#Agent whiskey fanfic

[punkshort]

Hot Chocolate

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x f!reader

Summary: You lead a quiet, boring life in a podunk town, but when a certain secret agent stumbles into your world needing your help to catch a criminal at the local carnival, your quiet little life changes forever.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, canon-typical violence (fist fights, whips and lassos, of course), smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, sexual tension

WC: 6.5K

Written for @pedgito's Summer Lovin' challenge ❤️

Humidity clung to the air, and although the sun had long set, the heat hung heavy in the fairgrounds but that didn't keep the whole town from coming out to the carnival that night. You lived in a small town with not a lot to do but every year the same carnival came through and set up shop for two weeks, attracting people within an hour's drive, and every year since you were sixteen you worked there for some extra cash. Back when you were younger, your earnings tended to go towards the booze you brought to the parties in the middle of the woods, surrounded by the familiar faces of people you grew up with and their siblings. Now that you were in your twenties, that money was put toward rent and a car payment.

When you were sixteen, you had a very different idea of what your life would look like by now. Hell, you didn't even think you'd be living in this town, let alone working the same shitty waitress job at the same shitty restaurant while you tried and failed to come up with a better career path. Money was tight and the last thing you wanted to do was move back in with your parents, so you picked up extra jobs here and there. The carnival wasn't a bad gig. Pay was based on seniority and since you had worked there for so many years, the money was good and the jobs were mostly pretty fun, but it was only two weeks and you would be back to pinching pennies again.

But a week before the carnival was scheduled to arrive, a handsome man with dark hair, even darker cowboy hat and yellow aviators strolled into your restaurant with a cocky smirk and requested to sit in your section, and everything changed.

You had greeted him like any other table and subtly stole glances his way while he studied the menu, trying to figure out if you recognized him. No, you surely would remember him. Aside from his obvious good looks, he stuck out amongst the usual crowd. Dark grey, form fitting suit with a matching tie and cowboy boots? That... you definitely would have remembered.

He leaned back in the booth, one arm draped across the back of the worn cushion while his eyes slowly dragged down your frame. You glanced around nervously, suddenly feeling like you were being judged, then his eyes traveled back up and stopped on your name tag. He repeated your name out loud as if it were a question and finally looked into your eyes. His intensity sent a shiver down your spine but you nodded, confirming your name, and he smiled. It was a slow smile, one that began as a twitch in the corner of his mouth and tugged to one side, pulling his dark mustache with it until his lips spread so wide you could see his teeth. They were straight and he actually still had all of them. Yeah, he definitely wasn't from your hometown.

He didn't come back into the restaurant after that, but it wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

Two days later you made a pit stop by the Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. You made your way through the parking lot to your beat up car, stopping dead in your tracks when he came into view. He was leaning casually against your driver's side door, one ankle hooked over the other and still wearing that suit. Or maybe it was a different suit. You couldn't remember but what you did remember was the bead of sweat that trickled down from underneath his Stetson, leaving an enticing wet streak along the side of his head. He said your name and smiled, trying to disarm you, but you were still wary. He held up both palms flat as if to prove he wasn't dangerous but something told you his hands were just as threatening as any other weapon.

"Got a minute to talk, sugar?"

You glanced around the parking lot and swallowed, every natural instinct screaming at you to run back inside the store for help but instead you found yourself slowly walking towards him, as if being pulled by a magnet or some other enchanting force.

It was a bit of a blur after that. He flashed his badge, Jack Daniels, it read, with the word Statesmen being tossed around quite a bit while he explained what he did for a living, all of it sounding rather impressive but also confusing. Espionage. Spies. Undercover.

"What's all that got to do with me?" you had said. He smiled.

"Glad you asked."

Apparently he had been trying to track down a dangerous arms dealer for years. With some information Jack squeezed out of a low level guard, he discovered the arms dealer was able to be so successful because he traveled with the carnival to evade local and federal law enforcement. Always being on the move kept him under the radar, and now Jack had his sights set on taking him down when the carnival arrived in your town, but he needed help.

Jack needed someone who was on the inside, someone who earned years of trust by working for the same people and living in the same town, someone completely unsuspecting.

You.

At first, you said no, unwilling to put yourself at risk even though he promised he would be hiding in the shadows and would be in constant communication with you through an earpiece and camera. Then he offered up a few thousand dollars to sweeten the deal and your resolve crumbled. He promised you would be under government protection and your involvement would be minimal: you just needed to find the target and let Jack know which booth he was going to work. Plus, you really needed the money.

That was how you found yourself in the mid-afternoon before your shift started being suited up with impressive, high tech gear. Jack watched patiently from the corner of the trailer. For the first time, he wasn't wearing a suit. He elected to wear a pair of dark wash jeans and a white tshirt that clung to his broad chest but he was still sporting his signature cowboy hat. A beautiful woman named Ginger outfitted you with a nearly invisible earpiece and installed a microscopic camera in the button of your polo shirt. She assured you there was a tiny microphone in the camera and that Jack and the entire team assigned to the case would be watching and ready to jump into action if anything went sideways.

Simple enough, you thought.

"How're you holdin' up, darlin'?" Jack mumbled, pinching your elbow between his fingers as he led you out of the unsuspecting double wide that currently hid Ginger and all her expensive equipment and into his Bronco.

"Uh..." you began, throat suddenly feeling dry when he started the car and turned onto the familiar stretch of road. They had set up a base in the woods about two miles away from the carnival which meant you would be there in less than five minutes. Your head was spinning, the adrenaline suddenly coursing through your veins and making you lightheaded. "Not so great, actually."

He turned his head and studied you for a moment before pulling off the road and throwing the car into park. He shifted in his seat so he could face you, one elbow resting on the back of his seat and the other on the steering wheel. "I ain't gonna let anythin' bad happen to you, you hear me?" You hadn't realized your breathing was becoming more labored and your face felt hot. He was probably just worried you were about to pass out and that's why he reached out to cup the back of your neck, forcing your attention off the carnival peeking through the trees and onto his face. Your gaze lingered on his dark brown eyes and chiseled jaw and hooked nose that looked like it would be perfect nestled between your thighs.

"You promise?" you whispered, tone a little more sultry than you intended. He swallowed and nodded.

"'Course. I'll be right there the whole time. All's you gotta do is tell me where he's gonna be and I'll do all the dirty work," he told you with a wink. Your eyes darkened a fraction, having a completely different idea of what kind of dirty work you'd like him to do before you blinked and snapped out of it. You chalked it up to your nerves but it was too late. He saw it in your eyes and he clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then to the camera in your shirt before slowly pulling his hand away from the back of your neck.

"What code word d'you wanna use in case you need help and can't say it?" he asked, shifting back into work mode and merging into traffic.

You thought it over for a moment, grateful for the distraction.

"Hot chocolate."

He cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, I don't think it's something I would accidentally say because who the hell would order hot chocolate in this heat?"

He smiled wider. "Fair enough."

Jack dropped you off at the entrance of the carnival, reminding you he wouldn't be far behind and to stay alert. You bobbed and weaved your way through the crowded thoroughfare, the late afternoon sun beating down on the masses as they pushed wagons of children or carried various prizes under their arms while drinking cold lemonade or licking ice cream to combat the heat. You managed to get to the air conditioned office five minutes before your shift started and clocked in before examining the schedule. Jack had warned you the target wouldn't use his real name, so he made you study multiple photos of him the day before. Balding, but a dark horseshoe of hair curved around his head. He had a mustache, too, but not like Jack. The target's mustache was bushy and unkept, but Jack warned you that could have changed. He had a paunchy belly and he was approximately 5'10" but the most notable feature was a wide, pale scar that stretched from his right elbow to halfway down his forearm.

You glanced around the somewhat crowded office. Nobody seemed to fit that description so you focused on the schedule. You were set to work the lemonade stand. One of the more boring jobs, but at least you were with one of your good friends, Stephanie, who was working the candied apple stand next door.

"All good?" you heard Jack's gravelly voice echo through your earpiece. You had no idea how to answer that without looking like you were talking to yourself so you turned to a mirror and gave a quick thumbs up. He chuckled and you had to bite back a smile. "Alright, where are you workin' so I can get set up nearby?"

Again, you weren't sure how to answer but just then Stephanie breezed through the door. You called out her name and waved as she punched in and headed over to you, giving you a sweaty hug.

"We're working together tonight. You're on apples, I'm on lemonade next door," you told her, hearing Jack confirm your location in your ear.

"Awesome, should be a slow night after dinner," she replied, hooking her arm through yours and leading you back out into the busy dirt road lined with vendors and food carts.

As she predicted, you were rather occupied until the sun set and people began to indulge in fried dough and rides, leaving your little section of the fairgrounds quiet. For the first time in hours you glanced around, wondering if you could spot Jack, but he was no where to be found.

"So, did you meet any guys so far this summer?" Stephanie asked you, leaning over her counter and popping her gum loudly between her molars.

"Nah, not really," you replied, feeling the tips of your ears burn, knowing Jack was listening. "You?"

"Just one but he turned out to be an asshole," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "We gotta get out of this town, girl. I swear there's no one good left. I'm either related to them or already dated them and I can't stand any of 'em."

"Yeah, maybe one day," you replied, glancing around again.

"I'm serious. Maybe we oughta make a plan, y'know? Like we always said we would? Ain't you sick of waiting tables?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," you muttered. "But where would we go? We don't know anyone outside of here."

"I got a cousin up north, maybe we can visit her and see how we like it."

For a second you almost forgot the mission when, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a man matching the target's description disappear into the crowd. You squinted but you only saw the back of him and he was quickly getting away.

"Hey, can you cover for me?" you asked, already tossing your apron off and smoothing down your skirt.

"Yeah, sure. Been dead here for the past hour, take your time."

You hustled down the street, pushing people out of the way as you tried to catch up with the man you saw.

"Sugar, I lost ya, slow down," Jack's voice crackled in your ear.

"Can't, I think I saw him," you replied.

"Do not engage, y'hear me?" Jack said sternly. He sounded breathless now, no doubt rushing to catch up with you.

"I won't, I just wanna see where he's going."

You broke through the crowd and swiveled your head from side to side, desperately trying to spot the balding man. Now that you thought about it, he looked like he was wearing the same color uniform you had on. Your pulse raced as you turned around frantically, and just when you thought you lost him you spotted him walking up the steps to the house of mirrors. When he reached out to open the door, you saw the telltale scar and gasped.

"Jack! It's him!" you said, racing through the crowd again, dodging groups of children laughing and eating cotton candy.

"... stay... where are... losin' you-" you heard Jack's voice cutting in and out through your earpiece but the excitement got the best of you and you charged forward into the house of mirrors, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving you in a mostly darkened room. The only sounds you could hear were muffled conversations from families walking by.

"Jack?" you whispered, tapping on the earpiece and taking a few shaky steps forward. "Jack, if you can hear me, I'm in the house of mirrors. He's-"

"Looking for someone?" a man's deep voice said from over your shoulder, making you jump. You swiveled around and tried not to gasp in fear. It was him: Vic Leary, aka The Falcon. It was almost laughable how Jack had been chasing the man for years only to have him directly in front of you after a few hours. He took a menacing step forward and you swallowed tightly.

"Yeah, actually. I'm looking for my friend," you said, taking a small step backwards, a step deeper into the attraction.

"That right?" Vic sneered, taking yet another step closer. "Well I'm the only one here. Sure you ain't looking for me?"

You shook your head vehemently. "N-nope. I'm supposed to meet a friend here any minute, he's meeting me with some hot chocolate," you said the last part loudly and Vic frowned. Then he seemed to piece together that you were bugged or maybe he just saw his opportunity to strike because he lunged forward. Luckily, you were prepared and stumbled backwards out of reach, causing him to fall forward on his hands and knees. You spun around and raced through the dizzying hall of mirrors, Vic's angry curses and threats shouting after you.

The next tunnel had a wall of mirrors that shifted, causing you to feel like the floor was moving. You stretched your arms out and blinked rapidly, stumbling through and glancing over your shoulder in a panic, wondering where he went. It was quiet. His yelling stopped. Did Jack find him?

The next room was a literal maze, the walls and ceilings covered in mirrors, some curved and warped, some jagged and angular. You couldn't think of a worse place to hide and you needed to get the hell out of there.

"Can anyone hear me?" you whispered into your polo shirt, wincing when all you heard was sharp feedback in your ear. You turned a corner, jumping when you saw movement but calmed down when you realized it was your own reflection six times over. You heaved a sigh of relief and took another look around, trying to decide where to go next when a big, sweaty body jumped out from behind a mirror in front of you, tackling you to the ground. You screamed bloody murder and tried to squirm away, but he had you pinned to the ground with a hand around your throat. You scratched and kicked and yelled but it was no use. His fingers gripped the side of your throat and he watched with a sick smile as you struggled to drag in air, all the while clawing at the backs of his hands so hard, you drew blood. And just when you thought you might pass out, a black cowboy boot swung from behind your head and kicked Vic directly across the jaw, making him yelp in pain and fall backwards.

You coughed and scrambled away, clutching your throat and looking up to find Jack, his shoulders and chest heaving and his eyebrows pinched together in fury. Without taking his eyes off Vic, who was cupping his mouth, his hand collecting blood, he asked, "you alright, sugar?"

You could only nod and he told you to wait for him outside, but when you stood and took a few steps back the way you came, you saw Vic stand up and run in the opposite direction, nimbly dodging the mirrors, too familiar with the maze to be slowed down. Nostrils flared, Jack reached for his belt and grabbed a braided piece of leather. His thumb pressed down on a small button and like magic, the rest of the whip unfurled at his side. He then spun it over his head twice before snapping it forward, circling around the target's neck and yanking him back to the ground with a grunt.

Jack disappeared deeper into the maze, his grip tight. You looked over your shoulder, back to the entrance, then groaned and followed Jack. When you rounded the corner, he was towering over the suspect, whip back on his belt, Vic looking like he was knocked out cold. You peered around the last mirror, hiding from view while Jack pressed something on his watch and began to speak to a small hologram of an older looking man with a beard. He was telling him that the suspect was in custody and needed backup while he dug out a pair of metal handcuffs with his free hand.

Jack was distracted and didn't realize Vic had begun to move, but you did. When Jack's back was turned, Vic quietly rose to his feet and pulled out a knife from the back of his pants. He raised his arm above his head, ready to plunge the blade into Jack's throat. You raced forward and swung your leg out, hitting the backs of his knees with your shin and bringing him back down to the ground with a thud before he had a chance to inflict any harm.

Swirling around, Jack ended the call without warning and punched Vic directly in the nose. You heard a sickening crunch of bone and a howl of pain from the man's throat, but just as Jack was about to grab his arms and haul him to his feet, Vic rolled to the side and jumped up with a surprising amount of agility. Jack groaned and reached behind him, pulling out what appeared to be a lasso. He calmly glared after Vic, who was nearly to the exit, while circling the rope above his head. The lasso began to glow an icy blue, mesmerizing you for a moment until he snapped it down with an electric crack, wrapping and pinching the rope around Vic's lower leg.

You couldn't believe your eyes when his leg cleanly and completely severed below the knee. Slapping both palms over your mouth to muffle your screams, you curled up on the floor and watched as Jack approached Vic, who was making noises so pained and fearful that you were certain you would hear them in your nightmares for the rest of your life.

Jack was handcuffing him and warning him he shouldn't have run while the man sobbed pathetically in a pool of his own blood. You just stared, your whole body trembling at the carnage, completely numb. You didn't even hear when three other agents breezed past you to collect the target, followed shortly thereafter by a small cleaning crew wearing protective gear from head to toe. Suddenly the maze, which seemed so massive before, was cramped and making you feel claustrophobic.

His eyes finally met yours once Vic was officially in custody. His expression went from one of relief to one of deep concern when he saw the state you were in and he rushed forward to collect you off the floor.

"Hey, don't look at that," he murmured, but your gaze was still pinned on the blood staining the floor. "Eyes on me, darlin'."

You forced your eyes away from the mess and onto him, like he requested, but you were finding it difficult to breathe. Each inhale was a struggle, like your lungs couldn't expand all the way, and each exhale left your ears ringing.

"Get me out of here, Jack."

He nodded once and helped you stand. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, he ushered you back through the maze towards the entrance. Once you were able to take in a deep breath of fresh, humid air, you started to feel a little better but the adrenaline was still coursing through your body, making you feel like you were practically vibrating.

People streamed past you laughing and joking, blissfully unaware of what just happened while you sat on a nearby bench with your head between your legs. Jack soothingly rubbed your upper back and waited for you to calm down. Your energy was too intense, the vivid images of what you just witnessed too strong and Jack seemed to sense it.

"Here," he said, leaning back and lifting his hips from the bench. Your eyes instantly locked onto his lap, where his fingers began to remove a small flask from his belt buckle. When he handed it to you, hoping the alcohol would help calm your nerves, you just continued to stare, all wild eyed and rabid.

"Have a little, it'll help," he urged while trying to ignore the hungry look in your eye. You blinked slowly and, with shaky fingers, took the flask and unscrewed the top. You winced a little at the burn but a minute later, your stomach felt warm and your muscles relaxed. You handed it back to him and he took a sip himself without breaking eye contact with you, then fastened it back onto his belt. You leaned forward, once again feeling inexplicably drawn to him, and brushed your fingertips lightly over the flask. You were playing with fire and you knew it. His eyes bore into yours with a blazing heat and he whispered, "you need somethin' stronger, sugar?"

You sunk your teeth into your lower lip and nodded. He stood up and grabbed your hand, glancing around the fairgrounds manically, the adrenaline from the past twenty minutes getting the best of both of you, it seemed.

The choices were limited and the closest area with any semblance of privacy was the bathroom and you both seemed disgusted by that prospect because he muttered fuck it under his breath and dragged you off the main road towards the dark parking lot.

Once he reached his Bronco, he twisted around and violently yanked at the buttons on your polo shirt. You yelped in surprise but when he opened his hand and showed you the button he tore off with the camera attached, you nodded. He flung it into the mud and dropped his earpiece, then you scrambled to do the same. Once you were as alone as you possibly could be, he pinned you against the side of his truck and pinched your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to look at him.

"You sure?" was all he asked, pupils blown wide.

You nodded. "Please."

He groaned and crashed his mouth against yours, dropping his hand from your jaw to wrap around the back of your neck. He tasted like Jameson and you imagined you did, too. "Such a polite little thing," he whispered before plunging his tongue inside your mouth and licking past your teeth. You were moments away from unzipping his jeans and letting him take you right then and there when you heard a chorus of laughter from the next row of cars and you pulled away, gasping for air. Jack appeared just as wrecked as you felt, eyes all wild and skin hot with arousal.

"C'mon," he said, as if reading your mind he tugged you away from the car so he could open the door to the backseat. You practically launched yourself inside and by the time you spun around he was slamming the door shut behind him. He gazed at you for just a moment before shedding his cowboy hat and pressing your body into the seat, picking up where he left off. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather and gunpowder and his cologne, all ingrained in the fabric after years under his care.

His lips traveled down, grazing against your jaw and nipping at the spot behind your ear. His mustache tickled your skin, making you giggle, and you felt him smile against your throat at the sound. His lips latched onto your neck, sucking a bruise there while your hands dipped underneath the hem of his white tshirt. The fabric bunched up around your wrists the higher your fingers traveled up his torso, reveling in the way the muscles in his back twitched under your touch. Then his hips dropped against yours, resting his weight heavy between your legs, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

"Jack?" you whispered hoarsely.

"Mhm?"

"I-I want you," you stammered when his thumbs brushed over your breasts, nipples hardening through your shirt. "Want you so bad."

"You got me, sweetheart. I'm all yours," he mumbled, teeth scraping gently over your collarbone as he continued to move achingly slow further and further down your body.

You moaned and arched your back, pressing your chest into him. "Jack, I want you now," you tried again, and he clicked his tongue with a smirk.

"Where'd those manners run off to?"

"Please," you groaned. He hoisted himself up, holding his weight above you, the palms of his hands pressing into the seat on either side of your ribs.

"Say it again f'me, sugar. Y'just sound so pretty when you're beggin' for it."

"Please," you whispered this time, then dragged your hand down his stomach, stopping to cup his erection through the thick denim of his jeans. You rubbed the palm of your hand up and down enticingly, drawing a quiet moan from his throat. He hissed and pressed himself into your hand, rocking his hips and watching your fingers work him up and down. "Please, Jack, I need you."

His eyes flashed up to yours once before he sat back on his heels, fumbling with the tiny flask on his belt with an urgency that told you he heard exactly what he wanted to hear. He tossed both items on the floor before undoing his jeans and then, seeming to remember you were still fully clothed, dragged his hands up your thighs and under your skirt. His palms cupped your ass and squeezed before hooking his fingers around the edge of your panties and tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help, feeling slightly disappointed there wouldn't be enough room or time for either of you to fully undress, but you would make do.

"Goddamn, that's a pretty sight," he groaned when he pushed your skirt up enough to get a good look between your legs. He ran the pad of his thumb through your slit and you began to squirm impatiently. "Now, normally I'd prefer to take my time," he began, and your heart thundered wildly in your chest when he pushed his jeans down and pulled out his cock, hard and leaking. "But it would appear we don't have the luxury today, darlin'." He used one hand to steady your hip and the other to line himself up with your entrance, then you held your breath when he started to press forward, parting your walls and forcing you to stretch around his girth.

"Shit," you whined, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut.

"Yeah, that's it," he whispered, watching as he slowly disappeared inside you, only looking back to your face once he was buried to the hilt. "How's that? Feelin' better now?" he asked a little breathlessly. You nodded and forced your eyes to open.

"Feels good," you murmured, licking your dry lips and gasping when he began to move. "Yeah, just like that, faster - please faster," you added hastily when you remembered his comment earlier about manners. The corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk before falling forward onto his elbows. He tugged one of your knees up so you hooked your leg around his waist, spreading your hips wide before feverishly latching his mouth onto yours, muffling your noises when he began to snap his hips faster and deeper.

"This what you needed?" he whispered in your ear. You tightened your arms around his neck, holding him close, the desire suddenly overwhelming to have him completely consume you and keep you in the safety of his arms. "Needed me to fuck you and turn that little brain of yours off for a while? Hm?"

"Yes," you admitted shamelessly. He was fucking everywhere. His mouth was drifting from your lips to your neck to your ear, his hands groping and gliding along your stomach or legs, his cock sliding smoothly in and out, each time catching on that one spot that made you see stars. Even his body heat felt like it was fully encompassing you. And he was right: it was exactly what you needed.

"Christ, too fuckin' good, sweetheart," he breathed, his hips stuttering for a moment before resuming a punishing pace. The way his lips melted against your own while the tip of his cock reached a depth inside you didn't know was possible was making your vision blur and your breath ragged. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn't yet considered you wouldn't see him again after that night. Nor did you have a chance to realize how long you had been gone from the lemonade stand. Nothing else outside of his car mattered.

"Jack," you whimpered as heat began to lick and wrap around your spine. Your stomach tightened and your mouth was wide open, pulling in mouthfuls of air as quickly as you could. You were so close but you just needed a little more. He was busy pushing your polo shirt up and yanking down your bra, his hot tongue swiping greedily over your nipples one at a time with an appreciative groan before he sunk his teeth into your soft flesh, no doubt trying to leave a mark to remember him by.

"Love the way you say my name, darlin'. Music to my ears."

As if he could read your mind, his had slipped between your bodies and began to thumb at your clit. Your thighs tensed and you cried out, his name the only word your brain was able to conjure up, which, based on his enthusiastic reaction, pleased him greatly. You couldn't stop yourself. Your body began to meet him, thrust for thrust, your hips rolling, matching his rhythm and forcing his thumb to apply more pressure. Before you even had a chance to warn him your orgasm crashed down around you, so powerful and intense that it sent you reeling, his name and a string of unintelligible curses the only thing falling from your lips. And he fucking loved it.

"Oh, look at you," he groaned, "pretty little thing, all fucked out. Goddamn, you're gonna make me come, darlin'." His large hand splayed across your ribs and he stared, slack jawed, at the way your tits bounced from the force of his thrusts. "Shit, shit, shit," he grumbled, his jaw locking as he closed in on his release. "Where, sugar?"

"Inside," you moaned, trying to force your eyes to stay open so you could watch. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and dragged his eyes back up to your face.

"Don't say that."

"Please," you whispered, and you could see his resolve crumbling.

"Fuck," he groaned, then he shifted so he could grab onto your hips with both hands. It didn't take much longer, but each thrust after that was harsh and unforgiving until his body stilled and he came with a broken moan that you made sure to commit to memory. He panted for air and tilted his head back when he was done, his fingers still gripping your waist. An incoming call came through, lighting up the face of his high-tech watch, but he ignored it. Once he caught his breath and he began to soften inside you, he rolled his head forward, gazing down at you in admiration. "You're somethin' else," he rasped, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smirk.

"You sound surprised," you teased.

"I am, but not because of this," he said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against your lips. He slid out of you with a grunt and you sharply sucked in air at the loss. His dark eyes lingered a moment on his spend dripping out of you before gently fixing your bra and top. The sweet gesture made you smile.

"What, then?"

He grinned and tucked himself back in his jeans, then handed you your panties. "You saved my hide back there, brave girl," he murmured, pinching your chin affectionately. "Kickin' his legs out like that. Didn't know you had it in you."

You shrugged and tugged your underwear back on. "I didn't really think about it, he was going to stab you, I had to do something."

He hummed and leaned back in the seat, watching as you fixed your skirt and tried to tame your hair in the mirror before spotting his discarded cowboy hat on the floor. You grinned and picked it up, plopping it onto your head with a giggle. "How do I look?"

"Fuckin' beautiful," he said, making you laugh, "although you're doin' things a little backwards, sugar."

"What do you mean?" you asked, taking it off to see if you put it on wrong. He smiled and gently took the hat from your fingers and put it back on your head.

"The rule is, you wear a man's Stetson, you gotta ride the cowboy, but seein' as we did that already..." he trailed off and you giggled again when you finally understood. "But I suppose it depends on who you ask. Could mean somethin' else, too."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Some say if the cowboy lets the lady wear his hat then he's interested in seein' her again," he said softly, watching as you became flustered at the suggestion.

"Oh," you breathed, feeling your skin heat up under his gaze. Reality slowly began to seep in. Now that Jack found his man, he would go back to wherever he came from and your boring life would go back to normal. But then he hooked a finger under your chin so you would focus back on him.

"Would you like that?"

"Would I ... yeah, of course, but-"

"I heard what you were sayin' to your friend. 'Bout wantin' to move?" he said, dropping his hand and shifting his weight. "What if we had a spot for you at the agency? Maybe doin' somethin' with Ginger, learn the ropes a bit? I think you got potential, sweetheart."

You laughed and shook your head. "I can't do what you guys do, are you serious?"

"You got guts. We can teach anyone how to use a weapon, but guts? That can't be taught."

When it became apparent he wasn't joking, you cleared your throat and glanced out the window. "I don't know..."

"You said yourself you're sick of waitin' tables," he reminded you, then pulled out a white business card and handed it to you. "I know it's a big decision. Think it over and gimme a call." He paused for a moment and a slow smile spread across his face. "But how 'bout you gimme a call either way?"

"Okay," you practically whispered, looking down at the card before shoving it safely in your pocket. He pushed open the door and slid down to the ground, then turned around and held out a hand for you.

You spent the rest of your night thinking over Jack's offer, replaying over and over in your mind everything you learned about the Statesmen in the past week and trying to imagine if that was something you could possibly do. You had pretty much decided it was a stupid idea, that it was dangerous and things like that didn't happen to girls like you, but when you punched in for your shift at the restaurant on Monday and looked around the dining room at the same patrons eating the same food they always did, listening to the same boring gossip and worrying about the same bills that always plagued you, something finally snapped. You tore off your apron and tossed it behind the computer before snatching your purse and walking out the front door without a second glance behind you.

You got into your beat up car and breathlessly dialed the number you had been staring at all weekend, your heart slamming in your chest excitedly. When Jack's familiar drawl answered on the other end, a huge smile spread across your face.

"That offer still stand, cowboy?"

[creedslove]

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who was so unsure of starting a new relationship with you after all the heartbreak he went through; after losing his wife and unborn son, he just shut himself down for new relationships and only got involved in meaningless hook ups here and there but the moment his heart beat faster at the sight of you, he felt something inside telling him he should give himself a new chance

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who still feels guilty about being happy after what happened to his first family and sometimes can't help dwelling into depressing and self deprecating thoughts, but gets his heart soothed when you assure him his wife would've wanted him to be happy

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who is so thankful for your attitude towards his past, the way you are always respectful towards the memory of his first wife and you always know how to address the situation without being jealous, as the two of you know it's not the case there, Jack loves you, but he can't help being consumed by guilt at times

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who appreciates how you are always motivating him to seek help and continue his therapy so he can be better for himself and for you too

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who feels turned on if you call him 'Whiskey' but what he truly loves is when you call him Jack, simple as that, he's just your Jack, your cowboy, because it doesn't really matter if he's an agent or not, he's just you handsome cowboy

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey whose heart melts whenever you show him some affection, he never realized how touch starved he had been all those years until he effectively felt your warmth in several ways: your arms around him during a hug, your lips as you left pecks all over his cheek, his neck and his lips, your fingers scratching down his back gently, or going through his locks in a gentle caress

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who doesn't feel the need to go to as many missions as he did before, instead, his adrenaline longing decreased and he values the quiet, domestic moments he spends with you on his ranch, just being around nature and loving each other

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who loves taking you to the barn and making sweet love with you during a warm lazy afternoon, the way he loves feeling the soft feel of your sweaty skin under his finger tips and knows how lucky he truly is

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who will definitely teach you how to ride a horse and even buy you a new one as a gift, so just he can see you enjoying the ranch life

boyfriend!Agent Whiskey who isn't so sure if he would face marriage again but it doesn't matter to him if he'll make things official or not, all it matters is that he wants to be with you forever

[thelastofhyde]

hit the road, jack!

pairing. ex!jack daniels x fem!reader synopsis. the last time you sat in jack’s infamous bronco, you broke his heart. now, a year later, you’re sitting in it with a mud-stained wedding dress and he’s driving you back to the man you left at the altar. is one night, a thousand miles, and a well-timed car radio enough to remind you of the love you shared? warnings. road trip au, exes to lovers, runaway bride!reader, mutual pining, miscommunication/no communication, idiots in love, exes in love, minor character death, infidelity, one ( 1 ) comment regarding food restriction, mentions of period, smut ( unprotected piv, dirty talk, sex in public spaces, implied creampie, fairly non-descriptive ) the reader of this fic is mostly non-descript, with mentions of having hair long enough to stick to her neck when wet and hands smaller than jack's. word count. 14.7k hyde's input. quick disclaimer that this fic was admittedly better in my head, but i tried my best :') it unfortunately never got to reach it's full potential as my friends dragged me off on an unexpected trip on friday for my birthday (which is today aka the 23rd). because of that, i've not had time to finish the last few scenes as well as i'd hoped to (it's literally 5 am as i'm editing it bc it's the only chance i've had) but i don't want to post this any later as this is my entry to the #SummerLovin'24 event, organised and hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery & @amanitacowboy , a massive thank you to them for creating such a fun event. i really enjoyed taking part and i can not wait to sink my teeth into the other amazing fics from this event. if you care to listen, here is a playlist of songs mentioned/featured in the fic.

INTRO — silver springs.

“Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

Stevie Nicks et al chant out of old speakers, a bass blown out over time and an intruding static that demands to play alongside the band. Perched upon the bar counter, they sit adjacent to a cash register that shakes each time it opens, a slam seemingly the only way to close it. The swish of a mop over chequered vinyl flooring and the squeaks of a waitress’ coffee-stained sneakers play to their own tune. The passing of time turns it all to background noise.

Through lunch, through dinner, and two shift changes you’ve survived. Out in the parking lot now sits only a semi-truck, its drivers, two men in scuffed boots and jeans that fray at their seams, the only other customers that remain. One tucks into a Sloppy Joe, the other has fallen asleep against the table, his coffee turning as cold as your own.

You ordered the coffee for nothing more than an excuse to sit a while longer. Time for figuring out what’s next. What you’ll do, where you’ll go, how you’ll get there. The elderly couple who’d been kind enough to take you off the side of the road, moving luggage into the trunk to make space for you in the backseats, are now long gone from the roadside diner.

It wasn’t a sorrowful departure. You were quite happy to see them leave, and take their pitiful glances and unasked questions with them. The looks still linger on in others. Each pair of eyes you’ve encountered, dragging over the expanse of your messed up hair, and your smudged eyes, and your mud-stained gown. It’s not hard to imagine the scenes they play out in their heads, of a bride scorned and abandoned on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, a day meant for vows and first dances twisted into one of heartbroken wandering and roadside pit-stops.

You wonder if any of them know you’re not the victim, but the aggressor. The one who fled, leaving behind a bouquet of striped carnations, marigolds, and purple hyacinths.

Tires crunch on gravel as a car rolls into the parking lot. Whichever fool sits behind the wheel has their full beams on. A light flickers over your head. It’s been doing so for the past hour, an irritating reflection in the window that steals your attention back into the diner.

The waitress is eyeing you again, a weary look on her face that tells you she wants to approach but doesn’t know how. Maybe she wants to ask if you’re okay, or enquire about the events that led you here, deep in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe she just wants you to close your tab and leave. 

The bell above the door rings as it opens. It’s been a while since you heard it do so. A smile comes over the waitress as she greets the newcomer. Her eyes seem to take them in, slowly. From top to bottom, and right back to the top. Innocent, if not a little flirtatious. She’d not looked at either of the truckers that way. Perhaps this is her lover, here to wait about and keep a watchful eye as she works the night shift. You can’t imagine it’s the safest place in the world for a woman to find herself working through the twilight hours, nothing but open road and sky-rise trees surrounding the diner.

A sip from your coffee. It’s as cold as you expected. Bitter too, having not found your voice in time to ask for sugar. Your stomach growls, a plea for a meal. If you’d only stayed at the venue, you’d be full of vanilla frosting, and smoked oysters, and… had it been the coronation chicken or the roast sirloin the wedding planner had gone with in the end? You can’t remember. What you do remember is her unwanted advice: just stick to some light bites, no bride wants a food-baby in her pictures.

In retrospect, you’d disliked her from the moment you met her. But you had no desire to plan a wedding. And no time either, much to your future mother-in-law’s chagrin. So out she’d gone, a cat on the hunt, dragging home some mousy-brown haired wedding planner as a sacrificial lamb. Better it be her than you who stresses over the shade of napkins, and the taste of merlots, and the seating arrangements.

Footsteps thud against the floor. Slow, deliberate, not a stumble in the way they move. You stare back out the window and spy a cowboy hat reflected in it. It belongs to the waitress’ lover, who by now is likely making his way over to pull her in real close and swoon her with a kiss only men blessed by southern charm possess.

A different version of you, a happier version, used to be kissed like that every morning.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice of a man echoes. Softly spoken, yet loudly heard in the quiet of the diner. In the window, the cowboy hat stands right behind you. You turn slowly, let your eyes dance over its owner. Like a sculpture plucked out of ancient Rome, he’s a fine art only the most delicate hands could shape. He’s brown-eyed affection. He’s an aquiline nose. He’s a well-groomed moustache. He’s Jack. “Think it’s a few miles up north they’re expecting a pretty bride.”

Leather jackets and well-fitted jeans have been traded in for a suit. Simple, classic. White shirt, black tie, a trademark cowboy hat you’d never failed to spot amongst any crowd. There’s a crinkle where a cheeky grin meets eyes framed by full brows and lashes, a scar on his right temple a reminder of the kind of man he is. Dauntless, righteous, brave. An undercover agent, posing as the CFO of one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the world. 

An illusion plays out where no time has passed and his is still the face you come home to each night. A lot can change in a year, however, like the bed you sleep in, or the ring upon your finger.

He welcomes himself into the seat across from you. The protective barrier of a water-ring stained table keeps a safe distance between you both, yet you still feel his knee knock against your own as he makes himself comfortable. One arm stretched over the backrest, the other rests against the table and drums a nervous tune with his fingers.

“You’ve worried a lot of people, darliln’,” his gaze studies you. You wonder if it’s the same look he used to give his targets. The thought sours the sweetness of seeing his pretty eyes after all these months. “Runnin’ off like that, not even a hoot or a holler to let your daddy know you’re alright.”

Your dad. He’d slipped off to the bathroom, a kiss to your cheek and a promise he’d be back in time to walk you down the aisle. What must he have thought, rounding the corner to the sight of a bouquet, abandoned a la Cinderella and her glass slipper. Before you stew in guilt for too long, the rest of Jack’s words catch up to you.

He knew you ranaway. That glimpse of a cowboy hat amongst the pews had not been an illusion.

Jack was at the wedding.

“What happened?” His hand seeks you out. Warm as you remember him to be, large enough to engulf your smaller palm in his. “Why’d you run?” You stay quiet. Shrug your shoulders, eventually, and stare down as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You gonna give me a proper answer, sweetheart?”

Another shoulder shrug leads Jack to a sigh. There’s a pause in the quiet tension brewing between you, in the shape of the smiling waitress, pen and pad in hand. Her eyes seem to dart between you both, and you can almost hear her wondering who Jack is, if he’s the man you were meant to meet at the end of the aisle. There’d been a time when yes was the only possible answer to such a question.

“A glass of your finest whiskey. Neat, of course. And how ‘bout somethin’ to please a sweet tooth, hm?” His foot bumps yours beneath the table, calling you to look at him. You meet his eyes, watch him raise his brows in question. “Spied a pretty mean lookin’ cherry pie on my way in. That sound good to you, darlin’?” Your mute staring continues. Your stomach takes control, answers him with a disgruntled growl from within. His head turns to the side, laughing, and he nods at the waitress. “Think she’s gonna need a slice of that pie, miss!”

The right to speak returns to you at last, as you watch the glass of liquid caramel be placed down in front of him, head turning to stare out the window, a familiar Bronco sits poorly parked, obnoxious in the way it treads the line of two parking spaces.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

Surprise flashes over his face, but he recovers quickly, untensing his shoulders as he sinks further into the booth. “Didn't order it for me,” he slides the glass of whiskey over to you. “Eat up, drink up. You need it.”

Though it kills you to admit it, the first bite out of the pie feels like heaven in your mouth. Tart, sweet, with pastry so golden it’s as if King Midas baked it under the heat of his own hands. A sip of the whiskey isn’t so great, but you stomach the burn and accept the erasure of nerves it promises. Your eagerness to clear the plate and empty the glass has nothing to do with the approving smile Jack watches you with.

“How did you find me?” 

“You doubtin’ my skills?” He’s teasing. You know this. Still, you fall into the trap of a panicked head shake, a cough over the final bite of cherry goodness. “I stopped at a gas station. Runnin’ on an empty in the middle of nowhere ain’t on my list of wants, you see. Overheard two kids talkin’ about some bride sittin’ at a dinner a few miles down. Don’t take no Hercule Poirot to figure it was you”

“Oh.”

You shouldn’t feel disappointed by his answer, there’s no reason a man you hurt so deeply would have any vested interest in finding you.

