prompt: (Y/n) and Jack spar

warning: strong language, combat

word count: 1100

pronouns: gender-neutral

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second-person point of view. . .

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They say pride goeth before the fall. While it is true that someone acquainted with arrogance should count their days, or better yet reform, it is also true that a sickening pride comes from somewhere. For you, it came from years of intense study and practice that yielded what you would insist is rightful confidence.

His pride, however, seemed to be intrinsic to his very nature. It was one of the things you despised most about him. That, or his drawl and use of idioms that would make even the most theatrical southern stereotype pause. His weapon of choice is a whip for fuck's sake.

You attribute half of your enthusiasm to the rage that filled your veins every time you saw the smug grin adorn his lips. The other half, perhaps, was attributed to your pride--how certain you were that you could lay him out.

"This is just for training purposes," Ginger reminded you. Her words acted as an implicit request for you not to break any of his bones. Oh, you would like that; a snap that would bring you so much satisfaction. You smiled at her somewhat patronizingly. With a small sigh, she stepped back to observe.

"Of course." Your shoeless feet stepped up onto the padded blue mat precisely designed for close combat sparring. You watched carefully as your opponent followed suit. He had a wide stance with a relaxed body, not taking your little brawl seriously in the slightest.

"Don't worry, doll, I'll take it easy on ya." Jack's words, laced with flirtatious self-importance, were accompanied with a smug smirk and a wink. It made your heart stutter with anger. You forced a smile, feeling your fists clench on their own. 

He had a very unique way of getting under your skin like an insect. Maybe he knew the effect he had on you and he was purposely irritating you. Regardless of how intentional his behavior was, you would not pass up the opportunity to hit him. Hard.

Jack leans back, narrowly missing about three of your swings. With every punch you attempted to land, your feet glided across the floor to bring you closer to your opponent. He played defense at first, almost amused at your attacks until you pushed him to the edge of the mat.

He had to gain ground back, push you back somehow. Instead of dodging your next hit, he blocked it with his forearm. Without hesitation, his other hand flew in your direction. You jumped back to miss the collision. He saw an in and took a step forward to swing again.

You ducked under his arm, rising your leg to strike his ribs. One of his rough hands captured your ankle. With ease, he lifted your leg higher than it was meant to go, causing you to suddenly lose your balance. You fell to the mat but you managed to catch yourself before you lost too much composure.

He let out a small chuckle, which only fueled your fire. You swung yourself around to face Jack, who had gotten perhaps a step behind you. You shifted your weight onto your hands extend your legs forward. Your heels locked together once they were around his leg. You twist your body, making Jack tumble to the mat as you had.

You scrambled across the floor to climb over him. You grabbed his wrists, but it was a struggle to force them to the ground.

"Come on now, you're stronger than that," Jack teased in a condescending voice. He was infuriating. He could see the fury that was written cleanly across your face and the venom that came with each pant from your lips.

"You're cute when you get all worked up." Before you could pin him, or retort, he landed his feet to your stomach to toss you off him. You rolled onto your feet, swiftly bringing your heel down right beside his head. He managed to narrowly miss each strike.

In a heartbeat, he was on his feet again and rushed for you. You dodge one swing but saw an opening in his next. You dipped in, finding your collarbone against his upper arm. You held his forearm in place with one hand, the other coming to hold his opposite shoulder in place.

"Fuck!" He shouted as you brashly brought your knee to meet his stomach. You got three hits in before he recovered from the shock. You felt Jack grab your waist roughly, effectively lifting you off your feet. 

His intention was to plop you onto your back and keep you there. However, now that you did not need your legs to keep you up, they went to his neck. With your knees over his broad shoulders, you began to choke him out.

You jerk your body away from his grip, the force bringing you both, once again, to meet the mat. He was on his knees, leaned over at the mercy of your legs, while you were under him. For a brief moment, he was freed from the cage you held him in. He was about to respond, but you beat him to the punch. Literally. Your fist collided with his face harshly and he stumbled back.

You leaped up and pushed him to the mat. You gabbed your knee to his throat, angling your leg so that your foot kept his non-dominant arm down. The other leg did the same but focused on his dominant hand. Your fingers were swiftly wound in his curly hair to keep his head still. You drew back another punch, but you did not execute it. Instead, you waited for him to yield.

"Alright, ya got me," Jack spoke through short breaths. "You win, doll." With your chest heaving, you stood up and walked off the mat.

"Next time don't hold back," You told him without sparing a glance in his direction. "Maybe then you might actually stand a chance, Agent Whiskey." You returned to put your shoes on and slip back into your jacket as if nothing had happened. Ginger gave you a meek smile, seeing the pride and satisfaction that radiated off you.

Jack did not get up. He lay on the mat for a moment longer. He felt a burning sensation itch across his face where you had punched him. Damn had that hurt. Your words echoed in his head: next time. He grinned with excitement. The sight of you on top of him was not half bad. Not bad at all, he supposed.

They say pride goeth before the fall. Eventually, it does, even in the case of the mighty Jack Daniels. But perhaps this was not quite the type of fall the old proverb was referencing.