✨🧁🦇Eddie's Little FuckMuffin🦇🧁✨

Leaning up against the headboard, Bob watches you with lustful eyes, his plump lips part as he pants breathlessly. At this very moment, Bob felt like his heart might explode, death would be welcomed since he had truly lived a life worth living, an angel in his arms, wrapped around his cock. Sex before you was meaningless, he had been far too high to care about anything that was happening anyways.

“G-go slow. Don’t have to get it all in.” He whimpers out between moans, groaning at how wet you are, dripping down the length of the cock.

“I-I want to, baby.” you reply shakily before pushing yourself down fully onto his cock. The stretch makes your eyes water, but he feels so good— you could cum right then and there.

Bob’s hands lift from your hips, moving to clutch your head and pull you away from his neck. “G-god, baby. Y-you didn’t– you didn’t have to.” He stutters out, his forehead flush against yours.

You want to ride him, bounce on his cock until you can't remember your own name. Rolling your hips and clenching down on his cock, your legs tremble at how good it feels. Bob, bless his heart, lets out a choked moan.

“B-Baby, baby. You can’t– you can’t do that. I’ll cum too–oh god, too soon!” He moans.

It takes all your might to begin riding your golden boy. Hands on his shoulders you start lifting your hips, then sliding back down in his cock, over and over again. Your pace is slow yet hard and deep. You want to go faster but the blood in your veins feels so hot, you think you’ll explode if you’re not careful.

His head is thrown back, eyes shut, lips parted and face flushed as you ride him. His hands return back to your hips, clutching you like a lifeline. The Golden Boy under you, is unequivocally and irrevocably yours, and fuck— he looks gorgeous under you.

Letting go of his shoulders, you reach to clutch his face. “Bob? Baby, look at me, please.” you whine, wanting those pretty eyes on you.

He blearily opens his eyes, his pupils blown and he looks utterly debased and lustful. His unnecessarily superhuman senses flare, overwhelmed by everything around him. He can feel every touch on his skin, the soft fingertips on his cheeks trying to reel him in, and the drag of your walls around his cock each time you move up and down.

Bob never wants this to end. He wants to be inside you like this forever. His cock pumping deep inside the love of his life.

The sound of your heart pounding in your chest echoes in his ears as he zeros in on you, the way your blood rushes so loudly through your veins.

The pleasure is too much, it throws you off-kilter. Head spinning, your hands drop down to his stomach to steady yourself.Thoughtlessly, his hands move to cup your breasts when yours let go of his face, entranced by each movement they make when you bounce on his cock. The pads of his thumbs toying with your hardened nipples.

His touch spurs you on, the way his eyes lustfully looks at you has you choking on your own saliva. Invigorated by this, you speed up, bouncing on his cock harder and faster. Bob can only take what you give him, mouth parted, moaning and grunting, here and there. You know you shouldn’t overdo it, but God— his cock stretches you out so good and so deep, you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. You want him to wreck you, rearrange you and ruin you for anyone else.

The coil within you winds up, getting tighter and tighter with each bounce of your body. Body tense and hot, you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, higher and higher. Head light and blood rushing, you’re losing yourself to this pleasure, your legs and thighs begin to cramp but you force yourself to keep going.It's like your mind isn’t yours. You don’t want to stop, you can’t stop.

Bob knows you far too well. He can tell when you’re teetering to the edge of going too damn far. The way your eyes glass over, the way your moans spill out like you're about to cry, and the way you shake. His hands clutch your waist, his grip firm but careful, trying to bring you back to him. “S-Slow down, baby. You’re— fuck! You’re t-trembling.” He says shakily trying not to succumb to how good you feel on his cock.

He says your name so softly, so reverently, trying to rouse you back to him. His arms wrap around you, under your arms, pulling you flush to him. Bob’s hand finds purchase on the back of your head, as it falls into the crook of his neck.

Gibberish falls out of your mouth. Something along the lines of “I want to cum, Robert. Let me make you cum too, please.” if Bob’s superhearing is to be trusted.

“I-I know, baby.” he soothes you. “L-let me do this for you, baby. Don’t— you don’t have to p-push yourself f–for me.” he reasons with you, knowing you wouldn’t stop until both of you had been thoroughly spent.

Too far gone to think straight, you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him take over. Holding your hips tightly, Bob’s hips begin to thrust up into you, his pace is steady but deep.

The way you melt into him makes his heart pound out of his chest, how you trust him to take over, when even he didn’t trust himself. The way your soft moans spill out of your lips could make him cum inside your silky walls right now.

You want him to go faster, harder, make you cum so hard, you see stars. Desire has you so deep within its clutches, you can’t escape. So you beg. “Bob, please. Fuck me harder, please.”

“Shh, I– I don’t want to lose control, baby.” he whines back.

“I don’t care, Bob. Please, just fuck me hard.” You beg him, voice needy.

“I need you to fuck me. Just fuck me hard, Robert.” The words leave your mouth desperately without much thought.

Something shifts in the air and you feel it immediately. The sudden influx of unexplainable energy, it feels sharp and strong. Steady and firm, unlike Bob’s hesitance.

Beneath you, Bob shifts, hands gripping your hips even tighter. Then, he plants his feet down onto the bed, angling himself before thrusting back into you, hard. This new angle hits that spot inside you, the one that makes you scream and see stars

The force of his thrusts has you losing your breath, your arms tighten around his neck as you hold on for dear life. Ecstasy flows through your veins, as he begins to fuck you within an inch of your life while your moans spill wantonly from your lips.

This, you think, is new. Bob has never done this. He doesn’t usually fall into your begging, opting to hold back and not let himself lose. Alarm bells ring in your head, but somewhere between his grunts and the way his cock pounds into you, you forget it.

He’s so deep inside you, pounding your pussy like his life depended on it. The pleasure builds within you, the pressure between your legs borders between too much and just enough.

You don’t have a clue how long he has you like this but the coil finally snaps. Intense pleasure washes through you, sending your body into a state of ecstasy,and leaving you moaning and trembling. Your juices leak down Bob’s cock, coating both your thighs. He doesn’t slow down.

His thrusts don't falter. Bob’s pace is unyielding, grunting as your walls clamp down on him. Utterly spent, your body is limp and pliant atop his as you try to get your bearings, letting him have his way with you.

Before you know it, Bob flips the both of you.

The sudden movement shocks you. Suddenly, you are underneath him. Peering up at your Golden Boy, his eyes are shut and his curls fall haphazardly across his forehead, sticking to the sweaty skin.

Without much thought, your hand reaches up to brush away his curls. You think to ask why he stopped when he hasn’t cum yet.

Then, it clicks. The moment your fingers touch his skin, his eyes open. Otherworldly glow shines from his eyes.

Oh. This isn’t your Bob.

“Sentry?” You breathlessly ask.

The being above you doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks at you with the ferocity of a starved man. Fear rushes through you yet your excitement outweighs it. His cock is still buried inside your sensitive pussy, you don’t know whether to be afraid of him or do you want him to fuck you into the mattress.

Sentry speaks to you, “It’s unfair that he gets to keep you all by himself.”

Now, Sentry takes the reins. He pins you down onto the bed before thrusting into you. His presence is overwhelming, like he invades every inch of your senses.

Your previous climax had already made you sensitive. The sheer force of his unforgiving thrusts sends your body into overdrive. Overstimulation has you arching your back and curling your toes into the mattress.

In your fucked out state, you can’t even comprehend the words that spill out your mouth.

Sentry thinks you look so damn pretty like this. A lover fit for a god like him, moaning and writhing under him as he pounds into you. Only he should see you in this state.

He increases his pace, pounding into you harder. After all, you had asked him to fuck you hard. He can feel your thighs tremble and he can hear how hard your heart is beating.

The blood in your veins rush rapidly through your body as you fall deeper into your sex-induced high. Sentry too gets high on you. His focuses his efforts on bringing to the edge again, too feel you clamp down his cock and wantonly moan for him. Only him.

He knows he’s close to the edge when his balls tighten and the pressure low in his belly becomes too much. You feel yourself losing control, his cock is so big and he’s going too hard and too fast. When you tense and your body arches without your control, he knows your cumming again.

Only this time, he comes too.

He ruts into you wildly, grunting loudly while letting pleasure take over as he spills himself into you. He holds you close, letting your pinned arms go.

Somewhere in your haze, trembles and aftershocks you manage to wrap your arms around him as he spills himself inside you. It’s so much, even in your state, you know it’s too much.

The sheer volume of his thick cum feels so good inside you.

When he comes to, he can tell you’re still dazed. Your body is soft and pliant under him, while your eyes are glassy. His touch on your cheek grounds you a little. It’s like you see that it's him.

“Baby?” You call out breathlessly to him.

“Hmm?” He replies back but he thinks you don’t even notice.

You wince when he slides out of you. Thick fluids both his and yours leak out of you. He holds back the urge to push it back in. He knows that tomorrow that you’ll be sore but he hopes you don’t regret asking him to fuck you hard.

He lays beside you, pulling your weak body into his and letting your head rest on his chest. Sentry feels your body tremble under his touch, the aftershock of your orgasms.

He softly strokes up and down your arm, you are safe and sound here with him. He is the Sentry after all. A God in his own right.

When your breathing slows, he knows you’ll fall asleep soon. Your body is practically melting on him.

Right as sleep pulls you into its grasp, a soft sentence slips past your lips. Barely coherent and understandable but he doesn’t have superhearing for nothing. “Love you, my Golden Boy.”

Your Golden Boy. He likes the sound of that.

As Sentry closes his eyes, he hopes you wouldn’t mind him taking over your Bob next time. After all, it is unfair for Bob to have you all to himself.

Sentry lets sleep take him too, knowing that Bob will wake in the morning with only memories of this.

Sentry- 1, Bob- 0.

            Like the first time he’d reached out for help after a nightmare, where he could feel the Void curling inside him, just waiting until his emotions reached a bubbling point so he could take over.

            “What did you do?” the therapist, a take-no-bullshit kind of woman, had asked. “To stop the Void from emerging?”

            Bob shrugged, knee bouncing up and down, not daring to make eye contact. “I uh – I went to Y/N. I just… I heard she was still awake and knew if the Void was gonna come out, someone had to… You know… be aware and take me – him – down.”

            “And who is Y/N?”

            Now that was a loaded question he wasn’t fully yet ready to answer, so he settled on the objective truth. “She’s my teammate. We live across the hall from one another.”

            “And how did she help?”

            “She…” Bob bit down on his lip. “She invited me inside her room and we just… talked. She had some music playing… I – I guess she helped me take my mind off it all and… stuff…”

            The woman hummed. “And why was she the first person you thought to go to when things got bad?”

            He wanted to say it was because she was the closest one to him, physically being right down the hall, that they were the only two people occupying the floor, but the truth spilt out before he could even contain it, “Because I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me. If – if I woke her up. She… she wouldn’t be upset I was there.” Because she was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to touch him, despite his powers and the Void.

