

no fucking way

( 9,581 notes )

👑 king-of-twinks Follow

living in Yokohama is a fucking fever dream. shit just happens here and all you can do is fucking deal with

👑 king-of-twinks Follow

i work at Sephora and i’m pretty sure that goth freak from the Port Mafia just asked me which eyeliner brand was better

👑 king-of-twinks Follow

stop calling me a liar i know that murderous goth freak when i see him

( 315 notes )

🧸 abyssal-red-gables Follow

got a job at the café under his place of employment and he hasn’t even said hello to me yet. can’t have shit in Yokohama

( 3 notes )

[bruisedknucklesandbloodykisses]

Coming Back from the Diner

CW: Modern AU; Half Dead Guy; Blood; Cussing; Description of Wounds; Manipulation; Gaslighting; Callous Behavior (Ging); Reader is very much teetering on denial and dissociation; passive reader; No defined pronouns but AFAB reader is heavily implied towards the end; Reader is referenced as 'House Wife' Mentions of pregnancy; Established relationship; Reader is Gon’s stepparent; Ging is an actual present father in Gon's life

Summary: On your walk home from work, you find your boyfriend of two years, Ging, standing over the body of a- what you can only assume- dead man, covered in blood. 

Word Count: 2,020

There was something to be said about how well you were taking this. You would have applauded yourself if your legs weren’t trembling so bad and the corners of your vision weren’t slowly fizzing out into a fuzzy tunnel vision that was slowly eating up your peripheral vision. 

Ging (your lovely, awkward, brash, and shy boyfriend) stood staring at you with an even gaze. Someone lay at his feet, unmoving, blood pooling around their head and the sleeves of his well worn button up rolled up to his elbows, had flecks of blood on the off white fabric in random places. You gulped as your gaze followed the slight bulge of the vein that traveled down his forearm. You felt silly that you always felt surprised seeing how muscular he was- how defined his muscles were- his architect work was a serious workout. You had told him that once and he just grunted. Told you to be happy you had a cute boyfriend who naturally had a six pack. 

You had smacked his shoulder for his cheeky attitude. He had just grunted again and claimed he was being ‘domestically abused’. 

The further your eyes traveled down, the more red there was. His knuckles were dripping blood and you couldn’t tell if it was his or the person’s at his feet. 

“Are- are you ok?” You had blurted out. You hadn’t meant to. It was the first thing that came to mind though- somewhere in your overheating mind a voice was telling you to check on Ging. Check on the man you were so madly in love with. 

He blinked, head tilting before his eyes narrowed at you. “You serious?” 

You don’t say anything. Your hands digging into the hem of your shirt and twisting the fabric. 

“Holy shit,” he says it in a breathless laugh. “Holy shit. You’re serious.” He points with a bloody finger at the person- man- on the ground, “this guy is lying here and you’re asking me if I’m ok?”

Your throat tightens at the way he simply steps over the guy. Your eyebrows knit together. Why did he look so familiar? Fingers pinch your chin, guiding you to look at Ging’s eyes: they’re sharp and swirling with an emotion you can’t place. Whatever it is, it sends chills up your spine. “The hell is wrong with you?” 

“I- you’re,” you suddenly can’t breathe, hand pulling at his wrist to look at his hand. “You’re hurt.”

 He watches as you ghost your thumb over the splintered skin, the drying blood on his hand. You pull his hand down to naval level and start dabbing his hand with the (now wrinkled and untucked) hem of your shirt. It was staining the light blue fabric red. He titled his head again. “You love that shirt.” 

The statement was more of an observation on his part rather than for you to give him an answer back, but nonetheless you whisper: “I love you more.”

His hands twitch in your hold. 

Ging’s breath is suddenly right next to your ear and you shudder at the warmth of it on your clammy skin. “You love me? Despite that guy who’s drowning in a pool of his own blood?” 

You freeze. That man isn’t dead? Your ears pick up on the soft, wet sound of wheezing. You refuse to look at him though. You lean your head forward against his shoulder. He was sturdy. Just like all the buildings he worked on. Your gaze remained glued to his hands, slowly rubbing the blood away until you saw patches of his sun kissed skin. Your eyes are watering and you feel your throat tighten but your words are clear in the quiet. “I love you.”

