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wardenparker · 4 months

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New Year's Surprise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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gracie-rosee · 5 months

Text

Empyrean Clothing

If I could borrow a minute of your time. I promise it’s worth it :)

I took it upon myself to put this together, since I really enjoy the detailed world Rebecca Yarros has laid out for us. Plus, as an artist it’s good to have solid references. And a lot of these are somewhat book accurate to the descriptions of some clothing and styles I can recall.

It bugs me when people see a fantasy world and immediately think: corsets, tight leather, sexy dresses, ball gowns, billowing capes, and eight million buckles. So here’s how I see the clothing in this series.

Let’s start with the War college and flight leathers:

I don’t think their uniform resembles any kind of prep school/academy uniform whatsoever. Their uniforms are quite literally flight uniforms. So, I take a lot of inspiration from real life flight jumpsuits you would see from pilots and astronauts. Simple enough for daily wearing to classes, yet durable and efficient for flight maneuvers and lessons. Leathers are worn on top of uniforms.

Have any of you ever tried to do a simple cartwheel in a waist-snatching leather corset with cutouts in all the weird places? I doubt there would be much range and ease of mobility. Leather is great for flying, but they’re also fighting, too.

Flying also requires high altitudes and extremely cold weather and wind. I imagine one would wear clothing to cover their neck and face while in flight, in addition to goggles. (Seriously, where did the goggles go in the fanart/fanfics I’m seeing?) Practicality over aesthetics.

Other necessities would be gloves. Being able to grip your dragon and wield weapons is a must.

For more casual, everyday clothing:

Lots of sweaters. Buttons rather than zippers. More casual, yet always always so practical in a way that you could jump into flight or channel a signet that requires physical exertion. Complete and total range of movement would be required. From what we’ve seen, it’s a cooler climate, not just during the winter, and everybody works. There was two instances I can recall where someone wore something other than pants and that was Violet’s skirt for Reunification Day and her dress later on in book 2.

Even Scribe robes are very practical and efficient:

And now for my favorite.

High ranking officials, nobles, and royalty:

I often think of Liam and Xaden’s family. High ranking officials, wealthy families, and powerful signet wielders would have more flaunting style. To show their signet, to show their wealth, status, or position. And yet, and YET! Still practical. You could jump onto the back of a dragon at any time. The extravagance would often lie in the details. Hand crafted embroidery, or Deverelli silk sashes. Almost no jewelry would be worn, but I think expression could be shown in extravagant hair colors and makeup styles.

Again, while I did reference the book for most of this, the rest is my interpretation of what I think fits the series the best. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk!

#fourth wing #iron flame #the empyrean #violet and xaden #xadenviolet #liam mairi #dain aetos #violet sorrengail #rhiannon matthias #xaden riorson #rebecca yarros

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spookycrazyhatboxghost · 1 year

Text

The first chill of winter has hit Sundari

//fr I don’t even know if Mandalore gets winters or how that’d work under the dome but it’s cold and I’m suffering //

The hour is late; kitchens have been closed for an hour and they’re in the middle of their weekly caff and little pastry wind-down.

There are three chairs set out with a drip caff station at the table; two chairs are occupied.

Both are wearing matching uniforms, high collared dark shirts, pants and boots. The starch of their collars gone and their aprons long discarded but that is where the similarities end.

One is a tall; slightly pale blue Pau' an man; bald and black eyes—all long limbs and a unique pattern tattooed from the crown to his cheekbones. He was friendly to few and tolerated even less.

The baseline human across from him was sitting—no perched on the chair; left side against the backrest and one leg on the chair flat. Dark hair clipped away from the face; on the table in-front of him is a spare page of flimsi and a spiced hot chocolate that is more spiced mocha then dessert.

Mandalorian by birth but didn’t hold the zeal for Beskar’gam covering all of the time —hence his kitchen work.

Xok is concentrating hard on counting

stitches ignoring the look Qwil is giving

him.

The Pau' an in the other chair doesn't try to hide the

amusement behind the nicest cup of

drip caff he's had in awhile.

"So how's

the scarf coming along? 12-7–34".

He received a death glare in lieu of an

answer.

“Rude! Yours, Granns and Calam’s I’ve already finished— it’s just this one I’m having to restart… it has to look nice ”

The man paused scribing the stitch count on the bit of flimsi ; fingers absentmindedly petting the semi completed scarf. It was a subtly variegated yarn; pitch black for long stretches until it shifted to a faint berry tone and then a bright shock of red and then back to berry and then pitch. And in the design he’d chosen the little red shift was actually quite pretty.

When he saw it in a market off world he’d bought it immediately. The seller had all different colors and he’d grabbed several in his friends favorites but this one was a gamble.

"I am about

3/4ths of the way done- I would be further along if Syril would let

me knit in peace--I have to hide it from her in this”

Xók murmurs.

For emphasis; shaking the tote bag he carries the project in. Qwil nods but his attention is now more focused on the plate of sweet breads Grann has brought from the back.

They were destined for the trash anyway so why

be wasteful.

Grann was in a jolly mood; from red shade on her claws that matched her head feathers to the way she presented the plate of pan with all her pointy teeth showing.

"See? A little water and time in the oven

and they are good as new." She grinned triumphantly.

Xok poured her some caff as she settled back down.

"Never doubted you for a moment Grann”

The

human insisted as he finished preparing it how she

liked.

“Thank you that’s sweet of you— ”

She ruffled his hair good naturally.

Qwil noted this and even though he’s just finished a cup—pouted only as much as his

pride would allow.

"Where's mine?"

Xók turned in his

direction with a mini pink concha in each hand. Brown eyes

wide as he cleaned the pink dust from his fingers.

"Oh I'm sorry Qwil--what was it ? Vashkan honey?

and a splash of--go Fuck yourself"

Unused to the animosity. Grann nearly

choked on her sugar dusted choice.

Qwil didn't need to move an inch to point in Xók's

face.

"That's not right - she and I have been on the exact same shift -on our feet all day while you waltz

in at noon-"

Qwil is genuinely surprised when Xök

grabs his shirt collar and shakes him.

"I was in the MedBay you ass!" Xok hissed as he

dismounts the stool he used to get right up in his face.

Grann interrupted; voice and expression worried.

"What happened dear? Are you sick? Are you pregnant??"

Xók can hear it when his voice cracks.

"I'm not sick--pregnant what--?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose Xók composes

himself and tries again.

"Grann-if I was pregnant do

you think I would be having caff right now? Also why

did you think I was-never mind. No this tall glass of

oisk forgot to tell me the caff I had last night could

have killed me—-“

Qwil winced

"So the Comm this morning ?

—you weren't

kidding--I'm sorry Xó-" The human nodded his head;

dipped the concha in the spiced cocoa and

explained.

"The lads in the med bay were super

confused on how I made it there on my own two feet

to be honest-“.

Xók took a bite and swallows quickly before continuing.

”Said if I'd waited any longer it would have given me a

heart attack- they had to knock me out and flush it

from my system--took longer then expected-I'm

sorry I was late for my shift-" Qwil;incredulous.

"None of that-Hey I like you alive thank you very

much-“

Xók's eyes were a little misty but he nodded.

To Qwil— apologizing smacks of bitterness .

"I'm sorry I forgot about the warning label

on the caff-I forget you're only human sometimes"

Xok sits there mouth half open in shock. "Was that-

a compliment?!" The Pau'an softly scowls into his

mug.

“No—“

Xok is full on grinning now.

"Wow-I'm really touched

you like having me around-"

Qwil bristles defensively

; pointing at the tote bag.

"There's a big chance /

He/won't accept it. Why are you bothering—-"

Qwil stopped as the spark in Xók's expression dimmed.

The dark haired man gathered his things to his chest and stood. Xok starts talking out-loud

"I just -I don't know I wanted to say thank you?- that I appreciate him-?"

Xök breathes unsteadily amidst Qwil trying to think

of a way to take it back. The Pau' an flinches-away from the hard look Grann is aiming at him.

"That

was a low blow Xök forgive me?-"

Qwil says loudly to

stop the guilt foaming up his insides and the glare

from burning into the side of his skull.

Xók looks at him nodding.

"No -ah thank you for the reality check Qwil-“

Brows furrowing slightly the human explained.

"I'm prepared to keep the

scarf if he doesn't want it... it's still a perfectly good

scarf for the cold.

Morning patrols are freezing— I could make gloves or a hat if there’s any yarn to spare….”

Xók felt a little better about the whole thing; thought it was good when friends kept you grounded.

Soon it was time to go their separate ways.

Passing one of the windows on his route home Zok witnessed the first flurry of snow drift gently on the other side of the glass.

FIN

#spookycrazyhatboxghost #darth maul x male oc #darth maul #whyyyyy #star wars fanfiction #maul

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katsukisbimbo · 3 years

Text

Then and Now | one

✯pairing: ryōmen sukuna x reader x gojo satoru

✯summary: where gojo’s best friend is the reincarnation of sukuna’s former lover.

✯wordcount: 4.3k+

✯warning: fem! reader, she/her pronouns, swearing

✯note: omg i’ve literally been sitting on this for 3 weeks but here it is!!! i’ve fallen down a jjk hole and i don’t think i can ever get up

✯playlist

part two

“Satoru! Where’s Megumi? You said he’d be here? Something about looking for a special grade?” you bounced around, grasping his arm and shaking it along with you. You loved annoying him. The two of you had always been close. As a child, Gojo was still as bright and cocky as he was today, he had many proclamations of being your protector. Though, as you two aged, you learned how to protect yourself, becoming a jujutsu sorcerer whilst staying by his side. Of course, you were nowhere as talented as Gojo, but you never let that stop you, and he never used that fact against you.

You were still high in the rankings, a grade 1 to be exact, and you worked hard to get there. Not because you wanted to catch up with Gojo, but because you wanted to make him proud. He was the only one who had supported you through it all. Your parents weren’t much help, but Gojo was there for you when your world was crashing down, when you had broken into pieces he would be the one to put you back together.

Always.

There had never been a time where you had doubted Gojo. Until, maybe now.

“I dunno, I got souvenirs!! Kikufuku Mochi! They’re really good! You gotta eat some with me!” his mouth quirked up into a boyish grin. Gojo never lost his childishness and that was something you had always admired, even if his personality constantly irked you during your tween years. Nonetheless, you both stay loyal to one another.

You couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Why’re ya smiling like a weirdo? You got a crush on me or somethin’? He teased, using his free hand to boop the fluff of your cheek with his pointer finger. He never failed to ruin the moment. Typical Gojo. You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Shut up Gojo, let's go find Megumi before something bad happens to the kid.” you huffed, earning a laugh from your companion.

___

“You didn’t tell me the cursed object was Ryomen Sukuna’s finger.”

“You never asked.”

“You little-”

“What’s the situation?” he suddenly spoke, cutting you off whilst catching the attention of both Megumi and the strawberry haired male. You knew in an instance that this male was the vessel of Ryomen Sukuna. He emitted the curse energy of Sukuna himself. You always felt a connection to Sukuna and had helped find several clues and his fingers, resulting in the higher-ups permanently putting you on this case.

“Gojo-sensei! Why are you here?” Megumi exclaimed, his eyes soon darted to your figure right beside Gojo. “Y/n-sensei too?” he gaped. It was obvious that both you and his mentor were close, though, lately, it felt like there was something deeper going on between both of you.

“Hey! How are you Megumi?” you chimed, approaching his wounded figure. “I don’t think he’s good Y/n. He’s all beat up!” he responded, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. “I should show the second-years!”. He laughed as he snapped a few embarrassing pictures to send to his other students, causing Megumi to turn and hide his shame, along with his injuries.

“The higher-ups wouldn't shut up with a special-grade cursed object missing, so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing.” he huffed, knowing Gojo, he rolled his eyes. You did understand his dislike for the higher-ups. They tended to be more traditional and strict with their ways, while Gojo was...not. Of course, you would always stand by Gojo, even if it meant going up against your superiors. It was all or nothing with him.

“Then Y/n showed up! I don’t even know where she came from!” he loudly exclaimed, as if he wasn’t that skilled to the point where he could sense you the moment you step into the vicinity. You rolled your eyes, whilst the two boys sweatdropped. “So, did you find it?” he queried, staring directly at his student.

“Um… Sorry, but I ate it” the strawberry-haired male awkwardly chimed in.

A pause.

“For real?”

“For real.” the two replied in unison.

Gojo moved to observe him, leaning in close to his face. His chin propped onto his right hand in contemplation, a little pout forming onto his lips. He leaned in close with a laugh before pulling away from the male. Sometimes Gojo forgot that boundaries existed. The thought made you sigh, your mind suddenly recalling the time Gojo had tried to convince you to take a bath with him while still being in the tub, the bubbles barely covering what they needed to cover. Of course, Gojo enjoyed teasing you, along with being able to see your cute flustered face. You were pulled out of your daydream as he suddenly spoke, not realizing that you had completely missed their conversation.

“Then give us ten seconds. Once ten seconds are up, come back to us.” Gojo demanded as he stretched. You stretched your hand out towards him, taking his souvenir to protect it. You knew Gojo was craving to fight Sukuna. You could feel it. You were aware that he was stronger since he had only ingested one of twenty cursed fingers of Sukuna, but that still did not ease your anxiety.

Megumi, knowing how much of an overthinker you are, gently grasped your hand hanging on your side, lightly squeezing it in reassurance, as if to say ‘He’ll be okay, he’s the strongest.” You proceeded to nod at him and return the gesture. You pulled out a clean handkerchief, moving to slowly wipe the blood away from his face, aware of the fact that it would take some time to get him the proper medical attention he needs.

“But…”

“Don’t worry, I’m the strongest.” he cheekily responded. That eased your anxiety even more. You rolled your eyes once more at his cockiness. A small part of you hoped that Gojo would be graced with the opportunity to get his ass kicked, but a bigger part of you was aware of how strong Gojo was, and knew how quickly he would be able to defeat Sukuna’s vessel.

You slowly sat beside Megumi, straightening the short length of your skirt while stretching your legs. You had a love-hate relationship with your jujutsu uniform, love because you looked amazing in it, and hate because a certain someone made your skirt length a tad bit too short. Of course, you wore shorts underneath, but it was still irrational to force all of the females to wear something as revealing as a skirt.

Technically, it wasn’t mandatory for you to wear the uniform but Gojo insisted as it would raise “morale”.

As Gojo continued to ramble on, a dark figure was already ascending, aiming for Gojo himself.

“Behind you!” yelled Megumi, frantically reaching for your hand to pull you away but you just brushed him off, patting his knee to reassure him. “Don’t worry Megumi, I got you, just let Gojo have his fun.” he slowly nodded, still listening to his mentor ramble about mochi.

In a split second, Gojo was sitting atop of Sukuna, whilst Sukuna was crouched between your thighs, his arms on either side of your legs, the skin of your thighs barely brushing against his forearms. You laughed at his incredulous expression before raising a hand to pat his cheek and mockingly pouting before blowing him a kiss. Leaving him stunned, he quickly snapped out of his daydream before continuing to attack Gojo.

___

Your eyes fluttered open, the bed of flowers soft underneath your fingertips. You glanced around, hoping to find something, someone, anything familiar within the vicinity. Panic engulfed you, bile steadily rising in your throat. Tears began to gather in your eyes. Being in unfamiliar places had always given you a large amount of anxiety, especially since you’d just been sitting beside your pupil while watching your best friend fight the king of curses.

“What are you doing just sitting there dumbass?” a gruff voice called from behind you. You whipped your head back, hoping to find someone you know, but no such luck. The person behind you was quite intimidating. They emitted straight power and confidence. Unable to say anything, you stood there gaping at the stranger.

“What? Why’re you staring at me Y/n? You like me that much?” he teased, stepping closer to your figure to brush the stray leaves that had fallen onto your head. Even if he was a stranger, you felt no need to flinch or run away from him. The air around him had a sense of familiarity. As if he were a warm blanket amidst a harsh winter. You wanted to wrap yourself in him, feel him and his warmth. His love.

“Come on, let’s go princess. I don’t need you getting sick ‘cuz you were being a dumbass.” he sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist before pressing a kiss on your forehead.

At that moment, everything had faded away, leaving you with nothing but butterflies and the tingling sensation left on your forehead from his loving kiss.

___

You glanced at your shocked pupil. His eyes are wide with his mouth agape. “Y/n-sensei… Have you finally lost it? Y-You just patted Sukuna’s cheek!” he loudly exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. You laughed before avoiding his gaze, concealing the visible traces of shock etched on your face with a smile.

That vision. You have never had something of that sort ever occur in your lifetime. Your mind was completely muddled. Barely registering the next words that leave Gojo’s mouth.

“Both my student and my future girlfriend are watching, so I’m going to show off a little,” he smirked, leaning back onto Sukuna. They continued to fight, not that you were paying attention. You felt Gojo’s stare land on you a couple of times, yet your mind was still occupied with what you had seen.

You suddenly shot up, carrying Megumi as Sukuna’s vessel came skidding towards the both of you. You ran behind Gojo, knowing that it would be safer for Megumi. You sighed once more before sitting Megumi down. Dusting your skirt, you dug into Gojo’s bag of treats before munching on a piece of mochi.

“You jujutsu sorcerers are always trouble, no matter what era!” Sukuna growled, pointedly staring at you as he launched another attack at Gojo. “Though that doesn’t mean much to me.” he continued smugly before his eyes widened, seeing as the three of you had come out fully unscathed.

Megumi sighed as Gojo continued to count down, Sukuna’s vessel returning to his body once more after ten seconds, just as Gojo had instructed him to do so. You droned out for the rest of the conversation, lost in your thoughts on who the male could be. It couldn't be Gojo, the male's voice had a gruffness that Gojo didn’t have.

“You can really control it.” Gojo mused, stepping towards him.

