#hope u like it partner *tips cowboy hat*

[hotluncheddie]

an addition to this au with @scoops-aboy86 <3

condensed ver: office au, steve starts baking to try and impress eddie, it doesn’t work, because steve is too distracted by eddie to mention it’s his baking. but it’s okay because eddie is already impressed, and likes watching steve eat the random deserts more than trying them himself anyway. 

so i had to write what happened at the end of their first date <3 

wc: 3.6k | rated: E | tags: getting together, fluff, chubby steve, sweet gooey smut

ao3

˙✧ ° 🍮 ✧ .୧ 🥄

‘gonna just hit the bathroom and we can go, yeah?’ steve asks, standing and stretching his arms over his head until his shoulder pops. he feels pleasantly full and warm, comfortable after being in eddie’s space all evening. butterfly’s fluttering at eddie’s sweet determination to make steve feel looked after, friendly arguing over how to split the bill. (eddie putting more cash down but steve ensuring their waiter gets a nice tip.) 

steve freezes, forgetting that he’d popped the button on his kind of too small jeans like, an hour ago. he sucks in and forces the button back closed, pulling and smoothing his yellow sweater back down over himself. giving his little shelf of stomach a pat. 

he trails his eyes over their table; a couple beers each and steve’s vanilla drink, and around eight empty plates of appetisers and sides that eddie had ordered periodically thought the night. he’d said the food here was good and he was right, steve had tried all of it, finishing almost all of it. thinking he should take robin here so she can try the cheese fries. he enjoyed every bite. 

‘i feel like i should be more embarrassed, but that food was really good.’ steve says. 

‘nothin’ to be embarrassed about.’ eddie says ‘i ordered the food because i wanted you to try it, just glad you enjoyed it.’ he’s resting his head in his palm, looking up at steve with a lazy sort of adoration. 

‘yeah?’ steve asks. 

‘yeah.’ eddie smiles and stands and doesn’t touch steve but steps close, in his space, eyes roaming steve’s features, his face and hair and neck. catching on the peak of chest hair visible at his neckline. trailing over his chest and arms and stomach. eventually making it back to his eyes and steve knows his breathing has picked up. eddie’s eyes are hooded and dark. steve feels warmth through his bones. 

‘i’ll just. bathroom’ steve says, voice quiet and gravely. he clears his throat. forces himself to swallow.

eddie’s smiles wide, pointy. steve feels his own flushed face split into a grin, the butterflies doubling. he nods once and walks backwards towards the bathroom, keeping his eyes on eddie’s mouth for as long as possible. 

once he’s back, having checked and double checked his outfit in the mirror, because maybe he was a little embarrassed. eddie is slouched at the empty bar waiting for him. 

‘i wanna make a joke about like, the button, getting into your pants, be all smooth and suave or whatever.’ eddie says, a little bit of a whine to his voice as though he really really did want to be smooth. ‘but, i’ve got nothin.’ he sighs 

fuck it. ‘do you want to? get, in them, i mean?’ steve asks, running a hand through his hair, pretending it’s not shaking. 

eddie’s smiles wide, a little shocked, almost shy, and nods. steve bites his lip, the butterflies tripling. 

‘i’ll uh, just call us a cap? back to mine? steve asks, and eddie pulls a piece of wavy hair in front of his mouth. looking up at steve through his lashes. steve thinks he must have a guardian angel, sending this man to his office, letting him fill his eye-line. 

steve uses the bars pay phone. gripping the receiver tight and having to turn away when he catches eddie’s eye, afraid his voice will come out strange from smiling too wide. has to contain his excitement as he rattles off the bars address. he feels giddy and well fed and he’s not had a night like this in, well, ever. 

they stand apart from each other on the street outside the bar. steve by the curb, hands fisted in his jacket pocket. eddie leaning up against the bars brick wall, one foot up against it and he’s smoking. baring his neck to expel white tendrils up into the night sky, taking long slow drags so steve can see the veins on his hands, long fingers and big rings. steve can’t take his eyes off him. eddie smirks, like he caught him, like he knows. steve’s blood burns. 

finally through the doors of steve’s little suburban home eddie stands close while steve locks and checks the door. eddie takes off his boots and steve helps him hang his jacket on the coat hooks, followed by his own, something swirling in the back of him mind. a ‘how nice’, a ‘maybe’, a ‘please’ and a scared little question. what if this was all the time? what if you just stayed? 

steve puts his hands on eddie’s hips to brushes past, asking if he’d like a drink, getting himself a glass of water. eddie’s skin was so warm. 

eddie steps though the house, hands behind his back, looking delighted and mischievous, like steve’s place is something interesting, something to care about. steve hides behind his glass. 

eddie looks at the photos hung up around the walls. back facing steve, eddie says ‘it’s nice in here, cozy, like you.’ and steve can’t take it any longer. can’t take being apart from eddie any longer. 