The last you’d seen of Jack was through your car’s rear-view mirror, his tear stricken face watching you drive away, five years of clothes, and shoes, and memories stuffed into your car. He’d begged you not to leave your shared home; offered to sleep in the spare room, give you both time to work things out between you. You’d been the one to declare it useless.

“This isn’t something we can fix, Jack!”

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

“A happy coincidence, I was lookin’ for ya anyway. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours yet?” At least this time your mute stare is paired with a head shake. “Look, I mean well when I say this, but darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mighty mess. Now, a pretty mess that may be, but a mess all the same.” His hand is back on yours, squeezing with enough strength to ground you and keep you from floating off into the landscape of your own conflicted mind. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take a trip to the gents, then I’m gonna square up whatever we owe this fine establishment, and then we’re gettin’ that pretty caboose of yours up'n out of here.”

Frozen where you sit, it takes a few moments for the warmth of whiskey to settle in your bones, lurching you forward when it does, a gasp and a tight grip at his wrist, holding him back before he can stroll away from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

You and Jack are no strangers to a late night drive.

An entire love story, told within the confines of four wheels and a chassis. The very night you met, you wound up in his passenger seat, arms up in the air and the wind blowing through your hair, the charming cowboy next to you taking every joyful laugh as a plea to go faster, nothing ahead but the open road and a southern voice crooning out of the radio. Too lost in your own head, that’s what he’d claimed you to be, having strolled up to a lonely-you in a crowded bar, lamenting over a glass of bitter white wine, freshly fired and with no real clue of what you were going to do next. Never one to entertain a stranger, you’d tried to brush him off, but he flashed that smile and invited you, so tenderly as the intro to a Bruce Springsteen song began to play, to just give him one dance.

One dance led to unimaginable love.

As time passed, a relationship burst into full bloom, the imprint of you carved into the car’s leather. Jack insisted you grow accustomed to the life of a passenger princess. He picked you up from work, drove you to all your girls’ night outs, sacrificed hours of necessary sleep to drop you at airports, and train stations, and whatever other public transport your work trips demanded you to travel upon. But how could you dream of saying no when you got to ogle the view of him, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, effortlessly manoeuvring his beloved vehicle. 

The car came on couples' vacations, too, road trip getaways. Up north, past the Canadian borders, and down south to the skyline of Mexico City. Out west, a trail up to the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building in the east. But the late night drives, those were your favourite. Times when life felt too much, with work stressing you out, or your parents giving you grief, or a stress headache gnawing away at your remaining sanity, Jack would tug you wordlessly out into the driveway, buckle your seatbelt, and drive off into the night. Roof down, radio on, the cool breeze clearing your mind.

The only breeze you feel now blows in through an open window.

Pulling away from the diner, Jack turned the wheels south, out into the dark of the night. Trees wall the road in, a never ending sea of pine-green lit by headlights, the looming presence of a dark, dangerous, rumbling sky above. A storm brews ahead, awaiting the perfect moment to crack open and drop a downpour on the world. Little words have been exchanged between you, most of them spoken by Jack, as he tells you about the nightmare he had checking in at his hotel, and the difficulty he had finding the venue, and just how beautiful you look in your dress, tears tracks and messy hair aside. Softly playing over the radio, Billy Joel seems to speak to you, pleading that you slow down, you crazy child.

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

Your head snaps over to Jack. His eyes remain on the road ahead, and a part of you is thankful, unsure of how you’d fare gazing into them as melancholy tangles itself in their shades of brown. The other part misses how it used to feel to catch him watching you from the driver’s seat, affection incarnate as his loving gaze burned heat into your cheeks, your own voice pleading him to pay attention to the road, the light’s already green, Jack!

“How could I forget you almost getting us kicked out of Saint Peter’s church?”

“Hey, now darlin’, let’s not start playin’ the blame game!” His head turns once in your direction, a teasing smile splashed upon his rosy lips. You try not to think about how you’ve felt that very smile pressed against your mouth, memorised the shape of it so perfectly you could draw it with your eyes shut. “You knew what you were doin’ wearin’ that pretty little sundress.”

The dress in question had been a purposeful attack, an attempt at getting payback for the night prior, in which Jack found pleasure in reducing you to tears, begging for release hour after hour, after hour of edging touches. Never the best at putting up a fight against his pouting lips, pleading eyes, and filthy tongue, you’d caved into his hands the moment they skimmed their way up the length of your thigh, the watchful eyes of any Lord above be damned.

“I still dream of the garden’s at Schönbrunn Palace,” a sigh floats out of you as your brain hits play on a kaleidoscope of memories of strolling the grounds, hand in hand with a man you’d imagined yourself being with for the rest of your life.

If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? He’d asked, as you watched a couple get engaged before your very eyes.

Promise me we’ll get married here, and I’ll consider it.

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

“The boat!” The patterns in the kaleidoscope shift into images of a viennan skyline reflected upon glassy waters, a city cruise dragging you down the canal. “I still can’t believe you fell off it!”

“I jumped.”

“Backwards? Just admit it, you fell into that water!”

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

“Oh, don’t worry, me and the coast guard were definitely laughing!”

A silence settles between you both. Jack drums his fingers along to the closing notes of the song, your foot does the same. It crosses your mind that this, in itself, may very well be a dream. Sitting back in the Bronco, staring over at Jack as he drives you both into the aimless night. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s visited your dreams.

You watch him inhale, deeply. With a blink, his eyes reflect the moonlight, glassy with unfallen tears, the image of him too beautiful to be fiction. 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left Vienna.”

His words cut you deep, the sorrow he speaks them with cuts you deeper. Barely a week back in your own home, suitcases still unpacked, pulling into the driveway hours after the unexpected funeral of a friend, you broke both your hearts.

All that goes up must come down and, in the very same place your relationship started, it ended. Sat across from him, rain beating down on the windows, tears trailing down your face. He begged you to stop before those words came out of your mouth, tried his best to switch the engine back on and pull out into the road. You’re just stressed, darlin’, he’d said, a deceptive whine in his voice cracking his straight-faced facade. Just need to clear your head, right? Lemme take ya for a drive. It was too late, your own hand curling back around the handle and forcing the door open, the water from outside flooding in. I’m sorry, I can’t be with you. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you exhale, shaky. Swallowed emotions, a tight lipped smile, eyes that search for sanctuary out the window. “Me too.”

In the wing-mirror, lighting crashes amidst the sea of pine-green.

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

Mother nature’s mid-June release of pent-up heat, making space amongst the skies for what’s yet to come in the scorching months of July and August, the last of any rain to be seen until September brings back the sombre skies and cooler weather. The rain falls heavily, a persistent thump-thump-thump of water that bounces off the car’s roof, bonnet, windows. In the sky, thunder roars an angry sound, each one louder than the last, followed by an even brighter flash of lighting that electrifies its surroundings, turning the black night into shades of violet, and midnight, and indigo, and purple.

“You’ve not bought any new albums? None at all?” The question comes as you flip through Jack’s collection of discs, a notable lack of change in his roster since the last time you’d sat in his car.

This lack of change is likely not without good reason, like the lack of time to go CD hunting between secret missions to save the world, or a general lack of interest in newer records. He’s always been a fan of the old fashion, after all, the home you’d once shared made up of collections of vintage whiskeys, and classic records, and faded wallpaper that he convinced you gave the kitchen charm.

“Nothin’ new since…” His eyes shift over your way, the look in them enough to wordlessly end his sentence. “You were always the one buyin’ me music. Said you didn’t want me get-”

“Getting bored on missions,” impulse seems to be what forces you to speak, an honest smile sent his way. “I remember.”

It had been a while into your relationship, with i-love-yous and apartment keys exchanged, until the truth of Jack’s job came up.

On your first date, he’d told you he was a businessman. A few dates later, he specified that he was an investor, dipping his fingers into the honey jar of some classically Texa whiskey distillery. Only a half lie, and not one that was hard to believe. Every fibre of his being, stitches and loose threads included, made sense as a man in the business of selling whiskey. The overzealous amount of Statesman whiskeys occupying the shelves in his apartment, the photos he’d send of the view from his high-rise office, the endless number of suits and ties that occupied his wardrobe, even his damn name, Jack Daniels. 

Then, out came the truth.

A phone call from one of Jack’s co-workers, Ginger, lasting no more than five minutes and of which only three words mattered: Jack’s been shot.

A bullet through his head. Any ordinary man would have died. Yet there was your Jack, eyes open, a measly bandage over his temple, and standing up-right. To your own credit, you managed to keep a grasp on your sanity long enough to drive him home, cook him dinner, and sit yourself down across from him at the table. But when he pricked his finger on the tip of his knife, the rivulet of blood dripping down his finger was enough to send you over the edge. Open mouthed sobs, hands clinging to him the instant he sank down on his knees at your side, tears staining every inch of his white cotton t-shirt.

You could’ve died, Jack.

Now how could I go dyin’, when I got such a pretty reason to live for?

You begged with questions, he promised with answers. Hands intertwining with your own, a gentle voice guiding you out the apartment, the soft slam of a car door closing. He turned the key in the ignition, pulled your hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and drove you both off into the night. Under the melodic fall of rain beating down on the car, you came to terms with three facts: Jack was involved in the business of selling whiskey; Jack was otherwise known as agent Whiskey, esteemed senior agent to the Statesmen secret intelligence agency; and Jack was not often shot- at least not in the head.

Arriving home that night, with the rain falling heavy on your front lawn, you’d tried your best to dash from the car and into the house but Jack had other plans. He’d gripped your hand, and pulled you close, and kissed you under the flash of lighting. And when you dared whine that your clothes were soaked, he held you tighter and let himself guide your body into a gentle sway, two lovers under the moonlight and the storm. That night had ended with a fatal promise from Jack, your limbs entangled upon a shared bed, his lips pressing into your forehead.

I promise I’ll always come home to you safe.

“Don’t need no discs anyway, already got all I need right here,” Jack’s impeccable timing, seemingly sensing the shift in your demeanour. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking about, and trying to drag you out of the past and back to the present, his fingers stretching over to turn the volume up. A familiar set of haunting chords plays over the radio, a grin instantly appearing on his face. “Shit, they even got Princ-”

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

Despite the confusion, he abides by your words, foot pressing down on the break, hands steering the wheels off-road, fingers switch the car off. Without the hum of the engine, the rainfall grows louder, the view out the windscreen suddenly blocked behind a wall of flowing water. The radio plays on, the voice of an angel singing lyrics that so aptly match the purple shades painted across the sky by the storm above. There’s a cautious echo of your name, and, for a moment, it’s easy to forget this is the first time you’ve heard him actually say it in over a year. It feels like just yesterday he was calling out to you, begging with solutions you weren’t willing to give.

Your heart beats with a longing to escape your chest, hard and steady against the cage that is your ribs. Your eyes fill with emotions from the past and of the present, as every version of yourself that’s sat within this car comes together as one. Your hand curls around the silver grip of the door, pulling it open and lunging yourself out into the pouring rain.

Under the storm's wrath, you’re reborn. Baptised by mother nature, a soul cleansed of all its prior troubles, returned to you brand new and free of heartbreak. As the rain soaks your face, your neck, your dress, it washes all the pain away. Breathing easy, head tilted back, eyes closed. It's the feeling of being alive, an anomalous euphoria found only beneath a thunderous sky. The tears that dare fall here mean little, a known comfort that they’ll mix with the rain and be swept away.

Enthralled under the moonlight and barefoot, you drift on through the trees that line these woods, chasing the sweet promise of petrichor. You’re unsure if it comes from the sky, or the trees, or Jack, but something calls your name. A fallen tree trunk becomes your own personal tightrope as you dance over the length of it, one careful foot in front of the other, arms stretched out to the heavens above. All it takes is one misplaced step and you lose your footing, slipping over moss and bracing for impact that never arrives.

“Heaven to Betsy, darlin’!” Jack’s hands, warm as a summer breeze, catch you by the waist, your shoulder socking him square in the face as you fall back into his figure. He makes no complaint of pain, taking it like a champ and placing you back down on steady ground, upon unsteady feet. “Did’ya sneak a few extra whiskeys when I was takin’ a leak?”

You open your mouth to reply, to deny, but the rain comes to a stop, and the thunder no longer rumbles, and the moonlight breaks through the parting blanket of clouds, and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you both are.

Like his hands, do his lips still feel the same? Soft as a feather, pillowy as a cloud, as sweet as a peach? It’s not something a married woman should be thinking about another man, about the man another version of her had loved.

But you’re not a married woman, are you?

Wet to the bone, it's as if your wedding dress has shrunk, possessive linen meant to warn you away from leaning forward till your face meets his.

“Careful where you point those eyes, sweetheart. Don’t go givin’ me a reason to make a dishonest woman out of you.” His warning only makes you want to lean in more, test just how dishonest he’s willing to make you, in a dress you wore for another man, upon a forest floor covered by moss, and mud, and rainfall.

He’s stepping back and holding out his hand before you can even try, saving you the trouble of mixing up your head even more. 

Careful steps back to his car, where the radio plays on as Prince’s voice slowly fades out. The headlights are back on, the key sits in the ignition, and you half wonder just how quickly he chased after you, abandoning his precious car so carelessly at the side of a darkened country road, free for any Tom, Bill, or Sally to claim for themselves.

“You’re lucky I got spare clothes in the back,” Jack’s voice echoes out from where he stands, bent at the waist, and rummaging through the floor of the back seats. You want to think he’s not going this on purpose, putting himself on display so obviously, but it feels easier on your conscience to blame him for your own inability to stray your eyes away from how snugly the soaked dress pants hug his behind. “Ain’t no hope in hell I’d let you in my car, all drippin’ wet.”

“You never used to complain about me being wet in your car.”

It’s a quickfire response, the kind you don’t quite get the chance to think over before you say it. Though it may shock your own ears to hear, it seems to shock poor Jack more, the smack with which his head hits against the car’s roof loud enough that you almost feel it in your skull.

You rush over to his side, dress dragging through more mud, and more leaves, and more broken gravel. No chance to even rest your hand upon his arm, Jack’s already pulled himself out the car to face you, a splash of pink brewing across his cheeks and a hand soothing over the back of his head. In the backseats, his hat lays abandoned, knocked off in the commotion.

“Can’t just be sayin’ things like that, darlin’,” he says as he holds out a change of clothes for you, smugness in his voice yet a shake in his hand. “Not unless you’re tryin’ to give old Jack over here a heart attack.”

In silence, you both turn your back on each other. Jack does so in spare of your modesty, and you, in search of someplace dry to lay down his clothes. You do so upon the passenger seat, hands immediately contorting every manner of way they can to reach the dress’ buttons that span down the length of your spine, each more finicky than the last. You manage to free only two, in the very centre, before you sigh and wonder if the entrapment you feel in the white gown could get any more literal than this.

“Jack,” it only feels right to seek out his aid, you tell yourself, the sooner the buttons are undone, the sooner the dress will be off, the sooner you’ll be changed, and the sooner you’ll both get back on the road again, destination unknown. It only makes sense, really, so who could blame you when you say, “come help me out my dress.”

No reply comes your way.

At first, you think he’s not heard you. Then, you worry that he has, and is choosing to ignore such a request, thinking it best he keeps his hands away from any act that involves undressing you. Then, fear that you’ve given him that heart attack after all. Fingers brush wet hair off your shoulders before you can turn to check on the cowboy.

Cicadas scream out into the night, and some faceless host rants over the car radio about the rising conspiracy theory of spycams in childrens’ toys, and your heart beats louder than any set of drums could ever hope, but all you can hear is the steady breaths Jack pulls in and blows out behind you, so close you feel each exhale brush your skin. His fingers do so too, with each button they pop loose, each inch of skin he reveals.

Before you can ask him to touch you with more than just his mouth and breath, his own voice fills your ears.

“I used to dream about doin’ this someday.”

“I think we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a girl out her dress, Jack.”

“Is your mind ever anywhere but the damn gutter?” A pinch delivered against your left side, a chastising tsk accompanying his words. “I meant that I dreamt about this, me helpin’ you take your weddin’ dress off.”

There’s an audible hitch in your breath, one that perfectly tells Jack everything your own voice seems to fail to. Air stings at your eyes, yet you refuse to blink, too aware of the tears building within them. His warm hands dance back up your spine as the final button is loosened, tracing slowly over skin he’d once memorised, a missionary returning to the land it once knew.

Your dress falls to the floor.

“‘Course I never thought I’d be doin’ it on the side of the road, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

The realisation dawns upon you twenty minutes after you hit the road again. Confined to the small space of the Bronco with little to look at— besides Jack, his clothes still damp and smelling of summer rain, a towel laid over his seat— you’ve resorted to the finer details, picking apart the scraps of clothing he’d handed you. A plain white t-shirt that, when paired with one of his tight-fitting jeans and a corduroy-lined leather bomber jacket, becomes a Jack Daniels staple. You find it best to ignore how it smells of campfire, and sweat, and the cologne you’d bought Jack on your last anniversary. He’s paired it with a pair of blue chequered pyjama pants, loose-fitting yet tied securely around your waist by a fraying draw-string.

“Took myself and the old gal up to Alaska a few weeks back, chasin’ after a view of the Northern Lights.” There’s a flash of something hot, bright, green as you register his words, myself and the old gal, tamed and dampened only when you remember that’s what Jack calls the Bronco, his old gal. “I was livin’ out my car the whole trip, figured it was easier than trynna find some inn out in the middle of the Alaskan woods. In fact, if you check down there, pretty sure you’ll find some uneaten energy bars I packed for the trip.”

He seems to point aimlessly down at a space around your legs, hand back on the wheel and guiding the wheels around a harsh bend before you can truly pinpoint what he’s referring to. You settle on the glove compartment, sitting upright and reaching a hand out to pop it open.

Then you remember what it houses, the weapons Jack carries in there. The lasso, the whip, the pistol, the bullets. A sickness burns your throat, your eyes unable to even glance down at the opened compartment, instead searching for Jack’s own eyes that stare back with equal amounts of surprise.

“I forgot those were in there.” He steals the words right out your own mouth, a nervous chuckle following them. You’d known to never touch the dreaded compartment, for your own sake, too eager to forget about the parts of him that made him an agent, the parts of him that put him in danger. “You can read ‘em, if you want. They were written for you anyway.”

Confusion floods the soul, curiosity winning over survival and dictating that you muster the courage to turn your head, take a peak at what sits inside the glove box. When you do look, you find there’s no whip nor pistol, no piece of Agent Whiskey in sight. What is there are the energy bars he’d promised, a hiking guidebook of sorts, a map, and a stack of wrinkled envelopes.

One glance back at Jack, he encourages you to take them with a nod, and so, you do. Feel the weight of them all in your hands, do your best to not drop any as you pull them out onto your lap. They scatter all over you, each a different shade of white, unopened and all sporting a red return to sender stamp. All appear addressed to the same place, and it takes only a moment of wondering why it seems so familiar for you to realise.

It’s your old address.

“They’re all labelled with dates, I wrote the first one a few weeks after you left. Wasn’t sure where you’d moved to, I figured there was a chance you’d gone back to your old place. I never forgot about how much you loved that apartment,” he says, and you did. Leaving it behind had been hard, the first real home you’d made for yourself since moving out of your parent’s place, the first space you made your own in the world. The idea of making a new space with Jack, a place you could build together, share together, had outweighed the pain of saying goodbye to your little one-bed apartment. “Wrote the second one because you didn’t reply, and I was missin’ you. Then I just kept writin’ em, and sendin’ em, and waitin’ on you writin’ back, even if just to tell me to get lost. I got a note back, along with the letters, but it wasn’t from you. Some older couple moved in to your old place, told me they’d been keepin’ em all safe incase you ever came round to collect your old mail, but they figured it was time I stopped writin’ to a ghost.”

Attentive to his every word, you search for the letter with the earliest date. Sent two weeks after things ended, with a colourful stamp and a seal that’s slightly opened at the edges, the glue’s hold loosening with time and neglect. You tear it open completely and unfold the sheets of paper found within, eyes drawn immediately three quarters down the page.

I saw our friends tonight for the first time since you left. They asked how you’re doing and where you were. I thought they were just being cruel at first but no, they didn’t know about the break up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, that you decided to stay home tonight. I guess I just wanted one more night where you were still mine, even if it was just in the eyes of our friends. I will tell the truth next time I see them.

You feel as though you’re invading his privacy, reading over words he’d written months ago, despite being the intended audience. That doesn’t mean you have the willpower to stop, however, eyes diving deeper down the page.

Or maybe I won’t have to tell them. Maybe, next time I see them, you’ll have come home. There’s still a chance for us. I believe it because I love you. You said this wasn’t something we can fix. I think you’re wrong. There’s never been an issue we couldn’t solve by talking it through, why should this one be any different? Let’s get coffee, darling. Our usual place, our usual time, next Tuesday. We can get through this, you just have to let me know it’s something you want, that I’m something you still want. 

Jack’s quiet in the driver’s seat, forgiving with the time he gives you to read over his letters. When the turning of pages and the ripping of envelopes rings too heavy in the car, your shoulders tensing up in a discomfort of disrupting the peaceful silence, he wordlessly turns the radio back up and the voice of Jeff Buckley greets you both.

You return to his letters, the second he’d sent already open in your palm.

I went to our usual spot. You never showed up. Your lack of reply to my letter should have been enough to tell me that, but I still had hope. Maybe I really am a fool. Our friends seem to think so. I told them about us and they immediately asked what I’d done wrong. There was no answer I could give them. The worst thing isn’t just that I’ve lost you, it’s that I don’t even know why.

You open the next envelope, and the next one, and the next one, paragraphs melting together into a heartbroken shape.

I tried to sleep in our bed. I lasted half an hour before crawling back to the guest room.  Our room just feels too empty without you. I smell you everywhere no matter how many new sheets I buy.

Eggsy and Tilde got married. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to without you. I’m doing a lot of firsts without you recently. I hate it. Our friends (am I wrong to call them our friends? I’m not ready to just call them mine) tried setting me up with someone new. They showed me a picture and she’s beautiful, but I just kept comparing her to you. Against your beauty, she’s nothing.

Your mother was at the Statesman ground tour today. I was surprised to see her, she already done the tour years ago. I tried not to talk about you too much, I didn’t want her knowing how desperate I am to hear about you. Congratulations on your promotion, I always knew you’d get it. I’m so proud of you for finally applying for it. I heard you’ve started seeing somebody, a veteran turned mechanic. Your mother was kind enough to give me his name. I hope you understand that I don’t want to invade your privacy but I had to make sure you’re safe. The guy’s got a clean slate, other than a sketchy trip down to South America with some other vets. He seems like a good man. I want you to get your happy ending. Are you happy? I’m not. 

Only one envelope remains unopened. The weight of it sits heavy in your lap, a fear settling in that has you not wanting to open it. You study the front of it, find out it was mailed three months ago. The radio moves in sync with you, it seems, the song that plays reaching its climatic moment at the same time as you do, tearing open the final letter. Next to you, Jack clears his throat and wrings his hands over the steering wheel.

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

Spring came faster this year. The daffodils you planted bloomed in early March. I’ve been tending to the garden, I know how much love you put into it. The flowers are coming up alright, the fruit and vegetables not so much. If only I had your green thumb.

I visited Tequila last week. I don’t know if it’s right to call him that anymore. Champ’s still not named his successor, part of me thinks he wants to retire it. That’s not what Tequila would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted Ginger taking on the mantle. The grounds he’s on are beautiful, if not sombre. They overlook a lake, and the grass is cut everyday, and the sun shines on his grave from sunrise to sunset. I didn’t say much to him, just sat and enjoyed the view. Thought about a lot of things, and finally realised why you left.

You were scared. For me. I thought you were being selfish, breaking my heart like that, but I finally understand how awful that day must’ve been for you. We’d just buried my comrade, our friend, and you had to watch Tequila’s wife say her last goodbye, knowing it was almost me in that casket and you on the podium. That was my mission he went on, I could’ve been the one who didn’t come home to the woman I love.

I’m sorry I took so long to understand. I retired from my position at Statesman. I’m agent Whiskey no more. I’m coming to find you, and hope you give me one last real try at fixing us.

Love always,

your Jack.

“Your wedding invitation found me first,” Jack says, foot off the accelerator, eyes off the road, hands on the wheel.

The weight of his stare drags down to your lap, where the heap of papers now all sit, piled atop one another and rustling with every movement you make. Your own eyes have welled with tears that slip down the apples of your cheeks and splash the papers below, smudging the ink.

The confirmation of his invite knocks out the questions of how he wound up in the pews.

“I didn’t invite you,” you’re unsure if the truth is crueller than fiction. No part of you wants him to think you’d be so spiteful, so hurtful as to invite him to a day you’d once promised to share together. “I didn’t invite anyone. I was… busy, with work. My mom dealt with the invites, she must’ve written you down by accident.”

Your lips may be the ones to say it, but your own ears struggle to believe. Your mother’s always been a meticulous woman, practical, with her affairs eternally in order. The only mistakes she makes are the ones she means to.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs out from the driver’s seat, resignation in his voice. “I figured you didn’t invite me.”

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

Out the car window, you watch as the world flies by, a blur of unlit trees and unmarked road signs. Earlier’s storm has rolled away and revealed the blanket of stars above, twinkling alongside a full moon. The road is long, and winding, and seemingly never ending. There’s no discussion of destination, no sanctuary you’re waiting to reach. You feel no urgency for it, either. So long as you sit right where you are, passenger in a car, you don’t have to take the wheel, you don’t have to choose where to go, or what to do. You can just exist within this liminal space, where no wedding lies in the balance and no hearts lay broken.

It’s just you and Jack, like the old days, going for a drive.

“Ask me,” permission comes off your tongue as you observe the driver and his less than subtle glances your way. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Everything you wanted to know in the diner, I promise I’ll answer this time.”

“I guess I’m tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, figure out what was runnin’ through that pretty head of yours,” Jack is, at his core, a gentleman. For hours, he’s let you sit beside him, biting his own tongue and fighting back his own curiosity, a trait so vital to his existence it led him into a world of spies, and guns, and movie-esque kinds of evil. Even now, with your promised approval, he eases his way into his questioning, the part of him that knows you better than your own self dictating that this is something he must address with care.  “How’d you do it?”

“I just slipped out the back, Jack,” there’s a chuckle of sorts that welcomes itself out the depths of Jack’s chest, your choice of words going hand in hand with that of the Paul Simon record reaching its end over the radio. As quick as the humour appears, it goes, leaving nothing but the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Someone left a door open, it led out onto the back gardens. The further away I got, the faster I started to run. I made it all the way past the highway on foot before an older couple pulled over. They dropped me off at a diner, and that’s where I stayed until-”

“Until I found you,” it’s a reminder you shouldn’t want, the image of Jack setting off to find you in the midst of the commotion of a missing bride. It’s not healthy for your poor psyche, already at odds with what it wants, no need for further complications brought on by unresolved feelings. You can’t help but smile at him, however, no filter strong enough to cover your subconscious’ joy. “Why did you run away?”

Your smile fades.

The promise you made is already at threat of being broken. You thought there’d be more questions, more time until he hit you with the heaviest of them all.

Why did you run away?

You know the answer. Of course you’ve known the answer, from the moment you decided to turn on your heel and sprint down the halls, in search of an escape. As much as you can pretend otherwise, and feign naivete, you can’t change the truth. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to admit it out loud, and so you refute it with a question of your own: “Why did you come to the wedding?”

It would be easy to forgive Jack for getting irate when faced with your avoidant response. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he spins the steering wheel and shoots you a smile, the kind that used to keep you warm at night.

“I wasn’t goin’ to come at first,” comes his admittance. You can’t say you blame him, really, a picture of yourself in his shoes, receiving an invite to his wedding. The thought conjures a painful throb from your heart. “Nearly tossed the damn thing into the fireplace when I got it. A few weeks later, I met with Champ for a drink. Drank myself blind, till I started tellin’ him all about the invite. He told me I had to come.”

A lift of your eyebrows, a snap of your head towards him. There’s a desire to have his full attention on you. There’s also the awareness that the road acts as a buffer for the tensing heartache that swells and lulls between you, each exchange of words a game of painful chess. You make the choice to bring forth a pawn this once, a simple why?

“He said I’ve been livin’ with life on pause since you left, maybe watchin’ you marry another man would be the thing to help me hit play at last.”

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

No matter how easy it is to forget about the world outside, look out the window and pretend you’re simply on a train, trapped in a constant onward motion, there’s no ignoring the orange glow that begins to grow on the horizon, nor the red lights on the car radio that read 05:38. A new day grows fast upon you and, where you remain mute to it, Jack can not allow the fantasy to go on any longer.

The tires screech against the gravel and everything comes to a stop.

“Thinkin’ time’s up, sweetheart,” his hands retreat from the wheel, finding purchase on his thighs. You try not to follow their descent over the tailored suit, try not to think about the thick muscles that sit hidden beneath the black trousers. It’s not your place to think about them anymore. “Where are you goin’?”

Decision has never been something you’ve struggled with, much less when the choices are so simple and limited. Either you go back to the wedding venue, and meet whatever fate awaits you of scornful mothers, and disappointed fathers, and abandoned fiances. Or, you can go anywhere.

You make a mistake, let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, and end up asking yourself where will Jack go. He still lives in the home you once shared, this you know. Will he go there, pour himself a drink, and try to forget this night even happened?

You can still picture it all. The coffee table Jack hand-carved, both your initials engraved on the side. The picture frames all along the wall, a mural of memories shared between you. The matching set of mugs, eternally sitting on the drying board, waiting for Jack to stagger his way down the stairs and fill them with boiling coffee. If you walked through that door again, would you find everything just the way you left it? Or, has he gotten a new table, changed the pictures in the frames, bought new mugs? Is there someone there, right now, sleeping in his bed and waiting on his return?

A bitter taste overcomes your tongue at the thought, your insides twisting up like you’ve not spent the past few months sleeping next to someone else and saying yes to proposals you weren’t expecting.

“What do you think I should do?” You don’t want him to tell you to go home, you want him to say come home.

“You can’t ask that of me. My answer’s gonna be nothin’ but selfish.” Would it really be so bad, you wish to ask, if Jack was selfish? Maybe life would be easier if he was. He clears his throat, like he clears his mind, and gone is your moment to tell him you want selfish. “I can say this, though… Your fiance’s a good man, a kind man. Kind enough to trust your parents words and let me, a stranger, go searchin’ for you. He deserves to know what decision you make. It ain’t just your weddin’, it’s his too.”

He’s right, and you hate it.

There’s no way you can tell him now that you were even contemplating not going back, of disappearing into the sunrise with him, driving till life leads you down the right roads to find a new home, your old home, Jack.

The muddied wedding dress seems to call to you from the car boot, a whispering of your name that tells you to put it back on, go back, and walk down that aisle. You owe that much to your fiance, if he’ll still have you. With him, you’ve never had to worry about him coming home safe. With him, you could live a happy enough life, keep yourself busy enough to ignore all the what-ifs your mind would try seduce you with.

Besides, that’s what Jack needs, right? To see you marry another man, a final nail in the coffin named us, so he can finally move on with his life. You owe him that much, at least.

With a nod of your head and the straightening of your spine, you set your choice in stone, “drive me back to him, Jack.”

The engine shudders to life and the radio sets itself back on course, some upbeat voice that demands you go your own way, a musical slap delivered upon your face. Jack turns the steering wheel, rerouting the car’s course with an effortless u-turn before he presses down on the accelerator, propelling you forward down the paths you’ve already travelled.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, even if a familiar dread starts to settle in the pit of your stomach, brushing them off as rational nerves. Who wouldn’t be anxious when facing a man they left at the altar?

A yawn escapes you.

“We’re a few hours out from the chateau.” There’s something in his voice that weighs on him, the tone between you shifting to something of desperation. Goodbye is a few hours away. This time, for good. “Sleep, it’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Pull over, you want to say. Let’s sleep. The wedding can wait a few more hours.

How unfortunate that he cannot read your thoughts, understand the intentions behind your staring as you recline your chair, turn to face him on your side, hands crossed protectively over your abdomen.

One blink, and your eyes are already fighting to stay open, dragging you down into the depths of slumber.

“I’m fine. Don’t sleep much these days anyway,” the sound of Jack’s voice fades slowly into the background, melting away with the hum of the engine, and the turn of the wheels, and the voice on the radio. “Never got used to the feeling of an empty bed.”

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

When your eyes next open, the sun’s warmth is caressing your face.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, and the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and the feeling of resting against Jack’s shoulder fills you with dread. Fearful to move, you take in all of him that you can see from this angle.

There’s no suit upon him, replaced with the casualness of a cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded denims. The hat’s back on his head, the curls of ungelled hair that peak through dry as a bone. A cigarette rests neatly between fingers on his left hand, the right one grasping at the neck of a beer bottle. No wheel sits in front of him, no gear shift keeps space between you. The Bronco’s been replaced with the view of your parent’s backyard and the comfort of a well cushioned outdoor couch.

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” just like you remember, Jack’s stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette the moment he notices your open eyes. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my uterus is trying to carve its way out of me,” your mouth plays along with the dream, speaking the same words it had years ago.

“That good, huh?” A beer stained kiss meets the corner of your mouth, another follows up to your forehead, as Jack’s free hand reaches into his pocket, reemerging with silver foil between two fingers. “Got these off your mother. Let me go get you somethin’ to eat, then you can take two, hm?”

You remember thinking that you love him. You didn't dare speak it, however, simply nodding as you took the blister packet of paracetamol out his offering grasp and uncurled your legs back down onto the floor, stretching your arms. Jack bends down, presses his lips against the crown of your head, and then he’s off, venturing over to where your father stands grilling another round of burgers on the barbeque.

Jack’s always been a confident man. He carries himself with a head held high and a careless smile on his face, no chip on his shoulder and no flare for anger in his bones. A southern gentleman, who knows his own charms and, most dangerously, how to use them. Place him alone with your father, however, and watch how he crumbles like a house of cards. To the untrained eye, it’s unnoticeable, but you don’t miss the glances he spies your father with each time he throws out a joke, nor the way his hands can never seem to relax, a nervous tic of drumming against his thighs or balling into fists as he makes conversation with the older man. He’s desperate for the approval of your monotonous father, so desperate he fails to see he won it months ago, 

“Eat up, drink up, you need it,” he says as he hands you the paper plate, and his half-drunk bottle of beer. He settles back down on the couch, pulling you into him once more. “Your old man was sayin’ we should probably head off soon, ‘fore it gets too late. Think he’s startin’ to warm up to me, he’s even worryin’ bout me drivin’ in the dark.”

“Oh, he loves you,” you take a bite, break two of the pills out their casing, wash them down with a swig of bitter beer. The summer sun burns in the corners of your eyes, forcing them into a squint. “He kept looking for you at the dinner table at my mom’s birthday, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him you were stuck in New York slaving away in your office.”

Months later, you’d come to find out he wasn’t in New York, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, but somewhere in the south of France, hunting down some billionaire wine-maker with plans to poison the crops of surrounding vineyards, leaving only his wine safe to consume.

In your memory, Jack plucks the hat off his own head and rests it gently upon your own, a shaded barrier against the bright light in the sky. You thank him, he watches on quietly as you continue to eat, gaze not peeling itself away from you the whole time.

“What? Do I have ketchup on my face? Or, in my hair?” You’d asked him, mid-chew. No answer, more staring. Panic made a debut in your mind, suddenly alert to his unusual behaviour. “Wait, is it a bug? Jack, is there a bug in my hair?”

“I love you.”

No build up, no grand-speech, no overly romantic setting.

He said it like one shares the weather, or the time, or what they’re wanting for lunch. He said it like it was something he always said, would always say, despite it being the very first time you’d heard him do so. Tears had flown in quickly, your hormones already gone haywire with the unexpected arrival of shark week earlier that morning. There’s a vague assurance that you told him you loved him too, through tears, and he teased your weepy face with kisses down your cheeks and full-chested laughter.

“Bless your cotton socks, my sweet girl, cryin’ all cause old Jack says-”

“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”

You jolt awake.

Jack’s by your side, suit on, hair air dried, one hand on the wheel, the other rests out the window. The roof is down, letting the sun shine on you and his caramel eyes. An old Springstein song plays in the background, the very same thing that coaxed you awake. Just like the dream, he takes a few minutes to notice your opened eyes, head turning your way as another car shoots off ahead of you both, overtaking him.

“You were mumblin’ in your sleep. Were you dreamin’ of somethin’ sweet?”

“I was,” too quick comes your reply. Too honest. Nerves have you stumbling over words, scrambling to pick them off the floor of your mind and spew out the first thing that doesn’t involve Jack and his easy-going professions of love. “About the first time my fiance told me he loves me.”

You regret it as soon as you speak, the visible halt to his smile. He overcorrects it, forcing a grin that stretches the corners of his mouth so tight it almost looks painful. “Well, c’mon, don’t go keepin’ it to yourself!”

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

“It was his best man who did it, an ex military pilot.”

As you try to reminisce on the day, little memories blossom in your mind. Instead of vivid motion capture, the day is black and white, no sound. You don’t remember where you were, what he was wearing, how you felt when you read those words up above.

It happened only two months into your relationship, that you do remember. You also remember being parked in your old neighbourhood the night before, twenty minutes spent trying to will yourself to go knock on the door to your old home. The Bronco was in its usual spot, parked outside. No lights were on as you pulled away and willed yourself back to rational thinking.

“Jeez, if that’s how he’s tellin’ you he loves you, I can’t imagine how he proposed.”

You wonder if this is as tortuous for him as it is for you, listening to you detail the life you’d gone on to live just months after walking away from five years of love. “In a restaurant,” you can’t remember the name, or what you ate, or what you wore, as if the memory is one that doesn’t belong to you, never belonged to you. “I ordered dessert, ‘will you marry me?’ was written on it in cherry sauce.”

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

You leave out the part where the whole restaurant had watched him get down on one knee, or the part where you rushed to the restroom right after accepting the ring, spewing your guts out in a stall. By morning, you told yourself it was fine, you were just feeling nervous. 

After all, you loved him enough to spend time with him, so why not spend the rest of your life with him?

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

It had been too easy to forget the thing you loved most about road trips with Jack.

It wasn’t his constant commentary of interesting facts on sites you’d drive past, or his love for taking the long-way to anywhere and everywhere, or his ever-present need to drag your hand up to his lips with every few miles.

The thing you loved most was listening to his voice, unfiltered, unashamed, outloud, singing along to his favourite songs. The voice of a crooning angel and the shyness of a bashful fox. Every so often, when he’d catch you watching him a little too fondly as he sang along, he’d throw in a voice crack, or twist up a lyric into a sickly innuendo.

In the present, it’s you who interrupts his spirited rendition of a Billy Joel classic.

“You were right, in the letters,” the leather of your seat squeaks as you fix your posture, sit yourself up straight if only to force yourself to stop observing the way his lips fall into a natural pout and, instead, focus on memorising the licence plate that drives ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Right about what?” As though nothing has changed, his hand extends towards your own, effortlessly intertwining your fingers, beginning an ascent to his mouth before mind takes over instinct and he’s letting you go, setting you free.

You give up on the licence plate ahead, turn your face once more towards Jack and his pouty lips.