“He’s kind of annoying though, I can hear his voice. He keeps mentioning this girl. Her name is Y/n I think? He keeps cursing her out! Saying things like ‘After almost a millennia she shows up!’ and ‘I’m never forgiving her, no matter how pretty she looks in that skirt.’ and--” he paused, scratching the back of his head. “He just swore at me for exposing him.”

Both Gojo and Megumi turned to you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. You froze. You weren’t sure of what these two wanted to hear, as you are just as clueless to the situation as they are. Contemplating how to answer, you ended up shrugging your shoulders, stuffing your face with even more mochi, resulting in Gojo sighing before knocking out and carrying the male.

___

You sighed, throwing yourself onto your bed before glancing at the cursed object currently on the palm of your hand. Sukuna’s severed finger was long while his nails were sharp. You traced the skin of the fingers, your curiosity getting the best of you. You studied his fingers from time to time but never got tired of looking at them, feeling the immense power it held.

“Why are you still up?”

“Fuck you Satoru. I hate it when you sneak up on me like that you bastard,” you grumbled, shoving your face even further into your pillows to avoid seeing his cheeky smile that you adored. “Aw. You’re so mean to me,” he fake pouted. “I just wanna be… appreciated,” he yelled in tiny, quoting that one lady.

“Come here. Take off your jacket and go change into proper nightclothes, assuming you’re staying the night again.” rolling your eyes. Satoru had made a habit of sleeping in your room, leaving his quarters almost always vacant. He basically lived with you! Even when both of you would see each other almost every day! Excluding the days when you are both on missions.

He smiled before rummaging through your drawers and silently made his way into the bathroom, shutting the door with a soft ‘click’”

When he came back, you were already fast asleep. Your fluffy sheets enveloping your whole figure, making you look so small in the mess of sheets you peacefully laid in. So beautifully peaceful. He smiled, leaning down to give your forehead a small peck, then situating himself beside your figure and pulling your body into his arms, knowing how well you slept when you were held.

___

You inwardly groaned, feeling as if your head was about to be split into two. You looked around, stuck in an unfamiliar place once more. This time, it was real life. You could feel it. You were able to control all your actions unlike during the first occurrence. Meaning that the vision you experienced may have been a memory, maybe from your past life.

This place had a menacing aura, a silent force pushing you to bend to its will. You knew better. Being an experienced sorcerer yourself. You grasped the holsters located under your skirt, silently clutching the pair of your guns before walking forward. You were able to enclose your cursed energy into your guns, shooting them out whenever and however you pleased.

“Nice guns. I remember when you didn’t use any weapons at all. Only using your cursed energy to fight. You were a much better fighter back then.” a voice drawled, a shiver going up your spine. You whipped around, eyes widening at the King of Curses sitting on his rightful throne. “What are you talking about Ryomen Sukuna?” you growled, clicking the safety off of your weapons.

“So formal. You used to call me Su-chan, you know?” he smirked, greedily enjoying your facial expressions. “That was then. Before you fucked me over,” he growled, his face contorting into anger. “You don’t remember what you did to me. Do you? You’re selfish. Then and now. You’re so fucking selfish. Get out before I lose my patience with you.” he growled, fists balling.

Your jaw dropped in shock. You didn’t expect his personality to flip so quickly.

“Fuck you, man. I don’t even know you. You don’t even know me like that. Stop acting like you do! What do you mean ‘back then’? You’re swearing at me without even telling me what I did!” one step. “You’re a bitch!” two steps. “You’re a pussy!” three steps. “Fuck you!” you were running now. “You’re a fucking dick! Suck my dick!” you spat right in front of his face, leaving him stunned. Who was crazy enough to curse out the literal King of Curses?

One, in his domain. Two, when he’s no less than a foot away. And three, to his actual face. Only an absolute mad person. It was a fitting description. You angrily peeked at his expression. Waiting for him to obliterate you. His hooded expression is dark. You stilled, unsure of what to do. He… He wasn’t moving nor speaking. Could you just leave? You weren’t even aware of where you are or how you even got here.

“Hey... Are you okay? You haven’t moved in a while. I’m sorry for swearing at you, but you kinda deserved it, not gonna lie.” scratching your head. You continued to stand awkwardly, hoping that he would just stop tormenting you with the silence.

“He-Ah!” you screeched as you were pulled into his lap. His arms wrapping around your waist to constrict you from moving, his hands entwining behind your back. You positioned one of your pistols beneath his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. He smirked, placing a kiss on the barrel of your gun, further flustering you, warmth spreading to your cheeks.

“You still don’t know how to listen. After a thousand years.” he chuckled. “You’re still the same. Disregarding my anger, even though you’re aware of what I’m capable of.” he softly smiled. An unfamiliar sight. “You never liked listening to me in the first place did you?” he queried, tilting his head up to face you. The grip on your gun faltering. You leaned into him, your weapons falling down your side, clattering down the floor. Sukuna licked his lips.

You moved to kiss him. Your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer to you, your lips fully pressing against his. The feeling of his lips hot and familiar on yours. You moved to clutch his hair, wanting to pull him into you, only for your world to break apart, plunging you into darkness.

___

You jolted awake, flying off of your bed and into the bathroom. Startling Gojo in the process. You splashed water onto your face in hopes of somehow calming your heart down. You remembered your dream vividly. Heavy footsteps made their way to you. You turned to face Satoru, tearing stinging your eyes as he automatically opened his arms and pulled you in.

“What’s wrong kiddo?” he cooed, pressing soft kisses onto your forehead. ‘Kiddo’ had been a childhood nickname bestowed upon you by your childhood friend himself. Seeing as you were younger than him. You clutched him tighter, wanting to feel him surround your whole body.

“I don’t know bunny. I just don’t know anymore.” you continued to sob whilst Satoru continued to hold you, his concern evident through the crease of his eyebrows, his bright cerulean eyes piercing through you. You didn’t understand what you were going through. Were you upset because of your affiliation to Sukuna? Were you upset because of the kiss? How were you going to tell Satoru about the kiss?

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on. Even though I might already know. But, just try to calm down okay? Can you take deep breaths for me kiddo? Come on, you got this. You’re a good girl. In. Out. Yeah, that’s it baby.” he continued to comfort you, the sound of his voice soothing all your negative feelings and thoughts.

After another ten minutes of standing in the bathroom wrapped in his arms, your cries have finally ceased, your soft sniffles and puffy red eyes the only proof of your sadness. “Come on kiddo, wash your face for me. It’ll fix the puffiness.” rubbing your arms before making his way out of the bathroom, giving you time to gather yourself.

Your mind drifted back to Sukuna. Your fingertips unconsciously drifting to your lips, the kiss plaguing your mind. He had spoken quite a bit about how you never listened. Very accurate but how would he have known? It wasn’t as if he knew you. The possibility of knowing Sukuna in one of your past lives was close to impossible. He must be playing tricks with you, trying to bend you to his will. You may have had a moment of weakness last night, but it was going to be the first and the last time you let yourself go in front of him.

___

“Eat my ass Satoru!”

“Well, I’ve been trying for years bu-” he yelped, clutching the arm that you mercilessly attacked. He had a nasty habit of making too many sexual jokes. Of course, you weren’t going to deny the fact that you’ve shared similar thoughts, but you would rather jump out of a moving car than admit it to your best friend. Knowing him, his ego would triple and nobody had the time or patience for that.

“You are so mean!” he pouted.

“I am not! You’re just a little piss baby.”

“I’m filing for a divorce. I can’t tolerate this slander anymore.” he huffed, walking away after absolutely destroying him in Mario Kart. His pride took a hit. He had taught you that game! You couldn't be that much better than him, the screen displaying fifth place while you came second. You giggled as you followed him, clinging onto his arm as you peeked at his sour expression.

“Don’t be a sore loser Satoru. It’s not cute.” you chastised. Pointing your index finger at him, resulting in him playfully biting at you. “So what I’m hearing is, I’m cute the rest of the time.” he flirted, lowering his sunglasses to wink at your steadily heating face.

“Sure, but we both know who’s the cutest.”

“Of course you’re the cutest kiddo.”

“I was talking about Nanami, but sure. That’s good too.”

His jaw dropped. Did you find Nanami cuter than him? The Gojo Satoru? He was visibly stressing, running a hand through his soft snowy locks before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You’re not cute. You can go play with Nanami. I don’t like you anymore.” he pouted once more, shaking you off of him. “Noo-” you tightened your hold on him, pulling him to the exit of the arcade. “Let’s go get ramen. My treat since you’re so cute.” You teased.

You smiled at him before facing forward, missing the way Satoru’s lips parted in awe, a light blush dusting his soft pale cheeks. His wide eyes are full of love hidden behind the lens of his sunglasses. He turned away from you, placing his vacant hand on his chest, a futile attempt at calming down his racing heart.

“Okay.”

___

“Oh. You’re back.” he deadpanned, eyes boring into your figure. The setting was different today. Instead of being in what you had assumed what his domain looked like, you were sitting beside him on the engawa of a quaint traditional Japanese home. You scowled, furrowing your eyebrows as you scowled at the nonchalant male.

You lunged at him, hoping to pin him down to press for answers. Not realizing that your attire had also changed, tripping on the length of your floral patterned yukata, resulting in you landing on top of Sukuna himself. His eyebrows almost flying up to his hairline.

You peeked at him. His hair dishevelled, a rosy blush adorning his cheeks. Your eyes trailed lower, unable to look him in the eyes. A mistake on your part. His white yukata had slightly unravelled, exposing his tan, golden chest to your wandering eyes. Your mouth is drying up at the sight. Unconsciously licking your lips.

His shocked expression replaced with his usual smirks, his fangs making an appearance. “Didn’t know that you wanted it that bad, princess. What’s wrong? Your little friend isn't enough for you?” he sneered, gripping your waist with his hands, his razor-sharp nails slightly digging into your sides, causing you to squirm uncomfortably.

“What is your problem you freak?” you growled, fisting the fabric of his clothes.

“Me? I’m not doing shit babe. It’s you who has a problem.” he scoffed, sitting up, inching his face close to yours. Your noses lightly bump into each other as you felt your cheeks heat at the contact.

“Why so shy princess? I remember when you used to make me eat my words. You were so cute back then. Thinking that you owned me, thinking that you were in charge of me. Learn where you stand. You are nothing to me”

Lies continued to spew out of his mouth like vomit. He knew he was lying. He knew that you had him wrapped around your finger that moment he saw your face once more. The anger of the past dissipated. Only you left. It wasn’t his fault. You were his only love and you left him. Well, that's how he saw it.

The pain of losing his love had left an ever-present scar on his nonexistent heart. You had been the only person to ever stay by his side, no matter how much he tried to push you away, to insult you, make you hate him. To no avail, you bulldozed your way into his life and his heart.

“Stop lying to me. I know you’re lying. I can feel you lying Sukuna. I-I don’t know how to explain it...but I just know. I don’t know you, but you feel so familiar. Your habits, your personality. I keep getting flashbacks, or memories. I’m not sure. Though, I do know that they aren’t mine. At least… not in this life…” you trailed off, avoiding his piercing gaze. “But I know that the guy in those visions are you. It just… feels like you. Your warmth, your words, your voice…even your touch” you gently placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes for no sole reason. Only wanting to feel his energy. Feel him.

He sighed.

“Still the same as ever, princess. Always find your way into my heart” he heartily chuckled before continuing, placing the warm palm of his hand against your cheek. Your eyes flutter open at the contact. “I’ll explain since you asked so nicely” he winked, patting your cheek almost mockingly, reminding you of the time you once did the same. Heat rose to your cheeks.

“So…” he started.

████████████████

What.

████████████████████████████████

What was going on?

████████████████

You saw his mouth moving though no words escaped. You tilted your head in confusion, causing him to pause before cupping your cheeks.

████████████████████████

No words were heard. You were even unable to hear your cries.

████████

“I’m sorry.”

Then black.

10K notes · View notes

favoniuscodex · 2 years

Note

How about prompt #4 with Albedo? Ehehehe. Feel free to ignore this tho! Ty ty! 💖💖💖

prompt #4 + albedo / gn!reader - secretly being thrilled when someone mistakes them for a couple (when in the past it had always seemed like an annoying cliché) (prompt list)

"...and then we have to stop by the gift shop because i need to pick up some holiday gifts..." you trail off, looking over your checklist of chores for the day as albedo hovers next to you. usually the type to hides away from the world in the pursuit of research, albedo breaks his own social norms to accompany you on your mundane weekly tasks around mondstadt's inner city. the festive nature of city due the upcoming winter festival must be getting him excited as well, even if his expression looks perfectly serene next to you.

"it is rather cold out," albedo observes and you look over at him in confusion, tilting your head.

"didn't you just get back from dragonspine a few days ago? i doubt these temperatures compare to anything you experienced up there," you muse. albedo smiles at you, lips forming into a soft crescent exclusive only to your eyes.

"i am more worried about you, in all honesty. you do have a tendency to get cold easily," albedo says. you laugh softly at his words, a bit sheepish that he knows you well enough to call you out over such things, but you shrug off his concerns with a wave of your hand.

"don't worry about me, i won't be getting that cold!" you huff playfully before gently grabbing his wrist and tugging him alongside you.

you know the markets of mondstadt far better than the alchemist does, considering he usually sends sucrose or timaeus into the city to fetch necessary ingredients for him. nonetheless, albedo still seems to be well-known by the marketgoers and shopkeepers, likely due to the distinct knights of favonius uniform he wears, recognizable even under his winter coat. you, on the other hand, are known for your frequent patronage, especially since you grew up within the city.

albedo easily keeps up with you, matching your pace as your eyes scan the stalls for fresh produce, finally narrowing in on the perfect one. you gently nudge your way through the crowds and albedo lets you lead.

"hi, (y/n)," the shopkeeper greets, before her eyes widen in recognition at the alchemist who stands next to you in tow. "and albedo! to what do i owe the pleasure?"

you fumble for your shopping list in your pocket, only for albedo to clear his throat next to you.

"we need a carton of wolfhook berries, a head of lettuce, and six tomatoes," albedo says, having memorized your shopping list from the short time he spent looking at it. you glance over at him, ready to thank him, only to realize that he's already looking at you with a smug expression. the shopkeeper turns her back on the two of you as she retrieves items for your order.

"oh, don't tell me you're ready to gloat, 'bedo," you scoff playfully and the corners of albedo's lips curl further upwards at your tone.

"what?" his words are laced with hints of mock indignation. "i have no reason to do such a thing."

"oh? is that so?" you laugh. "then how c-"

a gust of chilled winter air brushes past the two of you, forcing you to cut yourself off as you instinctively shiver. albedo's smug expression changes at the sight, brows furrowing slightly as he watches your teeth clatter together slightly.

"i'm fine," you say before he can voice his concern, only causing his eyebrows to narrow further. before you can stop him, albedo tugs his scarf off and hastily loops it around your neck, wrapping it loosely around once before taking a step back.

"you will get sick if you do not take better care of yourself. cold weather means that you are more susceptible to viruses." albedo's words are nagging, but you know it comes from a place of deep friendship and care, especially with the way his cyan eyes soften as he speaks to you.

"thank you, but y-" you begin, only to be cut off again, but this time by a different source.

"here is your order! that'll be seven-hundred mora," the shopkeeper interjects, holding out a paper bag for you to take. but, before you can take it, albedo takes the bag from her hand, electing to carry it without you even asking. you fish your wallet out of your pocket and set down the exact amount the shopkeeper requested.

"thank you! and, apologies if i'm overstepping," the shopkeeper begins. you immediately know this isn't going to go anywhere good, but you can't find it in your heart to stop her. "but when did the two of you begin to date? you make such a cute couple!"

"oh, uh," you stammer, a bit taken aback. you swallow down the giddy butterflies that erupt in your stomach at her words. "we're not..."

the shopkeeper flushes. "oh, my apologies!"

"it's alright," you nod, not daring to look at albedo as awkward embarrassment at the situation washes over you. you feel your face warm, flustered, and you excuse yourself from the shopkeeper's stand, albedo following along next to you.

"her question," albedo begins the second the two of you are out of earshot. "are the shopkeepers around here always so inquisitive?"

"uh, no," you say, hurriedly. "but, uh. next stop. what's our next stop? let me check the list."

still flustered, you awkwardly reach for the list in your pocket once more, only for your hand to completely slip past the entry to the pocket on your coat. a soft laugh escapes albedo.

"we have to go to the gift shop," he gently reminds you and you finally muster the courage to look at him, hoping you don't look as flustered as you feel. yet, the smirk that coats albedo's face once more points out just how disheveled you likely look due to the encounter.

"speaking of which, you have never reacted to similar questions in such a manner before," albedo points out.

barbatos, as if you couldn't be any more mortified at the situation. you quickly glance away from him.

"i need to pick up some holiday gifts, we're wasting time standing here," you grumble, causing albedo to chuckle once more. you begin to trudge off to marjorie's gift shop, and albedo, not quite ready to let you escape yet, follows along. you don't dare to glance at him, but in doing so, you miss the fond, amused expression he rewards your clearly-flustered state.

if only you knew that albedo feels the same blossoming of romantic affection that you so clearly feel for him as well. alas, albedo realizes that right now likely isn't a good time for a love confession, so he watches you as you regather your composure and finish your activities for the day. as one of your closest friends, he's more than happy to be by your side, even if he can't hold your hand in the meantime.

but oh, archons, albedo's heart skips a few beats with how good his scarf looks on you. he wonders if you sneak glances at him in the same way he does to you.

"oh! albedo and (y/n)!" marjorie greets the two of you as you enter into the gift shop. "how is my favorite couple?"

you nearly combust with embarrassment at the second mistake of the day, while albedo holds back uncharacteristically amused peals of laughter.

#albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #writing.albedo #axia.writing

576 notes · View notes

starryhyuck · 3 years

Text

thin ice. (m)

pairing: icehockeyplayer!mark x figureskater!reader

words: 2.6k+

summary: mark lee is the only thing standing in the way of your team’s victory. therefore, fucking him dumb is the best way to defeat him.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: dom!mark, sub!reader, overstimulation, constant fucking, bathroom sex, talks of car blowjobs, sex on the floor, (slight) breeding kink, creampie, hair pulling

disclaimer: i have no idea how figure skating or ice hockey works, i literally fell on my ass when i tried to step on the ice

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds left and the money is all yours. You can see it now — the lavish outfits, brand new skates, and even silk hair ties for when you want to play dress up. Mark Lee just has to miss this shot.

“He’s going to fucking make it,” Doyeon hisses in your ear, chewing on her nails in anticipation.

“Shut up!” You push her away and tell her to stop damaging her fingers.

You watch as Mark glides across the ice, almost knocking into Doyoung twice. “Slam him, slam him!” You screech, ignoring the stares of people around you. You simply want to see Mark get wiped out so glory can be within your reach.

You feel your world collapse when the puck hits the net, time stopping in slow motion as the crowd jumps up in pure bliss. Doyeon’s already crying in your shoulder, and you hear the angry shouts of Chaeyoung on your other side.

Mark Lee, you fucking asshole.

—

Since you were five years old, the ice became your home. And no, you didn’t have an awakening and gain powers like Elsa from Frozen. Your mother discovered how much you loved figure skating, even though your brother, Johnny, was a tall, bumbling mess once he stepped in the rink.

Once your talent was discovered, you were enrolled in figure skating classes and spent most of your afternoons gliding around the ice. You were excited to learn that you could possibly do the sport professionally if you practiced hard enough, but nobody told you how difficult the athletics administration could be.

You were scouted for your college because of your talents in figure skating, many believing you would be a great candidate for the Winter Olympics. However, when you arrived to campus, you learned that you would never be the first priority in the athletics budget.

It was a constant battle between figure skating and ice hockey for the money. Most of the funds went to football and basketball anyways, so you didn’t have much to fight for in the first place. The deal made by the athletics department was simple — if the ice hockey team could not carry themselves to a national championship, the rest of their budget would be distributed to your team.

The victory was within reach until Mark Lee scored the winning goal Friday night, making the ice hockey team one step closer to the national title.

You’re currently waiting for them to finish practice, tapping your foot impatiently as you stand besides the opening to the rink. You finally hear the boys finish up, laughing with one another as they exit. Their eyes narrow at the sight of you.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Ten asks.

You smile. “Nope. Sicheng, we need to talk.”

The captain sighs and follows you until you’re out of earshot. “What is it now?”

You scoff. “You know damn well my team deserves the money more than you do. Worlds is just around the corner and we need the money in order to get there.”

Sicheng laughs at you, still holding his helmet from practice in one hand. “Please. Don’t act like you’re doing this for your team, we both know you’re just wanting to advance for yourself.”

If you could punch Sicheng without facing a lawsuit, your life would be so much easier. You take a step closer to him, ignoring the immediate flush in his cheeks at the proximity.

“I hope your team fails at the next game. I’ll be watching when you do.”

“Stop harassing him.” Mark approaches the scene, pulling his captain’s shoulder and pushing him away from you. “Just face that your team won’t make it. Can’t blame us for your failure.”

You smile sweetly at Mark. He’s been haunted ever since Donghyuck leaked his secret that he used to like you during your freshman year. Mark used to follow you around like a lost puppy, but now, he has no hesitation putting you in place. You know you still have the advantage over him because after all, he can’t deny the way his heart beats when he sees you.

Sicheng observes as you grip onto the fabric of Mark’s uniform, pulling him close until his nose is inches away from yours. Mark gulps at the proximity, not feeling so confident anymore.

“Don’t act like if I dropped to my knees right now, you wouldn’t jump at the chance to stuff my mouth full-”

“Okay!” Sicheng exclaims, pulling the blushing boy to his side. Mark’s cheeks are almost as bright as his uniform. Sicheng glares at you. “We’re going to win on Friday. Then, I’m taking your entire team’s budget.”

You smirk. “Good luck with that.”

—

“I’m not sure this is going to work,” Yeji remarks, watching as Doyeon pulls a tight black dress over your head. You roll your eyes at her comment while Chaeyoung helps you adjust the spaghetti straps of your dress.

“Don’t be so negative,” Seojeong flicks Yeji’s forehead, causing the younger girl to glare at her.

You’re all gathered in Doyeon’s living room, trying to hatch out a plan that Yeji believes is doomed to fail. Tonight was the celebratory party before the game, a dumb idea concocted by Donghyuck on every Thursday night. It goes to show how irresponsible the ice hockey team really is, getting wasted the night before their biggest game. However, tonight works in your favor, because as demonstrated just a few days ago, you still have Mark Lee in your waiting palm. All he needs is a little push away from his teammates and you’ve fully got him. Once the plan is in place, you highly doubt Mark will be able to perform well tomorrow. Considering he’s the team’s best player, taking him down secures a win for the figure skating team.

“Does everyone know their roles?” You check again, eyeing Yeji from her spot on Doyeon’s couch.

She scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Good,” Chaeyoung nods. “Remember that this isn’t just for us but the future figure skaters for years to come.”

None of you have time to comment on Chaeyoung’s dramatics, already seeing how stressed she is by the way she tugs at her hair frantically trying to apply lip gloss on you. The girls finish getting you all dolled up when Seojeong gets a text.

“Yuta says Mark’s ready,” she announces. You thank the heavens that Yuta was able to get in the ice hockey’s team good graces, none of them expecting the figure skater to be a double agent.

“Let’s get him then,” you grin.

You’re quickly shoved into Yeji’s tiny car and the five of you are off to Donghyuck’s apartment. There’s commotion when you arrive — Sungchan standing on the couch and declaring Sicheng the cutest man alive, Ten giggling with Yangyang by the kitchen counter, Donghyuck’s tongue shoved down a random girl’s throat and Jeno trying to save Mark from choking in the bathroom. Your eyes meet Yuta’s and he winks at you, making sure no one else has seen your arrival. You lean on the doorframe of Donghyuck’s bathroom, smiling at the two of them. Jeno sees you first, urgently patting Mark’s back to save him.

“What’s wrong? Did he see a naked girl or something?”

Mark’s eyes shoot up at the sound of your voice and he gets even more flustered, coughing and choking even more now.

“Why are you here?” Jeno frowns.

You smile and shrug. “To enjoy the show. I can handle Mark from here, Jeno.”

Jeno laughs. “As if I would leave him with you.”

“But Yeji’s waiting in the living room. Are you really going to keep her waiting?”

You smirk at Jeno’s confliction before he finally gives in, leaving Mark and you in the bathroom. You shut the door while Mark recovers, downing a glass of water to help the food go down. “Why are you really here?” He asks once he’s calmed down. He tries not to linger on what you’re wearing, the swell of your breasts tempting him in this close proximity. His gaze flies to the ceiling when your hand wraps around his shoulder, pulling him in closer and letting his fingers rest on your hip.

“What’s wrong, Mark? Scared of a little action?”

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses. “We’re going to win tomorrow. You can’t stop me.”

You pout. “Is the win really worth it, Mark? Do you want it more than my pussy around your cock?” He grunts lowly, fingers tightening around your waist. You smile. “Or what about your cock shoved down my throat until I can’t breathe? You could easily bend me over the sink and take me any way you want. Doesn’t that sound so much better?”

“Don’t,” he warns you, cord about to snap. “You’re being such a brat.”

He needs one more push. You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Please, Mark? I want your cum inside me. Need it dripping down my thighs so everyone can see who I belong to.”

He breaks, growling as he pushes you against the sink. You giggle when his lips crash into yours, his hands quickly moving to push up the fabric of your dress. He delivers one slap to your clothed clit and you moan at the sensation.

“Fucking annoying whore,” he scoffs at you. “Look at you. So fucking desperate for money that you would drive all the way here just to take my cock like a good girl. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fuck you until you cry?”

You nod frantically, whimpering. “Please please please. I want it so badly.”

He shoves two fingers in your dripping hole and you cry, back arching against the mirror. Mark’s fingers grip your cheeks and he turns you so that you’re looking right at him. You hold his stare when his thumb rubs frantically at your clit, fingers curling inside of you.

“S-So good, so good,” you blubber, eyes rolling back at the pleasure filling your veins.

You whine when he retracts his fingers but he’s quick to drop to his knees, ripping your underwear and flinging it to the side so he has no obstacles in his way. He immediately dives into your pussy, licking and sucking at your folds. You internally curse. You had no idea Mark was this good at eating pussy or you would’ve prepared yourself more. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips attach to your clit, abusing the nub by sucking harshly.

The pain throws you into your first orgasm, whimpering loudly as you fall apart around Mark’s tongue. He quickly cleans you up, not missing any of your juices as he licks your pussy clean.

His eyes darken when he stands, taking in the sight of you looking so fucked out on top of the bathroom sink. He’s about to unbuckle his belt before you stop him.

“I want to fuck at your place. Please?”

He nods at your request, helping you get down and adjusting your dress. It’s a little harder to walk since Mark ripped your panties, but you make do. You two exit the bathroom and you’re about to leave before you hear Donghyuck’s voice.

“Where the fuck are you two going?”

You glance at Mark, who’s a little irritated by his teammate’s appearance.

“Mind your own fucking business, Donghyuck.”

You smirk at the blonde boy’s shocked expression as you two leave his apartment. Mark walks fast, fumbling with the keys to his car.

“I didn’t know you could drive.”

“Trust me, I can’t.”

The drive to his apartment involves two pit stops, the first one happening because you desperately want to give Mark a blowjob and the second one happening because Mark desperately wants to taste you again.

When you finally get to his apartment, the both of you are already a mess. You don’t even make it to the bedroom — Mark shoving you down on his living room rug and pushing his cock deep inside you. You moan at the intrusion and Mark wastes no time, setting up a fast pace and ramming his cock into your sweet spot over and over again. You’re a drooling mess, letting him abuse your pussy. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls you upwards. He balances you so that your back is against his chest.

“Such a perfect little slut for me. What would the panel of judges at Worlds say when they see you? The future Olympic gold medalist begging for cock?”

“I would let them see,” you whisper back at him. “Let them know what lengths I would go to just to win that fucking competition.”

You fall apart around his cock again, your orgasms coming faster after the first two. You whine when you hear Mark’s constant grunts filling your ears.

“Cum inside, Mark. Want all of your cum.”

“Yeah? Little whore wants it all? Wants to be bred like a good little bitch?”

You cry. “Yes, yes, yes! I want it so badly.”

That’s all it takes for Mark to shoot ribbons of white inside of you, coating your insides. You both collapse on the floor, exhausted.

A few minutes pass in silence before Mark speaks up. “I’m ready to go again after I eat some ramen.”

You laugh. “Make it two servings and I’ll be ready.”

He eagerly gets up and shuffles to his kitchen. You smirk, searching for your phone and shooting a text to the group chat.

I’ve got him. The money’s all ours.

After eating ramen and chatting for a little bit, Mark takes you again on the barstool of his kitchen. Then, he fucks you up against the wall, on his couch and in his bed.

He’s thoroughly fucked out when you two finish and you smile, leaning over to kiss him.

“Good luck with your game tomorrow.”

You leave him laying in his bed, wondering if he just jeopardized the future of his team.

—

There’s one minute left in the game.

The team is down by one point and they’re all looking at Mark as they huddle together. Donghyuck hisses at him.

“Did she fuck you stupid? We’re going to lose everything because of you!”

Mark shakes his head, trying to compose himself. It’s hard to do so when he spots you in the crowd, smiling at him as if you want him to win. You’ve thoroughly fucked with his head, his thoughts constantly traveling to the image of you beneath him, sobbing as he shoves his thick cock into you mercilessly.

“This is your fault, Jeno!” Ten growls. “You should’ve never left Mark alone with her!”

“Everyone, shut up!” Sicheng bellows, annoyed by his teammates. “We’re going to lose if we don’t focus. What’s wrong with you, Mark?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “I think I do.”

Sicheng glares at the younger male to be quiet. “I don’t care what it is anymore. There’s one minute left and I need you to get it together.”

“I will, I will,” Mark insists, even though he’s not so sure about it himself. They break the huddle and get back into the game, Mark trying to focus as the referee blows the whistle. Jung Jaehyun comes charging at him and Mark tries to dodge.

“Come on, Mark!”

As soon as he hears your voice overpower the audience, he loses his balance and Jaehyun slams him up against the wall. Mark groans when he tumbles to the ground and it isn’t long before he hears the final buzzer echo in the rink. The competing team jumps for joy, laughing with one another as they meet in the middle of the ice. Mark stays on the ground, watching pitifully as his teammates slump in defeat.

His eyes look for yours again in the stands, but you’re already long gone.

#nct smut #mark lee smut #mark #mark smut

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hxwks-gf · 3 years

Text

» 𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊

𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝

𝚠/𝚌: 𝟸.𝟷𝚔

The heavy winter rains wrought havoc on the old wood of the scout’s barracks. The storm had caught the regiment by surprise, the darkened clouds arriving to drown the sky in grey not long after Hange’s squad had deployed to the field. Pretty soon the street’s gutters were awash in murky rainwater, washing the cobblestones clean for the first time that season. Every few minutes, the sky would be illuminated by lightning, and soon after the thunder would rattle the window panes.

Levi sat at his desk, surrounded by paperwork; reports that needed signing, applications for new gear that needed his approval, the list went on and on. He reached over and picked up his teacup as another round of thunder shook the barracks. He had always hated thunderstorms.

Truthfully, he was drowning himself in his work because he needed something to distract him from the growing worry that plagued the pit of his stomach. But after a while, even his tea began to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Levi sighed heavily and pushed away from his desk, running his hands over his tired eyes. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t focus. His thoughts kept wandering to Hange’s squad, and how they had most likely been caught in the storm somewhere on the other side of the wall, somewhere he couldn’t reach them, somewhere he couldn’t protect them.

Levi got up from his chair and moved to stand at the window. The glow from the candle on his desk illuminated the raindrops that raced themselves down the glass, and his own reflection beyond them. He looked like hell.

He could just barely make out the black, looming structure in the distance that was Wall Rose. Somewhere out there, he knew you were stuck in this rain, probably cold and miserable. An unexpected pang of anguish hit him in his chest, and he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. Why did you go on this mission? Why didn’t you ask him to come with you?

Levi turned away from the window and went back to his desk, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. Of course, he knew why you went. Hange had asked for your help specifically in testing some new technology for capturing Titans for research, and Levi knew you were more than up for the task. You had proved to be a valuable soldier; adept in the field as well as the classroom. You were smart. Tactical. Refined. Of course Hange would ask for your help, anyone would.

But that didn’t stop him from worrying.

He poured a fresh cup of tea and mindlessly stirred it as he looked over some of the documents in front of him. A few moments later, he found himself glancing up and staring at his unmade bed--the sheets twisted and tangled with the pillows. He imagined you laying there, sound asleep, maybe with an arm hooked around one of the pillows and the blankets tucked in around your shoulders. You’d be snoring softly while he worked nearby, and he would silently curse you for being such a loud sleeper. But...you’d be safe.

Levi stared at his empty bed for a few minutes more before swallowing roughly and glaring at his paperwork again. He no longer desired his tea, and he no longer desired working. He leaned over and blew out the candle, dousing his bedroom in darkness.

“....Hange’s squad is expected to make their return this afternoon,” Erwin was saying, but Levi wasn’t paying attention. He stood at the window in the commander’s office with his arms crossed and his eyebrows knit together.

“Levi,” Erwin said.

“What?” he snapped, not looking at him.

“Did you hear me?”

Levi glared at the rainclouds that still hadn’t left the sky. The rains hadn’t stopped, not once since last night. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away from the window and focus on Erwin. “Yes,” he said, “I heard you.”

“You seem unusually cross this morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Levi turned back to the window. “Damn thunder kept me up all night.”

“I see.” Erwin flipped through some paperwork on his desk, reaching for his quill. After a few minutes of silence, the commander looked up at the captain again. “See anything interesting outside?”

Levi made a noise of disgust and kept his grey eyes focused on the front gates, waiting to see it lift up and reveal you coming back to him--safe and uninjured. However, he knew it would be hours until the squad returned, and he would have to find something else to do to pass the time. Levi brushed some invisible dust from his black shirt and turned to leave Erwin’s office. As Levi muttered something to explain his departure, he heard frantic footsteps approaching the door. A moment later, and another scout burst through with a fearful expression on his face.

“Sir!” he said as he saluted both men. “Hange’s squad was spotted from the wall, with a captured Titan in tow.”

Levi’s heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t wait to see what else the scout had to say; he shoved past him and immediately made his way toward the armory, ignoring Erwin’s protests behind him. Levi expertly hefted on his ODM gear, not bothering to grab his coat, and promptly left the scout’s barracks. He barely felt the freezing rain pelting his cheeks and soaking his hair as he launched himself up the wall, landing gracefully on the surface and looking out over the wet, rolling hills beyond.

There, in the distance, he saw the enormous Titan being carted along the muddy road. Alongside it were the squad members on their horses, making sure the straps held it in place and it didn’t break free. Levi did his best to try and count how many riders there were, but it was impossible in the rain. He only hoped you were among them.

“Captain!” one of the soldiers on the wall called to him. “Sir, it’s freezing out here! You really should be wearing a coat--”

“Binoculars,” Levi growled.

“Y-yes, sir,” the soldier stammered, and held out his pair to him.

