#Agent Jack Whiskey Daniels x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freakrenaissance · 10 months ago

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Mercy, jack 🤤 🤤 🤤 this is some hotness right here!

Whiskey’s Bad Girl (Part 1 of the “Whiskey’s Bad Girl” mini-series)

Just something I put together on whim for my @quica-quica-quica 😘

Part 1, Whiskey’s Bad Girl | Part 2, Whiskey’s Good Girl | Part 3, Whiskey’s Best Girl

Word count: 870+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x “You” (OC cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: consensual non-consent/CNC; dom/sub dynamics; use of “Sir” by Reader; demeaning/degrading language from Whiskey directed at reader (use of “girl”/”girlie” as nickname; use of “good girl”/”bad girl”); mature and vulgar language; open palm spanking on bottom/F receiving; mentions of lingerie/thong/bra; mentions of makeup/mascara/red lipstick; mentions of black high heels; pinching on thigh/F receiving; one instance of hands on back of neck/F receiving; fingering/F receiving; no aftercare scene

Whiskey hissed through clenched teeth as his hand squeezed and massaged your ass. You were dizzy from anticipation, turned face down over his strong denim-clad thighs where he sat on the edge of the bed.

One of his broad, warm hands was clasped around the back of your neck while the other roamed your ass. He delved a finger between your buttocks to stroke at the red lace thong nestled there.

His voice was as dark and warm as the whiskey in the belt buckle flask that was digging into your hip. “Now why are you dressed so dirty? I thought you were my good girl, I thought we talked about you behavin’ yourself today.”

You whined and kicked your ankles rapidly as his finger found your clit through the lace. You sucked in a lungful of air and then yelped as his hand came down on your buttocks, first left and then right in rapid succession.

“Oh!” was all you could manage to say.

“You better explain yourself, girlie, or I’m gonna have to dole out more spankings. You gonna answer me?”

“I did behave!” Your voice was more petulant than you had intended.

“Oh, no you didn’t!” His hand landed again, hard, leaving a sting behind. He flattened his palm against the spot and just held the warmth of it there, making you shiver.

“You misbehaved.” His tone was so thoroughly disappointed that you almost forgot this was a game, a mutually-agreeable play fiction that brought you both satisfaction. You actually felt a little bad.

“Oh I’m so sorry! I won’t ever do it again. Please, Jack! I’ll be good.”

“Good girls don’t dress like that, darlin’. There’s no way that you can be good if you’re dressed-” smack

“Like-” smack!

“That.” SMACK!

You wiggled and howled, a breathy “Ohhhhh!” your only answer as his warm hand caressed your sensitive skin.

“Now how many do you think you deserve for those sinful black high heels, girl?”

“Ohhh…”

“I asked you a question.” He pinched the back of your thigh as a warning. “Answer me.”

“Four.”

“Well that sounds fair to me. Count ‘em out, loud and clear, darlin’.”

Whiskey brought his hand down on your left buttock again.

“One!”

“Good girl.” Whiskey was spreading out the spankings across your entire ass, trying to be firm without overusing one area, but now he had spanked you enough times that he was going to have to overlap. He took you through three more rounds, not increasing the impact.

He paused, rubbing two fingers through the lace against your labia, feeling how swollen and damp you were with anticipation.

“Girl, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were gettin’ turned on by your punishment, instead of learning your lesson.”

“Oh, no…” you breathed. “No, I’m definitely learning my lesson, Sir.”

“And how many do you think you deserve for that red lipstick. Hmm?”

“One.”

Whiskey’s voice went dark again. “No.”

“Three, sir?”

“That’s more like it. Count for me, I know you can do it, girlie.” smack!

You heard your voice getting higher as you counted. “One… two… three!” You practically squeaked on the last number.

“And how many for that sexy red lace thong and the matching bra, young lady?”

“Five?”

“I agree.”

His hand came down on your right buttock and you started to haze out, feeling so buzzy and good that you forgot to count. Whiskey pinched the back of your thigh one more time.

“Uh-oh. Someone forgot to count. Now we gotta start all over.” His voice went silky, “And my hand’s gettin’ tired, darlin’. Looks like we’ll have to switch to the paddle.”

“Noooo…” you moaned.

“Oh yes.” He took his hand off the back of your neck and stroked a languid line up and down your spine. “Unless that’s a safe word I hear, young lady?”

“No, sir!”

“Alright. You stay here, and don’t move a muscle while I grab that paddle.” Whiskey flipped you off his lap and you landed flat on your belly on the bed, moaning with pleasure into the covers. You heard him open the drawer and grab the small leather paddle, then you felt the mattress curve beside you as he kneeled near your hips.

“You stay face down and think about what you’ve done.” Whiskey smacked the flat of the paddle against one of his palms and you moaned again.

“I think we need to start all over with the high heels, and this time I’ll add a smack to each offense for tirin’ me out like you did, you bad girl.” You felt him massage and squeeze your buttocks, soothing you before the next phase of punishment.

“Now, that’s gonna be five for the high heels, four for that red lipstick, and six for the bra and panties. Can you count to fifteen for me?”

“Yes, sir!” Your voice was slightly muffled by the covers, but your enthusiastic nodding told him you were on board.

“Alright, girlie. Count ‘em all out for me and then I’ll make you come so hard you scream.” He chuckled, his voice buttery and dark like his chocolate eyes.

“I can’t tell if you want to be my good girl or my bad girl, but we’re about to find out.”

--- Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels character masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

The only tag list I have: @quica-quica-quica

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

@kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @eri16

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duh-angel · 5 months ago

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Missing you

Jack Daniels ~ Agent Whiskey x afab!reader (wc: 2.6k)

“Wish you were here right now, all of the things I'd do. I wanna get freaky on camera” — Cybersex by Doja cat

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18

backstory: You found yourself in a particularly tiresome mission in the city of Rome. Although the work kept you occupied, it didn’t stop Jack from constantly calling you and expressing how much he misses you. One day, he sends you a special gift.

You found yourself rocking back and forth in your comfortable hotel room chair, captivated by the glorious sight of Rome through the window. The vibrant cityscape, a fusion of modernity and historic charm, held your attention so thoroughly that you could spend hours just gazing at it, if not for the fact that you were currently on a video call with your “boyfriend”, Jack.

The conversation went smoothly, the two of you chatting about your trip and how much you missed each other's company. In the midst of the conversation, Jack's voice suddenly shifted, hinting at a surprise.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got something special for you. Take a peek inside your suitcase, would ya?"

You glanced at the leather suitcase bearing the renowned S logo, the company monogram gleaming in the center. With a hint of anticipation, you carefully opened it, revealing a box wrapped in blue. You looked back at the camera and gave him a sly smirk, silently inquiring about the mysterious gift. Your mind buzzed with curiosity, wondering what treasures lay hidden inside the deceptively small box.

"Go on, open it," Jack's voice cut through the silence, his tone dripping with mischief and anticipation.

Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at the vibrator nestled in the blue box, a blush spreading across your cheeks. The sleek, purple device seems to wink at you, promising an unforgettable evening. You could feel Jack’s eyes light up with mischief as he saw your reaction on the small screen. A roguish grin spreading across his face.

"Well beautiful, looks like Santa came early this year," he draws teasingly. "I thought you could use some company on your little trip. Why don't you give it a test run for me, hmm?" His voice drops, taking on a husky, seductive tone. "I wanna see you play with it, darlin'. Put on a little show for me."

He leans back in his chair, showcasing his bulge to your hungry eyes. One of his hands casually rested on it, making him groan softly. His brown eyes practically undressing you through the screen, making your body shiver. "Don't be shy now.” He whispers. "Turn it on, sweetheart. Nice and slow. Let's see how loud I can make you moan from all the way over here."

The heat of your blush intensified. Hell, you felt like you were about to pass out from how overwhelmed yet turned on you were. Slowly, tentatively, you reach for the vibrator, your heart racing as you switch it on. The soft hum fills the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes widened as you felt how your hand quivered from the power of the toy, and you can't help but imagine the sensation it might bring.

As the vibrations grow stronger in your trembling hand, Whiskey's grin widens. He watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you under his spell. "That's it, baby. Mmmm, you look so fuckin' hot right now," he groans.

"I wish I was there with you, watching those pretty pink lips of yours wrap around that toy... But I guess this will have to do for now." He palms himself through his jeans, clearly getting off on the show. His free hand reaches for a cigar, lighting it up as he settles in to enjoy the view.

"Go on now, sweetheart. Don't keep me waiting," Whiskey urges, his voice needy with that typical hint of demand. "Bury that toy nice and deep, just like you like it. Fuck, I can almost hear those sweet little moans..."

He takes a long drag of his cigar, blowing out a plume of smoke. His eyes never leave the screen, riveted by your every move.

You disregarded your pants and underwear in a clumsy manner, feeling almost idiotic to do this through a video call, but in a twisted way, it was filthy, raw. Jack licked his lips, his gaze smoldering with lust as your anticipating legs opened just for him. He's clearly enjoying putting you in this compromising position, eager to push your buttons and drive you wild with pleasure, even from a distance.

With a deep breath, you press the vibrator against your sex, biting your lip as the buzzing warmth sends tingles through your body. inevitably, your back arches and you let out a mix of a gasp and a moan. Your eyes quickly go to the man on the screen, enamored by the sight.

"You're so goddamn sexy when you let yourself go like this. I love seeing you lose control for me," he praises, voice thick with lust as he chortles. "Now why don't you slip that toy in and out of that tight little pussy of yours and ride it for me? I want you to cum over and over until you can't even remember your own name."

Whiskey pushes his chair back, legs spreading wider. The heat in his gaze burns through the screen as he waits for you to follow his filthy commands. Slowly, you grind against the toy, looking right into his brown eyes, putting on a show just for him.

“Ah goddammit.” A loud groan of frustration escaped Jack, followed by the sound of his laptop slamming down as he abruptly ended the call. Your heart skipped a beat, pounding fiercely against your chest as you stared at the suddenly blank screen of your laptop. The sudden disconnection left you feeling both puzzled and worried, a flood of anxiety washing over you.

The sinking feeling in your stomach grows as you process the implications of Jack's abrupt departure from the call, but before you can dwell on it further, a bright flash of light emanates from your smart glasses, momentarily blinding you. The urgent meeting notification blinks insistently, demanding your attention. In a panic, you instinctively nod, accepting the video conference without a second thought.

As the holographic display materializes before you, you realize the gravity of your oversight. In the heat of the moment, you had completely forgotten about your state of undress, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs. A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you pray that the hologram's limitations will spare you from any potential mortification.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, acutely aware of the toy's presence and the lingering warmth it has left on your sensitive skin. Your mind races with the possibilities of what might happen if anyone were to discover your compromising situation.

Your heart skips a beat as your gaze lands upon Jack, his flustered expression instantly setting your nerves on edge. You can practically feel his eyes boring into you from behind the holographic display, his presence both comforting and unnerving.

With a quick nod, you acknowledge his presence, trying to keep your voice steady and professional as you address him. "Agent Whiskey."

“Agent Wine.” His response, laced with a knowing smirk, makes your cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and excitement.

The way he says your codename, drawing out the 'Wine' with a playful inflection, sends a jolt of electricity through your body. It's as if he's relishing in his knowledge of your compromising position. You squirm in your seat, the vibrator still nestled between your thighs, a constant reminder of your shared secret.

The meeting drones on, a seemingly endless parade of statistics and strategic plans. Your mind struggles to keep pace, constantly drawn back to the throbbing between your thighs. You try to focus on the cold, clinical data presented, but your body betrays you, each movement a torturous reminder of the toy hidden beneath your body.

Your eyes dart around the holographic conference table, avoiding the temptation to glance down at the source of your distraction. You know that looking at Jack will only make matters worse, his mere presence a constant tease. But in a moment of weakness, your gaze drifts to his face, colliding with those piercing brown eyes and that infuriating smirk.

A chill runs down your spine as you raise an eyebrow questioningly. Before you can utter a word, Jack's finger presses to his lips, a silent command to keep quiet. Your heart races as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small remote control. Without a word, he presses a button, and the vibrator springs to life, humming softly against your most sensitive flesh.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the sudden stimulation sends shockwaves through your body. Your hands fly to the edges of your desk, gripping the wood so tightly your knuckles turn white. The vibrations pulse through you, each wave building upon the last, threatening to consume you entirely.

You bite your lip, trying desperately to stifle any further sounds. Your thighs tremble, the muscles quivering as you struggle to maintain control. The holograms flicker and dance around you, but all you can focus on is the relentless throb between your legs, the heat building steadily in your core.

“Is everything okay?” Ginger's eyes sparkled with concern and confusion as she addressed you.