“I couldn’t be with Agent Whiskey anymore.” A relationship made up of a man, a woman, and an agent. Whiskey would kiss you goodbye in the morning, while Jack would be the one to come home to you. With the passing of time, three became a crowd, and so you removed yourself. “I didn’t want to break your heart, Jack, I swear. But I also didn’t want to let you break mine. And you did, every time you walked out of our home and left me wondering if you’d ever come back. Then, when Tequila… You loved your job. You loved being Agent Whiskey. How could I ask you to leave that part of you behind?”

“Darlin’ if you think there’s any world where losin’ you was easier than losin’ Whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Like his first I love you, he speaks words that flow out of him as easily as an exhale, as though they carry no weight to them. As though they do not momentarily flip your world on its axis and have you wishing he’d turn the car around, driving you both off into the forever you never got.

Yet another car overtakes the Bronco, its driver angrily pressing on his horn. You both continue to ignore the speed at which Jack drives. Up ahead, everything you’ve been dreading comes into view, an unmissable billboard. Clearview Manor.

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Those energy bars should still be in there, if you’re wantin’-”

“Jack, I’m hungry,” you say it louder, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re laying down.“Can’t we stop somewhere for breakfast?”

His answer comes in the form of a left blinker switching on, wheels cutting over gravel and carrying you off the main road. Then, as if to break your heart some more than his last declaration, he turns to you. “If it had been me waitin’ on you at the end of the aisle, would you have ran?”

You try to picture it.

Jack, in his suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back to keep him from drumming nervous fingers over his thighs, eyes brimming with tears as you take your first step down the aisle. Would the panic have settled in? Would you have felt that same wrongness as when you’d been sneaking a peak at your fiance waiting down the aisle?

Would you have ran?

“It’s not something I planned, y’know? Running. I didn’t think it was even an option,” you’re laying your final card on the table, a truth you couldn't bring yourself to admit earlier at last coming out to play. You’re unsure if it dismisses or further condemns you for your runaway crimes. “I took a peak, at the ceremony hall, while waiting for my father. I needed to see what I was about to walk into. I guess I thought the nerves were just from that, the unknown. Then I saw you, a few rows from the back. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that you were just a man who happened to be wearing a cowboy hat. But then I saw my mum pulling you in for a hug, and I caught a glimpse of your face. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t… marry another man, not with you standing in the crowd.”

“You’ve not answered my question,” it’s the first you’ve seen Jack put his foot down since he dragged you out the diner, the seriousness etched into his frowning forehead and stamped onto his lips. “Would you have ran?”

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

Squeezed into the corner booth of a dingy, run-down bar, you and Jack sit across from one another, digging into a stack of pancakes lathered in maple syrup.

The bartender and two of his patrons glance at you both every so often, and you have to wonder how odd a pair you and Jack must make. One dressed to the nines, if you ignore the dried mud at the bottom of his dress pants and his loosening tie, the other wearing yesterday’s make-up paired with cotton pyjama pants. You prefer it to the stares you’d gained in your wrinkled gown.

“Deadly. I’m a serious tap-dancin’ student,” his fork stabs into the fluffy goodness, dragging it along the plate, soaking the pancake in as much syrup as possible. You try not to think of mornings that used to be spent like this, sitting at your own table, flour in his hair and eggshells in your own, both of you ignoring the disastrous mess in the kitchen begging to be cleaned as you tuck into your homemade pancakes. “Retirement breeds weird hobbies.”

“Before long, you’ll be playing bingo at the old folks home.”

“I just have to ask, I really do,” a dread you haven’t felt since stepping out the car— with the help of Jack and his offering hand, the other holding your door open— creeps back in. You don’t want to talk about your own current reality, not when it’s been so easy to pretend none of the wedding fiasco happened and, instead, you’re simply catching up with Jack after bumping into each other in this bar.  “This fiance of yours… is he bigger than me?”

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops. 

“Oh my god, Jack!” You laugh, a little too loudly, and dip your head as other tables turn their heads your way.

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” In mock surrender, he throws his hands up. Your own grab ahold of your knife and fork once more, an ironclad focus on the near-empty plate as you will the shameful heat away from your face, mumbling over your words. “But, no, he isn’t bigger. Happy?”

“You’ve no idea.” As though you’re being haunted by music, a song begins to play over the speakers. You’re not the only one who takes notice, Jack’s eyes lighting up with a devious look, his legs already rising out of his seat. “Think that’s our queue, darlin’.”

“Sit back down.”

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t be so uptight,” he lays out his hand, begging for you to place your own in it. Flashes of a memory, six years back, the very same song playing as the very same man attempted to coax a dance out of you. “One dance, sweetheart, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like your younger self, you’re incapable of resisting his baby cow eyes, letting him guide you out onto a makeshift dance floor before it’s too late to run back and hide in your seat, the eyes of strangers already piercing you with their questioning stares. If you weren’t deemed a strange pair with your attire alone, you certainly are now, feet stumbling awkwardly along with Bruce Springstein.

“This song was playin’ when we met,” he says it like you don’t know, like you don’t remember, like you aren’t replaying that night as you speak, pretending you’re both in that same crowd of swaying bodies, young, and naive, and on the cusp of experiencing the greatest love you’ll ever know, rather than here, on an empty dance floor, stumbling blindly through the hardships of holding each other so close, mutually aware you’re dancing on borrowed time and, soon, you’ll have to go. “Knowin’ now how it ends, if I was sent back in time, I’d still ask you to dance. I’d do it all again.”

“This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just…”

He spins you, drags you closer, sways you. It’s far less care-free than the first dance you shared, no alcohol to dull the shame and a whole lot of history packed between your bodies.

The first dance had been the thing you had dreaded most about your wedding, dancing with your husband, to a whole room of loved ones watching. Dancing now with Jack— even through all the embarrassment you feel as an elderly couple point over at you— feels easier, less daunting, so much so that you can’t help the way you start to laugh, arms loosening around his shoulders, hips moving less abashedly.

The two of you inch closer, and closer, and closer as the song reaches its end. Like a happy couple finishes their first dance, Jack’s mouth lands atop yours.

A gentle kiss, innocent of sin, it begs you to give back, to press your own mouth against his. You answer its calling, hand clasping at the back of his neck, holding him safely against you, less he drifts away and reveals this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, a delusion. Like coming home after a cold winter’s day, his kiss is the comfort of knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

You rip away from him, flashes of your fiance’s face blinding you as you stumble off, doing what you do best: running away. You miss the way the patrons all go back to their own drinks, and the way a new song comes on, and the way Jack chases after you, stopped only by the slamming of a bathroom door.

You come up for air when you find yourself faced with the image you paint in the mirror.

Never has there been a more heartbroken girl, eyes a mess of tears, and faded eyeliner, and smudged mascara, hair a nest fit enough for any bird to build its home in, body draped in the clothing of an ex-lover. It’s almost as frightening as the image you made yesterday, wedding gown freshly laced and make-up pristinely done.

A knock rings against the door. 

It’s followed by a gentle call of your name.

You switch on the tap, welcome the cold splash of water over your face. Pray that, if you scrub hard enough, you’ll wipe away the taste of him, forget the shape of his touch, purge yourself of the desire to follow anywhere he may go. Your hand slips down your face, the dim bathroom light catches on something.

Your engagement ring, a tight shackle that binds you to someone else, reminds you of the closure you owe to Jack.

He calls your name again.

“Darlin’,” it’s muffled behind the door, but the regret in his voice is all too clear. “I just got caught up, I’m sorry. Come on out and we’ll get back on the road-”

The hinges creak as the door opens, only a crack, and your hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of Jack’s tie before you can will yourself to be rational.

He lets you invade his space with little protest, mouths returning to the dance they never got to complete. Hands move, slipping off ties, and undoing draw strings, and locking doors. There’s a mumble, are you sure, followed by a moan, please.

All hope of forgetting his skin is lost, a leg hooked around his waist, fingers tangled in his hair. He bites at your neck, and kisses along your jaw, and pants into your ear, all the while his hips rock back and forth against your own, filling you inch by inch. Mouth covered by your own hand, muffling a cry of his name as you feel him brush against that spine-tingling spot inside you. Your head falls back, eyes slip shut. Jack’s quick to rectify it.

“Watch, darlin’,” he whispers, a hand tilting your eyes down to where your two bodies meet. “ Want you to see how perfectly your lil’ pussy takes me.”

You do as he says, hypnotised by the sight of his cock, glistening in your own arousal, sawing in and out of you, each thrust deeper than the last.  

“He can’t fuck you like this, can he?” Despite his ego-fueled words, there’s a desperation in his voice, a soul lost in a sea of darkness, searching for a life jacket. “Tell me he can’t.”

He can’t, you tell him, clinging onto him tighter, needier, begging him to never leave.

Any minute now, you worry, someone’s going to knock on the bathroom door, kick you both out. Instead, the music that plays outside the door seems to increase in volume.

“Fuckin’ made for me, meant for me,” both of you grow increasingly desperate, fingernails digging into flesh, and mouths rejoining in a frenzy of kisses, and the tightening of an invisible string, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge. “My sweet girl.”

An end that comes all too soon, both of you exhausted, and spent, and collapsing against one another, a sticky mess left between your legs where his hips continue to rut into you through his own overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” his head falls against your shoulder, burrows into the warmth of your neck. There’s a press of his lips against your skin, and a million apologies that follow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” you lie, sooth a hand over his back, ignore the tears you feel falling against your skin.

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

The clock reads 13:18 as Jack brings the car to a stop.

A set of stairs lead up to a grand double-doored entrance, a sign post declaring the extravagant building as Clearview Manor. Rented for the whole weekend, the wedding party isn’t cited to leave until late Monday evening. Though all cars remain parked in the driveway, no familiar faces await your arrival.

“I hope you get your happy ending,” the two of you step out of the car in sync. A voice whispers that it’s the last time you’ll step out the Bronco, you brush it off and follow Jack as he makes his way over to the boot. “No one deserves it more than you, Jack.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he extends his arms to you, you almost move in for a hug.

The sight of your wedding dress, no longer porcelain white, stains of brown upon a greying fabric, reminds you of why you’re here. You try your best to smile earnestly as you take it off his hands, but fear it only heightens the distress that dilates your pupils. “I’ll see you inside, right?”

The boot slams shut, and it’s an awful reminder that your time together is coming to a close, Jack dons his signature smile, cowboy hat back on his head, a head that’s shaking no.

“The mighty fool that I am, thinkin’ I could stomach watchin’ you get married to another man. After this little road trip of ours… well, I guess I just ain’t ready to hit play yet.” A tongue made of lead, shoes filled with weights. Moving feels impossible, talking even more so. You want to say his name, tell him you don’t need to marry another man, crawl back into the Bronco and beg him to drive off. “Go’on, get! There’s a good man in there, waitin’ to give you everythin’ you deserve.”

Instead, you just turn on your heel, take the first step towards the rest of your life. A life without Jack.

Halfway up the stairway, the sound of Jack’s engine reaches your ears, followed quickly by the obnoxiously poignant car radio, giving its final performance for you both.

“Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more!”

Eyes meeting where Jack sits, back in the driver’s seat, you share one last laugh.

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Two arms, strong and secure, wrap around your waist.

On the other side of the bridal suite door stands both your mother and your mother in law, ushered out by your fiance upon your return the moment he noticed the panic on your face as questions and fingers prodded at you.

You block out the thought of the scowling faces, burrowing your own into the space between his shoulder and neck, whispering your inquiry on, “how bad is the damage?”

“We told everyone you were suffering from food poisoning. All our guests think you’ve been spewing out of both ends the past few hours, but I think that’s justified for the bruising you’ve given my ego.”

“Santi,” the shape of your fiance’s name feels foreign in your mouth, the taste of it sour on your tongue, so much so that you can’t say it in full. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be, what matters is you’re here now.”

Jack was right, your fiance is a nice man. A good man. A man anyone would be lucky to land in the arms of, the kind of man people dream of, and romance authors write of.

But to you, his arms just feel like a cage you’ve lost the key for. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

“We do,” you pull apart, at last, nodding your head along to his answer. “But is that all marriage should be? Two people who make sense?” You stumble a few steps back from him, feet needing space to begin pacing back and forth as your filter slips and the word-vomit begins to spew itself out onto the pristine carpeted floors. “Do you really love me enough to spend the rest of your days with me? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t think I love you like that either.”

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

The longer he watches you pace and rant, the quicker you do each thing, as though you’re racing ahead to escape the fear of breaking his heart more than you already have, his love possibly more intense than you make it seem. He ends that fear in one foul swoop of words.

“When you didn’t walk down the aisle, I felt relieved. I also slept with someone at my bachelor party and the guilt has been eating me alive.”

“I just fucked my ex in a bathroom!” In an almost paradoxical response, the pair of you keen over in laughter, any expected animosity thrown out the metaphorical window and leaving you both no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “God, we’re a mess.”

“Wait, the cowboy’s your ex? I should’ve known, your dad told him you were gone before he even bothered to tell me.” Santiago had little luck at winning over your dad, though admittedly it was no fault of his own but, rather, your father had yet to move on from Jack. There’s a sudden commotion as Santi rushes past you, peeling back the curtains and peering down out the window. “What car is it the cowboy drives?”

“A Bronco.”

“Well, you might wanna hurry, because he’s just pulling out of the parking bays.” It’s more than just a warning. It’s a blessing to leave. Overcome with emotion, you dive back into his arms and find there’s no fear of goodbye, not like there had been with Jack. An engagement ring that slips off with no resistance, no longer a shackle that ties you both together. You hand it back to him gently. “Go, before it’s too late! I’ll take care of this mess, see if I can spin this in a way that’s heartbreaking enough to get our deposit back.”

There’s more you want to say, but now’s not the time. Apologies and thank-yous can wait till you pick up your things from his apartment, right now you’re too busy rushing to the door.

A call of your name comes when you’ve got one foot out it, treading into the now motherless hallway. You face Santiago with a smile, ready to say that magic word. 

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

You make it out the double-doors, which slam loudly shut behind you, before you spot the retreating shape of Jack’s car and an anxious glee commands you to break out into a sprint, legs kicking faster than they ever have before.

Don’t speed up, you think, watching as the Bronco slowly creeps down the driveway.

“Jack!” You call out to him, hoping that, with the open roof, he’ll somehow hear you over the radio. Pushing your feet to move a little faster, your arms join the mix, waving wildly to the wind, a careless attempt to catch his attention in the rearview mirror. “Wait!”

The car breaks with a squeak, the blaring music comes to a halt, and Jack turns to face you with his own eyes, as though he can’t trust the mirrors. When you reach the car, you pull at the door handle and find he’s already unlocked it. You slide in with ease, back into the seat you’ve always belonged in: by his side.

He can’t seem to move, frozen with his eyes focused on nothing but you.

“Drive, jack,” you finally proclaim, asking him what you should’ve the moment you saw him in that diner, in the pews, in the heartbreaking hours post-burying a friend.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Anywhere, everywhere!” You can’t help the smile that overcomes you as he pulls your hand up to his mouth, planting a familiar kiss upon it, before the engine hums back to life. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you, all roads lead home.”

Like old times, you lean forward and turn up the radio, a familiar tune filling the air as you sink back into your seat, the wind back in your hair and an open road laying ahead, ready to lead you both wherever the wheels may take you.

“Oh I, I wanna be with you everywhere.”

bts with hyde. this is just a little reflective commentary that i put down here, to avoid flooding my author's note with too much rambling. please feel free to skip this!!

this fic is a compilation of firsts for me. it's the first challenge i've taken part in within the pedro fanspace, which has been equally exciting as it has been daunting. i struggle immensely with writing on a time schedule, and so i'm pretty proud of myself for not posting this (too) late.

this is also my first time writing for jack. admitedly, i'm not sure if i've done justice to him, as his character is somehow incredibly strong and, yet, so open for interpretation that i found myself struggling to connect with him in my writing. i have no plans to write for him in any future wips, but that might change. it was definitely fun to push myself out my comfort zone and write for a new character!

something i want to praise myself for is the attention i put into smaller details of this fic. for example, each flower mentioned in this fic has a very specific symbol/meaning attached to it, fitting with the themes of the scenes in which they're mentioned. the other place i hyperfocused on very unimportant details is the playlist. it opens and closes on the only two songs fronted by a female vocalist, with my intention being that these songs are a representation of the reader's inner turmoils and thoughts in the opening and closing scenes. the rest of the playlist is full of male vocalists, giving a peak into jack's mind despite the entire fic being told through the reader's eyes.

okay, i've given myself enough delusional and unnecesary praise, i'm going to sleep now. please don't be mean if you didn't like this fic, it's literally my birthday 🫡

if you've read this far, ily, i hope you have a good day !

[yeollie-plz]

Swans A Swimming

Day 7 of Pedromas! | Masterlist

Agent Whiskey x F! Reader

Synopsis: Agent Whiskey takes you for a swim.

Genre: smut

Warnings: exhibitionist, p in v sex, pool sex, unprotected sex, kissing, fingering, daddy kink, mentions of spanking, almost getting caught

Gif credits to owners!

The minute you have slipped your cover off, his eyes were on you. The lacking material of your bikini left little to the imagination. And damn was he imagining.

All he wanted to do was rip it right off of your body. But he was going to take his time. Especially if he had you in such a compromising place. The pool wasn’t exactly private and Whiskey wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Well, sweetness, what do we have here.” He says as you wade over to where he is lounging at the shallow end of the pool.

Of course, you feign innocence, “I’m not sure what you mean.” As you speak you let your hand run across his chest. The water helping you easily slide your legs over his, straddling him.

“Wearing almost nothing.” He whispers, taking the sight of your breasts in fully, now that they were right in front of him.

“Thought you’d like it.” Your hands make their way around his neck.

He lets out a mix between a laugh and a groan at your statement. Hands now finding your waist as he pulls your body into his crotch. You feel him already getting hard.

“Whoa, cowboy, this turned on already?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. You bite your lip.

“Got me all excited.” He says, simply.

His hand leaves your hip to make its way to your core. He slips his fingers past your bikini bottoms and finds your clit quickly, massaging it. You whimper at the sudden feeling.

"That's it, baby, feel it. Let me pleasure you." You're whimpering again at his words. His index finger dips past your folds, quirking them a bit to hit your g spot.

"Jack-" You whimper.

"Words." Is all he says back, not needing to say more.

"Need you, quickly. We are so exposed here."

"Really? Thought my little exhibitionist would like it out here. What with the way you teased me at dinner the other night." His other hand has now made contact with your clit, rubbing it in time with his fingers.

"That was-that was different."

He tsks at you, "Not sure it was, pretty girl. I mean you're putty in my hands right now, I think you like it."

Instead of responding you just moan at his words and reconnect your lips to his. Biting down on his bottom lip with his fingers hit extra deep inside of you.

Now he's moaning into your lips as your hips buck into his hand, trying to get yourself off. You can tell he wants you as much as you want him. He's enjoying the fact that the two of you could be caught at any minute just as much as you are. You can especially tell by how easily he reacts to your touch when you decide to tease him back.

Your hands have found their way to his hardened dick, teasing him through the fabric of his swim trunks. He is once again left moaning, as his hips are now the ones bucking up. You giggle slightly at how much he reacts to you.

"Think teasing me is funny?" He says simply. The words are laced with subtle annoyance, more from a place of dominance than anger.

"Just want you so bad, daddy." The nickname makes him pause for a second. You smile to yourself, knowing what it does to him.

"You won't be laughing when I've spanked you more times than you can count later. When I bring you to your edge over and over again, but don't allow you to cum." Although the words are talking about punishment, they still make you wetter at the thought. A little whimper slips past your lips at his words.

Now he's laughing, before slipping his fingers out of you. You let out a whine at the loss, but he just tsks again. Pulling his trunks down just enough to let his dick out, he grabs your hips and lets the water help guide you down on it. You moan instantly at the stretch. Not giving you much time to adjust, he starts to lift you off of his dick before pushing you back on it. His hips move upwards to press his member even deeper into you.

He continues this rough motion, keeping the pace fast, trying to bring you both to orgasm quickly. You aren't sure if its because you teased him so much, that you are out in public, or because he can't wait to get your back to the bedroom. But whatever the reason you aren't complaining. Especially when his dick hits your g spot, causing you to fall forward slightly, loosing your balance.

He's laughing at you again, "See, putty." The words are matched with his thumb finding your clit again, working it in circles. His lips find yours and kiss you, hard. Slipping his tongue past your lips when you gasp at the mixture of feelings.

The water moves with his thrusts, splashing up around you two. But you are too busy to notice the chlorine in your eyes, not with the beginnings of your orgasm starting. Your walls clench around his dick, signaling your impending peak.

"Cum with me." Is all you need to hear before your walls are spasming over his dick, drawing his orgasm also out of him.

As your walls continue to milk him of his cum, his thrusts become slower and so does his thumb on your clit. When he has figured, you two are fully down from your highs, he pecks your lips before leaning his forehead against yours.

"Well, that was fun, but we might wanna calm down and get out of here. I think some people are coming." He says before tilting his head towards the sound of people yelling and laughing coming closer.

Quickly you lift yourself off of him, causing him to hiss at the speed you did it at. You fix your bikini bottoms as you walk up the steps and out of the pool.

Winking back at him as you purposefully show your ass to him before slipping your cover over yourself. More specifically your ass that he was eyeing like he had never seen anything like it. As his view is covered he looks up to your eyes, your eyes spark with play.

You bend down, face inches from his, "Come on, daddy. Why don't we try out the sauna?"

Your lips brush his, before pulling away right before he can kiss you. He falls forward a bit, expecting to meet you instead of air. You stand and saunter off towards the sauna. Swaying your hips, knowing that his eyes are bearing into you as you walk away.

<- Previous Day | Next Day ->

Taglist:

@britlord @kittenlittle24 @godlypresley @amyispxnk

[absurdthirst]

Unwillingly Bonded {Alpha!Agent Whiskey x Omega!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7k

Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamics, heats, compulsion to breed, Alpha Whiskey asks permission, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, marking, mating/bonding, abandonment, oral sex (female receiving) knotting, angst, pregnancy, labor, child birth, Jack is a jerk, PTS, trauma, medical trauma, labor complications, hospitals, medically induced comas, second chances.

Comments: On a mission, Agent Whiskey comes across an omega in heat, you. Working you through your need, he bonds with you by marking you as his. Only Jack doesn't want another omega, even as much as it hurts you.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia. 

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Agent Whiskey 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.

Jack checks his watch, not hearing any warnings from Ginger so he knows it’s fine to go into the house. It’s your average suburban house, nothing special, but the hard drive that contains most of the world’s nuclear codes on it is in there and Jack needs to get it so it can be destroyed. He works quietly and to get inside and that’s when it hits him. “Fuck.” He growls, both in frustration and arousal. That smell. Something he hasn’t smelled in years. An omega in heat and not just any omega…his omega. Instinct overcomes him as all thoughts of the hard drive are pushed aside as he stalks through the house, cock hard and aching and he slams the door to the bedroom open. Finding you spread out, sweat glistening on your skin as your fingers work in and out of your needy, aching cunt. You’re in heat and you look glorious. 

“Alpha, please.” You beg, recognizing who Jack is to you and he can’t stop himself, driven by an ancient need, he surges forward onto the bed, shrugging off his jacket as his lips meet yours.

This stranger appeals to you, his scent an instant comfort and a temptation. Left to ride out your incredibly painful heat alone, you had been sentenced to being unfulfilled, until his mouth watering scent had wafted to you. An alpha, your alpha. The pheromones make your omega keen for him, even as your body spasms under your own touch. He would be better, soothe you better. “I need you, alpha.” You mewl as he strips down, the clank of his belt making you whine as the musky scent of his aroused cock fills your nostrils.

Once Jack is naked, he is kneeling between your thighs, fingers sliding through your folds after knocking your digits away. “Don’t worry, omega. I’ve got you. Gonna take care of you.” He promises and wraps his slicked up fingers around his cock, positioning it at your entrance before he starts to slowly push inside of you with a soft groan.

“Alpha!” You don’t even know the man’s name that is pushing inside you but he is feeling perfect as he stretches out your needy cunt.

He isn’t soft or gentle, setting a harsh pace immediately to give you what you need. Jaw clenched as all thoughts except the way you feel around him leave his mind. The urge to bite you is already gnawing inside of him, but he focuses on making you feel good, his hand grabbing your thigh to lift it higher on his hip so he can push deeper inside of you.

“Oh fuck.” You choke out when he manages to feel like he's grinding even deeper inside you than he had originally. Better than anything your fingers could have done, his cock hits deep inside of you and makes you whimper every time he pushes deep and kisses your womb.

Jack can’t speak, the only thing coming from his mouth is growls as he furiously fucks you into the mattressl. He needs you to cum so his fingers find your clit, rubbing harsh circles and making him hiss when you clench down around him. “Omega.” He growls in warning, wanting you to cum for him.

You whine, deep in the back of your throat as you wrap your leg around the back of his thighs. It’s everything you needed and you can’t help but thank the gods that he showed up. The fire in your belly is eased every time he thrusts into you. Arching your back, you present your scent gland to him as you start to cum. Crying out in pleasure as your body shakes under his and stars flash white in your eyes.

“Fuckkkk.” Jack hisses, thrusting into you like a jackhammer and he leans down, unable to stop himself as his teeth sink into your neck. Marking you as his for all to see, his omega, his mate. He can’t stop himself as he claims you as his and his knot swells, catching inside of you until he cums, painting your walls with his hot seed.

The wordless cry of pain and pleasure is loud, your body fusing with his as you feel his teeth sink into your gland. The turmoil and anxiety that comes with being an unbonded omega instantly quelling as your heart stops a beat and starts to synchronize to his. Mated together and bonded so that your happiness, your future, was intertwined with his.

Jack rides out his orgasm and he withdraws his teeth, licking over the mark he’s left on your skin. “I’m Jack.” He introduces himself and you smile sleepily, telling him your name. Jack shifts to lay on his back, still locked inside of you as he lets you lay on his chest, his eyes closing. He can feel your satisfaction and it sends him into a deep sleep, his arms wrapped around you to keep you safe in your slumber.

When you wake up, you notice immediately that he is no longer inside you. Disoriented, you sit up and look around blearily, finding him getting dressed again. “Alpha?” You croak, frowning. “Where are you going?” You shuffle to the end of the bed and start to get up so you can dress as well. Your heat is still in swing, but if you need to leave, you can control yourself until you get where he wants you to be.

“I gotta go, sweetheart. Gotta head back to my work. I got a report to type up and shit to do. It was a pleasure makin’ your acquaintance, but this cowboy has places to be.” He says, putting his hat on his head.

“You aren’t leaving me.” You shake your head and hurry to put your clothes on. “You marked me, mated me.” You remind him, his teeth marks are embedded in your scent gland for everyone to see. “I’ll be ready in just a minute. I’ll pack my things.”

Jack huffs and shakes his head, pissed that he marked you. His body is aching for you even now and he can feel your anger at him as you shuffle to get ready and grab a bag. “I didn’t - I don’t want a mate.” He murmurs to himself, deciding to search around for the hard drive he came in here to find. “What?” You ask, turning towards him and he shakes his head, “nothin’. Just get your shit.”

You hurry up and finish packing, shoving your things into a bag. You hated being here and had hoped to be able to leave, finding that opportunity with the alpha who had marked you. “It’s in the safe behind the dresser.” You tell him. “The hard drive you’re here for.” 

“What? What do you know about that?” He demands, looking up and frowning. 

You shrug. “They wanted to keep whatever was in that hard drive safe. Figuring an omega in heat would distract whoever was looking for it.”

He’s shocked but can’t deny the idea is ingenious. He nods and walks over to the dresser, “you know the code, omega?” He asks, his voice a little demanding and you nod, giving him the code. 

“It’s my birthday.” You confess, “my brother…he’s the one you’re looking for. He - he wants infamy and I- I wish he would stop being the bad guy. He kidnapped me, brought me here two days ago.” You confess and Jack nods, working on pushing the dresser aside so he can open the safe, taking out the hard drive.

You bite your lip and watch Jack, the cowboy alpha who has claimed you. He’s handsome. His thick mustache is perfectly groomed and his Stetson fits the jeans, button up and sports jacket. Right down to the double six shooters he wears and the cowboy boots on his feet. He’s got to be some kind of police, not sure who, but he’s here because your brother is a bad man. You don’t have any love for him, he had been willing to let any alpha abuse you to keep his secrets.

He takes out one of his weapons, not trusting you just yet despite being bonded to you. He is waiting for an ambush now that he has the hard drive and he grabs your hand, pulling you along through the house. He’s cautious of any traps, people that are gonna jump out at him but he guesses that would’ve happened while he had his cock inside of you. “Come, omega.” He says, guiding you out of the house and to the car he has waiting to take him to the airfield.

You are relieved that you are leaving, clinging to him as he speaks to someone through an invisible speaker somewhere on him. “Alpha.” You hear a helicopter approaching and your eyes widen when you see it burst on the horizon. “Is that for us?”

“Yes it is, darlin’. You afraid of flyin’?” He asks you and you shake your head. “Good.” He nods and he guides you over to the car, helping you in. It’s a short drive across the small town to the airfield and he helps you out after he exits the car. The wind from the helicopter is strong and he keeps you close as he guides you to the bird, wanting you to be safe and away from this damn town.

You watch the houses grow smaller and turn towards your alpha, cuddling into his side. You feel comforted by his presence, his scent. Your nose pressed against his scent gland and you sigh, enjoying the waft of satisfaction you are getting from him. Wondering if it’s from his happiness on the mission he was on or from you, you can only guess.

Jack feels you relax against him and he allows himself to comfort you but he takes his phone out to message Ginger to prepare his home for you. The helicopter ride doesn’t take long and soon he’s landing at the airfield for Statesman and he has the car waiting. He helps you off of the helicopter and to the awaiting car. “Come, omega. Let’s go home.” He says and helps you into the car, putting your bag in the trunk before he gets in and starts the engine.

His seed is still inside you and the idea of a home, a real home with your alpha, makes your omega preen. You eagerly look out the window, wondering what kind of home he has and the prospect of building a real nest for your heats appeals. Your family hasn’t been the best and you are glad that he marked you. “Where is our home?” You ask curiously.

“I have a farmhouse. My ma and pa had it built before I was born and it’s been mine ever since my ma passed away.” He reveals, having lived in the home on and off for the past ten years. It’s his childhood home and he hopes you’re happy there. The drive isn’t long and he’s soon pulling up outside the ranch house, “home sweet home.”

It’s a beautiful little thing, although it has an air of being abandoned. As if your alpha hadn’t spent much time here. That doesn’t matter, you will make it a soft landing for him, a haven from the cruel world. “Alpha, it’s beautiful.” You tell him breathlessly, charmed by the place. “Do we- would you mind if I changed things? Made it comfortable for you?”

Jack won’t argue with you, he will let you do what you want. “I want it to be comfortable for you.” Jack says and he opens the door for you after parking his bronco and he helps you inside with your bag. “I want you to make this your home.” He says after he turns on the lights and you frown, turning to look at him. 

“You mean our home?” You ask and he shakes his head, “I will be going to my apartment in the city. This is your home.””

“Alpha.” You look around in confusion. “You…you bonded with me. My place is where you are.” You know that it is possible to spend time apart, but any longer than a day is incredibly painful for a bonded alpha and omega. “Let me come with you to your apartment. I will make sure you are happy.”

“I - I can’t.” Jack shakes his head, shifting to sit down on the sofa and he takes his hat off to set it down on the coffee table. “I can’t stay with you, omega.” He says and you sit down next to him, “why not?” Your lower lip trembles and he feels your hurt.

“I- I was mated. I was twenty and she was my high school sweetheart. We were so in love and so young. We were bonded and we got married, she got pregnant. Then one night she went to a gas station and went inside to get a chocolate bar, one of her cravings, and she was shot by two drug addicts who wanted money and she got caught in the fray, she was killed when she was seven months pregnant. I- I can’t lose another omega. I never wanted to be mated again but then you- it was like I couldn’t control myself. I can’t be with you. I cannot go through that again.”

Your heart breaks, hating that he is unwilling to fulfill his duty to you. He had bonded with you and had no intention of keeping you with him. Curling away from him, you wrap your arms around yourself and cry, his rejection of you piercing through you like a knife. “Please.” You beg, closing your eyes to try to keep from reaching for him, or seeing the disgust in his eyes. “You are my alpha.”

He can feel your anger and sadness but it doesn’t sway him. The memory of his highschool sweetheart laying on the slab with her baby bump and his unborn son flashes in his mind and he won’t go through that again. He shakes his head again, “I’m sorry. I can’t stay with you. You’ll be safe here. I- I’ll come back to help you with your heats.”

You turn your back to him, unwilling to let him see you hurting even though he can smell it on you. “Don’t bother, alpha.” You manage to grit out. “I am sure that there are other places you would rather be.”

Jack doesn’t push, knowing you are going to hate him but hating him is better than you being dead. “Okay. If you need anything, I- you can call me on this phone.” He hands you the phone he has in his pocket. He can get another one from Ginger but the line is secure so you won’t be jeopardized by his enemies listening in. You choke on a sob and he doesn’t say anything, just stands up and makes his way to the door. “I’m sorry, omega. I didn’t - I never expected to be in this position. I didn’t even know you could - I barely survived losing my last mate. I cannot do it again. I’ll speak to you soon.” He half promises and steps out of the door and makes his way to his bronco.

Your heart shatters, every step he takes away from you burning you like a flame being held to your scent gland. Knowing that he has no intention of being with you makes you collapse onto the floor, sobbing. Distress pours off of you in waves and you wonder why he had marked you if he had no intention of keeping you. It would have been better to just fuck you and leave you there because now your happiness and your health is tied to a man who has no need for you.

Jack can feel your devastation through your bond but he tries to ignore it, the way his body is pushing him to go back and comfort you. He nearly died after he lost his last mate, he can’t go through that again. That was worse than what he’s feeling now. He swallows harshly, gripping the steering wheel as he makes his way to the compound to his apartment there so he can get away from you. This is for the best, it has to be.

You don’t know how long you lay on the floor of the house where Jack had abandoned you. Unable to do anything but mourn the rejection of your alpha, you don’t sleep or drink or eat as you wallow in the pain and misery. Unable to do anything but deal with the pain of his emotional and physical distance, you wonder if it would be better to just break the bond with him. 

**** 

It’s been weeks since Jack left you crying on his living room floor. The ache has become his constant companion but he ignores it, immersing himself in missions and trying to forget about his mate. He arrives back at the compound, exhausted from his last mission to Thailand when Ginger rushes up to him. “What’s wrong?” He asks, a frown on his face when Ginger shakes her head. 

“She needs you Jack. She’s in heat. She - she wants to - she doesn’t want to live anymore…she told me she can’t handle it.” Jack inhales sharply and shakes his head, running towards the parking garage. 

He speeds down the road, rain battering his windshield and lightning flashes in the clouds above. He’s desperate to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. He’s speeding when his engine starts to sputter. “No. No. Don’t fuckin’ - you fuckin’ piece of shit.” He growls, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He can’t waste another second so he gets out, running down the dusty drive to his ranch and he is soaked to the bone as he yells your name, “omega! Omega!” He shouts, stumbling onto the porch.

Inside the house, buried in your nest, you writhe in pain. Whimpering and crying as you imagine Jack’s voice, your Alpha’s voice ringing in your head. Calling for you. The faint remnants of his scent around the house are all you have left and you had gathered everything you could to make it feel like he was around you, but it was no use. The pain is much more intense now during your heat than when you had been unbonded, you don’t know if you can stand this. You had told him not to bother coming back, but your fingers shake as you reach for the prescription that the doctor had given you. Needing the sweet relief that it would bring and maybe peace. 

Jack runs through the house, drenched through and he’s stripping his jacket and shirt off, and he is hard already, his body aching for you when he smells the desperation coming off of you. “Omega. Omega. I'm sorry. Let me help you. Let me help you.” He pleads, his instincts driving him to help you and he’s desperate to help you. “Please. Tell me I can help you, omega.”

“Alpha!” You drop the bottle, surprised that he is here and you can’t help but think that he’s changed his mind, that that pain of being apart was too great for him like it had been for you. “Please alpha, I need you.” You beg, desperate for his touch and the soothing scent of his pheromones surrounding you. “Jack, please.”

He can’t deny you, even if he tries. He has to satisfy you. It’s in his DNA. He shoves his jeans down, kicking off his boots and he reaches for your thighs, pushing them apart so he can surge forward to bury his tongue in your cunt, his nose pressed against your clit.

“Ohhhh Alpha!” you scream in pleasure, the overwhelming flood of endorphins taking over and quenching the fire that has been crawling under your skin since Jack had left. He is a vital part of your physical and emotional health. Your fingers tear into his hair, curling around the strands and tugging as you roll your hips down into his face, grinding down on him. Desperate for more. “Please alpha, oh god, thank you, thank you for coming.” 

His hands grab your thighs, pushing them back so he can push his tongue deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. Taste so good.” He groans, pulling back for a moment until he’s surging forward again to wrap his lips around your clit to suck hard, wanting you to cum like this first.

You moan and writhe in your nest, feeling your body respond to his touch to the waves of determined pheromones that are pouring off of him. The pride that he feels every time your walls gush around his tongue and your orgasm slams through you without warning with the next suck of his mouth. Screaming his name, your body shakes and jerks from the force of your pleasure, your omega preening under the attention from her alpha after so long without him. 

The way you cum has his cock leaking with need for you, aching to put his knot inside of you. He groans your name and kisses up your body, taking your nipple into his mouth while he reaches down to grip his cock with his hand. Pumping himself a couple of times before he positions himself at your entrance, “omega.” He murmurs, kissing your scent gland as he pushes inside of you.

You groan, your limbs winding around him and you practically purr at the stretch of him. Thick and heavy inside you, he scratches an itch that you couldn’t manage yourself with any toy or your fingers. Your alpha, deep inside you, was exactly what you needed. “Alpha, please.” You beg prettily. “I need you to knot me. Pump me full of your cum.”

He can’t deny you any longer. Starting to move inside of you, he hisses your name and moves slow but deep, wanting to give you the relief he knows you need. His mind is clouded with your scent and the way your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. “Fuck, omega. Missed this.” He confesses, admitting to you and himself that he had thought about you during his self imposed solitude.

You can’t even chide him right now, not when he is giving you what you’ve wanted. What you need. It just means that he’s realized he was wrong and he will stay with you now. Or bring you with him. While the house and the grounds are lonely, you need to be with your alpha. “So good. I needed you. My alpha, fuck Jack, you feel so good.”

Jack groans when you moan his title and his name, your walls flutter around him and he moves a little faster inside of you, giving you what you need. “Fuck baby girl, oh my omega. So good. Feel so good.” He grunts into your jaw as his hips move inside of you. He’s missed this feeling and he knows he shouldn’t have stayed away from you.

The steady push of his cock inside you makes you keen, rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts. “It’s so good, alpha. Missed you. Needed you so badly. My nest needs to smell like you.”

He hums, “gonna make sure you’re satisfied. Gonna make cum over and over, sugar.” He promises as he moves within you, his hand gripping your thigh to push it further back against your stomach, wanting to be even deeper inside of you. “Need you to cum again, baby girl.” He murmurs, pressing his nose against your scent gland.

