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palioom · 8 months

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bull ride

summary: out at a bar, jack watches you ride a mechanical bull and he can't wait to go home so you can ride the real thing.

pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader word count: 2.0k warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but a lot of nicknames); some swearing; dirty talk; unprotected p in v; public sex (kinda); spanking; jack being lowkey cringe

• masterlist •

This had been supposed to be just a nice little evening out at the bar in town. Just a few drinks, some food and each other's company.

What Jack hadn’t expected to happen was to watch his girl ride a mechanical bull while he had the hardest boner of his life. He hadn’t known that the bar had installed one of these things recently and he also hadn’t known that she was quite good at riding it.

Though he did know she was quite good at riding other things.

Jack watched her from his place at their table, sipping his whiskey as she was thrown back and forth, almost effortlessly moving with the mechanical beast. A laugh on her face the whole time, he swore she gave him a nasty little look whenever she faced him again, paired with a wink.

A wink that only made his dick throb harder.

Adjusting himself in his jeans, he stared at her bouncing breasts without any shame, a small hiss leaving him as he imagined her riding him like this. Moving back before she slid to the front again, pretending to wave a cowboy hat around with a loud laugh while the people around her cheered her on.

What a goddamn sight that was for his old cowboy heart. Seeing his girl ride a damn metal bull was as close as he’d ever get to see her ride the real thing.

She lasted an impressively long time, almost a minute long before she eventually got thrown off. Giggling and laughing all the while, her hair tousled and her face red when she came back to him. Adjusting her clothes as she walked.

And knowing immediately that he was horny as hell as she sat down opposite of him, the biggest grin on her face.

What a teasing little thing she was.

“I kinda wanna go again.” She said, sipping her own drink. The twinkle in her eye was playul, letting his blood boil hot.

“I know a different bull you can ride at home, sugar.” Jack replied with a wide grin, his dark mustache stretched wide over his white teeth. He shifted in place, his cock uncomfortably straining against the zipper of his jeans. “That one’s gonna be even more fun.”

A grin that matched his spread on her features, emptying the last of her drink while waving someone over to pay.

They had barely made it a quarter of the way home when he had to pull over, grabbing her by the chin to pull her into a hungry kiss, his fingers digging into her skin. Her hand reached out to palm him through his jeans, a low groan escaping him and tumbling right into her mouth.

He reluctantly pulled back, only to motion for her to get out and get into the truck bed of the Bronco. Needing her on his dick right now, riding him like she had that damn bull. The image still flickered in front of his eyes, the way she moved on that thing, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Wanted to be a cowgirl too, huh?” Jack asked, when he sat down at the edge of the truck bed, his hands on her waist pulling her closer. Their lips met again, his tongue slipping into her mouth while her arms snaked around the back of his neck, almost knocking his hat off of him.

“Maybe.” She giggled in between kisses, feeling his hands move under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her hot skin.

Who would have known this would get him so hot and bothered? Just by holding onto that thing like her damn life had depended on it.

Well, in a way she definitely had known. It was one of the reasons she had suggested this bar over the other ones they frequented.

“Let’s see how long you can last on this bull, pretty cowgirl.”

His hands moved to her jeans, working the button open before pulling down the zipper. Thank fuck it was summer, Jack really couldn’t have waited all the way home if it was any colder than right now.

Her pussy was already wet when he let his hand wander into her pants, rubbing over the slick, wet spot that had formed on her panties. She whimpered against his lips, breaking from him to look down at where his hand vanished, finding her clit through her underwear and pressing against it with one thick finger.

Languid movements, chuckling at how her breath hitched in her throat and her hips bucked into his touch. Rubbing over it again and again, enjoying the sweet sounds that left her, gasping and moaning, her feet shuffling apart.

“Jack, please.” She moaned, her lips finding his again in a sloppy kiss, her hands cupping his cheeks. “Don’t tease me, please, baby.”

His finger pressed down harder before he moved his hand back, biting her lip when she whined in protest. Going from cocky to putty in his hands so quickly.

Such a sweet thing, helping him take off her pants, her own hands palming his hard cock, making him groan.

“You’ve been teasin’ me the whole time you were on that damn thing.” He said, yanking her underwear down her legs while she continued kissing him. “C’mon, darlin’, you know this bull needs that cowgirl to ride him.”

A giggle left her, helping him to quickly work open his pants and move them down far enough over his ass that his cock sprang free. Hard and angry, in some desperate need for attention.

Jack hoisted her up, her legs straddling his narrow hips. He really didn’t care that they were on the side of the road and any passing car could see them do this, they were practically in the middle of nowhere anyways.

Taking his hat off of his head, he placed it on hers with a smirk, his hand finding her hips again and squeezing the warm flesh hard. How pretty she looked like this, watching her take his cock in hand to line herself up with him before she slowly sank down.

A guttural sound left her, enjoying the way he stretched her open more and more with every inch, until she sat in his lap.

“Atta girl, lookin’ so pretty takin’ my dick.” He chuckled, giving her ass a sharp smack which made her gasp. “C’mon, show me up close how you rode that thing.”

As she started to move, bouncing in his lap while bracing herself on his broad chest, he leaned back onto his elbows, enjoying the show. Mesmerized by how his dick vanished inside of her tight pussy over and over again, glistening in the low lights.

It made it hard to not just cum instantly, her perfect tits jiggling with every movement, her head thrown back. All while she kept making those noises, unabashed and loud in the silence of the night.

“Oh, fuck, Jack.” She moaned, one of her hands moving to her own breast, kneading it, rolling her nipple between two fingers. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

He chuckled, just watching her work.

“You liked ridin’ that bull more than this one, didn’t you, sugar?” The words were meant to egg her on, her hips stuttering momentarily before falling back into a rhythm, faster now. “Probably still thinkin’ ‘bout that huge piece of metal between your legs.”

She whimpered, his words only getting her closer to the edge. Changing the angle just slightly, she finally found more friction against her clit while his cock dragged along all the wonderful parts inside of her pussy. So thick and deep, each bounce better than the last.

Fuck, she wished he was fucking her right now, pounding her into the truck bed, knowing he would make it fast but hard with how worked up he was.

It was a miracle he hadn’t busted inside of her yet.

“No, Jack.”

He chuckled, one of his hands reaching out to smooth over her hip and down to her ass, caressing the spot where it had come down harshly. Only to do so again, loving the noises that left her lips.

“You better not, the only bull you need to ride is right here, sugar.” He said, helping her movements by guiding them once they started to falter.

Completely lost in the feeling of his cock, eyes closed and bouncing on him like her life depended on it.

“Just work it, baby, just like that.” The praise made her feel hot, sweat breaking on her skin as she continued to focus on the feeling of him inside of her. “Gimme a yeehaw, sweet cowgirl, c’mon!”

It was ridiculous, a breathless giggle leaving her as she opened her eyes and looked at him. She loved the smirk on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Still, she obliged, taking one hand off his chest to lift his hat off of her head, just like she had pretended to earlier.

“Yeehaw, baby!” She yelled, making him laugh beneath her, wishing he could take a picture of this. Her, against the starry sky in the middle of nowhere, waving his hat around.

Maybe he should do that another time.

“Atta girl, keep ridin’ it, show that bull who’s the boss!”

Another harsh smack on her ass, the area red and stinging but simply adding to the feeling.

Jack could be so ridiculous sometimes, but she enjoyed it, grinding down into him harder.

“This bull’s got some stamina.” She breathed out, nothing but a whiny whisper. “Fuck, I’m close.”

He sat up again, his hands pushing her down into his lap, feeling her grip him tight when his lips found hers.

“Soak it, sugar,” Jack groaned against her lips, teetering right on the edge, “be a good little cowgirl for me and soak my cock with that talented pussy.”

His fingers found her clit, hurling her right over the edge with just the smallest touch, her arms wrapping around his neck once again as her pussy convulsed around him, breathless moans leaving her.

It made her head spin, the intensity of her orgasm and as her hips faltered, he kept guiding her movements, his fingers still working on her clit. Too much at once, biting his lip as he finally fell over as well.

Pressing her down into his lap, his dick spilling deep inside of her with a deep groan. He could never get enough of that feeling of her tight pussy.

His arms encircled her waist, keeping her close as she slowly caught her breath, slumped against him. That was too much of a workout tonight, first her session on the mechanical bull and now her rodeo on this one.

“What a ride.” She chuckled, leaning back to look at him. Taking his hat off of her, she placed it back on his head. “How d’you enjoy this rodeo, cowboy?”

Jack laughed, squeezing her tight.

What a filthy little thing.

“Never enjoyed bein’ ridden more than with this damn fine cowgirl on top of me.” He answered, giving her a little pat on the hip, signalling her to move off of him. If they were home already, she could have stayed sitting on his cock all night long but unfortunately they still had a bit of a drive in front of them.

She understood, moving off of him, still smiling but missing the feeling of him inside of her already.

Jack helped her get dressed again after he had put his own pants back in place, steadying her as she stood on wobbly legs.

“Which one did you enjoy more, darlin’?” He asked once they were finished and back in the car again. “There’s only one right answer here, sugar, so choose carefully.”

She giggled, pretending to think for a moment as he started the Bronco and took off.

“The mechanical one was wild.” She said, seeing him raise an eyebrow, just the corner of his lips curling up. “But nothing’s better than the real deal, don’t worry, Jack.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head.

“Nothin' better than a real bull to ride, that’s true, sugar.” Looking over at her briefly, she could still see the mischief in his eyes, promising nothing good. “But you should get a few more lessons in, cowgirl. There’s a lot to learn.”

She rolled her eyes, one of her hands laying on his thigh.

“And I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to teach me “

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 10 months

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VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker.

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s.

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage.

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley.

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you.

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.��

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind -

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door.

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper.

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile.

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen.

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit.

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls.

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug.

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity.

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat.

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar.

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights.

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours.

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t.

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes.

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It��s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust.

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion.

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio.

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late.

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

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psychedelic-ink · 9 months

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 8.2k

series summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

chapter summary: you're still heartbroken but that doesn't stop you from attending your friends' bachelorette party— how were you supposed to know the male stripper that she hired would be the one and only whiskey.

warnings: angst, grief, mention of the loss of a child, enemies to lovers ✨ v i b e s ✨, semi-public sex, angst with happy ending, stripping, one time use of good boy (i was in a mood don't @ me), praise kink, oral (fem receiving), piv

a/n: not gonna lie with the trip I took and my laptop breaking when I returned I feel like I've been working on this chapter for months. Hopefully, it turned out okay! Thank you for all the support you've shown for stripper!jack it was much appreciated and made me so happy to see everyone so enthusiastic 💖

[stripper!jack masterlist]

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

Jack has a lot of regrets in his life.

The night is warm, yet his skin is cold like ice. His legs feel shaky, his steps echoing and blending with the stretched-out shadows of the buildings. Cars whizz past him, a couple of cabs as well, but he doesn’t hail any of them. He’d rather complete his walk of shame back to his apartment. It’s only fitting after the stunt he pulled.

He wasn’t expecting you to look at him the same way Vivienne used to. Full of admiration and love. There was a certain blindness to it, like he could do no wrong, but he could. Jack could do many wrongs.

He shakes his head, the yearning in his heart growing with every painful beat. He misses her. His Viv. When Jack thinks of her, he can only remember their last moments together. Her stomach round with his child—a baby boy, he later on learned—her cheeks glowing, her hair in a high messy bun. She kissed him on the cheek that night. Hugging him tight. Maybe she had a feeling. He shouldn’t have let her go.

A car honks as it passes him by, screeching laughter coming from the inside. He glares at the taillights of the car, two red eyes glaring back at him.

With you, Jack thought he just liked the attention. You were shy, clumsy, unfiltered. He could tell what you were thinking just by looking at you. He thought. . . the growing feeling in his stomach would stop if he just slept with you. If he fucked you nice and hard that it would all go away.

But the deed was done, and his feelings remained.

Jack could see how badly he’d hurt you, but he didn’t see any way around it. He had to go. He had to leave. He was a coward and he was afraid. Looking at you, so happy and pliant with his spent dripping down your stomach— he just couldn’t stay. All Jack could see was Viv, her smile before she left to go get the milk he’d forgotten to buy because he had an exhausting night of stripping. It was the day before his last. He was quitting, he’d found a job at the distillery, something more stable he could do for when the baby came. And for her.

He stops and stares.

He feels sick. His mouth floods with saliva and bile, his stomach churns violently, he sees a tree nearby and leans over, emptying everything. His knees shake. While his throat burns and the stench breaks his nose, images of that night come to mind. How he got anxious after the first hour. How he called and called and called. No answer. How the police couldn’t reach him because he was constantly dialing Vivienne’s number. He remembers the way he stuck his bare feet into his boots to go and search for her, only to come face to face with two policemen. The eyes can be quite loud. Or maybe they were always loud for him. His heart sank into his chest. She was gone. His baby boy was gone.

He hurls again, the leaves of the tree creating a symphonic backdrop accompanied by the gentle caress of the wind. He didn’t have anything else in his stomach anymore. Only bile coming out. It tastes like poison.

Jack remains in the same position—half bent over, hand braced against the grooves of the thick tree. His eyes are teary. He thinks it has little to do with his throat burning and everything to do with Vivienne. He misses her. Misses her scent, her feel under his fingertips, kissing her swelled stomach for good luck before starting the day.

He misses all of that, yet, he aches for you. He feels like shit for leaving you like that. Despite all of what he’d said and done, Jack doesn’t want you to hate him.

Slowly, he raises. His grief clouds his vision. He can’t see the mess he made even though he’s staring right at it. Some sensible part of him is hoping no one saw. Or filmed him—a fear he had developed with the increasing popularity of Instagram and TikTok and whatever the fuck is popular now.

His feet start moving again, the sound of his boots clicking against the pavement, but his mind is still at the bottom of the tree. Still lurching over, still vomiting. Thinking of her.

Jack has a lot of regrets in his life. Now he has added another.

You.

Jack is a morning person—normally.

But not today. Not when his head hurts like hell and his muscles ache in such a profound way that no matter how aggressively he gives himself a rub down it doesn’t go away. The sky is clear and he dares to glare at the sun. Staring until his eyes burn, tearing up right before he pulls his gaze away from the fiery orb hovering in space.

He’d very much like to be the one hovering in space right about now.

The club is pretty much empty. A couple of guys sitting here and there sipping their coffee while Vodka—aka Steve—hugs the pool and dips down. Jack is not a fan of the poll. He prefers to sensually dance, he doesn’t like the sudden metallic chill that touches his burning skin during a routine. He heads to the bar where Tequila is restocking the fridge. Your seat is empty. Jack's heart clenches at the sight.

“Hey there old timer,” he greets him. “You know where our firecracker regular is?”

“No,” he grunts, his shoulders raising. “Why the hell would I know?”

Tequila’s sole eyebrow lifts along with the corner of his lip. His eyes soften with amusement, and just by the look, Jack knows he’s seconds to being incredibly, infuriatingly annoyed with the other man. Before Tequila can say anything, he waves him off, heading towards the dressing room. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Even if he did, Tequila would be the last person Jack would want to converse with about such a thing. He’s still feeling guilty about the whole ordeal. His brain screaming at him to give you a call, or write a letter or something apologizing.

Of course, he does none of that.

Instead, he gets ready. His eyes swiftly move over each and every outfit he has. Most of them are cowboy attire. Today he’s not really feeling it. He wants to be someone else and a change in outfit seems like the perfect way to go about it. He quickly tugs off his shirt and kicks off his pants, his chest and legs bare, he looks over the selection of clothes. His fingers graze over a red suit. It’s soft and light under his touch, and to accompany it, he picks a copper and black animal print shirt. It’s way more flashy compared to his usual outfits but he felt like it. He wants to look the opposite of what he’s feeling.

The shirt is smooth like butter, cool against his sweat-slick skin. His only complaint would be the pointy shoes. It always rubs the back of his ankle the wrong way, leaving it hurting and bloody.

Looking into the mirror, he slathers his fingers with a generous amount of hair gel and brushes the soft strands back. They curl slightly at the ends, sticking to his nape. When he’s satisfied, he drags a comb through them, making sure that everything is in place and slicked back.

Just as he’s about to leave, Tequila pops his head through the door. “You have a call on line three.”

“A’right, thanks, Teq.”

The younger man promptly leaves and Jack reaches for the landline. The club is probably the only place where landlines still exist. He takes a seat, his palm flat on his thigh. A small sigh parts his lips, his body already feeling drained. Jack swallows thickly before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hello!” a chipper voice comes through the speakers of the phone. “This is Whiskey, right? My sister is getting married and we’re throwing her a bachelorette party and we wanted a stripper to liven things up a bit.”

Jack smiles despite himself, “Of course, don’t know a better way to get a party goin’. When were you thinkin’ of havin’ it?”

“This Saturday. Is that okay?” the voice suddenly sounds panicked, as if she might’ve been too late in asking. “Also it’s going to be at our house, I can send the address over.”

“Sounds good, sugar,” the pet name tastes like iron in his mouth. He’s not sure why. “Let me give you my cell and you can text me all the details.”

You’re heartbroken, poor beating muscle ripped apart and stomped on while still beating. Yet, the world still makes its lazy routes around the sun. The people around you none the wiser of the knot lodged in your throat, the tears that constantly linger in the corner of your eyes, burning.

Jack certainly left his ever-lasting impression on you. You’re not sure what you could’ve done for a different outcome. He was so soft with you, so tender— then the switch had been flipped. His rage twisted at his lips, swirled in his eyes, and just like that he was gone.

You didn’t tell anyone about it. Just the thought of explaining everything exhausted you. Besides, you didn’t want to listen to your friends bad-mouthing him. You were protective of him. You held on to the hope that there was an explanation there. A reason that would soften your heart and everything would work out.

But days passed. You didn’t visit the club even though you missed Tequila and you never heard from Jack.

Your anger festered like an irritated wound. The hurt, the sadness, all of it shifted into an emotion that was easier to handle, an emotion that was blinding and made you think of little else. If the world was adamant about moving forward, so would you.

Your friend, Betty, was getting married in about a month and luckily, she was dead set on having the most unhinged bachelorette party ever. You’d make the most of it, promising yourself it would be the perfect distraction.

The wind blows warm, the trees that surround your friend's house dancing wildly as muffled music echoes into the blue-purple sky. You feel the breeze playing with the ends of your dress, lifting and teasing the fabric up your legs. You suck a sharp breath. Your heart beating in your throat ready to jump out of the bone and skin. Now that you’re here, staring at the imposing architecture —you often forgot that Betty was much more comfortable than you— all your bravado that built in your mind is dwindling. You take a step, then another. It will be okay. You’ll have a good time with your friends and sleep soundly tonight with alcohol lingering in your veins.

You wish, for once, things would go as planned.

“You called for a stripper?”

In a weak attempt to hide the very obvious tremble in your voice, you swallow, again and again. Betty is absolutely radiant, her shapely brows coming together while giving you a startled look. She shrugs. “I mean. . . It’s a bachelorette party, of course, we hired a stripper. Why the big reaction?” Before you can answer she lets out a overexaggerated gasp and brings her hang to her chest. “Have you been a prude all this time baby?!”

You snort at the question and shake your head, “No you idiot. I just. . . It’s okay, it’s fine. I just didn’t know.”

“You’ve been so secretive lately,” she remarks, sucking the cherry of her cocktail between her lips. It reminds you of Jack, a longing tingling at your skin. She chews on the juicy fruit and just as you’re thinking of an excuse to get out of this cross interrogation, her eyes snap to something behind you. Her eyes sparkle, a wide grin stretching across her face. “Wow. . . “ she says wistfully.

You turn to see what got her so worked up, your eyes grow wide and you swear—swear your heart stops beating at that very moment.

It’s Jack.

Fucking hell.

Everything comes rushing back. Every ounce of emotion you tried so hard to shove deep inside bursting from every orifice. Your eyes sting, the know in your throat larger than ever. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too busy talking to Rachel, Betty’s sister, and maid of honor. You’re shaking like a chihuahua. What the hell is he doing here and what the hell are you supposed to do about it

“Whatever it is that’s going in with you, I’m sure a dance from that cowboy will certainly help,” Betty says, unaware that all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, an awkward chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Before Betty can say anything, and before Jack spots you, you disappear between the halls. Your steps echo against the smooth marble. You’re not sure what your plan is since the bathroom was in the opposite direction of where you stormed off to. Some part of you wants to leave, perhaps run away screaming, but you know you won’t be doing that. It’s Betty’s night. And even though she has a habit of peeving you, you love her and want to be with her on her special night. Besides, she seemed really excited when she saw Jack. You can’t blame her, who wouldn’t be?

He was as handsome as ever. His cowboy hat snug atop his head, shirt hugging his biceps as he strutted inside. You knew that walk. It was his stripper walk, he told you about it once, how he would move differently even when doing something as mundane as drinking water, or walking.

Your steps come to a halt, the music of the party nothing but muffled, silent melodies now. You want to stay but you’re not sure how you’ll react seeing him dancing again. Memories come flooding back, reminding you of the love and hurt you felt in the short time that you got to know him. You wonder what his reaction would be like when he inevitably sees you. Would he act like the two you never met? Or would he just tilt his hat and greet you as if you were neighbors that barely talked?

No matter his reaction, you have no doubt that it is going to sting.

You take a breath, furrow your brows, and turn on your heel. If anyone should be hiding it should be him, not you. You ignore the quick beat of your heart and head back towards the party.

There’s a stage, and an actual, god damn squeaky clean stage.

You knew that Rachel was going all out with the bachelorette party and you knew Betty and her family were. . . Comfortable, but wasn’t this a bit much?

Seated between Rachel and Betty, both sisters gaze eagerly toward the stage as Jack ascends the stairs and positions himself at the center, his back turned to the audience. You hold your breath. It almost feels like you’re peeping on him. Hopefully, he won’t spot you among the crowd, you don’t want to look like you’re stalking him.

Jack rolls his shoulders and relaxes his neck, tilting his head to one side and then to the other. Betty straightens in her seat, green eyes wide. Finally, he looks up, and with that, the music begins.

Have his performances always been so spiritual? There’s something about the way he moves that is slower compared to his usual routine. He turns and your eyes instantly drop to his crotch, the leather of the belt he’s wearing framing his bulge. You swallow thickly, heat pooling under your cheeks. Your thighs clench together with need. Damn it. You can't help but feel the tender ache he left behind while dragging himself in and out of you.

He rolls his hips and unbuckles his belt, which coaxes whistles and screams from the crowd. In a single fluid motion, Jack pulls the leather from the belt loops and uses it as a makeshift whip, cracking it in the air. His dark eyes search the crowd, presumably for the bride. Your eyes slowly drift to the crown glimmering on top of Betty’s head, your gaze moving back to Jack right after.

Your entire body stills, your breath catches in your throat.

Your eyes lock with one another, his dark brows shooting up. He’s still moving with the music, hips swaying as he drags his fingers down sensually over each and every button. You press your lips together, wanting to tear your gaze away but also feeling as if it’s impossible. His breath hitches, unnoticed by everyone except for you.

After what feels like an eternity, Jack drags his gaze from you to Betty, shooting the bride-to-be a toothy smile.

“Now ain’t this a shame,” he drawls with a wink. “What a lovely woman to be snatched so soon.”

Betty’s grin widens and you can’t help but feel a bit light-hearted. You’re glad that Jack is at least good at his job. He always makes people feel good.

Jack begins his descent from the stairs and her cheeks flush. You’re as stiff as a board, some logical part of your brain screaming at you to push your chair back, add some more distance between what’s about to happen. His all-too-familiar scent fills your nostrils and you’re glued to where you are. Jack doesn’t so much as glance at you as he straddles Betty’s thighs, dipping low and arching his back as he comes back up, lips barely grazing her.

It’s hard not to be reminded of the first dance he’d ever done for you. Your chest too tight for your heart, your body feeling too small to be holding every organ in. You want to tear your gaze away but you feel trapped by the cheering and the clapping. In trance, you lift your hands and add to the noise, a small whoop leaving your lips.

You swear Jack cringes. It’s such a small movement, just a small jump in the muscle of his jaw and a small sneer turning at the corner of his mouth.

Good, you think, you don’t want to be the only uncomfortable one here.

Briefly, his eyes meet yours, a flicker of challenge in his eyes. You gape at the stare, does he think you clapped on purpose? To annoy him? He’s unbelievable.

But no matter what your intentions were, his eyes shift back to Betty, finger digging into his shirt with a self-satisfied smirk. He straightens and tears the fabric, the sound of buttons hitting the floors hidden by the loud sensual music. You gape at the sight of his bare chest. Betty seems equally as shocked, her eyes rake his chest, hungry.

Then, ever so gently, Jack takes a hold of her wrists and places her hand over his pecks, slithering back so her fingers move down his torso.

You weren’t jealous before, but you can’t deny the fire that suddenly flares in your stomach. An ugly feeling fills your insides, clutches at your heart. Sharp nails bury themselves into the soft, tender muscle. He doesn’t look at you as he shifts on his feet, turning while rolling his hips. Betty laughs, her arms barely caging the width of his waist. Jack sinks down and guides her hands to his crotch, Betty flushes when he feels him, her smile still wide.

He unbuckles his jeans and the crowd screams, meanwhile, you’re left dizzy, hands feeling numb as you clap. What the hell are you supposed to do in this situation? Leave? Continue to pretend that Jack is nothing more than a sexy stranger? Luckily you don’t have to think too much of it because he steps forward, leaving Betty’s arms to fall limp to her sides. You don’t know how, but as he walks towards the stage, the denim slips lower and lower, until the start of the swell of his ass is visible and his back dimples are in full view. Gifted from Venus herself.

“I’m gonna need a volunteer,” he drawls into the microphone, the honeyed voice making every hair on your body stand with attention. Jack slowly turns on his heel, eyes glued to the bride-to-be, making it clear to the entire room who the volunteer should be. Your eyes shift to Betty, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, shapely brows knitted tightly together.

You realize, with horror, that she’s planning something.

Before the thought can become something tangible, something that you can mull over, you find yourself being pushed forward. Your wrist yanked upward by a gentle, yet firm, hand.

“We have a volunteer right here,” Betty calls out cheerfully. When you stare at her, wide-eyed and in shock, she winks at you. She mouths the words; have fun.

No, you want to scream, you certainly won’t be having fun. Alas, you see no way around it as all the women around you begin to cheer, your ass being edged out of your seat by sheer volume alone. Your eyes find Jack’s as you take the first step. His lips are curled in a wicked smile, an expression that doesn’t reach the darkness of his eyes. You swallow. The noise fades when he extends a hand, a silent ask for trust that you’re not that willing to give. But you do. You lay yourself in the middle of his palm and he wraps his fingers around it, guiding you to the stage. Lights flicker around you, some white, some colorful.

You stand like a doll in the middle of the stage, his body firm behind you, chest brushing your back. A shudder that you’re sure he won’t miss rolls down your spine. “Relax,” he murmurs into your ear. Involuntarily, you scoff. “You can leave,” he reminds you, nudging your arms to your sides and dragging the pads of his fingers across the delicate skin of your upper arms. His lips touch your cheek. “But that might raise some questions, darlin’.”

Damn it, he’s smooth.

You can’t really answer with everyone’s eyes glued on you both, so you make a sound that you hope expresses something along the lines of; I’ll stay but not for you, dickhead. You have doubts he got the message though. You assume you not running and cussing him out is probably a good enough of a sign for him to continue.

Your pulse skyrockets as his hands find your hips, prompting you to sway along with him. It doesn’t help that you’re stiff as a board but you manage to follow his lead. The thick outline of his cock brushes against your ass, and your cheeks burn. Your body betrays you as it grows hotter and hotter, the seam of your underwear growing damp with every move. He intertwines his fingers within your own, lifting your arm and spinning you around so you face him. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, he dips. Your breathing hitches as he comes back up, mouth an inch away from your body, inhaling as if you were completely bare to him.

Your knees start to shake. His hands slide down your back and nudge your legs apart before hooking afoot around your ankle. You find yourself sprawled upon the stage, knees bent with the soles of your shoes planted against the smooth floor. He towers over you, intimidating while standing tall between your legs. Jack doesn’t look down, eyes almost predatory as he observes the crowd. With a grin, he claps and hypes them all up. Both worry and excitement entangle around your heart, suffocating and squeezing your lungs.

Confusion crosses your face when he turns instead, but whatever you’re feeling is short-lived. He drops himself to the floor, long legs threading yours, he flips you both, and suddenly, his body is flushed against your own. Your heart skips a beat, arousal pooling deep in your gut. You feel every inch as he grinds himself against you, fingers cupping your throat, mouth skimming your cheek—he inhales and you feel teeth grazing your skin.

A moan parts your lips, a moan so silent that it’s drowned by the music and cheers, but not silent enough that it goes unnoticed by him. Every muscle grows tense. He smiles, something wicked and taunting reverberating out of him, another grind provoking you to raise your hips. Which you do, begrudgingly. Because you’ve missed him. Despite the anger. . . you still miss him, miss the weight of his body, the layering of his words.

“I’ve missed you too, darlin’,” he whispers, his breath warm over your skin. The sentence sends a coldness down your spine that seeps into the very fabric of your being. A whimper shakes your throat. His lips move, but not a word comes out. You’re surprised to notice that you’re disappointed with the fact.

You're being flipped over again, thick thighs straddling your waist as he comes to an almost plank position, your noses nearly brushing against one another. Jack grins and whips his upper body back, hand pushing back his hat and threading his hair. Thrusting into the air, he slides a palm down his torso. You watch in awe as his hand disappears beneath his pants, briefly grabbing himself before pulling his hand back. With the same hand, he holds your throat, leaning closer. The crowd goes wild. You hear the blood rush in your ear.

The music comes to a close, the melody fading into the distance. Your eyes meet, and just as it does, a loud cheer bursts from the crowd.

You’re both panting heavily, two sets of eyes eating the other up, engraving every detail to memory. The color of his eyes are darker than you remember, his lips a bit paler compared to your memory. He looks like he’s about to say something. You beat him to it.

“Screw you,” you mouth at him, nostrils flared and gaze becoming one of steel. He’s startled but not surprised. You’re basically scrambling off the stage when he moves away, and disappear into the halls. You don’t care if it raises suspicion. You don’t care if Betty demands answers later on. You just want to vanish into thin air.

This isn’t how you expected this day to go. You were expecting to have fun, maybe get a bit tipsy and go home to relieve yourself further with the help of your vibrator. You, in no way, were expecting to run into Jack. It didn’t help that Betty volunteered you to go on stage. There’s an endless pit in your stomach now because of it.

The halls seem endless. You walk and walk, not really having a clear vision of where you want to go. Maybe you should leave. The sound of the party is still roaring in the background. You wonder if Jack’s still dancing. You wonder if he stared as you left. Some part of you desperately wants to pick a fight, your nails itching to be buried in a soft surface—

You should leave. That’s the logical thing to do. And after everything you’ve been through, you’re not that keen about listening to your heart.

You turn on your heel, heart ramming wildly in your chest, ribcage barely contaminating the muscle violent with emotion.

Sadly, something warm and firm presses into your face—hard. Pain blossoms from the base of your nose, spreading throughout your face. You yelp and take a step back, the moment feeling oddly familiar as you rub a palm over your aching nose.

“Sorry,” you hear him say, and finally your gaze lifts. You see him. Jack. Standing there like a kicked puppy, his hands somewhere between wanting to lay on his sides and reach out for you to soothe the pain. He does the former when your eyes flit between said hands and eyes, a pang of instant guilt overwhelming the color of them. “Are you a’right?”

“You,” you say, the word bouncing against the back of gritted teeth. You point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t get to ask me that.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters. “At least let me do this since it was my fault.”

His hand disappears into his jacket and he smoothly pulls out a tissue. He takes a step forward and your eyes go wide when you feel him pressing the soft material against your nose. You hadn’t felt the bleeding. Feeling slightly disoriented, your fingers curl around his hand, thinking he’ll move away so you can clog the bleeding yourself. He makes no such move. The heat from his fingers seeps into your skin even with the tissue in between.

“I think that’s enough,” you say with a glare. “I’m fine now.” Jack finally lets go and you detest how cold you feel without his touch. You give your nose one last rub before lowering your hand, peeling the tissue away. At a loss, you stuff it into your purse.

“What do you say?”

The question catches you off guard, your brows furrow and he repeats himself. Slower this time. “What. Do. You. Say.”

“What—” The tips of your ears burn and you swear if you were in a cartoon your air would be forming a spike right about now. “Are you expecting a damn thank you?!”

“Perhaps,” he tuts. “Or maybe I just wanna talk and I’m lookin’ for a gateway to do so.”

“Getting me angry isn’t the way to do that,” you inhale a sharp breath. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He takes a step, crowding you until your back is pressed snugly against the wall. Your breath catches in your throat, your anger and frustrations from earlier dwindling upon feeling his warm breath ghosting your cheek. His hand finds purchase over the empty spot right near your ear. You can almost taste him on your tongue. Involuntarily, you inch closer and your regret is immediate when you see the twitch of his lips. He tilts his head. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something, anything. They’re so dark. Almost black.