You mustered a composed response, trying to maintain a steady tone. "Yes, I thought I saw a bug. Apologies."

At that moment, Tequila spoke up with a bemused smirk. "A bug? You're afraid of a tiny insect, Wine?" Whiskey chuckles darkly at Tequila's comment, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans back in his chair, a smug grin playing on his lips, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“Yes, a bug.” Your eyes narrowed, teeth gritting together as you shot a warning glare at Tequila. He quickly got the message, backing down with a knowing smile.

You let out a silent sigh of relief, turning your attention back to the meeting. But even as you try to focus on the discussion at hand, your mind keeps drifting to Jack, to the power he holds over you in this moment.

You are silently pleading for mercy. But his gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust. He revels in this, in the knowledge that he holds your pleasure, your very sanity, in the palm of his hand at this moment.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly, each second an eternity of sweet torture. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste mingling with the sweat beading on your brow. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort to maintain your composure.

Finally, the meeting draws to a close. The holographic displays flicker and vanish, leaving you alone with Jack and the lingering echo of the vibrator's hum. You slump back in your chair, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your denied release.

Jack's gaze locked onto you from across the room, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Sweetheart, you did great," he remarked before adding, "but I'm afraid we have some unfinished business to take care of."

Tossing the glasses into the bed, you called Jack again, slumping back in your chair, your body trembling with the effort of maintaining your composure.

As the video call connects, Whiskey's smirking face fills your screen, his eyes glinting with wicked delight. He leans back in his chair. "Well, hello there, darlin'," he drawls, his voice low and husky. "Looks like you're all alone now. No more prying eyes to worry about."

His gaze takes over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you sprawled out in your chair, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the screen.

"I couldn't stop thinking about that little show you put on for me earlier," Whiskey continues, a predatory edge creeping into his tone. "The way you squirmed and bit your lip, trying so hard to hold back those sweet moans... Fuck, it was hot."

His free hand disappears from view for a moment, and when it reappears, it's wrapped around the thick length of his cock, stroking slowly. “You did so well" he purrs, his voice a low, seductive growl as looks at you. The way his rough voice turned into soft whimpers with each stroke sent a fresh wave of heat courses through your body.

His other hand actively looks for the controller, turning the vibrator a level more. It’s more loud, faster and intense, hitting all the right spots in your heat. “Fuck…” You cry out, thrusting your hips into the air as you look at him.

Your eyes drift downward, taking in the sight of his hand moving rhythmically, pumping his hardened length with slow, deliberate strokes. The knowledge that he is pleasuring himself while watching you only adds to the intensity of the moment, a heady mix of exhibitionism and voyeurism.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," he groans, palming himself harder. "You're so goddamn sexy, baby. The way you're movin' on that... Mmmm, makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."

His gaze is intense, burning into you through the screen. "You like puttin' on a show for me, don't you darlin'?" Jack coos, voice low and rough with arousal. "Such a naughty thing, lettin' me watch you play with yourself. I bet you're drippin' wet right now, aren't you?"

Jack’s hand speeds up on his cock, stroking himself faster, getting off on the erotic display you're giving him. The other hand holds the controller, ready to push you over the edge at any moment.

“Just for you.” You utter, struggling to even talk as the level is torturing your pussy, barely able to keep your eyes on him.

“Damn right it's just for me," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "You're all mine, Agent. Every inch of that sexy body belongs to me." With that he turns one, then another cruel level more.

Your eyes roll back as the vibrations intensify, the toy mercilessly pounding into your sensitive flesh. Your body convulses, spasming uncontrollably. “Jack!” You cry out, begging him for something you’re not sure about. All you know is that the vibration is more than you can handle.

"Sorry sweetheart. I just wanna see you lose control. Fuck that pussy 'til you're screamin' my name. Show me how much you miss my cock."

His breathing grows ragged, chest heaving with each labored breath. He's completely entranced by the sight of you, lost in the fantasy of being there with you, taking you apart with his own hands and tongue. "Goddamn, you're so fuckin' hot," he praises breathlessly.

His words ignite something deep within you, a primal need that demands to be satiated. You arch your back, pressing the vibrator harder against your aching core as you ride the waves of sensation crashing over you. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back the impending release. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until you can stand it no more.

With a cry of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, you let go, your body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. The vibrator's hum seems to intensify, prolonging your climax, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. Through the haze of your own release, you see Jack's hand move faster, his breath coming in harsh pants as he chases his own end, whimpering your name like a prayer as he cums all over those strong, manly hands of his.

As the afterglow fades, his eyes meet yours, a wistful, almost vulnerable expression on his face. "God... Can we do this till you come back?" he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you lean, a mock pout forming on your face. "Someone's needy," you tease, enjoying the way his brow furrows at your words, making him look like a cute puppy.

Jack rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture that never fails to amuse you. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind his words, only a fond exasperation. “I just miss you.”

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magpiepills · 4 months ago

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Rope & Ride

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Jack gets more than he bargained for when he gets too comfortable doing surveillance.

Warnings: SMUT Dub/non-con, NOT SSC/RACK compliant! Oral (f receiving), restraints, denied orgasms, stalking, breaking and entering, unprotected PIV, creampie, smoking, implied plot, but no substantial story,

A word from the author: Here is my very late entry in @wannab-urs ��s The Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2025 event. It’s been so much fun getting to share ideas and read stories written by the many wonderful writers involved and I’m so sorry that I’m past the deadline for posting. This is my first time writing Jack and I am so grateful to Gin for putting this whole thing together so that I could try something new.

Masterlist Turgid Members DMAMC25 Masterlist

He must be losing his edge.

You walked down the sidewalk toward your walk up, heels clicking against the concrete, and there he was, following along.

At the cafe drinking your coffee, at the library doing research, and as you shopped, there he was.

Maybe it wasn’t all his fault. A handsome man stands out, just naturally stands out, doesn’t he? Jack certainly does. He’s tall and slim waisted, but broad, broad, broad across his shoulders. He was neat, hair brushed into place, mustache trimmed, face sporting only the barest little scratch of whisker.

He might disguise himself, a suit, a leather jacket, dark aviators, a cowboy hat. Dark brown, never white. He knew he wasn’t a good guy deep down. A good guy wouldn’t follow a woman at all hours of the day and night. He wouldn’t peek in her windows or photograph her when she stopped to talk to someone. He wouldn’t tap her phone.

You wondered what he did with all the “evidence.” And you wondered how much longer you’d need to keep up the charade before he was finally done.

…

The day came one gray, drizzling evening three and a half weeks after you first spotted him. You’d received an urgent call from your sister in Dubuque, begging you to fly home right away, to take the first available flight and tend to an urgent family matter.

You hastily flung your suitcase onto your bed, threw in some clothes and took your coat and left. You hailed a cab beneath a lamp post, obscured by rain and your black umbrella, and disappeared into the night. A week, you’d said. He didn’t know if that included travel, but it was still plenty of time.

Jack got out of his car, a pale blue Mercury, nondescript, nothing flashy, and shut the door quietly. He crossed the street casually, with the confidence of someone who belonged right where they were. Your locked front door was little deterrent. Jack picked it easily, producing two slim tools from his jacket pocket and in less time than it would take to fumble with a key ring in the dark, he was inside.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of your apartment, and tuned his ears to the sounds of your apartment. Silent, save for a table fan left on by accident, a ticking clock, and the rain that tapped gently against your windows.

After a few still minutes standing stone still, Jack relaxed. He was careful to be quiet, even though he was alone. A small flashlight was fished from the same pocket where he kept his lock picking tools. He held it in his mouth while he retrieved two gloves from another pocket and put them on, flexing his knuckles against the soft leather. Jack swept the first floor, moving fluidly through your sitting room, your kitchen, past the laundry nook.

Each room was neat, but lived in. You’d obviously left in a hurry, a newspaper was draped over the back of your sofa, stockings dried in the bathroom. He brought the fabric to his nose and breathed in the scent, but only detergent was there, nothing of you. In your medicine cabinet he found the usual things, bandaids, toothpaste, hair pins, ibuprofen. Nothing unsavory or incriminating there, not under your sink. A rummage through your linen closet was the same, revealing only a predilection for soft pinks and fuzzy blankets.

Finding nothing of note in your bathroom, Jack moved to your bedroom. He closed the door behind him and inhaled deeply. It was, like the rest of your apartment, tidy and pretty. Unlike the others, this room smelled like you. Light, sweet, it reminded him of candy and flowers and warm, bare skin. Your bedside table was the first target of his snooping. A small lamp, a book, a framed photo of two young girls and a dog, and your telephone. He held the flashlight in his mouth again, freeing his hands to inspect the book. He flipped the pages and found nothing but a bookmark.

“I know there’s something here. Give it up,” he complained to himself, voice deep and twangy. Your drawer, your dresser, your closet, under your bed, he found nothing he could use. He checked his watch. It had been close to an hour that he had spent exploring your home, violating your privacy, and he had nothing to show for it. Annoyed, he sat on your unmade bed to think. He sat on the edge. He sank into the plush mattress, then took off his hat to lay back. He sighed, relaxing further, and closed his eyes.

Your scent was stronger here, where you slept. With his searching concluded, Jack let himself revel in the sick pleasure of being in your bed. He turned his head and breathed in deeply. He pulled your pillow over his face, and grunted into it as he palmed his thickening cock.

He was never one to take a souvenir, but he made a quick decision. Jack got up from your queen size bed and went back to your dresser. He upended the top drawer and found a silky pair of panties, pink, like you like.

He was certainly losing his edge.

So absorbed in his own pleasure, Jack didn’t hear you come back in. He tilted his hips, bucking against the scrap of girly fabric in his big fist. His jean were shoved halfway down his thighs.

It amused you to watch him. After so many weeks of his stalking and spying, you got the chance to do the same. You were sure he’d seen you in moments of undress. You hadn’t changed your routine after you figured him out, free all. You carried on like normal.

Now, with him in your bed, jerking off with your panties, he was exposed and vulnerable for once. You didn’t feel any shame when you stared at his cock. You studied it, the veins of his thick shaft, the dark hair around the base, the blunt head, blushing and leaking precum that smeared onto your panties with each stroke.

The carpet muffled your footsteps and you were standing between his knees, pistol pointed at his handsome face. Your voice startled him.

“Don’t come.” Your voice was velvety and smooth, but he startled anyway. It made you smile. His hands flew to reach for his own weapon, but he couldn’t reach. How foolish of him.

“Is this what you wanted, Mr. Daniels? You’ve been following me for weeks, everywhere I go, everything I do, there you are. You’ve heard my telephone calls, you’ve got enough pictures for quite an album. If all you wanted was a pair of panties, you should have asked me to dinner like a gentleman.”

“You know what I want,” he spat back, "tell me where it is.”

You hummed thoughtfully, as if you were really considering his demand, then brought your knee to rest on the mattress between his legs.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack. Right now you are in my apartment, uninvited, lying in my bed, and doing something very nasty with my panties. I think that it’s time to talk about what I want.” You brought your other knee onto the bed and leaned forward, letting the snub nose of your revolver press into the fabric of his white button up. He didn’t seem to breathe as you dragged it downward over his belly, only making a panicked little cry as the cold gunmetal reached his still hard cock.

You took your panties from his hand, “say ah.”

He obeyed, letting you poke the fabric into his mouth.

“Now, I’m going to get up for just a moment and you are not going to move.” You raised your eyebrows, and nudged him with the short barrel of the gun until he nodded.

Jack closed his eyes and dropped his head onto your bed with a weary sigh.

You returned with a length of pink fabric, the sash of your bathrobe and pulled your reading chair closer to the bed. As instructed, Jack didn’t move. He was still hard and leaking.

“Stand up and strip, Mr. Daniels. Nice and slow.”

The panties in his mouth muffled his hostile ranting, so you pulled them back out, laying the wet, delicate fabric on his chest.

“This isn’t a game,” he hissed, lifting up on his elbows. “You know why I’m here.”

“You’re handsome when you’re angry. Strip.” You wished you had a cocktail right now.

He stood and glared at you, cock bobbing between his legs as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Slower.” He started to argue but held his tongue, tossing the shirt onto the bed. He pulled his belt from his dark jeans, but you stopped him, holding out your hand for his belt buckle flask.

Of course Jack “Whiskey” Daniels had a full flask. You sipped his bourbon, letting it warm you and nodded for him to continue.

His shirt was first. He unbuttoned it without flair, tossing it onto your bed. His pants were next, already around his thighs, along with his black boxers. He shoved them down and stepped out of them. It wasn’t as sexy as he could have made it if he tried. He’s got a nice body, and he may be unhappy with his predicament, but he’s still hard.

“Turn around for me Jack, give me a little show,” you say, eyes dancing with mischief.