You whine, loving the attention and the promise of satisfaction. You need it. Your omega content as he fucks you steadily. Your fingers dig into his back, holding him close and you close your eyes to let him just take care of you. Despite him leaving, you trust him to care for you. “Want to be good for you, alpha.” You moan softly.

He groans, loving how you submit to him despite him abandoning you. His fingers slide between your bodies so he can rub your clit, desperate to make you cum and be satisfied after hearing of your despair from Ginger. He’s acting on animal instinct, wanting to feel you cum and moan his name, his title. “Cum for me, omega.” He orders, his voice rough.

You are completely helpless to do anything but cum for him. Shuddering when the first bolts of pleasure rock through you, your cunt clenches down on him like a vice, legs wrapped around him as you soak him in a torrent of your juices.

Jack feels like he’s complete when you cum around him. He knows he should be here for you but the memories of his late wife and unborn child stop him from opening up to you. He grits his teeth, pushing deep. It’s been too long since he came so he’s moving faster until he’s groaning out “omega” and painting your walls with his hot seed.

You whimper in pleasure, the heat of his cum flooding your womb and making you moan his name quietly. Your body starts to relax for the first time in months, the pain that has been so prevalent subsiding. “I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind, alpha.” You murmur quietly, caressing his back as he rides out his high.

Jack’s knot is caught inside of you as he works himself through his orgasm and he exhales shakily, closing his eyes. He knows he should’ve been here for you and he doesn’t want you to do anything stupid because he was selfish and decided to not be what you need. Your life depends on him being what you need and it kills him on a cellular level to feel your agony. “I’m sorry, ‘mega.” He murmurs, shifting to his side so he can curl around you.

You are exhausted, the pain has been draining and you snuggle back into his arms. “‘S okay.” You mumble sleepily, eyes starting to flutter closed. “Love you.” Even though you don’t know him, your very nature makes you love him, he’s your mate. The other half of your being and you feel complete now that his scent is surrounding you and comforting you.

****

“Fuck. Feel so good, omega. So fuckin’ tight, sugar.” Jack hisses as he rocks into you, moaning at the way you grip his cock inside of you, his hips hitting your ass as he fucks you from behind. It’s been two days since you left your nest for anything other than food and to shower quickly. Even then, Jack made sure his soapy hand was between your thighs to keep you satisfied. Sweat beads on his brow as he fucks you, his fingers digging into your hips.

You moan, bowing your back as he hits that wonderful little spot deep inside you and makes your thighs shake. The past two days have been pure bliss, falling asleep with his knot inside you and waking up to his tongue on your clit. The perfect alpha in every sense, he has made this heat the best you have ever experienced and the down times between sex have been filled with conversation. You’ve learned what he does, he’s an agent for a place called Statesman, intelligence work. Which you had kind of figured out after your meeting. “Jack, baby, alpha, I’m gonna cum.” You’ve learned he loves knowing he’s taking care of you, and you call him ‘alpha’.

“That’s it, darlin’. Cum for ole Jack. Cum for your alpha.” He orders, pushing deep inside of you and his hand slides down your stomach to press against your clit, wanting to hear your sweet cries as you clamp down on his cock and soak him. “Cum. For. Me.” He says through gritted teeth as he pushes deep inside of you.

You cry out loudly, collapsing down face-first into your nest and moaning as he continues to rock into you. Pushing you through your pleasure with every thrust of his hips. You feel the knot start to swell and your eyes close blissfully. “Fill me, alpha.” You beg, pushing your hips back. “I want your knot, please alpha, only you can make it feel so good.”

He grits his teeth, unable to deny you anything as he pushes deep, his knot catching and he groans your name as he cums, his seed spilling inside of you as he leans down to press his nose to your scent gland. You smell like him, covered in his scent and that makes him vibrate with pleasure and satisfaction.

You hum, smiling against the sheets in your nest as you feel him throb inside you. Jack shuffles, guiding you to lay down with his knot embedded inside you and keeping you plugged full of his cum. “I think that was the last push.” You tell him breathlessly, closing your eyes and relaxing into his arms.

Jack feels you fall asleep against his chest and he caresses your arm and down to your side, wishing he could stay like this forever but his traitorous heart lurches when his mind flashes with the image of his dead omega full of his unborn son. It makes him clench his eyes shut like he’s trying to get rid of the image. He sighs and shakes his head, curling around you. He will be gone by the time you wake up, the note on the nightstand telling you to call him next time you’re in heat.

****

“Do not tell him that I am in heat.” You hiss through the phone to Ginger, the pain blooming through your system although you try to block it. “I just need suppressants,” you tell her. “This heat is different. I’m sick and throwing up. I’m tired all the time and the pain just seems to linger.” You had vowed to never let Jack Daniels in your nest again after waking to find your alpha had abandoned you for a second time. You had cried and raged before deciding that you were done letting him control you. “It will help with the pain.”

“I- I don’t think you need a - I think you need a doctor.” Ginger says, summoning the facility doctor to go to Jack’s house to meet you and check you out. You don’t argue and Ginger doesn’t alert Jack, knowing you’d be mad about it. “The doctor is gonna be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Ginger.” You tuck your phone into your shoulder and start tearing apart your nest to rebuild it for the third time. You’ve been unhappy with it and have done this at least twice a day for the past week. Unsure of why you feel so particular when you’ve never really noticed it before. “Please don’t tell Jack, I’m obviously not his concern.”

Jack’s phone dings and he wonders what the calendar event is when today is nothing special until he sees it’s the scheduled first day of your heat. He knows you must be in pain by now, he can feel the never ending tinge of pain in his body with every step he takes away from you and he decides to go see you, to perform his duty. The dust kicked up from his bronco, he enters the house with a call of your position, wanting to hear you moan for him.

You stare at the results the doctor had printed out for you. You hear Jack call your designation and you shove the paper out of sight and leap up to slam the bedroom door and lock it. Despite the pain, you don’t want him near you. Not right now. Not when your heat wasn’t really a heat. “What are you doing here, Jack?” You call out through the door, trying to ignore the way your omega leaps in happiness at his presence.

Jack tries to open the bedroom door and finds it locked. “Sugar, why are you lockin’ me out?” He asks, frowning and confused as he tries the door again. “Why won’t you let me help you?” He asks, his voice taking on that alpha quality that has you shivering as you struggle to not respond.

“So you can leave me again?” You close your eyes, trying to resist the urge to open the door and slide into his arms. “I would rather work through my heat by myself.” You lie.

“I- you can’t deny what you need. I don’t want you to be hurtin’.” He murmurs and you scoff, “right. That’s why you keep leaving me.” Jack sighs, resting his forehead on the door after taking off his hat, “you know why.”

“I know that you bonded with me and have left me in pain nearly every day since then.” You reply. “Just go Jack. I’m not requiring your services. Go back to your apartment and pretend I don’t exist.”

“I - I want to help.” He tries to sound convincing, knowing that you hate him. You must hate him and he doesn’t blame you. He never should’ve claimed you. He deserves your hatred. “Just go.” You choke and he sighs, knocking his fist on the doorframe. “You know where to find me when it gets too much.” He says, placing his hat back on his head and he heads out of the house, back to his solitude.

You hate when he leaves but you know it’s for the best. He can’t discover that you are pregnant, that would really make him run for the hills. You are doing what is best for you and for him, even though it hurts.

****

The agony is something that Jack is used to now. The constant ache as he flies away on yet another mission. His heart burning for you but he stays away, unwilling to go through the grief from

the loss of another omega. He sighs and rubs his jaw as he comes in to land in Kentucky, the thought of wondering what you’re doing comes to him again. When he lands, he finds Ginger waiting for him and that makes him frown. “What’s happened?” He asks and she sighs.

“Jack. She - she’s in labor.” She announces and Jack shakes his head. 

“Labor? But she- she isn’t pregnant.” He chokes and Ginger nods, “she is. You haven’t spoken to her for months. She’s in labor, Jack. Don’t miss this opportunity to make things right.” Ginger says, having been your friend during your pregnancy, helping you and letting you vent when the anger towards Jack got to be too much for you.

You close your eyes, breathing heavily through another contraction and you let out a moan of pain. The doctor that had told you that you were pregnant is on the way, willing to deliver the baby at your home. You’ve decorated it to your tastes and prepared for your baby as best you can. Ginger had delivered a credit card that Jack had set up for you, so you didn’t have to worry about paying for anything, although the pain of not having your alpha with you still persisted. You were dealing with it and you supposed you should thank Jack. Because of that, you were dealing with labor a lot better than you could have been.

Jack is speeding down the driveway, barely stopping his bronco before he’s jumping out and making his way inside to find you screaming in pain, the midwife by your side. “Omega. Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands, setting his hat down and shrugging off his jacket. He’s terrified but there’s nothing he can do now, he needs to be here for you.

“Ginger.” You hiss, panting after the contraction has passed. “You-“ you shake your head, “you didn’t want me, so you wouldn’t want the baby either.” You reason, even though Ginger had assured you many times that Jack would have stepped up to take care of you and the baby if he had known you were pregnant.

Jack should want the earth to swallow him whole and he does when his eyes drift down to your belly. So round and full of his child, one he didn’t even know you were having. “I- I wish you had told me. I would’ve been here.” He’s half telling the truth. Not sure if he would’ve been here but he likes to think even he can work past it to be there for you.

You snort and would have replied but another pain rips through you, making you grip the bedding of your nest tightly and scream again. Sweat pours down your cheeks and you feel like the baby is trying to come too fast, but you know that you are progressing nicely.

Jack steps closer, reaching for your hand. “Omega. Let me help you”. He says, knowing he can comfort you like no one else can. He wants to. He wants to make you feel safe and protected while you go through this pain. “Did Ging not give you any pain meds?” He asks, knowing Ginger has stuff in her supplies.

“She- it’s not time yet.” You pant, leaning back and closing your eyes and trying to rest between the contractions. His fingers squeeze yours and you should pull away, but it does comfort you. Your eyes open and you look into the handsome face of your alpha. “You don’t have to stay.” You tell him. “I’ve decided to do this alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He growls at you, not allowing an argument. He may be many things but Jack won’t walk away from you in a time of need like this. He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it and murmurs your name. “You can do this, baby girl. I know you can. Focus. Breathe. You’re so fuckin’ strong. Can survive without your alpha. You can do this.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

You can survive without your alpha. It’s been a bitch to learn, but you’ve done it. Closing your eyes, you try to not let your omega take control, to preen under his touch and praise. You know it’s only temporary. Once the baby is born safely, Jack will disappear again. He doesn’t want you as his mate. You are nothing but a burden to him. The idea of breaking the bond once again flutters through your mind until the next contraction hits.

He holds your hand as you grit your teeth while the midwife comes over to check you. “You’re ready to go mama. You ready to start pushing?” She asks and you shake your head, “fuck, this hurts.” You choke, feeling another contraction coming. 

“You can do this, baby. Just breathe. You can do this.” Jack promises, knowing he has to be strong for you at this moment.

You close your eyes so you don’t have to see him, but the calming pheromones he’s pumping out and the strong grip of his hand helps you. Biting your lip, you quickly change it to clenching your teeth together to suppress the scream as you start to push.

Jack lets you squeeze the shit out of his hand and he watches as you push, sweat beading on your brow but you are being so strong. Time seems to stand still as you push until Jack hears the cries of the baby and his heart lurches. “Congratulations, it’s a girl. Would daddy like to cut the cord?” The midwife asks and Jack nods, dumbstruck as he walks over after letting go of your hand to cut the cord. 

The midwife hands him his daughter and she is squawking, annoyed at being pushed into the world, and Jack smiles, “hey darlin’ girl.” He murmurs, carrying her over to her mama.

Your heart stutters when you see your alpha with your daughter, softening your resolve and your omega purrs happily. Your tears are both from relief and angst that you know he will walk away again. Not only hurting you, but her as well. The midwife continues to work on you as you take her from Jack and cradle her in your arms. “You are gorgeous.” You coo to her smooshed little face, softly stroking her fluid covered cheek. “Look at you, Princess, you don’t have anything to cry about. Mama’s gonna take care of you.”

Jack starts to panic, imagining something happening to you or the baby. The fear crawls up his throat until he chokes, terrified to see you hurt or worse. You cradle the baby and he shakes his head, stepping back. “I- I’m sorry, omega. I can’t - fuck.” He tries to inhale but he can’t seem to breathe. The panic tightening his chest and he grips his shirt. “I- sorry.” He gasps and turns on his heel, running out of his home and onto the porch, desperately trying to breathe but he can’t.

You let out a sob of disbelief, unable to believe that he had run so quickly, but that seems to be Jack’s style. “Damn you, Jack Daniels.” You huff, tears starting to slide down your cheeks and you decide that you are done. “Do not let him back inside.” You instruct the midwife. “I don’t want him here.”

Jack can barely see as he drives back to the compound. His fingers gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline and he has tears running down his cheeks as he tries to drive away from his omega and his newborn daughter. He’s toxic and he knows he’d hurt them eventually so he might as well get it over with. 

When he arrives back at the compound, Ginger is there to meet him with a slap to the face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She hisses, “that’s it, Jack. You need to go to the therapist. No more excuses or trying to act like you’re fine. You just abandoned the best thing to ever happen to you and it’s gonna destroy you. You need help.” 

Jack can’t even argue. He nods, slumping as he struggles to breathe again. Ginger pulls him into her arms, knowing he’s struggling with everything

It hurts more than you ever thought to know that he didn’t even try to come back inside. That your daughter - his daughter - was so unimportant that he didn’t want to see her again. It makes you realize that you had done the right thing, not telling him about your pregnancy. Still you hesitate to break your bond, despite it hurting you. Instead, you focus on your daughter and the first days pass quickly, getting used to being a mother and learning to breastfeed your daughter.

Jack rubs his hands on his jeans, standing up from the sofa. His therapy session is over, one of many that he’s been attending to work through his issues and he’s stepping out of the room when he gets the call. “Ging.” He answers and she says words he doesn’t ever want to hear. 

It’s all a fuzzy noise but he hears her say “collapsed” and “hospital” and he’s rushing to the hospital without a second thought. He gives you name and is running into your room, finding you unconscious on the bed, the baby in the bassinet beside you. 

The doctor follows him in and explains that you collapsed. A hemorrhage from the birth and you had called 911 before you collapsed so they brought the baby with you as it didn’t appear anyone was at home with you. Jack nearly collapses himself from guilt and the doctor says you are touch and go for now, they need to see if the clots have traveled to your brain so they are taking you for a scan. 

The baby begins to cry and Jack walks over to cradle her, tears in his eyes as the guilt swallows him whole. “Hey sweetheart. It’s daddy. I- I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.” He chokes, leaning down to kiss her forehead before he looks over at you.

The baby squawks and tears up again, unhappy that her mother isn’t holding her, but you don’t stir. You can’t. You are locked in a dream where Jack leaves you, over and over again, making your heart ache and your body shudder in pain. A dream where your daughter doesn’t exist because he never would mate you after that first time. 

The doctor tells Jack that they have put you in a coma to keep your brain protected in case of any blood clots and Jack spends what seems like days in the hospital room. The baby can’t stay in there forever since you have breast milk at home so he has to go home and let her sleep, feed her, and Ginger has to help him learn how to take care of his daughter. 

It’s been a week since you went into hospital and Jack doesn’t think he can imagine his life without his child. He’s fallen in love with her, wanting to be her father and protect her from the horrors of the world. He rocks her as he sits down on the plastic chair, diaper bag at his feet as he sits beside you. “Hey, baby girl. Me and Ella are here.” He says, looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms.

Your eyes flutter and you groan quietly. You feel like you are being pulled out of a deep sleep. You can hear Jack talking, but you can’t make out what he���s saying. The baby is cooing and you remember her face, holding her. Grunting you try to reach for her but your limbs feel like they are weighed down.

Jack cradles the baby and notices you’ve woken up. “Omega.” He murmurs softly, not wanting to startle you and he steps closer, “omega, it’s me.” He says and leans down to smile at you, not wanting to startle you. “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay.” He promises, leaning in to reassure you.

“J- Jack?” You try to open your eyes but they are so heavy, taking you several moments before you can finally peel them open. “Wh- where’s the baby?” You ask groggily, not seeing her at first and then panicking. “The baby- where’s my baby?”

Jack leans over, Ella still in his arms, and he shows her to you. “It’s okay, baby. She’s here. She’s here.” He assures you, tilting his arms to show you the baby as the nurses come in, wanting to check on you since your alarms went off with your waking up.

“Wha-what happened?” You are confused and agitated with the nurses poking you when all you want is to hold your baby. Relieved when they move so you aren’t looking around them to see Ella, you reach for her the moment you can. “Give her to me.” You beg Jack, desperate to hold her again. “Why am I here?”

The nurses help you sit up and get you situated, checking your vitals but all you want is for Ella to be in your arms. Jack doesn’t argue, reaching out to slide the baby gently into your arms and you immediately pull her close. Jack watches you, tearing stinging in his eyes. “She has been fed and changed. I- I found the breast milk in the freezer.” He explains, wanting to reassure you.

“Why are you here?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but Jack has done nothing but abandon you. You don’t want him here. It’s hard to ignore the calming pheromones he’s sending out but you cuddle your daughter close and lean over her, as if you could protect her from the alpha in the room. Your blood pressure spikes and you look up at Jack for an explanation.

Jack shakes his head, "I know you hate me but...at least let me be there for our little girl. I have taken care of her in the time you've been unconscious and I love her. I want to be her father. Please, if anything, let me be a father to her. That's all I ask, baby girl."

“What? So you can leave her too? Alpha?” You sneer his designation and shake your head. “You’re only here because I wasn’t able to take care of her. Now you will just leave again and I’d rather you do it when she won’t be hurt by it.” You tell him. “You left her when she was less than five minutes old.”

Jack swallows, knowing he deserves your anger. “I- I know you hate me but I’ve been working on myself in therapy. I have tried to - to work through my issues and I’m doing better. I know now how wrong I’ve been. I should’ve been there. This entire time. I love you. I love her. I know I don’t deserve a second chance but darlin’, walkin’ away will kill me but I’ll do it for you.” He vows, his breathing picking up.

You hadn’t expected a fight, but his easy acquiesce to your demands just proves that you had been right. He would just leave again. As much as your omega is begging you to climb out of your bed and follow him, you can’t. This is about what’s best for you and your baby. Not what your omega wants.

It’s so hard to walk out but he has to. He can’t stay there and agitate you when you need to rest. It kills him to leave but he does and eventually, he ends up in the house, preparing it for your return. Buying groceries and doing the laundry, he cleans and makes sure it’s ready for your return.

You have to stay in the hospital another twelve hours, but eventually they release you. There wasn’t a clot and your bleeding had returned to normal, so there’s no reason for you to stay. When you are discharged, you call Ginger to take you and the baby home, telling her that you’ve sent Jack away. That you are going to break your bond when you get home. You want to be free of an alpha who never really wanted you to begin with.

When you arrive home, Jack is waiting with dinner cooked and everything ready for you to relax. He knows you are going to be tired despite being in the coma and he desperately wants you to be okay and healthy even if you hate him. When the door opens, he waits for you and swallows harshly, knowing you’re gonna want him to leave.

Frowning, you freeze when you see Jack inside, wondering what he is doing here. You smell food and you are surprised that he has cooked. Or bought food, you didn’t know Jack could cook, but there are a lot of things that you don’t know about him. Instead of saying anything, you try to ignore the soothing scent of his alpha and go about getting the baby settled back in because she needs to eat again and then go to bed.

Jack sighs when you don’t say anything to him but he doesn’t react. Instead, he lays the table for your dinner and gets you some water. He hears you putting Ella in her crib and he swallows harshly, waiting for you to come out as he leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed as he waits for you.

You walk back into the living room and despite not seeing him, you still feel him here. Coming into the kitchen, you see him waiting there. “You are still here?” You ask, feigning surprise. “Can’t say as I expected that. Did you need something from me?”

“No. No. I don’t need anything. I just - I want to be there for you and this is my house. I’m not leavin’. I’ll stay in the spare room but I ain’t leavin’ my family. I want a second chance and I- seein’ you in that hospital bed…seein’ you and looking after Ella…it made me realize what is so important. It’s you and Ella. My family. I quit Statesmen.” He announces, knowing you won’t accept him but he’s not walking away again.

Your mouth drops open in shock and you shake your head. “You quit your job? You live for your job.” You protest and huff. It makes you frown and you wonder how long it would take for him to grow bored and want to go back. “Jack, you shouldn’t have done that.”

He shakes his head, “I quit because it’s not my life anymore. You are. You and Ella. Omega, I don’t want to be away from you. I have spoken to my therapist and I’ve been workin’ through my shit. I’m not perfect. I ain’t ever gonna be, but I want to be with you.”

They are words that you have desperately  wanted to hear for so long. Your heart aches and you want to believe him, but you shake your head. “Until when, Jack?” You have been purposefully calling him by his name instead of alpha. “I'm sorry, I just can’t trust you.” You admit sadly. “I can’t make you go, but I don’t want you in my nest.”

“I understand that, sugar. I don’t want to push this but I’m not leavin’. I’ll be here, helping with Ella and helping you after you just got out of the hospital. I’m gonna look after you both. What I should’ve been doing this entire time.” He sighs, feeling guilty and he reminds himself of his techniques from his therapist.

“You should have been doing that.” You won’t let him get off easy. “I was going to break our bond tonight.” You announce. “Give you the freedom you have wanted for nearly a year.”

Jack is surprised to hear that even though he shouldn’t be. It’s painful to remove the bond, and it can lead to death. “You- you were gonna - oh baby girl. I- fuck.” He blinks a few times, shocked to hear that and he feels a little sick. He shakes his head, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shrug, trying to blink back tears. “You never wanted me. Not really. And I’ve been selfish by keeping the bond in place.” You might be a little emotional, but you’ve given it a lot of thought.

“No. No. I’ve been the selfish one. Running away from my responsibility, from what should’ve been my salvation. I’ve led a lonely life until you came along and I shouldn’t have run away, I - there’s a reason I bonded with you. We are meant to be, even if you don’t see that right now. Give me a second chance to prove to you that I can be your alpha, be a good father.”

You smile sadly, aware that your omega is leaping at the chance to reconcile. You shake your head. “I don’t know if that’s going to happen.” You admit. “I give you one week before you are leaving. A week would be longer than you’ve ever stayed before.”

Jack sighs, knowing he has to prove it to you and he’s prepared to do that. “Give me one week, just one week. And if I’m gone, you can break the bond and - fuck - find someone to shoot my ass. But if I’m here for more than a week…I want you to give me a second chance. To allow me to prove to you that I’m fully in this.” He pleads softly, dark eyes wide under the rim of his hat.

“One week.” It won’t make a difference to Ella if Jack stayed for a week, if he left she would still be too young to imprint on him. “If you are here after a week, I will see about giving you another chance.” It’s all you can offer him right now. “I don’t know if you understand how much you hurt me, Jack.” You murmur quietly. “Especially leaving after Ella was born.”

“I know, baby girl. I know.” He nods, knowing he can’t take back that agony, the hurt he caused, but he can try to make up for it now. He gestures to the table, “sit and eat. Please. I don’t want us to forget you’ve just been in the hospital.”

You are grateful that he made you something to eat, so you don’t argue. Pulling the chair out and sitting down, you look at the meal and smile. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” You admit quietly. “I don’t know if my supply of breast milk has dried up. The nurses said they pumped me, but they never said if the supply was dwindling.”

Jack bites his lip, “I - the nurses did say it might have dried up so I got some formula. You still have a good supply in the freezer and I- shit - I should’ve been here when you collapsed. I should’ve been taking care of you.”

You bite your lip, aware that he’s right, but it’s not like you can go back in time. Instead you just nod and start to eat. Your appetite comes back quickly and you start eating hungrily and surprise yourself with how much you enjoyed the fact that this alpha made you food. “Thank you.” You offer quietly when you put down your fork.

Jack knows he doesn't deserve a second chance but he's prepared to work for it. He knows that he can't walk away from his omega and his daughter. "I'll go check on Ella. Eat your meal, baby girl." He says and leaves you in peace. He has a week to prove to you that he's all in and he's going to do this.

You listen to him through the baby monitor, softly cooing to the still sleeping baby. It makes your heart clench and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he’s got a habit of saying what he needs to in the moment. You sigh softly, wondering what you are going to do, so determined to break the bond when you left the hospital.

The next week passes by with Jack helping you with Ella and around the house. He wants you to know he’s being serious. He’s quit Statesmen and he’s here for you and Ella. He sighs as he makes up Ella’s bottle and he’s exhausted. Sleeping in the guest bedroom, he’s struggling to rest when his mind rolls over the things he regrets while waiting for you to at least give him a chance.

You shuffle into the kitchen, sleepy eyed and just woken up to make a bottle. Not expecting Jack to already be up. You hum and move over towards him. “Is that for Ella, alpha?” You ask quietly, voice laden with sleep and calling him by his designation almost by accident. This week has shown you what a considerate and helpful alpha he is capable of being. Slowly, your wariness has eased and while you still feel the ache of separation, it’s not the searing pain it had been when you were apart.

Jack preens at your response to his helping and his efforts, happy that you seem to be warming up to him. He checks the bottle on his wrist and Ella is still crying through the monitor. “I’ll get her.” Jack says, making his way into the nursery to cradle his daughter, cooing to her while he places the bottle at her lips. She latches it on and starts to gulp down the milk. “That’s it, sweetheart.” He murmurs

The sounds of her father talking to her filter through the monitor and you can’t help but smile. He is making an effort and it has done wonders for you. The issues with your health are all but resolved and you feel better than you had when you had been carrying her. As you listen to them, you start the coffee and breakfast, aware that both of you need to eat.

Jack changes Ella after she finishes her bottle and he carries her into the kitchen to see you cooking and he frowns, “I was gonna make you some pancakes, baby girl.” He says, stepping closer to you. “You still need your rest.”

“I can make breakfast.” You promise him. “I think I might have slept more than you did last night.” You’ve noticed that the tired look on his face has gotten worse and you nudge a cup of coffee towards him. “Do I need to take her?”

Jack shakes his head, “I’ll do it. You want some eggs and bacon? I’ve got her.” He smiles down at Ella who snuggles into his chest and he leans down to kiss her forehead. “I’ve got my little Angel.” Jack coos, rocking her and he can feel you watching him.

“You like being a father.” You realize, smiling slightly when you do. “That’s - that’s good.” You bite your lip, trying to ignore how sexy he is with the baby in his arms and your omega begs for you to slide closer and touch him. Your body isn’t recovered enough for physical affection, but that need is growing.

“I never - it’s not something I ever thought I’d get the chance to do. I never wanted to because of…you know. But this little one, she’s stolen my heart and I can’t imagine not wantin’ to be her daddy.” He confesses, “I want to be there for her…and for you, omega.”

You shiver and can’t quite suppress the small whine. Enjoying the way that it feels when he calls you ‘omega’ in such a possessive tone. “You’ve been here for a week.” You venture, glancing up from the eggs to look into his soft brown eyes. “And you’re still here.”

Jack nods, not wanting to expand on that. Ultimately, it’s your choice if he gets a second chance. He bites his lip, “and…and do you want me to leave?” He asks, unsure of where you are going with this. If you’re trying to let him down gently.

“Do you want to leave?” You want the truth, but you know it, deep down in your soul. 

“I don’t, omega.” Jack promises you. “I want to stay here with you and our little Angel.” 

It’s the answer you want and you know that he’s not lying, he wants to stay. “I- I’m not recovered yet.” You venture softly. “So I understand if you don’t want to be in my nest.” He hadn’t come into your room unless Ella needed something and then it’s only been once since you’ve been home. “But you could if you wanted to.”

Jack is taken back, certain that you were going to kick him out and when you don’t, he’s relieved. His heart thumping and he comes closer to you, leaning down to drop a kiss onto your forehead. “I want that. I want to be there for you, omega. I want to be yours.” He promises, leaning back to look at you with sincerity in his eyes.

“Okay.” You nod, your heart swelling and the ache that has been so present, starts to slowly go away. You know it won’t be fully gone until he touches you, but it’s barely noticeable. “I want to be yours, alpha.” You admit shyly.

He wants to scream with relief. The last week has been difficult for him, feeling the ache you’ve been feeling being separated from you. Accepting the bond has led to him having a dull ache and he wants to hold you. “Good.” He says after he clears his throat, cradling Ella still. “I’ll come back to your nest.”

“When she- “ you pause and then decide to continue your suggestion. “When Ella goes down for her nap, do you want to curl up with me? Sleep? I know you are tired.” You look over at him and bite your lip. “We can have our own nap.”

Jack nods, shifting to sit down at the kitchen table, watching you eat and he’s happy that you are eating again. After you eat, he slides Ella into your arms so he can clear up and soon enough, it’s time for Ella’s nap. He gives her her bottle and changes her before he lays her down. Grabbing the monitor, he follows you into your bedroom - his bedroom - and stays back as he waits for you to make the first move.

Your nest has been cleaned since giving birth, all the bedding changed out and it doesn’t smell like Jack anymore. Something that you had missed, even though you tried to deny it. “It is comfortable but I can make it bigger if you need some space away from me.” You offer, not wanting him to feel like he has to be pressed up against you. Your bed is large, but the nest of blankets and pillows makes the space feel crowded.

Jack shakes his head, “no baby. Let’s take a nap. I want to feel you, I want to smell you.” He says and you nod, shifting to lay down on the bed. He lays down beside you, curling around you and he nuzzles his nose into your neck.

You whine happily, feeling your body relax for the first time in months. Since the last time that he had been in your nest. You reach for his hands and cover them with your own. “Please be here when I wake up, alpha.” You murmur sleepily.

“Always.” He vows softly. Jack holds you as you fall asleep, wanting to comfort you and keep you safe. He closes his eyes and breathes you in, happy to be in your nest after he doesn’t deserve this because of the way he treated you.

It’s probably the best sleep you’ve had in a long time, in fact, you know it is. You sleep hard, aware that your alpha is tucked around you and his own pheromones have changed from slightly distressed to pure happiness and calm. Weaving through your own senses and making your omega purr happily as you soak up the scent of him. Both of you sleep, as long as you can until Ella cries break through the fog of sleep and you open your eyes.

Jack kisses your hair, “I’ve got her. Go back to sleep.” He rasps, shifting away from you to fetch Ella. He has stepped up and he plans to keep doing so, he just hopes that you allow him to keep being there for you and your daughter. 

**** 

“Jack!” You cry, stomach aching and Jack knows what this is. He’s been anticipating it and you haven’t discussed what you want to do. 

“Omega.” He murmurs, keeping his distance from you even though he desperately wants to touch you. “I need - you gotta tell me what you want.” He orders, needing to hear you say what you want.

You whimper and you know what you want. What you need. “Alpha.” You beg softly. “I need you. Please.” You are completely recovered from Ella’s birth and it will be the first time that he has touched you since then.

Jack hesitates but you whine his name and he crumbles. He nods, shifting closer to your best. Ella is napping and he knows he will have to balance caring for you and for Ella during your heat. He wastes no time stripping down, shifting to kneel on the bed he’s been sharing with you. “Tell me what you want.” He demands, wanting to please you.

“You.” You squirm in anticipation, needing the rough, yet tender approach to fulfilling your needs that Jack gives you. “Just you, I want- I need - your knot stretching me out.”

He can’t deny you anything. He nods and shifts closer, pushing your legs wide and he caresses your thighs, positioning himself between them and he leans down to capture your lips with his, wanting this to be soft and sweet. His heart pounds in his chest and his fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles.

Your eyes flutter closed and you moan into his mouth. Your body is already responding to his scent and the nimbleness of his fingers as they work your clit. “Alpha.” You whine softly and your hips push up into his hand.

Jack groans at how wet you are, loving how you need him like this. He never imagined he’d have this again and it makes him throb. His fingers slide lower to push inside of you, scissoring to open you up for him and his thumb presses against your clit while he kisses along your throat.

You moan softly, your omega preening under the attention. Cunt clenching down around him. You curl your fingers around the bedding of your nest and hold on tight. “Alpha, so good.”

His tongue lathes over your scent gland, inhaling you deeply, and he loves how you feel and sound. “God, I fuckin’ love you, baby.” He murmurs, knowing it’s true. He does love you and he nearly lost it all because he’s an idiot who refused to seek help for his trauma. It nearly cost him everything. His fingers continue working inside of you, wanting you to cum like this.

Your eyes close, absorbing the feeling of his admission. Enjoying the sound of it and feeling the emotions linger in the air through his scent. Feeling how much he loves you, the need in his touch. He needs you as much as you need him. Turning your head, you blindly kiss along his cheek as he continues to push your body towards the first orgasm of your heat. “I love you, alpha.”

Your confession makes his heart clench and he loves it, he wants to hear you say it again and again. “Fuck, baby. Yes. I love you. You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” He asks, pushing his fingers a little deeper inside of you. “You gonna cum, omega?” He murmurs, turning his head to kiss your lips.

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna cum.” You gasp out, your body shaking in pleasure and the next curl of his fingers deep inside you makes your orgasm slam through you. Crying out his name, your cunt gushes around his fingers and the pleasure fires through every nerve ending in your body as waves of pheromones waft out of your pores, signaling your satisfaction.

Jack works you through it, loving the way your scent is saturated with lust and love. Its intoxicating and he groans your name, withdrawing his fingers to push them into his mouth. “So fucking perfect.” He groans and leans in to press his lips to yours. “I love you.” He murmurs, shifting to grip his cock in his fingers.

Reaching down, you bat his fingers away and replace them with your own. Enjoying the way that he groans into your mouth when you squeeze him and start to slowly stroke his cock as he lines up to your wet cunt. "Please make me yours, alpha." You beg quietly. "I need you to make me yours."

He knows you are giving yourself to him now, all of you, voluntarily, and he loves that. He can't believe he gets to have you like this. He nudges his nose against yours before he starts to slowly push inside of you. "Fuck omega, my omega." He murmurs, eyes closed as he savors the wet heat surrounding his cock.

The fear, the pain of the past year seems to just melt away as he slides inside you. "Alpha." You moan, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him closer so that he is fully seated inside you. The burn, the stretch is exactly what you wanted and you love it.

"Fuckkkk darlin'" He groans, low and raspy as he pulls back to look down at you. So fucking beautiful and all his. He can't believe you are his, that you want him. He could die happy right here. He kisses your chin, giving you a moment to adjust to him and he kisses your jaw.

"I want to stay right here forever." You whimper, smiling as you enjoy the weight of him on top of you. "I love your cock inside me, alpha." You admit, tightening your thighs around him.

"It's your cock, baby girl." He promises, starting to rock his hips and move inside of you. "I love you darlin'" He murmurs, reaching down to grip your thigh so he can push deeper inside of you. His pace is slow but he can feel you getting needier so he starts to rock a little faster until he's got a deep, quick pace.

Your heat doesn’t seem to be burning through you this time, unable to be satiated. It has to be because your alpha is here, taking care of you. His lips press against your scent gland where his mark is still displayed. “Fuck. Baby. So good.” You moan, rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts.

He caresses every inch of your skin that he can reach, ducking his head down to take your nipple into his mouth and he sucks on it as his cock moves inside of you.

Instead of being furious and deep, every roll of his hips takes its sweet time. Like he has all the time in the world. Making love to you rather than just fulfilling your needs during a heat. You moan his name softly, the sound filling your nest and you cling to him as he takes your body and makes it sing for him.

The normally frantic breeding that occurs during a heat is slowed down so he can show you how he feels. He rocks into you, lowering his hips so he can angle his pelvis to rub against your clit with every roll of his hips. “I - fuck - you feel so good, omega. Need my baby to cum again for me.” Jack pleads, kissing along your neck.

You whine and nod as he continues his slow and steady decimation of your cunt. Filling you thoroughly over and over again while he groans your name and then your designation. "Alpha." you whimper, feeling the coil in your belly pull tighter and start to fray. "Gonna cum."

“Good girl. That’s it. Cum for me. Soak my cock like a good omega. My girl, my beautiful girl.” He groans, feeling you clamp down on his cock and you throw your head back as you cum, making him surge forward to sink his teeth into your gland again, wanting to claim you again.

Your cry is loud, ringing out when he sinks his teeth into your gland. “Jack! Fuck, alpha, I’m yours, I’m yours.” You chant, riding out your high and shuddering in pleasure.

Jack withdraws his teeth, licking over the wound, and he rocks his hips harder and faster, the urge to claim you in every way overwhelming him as he fucks into you. “Love you baby girl. Fuck. I’m gonna-” His knot swells and he thrusts a half dozen times before he’s pushing deep inside of you until he’s painting your walls with his hot cum.

There is something primal about feeling his seed flood your womb again, his knot keeping it inside you. Your cunt clenches around him and makes it feel even better, prompting another orgasm as he pumps you full. Stroking his face, you moan again and again. "Alpha, oh my alpha, I love you."

Jack shifts onto his back, bringing you with him to lay on his chest and he caresses your spine. “I love you too, darlin’” He murmurs, closing his eyes and he feels like he’s home. “I don’t ever wanna lose you.” He confesses, “I ain’t gonna walk away again. I’m here forever.” He promises you.

You close your eyes and sigh happily, snuggling deeper into his arms and breathing him in. “I love you too, Jack. Alpha.” You murmur softly. “I’m glad you want to stay. I need you. Always.”

Jack kisses your hair, knowing that nothing is going to drag him away from you. He loves you more than life itself and he won’t leave again. He’s going to continue seeing his therapist and he wants to be a better man for his family, a better alpha for his omega. You once asked him if he regrets bonding with you and he said no, he means that. He could never regret finding happiness again, even if it took him a while to figure it out.

[lis-likes-fics]

Sweet as Sugar

Pairings: Agent Whiskey x Reader Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pining, cunnilingus, blowjob, slight dirty talk, slight praise kink, cowboy rule, swearing (this is basic smut, I think), Whiskey’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit... A/N: I have a writer’s block toward the end of writing this, so what should have only take about a week took, like, a month. Hopefully, I’m back to writing again but I will make no promises bc it’s too gloomy outside for any good serotonin boost to write with. Thank you and enjoy this peace offering bc Pedro Pascal had found a way into my brain!

The mall was bustling with people, men and women coming and going, passing through to look at all the booths and tables showing off all the different organizations to one another as the convention continued on through the day. It was not just any convention, either. Secret services from all over the world, interconnected and soon-to-be, gathered that day to listen and learn and hopefully form closer partnerships to other companies. The entire building was rented out for this function.

Agents continued to pass by the big booth decorated with rhinestones and flowers, which advocated an elegant simplicity to represent the business they ran. Displayed on either side of the booth were two dresses: one a simple, yet fashionable wedding dress with intricate detailing sewed into every stitch, the other, a woman’s business suit with a flower pin carved from what looked like sapphires. Along the table were pieces of jewelry—watches, bracelets, rings, necklaces, just samples of what the company had to offer—and pamphlets of what exactly it was the business they were running.

And displayed proudly on the sign over their booth was a symbol, a renaissance style ‘Q’ that twisted and curved in classic cursive.