With a sudden jerk of your head, you pull back, a thud echoing where your skull meets the wall, “What do you want?” you hiss. “A quick fuck?”

The poison beneath your words startles even you. His eyes go wide.

He doesn’t move away though.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he rasps, voice dropping. He slips a leg between your own, your spine becoming a stick with the sudden jolt of electricity snapping through your body. His thigh firm and warm against your sex. When your hands grip his arms despite you, he grins. “But it seems like you wouldn’t mind it.”

No. No, you wouldn’t. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Why?” you gasp as he pushes his leg further up, heat coiling in your stomach. You squeeze his biceps, and when you meet his eyes, he gives you a questioning gaze. “Why are you taunting me? Is it really that fun to string me along?”

Jack attempts to pull back but your grip constricts. He remains, comes closer even, your bodies impossibly close. His hand slides down to your waist, thumb drawing slow, soothing circles. “I’m weak,” he answers simply. Like it’s meant to explain everything. “I’t not a matter of stringing you along or to taunt, darlin’. I just can’t keep away.”

“I don’t want you to keep away,” you breathe, voice desperate and hoarse. “I just want you to explain, Jack. I want to understand.”

You were telling the truth. You did want to understand. You want to see for yourself if he was worth forgiving or not, if whatever had gone through his head that prompted him to leave you in the middle of the night made sense. Even then—Even with the off chance that it does make sense, you still might find it hard to forgive him.

Time stands still, the air heavy with your unanswered plea. You feel the tremor of his hand. He chews his bottom lip vigorously, contemplating his fight or flight response. It’s brief, but your gaze drops to his lips. So full, the bottom one plump from being abused between sharp teeth. Your tongue darts to lick your own lip, mimicking how you would soothe the ache of the tender muscle. A mistake, you’re quick to realize, because instead of explaining, he tempts your desires, crashing your mouths together, licking where you had just not moments ago.

You surrender to him quicker than you thought. His tongue slips between your lips, tasting you, urging you to part for him further. You do. He traces every inch of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, pushing deeper. Heat licking the base of your spine, you grind down, the solid drag of his thigh against your cunt a delicious friction.

“Jack,” you pant, he nips at your chin, his gaze finding your own. “Fuck, that feels nice.”

“‘M about to make you feel even nicer,” he answers with a sultry drawl. Before your brain can register, he’s on his knees, bunching up your dress. He pulls down your underwear, leaving it dangling just a bit below your knees. You hold your breath as he inches closer. Hot breath ghosting your damp folds. He lays a tentative kiss over your mouth, a bit of tongue poking between his lips. When he looks up you’re mesmerized, dark lashes heavily framing his eyes.

Jack doesn’t say a word as he begins his feast. He’s a man starved. Mouth and tongue leisurely moving between the delicate lips of your pussy and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves that crown it. Your knees buckle. Thankfully, he keeps your hips firm against the wall, hand splayed wide over your thighs. Your moans are hushed, short gasps of air that fills your lungs rapidly. The aquiline curve of his nose bumps against your clit as he ventures deeper, tongue tracing your fluttering entrance. He retraces your opening, his hum falling on your skin.

You lift your hips off the wall, chasing the warmth of his mouth. He licks you with fat strokes, tongue flat, he follows the seam of your heat. You push your fingers through the damp, soft locks that frame the back of his head. He growls and brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles. The motion sends you into a frenzy. Eyes closing, you thrust against his pointed tongue. You swear he smiles as he fucks you shallowly with it, your orgasm quickly building to something indescribable. You tug at his hair, pulling him off of you.

The sight takes you by surprise.

His eyes are glazed over, only lust and need swirling in them. Your gaze follows the opening of his lips, a gasp parting them while his thumbs stroke the heated skin of your thighs. His lips glisten under the dimmed light, mustache soaked with the pure essence of you. Jack clears his throat before he speaks, not breaking eye contact as his tongue swipes sensually over his bottom lip. “Use me,” he breathes heavily, voice nothing but gravel. “Take what you need, darlin’.”

You note the tell-tale signs of losing control. His words warm your stomach. Something primal and possessive taking over. You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb right above the tender skin that resides right under his eye. As you drag the finger down, you make a point of grazing your nail. His breath hitches and your eyes go wide. Your chest heaves, breathing suddenly the hardest thing you can do.

“You enjoy seein’ me on my knees, sugar?” he asks, a weak tease to his tone. You don’t answer.

“Touch yourself,” you say instead, voice soft contrary to the command. Jack obliges, bringing a hand between his legs. He palms himself over his tight jeans, pupils dilating as he holds your gaze. You swallow. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuck—” he grinds himself into his palm, frustrated. “Do I make you feel good, darlin’? Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The air between your crackles. More slick dripping down the inside of your thighs. He swallows thickly and you notice the traces of fear that you won’t give him what he so desperately needs. Craves. And maybe you shouldn’t give it to him. Maybe you should just pull him back and ride his face until you’re soaking him. But your resolve has already cracked. Been like that ever since you stepped on the stage, giving him that trust again.

You bring him back, his tongue darting by instinct. He circles your clit, eyes still fixed on you. Your breathing slows. “You make me feel amazing,” you mutter, a bit breathless. “Which is a problem because I never seem to get enough.”

You expect him to laugh, snort, or at least shoot you one of those mischievous grins—he doesn’t. His eyes flutter closed and he inhales you, signaling the end of the conversation, he buries his mouth deep. His lips tighten around your clit and he flicks at it with the tip, your pulse skyrockets, your breathing coming in short. When your hips move away from the wall once more, he slams them back, a growl reverberating in his chest. He moves his head from side to side, tongue relentless.

Every nerve in your body is electrified. Skin taut over muscle. Your head falls back, knocking against the wall. He forces his tongue inside and resumes circling his thumb over your clit. Your moans become loud, uncaring as you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth. “Jack,” you moan. “I’m—fuuuck—I’m ‘bout to come—”

The confession seems to stir something wild inside him. He laps at your soaked cunt and meets your gaze, knocking the air from your lungs a second time that night.

He pushes you over the edge, your inside pulsing as you come. The halls around you spin and your arms loosely coil around his head, hanging on for dear life. His tongue is still moving. Licking, tasting everything you have to offer. Tingles spread throughout your body, goosebumps rising across your skin at the chill of the hallway.

Jack gives you one final lick before pulling away and standing. Suddenly, he seems larger than life, you realize you prefer him on his knees, at least for now.

“What do you want?” he asks, and your eyes drop to where his hand rubs over his hard-on. Memories of his cock splitting you wide open flash before your eyes, your inside clenching at the phantom feel. However, despite you both knowing what you want, you can’t voice it. You don’t have it in you to ask him to fuck you. So, you turn around, your forearms bracing the wall. His palms move up from the back of your legs to your ass, he squeezes gently before sliding up to your waist, taking the ends of the dress with it.

His lips touch your nape and you tense at the gesture. He must’ve felt it because Jack moves away, slipping his cock inside of you. He slides in with ease. Like you were made for him. A choked-out sound leaves you, his hips flush against the swell of your ass.

“Feels so good, darlin’,” he mutters, lips hovering an inch away from your skin. “Missed this pussy.”

Jack doesn’t waste time any time, knowing that your time is limited and someone might walk by at any second. His pacing is brutal. Cock filling the tight fist of your cunt with hard thrusts. Your brows knit with pleasure, mouth hanging open. If it wasn’t for the wall and Jack’s solid presence behind you, you’re positive you’d collapse. His hand slides up your torso and cups your breasts. Your back arches, pleasure rolling down your spine. He traces the column of your neck with his tongue and you shudder at the feeling.

“You’re loud, sugar,” he warns. “Not that I’m complainin’ but I’m assumin’ you don’t wanna get caught with your pants down. Literally.”

You shake your head vigorously, words failing you. But the movement of your head is all it takes for him to cover your mouth, moans bouncing off of his palm. The wet sounds flood the hall, deafening to your ears. The heavy drag of his cock is heavenly, your body clenching and begging him not to leave. He makes a choked sound, head falling between your shoulder blades. His nails bite into your skin, pulling you against him, pushing into you harder.

“I ain’t gonna last,” he groans.

You’re quick to reply, fear curling at your heart, “Don’t come on me.”

You don’t think you can handle him leaving you again in such a vulnerable state.

He rolls his hips and you feel every tantalizing inch. “Okay,” he answers, the previous raps of his tone becoming something somber, bittersweet. “Okay,” he repeats. “I won’t.”

The pleasure that had been building flickers away like a dying flame. His pacing slows, wild thrusts becoming indulgent, slow. He grinds himself deeper with every push of his hips and your eyes roll. It feels good. Amazing. Breath shortening. But you can’t deny that the previous rush is gone. Time is once again moving, reality becoming the most solid thing around you. He’s going to come and leave. Your vision blurs.

It doesn’t take him long, he pulls out and you feel incredibly cold and empty. So much so that you shiver as you press your forehead into the wall. You want to turn around. Watch him, see the desperate snap of his hips. Watch him make a mess of his hand. However, you remain in place, refusing to look.

He grunts and his breath becomes labored. You hear the faint whisper of your name falling from your lips—then silence, only soft, slow breathing. You finally turn then, seeing the tissue in his hand briefly before he stuffs it in his pocket.

“I—” he starts, meeting your gaze. You raise a hand.

“I know. You’re going to say you can’t see me again and all that bullshit. I’m leaving don’t worry.”

You barely fix your dress, swiftly heading towards the exit of this ridiculously large building. He calls out to you, asking you to wait but you refuse. You’re not going to wait for him to break your heart again. You don’t need to see the pity in his eyes. Your poor thundering heart can’t take it.

The sun is gone. The sky a mixture of dark blues and blacks. You take a deep breath of the crispy air, allowing yourself to stall just a moment before searching for your car. You’re outside, yet you still feel suffocated. Pleasure still simmers under your skin. Already missing, aching for his touch. You ball your hands into tight fists, allowing your nails to bite into the tender flesh of your palm. You welcome the mild pain. At this point, you would welcome anything that provides the bliss of forgetfulness.

“Get back here!”

You flip him off without looking. You swear you hear him snort with amusement. The bastard.

“At least let me explain—” he sounds desperate, his voice grows closer. You shake your head even though he can’t see and hug your jacket, your car should be close. . . You don’t stop. You can’t. A broken hiccup parts your lips and the tears you fought so hard against finally escape. You wipe them with the heel of your palm.

“I’m sorry!”

And as if time itself stood still, you stop dead in your tracks. The silence between you grows, his steps coming closer.

All that hurt, all the anger. It finally boils over.

“For WHAT?!” You turn around, the wind howling around you. Tear streaks chill over your cheeks. “Are you apologizing for that night, or right now? Do you have any idea how hard it was to force myself to go out tonight?! Are you aware how much it hurts to fucking look at you?!”

He’s not as far as you thought he was. Only a couple of steps between you two. Your eyes drop to his feet and back to his face again. He stops. For the first time, Jack seems at a loss for words. His brows come together in remorse, lips parted with words unsaid. You shake your head, hands still in fists, you’re not at a loss for words, however, all of it piles up in your throat like a dam. The world stands still. The only giveaway that time is still moving is the wind. Icy whips of air irritating your skin.

“You hurt me,” you say, surprisingly clear despite the knot in your throat. “Do you understand what that means, Jack? I’m hurt. There’s a bleeding wound in my chest because I stupidly thought—” Your chest caves in and you avert your gaze. “I thought you might actually look past all the fucked up parts of me. Maybe it was selfish of me but it made me happy to think I might be the one you would open up to. That me, being the way that I am, would be enough. But in the end. . . I didn’t even get an explanation. You just left.”

You drag your gaze back to him. You’re not sure but you think he took a step closer while you were speaking, his hands outstretched like he’s fighting the urge to pull you into a bear hug. His eyes glimmer under the faint moonlight. As if every word you said hurt him just as much as it did to speak them. You shake your head again. “Just leave.”

“No,” he chokes out, closing the gap. His fingers curl around your wrist. He must’ve seen your flight response starting to take over. You don’t fight the iron grip. “I—I don’t think you’re fucked up,” he blurts, unintelligently. “I don’t think any of that. In fact, I think the opposite, you’re too good for me, sunshine. You. . . I’m a coward, I couldn’t handle the love in your eyes. Couldn’t handle being that for someone again. But. . . I want to try, sugar. I want to try and be that someone for you. I don’t want to run away from this.”

You stand silent, shocked. You can’t see it for yourself, but you know your gaze has warmed up to be something soothing and understanding.

“I lost her,” he says. “Viv. . . she was my everythin’ and one day she was just. . . gone. My—My little boy along with—”

You shatter. All of the anger, the hurt, your icy resolve melting and becoming a puddle at your feet. You cradle his face, catching the first tears with the pad of your thumb. His arms coil around your waist, muscles tight around your frame. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at a random spot on the concrete.

“She went out for milk,” he continues, broken. “She was still pregnant, two months. . . two months later I would’ve,” he cuts himself off. “I should’ve left instead but she argued that I was tired from work and that she needed to stretch her legs. I let her go. An hour later the police were at my door, telling me that she got caught in a gun fight between two rival gangs. Shot. Dead.”

He spat the last words out, his guilt, his hatred for the world laced in every one of them.

“That’s why I couldn’t. With you. I don’t deserve a second chance, darlin’.” he finally meets your eyes, and for the first time you see him for what he truly is. A good man, broken and lost. Just like you. “I’m afraid of losin’ you.”

“Who says you don’t deserve a second chance?” you whisper, your thumbs stroking the delicate skin. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I—I didn’t know. And I don’t want to lie and say you won’t lose me, life is unpredictable but. . . I promise that this,” you point between the two of you. His gaze follows your hand as it rests on his chest. “Deserves a chance. I’ve never felt anything like I have with you. You make me happy, Jack. As simple as it sounds. And. . . well. . .” your lips crack into a heartfelt smile and when he sees, he lets out a breath. “I’ve already fallen pretty hard for you. As you can guess.”

His hands come up to your cheeks, holding you as delicately as one would a rose. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closer and smiling. “I think this deserves a chance too,” he mutters, his breath tickling your lips. “Will you have me, darlin’? Fucked up parts and all?”

He brushes your lips together, prompting the grin that is quick to form, “Only if you’ll have me, cowboy.”

Jack’s fingertips trace the contour of your lips before lightly pressing against them. His touch is gentle and warm. His lips come slowly towards yours, and when they meet, it is heaven itself.

His hands slide down your neck and around your waist. His mouth moves in perfect harmony with yours as his tongue lightly skims across your lips.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. His mouth moves feverishly desire and your body starts to respond in kind. And when he breaks the kiss, you’re surprised to see Betty’s house behind him, completely forgetting where you were.

“Of course, darlin,” he smiles, brushing his mouth over your forehead. “Of course.”

#agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #stripper!jack

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agentwhiskeysdarlin · 2 months

Text

Making It Up To You

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: Jack being the actual sweetest & a little shit, a dash of angst, the cutest banter, domestic bliss, all the surprise, cheesy romantic set up but we love it, the hottest smutty times, oral (female receiving), p in x sex, unprotected sex, gentle but fast sex

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Notes: Welp it has been awhile but I finally got a new fic written!!! Just in time for Valentines Day. I’ve had this idea planned for awhile now and it finally got done! As always massive thanks to @clint-aww-no-barton. If you want to be added or removed from my taglist please let me know! Also I am slowly going to be getting old fics on ao3 that haven’t made it yet. I am very sorry it has taken so long to get the ones not up done. It’s not the easiest thing to do. Thank you all and hopefully I am back!

ao3 link coming sometime…

The evening was settling around you. The cool wind and the darkening light made you finally go inside. You’d spent a lot of the afternoon outside, reading and sipping on some wine. You’d done everything you could to distract yourself. As you stepped inside and looked around your empty home, you let out a sigh. The home felt so big and lonely without Jack here. You would think after all these years, and all the missions, you would be used to this by now. You would never get used to it. Most of the time it didn’t bother you, this badly, but given the date it felt worse. Your phone rang making you jump, as it pulled you back to reality. The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly at the sound of Jack’s ringtone, and the request for FaceTime.

“There’s my girl. Happy Valentines Day darlin’!” Jack spoke with enthusiasm, a smile bright on his face.

“Hi cowboy. Happy Valentines Day.” You tried to force a bright smile, but you knew he would see right through you.

“What’s wrong?” His face fell and his brow furrowed.

“I just miss you is all,” you spoke, your smile falling.

You moved throughout the house, turning on lights and putting away your glass and wine.

“I miss you too angel. And I really hate that I’m gone today. I fully intend to make this up to you.”

There was a glint in his eye, and as you sat down on the couch you gave him a questioning look.

“What are you up to Jack Daniels?”

“You’ll see soon,” he smirked as he stood and moved somewhere else in his hotel room “Actually sooner than I thought. Like right about…”

There was a knock at the door, and your head jerked that way, before looking back at Jack with confusion all over your face.

“Now. Go answer the door darlin’.”

“Okayyyy.”

You pushed off the couch taking your phone, and therefore Jack, along with you. You opened your door to a pizza delivery man.

“Your pizza ma’am.” He spoke with a smile that seemed knowing, as you gave him a smile, still confused.

“Thank you. Hang on I’ll get you some money.”

“It’s been taken care of. Have a good night.”

“Oh? Well thank you. You as well,” you gave him a nod and shut the door as he turned to leave.

You carefully took the pizza, and the other box that was sitting on top, to the island setting the phone up against them.

“What’s this all about Jack?” You looked at him through the phone screen, desperately wishing he were here.

“Well I thought we could have a little virtual Valentines Day date, since it’s the best we got. I even ordered the same thing, so it seemed like we were really together.”

You could have cried as you looked at the man you loved. The thought he put behind so many things still took you by surprise. Any other man wouldn’t have done this, but Jack wasn’t like any other man.

“Jack,” his name came off your lips, voice breaking slightly.

“Now now none of that darlin’. Get you a drink and set me up so we’re across from each other.”

You moved around the kitchen doing as he asked, grabbing some water and a plate, before sitting down at your dining room table. You pulled the vase of flowers from the middle of the table so they were across from you, and you gently propped your phone against it. Jack must have done something similar because now you seemingly sat across from each other.

“Now let’s eat!” Jack rubbed his hands together, and you giggled before you grabbed a piece of pizza and some cheesy bread.

Jack and yourself fell into casual talk about each other’s day. You asked him questions about the mission and he shared what he could. He asked you had done while he was away this time. You laughed softly with how well he knew you. Always ready with a list of things to do while he was gone. Finally you both finished and you sat back, full.

“That was amazing. Thank you for dinner Jack,” you smiled softly.

“You never have to thank me for that darlin’. Now you want to watch a movie or we could do something else?”

“Honestly I would like to just enjoy you and your company. If that’s okay?” You asked suddenly worried you might have ruined more of his plan.

“That’s perfectly okay angel. After dinner I was leaving the rest up to you.”

“Okay. I didn’t want to ruin any more sneaky plans you might have had.”

“You don’t ruin anything angel. I’ve had my shower already but I am going to get comfy if you would like to join me.”

“Jack are you trying to get me naked?” You asked with a smirk, as you walked the house, making sure the doors were locked before going to your shared bedroom.

“Is it working?” You could hear his smirk, even though he was off camera getting clothes.

“Well I do have to, in order to put on pjs, but you’re not going to see.” Your voice teasing.

“What?!” Jack shot back into the frame and you let out a laugh. “Now why not?!”

“Because I’m not having FaceTime sex with you. We gotta stay riled up until you get home remember, our deal?”

“The deal I came up with? Let’s break it.”

“You are such a man. Plus look who is changed and I didn’t see a thing.”

You spoke with amusement, earning a shocked look from Jack, before moving out of frame to change.

“So rude,” he mumbled but you could tell he was holding in a laugh.

“I’ll remember that when you get home,” you spoke with a laugh as you moved back in frame, grabbing your phone and climbing into bed.

You turned Jack’s pillow and set the phone against it.

“Now it’s like you are right next to me.” Even when you spoke the words, they were laced with a slight sadness.

“Oh no now, give me my laughing girl back.”

“It’s just…you’re not here to hold me.”

“I know darlin’. I hope I’m home soon. I know this wasn’t the ideal Valentines Day for you either. I’m sorry.”

“Jack don’t be sorry. What you did was perfect and I loved it.”

You watched as Jack settled in, seeming to do the same thing as you, setting up his phone on your side of the bed. You smiled softly at him as he laid down.

“Hi,” you spoke.

“Hi there angel,” he smirked giving you a wink.

“You are going to be asleep in like five minutes if I’m lucky.”

“Now you don’t know that.”

“Oh but I do. You hit the pillow and you’re gone. I’ve watched an entire season of a show while you sleep!”

“You have not!!” Jack spoke defensively but laughed.

“Oh but I have! Finished a book, silently screaming right next to you. All sorts of things have been done between the time you fell asleep and the time I do.” You laughed as Jack faked an overly dramatic face of defense.

“I feel attacked right now. I can’t help it.”

“You are a man cowboy, it comes with the territory, fortunately for you.” You laughed before settling more into the bed.

“You’re getting sleepy now though aren’t you?” Jack smirked.

“Yeah I can’t lie I am.”

“You can go to sleep darlin’. I’ll stay right here until you do.”

“I don’t want to though. I don’t want this to end yet.”

“I know but you need your rest angel.”

“I know,” your voice laced with sadness.

You turned the tv on and turned your side table lamp down to the dim setting before turning back to Jack. You were met with dimmed lighting on his end as well. You realized, in the quiet, he was watching the same show as you.

“Are you watching the same thing?”

“Trying to keep up with us being together without being together. I want you to feel like I’m there when you close your eyes.”

“I love you Jack.” You spoke with a smile, overwhelmed by this man and the things he did for you.

“I love you too darlin’. Now close your eyes and get some rest.”

You simply nodded your head before closing your eyes. Sooner than you expected, you slipped away to a deep, peaceful sleep.

*****

Your day had been full of errands. You were expecting Jack home anytime now, and you wanted the house fully stocked. You’d allowed yourself to have a me day, to continue to keep yourself distracted, before heading to the grocery store. The first store didn’t have everything on your list, and three stores later you were finally done. Everything marked off your list and tiredness filling your body. You finally pulled into the driveway, grabbing the first set of bags. You battled with the door, before finally getting it open, before you stopped dead in your tracks. Fake flickering candles filled your entire house, and a small path of rose petals guided you to the bedroom. You looked up, eyes finding Jack, leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. You gulped at the sight before you. He looked undone, with his tie gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Hiya darlin’,” he smirked with a knowing look at your jaw on the floor.

“Jack. When did you get home?” You smiled softly as he pushed off the doorframe, and the two of you gravitated to each other.

“Just a few hours ago. Long enough to put this together,” he held his arms out slightly, before his hands fell to your hips and pulled you close.

His lips met yours, breaking your bright smile as you kissed him back deeply. Your hands went up his chest, unbuttoning some more buttons.

“I have groceries in the car,” you breathed out, knowing exactly where this was going by the hunger in Jack’s entire being.

“Anything frozen?”

“No.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Jack spoke with a whisper and you simply nodded, before your lips were crashing back to each other.

You swore this man could always make you feel dizzy, and completely broken in the best way. Jack’s hands moved to your ass, and you jumped wrapping your legs around his waist, as he skillfully carried you to the bedroom, never letting his lips fall from yours.

“I think I got a certain holiday to make up for,” Jack finally pulled away, allowing air to fill your lungs, and you smirked.

“That you do cowboy. Along with being gone,” you mirrored his smirk, your eyes moving to the ceiling thinking, your fingers brushing at the hair at Jack’s neck.

“I hope you don’t have any plans for the next few days then.”

“The only plans I have are you,” you smirked before your lips fell back to his.

It never failed, when Jack returned home and he was able, the two of you were like teenagers, rushing to get the deed done before you were caught by your parents. Things moved fast, hands and lips were everywhere and limbs tangled. But Jack and yourself knew each other like a map you’d memorized. Knew every sensitive place and what it did for the other. The two of you had plenty of study time. That was another thing that made the two of you so much like teenagers. You never could get enough of each other. Your body meeting the mattress pulled you back to the moment. Jack had released you completely, and as your eyes fluttered open already heavy with desire, you watched him as his eyes racked over you.

“I have no idea how I got so damn lucky, my god you’re beautiful angel.”

“I liked your truck,” you tried to say with a straight face, but couldn’t help a laugh.

“Oh it was my truck huh?” Jack’s eyebrows raised as he crawled over you. “It has nothing to do with this…”

He trailed off as his hands slowly traced up your shirt, his lips falling to your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut and you surrounded yourself with him. He raised your shirt over your head, and discarded it before, quickly removing your bra.

“Or this…” his voice dipped lower as his lips traveled down, meeting your already hard nipple.

He pulled it between his teeth. flicking it with his tongue before releasing it, pulling a moan from you. He licked over it once more, before moving to the next to do the same. Then he was continuing his way down. and your breathing started to become heavier. He had your pants and underwear gone within moments.

“Or this,” Jack’s eyes bore into yours as you looked down, darkened with lust and he smirked before his head dipped between your legs.

His mouth came in contact with your wet pussy and your head flew back and your hand laced in his hair. This man knew what to do with that damn mouth of his. You didn’t realize how worked up you were until you could feel yourself racing to your climax.

“Okay Jack, yes it was this and all the things before and all the things you were going to do to me after!” You moaned loudly as you pulled gently as his hair.

He looked up at you with a grin that made you bust out laughing.

“The truck is just a plus,” you giggle and he stood, quickly removing his shirt, letting out a laugh as well.

You sat up to start on his pants, which he finished removing, before crawling over you again, as you crawled backwards towards the headboard.

“I promise you in the coming days,” he paused, to give you a wink that made you laugh again “I’m going to take my damn time with you but right now…”

Jack entered you taking you by surprise, and your brow furrowed at the pleasure that filled every inch of your body. You looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars, before his hips started to slowly thrust. He didn’t last long going slow, before his speed picked up, but never once did he become too rough, staying gentle but quick. You were soaring, trying so hard to put off the orgasm that was quickly riding its wave to you, but it was a battle you had yet to learn how to win.

“Jack,” his name fell from your lips in a whine of desperation.

“Let go for me angel. I got you,” his forehead fell to yours, and you locked eyes with him as you came hard around him.

You fought to keep his stare until you lost, closing your eyes and submitting yourself to the tidal wave. Jack was not far behind you, burying his face in your neck as he let go deep inside of you. The two of you lay there, panting in the blissful aftermath, before Jack did the one thing the two of you hated most of love making, he pulled away. He didn’t go far, rolling to his back and the two of you were quick to turn to each other.

“That was amazing as always,” you smirked as you moved in close, your fingers brushing at his chest.

“We do make a pretty good team don’t we?” Jack smiled brightly and you laughed but a smile lingered across your lips.

“We really do.”

Silence fell for a few moments, before his fingers brushed at your chin, your eyes catching his.

“I missed you,” he spoke gently, his fingers brushing hair behind your ear.

“I missed you too.”

“I told Champ I wasn’t coming in for at least three days.”

“I’m calling him to tell him you will be in in two.”

Jack’s mouth fell open in fake appall.

“Now why are you trying to get rid of me a whole day early?!”

“Because if we go three days just like this, much less how we plan to go, I’ll be in the grave by the end.”

Jack paused for a moment, and briefly you thought you had seriously hurt his feelings.

“Yeah you’re probably right. I would be right behind you.”

You both let out a laugh, before he pulled you to him and kissed you once again. You pulled away, and with a sigh moved to get out of bed, before Jack’s hand on your wrist caught you.

“Now where do you think you’re going?” He pulled you back down to the bed, caging you under his body.

“The groceries are still in the car.”

“Eh we’ll get them tomorrow they’ll be fine.”

“Fine but if you make me not be able to walk in the morning, you’ll have to haul them in by yourself.”

“Angel I wasn’t going to make you bring another bag in this house anyways.”

“Then proceed,” you smirked.

Jack’s lips fell back to yours, both of you wearing a wide smile and he did indeed proceed.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl @arcadianempress @discogrrl @immundusspiritu @someplace-darker @thisis-theway @ohpedromypedro @scribbledghost @fioccodineveautunnale @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @littlevodka @all-hallows-evie @mack4676 @perropascal @audreyshepbvrn @mswarriorbabe80 @kaqua @novemberrain221 @weasleywinchester @lady-bess

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey fic #jack whiskey daniels fic #agent whiskey x reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey smut #jack whiskey daniels smut #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x female reader

134 notes · View notes

syd-djarin · 5 months

Text

Treat Me Like A Slut - jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader

warnings: explicit 18+. *MDNI*

a/n: I got the title of this from the Kim Petras song with the same name. It inspired the filth below.

y'all already know by now my sister in smut @katiexpunk helped me flesh out deets & all that. couldn't do it without you bestie babe. <3

word count: 4k+

summary: Jack returns home from a mission. You have a surprise and a request for him.

tags: Jack calls reader a slut multiple times (at her request), masturbation (m and f), size kink, unprotected P in V, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, orgasm denial, codewords, dom/sub dynamic, pet names for reader (sugar, baby, sweet girl, kitten), reader calls Jack cowboy, references to Jack being a trained killer, reader buys and wears lingerie, established relationship, brief mention of anal play, Creampie !!!!, no physical descriptions of reader, excessive use of Daddy, rough sex, ankle biting, toe sucking, a whip gets mentioned, size kink, spanking, one (1) titty slap, Jack has some funny lines in this one, bruising, and finally Jack is just a menace in this one – sweet and kinky AF.

smut after the cut.

Jack hates jerking off.

Well, he hates jerking off when he could have you. Nothing can replicate the feeling of your lips on his cock or being buried deep inside your pussy. He fucks his cock in his fist anyway, not that he has much of an option at the moment. Sweet, salacious memories of you flood his brain as he tries to melt deeper into the mattress and he attempts to forget the past few weeks. This mission has been long and drawn out; time he would rather spend with you.

You’ve been dating for three months now and can’t stay away from each other. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Jack wants to constantly be in your orbit. When he first asked you on a date, you both agreed to take it slow. “I don’t wanna pressure you, sugar,” he said, and you had agreed that slow is good. You quickly learned that neither you, nor Jack, know the concept of the word. Your first date turned into an entire weekend together. Once he had sampled a taste of your sweetness, there was no going back.

It’s been an agonizing week for Jack. He’s always had a flair for the dramatics, but you can hear it in the tone of his voice that he isn’t exaggerating when he says this week has nearly killed him. Sure, being a Statesman is dangerous and he flirts with death on the daily, but being away from you? He’d rather be given the Old Yeller treatment than to have to be without you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he moans, taking a final few tugs at the silky smooth skin of his hard shaft before cum erupts out of him and onto his toned belly. “Fuck,” he says, letting out a long sigh, hand still on how pulsing cock as he stares at the ceiling wishing you were here to lick the spend off of him.

***

You were able to keep yourself busy and enjoy your alone time at first, but as the week went on, you became more impatient. Needy.

Tonight, your apartment feels smaller than usual, the air thicker, as you pace back and forth across the hardwood floor. The book you had been engrossed in lay forgotten on the coffee table, its characters suspended in a world you couldn’t quite bring yourself to re-enter. Your mind was too focused on Jack.

You check your phone for the umpteenth time, the minutes ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The silence in the apartment echoes the restlessness in you. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach, a want, a need, a feeling of unease.

An orgasm might help, you think, but no matter how hard you try, your methods of self-pleasure never seem to fully satiate you. Sure, you’ve made yourself come a dozen times this week, but it’s not the same. You’re spoiled now; Jack’s expert hands, mouth, and god his cock have taken your pleasure threshold to new heights. He’s given you the best orgasms of your life, and now what you’re able to accomplish on your own is slightly abysmal. It’s infuriating or splendid, you can’t decide which, that he seems to know your body more than you do.

Despite knowing it won’t help, the siren call of your cunt wins over. As you lay on your shared bed, engulfed in the smell of his cologne still clinging to the pillowcases, the faint buzz of your vibrator and your sweet little sounds that drive Jack crazy add new noise to the silence. You imagine Jack and the slow, tantalizing drag of his cock in and out of you as you fold like a house of cards letting the aftershocks of your orgasm lull you to sleep.

Just one more day until he’s home.

***

The first light of morning filters through the curtains, kissing the room in a soft glow, you stir from your slumber. You let out a big good morning stretch, and clear the sleep from your eyes. As you sit up, the duvet cascades from your shoulders and you take a moment to bask in the quiet beauty of the morning. Today’s the day.

The list of things you have to do before your cowboy comes home already starts running through your mind like the end credits of a movie, and you spring out of bed and get ready for the day.

As you stroll through the downtown area, with only one bag in hand, you just so happen to walk by a lingerie store. Call it chance or fate, but the sexy tight number in the window catches your attention.