‘come on.’ he pulls at eddie’s arm, gently leading him to the couch. standing in front of it steve manoeuvres eddie’s hand up so he can compare them, his are bigger, they always are. steve sees eddie’s adams apple bob, he smiles, holds eddie’s hand in both of his and kisses each of his knuckles in turn. his skin is warm, smells like salt and cigarettes. 

eddie tucks some of steve’s hair behind his ear to get his attention, hand gently cupping his jaw. ‘can i?’ he whispers, eyes so big and pretty, nervous and hungry. 

steve’s nods slightly, looking all over eddie’s face, trying to drink in the moment, never forget it. 

eddie’s lips quirk at the corners, like he’s exited, joyous, that he gets to kiss steve. 

steve’s meeting him before eddie even moves, pushing their lips together, something sweet, something honey filled and gooey. 

eddie switches angle, dives in deeper, it becomes wet and molten and creamy. steve’s hand in eddie’s hair, holding the back of his head, other hand still gripping eddie’s. mouths searching and sharing, fingers locked. 

eventually eddie breaks the kiss, they’re both panting, coming up for air. steve closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against eddie’s. he can’t remember the last time he kissed someone. he doesn’t think it’s ever felt this good. 

eddie moves slow, stepping back, sitting in the center of the couch. he pats his lap, tugging gently at their still joined hands. 

steve hesitates a moment but straddles eddie, settling down on top of him as best he can in his tight jeans. the denim pulling at his thicker thighs, biting into his stomach like it was at the bar. but eddie rests his head back agains the cushions, looks up at steve with stars in his eyes, ‘so pretty stevie.’ 

and steve can’t help but kiss him. 

eddie free hand moves to steve’s hip. something instinctive and embarrassed makes steve grab it, pausing it before it can splay over him fully. thinks about pushing him away, to hide, but then eddie pulls back slightly and steve sees the look in his eyes. the flash of sweet concern but also the foggy want and desire. deep, dark pupils eating up chocolate brown and all steve feels is want, wanted, whole. 

‘you okay?’ eddie whispers, stealing air from steve’s own mouth. 

‘yeah, yeah just um, been a while.’ steve admits feeling his cheeks flush. but eddie just smiles at him, in that sweet way he does all the time at work. he squeezes what he can of steves fingers, kind, reassuring. 

steve feels that want bloom and flower in his chest, warmth dripping through all of his cracks and crevices. 

he pushes eddie’s hand up under his sweater and eddie can definitely feel how his jeans waistband is digging in, creating a muffin top but steve doesn’t care. he kisses eddie and it’s feels good, slips his tongue into eddie mouth and it feels perfect. 

eddie opens his mouth wider, moaning, letting steve in. squeezes a handful of steve’s side and steve can’t help but grind down against him and whine. 

eddie grinds up, meeting him, their denim clad cocks both hard and straining. ‘it’s been a while for me too. so, i, it’s okay, if you wanna, ah, uh, if you wanna slow down.’ eddie says, in-between kisses. 

steve does, but he doesn’t. he thinks tonight so far has been perfect and he really wants to touch eddie. wants to let himself do it. ‘wanna touch you, wanna keep kissing you and i want you to stay, stay the night with me. is that, is that okay?’ steve asks, breathless and desperate, insides flayed open, honest. 

‘more than okay, that’s, ugh, fuck, sounds so perfect baby.’ eddie grits out, still squeezing steve’s side, head thrown back, pretty long neck on display. 

‘say that again’ steve breaths, their hips haven’t stopped moving. steve’s eyes close tight, his skin on fire. 

eddie moves the hand from steve’s hip to the side of his neck, pulling him down so they’re eye to eye, almost nose to nose. eddie sweeps his thumb over steve’s bottom lip, wiping the spit across his cheek. looks right in his eyes, right into his soul. ‘baby.’ he purrs. 

steve feels his pupils blow, wet tip soaking his boxers. ‘fuck’ he keens. he needs to feel him, needs to know if eddie’s wet too. 