He huffed and turned stiffly. Even if he was mad as a wet hen you were going to enjoy yourself. It wasn’t often you had a man in your bedroom. Not with Jack tailing you, anyway. You weren’t about to give him a free thrill. You tilted your head and drank him in. He was aging, scarred and a little worse for the wear. You liked it. You liked how he looked with a little gray beginning to thread through his hair. He was still lean and strong, fit despite the slight paunch of his belly.

His legs were gorgeous, not the skinny chicken legs a lot of men have, they were shapely, same as his arms. Not bulging with too much silly looking muscle, just right. Nice and toned. His back was the same, his chest, with its sparse hair, dark, tight nipples, skin that must taste salty.

His softening belly, his weak spot, bore a dark patch of hair that lead you gladly down between his legs where your real nemesis hung. That cock of his, long, thick, still hard, even as he scowled at you. It leaned slightly left, which you could have guessed from the bulge you often noticed in his very tight jeans.

Taking the robe belt in your hands, you reached out to wrap it around his cock. You wanted to tie a bow, but Jack’s hands blocked you, hiding himself. That earned him a smack, and a warning.

“Don’t move, Agent Whiskey. Not one move without my permission, do you understand?”

He raised his hands in surrender and muttered. You let the smooth fabric drag over his turgid member, but instead of the bow, you made him turn again.

“Hands behind your back. Turn around for me.”

He closed his eyes, not bothering to argue, and you heard him exhale when you tied his wrists together in a pretty, but very secure pink bow.

You fluffed your bow and turned him to face you once more.

“There. I bet that feels a lot nicer than some old piece of rope, doesn’t it?” You smiled at him.

Jack couldn’t believe his predicament. He had made sure you were gone, he had checked his time, he hadn’t left evidence behind. He was going to jerk himself off into your silky underthings and leave, the panties his only souvenir.he doubted you’d even miss them the way your drawer was full of so many lacy, silky, soft little things. He made a mistake somewhere, and now here he is, naked, hard, tied up in between your bed and your chiffarobe, while you bossed him around. He dare not acknowledge the throbbing erection. It was plain enough for you to see.

You put him on his knees, guiding him down with your dainty little manicured hand on his shoulder. His tired knees sank into the mercifully plush carpet, and he sighed.

He watched you walk back and forth in front of him, small steps in your tall heels. He wondered what you were thinking. He wondered if you really knew what he was looking for. His mind raced, all of his training leaving him woefully unprepared for a scenario like this, especially when your panties fell to your ankles.

You stepped out of them gingerly and swept them aside with the toe of your high heel.

You liked him on his knees. He was better behaved when he was at a disadvantage. His pretty lips pouted, his big dark eyes searched your face for a hint of your next move, widening when you raked your fingers through his hair and gripped it, holding him as you stood before him, balancing on one foot with the other pressing into the edge of the bed behind him.

Jack welcomed your bare pussy against his face. He took it like an offering and accepted your soft, damp lips against his tongue. You stayed still, letting him lap at your folds for a few moments, then began to roll your hips, using his face. His nose, lips, chin, even the scratch of his mustache felt heavenly against your achy center. You kept on, soaking his face until you came.

Jacks cock throbbed between his legs, untouched and rock hard. Droplets of precum dribbled from his tip. You caught your breath on the edge of the bed and watched him, chest expanding between his wide shoulders. You placed one ankle on his shoulder, and leaned back on your palms.

“That was a good start, don’t you think?”

Agent Whiskey licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Real good. Untie me and I’ll make it a good finish too.”

It made you laugh, his confidence. It preceded him, of course, but you hadn’t experienced it for yourself.

“Really, Daniels? I can’t untie you now. We’re just getting started.”

There was only your dainty watch on your bedside table to tell you that more than an hour had passed since you pulled Jack up and onto your bed. More than an hour of him gasping each time you touched him, lip quivering each time you denied him an orgasm.

“Please. Please!” He plead for your mercy as you held his body down with yours, hand around his cock, twisting around it, working upwards and back down tortuously slow. His hairline was damp with sweat.

Each time he got too close you stopped, plucked a cigarette from your case and smoked it, appraising his deconstructed state from a few feet away, then ashed it in a crystal dish.

When his breathing steadied and his whimpering quieted, you took your place on top of him again. This time with his cock situated beneath you, slipping back and forth between your wet folds, never taking him inside, just using his pulsing cock to bring yourself to orgasm once more.

Jack's eyes shone with unshed tears of frustration and he tried in vain to chase his own orgasm. He wondered if he would ever come again or if you’d always stop him. He was crazy with need, mind poisoned with unspent cum.

Not long before the two hour mark, you decided how you’d wrap up this meeting of minds.

You straightened your back, lifted your hips, and slowly sank onto his cock. Your pussy squeezed and pulled him in, making him groan and tug against his restraints.

He was thick and long, filling you, pressing against your body, a wonderful counterpressure to your clenching cunt.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck! Yes!” He babbled, thrusting, stomach tensing, hips pushing up as much as he could manage to meet your thrusts.

You sped up, riding him hard with quick up and down strokes intended to thoroughly drain him of every last drop of cum. His face was a study in surrender. Glassy eyes, mouth slack. You watched him closely and pumped his body with yours. Your own pleasure was undeniable, you’d used his body for countless orgasms since you first caught him in your web. You took another, the first he felt for himself and it was enough. Jack “Whiskey” Daniels flooded you with his milky white cum.

You left him, panting, used up, and wet, not yet aware of how fucked he truly is now, and returned with a Polaroid camera. You snapped shot after shot, his face, his body, his softening cock, and one last shot of yourself, smiling, satisfied, triumphant wearing his hat.

#dmamc 2025 #the dom that middle aged man campaign 2025 #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels #kingsmen golden circle #Jack whiskey Daniels smut #Jack Daniels smut #agent Jack whiskey Daniels smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #bat writes #pedro pascal character smut #Jack whiskey Daniels x reader #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you

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syd-djarin · 1 year ago

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private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

You’re a PI hired to spy on Jack Daniels, by his ex-fiancé, who is believed to be a cheater. As time goes on, you don’t find any evidence of the sort, but what you do find is unexpectedly…erotic.

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

“I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”.

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too.

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness.

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story.

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table.

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time.

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude, adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him.

Or you.

Whatever.

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night.

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open.

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes.

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that.

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving.

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to.

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop.

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry.

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips.

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity.

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment.

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth.

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely.

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again.

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

#snail trail alert 🚨#little lady kinky may #iamasaddie game #2.5ksaddies #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels #pedrostories #fanfic #smut

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freelancearsonist · 1 year ago

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in our ivory tower

➔ Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!Reader

➔ 1.1k words

➔ You enjoy the view from the top with your boss.

➔ Rated MA // unprotected p in v sex, creampie/cum play, gratuitous groping, semi-public sex, a little dash of exhibition kink, power dynamics kind of // reader has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, reader is generally able-bodied

The view from the top floor of the Statesman skyscraper is breathtaking. You’ve been here for months at this point and you still don’t think you’ll ever truly get used to it. You swear you can see all the way to the other end of Manhattan from here–miles and miles of glistening steel and glass that make you feel so inconsequential, so anonymous. It’s a good feeling.

The Statesman tower is a far cry from the little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that you share with three roommates–this is luxurious, decadent. Everything is modern and brand new, everyone is dressed to perfection in clothes that probably cost more than you make over the course of a month. You’ve always felt like you don’t quite belong here–you might’ve even quit by now if it weren’t for your gorgeous view and the gorgeous boss.

The panorama of the city skyline is only elevated by the gut-clenching thrill you get when you’re pressed up against the sturdy, full-length window like this, with your boss pounding into your pussy from behind like there’s no tomorrow.

There’s always a little paranoid thought in the back of your mind, as you look down at the street a hundred stories below you, that you’d be fucked if the glass gave way. Not that Jack would ever let anything happen to you–he’s proven time and time again just how capable he is.

“That’s it, hmm?” He grunts with a particularly delicious thrust that slams his cockhead right into your g-spot. “Righ’ there, sugar?”

He’s always been able to find it with seemingly no effort. He folds you over like it’s nothing, hands sliding up from their tight grip over the bunched-up skirt on your hips so he can grab greedily at your breasts through the soft fabric of your shirt. His skilled fingers can find your nipples with ease even through the layers–it never fails to impress, much less to draw a loud moan from your lips.

“Atta girl.” He growls–a sound so low and animalistic that it makes your walls clamp down around him–so close to your ear that you can feel the bristly scratch of his mustache and the warm, panting breaths that are punched from his lungs with each thrust against your neck.

Your thighs are trembling with every vicious stroke of his cock, desperate for the release he’s been steadily working your towards. He’s always liked to play with his meal–to draw it out until you’re begging and crying for it.

You can feel the delicious friction of his denim-clad thighs against the back of yours, hear the clink of his belt buckle as his hips work. It’s easy to forget that anyone could walk into this conference room right now, anyone could look up out a window and see you being pulled apart.

Your fingers clutch uselessly at the smooth glass in a feeble attempt to steady yourself, but there’s no saving you. Not when you’re this close, not when you can feel his plush lips ghosting against your pulse point and his fingers are shoving under the neckline of your shirt to get a better feel of what he’s been pawing at.

“God damn, this cunt,” he grunts lowly–his thrusts are losing their rhythm, you know he’s getting close. “Sweeter ’n stolen honey.”

One of his broad palms gives up the delightful attack on your chest to skate down the length of your stomach and find your clit. He’s familiar enough with your body now, after months of sneaking around together like this–he knows exactly the right pace and pressure to use in order to have you crumbling in his arms.

And crumble you do–with a moan that you try to muffle behind your bitten lip, you shatter. Your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm, barely held up if not for your palms against the glass and Jack’s hands moving swiftly to your hips to steady you.

He’s not far behind–a couple more deliciously firm thrusts have him pressed balls-deep into your messy cunt, filling you to the very brim with his cum until it’s leaking out around his softening length.

There’s a blissfully long moment where he stays crowding you against the window, hot breath flickering up the length of your neck from where he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

“A’right, darlin’?” There’s something so tender behind that whispered question in combination with the way his lips can’t seem to leave your skin. Almost loving.

You choke down whatever feelings you’re perceiving–imagined or real–and give a little nod. “Mhm.”

He pulls out with a quiet groan that makes it sound as if he’s in pain over being parted from you. One of those warm hands of his comes up and curves around your jaw, pulling your lips to his in a sweet kiss that’s a far cry from the way he was fucking you just a moment ago. He pushes his tongue against your bottom lip as his other hand sneaks down between your legs, fingertips ghosting against your over-sensitive cunt before he pulls your ruined panties back into their proper place.

“Clean these up for me?”

You’re accepting his cum-smeared fingers into your mouth before you can think of a response. His jaw drops open at the way you swirl your tongue around them, always so dedicated to doing exactly what he asks of you. Always striving to go above and beyond.

“Should give you a raise,” he murmurs, his voice a little high-pitched in a way that makes you smirk proudly.

You let his fingers go with an audible pop. “I wouldn’t turn it down, Mr. Daniels.”

You try to ignore the steady leak of his spend dripping into your underwear as you tug your skirt back into place. It’s only just past noon–you have plenty of work to get done, starting with clearing the conference table of all the rubble left behind from the meeting that concluded shortly before Jack got his hands on you.

You see it as he’s tucking himself back into those sinfully tight jeans–two smudgy handprints on the otherwise impeccable glass. You feel vaguely guilty on behalf of the cleaning crew who’ll have to deal with that tonight.

Jack doesn’t seem to have the same inclination. He shoots a wink your way as he picks his black Stetson up off the conference table and sets it on his head. “Have those meetin’ notes ready by the end a’day, ‘kay?”

“Yes sir,” you answer dutifully. It’s only one of the many reasons you’re his favorite employee.

➔ beta: @schnarfer ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels smut #jack daniels fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #cece writes

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sugadolly · 2 years ago

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i think i need someone older ⸜❤︎⸝‍

#it’s giving dbf!#mi amor pedrito :(#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey #jack daniels #javier peña #kingsman #narcos #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #agent whiskey smut #jack daniels smut #javier peña smut

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absurdthirst · 7 months ago

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Kinktober 2024: October 7th

Day 7: Bruising or Bitemarks // Virgin // Ice Play

Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Vaginal sex, cock riding, biting, hickies, begging, submissive Whiskey, teasing

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Uh, Whiskey?” Jack looks up from examining the amber tone of the newest batch of Statesman that had been un-barrelled and bottled, sniffing the oaky rich notes and was satisfied with the hint of cloves and honey. It will be a good vintage, one that he had personally crafted and he was just about to put it to his lips to taste when he’s interrupted.