He pulls his hands away from you, cupping your face, once again, guiding you to look at him. This time, Ging’s features are more calculative- more observant and calm- than before. He tilts his own head back, looking down his nose at you, as he begins to turn your head this way and that. Soon enough a boyish grin was spreading across his face. “You weren’t lying. You are totally and irreversibly whipped for me.” His sticky palms ran down from your cheeks to rest at the junction of your neck. The corners of his eyes crinkled, pupils shrinking in a way that you knew he was about to be crude. “I could probably kill that guy now and you’d still be whipped for me.”

Your blood felt like ice. Ging’s hands suddenly molten against your prickling skin.

He seemed to soften. “Sorry.” He muttered. He was always so gruff with his apologies. “I won’t do that.” He glanced behind him. “I think he learned his lesson, anyway.” 

“What did he do?” 

“Hm? Him?” Ging jerked his thumb at the man from over his shoulder. Though one of his hands was still resting on you, it had traveled from your neck and was now loosely holding onto your shoulder. He scratched at his stubbled chin. He looked embarrassed. “Ah, shit.” There were little smears of blood on his chin now and you couldn’t help but reach a trembling hand up and try to wipe it away before it dried. He wrinkled his nose at the gesture but didn’t stop you, his cheeks heating up. “Aw, damn,” he suddenly blurted, “I was annoyed by this fucker.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t remember the guy that’s been hounding you for- what? A week? At the diner?”

You blinked once, twice- and then it hit you. Brad. Fuck. That guy’s name was Brad. He had been bothering you for a straight week. Coming into the diner that you worked at (Ging would pout about you still working there. Dropping blatant hints that he wanted you to quit, just become a stay at home mom for his little toddler, Gon. It was tempting. You loved that little bundle of joy, but you wanted to stick it out at least until they had someone to fill your position) harassing you, catcalling you, or just becoming aggressive and borderline violent when you didn’t give him the attention he craved. 

You had told Ging about it a couple of times, nothing horrible just annoyances that stemmed from him. You insisted that you were fine, that you could handle it. 

 But last night, the steady stream of anxieties slipped out as you tended to Gon. Despite how much fun Gon was having with playing with your fingers, giggling and squealing as you tickled his round belly, you couldn’t shake the pit of dread that had formed in your gut. “I just- I don’t know, Ging- he’s getting bolder. It’s uncomfortable and my boss has gotten death threats from him for trying to stand up for me- I just-” you sighed, fingers going limp and a confused little Gon staring up at you. You had traced your fingertips over his soft, chubby cheek and he began to giggle again- “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him coming after Gon- after you. I-”

Ging, who was sitting on the worn out love seat of your living room, was instantly crouching down next to you, squinting at you with that silent sort of judgment that he liked to carry around. He poked your forehead. “Quit whining. I’ll take care of it.”

“Whining?” You repeated, annoyed, “I was just venting to you-”

Him pressing his lips to yours ended the scolding there. The tension in your shoulders left you as you became boneless against him. The two of you pulled apart easily, staring into one another’s eyes. “I’ll take care of it.” He repeated, voice soft, one of his calloused hands came to cup your cheek. Your eyelashes had fluttered as you pressed against the hand. Though, it wasn’t long before a small whine caught your attention. A little Gon staring up at you with round eyes, pouting. 

The anxiety had completely washed away by the time you wrapped your arms around him, leaning your whole weight against Ging while he grumbled as he wrapped his arms around the two of you. He yelled, "Hey!” when Gon had pushed his face away, pressing a plump cheek against yours, to which the toddler started giggling. 

The warm feelings left as Ging lightly flicks your forehead. “You remember now?” 

You nod, fingers shake as you rub the (lightly) abused spot. “What-” you clear your throat, your jaw feeling numb. “What’re we gonna do with him?” The realization that there was a half dead man out in the middle of a back alley on your way home from the diner was settling heavy on your shoulders. If it weren’t for the annoyed grunt that Ging had let out when he brushed his thumb over his torn knuckles, you probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all. 

He looked thoughtful for a moment. He shrugged and brushed past you, “nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing.”

You were stunned. By the time you had gathered your barings, Ging was already rounding the corner of the brick wall. “Ging! What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

“I mean what I mean,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, taking long strides. “Someone will find him in the morning, dead or not- not like people don’t get beat up ‘round here all the time-” he spun on his heel to jab a finger into your chest- “that’s why I don’t want you walking around anymore at night-”

“But I have a job-”

“Not anymore.” He said, that easy grin cracking across his face as he steps back into your personal space, once again, noses brushing against one another. “You are going to call in and quit tomorrow and then-” he rests his hands on your hips, pressing the two of you impossibly closer- “you’re gonna take care of our little rugrat while I go out and work on some things and then I’ll be back-” his hands were scorching hot, seemingly searing into your flesh- “and I’ll put a kid in you, and you’ll be my perfect little housewife.”