steve pushes himself up using the back of the couch, going for smooth but he fumbles his footing slightly, starts giggling, flustered. but eddie just giggles too, sitting up and using their still joined hands to help stabilise. ‘c’mon pretty boy.’ steve says, giddy, and tugs eddie up once he’s found his footing, pulling him towards the stairs. swaying his hips a little more than normal as he climbs them. 

eddie sits on the edge of the bed, looking around like he did downstairs, face open and curious. steve thinks he’s beautiful. 

steve hesitates a second before undoing his fly and shimmying out of his jeans, kicking them aside. eddie let’s out the faintest little ‘oh’, almost wounded, and steve realised he’s looking at the indented red lines that have been left on his soft underbelly, where it’s been pushed up against his jeans waistband all evening. steve flushes and goes to cover himself but eddie takes his hands gently, pulling him forward so he’s standing between eddie’s thighs. eddie’s big dark eyes looking up at him before he dips forward and leaves the softest kiss over the indent right in the middle, where the button dug in the most. steve can’t look away, his breathing picking up slightly as he feels his gut churn with something he thinks could traverse all the way to his heart, could expand and grow into something like love. 

‘need to touch you eddie.’ steve pleads, voice higher than normal. 

‘yeah, yeah, course sweetheart.’ eddie’s voice is horse, affected, he lays a few more feathery kisses on steve’s stomach and the soft skin by his hip. ‘but take this off first for me, please baby.’ eddie released his soft grip on steve’s hands and slips his fingers just under the hem of steve’s sweater, rucking it up slightly higher on his belly and squeezing steve’s hips. the contact making steve close his eyes and shiver. 

‘you don’t like my sweater?’ steve jokes, hands on eddie’s shoulders to keep his knees from turning to jelly. 

‘it looks perfect on you. but steve, baby, i’ve been thinking about what you’ve got hiding under that button down for weeks, please don’t tease me any longer.’ and eddie sounds so desperate that steve believes him. 

‘i was worried i was being too obvious, but fuck, i just couldn’t take my eyes off you.’ eddie murmurs and steve feels eddies wet kiss just below his belly button, nuzzling the soft skin and hairs. then eddie sinks his face into steve’s belly for real, dips his tongue into steve’s belly button and swirls. steve moans, he didn’t even know that could feel so good, that it was so sensitive, but it does, and it is. 

steve pulls his sweater off, tossing it into the corner. hand moving back into eddie’s curls, pushing him in deeper, relishing in eddie’s muffled groan and the slick sounds of him sucking and biting. ‘you next eddie. your turn.’ steve tugs at eddie’s hair, pulling him away from his now glistening stomach. eddie’s mouth hangs open, he looks fucked out and glossy. 

‘fuck.’ eddie croaks taking in steve’s now naked chest, eyes roaming quickly and greedily over steve’s chest hair, pecks and arms. 

steve smiles, laughs a little. ‘you okay?’ he teases. but he’s happy, kind of awed. 

‘yeah.’ eddie breathes, spacey and adorable. then he seems to come back to himself a little, blinking and blushing slightly. steve can see it where the tips of his ears stick out of his hair. ‘sorry if, ah, that was too much wasn’t it?’ teeth worrying pretty pick lips.  

‘no no.’ steve laughs, earnest, because steve’s happy, feels divine. he pulls on eddie wrists, making him stand. ‘no worrying’ steve holds eddie’s face in his hands, soothes his thumbs over the soft skin below eddie’s eyes. ‘just, my turn now, kay?’ and steve kisses him, firm and deep. 

steve’s lets his hands roam, sliding down eddis arms and up his sides before returning to his hips, thumbs stoking and dipping where hip, meets jeans, meets boxers. he steps in closer so they’re chest to chest and squeezes eddies ass. and oh, how eddie opens up for him. tongue hot and wet, hips flush and grinding, holding steve’s shoulders like he’s scared to float away. 

steve slides his hands up eddie’s back, taking his shirt up with them. ‘off’ he says, their lips still connected. eddie steals one more peck before he steps back and steve gets to see all of his pale, tattooed chest for the first time. 

‘oh.’ he says, amazed. he knew eddie had some. but, patches of eddie are covered with art. some spooky intricate things, some old with bleeding edges and steve can’t help but touch. tracing their lines and watching as goose bumps travel down eddie’s arms, nipples hard and pretty pink. steve traces them, tweaks them, smiling when he hears eddie’s faint gasp. 