Looking up, he finds Champ, aka Agent Champagne, his boss - staring at his neck. Making him frown at the bewildered and slightly bemused expression on the older man’s face. “What is it?” He asks, setting down the glass and reaching up, his brows pulling together even more when he feels a tender abrasion that has been exposed as his collar moved down, pulled tighter as he had sat. Making his own embarrassment bloom on his face as he realizes what Champ is staring at.

****

“Fuuuuuuuck, sugar.” It’s hotter than fucking Satan’s ass in the middle of July, but he’s not going to even fucking complain. Your sweat slick body writhing on top of him, your cunt wrapped around his cock, bouncing on it so expertly that it makes his toes curl every time you settle on him. His head tips back, eyes closed as you kiss down his jaw.

You hum, the sound almost a growl as you reach up and start to tangle your fingers into his sweaty hair, holding onto him like you are riding a bull. Putting a little more roll into your hips as your teeth come out and you scrap them over his skin.

“Oh shit.” Jack hisses, his cock twitching in an instinctive reaction to your little nip and making you giggle.

“You like that, baby?” You coo, your voice dripping with sex and honey, just the way he likes it. You nibble at his throat again and he moans softly, his cock jolting inside your walls again. Even if he denies it, his body is telling you that he loves what you’re doing.

“Hmmmmm.” You smirk and open your mouth wider, letting your teeth sink into the sensitive flesh of his neck, right above the pulse and dig in.

Your name falls as a whimper from his lips, his own fingers digging impossibly tight into your hips. Holding you there rather than trying to push you away. You know Jack is stronger than you are, you have seen him in action. If he didn’t want this, he could easily stop it.

The fact that he doesn’t makes you feral. Sucking and biting more and more. The same spot over and over again until he is wearing an impression of your teeth in the smooth, tanned skin of his vulnerable throat. A bruise is already starting to bloom under the surface from where the pressure of your mouth has broken capillaries.

“Goddamn.” He pants, rocking his hips up into you, needing and wanting more of your cunt while you lose yourself in the taste of his sweat and the beauty of marking his body as your own. “Sugar, you gotta- I need-”

He whines again when your tongue presses at the hollow of his throat, your teeth scraping over his Adam’s apple. He’s never been one to give up too much control, but right now, it’s like you’ve lassoed him to the bed and he can do nothing more than bed for you. Chills racing up his spin every time your teeth bite into his flesh and his body pulls tight in pleasure.

“I know what you need.” You tease, lapping at the latest mark and then deciding to suck on it again. Enjoying the tightening of his core and the melting of his limbs as you put another set of bitemarks to his shoulder after you’re satisfied with one right above his collarbone.

His chest becomes your canvas, your mouth the paintbrush. Bruises and impressions start to form a pattern over his skin. Making him whine and squirm ever more, groaning in protest when you actually pull off his cock so you can move down his body.

Another bruise on his hip bone, making sure that it will be vivid when it fully forms, imagining the way it will look when his low slung jeans rest right below it. It makes your now empty cunt clench around nothing and you moan before you move to give him a matching mark on the right side.

Jack Daniel whines when you bite right next to the base of his cock. You don’t apply as much pressure as you do on the less sensitive areas, but the shudder of his thighs and lovely little spurt of pre-cum that beads up against his belly and slides down his stomach gives away how much he likes this.

Your tongue teases his balls, making him gasp and they draw tight, as if he is about to cum, but you move away and his groan is heavy with disappointment.

Focusing on his thighs. You always love how thick and strong they are. Able to ride a bull and hold tight, they are tight with need and anticipation as you smirk up at him, your face planted right at the most sensitive inner portion.

“Cock tease.” He blows out a half breath, half laugh as he looks down at you. “You might as well make your mark there, too.” He pants, making your smirk at the way he makes begging seem like he’s going you a favor. He wants this just as much as you do, maybe even more.

You blow on his skin, making him hiss before you finally give him what he wants. Your mouth suctioned to his skin, pulling it harshly before you pull away and bite around the mark. Only to do it all over again under there is a change in the skin. The slight puffiness of where it has been sucked on, the discoloration and then the indentions that are so close to breaking the skin that they are bruising as well.

Jack looks drunk, his eyes heavy and his chest heaving, so close to just giving in and cumming untouched from the attention of your mouth. “Sugar.” He slurs the soft praise. “Goddamn, c’mere.” He reaches down and urges you back up his body. “I fucking need to be inside you when I blow my load.”

You nip his hip again and giggle when he moans, your teeth carving the path back up his body.

****

“Jack?” He doesn’t hear him say his name the first time. “Earth to Jack.”

Jack squirms slightly, pulling his collar and covering up the bruises and bitemarks that could be seen and shooting Champ an innocent look. “Training injury.” He lies, knowing that the man would never believe that for a second.

Champagne snorts and shakes his head, turning back to the bar cart with a chuckle. “I’ll have to get Ginger to get the nanites to get rid of it for you.” He offers, smirking to himself.

“No.” Jack shakes his head quickly, picking up his whiskey glass to lips to hide his grin. “I’m good.”

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #absurdthirst kinktober #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey imagine #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x f!reader

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justsomerandomfanfic · 3 months ago

Text

The Top Shelf - Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Title: The Top Shelf

Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Ginger, Tequila (Mentioned), and Champ (Mentioned)

WC: 5,707

Warnings: Short Reader (mentioned to be below the average height for a woman), Kingsman canon violence mentioned (ie. killing/death), cursing, italics, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, Jack being Jack, jealousy, age gap very briefly mentioned, suggestive, slight angst, and fluff

You were going to kill whoever put your special snack on the top shelf. Actually, maybe you would torture them a bit first. Everyone in Statesman knew you couldn’t reach the high shelves, they knew that you had your own special cupboard to hide your snacks, and yet, your stuff somehow made its way to the top shelf. You knew you didn’t put them up there.

Now, standing in the kitchen, staring up at the top shelf, you glared at it; all the while, you were thinking about all the possible weapons you could use to cause harm on the person responsible. You were short, pretty short. You were below the average height for a woman, and you were mighty proud of it. Most people, mostly when you were still in school, would always say how lucky they were to be tall.

“Oh, I can reach things easier.”

“I can see easier in crowds.”

“I am the perfect height to be a model.”

Ugh. It was annoying as hell. There were a lot of things that you could do too. You could make your way through crowds easier, sliding through gaps. You got a lot more leg room in cars and planes. You could fit into smaller spaces; which oddly helped in your line of work. And you were often seen as less intimidating in social situations, which definitely helped in your line of work.

Being short was amazing, but not when people actively tried to make it harder for you.

And so, here you were, arms crossed as you tried to make up your mind on how you were going to get your favorite snack. You had three options. One; grab a chair or stool. Two; climb the counter and stand on it to reach. Or, three; ask for help. And you were not going to ask for help. You liked most of your co-workers, but you were a grown-ass woman - strong and independent - and you didn’t need help.

But, it seemed that fate - or destiny - was going to delay your snack time.

“You need any help, sugar?” You heard the deep, smooth southern voice behind you, and you immediately sighed. Even though you drank two cups of coffee that morning, his presence always made you oddly exhausted.

Turning around, you frowned, staring up at the man who had that stupid grin on his face. “No, I do not need help, Whiskey.”

The cowboy raised an eyebrow, eyes lifting to your snack and back down to you, “Are you sure?” He placed his hands on his hips, jutting out a hip, “I could grab that for you, if you want.”

You mimicked him, jutting out your own hip, your eyes narrowing, “No, thank you, Whiskey. I can get it on my own.”

Whiskey raised both his hands up in the air in defence before backing away, making you sigh and turn back around.

You huffed, biting your bottom lip as you started at the shelf. Maybe if you jumped just right, you could knock the damn thing down. Or if you really committed to climbing the counter… No… After the day you had? A grueling mission, a headache that wouldn’t quit… No, maybe it would be best to ask someone for help. Not from Whiskey or Tequila, but maybe Ginger would help you. You two were very close, so you doubted that she wouldn’t help.

With a spin, you turned around, planning to leave to seek out Ginger, but you jumped, letting out a squeak.

Jack- Whiskey was still there.

Leaning against the entrance way, his arms were crossed over his broad chest. That stupid smirk of his hadn’t faded, either. Jack’s smirk only widened, having the gall to look you up and down.

“Why are you still here?” You asked, crossing your arms again.

He didn’t miss a beat, “Enjoyin’ the view.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You’re insufferable.” You moved, slipping past him, muttering out an ‘I hate you,’ for good measure, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Mm,” He hummed, tilting his head as he watched you go, “You love me, sugar.”

You ignored him, forcing yourself to keep walking down the hall. Except, despite your best efforts, your mind drifted back to him. God, you loathed him. Him with his perfect body, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect eyes, perfect voice, perfect- ugh. You hated him.

Ever since you started at Statesman, Whiskey - or Jack, as he told you that you could call him, but you never did - spent a lot of time with you. He’d seek you out sometimes, just to ask a dumb question that either Ginger or Champ could answer. He’d talk to you the most outside of missions, and even during missions, and by ‘talk,’ you meant flirt. He was such a damn flirt. It wasn’t just the smirks or the innuendos. It was the way he always made you the center of his attention. The way his voice dropped just a little lower when he spoke to you, and just you. The way he’d look at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the worst part.

Not to mention that, despite being so… Flirtatious with you, he would always stay a gentleman. He wouldn’t push things too far. He wouldn’t make you genuinely uncomfortable. For all his teasing and smooth-talking, there was a line he never crossed. Jack Daniels could be a cocky bastard, sure - but he was also a gentleman. And maybe that was what irritated you the most. Because if he was just another flirt with no sense of boundaries, you could dismiss him. You could roll your eyes, scoff, and walk away without a second thought.

But no. He had to be charming. He had to be kind. He had to have that damn Southern drawl that made your name sound sweeter than honey. And worst of all?

He had to make you like him.

And sometimes, you wished you could just have a real conversation with him. No flirting. No smirks. No subtle innuendos. No trying to get you all flustered. Just a real talk. But with Jack Daniels? With Agent Whiskey? That seemed damn near impossible.

You pushed open the door to the tech lab, stepping inside to find Ginger working away at her station, fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease. She didn’t look up as you fully entered, too focused on whatever complicated codes or systems she was working on.

With a dramatic sigh, you made your way to an empty chair - one of the spinny ones, thankfully - and all but collapsed into it, giving yourself a slow, lazy spin. At that, the corners of Ginger’s lips quirked up in amusement, though she still didn’t glance away from her screen.

You never really understood high-tech or coding. It just wasn’t your thing. Yeah, you were pretty good on a phone or computer. You did the basics and even a few tricks you picked up through the years. You could even use a fax machine, but you liked being in the action, doing the fieldwork, bringing justice. You left the screens and wires to Ginger, trusting that whatever magic she worked back here kept you alive out there.

Slouching slightly, you swayed the chair side to side, another softer sigh slipping past your lips.

Finally, Ginger spoke.

“Bad day?” She asked, a knowing lilt to her voice.

You sighed again, “You have no idea.”

“I kind of do,” Her grin widened, “I was watching over you and your mission this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You muttered tiredly.

Ginger hummed, still typing away, “Whiskey?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you gave the chair one last spin. “...Yeah.”

Ginger finally stopped typing, finding a stopping point, and turning in her chair to face you as you lazily pushed your chair with your feet, rolling yourself closer until you were right beside her. She studied you for a moment, clearly amused but also curious.

“What’d he do this time?” She asked.

You huffed, leaning forward against the desk, resting your elbow on it and pressing your cheek into the palm of your hand. “He was just being himself today,” You muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Flirting, smirking, calling me ‘sugar’ like it’s his damn job.” Ginger snorted, waiting for you to continue. You sighed again. “Honestly? I’m more pissed about something else.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued. “Oh? Was it Tequila?”

“No, not him,” You sat up a little, frowning, “I went to the kitchen to grab a snack, right? But when I got there, it was on the top shelf. My special snack. The one that I always keep in my cupboard.

Ginger’s lips twitched, and you could tell that she was trying not to laugh.

“And?”

“And I can’t reach it,” You grumbled, flopping back against the chair, “I swear, not being able to have my snack was more annoying than Whiskey today.”

At that, Ginger actually laughed, shaking her head. “Now that’s saying something.”

You nodded, pursing your lips as you began slightly turning the chair again. Ginger knew about your… Situation with Whiskey. You wouldn’t say everyone knew, but occasionally, Tequila would throw out some comment about how Whiskey was like your loyal puppy, always following you around, eager for your attention. It was annoying. And mostly untrue.

Mostly.