Levi snatched them up and raised them to his eyes, focusing on the approaching team of scouts. He inwardly groaned at the sight of the Titan, it was a wonder they captured it at all. He could see Hange riding nearby, shouting orders at the rest of the squad with that strange, excited expression they always got whenever Hange was near a Titan. “Insane,” Levi muttered, and moved from face to face until--

His breath caught in his throat. There you were. The hood of your green cloak was pulled up to protect you from the rain as you gracefully trotted atop your horse, but it looked like you were absolutely soaked to the bone. Despite being in the freezing weather, you had a flush to your cheeks as you and Hange exchanged a silent, excited conversation, no doubt about what sort of tests you’d run on the disgusting creature first. You were spending entirely too much time with Four Eyes. Levi felt the worry slowly start to ebb away in his stomach when he decided you were safe, and you were almost home. He watched you through the binoculars a few minutes longer, and felt the ice that encased his heart begin to melt when you smiled and laughed at something Hange said, despite the rain dripping down your wet hair and over your cheeks. How is it that someone could be so...happy? In a world like this? Levi didn’t know if that made you weak, or if it made you strong. He would decide later.

Once you and the rest of Hange’s squad made it to the gates, Levi shoved the binoculars back into the soldier’s hands and launched himself off the wall, swinging and gliding through the rain before landing effortlessly onto the street and waited for the stone gate to be lifted.

It felt like a lifetime had passed when it finally was high enough to allow the captured Titan through, along with the rest of the horses surrounding it. Levi stood there with his arms crossed, his dark hair flat against his head from the rain.

“Levi!” Hange gleefully shouted, but he dutifully ignored it. His eyes searched the squad for you, until they finally landed on their prize.

“Captain!” you greeted as you slid from your horse, and Levi noticed the violent shiver that rocked through your body. But you grinned as you approached him, flexing your stiff fingers. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!”

“Yes, it is,” he growled, glaring at you. “You were supposed to be back last night.”

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning to pull your saddlebags from your horse. “But the storm came out of nowhere and we had to make camp. Worst night of my life.”

Levi’s nostrils flared. “You couldn’t send a rider?”

You frowned at him. “Is something wrong, captain?”

“No,” Levi said, rolling his shoulders. The cold was starting to sneak into his muscles. He turned away from you. “There’s some reports I’ll have you fill out, once you’ve had your gear inspected and the horses are brushed down. Come by my office later.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, still holding that confused expression.

Levi said nothing else and began making his way back to the barracks, frustrated at Hange’s carelessness and the freezing, stinging rain. Why didn’t he take his coat with him?

Hours later, Levi was back in the warm safety of his bedroom, finishing up the reports from the night before with a fresh pot of tea nearby. A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” he said, not looking up.

“Sir,” he heard your voice reply. No doubt you were standing in a salute, waiting for his instruction. Such a devoted little soldier. Levi set his pen down and looked up at you, and nearly fell out of his chair.

You had changed out of your wet cloak and uniform, and opted for a fresh, clean pair of pants and a soft looking shirt that exposed part of your shoulders. Your hair, still wet from the rain, was slowly drying around your face, framing those flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Levi exhaled through his nose and gestured to a few loose pieces of paper, to which you picked up and pen and began signing your name at the bottom of each one. He watched you intently as you did so, admiring the way your hair fell over your shoulder. A minute later and you stood back, pushing the papers towards him.

“There you go,” you replied, smiling. “Anything else?”

“No,” Levi found himself saying. “That’s all.”

“This might sound strange to ask,” you said, shifting from one foot to the other, as if afraid to say the next few words. Levi waited for you to finish. “Do you mind if I sit down for a moment? It was a rough mission, and my muscles are sore.”

Levi blinked, but gestured to his bed nearby. With a grateful sigh, you sat down on the edge and fell backwards with a whump.

“I’m tired,” he heard you say softly. “And cold.”

Levi didn’t know what to reply with. Isn’t this what he wanted? For you to be safe and warm in his bed? “I was...worried about you,” he said aloud, staring at your elegant signature on the paper in front of him and clenching his jaw. “I was waiting for you to come home, to me. I know you’re a strong soldier, but that didn’t stop me from…” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Look, what I’m trying to say is--”

A gentle snore sounded from where you lay on his bed, and he realized you were asleep. Levi rolled his eyes and sighed. He set his pen down and walked over to his bed, staring down at your sleeping body halfway curled up underneath his blankets. He reached out and pulled them over the rest of you, carefully tucking them around your shoulders, his fingertips softly grazing the line of your jaw.

Levi returned to his desk, picked up his teacup, and watched you sleep. The thunderstorm outside had subsided to a gentle pattering of raindrops on the window, and the flames that crackled in the fireplace nearby flooded the room with warmth. He watched the way your chest rose and fell with each breath you took, and listened to your quiet breathing and soft snores. As he picked up his pen to finish his reports, he had one thought in his mind: you were safe.

That’s all he could ever ask for.

#words cannot describe how badly i want to innocently fall asleep in levi’s bed #and have him silently tuck me in because secretly he cares about me #sigh #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman fic #captain levi imagine #levi ackerman imagine #shingeki no kyojin imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan fic #attack on titan imagine #levi heichou

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harryspet · 4 years

Text

good girl. bad habits. [2] peter parker

[Warnings] alpha!peter parker x omega!reader, omegaverse, boarding school au, dystopian au, soultmate au, suppressant pills, misogyny, hella angst, heat, intense sexual content (wear a condom kiddos)

A/N: this took way toooo long but overall im happy with how it turned out!

part one

In which Alpha Peter is persistent and you tried to hold onto your power.

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @marvelslut-musicalnerd @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @yanderepeterparker @ttqueen05 @belleknows @write-from-the-heart @sad-ed-noise @quaksonhehe @halparkebitchb @bangtaninyourareaxox @blondesforlife

Wanda was lucky it was Sunday. It was easier to skip Sunday service than regular classes and her severe hangover told you that she wasn’t getting out of bed anytime soon. You walked over to her twin bed and, although you had your own right across from her, you snuggled into her bed.

“Ugh,” Wanda groaned.

“That better not be for me,” You frowned.

“It is for you,” As you laid down, she wrapped her arm around you, resting her head on your shoulder, “You’re the one who gave me the booze.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle your liquor,” A small smile tugged at your lips until Wanda’s next words met your ears.

“Goddess, you smell like Alpha.”

“And what do you think you smell like? Is your virtue even still intact?”

“A lady never tells,” Wanda giggled but you scoffed, “I can’t believe that you of all people landed yourself an Alpha. A rich and powerful one too.”

You wish you could react like Wanda. You wished that you could switch a flip and you could see the world through rose-colored glasses, “I wouldn’t say I landed him. He was just acting like a territorial jerk like the rest of them. Who knows, maybe he has a thing for lots of girls. Being a council member's nephew … I’m sure he’s popular.”

“I don’t think so,” You could tell she was smiling by the way she was talking, “Peter didn’t dance with any other girl at the Ball. You’re like Cinderella and he’s your prince charming. Just promise you won’t forget me when you’re royalty.”

“I hope you know I’d rather swallow a knife than be associated with that family.”

Wanda didn’t listen to you as she continued, “Maybe it is true that opposites attract.”

Word spread fast around the Stark School and every question someone asked you was about Peter and whether or not you were mates. You denied any connection that you had with him and you made sure to have a scowl on your face when you did. This whole situation was hurting your reputation and making you appear weak. Before the ball, girls didn’t dare approach you out of fear that you’d poison their precious minds.

You preferred when people were scared of you.

To make matters worst, you woke up thinking about you-know-who and almost all your thoughts were starting to revolve around him. That was enough to drive you insane.

You decided that for the next few weeks you’d be on your worst behavior. You managed to break your previous record for your number of infractions within a single week. Every teacher that tried to scold you for misbehaving, you snapped back at. Your skirt got shorter and your makeup became even more extravagant.

Today, you finally managed to get back at the girl who always kicked your shins when you played soccer in physical education. Once she shoved past you, you reached back to grab a fistful of her hair. She cried out as she fell back and you heard the screaming of a whistle though you ignored it.

It was like all the frustration of your life had reached its boiling point. You hated everything about how your life had turned out. You knew the world wasn’t fair but now it just felt cruel.

Wanda had to pull you off of her to keep you from punching her, “Y/L/N, off the field now!” You heard your teacher say. Wanda was saying something, trying to calm you down, but you shrugged her off. You were already walking away from the field and towards the bleachers.

You figured you’d walk all the way back to dorms to let yourself blow off steam but you found a familiar face waiting behind the bleachers.

Your face fell and you thought your knees might give in. Clad in his uniform, his red tie, and a blazer that held the Asgard symbol completed the look. He looked put together unlike you. Your knees were bruised, your hair a mess, and your gym clothes were now covered in grass stains.

“What … What are you doing here?” You asked the young Alpha and, as he looked you over, he almost seemed concerned.

He stepped closer, his eyes burning holes into your skin, “I came to watch you play but … I don't think you’re making the team anytime soon.”

“Don’t you have your own life to worry about? I don’t know, maybe school? Or does your uncle have too much influence for you to have to worry about pesky things like grades?” Peter opened his mouth to retort but you interrupted him. His lips pressed into a thin line of frustration as he let you finish, “You know what, Alpha-boy? I really can’t do this right now.”

You gritted your teeth as you turned to walk away, only for a strong hand to wrap around your wrist. You turned to last out but, like a candle blown out by the wind, you felt your anger melt away. The calm settled on the features of your face and then it traveled through the rest of your body.

You looked down at his hand touching your skin, realizing that he was the source, “I meant what I said last time,” He spoke calmly but you could hear the seriousness in his tone, “You’re mine, Y/N.”

“How did you do that?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowed. Your voice was small once again and it made you wonder how long you had been raising your voice.

“Do what?” Peter smirked and, as much as you wanted to scowl, you couldn’t, “Isn’t this better? Having a moment where you’re not so angry at the world? If you’d just give me a chance, I could help you.”

“And what’s in it for you?” You already knew the answer. There was a part of him deep inside that craved the intimacy you could give him. He wanted someone to care for and to protect but he also wanted territory that he could claim and heirs to carry his name. As Peter searched your face, he could tell you already knew his answer, “I’m never going to want to be someone’s property, no matter what magic you try to work on me.”

“It’s not magic,” Peter insisted, “It’s a mate bond. I think … I think our souls are somehow connected.”

You couldn’t deny that you thought it was true. You could resist him but not the connection you were feeling, “Then we’ll break it-” Your mouth shut as if your body was mad at you for even letting those words escape your lips.

His eyes turned black, “Give me time with you. I’ll convince you otherwise.”

You finally pulled your arm away from him as a group of girls walked past, heading back towards the school. Some stared in awe and others whispered to each other, “I can’t believe this,” You whispered, letting the anger seep back in, “There will be no us time because you’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Winter Break,” He spoke simply, not paying the girls any mind, “You’ll come stay with my family. My Aunt May wants to meet you and Pepper thought it would be inappropriate to ask you herself …”

You blinked, wondering why the hell he wanted you, of all people, to meet his family, “The answer would’ve been no … I have to shower before Calculus.”

You turned away, your arms crossed but he called for you as you walked away again, “Where will you go then?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have Christmas with the nuns and the groundskeepers or something.”

You looked back to see he wasn’t chasing you. He only took a deep breath and stuffed his hands into his back pockets, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

Peter was used to quiet dinners with his Aunt and Uncle. Usually, when he talked, Tony would respond with something snappy and condescending. Peter had learned over the years not to shake things up but that only led to anger and frustration being built up within. Peter was an Alpha but Tony was an Alpha of Alphas.

“You’ve been skipping school,” Tony didn’t meet Peter’s eyes as he brought a piece of steak to his mouth. Peter tried not to freeze or show any hint of guilt on his face.

Peter had come to visit you multiple times after the situation on the soccer field. As he expected, you rejected him with every chance you got but that didn’t stop him from trying to get to know you. His friends teased him for falling head over heels for someone he barely knew. Alphas were supposed to be above that and let the Omegas crawl to them but Peter enjoyed chasing you.

“Who told you that?” Peter asked casually.

“You don’t think I have eyes everywhere, genius?” Peter's lips pressed into a thin line as he gripped his fork tightly, poking at his food.

“Pepper finally confessed. She’s been going behind my back in order to help you,” He felt cornered and the fact that Pepper wasn’t here to defend him only made him more uneasy, “All this for a rebel sympathizer?”

Peter often disagreed with the man who sat upon his golden throne. Within the walls of his million-dollar home, Peter doubted there was a way Stark could possibly even understand the grievances of the people below him.

“She’s … she’s my mate,” Tony paused and shot Peter a hard glance.

“I’m sorry, she’s what?”

“I have a feeling, sir.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “A mate? My nephew has a mate …” Tony spoke to himself, “If I want you to be anything like me, Peter, then I should allow you your independence. However, I won’t have her embarrassing this family, so whatever you have to do to correct her behavior, you’ll do it.”

Peter instantly nodded, “I will, I promise.” Peter felt a glimmer of happiness at his Uncle’s acceptance.

“Who knows, maybe converting her will be good for my image. Our image, Peter.” It didn’t surprise Peter in the slightest that Tony’s mind was now working to see how it would benefit him.

The quiet dinner continued until Pepper arrived with news that would surely steal any light Peter felt in his own heart.

You had finally escaped the Stark School.

The city was cold but the people were colder. The harsh winter and the busy, holiday season left people tired and caused their words to be terse. It was why you preferred the hustling and bustling city of New York. The rankings existed but it seemed everyone was rude to one another. It was nice to see.

Besides that, in a city of millions of people, you were invincible. With the suppressants you were now on, no one could outwardly tell your ranking and, as long as you kept your head down, no officers asked for your identification.

The first couple of weeks were stressful but everything seemed to fall in place. You moved your way in and out of shelters, picking up jobs that paid under the table in order to earn money in order to buy more suppressants.

Omegas were almost as rare as true Alphas. Most people were middle ranking which meant the council controlled them but they were at least treated like human beings. If anyone found out, the council was the least of your worries.

That’s why when you thought you were having an allergic reaction to them, you stormed down the alleyway where you usually met your dealer, fire in your eyes, “You gave me a botched pills,” You pressed the bag of pills into Loki’s chest.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He pushed you back with ease, causing you to stumble backwards as he casually stuck his hands back into the pockets of his black jacket. He looked around, trying to seem inconspicuous.

It was freezing outside but your body was overheating and your anger was boiling over, “Look at me,” You spoke with gritted teeth, “Do I look okay to you?”

“No, you should probably see a Doctor, darling,” His lips turned up into a smirk, “If you don’t mind, I have other matters to attend to.”

As he stepped around your body, you felt a weight on your shoulders. You tried to take a deep breath as you realized how much you were panicking, “Please,” You called after him, grabbing a hold of his arm, “I just need pills. Real pills. I’ll give you the rest of the money that I have.”

Loki looked over his shoulder and down at you, “Council is cracking down on suppressant sellers. They raided a ship carrying them a few nights ago so I wouldn’t expect anymore for a while.”

The man who called himself Loki searched your face, noting the look of desperation in your eyes, “What am I supposed to do then, huh?”

If he cared for your situation in any way, he didn’t show it.

Your hands balled into fist as he walked away but, in doing that, you realized how much your muscles were aching, “Don’t, please,” You walked after him, wincing in pain with every step. He didn’t seem to slow down for you as you tried to catch up to him on the sidewalk. Pain shot through your body and fire surged through your veins.

As your vision began to blur, you lost him in the crowd of people. Snow fell around you but that didn’t ease any of the burning pain. You tried to push yourself further, somehow find shelter, but with each step you felt even more helpless. When your knees finally gave in and you bit down on your own lip so hard that you tasted blood, no one paid you any mind. To them you were a simple bump in the road.

The place you woke up was the opposite of the buzzing city. The quietness was serene and the cool white light shining down on you was calming. You turned your aching head, wondering what new mess you had gotten yourself into. You found yourself staring out a window, the city outside but it was clear that you were on one of the highest floors of the hospital.

As someone cleared their throat, your head snapped in the other direction, as you lifted yourself up in the hospital bed. With wide eyes, you stared back at Tony Stark who was comfortably sitting at the chair beside your bed. As you moved, you realized that there was metal keeping you chained to the bed.

“Morning, sunshine,” Your head began to pound again, most likely because of how fast you had sat up. You knew you weren’t anyone’s favorite but you never thought your deviancy warranted a visit from one of the most powerful men in society … but then you remembered Peter, “... from what I’ve heard, you’re not known for being quiet.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tried to clear your racing thoughts, “Are you here to personally escort me to prison?”

“Sadly, no,” He said, folding his hands as he looked over you, “None of the council members know I’m here and no one knows you’re here either.”

“... so then you’re killing me yourself?”

Tony grinned, “No, sweetheart. Why do you think I had someone patch you up? That poison was making you malnourished and then your heat was draining you even more.”

You froze, “My what?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “I’m guessing this is your first one but I’m sure you’ve read up on it in your studies. They say meeting your soulmate can trigger it …” It looked like he was connecting the dots in his own mind, “There were a lot of things you didn’t consider, Y/N.”

“He’s not …” The words burned as you tried to let them out.

“Or maybe you ran because you knew the bond was real. Your body, naturally, probably didn’t like the fact that you were rejecting him. Did you consider what it would do to him?”

Something pulled at your heartstrings as you finally thought about how Peter reacted when he found out you’d ran away, “... did something happen?”

Tony cocked his head to the side, “No damages big enough that I couldn’t pay for … am I sensing remorse?”

“I’m not sure how you could when it’s something you’ve never felt,” Tears stung your eyes, the reality of your world settling in, but you still held your head high, “If you’re here to preach, I don’t want to listen. And you’re not getting any gratitude from me.”

He could end your life with the snap of his finger yet that didn’t stop the venom on your tongue.

With a hard glare, he stood from his seat and took a step towards the bed, “I already agreed with Peter that he will be the one to take care of your … attitude. I truly hope that the next time we see each other you’ll be worthy enough for my nephew. You’re a pretty thing, this anger doesn’t suit you ....may the Goddess with you.”

The black car traveled down the gravel road surrounded by evergreen trees. Snow fell lightly and dropped onto the window glass and you watched it melt away as you neared your destination.