‘pretty.’ steve says. looking into eddie’s eyes. he wets his lips and lets his hand travel down, squeezing eddies cock through his jeans, relishing in the weight and warmth of it in his palm, through the denim. 

slowly, eddie’s brings both of steve’s hands to the fly of his jeans. eyes dark and hungry. steve takes his time, popping the button, pulling the zipper down tooth by tooth, knuckles giving steady pressure to eddie’s length. once it’s open eddie pulls them down, boxers going too. deft fingers tugging at steve’s boxers, pulling them off, tossing it all aside. until they’re standing in front of each other, both completely naked, cocks hard and flushed red, pre pearling at the heads. 

something about the feeling of air on his hard cock has steve pausing, sinking into his head a little. he really likes eddie, they’re doing this, it’s scary. he’s not, he hasn’t had feelings like this in a long time. it could really hurt, eddie could really hurt him, if it keeps going the way steve hopes. 

steve’s been still and silent too long. ‘um, fuck, sorry, it really has been a long time and i ah, i don’t usually do this on a first date and uhm...’ steve says, trailing off, sucking in a shaky breath. 

eddie steps forward and entwines his pinkie with steve’s finger. it’s such a comforting, tender gesture that something in steve melts. how lovely actually, that it’s been so long, but that he’s able to feel these things again. 

‘hey.’ eddie’s voice is soft. ‘no worrying.’ his thumb strokes against the back of steve’s hand. ‘and me neither. i’ve, honestly had an embarrassingly small number of first dates. but, this one’s been perfect, even if it ends here.’ and eddie looks so happy, so earnest. steve steps forward and kisses the corner of his mouth. 

eddie turns his head into it, capturing steve’s lips. coming together they groan as their lengths slide against each other. tongues entering mouths, spit slick and sloppy. 

‘you wanna lay down?’ steve asks, taking a tentative hand and squeezing their cocks together as one. 

eddie’s eyes close at the contact. ‘yeah. but, uh, i don’t think i’m gonna last long, sorry.’ he says, breathing deep through his nose. 

another squeeze and steve let’s go, pulling eddie onto the bed with him. ‘good. me neither.’ steve lays on his side facing eddie, mirroring each other. 

‘this okay?’ steve asks, taking them both in his palm again, collecting the pre from their tips and moving slow. 

‘yeah, yeah, fuck, just.’ and eddie cards one of his hands through steve’s hair, moving closer, holding him firmly at the base of his skill, eddie’s hand squeezes and steve shivers. ‘hold on just.’ eddie grunts, taking steves hand away from their cocks to lick and solid wet stipe along it, bast to tip. 

‘fuck’ steve pants, slide slick and smooth now. eddie gripping the back of his head still, other hand gravitating back to his hip. roaming that plush crease at his waist. 

steve speeds up, grips tighter. eddie’s pushing their foreheads together, panting, sharing breath. steve knows he can’t last long, with eddie hard and thick against him. 

‘fuck, fuck, stevie’ eddie whines, curing in on himself, pulling steve closer, hand moving to grab at steve’s peck, his shoulder, blunt nails against his neck. ‘baby, i’m close, i’m close.’ 

steve watches, enamoured, eddie’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth pretty pink and open. ‘me too, me too’ steve pants, doesn’t want to blink, speeds up his hand, twists their heads. 

eddie throws his leg over steve’s thigh, gripping a handful of his peck again, twisting the hairs at the back of his head and steve comes with a shout. eddie squeezing his chest and pulling his hair through his own orgasm, rocking against steve’s cock, steve’s hand. the pleasure pain rolls through steve, down his legs and arms, making his mind go fuzzy blank. 

panting, he nuzzled into eddie, nosing at his cheek. still moving his hand in a lazy grip. 

‘baby.’ eddie moans, sounding spent and sleepy and loose. 

steve doesn’t open his eyes, just kisses him. pushing his messy hand into eddie’s stomach, getting him to lay flat so steve can devour him. eddie letting him eat. 

eventually the kisses turn into steve breathing in eddie’s skin, head tucked into his neck. half asleep but sticky. 

he rolls off, holding his hand out in front of him, as if their combined cum isn’t also all over his chest. goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and wipe himself down, coming back in with tissue and a damp towel for eddie. 

eddie has rolled into his side, eyes following steve coming over. his hair a mess of frizz around his head, face happy and sleepy and satiated. steve thinks he looks glorious. 

steve likes the feeling of the quiet, the focus and attention he can take to cleaning eddie off, hands roaming over pale skin. he leaves a kiss to eddie’s sternum once he’s done, the moment feels reverent and deep, something warm shifting through steve again, solidifying within him. 