“Ging, you can’t just-”

He presses a finger against your lips, that strange emotion swirling in his bright eyes again. “Nuh-uh.” He took a deep breath before continuing, voice low and rumbling somewhere deep in his chest, “the world is a scary place. You wanna know where I caught that guy?” He leaned against you, lips brushing your ear, “I found him, with a knife, waiting outside the diner. I wonder who he could have possibly been waiting for.”

Your throat suddenly felt dry, limbs shaking even harder. Your fingers felt numb as you dug them into his shirt. 

“Yeah. Pretty nerve wracking, huh?” He began to sway the two of you, him making that strange little humming noise he made when he was giddy about something. “But you wouldn’t have to worry about any of that at home. You’d have me and Gon. Mito could keep you company if you get that lonely, you know? Though, I know how much you love that little kid. And he loves you too. So just stay at home for him, ok?”

You could barely form the words, “ok.” 

He hummed, happy as he pulled you along, chattering about his day as if his hands weren’t still sticky and hot from the blood of a man he practically beat to death. And yet, you held onto the hand that held yours with all the strength you could muster as you followed him on your bambi legs, the numb part of your brain thinking about how excited you were to see your little boy, Gon, when you got home.

[crusty-chronicles]

Sandwiched Between (Part 2)

Synopsis: party games begin??? (They fuck, y'all already know you nasties.) Please seek Jesus. Hell I need the whole Vatican after this one.

Part 1

NSFW, Begone Minors

Warnings: Threesome, degrading and praise kink (wonder why 🤔), cum, titty fucking, blowjobs, cum swallowing, hints of voyeurism, vaginal sex, anal.

His confused expression made you grin. Poor baby.

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

This new position was interesting, to say the least. But you didn't hate it. How could you when the view was so nice. A very flustered Kite who you could tell was still dumbfounded Ging had popped you off his cock.

You had a teasing smile as you placed a hand on his waist. He looked down at you, seeming to snap out of his daze.

"Eyes down here, pretty boy. You can fill me up again later, kay?" Your fingers traced down his abdomen and towards his stiff member.

He let out a groan in response before a gruffer voice filled the air.

"What's the matter? You don't want them to suck you off?"

Rough hands gripped your hips as you felt your hole once again being filled. You closed your eyes at the feeling, unawares of the glare a certain silver haired hunter gave to the man behind you.

"Ging," Kite warned.

A shit-eating grin was the response he got as said male bottomed out inside you.

"What? You're telling me you don't want that pretty little thing to slurp on your cock till you're cumming down their throat?" He pulled out, only to slam back in. The pace once again brutal.

The more Ging spoke, the redder Kite got. Because goddamnit, yeah he wanted your mouth on him. But he wasn't too happy about the fact you'd been hoisted off his dick. And it was just like that dumbass to be selfish and pull you away.

Although, the sight of you being fucked wasn't too bad. The way Ging sank into your hole and the way your mouth parted to let out soft noises of pleasure. Your body lightly moving back and forth with his harsh movements. Eyes glazed over with lust and lidded as you eyed Kite's cock. The tip red and leaky from the sight.

"Holy shit! You're getting all hard watching me fuck them." Somehow Ging still had the attention span to tease. And it wasn't fair the way he could get the both of you worked up from being a little shit.

"Shut up!" Kite snapped. Truth was, it was a little embarrassing to be outed like that when you were right there. Although you were a little more focused on the rutting into your ass than you were their conversation.

"Ha! Who would've thought? Maybe next time we could put on a little show for you."

"Shut up." His face was impossibly hotter at the thought. Then he felt a softness brush over the head of his cock.

"It's okay you like to watch. But I signed up for the both of you tonight, so let me make you feel good." And you threw him a wink before taking the tip in your mouth.

He froze at the contact.

Your warm mouth sucking on just the tip. Gathering the precum that slipped out at tasting it. All while your eyes looked up at him. It felt dirty watching you suck him off. So very dirty hearing Ging's grunts as he pounded away into your hole.

And he'd never admit the sight of his best friend fucking you turned him on. He'd take that to his grave. But the way his already hard member became harder was a telltale sign he was enjoying it.