You were expecting doom and gloom as you pulled into the driveway. You didn’t expect the cabin to actually look like a home where happy people could live. Calling it a log cabin wouldn’t be fair to the money that probably went into building the luxury home. You could practically smell the expensiveness as you exited the car, not bothering to let the driver open the door for you.

You spun in a circle, your boots crushing the ice beneath your feet, as you took in the sight. You saw rolling hills of snow, tall mountains, and a blue-purple sunset that painted the sky.

When you saw him this time it was different. So much had happened since that night at the Halloween Ball and you didn’t expect him forgive you for being so cold to you but-

He called for you and, as you turned to face him, arms were tightly wrapped around you, “You could’ve died,” Were the first words that left his mouth. You didn’t embrace him back, you weren’t sure how, but your body instantly relaxed against him. It was the same feeling you got at the soccer field.

You were still speechless when he finally pulled away. His hands were still grabbing your arms as he looked you over for wounds. You were sure that your only flaw was the bags around your eyes from the lack of sleep you’d had over the last few days.

“Do you understand that? Someone could’ve taken you or you could’ve killed yourself.”

“I know-” He smashed his lips against yours, taking the words from your mouth. You pressed your hands against his chest but you didn’t push him away. The kiss was long and deep and, for a moment, the earth stopped spinning on its axis, “I don’t know how to do this, Peter.”

Your foreheads pressed together and his heavy breath fanning against your skin, the two of you tried to catch your breath, “Y/N, it’s okay,” Your name on his tongue was heaven, “This is real and I know you’re scared but it’s okay to accept this. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Do you promise?” You asked, weaker than you’ve ever been. As much as you wanted to blame it on the raging hormones of your heat, you knew what you wanted deep down.

“Yes,” Peter breathed, “And I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you.”

Peter led you into the warm home, helping you out of your coat, and keeping his hand on the small of your back. Your meeting with Pepper and May was brief. They sat in the kitchen sipping their hot cocos and they only gave you kind glances as Peter informed them that he’d take you up to your room. He could sense that you didn’t want an audience to your pain.

There were photos on every wall and sentimental ornaments. You had a feeling that by the end of winter break you’d know the story of each item.

“This is where you grew up?” You asked, your eyes wandering your new room. It was more spacious then any place you’d ever lived and the heat from the fireplace only added to the coziness the room provided.

“We spend every winter here. My Uncle Ben built this place,” Peter spoke succinctly.

“It’s straight out of one of those lifestyle magazines,” You felt Peter’s eyes on you as you slowly walked around the room, “... how did he die?”

“Someone shot him,” His gaze seemed to darken at the memory.

“I’m sorry,” You meant your words but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu.

“Don’t be,” He shrugged, “I mean, it was a long time ago … I guess I’ll leave you to settle in.”

You sensed he was trying to avoid a touchy conversation and you were more than willing to let him. Just being in his presence was calming but extremely overwhelming. The smallest things he did would cause your thoughts to race and, lately, those thoughts hadn’t been pure. Your mind had been replaying that kiss a million times in your head in the past twenty minutes.

As his hand gripped the door handle, a sudden wave of heat traveled beneath your skin, “Ah,” You rested your hands against the bed as you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. It was the same overwhelming fire that you felt that day with Loki.

“Y/N,” You looked up, realizing that he hadn’t left. He walked towards you hesitantly, “.. you should take off those clothes.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I’m fine-” You winced as another wave passed through you, “I’m fine!”

“You’re overheating!” Peter exclaimed and it seemed it was taking everything within him not to do it himself.

“Peter, I’m fine,” You spoke through gritted teeth, “I can handle it on my own.”

“No, you can’t,” Peter stated nervously, “Sit down on the bed. Let me help you.”

“No,” You said again as you panicked, “I don’t need your stupid Alpha hormones messing up mine. You’re making it worse!”

“I said sit down,” He didn’t raise his voice but there was something different in his tone. Powerful. Your body moved like it never did before. Your body, against your will, sat down on the bed obediently.

You were left speechless for a moment and Peter seemed to stare at your abnormal behavior but not for long. He kneeled down and began to pull off your shoes and socks, “Peter-” You clutched your side.

He tossed the clothing to the side before standing. He leaned over you, pulling off your sweater and undershirt. When he finally made it to your belt, your eyes connected, “Don’t say no to me, Omega. I don’t like it, ” Again, your body moved before your mind and you nodded.

Stupid Alpha hormones.

Without the clothes, you instantly felt better but there was still burning in your veins, “Lay down,” Peter’s hand connected with your shoulder and you felt a coolness soothe the area as he pushed you down. Your back pressed against the soft mattress as you felt your jeans being undone, “There you go.”

“It hurts, Peter,” As the words left your mouth, you felt a kiss against your stomach. Your senses were completely out of whack and the simple touch sent waves of pleasure through your body. He kissed down your stomach to where he was pulling down your jeans. He pulled them down the length of your legs before deciding to rid himself his own clothes. You sat up on your elbows as you watched him reveal himself.

His body was perfectly crafted, the sight of him causing your core to ache for him. You moved up on your elbows as he stalked closer once again, “Bare your throat to me,” He demanded, lust in his eyes. Your heart began to race and you slowly moved further and further back on the bed as he followed you, “You want me to quell that fire inside, don’t you? I can take that pain away …”

It wasn't a command. He wanted you to go against every standard you’d set for yourself and willingly show him the ultimate sign of submission. He grabbed your hands, moving them so they were pinned above your head, as he settled between your legs. You felt his growing member pressed against your crotch, teasing you.

“Please don’t,” You begged and you watched his lips tug into a small smile. He leaned down closer, holding your smaller hand in his tightly, and you couldn’t run from that feeling anymore, “Peter, I can’t-”

“But you want to, Omega. You want to be tamed. You want me to be by my side, protected and loved for the rest of your days,” Peter grunted, pressing himself further into you. All you wanted was his lips on you again, “Now be a good girl for me.”

Your eyes shut tight as you turned your head, exposing your neck to the Alpha that called you his soulmate. He took the sign of submission as a green light to ravish your body. He pressed his lips against the skin of your neck, leaving rough bites along your skin, and you thought you might go deaf from how loud you were screaming in pleasure.

Peter kissed every inch of your body and you found yourself desperately trying to taste him as well. You realized that a switch had flipped inside of you a long time ago and you weren’t sure how you managed to resist it for long. Like a predator who finally captured his prey, Peter devoured you.

Your first times were nothing like the movie. You didn’t feel any sort of pain and your bodies were so synced that you felt anything but awkward. You felt like you knew him completely in this life and your past lives before,

“Please, please, please.”

He sunk deep inside of you, rocking the furniture and destroying the room, “You take me so good,” You nodded eagerly, the sound of his wanting voice driving you insane, “Fuck, get on top of me.” He smacked your bottom and your lips tugged into a tired smile.

After taking you in missionary, you switched positions, and you rode him until your second climax. Your arms wrapped around each other as you moved your hips. When he finally came he was deep inside you, his moans were enough to send you over the edge for the third time, “Peter, I’m gonna--again!” Your arms wrapped around his neck, you kissed passionately as he filled you with his warmth.

“You were fucking made for me,” Peter breathed against your lips, “Thank the Goddess.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks but Peter brushed them away with his thumb. You hadn’t realized the love you’d been lacking until now. You didn’t know a stranger's love could be so unconditional but it seemed he wasn’t a stranger at all. Whatever consequences came from this, you thanked the Goddess that you could feel again.

i might write a part three to this but i left it on a happy ending in case it takes me awhile to get to it!

#dark fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #dark peter parker #alpha!peter parker #omegaverse #omega!reader #a/b/o smut #avengers a/b/o #peter parker x y/n #dark!peter x reader #dark!peter #black!reader #peter parker x black!reader #alpha!peter parker x omega!reader #dystopian au #wanda maximoff #peter parker #peter parker au

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amarimaryllis · 3 years

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I Like You So Much, You’ll Know It (Iwazumi x Reader)

Pairing: Iwaizumi/Reader Prompt/Summary: You’re so in love with Iwaizumi Hajime that only the most oblivious person wouldn’t see your feelings for him. (Spoiler: he is the most oblivious person) Tags: Fluff Note: Use of she/her pronouns, Inspired by Ysabelle’s “I Like You So Much, You’ll Know It” Warnings: Mild Swearing

Almost everyone in Aoba Johsai who knew of your existence knew about the fact that you had the biggest crush on the volleyball team’s ace. Sometimes they didn’t even know your name, they just referred to you as “the girl who’s so into Iwaizumi-san”. You were that whipped, and you were that obvious.

At first, you tried to hide your feelings. You made sure that no one would think you even liked Iwaizumi because you didn’t want the said boy to find out. So when almost the entire school found out about your crush on the ace, you were ready to dig your own grave. Fortunately—and quite, unfortunately—for you, Iwaizumi Hajime is dense. His perception of other people’s romantic feelings for him was as dense as the arm muscles he used to spike volleyballs. In short, he was extremely dense. Hell, you guys were in the same circle of friends, but for some reason, he still didn’t realize just how irrevocably whipped you are for him.

At least not until one day when the rest of your so-called friends decided to ditch both of you.

It was a Monday, meaning your entire circle of friends would be walking home together because the boys didn’t have volleyball practice. However, it seemed like everyone but you and Iwaizumi had plans after class. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were going to some sort of arcade, Oikawa was going to pick up Takeru, and your two other best friends, Asano and Yamamoto were going to check out the new cafe that opened, and said cafe was conveniently on the direction opposite to your way home.

Which leaves you with Iwaizumi.

You were excited, but you two barely talked, and you didn’t know why it was like that. You guys were fine during the first year, comfortably talking from time to time, hell you were probably Iwaizumi’s number one cheerleader then, but in your second year, things got a little rocky for some reason, and it just got awkward all of a sudden. However, it was probably your fault for shying away from him due to your crush on the ace. Iwaizumi would make the effort to start small conversations with you, and he always seemed confident, but you on the other hand, wouldn’t even dare try to strike up small talk with the strong, reliable ace because you did not want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

The tension in the air was palpable in the first few seconds that passed after your amazing friends decided to leave you both at the school’s gate. However, Iwaizumi is the first to break the silence.

“Guess I’m the only one walking you home today.” Iwaizumi has a sheepish grin on his face as he rubs the back of his neck. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You just wanted to pounce on him then and there and pepper his face with tiny kisses because, one, you did not mind at all, and two, he looked so cute at that moment that your heart felt like it was gonna combust.

“I don’t mind at all.” You can feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “But your house is closer though, so technically it’s me who’s walking you home.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow before he ruffles your hair. “As if I’d ever let you walk home alone.”

The blush that was creeping into your cheeks was no longer creeping, it was sprinting through the surface of your skin so quickly that you were sure that the warmth that your face emitted was enough to get you through winter without a heater.

Iwaizumi seems to have realized the fact that his hand was still on your head, and he also seems to have realized what he just said. He immediately retracts his hand away, clearing his throat before he speaks, “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You look at your shoes, the black surface suddenly looking like the most interesting thing on the planet. “But we should go already, it looks like it’s about to rain.”

Iwaizumi turns his gaze to the sky and sees the signs of a storm brewing. “You’re right, let’s go.”

The walk is as awkward as your conversation at the gates of the school. No words were shared, and a heavy layer of tension seemed to rest in the air. However, it didn’t seem like Iwaizumi felt the heaviness in the atmosphere at all. Either that or he’s doing a great job at looking calm and composed.

A few more seconds of silence pass and you can feel the tendrils of recklessness starting to tug at your body, urging you to do and say something stupid. You were pretty fed up with Iwaizumi being so dense that you almost didn’t care about the rejection. You just wanted him to know how much he means to you. Sure, a rejected confession would make things awkward, but both of you were already pretty damn awkward even without the confession. Surely nothing can be worse than this, right?

The words exit your mouth faster than your brain can evaluate them. “Hey Iwaizumi-san, do you not… like me?”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the corner of Iwaizumi’s lips tilt down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing as he contemplates on what to say. “I do, though. Did Oikawa not tell you?”

“What?” It’s your turn to look confused. “What do you mean?”

“Huh?” Iwaizumi stops walking and turns to look at you. “Isn’t that why you don’t talk to me that often?”

“I’m not following.” You tilt your head in confusion, unable to decipher the words coming out from the ace’s mouth.

Iwaizumi is gaping at you, a million thoughts seemingly running through his head as he blinks repeatedly. “Did Oikawa not tell you last year that I like you?”

You blink once. Twice. It takes three blinks before you can reply, and the best you can say is, “What?”

Your heart is beating quickly. The words are sinking in, but at the same time, they aren’t. The hopeful part of you says that Iwaizumi liked you, while the part that doesn’t want to get hurt from expectations refuses to believe the words coming out of the ace’s mouth.

Before Iwaizumi can reply, it starts raining.

“Shit, it’s raining.” Iwaizumi clicks his tongue before he shrugs his uniform jacket off and drapes it over your head. “Come on, there’s a convenience store just around the corner.”

Iwaizumi grabs your wrist, and you can only follow him because you were still too stunned to form any coherent thoughts. If you tried to reply now, you feel like the only thing that would come out of your mouth is ‘I love you’, and the world was not yet ready for that.

When you reach the convenience store, there are tiny droplets dripping from Iwaizumi’s hair, making you feel guilty because his jacket shielded you from the droplets of rain that decided to skydive at the worst time.

You’re both seated on one of the benches in the convenience store, thankfully, the one behind the register knew your circle of friends well, and she didn’t mind the fact that you were getting the floor wet.

You hand Iwaizumi his jacket, and he takes it, but instead of wearing it, he wraps it around your shoulders. “It’s cold, you might get sick.”

You frown. “I’m not the one who’s dripping wet from the rain. If anyone here has a chance of getting sick, it’s you. Take your damned jacket before you get sick.”

“Continue scolding me like that and I might just think you like me back.” You see the blush on Iwaizumi’s cheeks before he looks away from you.

“Stop that.” You grip at his jacket to wrap it tighter around your form. You were honestly just confused. Did this dense idiot really not know? And did this dense idiot actually feel the same?

“Stop what?” Iwaizumi turns to look at you again, worry etched into every inch of his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Stop saying you like me when you don’t.” Your brain has reached the conclusion that maybe Iwaizumi finally realized that you did like him and was now leading you on. Deep in your heart, you knew that Iwaizumi was such a kind person that doing such a thing would never cross his mind, but you were still in denial because how the hell is someone like him, into someone like you? “It’s true that I like you but you don’t have to play with my feelings like that.”

“What?” Iwaizumi’s mouth is gaping open. “Are you saying that you… Do you like me?”

You blink at him in disbelief. A few beats pass and suddenly you’re laughing like a madwoman. You were ready to doubt him again, but the pure shock on his face was too genuine to be questioned. “You are dense! Oh my—“

Your sentence is cut off by your laughter, unable to hold it in. You couldn’t believe it.

Iwaizumi is still confused, but he looks a little embarrassed. There’s a blush on his cheeks, but there’s something in his eyes as he looks at you. A tiny glint of happiness shining in his eyes as he adores the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh.

When you calm down from your laughing, you decide to give Iwaizumi an explanation. “Yes, I do like you, you dense idiot. Probably since our second year? I’m pretty sure you’re the only one in the entire school who isn’t aware.”

There’s a blush on Iwaizumi’s cheeks as he searches your face for any sign of deception, but he finds none. The embarrassed look on his face is immediately replaced with a confident smirk as he brings his face closer to yours.

Instinctively you scoot back, but Iwaizumi’s reflexes are quick so one of his hands is immediately behind your neck to keep you where you are. “Bold of you to call me a dense idiot when I’ve been in love with you for three years and you never even noticed.”

It’s your turn to be embarrassed, your cheeks warming as you attempt to look down to avoid Iwaizumi’s intense gaze.

“Oh no, you’re gonna look at me while I confess.” Iwaizumi teases as he removes his hand from your neck to tilt your chin upward. “I really like you, Y/N. Your smile, your eyes, the way you laugh… Just everything about you. You’re just so… Amazing.”

You can’t reply, too touched and overwhelmed to form any words.

“It sounds stupid, but I’m pretty sure I’ve imagined a hundred different futures with you the moment you cheered for me in that one Dateko game where I kept getting blocked.” Iwaizumi whispers, gazing into your soul in hopes that the other feelings he couldn’t put into words would be conveyed through his eyes. “You probably don’t remember, but that day, I realized that I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

“I got pretty bummed out when you got distant in our second year, I thought you disliked me so I kept our conversations short just so I don’t inconvenience you.” Iwaizumi grows as he recalls the moment you guys got awkward before it’s replaced with a smile as he speaks. “What a surprise that you like me too, huh?”

Iwaizumi chuckles lightly before he gently brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, and the feeling of the tip of his calloused fingers grazing your skin was enough to send your heart into a frenzy. “Can I…”

“Can you what?” You whisper, not wanting to ruin the moment by making your voice too loud.

“Can I kiss you?” Iwaizumi looks into your eyes, waiting for permission. Waiting for a sign, a word.

You don’t reply, instead, you grab him by his tie and tenderly press your lips against his. Your heart feels like it’s about to escape the confines of your chest as you move your lips against Iwaizumi’s. Years of chasing after Iwaizumi finally concluded, and damn did it conclude pretty damn well.

You’re the first to pull away. Leaning away as you looked to the side to hide the blush on your face.

There’s a stupid grin on Iwaizumi’s face, his wide eyes accompanied by a bright smile as he breathes deeply. “Shit, I’m in love.”

Your face practically bursts into flames at how happy Iwaizumi looked at that moment, but you compose yourself and muster a quick reply. “I mean, this situation would be pretty awkward if you aren’t.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow as he smirks teasingly—boy did that simple action do things to your heart—before he grabs your wrist, making you faceplant right into his sturdy chest. He proceeds to cup your cheeks with his hands, pressing his forehead on yours. “I’m not gonna ask you to be my girlfriend yet.”