            But just because she hadn’t been upset with him those few times he’d sought her out, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry with him that specific day. Otherwise, why hadn’t she stuck to her promise?

            The previous week, right before Y/N had been shipped out to Malaga on a mission, she’d promised him that once she was back, the two would go to a bookstore together, Bob’s supply already dangerously low.

            Now, though, three hours had passed from the time they’d set last night, and Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

            He’d let the first hour pass by, thinking maybe she had to catch up on some paperwork the team had to file after a mission. When hour two had come and gone, Bob had started to become anxious, but still, he told himself she was probably just resting, no doubt exhausted by the mission, and he would never be one to take away time she could be using to heal. But as hour three had started to roll, Bob couldn’t help the nervousness entering his body, and that was how he ended up behind Y/N’s door.

            Gently, he placed an ear against it, hoping to hear the slightest sound, maybe a soft movement of her feet padding against the carpeted floor, but the only noise invading the silence was the echo of his heartbeat.

            Bob sighed, head hanging low and fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as he turned around, ready to go back and wallow in self-pity, when Yelena’s raspy voice made him look over his shoulder.

            “Bobik? Everything alright?” she asked, the nickname Alexei had bestowed upon him, making warmth bloom in his chest. Not ‘Bobby’, a name that made him flinch, but a soft ‘Bobik’, a name that made him feel cherished.

            The blonde was decked out in her combat gear, clearly just having arrived from a mission, so the fact that one of her first instincts was to check in on him made his body flush. He was still trying to get used to the fact that people actually cared about him, not as an experimental subject, not as a wannabe superhero, but just about him. About Bob.

            “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, giving Yelena a tight-lipped smile, but he couldn’t control the way his hands wrung together, betraying the anxiousness he was feeling. “Everything’s A-Okay.”

            For a second neither of them moved or said anything, and just as Bob was about to venture down to his room, Yelena crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side and raising a single brow.

            All he could do was sigh. She was one of the few people it was hard to lie to, whom he didn’t even really want to lie to. “It’s just that… umm… Y/N and I were supposed to go to a bookstore a while ago, but she uh… well, I haven’t seen her all day… and when I asked around, nobody else has either. Ava even said she didn’t come up for breakfast, and she wasn’t in the kitchen for lunch, so…”

            “That does not sound like her.” Yelena’s nose scrunched as she went closer and knocked against Y/N’s door, a motion that came so easily to her, yet Bob had struggled for ages to even lift his hand. “Lubov moya,” she sing-songed in Russian. “Are you in there?”

             And once again, only silence responded. As the moment stretched, Bob slowly started to roll back and forth on his feet. God, why hadn’t he thought about how she could already have left the tower ages ago!

            But no, it wouldn’t be like Y/N to just leave him hanging or not let at least one person know where she was.

            Unless… unless she’d gone out to do something she didn’t want the others to know about… to tease her about… like maybe she’d gone on a date.

            “It’s – it’s alright,” Bob let out a strangled chuckle, as thoughts whirled inside his head. “She just probably forgot about it, or something more important came up.”

            But the ex-Widow just knocked again, ignoring Bob’s spiralling. “Legushka?” she called out, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a concerned yet teasing lilt.

            There’d been this one time John had called Y/N that, snorting as Alexei had translated the meaning of the word (froggy or little frog), and where usually she’d respond with an eye roll to Yelena or their sort-of-kind-of adoptive father figure, Walker received a bloody nose and grade-two concussion.

            Only Yelena had the privilege of calling her fellow ex-Red Room alumni such absurd names without any consequences. And, well, sometimes Bob could too, but he wrote it off on the fact that Y/N just tried to make him feel included, and no other reason…

            “Snookums? My little pookie-wookie?” Now, Yelena was just making things up as she went, no doubt hoping to get at least some sort of a response from Y/N, but when even that didn’t accomplish anything, with a grumbled, “alright, fine, be that way,” she crouched down, pulling out a picking set from her boot.

            Bob’s eyes widened in alarm, hissing at the woman, “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”

            “Well, we have to get in somehow,” Yelena just shrugged, the noise of metal softly scraping against metal invading his senses.

            “Not by breaking and entering Y/N’s room!”     

            The blonde let out a squeak of indignation. “I am not breaking and entering!” The lock clicked open. “For one – I didn’t break shit. And two – the door is open. Now it’s just entering.”

            “She is going to kill us, and I will not be coming to your rescue.”

            “Please,” Yelena replaced her picking tools back inside her boot. “We have too much history between us in the Red Room for her to decide this is the final drop. As for you…” Yelena smirked. “Let’s just say, I know things you don’t.”

            “Wait, what? What do you know? What things?”

            But she didn’t respond, only opened the door.

            Bob wanted to protest, wanted to say they shouldn’t be invading Y/N’s private space like that, wanted to shake Yelena down for whatever information she might possess. If it had anything to do with feelings he hoped Y/N might have for him. That most likely, there was a reason she wasn’t answering, even if she was there, and that most likely, she just felt bad about not wanting to hang out with him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so, which he was totally fine and cool with and –

            Yelena poked her head inside, and where usually, Y/N’s place was brightly lit by the daylight, her curtains drawn back to allow it to be illuminated, pure darkness greeted them, as Bob, shame curling in his stomach at such invasion, peered over Yelena’s head to take a glance.

            He associated Y/N’s room with peace.

            Cream colored walls, dark brown curtains with a plush carpet, emerald settees resting atop it and a large bookshelf taking up a whole wall with softly glowing nightlights in the shape of sprouting mushrooms would be plugged in during the night, and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars creating real and made-up constellations on the ceiling – that was the space he considered his true home.

            Every free inch was covered in some knick-knack or a souvenir, as she had a tendency to collect small things, but she also had a tendency to gift them to others.

            She was kind. Caring. Thoughtful. She was Bob’s safe place.

            Yet now it was pitch black inside.

            Yelena was clearly just as worried as he was, because when she looked up from her still crouched position, confusion marred her face.

            “Malishka?” she called out as she stood, slowly entering the room, Bob following as their eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting.

            He shifted his gaze around only to settle on a large moving mound on the bed, so with Yelena as the lead, they moved towards it, when finally a voice rasped from somewhere beneath the ungodly amount of blankets. “Malishka is dead. Come back tomorrow with a warrant. Or a casket.”

            Every single doubt that’d permeated Bob’s mind vanished at the realisation of what was really going on.

            Y/N hadn’t forgotten about the plans they’d made. She hadn’t found something better to do with her time or decided he was simply not worth her while.

            Y/N was sick.

            And by the sound of it, badly.

            Bob’s heart clenched at the thought. They all seemed so indestructible, but it was moments like those, where he was reminded that some of them, especially Yelena and Y/N – the two people he’d grown to care most about in the weird little team he was a part of – were simply humans. And humans could get ill.

            Gently, Yelena sat down on the side of the bed, her fingers rooting around the coverings before an opening was made, a pair of Y/E/C eyes squinting at the intruders. “Can you please close the door? My eyeballs hurt.”

            “Oh, shit!” Bob cursed softly, padding to the door and closing it, once again plunging the room into complete darkness. “Sorry.”

            He wanted to rebel against the black that now surrounded them, he wanted to panic and spiral, to have at least one of those nightlights be turned on, but somehow, through a sheer sense of will, he steeled himself against the rising tide. Whether it was because he knew light would hurt Y/N, or whether it was because he felt safe with the two women, despite not really being able to see anything that wasn’t an inch away from his face, Bob couldn’t tell. Well… he could, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, because that would make things real…

            “Can you please breathe quieter, Lena?” Y/N groaned from her cocoon. “My head’s pounding as is.”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Yelena cooed, placing the back of her hand against the other woman’s forehead to feel for her temperature. “I think you might have the flu, huh?”

            Y/N sniffled. “I dunno what I have, but whatever it is, I blame Walker.”

            Bob looked at Yelena, the man still hovering by the bedside table, not wanting to invade the space between the two. “Has John been sick?”

            “Not that I’m aware.” Yelena ghosted her hand over Y/N’s cheek before standing up and going to what he knew to be the bathroom. After a quick second, she returned with a wet cloth, laying it over her friend’s forehead. “But we can always blame him.”

            A delirious smile appeared on Y/N’s face. “We can, can’t we?”

            “Of course.” Yelena nodded. “Would it make you feel better if I went and beat him up?”

            “I think it would, yeah… Can you stab him too?” Y/N asked as an afterthought.

            “Anything for you, legushka moya.” Yelena brushed a sweaty Y/H/C strand from where it’d plastered itself down against her cheek. Bob’s heart ached at the tender motion, fingers twitching at his side with the want to do the same, but he restrained himself. “But tell you what, before I go and seek revenge on Walker, how about I go and make you some soup, and Bob will keep you company. Sound okay?”

            Instantly, it was like someone had turned the light switch off, Y/N’s smile dropped, and she harrumphed. “Bob can stay, but no soup.”

            “Soup always makes everything better! Besides, Bob said you didn’t go to breakfast or lunch. You have to get something in you,” Yelena scolded the woman. Despite them being barely a month apart, she acted like an older sister to Y/N.

            The sick girl just whined. “I’m not hungry. I’m achy and icky and gross, and I just wanna rot away in my bed.”                             

            “Well, you need to get food in you,” the ex-Widow countered, hands on her hips. “Do not move. I will be right back. Bob, please keep an eye on her.”

            “As if I could go anywhere,” Y/N scoffed, but it fell only on Bob’s ears, as Yelena had already made her exit.

            On instinct, his fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a nervousness taking over his body. After a moment of unsurety of what exactly he was supposed to do, a croaky voice whispered, “You should go, Bob. I know Lena said to stay, but I don’t want you to catch whatever wasting disease I have."

            An involuntary smile blossomed on his lips at her care about his well-being, despite being so sick herself. “I uh, I don’t think I can get sick anymore, so no worries there.”

            He noted the small frown on Y/N’s lips as she eyed him up and down. “Show off,” she muttered, but didn’t tell him to leave again, rather said, “ ‘M sorry about today, by the way. Should’ve at least gotten out of bed and told you I wasn’t fit to walk in civilised society. I’m sorry if I worried you.”     

            “No!” he said, trying to quell her guilt, sitting down onto the bed, and to his own surprise, brushing a finger down her cheek without even thinking. “No, no, no… you’re not feeling well, so don’t even worry about me. I’m just glad that, you know, you’re not bleeding out on the bathroom floor or something.”

            Bob’s whole being lit up when, despite Y/N being evidently unwell, she snorted, no doubt remembering how about a month prior when she’d returned to the Watchtower after a mission, she’d pretty much traumatized both Bob and John, as they’d found her half-dead on the kitchen floor, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, blood pooling around her at a rapid pace.

            “Seriously!?” John had scoffed as he helped Bob lift Y/N up from the floor, the two men supporting as much of her weight as possible as they dragged her to the elevator and then to the med-floor. “PB&J? That was gonna be your last meal?”