But Ginger? Ginger knew. And, more importantly, she knew about the part you refused to admit out loud - the part where, despite all of your frustration, all of the teasing and bickering, you were attracted to the older man. You trusted Ginger. With your life - both figuratively and literally. You knew whatever you said here, in the privacy of her tech lab, would never leave the room.

And yeah, she teased you sometimes. Tired to nudge you toward saying something to Whiskey instead of just glaring at him across the room or table during mission briefings. But she never pushed too hard. She knew when to joke and when to let you be.

“You know,” She trailed off, “I could always call Whiskey in here to help you with your snack problem…”

You only groaned, letting your head drop onto the desk. “Ginger. No.” You answered, your voice muffled from your arms.

You lifted your head just enough to give Ginger your best pout, eyes wide and pleading. “That’s why I came to you,” You said, “I was hoping you’d be a dear and grab it for me.”

“And why can’t you just ask Whiskey for help?”

You groaned again, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Ginger, I know you are just pulling my leg, but come on! You are missing the point!” You sat up straighter, launching into a full-on rant. “If I ask him, then he’s gonna tease the ever-loving crap out of me. He’ll say something about how he’d love to help me out or some other nonsense that’ll make my cheeks all hot, which is annoying! And then, if I let him help, not only will his ego grow, but the next time this happens - god forbid - he’s gonna make it a huge thing!” You gestured kind of wildly. “Like, ‘Oh, need my help again, sugar?’ or ‘I think you just like havin’ me around, sweetheart.’” You mimicked his voice, lowering your own and adding his Southern accent on it. “And I know he’s the one putting my snacks up there in the first place, just to mess with me!” You let out a deep breath when you finally finished rambling, your arms falling limp at your sides. Ginger blinked at you, lips twitching, clearly holding back some laughter.

“... Alright, alright,” She relented, shaking her head, “I’ll help you.”

You let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re a lifesaver, Ginger,” You said, standing up as she did.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” She teased, nudging your shoulder as you both exited the lab. As you walked side by side down the hall, Ginger glanced down at you, “So, what’s this snack, anyway?”

You perked up slightly, “My jumbo family-size bag of chips - my favorite flavor,” You emphasized, “I just got them last time I went out, and I’ve been dying for the right day to open them up.” You sighed wistfully, already picturing the evening ahead. “And tonight is the night. After I get my chips, all I want to do is go to my room, collapse on my bed, cuddle up with my favorite blanket, and put on my favorite movie.”

Ginger hummed in approval, “Solid plan.” As you neared the kitchen, she glanced at you again. “So… Aside from Whiskey, who do you think would’ve put your snack up there?”

You shrugged, “If it wasn’t him, then it was Tequila.” But as you turned the corner into the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. There, sitting right on the counter, were your chips. Someone had pulled them down for you. Your brows furrowed as you slowly stepped forward, staring at the bag.

“Huh.” Ginger stopped beside you.

You glanced around, as if expecting someone to jump out, but the kitchen was empty.

“…Weird,” You muttered, reaching out to grab the bag. You stared down at the chip bag in your hands, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips pressed into a tight line. Ginger, who had casually leaned against the fridge, tilted her head as she observed you.

“You know who would’ve pulled it down for you?” She asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

You tilted your head, eyes still fixed on the bag as you sighed. “I might have a clue,” You muttered, clearly still trying to wrap your head around the situation. “Thanks, Ginger,” You added, flashing her a small smile as you turned to leave. “Have a goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

As you walked down the hallway, the weight of your thoughts started to sink in, and just like that, Whiskey’s presence seemed to take over your mind once more. For the millionth time today, he invaded your thoughts. It was almost impossible not to think about him - his smirk, the teasing tone of his voice, the way he always seemed to know just what to say to get under your skin.

You weren’t entirely sure if it was him who had pulled the chips down for you. But Whiskey was the only person who knew you had been eyeing that snack that was too high up to reach.

It frustrated you - more than you were willing to admit. Why couldn’t you just hate him, like you always claimed? You stopped in your tracks for a moment, letting out a frustrated sigh. You were finding it more and more difficult to pretend you hated him and it was becoming a problem. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. But here you were.

~~~

Does this person know that you have plans on killing them?

You stared up at the top shelf, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Once again, your snacks had been moved. This time, it was your candy.

It had been a couple of days since the chip incident, and now you were starting to wonder if this was a full-fledged conspiracy. At this point, you were getting really annoyed. Maybe it was time to just keep all your snacks in your room and save yourself the trouble.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turned around, already planning to find Ginger and ask for help again - only to nearly jump out of your skin. Whiskey stood there, leaning casually against the counter with that infuriatingly smug grin.

You slapped a hand over your beating heart, glaring up at him. “God, stop doing that,” You huffed.

His grin widened. “Darlin’, I figured you, of all people, would’ve known I was standin’ here. Ain’t you supposed to be a top-tier agent?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve been too busy trying to figure out who the hell keeps moving my snacks.” You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d do such a thing, would you?”

Whiskey shook his head, an innocent smile stretching across his face. “No clue, sweetheart.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe him for a second, but before you could call him out, he casually strolled past you, making his way to the coffee maker.

And that’s when your brain short-circuited. Your eyes followed him instinctively, trailing down as he moved. The way his jeans fit - God help you - was downright unfair. Your mind screamed at you to stop staring, to look away, to get a grip. But your heart? Your heart was having a much harder time listening. Hell, it was only fair for you to stare at him. He stared at you all the time and teased you relentlessly about it. Turnabout was fair play, right?

Your gaze lingered a moment longer before you quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sugar, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like what you see,” Whiskey drawled, amusement dripping from his voice as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Your eyes snapped back to his face, heat creeping up your neck when you saw him already looking at you. “I was not looking at you.”

Whiskey took a slow sip of his coffee, smirking over the rim of his mug. “Oh, darlin’… Don’t lie to me.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes again. “I hate you.”

Whiskey leaned against the counter opposite of you, sipping his coffee with that smirk still in place. “Sure you do, baby.”

“‘Baby?’ That one’s new.” You turned away from him, trying your best to ignore him as you glared up at your candy, still annoyingly out of reach. You really didn’t want to trek all the way to Ginger’s lab again, only for the candy to somehow miraculously appear on the counter like last time. You felt bad dragging her all the way here just for her help when it hadn’t even been necessary.

With a deep, resigned sigh, you finally muttered in stubborn defeat, “Whiskey… Can you help me?”

You didn’t have to look at him to know his grin widened. You heard it in the smug silence that stretched out before you heard the quiet clink of his coffee mug being set down. Then came the slow, deliberate footsteps. You barely had time to react before his presence pressed close. Your breath hitched as his chest brushing against your back, the warmth of him seeping through your clothes. One of his hands curled around your upper arm as he reached up with the other, easily plucking your candy from the top shelf. And just as quickly, he moved away, his hip bumping against the counter as he leaned against it, looking down at you with that insufferable, satisfied grin.

“Here ya go, darlin’,” He drawled, holding out the bag - only to pop a piece of candy into his mouth before handing it over.

You gaped at him. “Hey!”

He winked. “Payment.”

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling as he went, leaving you standing there, your face burning hotter than a furnace. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your body still tense from the lingering warmth of him. Pressing your back against the counter, you gripped the edge with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around it as if that would somehow ground you.

Why did he have to make things so complicated?

Your heart was still racing, your face still hot, and your breathing was irregular. Snapping your head toward the kitchen doorway, you shouted, “I still hate you!”

There was a beat of silence before his voice rang back down the hall, smooth and teasing-

“Liar.”

Your grip tightened on the counter as you clenched your jaw, staring after him.

That man was going to be the death of you.

~~~

It had been a long mission. A draining one.

All you wanted to do was grab something to eat, lock yourself in your room, and not emerge for the rest of the day. You weren’t needed for anything else, and your mission paperwork? That could be done just as easily from the comfort of your bed. You were exhausted, body aching, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t the only reason you were in such a sour mood.

No, that had everything to do with Whiskey. Normally, working with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Sure, he was insufferable, always teasing, always finding new ways to get under your skin, but you could usually go about your job, ignoring him to an extent. But this mission? This mission had made that almost impossible.

It was difficult enough, requiring both of you to be at the top of your game. You had gotten the information you needed - you sneaking in to grab the hard drive while Whiskey ran his distraction. And it had worked. Flawlessly.

Except… It was his distraction that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You never thought it would bother you. Not really. But watching him turn on the charm, flashing that signature smirk, whispering sweet nothings into some stranger woman’s ear, touching them so casually, so easily-

You had no right to be upset. It was just a mission. And yet, you were upset. But, green was not a pretty color on you.

You stood there, staring up at the top shelf in the kitchen, your gaze fixed on the bag of chips that had been placed there again. For the third time in a row. It wasn’t just the chips. It wasn’t about the bag of snacks at all, really. It was about everything else. The mission. The way Whiskey had acted. The way he always acted, and the way you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Your mind was tangled in a mess of frustration, jealousy, and... Something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You stood there, frozen, staring at the chips, replaying the mission again and again in your head. You were so lost in your head, so absorbed by your own swirling emotions, that you didn’t even hear Whiskey enter the room. His humming filled the space briefly, but it faded as soon as he saw you.

He stopped, his head tilting to the side as his gaze fell on you, his eyes narrowing as he observed your face. He stood there for a moment, studying you. "Need some help?" He asked, voice light, teasing.

You didn’t even look at him. “No.” The word came out softer than you intended.

Whiskey’s grin faltered, and he took a step forward. His brows furrowed as he approached, now genuinely concerned. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the top shelf. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his eyes on you. You almost wished he would say something - tease you, make it light again - but instead, he stayed silent, waiting for you to speak.

But you didn’t. You didn’t know what to say.

Whiskey took a step closer, moving with that familiar, confident grace. He found his spot where he had stood just days ago - his side pressed against the counter, just a foot or so away from you, his presence still as intimidating as it was comforting. His eyes were trained on you, no longer teasing, but genuine concern written across his face.

“Want to talk about it, sugar?” He asked, his voice low as his hand reached up, fingers brushing against a few strands of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear. “Might help.”

You took a step back. All the weeks of frustration - the teasing, the confusion, the ridiculous tension that hung between you two - came rushing to the surface. You couldn’t stop it. “Can you just stop teasing me all the time?” You blurted, shaking your head. “It’s not fair that you always play with my feelings like this.” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You’re always messing with me, making me question everything - whether you care or not. And I-” You cut yourself off, you had already said a bit too much.

You expected him to laugh it off, maybe smirk. But instead, Whiskey’s expression shifted. His eyes softened for a split second before they hardened, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, his hands landing on your waist. Without warning, he lifted you, effortlessly placing you onto the counter in front of him.

Your hands instinctively landed on his shoulders, gripping them for stability, but as soon as you were placed on the counter, your palms dropped to your lap, your body frozen in surprise. Your heart raced as you stared up at him, eyes wide, and your breath caught in your throat. He was right there, so close you could feel the heat of his body. His face was a mere foot from yours, his expression less playful and more serious than you had ever seen. And his eyes, so dark, like chocolate, they were searching, confused.

His small frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean I don’t care?” Whiskey asked, his voice soft but firm.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, caught between wanting to push him away and feeling an overwhelming urge to pull him closer. Your mouth felt dry, the words stuck in your throat.

You opened your mouth, but it was like the tension in the room made everything seem miles away, your thoughts jumbled. You ignored his earlier question, focusing instead on what had been eating at you. “Then why do you tease me so much?” Your voice was quieter this time, but the frustration still seeped through. "If this was all some kind of game-"

“You think I’m playin’ a game with you?” He cut you off before you could finish, his voice low and serious, with an edge that made you freeze. You nodded, your eyes dropping to your hands in your lap. “Look at me.” His voice was firm, insistent. Slowly, reluctantly, you did. “I ain’t playin’ with you,” Whiskey said, his tone softer now but no less intense. His hands moved to the counter beside you, leaning in close, effectively caging you in. “And I never have been.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, heart racing. Was he serious? Was he telling the truth? You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, but everything inside you screamed to reach for him. To believe him. But you were still afraid. You dropped your gaze, unable to hold his stare any longer. But he wasn’t having that.

Whiskey moved closer as he raised a hand, tugging his cowboy hat off and tossing it onto the counter beside you without a second thought. His fingers brushed along your skin as he reached for your chin, gently tilting your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze searched yours, his fingers barely grazing along your jawline. He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, before his voice filled the space between you.

“Sugar, if you think for one damn second that I don’t mean every word I say to you, then you don’t know me half as well as I thought.” His fingers trailed along your cheek, “I tease you ‘cause I like seein’ you all riled up, yeah. But I sure as hell ain’t playin’ with you. I do care.” He sighed deeply, “You got me all twisted up, darlin’. And I don’t know what else I gotta do to prove it to you.”