Just not nearly as much as you enjoyed having both of them again. The way Ging's cock had slipped it's way into you and got your asshole addicted to the feeling of being full. The way a salty sweetness coated your taste buds as you took Kite deeper into your mouth.

Hands gripping hard on your hips while another pair cupped your cheeks softly. You'd feel like a little fuck toy if it weren't for the soft praises being mumbled to you.

"Being so good. Just like that. Let me in a little deeper. I know you can take everything in that pretty mouth of yours."

You let out a whimper around him and bobbed your head slowly. Taking him halfway in before moving back. Your tongue swirling around the tip when you reached his head. Repeating the action and picking up pace while one hand wrapped around what you couldn't fit in.

But you couldn't deny the way your body reacted to the harsher words as well.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you? Desperate for two cocks to fill you. You already made such a big mess all over yourself. Feel that?"

Fingers harshly pushed themselves inside your cunt, creating a loud squelching noise from the wetness.

"You're absolutely soaked. It's dripping down your thighs and staining the sheets. You this worked up over the two of us? So filthy."

Your cunt squeezed down on his fingers while your other hole clenched down on his cock. Your body trying to grind back onto him for more. Your muffled whimpers turning into whines.

The fingers inside you disappeared while the hands cupping your cheeks moved to fist your hair. The light tugging on your scalp causing heat to once again shoot to your core.

You lurched forward on Kite's cock in surprise at a slap to your ass from Ging. The head of Kite's dick hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

To your surprise he kept you there, buried to the hilt and bucking into you.

"Fuck! So deep! Ahh, so fucking good!" Composure gone in favor of ridding your face and fucking your throat.

Going so fast and brutal you could hardly breathe. But everything just intensified the feeling. A familiar coil winding in your stomach, yearning for release.

The silver haired male fucking your throat in no better condition than you. Abdomen tensing and dick throbbing.

And while he was close, Ging was on the cusp of spilling inside you. Unable to take the small spasms from your body. Pulling and smacking on your ass to drag it out.

"Fuuuck! Gripping me like a vice. So fucking tight and I'm not even in the right hole. Gonna milk my cock this way? Hmm?"

A muffled cry from you.

"Here, let's get you there too. I bet your just itching to get your release again, naughty whore."

Rough fingers abused your puffy clit. Your legs shaking and your torso struggling to keep up, arms doing their best to support you from under.

But the unrelenting stimulation combined with the brutal fucking of your throat pushed you to the edge.

Body tensing up and spasming. A hard clench from your ass enough for Ging to reach his high.

He tried to pull out, he really did. But chasing his own climax in your mouth, Kite had nudged you back onto him.

Your tight hole once again enveloping his cock and causing his seed to spill inside. It might've been a good thing he hadn't been fucking your pussy instead. And figuring what's done was done, he continued to ride it out inside you until he was satisfied.

Kite on the other hand, was not done with you. Making your poor windpipe sore with how fast he was thrusting inside. Getting impossibly close watching your eyes become tearstained through the overstimulation. So pretty staring up at him.

All it took was a small gag when he forced you all the way down his shaft to make him spill inside your mouth.

Groaning as you swallowed all of it. And instantly getting hard when you continued to suck him dry until there was nothing left.

You stayed like that for a moment. Out of breath and most of your stamina.

So to say you were shocked when you were pulled back and flipped onto your stomach, was an understatement. The same position as before when you righted yourself, except it was Ging in front of you now and Kite in back.

"What-" You started before getting cut off.

"Not done yet. Wanna 'celebrate' a little more. Plus it's no fair you swallowed his cum. So open up." Ging was staring down at you with a cheeky smirk. Body in a thin sheen of sweat, but still unmistakably hard and ready for another round.

You felt hands on the back of your ass, lightly kneading the skin there. Doing wonders to soothe the redness from Ging's slaps.

"I'm not finished with you either. Think you can take a little more? Hold out a little longer?"

One more round?

Fuck it. What was the harm in indulging a little longer. It's not like you'd get more opportunities to unwind like this in the future. So why not. You could handle a bit more roughhousing.

"I'm in, you horndogs. Never satisfied are you?"

Hands gripping your waist so tight you were sure they would leave bruises while dark brown eyes swirled with lust in front of you.

"Damn right I'm never satisfied. Not until I finally get inside that cunt of yours. Now say 'ah!'"