“Hey there sweet pea, what brings you in today?” the older woman greets you as you walk through the doors to the shop. She doesn’t particularly fit the vibe of the store, but her presence is a bit disarming. Of course, you’d shopped for lingerie before, but always online and never in person, so you’re a tad nervous.

“Oh, hi – uh, well I was just out running some errands,” you say, slightly lifting your bag as if to signal this isn’t planned before continuing, “the piece in the corner caught my eye, would it be possible to try it on?” you ask, your eyes dropping to the floor as you tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

“Oh sure, honey, that’s a gorgeous one!” You smile and give her your size, and she tells you to look around the shop for anything else you might like to try on. You grab a handful and she leads you to the dressing room, telling you her name is Darla and to holler if you need any different sizes.

You save your favorite, the one from the window, for last. As you slip into the ensemble, the fabric feels luxe against your skin. It’s a lacy, scarlet red babydoll with a thong to match. You admire yourself in the mirror, letting your palms playfully dance over your curves. Any nervousness you feel walking into the store is slowly replaced with a new sense of confidence. Lost in the fantasy of how he’ll respond, there’s a little flutter in your stomach.

“How’s it going in there? Need any help with the laces?” Darla asks. You’re not sure if it’s in her job description to be so kind to her customers, but you like her.

“Great – I, I think I found the one,” you say, opening the curtain to let her finish fastening you into the fabric.

“Oh honey, you’re a knockout,” she says, and you feel your skin warm at the compliment. “Your man’s in for a real treat.”

Yeah. He really is.

***

Once home, the hours seem to pass by slower than molasses, as Jack would say.

You decide to take an ‘everything’ shower to kill time and to compliment your new purchase. You have the time, so you decide to go the full nine; you put on a hair mask, exfoliate, shave, and gua sha your face. You giggle as you remember Jack watching you do it once, except he couldn’t say ‘gua sha’ correctly, mispronouncing the ‘gua’ as ‘goo’.

You moisturize your body in your favorite body butter, the one that Jack thinks smells delicious, and paint your nails to match the lacy number you’ll be donning this evening. Pampering yourself like this, giving yourself the self-care you’ve been needing, amplifies the arousal that’s been brewing all day.

You illuminate the room with a warm flicker of candles, their soft glow creating an ambiance to the room around you while the dulcet tones of your favorite vinyl grace the air at a low volume. You slip into your red number and put the finishing touches on your look as you admire yourself in the mirror. You look hot, and you know it.

You’re ready to pounce on Jack as soon as he walks in.

Suddenly, the unmistakable jingle of his keys in the lock alerts you that he’s finally home. You hear the little creak of the door as he pushes it open, and then the commanding cadence of his boot-clad footsteps, a sound you could identify any day. You feel a buzz course through your body at your excitement as you take your place on the bed.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jack echoes through the entryway.

“In here!” you respond, throwing your voice in his direction.

As Jack swings open the bedroom door, his jaw practically descends to the floor in sheer astonishment, his bag meeting the ground with a resounding thud. A stunned silence envelops the room, his dark brown eyes riveted on you, unblinking and filled with an intensity that leaves him momentarily speechless, while a palpable hunger reflects in his watering mouth.

Holy. Fuck.

“Hi baby, I missed you,” you purr, your eyes locked on his, as you crawl on all fours like a tigress to her prey to finish greeting him, “did you miss me?” you ask, all flirt and no question in your voice, rising to your knees on the mattress to give him a better look at your body.

He must have died and this is heaven. There’s no other explanation for the beauty that is you before him.

He approaches you, his broad hands finding your hips as you interlace your fingers behind his neck. With his body pressed against you, you can already feel his rock-hard cock twitching in his tight, nearly painted-on jeans.

“You have no idea…” he growls in the nape of your neck before pulling away to eye you in a ravenous manner that makes your heartbeat in your pussy.

One of his hands leaves your side, and he reaches up to angle your chin towards him. He looks you in the eyes in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, his eyes saying all of the things his mouth isn’t. He smiles at you for a moment before he leans in and plants his lips on yours. He begins to kiss you languidly, and you both let out soft moans in unison at being in each other’s presence again. His groomed mustache tickles your lips, making you giggle into his mouth.

He pulls back, fiddling with the hem of the baby doll. “You wear this just for me?” he asks, his warm hand splaying on your tummy.

“Mhmm,” you respond, but it comes out sounding a little more like a moan than a reply. “I wanted to surprise you,” you confess while looking down at where his hand meets your stomach, “wanted to look sexy for you, Agent Whiskey,” you look back into his eyes, giving him a little wink, your allure calling out to him; snatching him up faster than any lasso ever could.

Jack normally doesn’t like his work to bleed through to his personal life, but hearing your honeyed voice call him Agent Whiskey is enough to make him abandon all the rules.

“Darlin’, ya always look sexy to me, like a goddamn sex kitten,” he drawls, leaning in to plant tender kisses on your neck, his grazing his teeth over the soft skin of your neck. You giggle, playfully swatting at him. “‘M serious, you are divine,” he adds, divine coming out more like deevine.

You may be the sex kitten in his eyes, but he’s the one lapping you up like a bowl of milk. His hands roam over the tight fabric that graces your body, and you get lost in the feel of his touch. His grip on you is tight, even though you’re fully pressed against him, he wants you closer. His need, his lust, awakens something carnal in you, causing you to lose control of your tongue as you all but word vomit, “Treat me like a slut.” Well, we probably could have eased into that conversation.

He pulls back and eyes your face in disbelief – this must be heaven – before a knowing smirk washes across his face. “Is that what you want, hmm? Want Daddy to get rough with ya, baby?” The hand that’s gripping the soft flesh of your hips begins to migrate down to your ass.

You whimper; becoming putty-like in his hands, more than ready to worship at his altar.

“Tell me, baby. Use your words like a big girl,” he urges, squeezing your ass with more force.

“Yes, daddy,” you choke out, “I want you to be rough with me, please…please.”

“My pretty girl wants me to treat her like a slut, then that’s what she’ll get,” He removes the hand on your hip, and the other from your ass, before guiding them to find yours. He interlocks your fingers together and looks at you a bit more seriously this time. You see the darkness that flickers behind his eyes. You know Jack is a dangerous man – a trained killer – but he’d never hurt you. No, this darkness is something different, it’s an insatiable desire to consume you in every way possible, to give you anything you desire.

“Wanna set some rules first, ‘kay?” he says, his voice low. You nod.

“If at any point you want me to stop, slow down, don’t like something, whatever, you tell me, alright? You remember our code word?” he asks, and you nod again. “Good. Now, you don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to. You don’t get to come ‘til I tell ya to. Got it?”

“Yes, daddy, I understand,” you respond. He lets out another knowing smirk and palms himself through his jeans.

“‘M gonna take good care of ya, baby girl. Now, you gonna show daddy what a good little slut you can be?” he asks.

“Yes, daddy. Wanna be a good slut for you.”

You’re a little surprised at how quickly you slip into submission, although you shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to Jack. He’s a master at getting what he wants, and you’re not sure if there is anything that you wouldn’t do for him.

“Good girl. Now, off the mattress and get on your knees,” he orders, already unbuckling his jeans to free his wicked big cock.

You do as he says, feeling yourself sink your weight onto your shins and the coolness of the hardwood beneath you. “Open your mouth,” he says, his heavy cock in hand, stroking it to get it to full length.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, patiently waiting for your next instructions.

He continues to stroke himself, looking, admiring, the gift of a woman that sits before him. As he pumps himself, he takes a few steps forward so that he’s hovering above you. Your big doe eyes look up at him, and you’re drooling at the sight of him like you always have.

His thumb ghosts over his red and weeping tip, and he uses it to collect the dribble of precum that has beaded through his slit to wet the tip of his cock. He taps the mushroom head of it onto your tongue a few times, a sticky string of saliva trailing between him and your tongue with each lift before he eventually plants the tip fully in your mouth. Your lips lock around him, and you begin to moan, reveling in the heady taste of him. You want so badly to move, to take him deeper into your mouth, but he hasn’t told you to do so. He tangles one of his hands in your hair, firmly pulling; not too gentle, but not too rough, either.

Jack slides your mouth off of him. He’s admiring your present state; spit and precum smeared across your mouth and down your chin, hair disheveled and your eyes delirious from lust.

“Change of plans,” he says, offering no explanation as to why he’s suddenly depriving you of sucking him off.

“Don’t worry ‘m gonna take of ya, like I always do,” he says, kicking off his boots and shucking the rest of his clothes to the floor, “hands and knees on the bed, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You’re clambering over yourself to follow directions, legs unsteady from your agonizing need.

Jack drops to his knees behind you, takes his thick finger, and slips it into your crack, under the lacy string situated between your cheeks. He pulls back on the thin string and releases it, the snap causing a pleasant sting against your skin.

“Soaking wet,” he hums, ‘always so fucking wet, you perfect girl,” he rasps, running that same finger through your seam, along the drenched lace, causing you to whimper. “Who’s got you so wet, baby, hmm?” he asks, knowing the answer, he just wants to hear you say it.

He lands a light swat on your ass when you don’t answer him. It sends a shiver through your spine, more arousal dripping into your thong.

“‘M not gonna ask you again. So tell me, who’s got your pretty pussy so wet, baby?”

“You, Jack, always wet for you, only you,” each word comes out shaky, so aroused you might collapse if Jack doesn’t alleviate the ache soon, “Daddy, please,” you cry.

Kneading the flesh of your ass he grunts in approval. “S’right baby, you’re mine. All mine.”

Jack pulls the thong to the side, revealing your dripping cunt to him. He spits down, trailing from your asshole to your clit, your legs clench in response. You’re using all your might not to move. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him, after all, it is his job to notice things; even on the subtlest level.

Ghosting a fingertip over your tight ring of muscle, rousing you, “You like it when I touch you like that? Touchin’ your other slutty lil hole?”

“Y-es, fuck,” gritting out through ragged breaths. He files that information for later, a smug grin plastered on his face.

He swipes his tongue from your clit up your entrance. He moans in response to your taste like you’re the best dessert he’s ever had; you whimper from the spark of pleasure of the warmth of his tongue. He teases you a few more times by lightly skimming up and down, licking you from your clit down to your aching hole. You can’t help but squirm, rocking your hips back to meet his mouth, chasing your high. He smacks your ass again, a reminder to keep still.

“Need more,” you whine pitifully, his grip on the back of your thighs is now ironclad, blocking you from gaining more stimulation that isn’t provided by him.

He halts his movements and pulls his face away from your pussy, but still close enough that you can feel his hot breath when he speaks, “I know I don’t need’ta remind you to use your manners.”

“Please, daddy, I need more, fuck, fuck, fuckkk!” you desperately cry.

“Good girl, askin’ so nicely,” punctuated by shoving a thick finger into your weeping entrance.

Jack pumps his finger in and out at a steady pace, all while flicking his tongue across your throbbing clit. When he thinks you’re relaxed enough, he slips in a second finger, and the added sensation and drag against your soft walls has you barreling towards the edge of your orgasm.

He can tell you’re close by the way your cunt grips down on him, tightening like a trap, one you never want him to leave. He slows his pace, edging you until you’re writhing in his grip. “Daddy, please, please let me come,” you’re heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat.

“My little slut gets to come when I tell her she can,” he torts.

Once he senses you’re no longer as close to finishing as you were, he slowly picks up his tempo once more and the attention he places on your clit brings you right back to the boiling point. Your fingers card through his dark locks as you hang on to him for dear life, doing your best not to come without permission.

“J–Jaa-Jack,” you cry, “I can’t hold on much longer, I’m going to come, I need to come.”

He wants to continue to edge you all night, but the growing ache from his neglected cock begins to get to him. As much as he wants to continue to devour you, his blood-filled shaft has other plans.

“Alright, you can come, let me hear you, pretty girl,” he whispers against your mound before his lips find their home around your clit, and his tongue begins to circle against it in just the right way. With his permission, you let out a sigh of relief; your orgasm washes over you like the ocean onto the shore, it’s loud and strong.

Jack gathers the slick seeping out of you onto his fingers and sucks it off, his eyes fluttering shut as he savors the final taste of your release. “That’s finger lickin’ good, baby,” he says. You might feel inclined to cringe at that, but you’re too fucked out to mind, but a little giggle escapes your chest at the comment. Only Jack could find the perfect balance of vulgarity and humor.

He drops both of his large palms to your thighs and begins to massage them with a soothing amount of pressure, grounding you through your floaty, blissed-out state, and it’s not before long that the need for more returns. He gently pecks soft kisses on your lower back, murmuring praises against your skin. Such a good girl, you did so good for me, my sweet and pretty girl. He’s sensual and sweet amidst the dominance he’s displaying, the duality makes your heart beat fast and your pussy flutter.

He rises to stand and positions himself behind where you’re bent over. He strokes his heavy cock as he marvels at how good you look like this, bent over, ass up, just waiting to be stuffed full of him. He lines the tip of his cock up against your wet and waiting cunt to gather a little bit of your slick on the head of him before he begins gliding his cock up and down through your messy folds. The sensation on your somewhat sensitive clit makes you let out a small little whimper.

“Want daddy to fuck you, pretty girl?” Just like before, he already knows the answer, he just wants to hear you beg for it, beg for him. His ego is as big as his cock. His words are as much of a tease for him as they are for you; his resolve begins to crumble further with every moment he’s not buried to the hilt inside you.

“Yes!” nodding your head despite the way it’s still spinning, “please—”

“Think she can fit it,” he asks, not giving you a second to answer as he drives the length of him inside you with no restraint. Your body jolts forward on impact and he clutches your waist, pinning you in place. Both of you are unmoving, gasping to catch your breath as you adjust to his size. It’s a stretch every time and you delight in it. “Course she can, cuz my girl is a perfect little slut,” he says, dragging his cock in and out of you with ease as your wetness coats him.

‘Fuck, baby. You feel so good, it’s like this pussy was made for me, just fuck, just for me,” he says, willing himself to not bust inside of you already, but it’s hard. Having you like this, at his mercy, coupled with the time he spent away from you, he’s shaking in his proverbial boots.

You start to reach your hand behind you to hold onto his arm, but stop, remembering the rules. You don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to.

Jack beats you to the punch, “Go on, darlin’, grab hold’a daddy. You’re gonna need it.”

Just as soon as you wrap your hand around his forearm, he pulls almost out of you entirely before slamming back into you, the tip of his cock punches your cervix and you let out a little welp. The intensity of the relentless pace he has set has you breathless, keyed up, on the edge of another orgasm. He continues to fuck in and out of you, plowing into your pussy at a devastating pace; no mercy to be found.

Lecherous sounds echo through the bedroom; Jack’s hips slapping against the flesh of your ass, the wet squelch of your pussy, guttural groans and whines.

“Such a good fuckin’ slut for me, kitten… you take this cock so good, so fuckin’ tight, Jesus…” Jack rambles in between his thrusts.

“Tell daddy how it feels,” he commands, landing a sharp smack against your ass. “Feels so good, daddy, mmm, feel so full,” you sputter, an octave higher than you usually speak.

“Yeah I know, baby girl,” he pulls out, manhandling you onto your back, jerking your legs over his shoulders before he slams back into you in a matter of seconds, the intensity of it causes your tits to bounce and Jack loves the sight of it. The angle has his cock punching your cervix brutally and deliciously. Your cunt grips him tighter as you watch the way his jaw goes slack as he pummels in and out of you. He can use you like this forever and you’d be fine with it.

Jack turns his face to graze his teeth across your ankle, then bites the soft flesh, eliciting a yelp from you. The look in Jack’s eyes is voracious. He’ll never have enough of you.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he growls, gently slapping one of your tits through the cups of the babydoll to redirect your eyes into his. Locking eyes with one another while Jack ravages you has you hurling into another orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m so close, daddy,” just shy of shouting.

A cheeky grin breaks out on his face as if he’d gotten an idea just now. Jack lifts one of your legs off his shoulder and holds it steady, your foot now directly in front of his face. Without warning, he shoves your middle two toes into his mouth.

“Jack!” You actually shout this time. A mix of surprise and bliss.

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar,” he teases, but admittedly, he loves seeing how loud he can get you to cry out his name.

He runs his warm tongue along your ticklish toes and you’re done for. “Can I come daddy? I’m so fucking close, please I need to come…” panting like a dog in heat.

“C’mon give it to me, pretty girl, gimme another and I’ll fill you up with my cum,” he encourages. He’s not far off from where you’re at. “Been such a good slut for me tonight, soak this fuckin’ cock…”

He’s rutting into you with such great force, you know you’ll be sore tomorrow. That thought is the last push you needed; you’re clenching around Jack while you’re coming; entering a rapturous daze.

“Oh fuck, Jack—fuck, ah!” mewling loudly. Your juices drip out of you onto his cock and the sheets. He loves how messy your pussy is.

“That’s it baby, mmmm such a sweet mess you made for me…” cooing at you.

He slows his speed way down, but keeps the thrusts deep, helping you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

A few hard, deep, slow thrusts and Jack is spurting his spend in your pussy.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby,” halting his movements, resting his forehead against yours. The sticky sheen of sweat clings in the air; the distinctive smell of sex permeating the room.

He showers your face in tender kisses, leaving no patch of skin untouched. You adore the way Jack will fuck you within an inch of your life and will be caring and attentive afterwards.

***

Both of you lie still tangled in each others’ arms, Jack breaks the silence, “Maybe I should leave more often,” in that post-sex-husky-raspy voice you love so much.

“Nuh-uh, this week sucked without you. Leave for that long again and it’ll be you getting treated like a slut,” you taunt. You giggle uncontrollably, still under the effect of your climax.

He puffs out an exhale of relief. He’s not convinced you have a dominant bone in your body until you reveal that you purchased something else in addition to the red number still lingering on your body.

“You should see what else I bought,” you say, your voice suggestive enough to perk Jack’s ears up from his nearly fucked out comatose state. He opens one eye and looks at you with an inquisitive face. You let out a smirk, and jump up from the bed, a bounce in your step, as you walk over to the dresser across the room.

Jack’s jaw actually falls to the floor this time when he watches you reveal a long, black, leather whip.

“My turn, cowboy.”

238 notes · View notes

whiskeynwriting · 4 months

Text

The Babymoon

Agent Daddy Whiskey x Female Reader

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Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Brief mention of reader’s hair (Jack just brushing it aside), established relationship/marriage, pregnant reader, dirty talk, aggressively passionate Jack (I’m W E T), degradation/teasing, breeding kink, daddy kink (ofc), spit kink, rough sex, choking, biting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, and some fluffies

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A/N: I apologize for the late post but ya girl has the stomach flu y’all

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Every small grunt forces a ping of guilt through your husband’s gut, both hands working tirelessly to relieve your pain. Truly, he didn’t know the walk would be so rigorous for you, but he should’ve known, should’ve researched more before coming out. But he does his best to make the situation better; he carried all of the bags, both yours and his, set them down in their appropriate rooms and then rushed back to tend to you. Jack led you over to the couch, letting you lay out while he removed your socks and shoes.

“I’m sorry, sugar.” He mumbled, removing his hat while kneeling down. “Didn’t realize it was such a long hike.”

“It’s okay.” Came your sigh of reassurance, head tilted back. “It was worth it.”

And that made him incredibly happy, forcing that handsome smile right across his face. What you said was true, too, coming here was definitely worth it. With Jack’s busy work schedule, and you constantly prepping for the baby, the two of you needed a break, especially before your newborn gets here. And that’s exactly what this trip was intended for. Some time away to relax, reset, and enjoy each other’s presence.

Jack’s lips find their way to your ankles and calves, fingers massaging your sore feet. He didn’t mind doing this for you, did it almost every night, in fact. It became routine for him quite quickly; he could never not care for you. But thankfully, most of the more aggressive symptoms have subsided alongside the beginning of your third trimester. No more intense nausea or bloating, no more awful heartburn. The worst of your troubles have been general muscle aches and pelvic pain, but you’d take that over vomit any day.

“I can feel him kicking.” A sudden laugh comes from your throat, both hands falling to your belly.

Jack grins, reaching up with one of his own hands. “He’s a wild one, in there.”

“You… you think it’ll really change?” All Jack does is look up with confused concern. “Our lives, the way we are, when he comes.”

His casual shrug serves as minimal reassurance. Glancing back down at your feet, Jack clears his throat. “Sure it will, babycakes. But not in a bad way.”

“How do you know it won’t be in a bad way?”

“Because I won't let it be that way.” Chocolate eyes meet yours once again, full of warmth and kindness. “Don’t worry so much, honey. We’re on vacation.” And with that, he’s standing, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Let me go make you a drink.”

And in this brief lull, you let out a relaxed breath, feeling at ease in Jack’s care. He’d always been such an attentive man, an attentive partner, able to identify and tend to your wants and needs before you even knew what they were. Being observant was in his nature, and branched into every area of his life, even now.

“Here you go, sugar.” Handing you the drink with a smile on his face, Jack turns toward the fireplace, taking it upon himself to light it.

It’s easy to admire him, not only for his incredibly handsome features, but for his wonderfully doting personality. He takes care of you, in every sense of the word. You’ve never felt safe before, like you do with him.

Although the walk up to the cabin was laborious, he’s still glad he chose it. Perfectly secluded and quiet, up in the Kentucky mountains. The entire estate is surrounded by woodland brush and gentle creatures, deers and rabbits and birds. The surrounding peace is everything the two of you have been craving, a place to relax and reconnect. Your travels happened later in the evening, though, the night sky already beginning to grow. And with the stars peeking out from behind the clouds, and Jack lighting the fireplace, the entire situation seemed all too familiar.

“You know…” Looking over at Jack, he stands, briefly clapping the dust from his hands. “This kind of reminds me of our honeymoon.”

“Yeah?” He asks, flashing you that dazzling grin. And then he shrugs, walking over to you. “That was kinda the point.”

Romantic, warm, and beautiful, qualities that mirror both your relationship and post-wedding vacation. It still makes you grin, still makes butterflies erupt inside your belly that Jack is willing to do all of this for you.

“Wanna spoil you, angel.” Jack then hums, brushing aside some hair so he can get to your neck. And then he’s placing a single, sweet kiss, smiling. “How’re you feelin’, hm? Sore? Anything I can do?”

The mention of your honeymoon has his insides stirring, his mischievous nature growing. Alongside these playful emotions comes the presence of Jack’s hand on your thigh, warm even through the material of your pants. He rubs you firmly, giving the plush fat of your legs a slow squeeze.

Spoiling you is genuinely Jack’s pleasure, and he does it because he loves you; and this trait grew tenfold when you decided to carry his baby. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use these situations for his own satisfaction, too. Watching your body grow makes his entire body run hot, your soft and squishy thighs, your round belly and perfectly plump backside. And Jesus Christ, your tits, he never thought they could get any more enticing before you got pregnant. But now? So swollen with your nipples all sensitive and red… he can’t keep himself away. He just can’t, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to on your private getaway.

The slightest, most timid smirk forms on your face, eyes choosing to look away. “Well… you already took care of my feet.” Something in you says that Jack is looking for an excuse, for any simple reason to touch your body, massage it and just feel every inch of it that he can.

“Yeah?” He responds, chestnut orbs traveling down your figure. “What about your legs?”

“They’re fine, not too sore.” Shrugging, you do your best to suppress your laugh. Sometimes, teasing Jack was fun.

Raising a brow, he then asks, “Your hips? Stomach?” Now, he’s running his palm over your swollen belly, chest inhaling a deep breath. Nothing about pregnancy turned him on before, not until he saw you carrying his child. Who knew Jack Daniels had a breeding kink?

“Nope.” Finally turning to face him, you smile innocently. “I’m okay, baby.”

The look on your face is kind and calm, but the twinkle in your eye tells him you’re only playing. And his own expression is growing stern, contemplating his next move.

“You don’t seem to get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

And in one quick motion, Jack’s hand rises to grab harshly at your chest, squeezing one breast in hand. It makes you gasp, makes your body jump with surprise.

“Daddy wants to touch you, sugar.” In an instant, he’s closer, breathing heavier against you. “Daddy wants to touch your sweet body and watch you fall apart in his arms.”

With an exasperated sigh, he’s then falling to your neck, sucking on it with wet lips. His sudden advance has your jaw dropping, lips curling up at the ends. Keeping his hand on your chest, his fingers press into your skin, massaging your tit before collecting his fingers so he can toy with your nipple.

“Jack,” Comes your simple sigh, head falling back.

“I know,” He says, mouthing at your neck. “It feels so good for you, honey.”

His mouth moves to your jawline, licking it, nipping at it, while brushing his thumb across the point of your breast. Even the slightest bit of friction made them hard, whether it be a small breeze or the soft fabric of your shirt. They’d never been more sensitive, and Jack had never been more interested.

“You know I wanna touch you,” Jack mumbles over your skin, hand dropping to your legs. “Fuckin’ tease.”

Cupping you between your thighs pulls a full moan from your throat, head lifting just in time to see him lean into your chest. Jack buries his face into you, right between your smooth mounds while his tongue dips into your cleavage.

“Oh, god, I want this, sugar.” Though, you can barely hear him with his face stuffed between your tits. Lifting both hands, you encourage him, holding him there by the back of his head.

“Daddy,” Two fingers rub firm circles over your covered center, your husband groaning quietly when you grab onto his hair.

“Let me do this, baby doll.”

Nodding rapidly, you gulp. “Okay, daddy. Okay…”

Moving away from you with a swift inhale, Jack lifts himself from your body. Already, his pupils are blown, his pants tented firmly against your thigh. And for a brief second, you laugh. The two of you haven’t even been here for more than thirty minutes and he’s already trying to get into your pants.

“Gorgeous fuckin’ thing.” The praise makes you flush and he knows it, making his way down so he can kneel between your legs. “Get these off, sugar.” And even though he says it like a command, he does it for you, undoing your jeans and yanking them down your legs. The help you offer is brief, a simple lift of your hips. But then you’re falling back down and watching him spread your legs.

“Yeah… this is what I wanna see.” With his gaze focused on your center, Jack groans, tongue poking out to lick his lower lip. “Already leakin’ through your panties…”

In an experimental act, he reaches out, finger swiping over the very center of the delicate cloth. It’s damp, the middle darkened from your wetness. And that makes him grin, makes him fucking throb in his pants.

“You know it, don’t you?” He asks before leaning forward and stuffing his face between your thighs. Again, it takes you by surprise, forcing your legs wider while that curved nose of his nuzzles its way into your crotch. And then, he’s inhaling, hot mouth opening to taste you through your panties.

“D-Daddy,” This time, it comes out as a whine, one hand fisting his hair while the other grabs hold of the couch.

“Ugh,” Lifting himself just enough for you to hear, he says, “Know just how fuckin’ good you taste.” Reaching forward, Jack hooks two fingers around your panties before pulling them aside. And then his tongue is laying out, flattening it to give your cunt one firm, wet swipe.

“Fuck,” Puffing out a harsh breath, your eyes are fluttering shut, feeling the firm shove of his tongue.

“Get so goddamn wet like this, babycakes.” He notes, mouthing at your clit. Lifting a hand, he grabs onto your hip, urging you to sit back and lift your pelvis up a bit. It gives him better access, after all. “Been a goddamn fountain since I got you pregnant.”

And that makes you laugh, hands lowering to brush kindly through his hair. Both of those broad palms then move beneath your thighs, holding them with a secure grip while sucking on your core. It’s already on his face, on his lips and chin and cheeks. And lord, does he love that. He’d willingly drown in this if he could. Getting his face wet with your slick made him the happiest man on earth, made him harder than he ever thought he could be.

“Pretty little whore, aren’t you?” Jack chuckles, leaning back to spit on your folds. “Sittin’ here with my baby inside you, and your body’s still beggin’ for more.” The devil truly came out when he was like this, nothing but offensive praise and aggressive passion.

Running his tongue up and down through your lips, he groans, wrapping his mouth around your sensitive bud. And when he gives the tiniest succession of sucks, pulsing his lips around that tiny pearl, you feel like you’re going to come undone. Every part of you feels light and airy, like you could float away at any second. It’s like you’re buzzing with it, with euphoria and happiness. And he just keeps going, just keeps his head between your legs and his mouth on your throbbing cunt.

Jack knows when to hold you down, he’s done this too many times to not be aware. The grip he gives your hips is bruising, digging in with ferocity while shoving you onto his mouth. Your hips grind against him, head forcing itself back while you cry out for him. It’s a sweet whine, a gasping moan, fingers tightening on those dark brown strands while he fucks his tongue into you over and over again. He did that every time he ate you out, sucked on your clit until he made you unravel and then dove down to collect what he’d worked so hard for.

“I’m so fucking in love with you.” He’s out of breath, reaching for your jaw before smashing his mouth to your own. Instantly, the combination of his spit and your slick is running down your chin, legs shaking gently while Jack consumes you from above.

“I’m, I - baby.”

“Get up,” Jack grunts, hauling you up by your arms. “Gonna get you in bed so I can see the mess you made for me.”

Keeping his grip on your bicep, he pulls you alongside him, hurrying down the hall. The master bedroom isn’t far, which your shaky legs are thankful for. His demanding words and actions make everything seem so quick, like you don’t have a choice in anything that’s going on. And truthfully, you want it that way. You want Jack to make the decisions, you want to lie down and do whatever he wants you to.

Shoving you forward, he watches you stumble onto the bed, a bright grin on your beautiful face. Taking a beat, he pauses, standing above you before beginning to remove his shirt. And while keeping that deadly gaze, you move backward on the covers, shimmying out of your panties.

Eyes dipping down, he nods toward your chest. “Take off your bra.”

While unbuttoning his shirt, he watches you complete his task, tossing the last bit of your clothing onto the floor beside your bed. And just in time for him to shove his pants down, too.

“Mine,” He suddenly says, crawling over you on the bed. “Mine - all mine.”

Again, he’s obsessing over your breasts, shoving his face between them while his hands work the rest. His body rubs against you, cock wet and leaking on your thigh. It makes your insides burn bright, seeing his overt attraction for you. He gets so passionate when he’s like this, so vulnerable yet assertive, confident.

“Let me get my fingers inside you.” That breathy voice says, licking two of them before dragging them down your chest.

While his tongue lays out, toying with your nipples, Jack’s fingers dip inside your entrance, already loose from your orgasm. So sweet and welcoming, velvety and warm. And all you can do is writhe beneath the weight of his body, turning your head to kiss his cheek and neck. The curl of his fingers practically makes you shriek, feeling your body react on its own accord.

“So sensitive like this, baby.” It’s lazy, the way he licks your nipples, teeth dragging over the red and puffy peaks. And then he’s sucking on them, sucking on the swollen swell of your tits and groaning like he’d just cum in his goddamn pants.

“Tell me you want more.”

“I want it,” Nodding, you gasp, swallowing dryly. “I want more.”

Your hips cant upwards in time with his fingers’ movement, hands grasping for his bicep and back. But it’s not enough, not for him.

“Tell daddy you need him, c’mon.”

“Daddy, please.”

“Nuh-uh,” Breathily, he chuckles. “Use your big girl words, sweet pea.”

“I need you, I need you, daddy. Please, please.” In an attempt to convince him, you lower your hand, finding him laying heavy over your thigh. The firm grip you give his cock makes everything slow down for him, his eyes shutting alongside a small hiss. Even his fingers fall slack, chest dropping against your own.

“Touch me, baby.” It’s a quiet command, one said while he nods. “Touch daddy.”

Knowing that he’s happy with this, you grin, running your fist up and down his length. Glancing down between your bodies, Jack watches, eyeing the way your thumb swipes over his tip.

“Oh, fuck.” Shaking his head, Jack sighs, hips rocking into your grip. “Always need you like this, sugar, always…”

You can’t deny that it’s been hard these past few weeks, hell, these past few months. Being intimate hasn’t been a priority for the two of you, unfortunately; stress just took control of your lives. Jack’s career was becoming incredibly demanding, leaving you to care for the house and your unborn baby all on your own. Setting up the nursery, going to doctor’s appointments by yourself, feeling the baby kick without your husband there to experience it, somedays, it was just heartbreaking for you. But you’re here now, you’re together, without a single distraction in sight. You’re his, and he’s mine. That fact is always in your mind.

Taking himself from your hand, he settles between your legs with a relieved breath. Jack’s love for you consumes him, his entire body and mind. He just wants to wrap himself around you, looping his arms around your back while burying his face in your hair.

“Jack,” It’s said quietly while you hold him, stroking his hair.

Lifting one hand, it rests on your left breast, Jack’s hips moving to push into you slowly. The way you open up for him is an absolute dream, a breathless laugh spilling from his mouth as it happens. And when he pinches your nipple, you whine, forcing a jump from his cock as it rests inside.

“You just need a lil’ extra somethin’, don’t you, sweetheart?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, but you’re not sure what he means.

Pressing his face into the curve of your neck, Jack smiles brightly, lips dragging over the skin as he begins to move. So he doesn’t hurt you, the hand on your chest moves to the bed, placing all of his weight onto it.