You can feel your heart drop a bit as you look into Iwaizumi’s eyes.

“I’m gonna give you the first date that you deserve then I’ll ask you.” Iwaizumi grins as the worry on your face is replaced by a small pout. “I hope you say yes.”

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.” You answer a little too quickly, which makes Iwaizumi chuckle before squishing your cheeks.

“I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet.” Iwaizumi reasons out, continuing to absentmindedly squish your cheeks with his large hands.

“If you’re not asking me then I’m asking you.” You grin teasingly. “I’ve been pretty whipped for a long time now and I’m not about to let this opportunity slip.”

Your heart leaps into somersaults at the sound of Iwaizumi’s laughter.

“Fine, you win.” Iwaizumi pinches your cheek. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You nod enthusiastically.

Iwaizumi smiles before he places a hand on the back of your neck and pulls you in for another kiss. His other hand pulls you by your waist to bring you closer to him, and when you’re close enough, the hand on your neck moves your waist as well. Iwaizumi continues to kiss you, gently, sweetly, too afraid to hurt you in any way even if it was unintentional.

That day, you tell yourself, was probably the best day of your life. The rain added to the beauty of that moment because it gave you an excuse to snuggle into Iwaizumi’s side as he pressed small kisses on the side of your head from time to time.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! This one was a piece I made a while back, so if it’s familiar then it’s probably from my old account before I deactivated it. I made a new account cause I realized I was more stressed when I wasn’t writing. Thank you for reading!

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #genre.fluff #tw mild swearing

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years

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Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #king alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #f!cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #queen cousland #the falcon and the rose #the mysterious falcon sequel #smoke and mirrors #guys it's happening

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lunaajade · 3 years

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Everything You Need to Know about “Shadow and Bone” on Netflix (*UPDATED: POSSIBLE LANGUAGE OF THORNS ADAPTATION INFO)

Since it’s recently been confirmed that we’d be getting S&B content in a few days (finally!), I thought I’d compile and summarize as much info as I could to refresh everyone’s memories! Please spread the word/share this post to those who aren’t up to date! (I’ve seen some people online who are worried about how it’s going to turn out, and I’d like to be able to hopefully reassure those people)

Now, there’s a LOT of stuff, so there’s always the chance I missed/forgot something. This post will be split up into categories based on type of info, so here we go! I went back and listened to/watched both of the big live streams (NYCC and the S&B Charity Competition), went on the Grishaverse Reddit, etc. to find as much (extra/bonus) stuff as I could. (If I missed anything/got something wrong, please feel free to leave a comment!)

Update: A lot of people have been asking where it was confirmed we were getting content soon. I found out from one of the update accounts I follow.

Thanks for reading, everyone!

General/Key Info About the Show

-This first season will be adapting both “Shadow and Bone” and what has been dubbed a “Book 0″ (most likely meaning prequel/backstory/set-up) for “Six of Crows” -In relation to the above point, the timelines are being brought together for the show. (Normally in the books, the two series are set two years apart)(We don’t know how exactly or what this means for the story, but I have a really interesting theory that I thought up in relation to this, message me if you’d like to hear it.) -Leigh acknowledges and understands that some of us have doubts and are worried about the show, but she has publicly assured us (numerous times) of how much she loves the show and cast, how well she thinks the crew/writers did in bringing the Grishaverse to life, etc. See a later point below in the Facts/Tidbits section -The first season will have 8, one-hour long episodes -Alina has been made half Shu (half Asian) for the show! Leigh stated that was decided on after she and Eric had a lengthy discussion on Alina’s character. -The main cast (as in confirmed to be in all episodes) is comprised of Jessie Mei Li (as Alina), Archie Renaux (as Mal), Ben Barnes (as the Darkling), Freddy Carter (as Kaz), Amita Suman (as Inej), and Kit Young (as Jesper) -Wylan and Nikolai are NOT in the first season. (Nikolai didn’t appear until the second book, and Leigh confirmed that at this point in the story, the Crows had not met Wylan yet.) -Other cast members include Danielle Galligan (as Nina), Calahan Skogman (as Matthias), Daisy Head (as Genya), Sujaya Dasgupta (as Zoya), Luke Pasqualino (as David), Julian Kostov (as Fedyor), Simon Sears (as Ivan), Zoe Wanamaker (as Baghra), and more! -The Darkling will also be called “General Kirigan” in the show. From what we know, The Darkling will be the “enemy” to Ravka (so in essence, General Kirigan is his alias/fake persona (what he’ll most likely be referred to for most of the show), and no one knows that he’s actually their enemy. (Meaning it’ll most likely a super big moment when they learn their general was actually the Darkling in disguise)). -The show was shot on location in Budapest, Hungary. (And additional filming took place this past fall in Vancouver) -In order, the 8 episodes are titled the following: “A Searing Burst of Light”, “We’re All Someone’s Monster”, “The Making at the Heart of the World”, “Otkazat’sya”, “Show Me Who You Are”, “The Heart is An Arrow”, “The Unsea”, & “No Mourners”.

Other (Fun) Facts/Tidbits About the Show

-Upon seeing Jessie’s audition, Leigh loved her audition/portrayal of Alina so much that she apparently stated that she wanted her to play Alina or she’d be out of the project. She was sent five auditions to watch, Jessie’s was the third, and she said she didn’t bother watching the rest of them. -Leigh stated that she and Eric Heisserer (the creator of the show) said they were on the same page from the first meeting. All other past meetings with producers and companies about possible adaptations had left her with a bad feeling, but she said they’d had the same ideas about inclusion, story, staff, etc. She said she’s loved the respect he’s shown towards the work (and, in a way, to us the fans) -Netflix apparently also has the rights to adapt “The Language of Thorns” , though we’ve gotten no info on that adaptation yet. (UPDATE: I just watched a Leigh Bardugo event from Feb 2019 (a few weeks after the show was first announced, I think): As of that day, she said that she thought that they were going to use LoT more for "texture” (IMO that might mean worldbuilding?) in the show. And I don’t know if she was talking about LoT specifically because she was very vague, but she said that there were certain things in the show that she thinks readers will be really excited about. Again, this was over a year ago, back when they were still in pre-production and stuff, so don’t take my word for it. Besides this, I couldn’t find anything else relating to a possible LoT adaptation. Maybe they’ll have the stories from LoT appear as actual folk tales told in the show, and that’s the “adaptation”? IDK. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpHnw8Ygw5c&t=1906s)) -Leigh is an exec. producer on the show! I’m no expert, so I don’t know how much say/power she had in the process, but she definitely had some. -There is a RAVKAN edition of the “Shadow and Bone” book that Leigh says makes a cameo in the show! -Jesper’s guns had custom etchings done on them by a Hungarian antique gunsmith! (And they were so good that Leigh and Eric said that it looked like it belonged in a museum--they were also described to be quite heavy!) -Eric Heisserer is the creator of the show, he is an award-winning writer, well known for “Arrival”, “Bird Box”, and more. (If I remember correctly, Leigh said that he’d reached out to her about making the show!) -A DeKappel painting (maybe the one owned by Van Eck?) was confirmed to be in the pilot episode. -Pekka Rollins and Tante Heleen have been confirmed to be in the first season, but their casting has (up to this point) not yet been revealed. -Bo Yul-Bayur is confirmed to be in the show! (Though Kuwei has not) -Leigh will have a cameo in (I think) Episode 5! She will be wearing a Materialki kefta and will be opening a door, if I remember correctly. -A lot of the crew was also extremely passionate about the project and fans of the books -The “Lives of Saints” book that was published in October is an actual book/prop that is appearing in the show! -I’m personally fine with Mal, but Leigh says that Archie is going to change everyone’s minds with his portrayal! -The costume designer for the show is Wendy Partridge, known for her work on “Thor: The Dark World”, “Pompeii”, and more! -The composer for the show is Joe Trapanese, known for composing for “The Greatest Showman”, “Straight Outta Compton”, “Lady and the Tramp”, and more! At the NYCC Grishaverse panel, they revealed a little bit of the score (”Grisha Theme”): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFxIEbsHKJA

Fun Cast/On Set Stories/Facts

-The cast all loves each other, and are all extremely passionate about this show, which is great! (Leigh said that on her second visit to the set, she heard them singing together) -Leigh says that Ben Barnes once snuck up behind her on her first day on set and scared her by whispering “Fine, make me your villain” -Freddy’s favorite Grishaverse book is “Six of Crows”, but most specifically the first line of chapter 2 (”Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason.”) -Jessie would apparently come to set on some of her days off to support the cast and crew! -Sujaya has stated that her favorite Grishaverse character is Nikolai! (#Zoyalai) -Freddy has become famous/popular with the fandom, one of the reasons being because he often comments on posts/live streams asking something along the lines of “What was it like working with Freddy Carter? xoxo” -Danielle loves Nina and her journey in “King of Scars” -According to a Tweet, Freddy and Leigh said that there had been a scene with “a very pesky gate”--Freddy said that it “wouldn’t be proper to tweet the expletives [he] used that day” and that he thinks he “scarred” Amita and Eric. -Amita’s favorite thing about Inej is her silence, and her favorite Grishaverse book is “Six of Crows” (as of May, where we learned this during a live-stream, she said she’s read it three times and listened to the audiobook twice.) -There was a waffle truck on set on the last day of shooting! -Calahan says that if he could play any other Grishaverse character, he’d want to play Nikolai! -While she did work with the trainer to get more physically fit, Amita learned most of her knife techniques by herself! -Leigh said she cried a lot while on set! (She said there was one scene they were shooting that she has a very clear, vivid memory of writing many years back--based on the context of which she was talking about it, if I had to guess, I’d guess she’s describing the Winter Fete.) -Leigh also said that on one of her first days on set, it was funny/weird to see all the extras in First Army uniforms chilling on their phones, drinking coffee, etc. -One of Calahan’s favorite character dynamics in the books is the dynamic between Kaz and Matthias -There was a moment where Amita was fully in costume and doing amazing, graceful knife work, only to trip and fall when she’d finished. -Amita and Jessie and Sujaya were best friends on set. -Sujaya loved everything about playing Zoya. (Especially her confidence) -Leigh says one of her favorite props was Kaz’s cane, especially because of what it meant to her and the story. -If he could be any Grisha order, Calahan says he’d want to be a Corporalki -Calahan loves Matthias’s journey/arc. -Kit’s favorite Grishaverse book is “Crooked Kingdom”!

Links

-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X65iI1YXrbU (NYCC Grishaverse Panel) -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHou5rVs6o0 (S&B Talent Show Charity Live Stream ft. the S&B Cast!--the IG video got taken down because Archie deleted his IG account and switched to a new one) -https://www.netflix.com/title/80236319 (”Shadow and Bone” on Netflix!) -https://twitter.com/shadowandbone_ (Official “Shadow and Bone” Twitter!) -https://www.instagram.com/shadowandbone/?hl=en (Official “Shadow and Bone” Instagram!) -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRh-Pmbynww (Annoucement made by cast when filming wrapped! (can be found on the social media accounts, but here’s a link to YT)) -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1bpY8uLtyB4 (A S&B Cast Crack video by HeartPhantom--it highlights a lot of the inside jokes and memes that we’ve gotten to witness among the cast, and also just generally shows off how hilariously chaotic everyone is (this cast is the definition of chaotic good, lol))

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sasorikigai · 2 years

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Habitual deadpan along with an iced coffee in calloused hand, one wouldn't be so doubtful to recognize the agent if it wasn't for a relatively odd choice of an outfit. Then again, who had any right to judge him for what he wears in the walls of his own home? In any case, the baby blue hue of his PJs appears to be somewhat contrasting against his whole, usually so collected image as he nonetheless doesn't show any actual bother against the watch of other eyes, giving his beverage yet another sip before raising a brow in response to the intent looking. ( @biiingbao, ask and you shall receive lol )

Random Inbox Shenanigans || @biiingbao || always accepting!

💥 || He had vowed to become the strongest of the strong, standing against the volatile and vicious nature of life; even if it knows, that his destiny was to die beneath the constricting and asphyxiating chains that hope him. The stakes involved may continue to leave him inconsolable, for Hanzo Hasashi, for far too long, had been an unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lops are so formed that when the sighs and cries pass through them, it sounds like lovely music through the eloquent sufferings of a poet. Beneath the endless repeat, the endless tide of melancholia that threaten to suffocate his sunshine, all Hanzo desires in the end is to wrap his wounded, shattered soul around Bi-Han, with a soft, velvety blanket of love and his perpetual warmth. They each could protect one another from life’s harsh winters, however old and new sufferings will continue to torment their entirety, but the blissful fashion of their shared repose could considerably mitigate such chronic ache of his heart and soul.

Hanzo Hasashi’s eyes are fire; well-tended and bright. And his love is also fire; now wild and hot, spitting out past the hearth of his being, blackening the walls of his uniform-clad tenebrous darkness. His windswept and carmine complexion where gelid winter’s wrath has permeated him radiates heat, and how his gentle exhaustion mitigates the proverbial tension of his shoulders and neck. The embers of his heart burns anew, as the intensified smolder of his gaze remains immovable towards his beloved, all the while slowly peeling off the layers of his battle gears.

No longer, he remains trapped in another version of his world that hurtles him in a thrilling, yet precariously volatile scenes, where the reality threatens to bust and burst into pieces. He won’t have to torn asunder, and smell the putrid stench of death lingering by, as the world eternally devours and scavenges along the mortal flesh and bones, and he could imagine sometimes, the trail of blood that would be in the wake could belong to any of them, however well-trained and formidable they become in the triad of body, mind, and spirit.

The ignited flame roars deep in his heart, yet it remains quieted beneath the eased steadiness of Hanzo’s heartbeat, ebbing and flowing with passion and intensity so pure, that it aches his muscles. Perhaps it was an indescribable lust so bright that it refuses to dim, or simply a yearning desire of their physical connection and coalescing that was beyond the corporeal sense. His premeditated gaze unfurls Bi-Han’s form underneath the PJ, remembering lucidly well of his well-built musculature and scars scattered over. It is another kind of splendor, or a dream manifested into real. Hanzo’s well-intended gait seeks enough proximity as soon as he is stripped down to his underwear, with his worn garments placed neatly over the loveseat.

“In the whirling construct of this particular day, all I could think about was you,” drinking in the alluring aroma of the black coffee, deep and strong with its taste, he soon would let his lips engulf the safe, predictable, yet reassuring taste of Bi-Han, while readying to protect him with his tight embrace. As if Hanzo Hasashi refuses to merely float on the surface of this particular reality. “Come sleep with me; we won’t fucking make love. Love will make us.” 💥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ ugly syllables of conjured vindictive crimson (modern au)#✗ fifty shades of kombat (nsfw)#✗ the frigid wildfire of justice (bi-han || biiingbao)#(bihanzo)#(he be in one of those moods)#biiingbao

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kythed · 3 years

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circus mirrors & stereo hearts

sugawara koushi x reader

this one goes out to my new friend, @twat-101 :) it’s a bit long, but I hope you still like it ! sending lotsa love your way <3

synopsis: (y/n) is struggling with her mental health so her best friend suga-san invites her over to study. general chaos and dumbassery ensues.

warnings: some swearing, mentions of mental health struggles, suga’s tone deaf singing.

word count: 4,226

Koushi always kept his windows open. Always.

In the winter, this transformed his room into a tiny Antarctica, replete with stray snowflakes, but in the summer, it meant cool tradewinds cutting through the typically stifling heat, creating a little pocket of the ideal climate. You often found yourself there in these warmer months, perched on the corner of his bed, contently listening to him blithely gossip about his teammates or playing a giggly game of Connect Four rife with not so subtle cheating.

Today, a sunny August Saturday, was no different. Koushi sat cross legged on the carpet. Sprawled out across his pale blue comforter, which smelled of fresh linen and that familiar Old Spice he’d been wearing since the eighth grade, you listened to him recite a chapter from your history book, something about post World War II foreign policy. Struggling to remain attentive, however, you found yourself spiraling into those cheerless resignations of hopelessness that had been far too frequent for you lately.

“--which resulted in Europe’s economic recovery chiefly in terms of raw materials, food, and fuel. The Soviet Union soon attempted to replicate a similar plan but ultimately-- hey, (Y/N)?”

You blinked hard and sunk back into reality, turning onto your cheek to look Koushi in his big brown eyes full of rather matronly concern. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what we’re learning about right now?” he asked, sounding both amused and disapproving. A strand of grey fell in front of his face and he quickly blew it away, smiling slightly. “Because it seems like you’ve been zoning out for the last ten or so minutes. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but Mr. Shishido specifically said this chapter was going to be on the test.”

“Uh… something about muzzer Roosia?” you joked with an exaggerated accent.

Koushi rolled his eyes and flicked your forehead. You yelped and glared at him reproachfully. “We were talking about the Marshall Plan. The United States’ recovery aid program for Western Europe after wartime devastation.”

“Right, right, I knew that,” you protested as Koushi tugged on your forearms and you toppled off the bed, nearly landing right on top of him. With a soft laugh, he extracted his limbs from yours and plopped his head into your lap like he used to when you were kids, resting beneath the boughs of that little oak tree in his backyard, listening to a choir of cicadas croon under a late afternoon sun. The ghost of a grin flitted over your face as you looked back on those halcyon days of your childhood. Usually Koushi’s mom would come out onto the porch with a couple of already-melting lemon popsicles in hand, and the two of you would scramble out of each other’s embrace and tear towards her, breathlessly racing for a priceless reward of sweet smiles and sticky hands.

What you wouldn’t give to go back to that time of gleeful oblivion, before your world became characterized by that all too persistent self-consciousness and excruciating anxiety. What you wouldn’t give to once again feel worthy of Koushi’s innocent adoration…

“--(Y/N)!”