His confession hung heavy in the air, settling deep in your chest. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing - this was real. And it scared you more than anything.

You swallowed hard, a tiny sigh escaped your lips before you muttered, barely above a whisper, “I hate you.”

Whiskey’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of a smile appearing as he shook his head. “No, you don’t,” He said, his voice softer now, steady.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his touch lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. But he didn’t close the distance - he stopped just short. You couldn’t look away. His eyes held you, drawing you in. Every breath you took seemed to sync with his, the space between you shrinking with every passing second.

Nervously, your hand slid to his on the counter, “Jack,” The sound of it barely escaping your lips.

He let you a shaky breath at the sound, so sweet from your lips. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, his hand moving to fully cup your cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing along your skin; his hand on the counter moved, resting on your waist. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The moment his plush lips pressed against yours, a shiver ran down your spine. The kiss was slow at first, testing, his lips moving against yours with a softness that sent your heart hammering against your ribs. A sigh escaped you, your eyelashes fluttering along your cheeks as your hands instinctively slid up his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. Your fingers found their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands before giving a gentle tug.

Jack let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His other hand slid along your jaw, fingers curling around the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse - where your heartbeat pounded wildly beneath his touch. The kiss was breathtaking. Dizzying. It stole the air right from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded in the best way possible. His lips moved against yours with a maddening mixture of tenderness and intensity, like he’d been waiting for this - aching for it - just as much as you had.

A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it, your body pressing closer to his instinctively. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging once more, and Jack groaned against your mouth, his grip on you tightening; swallowing every tiny sound you made like he needed them to breathe. Your legs parted slightly where you sat on the counter, and Jack took full advantage, stepping between them, his hand on your waist sliding down to your hip, thumb brushing over the exposed skin just above your waistband. His lips trailed over your bottom lip, teasing, before he stole another deep, lingering kiss, his breath mixing with yours, making your head spin.

His lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath was heavy, warm, fanning over your lips as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your hip. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what just happened settled between you, thick and undeniable. Jack’s eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, before the corner of his lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“Well, sweetheart,” He murmured, his voice husky, still laced with the remnants of the kiss. “That sure didn’t feel like hate.”

You let out a small huff, still feeling quite breathless. Before you could say anything back, Jack’s hands found your waist again, his grip firm yet gentle as he effortlessly lifted you off the counter, setting you on your feet. The warmth of his touch lingering even after he let go. Wordlessly, he reached up and grabbed your bag of chips from the top shelf, handing them to you with an easy smirk.

Then, he casually asked, “Feel like hittin’ up a diner with me tonight?”

You stared at him for a moment, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Your heart was racing, your lips warm and tingling, and now he was asking you to dinner like it was nothing? Like he hadn’t just kissed you breathless?

You clutched the bag of chips to your chest, exhaling through your nose. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Jack just grinned, tilting his head. “That a yes, sugar?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah… It’s a yes.”

His grin widened, pure satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.” You scoffed, smacking his arm lightly before turning away. As you left the kitchen, Jack’s voice rang out behind you. “I’ll pick you up at six!”

You glanced over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your own lips. “Don’t be late!”

He just chuckled, his voice muffled as you turned the corner and practically speed-walked down the hall. The excitement from the kiss still buzzed in your veins, making your steps feel light and fast. You reached your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud. For a moment, you just stood there, leaning against the door, your heart still racing. You pressed your fingers to your lips, replaying the kiss in your mind. A soft, almost giddy giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Meanwhile, Jack stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips, a smile on his face. He stared at the floor for a moment. Then, his eyes flicked up to the top shelf, and with a mischievous grin, he walked over to your cupboard. With a smooth motion, he grabbed your fruit snack box and placed it high up on the shelf. Picking up his cowboy hat from the counter, he placed it back on his head. With a final glance toward the doorway you had disappeared through, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Damn,” He muttered to himself, running a hand over his jaw before turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen.

Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Kingsman Masterlist

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whoredyceps · 3 months ago

Text

"oh lover boy!" masterlist

the valentine's day series

𑁤 a secret admirer ༝ joel miller

𑁤 "it's okay, i couldn't sleep anyways." ༝ javier peña

𑁤 the morning after ༝ oberyn martell

𑁤 a blind date ༝ agent whiskey

𑁤 a bouquet of flowers ༝ marcus acacius

𑁤 "i can't stand you." ༝ joel miller

𑁤 "just stay near me. please." ༝ javier peña

𑁤 fuzzy pink handcuffs ༝ din djarin

𑁤 leather and lace ༝ oberyn martell

𑁤 love at first sight ༝ frankie morales

𑁤 good night ༝ marcus acacius

𑁤 "for you, i would." ༝ din djarin

𑁤 "you're so full of shit." ༝ joel miller

𑁤 "i love you." ༝ javier peña

𑁤 old wounds ༝ agent whiskey

𑁤 puppy love ༝ frankie morales

𑁤 and they were roommates! ༝ javier peña

𑁤 a forgotten date ༝ din djarin

𑁤 anniversary ༝ oberyn martell

𑁤 "stop distracting me." ༝ joel miller

𑁤 love letters ༝ marcus acacius

𑁤 "are you sure you want to do this?" ༝ din djarin

𑁤 honeymooners ༝ frankie morales

𑁤 "i missed you." ༝ din djarin

𑁤 in the middle of the night ༝ javier peña

𑁤 possesive ༝ joel miller

𑁤 "i'm too sober for this." ༝ agent whiskey

𑁤 "we could get caught-!" ༝ oberyn martell

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pedrospookie · 4 months ago

Note

Hi pookie 🎀

I always think about what Jack Daniels would be like on a first date with reader after his wife’s death, maybe years have passed and he’s ready to start dating again. I could just imagine how sweet he would be when he flirts with you, trying his best to get you to like him 😭 fluffy fluff please 🩷

Hi friend!

Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this fic— life got the best of me going into the holidays and I had some unexpected international travel on top of it all. I was determined like hell to get this finished for you today. I hope you like it!

Your Song

Jack Daniels x f!reader

a/n: not canon, jack will never be dead in my world, sorry not sorry! it’s also severely unbeta’d and completed while maxed out on mucinex so please forgive me for any plot holes or spelling mistakes. I also fear I went a lil rogue and made it a lil more sexy than sweet (I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry pls don’t hate me)

tw: mentions Jack’s dead wife & child, otherwise it’s just fluff!

As far as first dates go, this one was special. This was the first date Jack had been on since the passing of his wife and unborn son.

Sure, in his time as a Statesman he spent the night in the company of lovely women, wining and dining, gaining intel, passing the time. But Jack was a lover at heart. Beneath this rugged, suave, confident cowboy exterior was a soft, sensitive man who missed coming home to his wife at the end of a long day. His career exhausted him over time, proving to him that he could no longer run from this empty hole growing inside his chest. What was the point in fighting and risking his life if there was no one worth fighting for anymore?

After many years of service and one faked death later, Agent Whiskey hung up his hat and retired from the service. He was ready to start his life over.

And today was one of the many new firsts in this new chapter of his life. Today he was getting back on the horse and going on a date. You had caught his eye awhile back, both reaching for the last heirloom tomato at the farmer’s market. Through a small, yet friendly exchange, in which Jack let you have the last tomato, you realized that there was something there. The twinkle in his chocolate coloured eyes lit a flame in you. It took Jack a moment to accept his growing interest in you, praying that his angel in heaven would forgive him for moving on, let alone help him find the courage to ask you out. After 45 minutes of chatting in the produce section of the tiny wooden booth, and a short mosey to the cash, Jack finally found the courage to ask you on a proper date. The cool, confident cowboy was now replaced with a sweet, simple boy who wanted to get it right. You found his nervousness endearing, the way he fiddled with his moustache while trying to spit out the words to invite you out. How could you say no to those big brown puppy dog eyes? It was decided. The following Friday, Jack would swing by your place to pick you up for your first date: drinks at the local watering hole. If he was lucky, maybe you’d even let him have a dance by the ol’ jukebox.

At the respectable time of 7pm— sharp —Jack arrived with a gentle knock at your door. The anticipation was slowly knotting in his stomach, him frantically trying to untangle each worry and nerve until his attention turned with the sight of you standing in front of him. Jack could have caught flies with the way his mouth was hanging open, basking in your beauty. The silhouette of your dress flowing ever so gently among the evening breeze, causing his heart to race in his chest and pulse to quicken. The gentle flowers on the fabric trickled down just above where the hem of your skirt kissed your knee. Jack could feel his cheeks redden as he tried to look away, but simply couldn’t.

“Darlin’, you are gorgeous.” He breathes, clasping a firm hand to his chest as he tries to catch his breath, shooting you a look that makes butterflies soar in your tummy and knees buckle softly beneath you. His big brown eyes pooling into you, trying to take you in under the glow of the setting sun and dull porch light.

The hazy bar was filled with the regular crowd. The hum of people murmuring about their day filled the space, loud enough to drown out the music playing the background, but quiet enough to enjoy a conversation with the person in front of you. Jack had grabbed you both a drink, smirking as he asked you to pick your poison and shooting you a cheeky wink from the bar. After a couple of rounds, small talk and a shared bowl of peanuts, influenced by the liquor you’d consumed, you felt brave.

“How ‘bout a lil wager, cowboy?” You chirp, chewing softly on the straw of your drink, eyes focused on Jack’s as his fingers slowly twine themselves in yours, resting on the sticky wooden table top.

He smirks, his moustache following the coiling trail of his lips. Jack had never been one to back down from a bet, he wondered if it was too soon to show his competitive side, this was the first date after all.

You raise a single eyebrow, eagerly awaiting his reply. Jack tilts his head with a crooked smile, intrigued by your proposition and encouraging you to share what plagued your mind.

“If you can figure out how to take these coins off of this bill,” you muse, making the cotton bill taught, “only using only one hand, then the twenty is yours.” You smile, placing the twenty dollar bill on top of Jack’s empty beer bottle and stacking the spare change from the counter on top.

“And if I don’t?” He asks, seduction curling around his tone, like smoke off of a rich cigar. Jack’s dark eyes fall on you, his gazing piercing yours with a focus so intense that it sends a warmth through your belly.

You could feel your mouth go dry, suddenly very aware of your tongue and the words you are trying to choke out. Jack had taken your breath away with this sharp turn, from southern sweetheart to cowboy Casanova. In need of moisture, you clear your throat, averting your gaze from his to try and gain composure over yourself.

“Then the next round is on you.” You murmur, bringing your eyes up to meet Jack’s again, feeling yourself wanting to back away and draw first in this unspoken showdown.

“Hm…I think I could raise those stakes.” he smirks, leaning back on his bar stool. “If I don’t figure out your little party trick, then the next round is on me, darlin’.” Jack says confidently, bringing your free hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin. “But if I do, then you can keep your twenty.” He adds, shrugging as if it were a matter of fact.

“Keep my twenty? You don’t want twenty dollars?” You scoff, playfully pulling your hand away from his as you reach for another sip of your drink, using this opportunity to ground yourself during this intense kinetic exchange.

“Nah, you keep it sugar.” Jack’s sly smile creeps up his face as he leans in, resting his chin on his hand, supported by his elbow which was now glued on the sticky table.

“Come on there’s gotta be something you want, something to wager?” You instigate, trying to rev that fire growing in your belly, eyes narrowing as you try to intimidate the cowboy. Proving to him that you aren’t going to back away from him now.

He thinks for a second, pretending to come up with this idea on the spot, snapping his fingers to indicate his little eurika! moment. Little did you know, this is what Jack had wanted from the very moment you made this little bet.

“There is.” His dark, raspy tone murmurs, further coaxing your curiosity. Jack slowly leans closer, his scent swirling off of him; notes of amber, leather, musk and cinnamon, a delicious combination that makes your head feel light and knees weak.

“More valuable than twenty dollars? Cause that’s all I’ve got.” You whisper, the facade fading as you feel yourself slowly submitting to Jack and his dark gaze.

“Darlin’, it’s much more valuable.” He says softly, grazing your ear with his moustache. His calloused finger brushing a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.

“And what would that be?” You breathe, the words barely coming out louder than a whisper.

“A dance with you.” He nods towards the jukebox towards the back of the bar.

This was the one moment in a long time where Jack was thankful for his training. Without breaking eye contact, he playfully tugged on the dollar bill, pretending to pull it out from the side. For a moment, you thought you had Jack fooled— another man falling for your cute bar trick. The feeling of the last few rounds was already making its way up your body, a warm, cozy feeling wrapping itself around you. There was certainly no need for another round, and who were you kidding? Jack had already paid for every round until this point and you had a sneaking suspicion that regardless of outcome, he would insist on paying for another.