“Puttin’ my dick inside you just ain’t enough anymore. Was it ever?”

“Daddy, what…” The steady pump of his cock between your legs is making you feel delirious, flooding your body with a sense of euphoria you’ve never felt before your pregnancy. “What do you mean?”

“Remember what we used to do, sugar? You remember?” Heat creeps onto your cheeks as he says it, legs lifting to his waist as the arousal in your body heightens. “You remember what you did in my office?”

“B-Baby,” He knows this gets to you, knows it hits right to your core.

“I remember,” Jack continues, licking at your neck. “Bendin’ you over my desk, fuckin’ you dumb over my paperwork. Or how ‘bout the times you sucked me off while I talked to Champ, huh? What about that?”

Every firm shove forces the tip of his cock against your most sensitive spot, the thin tissue that just begs for his presence. And that, alongside those devilish words, is making you drip around him.

“Crawling on your knees for me in my jet,” He’s throbbing inside you, words becoming airy as he reconnects with your body. “Shit,” Hissing harshly, his eyes pinch shut. “Fuck me, honey. You remember rubbing yourself over me? Over my new goddamn boots because you were so horny?”

“Fuck, yes.” Exposing your neck even more, you toss your head back, feeling Jack’s teeth make their own special imprint.

The memory is all too erotic, something you honestly can’t believe you did. Jack made you stupid; he was so goddamn attractive, so goddamn charming, that you’d do anything just to please him. Even if it meant humiliating yourself, you’d do it just to get off.

“Hm…” You sigh out, placing your chin on his knee and closing your eyes in contentment.

“How’s that feel, honey?” He asks, reaching down to tilt your chin up to him.

Your eyes open, lids already heavy with adoration and lust. Jack’s smiling down at you, his expression soft and caring.

“So good,” Comes your contented hum, more than happy to finally have contact with your lover.

“Yeah?” He whispers, “Then keep goin’. Make ‘em all wet and shiny for me, honey.”

You whimper quietly at his words, moaning lightly as you lean forward to begin moving your hips. The movement of your soft skin, your folds brushing over the smoothness of the material, only furthers the waves of heat that begin flowing through your core.

“Go on,” He urges, “entertain me, sweet pea.”

“God, do I miss that. Havin’ my own little slut on tap.”

“Daddy, I’m, I’m still here.” It sounds pathetic, like you’re begging, trying your damnedest to prove to him that that part of you hasn’t left.

“Oh, I know you are.” Lifting himself from your body, Jack glares down at you, one hand lifting to grab your jaw. “I know you’re there, babycakes. Comes out every time I’m inside you, every time I give you a demand. Why don’t you show me?”

At this, your brows raise innocently, unable to speak from the grip he has on your jaw and chin. And amidst your silence, he says, “Show me how well you still listen to me… and open that mouth.”

As soon as his grip allows you to, your lips are parting. That strong hand drops to your throat then, Jack’s face coming down to drip a cool trail of spit onto your tongue. But he’s not done then, not until spitting forcefully onto your mouth. And the moan you exude is nothing short of whorish and erotic, the liquid sliding over your tongue.

“Yeah…” The word is said with a cocky sense of power, that gorgeous half-smirk crawling onto his face. “You just can’t get off to that vanilla shit anymore, can you, babycakes? You need it rough, don’t you?”

That hand is still on your throat, and only tightens as he speaks. With every thrust, his pelvis slaps against you, forcing your legs wider, and forcing himself deeper.

“Need daddy to manhandle you? Choke you? Hold you down and bruise you?”

Burying himself inside your cunt, you can’t help but feel so perfectly full, the veins along his shaft rubbing delightfully against your inner skin. It feels so natural, this connection, so natural and sensual. But nothing about it is sweet; everything about this encounter screams salacious and indecent.

“Yes,” Comes your little plea, nodding. “Yes.”

Each shove rocks your body against the mattress, the strength of Jack’s body surrounding your entire presence. He feels so warm and strong, soft when he needs to be and mean when he wants to be.

“I love this,” Jack admits, “Love nothing more than this; connecting with you. Look at you, just look at you.”

Lowering himself with a flurry of rapid breaths, he presses his mouth to your cheek, expressing his adoration for you. “You’re so good for me, my pretty baby. So pretty like this, sugar. Fuckin’ gorgeous when you take me.”

“I need you, can’t, can’t live without you.”

“Never, sugar.” Gasping against the side of your head, Jack’s chest stutters, a deep groan slipping from his lips. “Always here for you, with you.”

When he gets like this, you can’t help but wrap your legs around him, tightening every muscle and pulling him in. And he lets you, falling into your embrace with a deep moan of gratification. It consumes him, the pleasure of it all, of releasing inside your wonderfully welcoming body. Jolting slightly above your beautiful and giving form, Jack moans helplessly, feeling his release wash over your walls. Every spurt is accompanied with a sharp shudder, arms moving to encircle you fully. Humid grunts pass over your ear, his mouth hanging open as he experiences the sensation of it.

“My sweet girl.” Your husband finally says, his body tingling with every ounce of happiness that he has. His hold is full of pure, unwavering love, full of absolute worship and adoration. And beneath him, you relax, wanting nothing more than to rest with him in this peace.

Kissing your head, Jack whispers sweetly, “Perfect little thing.”

It’s in this moment that you feel every single worry melt away, every anxious thought about Statesman and the baby. Those negative notions serve absolutely no purpose to you, not when Jack is here, not when he cares for you so consistently and so openly. With Jack, you’re safe, you’ve never known otherwise. And nothing could ever take him away from you.

#daddyyy YESSSSS #YES #Daddy Whiskey #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey x you #Agent Whiskey x reader #Agent Whiskey x female reader #Agent Whiskey smut #Daddycember #Daddycember 2023 #Daddycember '23

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iamskyereads · 1 year

Text

Salty Caramel

AGENT WHISKEY X FEM READER

summary: You hate him, you really do. During a mission Agent Whiskey eats a candy laced with a dangerous poison, and you're the only one who can save him.

warnings: 18+ MDNI This is Explicit as Fuck. This is a sex-candy fic. Dub/con trigger warnings apply. The Candy Made ‘Em Do It. Explicit sexual content (oral m & f receiving, p in v), lots of bodily fluids (cumeating, squirting), overstimulation, hate sex, mild somno, switch!Jack and switch!Reader, a soft ending with FEEELINNNGSS, and coarse language. Part crack, part unhinged fever dream. Reader is described as having curves.

7.8k of absolute filth and would have been yeeted unbeta’d into the universe except for @wheresarizona and her endless generosity. Thank you for the beta!

Of course shoutout to the Discord Besties who thirsted over and approved of these shenanigans.

Apologies for the misuse of metaphors and overwrought references to candy. I have no explanation for this.

AO3 //// Masterlist

Agent Whiskey was the oil to your water. Swaggering and proud. Brash and obnoxious.

Your very first mission together saw the two of you playing fake husband and wife to dupe a rising Oil Tycoon into giving up the details of his unhinged plot to hold the world oil supply hostage in order to tank the markets. Confident and elated to be given your first field job, you went all in with Whiskey.

Back then, you and Whiskey got along, famously so, playing up the charm act on the Oil Tycoon. Flirting and physically affectionate with each other, you two acted the hell outta the doting, recently-married, extremely wealthy couple in order to schmooze your way into the Oil Tycoon’s good graces and then when the time was right, foil his plot.

Just as the two of you were seconds from uncovering the nefarious plans, and about to take down the Oil Tycoon himself, Whiskey swept you into his arms.

“We don’t have to keep pretending,” you hissed at him. No one was there to witness your little charade.

“Forgive me for this, sugar.” He cradled your face, bringing his lips to yours in a swift and passionate kiss.

It was your own foible—charmed by his nature, you had let the man get under your skin, even naively, entertained a few loose thoughts that it was nice to actually have his attention; let yourself believe that you were the man’s wife with all the real affection he was doting on you, even if it was for show.

But even this kiss, steamy as it was, was part of his wicked plan. Too late, you heard the clicking of a locking mechanism and breaking his kiss, you looked down to see he had handcuffed you to the radiator in the Oil Baron’s office.

“Whiskey! What the fuck?”

He left you behind that day and went to stop the Tycoon and his crazy plan on his own.

Afterwards, with the global oil supply safe, and no impending world collapse, you exploded at him and Champ when you returned to the Statesman HQ, threatening to quit. “It was our mission and he left me behind,” you spewed angrily.

It didn’t help that Whiskey stood there while you let Champ have it. All smug, with his hip cocked to one side, his hands resting on his belt loops to perfectly frame the flask clipped on his belt. The condescending ass. Fuming, rant over, you marched past him, and he tipped a two-fingered salute at you, brushing the brim of his Stetson.

“Pleasure, sugs.”

It turned you hot with fury. Since then, you swore you hated him with every fiber of your being.

Statesman Intel has you placed at a lab running a mystery drug about to hit the markets. It is destined to wind up in the bathroom stall of every club and every hooker’s G-string between here and the Golden Gate Bridge.

People’s lives are at stake.

This mission is a simple recon job. Your first sweep of the drug lab, abandoned, for now, takes place after dark. It’s deserted save a few patrolling night guards that you knock down in record time. In the control room, after neutralizing the guards, you and Whiskey check the cons and the cameras.

The place is a ghost town, which makes your skin shiver in all the wrong places. Whatever intel Statesman had is poor, clearly outdated—there hadn’t been drug production, hell, not anything, in weeks given the state of the entirely empty warehouse.

“Why the security for an abandoned lab?” you ask your wily partner.

Whiskey’s got his eyes on something under the security console. He bends to investigate, and holds up what appears to be a piece of candy between his index finger and thumb. A caramel sweet wrapped in a clear plastic foil.

You scowl at his treasure. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to eat that.”

As if in direct challenge to you, he unwraps it.

“C'mon, really?” You snap at him. “We’re on a mission. Ginger said no fucking around.”

The bastard rolls it on his tongue with a smug shrug.

Leaving the control room, you and Whiskey, guns raised, head down to the main level. A strange sickly-sweet smell wafts over the premises too, one you cannot place.

You can’t stop watching Whiskey’s jaw lock over the sweet, nursing it like a lozenge, with great smacks of his lips, locking and clacking, getting stuck on his teeth. You can hear him sucking back drool, and the succulently heavy melting caramel sticking on his tongue. He moans around it and says see something you like, sugs to rile you up when he sees you glaring.

The sickly smell worsens in the main part of the deserted lab, lingering on the empty conveyor belts, seeping in from the white-blasted walls, and the metal mixing vats among other large-scale machinery.

“Ginge,” you tap your Statesman glasses over your nose.

The line crackles with interference, but your tech expert back at HQ chirps back in the earpiece. “Here.”

“Sending you visuals of the lab.”

“Coming through. Standby.”

Whiskey’s analyzing one of the machines by a loading dock. They sit empty, these hulking structures, like outdated ghosts. He’s trailing one large finger over the edge of the tarpaulin thrown over the now unused machinery. “What you think, sugs? We call it in? Mission ended. Nothing here worth looking at.”

Your eyes glaze over as you take in the production line. Melting pots, boilers and burners, mixers for blending—it all felt misplaced. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it is more a high-end kitchen than a scientific lab peddling a party drug. More Willy Wonka than Cartel.

And that scent, it hits you finally. It’s confectionery.

Your earpiece crackles in the same moment—twin pings in both your ear and Whiskey’s—followed by Ginger’s pert voice. “They’re for—”

But you already know what she’s going to say. Rounding roughly on your partner on the other end of the room. “Whiskey, you idiot!”

“Candy production!! The models of these machines are for making candy!” Ginger’s saying, but the rest is swallowed by your haphazard shouting to Whiskey about the caramel sweet he swallowed being laced with the drug.

Usually, Whiskey would be mouthing off at you for going so hard on him—pun obviously fucking intended—and sticking to the rules, instead, his fear and confusion has muzzled him into silence, and he stares at you, frozen solid.

Whiskey is never silent. He’s a man of such inopportune verbosity you pray to prevent yourself from slapping him every time he opens his damn mouth to unload.

“Jack?” You ask calmly, because there’s a twitch on his left temple, a vein popping to near-bursting levels.

A shadow has overtaken him—not a shadow, a glaze. It’s frosted over his features. Two fists clench and unclench at his sides. It’s his tongue you’re watching; it peeks out, a little triangle of pink to part his lips, scrape under the edge of his top teeth, razor sharp and glinting in a snarl.

“Fuckin’ told you,” you seethe at him, coming closer to investigate. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The second your hand touches upon the elbow patch of his wool blazer, he flinches like you’ve burned him. His eyes fall shut in a pinch, and he’s—pained?

It is barely more than a feathered touch, but he’s acting like you’ve knifed him. “Sugs, don’t,” he warns.

“Jack.” You repeat his real name, twinged with apprehension. “We gotta go.”

It’s incredibly difficult to get him out. He fights you every step of the way, the drug is working quickly, an intoxication setting in so deep he’s entirely reliant on you pulling him with all your strength.

Ginger’s yelling in your ear. “His heart rate, Lemonade, I’m seeing his vital signs go crazy.”

“I’m aware, Ginge.” You clench down on your jaw, gripping Whiskey’s coat sleeve as he wilts away from your grasp.

“Dose him with a sedative. There should be one in the medkit in the van,” she directs.

The Statesman vehicle is located outside the security gates that run the perimeter of the lab. Ginger guides you via a quicker route, one that barges a straight shot across the parking lot. It’s wide-open, leaving the two of you vulnerable, but there’s no time to bother with sneaking out, not when Whiskey’s condition is quickly deteriorating.

“I’ll need samples of what he took to get an antidote going.”

“Negative, Ginger. He swallowed the whole thing.” You’ve got him draped over your entire side, the two of you in a lock-step march across the parking lot. Keeping all your training focused on moving quickly, and eyes in the back of your head.

“Few more steps, Jack.” His arm is heavy around the width of your shoulders.

The van is in sight and breathing a prayer, you haul Whiskey into the back of it, shutting and locking it down.

Your fellow agent is in poor condition—he’s sweating, going cross-eyed, movements jerky and uncontrolled. You hit him with a dose of sedative. It should work immediately, instead, it does nothing.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you yell in the narrow space. He’s sprawled across the floor, his precious hat fallen to the wayside, and he’s tugging at his jacket. “Ginge!” you snarl. “He’s trying to get naked!”

Your eardrum’s about to burst with how fast she’s talking. Going on about heart rates, and blood-toxicity levels. What you’re hearing is that Whiskey’s heart is pumping so wildly, his own body is fighting the toxins and now the sedative.

“Hot—s’too hot.” His speech is unrecognizable, panting, and scratchy. Guttural and low, it starts an ache within you.

“Temp is spiking,” Ginger reports in your ear.

“I’m aware.” Frantic and pissed off at the redundancies, you toss your earpiece across the space, not seeing where it lands.

There are ice packs for emergency use, you remember, as you dig around in the medkit. You have to squeeze them to break the inner seal, the packaging popping as you do so it’s almost like the blast of a gunshot. The seal breaks, you feel the liquid chemical spilling out into the shell, and you do the same to two more packages, turning to Whiskey and holding them up.

“Hey, hey.” You opt for a consoling, gentle tone. “We have to get your heart rate and temperature down.”

He’s already ripped his blazer and shirt, tearing the buttons down, so they go flying around the confines of the recon van, zinging off the walls.

His skin is all smooth and tanned, the color of salted caramel. Same texture too. Nearly hairless, the man’s torso is broad, but far from chiseled, for he is far softer than you thought. His jeans are so tight on him, he must mold himself into liquid, poured molten hot, the way he fits so snugly into them.

“Sugs,” he croons, helpless. It makes dryness soar in your mouth.

A thin layer of sweat has already burst out over his skin, his hair mussed, where it’s become disheveled with his writhing. He folds over, pressing his cheek into the cool sheet metal flooring on the bottom of the van. You tuck an ice pack onto the back of his neck, and under the pit of each arm.

“Dru–uh-gged,” he chokes out, torso quivering with every inhale and exhale. “Hurts.”

Wincing, you nod along. “You’re such a bastard,” and you laugh dryly, can’t help yourself at the shit he’s gotten himself into. “It’s gonna be okay. I need a blood sample. Ginger’s gonna get you an antidote.”

Another cylindrical drum and a vial from the medkit, a stab onto his arm. He grunts as the needle pierces him subcutaneously.

You have to tear your eyes away because—Jesus—he’s grinding his hips, rubbing the very ample bulge in his jeans upon the inanimate floor. It’s positively sinful. A moan reverberates, making your ears ring with the richness of the sound, the way it sends a shiver up the length of your spine.

At the computer console and monitors grafted to the walls of the van, you conduct an initial analysis of his blood sample. You don’t have all the proper equipment for a full diagnosis, but you have enough to preserve what you’ve collected, and can send along the rest to Ginger and the lab at HQ. The computer hums as it works, while Jack—you cut a glance down to him—

Fuck fuck fuck. He’s getting worse.

“Talk to me.” You hunker down to his level and he winces, groaning when you try to touch him. His body temperature seems to be flattening out, but it’s still worrisomely higher than you’d like it to be. The ice is helping somewhat.

His hips grinding upon the floor, however, are not helping you.

“Need.” You hear him say—

“Need? Need what?”

The next thing you hear is the pop of his belt buckle. “Oh no—no, hey, wait a second. Easy, easy.”

It’s too late. His hand is descending between the open leaves of his jeans, he’s jacking himself off dry, holy shit. He grunts like an animal as he works his hand over his cock. You only see the fervent movement of his forearm, the muscles in his back shaking as he brings himself to release, his hips humping

The drug elevates libido, that much is evident. Makes the taker so horny they have to have sex. But it’s also killing him. Literally. You gulp, reading his biometrics—he will die if he doesn’t …release himself.

“Not enough,” Jack’s hissing from the floor. “S’not…e-enough.” It falls off into a pained groan, anguished as he cums. You can hear the wet squelch of his release falling over his fist as he wrings himself dry, pumping his cock even as he finishes.

Not a single change in his condition.

“Jack,” your voice is too soft to be heard above the din of skin-on-skin, the wet sounds of his fist jerking himself off, and his wanton moans.

Last mission, when you played husband and wife, the two of you sat down and outlined what lines exactly were allowed to be crossed and when—where to touch, to kiss, to grope as dictated by the rules of intimacy and consent so you two could be convincing enough for the mission. It was pretty much an open book, the abrupt jump to physical intimacy when the two of you were basically newly minted acquaintances. The easy thing about Jack was he made it easy. He had no lines, not when it came to the decorum of affection.

It’s different here and now.

Frustration and anguish paints his features into an abundance of harsh lines, gritted teeth, and tense muscles. That vein on his forehead threatens to burst. He’s frantically jerking himself again, rolled onto his back. His cock juts proudly, engorged, and enraged as if he hadn’t spent the previous moments getting himself off. As if nothing had happened. White smears of his cum coat his hand and runs down his wrist.

“I can help,” you say, coming to your decision at the crossroads of fear and downright stupidity. “I can help, partner. Will you let me?”

“Yeah, sugs, yeah please,” he’s saying, moistening his lips as fast as he can, for they go dry instantly.

You arrange your hair out of the way, remove a top layer, so you’re down to your bra, things will get messy, and knee over to him, slapping his hands off his cock so you can have free reign.

You make quick work of the rest of his clothes, tugging off his belt and shucking off his pants. He groans, giddy, at the way you handle him roughly with no forethought.

“Please.” He’s reduced to begging, thighs shaking as he spreads himself.

Braced over him and mumbling a prayer—“for my country”—under your breath, you suck down his cock. He bucks as wild and untamed as a loose colt, grunting and moaning like he’s testing out his lungs for the first time.

Musk and salty precum explode on your tongue, taffy, and licorice; faint bristles of his pubic hair when you sink all the way down, tickle your nose, and you bob up and down. He smells nice, at least, not an offensive stench on him.

Odes tumble forth from his lips. He speaks in pure poetry, none of it makes sense, too sugar-laced, too sweet to be anything genuine. More Splenda than the real stuff, the real brown sugar, you spoon into your coffee every morning.

“Kitten,” Jack wheezes out a new nickname for you.

“Shut the fuck up, no talking,” you toss, incensed at him and mortified at the state of things. When your mouth pops off him, silky threads connect your mouth to the wet head of his cock, viscous as poured caramel. You hollow out your cheeks and take him in.

Jack won’t stop running his mouth—hot and juicy, crushed berries exploding on his tongue. He’s working overtime to shower you in praises, attagirl, you’re so good, and honey, you feel nice, keep going, kitten, I want to fuck your pretty tasty mouth that’s it, spooling forth equally.

“Let me taste you, kitten.” He chews on his lip, the sheen around his eyes has a glassy effect, opaque as obsidian. “Bet you’re so sweet, kitten. Bet it’s the sweetest pussy.”

He probably couldn’t eat pussy unless he had Ginger in his ear giving him instructions.

“Shut up,” you seethe at him, pulling his cock between your fist, and he grunts at the different sensation of your dry palm.

His loud laugh startles you. It swells in the vicinity of his chest, making the muscles of his belly quake. It ends in a roughened wheeze when you squeeze your palm around the base of his cock, making his eyes nearly bug out. You stroke him slower, more measured.

“That tongue a’yours, it’s all prickly, ain’t it?” For a man covered in his sweat and reduced to near drooling, he’s got quite the whiplash attitude. “Methinks the kitten doth—”

“Don’t call me that!” you snap.

“—protest too much, eh?” He grunts and heaves, tilts his neck backward as he sits back on his elbows, and closes his eyes. The bobbing of his throat is mesmerizing. Unfairly so.

You still have a job to do. He’s in no better shape since you started.

“I get you to cum, and we’re done, yeah, Whiskey?” The sharp edge to it chafes on your tongue, the same shock as a swallow of that liquor he shares his callsign; it gets his attention.

“I said, yeah, Whiskey?” Because goddamn all to pieces and hell and back and everything in between, you need his verbal confirmation.

“Yeah, ma’am,” he croons, and moans immediately. A surge of arousal ricochets through him, ending in drips of more precum leaking from the purple-red head of his cock.

“Good.” You lick off the precum and cum, milky whipped cream.

You bring him to an earth-shattering orgasm almost immediately, he bursts into your open mouth, fucking upwards on your tongue, and you relax your jaw around his girth, which is impressive in itself.

There’s no place for his cum to go but down your throat, and you swallow it all, breathing through your nose and sucking around his cock, which does not soften in the slightest.

Jesus, you could be here all night.

Jack lies upon the floor, limbs akimbo, naked and shiny with sweat. Cum and saliva drip from your chin, and you wipe it messily across the back of your hand.

He’s breathing faster than a racehorse. “Kitten, c’mere.”

“Don’t call me that!” Then yield—“How you doing, Jack? Hurting?”

The obsidian effect on his eyes has not lessened, nor has the red flush on his body. Half-lidded eyes, heavy with want, as you check him over.

“C’mere,” he croaks. The quality of his voice has not changed, raspy and roughened with the lust brought on by the drug.

You hover over him. Jack jumps when your hands check his temperature. His nose follows your arm around, inhaling your scent as if he’s trying to memorize it. With a jerky motion, he takes your messy fingers and pops them one-by-one into his mouth, filthily licking his spend off of you.

Fuck, it should not feel this good. His tongue is playing a wicked game, and he moans around your fingers. A hunger morphs his features, already handsome, he appears more so, the aquiline slope of his nose, the strong cut of his jaw, the pearly pink of his lips around your fingers, the indent of his dimple. A fire is starting in your belly.

The moan you release is positively depraved. “J-a-aack,” you stutter, because you’re feeling strange. Impossibly hot. Hot-flash-hot.

There’s a beeping on the monitor somewhere in the vicinity behind you. A slow swivel of your head, but your limbs feel strange, like little licks of electricity are coursing through you.

The computer monitor is flashing your vital signs—you have to blink a few times to comprehend them and the way Jack is licking the palm of your hand, moaning as he starts to pump himself again. It’s a serious distraction, and it physically pains you to tear your eyes away from the flushed head of his cock going into his fist, disappearing then reappearing, to read the monitors displaying that now your core body heat is rising, and so is your heart rate.

“Huh?”

“Gonna let old Jack eat your pretty pussy?” Jack’s hungering into your ear. He’s loosening the straps of your bra, attaching his mouth to the skin of your clavicle.

Heat soars inside you and you cry out, relieved, at the brush of his hands, the swipe of his hot tongue. It’s too damned hot and it—it…feels so good when he touches you.

“Shit,” you slur, “I’ve been”—Jack’s nibbling at your earlobe—“I’m infected.”

Fuck. How? You smack your lips because while you hadn’t even eaten the candy, you’d only—

The brash hardness of his cock trapped under your thigh awakens you to realization. The musky taste of Jack’s cum inside your mouth was sweeter than saltwater taffy when you swallowed him down.

It’s in you now.

Diluted, though, for you still possess some of your faculties. That must be how the poison spreads, infecting all those who imbibe it via secondary transmission.

And it’s killing you too.

Your pussy throbs and you whimper. Shit, you have to get out of here, but Jack won’t stop petting you in his lap, making you grind downwards on him as he unclasps your bra. There’s already dampness edging outward from your core, soaking the lining of your panties and spotting your blue jeans—which are stifling. But the more you try to ignore it, the more it hurts.

Jack explores your breasts, freed from their cups. How could he not, he’s ravenous at every part of you.

“Look at me.” You tug the backside of his untamed hair so his eyes land on yours. It’s full puppy-dog effect—they’re wide and worried, nearly black in the dim light of the van, under the mellow overhead lights.

“Still in there?” you question him, holding his face so you can peer into the depths of his drugged-out state, searching for the man underneath the fog. Your throat is so dry it clamps up at any attempt to speak further.

You can see him fighting the euphoric state, the flash of fear and uncertainty, the confused pink blep of his tongue between his lips. Your hand travels over the sweaty untamed fringe that’s fallen over his forehead, smoothing it back off his face, and he purrs. It drops straight to your core, making you squirm in his hold, trying to lessen the agony of desire blooming deep inside you.

A push on his strong shoulders sends him prone upon the floor. You are quick to undress yourself, bra, jeans, underwear—every article of clothing dropped makes you want to cry in sweet relief, yes yes yes your body seems to say, moving faster than your mind. Slick leaks from your center, your aroused state making you sensitive, every lick of cool air upon your heated center sends you shivering, goosebumps drawing up on the surface of your skin, tightening the nubs of your nipples. The thud thud thud of your heart echoes in your ears, loud as a passing airplane directly overhead.

Jack’s reduced to whines. His twitching cock is trapped beneath you. As much as it is torture for you, it’s ten times more intense for him—as a thousand knives into every pore the more you fight it.

Climbing back atop Jack, you attach your mouth to one of his dark nipples, he howls, clinging to you as a savior. His thick cock bobs on his belly, smearing more precum in droplets on his navel. You’d be more intimidated at how much he’s going to stretch you, except you ache with emptiness.

You glide your pussy on the underside of his cock, coating him. At the first touch, the heat within you begins to abate, the roar of desire turns to a low whisper it’s perfect it’s just what you want. It's not enough, it’s perfect, it’s so close, it’s not enough. It all screams inside you, rising as a tidal wave, more more more.

A lift onto your knees, a grasp around his base to align you, and you’re about to notch him at your entrance and the smooth round head of his cock is about to sink inside your sweet warmth, about to soothe the tempest of madness—

“Lemonade.”

You whip your head to stare, mouth agape at him. Breathing a full-on wheeze.

“Whiskey.” There’s lucidity, temporarily so, in the way he’s gazing at you right now.

His broad palm soothes down the side of your face. It’s so tender, the animal inside you brought on by the drugs purrs at it.

“It’s okay, s’okay,” he whispers, tortured and boyishly innocent all at once. His throat is so parched, lips cracked and ruined with dehydration, and he can barely breathe.

“It hurts,” you gasp. “Make it stop.”

His eyes slip closed, catching one mangled breath after another. The apple of his throat bobs, the muscles in his neck flexing and straining under pressure. You zero in on it, count the many freckles dotting the surface of his skin, and smack your lips at the beads of sweat on his pretty neck. Nostrils flared, he fights to open his eyes again, and groans when he sees you poised over him, perched on your knees, ready to take him.

“I know, sugs. I know.” He lays his hands on your torso, rides your curves—built like a back country road, he always used to tease you—down to the plush meat of your ass and squeezes. It hitches you forward, so the head of his cock kisses the inner lips of your pussy.

A ragged intake of air and you hold it, then ever so slowly you sink down on his cock.

You ride him until your thighs ache. Until every muscle in you screams and screams. The low-hungering growl you hear, you’re surprised to learn, is your own scream shearing through your vocal chords. An orgasm, the first of many, makes you hunch over as if punched, as you rub furiously at your clit, teasing out its length, drawing out every spasm, and you clench around Jack’s cock, wringing him dry.

Woozy, you hide your face in his damp neck, folded over him and he holds the underside of your thighs to keep you bouncing on his cock. Your mouth opens, tasting the slickness of his beautiful skin stretched over the muscles and bones of his collar, and you find a spot, and gnaw your teeth along it, scraping and biting until he hollers aloud.

Jack loses control of his hips. Ramming them as he spills inside you. When you think you’re done, your orgasm having claimed every muscle and fiber in your body, a timid roar inside you calls out, yet unsatisfied.

Jack manages to sit up, keeping you in his lap. The slick gliding of his cock becomes more of a grind, slow and easy. His breath ghosts over your collar, brushes and cools the sweat pooling on your neck, between the valley of your breasts.

You can adjust your sore legs so they sweep behind his hips, seated upright, one arm resting on his shoulders, the other running up and down the smooth planes of his torso. Jack melts as your nails abrade down his flanks, in surrender to you, a rippling and roiling ocean waves. You two rock and sway together.

A two-headed, eight-limbed monster at war with itself.

It takes you a moment, but he’s speaking. Soft as a breeze brushing petals upon your sweat-soaked skin. The undulating mash of your moving bodies never ceases, nor do the frenzied whispers of his praise, spoken by his tongue and hands.

There’s the width of his hands exploring your body, your breasts. There’s the head of his cock nudging so deeply, you swear you feel him in the back of your throat. There’s the rough drawl of his accent, wheezing when he calls to you you’re so pretty never wanted you so much, kitten feel so good, made for me, made to take me like this prettiest girl never could tell you—

There’s the low coil of arousal deep in your spine, pushing against to the forefront. A caress starts on the wet swollen, puffy lips of your pussy—Jack’s thumb, stolen and slipped between your rutting bodies, has moved to your clit. He coaxes the beast outwards, makes it purr and keen with honeyed cries. You, honest to God, groan throatily, snapping your head back in a broad appeal to the heavens.

“Jack, please,” you are whining. “Please make it stop.”

“I got you, kitten.” He lifts his face from your sweaty neck.

“Shut—up.” You’re drooling, eyes rolling into the deep recesses of your head as you climb higher and are soon released as if suspended over a cliff and dropped. He follows in short succession until his cock twitches inside you. His seed spills, easing the glide but he is relentlessly hard.

Desire is the victor on his features. Hooded dark eyes are stained with tears, and his jaw slacks with submission. His wilted hair sits messily upon the crown of his hair. He’s positively sinful—golden skin, opaque glass for eyes, lips spit-soaked and raw as he hisses and jerks with overstimulation.

In a frugal motion, you are turned onto your belly. Knees sent scraping along the metal flooring, making you gasp at the sensation of coolness on your heated body. A yank of your hips upwards as you place your cheek on that cool, merciful iciness. You whine at the loss, but soon Jack is fitting his cock into place inside you, making you moan and gasp and beat the floor with its goodness.

He hammers into you, precisely into your G-spot. Your body is limp, tired, and sore, but still, the monster claws at your throat, stirs the emptiness in your belly. It rises as the sun, bringing heat and warmth, and yes, Jack just like that, his brash fingers working overtime on your clit, until he’s got you seizing up all over again. Wetness running down your already damp thighs.

“I hate you,” you grate out at the surprising speed of your continuous orgasms. “I really hate you.”

Jack’s body blankets yours, the softness of his belly melding smoothly to the base of your spine. “Show me how much you hate me,” he all but coos.

The muscled angle of his arm is in your periphery and you nuzzle into him, latching your mouth around the thick fingers. He grunts somewhere in the vicinity of your ear, pain or pleasure you know both are honest.

“I swear to fucking god I hate you so much.”

“Show me.”

“I can’t,” you croak, when you feel his other fingers edging around your opening, seeking your swollen, abused nub. Too sore and overstimulated to want to be touched anymore, but you can’t help it.

“Yes, you can,” he urges. “One more, one more. I got you. You let old Jack in now.”

How much more ‘in’ can he get? He’s already barricaded through every barrier, crossed every border, knocked at the doors of your defenses and tore right through them. Vulnerable and raw, tears leak from your eyes. If he leaves you now, you swear you’ll die.