            “Hey!” Y/N protested. “It was the only thing I could manage to make before the wooziness set in. You know, from having been turned into a walking-talking shishkabob.” She chuckled deliriously, looking at the man who had the biggest crush on her in the world, yet she didn’t even know about it, and now she could potentially die. “Huh. Shish-ka-Bob.” Then she booped his nose and promptly passed out.

            Safe to say, he’d spent the next few days hovering in the med-bay, and when Y/N had been discharged, off-missions for a while, but allowed to rest in her room, he’d hovered in the hallway behind her door, just to make sure the things he saw during his nightmares, the images that the Void tried to tell him were real, actually weren’t.

            But Y/N didn’t know that.

            She didn’t know the true extent of what went on inside Bob’s mind or heart, didn’t know the real depth of the feelings he had for her.

            She didn’t know how much the nights she allowed him to spend in her room meant to him.

            She didn’t know how much the little trinkets she brought back for him as a souvenir from whichever corner of the world she’d been sent to, mattered.

            She didn’t know that if the tower suddenly caught on fire and he could only save three things, he’d rush inside the flames to take the three little cat figurines sitting on his shelf.

            It had been after she’d returned from a solo mission in Japan, Bob having pretty much worried himself sick, only to have her bound up to him, still dirt-covered and bloodied, but the smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. “Look!” She presented the white, red and gold porcelain cats. “It’s the three of us! Me, you and Lena! They’re so cute!”

            That night, he’d fallen asleep with the three little waving felines looking over him, golden night-light illuminating the statuettes.

            So, in a moment like this, where Y/N was the one who needed support, he could only hope and pray, she felt it from him.

            Gently, Bob brushed a palm against her forehead, taking off the wet towel that’d now warmed up to her skin temperature. But he hadn’t anticipated that, despite being bogged down by most likely the flu, her reflexes were still Black-Widow-quick, as her hand shot out from underneath the blankets, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand against the skin of her neck. “Oh, you are so warm,” she sighed, cuddling the appendage.

            “S-so are you!” Bob didn’t necessarily know what to do. “Alarmingly so, actually.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N puffed a breath, still not releasing the death-grip she had on his hand. “That’s probably the 103 fever I have going on.”

            Instantly, his anxiety skyrocketed.

            He knew he ran warm. He pretty much always had the AC on in his room, especially at night, as he was a complete contradiction of a human – he was abysmally hot all the time, mainly thanks to the Sentry serum, but he was most comfortable in a sweater and sweatpants while swaddled up like a burrito in a blanket.

            His heart thudded in his chest as Y/N snuggled closer to his touch, while he worried he was doing her harm. Yes, a fever was the body’s natural way of fighting off viruses or infections and whatnot, but a too high a fever was also dangerous, and he'd never forgive himself if he made it worse.

            “Y/N, you’re really burning up.” Bob chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can you please let me go? Just for a second,” he added on, as she whined when he tried to slip his hand away. “I’m just gonna get you a new cold compress. Please…”

            “But I don’t want you to leave!”

            “I’m – I’m not gonna leave,” he whispered, terrified that if his voice was any louder, any clearer, she might pick up on the emotion he was trying to suppress. “I promise, it’ll be just a second. I won’t even go outside the room.”

            For a moment, Y/N’s grip tightened on Bob, holding him closer than ever, but then, with a sigh of defeat, she released him.

            He was quick, just like he said he would. Even in pure darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light now, probably thanks to the Sentry serum, he dampened the cloth with cold water and wrung out the excess, getting back to her, in the time it took for Y/N to shift from lying on her side to being on her back.

            She’d somewhat untangled herself from the cocoon of blankets, and Bob had to stop mid-step as he noted what she was wearing.

            It was his sweater. Well, one of the many he had, but it was something of his nonetheless.

            And he could physically feel how something broken and cracked inside him got stitched together. Some deep, still-hurting part of Bob, that always managed to whisper a negative thought, how he didn’t matter, how washing the dishes and doing the chores was nothing compared to what everyone else in the tower did, fused back together, the Void’s incessant noise quietening. With just a simple glance at Y/N, who had found comfort in something of his when she was feeling bad, Bob felt a part of him heal.

            He didn’t comment on it, though, half-terrified if he did, she might think he was mad about it, when in reality it was the complete opposite. And an insatiable need had now settled somewhere in his chest, a want to see her in all of his clothes. And maybe nothing as well…

            “H-here,” Bob stammered out, before taking a deep breath and sinking down next to Y/N on the bed. Gently, he placed the towel along her forehead, and he couldn’t help himself as his thumb brushed along her jawline, tracing a small scar, no doubt from some mission. She leaned into his touch like a sunflower leaned towards the sun. “Is there anything I can get you?”

            “No,” she shook her head, and this time, when her hand met his, she intertwined their fingers, as if afraid he might disappear. “Just stay, please.”

            “Always.”

            And there really wasn’t anywhere else Bob wanted to be.

            The thought of spending the day at a bookstore, some ungodly sweet concoction that resembled a coffee only in spirit, in his hand, was only appealing because he would be going with Y/N there.

            “We’ll go when I get better, I promise,” she muttered, as if having read his mind while snuggling closer to the palm he’d placed on her cheek.

            “Books can wait.” Bob hoped his voice was low and soothing as he spoke, blue eyes still trained on the sweater that covered her body, his own feeling all fuzzy at the image. “Just rest.”

            When he didn’t get a response or even a little hum of acknowledgement, he looked up only to find Y/N’s features slack with sleep, her chest rising in slow and steady breaths.

            Bob wanted to curl up next to her, to have his hands wrap around her waist, and have her head rest on his chest as he buried his nose into her hair, because this was the highest degree of trust anyone could have in him. For Y/N to find peace and safety with him while she was in such a vulnerable state, catapulted Bob onto Cloud Nine. He knew darkness would always try to press in, try to find the cracks and strike when he was unawares, but this time he wasn’t afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Not when he knew he would have to be the one to step up, if only to protect the one he loved most in the world.

             He sat there like that, entranced with the sleeping beauty on the bed, a thumb softly grazing her cheek, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. He was so attuned to her and her sleeping form, that when the door cracked open, he was startled by Yelena coming in, a tray in her hands as she blew on a steaming bowl of soup.

            “Okay,” once more the blonde sing-songed as she walked inside the room. “I have chicken-noodle soup for our little sick-bug.”

            There was some grumbling from Y/N as she was brought out from her slumber, but despite all her protests, she rose into a sitting position, Bob’s hand on her back a steady help. She eyed the bowl with suspicion. “Who made it?”

            “Do not worry, Dad was nowhere near the pot. He might be lurking for the leftovers now, but this!” She lifted the bowl above her head like it was a diamond, “is all from yours truly.”

            Y/N sniffed the air. “Well, I guess it smells edible… not that I can smell much.”

            “Then this is exactly what you need.” Yelena slid the tray to rest on Y/N’s knees while Bob helped her adjust against the backboard of the bed and was rewarded with the most gorgeous smile ever. “Here you go, legushka. Now, I’ll go get some paracetamol and VapoRub, and by the time I get back, I expect that bowl to be empty. It will do wonders for your sinuses, trust me.”

            She didn’t argue, just let out a resigned sigh and nodded, taking the spoon in her hand. “You know, back in the Red Room, Mistress Vera said the best kind of medicine is a good beating. Will get you right back on your feet.”

            “Yes, well, that is why Mistress Vera is six feet under.” Yelena fluffed up a pillow behind Y/N before nudging her chin up with a finger. “As is the whole of Red Room.”

            “I mean right now, I think I’d rather get a good beat-“

            “Eat,” Yelena interrupted whatever she was about to say.

            “Fine, fine, Jesus…. You’re worse than Mistress Vera…”

            Slowly, without moving her gaze from Y/N, Yelena stood to hover over her. Even Bob could feel the menacing aura she exuded – an older sister ready to torment her younger one. “And if you don’t eat every single noodle, every single piece of carrot and celery and chicken, you will be wishing Mistress Vera were here. Understood? Legushka moya?”

            Though Y/N was bleary and tired, she was unwavering as the two Black Widows engaged in a stare-off. Unfortunately for her, though, she was the first one to break, as she rubbed at her teary eyes, probably because of the light that was filtering into the room from the open doorway.

            “Damn it, Lena, fine! I’ll eat the stupid soup!”

            “Good.” The blonde straightened out, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Because Bob will tell me if you don’t. Won’t you, Bobik?”

            His eyes turned so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his head.

            God.

            Oh god no.

            He was stuck between a rock and a hard place as Y/N glowered from below her lashes, sniffling, while Yelena cocked her head to the side.

            Ultimately, though, his loyalty to the blonde and wanting nothing but the best for the well-being of the woman he was in love with, no matter what she might say to counter the effectiveness of the soup, won out. “Yeah. I – I will.”

            Y/N scoffed, turning her head away from him as Yelena pressed a triumphant kiss to the top of her hair before leaving.

            “Traitor,” she muttered.

            Bob looked down at his hands, which he had resting in his lap as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I just want you to get better, Y/N…”

            “And I just wanna lie down and die, but neither of you is letting me.”

            “But who’s gonna go to the bookstore with me if you die?” He gave her a small smile, hoping to elevate her sour mood.

            “I dunno, John?”

            Bob gave her a look, their gazes meeting. “You actually think John can read?”

            If Y/N had been eating the soup, no doubt she would’ve choked with how she threw her head back in a loud laugh, as Bob tried to steady the tray, the broth sloshing a bit out of the bowl.      

            “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, their fingers brushing as she held the platter and pulled it closer. “Didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Don’t be.” The smile on his face was probably ridiculous, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Laughter’s the best medicine or uh… something along those lines.”

            “You should tell Mistress Vera that. Might have to use a OUIJA board though.” Y/N winced as the hot liquid slid down her sore throat, slowly chewing on a piece of noodle.

            Admittedly, Bob didn’t know much about her time in the Red Room. He’d seen her shame rooms, just like he’d been privy to Yelena’s and the rest of the Thunderbolts’, as she’d been there when the Void had attacked New York, but once he came out of it, once they told him what he’d done, the feeling of having violated their privacy… he never asked either of them to talk about their time there.

            All Bob knew was that Mistress Vera had been Y/N’s handler, as she’d been trained separately from Yelena and her sister Natasha. Only after the original Avenger had broken her out of the trance induced by the mind-control serum used to keep the Black Widows under the Red Room spell, did Y/N join the two in helping them take down the organisation.

            “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry,” her words of apology brought him back to the present, away from the thoughts of what she’d had to go through as a child, where a sore throat wouldn’t have been healed by a gentle touch, but a brutal beating.

            His brows furrowed as he looked around, thinking she might’ve spilt the soup, but there wasn’t anything there. “Whatever for?”

            “The dark!” she said, like it was a crime she’d committed. “Bob, you can put in some of the nightlights. They’re by the plugs.”

            “Oh, that’s…” He shook his head, for once happy to be surrounded by mostly shadows because that meant Y/N couldn’t see the furious blush covering his face, while his longish hair obscured his smiling features as he glanced down at his hands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind actually.”