Faking a deep sigh, Jack licks his finger and swipes down on the dollar bill, freeing it from the mismatched metal weighing it down. With a smirk and the tip of his hat, he hands you back your twenty dollar bill, trying to repress a chuckle. The look on your face was priceless and all he needed in return for foiling your trick.

“Pick a song, darlin’.” He says, handing you a handful of quarters, leaning up against the fluorescent machine. You press the cool metal in as you try to think of the perfect song, nothing too cheesy or outdated, but just right.

The melodious sound of a piano playing a familiar tune starts to flow out of the jukebox. Jack’s eyes grow wide with pride as he starts to recognize the song. A flushed feeling floods your cheeks, as he reaches his large, calloused hand out, offering yours a spot in his palm.

It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside,

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

You slowly find your rhythm with Jack’s guidance, his firm yet gentle grip guiding you around the jukebox, building your confidence and chuckling softly anytime you would mutter a sheepish apology after stepping on his foot.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance.” You breathe out softly, finally making eye contact with him.

A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he leans in closer to you, your body pressing tighter into his chest. “Then there’s a lot you don’t know about me, darlin’.”

You could feel his smirk against your ear, eyes locking as he pulled away from your close embrace.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple but,

Now that it’s done

His gaze was magnetic, dark yet sweet, delicious like molasses with an affinity to coax you in. His thick, rugged hands held yours with a featherlight touch and the gentlest pressure on your lower back as he guided you around the floor. This moment was trance-like, as if you were the only two people in the bar. There was something enchanting about Jack Daniels, his ability to make you feel like the only girl in the world was dizzying. With the faintest touch, or twinkle of his eye, he had you hook, line and sinker.

It was refreshing to be out with a man like Jack — an actual man, one who wasn’t afraid of sharing his feelings with you, a man who was respectful and appreciative of you, a man who found the balance of southern chivalry and the ability to roll with the new age. With every twang of his southern drawl, your heart crept closer and closer to his. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him and those deep brown eyes, the ones that were gazing at you longingly, studying the precious features of your face.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack was drinking you in.

You had kindled something in him, something long repressed from his past and aching to explode to the forefront. The way you smiled at him made him tongue tied, he knew you were beautiful from the moment he met you, but getting to experience your beauty up close was astonishing. He tried to stifle the growing flames in his belly, employing his fear to extinguish these feelings but it only stoked the fire more, sending those flames burning. God, he wanted to kiss you so badly. He had from the moment you opened that door.

You notice a cheeky look across the cowboy’s eyes, his guiding hand slowly pushing you back from your resting place on his chest. Suddenly, the entire bar was spinning around you, once, then twice, and then you were back home in your place on Jack’s firm chest. His eyes asking for forgiveness in a childish, playful way.

I hope you don’t mind

That I put into words

How wonderful life is while

You’re in the world

Completely enraptured by one another until the sound of a wild guitar solo brought you back down to earth, the song you shared long gone and replaced by the sounds of an 80’s hair band.

A smooth Casanova through and through, Jack slowly presses his hand to your back and he slowly lowers you into a dip, your arm gripping tighter onto the back of his neck, using his taught chest as an anchor. Jack’s lips are now inches from yours, his moustache ghosting over your bottom lip, as if he were testing the waters faintly before bringing you back up to your feet.

You couldn’t decipher the soft look in his eyes, the warm brown tone being taken over by the dark pools of his irises as his thumb traces the contour of your full lips. His hot breath skimming the surface of your face, his mouth desperate and hungry for something.

A slow smile grows on your face, grateful for the liquid courage, slowly pulling his face closer to yours, lips inches from yours.

“You know, Jack…this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” You whisper softly, granting the old fashioned man permission, subconsciously knowing what his eyes had been asking. Within milliseconds, his plush lips crashed onto yours, wrapping you into a passionate embrace. The taste of mint, whiskey and something inherently Jack on his lips. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Jack slowly breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead gently to yours as he catches his breath. His stomach filled with butterflies, dragonflies and ladybugs, anything lovely and sweet that reminds him of you, going absolutely wild from the simple touch of your lips. You were magic, like a drug Jack had so deeply yearned for all of these years, and he couldn’t get enough of you. He said a silent prayer of gratitude, in complete and utter disbelief to have this second chance at love in this life. He wasn’t going to take you for granted.

banners by @saradika-graphics 🤍

tag list: @josephquinnswhore @syd-djarin

#jack Daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #joel miller #pedro pascal #jack daniels fluff #Agent whiskey fluff #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fanfiction #Jack daniels on a first date #He is a live and well in my AU ok?????#tessa's assets #pedro pascal characters #My favourite cowboy #Cowboy take me away

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duh-angel · 3 months ago

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messy hair pedro…

#yummy yum yum #pedro pascal #pedrohub #joel miller #marcus acacius #agent whiskey #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #jack daniels #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year ago

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Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️

Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.

It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.

But you endure it all - for days like this.

It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.

Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.

On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.

But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.

His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.

The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway.

The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.

‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.

‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.

With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.

Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks.

Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him.

You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him.

‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’

‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’

His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’

As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.

You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’

There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines -

And then he thrusts home inside you.

After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.

You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move.

There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.

Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure.

When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge.

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.

Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.

You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table.

‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.

‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time.

He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.

‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’

‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.

You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’

‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’

Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’

Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’

The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.

With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’

Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut

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baronessvonglitter · 11 months ago

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All Through the Night

Agent Whiskey x f! junior agent!reader | WC: 4.4K

Summary: after it's made clear that you're not welcome as a Junior Agent for the Statesman organization, Whiskey takes you under his protection for an unforgettable night

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, mentor/mentee relationship, forbidden relationship, vandalism, nightmares, 'only one bed', first time, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, no use of y/n

JACK DANIELS MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

When you're first introduced to your mentor Agent Whiskey, you're not sure if you'll get along with him. With others he seems friendly, casual, laid-back, flirtatious even. But with you he takes on a sterner tone, as if he's closed off, and from the moment you're paired up as mentor and mentee, he treats you with nothing more than solemnity. Throughout your training he doesn't praise you as you honestly wish he would, just gives a curt nod, arms crossed, mouth set in a firm line, eyes giving nothing away.

It doesn't really help that you come from a rival agency, igniting all kinds of rumors. None of the other trainees get close to you. You find it pointless to try to change their minds. You've been alone most of your life, so why try to make friends now? Especially when you're in competition with each other.

You rise through the ranks quickly, an apt pupil and adroit agent. With each test you pass with flying colors, you expect something more from Jack Daniels himself to show he's proud of your progress, even just a smile, a pat on the shoulder, but he remains as unmoved as ever.

The day comes when you're given your official agent name, and in a flurry of excitement you rush to claim yours, only for your expression to turn quizzical when you hear what your new alias is. "What the hell is a Gimlet?" you finally ask as you burst into your mentor's office.

Jack glances up at you quickly, obviously in the middle of an important call, and tells the other line he'll call them back. You pick up on the ghost of a smile that passes his lips before he catches himself and turns serious again.

"Sorry," you tell him. "Is everything okay?"

He nods. "Classified information," is all he says. But you see the look of worry in his eyes, the way he casts his gaze upon you, you can't tell if he wants you to stay or needs you to leave.

"Was Gimlet your idea?" you accuse him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nope. Wasn't my idea." As usual your heart does a triple beat at the sound of his deep voice, the Southern twang. Lately you've realized you've developed a little crush on him, but your education and your training are paramount at this point in your life. You can't be thinking about him this way, even though it's a hard feeling to suppress.

Uninvited, you sit on the edge of his desk, waiting for him to command you to get off. He doesn't. "Sounds like a Lord of the Rings character.. Gimlet.." you do a raspy little monster voice, and Jack crooks his eyebrow, looking like he wants to explode in laughter. "Sorry we can't all be as cool as Whiskey," you grin. "Oh, see that frown? Now that's what I call a Whiskey Sour."

He glares at you with mock severity and you take this moment to try to mess with him a little, to get him to open up.

"No-go on the Whiskey Sour, got it. How about 'Ten Gallon'? 'Billy the Kid'? 'Butch Cassidy?'" Teasing him is so much fun simply because you know he's an easy target, and it's as close as you've come to flirting with him.

He sighs in defeat. "You're thinking of 'Gimli.' From Lord of the Rings."

You shake your head, a smile bursting onto your lips. "Nerd."

"You really want me to lose this fight, don't you?"

"You've already lost, Roy Rogers." You playfully flick the brim of his hat.

A noticeable blush shows on his face as he straightens his hat, and as he clears his throat he adjusts himself in his chair. "So. You're using all the western ones, huh?"

"It's on theme, wouldn't you agree?"

He holds back a smirk. "Don't you have a codebreaking class to be in soon?" He stands up from his chair, adjusting his the waistband of his jeans, inadvertently drawing your attention to that area. Maybe you're imagining it, but it looks as though he's trying to hide the bulge evidencing his excitement.

Reluctantly you take the hint, getting off his desk. "So you're not going to tell me what that call was about? Shouldn't I be in the loop?"

Jack looks like he wants to spill the beans, his lips part as if to speak, and you can't help but imagine how soft those lips would feel against yours, what the slide of his tongue into your mouth would taste like. "All I can tell you is we're bumping up security on you. It's one of those 'the less you know, the better' type of deals, sweetheart."

It's the first time he's ever used a pet name for you and it sends the butterflies in your stomach in a frenzy. "Are you sure?" you ask, taking one more step towards him.

You hear him exhale, his dark brown eyes flickering with doubt. The moment between you feels like it could change everything. "I'm sure," he says at last.

You nod and start to leave, glad that at least a little progress had been made in that you got him to crack a smile.

"It's a cocktail," he says, and you turn back to look at him. "A gimlet.. it's made with gin, lime juice, and sugar."

A smile grows on your lips. "Sounds delicious.. but I really would prefer something cooler like 'French 75' or 'Absinthe.'"

"Adios, Junior Agent Gimlet.." Arms crossed, he signals it's time for you to skedaddle.

As you leave he can't help looking at your ass, the gentle sway of your hips. He's imagined all kinds of things since the day you were partnered with him, and he's managed to sequester those feelings from the way he's supposed to treat you. Times when you sought him out for his esteem, his recognition, he only fractioned it, hoping to keep the boundaries between you, make it easier on him to deny what he feels, but it's only made it worse.

Truth is, he's not only proud of you, but you've managed to get to him like no one has before. It's not just a protectiveness he feels towards you, but something deeper has grown. He hates to admit this to himself. And now, just before you made your animated entrance into his office, he was informed about a problem the agency was facing, one he couldn't share with you, at least not yet. Hell, even telling you to be careful would just set you on alarm, so he has to pretend everything is fine while you're unaware. While he's well aware you can handle your own, he just wants to keep you out of harm's way.

The rest of the day you can't help noticing that he's there, nearby. He's there when you're at lunch in the dining area, when you're studying in the library, when you're at weapons training. Not that you mind at all. You approach him towards the end of the day as you're headed back towards your dorm. "You're my security detail, aren't you?"

"You figured that out pretty quick."

"You're not exactly stealthy," you smirk.

"That stings, darlin'. But I'm not supposed to be stealthy. Just need to keep you safe."

"You're still not going to tell me why?"

He just shakes his head as he walks you to your room.

You sigh. "Are you going to stay out here all night? Like a guard or something?"

"If that's what I have to do."

It should bother you that you don't have much privacy, that your every move is going to be monitored. You assume it has something to do with your previous agency, but there's a small part of you that lacks the courage to address it. Looking at Jack, you wonder if he suspects you of wrongdoing, or if he's simply following orders.

"Good night then," you shrug. "Just remember: you'd be bored without me." Playfully sticking your tongue at him you slip inside your room.

"I'd go insane without you," he whispers just as your door clicks shut.

Not a few seconds later, he hears you calling his name, and he rushes inside to find you frozen, staring at your ransacked room. Upended furniture, your personal belongings thrown and scattered around. Drawers emptied and tossed aside. Your bed torn apart, your mirrors broken.

Questions form in your mouth but die on your lips. You have no idea who and even less idea of why. Jack immediately jumps into action, calling for a full sweep of the room for any evidence the intruder or intruders may have left behind. Meanwhile, feeling helpless, you stand out in the hallway, arms folded over your chest as the security team hurries in to investigate. You're asked to come in to check if anything was stolen, but seeing the few precious items you have still intact in your hiding place, you come to the conclusion that whoever did this was just out to scare you.

"Do they usually do things like this?" you mumble as Jack waits with you in the hallway. Some of the other junior agents are peeking out to see what's going on, and upon seeing your death glare they go back inside their dorms. "Seems petty to initiate someone by doing something so cruel."