“I can’t,” you pant around his fingers in your mouth. You are skirting the edges of your fatigue. “I can’t.”

Your vision has become blurry. Jack is no more than a see-sawing outline of black hair and a messy mustache out of the corner of your eye. Sweaty and damp across the landscape of your back, his strong thighs cage yours and the broad strokes of his cock hit in and out with intensity. Hitting the very deepest, sorest parts of you.

“Yes, you can, sugar, let me give you one more,” Jack’s pleading.

He circles at your clit, and you scream at the sensitivity of it. Overwhelmed. The pressure is too much. You feel like bursting. You do. A hot liquid comes out of you, more squelch than a squirt, and he rides it out, meets you thrust for thrust.

“Good girl! You see that! You soaked me,” he’s exclaiming behind you like you’ve won yourself a medal in the rodeo for your effort. Good Lord, it’s still pouring by the cupful, and you hear the audible wetness of your pussy sucking him inside you.

You don’t know how long it takes before he finishes, before he pulses and paints himself inside you, because you black out, your mouth open in a soundless scream.

The world comes back to you in fits and starts. Small kisses are being placed around your breasts.

“I’m glad it was you, kitten,” you hear him say.

Dazed, all the world a crusty background haze, you blink open your eyes, and focus on the shining light directly above your head. The van. You’re still in the fucking van. The computer terminal is in sleep mode, but a sole light flashing on the console means there’s a message, or maybe a couple hundred. Definitely Ginger.

“Don’t call me that,” you grouse, belatedly. Your voice grates like coarse salt.

“Oh, but your pussycat likes it,” Jack disagrees gently, smacking his lips downwards upon your tummy, which flutters under his exploring tongue. He’s rutting into you softly, the half-hard head of his cock slipping on your thighs.

“My what?!” You have no energy to put any real fire behind it; it languishes in cooler waters, as do you. Lifting your neck just enough allows you to see him ridiculously smirking as he makes it all the way down to your exposed pussy.

“Gosh, I made a mighty mess of you,” he hums and bends to taste you. You hiss at the oversensitive throb, trying to jerk away, but he’s holding your hips down firmly.

“I am glad it was you here,” he says, honestly, in between soft kitten licks. “Been wanting you, gorgeous.”

How many licks to the center of a tootsie pop? For Jack—he’s willing to truly find out.

“Are you fucking lucid?” You ask him, because the glassy sheen is gone from his eyes. In fact, he appears so, despite the resident flush that nestles prettily upon his neck and chest and the halfsy he’s sporting, which for once he’s not concerned about. He’s more relaxed than you’ve seen him in hours.

Hell, maybe even—idly you consider this—since you’ve known the man.

The poison must be mostly gone. He’s his old self again, but not his old-old self. There’s something different about him here.

Jack hums into your pussy, and your thighs tremble below his ears, unable to hold your legs open any further, they fall outwards of their accord, staging you obscenely open and ready. But there’s no performance to the attention he’s doting on your pleasure.

There’s no brash attitude and cocksure wisecracks. He’s softer, a little blunter at the edges, and his smile doesn’t have an arrogant whiplash cut to it.

He’s not Whiskey. Just Jack.

Raw. Unrefined.

You reach your arm to the medkit somewhere in the vicinity of your left. It’s fallen over, the items messily discarded when things kicked up a notch.

“Wait,” you say, turning the gears of your head. “Don’t swallow. It’s in the…”

He’s not lazy about earning his spot cleaning you off. He’s fascinated. Lost in the sauce. Cunt-drunk. Peppering kisses to your sore lips, the hood of your clit.

Blindly you feel for the syringe and vial you had prepped before everything fell to madness. “Hafta sedate you.”

Your fingers close around the cylindrical drum, and it nearly spills from your grasp before your instinct kicks in—handy those reflexes, thanks, Champ—and you catch it before it clatters and rolls out of your reach.

The low hum of heat stirring in your belly is making you dizzy. Jack’s tongue, and his lips, and oh god, dare you say even the tickling of his mustache upon your sensitive, puffy pussy is turning you to Jell-O, gelatinous and rubbery. His wide fingers hold you open. You can feel the wafts of his breath as he feasts, painting en plein air with his whole mouth.

Your thumb finds the locking mechanism of the vial, a flick, and it sets into place, and with a slow movement, not wanting to startle him, you climb your arm to the side of his neck.

“M’sorry,” you whisper, and you kinda mean it. You jab the blunt edge of the instrument onto the wide plane of his neck, press, and release on the button, which opens the capsule of microneedles that will inject the sedative directly into his bloodstream. “For your own good.”

It fucking works this time. With a hissed grunt, Jack is out. His limbs flop, a marionette being cut, and he slumps messily. His nose smushes right into your mound, nearly smothering himself upon your pussy, but his even-tempered breathing is the only thing giving you a clue to his life signs.

“Fuckin�� Christ,” you blurt to the ceiling of the van. Because it’s all over.

You sit cross-armed and cross-legged, the very picture of dissatisfaction in Ginger’s lab.

It’s been two days. Two unsettling days.

Jack—Agent Whiskey—is still under medical leave. Having more direct contact with the candy has him in quarantine longer than you. The diluted version you swallowed in his cum passes quicker through your system, and you are released a day early.

The doctors are watching for any lingering effects of the poison. The traces in both your combined bloodstreams are able to be cross-referenced with data and distribution centers around the globe, leading to a break in the case and the shipments of murderous candies to be found, and their toxic allocations are halted and destroyed. The masterminds behind the chaotic sex-candy plan are either dead or behind bars.

Agents Whiskey and Lemonade save the world once again. Champ is planning a ceremony in which you and Whiskey would be lauded for your hard work, but until then, you are on desk-duty.

“Lemme guess, he’s told you everything,” you gripe bitterly to Ginger, tapping away at her keyboard as she does her final round of check-ups on you.

“Actually,” a perky Ginger responds, “he swears he remembers nothing. His reports are remarkably undetailed.”

You snort in disbelief. “Yeah, right. Any chance for that menace to blab to the whole office that he got a piece of this pussycat—”

“Blabbed what now ‘bout a pussycat?”

You balk, turn icy-cold at the figure of Jack—fucking Agent Whiskey in all his healthy glory, tight dark jeans, and popping-white crewneck tee-shirt, flattering his wide shoulders and muscled biceps—standing in the doorway. He’s a little pinkish, glowing clearly from a fresh shower. He’s not the flavor of arrogance you're used to, almost appearing gun-shy to your analytical eye.

“Nothing,” you practically spit. Your thighs involuntarily clench at the sight of a purple bruise on the lower quadrant of his neck, right above the collar of his shirt.

You try not to think about the heady rounds of mind-blowing sex the two of you had in that van it’s likely he was so doped up on that dose of poison-laced candy he doesn’t even remember. But you do, and where and when precisely, your mouth fitted over the junction of his collarbone and bit your good work into his skin.

It is all enough to burn to the back of your eyelids as caramelized butter to the bottom of the pan. Ain’t enough elbow grease in the world to rub it clean.

“If you don’t mind, Ginger, I’d, uh, ahem, like the room, please.”

Now, this is an Agent Whiskey you’ve never seen before. Stumbling over his words like that.

Ginger acquiesces, but not before a quick fortifying nod in your direction and a lowly muttered good luck, although you’ll be damned if you know what for.

He doesn’t speak, not even in the drawn-out seconds after the door clicks shut behind Ginger, and the two of you are alone, unsupervised, in her lab. The sterile white walls offer no comfort.

“I owe the little lady an apology,” Jack finally says, whilst staring at his cowboy-booted toes.

“I think, actually,” you cut him off sharply. “I’m the one that owes you an apology—you were dying, I thought I could—”

“Nothing happened that you have to apologize for,” Jack intercedes. “I gave you my ‘yeah, ma'am.’”

“But—wait, Ginger said you don’t remember anything!”

“Oh, I remember,” Jack replies. His gaze lifts to you, steady as a heartbeat. “Remember everything. Believe me, sugar, that was never how I imagined our first time happening.”

First time?

Something’s wrong with him. Ginger should look into long-term effects of this sex-candy drug. There must be some superficial chemical imbalance in his brain lingering that’s making him act this way, you’ve got a whole proposal on the unbreakability of complex sugar molecules already forming in your head when he drops into Ginger’s chair and rolls it over to be at your eye level.

“You’re a good Agent, Lemonade, maybe even better than me.”

“I think that candy’s messed with you,” you say to him.

“But you’ve got a lot of anger in your system, most of which is, judiciously, addressed to me,” he says with equanimity, bypassing your commentary. Angrily, you are about to spew your rebuke, but he holds up a pacifying hand to cease you from speaking further.

“I knew it from the moment of our first mission, sugs. We got close then, didn’t we?”

A warmth creeps up your neck. Denial stings bitterly on your tongue, ready to strike. It nearly brings you to tears—hot and cutting as a razor—thinking of those times. You choke it all down, swallow it roughly like a horse pill.

“Maybe even too close. Aw, hell, sometimes the fantasy played out like a reality. I liked how well we worked together, and I thought I could treat you right by keeping a distance, sugar, but God's honest truth is that I had feelings for you from the first moment I saw you in action, and that frightened me silly.”

His shampoo smells of peaches, mint, and juniper, and the brash white of the shirt contrasts with the darkness of his hair; there is honeyed sincerity in his dark, dark brown eyes, and the clean cut of the fresh trim on his mustache tells you he thought twice about his appearance here and now.

“Enough to handcuff me to a radiator and go on to save the day without your partner?” You can’t keep the bitterness out of the reference to the incident that started your hatred of him.

“Especially when I handcuffed you to that radiator.” His posture is loose, bent over on his forearms, in openness, bleeding vulnerability. “Let me explain myself over dinner.”

A chord has gotten stuck in your throat. A vibrating hum of a tune you think your body and memory has forgotten the words to, but it sings inside you, and you fear opening your mouth to release it.

“You and me, honeybun. No sugar-coating,” he emphasizes. “But,” and here he chuckles lightly, “you’ll forgive if I drop a few sweet names for ya. Try ‘em on for size. Since we’re doing everything back-asswards ‘round here.”

“Ass-Backwards,” you correct under your breath, if only to extend your competitiveness with him a little more. His sincerity does not relent, despite you checking and rechecking it for flaws.

“Okay,” you finally say, upon finding none. Your arms, formerly crossed over your chest as a defense posturing, have begun to loosen. “But not kitten.”

“I’ll be sure to remember.” He smiles. It’s kind of beautiful in its simplicity. The moment escapes when he slaps his hands on his thighs cartoonishly.

“Whoa! All of this has worked up my appetite! What do you think, Agent Lemonade? Something savory this time, I reckon.” He rubs idly at his belly.

You attempt to beat back the urge to roll your eyes. The two of you are about to exit the lab when something makes Jack pause. He turns to consider you, edging forward with slow, calculated steps. There’s mischief afoot.

“You know something, sugs, I don’t recall a single proper kiss.”

You warm profusely, for you certainly had put your mouths on each other. Part of the messed up sequence of things—sex before the date and all, the proverbial cart before the proverbial ass.

He’s smirking on one side of his face—that’s the Whiskey of old you think—but when he extends his hand, you find yourself taking it, and the warm cup of his other palm greeting your cheek is a starburst sunset, spilling oranges and pinks, reds and yellows.

“You’re kind of a salty caramel yourself, ain’t you? Hm, emphasis on the salty. You’re bound to get stuck in my teeth,” he damn near purrs. There’s affection in his eyes as his broad arms envelop you. The only thing really is to melt in the encasement of his arms, you allow yourself to return the embrace.

“Lemme have a chat with Champ,” he continues, all lip-smacking honeyed, “they should change your callsign. Lemonade—citrusy and sweet as it is, it don’t quite do you justice.”

“Yeah, and you’re Agent Buffoon, more like,” you say straight-faced. His damn grin is plastered permanently. “You gonna kiss me or what, you buffoon?

“Patience, my salty little caramel…” as his lips descend on yours.

tagging some folks: @ezrasbirdie @lowlights @leslie-lyman @prolix-yuy @amywritesthings @chaoticgeminate @daddydindjarin @mandoblowmybackout @coastielaceispunk @wordsnwhiskey @haylzcyon @musings-of-a-rose @starlightmornings @pagannightwitch @holobandit @pedrito-friskito @fuckyeahdindjarin @pedropascalsx @shirks-all-responsibilities @loversandantiheroes @kirsteng42 @nicolethered @alwaysbethewest @pennyserenade @kteague @fuckyeahdindjarin @magpie-to-the-morning @thestreamergirl @in-for-a-pennyx @littlemisspascal @steeevienicks @astradjarin @adancedivasmom @bbyanarchist

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#my writing #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman golden circle fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader

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bits-and-babs · 11 months

Text

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒 — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 ‘𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘’ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐒

↳ summary: sick of sharing your lover, you pull out a master plan to convince him to stop 'seducing' his targets.

↳ pairing: jack 'whiskey' daniels x f!reader

↳ [2.1k words] content:18+ MDNI, jealous reader, soft!domme/sub dynamics, tying wrists, sex toys (m receiving), orgasm denial (m receiving), cum eating. This is a @beskarbabs remaster -- original post date 2021.

jack masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

The last thing Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels expected to see when he returned home from his essential field mission was indisputably what he walked into as soon as he came in through the front door of your shared apartment in New York.

You had been distressed by Jack's mission plan from the get-go, given the precariousness of him going undercover, but even more so when you were informed that he would need to... liaise with one of his targets. You'd told Champagne that he needed to get rid of those shitty "condom trackers" immediately after seeing the multiple disputes it had caused between other agents and their partners. Still, Champ had insisted that it was the most efficient way of tracking targets and that this was a matter of national security; you'd simply have to put your faith in Jack.

And you did have faith in Jack. You had complete assurance in his devotion to your relationship. However, that didn't mean you had to agree to share him with a target. He was a lady's man, a charmer. You knew he could flirt anyone, man or woman, into bed if he tried hard enough. But given he had no choice, and he always came home to you rather than running away with another woman, you didn't allow your jealousy to seep through until AFTER he came home.

Your distinct lack of clothing results in Jack's frankly amusing expression as he walks in from work, lips parted and eyebrows raised with shock as he looks you over. You wear nothing but the lacy lingerie set that Jack bought as a gift for your anniversary a few weeks ago. Bare, bar for the lace, you stand patiently in the middle of the hall, looking Jack over from head to toe with an expression of indigence.

"Well, well, Sugar. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He breaks out in that signature smirk of his, walking forward to wrap his arm around your waist. You put up your index finger, stopping the brash and self-assured agent in his tracks. He glanced down, noting the lasso in your hand.

"Darlin'-" You reach up, taking the knot of his tie in your hand and pulling it down and off, the fabric making a soft 'wooshing' sound as it slipped from his linen button-down. You then push your hands under the lapels of his blazer jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He holds your gaze, his normally earthy-hued eyes dilated almost totally black.

You lean on your tiptoes, and Jack closes his eyes, expecting a kiss. Instead, you move your lips to his ear and whisper one word.

"Upstairs." It's not a request, it's a demand, and Agent Daniels looks like you'd just given him whiplash. Gawking at you, it takes him a minute to register precisely what you were telling him. He blinks in an attempt to shake himself from his bewilderment.

"Yes, Ma'am..." He finally responds, in somewhat of a daze, as he makes his way up the stairs. You knew your plan would catch him off guard, but his reaction had been priceless! He glances over his shoulder, ensuring you're following behind before he makes it up the stairs.

"Go sit on the bed," you command him. He does exactly as he's told with no argument, a rare occurrence for Jack, who could never seem to keep his smug and blustering mouth shut. You put it down to him being so shocked by your little surprise that he couldn't form a sentence. He sits pretty on the bed, palms awkwardly placed on his thighs as he watches you. He's not used to you taking control. You were always the one to do as you were told.

"Wrists together," You adjure. He does that, too, eyebrow arched slightly.

"Sugar, what are you up t-" You just give him a look, one that silently orders him to shut up. He presses his lips into a thin line, not saying anything more as you loop his lasso around his wrists. His eyes follow your movements, glad to see that you had, in fact, picked up a standard rope rather than his spare Statesman weapons.

You knot the rope tightly, pulling at his forearms to ensure he can't break free from his binds. The agent arches his brow in yet another querying gaze, and you respond by simply putting your palm to his chest, pushing him backwards so his back hits the bed and knocking his hat off in the process. You smirk at his obvious shock, trying to wiggle from his bonds.

"You gonna ride your cowboy?" He teases you, but finds himself speechless once again as you move onto your hands and knees, crawling up the bed until you're straddling his hips. He hadn't expected you to actually do it! You take his chin roughly in your hand, forcing him to look you in the eye.

"I don't like sharing you, Jack," you whisper. You're turned on by the level of power you now hold over him, and he can hear it in your voice, see it in your dilated eyes. He stumbles over his words, and you feel his cock stir in his jeans.

"Darlin', I was just doin' my job," he finally splutters as you pull open his button-down shirt, the clattering of those buttons hitting the floor making his eyes wide in utter shock. You smirk at his expression, noting the way his adam's-apple bobs. Have you made him nervous?

"You were," you agree, musing as you trail the tip of your index finger down from between his collarbones, tracing his sternum and finally slowing when you reached his belt, "But that doesn't mean I like it, Whiskey." His eyes flick to your hand, now in the process of unbuckling his belt. He's once again uncharacteristically bereft of speech, utterly dumbstruck.

"I need to remind you who you belong to, Jack." Your honeyed tone has his hands curling into fists in their confines. You've never been like this with him; it's such a pleasant surprise. You slip his belt out of the loops of his jeans and unbutton them in quick succession.

You shuck his jeans from his hips, taking his boxers with them. His breath hitches in surprise, muscles tense and assuming you would take him into your mouth. He closes his eyes slowly, tilting his head back into the pillows as he waits to feel your lips around his already throbbing cock- so when he feels the pressure of your weight on the mattress shift away from him, he snaps his eyes open in confusion, looking to see where those lips had gone.

He finds you leaning over the end of the bed, searching in the bedside cabinet for something.

"Whatcha up to, BabyGirl?" He queries, eyes following your hand as you dig around. A self-satisfied smirk stretches across your lips as you find what you are looking for. You feel Whiskey stiffen at the sight of the pink bullet vibrator in your hand. You had been sure to charge it fully when Jack left a few days ago, and it had sat in the cabinet waiting to be used.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson, Mr Daniels," you hum, holding the button down until it starts buzzing in your hand. You can see Jack begin to panic a little, realising how much control you have over the situation.

"What d'ya mean, a les-" Jack breaks off into a broken moan as you place the vibrator against the head of his leaking cock. It's red and angry already, throbbing with the intensity of the vibrations. He pushes his hips backwards into the bed in a futile attempt to escape the torture you inflict upon him, giving him a delicious arch in his back that has the crown of his head pushing back into the pillows.

"F-Fuck!" He chokes out as you trace the vibrator down his dick achingly slow. His entire body shudders at the warmth that spreads like tendrils in his lower abdomen. You smirk, watching his composure melt away.

"What is it, Jack? You speechless? I highly doubt that," you mock him, enjoying this display of dominance over your egocentric lover. But, funnily enough, he is indeed speechless. His moans had caught in his throat, arching his back further as you ran the tip of the vibrator over his balls before making its way back up to the end of his throbbing cock.

"You know I won't share you anymore, right?" You coo, watching as he tries to struggle against the lasso's bindings. It's fruitless, you both know, but his mind is so hazy with desire that he just can't think straight. He just nods desperately in response to your question, trying to form words.

"Fuck- I'm-" He chokes out another strangled groan as you circle the tip of his head, making his hips sloppily buck upwards into thin air, "I'm sorry."

You have to swallow your own moans; Jack wholly lost in this hedonism causing a subtle warmth to settle in your lower tummy. He convulses with a gasp as you lean forward, collecting the precum on the tip of his dick on your tongue. "Nghhh fuck!"

You can feel his thick thighs trembling already, and he starts babbling mindless garbage as he hurtles closer and closer to his climax.

"I wo-won't touch anyone again! Fuck-! Fuck Champ, fuck those st- shit!" He gasps out, body jerking as you trace his balls with your tongue, "fuck those stupid trackers!" You smirk, noting the deterioration in his self-control.

"You gonna only touch me, Agent Whiskey? Fuck me when you come back from your missions instead?" You murmur before brushing your tongue from base to tip. He shudders, barely able to hold it together.

"F-Fuck Darlin', I-I'm gonna-" He's cut off by a desperate and uncharacteristic wail as you pull away from him altogether, the vibrator still buzzing in your hand. Jack looks wounded, balls drawn up tight, and a pained expression cast across his face. You just give him a flirty smirk, eyebrow arched.

"Answer the question, Agent," You purr, watching his eyes roll back slightly into his skull. He seems to take a few shaky breaths, deep enough that you can see his ribcage expand on the inhale. You assume he's trying to gather his thoughts, so you press the vibrator's button again, turning it up to a higher setting before pushing it to the tip of his cock again.

If he hadn't had his arms tied in front of him, Jack practically would have folded in half with the way the upper half of his body jumped up from the bed. His whine is almost pained, knuckles white with the fists he'd made.

"I'm waiting," you drawl as he grits his teeth, trying to combine words into something like a sentence.

"I- Jesus!" He growls out, forcing his words out in that deep vibrato that sends chills up your spine, "I promise!" You coo gently, running the vibrator up and down the shaft of his angry red, veiny cock at a brutally slow pace. He's so close to cumming; you can see it in the way his abdomen muscles tense and his cock bobs.

"Good. You're mine. No one else's," You clarify, pressing the button to its highest setting and watching as Jack threw his head back with a ragged gasp as he came. Hard.

Ropes of cum coat his stomach and chest, dribbling down onto your fingertips as he bucks his hips into thin air again. The customarily composed Jack can barely breathe, coming undone at the eviscerating orgasm ripping through him. The moan that once again caught in his throat slips into something akin to a whine, all the muscles in his body tight and cramped.

As he finally comes down from his blinding high, Jack pants heavily, trying to stop the dizzying feeling in his head from the inability to inhale for a solid minute. Not ready to stop playing with this sexy, confident alter ego, you dip your fingers in the cum on his stomach, lifting them to your lips and tracing your tongue over it, moaning at the salty taste.

"Fuck, Sugar..." Jack pants, struggling against his binds again, "Let me out of these so I can kiss you." But much to his surprise, you don't answer him. Instead, you just shimmy your way up his body. He blinks, still in a daze.

"Darlin'-" He begins to question, but you just press your index finger to his lips as you straddle his pelvis, smirking.

"I'm not done with you yet. I still need to ride my cowboy."

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Text

8 Days of Christmas — Baby, It’s Cold Outside

pairing: agent whiskey x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, jack being jack, alcohol consumption, oral sex (m receiving), daddy kink obviously, dom!jack, cock grinding? idk, riding, creampie)

word count: 2.2k

8 Days of Christmas Masterlist

It was a long, cold day at the slopes, Jack having spent the better half of the day trying to teach you the basics of skiing which, more often than not, ended up with you landing flat on your ass. You may have found the day irritating if it hadn’t been for the amount of hearty, full-bellied laughs your clumsiness had pulled from your usually reserved boyfriend.

Now, with a sore ass and sore cheeks from smiling, you and Jack made your way back to the private cabin he’d rented out for the weekend. The two of you had a busy year, only seeing each other at night and on the weekends, except for when Jack was called on by the Statesmen. Both of you deeply craved some time alone together, uninterrupted by the demands of your busy careers, and what better place than in the middle of the snowy woods during Christmas, when everyone was too busy with family to bother you?

“I think my ass is gonna be ice cold and sore for the next week,” you groaned as you finally made it inside the cabin, Jack quick to turn the heater on while you kicked off your snow boots. “Gonna have to take it easy on me tonight.”

“Oh, is that so, sugar?” He chuckled, walking to you in the entryway, his arms wrapping around your waist as he looked down at you with that winning smile of his.

“Mmhm,” you grinned up at him, holding his face in your hands. “You’re not gonna get overeager and start throwing me around like you like to do?”

“Only if you beg,” he winked, leaning down to give you a sweet peck. “How ‘bout you head your fine ass into the bathtub while I whip up some supper?”

“You gonna bring me a glass of wine, too?” Jack playfully rolled his eyes before nodding.

“Of course. Whatever the queen demands.” You leaned up on your toes to give him another peck on the lips, this time letting it linger long enough to earn a hum from your cowboy. “Alright, sugar. Don’t get me all worked up if you ain’t plannin’ on deliverin’.”

“I always deliver, don’t I?” you asked with a smirk, pulling away from him to head off towards the master suite. Jack slapped your ass as you walked past him, earning a hiss and a scolding glare. “Watch it, cowboy.”

“Oh, believe me, I am, darlin’.” He made a point to eye your ass through you snowsuit, making you laugh and shake your head as you left him for the warmth of the bathtub.

One glass of wine later, and you were sat on Jack’s lap at the dinner table, the two of you too needy to sit in your separate seats while you ate. He lifted his fork to your lips, feeding you a piece of perfectly cooked steak before doing the same for himself. You hummed at the taste of his cooking and shook your head.

“I have no clue where you learned to cook so well,” you started as you took a sip of your new glass of wine. “Another woman perhaps?”

“Yep.” You scoffed, swatting his stomach playfully. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout my damn mama, sugar. No need to get jealous.”

“When it comes to you, there’s every need to get jealous. Where else am I gonna find a man that looks this good, treats me like a queen, and fucks me like a slut?” Jack’s eyes widened at your words, chuckling as he lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips.

“That wine gettin’ to ya?” You shrugged, playing coy. “What do you say we take this party over to the fireplace, hm? Get cozy?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Jack walked you over to the sofa, ordering you to “sit your pretty ass down” while he lit the fireplace. You grinned into your wine glass as you watched him bend over, the grey of his flannel pajama pants showcasing his adorable ass while the white of his perfectly form-fitting t-shirt stretched over the expanse of his broad shoulders. Feeling impatient, you uncrossed your legs and slid the hem of your silk nightgown up to your hips, your fingers running up and down your lace-covered slit as he turned around.

“My, my…what a sight,” he praised as he stalked over to you with a winning smile on. “Gettin’ started without me, sugar?”

“Just getting warmed up,” you replied in a pure, tugging him closer by the waistband of his pants. Jack was grinning as he watched you sit up a bit, your eyes locked on his as you undid the tie around his waist, your hands then smoothing over his thighs, purposely avoiding the growing tent in his pants.

“You gonna play with me all night?” he questioned, reaching to smooth his fingertips over your jawline. You shook your head, smirking at him as you brought one hand to his bulge, stroking him through the fabric. Jack let out a soft moan and bucked his hips into your open palm, his head falling back as he allowed you to tease him to full hardness. “Jesus, darlin…”

“Can I take these off?” You lightly tugged on his pants, earning his gaze again. Jack nodded eagerly, pinching your chin before watching you shimmy his pants down until his cock was springing free, the leaking, purple tip hitting your lips. You giggled at the attack and gripped him at his base, staring up into his eyes as you pumped him against your puckered lips. “Mm, you’re teasing me but you’re just as worked up from your whiskey.”

“It ain’t the whiskey, it’s just you, sugar,” he assured, combing your hair back. “Now why don’t you go ahead and have a taste?”

You smiled before sticking your tongue out and flattening it, tapping his thick head against it just to watch his brows crease.

“C’mon, don’t tease,” he begged in a rasp that went straight to your clit. Wrapping your lips around him, you sucked just the head into your mouth, earning a deep growl from your cowboy, his fingers tangling in your hair. “That’s good, baby…keep goin’ just like that.”

You couldn’t help the whine you let out from his praise, sucking him deeper into your mouth until you were kissing your fist wrapped around his girth. Jack’s moans were now given freely, his hand in the back of your head guiding your movements as you bobbed on him, working your throat up to taking him all the way.

“Baby girl,” he cooed, his lips formed in an ‘o’ as he watched you, his head tilted to admire your good work. “That mouth is heaven and hell all in one.”

You pulled him out of your mouth just to smile, spit stringing grin your lips to the head of his cock. Jack couldn’t resist bending down to kiss it away, his tongue sliding into your mouth to taste you. You hummed against him and pulled him closer by his neck, Jack willingly following you onto the sofa. He rested between your open thighs as you laid all the way back, his hands running over the silk of the nightgown he’d bought you last Christmas.

“As much as I love the sight of you in this number, I’m gonna need you to take it off for me,” he husked as his thumb brushed over your nipple, causing your back to arch into his touch. Jack stripped while you peeled your nightgown off and tossed it onto the floor, leaving you only in your red lace thong, his eyes turning black with lust as he took you in. “Look at you sprawled out like a damn pinup.”

“You gonna touch me or just keep looking?” you purred, spreading your thighs for him. Jack’s jaw ticked as he watched you slip the lace to the side, exposing the glistening sheen of your pussy.

“You’re a damn gift to mankind, sugar.” He laid on his stomach, his head resting on your thigh as his mouth remained just an inch from your pussy, his fingers stroking through your slick. “And all mine, right?”

“All yours,” you confirmed with a grin. “Why don’t you go ahead and taste my pussy, daddy?”

“Your pussy?” He questioned with a quirk of his brows. “C’mon, sugar. Whose pussy is this?”

You grinned mischievously, biting your lip. “Mine.”

“Oh, is that so?” He chuckled and kissed your thigh. “Maybe I need to remind you? Or…maybe the best way to remind you is by doin’ nothin’ at all.” He sat back on his ankles, crossing his arms over his chest. You frowned at the absence of his body heat, watching as he raised an eyebrow at you in challenge. “Go on. If it’s your pussy, why don’t you make yourself cum.”

“Jack,” you pouted, sitting up and crawling to him, straddling his lap. “It’s your pussy.”

“Yeah?” He watched as you rocked your hips against his cock, sandwiching it between your pussy and his belly. “I don’t think you deserve my mouth yet, sugar. Not after that.”

“Please?” You stuck out your bottom lip and earned a half-smirk, his hands coming to rest on your hips to guide your movements.

“Get yourself off like this and then I’ll give you my mouth, baby girl,” he ordered and you eagerly obeyed, rocking your hips against the underside of his cock, your clit catching deliciously on his fat tip. “Yes, baby…just like that.”

“Fuck,” you whined, brows furrowed as you looked down at the slick now coating his cock as you worked yourself up to your first climax. “Can I put it inside, daddy?”

“Thought you wanted my mouth, sweet thing?” He chuckled and cupped your face with one hand.

“I want your cock,” you pled, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster through your pleasure. Jack cooed at you, stroking his thumb over your bottom lip. “Please, I’m so close. Want you inside me when I cum.”

“Alright, sugar,” he nodded, pulling your face closer so that he could press his lips against yours. “Go ahead and take it. Take what you need.”

You shivered as you guided his cock into your heat, both of you gasping against one another as you fully sheathed him in your wetness.

“Jesus,” he growled, his hands now gripping your hips as he guided you on him. “That’s fuckin’ good, baby. Riding me so good.”

“Jack,” you moaned, tipping your head back as his cock brushed against your inner bundle of nerves.

“Need my fingers, baby?” He asked sweetly, bringing his lips to the base of your throat. You nodded quickly, nails clawing at his shoulders. Jack smiled against your skin, seemingly pleased with your eagerness as he brought to fingers to your clit, stroking perfectly pressured circles against it.

You shivered with a moan as your high started to slowly trickle through your every nerve, radiating from where he was connected to you to the very tips of your toes and fingers. “Oh, fuck, Jack, baby…god.”

“There ya go…sweet thing,” he cooed, laying you back against the sofa and bringing his body to hover over yours. He ran his hand over your cheek and admired you like you were the most delicate thing he’d ever see. “Ready for one more, sugar?”

“Fuck, yes please,” your hands cradled his neck and jaw as his thrusts turned sharp, hips snapping harshly into yours while he kept his eyes locked on you. “Jack, I love you…fuck, I love you.”

“I love you, too, pretty thing,” he promised, giving you a sweet kiss that was the total opposite of the thrusts he was giving you. “God damn…you’re squeezing me so tight I can hardly pull out.”

You did nothing but mewl, your eyes squeezing shut as he hit that spot inside of you that blurred your consciousness, his shit-eating grin going unseen by you as he watched your face contort with pleasure.

“That it, huh? That’s the spot?” You nodded quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to stop. “Look at me when I make you cum, sugar. I wanna see those pretty eyes.”

“Oh, god, baby,” you mewled, your face scrunched up as though you were in pain but you were deep in bliss as your second high dawned upon you, Jack’s grin widening somehow as you looked him in the eye. “Jack, I’m—“

“I know, I can feel it, baby girl,” he chuckled and leaned in, kissing your chin. “Gonna fill you up now, that alright? If I fuck you full of me, sugar?”