You sighed as you ran your hands along the sleeves of your blazer, your fingers grazing the cufflink on your wrist that matched the symbol of your agency. You had been standing behind your booth with one of three of your coworkers for about an hour now, waning the daylight in shifts between handling the booth and exploring the convention for food or company that was not the women running your station.

You looked over your watch as you awaited the return of your colleagues so you could switch off again, so you could leave the confines of advertising your business. Your outfit—a delicate gold satin button down that loosely tucked into your perfectly tailored white dress pants, which flowed along your legs and matched with white blazer to create your formal attire suit—was a perfect representation of your agency: distinguished and efficient. Your partner, though she wore silver and blue, stood beside you to match.

You smiled and shifted the clubmaster frames sitting at the edge of your nose as Pearl and Jasper returned, both women sending you nods and smiles as they took your places behind the booth for your switch. “We found the Kings just that way,” Jasper said, pointing in the direction they’d just come from before shifting the cloud of coiled black hair away from her face and securing it in a poofy ponytail. She then slipped her hands back into the pockets of her dark red suit, glancing back at Pearl as she spoke.

“They’ve got a nice booth. We might have some competition,” she quipped, smirking as smoothed her fingers over the thin chain of her necklace.

Opal, your own partner, laughed and shook her head. “Don’t we always have competition with the Kings?” she retorted, playful as she turned to walk with you. You agreed with her joke and headed in the direction Jasper had pointed in.

On the way, a pair of eyes spotted you and you offered a large grin. One of the agencies you partner with were the Amadoda Amafulege, the Flagsmen. They were a company set in Africa who you counted on for certain resources: information, jewels or gemstones, fabrics. They were reliable friends.

You and Opal approached them with wide grins, pointing them in the direction of your own booths to greet Jasper and Pearl. The interaction was short but warm hearted, and you were off again before you could be sidetracked by some other business you happen to work with. You both continued on walking, greeting physical bodies and holographic forms with waves and nods.

The large sign of the Kingsman symbol sat atop a booth as two well-dressed gentlemen with glasses stood behind their booth. One of them spotted the both of you, recognizing the likewise fashion choices as you came closer. Opal grinned, a mix of amusement and adoration in her tone at the company which both allied and competed with your own. “The famed Kingsman.”

The younger one smiled, offering a nod to you both. “Hello,” he greeted. When you finally stood in front of their booth, he reached out and handed each of you a pamphlet. You glanced over it, disinterested in absorbing information you already know. Both agents held their hands out for you. “Agent Galahad. This is Agent Merlin.”

The older man, Merlin, gave a courteous nod, “Pleasure to meet you.”

You nodded, shaking his hand confidently. “Back at you,” you responded. “We didn’t know if you’d be coming.”

Merlin gave a nod, smiling with a slight chuckle at your words. The Kingsman had not shown up to the last convention, business had gotten in the way and they were greatly missed. “We pulled some strings.”

You looked over their table at a few gadgets, some disguised as ties or watches, and then looked over at the two suits they chose to display similarly to your own booth. “Good to have the famous Galahad and Merlin,” you said, “and with a good booth.”

Your tone offered your impressed attitude toward their well-decorated station. Some of the booths here had not offered a lot of effort, simply their symbols on a sign and some pamphlets and gadgets on their tables. Plain. Boring.

“Some of these are severely lacking,” Opal said, practically reading your mind. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the black curls out of her face so she could see as she offered her smile. “You’d think a secret service could put together a decent booth.”

Galahad extended a hand with his suggestion, "You should stop by the Statesman. You'd probably be impressed."

"We'll keep it in mind," you agreed, picking up one of the fancy watches on display. You examined it, the Kingsman symbol hiding under the glass, the gold lining on the band, the knobs and secret accesses embedded inside.

Merlin smiled, "In the meantime, we shall take a stop by yours."

Opal nodded, "Down by the Krispy Kreme. Can't miss it."

Your thumb pressed against the button on the side meant to wind the hour hand. It obeyed, pushing down and revealing a hologram of the Kingsman symbol once more.

"Very nice toy," you commented, pushing the button again to make the symbol retreat.

Merlin hummed, "You haven't found the kill button yet."

You shook your head, still examining the watch. "No, I have. You've got the poison dart here–" you tapped the near-invisible button on the side, "and the tranq dart here," you tapped the button next to it.

They raised their brows at you, impressed. "You've got them too close together, you should separate them a little more," you suggested. "Wouldn't want someone trying to knock an important target out and end up killing them instead."

The agents glanced at each other under Opal's watching gaze and your diverted one as you set the watch back down. Galahad nodded, "Right."

"Opal," you said as you turned to your partner. She hummed and you held your hand out.

"Oh, yes," she mumbled, lifting the lapel of her jacket to reach into a pocket. She handed it to you for you to present to both Kingsman. The box was lengthwise, a thin, golden thing housing a watch made by your agency.

"This is for Galahad—Harry—sent by our boss. She was hoping for us to run into you today. You'll give it?" You said, handing it over to the two.

"Of course," Merlin said, peeking inside of the box with a nod.

The two of you left again to go look at some other booths, or to find food. They sent you off with the directions to the Statesman, waving and wishing you farewell.

As you walked next to Opal, you recounted the booths you'd seen and the ones you hadn't on the way. You motioned toward the restaurant in the distance, smiling at the waft of good food as you got closer to it. You would all have to stop and eat there later today.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you heard someone's voice speaking to you, an unfamiliar voice that had you turning your head at the two figures approaching you.

"Hey there, sugar."

The voice had a Southern twang, smiling and confident as the owner slowed to stand in front of you. "Here we go," Opal mumbled beside you with an amused grin.

He was a handsome man, charming in the right ways. The black hat on his head accompanied his accent and his outfit, a suit that screamed professional cowboy. The mustache above his lip was kept and clean, and he wore it well, along with the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He looked at you with his dark eyes, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip as he smirked. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?"

There was a woman next to him with short dark brown hair mostly shielded by her own western hat, her skin shades lighter as her own glasses sat at the bridge of her nose. She held her hand out, "Hi, I'm Ginger Ale. This is Whiskey."

"Nice to meet you," you greeted her warmly, taking in the sight of her with a look that could only be described as an evaluation.

You turned to Whiskey, raising an amused brow as you held your hand to shake his. He grabbed it gingerly, bending at the waist to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"How do you do?" he winked, holding onto your hand a little longer before letting you go.

Opal chuckled, "He's cute."

He smiled at her, satisfied with her assessment as he grinned at her like some excited pup.

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. "Yeah… In a flirty toddler kind of way." His demeanor did not shift, your words were no dagger to his ego. "Just want to pinch his cheeks and pat his head," you chuckled, half-reaching like you would actually do it.

You might, his skin looked soft and you want to see his hair underneath his hat.

He winked again, licking his bottom lip, "You can do whatever you want, sugar," he quipped.

You chuckled. Cute.

"You think so?" you asked, tilting your head as you pitched your voice a few octaves to sound as sweet as the nickname he kept calling you.

He shifted so he was standing beside you, careful with his arm in case you didn't want to be touched. Thoughtful. He walked a little with you, leaving Opal and Ginger to stand next to one another and watch him guide you a few feet away.

"I know so," he chuckled. "What's your name?" He said "your" in that way only cowboys can say it: that slurred 'u' that made the 'r' slightly bleed into the last word.

You licked your bottom lip, offering a teasing gaze as you looked at him through your lashes. "Why don't you guess it?" You turned to him, setting your hands on his chest and playing with his tie.

He seemed charmed, entranced by your little gestures and looks. "Probably something pretty like that necklace," he smirked, motioning to your chest as his fingers brushed the golden locket around your neck, resting just between your breasts.

You took it in your hands, stroking the sides. "You like my necklace?"

"It's beautiful," he agreed, staring back at you with a gaze that matched the lovestruck puppy vibe he'd given you earlier. "Just like you," he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles once more.

"You wanna take a look inside?"

"I'd be delighted," he breathed, leaning forward just a little as his face huddled closer to you. You offered a tiny giggle as you undid the clasp, slowly opening the locket as you built the suspense of what could possibly be presented inside.

A bright light flashed quickly into Whiskey's eyes, there one second and gone before a full one could pass. Whiskey's hands rushed to his face as he made a slight groan, and he stumbled backward. You reached forward, pressing a hand to his chest, and watched him fall to the ground.

He made little sounds of discomfort, laying on his back as he brought his hands away and blinked rapidly. He stared in no clear direction, looking around blankly for…something.

Opal chuckled from her spot, Ginger stared with a mix of amusement and concern, and you just looked down at him with a smile as he tried to see.

You approached him, bending at the hips and looking down at him with a smile. You brushed some hair out of your face.

"This is my partner, Opal," you gestured toward her, though you knew he could not see. Your necklace had a device within it that temporarily blinded those on the unfortunate end of it—temporarily.

You pressed a hand to your chest, "My name is Diamond," you reached out and picked up his hat, which had fallen off his head. "Agents of the Queensmaiden."

You brushed the fabric of the hat, setting it over his face before straightening your back. You looked at Ginger Ale as you rejoined Opal's side. "Nice to meet you, Ginger."

She smiled and dipped her hat at you once, waving. "You, too. Feel free to stop by the Statesman."

You nodded, looping your arm with your partner's, paying the blind agent no mind as he struggled to his feet. "We were just headed there!" you smiled, amazed at the turn of events as you pointed it out. "We'll stop by later…when he can see again."

You turned with Opal, looking over your shoulder and grinning gently. "Bye, Whiskey," you giggled before taking your leave.

Whiskey reached out hastily, grabbing a hold of Ginger, just to make sure she was still there. The way she could have rolled her eyes and shook her head as a dopey smile spread over his lips. He motioned in the direction he thought you walked out in, sighing dreamily.

"I need her."

This time, Ginger did roll her eyes and shake her head. She took his outstretched hand and started pulling him back to the booth. "Come on, lover boy."

~

You did visit the Statesman’s booth—where you met Scotch and Tequila—but did so while Whiskey was away. You wanted to tease him, make him anticipate your arrival for you not to appear and leave him wanting more.

As the night waned, the booths were taken down to make room for the afterparty that had already begun. You were standing at one of the tall, narrow tables with Opal and Tequila, enjoying the music playing in the background as people mingled through the night.

As you laughed at a sarcastic comment made by Tequila, you heard the familiarly smooth voice of his colleague fill the space between you and couldn’t fight your smile.

“I see you’ve met my associate,” he announced himself, sidling up next to you as he leaned on the table. The look on his face held no defeat or upset, he was just as smiling as before as he took in the sight of you, once again entranced.

You chuckled, looking him up and down as you watched each other. “Oh,” you smiled, “so you can see again…”

He laughed heartily at that, amusement seeping into the sound and painting your stomach with butterflies, a light, airy feeling that bounced off the bones of your ribcage. He clasped his hands together, motioning with his head toward your chest, where your golden locket still lay idly by.

“Very nifty gadget, that necklace of yours,” Whiskey smiled, his eyes never leaving yours for long.

You picked it up, tracing your thumb along it like you had done before in a slight tease. “I’d like to think so. I designed it,” you confessed, setting it back down and looking at him, your head tilted up as you straightened your spine with pride. He tilted his head to the side, his grin deepening at your clear genius.

Tequila and Opal shared a look as they took in the interaction, chuckling lightly. “I’ll go ahead and step away now,” he said, doing just that and glancing back at your partner standing by his side.

She nodded her agreement, holding her hand out to the offered crook of his arm. “And I’ll join you.” She walked away with him, shaking her head and smiling as she left to go hang out with her own new plaything—of sorts.

Whiskey’s eyes looked you up and down as he thought over something for a moment before he simply spoke again. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetness?” he offered, holding his own arm out for you as Tequila had done.

You considered him, raising a brow. “I’m still sweet, huh?”

He flashed his teeth with his next grin, dipping his head down in a nod as a gesture with his hat. “Like sugar,” he hummed.

You sighed. “Okay.” Your arm looped through his own, and he smiled triumphantly as he gently tucked you into his side. You gave him a similar gaze to the one you’d given him before he ended up walking around blindly for an hour: your head tilted down as you looked up at him through your lashes, your smile soft, and your eyes teasing—the perfect demonstration of the less eloquently put “fuck me eyes”. “Lead the way, Whiskey.”

He walked you to the bar that had opened earlier on for the convention. The liquor was all top shelf stuff—they wouldn’t dare give low-quality alcohol to these highly respectable representatives of these agencies. He made sure you were sitting comfortably on your stool before he took his seat next to you—a true gentleman.

A bartender came down to the pair of you and smiled, waiting for your orders. “Scotch, neat,” you nodded, adding a “thank you” on the end as you looked away, anywhere but Whiskey while your eyes examined the many options behind the bartender.

“Actually,” Whiskey held his finger up, “I want you to try something.” You looked at him, narrowing your eyes teasingly at what he could be doing now. He turned to the bartender, pulling his hat off and setting it to the side to reveal the neatly kept hair underneath it. “Kentucky Statesman, whiskey,” he nodded.

They nodded back before stepping away to grab the bottle. You looked at him with a smirk as he gazed back at you, self-satisfied before you’d even tried the liquor he’d suggested. The bartender returned with the bottle of the amber liquid, showing off the label to ensure it was the correct one. When Whiskey nodded, they grabbed two glasses from under the bar and set it on the table, pouring the appropriate amount into each one.

You picked up the glass as it was given to you, swishing it around and examining it. You picked up the bottle in your other hand and looked at the label as you brought the lip of the glass to your nose to smell the heady scent of liquor. “Whiskey from Whiskey, huh?” you quipped, still only sampling the scent.

He laughed, sitting back with his glass in his hand, refusing to take a sip until you had. “Give it a taste.”

You smiled suspiciously, bringing the glass to your lips and sniffing it once more before finally tasting it. A sigh escaped you as whiskey lingered on your tongue before burning delightfully down your throat. It was magnificent, like liquid gold.

"Oh my god," you whispered under your breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

He smiled proudly, "Good, right?"

You looked at him, composing yourself once more as you straightened your back and too-slowly set your glass back down. You let out a long, calculated breath and just nodded too hard. "It's…It's good, yeah."

He finally drank from his own glass, hiding his chuckle as he beamed. "Go on," he said as he set his glass back down. "Have some more. On the house."

You looked at him, raising a brow. "I thought you were buying me a drink," you pointed out, taking another generous gulp.

He leaned back, motioning widely to the large selection of fine liquor. "Be my guest, get whatever you want."

You inhaled the intoxicating scent of the drink already in hand, your eyelids fluttering for a split second before you just shook your head. "I suppose I'll settle for this," you told him, sipping your drink and setting it down again.

Whiskey grabbed the bottle and refilled your glass. You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes playfully and smirking. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He shook his head, "Of course not. Just tryna show you the plus side of a Statesman." He set the bottle down and winked at you.

You scoffed, anything but annoyed. "What, think I'll find you?" you swirled your drink around. "We'll hook up over some good liquor?"

His laugh was nearly explosive as he shook his head, seemingly amused in the deepest degree. "Oh, no," he said. "I intend to do more than simply 'hookin' up' with you."

You hummed your response, examining him for far too long and looking away before his dark gaze could override your self-restraint. You crossed your legs, turning your body to face away from him again.

"So," he breathed, "tell me about the Queensmaiden."

You took in a long breath and blew it out to think, reaching out and grabbing his hat discarded on the table. Feeling the fabric under your fingers, you tilted your head. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, "Where did it come from?"

"Well," you began, "It was formed some time after Kingsman, 1952, by a man named Bobby Gold." They way you said it, with reverence and sass, Whiskey's lips twitched in a smile. "He's like… in his late eighties now, looking good." You shook your head to get back on track. "He founded the Queensmaiden to be an all-women agency, picked a protégé to take his place and run it after he stepped down."

You turned to him with a boastful smirk, "She's the first Diamond—was the first Diamond, she retired. I knew her, worked with her when I first joined. I got her name, promoted from Quartz."

He nodded, deeply invested in the way you spoke as you played with his hat, made of sturdy, soft fabric. "Fascinatin'," he smiled.

You nodded. "Gold ran a really popular jewelry business of the same name, had a younger sister who ran a tailor shop for women's clothing with her husband. He founded it, she later partnered as co-founder. Now we're a boutique found in most countries…all over the world." You shrugged your shoulder so nonchalantly, like your boast wasn't a real boast. "It's very efficient, dare I say, more efficient than the Kingsman itself."

He snorted, "Don't tell them that."

You leaned forward, too close within his space, "They probably already know." You sidled up closer to him, a clear flirt as you smiled. You raised his hat to him and set it atop your own head.

Whiskey's eyes darkened as he watched you down his nose. "You know…" he said slowly, "there's this rule where I come from… Wear the hat, ride the cowboy."

You licked your bottom lip as your eyes flicked up and down his face. "Oh, I'm well aware." His hand reached out and grazed your arm, daring to bring you closer before you pulled away from him again with a sweet smile. "What about Statesman?"

It took a beat for him to recover before he was shaking his head. "Not as glamorous," he sighed thickly. "Agency in the south full of cowboys and rascals."

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, picking it up again and bringing it to your lips. "Well, I love me a nice cowboy," you said as you looked at him over your cup.

"Lucky for me, huh?"

"We'll see." You took a sip from your glass.

Suddenly, the music which had been in the background shifted into something else. Country music blared through the speakers and caught the attention of everyone in the area. Some excitedly stood to go join the small group ready who may have recognized the music, but one look at the jukebox provided by one of the agencies here proved that it was, indeed, a southerner who'd started the music.

Tequila stood there with his hat on his head as he smiled, one hand held out and grasping Opal's hand as he spun her into his chest. He glanced up at Whiskey and nodded once before hopping off to the large space cleared to dance.

He was the one to determine what dance was being done as he twirled Opal around into a half amateur-half professional swing dance. People joined in with their partners and allowed themselves to be swept away into more amateur dancing—a dance Whiskey suddenly seemed confident to prove himself in.

"C'mon, I've never missed a swing," he smiled excitedly.

He took your hand and pulled you to the floor before you could protest. He swung you, making you stumble into his chest as you breathed quickly. "I've never swing danced before," you confessed.

He looked you dead in the eye, his own sparkling with excitement and hints of giddiness. "Just follow me," he breathed, his kissable lips forming the words in a way that made it impossible to deny him this.

You sighed, "You better know what you're doing."

He smirked, this one more sly than the last. "Trust me, sugar," he leaned in. "I know what I'm doin'."

You tilted your head, standing up a little more and placing your hands in his. Once you were situated, you smiled and let out a breath of courage. "Well," you whispered, "show me how a real cowboy does it."

Whiskey beamed before he pulled you into the music, quick steps and swinging arm making it impossible to keep up. He twirled you out, he twirled you back in, he switched you to one side and swung you to the other. He spun you under his arm and into his chest. Just when you thought he might slow down, he dipped and held you in his arms with heavy breaths.

He caught the hat as it fell from your head, lingering there and staring at your lips. You stared into the depths of his gaze, catching your breath as they mingled between you in soft puffs of air. He slowly straightened his spine, standing you up and setting the hat atop your head once more, admiring its place there.

You smiled, leaning forward oh-so slowly. His eyes fluttered until they were closed. He looked so calm, so gentle and pretty. You pulled his hat from your head and put it back on him, lingering there a moment before pulling out of his arms and missing his warmth.

He felt you leave and refused to watch you leave him behind. When he opened his eyes again, you were gone. When he turned his head to a mystified Tequila, Opal was gone.

A breath poured from his lips as he couldn't help but smile. He smiled at your charm, at the way you left him starstruck, at the way he'd slipped his number in your pocket in the hopes you called him, finding him again and leaving him with a little more closure as he looked down at his boots and shook his head.

"Fuck me," he cursed, chuckling to himself.

~

That was the last he saw of you for months, the last you saw of him for months.

You hated how much you thought about him—his puppy-like flirtations, his darkened gaze, his fascination, and the way he moved you like a tornado on the dance floor. You stared at the crumpled up piece of paper with his number scrawled on it all the time, considering, thinking, wanting to call.

But you never did. Never once did you pick up the phone and dial his number. Never once did you talk about him to your colleagues or your partners—not even with Opal, who was totally smitten with her own cowboy.

You missed him, but you were determined not to.

But that didn't mean a crossing of paths would hinder a good reunion.

You smiled at the receptionist at the front desk, who granted you a smile of his own with the tilt of his head. Walking up to the desk, you adjusted the purse on your arm and spoke. “Hello, I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Sullivan. I’m his three o’clock.”

He hummed, “I wasn’t aware Mr. Sullivan was taking appointments today. Name?” he asked, turning to his computer.

“Davis. We made an appointment together over the phone,” you stated in a sickly sweet voice. “Oh, I hope I marked the right day.”

He looked at you and just smiled, shaking his head. “No worries. I don’t see you in the database, but I’ll just give him a quick call to confirm. Alright?”

You nodded, thanking him kindly as you wiped your hands down your light suit. He picked up the phone and dialed the number to his boss’ office, giving you another large grin. When the phone was picked up, he began to explain the situation, and his reaction was full of wide eyes and stutters. “Yes, sir,” he answered, setting the phone back down.

He looked back at you regretfully. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Sullivan will not be taking any appointments today. You are welcome to reschedule, if you’d like.”

“Of course,” you nodded.

“Great.” He reached down under the desk to grab some papers before wincing. “I’ll have to go make some copies. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Not a problem.”

He disappeared behind a door behind the desk and you sighed, turning anyway to go up to the elevator on your right. As you were walking, you noticed a group of men walking down the hall, dressed in black with shades over their eyes. Security guards. You straightened your spine and merely kept walking. You were just at the elevator when you heard shots firing behind you. You groaned loudly and ducked for cover. Their gunfire was loud and thunderous, making couch stuffing and wood splinters fly through the air as you hid behind a desk behind a sofa in the cushy lobby.

You cursed under your breath as you dug through your purse. “No, no, no,” you mumbled as you selected which weapon you would use. You dug out a little silver disc and smiled. “Yes,” you declared as you pulled a little pin out of the side.

You threw it behind you where the guards were still shooting, and ducked down, waiting for a blow that never came as the gunshots continued. “Talc!” you yelled, shaking your head at the newbie in the weapons department and one of her faulty weapons making its way into your arsenal.

You huffed as you looked behind you before you suddenly heard a body drop. You looked over and your eyes widened in shock and surprise. Hiding behind a couch a little farther away from your own was a person who definitely was not on their side. He locked eyes with you, and your expressions became mirrors of the other.

“Diamond?” “Whiskey?”

The simultaneous ringing of your names only escalated the confusion as you stared at one another. “What are you doing here?” he questioned in as low a whisper he could manage to ensure you still heard him, holding a sleek, golden gun tight in his grip as he paid no mind to the small cavalry currently shooting at you.

“I’m on a fucking mission. What are you doing here?” you countered.

He shrugged, “On a fuckin’ mission.”

Shit. “Shit,” you huffed. You thought for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “What’s your objective?”

Whiskey pressed his gun to his temple, tilting it up as a gesture of his assassination attempt. You let out a breath of relief, pulling a drive with the Queensmaiden symbol on the side from out of your bra and showing it off to him. He sighed as well.

“Cover me?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, sending you a flirty wink. “You got it, sugar.”

You grinned and counted down for him before ducking out of your cover and rushing to the elevator closest to you. Whiskey stood, grasping his gun as he shot. You pressed the elevator door button and glanced over your shoulder, gripping your gun tight as you waited impatiently for the elevator to open.

When you heard the ding, you had half a second to celebrate as a loud shot came too close to you. You looked down at the elevator button, flashing and sparking as it sat destroyed in the wall.

You pried the door open and shouted Whiskey's name over your shoulder as he retreated back. You got inside, jamming the button closed without missing a beat or waiting for him to get through.

The doors were already closing when he finally slipped through, a bullet missing him by an inch. In the safety of the elevator, you let out a breath and calmed.

There was silence, besides the breaths blowing through the space of the elevator. Whiskey looked at you as you raised your hand, looking at the clock face of your watch.

"You never called," he accused, looking at you with a raised brow and a look on his face that wasn't mad, but not entirely giddy with joy.

You shrugged, still not looking at him. "Been busy."

He chuckled, "With what?"

You missed his voice, that smooth Southern lilt that could lull you to gentle sleep or drive you insane with desire. With the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it was the latter.

"My job," you laughed, pressing a button on your watch as a hologram arose from it, circling the Queensmaiden symbol.

You turned to him, granting him a smile. You were more happy to see him than you should have been. "Did you miss me, lover boy?" you winked. "Tequila says you did."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You've been talking with Tequila?"

You smirked, nodding. "Of course," you told him, swiping the hologram aside to pull up some files off of some computer. "He's with Opal. They hooked up after the convention."

He sighed longingly, leaning on one leg as he set his gun back in his holster. "And to think," he breathed. "That coulda been us."

You snorted, "Don't get ahead of yourself, cowboy."

You tapped away from the files you'd been scrolling through, pulling up some surveillance footage. There was a hall through the camera, one full of guards with more numbers than the ones downstairs.

"Aww," you muttered. "We have a whole welcome party waiting for us." You turned him with a grin, swiping away the hologram and returning your hand to your side.

He reached behind his back as he smiled. "How sweet."

Whipping his jacket to the side, he grabbed some sort of fancy handle, intricately detailed with gold and silver. You nodded, impressed as you looked at its design.

"Nice," you commented. You opened your jacket, sliding it off your arms and reaching behind you to grab a hold of a handle of your own. It was blue, a shining color that sparkled as Whiskey's eyes scanned over it.

The elevator dinged and you stood beside Whiskey with a smile. The sea of guards on the other side watched you with stern faces, ready for the inevitable fight as they stared down two people who didn't stand a chance.

"Well, howdy, fellas," Whiskey greeted, tipping his hat.

You tilted your head and smiled, "How do you do?" You pressed a small button on one end and the handle began to unfold, expanding into a dagger on one end of a strong rope and a heavy hammer-like weapon on the other.

At the sight of the weapon, the fight began. With drawn guns and angry glares, the guards were quick with their guns as they cornered you in the elevator.

The handle in Whiskey's hand extended into a lasso—a silver whip that he swung out into the small army. It wrapped around the gun of the man in the front of the group, holding on tight as he pulled it taut and sent him falling forward.

You took your rope dart and began swinging it, smacking a bullet out of the way as it hurdled toward you. You threw it and Whiskey watched, amazed, as it wrapped around some man's neck and the dagger embedded itself into his chest. You pulled it, and he spun around to the floor.

The other guards were distracted long enough for the both of you to retreat from the elevator and into the fight.

Ropes flew through the air, daggers pierced bodies, and electricity had them writhing in pain before dropping to the floor. Whiskey's rope wrapped around someone's neck as he pulled him in, punching him hard in the face and sending him to the floor.

He heard a pained yell behind him and turned to see some man falling to the floor with a blue knife in his back. You stepped forward, setting your foot on his back and pulling the dart out.

"That's cool," he said, admiring your weapon of choice.

You smiled, pulling a gun and shooting someone coming toward Whiskey from behind. "Thank you. It's made of sapphires."

"Oo," he smiled. "Duck." You did so, dipping down as he raised his own gun and shot another man aiming his gun at you.

He looked down at you, knelt on one knee in front of him, tightly gripping your rope tight. "What an interestin' position we've found ourselves in."

You scoffed, standing up too close to him. "Keep it in your pants, hotshot."

You turned on your heel, returning to the fight as the few guards who were left brandished their guns. The last of them were easy to take out, and you did. As you swung your rope at the last man standing you noticed a different rope do the same.

You turned your head to Whiskey as he smiled at you. "Looks like we made a connection."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up." You grabbed your gun and raised it to the man, shooting him instantly and collecting your rope as he dropped to the floor.

You walked over to the body, bending down and wiping the blood from your blade before stepping over him and toward the grand office door down the hall. Whiskey was more than happy to follow you.

You take a card you'd snatched from one of the bodies and swipe it along the reader, the door sliding open to allow you inside. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard the sound of a gun click.

You both looked up at Mr. Sullivan pointing his gun at you, dressed in an expensive suit with hands that trembled only slightly with fear for his life. You sighed, looking back at him. "Well, you caught us," you said as you stood beside Whiskey. "Props."

"Question is…" Whiskey added, "who're you gonna shoot?"

Sullivan tilted his head. There was no amusement in his face, but he gave you a look that said "really?". He motioned between the two of you and raised a brow. "You've got some rope. I've got a gun. I can shoot both of you."

Whiskey nodded, agreeing with his logic. "Well, you caught us fair and square," he sighed dramatically. Then he smirked, "Pull the trigger."

Sullivan didn't like how calm you both were. He was holding a gun to your face, and you were telling him to pull the trigger. Why the fuck would you tell him to pull the trigger if he had the upper hand? Were you suicidal?

"There's just one little thing," you spoke, shifting on your side. "You brought a gun to a knife fight."

Sullivan missed the way you passed your rope dart to Whiskey, who took it with too much excitement and, with a few mighty swings, threw it at the unsuspecting boss. The rope wrapped around his neck, and he dropped his gun to grab it and force it away to no avail. The dagger came back around after its loops, and he had no time to process as it lodged in his chest.

Whiskey smirked before he pulled roughly on the rope, spinning the man round, unwinding him like a yo-yo. The dagger yanked from his chest and Whiskey caught it as it flung back. Mr. Sullivan dropped to the floor, choking on his own blood as it spilled from his wound.

You walked past him dismissively, stepping up to his desk and grabbing your drive. Sticking it in the computer, you began typing away as Whiskey admired your weapon.

"I needa get me one of these," he muttered.

"I've got plenty. I'll send you one," you suggested.

He looked up at you, his eyes glittering, "Really?"

"Why not?" You shrugged your shoulders. Leaned over the desk, you watched the loading bar slowly climb toward completion before you were able to withdraw the drive and stuff it in your pocket.

You grabbed a butterscotch from the bowl on his desk, helping yourself as you walked back over to Whiskey. You smiled at him and tilted your head. You hold your hand out to him, making a grabby motion.

"Can I have it back?" you asked.

He tilted his head up, smiling down at you with narrowed eyes. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" you questioned.

"Can I get something in return?"

You sighed and thought for a moment, continuing to smile at him as you returned your hand to your hip. "What do you want?"

He shrugged, pretending to think. "How about a pretty please?" he smirked, his eyes dark and inviting, his voice quiet and deep.

"You want me to say please?" you asked, standing too close as your eyes flickered to his lips for half a second.

Again, he shrugged, but his smile became more wicked. "A kiss on the cheek might suffice."

You chuckled deeply, standing on your toes as you leaned forward. You got closer, closer, and closer still until your breaths mingled. You shifted to his cheek, turning your head just enough so your lips nearly brushed his ear as you whispered to him. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

You took the rope from his grip and backed away from him, watching him watch you with lidded eyes. You backed toward a private elevator in the office, pressing a button on the wall as the doors opened. You looked toward the door you came in and smiled. "You've got company."

You stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed, shielding you from him as you waved.

Whiskey stood in the office, looking toward the door that was currently being beaten against by his visitors. Smiling and shaking his head, he laughed heartily. "Clever."

You stepped out onto the roof, taking the drive from your pocket and tossing it to the ground. You pulled your gun and shot at it once, destroying it entirely as you made your way to the jet waiting for you. You boarded it, climbing into the pilot's seat as you started it up and left.

As you flew away from the building, you glanced back at it and smiled when you saw a figure climbing up the side of the building to the roof. He looked over his shoulder at you, and you could make out the distinct sight of him waving his arm at you. Not to grab your attention, but to say hello.

You saluted him before departing for a second time.

~

Your next encounter with him was not so far in the future. In fact, it was later on that night.

You walked into the large house you were staying in after a long day out. Between your mission, your flights, and everything in between, you were about ready to pour yourself a drink and go to sleep early.

The house was owned by the Queensmaiden, a mission house for meetings or get-togethers or just a place for agents to crash after long days on missions. Since your trip today was done alone, your partner back at home serving as your tech that day, you were in this big empty home alone. You didn't mind much, it was a lot of space, you could turn on the stereo as loud as you want, there was plenty of expensive booze. You were all set for the night.

As you walked through the loud house, which was filled with the classic voice of Frank Sinatra, you made your way to the open bar. As you poured yourself a drink, you glanced at the label with a smile. Statesman whiskey.

"So you did like it."

You didn't turn around, but you smiled at the smooth tone of your cowboy behind you. You grabbed a second glass and poured him his own. You set the bottle down, picked up both cups, and walked over to him with a smile.

"It's alright."

You stopped in front of him, making a bad habit of standing too close. Passing the glass over, you looked up at him through your lashes. He wasn't wearing his hat, giving you a view of his tousled hair. Likewise, he was stripped down to a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, his shirt still tucked in his pants fastened with his belt. His tie was gone, and the top buttons of the shirt were undone. He saluted his glass to you, and you gladly clinked them together in a quiet cheer before taking a sip, your eyes never parting from his.

"You know," he sighed. "This disappearing act of yours is starting to get a little old, Diamond."

You shrugged a shoulder, "I can spice it up if you want."

He simply shook his head, "I think I'd rather pick a different act. It would put us in much different positions."

"Oh?" You smiled, reluctantly turning on your heel and stepping away from him. "What positions did you have in mind?"

You lounged on the couch, kicking off your shoes. You looked back at him with one hand on your glass and the other under your chin as you rested your head on the back of the couch.

He sighed once again, his whole body moving with him as he looked at you in that way that reminded you of a lovesick pup. He set his hands on his hips, leaning on the side as he contemplated.

"You never called."

His words from earlier pricked your heart in a special kind of way this time. You sighed and just shook your head, "No, I didn't."

The song playing through the speakers in the house faded out to welcome another. Sinatra's "I'm a Fool to Want You" was sharp in your mind.

You set your glass down and looked up at Whiskey again. You reached your hand out to him, wiggling your fingers in the hope that he'll hold your hand.

He did, and you smiled.

"I did miss you," you confessed.

That offered him some solace. "Honest?"

"Honest." He sighed, stepping closer. You sat up, settling on your knees as he still towered over you. He looked at you for a long time before suddenly smiling. He bent down, wrapping his arms around your body and surprising you as he hoisted you up, spinning you over the couch and setting you on your feet. You held onto him, laughing as he pulled you close to his chest. He slid his hand into your own, entwining your fingers as his other hand rested on the small of your back.

"Dance with me?" he asked.

You tilted your head, "Do I have a choice?"

He laughed and just shook his head. "No."

You laughed. He took a side step, swaying you in time with the gentle rock of the music. It was slow and steady, filled with too much emotion than should have been allowed for a couple who had only met once a few months prior. You rested your head on his chest, your eyes closed as you blew out a long breath.

His voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke, low and quiet. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?" he smiled.

You chuckled, recalling those words from when you first met. "Am I still allowed to do whatever I want?" you asked, looking up at him.

He spun you out, twirling you before spinning you back in, your back pressing against his chest. He leaned down to your ear. "Never revoked the privilege."

You twisted your neck to see him, smiling at his face so close to yours. You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his own as you considered it. For a moment, you considered it.

You swerved to hover your lips near his ear, "Catch me."

You stepped away from him, walking backwards as your eyes stayed glued to his. You watched him with the same dark, teasing eyes as you had used before. The naughty look on your face, the proximity at which you once stood, the tingling of your lips never grazing his but teasing him with the possibility of such a sacred union…the thought of never sealing that fate with you and leaving once again for another wild goose chase where he never knew if he would see you again due to the dangers of the lives you both lived. They were possibilities that made his heart ache in ways it shouldn't have.

He just shook his head, deciding then and there that he wouldn't let you have another swift get away, wouldn't let you slip through his fingers with nothing to remember you by but the ghost breaths against the shell of his ear where you exhaled your secrets. "Not this time."

He took a few long strides toward you, taking you in his arms and crashing his lips down upon yours. You gasped into his mouth, melting instantly into him as your legs turned to jelly. He held you close to him, supporting your neck with one large hand as he consumed you in a passionate embrace.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and swaying gently as you finally kissed the cowboy you'd been craving for months. He bent down, wrapping his arms under you and lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He held you up with strong arms, walking you back until he was pushing you up against a wall.

When he pulled from the kiss, heavy, hot breaths were exchanged between the two of you. His hands roamed your body, drinking you in desperately. His mouth pressed against your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along your thumping pulse. You moaned, feeling the heat between your legs igniting with a fire.

His name fell from your lips as he nibbled on your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled on his messy strands.

He rolled his hips into yours, pulling a shaky breath out of you. Your leg tightened around him, bringing him closer as you mirrored his own movement from before, drawing out your pleasure with grinding hips and breathless sighs. He groaned as one of his hands gripped your waist to stop you.

Whiskey unwrapped your legs from him as he set you back down on your feet. When he sank to his knees, it was with a maddening amount of eye contact that he didn’t dare break. His hands smoothed along your sides, rounding to the front to undo the clasp of your slacks. He moved torturously slow as he pulled the slacks down your legs, revealing more and more skin to him as he went along. Your eyes fluttered when you felt his lips on your thigh.

You stepped out of the pant legs when they finally pooled around your ankle. Whiskey leaned forward to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the skin before taking it between his teeth in a gentle nibble. You stifled a moan at the feeling, watching his dark eyes drink you in.

When he finally fingered the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down in one swift tug to reveal yourself to him. He licked his lips and you bit down on your own. “Look at that,” he praised. “So pretty.” He looked up at you with a cocky smirk, holding the back of your leg up and setting it atop his shoulder.

He leaned forward and your lips parted so delicately when his tongue darted out to lick you. Your breath hitched, halting in your throat as his hot tongue delved between your folds. Like a fire, the warmth spread through your body as you melted into him. Your hips jerked, seeking his mouth.

His lips wrapped around your pussy, tasting you with an intoxicated moan. When he sucked on your clit, your breath trembled and a whimper managed to weave its way through your vocal chords. His talented tongue glided through your folds before retreating as he pulled back from you to look at your pretty face.

You looked down, whining lightly at him as he stared at you with eyes that glittered with praise. His hand trickled up your side before dipping between your thighs and into your warmth. “You taste sweet as sugar, sugar.”

You had to fight through your eye roll as you enjoyed the sweet stretch of his thick fingers inside of you. “You have very skilled hands,” you nearly stuttered. Your eyes fluttered as he curled the length of his fingers.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he dipped his head as though he was still wearing his hat. He pushed his fingers in deeper, adding a third as he coaxed you toward a sweeter release. He was a lot gentler than you expected, treating you like a fragile lover. It warmed your heart, so used to the less patient lovers of one-night stands long since.

The sharp dig of dull nails into the flesh of your thigh contrasted with the prior feathery fingertips on your sides. You were breathless and needy, aching for him all over. With those same fingers still buried deep inside of you, he leaned forward and sucked on your throbbing clit.

The shocks of pleasure creeping up on you sparked along your skin—your fingertips, the very ends of prickly flesh. Your fingers gripped and tangled in his hair. Your hips stuttered forward, searching for his mouth in a desperate attempt to push yourself over the edge.