For the second time today, you shook yourself awake. Koushi gazed up at you, brows furrowed. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was asking if you needed to take a little study break. Obviously, you do. I swear, your attention span gets shorter every day.” He pointed somewhere behind you. “Mind grabbing my phone? It’s on the bed.”

You leaned over as far as you could without disturbing Koushi’s position, head still nestled in your lap, and swept your hand over the covers before it bumped into his phone, which you promptly snatched and dropped onto his stomach. He gave a soft “oomph” at the impact before pulling up his Spotify and selecting a playlist, the cover of which was a selfie of the two of you at last year’s spring carnival. A blurred sakura tree provided the perfect backdrop for your smiling faces pressed cheek-to-cheek to fit in the frame. Sugar dusted the corners of Koushi’s mouth, the last trace of the powdered donut you’d shared right before.

“What’s that? I don’t think I’ve listened to that one before.” You reached for the phone, but Koushi held it out just out of reach as music began to play, batting your hand away. “I look awful in that picture; you could’ve chosen something a little more flattering.”

“Oh, shush. You looked pretty that day, wearing that blue sundress with the little flowers on the hem… blue really suits you, you know.” Koushi smiled fondly at his screen, and you blushed despite yourself. “It’s a compilation of all our songs. I listened to this a lot last summer when you were in France with your family for a month. Whenever I missed you. You were off climbing the Eiffel Tower or making croissants and I was lounging around here, bored out of my mind and wishing you were home so we could be bored together.”

“You sappy bastard,” you said, though you really felt quite touched. “I didn’t even realize we had a song.”

“Not just a song,” he corrected. “Songs. Plural. Most of the songs we’ve ever listened to together, I reckon. Anything that reminds me of you, I put on here.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” you asked, aghast at his effort.

Koushi laughed at your surprise. “You’re my best friend, (Y/N). And believe or not, you mean a lot to me. I just like remembering the stuff we’ve done together.”

You nodded slowly, letting your fingers rest on his forehead and gently play with his grey locks. His eyes closed as you settled into a brief, comfortable almost-silence, tainted only by the soft, muffled melody trickling from tiny phone speakers. You cocked your head. “What song is this?”

“You don’t remember?” Koushi asked, sounding almost offended. He turned the volume up a few notches and held the phone closer to your ear.

Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on

You got the healing that I want

Just like they say it in the song

Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on

“I don’t know if--” you cut off as it dawned on you. “Wait… no way. This isn’t…?”

“It is.” Koushi laughed as your face flushed a vivid crimson. “Uchimura’s party.”

Though embarrassed, you grinned, remembering that night. “The song that played at her twelfth birthday while we were in the closet during seven minutes in heaven.”

“We were way too young for that dumb game,” Koushi said with a smile, shaking his head. “God, I was so nervous. That was my first kiss, you know.”

“It was mine too,” you admitted. You remembered sitting on the carpeted floor of Uchimura’s rather cramped closet, knees touching, just barely able to see the outline of Koushi’s face illuminated by the smallest sliver of light shining through a crack in the door. He’d leaned forward, taking your hand in his own small clammy one. “It was really just a peck, though. It might not have counted.”

“It counted,” said Koushi firmly. “Whenever I get asked about my first kiss, I say it was ours. I say it was the best one I’ve ever had, too.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Now, I know that’s a lie. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

“Neither did I,” agreed Koushi. He caught your eye, crinkling his nose cutely. “That’s what made it so sweet. It was innocent. I tasted your bubblegum chapstick on my lips afterwards.”

“Bubblegum chapstick, huh?” You rolled your eyes and poked him softly in the ribs. “I couldn’t look you straight in the eyes for like three weeks after that.”

“I remember. You kept running away whenever I tried to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not sure we would’ve even stayed friends if Ms. Miyato hadn’t partnered us up for the volcano project at the end of that month.” You recalled those afternoons spent in Koushi’s kitchen, newspapers covering every visible surface and a huge, paper-mache volcano resting on the dining table, splattered with orange and yellow paint and smelling strongly of Elmer’s glue and vinegar. Oftentimes, work sessions would dissolve into paint fights, staining your school uniforms with small, colorful hand prints.

“Nah,” said Koushi confidently. “I wouldn’t have let you go that easily.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” you said under your breath.

Koushi stared at you for a second, sighing. Then he reached up to grasp your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and softly stroking his thumb across your palm. “You know, it was Uchimura’s eighteenth last weekend. You didn’t come.”

“Yeah. I had to study.” That was a lie. You just hadn’t thought anyone really wanted you there. Uchimura had been a friend of yours for years, but she had plenty of other friends to celebrate with. Probably didn’t even notice you weren’t there…

“She asked me where you were,” Koushi continued. “I said I didn’t know because you didn’t answer my texts that night.”

“Sorry,” you said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Studying.”

“On a Friday night?” You didn’t answer, and Koushi squeezed your hand. “I had to choose Daichi for my charades partner… do you have any idea how shit he is at charades? He flopped on the ground and started convulsing, so I guessed ‘epilepsy.’ Guess what the word really was.”

“What?”

“Orgasm. The word was orgasm. You’d think he could just execute a simple pelvic thrust and make a face, but no, he had to go ahead and act like my great uncle Kaito when he had that heart attack at his ninety-fifth birthday last year.”

You cracked a small smile, imagining Daichi violently wiggling on the floor like a fish out of water. “Sounds like I missed out, then.”

“You really did,” said Koushi, eyes twinkling. He suddenly got solemn. “I missed you. Would’ve been a million times more fun with you there.”

“I doubt it.” You fiddled with the edge of your shirt, smile fading. “I can be a real killjoy sometimes.”

“Not to me,” said Koushi. “Whenever you walk into the room, suddenly that’s the only room I wanna be in.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you swallowed thickly. “Koushi… why are you telling me this?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said simply. He took your hand again, the one that had been playing with his hair, and held it to his chest. You felt his heart beat erratically beneath your palm. “You’ve been avoiding all our friends in general.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, though your heart sank. He had noticed. You wished you didn’t have to drag him into all your problems. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy with what, (Y/N)? Homework? Our physics teacher came and talked to me at my locker after school, asking if you’ve been struggling with any personal issues, because apparently you haven’t been turning in your assignments.” Koushi glanced up at you. “It seems like you’ve just been locked away in your room whenever you’re not in class. Not doing work, not going out. Remember a couple weeks ago, when I asked if you wanted to go see that movie with me at the drive-in? You said you had a family dinner in town, but later I passed by on my bike and your bedroom light was on. And today, it took four separate phone calls before you finally picked up and I managed to invite you over… I’ve been worried.”

“Maybe I’m just changing,” you protested weakly. “That’s a thing that happens. People change.”

“I agree, you have been changing. Just not for the better.” Koushi squeezed your hand again, his skin warm on your own. “I haven’t seen you smile, really smile, for ages. You’re always faking these days. What’s going on?”

“I…” you trailed off, trying to think of some excuse. The last thing you wanted was for Koushi to see what was really going on inside your head.

“The truth, (Y/N).”

You relented, shoulders sagging. “Just been tired, I guess.”

“Tired of what?”

“Tired of…” Your eyes grew moist despite your best efforts and you fought to keep from choking on the sob rising up your throat.

“Tired of…?” he pressed on, eyebrow raised.

Your next words tumbled out in a rush. “Just tired of being me, okay? It’s like… it’s just like, whenever I look in the mirror… I don’t like what I see. I don’t like myself, so I don’t want to be me anymore. I’m so tired of it. And I feel like everyone else is, too. Everyone is tired of my shit, so I thought I’d just do you all a favor and disappear.”

Your words stunned Koushi into silence. He remained resting in your lap for a few long seconds before he felt something hot and wet roll down his cheek. A tear. But not his own.

He looked up just in time for another one of your tears to land on his face, right underneath his eye. Quickly, he sat up and tenderly cupped your face in his hands, gently brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Oh, (Y/N)... c’mere. That’s such bullshit.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you hiccupped as he pulled you into his lap by your waist-- facing him-- and gingerly tucked your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. It’s gross, I know.”

“It’s not gross,” said Koushi, fiercely hugging you to his chest. “It’s much better than watching you try to pretend like you’re fine. I don’t care if your snot gets on my shirt-- that’s a small price to pay. So long as I can be there for you right now.”

You cried harder, immense guilt racking your body at his inexplicable kindness. “I’ve been treating you terribly these past few months, but you’re still so good to me. Goddamnit, Koushi. I don’t deserve you.”

Koushi pulled you back by the shoulders, narrowed eyes searching your face, though tears continued to stream down your cheeks. “(Y/N). You don’t have to earn my love.”

“I-- love?” you asked, eyes wide. You snatched a tissue from Koushi’s bedside table and blew your nose loudly.

“Yeah,” he said firmly, without missing a beat. “I said it. I love you. And don’t ask if I mean in a friend way or a girlfriend way, because the answer is neither. I love you like you’re the person I wanna spend the rest of my life with. I don’t care if that means as, like, your husband or just as your best friend. Whatever I can get, I’m happy with, because I love you like you’re a part of me. Unconditionally. I thought you knew that.”

“Please, don’t say that,” you sobbed, covering your face with your hands. “I’m not good enough for you. I’m really not.”

Koushi pulled your hands away so he could look you in the eye. “What don't you understand about the term ‘unconditional love’? It’s unconditional. There is literally nothing you nor anyone else can say or do to change that. Unconditional love is not a feeling, it’s a choice, and I’ve made that choice. I’ve had nearly two decades to think about it, so now I’m telling you I will love you no matter what. I always have, alright? This isn’t exactly how I wanted to say it, but it’s true.”

You stared at him, disbelieving. You hadn’t known he’d felt this way. Of course, you two had been partners-in-crime your entire lives, and you couldn’t count the number of times he’d materialized at your side as soon as you were in the slightest bit of trouble. Whenever you were a dollar short at the canteen, he’d stuff a five in your hand and push you towards the front of the line. That time you went camping with his family and you forgot your sleeping bag, he’d given you his and spent the night shivering. He always carried an extra pen for you because yours often inexplicably ran out of ink in the middle of a test. He’d been there for every crush, boyfriend, and breakup, cheering you on and drying your tears when the time came. He’d been there when your pet dog died and you planned a funeral in your backyard, complete with a little cardboard headstone, holding an umbrella above your head when it began to rain but you weren’t done mourning. He’d just always been there when you needed him.

You’d tried to be there for him, too, because, as you had begun to realize, his pain was your pain and vice versa. That time when you were six and he’d lost his favorite stuffed animal (a giraffe) it had felt like you’d lost yours too. That day in junior high when he fell out of the oak tree trying to retrieve a stray frisbee and broke his arm, you swore you felt the same pain in yours. Last year when he got dumped outside the gym on Valentine’s Day and you found him sitting in a corner, trying to hide the fact he’d obviously been crying-- you’d stayed late to crack stupid jokes and eat the chocolate he meant to give to his girlfriend, because he deserved a girl who would eat the damn chocolate. Not stomp on his heart and leave it to bleed. I love you like you’re a part of me. You understood.

“It’s okay to not be okay sometimes, but it’s not okay to bundle it all up and bury it deep inside when you have someone right next to you wanting to help you bear that burden.” Koushi’s voice shook just slightly. “It just… it hurts to see you like this, okay? (Y/N), if you love me back, then let me help you. Let me be there for you. Please.”

You were silent for a moment, staring into his pleading eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes.

Then you took a deep breath and started laughing through the tears. You were sure you looked insane, puffy eyes, red nose, and mascara running down your cheeks, but it didn’t matter. “I do. I love you, too. I love you. I didn’t know I loved you before, but now I do, because if you were torn away from me that heartbreak would probably kill me. No, it would definitely kill me. And it would hurt like a motherfucker while it did.”

Koushi let out the breath he’d been holding then, after a brief pause, began to laugh with you as you laced your arms around the back of your neck. “Oh, yeah? Well, losing you would probably hurt like a father-fucker to me.”

“Is that worse than a motherfucker?” you asked, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all. Here you were, bawling on the floor of your best friend’s room while you confessed your love to one another and cussed each other out at the same time.

“For sure. It’s a million times worse than a motherfucker. It’s like, if something hurting like a motherfucker is the equivalent of getting shot by a Nerf gun, something hurting like a fatherfucker probably feels like getting run over by a tank.” Koushi intertwined his fingers with yours yet again and smiled.

“You’re a dumbass,” you said, but you laughed anyways as Koushi looked proud of himself.

“I know,” he said softly, affectionately. “But I’m your dumbass.”

You sighed and shook your head. “I’d love you to be. But you could still do so much better than me--”

“Will you stop saying that, already?” Koushi took your face in his hand, stroking his thumb right beneath your eye. “You’re the most radiant person I’ve ever met. Notice how I didn’t say ‘beautiful’ because the word beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Although you are that, too.”

“Oh, goodness. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again-- you’re so sappy.”

Koushi rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, I am. You like it though.”

“You caught me,” you said as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You leaned into it, savoring the warmth of his lips on your skin. “I do.”

“But really, (Y/N),” he said seriously. “It astounds me that you don’t realize that.”

“Don’t realize what?”

“That you’re cool! You’re so cool and fun and awesome. And a zillion other adjectives I could sit here and list out for hours. You’re the only person who can make me laugh when I cry, and you make the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted, and you’re a literal god at Mario Kart, and you’ve got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever had the privilege to look into.” You flushed as Koushi thought for a moment, chewing on his lip before his eyes widened. “It’s kinda like a circus mirror, I think.”

“What?” You furrowed your brow.

“The way you see yourself is like someone looking into one of those circus mirrors. It makes you look too tall, or really squished, or just bent out of shape in general. And if that was the only mirror you’d ever looked into, you’d probably think that ugly, distorted reflection is how you actually look in real life. You can’t see yourself for how amazing you really are-- but everyone else can.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of relevant analogies today?” you teased. A circus mirror. Now that was something new. You had to give Koushi credit for the comparison-- it actually did kind of make sense.

“What can I say?” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’m a poet.”

“So I guess that would make you my real mirror then?” you offered shyly. Koushi looked confused for a second. “If the way I see myself is supposedly ‘distorted,’ then you can reflect to me how I supposedly really am.”

“Oh, yes!” he said happily. “I’m the mirror. I like that. Quit talking like you don’t believe me, though. You’re incredible. A little thick-skulled sometimes, yes, but incredible nonetheless.”

“It’s going to be hard for me,” you said quietly, gently running a hand through his hair. “Really hard. I haven’t liked myself for a long time.”

“I know. I know. But someday, you’ll be able to understand what a beautiful human being you are. I’m sure of it. I need you to promise you won’t give up until that happens.”

He held out his pinky for a pinky swear, something you two did frequently as children. You smiled and laced your pinky with his. “Alright. I promise.”

“Good.” Koushi stood up, brushed the wrinkles from his pants, and offered you his hand. You took it and he pulled you up. “Listen. Do you remember this song?”

His little playlist had been playing this entire time. You hadn’t noticed. You strained to catch the lyrics. “Turn it up a little, I can’t quite hear.”

...a stereo

It beats for you, so listen close

Hear my thoughts in every note

“Koushi.” A slow smile spread across your face. “Tell me this isn’t Stereo Hearts.”

“Oh, this is Stereo Hearts alright!” he responded gleefully. He took your hand and spun you around like a ballroom dancer, catching you before you tripped over his bedside table. “You remember when we--”

“When we performed it at the junior high talent show and got booed off the stage?” You giggled, remembering that awful night that was somehow hilarious in retrospect. “I still have nightmares about that.”

Koushi continued to swing you around in some sort of clumsy dance, pulling you this way and that while you laughed wildly. “It’s ‘cause you were such a shit singer.”

You gasped in mock offense. “No way! You’re a much worse singer than I am. At least I can carry a tune.”

Koushi just rolled his eyes and grabbed a hairbrush from his shelf, using it like a microphone. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and began to serenade you in his terrible, tone-deaf manner.

Make me your radio

Turn me up when you feel low

This melody was meant for you

Just sing along to my stereo

“God, you really do suck at this,” you said, but he just smiled and kept singing. You had to admit, it was sweet. As silly as the memory associated with the song was, it remained a nostalgic favorite even now. You had to join in a few times, just for memory’s sake.

I only pray you never leave me behind

Because good music can be so hard to find

Koushi sat down next to you and wound one arm around your waist, leaning close.

I take your hand and pull it closer to mine

Thought love was dead, but now you're changing my mind

You turned and leaned in too, nearly touching noses.

“Hey,” he said in an almost whisper. “(Y/N) (L/N), I love you.”

“Hey,” you whispered back, gaze flitting down to his lips and back up again. “I love you, too, you sappy bastard.”

...so sing along to my stereo

“I know.” He closed the remaining inch of distance. Your hand tangled itself in his hair while his tugged your body a little closer.

The kiss was almost as good as the one in Uchimura’s closet all those years ago. Almost.

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #anime #sugawara #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader

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tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

Text

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 6/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

Eddie gets cleared with two weeks to spare, and they celebrate by making out on Buck’s couch for so long it actually starts to hurt.

Buck can admit that as excited as he was to give this thing of theirs a go (“You can call me your boyfriend, Buck, it’s not a bad word”), there was still a part of him that was nervous. Nervous about how it would affect him, would affect both of them, especially now, when they’re physically and emotionally exhausted as they hurtle closer and closer to Beijing. For the first week, Buck kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to realize this was a mistake and break it off cleanly, before they got in too deep. He knows what a monster he can be when he’s strung out on stress, and only Maddie has ever been able to see past the short words and shorter temper and get him to breathe again.

But one day, after an awful practice that brought the monster out in full force, Eddie found him hiding out in the locker room, fuming by himself and at himself. He didn’t chastise him like he could have (like he should have), didn’t tell him he was overreacting or that he was too much. Instead, he did what had become such a pillar in their friendship: he sat next to Buck and waited. And when all the anger and frustration finally seeped out of him, Eddie was there with a warm, solid, grounding hand to pull him back to his feet and away from the edge he was mentally leaning over. No judgement or invalidation, just genuine empathy.