            “But you don’t like the dark…?” The sentence was more of a question than the solid statement it used to be.

            Bob shrugged, pulling down the sleeves of his sweater. “This isn’t that bad… and if it helps you feel better, your eyes to not hurt, I don’t mind.”

            “I don’t want you to ‘not mind’ things. Bob, if you’re uncomfortable, you should put in at least one nightlight. Seriously. They’re not gonna boil out of my skull or something.”

            “My comfort isn’t as important as your health right now.” He shifted on the bed.

            “Of course it is!” The offended squeak Y/N let out would have made him smile, had it not turned into a violent coughing fit.

            After she was done hacking her lungs up, Bob’s hand running up and down her spine, hoping to at least somewhat soothe the ache, he lifted the warm bowl of soup closer to her. “Eat. Or I will tell on you to Yelena.”

            “Stukach,” Y/N mumbled in Russian, glaring at him as best as she could. Alexei and Yelena had introduced him enough to the language (mostly swearwords, which they said were the most important words) for him to understand she’d called him a snitch, but if being a snitch would motivate her to eat and get better, so be it.

            With a fond gaze, he watched as she finally got some food into her, and once she was done, he took the tray away, placing it on the nightstand, a hand of his acting on its own accord as he brushed a finger along her cheek. “Better?”

            “Yes. But don’t tell Lena that. She’ll just be insufferably smug about it.”

            Shaking his head, Bob helped Y/N settle back into bed, tucking the blanket under her chin, but before he could even move a foot, her hand shot out, curling around his wrist once more.

            “Bob?”

            “Yeah?” He looked where the woman lay against the plush pillows, head slowly sinking deeper into the down.

            “Could you… umm… and that is only if you really can’t get sick… could you maybe stay with me? Just until I fall asleep…”

            He was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it’d done a full-blown gymnastics routine, somersaults and all, because it definitely wasn’t beating in its normal rhythm in his chest.

            “Y-yeah, of course, if that’s what you want.” Bob swallowed hard, nodding. “Just, uh… let me bring the tray to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back.”

            And with a small “okay” from Y/N as his dismissal, Bob scurried out of the room like lightning.

            The hallway light was blinding compared to the darkness of the room he’d just spent about an hour in, but for the first time in his life, he craved it. Because in that darkness was safety and peace. In that darkness lay a body, curled up on a bed, covered in his sweater, waiting for him, hoping he’d help her get better.

            He barely acknowledged Ava or Bucky, who called out to him, asking if he was alright, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and some of the pretzels Alexei had stashed behind pots and pans, hoping to hide his hoard. He wouldn’t mind, Bob reasoned. Y/N was like another daughter to him, and if she’d eaten the soup, despite all her protesting, maybe her appetite was gonna be coming back sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be stocked up on snacks. Besides, he could just blame Walker if needed.

            When he returned, he was instantly enveloped by Y/N’s scent as if it were its own form of blanket.

            “Hey,” Bob whispered, not wanting to break the settled peace. “I’m – I’m back.”

            He mostly heard rather than saw shuffling on the bed, but as his eyes adjusted, he noted Y/N had moved to the side furthest from the door, opening up some space on the bed.

            She’d done so before during the nights his mind had been restless, but somehow this felt much more intimate than when insomnia forbade him from sleeping.

            Slowly, as if afraid this moment would be ripped from him if he moved any quicker, Bob placed the waters and pretzels on the ground, sliding in next to her, turning to face Y/N with one hand under his cheek, the other on the mattress between them.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, the ghost of a smile on her face as her hand slid from below the blankets and rested atop his. “For taking care of me.”

            “I–I mean, I didn’t –“

            “You did,” she interrupted his stammering, tightening the grip she had on him. Gently, he flipped it palm up so that her fingers could slide between his. “And you still are. So thank you.”

            And once again, like he’d said before, he simply replied, “Always.”

            With that single word spoken, Bob watched as Y/N’s eyes drooped closed, her breathing evened out, and once again she was deeply asleep. Yet even when in dreamland, her hold on him never wavered. Not when she twisted out from the cocoon and scooted closer to him, not as chills overtook her body and Bob held her through them, not as the fever broke and a small sigh of relief escaped, her body slowly returning to a normal temperature.

            For the first time in his life, Bob had found peace in the darkness, all because of the woman lying in his arms. And when it came to claim him too, he gladly fell, knowing that when he awoke, she would be there, much like she’d be in his dreams.

***

BONUS

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is so cute!”

            It was a harsh whisper-yell that brought Bob out of his slumber.

            He peeked an eye open, noting the unmistakable shape of Y/N’s form in his arms. She was still sound asleep, her body curled around his like that of a koala’s, head tucked below his chin, while one of her arms had a death-grip on his waist, a leg thrown over his hip.

            One of his own arms was underneath her, completely numb. From the feeling of it, it’d probably been there for ages, but if this position meant she was comfortable and could have a good sleep, he’d deal with the pins-and-needles a hundred times over if necessary.

            Turning to look over his shoulder, Bob found the culprit or rather culprits of the noise as he was met with the faces of Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, Ava and John all looking at them through a gap in the door, the Red Guardian with a phone in his hand, no doubt taking pictures of the two cuddling.

            “You guys,” he mumbled, a blush of embarrassment crawling its way all over his body. “Can you pipe it down? Y/N’s asleep.”

            “How is Legushka?” Yelena whispered into the room. “Did the fever break?”

            “Yes!” Bob hissed, turning away from the team and curling tighter around the body he had in his hold. “Now, can you all please leave? You’ll wake her up.”

            “Sorry.” Bucky raised his hands in apology. “I told them not to disturb you. Come on! Out, everyone!”

            Obviously, he more than Y/N, would get mercilessly teased about it, but he could take it, if it meant a bit more time with her in his arms, but just when he thought he’d gotten away with it, Walker just had to shout a loud, “Yeah, fucking get it, Bobik!”, making Y/N spring up.

            She took a confused glance around at the room before her eyes settled onto Bob who was on her bed, red-faced and mortified.

            “The toad did it,” Y/N said, her tone serious as a heart attack.

            Bob blinked once. Twice. “What?”

            “I swear the toad did it,” she mumbled, evidently delirious from sleep and the flu, but slowly moving back to lay down next to him, curling into the man’s body like it was where she belonged. “The toad ate the last strawberry. Damn thieving amphibian…”

            Come morning, he would ask about the toad and the strawberry and if it had anything to do with Yelena’s nickname for her, but for now, Bob just pressed a light kiss against Y/N’s forehead, eyes slipping closed, listening to the melody of her breathing.

            One day, he would tell her how he really felt.

            One day, he would give his heart to her.

            One day, he hoped, she would trust him with her own.

             But for then and there, Bob was content with his present. With the peace he’d found in the darkness.

... holiday spirits ...

How can you be terrified of a piece of paper?

It's just a small strip of lined paper torn from a notebook, black ink staring back at you with eleven bold letters. And yet as you pulled it from the Santa hat minutes ago, opening it with an expectant smile on your face, your heart plummeted when you read the name. 

You’ve been working at Statesmen Industries in Kentucky for the last eight months, and in those eight months as Social Media Liaison you’ve been steadily increasing the distillery’s social presence. It’s a very fun job with a grueling schedule at times, but you wouldn’t trade the adventure for the world.

Except at this very moment. 

Your best friend and colleague Alexa sits across from you, engrossed in a conversation with a handsome accounts manager, Peña. When her name is called she flounces up to Ginger holding the stocking out to her. Alexa pulls a strip of paper from inside, smiling before she takes her seat. 

You know she's trying to catch your eyes but you ignore it, your face hot as you keep looking at the name on yours. 

You cast a desperate look at Sandy next to you, the ancient accounts payable manager and overall snore. She clutches her own lined paper in her gnarled fingers, the other bringing a trembling teacup to her puckered mouth. 

"Hey Sandy, wanna switch names?"

She doesn't even look over at you.  "No." 

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll do your dry-cleaning."

"I said no."

Desperation is guiding you now as the names continue to be called and you swallow your pride.

"Please switch with me, Sandy. I'm begging you."

Sandy shoots you a dark look before lowering her teacup to the table. It splashes onto her sweatshirt covered in images of galloping horses. 

"For the last time, no."

Your response dies on your tongue as the door to the conference room bursts open. A tall figure clad in tight blue jeans, cowboy hat and undeniable swagger enters the room and you have to hold it the eye roll the threatens to bleed over your face. 

"Sorry I'm late," the man drawls before glancing around at the dozen workers huddled around the long table provided. "Duty calls." 

Alexa sneaks into the room behind Jack, shooting you a crooked smile before dropping into the seat next to you that you saved.Ginger is distracted talking to Jack about something that came up. You drop your voice to a whisper.

“Where were you?”

“Getting my nails done,” Alexa giggles, showing off her turkey themed nails. “Just in time for Thanksgiving.”

Alexa is well known around the office for her decorative and often ridiculous nails. She’s also your best friend both in and out of the office. As territory manager her job is ridiculously stressful, but she’s a no nonsense kind of woman that’s perfect for it.

"Well its good you’re here Jack," Ginger says with a kind smile his way. "You're just in time to pick your secret Santa." 

Ginger is nice to everyone, even habitually late workers. And because everyone loves Jack Daniels, everyone ignores his tardiness. Ginger holds up the stocking stuffed with the strips of names from each of the figures around the table and wags it in his direction.

Jack makes his way to Ginger, tipping his hat in thanks before reaching inside. You watch him hurriedly shove the paper into his pocket before he moves around the table, his eyes darting to the hand of everyone he passes. He stops just behind the new receptionist Riley and shoots her a charming smile. 

"This seat free, sugar?"

“Of course,” Riley replies with a bat of her long eyelashes.

Vomit.

Jack is the marketing and advertisement man, a high paying job and one with a lot of cache. If he’s not wining and dining potential investors he’s making sure he secures his title as major womanizer around the office. He dumped his girlfriend the month after you started at this job and since then flirting with female staff seems to be his part time job. 

You watch him sink into the plush seat next to Riley the flirtatious receptionist as you fight to hold in an eye roll. You watch him glance at her paper before he tilts over and whispers in her ear. She nods her head, giggling at him and swapping papers as Ginger calls the next name. 

Being coworkers with Jack Daniels is like being on a ship with a charming but annoying captain. As the social media director of the distillery you are continually focused on selling the product and Jack Daniels seems intent on dragging the process out at every opportunity. 

You want to film content of Jack on the job? Jack makes his schedule impossible to work around. You want to interview him for the company newsletter? He ignores your emails. He seems intent on making your life a living nightmare, at being avoidant at all turns.

To all the other women in the departments Jack is charming, affable, even flirtatious. But from the first day you arrived he's been nothing but cold to you.

Eight months ago you arrived smiling to the Statesman Distillery wearing a leather cross body bag holding your laptop, notepads and pens. In your arms you carried your monstera plant in a pale blue pot. It had travelled with you on your move from Denver to Kentucky, tucked away on the seat beside you like a companion.