But he was doing it first, crooking his fingers in the perfect way here and digging the tip of his tongue into that sensitive bundle of nerves there as your pitch climbed higher and higher with the anticipation of a climbing buildup. The rubber band inside your belly snapped and your mouth dropped. What were supposed to be rises of whiny moans were just a symphony of shuddering breaths, arrhythmic and impassioned.

He was right there to ease you through the shocks, encouraging you with his tongue back down to the tingles that covered the expanse of exposed skin.

When he pulled away, his lips were still occupied with your body, pressing hungry kisses to your thighs and lower belly with a fervor that made you tug harder on his curling locks of hair.

He looked up at you with kiss-swollen lips, smiling like an idiot in love—no, not love. This was just lust. That's all. That was it. It didn't matter if that spark in your chest only pumped through your veins when he looked at you like that.

You smiled at him, breathless. "Take me to bed."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

He tightened his grip around your waist before he stood, tossing you over his shoulder and holding you with one arm. You yelped, dissolving into giggles as he carried you through the house and through the winding halls toward the bedroom.

On the way, you smiled as you passed by his hat sitting on a table along the walls. Reaching you, you had just barely grabbed it with your fingertips as you held it to your head.

He pushed the door open to reveal the room: a king-sized bed with golden sheets, a mini chandelier reflecting diamonds all over the expensive room, paintings and frames and shelves probably hiding more tools and gadgets than there are choices of liquor behind the bar in the main room.

He kicked the door closed behind him, admiring the room with a hum and a nod of his head before plopping you down onto the bed. You fell with a bounce, chuckling again as you held onto his hat. He smiled, watching you put it on your head and look at him with eyes that expressed far too much to be an innocent one-night stand.

Part of Whiskey hoped it was more than an innocent one-night stand.

So did you.

But if it was, he would rock your world. He stared down at you with darkened eyes, undoing his shirt and tossing it somewhere in the room. The rest of his clothes followed after until he was in nothing but his boxers. Then he did the same to you, except he didn't stop until you were bare before him, left in nothing but your expensive necklace and earrings to admire the way you still looked like the perfect reflection of the woman of his dreams. He left the hat. You looked perfect in it.

"Not fair," you complained with a grin. "I'm stripped bare, and you're still dressed."

You leaned up on your elbows, sitting up until you were situated on your knees as you leaned forward. You smiled up at him, hooking your finger in the band of his boxers to pull him forward. "Your turn."

He set his hand on your cheeks and nearly melted at the way you leaned into his warm palm, your eyes fluttering shut as a gentle breath blew through you. He shifted his hand so he pinched your chin, lifting your face to see better. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, sweetness."

"Oh, yeah?" you chuckled. "Prove it to me."

He leaned forward, bending down to your face and connecting your lips again. He licked into your mouth, tasting the remnants of whiskey on your tongue. You moaned, melting against him. You pulled away, your hand still hooked around his waistband. You tugged them down, ridding him of the meaningless article of clothing to reveal him to you.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Flushed tipped, thick, and throbbing. As you reached out and stroked your fist over his cock, he twitched in your hand and groaned. You bit your lip, leaning forward and giggling when his hat on your head bumped into his stomach.

He chuckled at you, tilting it up so he could see your face and you could move. You smiled at him before going back to his leaking slit. You leaned forward and licked him, flattening your tongue along his head to taste him. You moaned again, leaning forward to take a longer lick along the length of him. He breathed a curse under his breath, watching you lick him up as you worked your tongue along him.

His hand came to rest on the back of your neck, easing you forward without actually moving you. Your lips wrapped around him, slick and warm as you took him in your mouth. His head tilted back before he looked down again to see you, not wanting to miss a second of it.

"Fuck," he breathed, hips twitching. You smiled around him, working him deeper in your throat with the intent of taking the whole of him. "Fuck, you're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

You whimpered, laving your tongue along the underside of his cock where the vein was throbbing. "You like that?" he asked. "You like when I tell you how fuckin' perfect you are?"

You nodded as best you could, wrapping a hand on the back of his thigh to pull him in some more. "You're so goddamn perfect," he promised. "Makin' me feel special like this. D'you feel special?"

You just moaned your response, suckling around him and pulling a rough moan from him. After a moment, he pulled you away, setting his hands on either side of your neck as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, smiling and pulling you forward to kiss you again. The way he kissed you this time was so much different than before, so much softer, slower, with more meaning behind it than there ever should have been. Fuck, you were drunk on it, craving his lips more and more with an impossible desperation, even while he was still kissing you.

He eased forward, moving you until you were laying on your back. His lips slipped on and off of yours, down to your neck as he buried his face there and suckled on the skin.

He settled himself between your legs, grinding down on you as you moaned into each other's mouths. You grasped his bicep, squeezing it tight as you stopped him. "Wait," you breathed.

He stopped immediately, looking down at you with a face etched in concern. "What? What's wrong?"

You smiled, "Wear the hat, ride the cowboy." Your hands flattened on his chest and you pushed him back with a huff, flipping him around so he lay on his back as you straddled him.

He smiled at you, setting his hands on your hips. "You scared me for a second there," he said, his thumbs stroking circles along your skin.

You hovered over him with shaky thighs. "Scared you weren't gonna get your cock wet tonight?" you chuckled.

He just shook his head, "Scared I hurt you."

Your breaths filled the rooms as your body slowed to a stop, staring at him. Your heart leapt and you allowed yourself, just for a moment, to succumb to its calling to him.

"You could never hurt me, Whiskey," you promised.

You only allowed him a moment to let it sink in before you were grabbing his cock in your warm palm, stroking him a couple times before guiding him to your soaked pussy. Sinking down on him, both your eyes shut as your breaths puffed into the air.

"Fuck," you moaned. You braced yourself on his shoulders, helping them guide you as you slowly rolled your hips atop his. His hands gripped your waist, blunt nails digging into skin and creating little crescent dents.

The sensations were amazing. His cock stroked along your velvet walls and sparked a desperate pleasure within you that had you forgetting about the little tingles of pain at adjusting to his length. You brought him deeper, your bodies connected indefinitely as you began your slow movements.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the blossom of pleasure deep within you. You leaned back, placing a hand on the hat to keep it there as you rolled your hips, faster and faster, chasing the euphoria you craved.

"Look at you," he groaned. "Fuckin' ridin' me like a true cowgirl."

"Lucky for you, huh?" you smirked, breaking off into a whimper as the blunt head of his cock brushed against a sweet spot inside you.

He nodded, "Lucky for me."

You rode him, and you rode him hard, ignoring the ache in your hips and your legs from the continuous motion, ignoring the breathlessness shocking your throat at all the air you were taking in, ignoring the pounding in your chest at the way he stared at you: lips kiss-swollen, eyes sparkling, hands gripping. It was so much, too much, you craved this man more than you'd ever craved anything before in your life.

"Whiskey," you moaned, stifled moans tearing from your throat as his name spilled from your lips. "Fuck, Whiskey, you feel so good."

He hummed. "Take what you need from me, sugar. Take what you want." You leaned forward, holding yourself up with your hands on his shoulders. You were desperate, fucking yourself on him like it was your last time. When his thumb brushed your clit, a guttural moan ripped at your throat and your hips jerked. "That's it, sweetness. That's it."

He was just as breathless as you, guiding your hips with one hand and circling your clit with the other. "Shit," you sighed. "More. Fuck, Whiskey, I'm almost there."

"C'mon, sugar," he urged you. "Cum for me, Diamond."

You didn't care to hold back, you couldn't. You came with a shout, dropping forward onto him and burying your face in his neck. You moaned into his neck, pitchy and breathless as you came apart on top of him. Your hand tangled in his hair, he held tightly to your hips.

Your cunt clenched around him, squeezing and spasming and bringing him to the edge as his release tumbled after yours. One of his hands flew to your hair, holding you there as his fingers carded through.

Your hips canted a couple more times, milking the last ounces of pleasure you could get before you fell against his chest. He held you as you both slowly floated down from your highs, falling into the other's embrace as you came to.

The stillness that followed was like something out of a dream. The air was heavy with the smell of sex, but light with the breaths blowing from the both of you. Every inch of your body tingled, your fingertips felt like pop rocks, your skin prickled with a mix of warm and cold. Whiskey's heartbeat resounded through you, grounding you as you traced your fingers over his chest.

You could feel his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing gently into the back of your neck and making you feel like putty. You could stay like this forever, resting atop him and feeling the life he breathed into you from his chest.

"Jack."

You took in a small breath, leaning up and shifting yourself so he slipped out of you. You sighed a little before looking up at him with a lovesick grin. "Hmm?"

He looked at you, smiling right back as he chuckled lightly. "My real name is Jack."

You smiled and shook your head, burying your face in his chest as you chuckled. "Jack Daniels?" you joked, recalling the name brand Whiskey.

The way he chuckled made you look up at him. "Yes, actually."

You looked at him, smiling so wide your face hurt. "Seriously? Your name is Jack Daniels?"

He nodded, "Yep."

You shook your head, laying your head back on his chest and reaching clumsily over to grab his hat, which had fallen off your head. You set it over your face, shielding you from the light shining from the chandelier.

You sighed slowly, tracing patterns into his skin. You whispered your own name to him, glancing up at him and then back out to the little lion figurine on the small stand against the wall on the other side of the room. It was bronze, standing proudly with one paw perched up and his mouth dropped in a mighty roar.

Whiskey smiled, stroking his hand down your back and then back up to your hair. "You've got a beautiful name, sugar."

You smiled slowly. "Sweet as sugar?"

He nodded, "Sweeter."

You leaned up, your face inches apart. "You're gonna get a cavity if you have any more of me," you kissed his lips, long and slow and wanting more.

"The sacrifices we make…" he replied, chuckling deep in his chest as he kissed you again.

Pedro Pascal taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[freakrenaissance]

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

[missyorkswhore]

Pedro Pascal with weapons, this is the post

[creedslove]

HEARTLESS 💔

Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels) x f!reader

Summary: he was ready to give you the world, except one thing: be the father of your baby

Warnings: angst, hurt, angst, agent whiskey (because he is a trigger warning himself), asshole!agent whiskey, pregnancy, mom!reader

A/N: YAY, finally my first Agent Whiskey story!!! Came up with this idea last night and I was so excited about it. I love angst and he is such a handsome angsty asshole! I hope you guys like it ❤️

2.2k words

The moment Jack lay his eyes on you, he felt different.

He didn't understand it at first, it felt so odd, so foreign, so unexpected. Something he hadn't felt in years and years, not after his beautiful, little family was ripped away from him.

He tried fighting it off, it was his first instinct, he couldn't do that, not after all those years, not after having his heart broken the cruel way it was. But at the same time, everytime you smiled at him, asked him about his day, called his name, something as simple as that, it made him weak on his knees.

That cowboy had it bad. And he had it bad for you.

So he made his first move and invited you out. You accepted.

Three years later, Jack was the happiest man on earth. He had a woman he loved very much by his side, you were gorgeous, so perfect for him, you made him feel so good, so worthy of love, and he treated you like a goddamn princess.

You spent more time in his apartment than anywhere else, he wanted to ask you to move in with him, but it didn't feel quite right yet. One of the reasons was because he didn't actually like living in that apartment, he thought maybe taking you to his ranch would be a lot better. You wouldn't be so busy all the time, the daily routine stress wouldn't be as bad as New York, you would be all the time around nature and things would be fine between the two of you.

But you guys weren't married.

And Jack didn't know what to do with himself when that particular thought crossed his mind. He had never, even considered marrying someone new after he lost his sweetheart. He just couldn't, it would be impossible, he could never replace her.

But then again, whenever he saw you, his heart fluttered and he couldn't help daydream about watching you walking down the aisle with a pretty white dress all for him.

Whenever he was out, he would check jewelry store's windows and picture which ring you would like the best.

Until he finally got the balls and bought one for you. He hadn't proposed yet, he still didn't know how he could do it, but he had made up his mind. He was going to make you his, you would become his sweet, beautiful Mrs.Daniels, his world and nothing could ever come between the two of you.

The night Jack proposed to you, you were both lying on the grass, spending a summer weekend at the ranch, where you two stargazed and made love for what it seemed like hours, and when you felt him move, you turned around just to see him on his knee, a ring box in hands and his pleading eyes, asking you to become his.

And you said yes. You were Jack's and he was yours.

And you would continue to do so, until you began feeling sick. You were sure it wasn't nothing more than just a stomach bug, maybe you were coming down with the flu or something like that as you also felt light headed. You insisted Jack didn't have to take you to the doctor, but he was overly protective and quite stubborn too, so it was better just to let him, instead of trying to talk him out of it.

He held your hand the entire time, as you two waited at the reception and the only reason why he didn't go inside with you was because the doctor insisted you had your appointment on your own.

A few questions asked and a blood exam later, the doctor called you and Jack into the office.

They had the results that neither of you expected: you were pregnant.

Jack's world crashed and collided at that very moment. He felt the ground disappearing from under his feet and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He couldn't do it again, he wasn't ready to lose everything that mattered to him.

He couldn't believe you, out of all the people in the world, you couldn't do that to him.

He had lost a wife and a baby before, and he wasn't going to go through that again. He had said many times he didn't want to be a father, he didn't want to have a baby and he thought he found someone he could rely on, he could trust.

But he hadn't.

No matter how many times you had tried to explain to him you were on birth control and that they could all fail, Jack wouldn't listen to you.

You argued, yelled at each other, he told you so many horrible things to which you replied even more horrible ones.

But the end of the line was when he suggested you get rid of the baby.

You couldn't and you wouldn't.

You had never thought of yourself as a mom, you didn't even think you had the maternity bug in you, but the moment you learned the news you were carrying a little someone inside, someone who would grow to become a baby, and then a beautiful child, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Jack even offered you money, so you would interrupt it. But you didn't even bother answering him. You took off the ring he had given you, placed it back in the box and left it on his pillow and you walked out of the ranch you had called a house once and never returned.

You hadn't seen Jack anymore. But you still felt him around sometimes, you just couldn't tell if it was real or just a product of your imagination. You would catch whiffs of his cologne, or you would glance at a man that looked like him and would simply disappear in the blink of an eye. As your bump grew, the loneliness and the heartbreak were visible. You would smile, but the smile wouldn't meet the eyes.

Still, a small part of you thought and maybe hoped he cared for you, but he never came after you, he had nine months to do so and you had no news.

When you learned you were having a baby boy, you felt a pang in your chest and for a moment you actually worried about what he and other people would think. You didn't want to compete with her, you weren't a replacement of his family, you knew he had lost a wife and a baby boy, and life had given him a bride and a baby boy and he chose to walk away from that. You realize then, you weren't competing with anyone, you were living your life and it was not your fault if someone else lost theirs in such a tragic way. Then, after that realization, your heart filled with nothing but love and pride of you beautiful baby boy. If his dad chose not to be around, he was still a tiny piece of Jack you would keep, to remind you of all the good times you had spent together and the moments you were happy.

When you gave birth to your beautiful baby Wyatt, you thought you had seen Jack. You were almost sure you woke up in the middle of the night and found him in the room. He was dressed exactly the way you saw him for the last time, dark clothes and cowboy hat, and he eyed you and the baby.

You didn't have the strength to say anything to him and you just closed your eyes when you saw him picking up Wyatt so carefully into his arms.

In the morning, the doctors said you had experienced a fever peak through the night, so if it was actually Jack or just a cruel feverish dream, you couldn't tell. You even asked around, but no nurse had seen a cowboy over the nightshift.

Time flew, you never actually believed in that whenever you heard people saying, until you realized the tiny newborn became a bigger baby and that baby turned into a toddler in the blink of an eye.

Life was hard without Jack's financial support, you had to admit that, but you lived a happy life with your son, who painfully reminded you of his daddy. The sweet warm pool of brown chocolate eyes, to the cute curls that grew wide if you didn't give him a haircut every two months, to the smartness in him and his fascination with farm animals.

It was actually kind of funny, Wyatt had never met his daddy, he had barely acknowledged the fact other kids had a father and he didn't have one, and yet, he was just the spitting image of his. Sometimes you wonder what Jack would think of him, if he would be proud, happy or pleased to see his boy and himself were so alike. You still had that feeling Jack was around at times, when you took your son to play dates at the park, when you were out shopping and he waved at someone behind you you couldn't never actually see.

And also the times a mysterious amount of money came in handy whenever you found yourself struggling with some bill.

A tip or a bonus in cash your boss didn't actually know how to explain where that came from or when some of your debts simply had disappeared, but you couldn't track the source of the money. However, you only knew one person who had enough money to actually be able to do such things.

You just didn't understand why Jack did all that, if he was so clear about not wanting you nor your baby you didn't get why he still took some of his time to go after the two of you and not only that, he was also putting money into you. Not every month, like child support but enough so you could be comfortable.

On the weekend, you decided to take Wyatt upstate. He was so excited to go to the small farm, a nice ranch where families could spend the day and see all kinds of animals. Your heart ached as you thought about the time you lived with Jack, if you hadn't gone separate ways, Wyatt would love to live there, play with the animals all day and interact with them. It could have been a different story, for the two of you and also Jack, but it was his choice after all.

The little toddler was so excited as you walked around the entire place with him, you were so patient with your son, holding his little hand and showing him all the animals he wanted to see.

He liked the chickens, the horses, the baby pigs and was so excited, but his little heart raced when he saw a man standing a few feet away.

"Mommy, wook! A cowboy!!!" He squealed excitedly as he still struggled in pronouncing the Rs and let go of your hand, running freely towards the man.

You called his name, but knew it was no use at all, so you forced yourself to run after him. You fastened your pace, worried about losing your little boy in the crowd and froze as you saw your son standing next to a man you could recognize miles away. He was in his typical cowboy clothes and he had one arm wrapped around Wyatt's small body.

He smiled at the little boy, nodding gently at whatever he was saying to him. You looked at them in horror, shaking your head and not understanding why that could be possibly happening.

You took some steps closer and whispered your son's name. Jack immediately looked up at you and smiled softly

"Here's your mama, little one" he said in his thick accent "looking pretty as ever" Jack added and got up, lifting his son up and felt his heart clenched at how tiny arms wrapped around his neck. He trusted him so easily, as he was so sweet and affectionate, without even knowing him, without having a clue he was his dad. Of course that sweetness was all you.

You teared up and swallowed hard, extending your arm to Wyatt who was still mesmerized at the big boy.

"Hat, mama!!" He pointed excitedly at Jack's head and made the older man chuckle.

"I see you are a little cowboy yourself, aren't ya?" He asked and took his hat off, handing it to the little boy and placing it on his head.

He kicked his little legs in excitement and finally agreed to go with you, holding your hand and twirling around in pure happiness.

You didn't have any words to say, you wanted to stay away from Jack, and keep him away from your son, he had rejected you, and now he had no right to claim either of you.

You immediately took Wyatt's hat off and shoved it back to Jack. He only stood there, disappointment in his eyes but he understood it.

"It was nice seeing you, sugar. You're looking gorgeous as ever" he said but you only gave him your back and walked away from him.

Jack had lost his first family and out of fear, he lost his second one too, because he was a coward, he was a bad man and he would have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

_____

A/N: of course my first Agent Whiskey piece had to be an angst one. I hope it was alright ❤️

[syd-djarin]

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

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?”

[absurdthirst]

Birthday Wishes {Agent Whiskey x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Jack being absolutely besotted, public sexual activities, vaginal fingering, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms

Comments: Jack promises to make your birthday a night to remember.

💝🎉🎊🎁Happy Birthday @wardenparker!!!!! You are an amazing friend and co-writer, I am lucky that you want to spend time with a nut like me! I hope you have an amazing birthday today. 💝🎉🎊🎁

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Agent Whiskey 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.

“Sugar, you are as pretty as a picture and twice as sweet.” Your eyes shift from the mirror where you had been carefully touching up your makeup under the bright bulbs of your vanity to where Jack’s warm brown eyes are watching you. They darken slightly and on edge of that cock mouth curls up and lifts his neatly trimmed mustache. You know what is about to come out of his mouth. “We can always stay home and have our own celebration right here, sans clothes.” 

It shouldn’t be tempting, but when Jack Daniels is your lover, your partner, it’s always on the table. The man could talk you out of plans and out of your clothes so fast, your head would be spinning. And not just from that talented mouth eating your pussy like it was nectar of the Gods. 

“You always say that, Jack.” “‘Cause you always tempt me to keep you for myself, sugar.” Strong, warm arms slide around your soft stomach and he squeezes you tight as his nose and mouth burrow in at your shoulder. Giving you a view of his artfully combed hair. The cowboy hat hadn't gone on his head, just yet. “Fuck, you always smell so good.” 

It was the perfume he had bought you. One of the first gifts he had brought from a mission when he had decided to ‘court’ you. His words, although you find the old fashioned vernacular charming and very fitting. Jack might be crass at times, but at others he is the height of a southern gentleman. 

His mustache tickles and makes you shiver, followed by his hot mouth ghosting over your pulse and pressing petal soft kisses to your skin. Making gooseflesh pebble your skin and your eyes slip closed as you sigh out his name. 

He’s good at distracting you. Those large hands sliding over your stomach and traveling up to cup your breasts. His groan against your skin is low, already husky rumble even raspier as he slowly massages the flesh in his hands through your bra. You hadn’t dressed yet, waiting until  your hair and makeup is done before you slide your dress on. 

“Jack.” You whine, eyes half closed and your lips poised in a pout as you instinctively lean to the side to give him more room to do whatever he wants with your body. “You planned tonight.” You remind him. 

“Next time, smack me upside the head.” He huffs, reluctantly pulling away from where he was nibbling on your shoulder to send you an playfully unhappy look in the mirror. “For being such a fool to think I wouldn’t want to keep you home and to myself.” 

Rolling your eyes at him, you smirk and lift a brow. “Finish getting ready, Mr. Daniels.” You chide. “You promised me a night out for my birthday and that is exactly what I am getting.” 

Letting go of your tits, Jack winks at you and grins. “Of course you are, sugar.” He promises with a smirk. “Tonight is going to be a night you never forget.” 

****

“Jack!” Your surprised squeal is muffled against his jacket, although you shouldn’t be surprised. Jack’s fingers, push aside the material of your panties and those thick, nimble fingers quickly find your sex slick with desire. “We are in public!” 

“So?” His chuckle fans out warmly over your skin and he rubs your bundle of nerves before his thumb presses against it and two fingers push slowly inside you. “No one is paying attention and I can’t help myself.” He defends. “You are too appealing, sugar. Sittin’ here lookin’ like an angel wrapped in sin.” 

The pressing curl of his fingers steals your ability to answer. Mouth dropped open in a soundless moan, only the tiniest squeak manages to sound, barely even reaching his ear except he’s listening for it. 

“Hmmmm.” He rumbles, making sure that he curls his body around you in the booth in the most intimate corner of the restaurant. While he loves pushing the boundaries of propriety, he doesn’t want anyone to actually see you. Your pleasure is his alone. “What’s that, sugar?” He coos softly. “I didn’t hear you.” 

Turning your head, you feel the way that he is absolutely playing your pussy like it’s a stringed instrument. Moaning softly into his ear, your body pulls taunt and starts to roll with the plunge of his fingers. It’s wicked and filthy, letting him finger you right here in the middle of the trendiest restaurant around, the possibility of anyone catching you running high as waiters and guests run around. Still, your fingers grip the fabric of his suit coat and you let him do whatever he wishes to your body as you respond to him. 

The drag of his fingers in and out of your velvet walls makes you hiss in pleasure, the way they pulse around his thick digits similar to how he feels when he is working his cock inside you. Nerve endings firing in pleasure and making the knot in your belly grow every time he pushes them deep. 

“Jack.” You pant softly, trying to keep your voice down as your eyes dart around the room. It makes him chuckle, but the pressure against your clit and the movement of his fingers never pauses. 

“You’re gonna cum for me, sugar.” He promises. “Your pretty little pussy is gonna weep around my fingers and give me a little treat to suck on that will be more delicious than the best dessert in this place.” His chuckle is low and raspy. “Hell, I’d rather set you up on the table and feast on you.” 

He would probably do it, if you were at home. Your table has often been the scene of countless couplings. Now he just intends to make you whine and whimper, shaking with pleasure in public. 

Your finger nails dig into the fabric of his suit, clutching for purchase, to ground you so you don’t go floating away on a cloud of ecstasy while the entire restaurant watches. The wine on the table is barely touched and yet you feel like your head is swimming, thoughts fuzzy to everything but the press of his fingers. 

Jack’s dark eyes watch you, sparkling encouragement from their dark depths. His lips pulled into a smirk as every pass of his fingers rockets you closer to having to muffle a cry. He’s enjoying your pleasure. If you were to reach down and take a squeeze of his cock, you would find him hard as a rock. 

“Just a little more, sugar.” He coos, leaning in and kissing your jaw. “Just a little more and your sweet pussy will be singin’ for me. Can you do that? Can you cum in my fingers and let me have a little taste of you?” 

The raw, rough pitch of his voice and the next swipe of his finger pushes you over the edge. Turning and burying your face against his neck, your muffled moan is barely heard outside your little booth, breathed into the fabric of his suit. “Jack, oh God, Jack.” You whimper, the quiver of your cunt following the molten slick that coats his fingers and makes him hum in satisfaction. 

“That’s it, sugar, cream on ole Jack’s fingers for me.” He whispers in praise, working you through it and humming as your flutter walls start to slow. “Good girl,” He likes the way you pant against his collar, looking just for the world like a woman who is snuggled against her man. “Ride it out.”

Jack’s fingers work you until he can sense that you want him to stop and slowly pull out of your wet heat. The sticky sounds make him grin and his napkin comes up with his hand to cover him discreetly licking his finger clean with a small groan of pleasure. 

Your face flames hot when the server glides back over to the table, either unaware of what had just happened or the soul of discretion to not mention that you are still slightly panting from the way he had just turned your world upside down. Clearing your plates and assuring you that dessert was already on the way. 

Turning towards Jack with a surprised look, you can tell that he had pre-planned this by the very pleased look on his face as he nods and picks up his champagne glass. “To another year that we - and I mean all of us - have been graced with your presence and blessed by your existence.” He taps his glass to yours. “Happy Birthday, sugar.” 

You take a sip of your frothy, bubbly champagne and he winks at you. “This is only the beginning.” He promises, having planned out the entire night out to make sure you know how special you are to him and how much he loves you. 

“Jack.” You huff, almost embarrassed having his attention centered on you like you always are. When Jack is focused, that is the only thing that matters in the world and right now, that focus is on you.  

“Baby girl, you deserve a night that is all your own.” He insists, lips pushed into a pout and winks at you. “I’m going to make sure of it.” A promise that you know that he will not be satisfied until he makes good on.

****

“Jaaaaaaaack.” Your hips jerk and lift under his firm grip, not going anywhere but where he wishes for you to. Completely in control and taking you apart lick by lick as his tongue curls and flicks over your swollen clit. Wrenching moan after unhinged moan out of you as he builds you up for yet another peak. 

You don’t know how long it has been since you last shuddered apart under the coaxing of his tongue, it might have been thirty seconds ago or an hour. Time is suspended when you look down to see his mustache pressed against your mound and his sharply curved nose breathing in the heady scent of your pleasure. 

Jack is meticulous. Bringing you into the house and starting to strip you down. His lips covering every inch of your body and making sure that he whispers praises into your skin as he scatters them artistically on your skin. Fingers trailing as he slowly drags your dress down to let it pool at your feet before sliding under the straps of your bra to pull them down your arms. Stripping much more than your clothes as he undresses you, he’s stripping away the layers of protection and armor until there is nothing left but you and him. 

That is when Jack’s true talent comes out. That mouth. It can be used for quick witted banter or issuing threats that he has the training to back up, sarcastic quips or for smooth reassurances. The best use for it though is when he puts his mouth on you. 

Jack Daniels is a cocky son of a bitch, but he knows what he is doing. He spends the time making sure that he knows every spot on your body that would make you sing his name. Carefully and meticulously mapping your pleasure points to use against you.

Smirking against your cunt, Jack chuckles and flicks his tongue against your clit once more. Pushing you over the edge and you come with a wail of his name. Watching as your entire world explodes and your eyes flutter while you gasp out. Working you through it with a slow suckle on your sex that keeps extending the pleasure and twisting it higher inside you. 

Your fingers tangle into the sheets, the only thing keeping you from floating away as your body shakes and heat floods your system. His name is the only thing that you can manage to say over and over again. Falling off your tongue in gasping praise while your thighs press around his ears and squeeze them tight. 

By the time that he is kissing up your body and settling between your thighs, you are finally floating back down to earth. Cognizant of the smug smirk that rides on his face as he slides up to kiss your lips and nudges his nose against yours. “I love you, sugar.” 

The sentiment is perfect for the moment that he slides inside you. Filling and stretching you out the way that only he can. Your head tilts back and your moan is soft, your legs starting to wrap around his waist. Enjoying the weight of him on top of you and surrounding you. Consuming you. 

Every thrust is slow and measured, letting you feel him. Experience the slow pulses inside you and the sharp twitches as he rocks you both higher. Words of love and praise passing between you with languid kisses. 

“I love you sugar.” Jack groans, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Happy birthday, gorgeous.” 

Nothing on earth could ever beat birthday wishes from Jack. Nothing. 

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 1 "Into The Ether"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.7k Chapter Tags: Description of Injuries, Graphic Description of Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Comatose Patient, Grief, PTSD Referenced, Medical Equipment Mentioned (Not Graphic Detail), Angst, Golden Circle Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Deceased Character, Discussion of Death, Hallucinations.

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter (Prologue)

Four months after his accident, Jack is finally showing some signs of life. Clara and Jane work to stabilise him, but his welcome back to the land of the living is not as smooth as they'd like.

3:27am. February 8th, 2018.

It had been like any other evening. Quiet, fairly boring, and with nothing more than a soft hint of jazz music filling the crisp, white room. Aside from whenever agents needed urgent care, the lab was usually a peaceful place; but the night shifts were the best for it. Nothing but silence for hours at a time, filled only by a soft hum, pen tapping, or one of Statesman’s workers mumbling along with whatever tune the radio played. It went down like this most shifts. 

Until tonight.

A shrill ring came from the other side of the room – nothing overly loud, but in the dead silence of the room it was jarring enough that it made people jump slightly. Working away at her desk, the noises piqued the interest of the lab assistant, Jane, who was working the night shift. Normally her shift was a quiet one, tasked with monitoring anyone who was in stasis and just maintaining the equipment. It was her boss, Clara, who mainly used the machinery during the day.

Monitors sprung to life next to one of the stasis chambers in the Statesman labs. A higher heart rate than normal was picked up, a faster flow of oxygen was being delivered to the patient in question, and the chamber itself was registering small movements up and down their body. Standing from her seat, Jane went down to the stasis chamber that was making all the fuss, her heels clacking on the linoleum floor as she paced towards it. 

It wasn’t very often that Statesman needed to keep anyone in stasis – not long term, anyway. Most agents would be in it for an hour or two, potentially overnight if their injury was severe, and the nanites would do their job and get people fighting fit almost immediately after waking. But this case was unique. 

There was only one chamber in use at the moment, so finding the suspecting noise wasn’t too difficult. It wasn’t uncommon for this machine to spring to life on occasion if certain components needed adjusting to best support the life that laid within it, so Jane initially didn’t think much of the noises.

Jane stood at the foot of the chamber, which laid horizontally, plugged in to all manner of monitors and Statesman’s versions of life support machines (everything being significantly more technologically advanced than what even the best hospital in the world could offer, of course). She squinted at a panel that was fixed to the end of the chamber, trying to make sense of the numbers it was giving. This would always be the first thing to check; the panel in question gave out readings for inside the chamber, things like temperature, oxygen levels, and there were sensors littered throughout that would tell her if the patient had moved even a millimetre. It never yielded much information, and had so far only been useful at letting either Jane or Clara know what might need adjusting – but today those readings were very different, and she almost couldn’t believe her own eyes. 

“It can’t be…,” she whispered to herself as the panel told her there was movement being registered up and down the patients’ body. Nothing major, but their muscles were slowly starting to shift inside the chamber. It wasn’t enough to warrant being concerned by most patient’s standards, but this one was different. In the four and a half months since this chamber had been occupied, there hadn’t even been an eyelid twitch. Aside from their breathing, which in itself was being aided by an oxygen tank, many would look at the life within the chamber and deem the patient to be deceased. 

Jane moved down to the head of the machine, which had all the heart rate monitors, brain scanners, and life support machines set up. She glanced up at the heart rate monitor and gasped; for the first time since September last year it was actually registering the patient as having a steadier, stronger, heartbeat. The brain scan was also picking up more activity than usual, synapses firing properly for the first time in months. Their frontal lobe specifically was active, and activity was registering in areas of the brain that correlated to memory and executive function. Both the left and right lobes were firing up, indicating that movement would soon be noticeable on both sides of the body. A relief, really, considering what they went through…

Jane turned to the chamber and looked in through the glass panel which ran down the length of the chamber. Her eyes widened at what she saw; the patient who had laid borderline dead for over four months was now starting to twitch. It was barely noticeable, but after monitoring for so long the whole lab had gotten used to the fact this guy just never moved a muscle. At first she only noticed his hand move slightly, but the longer she observed the more movement she saw. His fingers spasmed, his legs kept making small jumpy movements, and then as she looked at his face she noticed his eyelids were flickering.

“Holy shit,” she said to herself, then promptly left the bedside of the chamber and headed back to the desk. She picked up the receiver of the phone which was there, and dialled her boss’ emergency line. Since this patient had come in, Clara had given Jane and all the other lab assistants strict instructions that her direct emergency line only be used in this very scenario. With shaking hands, Jane pressed the phone to her ear and waited for the click on the other end.

“Jane?” came Clara’s voice down the line. Jane breathed a sigh of relief at the sound – she knew what to do when the patient awoke, but she also knew it would probably be better if Clara were here. Not for her sake, but for the patient’s.

“Clara! Thank heavens. It’s happening; he’s waking up,” she said, then looked back over the machine. An even louder noise had just started up, indicating more significant movement. Jane couldn’t help but smile slightly – everyone had been waiting for this day since he came in. It was all a little surreal to think that it was actually happening.

“Are you sure, Jane?” Clara questioned, disbelief laced in her voice. It wasn’t that she doubted Jane, but rather that by now she’d written off this day as ever being possible. Jane nodded, still looking at the machine, until she realised Clara would have no way of knowing that she was moving her head. Clearing her throat, she looked away from the machine and paid attention to the call again.

“Yes, I’m positive. There’s movement, Clara. I can actually see it, too. It’s not just one of the machines playing Hell,” she explained.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Keep him stabilised. If you think he’ll wake up properly before I’m there, let him. It could be dangerous if we keep him under any longer than he’s already been. Don’t wanna risk another four months of nothing,” Clara explained.

“Got it; see you soon!” Jane said, and hung up the call. She headed straight back over to the machines and started monitoring, fiddling with some dials as she went to make the waking up process a bit more pleasant on him.

“Alright cowboy, let’s get you back with the living,” she muttered to herself as she worked away diligently.

After four months being in a comatose state, former senior agent Jack Daniels was finally waking up.

4:23am. February 8th, 2018.

“Jane?” Clara said, bursting through the door of the lab, hurriedly throwing her lab coat on as she strode towards Jack’s bed. “How is everything?”. 

Jane turned to see Clara walking through the lab, her eyes slightly wide in a kind of shock she’d never seen on her face in all the years she’d been working here. She smiled faintly, taking her reading glasses off momentarily while she spoke with her boss.

“We’re good, don’t worry. His movements are getting more frequent, and stronger, same with the brain wave frequencies. But he still isn’t awake yet,” she explained, handing Clara a digital chart of the patient’s progress. Clara mulled over the data, swiping through the various statistics to see how fast the rousing process was looking to be, attempting to estimate when he might be fully conscious. She nodded slowly as she took it all in, huffing out a breath of air as she finally let herself calm down. She’d made it in time, and that was what mattered.  

“Alright, let’s have a look at him,” she said, heading over to the opposite side of the stasis chamber. She analysed every machine, even though she knew Jane would have already looked over everything with a fine tooth comb. But it was the only thing she could do to put her mind at ease, the nerves for Jack waking up rising in her chest, and a sickening swirl presenting itself in her stomach. She steadied her breathing as she looked over the tests, eyes widening as she saw for herself that this was really happening.

“I’ve been thinking, Clara…,” Jane said, snapping her out of the little trance she’d been pulled into while her fingers danced over dials, wires, and tubing.

“What’s that, Jane?” she asked, looking over at her younger assistant. Jane chewed her lip slightly and nervously tucked a stray strand of her mousy brown hair behind her ear, knowing she was about to say what would be on most people’s minds once he was awake.

“When he wakes up…he won’t know will he? That you’re no longer Ginger, and that he’s no longer Whiskey,” she asked.

Clara sighed as she placed the chart Jane had handed her on the side, then shook her head solemnly. These last few months had been tough – with Jack in the med-bay this whole time, completely out of action, Champ still deemed it appropriate to hand over his moniker to Clara. She’d been reluctant to take the title at first, not wanting to step on any toes – but, as Champ pointed out, “He’s no agent of ours now, even if he does survive this”. So, she threw her hat into the ring. 

That had been the one thing to make the decision slightly easier; Champ had been dead set from the second he had his accident that Jack would no longer be on the payroll as soon as he woke up. He intended for the former agent to heal up, and then he’d be sent on his way. A new identity, and far away from here, left to fend for himself and deal with the consequences of his actions. 

Clara had taken over all Jack’s previous duties since the moniker became hers last September, including the training of new agents alongside Tequila. With Kingsman suffering heavy losses last year, and with Statesman resources backing their British cousins, a whole new generation of agents were being cherry picked from across the world to eventually be part of the new Kingsman regiment.

It had been a lot of work, albeit rewarding, but that didn’t stop Clara from having a hand in the labs. It was how she came to be here in the first place, and without these labs she’d never have had the hands-on expertise to even shoot for Jack’s old job. That and, having now got his moniker, there was an element of responsibility that she still felt for her old friend.

She hated what Jack had done, and his rationale for trying to derail Harry and Eggsy’s mission; but he still didn’t deserve this. Even the British agents had agreed that things went too far, and they hoped just as much as she did that he would soon recover – although it was almost a hell of a lot worse. Clara couldn’t bear to think about what could have happened if he hadn't been pushed so far over. If his head had tipped back just a little further, sending him into the machinery instead of clipping the outside of it – knocking him unconscious.

Shuddering slightly at the thought, Clara turned back to Jack. The head wounds he’d sustained were basically healed now, thanks to the Statesman developed alpha gel and nanites, but no doubt there would be memory loss and a stack of physical rehabilitation for him to go through. Statesman tech was good, but it wasn’t physically possible to prevent muscle atrophy in its entirety. Jack had a long road ahead of him.

But a complication in this road, she’d found, was Champ’s sudden change of tune. For weeks he’d been bitter about what Jack had done, as was everyone else in the organisation who knew him personally. They all knew about his strong feelings towards drug use, but never in a million years did anyone see it manifesting how it ended up. At worst it had caused a bit of tension between Jack and Jefferson (better known as Agent Tequila) whenever he mentioned using a narcotic substance recreationally, but the feud never went beyond a shouting match and aggressive eye rolling.