And that’s all it took for it to slot into place for Buck. That no matter what, they’re friends — best friends — first, and their very unique life paths means they understand each other on a level that no one else can. Being boyfriends just means they get to do more fun things together now, like making out on couches like the real teenagers they never got to be.

The weeks after Eddie’s clean bill of health fly by, and they’re heading to Lake Placid before he knows it. Buck’s excited — he’s always excited for Nats — but he also feels a looming sense of foreboding, like any minute, something is going to go terribly, terribly wrong. The last time he competed here was four seasons ago, when he won his last Nats gold, two weeks before shattering his leg and Olympic dreams in one fell swoop. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? Maybe the universe has decided that the Olympics are not for him, and this weekend will result in a last place finish or another injury or something else that takes everything away from him again.

He feels a warm palm against his and a squeeze, looks up to see Eddie watching him, framed by the snowy mountains whizzing by the bus window. His brow is creased in worry, like he can see the storm starting to swirl in Buck’s head. That worry, the way Eddie knows him, is strangely grounding, pulling him out of his dark cloud enough to actually enjoy the view of upstate New York they have as they make their way to their hotel.

The pre-competition routine is easy, familiar, and Buck lets himself get lost in it, block out any and all doubts that keep trying to sink their claws into him as the weekend gets closer and closer. Eddie’s there every step of the way too, not at all the distraction Buck had been worried about for way too long, but a welcome calm in the clusterfuck of his emotions, something for him to hold onto and gravitate back towards when it all starts to be too much. He can’t believe he survived this season — or any other season — without this to balance him out, but he knows for a fact that he’s never letting it go.

It’s the morning before shorts, and Buck is woken up by obnoxious pounding on their hotel room door. He feels a groan rumble through Eddie’s chest where it’s pressed against his back, smirks as he feels his arms wrap tighter around his waist.

“If we’re quiet enough, maybe they’ll go away,” Eddie whispers.

“Get up losers, we know you can hear us,” Chim yells through the door. Buck throws back the covers, chilly morning air making him even more irritated, and yanks the door open, coming face to face with Chim and May.

“Oh thank god, he’s wearing pants,” May sighs in relief.

Buck squints an eye at her. “It’s 8:00am, what could you possibly want from us this early?”

“It’s team bonding day,” Chim says with a grin. “We’re going to Mirror Lake. Grab Eddie and your skates and meet us at the bus in 15.”

“What if we had our own plans?” Buck asks, crossing his arms. “How do you know we weren’t gonna spend all day in bed having—” A hand clamps over his mouth from behind him before he can finish.

“We’ll see you guys down there,” Eddie says. He shuts the door on them and pinches Buck’s side, turning toward his suitcase to find clothes.

“What?” Buck asks, laughing. “I was gonna say having a movie marathon, you didn’t let me finish.”

That earns him a sweatshirt thrown at his head, but Eddie’s looking at him all fond and soft when he throws it, so Buck’s not complaining.

Mirror Lake is the very definition of “winter wonderland” — the ice seems like it’s never ending, so clean and smooth you almost feel bad skating over it. Mountains and forests surround it on all sides to hide it away from the rest of the world, and Christmas lights are still strung up in the trees and around houses. It’s fairly empty this early, just a small group of kids playing a pickup game of hockey near one of the inns. A dusting of snow covers and muffles everything, bringing a sense of stillness and calm that’s unmatched anywhere else.

Buck takes a deep breath and revels at the bite he feels in his lungs. All the thoughts and voices filling his head finally quiet down, and he can just be here, enjoy this time with his friends without worrying about what’s going to happen tomorrow or next month. He knows it won’t last long, will all come flooding back as soon as they leave the lake, but he’s going to soak it all in while he can.

He’s fallen behind the group a bit as they spread out, taking in the sight of everyone — Maddie and Chim holding hands and matching strokes like always, Hen and May making up some kind of obstacle course, Bobby and Athena lost in deep conversation as they glide. He keeps looking until he spots Eddie, a little ways from the group, moving and spinning to the music only he can hear in his head. He’s as graceful as ever, confident in every movement, but there’s peace in him too — he’s at ease, free from the pressure of competition and perfection that Buck knows rests so heavily on his shoulders. The early morning sun bathes him in golden light, but it’s nothing compared to the smile sent his direction when he catches Buck watching.

He’s so beautiful it actually takes Buck’s breath away.

Eddie makes his way back to him, the light following in his wake. His smile is even brighter up close, but Buck only gets to enjoy it for a moment before he’s being pulled into a kiss so sweet and slow and perfect it makes him dizzy. Eddie pulls away just as quickly as he came in, the smile replaced with a smirk, and Buck barely registers the words “Race ya!” before Eddie’s speeding off to the other side of the lake. He’s stunned for a minute before he pushes off too, catching up with Eddie and doing his best to cut him off the rest of the way. Their laughter echoes off the mountains, surrounding them in their own joy, and Buck for the life of him can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie’s in first and Buck’s closing out the group, because apparently the universe gets a kick out of watching him suffer.

They’ve been in this same situation so many times before, and he used to be able to turn his irritation at another flawless skate from Eddie into determination, propelling his own skating to be as close to perfect as possible. Now, though, he feels...proud. And happy for Eddie, because despite the weeks out and any lingering pain, he was flawless again — everything perfectly landed and rotated, a commanding presence on the ice. It’s a weird feeling, but it’s also nice, especially when Eddie winks at him and mouths good luck as he makes his way to the kiss and cry, and Buck’s whole body fills up with giddy butterflies.

Turns out butterflies work better than anything else for him — he’s 10 points in first place after shorts, and he feels so electric, so on top of the world he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Until he sees Eddie again on their way to the presser, costume still sticking to him with sweat in all the right places, hair mussed and cheeks rosy.

Then there’s only one thing he wants to do, and he can’t believe he has to be polite to reporters before he can do it.

He manages to be nice and not stare at Eddie the whole time, but he snaps as soon as they get back to their hotel room, pushing Eddie up against the door as it closes and kissing him fast and dirty.

“Is this your way of distracting me so you win tomorrow?” Eddie asks, breathless from the kiss, fingers threading through Buck’s hair as Buck trails kisses down his jaw and neck, pausing only to shove Eddie’s jacket and shirt off so he can get to more skin. He stops again just as he gets to Eddie’s chest, his breath ghosting over a nipple and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Eddie’s pupils are blown wide when he meets his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks and crawling down his chest is so pretty Buck could write sonnets about it.

He smirks, the novelty of the effect he has on Eddie far from wearing off. “Do you want me to stop?”

Eddie shakes his head, cupping Buck’s jaw to pull him back up. “Fuck no, don’t even think about it,” he says before kissing him hard again, tongue licking into his mouth immediately, and Buck can practically taste the quiet, subconscious sounds Eddie makes as his fingers run down his chest and stomach. He quickly thanks whoever made track pants a part of the Team USA uniform before shoving Eddie’s down his thighs and finally getting a hand on his cock, already hard and leaking. Eddie whines as Buck breaks their kiss, but it settles into a sigh as he resumes his trail down his body. Normally he’d spend a lot longer working his mouth over as much of Eddie’s skin as he can reach, relish in the salty sweet taste of it and hit all the places that make Eddie’s hips buck forward without his permission, but he’s only got one goal in mind at the moment. He’ll make it up to Eddie later.

He finally swallows Eddie down, hears a “fuck” and a thump above him as Eddie’s head hits back against the door. He knows exactly what Eddie likes — the first week of their relationship was pretty much dedicated to figuring out all the best ways to make each other fall apart. Eddie gets a hand in his hair again as he hollows out his cheeks and hums, vibrations sending another wave of shivers over Eddie, making his hips rock even more. Buck looks up, and Eddie looks wrecked, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, head thrown back and neck bared. It’s a miracle, really, that Buck doesn’t come right then and there.

“Christ, Buck, I’m—” Eddie tugs on Buck’s hair in warning, but it just makes Buck go faster, coaxing and coaxing until Eddie’s spilling into his mouth. Buck just barely has time to finish swallowing before he’s being yanked back to his feet and into a searing kiss, Eddie wasting no time in tasting himself on Buck’s tongue. He barely registers where Eddie’s hands are until he feels one wrap around his cock, steady and determined. He’s so keyed up now that it doesn’t take much — a few twists of Eddie’s wrist and a bruise sucked onto the underside of his jaw has him spilling over Eddie’s hand before he knows it.

He presses kisses to every part of Eddie’s face he can reach as he comes down, soaking in the warmth radiating from him, only stopping when Eddie not so discreetly tries to wipe his hand on Buck’s pants.

“Hey!” he cries, laughing at the look on Eddie’s face. “Go wash your hands like a normal person and come meet me in bed.”

“Room service?”

“Duh.” He kisses Eddie’s nose before flopping onto the bed and flipping through movie rentals. The rest of their evening is quiet, full of bad movies and french fries and conversations about everything and nothing, and Buck feels an ease that he never feels the night before free skates. Tomorrow may be make or break for him, for both of them, but in this little cocoon of theirs, his face tucked into Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s arms around him as they drift off to sleep, the worry and nerves and anxiety feel too far away to touch him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The worst part is that he knows it’s a dream.

He knows if he jumps in real life, he’ll always come back down. Maybe not gently and maybe not on his feet, but after half a second of air time, he will touch the ground again.

But now he’s taken off and he just keeps going — it’s completely impossible, but he’s still scared. Scared of the unknown that he’s propelling towards, scared that he can’t control his body or where it’s going, scared that it’s all going to end and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Fear turns to pure terror as his weight shifts of its own accord and starts sending him back to the rink he’s made up in his head. He thinks (hopes) he’ll wake up before he makes impact, but the panic is still clawing at him, sinking into his bones and running all the worst case scenarios though his head. He crashes through the ice but it doesn’t stop — flashes of disappointed faces, snippets of voices tinged with pity for him and the fact that he failed once again. It’s cacophonous and overwhelming, but he catches specific voices — Maddie, Bobby, Eddie — that try to push through, try to pull him out, but it’s not enough. He’s falling into the nothingness of his own failure and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it.

He finally wakes up, his skin feels like it’s buzzing, alive with lingering panic. He’s got an arm around Eddie’s waist and his face pressed into the back of his neck, and he takes a minute to breathe him in and get his heart to slow back down. It’s early, barely light out, but Buck slips out of bed, grabs the comforter from the other one, and quietly slides open the balcony door. The snow is just starting to glow from the first rays of sunlight, and everything is quiet, still, a direct contrast with the thoughts and feelings still swirling in Buck. He sits on the little bench facing the surrounding forest, does his best to focus on the chill in the air and the quiet nature sounds around him, tries to shut out everything else and be right where he is.

It takes a while, but it helps.

The sun is fully up by the time he goes back in, and Eddie’s just finishing packing up his skating bag. Buck’s bag, actually. Eddie’s is already set by the door. He feels on the verge of tears again, but not in a bad way.

Eddie turns to him as he slides the door shut. His eyes track everywhere, like he’s cataloging Buck, taking stock before making a move. Buck’s stupidly grateful for it — he feels like one wrong move could send him cracking all over again, and it wouldn’t be Eddie’s fault, but he’d get the brunt of it. But Eddie knows him better than almost anyone, so whatever move he makes will be a good one.

He watches Eddie move slowly toward him and reach for his hand, giving Buck every opportunity to back up and say no. That’s not at all what he wants, so he meets Eddie halfway and laces their fingers together.

“Do you need another minute?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck shakes his head. “I’m okay. We have to leave soon anyway.”

“Will you believe me if I tell you that everything’s gonna be fine?”

“Probably not.”

Eddie nods. “Okay.” He tugs Buck toward him, gently kisses his forehead, cheek, and lips. “We need to be downstairs in 30 minutes.”

Buck squeezes his hand and heads towards the bathroom. He steps into the shower and tries to convince himself that Eddie’s right.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Channel your nerves, Buck. Everyone here is rooting for you. Show ‘em what you got.”

Buck nods at Bobby before pushing off the boards. He hears On the ice, representing the 118 Skating Club of Los Angeles, Evan Buckley and the applause that follows, but it sounds tinny and far away. He’s trying to channel everything — his nerves, doubts, fear of failure, whatever — and make it work for him, but it’s not as easy today. He feels heavy, like his body isn’t quite in line with his mind and what he needs to be doing, and he knows he’s going to be fighting himself for every element for the next four and a half minutes.

The music starts and he tries to float with it, use it to push through the extra gravity he feels and lift himself up more. He lands his first jump — his triple axel, usually one of his strongest — but feels himself wobble, knows his GOE will be low. He misses the second jump on his first combo and has to mentally comb through his program to figure out where he can tack it onto to make up points. On and on it goes — he doesn’t fall, there’s no monumental breakdown, but he’s subpar, doesn’t meet his own expectations and probably doesn’t meet those of the USFSA. He finishes with the fakest smile he’s ever slapped on his face and all but sprints to the kiss and cry.

Nats scores are always inflated, so he doesn’t do bad, but he’s certainly done better. There are three skaters left, including Eddie, and a terrible part of him hopes that the other two eat ice so he can still finish on the podium and salvage his spot in Beijing.

They don’t. Naturally. He sits in the green room as they each have the best skate of their season and leap frog over his score. Eddie’s last to go and he lays it all out there, like he’s already at the Olympics, but Buck’s hardly mad about that. He’s a force, attacking every jump but still keeping a softness in his movements to match Jeff Buckley’s voice. Buck’s got chills up and down his back during his last step sequence and into his final pose, and he knows it’s a gold medal by a mile. And he’s happy for Eddie, ecstatic even, but he also feels his heart break a little bit, because Eddie winning puts him in fourth.

The pewter medal. A stupid consolation prize that only the USFSA gives out. He’s technically still on the podium, but it somehow feels worse than if he’d finish last.

“You had a great Grand Prix this year, that counts for a lot more than Nats,” Eddie says on the ride to the airport the next day. It’s the first time Buck’s let him talk about it without changing the subject or kissing him or literally walking into another room. He’s run out of energy to avoid it anymore.

“They’ll want someone consistent, and that’s clearly not me.”

“You have the second highest overall score in the country this season, fifth in the world. They can’t ignore that.”

Buck shrugs, picks at an errant string on his hoodie to avoid looking Eddie in the eye. He feels lips press to his temple and unconsciously melts, head moving down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“It’ll all work out. We’ll be in Beijing together, I know it.”

Eddie’s always so confident, so sure in his convictions and unwavering in his beliefs. Buck loves him for it but it’s also unnerving, because he wants to believe as hard as Eddie does, but he knows how this goes. He works and works and pushes and pushes but in the end, it’s not far enough. All his hard work, his literal blood sweat and tears, can’t get him that extra inch closer to where he wants to be.

It happened four years ago, and he can feel it happening again. And this time, he won’t be able to blame a broken leg for his failures.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Buck, stop shaking your leg, you’re gonna trigger an earthquake.”

Buck scowls at Chim but stops. It’s been three days since Nats, three days of waiting, knowing that at any minute, the USFSA is going to post their final Olympic team. He’s been on edge for 72 hours because they won’t have an idea it’s happening until it happens, and he thinks he might be starting to go insane.

“It’ll be soon,” Maddie says from where she’s leaning on the boards. They’re all supposed to be warming up, a long day of practice ahead, but they’re congregated around the benches instead, anxiety crackling between all of them like lightning.

He doesn’t even notice his leg starts shaking again until Eddie places a hand on it to stop him.

“Opening ceremonies are in three weeks,” May says as she stretches on the floor. “They’re cutting it awfully close if they don’t announce, like, today.”

Chim groans as he stands up from the bench to join Maddie. “Why is it even taking so long? They’ve seen how the season’s gone so far, there can’t be that much left to deliberate.”

“Do you think they’re actually still deciding, or just waiting because it’s dramatic?” Buck asks.

Eddie snorts. “Probably the latter.”

“Guys!”

They all turn towards the doorway to the locker room, and Buck feels his blood run cold. Hen is there, looking calm as ever on the outside, but he meets her eye, and he knows.

“They just posted the list. Bobby has it up on his computer.”

Chim grabs Maddie’s hand and sprints, and May is hot on their heels. Eddie gets 10 feet in front of him before he realizes Buck hasn’t followed. He’s frozen in place, hands numb, heart beating so hard he’s worried about his ribs. Right now, on the bench, he can convince himself he’s living in a world where his dreams haven’t been crushed, where he still has a chance. Once he takes a step, that all ends.

Eddie comes back for him, grabs both of his hands and waits until Buck meets his eye. When he does, he gives him that small, soft smile Buck knows is just for him, and it feels like he’s saying I believe in you. It’s enough to get him moving.

They catch up with the others just as they get to Bobby’s office, and they jostle and crowd around the desktop, trying to get a clear view. Buck’s thankful for his height and looks over everyone, the world quickly narrowing to just him and the computer screen.

From the top, the list goes men, ladies, pairs, dance, so he starts from the bottom to delay any disappointment.

He feels the tears prick when he sees Chim and Maddie listed, his smile nearly splits his face at May’s name. Eddie was inevitable, but his heart still soars when he sees it written out.

And then.

His name. His name, just above Eddie’s.

Evan Buckley. Right there, clear as day, in Times New Roman font.

He’s glad Chim and May are already crushing him in a hug, because he’s pretty sure his knees have given out.

This is real. This is happening. Eddie is squeezing his hand and Maddie is crying and it’s happening.

They are officially, officially, going to the Olympics.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #LET'S GOOOOO reading this chapter over again made me so excited for y'all to read the last two chapters #also WORLDS IS HAPPENING NEXT WEEK and it DIDN'T GET CANCELLED i'm pumped #fs au #ficcery

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