You'd heard that plants provided a calming atmosphere and your apartment was full of them at the windowsill. You figured it would make a nice visual in your office and a chance to brighten the space.

It was your first day as social media strategist and you were excited to put your knowledge and experience forward. However when you arrived you were intimidated by the large building in the shape of a bourbon bottle, with busy looking staff dressed in cowboy attire. The adjoining building with offices was huge and groups of customers as well as staff bunched up together. It made you feel small and out of place. 

A man in a cowboy hat was at your right, standing by the large window, his back to you. He was silhouetted by the sun shining outside and in the soft light he seemed the least intimidating out of the busy space. You strode up to him with a pleasant smile on your face, your voice cheery.

"Hello.”

The man turned with a half smile on his face. You were struck by how attractive he was with his trimmed moustache over a plush mouth and large, dark eyes. For a moment you were speechless. 

You watched him drink you in, his eyes widening a fraction and the smirk slowly bleeding from his face. When he didn’t reply to you, you cleared your throat, trying to focus on what you’d been coming over to say.

"Do you know where I could find the head of HR? I forget her name." 

The man didn't answer you right away, his dark eyes just blinked rapidly. Despite this you were warm and kind, shaking his hand and introducing yourself. His handshake had been weak, his dark eyes darting around your face. You watched him trail his tongue slowly over his upper lip, appearing anxious. 

"You'll be wantin' Ginger."

That's all he said to you. Four words in a husky rasp and then he turned his back on you, striding away down the hall. You watched after him feeling rebuffed. Thankfully Alexa was walking into the hallway at that very moment, noticing the way you looked anxiously around you. 

You suppose you could thank Jack for his frosty welcome, because it did lead you to a woman who you qualify as one of your best friends both in and out of the office. And yet his immediate rejection embarrassed you more than you cared to admit.

At first you thought he might be painfully shy. Why else would he have acted like that? You told yourself that perhaps you intimidated him. But then you saw him hours later surrounded by colleagues, tossing his head back with a hearty laugh. Animosity began to grow inside you when you saw how easily he could smile and chat with everyone but you. 

Secretaries fell over themselves to chat with him, some bringing him coffee, others dropping hints that they were free that night. All the while you shook your head and focused on your job. 

And now you're here beside Sandy, staring at the paper that has you sweating. 

Jack Daniels 

What do you get for someone you hate? You ponder this as you scroll Amazon for something that would fit the annoying Jack Daniels. 

Moustache wax? A new cowboy hat?

No, none of these seem appropriate.Your cat Artemis purrs in your lap, content and sleepy as you fret over what to buy for your work frenemy. It's a $50 cap for Secret Santa and what you really want to get Jack is a piece of coal and a note that says: "thanks for being rude to me every chance you get".

Because not only is Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels rude, he also has zero respect for you. Only last month you came to your office to find him scanning your shelves, eyes dragging over your photo of Artemis, ones of you at your last birthday party, a trinket your mom sent you from home. 

His large hands were clasped behind his back as if he were perusing a museum. Something about his quiet presence stunned you into silence, watching him as you remained still by the door.

Jack was always found entertaining others around the office, his booming voice and laughter heard through the hallways. Watching him be so contemplative and serene at that moment served to strike you dumb. 

Aside from your photos and knick knacks your office by and large looks like a mini garden. Plants of all types line the walls, some sit on your desk in colorful pots. 

"So many," he murmured to himself as he rounded the room to your desk. 

His broad back still faced you and you watched his muscled thighs pull him into a crouch. His jeans grew tight, showing off his glutes. You hated to admit to yourself that he had a nice ass.

He crouched there in front of his monstera plant in its chipped blue pot, head tilting. His fingers ran along the chip in the lip of the pot, tutting his tongue. Something about it felt condescending and with anger boiling in your veins you watched him trace the leaf of the plant delicately before you stamped into the room. 

"What the hell are you doing in here?" 

Jack nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes blowing wide as you strode into the office. He jerked to a stand, wiping his palms on his jeans. 

"I thought you were in a meetin'," he'd blurted, cheeks flushed when he realized he'd been caught out. 

"I had to grab a file for it." You paused. "Do you always sneak into my office when I'm in a meeting?"

"No." 

He didn't offer you more than that and you were running late for the said meeting. You moved past him to grab the file, shaking your head in frustration. You were irritated when he didn't move, just continued to crowd you at your desk. 

"Listen," Jack said, his voice pitched low an uncharacteristically timid. "I... I wanted to talk to you." 

"Well, I don't want to talk to you," you snapped back at him, eyes flashing as you glared up at him. "And I really don't want you sneaking into my office when I'm not here. Goodbye, Daniels." 

Jack's eyes narrowed, his teeth clenching. A tense moment passed between the two of you and you watched him retreat a step back, fists curled at his side. 

"Forget it." 

And then he was gone, striding from your office with his shoulders squared and a scowl on his face. 

He's been extra cold to you since then but you don't care. You have work and Alexa and Artemis and... Yeah, sometimes you feel a bit lonely. Sometimes you long for the kind of romance you read about. Sometimes you wish you and Jack got along better so your heart didn’t jump every time you saw him passing you in the office.

But right now you don't want to think about that. You have a task to accomplish. 

You scroll your laptop for a few more minutes, still not finding anything of note. You sigh and close out of Amazon, feeling discouraged. 

Artemis continues purring in your lap as you pull out your phone and compose a text to Alexa, hoping you can appeal to her humanity. 

Lex pls you have to switch with me!!  

I told you before, I've got Peña and I know exactly what I'm getting him. 

Edible lingerie?

Ha ha. No, two tickets to a baseball game. And during the office party in gonna casually mention that I'm huge Wildcats fan.

You want to scream. This is so like Alexis to go chasing after her latest crush. But really could you blame her? Peña was about as sexy as it got with his tight suits that he obviously went commando under. 

Sorry bb you're on your own for this one. 

You groan, tossing your phone onto your desk and stirring the fluffy cat on your lap. 

Artemis stretches, casting a sleepily irritated look up at you. You exhale, scratching behind his ears as he purrs. 

"You wanna shop for me, boy?"

You arrive at the holiday party the following week with a grimace. The gift under your arm for Jack is in a box wrapped sloppily with festive paper. You quickly hand it off to Ginger to place under the office Christmas tree along with the others. 

Being a distillery its not a shock to see booze lining the buffet tables along with a delicious looking carving station, crudités and a chocolate fountain for dessert. Several beautiful women in elf costumes walk through the party with hors d’oeuvre. You pop a pig in a blanket in your mouth before scanning the crowded room full of tinsel and snowflake decorations.

You see Alexa chatting away with Peña, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and giving him a sultry smile. You smile at her strong flirt game, admiring how good she looks in her skintight dress. You look down at your own modest apparel, sincerely wishing you’d put in a little more effort.

You shoot your friend sly wink when you walk by them on your way to the buffet table. She grins as you pass before you overhear her mentioning that it's been ages since she was to a baseball game. You have to work very hard at not laughing at loud.

You chat with a few of your colleagues over appetizers and wine. Christmas music sounds out over the speakers, sweet and gentle and overall the vibe is pleasant. That is until the door bursts open and a deep voice with its trademark twang sounds out. 

"Let's get this party started, y'all!" 

Immediately the energy shifts from quiet, calm event to raucous party. A loud cheer begins as Jack strides through the door carrying a large gingerbread house in the shape of the distillery. 

His hat is missing, his curls brushed back nicely. He still wears jeans but today he has a dark blue sweater on, a small snowman over the front pocket. This silly detail seems so incongruous with the suave man you normally see around the office and intrigues you.  

"A fine job," Champ announces, clapping him on the back as Jack places the house on the dessert table nearest to you. “That’s a downright piece of art.”

"Whiskey gingerbread, bourbon icing, tequila candy canes and, well," Jack smiles at the crowd milling around, "y'all have to eat the rest and guess." 

The crowd laughs and cheers, excited by the confectionary delight. Everyone loves Jack and this only serves to make them love him even more. You glance at the large display, impressed at the amount of detail he was able to create in gingerbread. 

You hear Jack mention to a gushing Riley that the glass windows are made of melted Jolly Ranchers. You bend down, marveling at how realistic they actually look. Jack notices your interest and pops off one of the candy cane fence pieces, smiling as he holds it out to you. 

"You wanna taste?" Jack asks you, his warm eyes boring into your own. 

Is he actually being nice to you?

You reach out and you can't explain it, but when your fingers graze his to take the confectionary it's like a buzz goes through you. Colleagues are chatting around you both, but for a moment you feel like it's just you and Jack in the room.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“No problem darlin’,” he says throatily, his eyes flitting between your eyes and your mouth.

Normally you would chastise him for the darlin’, but he’s never called you that before. Maybe he is warming up to you? Maybe there is a chance at friendship? Or at least professional civility?

"Yeah, you wanna suck on Jack's candy cane, sugar?" A chuckling male voice says from somewhere in the crowd. "Bet it tastes real nice!"

Most of the men laugh at this crude joke and you feel your cheeks flame.

“Shut the fuck up Tequila,” Jack snaps angrily at the grinning back near the back of the group. A handsome man who loves to start fights. 

When you see the embarrassed and almost guilty flush to Jack’s cheeks you realize he only offered the candy to you to make a joke at your expense. You flinch back, dropping your hand and glaring at the stunned looking Jack. 

"Asshole," you mutter before moving back, pushing through the crowd. You make sure to shoulder past a smirking Tequila extra hard as you pass by.

In a quieter part of the room is a cracked window and you take a moment of solace standing beside it, breathing slowly as you look at the night sky.

Why is Jack a nightmare at every possible turn? What have you done to make him dislike you so much?

"You okay?" 

You glance over to see Alexa there at your elbow, looking concerned and holding two glasses of wine. She offers one your way and you take it gratefully.

"It's fine. I just want the fucking party to be done so I can go home without being labeled a killjoy." 

"At least you don't have to work tonight," Alexa says trying to cheer you up as you bothyou’re your wine. "Can't imagine our customers would want to see this." 

She points at Lubitz from Janitorial holding a striped funnel as Wendy from Purchasing pours Scotch down it. Several of the mailroom workers circle around them, fists pumping and chanting "Chug! Chug! Chug! " 

The two of you giggle as your temper eventually cools watching the seniors having the time of their lives. Your eyes go around the room to see Peña drinking in the corner, casting a smoldering look at Alexa. 

"Things going well with Peña, I see," you murmur playfully around your wine glass as she bites her full lower lip. 

"Think I'm gonna seal the deal tonight," Alexa grins. "Turns out I didn't need the tickets at all. I just needed this dress." 

“To be fair, it is a perfect dress.”

“I thought so,” she smirks. She does a little spin as you clap for her. The two of you dissolve into giggles once more.

“What happened with Jack?” she asks curiously.

“The same thing that always happens,” you scowl. “He’s just an asshole.”