Lately, though, Champ had started wondering if Statesman were inherently to blame for Jack’s outburst. Agents went through routine psychological intervention, making sure that they were always fit for duty, but the tests stopped there. Previous trauma was never really considered, and with the exception of an on-site psychologist for when agents needed intervention after a mission, there was nothing in place for the team to use as an outlet for anything else they might have been struggling with.

Jack’s outburst highlighted a fundamental flaw in how agents were screened before going out into active duty, and Champ had begun to carry a lot of guilt on his shoulders as a result of this. Procedures could be changed, differences could be made going forward, but that didn’t undo any of the damage which had already been afflicted. He wondered how fair it would be to punish Jack indefinitely for something which could very well have been prevented by the organisation in which he worked for.

While Clara agreed that perhaps there was a better course of action than just sending Jack on his way once he was better, that did rather leave things in a sticky situation right now. He was slowly waking up, and he had no idea that life had changed for him quite so dramatically. Handling this would surely be difficult.

“No, Jane. He’ll have no idea,” she sighed, again. “I honestly think we can worry about that later, though. If he calls me Ginger, don’t correct him. Let’s get him awake and stable; then we can bring Champ in for a full debrief,” she said. Jane nodded, folding her arms across her chest as the two women just waited for time to pass. That’s all this was now – a waiting game.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A plush duvet surrounded Jack as he gently stirred from a good night’s sleep. The bedding had been freshly put on last night, and he always loved the first morning after changing the bed. The pillows were nice and fluffy, the sheets were all neatly tucked in, and everything smelt of fresh linen. Aside from sharing this bed with the woman he loved, there was nothing which could improve how he woke up feeling on mornings like these. 

Jack’s eyes slowly began to open - nothing major at first. Just a faint flicker to establish it was actually daytime - sunlight streamed through the cracks in the curtains in the master bedroom, lighting up the solid wood furniture Jack had spent so much time painstakingly crafting for him and his wife. 

He felt a warmth next to him, and a slight stir of movement. He rolled towards the shifting weight, his arms reaching out to touch the body of whom lay next to him. His hands felt soft skin and he smiled, humming in contentment, all while his eyes were still partially closed.  

“Jack?” a woman’s voice said. Her breathy voice filled his ears, making his entire body prickle with goosebumps. Her voice was always so calming, and the sound of his name coming from her lips filled him with a warmth that enveloped him entirely. It was something he could never get sick of. 

He opened his eyes more and smiled as he came face to face with his wife. She smiled down at him, leaning up on her elbow in bed. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded over her face and shoulders, brushing against his cheek. Jack smiled and chuckled as her hair tickled his face slightly. 

“Good morning, my love,” he said, reaching up to caress her cheek softly. His thumb stroked her soft skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of his own hands. She smiled and leant into his hold, her own palm moving to sit atop his fingers. 

“Morning, pumpkin,” she giggled. Jack smiled, his hand sliding down the woman’s tanned skin, down her shoulder, and across her arm. 

“When will that nickname be dropped, Lela?” he asked. She giggled again, sticking her tongue out flirtatiously. 

“Never! The day you agreed to marry me was the day you agreed to a lifetime of silly name calling,” she teased. 

Jack chuckled, slipping his arm across his wife’s waist as she slipped down back into bed with him. She was right - he had agreed to that the day they got married, but he wouldn’t trade this life for anything else in the entire world. 

“Alright, that’s fair enough,” he smiled, “Did you need something, my love?” he asked. Lela had got into the habit of waking Jack slightly earlier in the morning if their baby boy was moving around a lot - at first it was accidental, she would wake him when she couldn’t settle. But after a couple of instances he insisted that she just wake him, not wanting to miss a single precious second with his wife or unborn son. He always had a horrible feeling he’d miss something if he wasn’t awake and present for every second with her. 

“It’s time to wake up, Jack,” Lela said, smiling softly. Jack furrowed his brow, confused. 

“Lela, we are awake?” he said, chuckling softly under his breath. She smiled faintly, tears prickling her eyes. 

“No, Jack. I mean really, wake up,” she said softly, sitting up in bed. Jack wondered if she’d had another bad dream and was still slightly confused, so he sat up with her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed her slightly, comforting his wife. 

“I am awake, doll. We both are, we’re just still in bed. Everything is alright,” he said, planting a kiss to Lela’s cheek. She smiled softly at his touch, but sniffled. “What’s wrong, sugar?” he asked. 

Lela turned to face Jack, her eyes now red from holding back tears. His heart pounded in his chest, now concerned as to what was upsetting his sweetheart so badly. She had seemed fine just minutes earlier…

“You’re not awake, Jack. Not really. None of this is real,” she said. 

“Not real?” he said, clinging slightly tighter to Lela’s body. He didn’t want to believe a word she was saying. 

“Think, Jack. Really remember. What happened to me?” she said. 

Jack screwed up his eyes, a splitting headache shooting through his head, causing him to cry out in pain. Lela shifted on the bed, her hands holding either side of Jack’s head. 

A phone call. That’s all he remembered. A phone call that changed his life. But how-

“I died, my love. This isn’t real,” she said, answering the lingering question at the front of his mind. 

Jack opened his eyes at last to look back at his wife, nausea filling his body and a migraine coming on that made him feel like he was going to pass out. As he opened his eyes, everything around the two of them had fallen away to nothingness - only each other remained. There was no ranch, no comfortable king size bed, no hot mugs of tea on each other’s nightstand. Just each other in the vast abyss of nothingness. 

“You…,” he began, not entirely sure what to say. If she was dead, then where was he?

“You got it,” she said, smiling taut. 

“Where are we, Lela?” he asked, his fingers curling around her wrists as he desperately held onto her in case she left him. In case whatever vision of her that was clearly before him dissipated into the ether like everything else around him had. She shrugged. 

“I’m not entirely sure. I haven’t fully figured it out, truthfully. I’ve been here a while, but I wasn’t expecting you to join me any time soon,” she said. Tears ran down her face as she spoke, and by now her words were almost choking her in the back of her throat. 

“Why do I need to wake up?” he softly cried. Lela kissed her husband gently, tasting the salt from their tears as her lips touched his. 

“Because it isn’t your time. Not yet, anyway, Jacky,” she said. 

“But I don’t want to wake up. If I do, if I go - you won’t be there,” he sobbed. Suddenly the memory and pain of losing his wife came flooding back, overpowering Jack’s emotions. Wherever he was, he wanted to stay. He couldn’t go through that again. For so long he’d worked to repress what happened to Lela, never being able to cope with the fact she and their unborn son had been taken from this world. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye again - I can’t, I won’t!” he pleaded. Lela smiled softly. 

“I know you. And I know you’ll stay strong. At least, this time, I get to say it,” she said. 

“Say what?” Jack asked, his grip tightening on skin that slowly felt like he was losing his grasp on. 

“A proper goodbye. We never got one last time,” she said. 

“Lela, please, don’t!” he said. In spite of his grip, Lela slipped away from him with ease. 

“Jack, don’t make this any harder than it already is,” she cried, “But you’ve got to wake up”. 

With the words ‘wake up’, his vision became even less clear. Wherever he had been, he was slowly slipping away. He braced himself as best he could for whatever was about to come next. The only thing he knew for certain was that Lela would not be where he was heading. 

“Goodbye, my love,” he said, wiping his eyes of tears. 

“Goodbye, Jack,” she smiled, then whispered, “Wake up”. 

Jack’s eyes slowly began to open.  

5:39am. February 8th, 2018.

It was over an hour before there was any more significant movement from Jack. Jane and Clara had done all they could, and since she’d arrived at the lab earlier this morning, the two women had just been making sure that he would be comfortable when he eventually woke up. The side effects of being comatose for over four months would still cause havoc, undoubtedly, even in spite of the Statesman technology making the transition a more pleasant one. 

Blindingly bright lights – that was the first thing he noticed. That and a very dry mouth. Like, painfully so. Jack grunted slightly, trying to move his body and get a feel for where he was. 

What had even happened?

His eyes felt heavy as the lids fluttered open, Jack grimacing as the blinding white of the room he was in flooded his senses. Mumbled voices filled his ears, and in a way it felt like it was the first time Jack was actually hearing anything.

“Wh-what- where am I?” he muttered, but he wasn’t actually sure if he was loud enough for anyone to hear. 

His vision was blurry as he slowly began turning his head, trying to see where exactly he now found himself. All he could surmise thus far was that he was in a bed, and somewhere clinical, judging by the lack of colours shining out at him in the room. He could feel something up his nose moving as he turned his head, and with each movement a tube rubbed against the skin of his cheek. 

Was he in a hospital? The Statesman med bay? And why did he have a ventilator tube inserted? 

Jack blinked a few times to try and clear his eyes, and slowly the film began to dissipate across his pupils. Blurry masses of shapes began focusing somewhat, now making way for discernable objects. Monitors, IV bags, other beds further down the room. 

And then, running past his line of sight quickly, was Clara. She barrelled over towards him just as a wave of fatigue came over Jack, and a piercing screech came from one of the machines around his head. He screwed his eyes up, cursing inwardly at the noise, but when Clara muted the mechanism he found it hard to want to open his eyes again. 

All he knew was that he wasn’t with Lela anymore. He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been with her, in whatever kind of purgatory dream-like state he’d found himself in, but every fibre of his body longed to be back there. He didn’t know exactly how he ended up there, how he ended up here either, but he didn’t greatly want to be anywhere other than by her side again. 

Back where he belonged. 

“Jack?”. 

The faint muffled voices of Jane and Clara managed to break through to Jack, and in spite of his best efforts to try and force himself back to the land of the dead, he just couldn’t. Slowly he began opening his eyes again, refocusing to the bright light and the face of Clara now leaning over him by his bedside.  

“Ginger?” he said, croaky and hoarse as he forced his words out.

“Jack, stay with us, we need to stabilise you,” Clara said, frantically messing with the controls on the panel closest to her. Without even realising it, he was panicking as he adjusted to being awake again, and it was sending all the readings way out of sync; she needed to get him under control before he flatlined again. His heart rate was off the charts, and his blood pressure was joining it. 

“Where am I?” he asked, breaths speeding up as worry set in, causing his chest to tighten in the process. He hadn’t been breathing autonomously for months, and his increased breaths was putting undue pressure on the ventilator which had kept him alive all this time. The more he woke up the more a tightness made itself known across his chest, sweat collecting on his brow as he panted, slowly feeling every wire and IV line that was inserted into his body. 

“You’re in the med bay. Calm down, Jack, it’s going to be alright,” she reassured him, administering procainamide to him through one of his IVs to try and return his heartbeat to normal. 

Jack felt the effects of the drug given have an effect almost immediately, and that weight left his chest in mere seconds. His breathing began to regulate, and the blood rushing through his ears from a pounding heart gave way to the sound of a gentle rumble of the machines behind his head. 

But then, like someone turning on a light switch, Jack’s mind went blank. 

“Whe-who…who am I?” he stammered.

“Shit,” Jane said. “Clara, his amnesia has already set in!” she exclaimed. Clara looked down at Jack, his eyes darting around the room frantically. They had worried that this would happen, that the amnesia often experienced by agents in the stasis chambers would rear its ugly head before they could properly stabilise him. 

“Get the photograph,” she said bluntly, her hands still working away at the machinery.

“But you said-,” Jane began protesting.

“I know!” Clara yelled, tears pooling in her eyes, “It might fuck him up for good, Jane, but we can’t have him forget who he is, or else there’s no going back. There’ll be no saving him. We’ve got to use it,” she explained.

Clara didn’t want to use the photograph of Jack’s wife for this - not after the grief of her death, and his subsequent actions, were the reason he was even in this position to begin with. But things had moved too quickly for him to be stable, for another prompt to be used - they didn’t have the time they needed to let him sit with something else, a new trigger, and hope it worked. He was crashing, and if he forgot who he was then it would be game over. 

Agents forgetting their own identities was not uncommon. The same happened with Harry only 18 months ago. But, unlike with Harry, Clara surmised that the trauma that would be needed to bring Jack back after a complete memory lapse would be too severe to safely recreate. They had to just work with what they had, and restore him as much as they could, before that became the reality. 

“Alright,” Jane said before rushing to Clara’s desk. Flinging open the desk drawer, she began pulling out a stack of paper files. Clara had made sure to keep all of Jack’s personal information nearby in case of an emergency, so anything people needed to know about the former agent sat in these brown envelopes.

Flicking through the papers, a photograph fell out. A small polaroid, with a woman’s portrait on it. She was young, early twenties, and had long dark brown hair. She was smiling in the photograph, taken on what looked to be a birthday, in a local bar that was still operational now, over twenty years later. Jane grabbed the picture and headed back over to the bedside.

“Jack, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she reached the bedside, holding the picture over his chamber.

“Oh…oh who-who’s this lovely lady?” he asked, the first smile in months spreading out onto his face. It hurt, he noticed, and for a brief moment he wondered why. But his eyes remained locked onto the image of the young woman, and slowly a searing pain started making itself known to him. Like a hot, burning migraine, gradually taking over his head as he tried to piece things together. 

Who was she? Why is she familiar? 

“She’s dead, Jack,” Jane began, steadying her breathing as she allowed Clara to continue to work away. Her boss gave her an approving nod before she continued her monologue, “Cops said ‘wrong place, wrong time’,” she said.

Jack’s eyes widened as everything, everything, came flooding back to him. Clara managed to just stabilise his vitals before the visceral screams started, filling the room and ringing in the ears of everyone around.

Jane withdrew the picture as Jack began to yell, his voice hoarse and screams cracking from not using his vocal chords in so long. But it was too much to bear as everything came flooding back; his wife, losing her, him joining Statesman, and every decision he had made which led him to where he now found himself; plugged into machines with a serious head wound. He had no idea how much time had passed, or how much of his life he’d lost in these four walls.

The heat he felt from the oncoming migraine soared across his head, almost burning at his temples as he sat bolt upright. Anger filled his body, raising his heart rate higher than what it had been in months. Clara’s eyes darted from Jack to the monitors, worried about her friend immensely. After waiting so long, this couldn’t be what ended him; she wouldn’t let him die like this.

“JACK!” she yelled, leaning forward and holding him by the shoulders and trying to get him to lay down again. “You’ve got to calm down, come on!” she pleaded. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders, bracing his frame in her hold. She nodded towards Jane who administered a higher dose of his IV medication, all the while allowing Clara to comfort him. He needed to lay down, or else he’d risk passing out and having to go through this rigmarole again. 

Jack’s breathing remained fast, the panic searing through him as he remembered everything that had led to this moment. His splitting headache shot through him again, beginning to feel like a pulsing sensation behind his eyes, which momentarily snapped him out of his anger fuelled haze for a moment to screw his eyes up and drop his head into his hands. 

“That’s it, come back to me,” she said, soothing him as she lay him down gently.

“She…she’s dead…and I-I almost…I almost killed millions,” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. They stung as he cried for the first time in years, Jack never being the kind of man to show much emotion, even before the accident. He looked up, catching eyes with Clara.

She almost broke as she looked into them, dark brown pits which were laced with torment and anguish, bloodshot red and petrified. It was a look she had never seen before in Jack – he always was the one who kept things in check, never let anybody in, never let anybody show if he was suffering. She supposed that was where the fault lied with, really – the fact that he had never let anyone in on the fact he was clearly suffering with so much that it ended up bleeding into his work. His principles. His morals.

“But you didn’t, Jack. They’re alive. Eggsy and Harry stopped you,” she said. There was no point sugar coating what had happened – the truth would come out eventually. Her hand moved to gently caress his thick brown, and slightly greying, hair. She soothed him softly, comforting him as he came back to them. 

“Th-they did,” he said, voice quiet as he tried to piece together the entire chain of events that lead to him having a head wound this serious that it put him in this state for so long. “In September?” he asked. Clara nodded.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said, still holding him in her arms.

“What month is it now, Ginger?” he asked. Jane caught eyes with Clara, a look of sympathy on her face briefly – it was expected this would happen.

“It’s February, Jack. You’ve been out cold for four months,” she said, choosing for now to ignore him using her old moniker. A more appropriate time would come where he’d find out that now was no longer her title, and that instead she now carried his. 

He slowly nodded, wiping a hand down his face. He felt that his signature moustache had remained, a sign that someone had clearly cared a great deal for him personally while he’d been out for so long. 

“What was I thinking?” he said quietly, pressing the heels of his hands in his eye sockets. Clara sighed slightly, pulling him into her. Instantly he dropped his hands and wrapped his arms around her body, clinging to her for dear life. He knew that if it weren’t for Clara, there was no way he’d still be alive. He didn’t fully remember what exactly happened during the fight, what in particular got injured and how, but he knew for certain that she would have been the reason he would live to tell the tale. For that, he would never be able to thank her enough.

“You had a psychotic break. Or, at least that’s what we think. Unchecked psychological issues caused you to go rogue, Jack, and that should have been something we caught much, much sooner,” she explained.

Jack slowly released Clara from his arms, sighing to himself as he steadied his breathing and tried to collect himself. He knew he would undoubtedly have a long road ahead of him now, and no doubt a severe punishment to boot. His body felt weak the longer he was awake, and if he had truly been out cold for as long as Clara said, he would need to do a lot to recover from being almost dead for so long. 

But all that could wait, as far as Jack was concerned. He’d pay the price physically every day of the week if it meant that what he originally intended never came to fruition. But the thing he needed to know the most was what would happen now he was back. 

What was his punishment? 

“What damage did I do? What’s gonna happen to me?” he asked.

“Jack, I need you to just calm down. You’ve got a long road ahead of you both physically and mentally. Last thing I need right now is for you to be getting agitated. You just woke up from a coma,” Clara said, almost a chuckle in her tone.

“Clara,” he said, voice cracked and broken, “Please,” he pleaded, “I need to know”. Clara shook her head, but a pain in her chest tugged hard at telling those pleading eyes ‘no’.. 

“It ain’t my place, Jack. Champ will be down here later today though. Rest up, we’ll get you some solid food, and you can freshen up a bit if you can manage to sit for a prolonged period of time. That’s all I want you to do today,” she said.

“Clara, I-,” he began, but she turned around and cut him off before he could continue to speak.

“Are we clear, Jack?” she said sternly, a tone she didn’t like taking, but one she could if needed.

Jack’s breathing hitched as her voice tore into him, piercing his skull as he still adjusted to sounds again. He rarely heard Clara use that tone, and from those four words alone it answered to him any lingering questions he had about the severity of what was to come - even if it was Champ who would deliver the punishment, it was no doubt going to be harsh, albeit just. 

He nodded slowly as he settled back down into the bed he’d laid in for months, his arms loosening around Clara’s torso as her comforting embrace came to an end. She was right; all he had to focus on now was resting up, and seeing what his body could cope with after so long being comatose. The rest to come would unfold, and he’d come to learn about the fallout of his actions. 

“Yes. Perfectly clear.” 

Clara nodded and smiled faintly as she began explaining a few details to Jack about the condition he was in, and what rehabilitation might look like. But he wasn’t listening; not really. Her words got lost into muffled speech as he slowly began dissociating, the gravity of the situation dawning on Jack.

He worked for years to become the hard outer shell people knew him for; the stern agent who never complained, and never faltered. He repressed his wife’s passing for so long he almost could convince himself that it never happened in the first place. 

But now, after over two decades of burying and hiding behind the facade, Jack now had to finally open himself up to his reality. He would at long last have to face the music, and accept his suffering. 

A single tear rolled down his cheek as his eyes fluttered closed, heavy and tired after his body had to fight so hard to keep him stable and alive once he awoke. Clara wiped his cheek gently as she allowed him to slip away to sleep, happy he was stable enough to do so, then headed towards the phone. 

She picked up the receiver and dialled her boss’ number. She knew Jack would need time before proper questioning, or punishment even, but she had to let the relevant parties know. 

Taking a few deep breaths while the phone rang out, Clara’s hands stammered slightly with nerves and the anticipation that rose within her as she awaited for Champ to pick up the phone. Soon, the reality of Jack’s actions were about to become painfully clear - and it terrified her for what was next to come. 

The receiver clicked on the other end, and Champ’s familiar southern drawl filled her ears, paired with the fatigue from the early morning nature of the call. Clara would normally mock Champ for such a trait, but today there was no time. 

“Champ, it’s Whiskey. Jack’s awake, sir,” she said. 

“He’s alive.”

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Next Chapter (Ch. 2 - A Curious Affair) ->

A/N: Aiming to release new chapters every Wednesday! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💕 Thank you for reading!

LadyBess xox

[eternalslover]

I LOVE THIS SM OMGGOMGOGHDUDGSJDUSISBSK

sleeping habits 7

headcanons for agent whiskey (kingsman II)

a/n @0celesteisthebest0 reminded me (indirectly, through some very sweet tags :") that i hadn't finished this series. so i'm allowing myself to post them out of order while i finish javi and santi's. it's time for a yeehonk 💖 thank you @loversandantiheroes for helping me with the terrible t-shirt slogan :) rating general word count 1411 words. warnings mention of anxiety, co-dependency and separation issues. mild angst

benny miller | din djarin | ezra | frankie morales | javier peña | santiago garcia | jack daniels

At all times Whiskey finds a way to be draped over you, or to have you over him and you don’t get much choice about it

If the mood is right it’s endearing, the way he presses himself against your back, peppering sweet kisses and words against your neck until he drifts to sleep

(and even then he’s not rolling away in the night, he is koala’ed to you, good luck moving)

If it isn’t though… well it’s downright annoying because the man is persistent

Roll-on-top-of-you, pull-you-tight-into-his-chest, wrestle-for-cuddles kind of persistent. He just doesn’t want to go a night without you in his arms and there is no such thing as less is more with this man.

Plus Jack doesn’t just crave that physical contact - and all the intimacy it denotes to him - he needs it. He’s over-protective, over-indulgence and - at times - over-invested in the tiniest of actions. But it comes from a place of fear, something you both learnt the hard way, so you let him have it.

Although it’s not so common now, there was a time when Jack actually woke up quite a bit in the night - once, twice, three times - on a regular basis.

It had started as a habit, born of the number of times he’d slip out after a one night stand. He’d wake some time in the early, early, morning, press a kiss to their forehead if he was feeling particularly fond, then slip out of the door in near perfect silence. He had it down to an art.

What Jack didn’t realise is that this then became a habit triggered simply by sleeping next to another person. It served him well in those days but then it didn’t go away.

It became both a blessing and a curse.

Blessing because there has been - and of course still is - many times when he’d wake and the first thing he sees is you sleeping peacefully next to him, and he gets to bask in that warmth. Sometimes he wakes and you’re tucked under his chin, your leg over his hip. He traces mindless patterns over your thigh, holds your head to his chest and enjoys the feeling of someone - you - clinging to him before he slips easily back into sleep.

(And what bliss it is, to be able to wake to a soft dream and slip right back under)

Other times he wakes and you’ve managed to slip from his hold, seeking the cooler side of the bed. But even then your arm still reaches for him and it’s that one small thing that comforts him. You’ve been woken by Jack more than a few times on nights like these, just to find him pressing soft kisses to the back of your hand where it’s held in his, or against your shoulder where he’s slid in next to you. Those nights when you sleepily return his affection are the most soothing to him.

But the habit has also felt like a curse because despite settling in, despite all the love he has for you, it’s stayed, and that has nearly broken his heart.

How could he still be waking up in the night, even now? He doesn’t have any desires to leave, not now, not ever, but the echo of who he had been still haunted him.

In the early days there were times when it was near on every night, was every night whenever stress got to him. He’d wake with his heart already racing, particularly if you weren’t in his arms - have you already left? Or worse, has he already run? The only thing that calmed him on those nights was to wrap himself around you or pull you onto his chest - sometimes so abruptly it woke you up - so he could reassure himself you’re both still there

But he wouldn’t - couldn’t - speak of it. It was his own shame, his own little broken pieces he thought if you saw and knew why you’d be the one to up and leave in the night.

When it was like this he couldn’t even bring himself to leave the bed to seek sleep elsewhere, an irrational fear he couldn’t be trusted to do even that.

It was when you woke once and saw his tears in the moonlight that he tried to run; immediately dismissing it, hoping you wouldn’t ask - please don’t ask, please don’t make me say it, I’m scared - and promptly making an excuse to sleep on the sofa that night so as to not disturb you.

Of course you don’t let him - if you want to be in a relationship with Jack Daniels you need to have some skill in holding him down for his own benefit.

In the end the conversation turned out as short as he’d feared, but so much better than he could have imagined and it went a long way to helping you both understand each other better.

And then slowly, but surely, the habit faded and Jack started to sleep the night through much more regularly. He can still be a light sleeper, but with you in his arms Jack could sleep through anything.

So you let him hold you tight when he needs it and he lets you have space when you need it, finding a balance that sometimes means sleeping at awkward angles to accommodate you both.

Still, Jack can’t sleep soundly at night unless he has a hand on you somehow, somewhere. He’ll sleep on his front, side, back - any which way is comfortable as long as he can reach you

Although he is becoming a bit of an old grouch about sleeping on his front, Jack can easily be the little spoon because - as established - he just needs that physical contact and if his partner is initiating it he’s in heaven. He’ll happily spend the whole night sleeping on your chest and wake up all stiff with zero complaints.

On bad nights Jack actually prefers to hold you and not the other way around, wrapping himself around your back and holding you close. It feels less vulnerable that way, although he learns to let you face him when he does it, tucking yourself under his chin and kissing his neck and chest softly in reassurance that you’re there.

In fact, Jack likes being the big spoon a lot because it makes him feel like he’s doing something right, that you want to be in his arms.

(This is, of course, one of the reasons he used to have such a hard time if you tried to wiggle out of them, because that meant he had done something wrong.)

The compromised, favourite position on hot nights is for Jack on his back with you curled over his chest but it comforts him more than he ever recognised because it means you are actively choosing to be there.

(Yeah, Jack had to learn how to give his s/o the space to show their love for him instead of trying to immediately grab it and hoard it)

And now Jack has a great respect for how you let him hold you all night long through summer nights that he’s truly thankful. He gets extra affectionate when you do, somehow even more than he used to be.

But it’s a good thing he has learnt over time to be able to sleep without you pressed tight against him all the time because Jack runs hot. But at least you don’t stick to him because he prefers to sleep in an old loose tee. His favourite one - when it doesn’t mysteriously disappear - is an old Statesmen shirt which proudly proclaims across the chest to be “The Whiskey Of Your Dreams”. He thinks he’s funny. It’s only endearing because he’s obviously so proud of the joke.

Jack always - without fail - kisses your forehead when he wakes, a new habit he’s formed. Dipping his head to find yours or shuffling about to find you under the sheets so he can kiss you gently, he can’t leave the bed until he’s kissed you, even in you’re asleep and won’t know it.

At one point he realised, made the connection, that it’s a thing he used to do before ducking out. But the pain of the comparison is quickly dulled by you waking and sleepily reaching for him, reminding Jack that you’re both here to stay.

my masterlist

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x jack daniels

genre: smut, minors dni, dude ranch au, modern au

word count: 7.7k

summary: joel challenges jack to make you into the finest there possibly is in two days.

warnings: threesome (mfm), mlm dynamics, some jealousy, outdoor sex, piv, oral sex, dirty talking

a/n: happy birthday @fuckyeahdindjarin 🎉 I hope you enjoy you slutty cowboys--both of them nearly gave me a heart-attack while writing ❤️‍🔥 this gif was made my the lovely @pedrorascal who I am so grateful for helping me out preparing your this bday surprise!

**dividers by @saradika

You take a breath and sneak out of the cozy room. It had been hard parting away from your cozy bed. The warmth provided by the hand-knitted blanket and the scent of delicious wood made you want to never leave. They’ve really done a great job decorating the rooms of the dude ranch. It still holds the Western theme you love, but it's also adorned with rustic charm, from the weathered leather furniture to the handcrafted wooden accents, creating a welcoming atmosphere.

It had been a couple of days since your arrival. You were tired of... well, everything and desperately needed an out. You wish you could say that it happened like in the movies— a divine sign that made you come here, but no. There was no divine intervention, no mysterious flyer sticking to your face. You had to do an endless amount of research to find the perfect place, and when you were done, you picked the ranch that had the least foot traffic. You were running away from people. Choosing the most touristy one would defeat the purpose—you wanted to be alone.

And you were glad that you did. The place was amazing. Surrounded by large mountains and wide fields. This place wasn’t so people would come and see what was what. It was an actual ranch with actual people working all the time. Accepting guests was the side hustle and not the other way around. 

There were two cowboys that you constantly saw: Joel Miller and Jack Daniels. Both charming, both handsome enough to make you want to scream. Jack had been personally assigned to you, but Joel was always around, watching, observing, and, of course, running his mouth. You’ve grown accustomed to their odd friendship... rivalry? It was actually kind of cute to see Jack turn all red whenever Joel said something to undermine him. And the other seemed to know that well.

Two talented cowboys. And you, who had no idea what the hell you were doing. 

Which is why you were escaping your room like some kind of criminal at the brink of dawn. Joel’s teasing wasn’t only reserved for Jack, you got your fair share as well and it was even worse when Jack chimed in—the two seasoned horse riders letting you know just how out of your element you were. You needed to train without those two constantly spitting quips your way.

You silently make your way to the stables and blindly reach out towards Honeydust, the palomino Jack had gotten you accustomed to. You gently guide her away from the other horses. The rose-pink light of dawn has begun to trickle through the open windows, painting Honeydust’s coat in a gorgeous hue. You regret not bringing your phone; you would’ve loved to show Jack and Joel later on.

“Alright girl,” you mutter as you pat the side of her face. She whinnies slightly and digs her hoof into the ground. “It’s you and me. Let’s show them how it’s done.” 

As you reach for the saddle, you smile to yourself. You might not be that good at horse riding yet but you did learn some things—like the value of a good saddle. You take a moment to inhale the scent of it— a mix of leather, hay, and a hint of earthiness.

Honeydust stands patiently, seemingly aware of your fumbling attempts to secure the saddle. You take a deep breath, remembering the lessons Jack patiently gave you about saddling up. Slowly but surely, you manage to get everything in place. As you tighten the cinch, you feel a sense of accomplishment. A week ago, you hadn’t been able to do this. Maybe you're not a full-on cowboy, but you're determined to learn the ropes.

With the saddle secured, you grab the reins and lead Honeydust out of the stable, into the cool morning air. The sky is a canvas of pastel colors—blues, pinks, and golds blending together as the sun inches higher. It's a breathtaking sight. You pat Honeydust on the muzzle and press your cheek against her, watching the sky.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” you whisper to her. “Honestly I’m gonna hate going back. It’s been a couple of days and I’m already attached to this place.” 

Honeydust snorts and shakes her head. You smile wide as you pat her again, “You’re right. No room for sentimentality.” 

Mounting Honeydust, you settle into the saddle, adjusting to the feel of it beneath you. The quiet creak of leather is drowned out by the sounds of the waking ranch. Birds chirp in the distance, and you take a deep breath, your lungs filling with the fresh scent of the outdoors—

But then you’re slipping. 

And then falling. 

With a loud, sharp gasp, you find yourself unexpectedly upside down beneath Honeydust's belly. Panic sets in as you register the proximity of her powerful legs, your eyes widen, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. Honeydust remains still, your body still miraculously hanging to the saddle. 

Your heartbeat starts to slow, you take a deep breath. You’re fine. You’re okay. You just forgot to fasten one of the belts. 

“Need any help there, sweetheart?” 

Fuck. Busted. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, emphasizing the latter. Jean-clad legs come into view. “Just. . . trying a new riding style.” 

“Is that so?” Joel drawls, amusement dripping with every word. “And what would you call this one? The hangin’ fool?” 

“Rude.” 

His hips cock to the side and you see him placing both hands on his narrow hips, “Would it be better if I called it the hangin’ beauty?” 

“Yes actually, it would.” 

Your cheeks warm as he steps closer. You try not to stare, or perhaps that’s just you lying to yourself, but whatever your true intention was your eyes linger right over his crotch. Even with the thick jeans and the belt buckle, you know he’s packing underneath there. You can especially tell now since this is the closest you’ve ever been to it. Your mouth waters. Your brain delving further into sinful imagination when his low chuckle echoes in your ear. 

“A’right then beautiful, let’s get you out here.” he stops for a beat, his knuckles brushing down the outer part of your leg. You shudder, your legs tighten around Honeydust. “Unless you wanna show me this new ridin’ style of yours?” 

“You know what, I think I’ll take a rain check on that.” your voice is shrill and pitchy. Your eyes start to throb. “Especially since all the blood in my body is currently in my head.” 

“Oh shit—Okay, just gimme a sec.” he slides his hands under your armpits. “A’right now let go.” 

“What?” 

“Just let go, sweetheart. I got you. You’ll be okay, promise.” 

With a sharp breath, you close your eyes and loosen your legs. Joel's arms wrap further beneath yours, drawing you closer. You feel the tightening of his biceps, feel the huff of his breath against your cheek. He takes a step back and suddenly unbalanced, he falls backward, pulling you along.

With a huff, Joel lands on his ass, and you find yourself comfortably nestled against his chest. It takes you only a second for your gaze to find his. You hold your breath and so does he. His hand pleasantly curls around your waist, keeping you from moving away. His chest is firm under your own, your nipples tightening when you shift a bit, the graze of fabric makes you shudder. 

His other hand comes to brush a strand of loose hair behind your ear. You swallow not once but twice. The warmth of Joel’s palm cradles your cheek and a slow breath exits your lungs. 

“You a’right?” 

“Y—Yeah. . . thanks for helping me out.” 

“My pleasure.” His voice is deep, hoarse even, and it scratches your ears just right. You find yourself drawn to him. Your eyes dropping to his lips and back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. His lips part. The divot in the middle of his bottom lip more prominent than ever. You lean in without a thought, he mimics you, coming in closer and closer. Your chest heaves. Your heart beating madly against your chest. 

“What the hell are you two doin’ canoodling here?” 

You jerk away, your eyes lingering on Joel long enough to see the disappointment in his gaze. His eyes close slowly and he takes a ragged breath. Shifting slightly you see Jack holding a hay bale. His eyes are narrowed, his brows knitted together as his gaze flits between you and Joel. You chew the inside of your cheek, embarrassment heating you from the inside out. 

“We ain’t canoodlin’,” Joel answers, agitated. “I found her hanging upside down under Honeydust’s belly. Who’s fault do you think is that?” 

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his cheeks suddenly flushed. His gloved hands tighten around the hay as he pushes it up his arms. Then finally, with a softened gaze, he turns to you. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you reply, your heart currently beating in your throat. “I just forgot to fasten the other side of the saddle.” 

Joel squeezes your waist and you’re suddenly hyper-aware that you’re basically on his lap still. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. You have a shit teacher.” 

“Excuse me?” Jack’s tone is enough to have you scrambling off of Joel’s lap. If looks could kill, Joel would be dead right now. On your feet, you move towards Honeydust, and with great comfort, she nuzzles your chest. Joel smiles lazily when Jack drops the bale of hay and walks up to him. “You better take that back, old man.” 

“Yeah?” his eyes glow with mirth. “Make me.” 

Involuntarily you cover your mouth with a hand. Is it bad that you’re secretly enjoying this? The amount of testosterone in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Joel slowly gets up, as if he has all the time in the world, and faces Jack. He’s slightly taller than the latter, smile still tugging at his lips as he tilts his head ever so slightly down. Jack’s nostrils flare. 

“You want me to knock you out in front of our guest?” 

“I’d love to see you try.” 

Joel takes another step closer, his chest nearly flushed against the other, he jerks his head to the side and places his hands on his hips. You swear you see Jack’s skin darkening with a deep shade of red from his chest to his neck. His jaw is wired tight, the muscle there twitching. 

“How about this,” Joel grins. “You manage to make our sweet girl here a full-on cowgirl in two days and I’ll eat my words right outta your hand, Whiskey.” 

Jack huffs and clicks his tongue, “Don’t call me that.” 

“It’s your name isn’t it?” 

“It ain’t and you know it.” 

“Your parents shouldn’t have named you Jack Daniels,” Joel rolls his eyes, “Do we have a deal or not?” 

You hold your breath when Joel extends a hand. Jack’s eyes briefly find yours, his fingers twitching. The morning chill is still in the air and despite it, beads of sweat appear on your skin. Two days. Two days and you still don’t know how to put on a saddle right. With a small shake, you attempt to warn Jack but that only makes him smile. 

He turns to Joel, “Deal,” he answers, taking his hand. “Two days. Be ready to eat your words, old man.” 

They shake on it and as they do Joel gives you a not so subtle wink. It reminds you of just how close the two of you were a mere couple of minutes ago. You avert your gaze, suddenly shy to face him, and think about what might’ve happened if Jack hadn’t interrupted. 

When Joel leaves, Jack lets out a long sigh and turns to you. 

“You slipped, darlin’, really?” 

“In my defense, it was early.” 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He shakes his head but you see the way his lips curl upwards ever so slightly. “Anyway, wait for me here and I’ll be right back. We gotta get you into tip-top shape because I ain’t gonna lose to Joel.” 

“I warned you, you know,” you softly kick the dirt with the tip of your boot. 

Jack’s tongue moves over his bottom lip, a shudder crawls up your spine and heat pools between your legs. He grips the bale of hay and throws it over his shoulder. 

“That’s why I accepted the challenge, sugar. No guest of mine is gonna leave here without feelin’ like they can conquer the world.” 

“Jack this is impossible I’m never going to get the hang of this.” 

“With that attitude you sure ain’t gonna.” 

With a crooked smile, Jack watches as you draw your shoulders together and stomp your boot against the soil. The lasso is tight between your fingers, the tips of which are chafed from turning the lasso again and again in an attempt to loop the rope around one of the wooden posts. He tilts his head to the side when you turn to him, a pleading expression etched onto your beautiful face.

"This is never going to happen," you huff. However, instead of keeping his eyes locked on yours, his gaze drops to where your flannel hugs your breasts, the poor buttons struggling to keep it all together. His cock swells at the thought of licking them, sucking on your hard nipples while the sweetest noises flee from your lips. "Jack?"

He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s been staring at your gorgeous tits, he drags his gaze back slowly, his smile only growing upon seeing your parted lips and glazed eyes. “Yeah, sugar?” 

“We’re never going to win this thing with Joel,” you say and he doesn’t fail to notice how breathless you suddenly are. “How am I supposed to learn to do everything a cowboy can in two days? Seems a bit unfair.” 

“Not everythin’,” he struts towards you and peels the lasso from your fingers. “We just need to cover the basics. No one is expectin’ you to catch a knife in mid-air with a lasso.” 

Your brows furrow, “What? You’re saying you can actually do that?” 

“‘Course I can,” he chirps back. “Unlike you, I’m a top-notch cowboy.” 

His heart breaks a little when he sees how defeated you look, with a small nudge to your shoulder, he draws your gaze back to him. “Want me to show you again darlin’?” 

“Sure but I’m not sure it’ll do me any good. I’m horrible at this.” 

With a reassuring grin, Jack steps back, unwinding the lasso he took from you. He takes a moment to adjust the coils and then demonstrates the art of lassoing, the rope flying through the air in a graceful arc before landing perfectly around a wooden post.