“Yes! Fuck!” You writhed for him as you came, chest heaving and eyes squeezing shut to rise out the waves while Jack’s thrusts turned animalistic, his growls and moans filling the room like your favorite song.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he groaned, pressing his cock as far inside you as you’d take him. You opened your eyes in time to feel his cock pulse inside of you, Jack’s eyes screwed shut, his brows creased, his bottom lip pouted as he let out a string of moans and curses, his hands roaming over your stomach and hips for purchase.

“That was so good,” you praised, raking your fingers through his dark hair. Jack chuckled, finally coming back to earth. He let his weight fall on top of you, hugging you into the plush sectional and remaining inside you.

“I gotta get you wine-drunk more often, sugar.”

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #kingsman #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x y/n #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x y/n #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #8 days of christmas

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covetyou · 5 months

Text

jack of all trades

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Whiskey x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: Circus AU, public sex, exhibitionism, unprotected PIV, oral (m receiving), brief fingering, creampie, is it mild bondage if it's part of a circus act?, reader is wearing a dress, optional fluffy ending. word count: 4.5k summary: A trip to the circus goes awry thanks to your meddling not-quite-nephews and a handsome stranger in a cowboy hat. Just how did you come to be bent over this barrel anyway?

A/N: clown!Dieter spawned a P-boy circus AU, and now here we are. I am not sorry.

I have an ex called Jack, so parts of this were disgusting to me, fyi. that name is tainted. fluffy ending came and hit me in the face, these two seemed too into each other to leave it there. totally optional and you can ignore its existence if you want.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Sticky fingers clasp around your wrist, dragging your arm into the air. Your sort-of-nephews had been up to mischief all evening. What they were raising your hand for, you don't know, so you roll your eyes and play along, waggling your fingers skyward just as a beam of light hits you directly in the face.

Shit.

"Well there now, pretty lady, why don't you come on down here."

Double shit.

The voice of the man you'd spent the past twenty minutes fixated on booms over the speakers. Your not-nephews are cackling, your best friend shooting an apologetic look over their scruffy heads as a beautiful woman covered in sequins prances up the stairs to retrieve you. Before you know it you're being hauled down the steep steps, slender fingers holding you tight.

She glides elegantly over the dust covered arena floor, dragging you behind. You stumble, kicking up dust as you're pulled to the middle of the ring and left face to face with the ringmaster.

He was even more enchanting up close. The whole place was, really, but he commanded the space, dominated it, his smooth voice amplified by a microphone hidden at his hairline. You hadn't been to many circuses - none, actually - but you were fairly sure the black cowboy hat that sat on his head wasn't typical headwear for a man with his job description.

He takes one glance at you, sizing you up, before turning to his captive audience with arms spread wide.

"Looks like we found ourselves a damsel," he announces to the crowd, strutting around the ring, the tools of his trade clattering on a belt slung loosely around his waist beneath his jacket. He'd been a distraction from high up in the stand, but up close he was all consuming. You were grateful for the coat tails covering his ass, restricting your view as his hips swayed with each step.

The sequinned woman is back, tossing the Ringmaster rope threaded with something shiny. The tendons in his broad hands flex as he grips the cord, pulling it firmly and holding it up to be viewed by the crowd. At some point she approaches you too, whispering in your ear. You nod along, unable to hear a thing over the blood rushing in your ears and the distracting thrum between your legs. Standing here shouldn't be doing this to you, least of all in front of so many people, but it is. Fuck, you need to get laid.

The music ramps up, a conversation with the crowd totally missed as you fixate on the man before you. There's a distant toot toot and the ringmaster is hurrying back over to you, skillfully unfurling the rope.

"Hold this, sugar," he tells you, voice echoing over the speakers as he hands you one end of the rope. He begins to wind it around you, his long strides making quick work of each rotation. Soon, the rope is spiralled around your torso, across your hips, and winds down your legs. He tucks one end loosely into the last spiral - a kick of your leg could have the whole thing unravelling in seconds if you wanted it to.

A finger on your chin snaps your eyes to his, his dazzling lopsided smile catching you off guard as chaos erupts around you, and he's turning, quickly pulling his lasso from his belt as a group of clowns rush into the ring, galloping around on hobby horses.

Between the brilliant white lights and the galloping clowns, you don't know what's going on. The crowd seem to love it, loud cheers erupting as the ringmaster starts to swing his lasso. With a skilled flick of his wrist, he throws it, capturing one of the clowns and yanking him to the ground. The clown hits the ground with a drum roll and a crash of cymbals, rolling around before he can scramble back to his feet. The ringmaster does it again, capturing another galloping clown with a well practiced throw, one that grumbles and frowns as he's reeled in.

Every minute of chaos and clowns is another minute of sweet agony for you, stood wrapped in golden rope as you keep your eyes locked on the ringmaster in the cowboy hat. His form is elegant, skilled hands knowing the rope of his lasso better than your own know your own body.

When most of the clowns, and their hobby horses, are on the ground, rolling around with fake groans, he reaches for his whip, fingers clasping tight around the leather wrapped handle as the length snakes to the ground.

A final swing of his arm, and the whip slices through the air. a sonic boom cracks at the end of it, silencing any music and drawing a gasp from your chest. The crowd is stunned, the clowns are still, and you are painfully, unbelievably, wet.

Amazing really, how one flick of the wrist could make the sticky situation between your thighs so much worse.

By the time the clowns have rounded themselves up and hobbled off clasping at themselves in mock agony, the ringmaster is approaching you, winking before bending down to tug at the rope nestled against your leg. You can't help the twitch in your hips, rocking forward toward his face just as he takes in a deep breath. He stills momentarily, cocking his head, before finally freeing the rope, and you, and raising to his full height before you.

If you weren't mortified already, you definitely are when his eyes flick from your own, down to between your legs, and back again with a quirk of his eyebrow and a knowing smirk. Shit. The shuffle of your feet definitely doesn't help matters. This can't go on, you decide, you really need to get laid.

Escorted back to your seat, you spend the rest of the show with your legs clamped together and your jaw tensed, watching as the ringmaster comes and goes, introducing act after act, until they're all taking their final bows. Your resolve is all but gone as you watch him strut out of the ring for the final time.

Traversing crowds of revellers back to the car park, you say your quick goodbyes to your friend, her sons getting irritable now that the sugar high has ended and bed time beckons. You'll see them soon, you promise, and you turn on your heel, disappearing into the crowd once more.

You don't make it to your car.

Instead, you make the trek back to the big top, circling it until you find the crew entrance. Costumed performers are coming and going, staff hauling boxes and costumes to and fro. You wait for an opening and take it, darting into the tent as quickly as you can.

No one pays you any mind, they seem to not care that you definitely do not belong back here as you glance all around, eyes wide like a child in a toy store, making your way deeper and deeper into the backstage tent.

And there he is. The ringmaster in the cowboy hat. All suave smiles and flirty quips as he props himself against a supporting post, one ankle crossed over the other as he leans. There's a group of girls in front of him, all much younger than he is and eating up his every word. It might be sickening if you weren't so jealous of them.

You loiter, waiting for them to leave, wondering how much time you'd have to talk to him as each minute ticks by. It's then that he spots you, eyes connecting with yours as you stand awkwardly in the shadow.

He makes a quick excuse, hurries quick goodbyes, brushes his lips across four sets of knuckles, and then turns on you, making short work of the distance between you.

You don't know it then, but he's been hard, achingly so, since watching you leave the ring and head back to your seat. Every time he'd stepped backstage he adjusted his pants, letting his erection wane a little, only to head back out to your incessant stare, beautiful eyes staring down at him doing nothing but mildly torture him and make him stiffen in his pants. Over and over. Now you were in front of him, a chance dangled before him, ripe for the picking.

He reaches for your hand with his much larger one, clasping it gently. "Rude of me not to properly introduce myself back there. Name's Jack."

You try his name on for size, rolling it around your mouth a little before giving him your own.

"Got a little exciting back there, huh," he says in a low voice, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes taking a leisurely meander down your body.

"Uh, yeah," you say, rubbing the back of your neck. "Look, I'm sorry if that made anything awkward I -"

He cuts you off with a laugh. "Woah there, sugar, never said anything about it bein' awkward now. Of course, if you got all some kind of way over the clowns, that'd be a different story," he teases with a wink.

Your eyes widen at the mention of the clowns, and Jack laughs again, revelling in the way he could so easily bring you to stunned silence. You'd barely even looked at the clowns, hardly noticing they were there save for a blur of color as they circled you in the ring.

"So what was it that did it for you?" He questions, a twinkle in his eye. "The whip or the lasso? Or was it my devilishly handsome good looks?" He cocks you that lopsided grin and you roll your eyes.

"You're unbelievable. Do you do this to everyone you tie up out there?"

"Most of 'em don't sneak backstage to find me after the show." Well, fuck, he's got you there.

Your jaw flaps stupidly, uselessly, as your brain fails to connect with any words. "I was just... It was..."

"All of the above then," he laughs. You roll your eyes and bite back a smile - he's got you beat. There's no denying that everything about the man set you on fire, scorching you from the inside out.

"Really I just wanted to... thank you. For the great show. You were incredible. Thanks for picking me to be your damsel."

"Oh, I don't get to pick, sugar." The initial disappointment at finding out he didn't pick you fades quickly. "But I do always like when they pick the pretty ones. Gives me something nice to look at. Something good to think about later, after the show." He doesn't need to say it for you to know exactly what he's talking about.

You consider your next move for barely a second - you'd come to thank him, get his number and maybe askin him for a drink, but now is your chance for something more - before taking a step forward, sliding a hand up his jacket to feign brushing something from his lapel. "That's a shame."

"A shame?"

"A shame that you have to wait until later."

His face lights up, a grin tugging at his lips once more. You're fixated on his plushness of them, watching as they form around each word. "Oh, trust me sugar, I'm thinkin' all sorta things right now."

"Thinkin' and actin' are different things entirely, cowboy."

"Is that what you want," he whispers in your ear as he ghosts a hand down the side of your arm, letting it rest softly on your hip. "You want me to act on all these thoughts?"

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't."

His lips capture yours, hands pulling your hips flush with his while mouth moves against your own. There's no push and pull, no fight, just pure pressure of you both trying to sink yourselves into the one another. You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, dipping in and tasting the honey sweet softness of his mouth.

You pay the crew no mind - with how the man flirts they've probably seen this before. You're just another in a long list of faces that have found themselves attached to his.

"Ain't got much time 'til the next show," he pants as you still try to lick into his mouth. "If you want what I think you want, we gotta be quick about it." You nod, moaning as his hands explore the plains of your body, massaging your hips one moment, drawing blunt nails down your back the next before bunching your dress against your ass in one large fist.

"You're god damn gorgeous," he whispers, grabbing you around the waist once again and pulling you toward him. He stumbles, moving out from the shadowy place you'd occupied by the tent wall. You expect a quick getaway to a trailer, or a secluded part of the backstage, but your ass quickly collides with something solid.

"Wha-" you say, looking around to the spot he's dragged you. It's more brightly lit than where you were standing before, more exposed. He has you pushed against a barrel, legs parted so he can slot between them.

"Privacy is a luxury of time, sugar, and we got neither. Just say the word and I'll stop."

Saying nothing, you grab his belt, the large buckle glinting in the lamp-light, and tug him toward you claiming his mouth once more. You can be sneaky like this, you think, he can slip inside you as you wrap your legs around him, your skirt covering most of you.

It seems Jack has other ideas.

He spins you around, pushing you firmly against the barrel, the stiffness in his tailored pants pushing against the swell of your ass. His hands snake around you, like the rope had earlier, and grope at the pillowy soft tissue of your chest. People are still milling around, walking past and setting up for the next show, paying you no mind as he fondles you. His face nuzzles into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. You're about to let your head lull back to his shoulder when his hands move from your breasts and push down on your shoulders.

"Oof."

The air is pushed from you with a huff as he bends you over the edge of the barrel, the rim biting into your belly as you hinge over it. He wastes no time in flipping up the edge of your skirt, bunching it at your waist and dragging his hands down over the globes of your ass.

"Think you're wet enough for me to stick it in?" he mumbles into your ear as he rubs at the damp crotch of your panties from behind. You moan into your arm. You'd been wet for most of the show, and he was about to find out.

Before you know it he's rounded on you and is pulling his cock out from his pants, giving you no time to answer. His cock stands stark and heavy, yet even as flushed and full as it is, it looks pale in contrast with the black of his pants and the bright red frame of his jacket. You salivate - wet definitely won't be a problem.

Someone runs past that moment, pulling you sharply you out of it. You're here, bent over a barrel with your dress flipped up, panty-clad ass on display, and cock hanging dangerously close to your face.

What the fuck are you doing.

A light tap on your cheek with the tip of his cock brings you back to him, a sticky drop of precum stringing between the two of you as he brings his cock closer to your lips.

You look up at him, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat.

"Don't pay them no mind, they seen it all," he says, swiping the side of his cock along the seam of your mouth. That's all the reassurance you need to stick out your tongue - the voice that told you you needed to get laid soon preening at the idea of it being here and now. The saliva that had been pooling in your mouth at the sight of it just moments ago works wonders, slicking up his length as he slides it across your tongue, drool seeping from your mouth and dripping down your tongue to fall in wet droplets to the dusty floor below. He teases his tip past your tongue, smiling fondly as you try to capture it in you mouth and suck him in with each swipe.

"That's it, get it wet. Give it some sugar, sugar."

You finally give in, grabbing his slicked length in your fist and pulling the tip into you mouth, sucking on it and swirling your tongue all around his ridge, tasting the precum your spit slicked tongue had already pulled from him. His head falls back as he groans, holding his hat to his head with his palm. You work over him, revelling in his moans as much as he'd revelled in the audiences applause, sliding your lips and hand up and down his cock.

"You're a wild one, ain't you?" he says, looking at you with the same awed expression you'd had plastered on your face during his performance. You suck on his tip one last time, releasing from your tingling lips with a soft pop.

"Uh-huh."

And his lips are back on yours, plundering your mouth, not minding that his own taste is on your tongue, a broad hand smoothing down your back to palm your ass once again. Your hand on his cock tugs, and he gasps into your mouth, a small needy thing that sends wetness trickling into your panties.

"Please," you whisper into his mouth. "Put it in me."

"Yes ma'am," he whispers, cursing as he steps behind you to tug down your panties.

He licks his fingers before swiping his spit slicked digits through your folds. Your hips twitch when they glide back and forth over your clit, before sinking into your pussy with ease. He removes them just as quick, rutting his slicked dick against your pussy instead.

"Damn, darlin', you're soaked."

The head of his spit slicked cock rubs through your glossy folds, teasing over your clit and dipping into your entrance.

"Think you can take it all in one, sugar? Ain't got much time to be wastin' here."

"Give it to me," you pant, pushing your hips back in a desperate attempt to find the tip of his cock again and draw it into you.

You don't need to wait long until he's pushing forward into you again, parting your slick walls with ease and burrowing deep into you. Maybe it had just been so damn long or maybe he was just so damn enchanting, but you never wanted this moment to stop. You're never leaving this god damn barrel. You want to take up home here and let him take root deep inside you.

You were a mess before he pushed into you, and now you're worse, sopping wet and creaming all over his cock as he slides in and out of you, his cock dragging against every ridge and bump inside of you with ease.

"Gonna make a mess of my pants, sugar. Costumin' ain't gonna be best pleased with me but, damn, if this pussy don't just feel too good to give up."

Tinkling organ music starts up as the next audience filters in to the main tent, you can hear the low hum of their voices, excited and eager for the upcoming show. You bite back a whine, the idea of him wearing your mess for an entire show, in front of that audience, too much to bear.

"Think you can come on my cock?" he whispers, draping his body over you as his fingers graze over your clit. The simple action already has you twitching, drenching his cock in yet more slick as he grinds slow and deep into you. You nod. Even with the crew around you, frantically rushing to reorganize props before the next show, you don't think you'll have a problem.

"That's it, gotta be quick now. Shit. You're nearly there already. Got your panties in such a twist you were ready to cream 'em."

You bite into your arm, moaning as his fingers quicken over your slick, engorged nub. His cock is dragging deep now, barely moving as he rocks his hips in the same slow rhythm.

A group of people begin hauling props to a side entrance ahead. You keep your eyes locked on them, their busy hands lifting and moving everything ready for the next performance. Jack's fingers are relentless, and you come undone with a silent scream around his cock, eyes still locked on the strangers in front of you. When your twitches fade, you fall limp against the barrel, Jack pressing a kiss to your neck now damp with your sweat.

"How about that, su-"

"Whiskey!" a voice shouts from nearby, and you jolt up, delirious and cock drunk, Jack's dick still lodged deep inside you. Shit.

Jack pulls back, uncovering you to the people around, people who had been drawn to look at you by the sudden noise. There had been no shame in it before, but now the horny haze was lifting, embarrassment was threatening you, heat flaring in your cheeks.

"Don't shy away from me now, sugar." It wasn't him that was the problem, it was the many people in the bustling backstage that were making you nervous. They paid you no mind before, but now the minutes were ticking down until showtime, they were all looking over, almost expectant, to see if and when their ringmaster would be finished.

"Got five minutes. Wrap this up," you look shyly over your shoulder at a tattoo'd man standing uncomfortably close. Jack keeps rocking into you, grinding deep and slow as he talks to the man.

"Just gonna empty my balls and I'll be right there," he says, so at ease he could have been talking about the weather. The tattoo'd man rolls his eyes, stepping away to start hauling out set pieces for the upcoming show.

"You gonna take it, sugar?"

You take one look at the tattoo'd man - he's still so near, he'd be able to hear everything. Swallowing, you look back at Jack and nod.

"Yeah. I want it."

"Then lemme hear those pretty sounds," and he picks up the pace, hips snapping into yours as you look around at him, eyes locked on him now that he was so ready to blow. Everyone else fizzles away, lost in the dust and low-light. The pounding in your ears and the pounding in your cunt in sync blurs out all other sound, the smell of him still so stark in your nose, even amongst the smell of dirt and cotton candy. A soft moan is all that escapes you, your breaths still ragged from your own orgasm as adrenalin races through you.

Pressure builds in you again. You won't, can't, come again so soon, but fuck if it doesn't feel so good. Large hands grip roughly at the meat of your ass, pulling you back onto him. With every bounce against his pelvis, you feel a deep moan bubbling to the surface until every thrust has a small shriek ripping from your lips.

"Ff- Jack. Oh, Jack."

"That's it. Gonna blow. You ready for it?"

"Yes, yes. Please," you pant, pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust, taking him in so deep you'll be feeling him in your bones for weeks. The harder he fucks, the louder the moans that tear from your throat, earning you looks that go unnoticed from the cast and crew that have gathered to start the show.

He stutters, his hips stilling for a second before shallowly thrusting into you. He lets out a deep groan, lowing soft and long as he releases inside you. You can feel it, the warmth of it seeping through you, drenching your pussy until it's sopping wet.

"Well if I couldn't just get lost in there for days," he murmurs, looking at you with a soft crinkle eyed smile. He bends to kiss you, his cock slipping from you as it quickly softens.

Pulling a handkerchief from an inside pocket, he wipes at the front of his pants, removing as much of your residue from him as he can as you stand, hoisting your panties back up around your hips and flipping down your dress.

"Look even more gorgeous fucked out, sugar. I'll be sad to see this pretty face go." He pulls you in to kiss you, lingering for a fraction before pulling back.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," you say softly, stroking the side of his face and smoothing down a flick in his moustache. His hat has not left his head.

"N - "

"It's showtime people, place please," a voice booms, hands clapping together harshly to get the attention of the crew. Shit.

You don't hide your disappointment, stepping away from Jack to let him get back to work. His whip and lasso are nowhere to be seen, and he still needs to grab them before the show starts. The moment is over, and so is your dry spell, you think, mentally preparing for the walk back to your car.

He's softly tugging you toward him before you can get too far.

"Now... I don't do private shows, but if you stick around, I wouldn't mind a repeat performance."

You can't help the grin that spreads across your face, and neither can he. "I'd like that, cowboy."

You wait, sitting on the barrel he'd fucked you over, stealing kisses between acts, watching as he adjust his pants to hide his stiff cock from the crowd, waiting patiently for another round with your ringmaster.

One day in the not too distant future, after months of travelling, belly heavy and feet swollen, you'll sit at a table laden with food, surrounded by your chosen family, telling the story of how your not-quite-nephews inadvertantly introduced you to the love of your life, the ringmaster in the cowboy hat.

When dinner is finished, you'll stand in the crisp air of the backyard, grateful for the off-season and a chance to settle before the chaos really begins. Large hands will wind around you, just as that rope did many moons ago, gently lifting your belly as a kiss is placed to your cheek.

"You didn't tell 'em the whole story," he'll whisper, placing his cowboy hat on the table.

"Mm, that is a story best kept just between you and me."

"And a few dozen people." You'll laugh into the chill air, clouds of white puffing from your mouth, the memory of the night that started it all so fresh in your mind. You'll turn and look at him fondly, stealing his cowboy hat and placing it on your own head.

"And a few dozen people."

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#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #fic: carnal-val #coveted fics

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morallyinept · 6 months

Text

Two Fingers Of Whiskey - An Agent Whiskey GIFLET

Uh, Jett, what the heck is a GIFLET?

Just a short 500 words or less drabble, based on inspiration that I got from a GIF. Simples.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 496

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶 "It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

GIFLET MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

This GIFLET was inspired by the below GIF 👇🏻

"That feel good, sugar?" He croons at you, with a knowing grin under the fuzz of his moustache.

He knows it feels good. He makes sure of it.

"Jack… Oh God, Jack!" You whine, nodding languidly, hardly able to keep your head up as it rests against his.

Forehead to forehead. Stuck to him like glue. Pushing his black Stetson up so it's almost falling off his head. His breath coats your eyelashes warm, as he chuckles.

"See now, it's just a couple of fingers. And here you are losin' your pretty head."

Jack pushes them in deeper, fapping harder as his wrist flexes and twists. Your slick sounds obscene; gushing sticky around his thick digits buried to the hilt in you.

"Jack!" You gasp, your hands fisting in the shoulders of his denim jacket.

You can feel the bottom of the wheel pressing against your ass, and it soon pushes against the horn as you buck and jolt, eagerly fucking those fingers.

"Woah! Letting everyone know ol' Jack's makin' you feel good, hmm?" He snickers, the thick caterpillar over his lip tastes good on your tongue as he kisses you deeply.

He rubs against that spot; that spongy hub of nerves deep inside you. His thumb strokes at your clit expertly, and your thighs shake - as does your voice box - as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"I'm-m gonna-ah c-come!" You tense and shudder, your joints seizing and locking up. Eyes rolling back, back arched and moaning and gasping wildly.

"Yeah you are, sugar. Come on now, don't be shy. Let it all out. You know I want it." He coaxes, and the Stetson is finally lost somewhere behind the seat.

You grab onto the lapels of his jacket harder now; twisting the denim up as you combust. You can feel it, slick and wet, and Jack smiles accomplished.

"Now look at that, you've gone n' soaked up my jeans." Jack says smirking, he pulls his fingers out.

He sucks them with a squelchy pop and groans as he licks them clean. Deep, mocha browns stare at you as he does it and it drives you mad with need.

He watches keenly as you reach for his buckle, fumbling and hungry for him so much that your hands are a clumsy mess.

"Let me help you out there." Jack pulls himself out; thick and glistening with his own secretions that you long to taste and swallow down. "Now what are you gonna do with that, hmm?"

You lean in and kiss him hungrily, as you wrap your hand around his fat length and pump slowly. You can taste the little groan at the back of his throat.

"Gonna ride you hard, cowboy," you whisper to him as you line him up with your sodden slit.

He leans into your face, smirking eagerly. "Giddy up, sugar."

Jack kisses you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, as you slide all the way down onto him.

🖤

#agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey kingsman #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey fic #pedro pascal characters #jett's writing #jett's giflets

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ohblitz0 · 1 year

Text

sugar - agent whiskey

pairing: jack ‘agent whiskey’ daniels x fem reader

summary: basically porn with a teeny tiny bit of plot. guys this is my first time really writing some smut so lmk what you guys think!

word count: 3.5k

warnings: maybe a bit ooc?? idk. (18+) smut u filthy animals. unprotected p in v. (wrap it before you tap it!) language, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, bondage and I think that's it?

Your life had been pretty mundane before you were lucky enough to get a stable job at a company called Statesman. Statesman was a company that sold the finest whiskey in the United States and just so happened to be an undercover spy organization. Life wasn’t so dull anymore. How you found yourself here was a long story but even if hard to admit– there was some pretty eye candy at your disposal.

Your job wasn’t too tricky. You had plenty of things to do like paperwork, let's see... More paperwork– some combat training which was fun and then dealing with Mr. Agent Whiskey. You’d be lying if you said you hated it but nobody had to know how you truly felt about the matter. You liked to keep that your little secret. After all, Jack didn’t need his ego flattered anymore than it already was. The constant smirking and cockiness that basically evaporated off of him was a lot to handle at first but you got used to it– even enjoyed it. You couldn’t help it after spending so many hours with the man, you eventually developed some affection for him. The constant flirting, the damned pet names, and that handsome face were enough to reel you in. You also admired how hard working he was, all those late nights spent together investigating for missions, you saw how he took pride in his work.

Speaking of late nights at the office.

Your fingers rubbed at your temple trying to soothe the dull ache that would soon become a migraine if you didn’t take a break from reading and sorting out so much paperwork. The sun had set a long time ago but you were still there. Trying to prepare for tomorrow's assignment. You weren’t alone, Jack had stayed behind as well. You could see his office clearly, the light still on, just across from where your desk was on the outside. During regular shift hours, when the building was full of life, you would exchange many words with him but on nights like these both of you were as quiet as a mouse. Sighing, you looked at your now empty coffee cup and contemplated asking Jack if he would like a cup on your way to make yourself one. You felt silly for being shy all of the sudden, you’ve known him for quite a while now but simple acts like this seemed far more intimate?

“You got this,” you murmured quietly as you grabbed your cup and slowly walked towards his office. You could see his shadow sitting on his desk through the privacy-stained glass and your heart skipped a bit. Once you made it to his door you knocked softly before entering.

“Come in.” you heard the muffle of that sweet southern drawl before opening his door and standing on the threshold with a small smile. God– he looked handsome. His cowboy hat was set aside on his desk, hair slightly disheveled but still as handsome as ever.

“Still here, darlin’?” he said with a cat-like grin, a small chuckle following after as he leaned back into his chair, arms crossed. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eye gave you once over before licking his lips. You nodded with a small laugh, fingers grasping your mug tightly, taking a step inside his office now.

“Was wonderin’ if you’d like a cup as well? I don’t know about you but I needed a pick-me-up.”

He hummed before getting up from his seat, walking around and towards you. He gently grasped your mug from your hands, you could feel his warmth just by the brush of his fingers and it sent a shiver down your spine. As he grabbed the mug he leaned back against his desk before setting it down. There was a small puzzled look on your face, lips slightly parted in loss of words before he filled the silent void for you.

“How about we just take a breather, you and me? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” his voice sounded as gentle as ever, but you felt some tension in the air now. Maybe, it was because you didn’t know if you should sit down or not, you felt glued to your spot.

“Sounds... Sounds fine,” you murmured almost breathlessly, maybe it was the fatigue taking over, your normal bubbly personality dying down and what was left was just bashfulness. You clasped your fingers together, a small smile on your face, your eyes diverting from his for a moment, seeing his whip and lasso still attached to his hip. You wondered why he still had those on, the day was over and this was definitely not a combat situation. You might have been staring too long because the husk of that southern accent awoke you from your thoughts.

“Like what you see, baby?”

A small scoff left your lips, “Cocky as ever aren’t you–” your words were soon caught in your throat as you felt him grasp your wrist and pull you into him. Perfectly fitting between his legs, his free hand grasping your chin gently. You felt heat rise upon your cheeks from this newfound proximity, your feet trying to pull you back but failing due to Jack pulling you right back in.

“What the hell!”

“Is that any way to talk to your superior?” His voice was deep and strong. This wasn’t the sweet, playful voice you had been used to. This was different. You felt intimidated and shocked, and you felt that familiar warmth spread inside you. This was so out of the blue, you still couldn't fully register what had happened. Lips parting, words on the tip of your tongue but failing to come out. Of course, Jack was your superior, you were his right hand but the dynamic was always playful, and he was rarely ever stern with you. Your quietness wasn’t appreciated as his hand moved from the gentle grasp of your chin down to the side of your neck, forcefully pulling you closer to him. Your nose was almost touching his as he spoke.

“Do I need to repeat myself, sugar?”

“No– No.” you stammered out weakly, eyes staring into his own, trying to understand where this all came from. “No, what?” His voice was sharp, and mean, and it made you shiver.

“No, sir.”

He hummed in approval, both of his hands moving to grasp both of your hands gently. The contrast between rough and gentle demeanor was driving you insane– you loved it. He stood up off his desk, hands still holding yours as he stared down at you. “Tell me to stop.” He whispered, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort, reluctance, disgust, anything. He was asking for permission and it made you feel safe. He felt safe. Of course, that was the bare minimum but it meant the world to you, especially coming from someone you had admiration for. A smile formed on your face before you spoke.

“It’s okay Jack.” You whispered, body subconsciously leaning towards him more, feeling his warmth and wanting more. You could smell his scent, aroma filled with his cologne, smoke, and whiskey. It was addicting. He nodded, humming in satisfaction before he abruptly swung you around. Now you were in front of his desk and him behind you.

“Hm, I don’t think it’s okay at all, darlin’. Every day I come to work, here you are all dolled up and I’m just dying to have a taste.” His hand pushed at your back, your hands flying forward bracing yourself against the desk. Sliding his hand further down, pressing against your spine making you press your body fully onto the desk. Your cheek flushed against the wood, hands flat on the surface. Your chest heaved, feeling your breath pick up, you could feel yourself already soaking wet for him.

“And these dresses? Oh, babydoll.” He said with a ‘tsk’ hand grasping the ends of your dress and hiking it up. You were definitely glad you wore some cute underwear today. You heard a small groan behind you, trying to tilt your head to see him but failing because of his hand that had trailed down to keep you in place. A whimper slipped past your lips as you felt his hand cup your sex. His thumb pressed against the folds, feeling your arousal coat your underwear. Your thighs closed in on his hand from the blissful feeling. A rough ‘No’ was heard from behind you, his knee pressing between your legs and spreading them apart to gain more access.

His body leaned over your own, his other hand pressed beside your head now bracing himself above you. His fingers moved your panties aside, fingers generously circling around that spot you needed the most attention from. He alternates between a slow pace, to fast, to slow, and it is beginning to drive you insane. Tears brimming your eyes, eyes lashes wet, you're pretty sure your mascara was running down your face. A complete mess under his touch. Then suddenly you felt a finger pressed inside you, filling up that empty ache.

“Mm, please…” you gasped out almost pathetically, already drunk on his simple touches.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. You’ve been so good after all.”

Another finger was added. Then another. Three thick fingers filled you almost too perfectly. There was a slight tinge of pressure but you invited the pain. You couldn’t help but circle your hips around his fingers, adjusting to the feeling of being so full of him. It was just his fingers and it had you unfolding before him already. All you could hear was your heavy panting, small whimpers of pleasure, and his sultry voice in the quiet building. This was your place of work, where you now had a man plunging his fingers inside your pussy at a delicious pace. Now every time you’d walk in for work, you’d remember that feeling and the thought made you even wetter.

You began to feel that pleasurable release build up inside of you, your eyes were beginning to flutter closed before you felt your hair being tugged, craning your face to look upon the man before you.

“Eyes on me, sugar.” His voice rasped, his lips ghosting over your jaw before kissing it gently. Your eyes stayed open after that, trying your best to remain eye contact as he thrust his fingers at a rapid pace now. You mewled at the feeling, that delicious build-up was near and your walls clenched around his fingers tightly. All you could really focus on was the feeling, the wet noises of your arousal, and his deep voice littering you with praise.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Look at you. Such a pretty little mess from just my fingers, huh?”

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar.” And then you felt it hit you, your legs shook and your thighs desperately wanted to press together from the overwhelming feeling but were unable to because of Jack’s knee keeping you spread open for him. His name tumbled from your lips, a small whimper following as your hips circled and rode out your high.

He pulled away slowly, his fingers leaving your wet hole, as he stood up towering over your body. You slowly turned yourself around, knees wobbling, as you leaned up against his desk. Your eyes couldn't help but wander down and see the large bulge straining against his tight denim jeans. You watched as one of his hands, you guessed the one that was just in you– fingers glistening with reminisce of your release, grasped his belt buckle and began to undo it swiftly.

“Hm, I think you're ready for real fun now, darlin’.” He said, a devilish grin gracing his face as he walked back to his desk chair. You noticed he was still holding his belt, his whip still attached to it. You followed suit as you heard him tell you– “Come here.” in a gentle tone. Your legs felt so weak, still shaken from your last orgasm but your arousal was still there. You wanted more– needed more.