“I think he’s still reeling from the break up,” Alexa frowns. “Ever since he and his girlfriend split up I think he hasn’t quite been himself. He never used to eat in the canteen with the rest of us, but now he’s there every time we are. He never used to participate in stuff like Secret Santa either. I dunno, maybe he’s turning over a new leaf?”

“A new leaf where he only treats me like shit?”

You glance over and notice Jack at the buffet table holding a beer in one loose hand. He’s nodding, looking solemn as he talks to Riley who has a tight green sequined dress on and tiny clip-in reindeer antlers. She looks adorable and she’s smiling up at Jack as if he hangs the moon. Part of you wonders if they're making plans for tonight. You don't know why but the thought makes you feel weird. 

Ginger suddenly staggers into the center of the room, waving her hands in the air dramatically.

"Alright everyone! Gather around it's time for secret Santa!"

She motions to the large circle of chairs set up beside a large tree decorated with miniature booze bottles. Heaps of gifts lay under the tree, many wrapped with expensive looking paper and bows. Alexa and you take seats next to one another, looking expectantly at the tree.

"So what did you get him?" 

You look over your shoulder to see a smirking Sandy taking the seat next to you in the circle of chairs. She’s wearing a new sweatshirt today, one with a horse wearing a Santa hat that blinks red.  Before you can answer you hear Ginger clear her throat from where she stands at the tree.

"I'm going to pick the first gift so all of you settle down!" Ginger says in a slightly slurred voice. "And this isn't naughty Santa so no stealing!" 

The group cheers and claps excitedly. Most everyone is tipsy and some even hammered. It lends to a very upbeat environment and despite your altercation with Jack you can’t help but feel lighter in spirit as the first name is announced.

"First up is Sandy!"

You watch the older woman go up to Ginger and retrieve the tree-decorated parcel in her hands. 

"This is so perfect," Sandy says when she opens her gift of a horse calendar and matching mug. "I can't wait to put it in my office!" 

Everyone claps as Ginger continues to grab parcels and read off names. You enjoy seeing what everyone got, from beautiful scarves and chocolate to customized nameplates and themed teapots.

You feel Alexa hold her breath when Peña's name is called. He strides lazily to Ginger, retrieving the small envelope. He casts his eyes to Alexa before continuing to his seat, his legs spread wide.  He reads the card inside the envelope quickly, a small smirk coming to his pouty mouth. He sees the baseball tickets inside and his eyes dart to Alexa across from him. 

"Well thanks secret Santa whoever you are," he teases. "I'll make sure these go to good use." 

You feel Alexa muffle a giggle and you do the same. You feel eyes on you and notice Jack staring at you from across the circle as Riley hangs all over him, her eyes glassy from booze. You frown at him before looking back to Ginger.

“Alexa!”

Alexa's flounces over to Ginger, sure to give Peña an eyeful before returning to her seat. 

"A manicure!" Alexa says as she tears open her gift. "Thank you secret Santa! I needed this!"

She waggles her current set with boast candy cane designs. Judging by the excitement in Riley's eyes and her little giggle and clap you have a feeling she might be your friend's secret Santa. You catch her eye and she grins widely. For a moment you soften, thinking that perhaps she and Jack could make a cute couple.

"Alright next we have this beauty," Ginger says reaching for your gift and reading the tag. "For... Jack." 

Jack's brows rise and he goes to take the gift from Ginger. You watch his fingers curl around the box you spent barely any time wrapping, wincing at how shabby it looks compared to the others. There's no card so Jack just tears open the box, lifting the lid and peering inside. 

"A gift card to the mall," he says with a crooked grin as he takes the item out of the oversized box. "Perfect." 

There's a faint murmur around the room, glances exchanged. It's bad form to give someone such an obvious afterthought of a gift. Sandy shoots you a raised brow of disbelief and you lift your drink to your mouth. 

Jack glances up, dark eyes moving around the circle. "Well to whoever my secret Santa was, I thank ya." 

He sounds so sincere in his gratitude that for a moment you almost feel bad that you didn't get him anything decent. You feel your gaze trapped on his face, trying to see if he's secretly disappointed. You're still doing this when Alexa nudges your ribs, whispering fiercely. 

"Hey, Ginger just called your name." 

You bolt out of your seat, legs moving hurriedly to retrieve the large box sitting next to a grinning Ginger. 

“This was too heavy for me to lift,” she says with a motion to the large box at her feet. You crouch down, hefting it into your arms with a grunt. You hear footsteps and a low voice is there as well as a hand on your shoulder.

“You need any help?”

“I’ve got it,” you insist, shrugging him off.

You ignore him as you slowly carry the large item to your chair, placing it gently down onto the floor with another grunt. You take a long look at the large box on the floor, curious to find a card when you open the top. You open the envelope to see a card with Christmas lights hanging off a fern and the words "happy Christmas to you and your plants". You smirk at this before opening it. 

Hoping that this makes you smile. 

As with all Secret Santa gifts it's anonymous, but you think the handwriting looks masculine. You cast an eye around the circle, unable to parse if it's just polite interest or eager anticipation from any of the smiling faces. You don't see anything suspicious and so you reach inside the heavy box, fingers curling around the lip of what feels like a bowl.  

The room erupts into impressed whispers as you pull out a plant pot in a beautiful terracotta plant pot. It's exquisitely crafted and you know for a fact it cost well over fifty dollars. You saw something similar to it in the nursery last month and told everyone who would listen about how gorgeous it was.

"That's so stunning," Alexa murmurs as you bring the pot out of the box. 

"Yeah it really is," you breathe. 

Something inside the pot catches your eye and you reach inside to retrieve a small wrapped package. You're surprised to see that this one has a card as well. You tear it open, smirking when you see a cat in a sweater printed on the front with the words meow-y Christmas. Inside is the same messy scrawl.

For Artemis

A smile breaks over your face as you unwrap a jar of fancy catnip and a feather toy.

“That's so cute!" squeals Riley as you pull out each item. 

Whomever got you for secret Santa must know you well. For some reason out of the new gifts this is the one that touches you most. There's something about all the thought that went into this gift that causes a lump to rise in your throat. You find yourself fighting to swallow as you gingerly place the gifts back into the box. 

"Thank you to my secret Santa," you say in a hoarse voice. "This was really thoughtful of you." 

The rest of the Secret Santa goes on without a snag. Everyone seems happy with their gifts and soon the music is back on and everyone rises to drink and dance.  You watch Alexa and Peña move to a dark corner and know exactly how this evening is going to end for her when his hand shifts to the small of her back. 

You however take this time to gather the gift in your arms and take off for your office. You don’t really feel like partying anymore. The gift in your arms is so beautiful in not only looks but in the spirit in which it was given. It makes you want to take a closer look, to enjoy what you received.

You leave the lights off, not wanting to draw attention to your lack of participation. Your Christmas lights you strung up cast the space in a golden glow as you unpack the beautiful plant pot, marveling at the detail before setting it up on your desk. You debate transferring the monstera into it or wondering if you should wait until after the holidays. Your hand trails over it, stroking one waxy leaf. 

"Not enjoyin' the party?"

The low voice catches you off guard. You glance over your shoulder to see Jack walking into the office, the sound of the party dim in the distance. 

"I am," you tell him before turning your attention back to the plant at your hand. "I was just excited to set up my new gift." 

"So you really liked it, then? You weren’t pretendin’?" 

Something about his question stops your fingers along the stem. You stand slowly, turning back to face him. He's got a shy look on his normally confident face. For a moment you just stare at him, unsure if this is what you think it is. His eyes dart from the pot back to your face and your suspicions are solidified.

"You were my Secret Santa?" 

He offers you a crooked smile before nodding licking his lower lip nervously. You think back to last month and you remember him trading names with Riley that day. That means he chose you on purpose. But why? 

"But... The gift was so nice and thoughtful," you whisper, still not understanding why a man who goes out of his way to be cold to you is suddenly being so warm. 

"I've been known to have my moments," he jests. His pouty lips pull into an amused smirk. 

"But... " your mind searches for how to phrase what you're thinking. "But you got something for Artemis." 

"Yeah."

"How did you even know I had a cat?" 

Jack points at the photo on the shelf, the one of you and Artemis on the couch. The one you recall him staring at that day you caught him in your office. You stare at it as if just remembering it exists.

"You talk about him a lot to Alexa," Jack says. 

You slowly turn back to look at him with a puzzled expression. How would Jack know that? You and Jack never speak to one another. Why would he be listening to you and Alexa chatting? 

"How do you know that?"

"Because I listen." 

"But you hate me."

The humor flees from his face.

"What? I don't hate you." His voice drops another octave. "I've never hated you."  

Jack steps fully into the office, closing the door behind him. The dull sound of music is muffled further, leaving just your heartbeat and Jack's uneven breathing. 

"You ignore me, you're always avoiding me when we have to work on a project together," you insist, feeling lightheaded. "You don't like me." 

Jack exhales slowly, broad shoulders rising and then falling. 

"I've been completely besotted since the first moment I met you, darlin’."

The sentence hangs there between you both. Your arms hang uselessly at your sides, stunned into submission. Jack licks his upper lip, moustache twitching nervously. 

"Besotted?"

"It means int-"

"I know what it means, Jack," you snap. "I just don't know what you're talking about. You’ve complete ignored me since I started here. I tried to be your friend and you pretty much just turned your back on me the second we met." 

Jack’s face morphs into an anguished wince and you narrow your eyes at him.  

"Are you fucking with me, Daniels? Is this a prank?"

"No. I would never joke about this." Jack’s eyes widen, his hands coming up in defense.His dark eyes search yours and he exhales through his nose, taking another step closer to you. His broad shoulders block out the door behind him and he smells so good, like cinnamon and gingerbread. You can’t help but inhale deeply as he comes to stop in front of you.  

"I think about you when I wake up and when I go to sleep,” he rasps quietly. “You're the only reason I signed up for the stupid Secret Santa in the first place." 

"Where is this coming from?" You whisper, awed.

"From the moment I laid eyes on you that first day I've never been able to get you out of my head," Jack continues. Your jaw hangs open in confused shock.

"Do you not remember how rude you were to me the first day we met?" You remind him. "Cold and mean and you kept being cold and mean the entire first six months I worked here."

"I know. I'm so sorry." 

"It's like you're trying to rewrite our history." 

"I know it might seem like that."

"Every time I tried to get to know you, every time we got matched up on a project you were terse and always so eager to get away from me." 

"I wasn't doin’ it to hurt you, it's just I had a girlfriend when I met you," Jack tells you in a frustrated rasp. 

"What does that have to do with anything?" 

Jack licks his lips, shuffling his big feet against your office carpet. His wide hands turn palms up at his side. 

"After that day I met you I tried not to think about you. I tried to ignore this feelin' I had when I was around you."

"Nausea?"

Jack raises a sardonic brow at your quip. 

"I couldn't understand it myself at first. I figured if I was colder to you that'd keep you away from me." He winces at the memory. "But i found myself listenin' to you in meetings, walking by your office more than I needed to and trying to bring you up in conversation just so I could say your name. I started going to the canteen for lunch just so I could hear what you talked about with Alexa."