You almost laughed. God Ging could be so childish at times. But you supposed it was endearing in a way. The same way Kite's concern for you during the night was endearing.

They were both such dorks.

You obediently opened your mouth and let him slide in. Tasting the leftover cum from his previous orgasm. It was a little stronger than Kite's. Not as sweet but a lot more saltier.

The other male behind you was contemplating which entrance of yours to use.

Your cum filled hole was very inviting.

But so was your soaked cunt.

You did say it was okay as long as he pulled out. Plus, he was still a little irritated with Ging for taking you off his cock earlier. He'd get to enjoy it now.

Maybe finish on your back.

So he slid back in, groaning as your tightness engulfed him. Your mouth was great, don't get him wrong. But your gooey cunt was unbeatable. The way it pulled him in and refused to let go. The fact that he could feel your pleasure leak out and coat the base of his cock.

No nothing quite compared to that. Sucks for Ging that he couldn't experience it this time.

Both wasted no time and started up a brutal pace again. Only this time, your overstimulated pussy was part of the onslaught. Dripping all over Kite's cock and making an even bigger mess. Unable to stop yourself from letting out high pitched moans from around Ging's length.

The same one that had already stuffed itself in the back of throat and refused to leave. Rutting fast and making you choke.

Hands pulling at your hair and guiding you impossibly close.

"Damn! I can see why he took his time finishing. Feels so good. You've either got a shit gag reflex or just enjoy facefucking to take us in that deep. M' not complaining. Fuck!" Ging jumped at the feeling of your hand groping at his balls.

Perhaps retaliation for spanking you earlier. And if you kept doing that, he was gonna cum a little too quickly.

Your high was also approaching, thanks to Kite's unrelenting cock splitting you open. Already clenching down on him even though you barley started.

"So tight already. Thought you'd be easier to slip into now, but fuck-" He moaned out loudly as you met one of his thrust, sucking him in so well.

"Are you close? Already? Don't blame you, I'm close too. Guess your little cunt was just made for me. Made to take me in, lovely."

You'd never cum so fucking hard in your life. Vision turning into stars and then white. Your body almost shutting down as white-hot pleasure coursed from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Vaguely aware of the cock pulling from your mouth and the one leaving your still spasming pussy. It took you a few minutes to come down and properly assess your surroundings.

Ging had pulled out from your warm mouth in favor of a new idea. He pressed your breasts together and slid his cock between them.

How much better would it be if your face and tits were painted white instead?

"What're you doing?" Your voice was shaky as you tried to get your bearings.

"Don't worry about it. Just sit there and look pretty for me, okay?" He bucked lightly into the space, letting out a groan at your fucked out expression. Hair mussed with dark splotches covering your neck.

He pulled out then back in again, chasing that oh so delicious high. The friction from your soft breasts getting him closer and closer.

"Your tits feel so nice against my cock. Got such a nice pair."

You had to grab onto his thighs so you wouldn't fall over. The head of his cock brushing past your lips with each thrust.

"Feels weird." You whined. Almost toppling over, ass swaying tantalizing in Kite's direction.

"Yeah? Well tough. You've already had your fun. Let me get mine in one more time. Don't be a baby."

Then a grunt as he became impossibly close. Throwing a look back towards his friend, who was being just as filthy as he was now that you were satisfied.

Kite had pulled out from your cunt the same time Ging did from your mouth. Getting a devious idea of his own. One that would've gotten him hard again if he weren't already drained.

He fisted his cock in his hand and started up a fast pace to get him there. The other spread apart your cunt, giving him a nice view of your sopping hole. Angling right outside your plush lips, he reached his high. Ropes of sticky cum coating the outside of your pussy. Dripping down the sheets along with your own release.

The same time Ging's own seed covered the top of your breasts along with your cheeks.

The warm spurt of cum on the outside of your cunt and upper body alerting you to the mess they'd made. You felt sticky.

Both men panted heavily above you before their eyes met.

"I'm spent. Don't think I have another drop in me. You?" Ging asked, gesturing towards Kite.

"No way I'd last another round. I don't they would either."

"Nope. Done for the night." You mumbled, trying your best to sit up.

"Well, goodnight I guess. Too late to find a hotel, so I'm crashing here." The Ruins Hunter announced before flopping down comfortably in your bed.

"Sure, just don't hog the blankets and we're good. What about you? Wanna stay here for the night. I'd feel bad if you left, you know?" You tried to sway Kite.

He looked in thought for a second before answering.