"Sweetheart, I don't think it was no initiation," he says. "I'm pretty sure you don't think that either."

It finally catches up to you, the loneliness you've suppressed, the emotions you've had to swallow because you wanted your work to be your life. The friends you didn't make have now all turned to possible enemies. It's the loneliest feeling you've ever had.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," Jack tells you, and to your surprise he kisses your forehead. "I'm here. And I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You nod, grateful for his assuring words. "I thought I didn't care, but I just hate feeling so unwanted here," you swallow the tears that threaten to fall, having kept strong for so long.

Watching you like this is a dagger to his heart. You're usually so upbeat, so full of sass, and this incident bringing you this low really breaks him. He wipes your tears away. Your fear is normal, and even though he can't promise to remove it completely, he wants to at least make you feel a little better. "This is why I don't want.. just the thought of you being in danger.."

Your eyes grow wide as you stamp down the hope that he's speaking from anything more than a mentor standpoint. "Danger is what you're training me for.. why don't you want me near it?"

Jack clenches his jaw. He doesn't want to admit what goes against all rational thought, against all logic. He's protective because of how he feels about you. When did he become such a weak fool? He inhales and exhales slowly, hardening his features to hide his emotions. "I just don't like the thought of you getting hurt."

All you can do is absorb this information and store it away to think about another day. "I don't want to stay in there. The whole room feels.. violated." You cross your arms, shivering.

His mouth is dry as he asks, "Do you want to come spend the night in my room? It's safe, no one's getting in there. I'll keep watch the entire night."

Blinking, you grasp what he's offering. "Only if it's really okay with you."

"Your room is so you," you compliment, looking at the decor as Jack brings you inside his room. "Very masculine. Very John Wayne." The walls are decorated with buffalo prints and mounted longhorn steer antlers, and above you there are wooden ceiling beams, which draw your attention to the adobe fireplace in the corner of the room. Both woven and cowhide rugs lay at various places on the floor. You take from him the bundle of clothing and hygienic necessities you brought from your room and go into his restroom to quickly change and wash up for the night.

"So, where should I sleep?" you ask, emerging from the restroom.

"You take the bed," he says gruffly. "I'll take the sofa," he says, already making himself comfortable.

"You're sure?" You start to feel bad for disrupting his peace.

"Of course I'm sure. Where else you gonna sleep? The closet?"

You laugh a little, starting to feel more at ease. "In that case.." you tentatively climb into his bed, done in western prints, the headboard made of brown leather.

He watches you get into his bed. There's a certain gracefulness to the everyday action. Damn if everything about you doesn't arouse him. He has to take a deep breath to keep himself grounded. But it's his bed you're getting into, your skin touching his sheets, your head resting on his pillow. He clenches his jaw.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" you ask.

"I can stay awake all night if I have to. Make sure you're safe."

"Whiskey, you don't have to do that.."

A little smile crosses his lips. "Then I'll sleep once you're asleep."

"Once I'm asleep just get in with me. This is your room and I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed."

His heart beats double-time at your suggestion. There's no way she can possibly mean that he tells himself. "I'm fine here," he says, nearly choking on his words.

You nod against his pillow, which has his scent. "Well if you change your mind.. this mattress is heavenly." You close your eyes and shift your hips so you can lay on your side.

Damn it. That isn't something he needs to hear. He doesn't need your voice to sound so damn alluring like that. The way your hips roll as you shift position is sending his mind to places he doesn't need to go right now. He takes his eyes off you just to alleviate the flow of blood to his dick, which is already pretty hard.

It's late when he realizes you're finally deeply asleep. From where he rests on the sofa he watches you sleep, admires your beauty in the dim light of the room. He doesn't realize he's also fallen asleep until he hears you cry out in your sleep, your body tossing about. He jolts awake and goes to you, wraps his arms around you as if to shield you from your nightmares. "Sweetheart, wake up," he says gently. "I've got you."

You wake, shivering, your nightmare still looming large in your mind's eye until Jack's soothing embrace eases you back to reality. "It was so real," you mutter, taking a gulp of water from a glass that he offers you. "Would you.. would you get in with me? I just need to be held right now."

He hesitates only a moment before getting in on the other side of the bed. You slide over to make room, then scoot back towards him, allowing him to pull you close with his arm around you.

And damn it if he doesn't love the way you feel against him.

Not asleep yet, you let your body get into a comfortable place, basking in the warmth of his body, your hands resting on his, settled just below your chest. Without thinking about it, you trace the outlines of his fingers, his hands much larger than yours. His other hand is just above your hip, warm, pleasant.

Actually, 'pleasant' is too gentle a word to describe it. It's an intimate touch without being too forward. So many intrusive thoughts come to your mind. And in this rare moment of closeness, you let them win.

Closing your eyes you take a deep, silent breath as you take his hand from your hip and lead it lower, beneath the hem of your pajama shorts. Jack gives a little growl, indulging in the feel of your soft, smooth skin against his fingertips. "We shouldn't be doin' this," he whispers as his hand stills. You can feel the thumping of his heartbeat against your back. "We're breaking a lot of rules right now, just bein' here like this."

You can't help feeling a little guilty. You got yourself into this mess and all he did was try to pull you out. And now you were just a huge inconvenience, apart from also being a huge temptation. "No one would know but us," you tell him, turning on your side to face him. "I know you're my mentor, but I'm not a child. I want this."

He's quiet a moment, looking into your eyes, and for a moment you fear he will reprimand you, turn you down. It would be the worst embarrassment you can imagine. But then he leans in and kisses you, softly at first then with more pressure, and your lips part for his tongue as yours presses against his.

His hands make their way down your body, trailing across your skin as if you're the most delicate thing he's ever seen. Your hips rise up, inviting his touch, and damn it if he isn't ready to just rip your clothes off. Your body buzzes with exhilaration as Jack presses kisses down your neck, your chest, all the way down to give a kiss on your hip. "Is this okay?" he asks, breath shallow as his eyes search yours.

"Yes," comes your whimpering reply, and your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the border where your pajama shorts meet your thigh, and he slowly pulls them down. You arch your back, lifting your hips to help him, and your panties and shorts come off in one go as he slides them down your thighs until he removes them completely.

"I want to see all of you," he whispers, and you nod, pulling up your top, completely exposed to him. You watch him with wide eyes, awaiting his reaction.

Jack licks his lips, looking as though he could devour you. But he takes his time, his fingers slowly tracing up your torso, gently cupping your breasts and grazing his thumb across your nipples. Your sweet little gasp sends sparks firing in his eyes. "You're so sensitive to my touch," he whispers, as if witnessing a miracle. He laps his tongue over each bud, pursing his lips around it and groaning in need as you moan, lifting your hips to his. Even through his night clothes he can feel your heat, your moisture. "I need to taste you," he growls.

"Wait," you whisper. "I need to tell you.. I've never done this before."

This is something he doesn't expect. You always seem so sure of yourself, so direct in what you want, that he never would have thought you'd be inexperienced. "You really want me to be your first?" he asks, growing excited at the prospect of being with you.

"I want this.. with you," you assure him. "There's no one I trust more."

That's all he needs to hear from you. You're giving yourself to him, trusting him. "That means the world to me," he tells you. And with that, he doesn't hesitate. His hands move down your waist, across your hips and between your thighs. Spurred on by your shuddering sigh, he traces your slick folds with his fingertips until you beg him to finally touch you deeper. He eases two fingers in and out, his thumb tracing circular motions over you clit, barely restraining a growl as you eagerly clamp down on his digits. He watches, rapt, as you bite your lip to keep from moaning. He wants to give you more, to make you see stars while he's showing you what it can be like between lovers.

You feel like a god damn queen the moment he slips further down between your legs, gently raising them and getting himself settled. Heart hammering wildly, you gasp as you feel his tongue on your clit, gently sweeping over the sensitive flesh as he continues to work his fingers in and out. On a gasp your fingers grab his hair, causing him to growl and cup your butt with both hands as he resumes his attention on you, tongue flicking over your clit, along your folds, dipping into your crease, lapping up your sweet honey as if he's never going to have another meal ever again. Your blood grows hot and you're unable to even think of anything else but the burgeoning pleasure, and just when you think you might explode from need, the sweet, pulsing feeling takes over. You cry out loud, quivering as Jack makes you come.

He pulls away slowly once you're done, pressing gentle kisses on the insides of your thighs, working his way back up your body with his lips. "You okay there, darlin'? Need a minute to collect yourself?"

You nod, laughing a little, on the verge of giggles because your body has just experienced something so wonderful. "I'm good.. I'm perfect.." you manage to say, and there's a light in your eyes that affirms this.

"You are perfect, we are in agreement on that," he smiles, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face, still flushed from your orgasm.

"Jack," you whisper, using his given name for the first time. "I'm ready.. I want you."

There's a delicious urgency as you help him remove his night clothes. His masculine build exceeds anything you have fantasized about him. His chest is broad with a sprinkling of light brown hair on his chest, and more of that curly hair leads from his navel down to his cock, which he encourages you to touch. It's thick, warm, heavy in your hand, growing more firm with each little stroke you give him.

You both have a need required to be met, but Jack wants to do this slowly, to build it up and make it the best possible experience for you. He has a strong desire to tear into you but he restrains himself, opting instead to kiss you softly, pressing himself to your warmth. He wants you to be a complete puddle for him to take care of once he's finished with you.

As he explores your body you explore his, running your hands over his muscled arms and back, savoring every part. You whimper as he pulls you closer, and your heart gallops. Before he loses himself in the moment, Jack reaches into his bedside drawer for a condom and carefully puts it on, then goes back to kissing you, gently nudging your thighs apart to make room for him. "If you want to stop, tell me," he says to you, and you reply with a kiss, eagerly bringing your body to his and he has no other thought in his head than to make you his once and for all.

Your eyes lock with his as he presses forward, easing himself in just a little at a time. Jesus, the pressure is so sweet, he's only an inch or so in and already he's stretching you. "I'm gonna take it easy with ya, cowgirl," he whispers, pulling out then easing back in, wanting you to be as wet as possible so you can take all of him. Your sweet, sharp little intakes of breath let him know you're feeling good, that you need more, and with each stroke he goes in deeper, until you're completely filled with him, as if you've needed him this way forever, as if you'd been born just to be his.

"You feel so good," you tell him, placing a kiss upon his neck, the skin of his throat rosy with the labor of holding back.

He sighs. eyes closed then open again because he wants to see you laid out beneath him this way. "God, you feel so right.." He moves his hips against you in slow, fluid movements, and in turn you take more of him into you, giving him a home within you. Jack's lips move over yours, then nuzzle your neck, tracing circular patterns over your breasts and back again, while your hands explore his broad shoulders, his brawny arms and the steady pacing of the pistoning of his hips driving against yours as the euphoria within your heart swells. "There's my good girl.. ah, such a tight fit.. but you're so nice and wet for me.."

"More," you gasp, nails lightly scratching on his back, and he gives you just that, taking your breath away as your bodies move together, quickly, towards your common goal. The electricity grows between you, the sweet, sweet friction doubles in your efforts, eliciting desperate moans and sweet gasps. Jack can feel the tension growing within you, the excitement building up to its greatest height. Jack whispers, "That's it, my sweet darlin', come for me.. oh I can feel you squeezin' all around me.." You whisper his name in a frenzy of desire, whisper it like a prayer as you feel the pleasure climb higher and higher. Without warning you shatter beneath him, crying out as you come.

Your sounds are the most divine music ever played. He can no longer hold back, gaining momentum as he brings himself to the tipping point, burying his face in your neck when he comes, releasing with a satiated exhale. You hold onto him, both of you trying to catch your breath, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. He looks up and smiles at you. "You doin' okay, darlin'?" he asks. His body is still but he remains inside of you, wanting to keep the feeling a little longer.

"I think I can die happy having experienced that with you," you sigh, tracing the outline of his jaw.

"You're too sweet," he shakes his head, grinning like a fool as he kisses your lips. "And I'd be more than happy to do that again and again.."

"Oh?" Your heart jumps for joy. "I suppose I could find time for that to happen," you tease him.

Jack smiles and nibbles on your neck. "Good, because I can think up a few other things to try."

You blush, despite still being naked and entangled with him. "What kinds of things?"

"Things like new positions, new places.. maybe once you're comfortable you'll let me tie you down and give you a little tease.." he smirks. "You know, just a few thoughts," he says casually with a gleam in his eye before kissing you gently.

"Holy hell," you whisper, utterly turned on again as you return his kiss. "I can't wait.."

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey smut #kingsman golden circle #mentor x mentee #only one bed #ao3 smut #ao3 fanfic

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