He looked undeniably sexy sitting before you. Thick thighs spread wide for you allowing you to stand between them. “Take it off, sweetheart.” He said, eyeing your dress as he went for his tie loosening it. Your hands pulled your dress off, leaving you in your undergarments. Your chest heaved up and down from your soft breaths, fingers grasping the back of your bra as you unclasped it boldly. It was silly how heat filled your cheeks as your chest was now bare before his eyes after what just happened minutes before. Now fully naked before him after pulling your last garment off you stepped closer to Jack. His arm wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle his lap, the roughness of his jeans scraping against your warm skin.

Your eyes stared back at his brown ones, a small smile grazing your lips as your delicate fingers grasped his face. Noses brushed against each other as a small giggle left your lips making a smile etched on his face. Finally, your lips met his soft ones in a gentle kiss. His mustache tickles your upper lip but you didn't mind one bit. Foreheads pressed together as the kiss broke, breathing each other in as you caressed his jaw sweetly.

“To answer your question from earlier– I do like what I see,” you murmured upon his lips, pressing them against his once more for another quick kiss. He chuckled, one that was deep and rumbled in his chest. Biting your lip to contain yet another smile from that sweet sound.

“Such a good girl, huh?” his hand pressing into the small of your back, pushing you closer to his body if it was even possible. Your eyes fell curious on his other hand that still grasped his belt. Holding it in front of you, his other hand now grasping your wrists together, you had an idea where this was going and weren't mad about it one bit. Your heartbeat quickened as he began to wrap the belt around your wrists tightly. “So good.” His murmured praise made your cheeks flush and your cunt drip arousal down your legs. Once the belt was secure, your eyes fell down as you watched him pull his cock free from his jeans.

Fuck. He was huge. How was he even hiding that thing in his pants? It was long and the girth was thick. His hand stroked his length a couple times, thumb grazing his tip that leaked pre-cum. He saw that surprised look on your face, making him grin and a small chuckle leaves his lips. You noticed he held his whip still, now setting it on his desk. “Maybe, we'll use that next time.” You heard him murmur which perked up your ears. Thinking about the next time made your heart flutter.

“You gonna take it like the good girl you are, hm?” So enthralled by him, your parted lips failed to answer him as you watched him begin to push his tip inside you. Suddenly you felt a sting along your ass from him slapping it, the skin beginning to turn red from the impact. A loud gasp left your lips from the action, your bound hands resting along one of his shoulders trying to find purchase.

“Answer when I talk to you, darlin’. Understood?” He said, his voice rough as he plunged the rest of himself inside you.

“Fuck! Yes.. I’ll be good!” You whimpered out from the sudden fullness. It was like the wind got knocked out of you. Your walls clenched around his cock tightly, trying to get used to this new feeling. His hands rested on your hips, rocking them back and forth slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once the small sting began to vanish and was now filled with mostly undying pleasure, your pace began to pick up.

Your bound wrists went over his hand, fingers grasping the nape of his neck as you rutted your hips into him. His lips attacked the side of your neck as you swayed your hips against him, moaning and panting his name like a song.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers still grasped your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips helping you keep your steady pace. “Doing so well, taking all of me. Knew you could do it. That sweet cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” And it truly felt like it did, it fit so well inside you, snug, and hit all the right places.

That familiar sound of your wetness and skin connecting on skin filled the room along with heavy breathing and Jack’s foul mouth.

“Yes! Mm.. just for you.” You moaned, hips stuttering as you felt that heat pool into your core, that delicious build-up close once more. Your chin was able to rest on top of his head from this angle and you rutted into him. His face was pressed into your breasts, lips latching onto one of your lips, sucking and kissing the soft flesh. His hands gripped your hips roughly, stalling your movements before he lifted his own and started thrusting into your hole at a killing pace. A scream left your lips, a shriek from the sudden brutal pace as you held onto him. Your walls began to clench around him, your orgasm almost reaching its peak.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“God, yes... Please.”

“I’m close, baby. Come with me, sweetheart–” he grunted as he continued his brutal pace. You whined his name, like a plea, as you pressed yourself back down on him, circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Your walls clenched down on him like a vice grip as you came, mewling in bliss as your head fell against his shoulder. Your thighs shook as your body slumped into his. His hips began to stutter and with a few more hard thrusts his seed filled your swollen hole. His hands guided your hips in a lazy circle against his cock, riding out his high, the actions made you cry out from the sensitivity.

“I know, sugar. Sh, I got ya.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes. His cock is still buried inside you as he unravels your wrists. The skin was red and swollen but you didn’t care. You liked that he marked you in some way. He placed gentle kisses along your face as he moved your hair away from your face.

“Did so well for me. Like you always do,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them with your own in a lazy but sweet kiss. And that phrase had so much meaning to it. You have always been by his side since you got hired here. Every mission, every wound was tended to, the hardships and all that shitty paperwork. You were there. And after tonight, the two of you changed. A fire was ignited and those shied feelings now were in the open.

────────────

Of course, this would happen to you. After last night you went home, of course fully satisfied, and slept like a fucking baby halfway through your important briefing for the next mission that you were supposed to be preparing for the night before. You were in a frantic mess all morning, hurrying to get ready and grab all your shit before bolting out the door and driving to work. Your mind was still in a haze from the night before and your cheeks flushed as you stepped into the building and headed toward the elevator. The top floor is where the magic happens. Literally.

You took a deep breath before exhaling, trying to ease your anxiety from being late and elevate the embarrassment you felt for being late. It wasn’t like you. But of course, one single touch from that goddamn agent that you are spiraling. You decided that you’d put the blame on the handsome man. After all, he did fuck you till you were seeing stars.

As you walked in, a fellow coworker eyed you with a knowing look. ‘You’re in for it’ her face said as he nodded towards the briefing room where now only Jack Daniels himself sat. You sighed, walking in and shutting the door behind you. Setting your folder down on the table you clasped your hands in front of you, finding it hard to look at him at this point. Before you could get a word out, that familiar southern drawl filled the air.

“Tsk, and I thought you were a good girl? Looks like that reward got to your head, sugar.” He chuckled with a shake of his head, grinning at the way your cheeks turned red. A little embarrassed that your coworkers were right outside as he said those words.

“Jack— I'm sorry really—“ you began to say before he shook his head once more with a whistle. His figure stood up from his seat as he began to stalk over you like prey.

“Y’know actions speak louder than words, beautiful. I’m gonna need you to show me just how sorry you are, baby.” He finished as he stood in front of you now, toe to toe, a finger grasping your chin. At that moment you truly realized just how different things would be.

#pedro pascal #pedro x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey #kingsmen secret service #kingsmen golden circle #smut #tlou smut #joel miller

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

V ║ Appaloosa

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 4: Strawberry Roan | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 6: Mustang }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack play house for a day.

Warnings: This is filthy, light angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, sexual innuendoes, protected sex, fingering, dirty talk, language, mention of food, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: Cowboy Jack and his Darlin' are back. This is a bit of a transitional chapter as we move into the second part of the their week together, and shit's getting real 🥺 I know it's been a while, and I hope this doesn't disappoint ❤️

Appaloosa: An American horse breed best known for its colourful spotted coat pattern.

Jack can’t remember the last time he missed his alarm.

When he slowly comes to, the room is quiet, the digital beep from his phone that you must have switched off but an echo in his ears. He exhales heavily through his nose and turns onto his side, where he finds you burrowed into your pillow.

You stretch languidly as Jack drapes his arm over you, warm and heavy, his bare skin finding yours under the duvet. His baritone rumbles in your ear. ‘Mornin’, darlin’.’

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. You mumble back, ‘Morning, cowboy.’

‘Sleep well?’

Shifting onto your back and blinking up at his face hovering just above you, you nod and let your gaze trail over his rumpled hair, his warm eyes, still hooded with sleep, and lips curled into a gentle smile. The morning light spilling through the window chases away the tailend of the chill from last night, and the air in the room is ripe with the musk of sex and slumber. You hum and pull him in for a chaste kiss.

‘Do the horses need feeding?’ you ask as he settles between your thighs, holding himself above you on elbows either side of your face.

‘No, I left the feed out for them last night,’ he answers, but stays still otherwise, as if he’s letting you take the lead on how this morning should play out.

You run your hands down his back, sliding slowly against his skin as you feel goosebumps bloom in their wake. Cocking your head to the side, you say, ‘So theoretically, if your guests don’t feel well -’

Jack’s brow immediately furrows in worry. ‘You don’t feel well?’

You shake your head, soothing your palms over his lower back as you reassure him, ‘No, I feel perfectly well. It’s just,’ you pause and bite your bottom lip. ‘Just theoretically - could we stay one more night?’

You can tell it’s not what he expected to hear, but the way his gaze darkens just ever so slightly doesn’t escape you. His voice comes out deeper when he finally says, ‘But we’re going to miss all the sights we were going to see today.’

With a slow nod, you reply, ‘I know.’

Jack shifts, taking his weight off one elbow so that his hips slowly but surely brush against yours. ‘We’ll have to take a shortcut.’

You don’t mean for your words to come out so breathless, but they do anyway. ‘I understand.’

Jack’s voice drops to a throaty whisper. ‘We’ll have to ride extra hard tomorrow to make up for lost time.’

‘How hard?’ you prompt, wrapping one leg around his waist, your breath hitching when you feel his hard length sliding through your folds.

‘Very hard,’ he breathes through gritted teeth, his large palms cupping your ass and squeezing greedily, pulling you flush to him.

‘How about I show you how hard I can ride, cowboy?’ You grin against his lips. ‘Will it put your mind at ease, sir?’

Jack groans and takes your lips in a searing kiss, rocking against your dampening core before pulling back to growl, ‘Not fuckin’ likely, darlin’.’

Jack’s never been one to cut work. Hell, he’d never even taken a sick day until his wife’s accident. After the funeral, he’d packed up his truck and headed straight into the woods, where he spent the entirety of three months in silent solitude in the depths of the forests.

Then he went back to work, and he’s never stopped since.

But right now, he can’t bring himself to care that he’s putting a blemish on his perfect record - not when his eyes are on your tits as you bounce on his cock, the pulse in your neck rabbiting under the scrape of his teeth when you throw your head back, nails digging into his shoulders and grounding him to the moment. In the back of his head, he hears the bed creak underneath, an off-key violin to the tune of your gasps and moans.

‘Fuck, darlin’, you ride me so well,’ he praises you, one hand coming down to smack you on the ass, which makes you stutter something incoherent as your pussy clenches around him.

‘Told you so,’ you somehow manage to reply smartly, prompting a growl from him as he thrusts up into you so hard that you nearly fall off his lap. ‘Jack!’

‘Just testin’ how well you stay on a buckin’ bronco,’ he sasses back at you with a debauched grin.

You bite your lip, hips desperately grinding against his. So close that your insides are trembling, you let his comeback slide, begging instead, ‘Do it again, Jack, please, gonna cum -’

He leans forward and presses a desperate kiss to your lips, his words catching in his throat as he feels you break around him. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Tequila’s battered truck rattles up to the Halfway House a few minutes after nine, the metallic grunts of the engine breaking the still of the morning. Jameson sits patiently on the passenger side, but his tail is thumping excitedly on the seat at the sight of his favourite playground in the mountains.

Whistling to himself, Tequila rounds the truck to let the border collie out, who bounds headfirst towards the paddock. Looking up, he grins at the sight of the three horses still in the stables.

Champ owes him fifty bucks, and he intends to collect.

He knocks anyway - his mama taught him manners - and he gives it a couple more tries before letting himself in, leaving the door ajar if Jameson wants to come in.

The house is silent, only the floorboards creaking under his boots as he makes a sweep of the living space. Remnants of the night before are scattered about in wine-stained glasses, empty dishes and dying embers in the fireplace.

He gotta give it to Jack. Man’s got moves.

Humming quietly to himself, Tequila pulls open the fridge door, the interior light flooding him in orange as he pokes his head inside, and his eyes light up at the half-eaten chocolate cake. He shrugs and reaches for it - might as well have a second breakfast while he waits.

And he doesn’t have to wait long. He’s just finishing up the last of his slice at the dining table when he hears movement down the corridor to the guest bedrooms. There’s a flush of the toilet and a trickle of water, then Jack emerges in just his jeans, head down while he does up the fly.

‘Mornin’ sunshine,’ pipes up Tequila, louder than he needs to. He enjoys the way the normally calm and collected cowboy jumps a foot in fright.

Rubbing his palm over his eyes, Jack groans and stumbles over his words. ‘Oh fuck. Sorry, I meant to call. Our guest - uh, she isn’t feeling well, so we’ll be staying one more night. So that she can - get better.’

Tequila crosses his arms, one eyebrow arched. ‘She isn’t feeling well, huh?’

‘Yeah, um - something with the food,’ mumbles Jack as he stalks over to the kitchen sink to pour himself a glass of water, which he downs.

‘Losing your touch in the kitchen, Daniels?’

‘Shut up, Teak,’ glowers Jack, steadfastly avoiding his friend’s gaze as he busies himself with moving the dirty dishes from the kitchen counter. He turns on the hot water and squeezes far too much washing up liquid into the stoppered sink. Grabbing a sponge, he begins to aggressively wash up.

Tequila watches with a pleasant smile and comments, ‘Funny choice of attire when our guest can walk in any moment, by the way.’

Spinning around with soapy hands, Jack opens his mouth, ready to make up another excuse - when his eyes alight on the box of condoms haphazardly ripped open lying in plain sight on the table in front of the other cowboy.

Pointing what he hopes is a menacing finger at Teak - as menacing as it can be with suds sliding off the tip of it - he growls, ‘Not a single word from you, understand?’

Tequila flashes him a shit-eating grin. ‘C’mon, a thank you would be nice. I drove into town specially to get you those rubbers, you know. Did I get the sizing right, by the way? Not too loose?’

Jack resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘How did you even -’

‘Like recognises like,’ winks Tequila.

Rolling his eyes, Jack turns back to the dishes and says, ‘Just get the fuck out of here before she wakes up.’

‘I can’t,’ he protests. ‘I gotta collect your dirty laundry and strip the beds. Bet I only need to strip one bed though.’

The front door whines on its hinges - it really needs a good oiling - as Jameson runs into the house, barking at the sight of Jack, who gives him a wet pat on the head.

He freezes when he hears another door creak, but before he can sound the warning, you pad out of the corridor and into the living area in just his shirt, your eyes still squinty with sleep.

‘Did I just hear a dog -’ you stop abruptly in your tracks when you spot Tequila waving to you.

‘Mornin’ sweetheart,’ calls out Tequila with a two-fingered salute. He turns to Jack and pronounces, ‘Well, she hardly looks rode hard and put away wet, does she?’

You blink, your limited morning brain power preoccupied by Jameson, who’s shimmied up to you wagging his tail. Scratching him behind the ear, you try to muster a response to Tequila’s rather cryptic remark. ‘I mean, um, maybe not in so many words -’

Jack cuts in from across the kitchen. ‘Darlin’, do not answer that. It’s a southern sayin’ and he’s just tryin’ to wind you up.’

Tequila wriggles his eyebrows at you playfully. ‘Wind up the birthday girl? Never! Happy birthday, by the way. I’m guessing Jack showed you a good time?’

‘Get outta here, Teak!’

He surrenders with his palms up, vacating the kitchen table. ‘Alright, alright, no need to shout, Daniels. I’ll be back tomorrow then. If you decide to stay another night, just send a text,’ he pauses and gives you a suggestive wink. ‘We can always send a car to pick you up instead at the end of the week.’

Whistling at Jameson to follow, Tequila calls out over his shoulder in farewell. ‘Keep your saddle oiled and your gun greased!’

As the door shuts behind him, you burst into laughter.

‘What the hell did he just say?’

The afternoon light filters through the half-drawn blinds over the bathroom window, casting shadows on the tiled floor that only grow longer as the lazy hours tick by.

The water has long gone tepid, your plans for what was meant to be a quick bath alone derailed when Jack climbed in after you.

The condoms are in the bedroom, and neither of you are inclined to leave the tub, so he has you spread in his lap, your tits heaving just above the waterline. Bubbles cling to your nipples as Jack draws slippery circles on your clit, sucking hot kisses onto the side of your neck.

‘Harder, Jack. Mark me, please,’ you beg. His cock is hot and heavy in your hand, and you feel him twitch as your words hit home.

‘Yeah? Want me to fuckin’ brand you, darlin’?’ he growls into your ear before sucking on your skin so viciously that you cry out, thrusting his fingers into you as you start to cum. You stroke him harder, feeling him tense behind you before a violent shudder goes through his body, harsh breaths in your ear as he lets go. ‘That’s it, darlin’. So good for me, cummin’ so hard on my fingers like that while I mark you -’

You slump bonelessly into Jack’s chest when your high passes, and you tilt your head backwards so that he can kiss you fully on your mouth, tongues meeting languidly, your nails sliding into his wet hair to pull him closer.

Nose in your temple, he eyes the blooming hickey on the base of your neck with a deep grunt of satisfaction.

Jack’s voice is warm against the shell of your ear as he ambles up behind you, big palms leaning on the kitchen counter on either side of you. ‘Is it regressive of me to find the sight of you cookin’ very sexy?’

You smile, not looking up as you measure out the dried pasta. ‘It might just be that I’m wearing nothing underneath your shirt.’

You shriek when he draws up the hem to see that you’re not lying, ducking to press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your naked hip before wrapping his arms around you.

‘What’s on the menu, chef?’ he asks, chin on your shoulder.

‘Carbonara,’ you answer, the ingredients you found laid out on the kitchen counter, along with the freshly cut parsley that Jack got from the garden.

‘With cream and peas?’ he asks dubiously.

You toss him a look over your shoulder. ‘Didn’t peg you for a pasta snob, cowboy.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m not sure who will want to wring your neck first - Poppy or the Italians.’

‘Good thing I can count on you to get me out of a spot of trouble, can’t I?’

‘Depends on how good that carbonara is,’ he teases, letting out an exaggerated oomph when you gently elbow him in the stomach in rebuke. He adds, ‘You didn’t have to cook, you know. I would’ve been happy to do it.’

‘You deserve a break,’ you say as you crack an egg for the sauce. You pause, the words caught in your windpipe as you hesitate. When they do come out, you don’t sound as nonchalant as you would’ve liked to. ‘And I wanted to show you that I can feed myself when you’re not around to cook for me, cowboy.’

It’s the first time any mention of what lies beyond this week has been articulated between you two. The air shifts, and for a split second, the unwelcome weight of reality suddenly looms over you, all-consuming - until you feel Jack shuffle on his feet behind you.

His calloused palms close over hands - you’ve completely overbeaten the egg mixture while your mind wandered - and you set the bowl and fork down, your restless fingers gripping the edge of the countertop instead.

‘I have no doubt you will manage without me,’ he says, almost diplomatically.

But when his hands find your waist again, he holds you tighter.

Out on the deck, next to the stairs, stands a serious-looking telescope. Over the carbonara - a home run, by the way - you remind Jack he promised a couple of nights ago that he’ll show you the constellations. Warm from eating in front of the fire, you venture outside afterwards with just a thick blanket draped over Jack’s shirt, your legs bare from mid-thigh down.

But the cowboy’s not very inclined to keep his end of the bargain.

‘I could fuck you all day,’ he hums distractedly into your neck.

You roll your eyes fondly. ‘You have fucked me all day.’

‘I want to fuck you all day tomorrow, too.’

‘Cowboy -’

‘And the day after.’

‘Jack - ’

‘And the day after that.’

You know he doesn’t mean to, but your heart sinks at his casual mention of days after - how many more do you have left before it’s just… after?

After this week.

After this trip.

After Wyoming.

After Jack.

You can hear the sands shifting. You can no longer tell the top of the hourglass from the bottom.

But you can’t dwell on that - not now.

‘You said you’ll show me the stars, cowboy,’ you try to redirect the conversation as he slides a hand under the shirt and squeezes your breast. You arch into his touch - it is beyond your comprehension how your body is still responding after all that he’s tirelessly wrung out of it today.

‘Don’t worry, darlin’,’ he quips, his other hand delving underneath the layers to cup your bare pussy. ‘I’ll make sure you see stars, all right.’

Then he bends you over the white railing - the blanket discarded at your feet and your shirt hitched up around your waist - you faintly hear the clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of a condom packet before he’s pushing into your wet cunt.

Your bottom lip stings as your teeth close over it, his fingers lacing with yours on the bannister as he thrusts into you. His moans fill your ears as you take him, his cock ramming into you so hard that you’re pinned to the railing on your tiptoes by the sheer force of his fucking.

‘You can be as loud as you want, darlin’,’ Jack coaxes. Facing the other way, you can’t see him, but you can almost hear his teeth grind as he fights to hold on. ‘Let me hear you, please, I need to hear you -’

He has you panting into the Wyoming night sky, the sweet sound of his name on your lips something that he will remember you by - months from now, when he sits on the porch on his lonesome, another cohort of strangers fast asleep in the bed that you two once shared on a crisp midsummer night.

Notes: It was so much fun writing Tequila into this chapter after Jack and Darlin' have had so much alone time together! I know this was quite a short chapter compared to what's come before, but I think a lot of my anxiety was actually coming from chapters running (which means more time and more editing), so I think we might be seeing more compact chapters from now on.

I'm thrilled to see so many new readers these few weeks, but I noticed that most only like the chapters. This is a gentle reminder that comments and reblogs are strongly encouraged ❤️ We writers put in so much of our free time on our fics, all we ask for is meaningful interaction to keep us going!

Horsey notes: I was googling Southern sayings that Tequila could deliver as a punchline, and ridden hard and put away wet was so perfect that I laughed out loud when I discovered it because it was so on-theme!

The phrase describes someone who looks unwell, and has a horsey origin. You never put a horse away wet if he's sweaty or washed down, they should always be towelled or brushed dry. This is covered in the last chapter when Darlin' scrapes Whiskey dry after hosing him down.

#jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey

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pascalsbby · 1 year

Text

honey

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)

warnings: smut, spanking, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, talk of public sex

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

whiskey was a gentleman… he expected you to be a good girl, too. he was always huffing and puffing about being raised that way. it was annoying enough, but he didn’t seem to mind you being anything but a good girl whenever you would put on his cowboy hat as he sunk himself into you almost every night.

“tha’s it, scream my name. i know you’ve missed it baby girl.” he would egg you on and moan your name into your collarbones as he nearly snapped you in half, breathless and sweating.

he didn’t want you making him hard in public though. you just assumed it was just the age gap talking, but you took it too far one night in front of his coworkers, unable to help it. and you knew you took it too far, too, whenever 2 hours later he had you bent over his knee, naked and whimpering as his hand met your ass.

you did want to be good for him. but he makes it so goddamn hard.

“swee’heart,” he pulled your hair a little, moving your face upwards so he was looking down at you, his hot breath bothered and alcohol ridden. “you know not to tease me like that. spreading your cunt open in public, what if someone saw that?” he gestured to what would have been the 5 other men sitting around the table at dinner.

he turned you over, your back now laying over his thighs, his jeans still on and his cock pushing into your back, still hard.

“this,” he kept eye contact as one of his hands traveled down to your core, brushing your lips.

“look at me,” he ordered, just as you started to watch his fingers slip so easily inside of you. first, tickling the outer wetness of you.

“this baby, your pussy, is for my eyes, my tongue, my fingers only. it’s for my cock, only. they’d get one look, one taste of your honey and it would all be over.”

he removed himself and licked his two fingers clean.

“understand?”

#agent whiskey #pedro pascal #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x y/n #smut #whiskey #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #tlou #tlou fanfiction #javier peña #agent whiskey smut #oneshot

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ladamedusoif · 3 months

Text

Gentleman Cowboy

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Word count: 3500

Summary: A solo getaway. A fateful glass of whiskey. And a very charming cowboy, ready to explore the big city.

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Alcohol references and consumption; non-canon compliant as is right and proper because that man deserved better; oral sex (F receiving); safe PiV sex; little bit of strong language; no physical descriptions of Reader other than her blue dress and red lipstick; fluff; Jack-typical pet names (sugar, sweetheart, darlin’).

A/N: A belated birthday fic for @agentjackdaniels, who deserves all the nice things - including a certain, irresistible, (retired) secret agent turned ranch owner.

Follow my writing blog, @ladameecrit, and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Charisma.

The jury’s out on whether you’re born with it or can acquire it. For some people, it’s just there. Natural, easy, instantaneous. Doesn’t mean they’re more attractive, necessarily, or more successful. Just… charismatic.

Hard to explain, but you know it when you see it. And you’d seen it today, checking into the hotel for your solo birthday getaway. A staycation, of sorts - this is your home city, after all - but an escape nonetheless, a break from work, from stress, and a chance to mark another turn around the sun.

He was in the lobby while you were queuing to check in, sitting on one of the hotel’s chi-chi armchairs leafing through a city guidebook. By chance, you glanced in his direction at just the moment he raised his head.

He was all brown eyes, bright smile, dimple set in a tanned handsome face. More than that: he exuded charisma.

He nodded. You nodded back. By the time you’d checked in and secured your room key, he was gone.

***

He’s been to this city many times before, but always for work. Never any time for sightseeing or getting to know the place. In retirement, he made it his business to return to those old stomping grounds he wished he’d seen more of, joyfully embracing the life of a tourist for a few days before returning to the horse-breeding ranch he owned and ran back home in Kentucky.

The hotel bar is elegant and modern, wooden accents and brushed metal fittings perfectly in line with his own taste. He’s settled in a cosy corner alone, whiskey tumbler in hand, when he sees her again.

Her casual outfit from earlier has been replaced by a diaphanous, layered dress in midnight blue, printed with a pattern reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He half-expects to see a companion, joining her for a post-prandial nightcap. But she’s on her own.

Just like him.

The bar is quiet. He can’t help but overhear her at the bar. “It’s my birthday,” she tells the bartender, grinning happily. “They said I could have a complimentary drink.”

The bartender smiles and nods. “Sure thing, ma’am. What would you like?”

Jack watches as she peruses the gleaming shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar, noting the adorable way she chews on her lower lip while she’s thinking.

“I’ll make it a whiskey. A Gentleman Jack, please.”

His ears perk up in spite of himself.

Thing is, Jack’s pretty good at reading other human beings. Part of the job, after all, and pretty hard to let something like that slide when you’re no longer an active agent in the field.

He knows, then, that it might be a bit much for him to launch a typical come-on attempt at the bar. You seem like the type to find that too heavy-handed, disconcerting - cheesy, even.

Not that Jack minds cheesy, as required.

He returns to his book and when he looks up again, you’re taking your Gentleman Jack over to a small table in the other part of the bar. He taps his glass to get your attention.

“Hope you don’t mind me overhearing, miss, but I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday,” he says, Southern drawl as warm and as authentic as the Bourbon in his glass. He raises the tumbler to you, and you reciprocate.

”Enjoy that whiskey, now. Fine choice, if I may say.”

***

He’s definitely not flirting with you. Right? Right. Just a Southern gentleman of the kind that’s all “manners maketh man” and “yes ma’am” and opening doors for ladies. Probably illegal for him not to wish you a happy birthday.

Just a gorgeous man with the twinkliest, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, dressed in a beautifully-tailored western-style shirt and perfect dark denims, wishing you a happy birthday. Move along, nothing to see here.

You settle in with your birthday drink and your copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, immersing yourself back in the world of the Buendia clan. Occasionally, you glance back in his direction, and sometimes, he’s looking over at you, too.

Coincidence.

As the alcohol hits you, you adopt a more cliched “mysterious woman” approach, as befits the slick of vintage-style dark red lipstick you’re wearing for the occasion. Let’s see what happens. No more looking over again, just you, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Gentleman Jack. A good time to be had by all - handsome guy or not.

He’s gone the next time you raise your head. Empty seat. Empty glass. And your heart sinks, against your better judgment.

“Fuck it. Another whiskey’s in order - for the room.”

You nod over to the bartender, ordering another of the same and asking for it to be put on your room bill.

He returns swiftly with another crystal tumbler of the amber liquid and what looks like a business card. “Ma’am, the gentleman that was just here asked if he could pay for your next drink. Seeing as it’s your birthday. He just had one condition - that we pass this on.”

He hands you the business card, and it’s embossed on one side with a name:

Jack Daniels, Esq.

Some promotional thing, you assume, connected to the whiskey in your glass. But there’s something written in a clear, determined print on the rear of the card.

A number - a room extension number - and a message.

Happy birthday, miss. If you want to say howdy, this is where you’ll find me - J.D.

You quirk an eyebrow. This seems…insane. Like a set-up waiting to be revealed. But you take the card and head to your room with the whiskey, half-expecting that the next time you look at the little business card it’ll be blank - the note gone, imagined, the product of your own febrile brain and the power of Gentleman Jack.

Still there. Still metaphorically winking at you, daring you to call.

***

One finger of whiskey down. Enough to give you the courage to dial that number.

If it’s him, and he’s not a creep, just say thank you. That’s all you want, right? And he wouldn’t possibly want anything else.

He picks up almost immediately. “Well, hello there. Glad that barkeep gave you the card, miss.” His voice is low and honeyed over the line.

You clench your thighs together involuntarily.

”I, uh…I wanted to say thank you. For the drink.”

He chuckles. Oh, fuck. That voice.

”Wouldn’t be any kind of gentleman if I didn’t buy a lady a birthday drink. Specially when she’s drinking one that bears his name.”

You pause for a second. This is…weird. Pinch yourself, once, twice.

”So that’s your actual name? Jack Daniels?”

”The one and same, at your service.”

The whiskey has emboldened you. “Ah, but are you a gentleman, Jack?”

You swear you can hear him inhale sharply. “Well, well. Guess you’d have to get to know me to find out.”

”Birthday or no birthday, Mr Daniels, I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my hotel room.”

”Fine by me, sweet girl. How’s about I meet you in the lobby in five minutes? Might be cold but it’s a nice night for a walk. You know the city?”

”Lived here my whole life.”

He chuckles again. Oh, girl. You are in trouble.

”Now, ain’t that something. Perfect person to show a lonesome cowboy around. Grab your coat, sugar.”

***

He’s already waiting in the lobby when you walk out of the lift, wearing a black leather jacket with a corduroy-trimmed collar and a dark brown, felt broad-brimmed hat. Not quite a Stetson, but still perfect for a cowboy visiting the big city. His dark brown boots are impeccably polished, you notice.

”Well, hi there, birthday girl!” He grins, laughter lines around his eyes crinkling and emphasising the handsome contours of his face. “Guess we should introduce ourselves properly.” He extends his hand. “Jack Daniels.”

You introduce yourself and find yourself chuckling at the strange coincidence of his name. “Are you anything to the whiskey brand? I feel like I should know, just in case this is some insane promotional stunt.”

He laughs, a bright, genuine chuckle that makes your heart sing. “Sadly, I’m not the JD. But Whiskey was my…nickname. Once upon a time.”

”Makes sense,” you say, as he holds open the hotel door for you and you step out into the night. “Now, Jack Whiskey Daniels, where to?”

“I’ll leave that up to you, birthday girl. You’re the native and the expert. Happy to surrender myself to your capable hands. Only thing is…” He pauses, looking a little sheepish. “I’m hungry enough to eat a stable door. Mind if we pick up a little something on the way?”

You giggle, noticing the little flecks of grey among the dark hairs of his perfectly-trimmed moustache. “I’ve got just the thing, Jack. Come with me.”

***

”I cannot believe that delicious slice was two dollars. Two dollars! And they always say this city’s expensive.”

You swallow the last bite of your own pizza slice and laugh. “It is expensive, but the dollar slice still reigns supreme. Even if it’s two bucks these days.”

You wander companionably in the direction of the elevated garden walkway, your chosen destination for this stroll through your home city. “So this your first time here?”

Jack shakes his head. “Not quite. Been here a few times over the years, but…never got to see much. Always workin’, in and out of our headquarters. No time for just getting to know a place.”

You nod sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, sometimes it’s harder to see the good in a city when you’re there all the time. So it’s nice for me to get to be a tourist tonight, too.” The two of you climb the stairs and emerge on the walkway, you pointing out key landmarks to Jack as you stroll along together.

”So are you on a break from work this time?”

He looks at you with a soft smile. “Retired. These days I spend my time on the ranch, down home in Kentucky.”

You clap your hands excitedly when he explains that it’s a horse-breeding ranch. “Oh, wow. I just love horses - truth be told, I think there’s a cowgirl streak in me somewhere. City girl or no city girl.”

He laughs that gorgeous, warm laugh, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “Always happy to welcome a city slicker cowgirl on a tour, sweet girl. You just say the word.”

***

As you walk, you realise just how attentively Jack is listening to you. He takes in every detail, every word that leaves your lips, whether it be about the city or about you.

With a pang you realise that it had been a very long time since someone really and truly seemed to listen. To see you.

Or maybe he’s just like that with everyone. You are equally rapt, revelling in the melodious rhythm and comforting timbre of his baritone as he tells you about his ranch, his favourite horses, his fascination with the city.