Jack sees your shocked expression and a deep flush brushes over his cheeks.

"I felt guilty for bein' so attracted to you when I had a girlfriend. I figured it was easier for everyone if I just avoided you. But I couldn’t.”

This is so shocking all you can do is stand there, blinking at him. Jack thought you were attractive. You can’t help but be taken with how his dark eyes reflect the glow of the lights around you now, or how his dark hair shines.

“I couldn't get you outta my head no matter how hard I tried," Jack explains now he begins to pace anxiously in front of you, his footsteps slow and deliberate. "My ex was a sweet, kind lady and I didn't want to hurt her. But she wasn't dumb, eventually she saw my heart wasn't in it anymore and we parted ways."

"By the time she and I broke up, you and I were already at odds with each other and there was no way of fixin' it." Jack stops his slow pacing in front of you. "I mean, I tried to mend things a couple months ago when you caught me in your office." 

"Why were you in here?"

"I came to tell you everything. I wanted to be straight with you and see if we could get to know each other. Then I saw your schedule on your desk and it said you were in a meeting." Jack swallows, his eyes steady on you. "So I started lookin around, wanting to learn more about you." 

“But…” You grope for something to say, something to cling to. “But you flirt with every woman in the building.”

He sighs, looking guiltily at the floor. “I was tryin’ to distract myself from thinkin’ about you. Never worked though. Women all accused me of leadin’ ‘em on because it never went past flirtin’.”

Everything you thought you knew it suddenly upside down. The man you thought was your work frenemy has secretly been pining for you? Why is your heart beating so fast? Why is your stomach flipping? Why is your body electric with the knowledge that Jack Daniels likes you? 

Oh. 

Oh. 

"I... I don't know what to say," you whisper. 

"S'okay you don't have to say anything," Jack insists looking disappointed. "I was just tired of carryin' this secret with me all this time. I hope you can forgive me bein’ so rude all this time. Hopefully now you understand why."

You want to reply, you want to tell him that you do forgive him and that you do understand. And that maybe, just maybe, you were irritated at his lack of attention because you wanted him to flirt with you. That you were jealous of the other women who gained his attention so easily.

But Jack mistakes your silence for a rejection of sorts. He forces a polite smile, thin and not touching his eyes. 

"And hey, I understand you don't feel the same as me, I really do. This all came outta nowhere and I’m sure you can’t stand bein’ around me more than you already have. I'm real glad you like your gift, I mean that. Happy Holidays."

He turns, his muscled legs carrying him away from you. You could let him keep walking but something compels you to take a step forward and your voice rises.

"Jack?"

He stops, his profile tilting to you. His hands are in loose fists at his side. 

"The Secret Santa gift you were given was pretty bad."

Jack's brow furrows, his body turning entirely to face you. He looks comically confused by your comment.

"It was from me," you admit shyly. Your eyes fall to his chest, finding his eyes too glittery and beautiful to look at. He starts to walk back to you, slow and unsure. 

"Really?" Jack's voice takes on a teasing edge.

You nod, smirking. "I didn't know what to get you." 

He's right in front of you now, the scent of his cinnamon and gingerbread surrounding you. There's something about being here in the dark office with a man you have feelings for that makes your body feel tingly. The lights feel like gentle candles glowing around you, appropriate since you feel like you’re glowing from the inside.

"I actually didn't mind the gift card," Jack chuckles softly. "I need to get some new shirts. And now knowin’ it’s from you, I like it even more." 

You’re melting. His honeyed words in that deep twang, the way he’s gazing at you like you’re the most wonderful person in the world. You feel your body flush warm all over, your desire overwhelming you.

It propels you to move forward until your body is almost flush with his. He watches you with intensity as your hands come to land gently on his chest. The embroidered snowman sits under your right palm until you begin to slide your palms up his torso, his collar and then coming to loosely lace behind his neck.

"Well, I just thought of something you might like better,” you say breathlessly.

"Oh yeah?" Jack murmurs, his large hands coming to circle your waist and hold you tightly against him. "And what might that be, darlin’?" 

You grin before you tug his neck gently, urging him to lower his face so your mouth can meet his. He tilts his head, hitting you at an angle to give you a full-lipped kiss. You melt into his strong arms, heady from the groan you drag from him as your tongues dab tentatively. 

"Yeah I like this gift better," Jack whispers against your mouth as you part.  

You giggle, feeling warm and giddy. You debate something as Jack watches you grab your purse and sling it over your shoulder, shining a bright smile at him. 

"I have another gift for you," you tell him, grabbing his hand and guiding him out the office door. "But this one you have to unwrap at your place." 

Happy Holidays Everyone!

It’s Friday night, and you’ve finally made it to the local honky-tonk you’ve been meaning to visit for a while. The atmosphere is just right, people seem to be having a good time, and as you look around, you can't help but admire everyone's attire. There are quite a lot of people wearing cowboy hats and chatting loudly.

The beer you ordered is placed in front of you.

"Thank you," you say to the barmaid before picking it up and taking small sips. This is your third beer of the night, and you’re already feeling more than tipsy. You’re roostered. But this is what you came here for anyway. Fuck it. Is all you think, and you start taking bigger swigs again.

The music is fantastic right now. They start playing some of the most popular country songs at the moment, when two people enter the bar and seem to be arguing quietly. 

Probably a lovers’ quarrel. The couple, the man dressed appropriately dressed for this establishment, and the woman, are both really good-looking people, so you can’t help but stare at them for a bit before going back to sipping your beer.

Some time passes as you finish your third beer. While you’re waiting for your fourth glass, a familiar woman walks up to you and takes a seat right next to you at the bar. You recognise her. It’s the woman from the argument earlier.

"Hi there," she gives you a playful look. "What’s such a good-looking man like you doing all alone on a Friday evenin’?"

You blink slowly as you look her in the face and nod to greet her. "Howdy. Well, drinkin’ for one," you raise the glass of beer that has just been placed in front of you. You smile.

"Would you be interested in sharing a couple of drinks together and then maybe… see where things go?" she flirts, gently touching your forearm. 

"Oh, sorry, I do need to apologise. Y’see, I don’t really… swing in the traditional way. If you catch my drift," you tilt your head slightly, before moving your arm away from her touch. 

"Oh, no offence taken. I understand," she smiles politely before oddly moving her hand away. Must’ve been a tick or somethin’. You shrug.

The woman stands up and apologises politely before making her way into the crowd of people. You turn back to face the bar. As you take another sip of beer, someone sits down in the chair next to you. 

You hear a man ordering a beer and notice him waiting on the chair next to you. He starts to look around. You recognise him as the man that was accompanied by the woman who’d just spoken to you.

Without moving your head, you catch a glimpse of him. You'd noticed him when he came in, but up close he looks even more dashing. You work up the courage to speak to him.

"Howdy, how’s it going? Name’s Y/N," you turn to face the man and smile softly.

"Whiskey," he tips his cowboy hat in your direction. 

"Is that your name, or are you asking me if I drink any?" you raise an eyebrow and smile at the man in front of you. 

"Aren’t you funny. Both, obviously," he smirks and leans slightly towards you.

"Oh. I see, I do drink some."

"Well, that’s great, ain’t it? Bartender, 2 whiskeys, please," he holds up two fingers as he orders the drinks.

Time flies as you both engage in a bit of playful small talk. But while you’re chatting, Whiskey points out the mechanical bull, they’ve just started up for someone to ride on. The person, unfortunately, only lasts for four seconds. While you are both distracted by the machine, Whiskey has a brilliant idea.

"10 bucks says you won’t last more than 10 seconds on that thing," Whiskey sips from his glass, challenging you. 

"Make it 50 bucks. I’m staying on it for 30," you say as you stand up and stumble over to the machine and climb on. 

Whiskey follows in amusement, watching you from a distance with a grin on his face, "Let’s see how long you can hold out."

You nod at him after you've settled into the mechanical bull and grabbed the horn of the makeshift saddle, signalling that you're ready to go. He nods back and tells the person operating the mechanical bull to go for it.

Having ridden a few of these things in your life, you immediately get into the zone, concentrating on the bull's head to anticipate its sudden movements. It starts off slowly, rocking back and forth. You tighten your grip on the horn and push your legs against the bull. A few seconds later, the bull picks up speed and tries to throw you off with big swings. Keeping your free arm in the air gives you more control over your balance. You relax your upper body at the very moment when its movements become even more violent. The hum of the mechanical parts moving the machine is drowned out by the chatter of people around you. A crowd had gathered around you to watch, but you didn't lift your head to look around, your eyes fixed on the bull's head.

Time seems to stand still while you're on the machine. You start to panic when your hand slips from the horn. This can’t be the end. I can go longer. 

By slowly adjusting the position of your wrist, you manage to get a better grip. After what feels like 5 minutes of being tossed around, the bull throws you off. You land on your side and push yourself up to look at the operator, who had just stopped the machine and given you the thumbs up.

At a second glance, you notice an impressed Whiskey standing behind him. As someone else was getting ready to ride the bull, you get up and walk over to Whiskey.

"Well, that was a hog-killin’ time you had up there! I owe you 50 gosh darn bucks, you lasted about 40 seconds," he exclaims, slapping you on the shoulder as you make your way towards him.

"Heh, yeah, I’ve gotten pretty good at these sorts of things." 

"Hm? You don’t just ride bulls, do ya?" he winks at you before heading back towards the bar.

"Nope. Also ride rollercoasters, horses, bicycles, cowboys, pick-up trucks and last but not least scooters," you say with a broad grin as you both take a seat at the bar once again.

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting into a slight smile. He leans in closer to you, almost whispering in your ear, "I’d like to offer you a ride on one of those things, if you’d be willing to." 

A flurry of butterflies in your stomach make themselves known as Whiskey backs away and puts his hand on your lap. He takes a sip from his drink, watching your reaction. He leaves you speechless, so all you can do is to nod excitedly.

"Since I got to steal ya from my friend, how about we go somewhere more private, just the two of us, then?"

In your dazed and drunken state of mind, you'd gladly agree to go with any handsome cowboy who hits on you. You smile sheepishly, "Aight. Let's head on over to mine."

Once the two of you are inside your house, you close the door behind you and are pulled by the back of your neck. Whiskey turns you around to face him up close, his eyes exploring your face and he seems to hesitate a little before he kisses you. The sound of your lips smacking together makes your head spin.  

After pulling away, he leans into your ear and whispers, "You ever ride a real cowboy before?"

You shiver when you feel his breath against your ear. 

"I have. But I’d love to do it again," you reply.

Whiskey pulls back one of your dining chairs and spins it around, signalling you to take a seat, but you’re distracted by how well his suit hugs his body. You slide your hands under his suit jacket, around his waist, and stare into his eyes.

"N-Now hold on–" Whiskey quickly grabs your arms as they make their way down his back. He pulls your hands away from his butt and places them at your sides. Losing control of the situation makes him feel nervous, "I didn’t give you permission to get so touchy." 