“You see, it's all in the wrist,” he explains as he smoothly tightens the loop, making it look deceptively easy. He repeats the motion a couple of times, each throw precise and controlled.

“You know who’s really good at this?” he asks, returning his attention to you. “Joel.”

You snort, “I feel like that man is good at everything. But I’m not sure why you’re telling me that.”

“Well, you know who used to suck at it—me.”

“You?” you raise a sole eyebrow, and a teasing smile touches your lips. “You who can catch a knife in the air, supposedly, that is.”

“It takes a lot of practice, sugar. That's what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. I sucked at it. Couldn’t even do one loop. Then the old timer helped me out.”

“Joel?”

Yup," he says, noticing your shock. He had been shocked too when the man had shown him how to properly do it. It was both amazing and terrifying. Jack had never had someone care about him enough to actually show him how it's done instead of letting him struggle on his own. "And eventually, I got the hang of it. So will you.”

You smile wholeheartedly and take the lasso from him, “Thanks, Jack. I. . . I appreciate it. You actually really respect him, don’t you? Despite all the banter and arguing.” 

“That’s just how I show love, darlin’.” 

“You never argue with me.” 

His eyebrows tilt up, along with the corner of his lips. You avert your eyes as you loosely hold the rope in your hand, the exercise quickly forgotten. Jack closes the distance until there's only a breath of space between you two. He entertains the idea of lifting your head by the chin, forcing your gaze upon him, but he refrains. He wants you to listen to him and oblige.

“Look at me, darlin’,” His eyes shine with delight when you do, he leans closer. “You want me to fight you?” 

Your brows furrow, your lips forming the most adorable pout, “No. Of course not.” 

“You sure?” This time he does cup your cheek to keep your gaze fixed on him. His pinkies move towards your neck, drawing soft patterns up and down your skin. You visibly shudder, a soft breath escaping your lips. “I see how you watch when Joel and I start to bitch and moan at each other, sugar. You sure you’re not into it even a little?” 

He knows your answer. But he allows you to giggle and escape his hold anyway. “You’re ridiculous,” you say and as a response Jack wants to touch on the fact that you can’t look at him anymore, however, he’ll allow you to escape him for now. 

“Come on then, now that you got your giggles on, let’s see you at least pull in one of those cones.” 

While you attempt to just do that, Jack ends up regretting teasing you because he ends up thinking about Joel instead. It’s hard to admit that the constant bickering is the obvious telltale sign of something more. And he knows there’s something. Joel only weaponizes his tongue when you’re around. Or someone else for that matter. But when it’s just the two of them it’s different. It’s lingering touches and heavy scotch-filled conversations. Sometimes Joel would even whisper so he wouldn’t wake the others. Jack shivers as he remembers how Joel’s lips felt against the shell of his ear. Downright sinful. 

It always remained at that, however. Touches and looks and talks. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Jack,” you say, your voice drawing him away from thoughts he’s happy to be drawn away from. “How did you end up here? Like with Joel and the rest.” 

“It’s not much of a story. I was lookin’ for a job and came here lookin’ for one.” He lifts his hat and combs his hair back with his fingers. “I actually met Tommy first. Joel doesn’t like the hiring process and says his younger brother is a better judge of character. I met him after I was hired. Then I met the little munchkins.” 

“You mean Sarah and Ellie?” 

“Yes ma’am I do,” he reaches forward, letting his fingers nearly brush yours. He chuckles, "I also know what you're doing, so stop stalling and throw the damn lasso already."

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and all Jack wants to do is pry it away from the sharp edges, "Oh, are we arguing? Should I add this moment to my journal?” you manage to lock your gaze with his, a grin spreading across your face. “Does this mean you love me?" 

He takes a step closer, leaning ever so slightly into your personal space. A hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, he breathes, "How 'bout this? You throw that rope, and I'll kiss you, sweetheart. Then you’ll really know what I feel."

Your eyes widen, "You’ll... excuse me?"

A wicked glint in his eyes, he quips, "I'll kiss you, full-blown on the lips. And believe me, it'll be my pleasure to lay one on you."

"Just throw the rope? Aren't you selling a bit short?"

Jack takes another step towards you and you can feel the heat radiating from him. His voice low and husky, he counters, "Fine then, manage to actually lasso something, and then I'll kiss you."

"You're mean. You said you'd only do it if I threw it." You challenge him by taking a step closer and he’s delighted to see it. 

Cupping her face in his hands, he grins, "Changed my mind. And you have yourself to blame for it."

With all his heart Jack wishes for you to make the throw. Something primal and ugly in him finds extreme joy in being the one to kiss you first. He hated to admit it, but his heart broke a little when he found you and Joel together, lips almost about to touch. He hated feeling like an outsider. Especially when it came from Joel.

With a determined glint in your eyes, you take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Gripping the lasso in your hands, you start to swing it in a circular motion above your head. It’s sloppy and uneven but he can see how much care you’ve put into your stance. Jack watches intently, noting the way you shift your weight from one food to another, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

As the lasso gains momentum, you release it at just the right moment. It sails through the air, forming a perfect loop. Jack's eyes follow its trajectory, silently urging it to find its mark. The loop descends gracefully, and, with a satisfying thud, it settles around a nearby plastic cone and you pull it towards yourself, the plastic moving with ease. 

A triumphant grin breaks across your face as you complete the throw. “I did it,” you gasp in a low tone, panting. Your head suddenly snaps towards him, a shit-eating grin plastered over your perfect lips. “I DID IT!”  

Jack only smiles as he leans in and cradles your face in a rush. He crashes into you, lips meeting yours in an eager, lingering kiss. He teases the seam of your mouth with the tip of his tongue. Just a brief preview of how badly he wants this to happen. His hands slip to your ass, kneading the plump flesh, his cock stiffens at how you moan into his mouth. You press against him and Jack can’t help but roll his hips to feel more of you. It’s been so long. Too long since he felt something warm and tight around his cock. 

He parts away by dragging his lips down to your chin and from there to your neck. He nips at your pulse, feeling it beating against his mouth. 

“Jack,” you breathe. “I—Wow—” 

“Kissin’ is one thing I’m better at,” he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Among other things.” 

He holds you by the neck and gently pulls away. He can’t get enough of the expression you’re giving him; pupils blown and lips slightly parted. Your chest heaves heavily, your pulse beating wildly under his palm. Jack brushes your lips together, smiling upon hearing you whimper. 

“Now, throw that lasso again and I’ll give you another kiss.” 

And it all comes down to horse riding. You should be surprised but you’re not. 

The sun was finally setting over the ranch. A subtle chill settling at the base of your snake as the sun went down. It had been a tiring day full of lasso throwing, ax throwing, and knotting. Your back ached and when the final challenge finally befell you all you wanted to do was go back to your room and sleep. The only thing that gave you an ounce of energy was Jack’s proud smile after every challenge that was won. Joel seemed genuinely impressed. And you were genuinely surprised to find yourself acing every task. Seeing how smug Jack got made your heart flutter and stomach draw tight. 

The two of you had done a lot of kissing that day. It hadn’t gone any further but deep down you really wanted it to. 

You feel a deep sense of Deja Vu when you find yourself staring at Honeydust with a saddle in hand. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around the leather. The open air gives you a sense of calm, the cloudy sky a pleasure to gaze upon.

Jack touches the small of your back, goosebumps rising across your skin at the gentle touch, “You got this darlin’ don’t worry so much.” 

You briefly glance at the track Joel and Jack had set up for you. Wooden fences stand tall at various intervals, creating a series of jumps that make you sweat just by thinking about them. Your eyes linger on the strategically placed cones that form a zigzag pattern. 

“Honestly no matter what happens I’m impressed,” Joel cuts in, cupping Honeydust’s cheek. Your gaze moves deftly from the track to the man standing before you. As always, he looks amazing in his red and yellow flannel. “You’ve done well sweetheart.” 

“Maybe you should just forfeit and accept we won then,” you answer, smiling. Joel shakes his head. 

“Someone is sure of herself.” 

“Hell yeah, I am.” 

“Look at that,” Jack pipes. “Soundin’ like a true cowboy already.” 

You expertly secure the saddle onto Honeydust's back. The leather feels cool beneath your fingertips as you tighten the straps, ensuring a snug fit. Adjusting the stirrups, you make sure they're the perfect length for your legs. As you stand beside the horse, you can feel the intensity of Joel and Jack's gazes on you. Their eyes trace the curves of your movements, a subtle tension lingering in the air.

With everything in place, you take a deliberate breath and swing yourself onto the saddle. The leather creaks slightly under your weight as you settle into position. Honeydust shifts beneath you. You catch Joel's gaze, and a sly smirk plays on his lips. His eyes linger a moment longer than necessary, you let out a puff of air, your legs tighten around Honeydust..

"Remember, just go with the flow. You and Honeydust are a team," Jack advises and with that, you head off. 

Gently nudging your heels against the horse's side, you urge Honeydust into a graceful gallop around the track. The steadying thud of her hooves pounding against the dirt creates a harmony that molds with the song of the wind, transporting you to a place of serenity. Each hurdle makes your heart jump with excitement. The jumps seem impossible at times. As you zigzag through the cones, you can feel Honeydust's muscles tense and relax under your hands, transitioning from one step to the next with the gracefulness of a dance—

A sudden jolt disrupts the rhythm, and you find yourself tumbling to the ground. You let out a deep groan as your back hits the earth and with the corner of your eye, you see Joel taking hold of Honeydust’s reins, calming the poor palomino. Jack’s face comes into vision a second later. 

"You okay, darlin'?" When you nod and begin to get up, his worry turns to frustration as he glances at Joel. "This was supposed to be about teaching, not pushing her to the damn limit."

"I didn't mean for her to fall, Jack. So don’t act like that was my intention."

“No, your intention was to make me look like I don’t know what I’m doin’.” 

Jack, eyes still glued on Joel, helps you up. Your head is still spinning a little from the adrenaline rush but other than that you feel fine. Your eyes flitting between both men, your stomach twists and turns at how they’re both glaring at each other. This time is different from the arguments. This time they both genuinely look like they’re about to explode. Joel has his jaw tight while Jack has both hands in tight fists. “Guys. . .” 

"Why you gotta make everythin’ personal?" Joel snaps, ignoring you all together. “It was just meant to be a harmless bet.” 

Jack's eyes narrow, he tears his hand away from yours and your heart drops, "You're the one who makes it damn personal by goadin’ me all the damn time."

“That’s. . .” Joel’s eyes grow soft, his demeanor changing entirely. You watch the furrow between his brows relax, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. “I’m—” 

“Can it,” Jack hisses through gritted teeth and raises a hand. “I don’t want your apology, I just wanna go. Unless you think I’m gonna be bad at that too.” 

You reach out, head still spinning, your fingers graze the back of his jacket and he slips from between your grasp. You part your lips to call out to him. To tell him to come back. But Joel takes a hold of your hand and lowers it with the shake of his head. 

“I know where he’s goin’. Let’s go.” 

“Are you telling me he has a brooding spot?” 

“He does.”

The sun had set. The crickets now singing under the starry night, but Joel can't focus on any of it. He can’t because he might’ve actually screwed everything up for good this time— which would be typical of him.  

After months of contemplating whether he should take the next step or not, he’d finally made Jack snap. That had never been Joel’s intention, obviously. But he wasn’t the best at flirting. Never had been. And when Jack came into his life, all fresh faced and a lashing tongue, he couldn’t help but fall for him a little. 

You’re walking just a little bit behind him, trying to keep up. He can feel you staring at him. Your eyes curious like a newborn gazelle’s. 

“If you stare any harder I’m gonna start blushin’ sweetheart.” 

“I’m. . . I wasn’t. . .” 

“Sure you were,” he sighs. “It wasn’t my intention to be hard on him you know. It just. . . sorta happens. I care a lot about him and I just want him to. . . “ He clamps his mouth shut. What was he supposed to say? How he was hoping that all the teasing would finally push Jack into his arms? How he wanted to do more than touch Jack when he knew no one else could see. 

“You want him to. . .  what exactly?” 

“I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s complicated between us.” 

“You both have a crush on each other and don’t know what to do about it. It’s not that complicated.”

Joel’s mouth opens and closes— then opens again. “And how the hell do you know that?” 

“Because he talks about you a lot,” you answer with a soft smile. “He said he cares about you. And about your opinion.” Joel’s eyes narrow as you rub the back of your head, your eyes dropping to where you would be taking your next step. “I just don't know where I fit in all of this.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You and I almost kissed,” you say finger moving between you two. “Jack and I actually kissed. And well. . . I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. It might be a bit sudden but I like you guys, I care about you, and want you guys to be together if that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not your job to worry about us.” Joel huffs, his guilt gnawing at him. “But I get what you mean. We. . . we didn’t intend to put you in that position. I can assure you this wasn’t some twisted game we were tryin' to play. I can't talk for Jack but I care about you. And I care about him if that makes sense. But I fear that me being emotionally constipated might’ve ruined it with him. He gets mad every time I open my mouth.” 

“That’s because you tease him all the time and honestly he’s not doing any better than you.” Joel’s eyes go wide when you suddenly cradle his cheeks and bring his face towards your own. “And you haven't ruined anything Mr. Miller. You just need to tell him exactly what you’ve been telling me.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so.” 

Before he can reach he feels the soft touch of your lips. You kiss him slowly—tenderly. Joel follows your lead, parting his lips, he allows you to slip your tongue inside. He sucks on your tongue, enjoying the way your body presses against his. 

When you pull back, you’re completely dazed.

“Now what was that for?” he asks.

“To keep everything even” you answer, smiling. “Now let's go get our brooding cowboy.” 

It doesn’t take long for that to happen. They find Jack sitting on the ground, his back pressed snugly against the wooden fence. He’s staring at the stars. The gentle light streaming down his face and down his neck, Joel’s heart skips a beat at the sight and he feels as though he can’t breathe. 

Only when they walk closer does he notice the bottle of whiskey. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig, Joel’s eyes follow the way drops of amber trickle down his sun-kissed skin. 

All Joel wants to do is lick the bitter drop off of him. 

The two stop before him. Neither of you knowing what to do or what to say. Joel attempts to apologize by parting his lips and that is the exact moment where Jack finally meets his gaze. 

“I know,” he says curtly. “Sit.” Jack extends the bottle of whiskey. Joel, without a word, sits down and takes the bottle. Just as he’s taking a swig, he notices you’re about to leave.  Thankfully Jack stops that from coming to fruition. “And where do you think you’re goin’? Sit your ass over here.” 

Joel almost cackles at how shocked you look. With the tiniest yelp escaping your lips you sit down right next to Jack. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Joel extends you the bottle. You take it and chug it down immediately—Jack snorts and finally Joel feels comfortable enough to laugh alongside him. 

“Calm down darlin’, it ain’t runnin’ away.” 

“Sorry,” you hiccup, shoving the bottle into Jack’s chest. “I’m nervous.” 

“Well, don’t be,” Jack sighs and his head falls back against the fence. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I—” 

“We know,” Joel says with a fond smile. He throws his arm over Jack’s shoulder and cups the back of his head, his hat tumbling to the ground—it was now or never. 

For the first time, Joel brings their faces together without the tease of what he might or might not do. He kisses Jack tenderly, softly. Just like how he wanted to treat him during all those nights they were alone together. Jack digs his fingers into Joel’s shirt, nails nearly biting into the skin. Much to Joel’s surprise, the other man tastes sweet. Their tongues move together, still unsure but eager to explore. 

When Joel opens his eyes ever so slightly, he sees you staring in awe. 

He nearly breaks away laughing. But also, he can’t really blame you for your expression. 

It really does feel magical. 

You hold your breath. Every nerve ending you have is buzzing with want and arousal. The space between your legs pulsing as you watch Joel tilting his head, slipping his tongue through Jack’s eager lips. Deep down you feel like you’re intruding. That this is a tender moment that should just be between the two men but you can’t help but stay there, like a deer in headlights, watching.  

You shudder at the sound of Jack moaning, his hands grip Joel’s shoulder and host himself up the older man’s lap. He grinds down, swallowing Joel’s gasps, he parts away, a trail of saliva connecting the two. You’re still holding your breath. The tips of your fingers numb, your brain a whirlwind as it registers the sight before you. 

“Stupid old man,” Jack rasps, tilting his head to the side. “Gettin’ all sappy.” Then his heavy gaze finds your struck ones. He reaches out and in a dream-like state you take his hand, his fingers hastily close around your wrist and tugs you towards him. Your gasp is caught in your throat when he kisses you. The taste of Joel and whiskey still heavy on his tongue. 

A hand that doesn’t belong to Jack trails up the curve of your ass and squeezes. A choked-out moan drops from your lips only for Jack to shove his tongue between them. He sucks on your tongue and nips at your bottom lip all the while rolling his hips over Joel’s lap. 

“God, look at you two,” Joel groans, giving your ass another firm squeeze before moving his attention to Jack’s spread thighs. “I want to watch you eat that pretty pussy up, Jack. Bet you want that too. . .” 

Joel palms Jack’s cock through the denim, stroking him with a smug smile. Jack parts away from your lips with a whimper. His chest heaves. “Yeah,” he gasps, staring into your eyes, and his hips jerk, chasing the heat of the other’s palm. “Want you to make a mess of me, sugar.”

“Please,” you answer albeit not really needed. Your body falls back to sit on your heels, Joel crashes his lips against the younger cowboy’s, drinking the noises in like a starved man. He rips his flannel open while straightening himself, the momentum of the movement forcing Jack to grip Joel’s shoulders. He slides off of Joel’s lap, the kiss breaking when he directs his full lust-addled attention to you. 

His gaze is enough for you to start struggling with the buttons of your jeans. You kick them off in a rush and before you can take off your shirt Jack is already laying you down upon the soil, the stars above blinking down at you with mischief. Joel sitting close, pulls your head so you’re nestled comfortably above his lap. His hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking your skin gently. It’s a complete contrast compared to how Jack is. He slides your panties to the side, the pad of his thumb resting right above your clit, he stares at your from between your spread-out thighs. 

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he mutters right before delving in. He drags his tongue slowly up your folds while tenderly stroking your clit. Your back arches off of the earth, your eyes fluttering closed as he goes back down, only to kiss you tenderly. He takes his time with you. His jaw moving and tongue teasing your fluttering entrance. Your breath catches in your throat, your chest rattling, Joel shushes you while praising Jack at the same time. 

When your eyes finally open, you find Joel looking down at you. His thumb traces the underline of your bottom lip and moves down until he reaches the hem of your flannel. Flattening his thumb over your stomach, he pushes the fabric up until he exposes you to the sky completely. He cups both your breasts and smooths his fingers over your tingling nipples. 

“So hard already. . . you must really like what he’s doin’ down there huh?” 

Tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you nod. Your silent reply is answered with a sharp bite to the inside of your thigh. Your body jolts, a gasp of pain rattling your throat. Joel smiles. “I think he wants to hear you, sweetheart.”

“I love it,” you moan and as a reward, he pinches your nipples. 

“Good girl.” 

Jack presses his tongue deeper, your body clenching at both the words and the movement. He groans into your cunt, the bridge of his nose brushing your aching clit deliciously as he swirls his tongue. Your stomach coils tight and you push more of yourself into Joel’s palms, your mouth drops wide. You want more. You need more. You want them both to take and take and take—take until you forget your own damn name. 

“Joel. . .” you breathe. He looks down at you curiously. “I want to suck your cock.” 

Jack stops only for a moment before his eyes flutter closed and loses himself in you. Vaguely you can see the way he grinds down, a groan reverberating between your legs. Joel sucks in a breath and exhales from his nose. “You sure?” 

Your answer is ready on your tongue, and as soon as you give it to him, he expertly unbuttons himself. The tip of his cock pushes against your lips and your breath hitches. Precome smears over the soft flesh, your tongue darting out for a taste, you end up tasting from the source instead. Joel’s hips stutter. 

“Holy fuckin’ hell,” his hips jerk a second time, this time thrusting himself deeper into your mouth. You feel him leaning over, a second later you understand he’s reaching for the other man who is working you toward your orgasm. “Jack com’ere—Let me taste her.” 

Jack doesn’t make Joel repeat himself and unwillingly pulls himself away from between your legs. Your tongue swirls around Joel’s cock as Jack kisses him deeply. He licks himself deep into the older man’s mouth, stealing a moan deep within Joel’s chest. While Jack steals the breath from Joel’s lungs, he pushes two fingers into you with ease. Your eyes rolling, you take more of Joel into your mouth, prompting the other to instinctively thrust deep enough to make you choke around him. 

He parts from Jack with a gasp, “Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart, choke on it.” he says through gritted teeth. Both men look down at you with dark eyes, the shadows caused by the moonlight caress their backs, deepening every crease of their faces. You shudder. 

You’re surprised to see Jack dipping down, lower from where you’re sucking Joel’s cock, he sucks the tender skin of the base, and the sound that Joel makes almost feels inhumane. 

But Jack doesn’t linger. He pulls away from both of you, his torso tall between your legs, he strokes himself at the sight of your mouth full of the man he admires. 

“You like having your mouth full, darlin’? Such a dirty girl allowing two men to have you like this out in the open.” 

You whimper and nod, eyes flooding with tears as Joel shoves himself deeper. Spit and precome trickle down from where his cock stretches your lips. 

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Jack says giving himself a firm squeeze before swiping his palm over the head of his cock. With his other hand, he follows the contour of your leg, reaches all the way to your hip. “You’re ‘bout to feel much fuller.” 

He shoves himself inside you with a single thrust; your channel tightens around him, a moan escaping your throat. Your mouth is pulled away from Joel briefly, gasping for air, before he pulls you back. He adjusts his hips and slides back into your mouth, kneading the back of your neck.

“You feel that? How hot and wet you are? Both of us stretching you?” Jack's voice is gruff as he thrusts into you; your eyes close as pleasure radiates through your body, your skin left tingling. You can hear Joel moan and pant in the background, his cock throbs above your tongue and you hollow out your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter as Jack's cock glides in and out of you; his plunges getting deeper with every thrust. You feel overwhelmed by both of them. You’re left breathless and spinning. You feel only them and nothing else. 

You grip onto Joel to keep yourself teetered to the moment as Jack's movements become more desperate, Joel matching him thrust for thrust. With each gasp, Joel's cock slides further down your throat. 

The tightness inside your body grows; waves of pleasure cascade through you. The pressure builds and builds and builds—You’re so close you can taste it. Jack presses a palm over your mound, adding pressure as he draws quick and tight circles around your clit. Your throat convulses around Joel’s cock and he pulls out, his length resting comfortably above your lips. You breathe heavily against him, his cock slick and warm on your skin. 

“Atta girl,” he coos. “Just a bit more. . . Show us how pretty you look when you come.” 

You feel the pressure between your legs mounting with each hard thrust from Jack, your moans becoming louder and more desperate. Joel encourages Jack to go faster, and with each plunge you feel the tension in your core build higher and higher. 

And finally the coil snaps. 

Your whole body trembles and shakes. Your orgasm still rolling over your body like a violent wave. Jack pumps his hips into yours as he digs his hands into your hips. He keeps thrusting relentlessly, pushing himself as far in as he can before he pulls out. His jaw goes slack, cock gliding over your mound, he spills over your skin. You shudder at the trickle of his seed. 

Joel’s cock slides across your lips, teasing you. Your tongue darts out and quickly wraps around him, you tilt your head to take in all of his length. You push your mouth onto him, bobbing your head up and down until he groans. His hips buck erratically and at the same time you feel the touch of Jack’s mouth against the side of your neck. 

You swallow everything that he offers you, savoring every moment of the taste of him. You stay close to him until his breathing returns to normal, his thighs shaking underneath you as he pulls out. 

“Holy shit,” Jack chokes out as he collapses on top of you, head right above your chest. Joel wipes the sole tear that had escaped you eye and smiles. You bring his palm to your lips and kiss the rough skin. 

“It’s going to be hard walking away from all of this,” you whisper, shuddering when Jack’s mouth moves against the side of your breasts. 

“Who says you have to walk away?” 

You don’t have it in you to go into the details of your life and how you have to go. Or entertain the idea that maybe the things that you thought were important aren’t as essential that you thought after all. It’s pure chaos and right now all you want is to feel their warmth against your bare skin under the stars. 

For now, you are content and feeling grateful for the two amazing men who coincidentally made themselves an inseparable part of your life.  

[baronessvonglitter]

Darlin’ Cowgirl

Jack Daniels x f!reader

Word count: 3.1K

Summary: looking for a way out of a bachelorette party, an accidental butt dial becomes a booty call

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit and Mature, friends/coworkers to lovers, reader is at least 21, tipsy flirting/dancing, improper use of a mechanical bull, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, smut, dash of romance with a happily ever after, no use of y/n, reader has hair and wears a dress

Author's Note: this was the first one-shot I'd ever written on AO3 and decided to post here as well 🤠🥃

JACK DANIELS MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You aren't looking forward to the bachelorette party. You don't even like weddings, yet somehow you've been roped into being part of your old college roommate's wedding party simply because you ran into her at the grocery store a few months back. It was only when you had the bridal shower that you realized you were one of thirteen bridesmaids. Great. Now you'll feel even more invisible than you already do.

You've been in a slump lately, and the only thing bringing out of it is your devilishly handsome coworker Jack Daniels, aka Agent Whiskey. You're an Information Security Specialist for the Statesmen, an ultra-secret espionage agency, so naturally you keep the details of your job pretty hush-hush. Whiskey, as you affectionately call him, is one of your few confidantes, despite the fact that he flirts with you at every turn. You admit to yourself that it's a nice distraction from your loneliness, even if you feel his flirtatiousness is just a bit of fun for him, his own distraction.

You take your time in dressing up for the night: a spaghetti strap black minidress with a plunging neckline and silver cowgirl boots. At the bar you meet up with your fellow bridesmaids and the bride-to-be, who are all in shades of pink and white, near exact replicas of each other, nearly indistinguishable. You stick out like a sore thumb and you know it.

The bridesmaids want to take shots so you take some with them, hoping your anxiety will dilute just a little. Your inhibitions are lowered just a little, but not enough to go out to the dance floor with the others. You watch as others watch them, in admiration as they laugh and gracefully (despite the Buttery Nipple shots they'd all consumed just minutes ago) and wish you could be part of them. You hang back at the bar, politely declining offers to dance from men who come by to not-so-subtly ogle you. You feel like a piece of meat. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come out, knowing you hate places like this. However, just as you're about to order a Lyft, you get an incoming call from Whiskey himself.

Confused and blushing you go to a quieter place of the bar, which is still very loud. "Hello?" you practically shout into the phone.

"Hey darlin'!" you hear Jack's voice on the other end. "You called me?"

"Um.. no, I didn't.."

He chuckles, warm and low in your ear. "Yes you did, darlin'. I was hopin' you were okay."

You quickly check your call log and sure enough, you'd called him about fifteen minutes ago, when you and the bridesmaids were doing shots. "I must have butt-dialed you," you shout back, giggling.

"Aw, lucky me," he drawls. "That pretty ass was thinkin' about me?"

You're too flustered to reply.

"Where are you anyway? Loud as hell over there."

"I'm at a bar for a bridesmaid party."

"That one you were talkin' about earlier today? No invite, huh?"

You giggle again. "It's for women only."

"Exactly! That's my kinda good time!" You hear him chuckle again.

"Actually it's kinda lame. I'm thinking of calling it a night."

"Don't you dare," he says with mock authority. "Wait there a minute and I'll be on my way. Text me the address."

You hang up and text him, wondering what he's up to. You've never hung out with him after work, even with all the flirting you've both done. You think it's strictly professional with a touch of playfulness, but you've never been one hundred percent sure.

You hang out at the bar, wanting to be visible to him when he arrives, but it's only after you're returned from the ladies' room checking your makeup, outfit and hair, that you see him, well the back of him, and he's mingling with some of the bridesmaids, who are obviously taking a much-needed alcohol break from dancing.

You gently touch his shoulder. "Hey there, stranger."

He turns, smiling, and the look in his eyes becomes one of pure lust. He drinks you in, unabashedly. "Damn darlin', you look so good it hurts," he drawls.

You glance at the bridesmaids, most of whom are checking him out with flagrant interest. "Did you meet everyone? Kaitlyn's the bride-to-be," you introduce them.

"I have, and her husband's one lucky sonofabitch, if I may say so," he places a gentlemanly kiss on the bride's hand and she in turn blushes. "Who's your friend?" she asks.

"A coworker," you say mysteriously, glancing at Jack, who has now turned his whole attention to you.

"You wanna dance, darlin'?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

Your stomach drops, just because you're pretty shy about dancing, and if anything you'd like to leave him with the impression that you can at least move in rhythm. "Maybe the next song," you suggest. "But first, how about a couple of shots? On me."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Darlin', I can't allow that. My treat," he insists, and orders a couple shots of whiskey for you and him.

"Had to be whiskey, huh?" you tease him, taking the shot glass in your hand.

"Of course." He lifts his glass to yours for a toast. "To coworkers getting to know each other better," he says, and there's a twinkle in his deep brown eyes that's hard to miss.

"To getting to know each other better," you grin and down the shot. It's like fire in your throat and stomach.

"Too much for ya to handle?" he teases, having downed his with ease.

"Depends.. which Whiskey are you talking about?" you tease back, feeling a little surge of confidence that either comes from Jack or from the shot.

"You're a little firecracker," he says in a low voice, his eyes blatantly going over every line and curve of your face, and downwards to eyeball your neck, the curve of your breasts. You wonder what he's imagining.

"Firecrackers are fun but dangerous," you warn him with a cheeky smile.

"We both know I'm all about that danger. Ain't nothin' I can't handle.." a subtle lift of his brows suggests he means more than mere flirtation.

"Is that a challenge?" You step closer to him, and the scent of his cologne, notes of leather and tobacco, catches your attention.

He notices your stance, the way you've shifted from a sweetheart wallflower to a provocative temptress. "What if it is?" he whispers into your ear, his breath tickling your skin and raising goosebumps on your flesh.

You follow his lead and whisper into his own ear, your lips grazing his cheek. "Then I accept.." you keep the ghost of a kiss upon his freshly shaven cheek and slowly pull back, looking into his eyes and seeing a newly effected desire there. "Dance with me." You bring him out to the floor, having completely lost sight of the bridesmaids. Nothing exists now but you and Jack and this chemistry that's been building between you.

His hands are on your hips as "Neon Moon" starts to play, a slow and soulful song that suits the mood you're both in. The colored lights sweep across the room, casting blue and scarlet and amber glows across the crowd. You're lost in each other, in the touch of his hands on your hips, the way he caresses them, loving their shape. You rest your hands on his broad, strong shoulders.

"You're a good dancer, Jack. You know what they say about men who are good dancers," you tell him suggestively.

"Really? What do they think, Gorgeous?" He pulls you even closer so your bodies are practically flush together.

"That they're good in bed," you answer with an arch of your brow, as if to imply it was beyond your belief.

He looks at you like a man looking at his first meal in a week of starvation. "Do you want to find out just how good of a.. dancer I am?"

Heat blooms across your body, and your pussy clenches in response. It only takes a moment to imagine what it would be like, riding this cowboy. You see him and you realize you have him right where you want him. "There is something I've been dying to ride.." you gently tug his shirt to bring him closer, as if in a kiss..

For a moment he looks like he's going to melt from the heat coming off you. "Oh yeah, darlin'? And what exactly is that?" he smirks.

Your face lights up. "That mechanical bull!" You grab Jack's hand and lead him across the huge barroom to the line to ride the bull. Sneaking a look at his face, Whiskey looks bewildered, but manages to cover it just in time. "That stupid thing? I can think of something more fun to ride," he smirks again and you resist the urge to drag him outside and let him have his way with you in the alleyway.

You only smirk back at him as the operator calls you to come forward and get atop the bull. Getting on top is easy, but staying on will be hard. As soon as you're situated, the bull starts spinning and bucking, slowly at first to let you get your bearings. You laugh and hold on, your body moving with the bull, anticipating its every move. Your hips grind down to the leather, thighs locked tight as you move your pelvis forward. Catching Whiskey's eye you blow him a kiss.

Seeing that the ride is winding down, he goes up to the operator and pays him to let you go again. This time, apparently on Whiskey's orders, the ride goes slower, allowing you to continue your little show for Jack. Keeping eye contact with him, you imagine it's him beneath you. Suddenly you gasp as you realize the bull is moving faster, and you watch as Jack's expression turns dark, lustful. You bite your lip as the speed increases. Pleasure pools in your belly, more specifically between your thighs, and the first stirrings of pleasure begin to radiate outward to your limbs, You rear your head back, face pointed up in ecstasy, and a rolling thunder starts in your veins.

You don't realize it until it's happening but you're being led away by Whiskey to a small corridor where no one can see you, and buries his face in your neck. "Tell me to stop if that's what you want," he says, his voice strained. "But by all that's holy, you are the hottest god damn thing I've ever seen."

But by then your leg is already hooked around his hip, shamelessly rubbing against him, the pleasure from the bull ride still fresh in your body. "I don't want you to stop," you whisper.

He growls low in his throat, which you dare to kiss, grazing your teeth across his skin. He gives a sharp hiss, and when he presses against you you feel proof of his desire, as if you needed any more. His hand goes beneath the hem of your dress and slides up, finding the edge of your lace panties. "Black?" he murmurs, his lips still against your neck.

"How did you know?"

You feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "I always know." His fingers trace your inner thighs before dipping into your heated, slick cunt. "Christ woman, you're soaking wet. For me." With his fingers inside you he kisses you, and you tip your face up to lean into his kiss, He slowly pumps two thick fingers inside as he slips his tongue into your mouth, mimicking the movements, earning a deep moan then a whimper from you.

"Watching you ride that bull, I just know it was me you were thinkin' of," he whispers huskily against your ear. "God damn if you aren't the most gorgeous thing I ever laid eyes on,, been wantin' you a long time, darlin'."

Through the haze of desire you smile, finding the temerity to feel touched by his words. "Took you long enough to show it," you tease, cupping the back of his head as you kiss, leaning against the wall as he fingers your wetness.

He groans again. "As much as I want to continue, I'd like to find a more comfortable place to fuck you." He pauses to look to you for consent. "That is, if you still want this."

You reply by palming his rigid cock, already threatening to poke through his tailored trousers. "I absolutely do.."

In a flurry of movement he brings you outside. The bachelorette party is the last thing on your mind, if you even still remember it, All you can think of is being with Jack. He leads you to his truck, the spacious backseat warm and inviting. He's on you again as that door is closed, His mouth finds yours, tongue claiming you. "I want to be gentle, but I don't think I have it in me right now," he admits.

You shake your head. "I'm not asking for gentle, I'm asking you to fuck me, Jack."

You've never called him by his name before, never been so informal with him, but the look in his eyes tells you it's perfectly all right by him. He lays you down on the seat. "Can I get a little taste of ya, darlin'? Been wonderin' what you'd taste like since the day we met."

This draws a sweet whimper from you, to hear he'd always wanted you. "God yes, please.."

He gingerly removes your panties, kissing his way back up your calves and thighs once they're off. You blush when he breathes in your scent. His hands cup the backs of your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders and you can't help but feel exposed. "Christ.. woman, you're gonna be the death of me," he mutters before taking off his hat and leaning in to devour you.

You give a sharp gasp as you lean your head back against the seat, hands mussing his hair as he laps at your wet cunt, licking up your folds and dipping his tongue inside you. He gently laps at your clit, using more pressure with each lick until he cups his lips around it and sucks, listening to how much you like it, how much more you need.

"Fuck!" you shout, a victorious roar as you feel yourself so close to that edge, and Whiskey is happy to let you use him for your pleasure. His tongue draws shapes upon your clit, alternating between swiping with his tongue and suckling it. Only when you come and he sweeps across every fold to drink up your juices does he stop.

You practically push him down, effectively trading places with him as you kneel before him. "My turn.."

His gaze turns dark even as his face lights up. "Hell, I'm not sayin' no to that, darlin'."

Smiling, you undo his trousers and pull them down with his briefs. His cock springs out, thick and long, perfectly curved, smooth, perfect. "God, I just knew you'd have a big dick.." you whisper, tracing with your tongue from root to head.

Whiskey exhales, watching you work on him. He palms the back of your head but doesn't urge you any further than what's comfortable for you. You use your hand to stroke his base while getting the first few inches of him into your mouth, daring to deep-throat him, wanting to see that look on his face, wanting to see him go crazy for you.

"Jesus, darlin'. I'm so on edge right now I might just burst if you keep doin' that," he chuckles. "Get on up here and ride me, gorgeous."

You feel your heart pound in every extremity of your body, especially your cunt, as you get up and straddle him, hiking up your dress. He stops you a moment and caresses your cheek. "This okay with you, darlin'? I have protection if you prefer.."

You smile and shake your head. "I'm on birth control, and I'm clean."

He smiles back. "Ah good. I'm clean too, darlin'." You know it has to be true, as the agents do periodic physicals and are prohibited from missions for the slightest findings.

Kissing him, you rise over him, using your hands to find him and bring him into you. He slides in without any resistance, and you take your time trying to get as much of him inside as you can. "Fuck, Jack," you whisper as he fills you.

Through the pleasure of connecting your bodies he smirks. "Is that an order?"

You giggle a little. "Looks like I'm the one doing the fucking." Just as you say that, he pushes up from under you, moving you up, filling you up just a little bit more. "God!!"

Sinking his teeth in to his lower lip he grabs onto your hips and moves you how he wants, watching your body for clues on what you like and what you want more of. He pulls the front of your dress down and frees your breasts, suckling on each nipple at a time as you melt on top of him, inadvertently letting more of him inside. He's fucking you and you're fucking him.

You grab his hat from the seat next to you and put it on yourself, riding your cowboy. Whiskey watches you, whispering your name, calling you his Cowgirl, bucking his hips up into you until he bottoms out, then lifting you with long strokes until you push him down to grind down. His thumb flicks over your clit, swirling the letters of your name and his, hearing your wild moans and shuddering sighs. You've never come so hard or so fast. You feel the first fluttery feelings deep within, and they shoot through your veins, lighting up your entire nervous system, and you scream his name as your cunt clenches spasmodically around his cock, and soon you feel him spill his cum deep inside you, spurting its warmth to your insides.

It takes a moment for you to come back to earth, and when you do, Whiskey is kissing you, tenderly, with the remainder of the passion you two just shared. "That was.. wow," you sigh, feeling shy around him now, of all times.

"It was spectacular, darlin'. I hope you know I'm gonna want you again," he puts his forehead to yours.

"Is that so?" You blush with elation.

"Of course darlin'. I'm hopin' to make this a long-term association, if you're so willin'. But on one condition."

You raise a brow. "Already calling the shots, huh? What's the condition?"

"That the only thing you ride is me. Ain't no way I'm being upstaged by a damn mechanical bull ever again."

You laugh, and he loves the sound of it. "We'll put a pin in that conversation."

He strokes your hair. The electric light from the bar sign lights up the inside of the truck, magenta and cyan. "You comin' home with me tonight, Cowgirl?"

You smile and give him a soft kiss. "You bet, Cowboy."

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[yamomma19]

“sorry English isn’t my first language” then writes the most magnificent, amazing, best literature I’ve seen in years