"If it's not an inconvenience to you."

"I'm not gonna let you walk home drunk. Plus I've already got an inconvenience in my bed. Just don't worry about it, okay?"

The tension melted away.

"Okay....In the same bed?"

"We all just fucked in the same bed. Don't be all shy now." Ging grumbled, trying to adjust himself.

"And where do you think you're going??!" He added when you got up.

"To clean up a little."

"But you look better covered in cum." Was he whining??? He was not seriously upset that you wanted to get rid of the sperm on your face, was he???

"Shut up before I fuck your ass." You warned, finding a towel.

"Don't threaten me with a good time!"

"Can you both stop arguing? It's annoying." Kite said, trying his best to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

"Annoying? What's annoying is the mess you two made all over me. And not just the cum. My neck is all bruised up. So's my chest. Hell my ass probably has bruises. Seriously, it's not like I was going anywhere!"

You wiped the cum from your face and chest. You'd have a proper shower in the morning. When you weren't drunk out of your mind and struggling to walk.

"Geez. Maybe I should've went home with that other guy." Your tone was teasing as you slipped between them for the night.

"No." It was almost funny how fast they responded. And how upset it sounded as well. Like their favorite toy just got taken away.

But what's funnier?

The way two pairs of arms wrapped themselves around you and the slight tug-of-war that commenced during the night. Both trying to pull you away from the other to cuddle.

Dorks.

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

An: 🔫🔫🔫 Now all of you wait another two weeks for the next smut. 🔫🔫🔫 Back to horny jail you nasties. (Me looking for a spritz bottle)

[daisyachain]

Gon and Killua’s relationship usually comes up from Killua’s perspective because he is our narrator. Gon doesn’t think of himself within any kind of narrative framework other than ‘I’m going to find my dad and I’m finding my dad.’ Killua, on the other hand, has been forcibly narrated his entire life. Your Friends Will Betray You and You Will Betray Them. You Are the Zoldyck Heir and You Will Be It. In the Zoldyck arc he lets himself get chained up to fulfil the charade of proper kid—he’s fully versed in the life of appearances (persona) running parallel to and continuously over top of the true life (animus). Killua tells us the HxH story in every chapter where it’s not Kurapika narrating because he’s the one who thinks in terms of story. He can pick out a plot point and think of it as a plot point. He knows that Kurapika must be connected to the Chain User because that’s how it works.

Which means that Gon’s perspective is limited to a few thought bubbles, bits of the Chimera arc, and the Exam arc. It’s any time where he’s not under observation by Kurapika or Killua (the two narrators). We can only piece together what the hell his mindset is because he certainly won’t tell us; he doesn’t see any reason to rationalize his contradictory selves into one coherent narrative. Why would you bother? Killua is his friend because he says he is, he is Killua’s friend for the same reason, simple as.

So: we look into Gon’s relationships. He bonds quickly with others, he bonds strongly, he’s unwavering in his support for people who ‘pass’ and swift in condemnation for people who don’t. He never reevaluates that judgment—it’s disproven or it’s not—except when it comes to Killua.

There’s some texture there. Chimera arc Gon’s break comes in rejecting Killua while also simultaneously keeping him in the On Side category. He can treat Killua with resentment and distance that he never dreams of holding for Ging/Kurapika/any of the other people On Side who could be said to have treated him badly. He’s not Gon’s friend. He’s Gon’s, period. Even as far back as the Yorknew Arc, Gon outright says that Killua isn’t allowed to do the things that he can do/that Gon won’t permit Killua the agency he considers himself to have. Oopsie! A heartwarming moment in context that goes dark later. There is the point of Gon forcibly inserting himself into Kurapika’s plans, but you can argue that he doesn’t impose his will on Kurapika in the same way—he signs up to support him and manoeuvres him out of the murder situation without actually asking him not to kill anyone. It’s Leorio, Melody, even Killua who challenge Kurapika on his decisions more than Gon (at least afairecall…).

Back to the original point of the post: Gon’s worse traits come out with/around Killua as he gets more and more proprietary over him. A declaration of protection in the exam arc turns to insistence on holding Killua to a double standard turns into attacking him for trying to go against his will in any way. Gon sees Killua as his left hand. This works out for them great because Killua wants to be Gon’s left hand. When it goes sideways…the ending to the Alluka arc is the only possible way it can go. Killua has chosen of his own volition to leave. Gon can’t maintain his own illusion of Killua-my-Shadow any longer.