"C’mon now, no need to be so coy… I thought we were having fun," you touch the brim of his hat and lift it slightly to look him in the eyes. He pulls away and clenches his jaw.

"Sit. Down." With his index finger pointed down, he stares at you from under the brim of his hat, a deadly serious look on his face. "Now, here’s the thing, darlin’. You’ve worn down my very nice and patient nature. So I’m done playin’ nice."

His thick accent and serious tone send shivers down your spine, but you do as you’re told and stumble awkwardly into the chair behind you, almost toppling over as you are struck by Whiskey's change of presence.

You open your mouth to speak.

"Shush," he grabs your neck and leans in closer to your face, staring down at your slightly parted lips as you gasp for air.

"You speak when spoken to. Got that?" Whiskey commands, making you whimper softly. 

"Y-Yes, sir," you struggle to speak as his grip tightens around your neck. It hurts. A lot.

"That’s what I wanna hear," he lets go of your neck, leaving you gasping for air, and puts his boot between your legs on the chair. He rolls up his sleeves after taking off his suit jacket and hanging it up on another chair. "Here’s how we’re gonna do this. You behave, do everything as you’re told, and I’ll play nice. If ya do anythin’ I don’t want ya doin’… You know the rest." 

With that last statement, he moves his boot to step on your crotch and presses against it, increasing the pressure sharply. The pain shoots up your spine and you nod furiously with a small jerk.

"Good boy." Whiskey sets his foot back down on the floor and cups your face, squeezing your cheeks a little, pulling you halfway up to meet him. He kisses your lips aggressively, before letting go of your face and sending you back down into the chair. 

He adjusts his hat before sitting down on your lap, pushing you back against the backrest. You stare up at him, eyes wide open, blinking to make sure you’re awake and this isn’t a dream. The realisation that this is actually happening hits you as you feel him grab onto your shoulder, to keep you still. His other hand rests on the whip at his belt.

Whiskey leans forward, his face now inches from yours. "Kiss me," he whispers in a demanding tone. Hesitantly, you lean in closer and tilt your head slightly. Your gaze leaves the comfort of his dark brown eyes and makes its way to look at Whiskey’s lips. 

Before your lips meet his, Whiskey reaches for the whip attached to the side of his belt. Without a second thought, you move your hands up a little, wanting to touch him and explore his body with your hands. Then you remember the pain you’d felt before and obediently put your hands behind your back.

You hum as Whiskey deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around your waist, his hands reaching around to quickly wrap his whip around your wrists.

With a surprised gasp, you pull away from the kiss. "Wh-What are you…" you turn your head to look behind you. He’s successfully tied your wrists together with his whip. 

"I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?" he replies sharply, pulling on the handle of his whip, tightening the knot. You blink before looking up at him again. He is intimidating. But also extremely hot. 

As your lips meet his again, he loosens the whip around your wrists, making it less painful.

The kiss is almost intoxicating. Your head begins to spin, and a warmth spreads through your body, making its presence known in your crotch. 

Then he pulls away from the kiss and moves back a little. "Now. How ‘bout we switch places. I’m sure you’d like to get your treat," he looks down at your hard-on that is pressing against him.

After getting off your lap, Whiskey orders you to stand up. He sits down on the chair you’ve just been sitting on, still holding the whip tied to your wrists. He pulls you backwards onto his lap, so that your face is facing away from him. 

You feel a bit stiff with your arms tied behind your back. Your shoulders ache a little. Then, as Whiskey lets go of the whip, the tension eases. His hands slide under your thighs, and spread your legs apart slightly.

As his left hand slides up your thigh to fondle your butt, his right hand slowly unzips your pants. You exhale sharply as he begins to kiss your neck, his moustache tickling your skin. 

Once he has unzipped your pants completely, he slides his left hand into the back of your pants, under your shorts, his hand now touching your bare butt cheek. His chest presses against your back and arms.

Whiskey starts whispering in your ear, as he strokes your cock through your underwear. His voice is low and hoarse, "I see you’re enjoying this. You filthy little thing." You feel him start to prod at your anus, slowly pushing a finger inside.

A moan escapes your lips as your breath quickens. He chuckles next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he curls his finger inside you. Then you feel him pull your shorts down at the front to expose your hard-on. 

"Now look at what we have here," Whiskey wraps his hand tightly around the base of your arousal, "Our little cowboy fancying friend over here is looking pretty happy." 

He strokes it up and down at an agonisingly slow pace, fingering your anus at the same time. You feel frustrated by the pace and let out a deep sigh. To continue playing by Whiskey’s rules, you let out a needy moan as his fingers massage you from the inside. 

He kisses the back of your neck as his strokes on your cock speed up, his fingers rubbing tightly over the head from time to time, causing you to twitch in pleasure. As this man draws out the most lustful moans from your lips, you can’t help but slightly thrust into his hand, bucking your hips in an attempt to make yourself come.

Whiskey doesn’t like you trying to take control of the situation. As he pulls his hands away from you, he gently pushes you off his lap. You land on your knees, groaning at the pain and frustration that’s been building up all evening. 

Turning to look at Whiskey, you notice that he is looking down at you, his arm resting on the top rail of the chair. You let your eyes travel down to look at his crotch. He seems to enjoy treating you so roughly.

"Look, I made you feel good for a moment, how about you return the favour?" with one hand and without looking at what he’s doing, he unbuckles his belt and begins to undo his pants, each movement precise and calculated.

On your knees, you shuffle closer to his lap, your hands still being tied behind your back, making it hard not to lose your balance.

"Since you’re all tied up, I’ll help ya a little bit," with that, he pulls out his thick cock. Your eyes light up at the sight of it, the hunger in you just growing stronger. You want to ride him. Badly.

Whiskey holds it still for you, his hand placed at the base of it for more control. You wrap your lips around the head, and closing your eyes, you slowly bob your head up and down, taking in more and more of its length with each downward movement.

Then his hand moves to the back of your head and pushes it down. You gag a little as his dick hits the back of your throat, and you struggle as you try to pull your head back up, but Whiskey keeps your head in place. 

Hot tears stream down your face as he starts moving your head up and down by grabbing onto your hair. With your tongue pressed against the base of his dick, you start rubbing it against it. Your head starts spinning as you taste his pre-cum on your tongue, the salty liquid mixing with your saliva.

Whiskey lets out a low moan as you continue to suck him. He throws his head back, savouring the sensation. 

You quickly get used to his thrusts down your throat, occasionally suppressing your gag reflex.  

"Good boy… here’s your reward," Whiskey breathes before he presses his leg between your crotch. You look up to see him staring down at you lustfully.

Not waiting for too long, you start grinding against his boots, the texture of them making your cock feel like it’s in heaven. 

Whiskey soon pulls your head off his dick, leaving you gasping for air and moaning as you keep grinding against his boot. 

He chuckles as he watches you and presses his leg harder against your crotch, allowing you to grind against it a little longer. 

"F-Fuck… thank you-… Whiskey…" you moan, your hooded eyes staring up at him. 

He smirks before pulling his leg away, "Now, I would love to see you ride somethin’ else, partner."

Breathless, you blink as you try to get up from your knees, only to fall face-first into his lap. 

"Here. Let me," Whiskey helps you to your feet and pulls off your pants and boxers. You lift one leg at a time to climb out of them. 

"Now, sit," he commands.

You do as he says and sit on his lap, facing him. Whiskey reaches around your waist to untie the whip from your wrists and then tosses it to the floor. 

"Th-Thank you…" your voice is hoarse from deep throating. You rub your wrist with one hand before resting your arms on his shoulders. 

Whiskey takes his hat and puts it on your head.

"May I kiss you?" you ask with hooded eyes. 

"…" Whiskey raises an eyebrow with a slight smirk

"Please…?" you tilt your head to the side.

Without saying a word, he leans in closer to kiss your lips softly, his hands going under your shirt and rubbing over your bare skin from your hips to your back. He deepens the kiss as you take a deep breath. Your hips unconsciously begin to grind against him. Without breaking away from the kiss, you lift your hips slightly and hold onto his cock, positioning it at your anus and letting it slide slowly into you. Whiskey moans into the kiss when he’s completely inside you. 

"S-So tight-..." he breathes as he pulls away from the kiss. You smile as you adjust the hat to sit a little better on your head. With smooth movements, you circle your hips, moving them up and down. Whiskey clings to your hips but doesn’t restrict your movement. He stares up at you as you ride him. Soft moans escape your lips as you feel him rub against your prostate, making your dick twitch. You close your eyes as you speed things up, your hands on his legs for support. 

Whiskey’s hands rub over your skin as he lifts your shirt further to see more of you. You moan as you lean forward to start unbuttoning his shirt, as he does the same to yours. The chair the both of you are sitting on rocks back and forth, creaking with every roll of your hips.

"Wh-Whiskey… want you to fuck my brains out," you moan into his ear as you start to bounce on his cock. He swallows as he pulls your shirt off, breathing out against your skin as your movements become more erratic, and placing some kisses on your collarbone. 

"W-Wait… hah…" Whiskey breathes as he grabs your hips, pulling them down to get deeper inside you, "Chair’s gonna break if we keep going like this…" 

You bite your lower lip, trying to muffle a long moan. He’s so deep inside you, you can almost see his cock forming a bulge on your stomach. 

"A-Alright… fuck… let me-…" with shaky legs, you get up and get down on all fours on the floor in front of him, waiting to feel him inside you once again. 

Whiskey gets down on his knees, and pulls his pants down a little before positioning himself behind you. With one hand on your hip and the other on his cock to guide it, he slowly thrusts into you, forcing a broken moan from your lips. You bite into your hand as he starts to move faster until he’s pounding into you. His hat falls off your head as he continues. Every time he hits your prostate, your cock throbs to be touched, to get closer to release, but you resist touching yourself to last a little longer.

"You’re taking me so well…" he breathes and moans softly as he pounds into you. All you can muster in response is a whimper. Your moans bounce off the walls as you move your head to the side, your cheek now pressed against the floor. You stretch your arm out to rest on the floor above your head for comfort. 

"F-Fuck-! Feels… so good- Ah!" tears form in your eyes from the overstimulation. With one hand on your hip, he reaches out with the other to push your head down onto the floor. His balls slap against you as he keeps fucking you roughly. 

"Mmm-… So close-!" your voice is embarrassingly high as he continues thrusting into you. He starts to move deeper, not pulling out as far as he did before, making you feel really light-headed as you get closer to your release. 

"Me too-…" he keeps moving at the same rhythm, speed and in the same way as before, making you feel like you’re about to black out from your impending orgasm. You twitch as you ejaculate all over the hardwood floor, Whiskey’s name being the only coherent word that leaves your lips between your mumbles and moans. 

With a hitched breath, Whiskey pulls out and rubs his cock, painting your back with his cum. You breathe heavily as you shakily try to push yourself up, only to collapse back into the same position, just gathering your strength.