You’d always assumed that you might be too overwhelmed in the presence of a man so incredibly handsome and charming to do more than just gape at his beautiful form. With Jack, though, you’d never felt more at ease.

And, dare you say it - he seems pretty darn comfortable, too.

The wardens on the garden walkway announce that it’s about to close, and you find the nearest exit and return to street level. It’s almost imperceptible, but for an instant you swear you can feel his broad hand on your back as you cross the street, heading back to the hotel.

“Now I’ve got a confession to make, Jack.”

He turns and raises his eyebrows.

”I’m hungry again. You want another slice?”

His smile feels bright enough to power half the city. “A two-buck pizza slice with the prettiest girl in town? Count me in, sugar.”

***

Your whole life, you’d assumed it was safer to wait until they made the first move. Helped avoid any embarrassing moments where you’d read the vibe wrong. Easier, too, to assume you would want someone more than they wanted you.

The electrical charge that’s crackling between you and Jack Daniels as you stand side by side in the hotel lift is a little too powerful for the “wait and see” approach. You look at him again, in side profile this time.

Fuck. That is a beautiful man.

”Jack?”

He turns his head and smiles. Your hands find first his shoulders, then the light stubble on his jaw. He closes his eyes as you caress his face, dark lashes resting on his cheeks. You move closer, feeling his breath on your face, tilt your head, and lean in to find his lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

The lift pings as he pulls you tight to him, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. His floor.

”I sure hope this ain’t too forward, sugar, but… would you like to come to my room?”

You’re already walking out of the lift, holding his hand as you pull him down the corridor that leads to the guest rooms.

“Thought you’d never ask, cowboy.”

***

No sooner have you got to the room than he’s pushing you against the wall, your hands hastily unbuttoning his shirt and jeans while his broad hands grope your tits through your favourite dress.

“Goddammit, sweetheart, these are damn gorgeous,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the outline of your hard nipples under the light fabric. “You are damn gorgeous.”

”So are you, cowboy,” you purr, slipping your hand gently inside his boxer briefs as he moves you away from the wall and over to the king-size bed. Even half-hard, you are impressed by the feel of his cock in your hand - thick, heavy, and velvet-soft around the head.

He lays you down on the bed and quickly peels off his shirt, revealing a broad, tanned body clad in a white undervest that clings lasciviously to the muscles of his chest and back as well as the softness of his tummy. It’s a tantalising sight: Jack, his dark, silver-streaked hair slightly mussed and falling forward over his brow, propped up above you on the bed. You trace your fingertips over the pattern of freckles that peeks over the neckline of his vest.

”Can I taste you, pretty girl?”

You nod, throwing your head back and whining with pleasure as he gets to his knees at the edge of the bed and lifts up the skirts of your dress. He hums and moans contentedly as he buries his nose and mouth against your aching pussy, still wearing your panties.

”God-fuckin’-dammit. You’re gonna taste so sweet.”

With a swift tug your panties are off and his head is between your legs, stubble tickling deliciously over the sensitive skin on your inner thighs as his moustache presses against your wet folds.

”Taste me, Jack, please.”

The first long, slow, lick of his tongue up your slit is enough to have you moaning.

“Fuck, sugar suits you. Sweet as fuckin’ sugar down here.”

Another long, slow lick, tongue flat against you, and then the tip finds your pussy, flicking over the hole and dipping in and out until you feel like he’s fucking you with it. His nose rubs against your swollen clit in time with the thrust of his tongue.

”You’re gonna make me come, Jack…keep doing that, that’s it.”

You focus on the sensation, the sounds that fill the hotel room: your gentle moans, Jack grunting against your pussy while his hand works his own cock, the lewd wetness of your soaking cunt as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm.

”C’mon, sweetheart, come for me - c’mon, good girl. Got you so nice and wet, darlin’, I know you’re close.”

He rests a hand on your tummy as your hips start to buck upwards, the orgasm building and building inside of you until, with a scream of his name, you come hard on his face.

”Think you enjoyed that, sweetheart.”

”Fuck, Jack, that was…fuck.” You sit up and he helps you out of your dress, eyes roaming over your body and settling on the curves of your tits inside the dark blue lace of your bra.

”Can I take this off, sugar?”

You nod, reaching for the hem of his undervest. “Sure, cowboy. But you have to be naked too.”

He is only too happy to oblige. Undervest discarded and boxers on the floor, Jack climbs onto the bed beside you and sits you up. He takes his time with your breasts, unhooking your bra and tossing it to one side before bringing his mouth to each nipple and lovingly kissing and sucking and caressing them in turn.

“What do you want, baby?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You both know what you want. He breaks away and you lie back on the bed, spreading your legs, moaning delightedly as you feel his gorgeous weight settling on top of you.

“Want you, Jack. Want you to fuck me until this whole city knows who’s having me.”

He flushes visibly and chuckles, standing up to retrieve his wash bag and returning with a packet of condoms in hand. “And there I was thinkin’ you were a shy little thing, sweet girl.”

You laugh. “I’m shy until you get to know me, Jack Daniels. Shy, until…”

He positions himself back between your thighs, carefully rolling the condom over his impressively thick cock.

“Until?”

You pause for a moment to look into his eyes. “Until I feel like I’m safe with someone.”

He melts a little, leaning down to kiss you softly and slowly.

”That’s a heck of a compliment, sugar. A nice thing, to know you feel so safe with me.”

You smile and look up at him from under your lashes. “I think it’s your charm, cowboy. Not bad for two people who were strangers until a few hours ago.”

He hums happily and kisses you again. ”Not bad at all. Can I have you, sweetheart?”

”Yes fuckin’ please, Jack.”

He takes you slowly, carefully, stretching you steadily until he’s fully sheathed inside you. He takes a moment, squeezing his eyes closed as he fights the urge to go straight to fucking you as hard as he wishes.

”Feel good, Jack?”

”Feels out of this world, baby. Perfect tight, wet pussy, perfect pretty girl.”

He pulls his hips back slowly before snapping back into position and you whine, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.

“That feel good for you, baby?”

You nod frantically. “The best. Fuck me, Jack. Want to feel you.”

He builds up the pace slowly, steadily, taking you deeper and deeper before moving to take you harder and faster. Instinctively you hitch up your legs, finding your calves wrapping around his lower back as he starts to fuck you at just the right angle.

He babbles as he fucks you, praising you, promising you things you remind yourself not to see as anything more than sex talk. How he’ll bring you home with him someday, come back up to see you here, make you all his, how he wants to be all yours.

With a swift shift of his hand he finds your clit again. You come harder, again, crying out his name as he fucks and talks you through it.

“Good, good girl, my good girl,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the place your bodies are joined as he watches you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His long fingers press hard into your hips and you can tell he’s about to come. For a brief, sudden, vivid instant you fantasise about throwing all caution to the wind and letting him finish inside you: filling you, claiming you for his, all his.

Jack comes hard, groaning and crying out your name. He rests on your shoulder for a moment, catching his breath, before pulling out and nuzzling in beside you. You turn to face him, fingers trailing through the dark, damp strands of wavy hair clinging to his brow.

”Good, darlin’?”

You kiss him. “Very, very, very good, Jack Daniels.”

He chuckles against your kiss. “And do you think I’m a gentleman now?”

You pull back and flit your eyes over his face, as if making an assessment.

“Let’s see. Gentleman cowboy on the streets, gentlemanly demon in the sheets. Sounds perfect to me.”

***

You sleep soundly that night, nestled safely against Jack’s warm body. He wakes you with the gentlest of kisses to your forehead, and for a moment you can’t remember.

And then those coffee-brown eyes, that smile, and you know you’re right where you’re meant to be.

#gentleman cowboy fic #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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whiskeynwriting · 5 months

Text

When Two Became Three

Agent Daddy Whiskey x Female Reader

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Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Brief mention of reader’s hair (Jack brushing it away from your face), pregnancy, birth, postpartum life, established relationship/marriage, daddy kink (A.L.W.A.Y.S.), praise kink, male masturbation, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex.

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A/N: Look, I want sweet times with the baby but I NEEDDD sexy time with Daddy 😫 we'll get sweet times with the baby, trust me ❤️

Not proof read because 🤷🏻‍♀️

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It was warm, the summer heat a smoldering force even in the late afternoon. You were sure it would’ve cooled off as the night grew on, but you wouldn’t be outside for that. The overwhelming warmth finally ceased when Jack helped you into the hospital, quickly finding a wheelchair to set you in. The onset of sudden contractions was surprising, since it was still a week until your due date. Nonetheless, Jack called ahead, securing a room for you to occupy until two became three.

What calmed you most about this slightly early delivery, was that you and Jack had the baby’s room completely prepared. Everything was assembled, all of his clothes washed and put away, all of his toys organized, all of his bottles washed and sterilized. Your hospital bag had been ready, too, packed only the night before.

What scared you most about this early delivery, was how quick it had occurred. Your contractions were rapid, with barely a minute between them when you got to the hospital, and Jack drove you as soon as the pain had started. In fact, Jasper was so eager to make his appearance, that you didn’t even have time for an epidural. The overwhelming urge to push took over your entire body. It was involuntary, your muscles just knowing what to do. That was something you hadn’t expected.

Through it all, the only thing that truly mattered to you was your husband’s presence. He refused to leave, refused to not be physically connected to you. Holding your hand, kissing your head, rubbing your shoulders and the back of your neck. He was always there, the reassuring, stabilizing warmth of him.

“They said seven pounds, nine ounces.” Jack informed you, smiling down at his son. He was the first to hold him.

It was early, a little past three in the morning. Exhaustion took over your body, a sleepy smile growing on your face. Sweat beaded against your temples, a dull throb consumed your muscles. But he was here, he was here. He was finally here.

The small dusting of dark hair on his little head reminded you of his father, and Jack agreed. It was dark enough to resemble his dad’s hair, though his eyes were nothing like Jack’s. A beautiful blue, rich and deep. And briefly, in this moment, you worried for Jack’s mental state. You’d worried about it before, of course, when considering this scenario. He’d never be able to forget Anna and Rhett, and he never should.

And while the previous thought is true, nothing could take away the joy Jack had for Jasper, for seeing his perfect son, his first child. This moment couldn’t be tainted by past trauma and memories. And with everything in him, he wants to thank you, thank you for carrying his son, for keeping him safe and fed and warm. For being brave enough to do this, to sacrifice and give him the family he’s always wanted. He’s dreamt of this moment for so many years, and now, in his very arms, he’s experiencing it.

“Honey,” He said, voice soft and wavering slightly. “Thank you.”

Gently, your eyes closed, breathing out a small, grateful laugh. “Can I hold him?”

“O-Of course!” Jack stuttered out, shocked that he hadn’t already handed the baby to you. “‘Course, baby.”

And so, you did. The delicate weight of your son soon filled your arms, not even bathed yet. He was swaddled in white sheets, and regardless of the mess he was still covered in, you kissed him, his sweet face, the wet hair atop his head.

When they bathed him, you nearly fell asleep. Your instincts told you to stay awake, to look after your baby. But it was easy to rest when you had so much trust in Jack. And while you slept, Jack watched him, held him when he was dry and warm in fresh sheets. To your husband, there was nothing more precious than this moment. The two most important people in the entire world, sleeping beneath his watchful eye, both safe and happy. He felt complete, like this accomplishment was what he’d been waiting for his entire life.

And he still feels that way, with you snoozing beside him in bed while Jasper sleeps peacefully in his crib. When Jack can’t sleep, he watches the monitor, watches the way his son relaxes, the way his little features move as he dreams. At only four months old, he does surprisingly well in his crib at night. Though, that didn’t mean he slept through the entire night.

Jack hears you stir beside him as it happens, your son wailing, crying out for one of you. When you turn over, he lays a hand on your bare shoulder, kissing it. “Don’t worry, honey. I got this one.”

“He wants milk.” You tell him in your dreamy state, groaning slightly.

“Well, then I’ll bring him to you.” Jack insists, standing from the bed.

It takes only a few steps for him to enter the nursery, what with it being right across the hall. As soon as he’s in the hall, the wailing grows louder, and louder still when he’s inside the room.

“Sh…” And immediately, his son is looking for him, those once blue eyes now fading to a pretty gray as they find his dad. “I’m here, honey.”

Scooping him into his arms helps Jasper to still, to catch his little baby breath. But he doesn’t stop whining quietly, wanting his mother. And so, Jack returns with the still-small bundle, finding you already sitting upright in bed.

With an exhausted smile on your face, you reach out for him, immediately bringing him to your breast. It’s become routine, coddling him in the night like this. It seems to be the only thing that calms him down.

“We need to start sleep training him.”

Jack settles beside you on the bed, watching his son latch. He nods with a sigh. “I know.”

“But I don’t want to do the cry-it-out method. I could never ignore him like that.” Glancing down, you watch as he suckles, his eyes closing peacefully. “I’m so glad I have you with me.”

At times, Jack’s age made things difficult. And other times, his experience was a blessing. Currently, the only difficulty you’ve been facing is his increasingly painful back and knees. After all, the man’s getting old. Bending down to play with his son or pick him up isn’t always the easiest thing, but he still wouldn’t trade it for the world, and neither would you. There isn’t anyone else on this planet that you’d rather have as a life partner. Regardless of his stiff muscles or joints, Jack does his best, doing everything he can to make sure his responsibilities are met. The last thing he’d want is for you to feel unsupported or lonely.

“You’ll always have me.” He promises quietly, kissing your temple. “Always.”

The rest you find yourself needing far too often, is disturbed by the coolness of breast milk drying on your shirt. Though, you’re grateful for the time you’ve been given. After all, you wouldn’t have these opportunities if it weren’t for your husband. Even in the evenings, when he comes home from work tired and sore, he still gives time to you and your baby. Every single day.

Stumbling through the darkness, you eventually find the lightswitch, allowing you to toss your soiled shirt while grabbing for your pump. It’s been relatively easy, breastfeeding, which you consider a godsend. You were worried sick it wouldn’t come in on time, or that Jasper might not latch, or that you might not produce enough for him. But the steady flow pouring into the plastic containers has put you at incredible ease.

Although you can barely think, you make your way out into the hall, searching for your husband and baby. The instincts you find yourself having are humorous, in a way. You never thought you’d be so concerned for another person’s safety, let alone two people. But whenever you find them, they’re alright, thriving, even. When they’re together, they’re happy, so happy and at peace. Just like they are now, snuggled up on the couch.

Walking closer, you grin, eyeing Jack from around the corner. It’s dark in the living room, the few candles and city lights barely illuminating the space. And nestled in the middle of the couch, are your boys, curled up together. Jack’s cradling Jasper while he sleeps in sturdy arms, one hand brushing over his small head. And he simply stares, eyes full of admiration and awe, so much love and adoration.

“Baby?”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, a small, sleepy smile on his lips. “Hey, darlin’.”

“How is he?” Now, you step into the room, sitting gently beside Jack. Peering over into his lap, a bright smile plumps between your cheeks.

“Perfect.” Jack whispers, gazing down at the small bundle. “He’s perfect. He even smiles in his sleep.”

Laughing gently, you nod. “I know.”

It’s Wednesday evening, a randomly thankful night, a night where Jack is almost always home. And on nights like this, he opted to watch the baby, letting you sleep and eventually cook. “Should I make dinner?”

“That sounds great, babycakes.” Simply, he looks up at you, that same expression of tired admiration written all over his face. It makes you grin, your heart feeling incredibly full as you lean in. And when you place one single kiss on his arching nose, he hums, eyes closing with contentment.

Motherhood has brought out a truly caring nature within you. It was always there, and always showed, but it’s been amplified by this new, tiny presence. You’re cooking more, especially with the newest change in the nightly routine. You’ve split the night into two shifts. With you staying home on maternity leave, Jack takes first shift, letting you sleep until around midnight or one o’clock. While you sleep, he cares for the baby, making sure the hours you get are good and solid. And when midnight comes around, you wake, taking on the responsibilities for the rest of the night while Jack rests. He has work, after all, and needs to keep himself sharp.

Jack has grown quite fond of your cooking, your nesting. It started early on in your pregnancy, and has only continued since Jasper’s birth. With more sleep, came more energy, happy to keep a clean home and meals on the table for your husband. It felt nice, falling into these traditional roles. It didn’t work for everyone, but it worked perfectly for you and Jack.

“What do we have today?” He asks in that sultry tone, wrapping both arms around your midsection. Pressing himself to your back, he gives your neck a sweet kiss, smiling.

“Stuffed peppers, asparagus, and steak.” You reply simply, surprising him with his favorite meal. Something he hasn’t eaten since the baby arrived. “Bought a new bottle for you, too.”

“A new bottle?” Jack replies, chest bouncing with a chuckle. “You spoil me, baby.”

“Yeah, well…” Turning around, you find yourself between the cage of his arms, face right in front of yours. “I try.”

And then you’re tilting your head up, lips meeting his. It’s soft and sweet, one turning into multiple. The timid appearance of his tongue makes your insides spark, your breath hitching quietly. And he notices.

“You like spoilin’ me?” Jack asks, hands lowering to your hips, sliding around to grab at your ass. Through the silk material of your robe, he can feel you, feel how soft and plush you are beneath his hands. He loved when you did this, wearing your robe and nothing else at the end of the night. You didn’t need a bra, not with you constantly breastfeeding.

But then the baby cries, a sudden, shrill noise, that drags your husband away. A small sigh leaves his mouth, giving your nose a peck before walking off to tend dutifully to his baby. Of course, you’d never ignore your son, but sometimes… you miss the days where it was only you and your husband. Your baby is a lovely thing and you can’t imagine life without him now. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t allowed to miss your old life, too. Things are just… different now, and it’s taking some getting used to.

Before the baby, Jack would’ve done so much more than just grab at your ass. He’d lean down to suck on your neck, pull apart your robe to grope your chest. Maybe even get on his knees and open your legs, stuff his face between your thighs until the food is burnt and your hips are shaking. He loves when you take care of him, and he loves taking care of you. But he hasn’t taken care of you like that since Jasper was born. He hasn’t put his mouth anywhere near your legs, but not because he doesn’t want to. The two of you have just been so goddamn busy, it’s hard to make time for sex when your schedule is full and you’re constantly exhausted.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack calls back from the living room. “Just hungry, needed a bottle.” And when he’s well fed and rested, he sleeps again, pretty much all the little nugget does. But when he’s awake, all he does is smile. He’s the happiest infant you’ve ever met; his laugh makes the world seem kind.

While watching from the kitchen, you witness Jack feed your son, stroking his head gently with his free hand. Being a dad is what Jack was meant for, it comes so naturally to him. And still… you can’t help but miss when he was yours.

If only you knew how he was feeling. Far too desperately, he yearned for your physical connection. He fantasized about it, dreamed about it. Your husband knew things would change after the baby, but wanting you is in his nature, it’s ingrained in his goddamn bones. But at the same time, Jack didn’t want to pressure you into anything. He figured when you were ready, you’d come to him. And he’s continued to wait for that day; wait, and wait, and wait. Any time spent alone was spent touching himself, satisfying the carnal arousal crawling through his body. In the shower, in bed when you stayed up too late with the baby, hell, even in his office. Fuck, he remembers when he used to bend you over his desk, use you to satisfy himself. Are those days completely gone?

Unfortunately, neither of you are sure. And with that somber news, and the ending of your quiet dinner, Jack heads off to bed. It’s accompanied by a sweet kiss and tender hug, soft whispers of love filling your ears. And when he’s finally gone, you can’t help but sigh. Not out of relief, but of guilt. Jack’s kisses are lovely but you want so much more than that.

And while you tend to your tiny son, you can’t stop yourself from thinking about that, about how neglected and forgotten Jack must feel. It brings you to tears, honestly. Sure your world is different now, much different, but that doesn’t mean the two of you have to change. That doesn't mean the passion in your relationship has to die. And at that realization, something stirs inside you, something full of determination and ambition. Jasper lays in your lap with a belly full of milk, lids closed as he rests. And once he’s safely in his bassinet, you make your way toward Jack.

Strutting down the hall, you find your nerves crawling with eager excitement, wanting to express these feelings to him. But the small sound of… something, stops you. A brief noise, muffled, but you know that noise. And immediately, your lips are quirking up, jaw beginning to drop. There’s no way, there’s no way you happened to catch him in the act. But with your interest piqued, you inch toward the bedroom door, listening closely.

Oh, he’s moaning, your husband is moaning. He’s touching himself, what else would he be doing? And then you’re wondering, why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he ask me? Although, you can understand why. He probably assumed you’d be too exhausted to do anything, likely having to resort to this for months now. And the realization tugs at your heart. He’s been neglected, you see that now.

Though, through all the guilt-ridden thoughts in your head, one thing shines through - I want to see him. Whatever his reaction is, you want to see this. You can’t even remember the last time you did anything sexual with Jack and to say that was a sin would be an understatement.

Quietly, you twist the knob, pushing forward as slowly as you can. Inch by inch, the noises get louder, deep and sultry moans sighing from your lover’s mouth. And as you continue forward, you’re wondering what exactly you’ll find, wondering what his reaction will be, and all too quickly… you’re met with it.

Widening eyes fall on the sight of Jack, shirtless and laying on the end of the bed, both feet flat on the ground. He’s got the fly on his jeans open, pants down just enough to have pulled himself entirely out. One hand curls around his shaft, thumb stroking the tip with diligent swirls. The other cups his scrotum, rolling his fingers and fondling the sensitive skin. His head is tossed back, mouth agape with his eyes shut. The veins in his forearms flex against taught muscles, thick fingers working himself closer to the edge.

An enormous huff releases from his chest then, eyes popping open to look directly at you. At first, you’d expected him to be shocked, maybe even embarrassed - he’s anything but.

The first word out of his mouth is an incredibly breathy, “Baby.”

Lips parting in shock, you take in the look on that handsome face. “Baby?”

“Honey,” He fucking whines, “Look at me. Look what you do to me.”

“Baby…” Walking over to the bed, you lean down, holding yourself up with one hand. The other cups his chin, an action that forces a high sigh out of him. All at once, you feel overcome with care; you want to take care of him, hold him, love him.

“I need you, babycakes. Daddy fucking needs you; haven’t had you in fuckin’ months.” He’s still touching himself just as eagerly, starting to fully stroke his length. “I know we have Jasper, sweetheart, I know, but… I just can’t stand it anymore.”

The entirety of the situation is rushing blood throughout your body, sending arousal through your veins. Jack’s sheer desperation is sending you over the edge, your breaths picking up with every passing second. You’re shocked he’s acting this way, and you’re drinking in every second of it.

“Baby, please. Please tell me.” But this… this confuses you. Tilting your head at him, you begin to question, “What?”

“Tell me if you need me.” He begs, he’s begging for you. “Do you need me as much as I need you, honey? Is it just me?”

“No, daddy.” Your head shakes, eyes staring into his own. “No, I need you. I need you…” Naturally, you lean in, lips slotting over his with the eager need to reassure him.

With great relief he leans into your kiss, both hands continuing to touch the places he needs to satisfy most. Instantly, he’s moaning, mouth opening so he can groan into your throat. And you take advantage of this, sliding your tongue into his mouth and taking control. He tastes like whiskey, like him, the liquor he’d just downed at dinner. Oftentimes, that taste would intermingle with the smoke of his cigar, a sensation you dearly miss; the taste and scent of Jack, of an older man.

“I need my little girl again.” He’s whispering, one hand reaching up to hold the back of your head. Pressing you further against his mouth, he hums, brushing back some of your hair. “Can I lick you, sugar? Please?” Jack’s voice is quiet, pleading with you between kisses.

“Now?”

“Now.” Comes his instant reply. “Right now. Fuck, haven’t tasted you since the baby came.”

“Daddy,” You’re saying it with such fondness; you haven’t been able to call him that in so long, not like this.

“Sit on me,” Jack insists. “Come sit on my face, you perfect fuckin’ angel.”

Both hands are then moving to your robe, undoing the tie in the front of pushing it from your shoulders. Your grin is immediate and bright, shrugging it onto the ground. And just like that, you’re naked, in all your postpartum glory. But Jack doesn’t mind, if anything, he’s only grown more attracted to you. Your growing body, full breasts and plush thighs, your soft tummy and grabable backside.

“C’mon,” Your lover mutters, urging you up by your hips. “C’mon, baby.”

“I, I need to shower, baby.” Part of you worries - you’re insecure. You showered last night but haven’t been able to today, not with the baby.

“You think I give a fuck about that?” Suddenly, that rough, demanding voice is back. His face turns stern, hand reaching up for your throat out of mere reflex. “Get up and here, and put your pussy on daddy’s face.”

That authoritative tone has you following his every command, and he knows it. You’re practically brainless when he’s like this, especially when you haven’t experienced it in so long. Without another thought, you’re crawling over him, feeling those broad hands roam your bare body.

“That’s it…”

He doesn’t even let you hover, doesn't allow you to become truly comfortable before he’s dragging you down by his grip on your hips. Instantly, his mouth is devouring you, opening wide and slurping on the slick leaking down to your thighs. Falling forward, you catch yourself on both hands, staring down at Jack. Puffing out frantic breaths, your jaw drops, brows furrowing when you feel that talented mouth suction to your clit.

“J-Jack, baby.” Gulping, you see those dark brown eyes snap open, one hand lifting to spank your backside. “Daddy.”

With a satisfied hum, his lids flutter shut, broad palm rubbing the space he just stung. Jesus, does he love this, he fucking missed this. Jack used to be such a whore for you sitting on his face, and he hasn’t experienced it in nearly an entire year.

“So fucking wet for me, yeah baby?”

“Yeah,” Nodding, you whine out from above, feeling his tongue fuck itself into your hole. “Yeah…”

“Pretty girl, perfect little thing.” He’s grabbing onto you in thick handfuls, kneading your ass and thighs, rubbing his face back and forth like some satisfied animal. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

This praise feels so foreign, yet… it’s familiar, so overtly familiar you tear up from the memory of how saturated you used to be in it. Your head tosses back, throat gasping dryly as he tongues your clit, holding you down onto his mouth. You can feel his jaw moving, opening and closing as he slurps against your lips, drinking you in.

“You like when I touch you, honey? Like how I make you feel?”

“I’ve missed it.” Fisting his dark brown hair, you gasp out a flurry of high pants, whispering shakily to him, “I’m so close.”

It’s been minutes, a handful of seconds, and he already has you. That handsome face between your thighs, those broad palms grabbing at your hips. And without even realizing it, you’re rocking against him, sliding your slick lips over his mouth and face, and he’s reveling in it.

“Give it to me.” Is all he manages out, voice gravelly and wet before you’re cumming in his mouth.

Just like before, like he used to before your baby, he laps at you, sucking every ounce of it into his mouth. His moans are soft, vibrating up through your body. And while you squirm your way through euphoria, he holds you steady, hands gripping either side of your hips.

“Quiet, honey.” Jack then grunts, sighing dramatically before clearing his throat. He then gives your clit a broad, slow lick, asking you, “Be quiet for me. Don’t wake the baby.”

“Okay,” Both eyes are closed, head resting low with your chin on your chest. The lungs beneath your ribs are dying for breath, pretty lips parted as you roll your wet heat over his lips and chin. “Daddy…”

“Fuck me,” Turning his head, he mouths at your thighs, licking and sucking and biting. His face is dripping with you, lips and mustache glistening. “Babycakes, please.”

Heavy lids rise, glancing down at your lover. And the sight you’re met with is his desperate expression, brows folded up in the center, tongue poking out to lick both lips.

“Will you touch me, honey? Suck on me?”

A smile breaks out across your face, head tilting back with a small, breathy laugh. Both of your hands then slide over his head, fingers running through that dark brown hair.

“Please, baby.” He begs sweetly, kissing your thigh. “Before you have to go back out there. I need you, need you so bad, I - ”

Covering his mouth with the palm of your hand, you meet his eyes once again. “You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.”

His mention of the baby snaps you out of that blissful haze, crawling down his body like your life depends on it. Jack sighs when you settle on your knees, spreading his legs a little wider for you. And the sight of him makes you hungry, veins throbbing, shaft slick from the steady faucet from his tip. A deep red colors the head of his cock, drooling for any sense of touch, any sense of attention.

Lips parting, you drag your flattened tongue along the underside of his cock, resting back against his toned stomach. He tries his best to watch you, he really does, but when you do that, his head immediately drops back. Something truly possesses you then, wanting to show your appreciation for him, for the man that keeps you happy and protected, for the man that cares so wonderfully for your small family.

“Jesus Christ…” One hand smoothes over the back of your head, body shivering from the slow, worshiping suck you give to the tip of his cock. Your tongue pets at the slit, mouth watering from the taste you’ve been deprived of. “Just like that, sugar.”

But while you’re focusing on taking him into your mouth and very quickly down your throat, Jack is focused on you. He’s so enamored with you, with how perfect you are for him. Always so willing and eager; he swears he never knew what good sex was until he met you. He can remember the first time you blew him, back when he’d invited you to his beach house so many years ago. At that point in time, he thought life couldn’t get any better. But then he put a ring on your finger, and then he put a baby inside you, and he knows there’s only more to come. With you at his side, he knows he’ll thrive.

Unexpectedly, Jack blurts out, “Baby wait, wait.”

Removing yourself gives you time to catch your breath, staring up at him with confusion. But then he’s grabbing your arms and pulling you up to him again.

“Come up here,” Your husband requests, tone low and seductive. “Come up here…”

Wanting to make him happy, and do as much as you can during this precious time, you comply. Your knees rest on either side of his pelvis as you crawl over him once again, hands cupping both cheeks as you bring yourself in. And with an emphatic huff, Jack meets your lips.

“You don’t like my mouth anymore, daddy?” You’re only teasing, smirking against his lips.

Grabbing the back of your head, Jack bites at your bottom lip. “I’m gonna need you to shut your mouth.” His other hand grabs his shaft, angling it up between your legs. “I need to be inside you, so fucking bad.”

Without care, he thrusts upward while pulling you down, sliding the thick curve of his head through your lips. The sensation shocks you briefly, jaw dropping, but eyes never leaving his.

“Just like that, just like that, honey. Sit on me. You don’t have to do anything, baby doll, just lay here. Lay on me and let me fuck you.”

Words escape your mind, your response consisting of a trusting nod. It’s the slide of his cock that truly knocks the breath from your chest, thick and heavy against your most sensitive skin. Every inch forces you to feel the stretch, the veins rubbing against your walls, the head throbbing timidly inside your heat.

“Oh my fucking god,” Head dropping back, Jack groans, almost too loud. “I need this, I’ve needed this so bad.”

Falling onto his chest, your hands reach for him, face burying into the curve of his neck. “I know, daddy.”

Fully inside, he pauses, reveling in the sensation. It’s like coming home, feeling warm and snug and welcome. Large hands then roam your thighs, your ass and sides, rising to your chest. One grabs at your swollen tit, thumb rubbing over the nipple while his free hand lands on your hip. Keeping you still, Jack begins rocking his pelvis up, slow and steady, feeling you pepper his throat in sweet kisses.

“Beautiful fuckin’ thing,” He drawls, southern tone thick and sleepy. Turning his head, he mumbles into your hair, “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Daddy,” A flurry of emotions fill your body, hands holding onto his shoulder and neck while he pumps himself into you. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I haven’t, haven’t given this to you.” You’re crying softly against him, feeling him dive inside with every thrust.

“Sh… no, no, no.” Jack says to you, petting the back of your head. “No, baby. Don’t worry about that. I have you now.”

“Always,” Nodding, you gasp, feeling his movements become more erratic. “You always have me.”

“No matter what,” He agrees, breaths heavy and humid against the side of your face. “Always, babycakes. Daddy’s here, I’m always here.” Jack grunts then, back arching slightly. “C-Christ, fuck, I can’t do this, baby, not much longer.”

“I don’t care, I promise.” Bouncing down against his thrusts, you do your best to keep it soft and quiet, but it’s difficult when you’re connecting with your husband like this. “I want it, baby.”

“Oh, sugar, I love you.” It’s the last thing he says before forcing out a rugged moan, doing his best to contain it. “I fucking love you.”

Sitting down completely, you rock gently over him, feeling his warmth beginning to fill you. At first, you worry about bruises, feeling how harshly he grabs onto you. Fingers press into your hips and thighs, chest puffing out a handful of forceful breaths. And still, you’re kissing on his neck, licking the salty skin with sweet pets.

“I love you.”

Neither of you thought this is how it would happen, your first physical connection after the baby. Though, it fits. Your entire relationship has been full of spur-of-the moment, passionate sex. It makes sense that this is how you’d come back to each other.

Jack’s head turns, finding your cheek and nuzzling into it until you lift your head enough for your lips to connect. It’s a slow, loving kiss, melting into the other, bodies relaxing together.

“Honey, I missed you.”

“I’ll do better, daddy.”

“We,” He corrects, “It’s the two of us, babycakes. We’ll always make it work, right? Can you promise me that?”

“I promise, of course I promise.”

A long, relaxed sigh then floats into the air, leaving both your mouths. “My girl,” Jack says, rubbing your back. “My perfect girl.”

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