sleep takes them quickly, a tangle of limbs and blankets, chased kisses and wondering fingertips. eddie sighing into steve’s embrace. 

steve wakes to the sound of the radio, something a little heavier than his usual morning station. both sides of the bed are still warm and everything still smells like eddie. steve shoves his face in his pillow to stifle his grin. wants to squeal, wants to kick his legs and throw the widows of his heart open wide. 

he makes a quick call to work, feigning sick and gets up to find sweats. 

eddie is in the kitchen, sitting at the counter and leafing through a book. he’s humming and swinging his legs, steve can’t help but stare. eddie’s hairs still a mess but he’s picked up his boxers and steve’s sweater from last night. the collar is pulled to one side and shows off  a peak of collarbone, the yellow complimenting his sleep flush cheeks. steve swallows, heat rushing through his belly, his jumper looks bigger on eddie, oversized and sweet. 

eddie’s finally looks up at him but he looks pointy again, mischievous and magical, even with the pillow crease on his cheek. steve comes closer, he has to kiss him. 

and eddie let’s him, humming sleepy and deep. but pulls away eventually, same face still on just now with kiss pink lips. ‘these cupcakes look like the ones from the office, and these cookies, and this cheesecake.’ eddie flicks to each one. ‘funny that, don’t you think? stevie baby.’  eddie says, pointing to a page in the book, leaning into steve’s space, eyes greedy and sparkling. 

oops, busted. steve blushes, takes a moment to figure out how to explain what was his frankly insane plan to get eddie to talk to him through baked goods. he scratches the back of his neck, mind blank. 

‘cant you make this?’ eddie asks, turning to the page for molten chocolate cakes and tapping it with long callused fingers. 

steve just looks at him, silly pretty thing. ‘for.. breakfast?’ steve asks and eddie just nods, grin getting a touch more feral, eyes on steve’s mouth, hand sliding up under steve’s t-shirt and squeezing. 

[happylandfill23]

well howdy there partner! *tips tiny pink sparkly cowboy hat from party city*

i'm tumblr user happylandfill23 and this is my blog on tumblr dot com!! here's an intro post so you get to know me a bit :]

first things first, you can call me ember (or by my url that works too) and you can refer to me with any pronouns!

i use a couple tags to sort my posts, so i'll explain them here -

[#styrofoamm] - my art tag! this is where all my drawings are so you can check those out if you want!! (this blog was originally supposed to be dedicated to just my art but look where we are now)

[#landfill rambles] - the tag where i just kinda. say stuff. doesn't even make sense sometimes but i just kinda talk or ramble there, yknow get my thoughts out (even if my thoughts are just ham cheese sandwich)

[#cyberdevils] - anything related to cyberdevils, a band i created! there are a few other tags related to this one, those being [#pixie pereira] for the band's singer/guitarist, [#ace calix] for the band's drummer, and [#shags] for the band's bassist (no that's not her real full name btw). oh there's also [#cosmo pereira] who's pixie's younger brother, [#gloria nguyen] for shags' girlfriend, [#shagloria] which is shags and gloria's ship name, and probably even more once i add more characters and lore!!

[#cool art !] - any art i reblog that isn't mine! i forget to tag things on occasion but i can assure you if you scroll through this tag on my blog it will take years upon years to reach the bottom

[#q] - the posts in my queue, nothing much else to say about that one lol

i have 5 other blogs if u wanna follow me there as well -

@styrofoamm - my art blog! this is mostly for archival purposes, but it has all my art reblogged to it and u can follow me there if u wanna see my art or if u like my drawings but think i'm intolerable lol

@ask-cyberdevils - my cyberdevils ask blog! you can ask anything about them and i'll draw a response (unless it's a question to me specifically, which you can certainly ask as well)

@gu1t4rf41ry - pixie pereira (cyberdevils)'s blog

@acexofxspades - ace calix (cyberdevils)'s blog

@shags-shags - shags (cyberdevils)'s blog

i'm not gonna go super in detail about what i like, but you'll probably see me post a lot about gorillaz, blur, nimona, julie (band), mars argo, the owl house, nirvana, ppg, daria, manic street preachers, and several other things i'm not gonna bother listing lmao

feel free to shoot me an ask whenever you want!! i love interacting with y'all and it means a lot even if I don't respond <33

and as i mentioned earlier, you can also send me asks on my second blog, @ask-cyberdevils (PLEASE)

you can also find me over on youtube! i mostly post covers and speedpaints, you can find my channel here :D

idk what else to say here so i hope you decide to stick around!! <3

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

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

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”